Time Was (49 page)

On the night that Zac and the I-Bots had broken into PTSI, the now-late Sam Preston had initiated the Catherine Wheel program to concentrate solely on changing every security code in the compound every ninety seconds.

Everything else, the computer ignored.

The CWP was, in essence, a carefully controlled electronic obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Which is why no one dared run it for more than five minutes; after that, the disorder would be free to spread throughout every mainframe hooked into the system.

Neither Zac nor Preston were ever able to figure out why the CWP could not be controlled for more than fifteen minutes.

Not that it mattered at the moment.

The second Zac Robillard hit the
INITIATE
key, every computer in PTSI's mainframe focused all its energies on answering the single question that Psy–4 had programmed:
If you were to count every ape, gibbon, gorilla, and similar primate on Earth, then multiply that number by the exact, precise amount of individual hairs on all of these animals, when would the train traveling from Philadelphia at seventy-five miles per hour arrive in Paris after cataloging every drop of water in the ocean?

Psy–4 had thought it quite clever, actually.

Because even if Preston's system were to realize it was obsessing on a trick question, it would be too late to shut down the CWP.

Sometimes, Psy–4 could be very mischievous.

But he usually kept it to himself. . . .

Both Annabelle and Simmons were startled by the blast. Simmons grabbed Annabelle and threw her to the floor, shielding her body with his own.

When it became apparent that the blast was confined to the computer room, Simmons rose, then helped Annabelle to her feet.

They watched in shaken silence as, behind the glass, Zac Robillard entered the computer room along with two of the I-Bots.

A few moments later, two more I-Bots joined them.

Annabelle broke away from Simmons and looked for a door that would lead into the computer room, but there was none.

Preston had made sure that Roy was totally isolated from any outside interference.

“Simmons,” she snapped. “Break the glass!”

He grabbed a heavy piece of equipment from the far wall of the room and heaved it into the window.

Aside from the thunderous noise of the console top striking the unbreakable glass, there was nothing.

Annabelle saw that Robillard and the I-Bots had been startled by the noise and were now looking up at her.

Breathing heavily, Simmons leaned against the remains of the console and said, “It appears to be unbreakable, madam.”

Annabelle glared at Zac, scanned the console, saw the button marked
INTERCOM
, and pressed it as she spoke into one of the microphones. “Zac!”

“Hello again, Annabelle.”

“What are you doing?”

“What's it to you?”

She couldn't believe the arrogance in his voice.

“I never doubted you'd solve the equation.”

Robillard smiled at her. “I'm assuming that was your idea of a joke?” He signaled the I-Bots to get to work.

One of them set a portable chamber on the floor by the computer.

Another removed a series of electrodes and connector cables from a pouch around their waist.

The other two were busy laying out a row of computer-repair tools.

“Zac,” said Annabelle. “Zac, listen, that . . . the brain in the computer—”

“We're taking it, Annabelle. The glass in front of you is shatterproof, and if you want to waste time calling up the blueprints for this building, you'll discover that it would take you at least four minutes to move through the corridors in order to get to us. I've had it with you.”

He turned toward the I-Bots; all of them checked the time.

“Zac!” This time Annabelle shouted into the microphone.

He ignored her.

“Zac, listen to me,” she said.

Then saw her own guards appear at the blasted-away section of wall, electron guns and automatic weapons at the ready.

“NO!”
she shouted.

The guards looked up at her.

“That's right,” she said. “I don't want them harmed or detained, understand?”

The guards, looking puzzled, nodded up toward her, then backed off.

Robillard looked genuinely surprised. “What are you trying to pull, Annabelle?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just, please listen to me, all right? The brain inside Preston's computer, it's . . . it's been imprinted with my son's consciousness.” She hated the way her voice cracked on the last few words, the way she could feel the tears in her eyes, hated how weak and vulnerable she must look to Robillard right now, but none of it mattered.

Not anymore.

“His name was Roy. Preston and I had a brief affair when the two of you worked for me. Roy was the result of our affair.” She leaned forward and clutched the microphone with both hands. “Zac, please . . . please
save
him.”

“That's the idea,” he said flatly.

“Can you really do it?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Annabelle released a long, staggered breath.

Robillard looked at his watch, then at the computer. “In three minutes and fifty seconds, Annabelle, the entire mainframe of PTSI is going to suffer the equivalent of a nervous breakdown. We don't have time to deal with your goons. Call away all your guards and private security soldiers.”

“Yes.”

“Pass the word along that we are not—repeat
not
—to be fired upon or stopped.”

“Yes.”

The brain was now being physically detached from the computer and transferred to the portable chamber.

“You can
really
save him, Zac?”

“Yes, Annabelle. And that is precisely what I'm going to do.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Robillard nodded, then said: “This isn't over, you know?”

“I know.”

“I'll never come back to WorldTech.”

“I understand.”

“Fine.”

“Just as long as you realize, Zac, that I'll never stop hunting you.”

“I figured as much.”

“I'll catch you eventually.”

“Try it.”

Annabelle wiped her eyes. “But for now, I'll let you go safely, because you have my son. Take good care of him, Zac.”

“I will.”

“Because I'll have him back one day . . . and the two of us will enjoy looking at your stuffed fucking head hanging on the wall of our living room.”

Robillard laughed.

Annabelle sneered at him.

Then the skylight shattered, glass raining down, a cable dropped into the computer room and a figure came sliding down, spraying automatic gunfire in all directions, taking out the guards in the hall and destroying a section of the computer.

Janus swung around and threw himself from the cable, landed solidly on both feet, pulled a grenade from his pocket, and shoved the business end of the gun against Zac's temple.

“You double-crossed me, Annabelle,” he shouted.

“Danny?”
said Killaine, staring at him in shock.

“Hello, Janus,” said Annabelle.

Janus kicked out with his left leg, hooked his foot into the handle of the portable chamber, and pulled it over. “I've got half a mind to kill your dear old Zachary and blow the rest of this place to hell,” he shouted.

None of the I-Bots dared to make a move toward him while he controlled that chamber.

“I warned you, Annabelle—never screw me. I can be one nasty son-of-a-bitch when I choose to.”

“So I see.”

Annabelle hoped the panic she felt wasn't evident in her voice.

Janus slowly turned to face the I-Bots, using Zac as a shield and moving the portable chamber with his foot.

“Okay, you pieces of mechanical shit,” he said.
“Move! Into the hall—NOW!”

He snapped his head toward Killaine, who felt a pain in her center that defied any she'd ever known before.

“You're . . . you're
Janus?
” she croaked.

“What? You develop an affection for the hump and braces?”

Then he did something that no one else but Killaine saw.

He gave a quick grin and winked at her. . . .

Itazura and Gash moved toward a blasted section of gate, their swords colliding so fast and furiously that the blades could barely be seen.

Finally, Itazura pulled back, bent his legs, and jumped into the air, executing a double somersault over Gash's head and snap-kicking his opponent in the small of the back before landing behind him.

Gash screamed.

He fell one way.

His sword went another.

Itazura stood over Gash, sliding his own sword back into its sheath. “I'm sorry I had to do that,” he said. “But I'm kind of pressed for time.” He knelt beside Gash. “Don't worry about that numbness you're feeling right now. I haven't crippled you or anything like that. Just don't move from this spot, all right? I'll make sure to send an ambulance for you.”

“. . . no . . .” Gash croaked.

He reached out for his sword.

Itazura laughed. “You're in no condition to continue the fight.”

“. . . I don't wish to fight with you any longer . . .”

“Then . . . what?”

Gash stared directly into Itazura's eyes. “Can we call this a matter of honor?”

Then Itazura understood.

“I'm sorry, Gash. I can't do that.”

“. . . yes, you can . . .”

“No, I
really
can't. It's a programming conflict that can't be overridden.”

Gash turned pale. “ . . .
programming
conflict?”

“Bites, doesn't it?” said Itazura. “You've been playing whupass with a robot all along and never knew it.”

He rose, then he turned and walked away as Gash screamed:
“A FUCKIN' ROBOT! YOU'RE A FUCKIN' ROBOT? COME BACK HERE! ELL PULL YOUR HEAD OFF WITH MY HANDS! WRECKAGE! WRECKAGE! I WANT MY WRECKAAAAAAAAAAAGE!”

“Too bad,” shouted Itazura over his shoulder. “But we all need a nemesis to keep our lives interesting, don't we?”

He looked beyond the gates and saw no sign of the crowding shadows.

Maybe the Stompers couldn't stand to see their leader fall to a Tin Man. . . .

* * *

In the hallway, Janus looked around, made sure all the guards were dead, then pushed Zac away. “All right, there's a chopper by the east gate and a truck just outside what's left of the west end of the compound. You've got a better chance of getting out of here if you split up and take different types of vehicles.”

They all stared at him.

Killaine approached him cautiously. “Why are you doing this?”

“She double-crossed me.”

Killaine shook her head. “I don't believe you.”

“I don't care right now,” yelled Janus, then let fly with a burst of gunfire into the ceiling. “That was for the benefit of any approaching guards.”

“Come with us,” said Killaine.

“Oh, right—like
that's
going to save me now.”

Zac was the next to speak. “You don't have to help us, Janus.”

“Well,
duh.
Thanks for clearing that up.”

Killaine grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Tell your friends to start getting the hell out of here and I'll tell you—
only you.
”

Killaine cast a pleading look at the others. “Please?”

They began to scatter.

Killaine shouted, “Radiant—remember Singer!”

Then faced Janus again. “We're alone and there's not a lot of time. Why did you—?”

“I only lied to you about my name and the scoliosis,” said Janus. “Everything else I told you was the truth. I was a carny as a kid, I did time at the Ohio Pen for running a flat store, I love kids and wish to hell I could protect them all from
chronos . . .
and I'm crazy about you.” He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips.

Killaine didn't fight it.

She didn't want to.

Janus pulled back and began leading her toward the exit where the others were waiting for her. “Listen to me, Killaine. I never,
ever
, not once in my whole miserable life gave a thought to the state of my soul because I never believed I had one . . . until I met you. I've done things for money that would make you sick—”

“—I don't care, Janus, I don't care, I love you and—”

“—and I love you, too, for what it's worth, but I
refuse
to poison you with what's inside me—don't look at me like that, no one's being noble here, I'm just stating a fact. Violence is not just something I do, it's what I
am.
I could try to rein it in, and who knows, I might be able to for a while. But it always rises to the surface, Killaine. Always. And it's black and it stinks and it infects everyone and everything around me and I won't do that to you! I never understood what genuine decency was before I met you, and I almost wish I
still
didn't understand—but I'll never regret having known you. Never.” He pushed her outside.

“Janus,” said Killaine. “You can come with us, we can use someone with your—”

“I would grow old, Killaine. I would get sick. And I would die. And somewhere along the line I would start resenting you. I love you more than anything I've ever had or ever will have in my life.” He looked behind him. “Guards are coming.” He slammed a fresh clip into his weapon and, not looking back at Killaine, said, “I wish we could have gone on the carousel together,” then opened fire and ran toward the new wave of guards, hosing the area and tossing the grenade, then somebody screamed and the entire hallway went up in fire, smoke, and debris. . . .

* * *