the Noise Within (2010) (41 page)

So he hung back a little, staying just behind her, no longer running but matching her still fairly rapid pace as he waited for the next stairway.

When it arrived, he trotted down the steps arriving at the floor of the corridor with the girl slightly ahead.

"Gun, how long until we reach the docks?"

"Given this current rate of progress, a little over five minutes."

He worked his way through the crowds towards the still oblivious Cirese, knowing that he could simply hang back, wait until they arrived at the docks and then summon security, but he had no intention of doing so. This was personal. She had stood there, smiled at him, and then blithely poisoned the person he was having lunch with.

He approached as quickly as the circumstances allowed, coming in at an angle from behind her right shoulder. Yet something alerted her, some reaction from the people around them. The woman glanced back at the last moment, saw him, recognised him,
knew
why he was there.

She ducked, spun, and evaded his grasp. She was fast, he'd grant her that much. Her foot struck against his ribs with bruising force, and was gone before he could react.

Another kick, this one higher, aimed at his head; but he was ready for her this time. He ducked, blocked, grasped her ankle before she could withdraw, and twisted. Either her whole body had to twist as well or her ankle or knee would pop and most likely break. She went with the twist and landed face down but kicked out viciously with her free foot as she fell, connecting with his left forearm, and managed to pull her trapped ankle free.

Leyton lunged forward, intending to pin her down. But again she was too quick, rolling out of the way and springing back up. He followed, to grapple with her as she came to her feet. Julia Cirese might have been comparatively slight but she knew how to fight, punching him twice in the kidneys in rapid succession and bringing her knee up hard - which, had he not blocked it, would have landed in his groin.

Losing patience, he punched her in her oh-so-pretty face.

She crumpled, to lie there for a second with a seemingly dazed expression before hauling herself to her knees. There was a hint of movement and something appeared in her hand - a sonic knife. He had no idea of its specific blade length and didn't intend to find out.

Displaying comparable deftness, the gun appeared in his own hand, pointing directly ather.

"It's over, Julia. Put down the knife."

"Get away from me, you bastard!" She suddenly looked terrified, vulnerable, and as beautiful as ever, despite the already swelling bruise. "Help, somebody, please; he's going to kill me!"

Leyton had to admit that she played the damsel in distress to perfection. A crude circle had formed around them while they fought, as others cleared out of their way but stayed to watch. Leyton felt like some unwitting performer within a ring of morbidly curious onlookers. Except that some of those onlookers now chose to encroach. He couldn't blame them. If he hadn't just watched this woman poison his friend, he might have been tempted to help her himself.

"Stay back!" he warned two men who had started to come towards him from his left. "I'm a ULAW officer and this is
not
a helpless girl but a very clever assassin."

"How can you say such things?" the vulnerable, wronged girl that Cirese had transformed into sobbed. "Don't listen to him, please."

Yet the two men stopped, looking at each other for guidance. He knew they were no longer a threat. Almost too late he sensed someone rushing him from behind. He sidestepped, half turned, and kicked, his foot connecting with a burly man in military greens; then he stepped back in to punch the surprised soldier, who went down.

From the corner of his eye he saw Julia Cirese smile.

Something struck him on the back of the head; an object thrown from the crowd, solid enough to hurt though not to draw blood. Distracted, he let them get too close. A surge this time, not just one person but four or five, all in army uniform - the fallen soldier's friends, presumably. They were on him, not attempting to punch but to grapple. He went down under the assault.

So far, Leyton had been holding back, even when he punched Julia, but he'd had more than enough of this and abruptly all thought of constraint vanished. With a roar of anger, he punched upwards with everything he had, feeling the blow connect cleanly. He kicked, bucked, grasped a handful of uniform with one hand and flung somebody away. Then he was free enough to roll and spring to his feet. He'd lost the gun in the melee but could reclaim it later. He stood just in time to meet the charge of one of the soldiers. The eyegee sidestepped but left his arm in the way, which became a hay-making upward punch, his balled fist sinking into the man's midriff. His bicep tensed, absorbing the soldier's forward momentum and holding steady, while the recipient let out an 'oomph' of surprise and pain before sliding from Leyton's arm to crumple to the floor.

One of the others, who had been moving in behind his colleague, hesitated at the sight of this; only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. As he went to move forward again, Leyton danced towards him, pivoting on his right foot, bending the knee and leaning away to counterbalance his left leg, which he lashed out with, putting into that kick all the frustration and anger he felt at this distraction, no matter how nobly motivated it might be.

The soldier fell backwards, causing the ring of bystanders to shuffle out the way amidst murmurs of alarm.

"Now back off!" he yelled at the only soldier who remained on his feet, though that one, a wide-eyed lad who looked shocked at how swiftly the eyegee had taken out his colleagues, didn't seem too eager to press the attack. "For the last time, I'm ULAW."

Leyton then turned back to where Julia had been standing, suddenly concerned that she might have taken the opportunity to flee.

She hadn't. Instead she stood close to where he'd last seen her, still smiling at him. In her hand she held his gun, pointed directly at him.

"Nice weapon," she said. "Think I'll hang onto it. Goodbye, Mr Leyton. It's been fun."

Memories of a tiny cabin aboard a spaceship leapt to the fore. The gun had betrayed him once, would it do so again? Surely not; on that occasion the weapon had been motivated by what it perceived as the greater good of ULAW, hadn't it? Even so, he held his breath as the woman pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Leyton breathed again. He had intended to try and take her alive, but, all of a sudden, after having to fight off his own side's soldiers for her sake, he didn't care.

"Gun," he said, "energy feedback."

There was no sound, no visible sizzle of energy or wisp of smoke rising from where her hand gripped the handle. She simply trembled a little; her eyes widened and her lips compressed to a thin line, before she collapsed, her body as limp as a rag doll.

Leyton strolled over to reclaim the gun. Nobody moved to stop him, not even the recovering soldiers. The fight had evidently gone out of them.

Cirese was quite dead. Leyton stared down at her beautiful face - and it was beautiful, even in death, no question about that - and knew that Benson would be less than impressed that he hadn't taken her alive, but right then he didn't care. Let others worry about who had sent her and why. He took the gun and holstered it, at which point a squad of black garbed station security officers chose to put in an appearance. Better late than never.

The eyegee's pocket comm buzzed. It was Benson.

"Leyton, I got your message." The one he'd left as he started the pursuit. "So what's so urgent?"

Leyton took a deep breath. He had a feeling he was about to ruin his boss's day.

"Philip?"

"Mal? What are you doing here?"

"Does it matter? I just wish I could have been here sooner, but I've only recently made it as far as New Paris."

"Why are you here at all?"

"For goodness sake, Philip, you'll never simply accept
anything
, will you? All right, in brief, I was aboard
The Noise Within
- hitched a ride on your comp and got trapped on the ship. I worked my way free when she was damaged in the battle with ULAW and then took refuge in the equipment of some ULAW specialists who came aboard to examine her, and here I am. But, honestly, none of that matters right now. There isn't much time. No easy way to say this, son; you're dying."

"What?"

"That reporter, Julia Cirese, she poisoned you; the kiss..."

"Julia? No, that can't be right." Yet he remembered the last harrowing seconds in the restaurant immediately following that wonderful kiss.

Julia?
Really
?

The conversation with Mal seemed oddly disassociated. Emotions were there but they were pale, insipid reflections of what they should have been. Part of him wanted to believe this was a dream, while another part knew that it wasn't.

"Trust me, it is. You're only alive now by the grace of ULAW. They've kept you with us for this long courtesy of the mass of equipment and expertise they've hauled across to New Paris in order to study the Byrzaens, but it's a losing battle. The poison is a nano construct, with some of the characteristics of a smart virus. It's attacking your nervous system and mutating faster than the doctors can counter it. Sorry, son, but you don't have long."

"This can't be happening. It's too early - there are things I want to do..."

"I know, I know. ULAW don't want to lose you either, which is why I'm here. You've been brought to a point where you're just below the threshold of consciousness, and I've been allowed into the systems monitoring your brain activity to talk to you. They want to save you, Philip, as much as they can."

"Save...?" A horrible suspicion began to form. "You mean as a download, like you." A so-called transhuman.

"Yes. Now I know how you feel about this but don't just dismiss the idea without thinking it through."

The terrible, guilty truth was that he
hadn't
dismissed it. He was too young - there was still so much he wanted from life, so much that remained undone. It was all right for Mal,
he
had lived to a ripe old age and achieved all that any man could wish to, but Philip was still only partway there. Death c
ouldn't
claim him now!

"It's not fair," he said.

"I know, son, but it's happening, fair or not. We have to act quickly to save you. Thank goodness you brought a version of Phil along with you. The ULAW specialists have him as a framework and can build from there. With the facilities they've got on hand they'll be able to capture just about everything the poison hasn't already taken. You'll be at least as complete as I am, probably more so."

Yet this was everything he'd opposed so vehemently, the very reason he'd refused to let Mal into his life, refused to acknowledge him as his father.

"But I'll just be a copy."

"You won't know the difference, I promise you. Not where it counts."

The very idea was abhorrent, or at least it had been. Yet now all Philip could recall was the memory of that abhorrence, not the emotion itself. He felt like a hypocrite for thinking this way, but with his own life on the line things suddenly took on a different perspective. Even so, he still felt as if he were betraying himself, not to mention his father, as he said, "All right, then."

"Good boy! The doctors are going to bring you up to full consciousness, only for a few seconds. They need your permission, so you'll have to tell them that you agree to the procedure."

It was all so hurried. By rights he should be taking time to think this through properly, not be rushed into such a momentous decision. But if what Mal said was true that time simply didn't exist.

Philip felt trapped. By fate; by circumstance... by
something
. Despite this, he said after only brief hesitation, "I'm ready," which was far from true. How could anyone ever be ready for something like this?

The idea made perfect sense, he kept telling himself. This way he would live on after a fashion, and neither his knowledge nor his expertise would be completely lost to either ULAW or Kaufman Industries. Given a choice between that and dying, it was a no-brainer. Surely anyone would do the same. So why did Philip feel that he had just sold his soul to the devil?

CHAPTER TWENTY

I
t was 'night' on New Paris, in a day-night cycle designed to reflect Earth standard. The killer waited in the shadows. As his target stepped out of the door he moved forward, coming upon him from behind, taking the man by surprise and pinning one arm so that it was bent behind his back and pressed between them. He held the sonic knife close to the man's ear, so he could hear the faint sibilant hum of its blade.

"What the hell?"

"All right, Beck, who are you working for?"

"That's not a secret. I'd have told you without the knife. ULAW!"

"In as far as that goes, maybe, but who are you working for beyond that?"

"Leyton, is that you?"

"Right first time. Knowing who I am, you know what I'm capable of. So start talking."

"Look, I don't know what you're on about. Put the blade down, let's be adult about this."