Skyway Angel Page 17

  “They’ll kill us if they see us.”

  “That’s why you hired a bodyguard, so you could take the risks that need to be taken.”

  Chapter 22

  We were lucky. Word had gotten around that the coyotes were on the way, so the corporate chickens were fleeing the coop. Lower management men and women in their pressed shirts and slacks still carried their briefcases as they briskly made their way out of the glass front doors of the building, stepping onto the Skyway. Middle managers in navy blue suits carried stacks of papers to the front end assistants for shredding. When one of the shredders jammed, the manager tried to fix it with a swift kick. The spark it shot out caught the trash can below it on fire, eliciting a scream from the man as he gave up and fled the building, sprinting past Cassdan and I while we made our way through, trying not to attract attention.

  The security team was nowhere to be found. My guess was that most of the grunts had fled, while those that were high ranking or were paid well enough had fallen back to the higher levels to protect the executives. Either way, we had our own concerns.

  The second our boots hit the moving walkway, we broke into a sprint. The apartment building wasn’t far and the Skyway would get us there much faster than we could manage on the street level sidewalks. We shifted over into the fast lane as soon as we could, dodging around dismayed Uppers in their pastel casual wear.

  A team of armored police officers passed us going the other direction, running toward the Ultramarine building, weapons at the ready. Not one of them glanced our way.

  Minutes later, we arrived at the apartment building, darting into the elevator to punch the button for the penthouse. Cassdan started pacing. While I didn’t blame him for his nervousness, my mind was much more focused on the task, trying to predict and plan for all possibilities.

  As the doors opened again, I made sure my client was behind me. No bullets came flying down the short hallway, but I could see the door to the apartment was damaged, forced open. I caught glimpses of a figure in black trying to pry a panel off of the central computer column. Someone in a police officer’s power armor was trying to get access to April’s brain.

  Cassdan was too eager to wait. He pressed past me, hugging the wall as he quietly slipped down the hallway, finally taking up a position beside the door. I stuck to the other side of the wall, hiding myself on the opposite side of the door while glancing into the room.

  April’s mobile hologram robot was in its place in the column, probably needing to charge up after her performance earlier. Wink wasn’t visible, but his grass was deployed, so it was likely his walk had been interrupted. The intruder had found the access panel to the computer and was busy jamming armored fingers under the edges to pry it up. An assault rifle was leaned against the column.

  “Where the hell is Lannemir?” Cassdan whispered while typing on his computer.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but it doesn’t escape me that she’d have access to a set of armor.”

  “April hasn’t seen her, either.” He was already typing a response back to her. “Whoever that is in there, we need to handle them quickly.”

  As if on cue, I heard the sound of a metal joint popping off. Using April as bait may not have been the safest choice, especially when our only backup was one of our suspects, but the decision had been made, and it was time to keep up our end of the bargain. I only had the barest framework of a plan, but we were out of time.

  “Get April to give you access to the cameras,” I said. “Send FIRN a live feed.”

  He stopped typing. “What are you planning?”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I cracked the knuckles of my left hand and mimicked the action with my right. “We’re going to have an old fashioned Scooby-Doo unmasking!”

  I charged in, using my bionic arm to propel off of the doorframe for the extra speed. The intruder heard me and reached for the assault rifle, but I closed the gap quickly.

  I let loose, throwing a heavy swing with all of my power directly at the intruder’s head. My fist made direct contact with the helmet. Simple physics knocked me back a few paces as the intruder went down, having to brace both hands against the floor to avoid being laid out flat, both hands, but only eight fingers. The small finger and ring finger of the right hand remained curled into the palm.

  It was a good first blow, but I instantly regretted it. Despite the excellent medical care I had received, my shoulder was still weeks from being fully healed from the last job. I gritted my teeth against the pain, hoping I hadn’t torn anything important.

  The intruder recovered quicker than I did. High traction boots took a solid stance as the assault rifle was raised to an armored shoulder and aimed at my head. With little other option, I raised my plastic arm to guard my head as I charged forward.

  The power armor was still new. Years of training would cause most cops and security personnel using it to instinctively rely on their weapons, rather than their newly enhanced strength. I hoped that would hold true here, because while I could take a couple of bullet hits, one solid powered punch, even through my vest, would probably kill me.

  Bullets barked from the gun, but never found their mark. I was already inside the minimum range of the weapon, throwing my body into the intruder’s. The suit was top-heavy, allowing my impact to shove it back against the central column. I let myself fall off to the side, dodging the reflexive swing of a powered arm through empty air.

  As I hit the ground, I heard a metallic click and the whirring of an electric motor. April’s hologram pod ejected from it’s charging port in the column with such force that it swept the legs out from under the attacker. Already off his balance, the armored intruder hit the ground hard, the rifle clattering away from him on the wooden floor. A hit like that would have knocked the breath out of me, but I doubt he even felt it.

  I scrambled to my feet and rounded the back side of the column. The intruder was already getting up, but I reached the weapon before he did. Leaning hard into the grab, I scooped the weapon up in my artificial hand and fell forward into a slide. As my stomach hit the ground, I twisted up onto my elbow to take aim.

  Bullets ejected in a deafening roar. Many slammed into the intruder’s head and chest, slowing the armored murderer as the bastard moved toward me. Each bit of lead created a small distortion, like a ripple in a pond, freezing in place with the crushed metal at the center. Though I cringed at the damage the stray projectiles were doing to the ceiling, an idea came to me.

  If I were able to put enough bullets into the facemask of the suit, I could obstruct the wearer’s view, which just might buy me enough time to come up with a better idea. I gave the trigger two short, controlled squeezes, focusing my fire as best as I could. A few bullets hit, but my opponent seemed to grow wise to the plan, raising his arms to fend off the attack.

  I got to my feet, backing away as I maintained my aim, waiting for my moment to strike. Adrenaline pumped in my veins. My breathing grew ragged. My hands began to shake. When the arms again parted, giving me my opening, I squeezed the trigger.

  I squeezed it too hard.

  Only two bullets jumped from the gun before the rifle's grip shattered in my bionic hand. The trigger ripped from the receiver, and tiny bits fell out onto the floor. The intruder was not nearly blinded enough to not realize what had happened.

  “Cassdan,” I called out, tossing what was left of the weapon aside, “any chance you’ve got anything for me?”

  The intruder charged me, throwing heavy, arcing swings. The first one, I dodged. The second, I deflected with my bionic arm, shoving it off to the side as I moved my body out of the way.

  “We’re broadcasting,” Cassdan called back, from the safety of the other side of the doorframe, “and so is he.”

  “What?”

  I danced to the side as an armored fist attempted an uppercut, followed by two jabs. The second one nearly made contact.

  “There’s a signal,” Cassdan said, leaning out into the doorway.
“Either somebody’s watching through him, or maybe they’re listening in, giving orders.”

  I ducked a left hook, raising up on the other side of it to plant a bionic punch where the intruder’s ear should have been. “Can you trace it?”

  “Already did. It’s coming from the Ultramarine building. I’m going to see if I can backhack it.”

  The intruder was faster than I liked, taking another swing almost as soon as I dodged the last one. I did my best to stay moving, but the couches were getting in the way. The arm of one caught the back of my knee, causing me to stumble into the wall. An armored fist swung for my head. I dropped to the floor and heard a window shatter behind me.

  A gust of misting rain came in, slicking the floor. Bits of glass dropped on my head and bounced off of the wood around me. The emergency blinds came down and snapped into place as I scrambled away, cutting the meat of my hand on the glass. I was almost back upright when the couch beside me suddenly shifted, slamming into my hip.

  I rolled over the back of the couch, bouncing off of the thick cushion of the seat to land in a crouch on the floor. The intruder came at me fast. As soon as I was up, I knocked aside a strong left swing, then deflected a right. When the left came again, I moved to deflect, but my attacker changed tactics.

  Grabbing my bionic arm at the wrist, the intruder pulled it to the side and down. My shoulder wasn’t happy, but the real danger was to the rest of me. I was practically defenseless.

  Instinctively, I reached with my free hand to help pry loose the trapped one, but I didn’t have a chance. Grabbing the flesh and bone wrist with two fingers and a thumb, the intruder wrenched it to the other side, separating my arms wide as he twisted it outward. A guttural growl of anger and pain escaped me. I heard something inside my wrist pop, and felt something inside my mind snap.

  I’d had all I could take. I needed to hurt someone.

  I let my back fall to the ground, halfway dragging the top heavy intruder with me, and placed both of my feet squarely on the upper pelvis of the powered suit. I shoved with every ounce of strength I could muster, protectively tensing the muscles of my left arm while pulling hard and fast with my right, letting the bionic bicep do the work. The pain from both my wrist and my shoulder seemed distant and small, compared to the sense of satisfaction when my right wrist broke free of my attacker’s inferior grip.

  The second I was loose, I swung a balled fist hard at his right knee, not at the front plate, but at the side, where the armor was more flexible. The knee went down, buckling from the sheer force of the blow. My left wrist came free as armored hands went to the floor to stop the fall. I had probably broken his knee, and I was about to break the other.

  Regaining my feet, I quickly assessed my armored opponent. For the moment, I had the upper hand, and I couldn’t afford to lose it.

  With a hand braced on his good knee, Angela’s killer was already getting to his feet. I had a clear shot, and took it. I aimed my bionic fist for the weakest point at the back of his knee and swung straight through to the floor. The armor held strong, but the knee snapped forward, dropping him back to the ground.

  To his credit, the intruder was one hell of a professional. Unable to stand, he simply changed tactics. As I stepped closer, he moved quickly, turning and reaching for me, falling into my trap.

  I didn’t dodge or deflect. He grabbed my ankle in his left hand, and I caught his elbow in my right. In the one inch of space between the bicep plate and the forearm plate, I pressed a single bionic finger, using my thumb on the other side to maximize pressure. The kevlar there wasn’t going to break or tear, but it would flex enough for me to do damage.

  His left hand twisted into a mangled claw, drawing back from my ankle as I pressed harder on the inner elbow. The intruder reached toward me with the other hand, but I was now in control, twisting the left arm to keep the right away and my attacker off balance.

  Something inside the elbow popped. The twisted hand went limp. I dropped it to the floor and grabbed the intruder by the collar to force him down onto his stomach.

  I looked up to see Cassdan step into the room. “I’ve got it,” he said, “tracked and recorded. The signal’s gone dead now, but I’ve got enough evidence to prove Ultramarine was communicating with this guy.”

  April’s hologram joined us, unfurling from a slightly dented pod. It appeared to gaze down at the lifeless body in the powered suit. Through the armor, I couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing. Either way, he seemed to have finally given up.

  “What now?” Cassdan asked.

  I went to the kitchen area. After a few moments of looking through drawers, I found what I was looking for, an old manual corkscrew. Taking the primitive device back to the body, I squatted down over it.

  “What are you doing?” April asked.

  I took the wooden grip in my right hand and placed its metal tip just above the bottom edge at the back of the helmet. “The slow blade penetrates the shield,” I said, applying pressure as I twisted it.

  Three twists in, something cracked and a small spark shot out. The air seal popped, and a thin gap appeared at the edge of the helmet. Taking it by the bottom, I stripped it off. The head inside dropped face first onto the floor with a heavy thud.

  I rolled the figure over, staring down into the carbon fiber faceplate. Glassy cameras pointed back toward me from behind the protective screen, but seemed unfocused. As far as I could tell, the user must have disconnected.

  It wasn’t painted up like the boxing robots had been. There was no flash or flare, and it seemed thinner, more skeletal, like it was designed to go inside the power armor’s shell. I reached inside and felt around.

  A shell was exactly what it was. Other than the robot itself, I couldn’t find any artificial muscles inside the suit. What was weirder was that the torso plates seemed to be connected directly to the machine. I relayed this to my client as I examined the electronic corpse.

  “A prototype?” Cassdan asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Could just be a fighting bot they funded, then adapted for the use. Either way, we seem to have gotten the answers we were looking for. Someone at Ultramarine murdered Angela from the safety of virtual reality, and with the way this bot was holding the fingers on its right hand, I’m pretty sure I know who.”

  “I suppose we’ve done all we can,” Cassdan added. “They may not have been here to face off with in person, but they won’t escape justice.”

  “Oh!” April said, her holographic hand seeming to reach toward my damaged wrist. “You need medical attention.”

  Chapter 23

  Six floors below the penthouse, a retired doctor and his husband lived in a one bedroom apartment larger than four of mine put together. April had checked in with him to see if he would mind seeing a patient. The fact that the old doctor still had a personal medical unit in his apartment made him my favorite person in the world for the moment.

  “I appreciate you doing this for me, doc,” I said, sitting on a thickly padded chair and laying my damaged wrist on a cold, steel panel to the side.

  A box with glass walls and a metal top on a mechanical arm lowered and clamped around the steel panel. The rubber rim around the arm hole inflated to complete the seal, trapping my whole hand and half of my forearm inside.

  “Oh, it’s no trouble,” the old doctor said. “Any friend of April’s is a friend of ours.” He hadn’t bothered to change out of his silk pajamas, but had put his white doctor’s coat on over them.

  “We wouldn’t be able to get by without her,” his husband said, speaking to us from the kitchen pass-through, while making a platter of sandwiches at the bar. “She’s an amazing financial planner.”

  “One of the many jobs that I’ve loved doing,” April’s image spoke, from a monitor on the other side of the room. Her smile didn’t quite cover the sadness in her eyes.

  The machine made a loud click as a green cross shone down on my arm. The doctor took a moment to center it on my w
rist before typing a series of commands into the interface. A hum followed, growing in pitch every few seconds until it fell off and went silent.

  “Good news,” he said, straightening his glasses and smiling at me, “it’s just a nasty sprain. I’m going to put a brace on it, and you should be fine in no time.”

  A small arm lowered down into the box from the metal top and jabbed me with a needle. I winced at the pain and suddenly had a need to scratch at the slight burning sensation that followed. “What was that?” I asked, sitting on my bionic arm to fight my impulse.

  He had pulled a handheld scanner from its holster in the side of the machine and was already pointing it at my right shoulder. “Oh, that’s just a little cocktail to help the healing process. Should help out this shoulder, too.” He switched off the scanner. “You’ll also need plenty of rest.”

  “And food,” added Kenneth, the husband, bringing around the platter. “I hope Steak au Poivre is alright. We haven’t done the shopping, yet.”

  I freed my bionic arm to receive the offering. As I took a bite of the buttery peppered steak sandwich, I felt everything inside me relax. I hoped my groan of satisfaction was enough gratitude shown to Kenneth, because I wasn’t able to muster any words in that moment. The fight had left every bone in my body aching, but my stomach couldn’t have been happier.

  As I enjoyed my sandwich, the glass and steel box around my left arm began filling with a thick, blue gel. My arm rose, floating in the substance, stopping when it reached the maximum height the arm hole would allow. The small cuts in the meat of my hand stung when the semiliquid matter engulfed them. I did my best to remain still and relaxed.

  Two articulated hoses deployed into the gel, one above my arm and the other below. Working together, they laid out a lattice structure around my forearm and hand, leaving my fingers free to move. The liquid plastic was hot as it was applied, but the blue goo quickly sucked the heat out of it, leaving my arm only slightly reddened and short a few hairs that had been incinerated by the high temperature of the applicators.