Extensis Vitae: Empire of Dust Page 6

  “Who can say what they would think of our culture and technology today?” Seijin frowned. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Reiko. I was thinking it is nearly time to press the assault, and it would make me feel better knowing you are backed up. But if that’s your wish, I’ll respect that.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Seijin sipped his tea, and they sat in silence for a moment. “This Ichiro Akiyama is going to prove quite useful, regardless of being such an unusual… entity,” Seijin said, finally settling on a word. “How is it that you know this individual and gained his loyalty?”

  Rin sipped her tea. “He was… is… a loyal freelance hacker that we had contracted with numerous times after the Cataclysm, mostly for data dives and net running. Several years ago, he was felled by an assassin’s bullet. I discovered him catatonic yet still alive. His will to live was extraordinary. I helped sequester him in an old missile silo that he owned below the wasteland. We’ve exchanged favors ever since, culminating with him saving my life during the assassination attempt at the mall. I don’t understand completely, but he somehow managed to upload his digitized consciousness into cyberspace, where he continues to exist.”

  “Fascinating. If his skills match his reputation, that will be another benefit to our cause.” Seijin paused to snap his fingers, and a servant appeared with a fresh pot of tea and a plate of sweet cakes, rice crackers, and mandarin orange slices. He nibbled on a cake until the servant departed.

  “Our allies, the wasteland rebels, have become quite capable,” Seijin continued, “and Royce assures me they have even managed to slip a team inside the New USA’s borders to cause mischief there while his forces pester the borderland outposts. Thorne Industries is ripe for a takedown, I feel.”

  “What about Ayane?” Rin popped a slice of orange into her mouth. Months before, she had relayed the information regarding Ayane that she had received from Marcus—that her niece had been imprisoned once again. Ayane was a pawn being used to prevent any direct military action by Shiru.

  “It tears at my heart to think we may never recover my daughter,” Seijin said grimly. “I’d like some options put together for an attempted rescue, but in the end, we have to be well aware of the likelihood any mission might fail. In that event, we will take vengeance by crushing Thorne Industries.”

  And what if we succeed in toppling Thorne? Will people prefer the devil they know or the devil they don’t know? She was skeptical that they would much prefer Shiru calling the shots.

  “I would be honored to act as your sword and lead the campaign against Thorne,” she replied. “It is time we take the fight to our enemy.”

  Seijin smiled, and Rin wondered if this campaign would be the death of her. That thought didn’t necessarily sound all bad.

  This long, hard road must come to an end eventually. If I can redeem my past failures by protecting the powerless and bestowing great honor on my clan, then that would be a death I could be proud of.

  Chapter 8

  “Hold it right there! Get your ass on the ground—now!” Two burly bodyguards approached cautiously, sidearms drawn. They were probably already attempting to call in the encounter, but the ultrawideband signal jammer deployed by the rebels would prevent that.

  Mason raised his hands and slowly knelt on the pavement, feeling naked without any weapons. At first, he had doubted the intel saying the target would be spending time in a seedy motel in the District Sprawl like the one across the street. Seeing an executive limo with two Thorne Industries bodyguards parked out front quickly changed his mind.

  The rebels’ trip from Boise across the wasteland and through the porous border of the New USA had proven largely uneventful. Junior had used his skills to acquire a legit transponder signature for the old panel van, so any remote scans by New USA border crossing points, drones, or automated toll roads hadn’t come up hot.

  Getting the encryption key for the Thorne Industries geotracking system from the late ambassador Berenger in Skin City had proven to be a boon. The alliance with the Yakuza was starting to bear fruit as well: their mysterious ghost hacker had been able to use the encryption key to hack into TI’s monitoring system to track their skins’ positions in real time. Mason’s mission had suddenly become a hell of a lot easier, and settling an old score by taking down the son of a bitch inside the motel was something he had been looking forward to for a long time.

  “What’s the problem, fellas? Can’t a man just go out for a walk if he feels like it?” Mason tracked his crew on his HUD and saw they were in position on the roof across the street. Good thing CorpSec wants me so bad, or else they’d just shoot me on the spot.

  “Shut up. Kiss the pavement, asshole,” the closer bodyguard barked.

  “I’m not getting anything. The damn net’s down, looks like.” The other skin looked puzzled but kept his laser pistol trained on Mason.

  “That’s all right. We’ll secure this piece of shit and give the boss a nice surprise when he comes out. Cover me.” The bodyguard holstered his sidearm and moved to secure Mason.

  A slight whistling sound reached Mason’s ears. The two bodyguards reacted instantly, weapons up and scanning for a target, but it was too late. Two small graphene pods found their targets, hitting both skins in their chests and exploding into nets of filaments that quickly wrapped them up. The closer man seemed to be on the verge of slipping out of the immobilizer, but Mason threw a right hook that caught the guard in the face.

  He staggered back, and the net cinched tight around him. “You terrorist piece of shit! I know who you are, Mason—you won’t get away with this.”

  “Watch me.” A kick to the head silenced the skin momentarily. Mason knelt and disarmed both bodyguards.

  “That went pretty well.” Keeva hopped down from the fire escape across the street from the motel, followed by five of her rebels as they clambered down from their position atop the building. She jogged over to Mason and their captives.

  “Just like I said it would. These pricks want me so bad they’re afraid to shoot on sight. Makes our job a lot easier.”

  “You’re lucky they don’t shoot to maim.” Keeva examined the two prisoners, unfazed by their angry glares. “So what do we do with these two? Waste ’em?”

  “Not yet. Let’s toss them in the limo for now. Keep the jammer active in case the target tries to reach them.” Mason handed the laser pistols to two of the fighters. The wasteland rebels could use all the arms they could get, especially now that they were deep inside enemy territory.

  “Think there are more guards inside?” Keeva handed Mason his .357 Magnum. While he strapped the shoulder rig on, she watched eagerly, resting her hands on the butts of the twin 10mm pistols on her hips.

  “Doubtful. You and Ciera can cover inside if you want. Just need to keep a lookout in case of trouble—someone to holler at us if we need to split since we’ve got comms jammed.” Mason and Keeva stopped outside the hotel entrance while the remaining men dragged the trussed-up skins over to the limo and wrestled them inside. Mason wasn’t too worried about walking in the front door and being seen. Junior would have the internal cameras disabled, but even if he hadn’t, the thought of CorpSec knowing who took down one of their execs appealed to him.

  “So this is it, huh? How’s it feel being this close after all this time?” Keeva studied Mason’s blank chrome eyes for some hint of what he was thinking. “Maybe you can even get your life back someday.” She clapped her hand on his back in sympathy.

  “It’s too late for that—there can be no going back for me,” he said grimly. “It feels like it’s just another step closer, that’s all. We need to keep our eyes on the prize.” He double checked that the small chip was still in his pocket—he would need it shortly. It contained a very advanced piece of malware he had paid a small fortune for months before in Skin City.

  Ciera ambled over with a sniper rifle slung across her chest, waiting for instructions. She handed Mason a tactical shotgun. “How
do you want to play this, Keeva?”

  “Cover the lobby. We’ll take the stairwell, and I’ll position myself in the hallway at the top of the stairs. Since comms are jammed, if any trouble pops up, yell. That sound good to you?” Keeva asked Mason.

  He nodded. “Just stay alert. I’m going in.” He tried not to let the anticipation of the moment make him sloppy. He had left his gatling laser behind in the truck a couple blocks away so he would be more maneuverable. The tactical shotgun and his .357 Magnum were the only arms he carried. Should be plenty… I don’t plan on getting in any major shoot-outs. If we do, we’re screwed.

  Mason shouldered the door open, striding up to a ballistic-glass-enclosed kiosk, where a slovenly clerk looked up, disinterested. He was a fat, sweaty, unshaven man with thinning hair. His beady eyes widened as he took in the armed rebels. Mason tossed a few credits through the payment slot. “What room is that suit with the limo in?”

  “12-C,” the clerk replied instantly. The credits disappeared into a pudgy hand.

  “You never saw us,” Mason growled.

  The clerk nodded silently, evidently not too surprised at the turn of events, considering the rough part of the Sprawl the motel was located in. He eyeballed Keeva lecherously as she followed Mason into the stairwell. Ciera gave the clerk a dirty look and took up position near the front window.

  Mason and Keeva exited the stairwell to the third-floor hallway and found it empty. Brown walls and a snot-green carpet greeted them. Flickering fluorescent lights provided dim, uneven illumination. The carpet made a squishing sound under their feet, saturated from what Mason hoped was just a water leak. Music boomed from somewhere behind the flimsy walls. The expected sounds of fucking and domestic violence violated their ears.

  “Lovely place,” Keeva remarked. “Why’s this guy in a shithole like this if he’s such a big shot?”

  “Good question. Maybe he gets off on the sleaze.” Mason held up a hand and pointed to a room two doors down on the right. “Hold back here. I’ve got this.”

  He eased up to the door and listened. At first, he didn’t hear anything, but then he heard a smacking sound followed by a grunt.

  “Yes, just like that,” a man’s voice said.

  Mason stepped back and delivered a powerful kick to the door. The doorframe splintered as the door exploded inward, slamming hard and dislodging chunks from the plastered wall inside. He was through the breach before it rebounded off the wall, shotgun sweeping the dingy room.

  An obese woman wearing a latex dominatrix outfit that appeared to be composed solely of a complex set of interconnecting straps stood on the bed, whip in hand. Rolls of fat spilled out between the latex straps. Her violet-painted lips formed an O of surprise.

  A fit man was handcuffed to the bed, naked. His skin was covered with welts from the dominatrix’s whip, and he was physically aroused. A repeater taser was strapped to his thigh. His blandly handsome face was twisted in outrage at Mason’s intrusion.

  “Well, this is awkward!” Mason bellowed with a grin he couldn’t restrain. “If it isn’t my old friend Paul Serrano. Holy shit, man, we sure run into each other in the damnedest places, eh?” He made sure his optics were recording the encounter. A still shot of this will make a nice surprise when injected into the TI e-mail server.

  Serrano just stared, mouth agape, his eyes darting between Mason and the dominatrix. “What… the fuck is this?” Serrano finally stammered.

  “You.” Mason gestured to the dominatrix with the shotgun. “You’ve got five seconds to get the fuck out of here. You alert the District PD or CorpSec, you’re dead.”

  The woman snapped out of her daze. With agility belying her bulk, she hopped off the bed, grabbed some credits off the dresser, stuffed them into a purse, and ran out of the room. The floor shook as her substantial mass came down on the stiletto heels.

  “I’d never take a corporate bootlicker like you to be into that kinky shit,” Mason remarked with a raised eyebrow. He looked around the shabby room with its outdated furniture, peeling wallpaper, and stained carpet. “I would’ve thought on your paycheck, you could afford somewhere a little more upscale.”

  Serrano just glared at him silently.

  “Nothing to say for yourself, Serrano? You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

  At that moment, the taser sent another shock into Serrano’s thigh. Repeater tasers were one way skins could wear down the nanites in their bodies if they were so inclined, especially if they enjoyed weird shit like S&M.

  “James Mason. Been a long time.” Serrano seemed to be finally gathering his wits about him. “Why don’t you let me get up and dressed, and we can discuss this cordially.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid there’s going to be nothing cordial about this conversation. You’re going to give me some information, and then you will die. And you won’t be coming back. Chew on that for a moment.”

  Serrano chose that moment to make his move. The headboard splintered and broke easily from the skin’s enhanced strength as he ripped his cuffed hands free. He leaped at Mason, lips peeled back from his teeth as he roared in rage.

  Having anticipated the move, Mason stepped forward and cracked him in the face with the butt of the shotgun. Serrano’s head rocked back, and Mason slugged him in the solar plexus. The skin fell back on the bed, breath knocked out of him. His nose was crooked and bleeding. Mason aimed the butt of the shotgun and, with rapid strikes, shattered both of Serrano’s kneecaps. The man shrieked in pain and curled up on the bed in the fetal position.

  “You sick fuck… What do you want from me?” Hatred gleamed in his eyes.

  “Remember that day you made me give the order to murder those innocent workers? Well, this is payback for that and everything that came after, especially the murder of my family.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. You were a low-level nobody—I told them you didn’t matter, but they decided differently.” Pain and fear were replacing the hatred on his face.

  “Who did? Who’s ‘they’?”

  Serrano glared at him but didn’t respond.

  Mason put the barrel of the shotgun against Serrano’s foot. He took up the slack in the trigger.

  “Whoa—no need for that, man. Thorne made the decision—he and Salinger. They sent Bethany to execute you. That was the plan, anyway. It wasn’t until she failed to kill you that they decided to set a trap for you and take out your family. After Bethany was reskinned, she put the team together and had the house under surveillance. When your family returned, it was assumed you were going to meet them, but you never turned up. They’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  “You found me now.” Mason pulled the shotgun away. He leaned against the sagging dresser and regarded Serrano.

  “That’s right. Don’t think for a minute you’re gonna get away with this, either. You know that, don’t you?”

  “They’ll catch up with me eventually, but for now I’m just taking it one day at a time, the same as I have the past twenty years. This house of cards Thorne built is all about to come tumbling down fairly soon. And I’m looking forward to being the one to knock down the corner card.” Mason’s smile was devoid of any humor. “Now, I need some specific information, and you’re going to give it to me.” Is that fear I see in your eyes? Not such a cocky asshole now, are you?

  Just as Mason was about to start his questioning, the taser zapped Serrano again.

  Chapter 9

  Marcus’s first stop as he entered the Section 7 building was to grab a double espresso. He was going to need it. He had strongly considered staying home sick, but Bethany had left him an urgent message about a confidential matter she needed him to look into. This promotion has become a giant pain in my ass. A headache throbbed just behind his temples.

  He shotgunned the first cup and had just hit the button to refill it when he noticed Brent loitering in the break-room doorway. His friend had a mischievous grin on his face.

  “What’s up, Brent?” Marcus grabbed
his cup and joined his friend. Brent had been depressed ever since the murder of his girlfriend, so it was nice to see him in good humor.

  The ass-chewing Marcus had received from Alicia Salinger a few weeks back over the MHS-01 project was a distant memory. Once the administration had reviewed the video footage, Salinger had grudgingly agreed with Bethany’s opinion that Marcus had been acting within his parameters. His actions were still allegedly under “official review,” but he suspected that since nothing had happened yet, the matter would likely be dismissed.

  “Boss, have you logged into your system yet?”

  “No, I’m just on my way in. Why, what’s going on?”

  “You just gotta see this. Words wouldn’t do it justice, man.” Brent laughed to himself and shook his head. “I’ll stop by later on—got some work to catch up on.”

  Marcus made his way down the corridor to his office. Muffled laughter rang out from one of the labs as he walked by. What the hell is going on?

  He swiped his hand across the scanner, and his office door swung open and the lights illuminated. The holoscreen turned on when he sat down at his desk.

  A priority message popped up as soon as his system was running. “Your Management Team Hard at Work,” the subject read. Marcus opened it, and a large, high-resolution photo greeted him. It appeared to depict Paul Serrano, the Chief of Executive Protection, in a very compromising situation with a dominatrix.

  “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” Marcus chuckled aloud. Serrano wasn’t the most popular member of the senior-management circle. Marcus had even heard rumors that Serrano was responsible for his father’s fall from grace inside the company. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but he thought the chief was a condescending prick. “This has got to be fake. It’s pretty convincing, but someone’s gonna get shit-canned when InfoSec finds out who did this.”