41 – Pocket Cards

  Addie looked at Beef, ensuring he was tucked away in the vending machine alcove. He nodded to her, his smart-rifle held ready. She knew he’d queued up shredder rounds—same as she’d loaded into her pistol. Of course, they’d done a lot of practicing with botu-rounds, hoping to be as stealthy as possible, but they hadn’t expected Jen’s people to be so heavily armored. The toxin-bearing needles just weren’t reliable against even moderate protection. Shredders, though? They fired at more than twice the velocity and were designed to puncture and rip holes through armor with explosive payloads.

  The noise the shredders produced was the reason for their current plan. Beef and Addie would lie in wait, trusting Smokey to use the driftjack and its control of local comms to lure the two guards at the bottom of the stairwell into their trap. To kick it off, Addie hurried down the hallway, just a few steps, slipped into the administration office and pushed the door mostly closed. Then, she drew her pistol and said, “Okay, Smokey. We’re in position.”

  They’d put the guard they’d taken out behind the reception desk—even gone so far as to tie him to the chair there. He was still unconscious, thanks to an unhealthy dose of tranq Beef had injected prior to pulling his PAI. On the bright side, it was a surgical prep sedation drug that would make the removal safe.

  The plan was simple: Smokey would send the two guards in the stairwell a message from the unconscious guard, something about needing help with some “troublemakers” outside. The two guards—hopefully—would approach him at the reception desk, and Beef would emerge from the vending machine alcove and let them have it from their flank. Addie would come out of the office behind them and interfere with any attempts to retaliate. Smokey didn’t think the noise would travel up to the top floor where the other two mercs were guarding Jen’s office.

  The ancient AI’s southern twang came through comms: “Plan’s in action. Now, of course, those little mama’s boys are trying to check in with Boss Lady, but I’ve got their signal. Sent them a spoofed, ‘Hurry up and quit bugging me,’ response.”

  Addie held her breath, hoping the office walls would shield her heat signature as the mercs passed by. According to Tony’s training, she should be okay. Smokey updated her mini-map with the mercs’ position—she’d planted a sticky cam on the reception desk—and she watched the two red dots emerge from the square room marked “Stairwell.” They inched down the hallway toward the blinking yellow dot—the unconscious guard.

  When they reached the point in the hallway outside her hiding spot, the dots’ blinking seemed to slow down, and a single second stretched into something that felt like ten. Addie knew it was all in her head, but when the dots blinked again and continued down the hallway, she felt a massive wave of relief, anyway. She crept out from behind the desk and stood by the door, hand on the knob, ready to step out. Meanwhile, she watched her map, silently willing Beef to be patient.

  She’d tried to debate a less lethal response to the two guards, but it all boiled down to risk management. How much risk was she comfortable putting herself and Beef into? With two guards, her ability to make them helpless was less than perfect. Moreover, these were high-tier mercs who might have high-end medical nanite suites. They’d gotten lucky with the guy in reception, but there was a very real chance that attempts to sedate or paralyze these other two could fail. Smokey had described their weaponry—very heavy—and Beef had argued that it wasn’t worth risking their necks to be gentle. Addie couldn’t, in good conscience, disagree.

  Smokey cut into her reflections: “They’re chattering away, wondering why their buddy is sitting down on the job. I’d move soon, Beef.”

  Addie studied her mini-map. The two red dots had cleared the hallway and were in reception. Beef’s blue dot was off to their right, toward the front doors, but he had the wall to cover him. She turned the handle and silently pulled the office door open, waiting for Beef’s countdown. It was far shorter than she’d hoped.

  “Go,” he said, and then the high-pitched brrt-brrt-brrt of his smart-rifle’s full-auto firing echoed down the hallway. Addie yanked the door open, stepped into the hall and realized her helmet was dulling the sounds of his shredder rounds as they tore into the two guards. The hallway and lobby were awash with flashing orange lights and the crackling pops of hundreds of flechettes pounding into armored carapaces and then detonating.

  She felt like she was underwater, moving in slow motion, as she held out her hand, peering into the explosive flashes, trying to weave a thread of Dust out toward one of the mercs. Her plan was to yank his hands into the air. Everything was happening so quickly, though, that she couldn’t focus on a target. One merc, trailing smoke and fire, had bolted for the far hallway. The other dove to the floor, leveling a bulky, snub-nosed rifle in Beef’s direction. All the while, exploding flechettes were pounding his helmet and faceplate, his shoulders and back.

  When the prone merc fired, his gun was an order of magnitude louder than Beef’s exploding flechettes. Boom! Boom! Boom! Addie felt the reports in her chest. She could imaging the damage the shots were doing to Beef’s hidey-hole, so she tried again to focus on the merc’s extended arms, twirled her finger in a physical representation of her mental efforts to loop his wrists. Then, with a nudge of her will, she hoisted his arms in the air. Even as she pulled, he squeezed his trigger and another trilogy of booms echoed down the hall, his shots tearing into the ceiling of the lobby.

  Beef must have survived the initial onslaught because some more, higher-pitched, rapid reports echoed from the lobby, and the merc Addie was holding blossomed with fiery explosions. That was when her head snapped back as her helmet cracked, shedding plastic and bullet-absorbing gel as she stumbled back. She was dazed for half a second, but then she realized what had happened: the other merc had shot her. Something tugged at her left arm, spinning her, and she staggered further back, falling onto her butt. Fortune was with her in that she’d fallen near the doorway of the office where she’d been hiding, so she crawled through, just as more shots tore the industrial carpeting behind her.

  “Watch your flank,” she gasped into comms, still reeling, part of her amazed she was alive, but also thankful that everyone had insisted she wear a helmet.

  No response came, and Beef’s smart-rifle had ceased its near-constant firing, so a moment of panic struck her. Then she saw his blue dot drifting across the lobby toward the red one in the opposite hallway. “Come on, Addie,” she whispered. “Shake it off!” Her visor was cracked, but she could still see. Gripping her needler, she crept toward the doorway. “Smokey!” she hissed. “Report!”

  “One bad guy down. The one that shot you is moving back to the lobby, but he doesn’t see your big buddy coming up on the other side—Uh-oh!”

  “What do you mean, uh-oh?” Addie growled.

  “The two goons from upstairs are heading down. I tried to misdirect, but they’re coming to investigate.”

  Addie had almost forgotten about Humpty’s feed; she’d been far too focused on the battle at hand. Reflexively, she focused on it again. Sure enough, the two mercs atop the stairwell were working their way down.

  Just then, a scream sounded from the lobby, and Addie refocused on her immediate reality. She bolted out of her hiding place, her instincts telling her to help Beef. Her concerns were misplaced, however; Beef had the merc by the throat, hoisted a meter off the ground while he twisted his huge knife in the man’s guts. Addie feared the merc might shoot while he hung in the air being disemboweled, but that was when she noticed his gun on the ground—severed hand still gripping it tightly.

  As red gore gushed out of the massive wound Beef had torn under the merc’s chest plate, he grunted, bounced on the balls of his feet, and slammed the poor guy onto the hard ground like he was spiking a ball. Addie looked away as the merc’s hard armor—and other things—cracked on impact. While Beef put one of his massive knees on the man’s back, pinning him down as he went to work with that knife again, Addie turned to the hallway leading to the stairwell.

  “How much time, Smokey?”

  “Around half a minute. They’re hurrying.”

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  Addie glanced at her Dust reading:

  Dust Purity: Raw – 3.22 LIR

  Dust Capacity: 4622/5000

  She had plenty, and, more importantly, she’d kept a vial from their heist as a backup. As the thought crossed her mind, she pressed a hand to her chest, where it sat snug and safe behind her bulletproof vest. “Okay, come on. We got this,” she whispered, jogging toward the stairwell door.

  “Where you going?” Beef grunted, his PAI sending the question through comms.

  “Two incoming. Are you done with that guy?”

  Before Beef could respond, Smokey said, “Boss Lady just tried to call in her reserves. Sent a message out to an assistant, telling her to bring her other private security forces on duty. I guess she’s getting nervous, or maybe she caught wind of what y’all are doing down here.”

  “But you stopped it from going through, right?”

  “Oh, sure, gal. Tied it up in the driftjack and sent a bogus receipt.”

  Addie growled softly, wishing they had Glitch helping them out instead of her quirky, pre-war AI. She slid to a halt in the corner, facing the stairwell door. The long-dead elevators were at her back, and as she stood there, pistol in one hand, she glanced back the way she’d come. Beef was lumbering toward her, smart-rifle slung, massive pistol extended in his cybernetic fist. Addie would have told him to get down—he was still a dozen meters from the stairwell with no cover in sight—but she figured he’d keep the mercs from looking her way.

  “Just don’t get too close, Beef.”

  “How close is too—” he started to ask, but then the stairwell door flew open and a merc wearing a shiny red carapace-like suit of armor burst through. Beef’s pistol roared, the merc’s SMG buzzed, and Addie poured a river of Dust through her palm.

  Purple lightning arced from her hand, snapping like chaos incarnate as it stretched across the gap between her and her target. When it hit, the merc’s back arched, his arms flew wide, and he convulsed. Addie let the thick rope of lightning flow, and when the other merc dove out, shoulder down, aiming to knock his partner out of the electricity, it arced toward him, turning his silvery faceplate black as he flew. The Dust-bolt, as Addie had come to think of her electrical attack, traveled through the flying merc, blasting the sole out of his right boot.

  He had momentum, though, and he hit his partner despite being fully electrified himself. The trouble was, the merc wasn’t standing on a live wire or some kind of booby trap; Addie was pouring electricity out of her hand toward him, and she didn’t stop when the two tumbled onto the carpet. The lightning popped and sizzled, and smoke drifted out of the two writhing, tormented bodies. By the time Addie stopped several seconds later, the carpet was singed black, and flames were flickering over the melted plastic and polymer of the two mercs’ clothing and armor.

  “Holy shit,” Beef crowed, brushing the bullet impacts on his chest armor. He was still standing several meters away and didn’t look eager to approach. “Why didn’t you say you could do that?”

  “You knew I could!”

  “No way, Ads. I’ve seen plenty of vids about sparks, and that kinda shit ain’t normal. I thought you could maybe stun someone or—”

  “Time’s a’wastin’, soldiers,” Smokey said. “Your pard needs some relief over in the tower.”

  Addie looked at her Dust report:

  Dust Purity: Raw – 3.22 LIR

  Dust Capacity: 1009/5000

  Her eyes widened; she hadn’t realized she’d dumped that much Dust. Panic struck her as she suddenly feared she might have burned out her Dust matrix, but the indicators were all green; her new system had handled the Dust flow just fine. While Beef lumbered to the stairwell door, giving the smoking mercs’ bodies a healthy berth, Addie dug a hand down the collar of her vest, reaching for the hidden pocket there.

  “Just a sec,” she muttered as Beef opened the door.

  He glanced at her and saw the faintly luminescent vial in her hand. “I’ll start up the stairs. Gonna take me longer than you, anyway.”

  Addie nodded, cracking the seal on the vial and tugging the stopper out with her teeth. Immediately the Dust started drifting out, filling the air around her with a dense, sparkling cloud. Beef didn’t say anything; he just turned and started up the stairs. Addie couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t stare in wonder at the magical spectacle, but then it dawned on her that he probably couldn’t even see the Dust—not the way she could. The cloud continued to spread, so she stopped staring and got to work, drawing it in through her matrix and straight into her reactor.

  As she worked, she remembered the first time she’d tried to influence or pull Dust. Zane had been so sure she’d struggle or, at the very least, pull less than he could. That hadn’t gone well for him. She frowned at the memory; not much had gone well for Zane after he met her. It felt simultaneously like yesterday and a million years ago.

  The stuff she’d spilled into the air was high quality Dust, and she watched as her indicator rapidly climbed, jumping by tens and twenties until, when the last of the glittering stuff was gone, it read:

  Dust Purity: Refined – 4.38 LIR

  Dust Capacity: 4291/5000

  “That should do it,” she said, gripping her little pistol as she charged through the door and onto the concrete stairs.

  ###

  Tony stepped into the elevator and set the duffel down. Standing before the doors, shotgun in hand, he cleared his throat and nodded. “Take me down.”

  “To the goons? T, they’re together—talking in the lobby.” Glitch’s tone made it clear she thought he’d had some screws knocked loose.

  “C’mon, Glitch. Just do it.”

  As the elevator started to move, Tony braced the shotgun stock under his cybernetic arm. He could shoot it one-handed, but only because of that arm’s powerful grip. With his other hand, he took one of the round flashbangs out of his pocket and squeezed the pressure trigger. It vibrated with regular warning pulses; if he let go of the trigger, those pulses would become a steady rumble until it exploded four seconds later.

  The elevator dinged, and the door opened. “They’re at the end of the hallway, just before the auditorium doors.”

  “Thanks, Glitch. Keep the doors open for me.” Tony stepped out.

  The elevator bank was at a right angle to the auditorium lobby, so there was a corner blocking him from LaMonte’s and the other guy’s view, but he imagined they had to have heard the elevator open. That said, he didn’t pause to think or assess; he just tossed the grenade around the corner and pulled out another. As the first concussive bang reverberated down the hallway, the next grenade was already bouncing off the wall to rattle toward the auditorium.

  It boomed, and Tony walked up to the corner and edged around it just barely enough to get a look. The hall was full of smoke, but he saw the two figures twenty meters down, and neither looked staggered, or really even fazed. Still, he took aim and squeezed both triggers on the shotgun. The damn thing bucked like a son of a bitch, even with his mechanical hand holding the grip. Still, his aim was good—not that hitting anything with a sawed-off shotgun was hard—and some of the buckshot hit both men.

  Tony cracked the breech, calmly and smoothly pulling two more shells from the bandolier and loading them. He kept his gaze on the two figures as they staggered back, separating slightly, but he knew neither was really hurt. He’d need to be a lot closer to do any good against their armor. LaMonte looked just as he’d remembered: more than two meters tall, layered with high-end cyberware and armor, and smiling menacingly in Tony’s direction as he put a hand on his much smaller partner’s chest, holding him back.

  “Really, T?” he called, laughing. “Gonna try to take me out with a twelve gauge and some flashbangs?” His eyes gleamed through the flashbang haze—malevolent red Xs. “Just sit down and let me tie you up. Maybe Jen will let you live.” He shrugged, lowering his arm now that his partner realized it was bantering time. “Or don’t. I gotta say, I’ve always wanted to take you apart.” He squeezed his right fist, and a familiar hum filled the air as a brilliant, crackling blue energy sword appeared in his hand. “Kinda perfect, don’t you think—me doing you with your own gear?”

  Tony had been waiting for him to show his hand, so he stepped out from behind the corner, fully in view, and leveled the shotgun in their direction again. He took a couple of steps closer and then squeezed the triggers. The barrels flared with smoke and fire; the hallway echoed with the boom, and LaMonte’s plasma sword instantly stretched into a two-meter disc. The buckshot flashed and sizzled against it, failing to penetrate.

  LaMonte chuckled as the shield reformed into a sword, crackling and sizzling wickedly. He watched as Tony reloaded the shotgun and took another step closer. “Damn, T, did you get some brain damage when Eric dumped you? Old Doc Chavez a little too careless with the sedative? You’re just wasting time.”

  Tony nodded, smiling as he mentally accessed the control menu for his cybernetic arm’s mods, switching the active magazine in his needler from botu-rounds to glitter-shot. He continued forward, assessing the two men’s posture and weapons. They weren’t taking him seriously; he could understand that from LaMonte, but the other one didn’t look like he’d be much of a challenge—standard corpo-sec body armor and an SMG. He supposed it was cockiness by association; the guy felt safe in LaMonte’s shadow. He leveled the shotgun and fired again.

  The gun barked, smoke billowed, and LaMonte’s plasma forge instantly snapped into a shield again and ate the impact. Tony cracked the shotgun and commenced reloading.

  “I can do this all day, T. Jen’s buying my Dust. What’s the plan? Make her pay a few extra bits for Dust on my next refill? That ought to teach her.” He laughed, waving the plasma sword. It hissed and crackled—a weapon of gravity-bound lightning. The forge was losttech, not unlike the armor he’d taken from the fallen merc, only ten times more valuable. It used Dust to create plasma, and Dust to project contained gravity fields, shaping it in ways that were only limited by the user’s imagination, technique, and Dust reserves. It took a lot of practice to do much more than what LaMonte had already displayed.

  “That all you’ve figured out so far? C’mon, you saw me use that thing enough times. Can’t you even form a whip? A beam?”

  “I’m working on a few things.” LaMonte grinned broadly, showing off synth-diamond teeth that sparkled in the light of his plasma sword.

  “Right. I’ll bet you are.” Tony mentally nudged his needler into full auto, then took another couple of steps, putting himself within ten meters of the two men. As LaMonte chuckled, he lifted the shotgun and squeezed the trigger—of his needler.