An Eighty Percent Solution

Adjust Plan



Over the next hour, at a cost of hundreds of thousands of civilians, a single pony nuke or cyphod chemical bomb could’ve destroyed up to ninety-five percent of the GAM membership. They lounged inconspicuously in doorways, drank coffee in terrace bistros, drove lift-trucks in racetracks around city blocks, and even patrolled the street level. Not one felt comfortable in their role as lookout. Every one of them nursed second thoughts and fears about this mission. Each one put every other thought and effort into watching for the precursors of a trap. Reports from them all came into Augustine’s neural net, every one of them comfortably negative.

“All clear, Tony. Make the call.”

Pushing one single button engaged the complex network of blind percomm connections and duplicitous network jockeying. In an age of crystal clear audio connections, this one scratched and crackled with odd noises.

“It’s your nickel,” Tony said. While the elaborate system synthesized his voice, no one had any illusion that it couldn’t be broken. They all agreed Tony should act as the GAM voice in this meeting. Only Tony and Augustine sat in presence even with all the precautions they had taken.

“What the hell’s a nickel?” wondered the voice on the other end of the line.

“A historical unit of currency. Ancient slang for ‘you initiated the call, so get on with it.’” Tony looked at Augustine, who shook her head. No tracing attempts hit the line or any intermediate connection.

“True. Thank you for your contact. I know the risk you are taking. My people have assured me that you are not tracing the line and I’m sure you have done the same.”

“So we have the minimum amount of trust. Trace or no, we won’t stay on line long. Spill it.”

“Very well. I propose that you call off your attacks on Nanogate and its affiliates.”

“Getting that close to shutting your doors?” Tony immediately regretted the jibe. It might limit his opponent’s candor.

“Frankly, yes. Call me a survivor if you wish, but I’d like to go on surviving.” Everyone listening, in person and remotely, took a brief pause at the admission.

“Well, we aren’t going to just stop. Nanogate is a legitimate target in our eyes. What are you offering in return?”

“A new target.”

“We’ve got hundreds of juicy targets.”

“Not with inside information, you don’t, no matter how good a wire jock you have.”

“What specifically are you offering?”

“I will provide you detailed information that will allow you to take this attack to one of the other major conglomerates. This information will include areas of sensitivity, detailed intelligence, and aid in obtaining even more information to make your attacks safer and more pointed.”

Tony’s mouth gaped. “How do we know you aren’t setting us up?” he counterpunched weakly.

“You don’t. What assurances will you give me that you won’t attack both firms under my care and these others?”

“You have a valid point. If we agree, what’s the next step you propose?”

“I propose three future meetings that will provide you with the information I’ve promised. Each time I will provide more sensitive information, assuming I see the aggression against my companies cease.”

“Agreed,” Tony said, not even looking to his compatriots.

“We need a secure method of communication for these three meetings.”

Without prompting, Augustine scribbled a notation on a piece of paper and handed it to Tony, who read and processed the information swiftly. “We’ll each send the other a two-gig encryption key for each meeting. By using both keys in alternation, we can limit the attack to brute force only. The keys are to be hand generated. No computer—not even an isolated system—is to be involved. Send your three keys to General Delivery in Tucson, Arizona, in care of Jefferson Thomas.”

“Agreed. You send your key to William Wenner, 1456 South Oscar Road, Beach City, Oregon.”

“Our next call will be exactly four days from now at this same time. We will refrain from any attacks during that period.”

“Thank you.”

“I won’t say ‘You’re welcome.’”

“I wouldn’t expect it.”



* * *



Not for the first time, Mr. Marks dressed in something other than his yellow tights. This time he wore professional overalls bearing the logo of Volt Electrical. Marks hummed off key as the Taste Dynamics security guard examined the work order Marks had fabricated just ten minutes before.

“Everything looks in place. Do you need an escort?”

“Only if you want to give me one. I’ve been here often enough they gave me my own key,” he lied easily. “Seems your plumbing contractor screwed up the power lines again.”

“OK. Report back here before you leave.”

“No problem. Short job. I’ll be out in an hour.”

Mr. Marks walked along his memorized route to a janitorial door. Using the electronic key he had brandished earlier, the door opened to his touch. He calmly opened his bag and placed a thirty thousand gauss electromagnetic lock on the door to ensure his privacy. He extracted from his kit a fifty-centimeter, black-plastic stick. Flipping it open, once in each direction, he tripled its length. Expertly, he pulled it open, one section at a time. Each length popped up a perpendicular stick twenty centimeters long, each one on opposite sides of the pole from the previous. Once done, he leaned it against the wall, making a very serviceable ladder. Removing a laser saw from his pouch, he climbed up and began cutting a hole in the wall very near the ceiling.

Seven minutes later he took a visual network tester and played it over the grouping of cables he had just exposed. It took thirty-three minutes to identify the right cables. Selecting that one pair, he released them from the bundle, routed them out to a separate and exposed plastic trough, and then returned the remainder to their original resting place. With stolen Taste Dynamics sealing tape, he marked the hole he’d cut and the plastic trough, making it seem part of an official change and approved by security.

After sixteen minutes of miscellaneous cleanup and removal of the protective magnet, he dropped the last of his tools in his bag. Eight minutes later he walked out the gate with a wave to the guard, duty for another day accomplished.



* * *



“I therefore call this meeting to a close. Thank you all.” Sonya nodded as they stood to depart. “Tony, would you mind following me back home?”

Tony’s mind went immediately into overdrive. He’d never been asked to Sonya’s home. To the best of his knowledge, no one had. She’d been kind, but never really friendly, nor did she ever seem sexually attracted. Anything she said to him normally would be said in front of the entire council. Why the change? At least eleven people looked at him with that same question in their eyes.

“Sure,” his voice betraying just a tiny bit of confusion. When Sonya turned, Tony shrugged at the assemblage.

He followed her out to the slum of street level. She glided along the streets illuminated by the occasionally functioning streetlamp. Without moving in anything but a straight line, she seemed to dance amongst the fog and early evening darkness like a ghost, totally at one with the environs. Fearlessly, she walked past street level gangs and bands of whelps who routinely dismembered their victims for their two-credit implants. Less than a few weeks ago, terror would’ve overcome Tony at even the thought of escorting a young woman on a Portland street, other than those specifically patrolled and kept relatively safe for the nightclubs. Instead, he strode comfortably at Sonya’s side.

While Tony tried to determine, unsuccessfully, if they were unnoticed or respected enough to be left alone, Sonya suddenly leapt high enough to chin her way up a rusted fire escape ladder four meters above the ground. It creaked ominously as she scrambled up arm over arm. Tony eyed the lowest rung. Sonya’s panther-like jump outstripped his capabilities. Without undue stress he climbed up on a nearby blue dumpster, freckled with the ever-present corrosion of the Pacific Northwest, and with only a tiny jump managed the ladder. He unconsciously wiped the rust from his hand on his pants before entering through the window of her fifth floor apartment.

For their enterprise, fifth floor approached perfection—too low for anything but street scum, but high enough to keep out all but the most ambitious of the Nils and breakers. Tony wrinkled his nose at a pervasive musty smell. The single piece of furniture, an ancient leather sofa, held at least seven cats and four dogs. The heavily stained carpet held at least twice that number. Two of the cats came up to strop his legs. One of the small dogs chose that time to bark, but only a single yip broke his throat. Several of them came over to beg attention from Sonya, who managed to pet each of them and croon something Tony couldn’t hear.

Despite the menagerie, Tony worried on that one-word question like a bit of steak caught between his molars. Why?

Instead of asking, he made idle conversation. “Nice security. Would they lick the invader to death?”

“Despite all appearances, they’d protect this home fiercely. That you’re with me, and that you’re an empathic person, makes all the difference.”

“Empathic? Me?”

“Yes, even if you don’t understand why you feel uneasy around some people and warm in the glow of others. Yes. Now come this way.” She invited him into a kitchen strewn about with equipment of various missions, past and present. Oddly, the animals stopped at the doorway as if barred by an invisible door. They didn’t invade the kitchen like they’d taken over the living room.

“I didn’t bring you here for that discussion, however.” She shoved out a padded chair with its stuffing peeking through the cracked vinyl for Tony. As he sat, she pushed away the parts on the table, many of which crashed to the floor, and assumed her customary lotus on the surface.

“You have to be overflowing with curiosity. Let me just begin by saying that I’ve not brought you here on a whim. You’ve become more than just another member of my organization, but really my right hand in planning and intentions. With fourteen extremely successful personal missions under your belt and the planning of many, many more, you’ve earned not only my trust but that of the entirety of the GAM. You know nearly everything I know about our organization. I need to bounce a couple of items off of you. Items that have me concerned.”

Tony had learned the hard way that concern from the stoical Sonya usually meant a cosmic disaster. To have several such concerns meant nothing less than the end of the world. “Why not bring them up in council?”

“I didn’t feel comfortable discussing such things publicly. Morale is a fragile thing. It’s been so long since we’ve had any, I want to keep it going and not risk fracturing it.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Perhaps. Let me start with the most obvious. Did you notice that we had three members missing tonight?”

“Yes. I sent Linc home yesterday. Must have the flu.”

“Hmm. I don’t believe it’s any form of influenza. He’s running four degrees of fever. The other two are worse, with all the signs of dysentery.”

“How did they get that? In this modern era? We don’t have contaminated water. Even most of the barrios have good water here in Portland.”

“They don’t have dysentery. They have the symptoms. Each of the other two has been running at both ends for three days.”

“OK, so we have a bug running around. Even those with full medical don’t have a cure for the common cold.”

“I agree, but I have a strong reason to believe that this isn’t any common bug. You see, I have it as well.”

“What?”

“Yes. I’ve had it for two days. You needn’t worry. I’ve isolated my body with...well, you’d probably call it a spell.”

“I hate to sidetrack you, but that’s a question I’ve had hovering. I’ve seen you do some very slick things.”

Sonya didn’t hesitate. She must’ve anticipated the question. “My mother was a witch and her mother before her. For all I know, probably her mother before that. Just let it be said that I have certain abilities that are mostly personal or informational in nature.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“I could teach it, but the training usually starts in infancy. Just say that I’ve usually got an ace up my sleeve in many situations that most won’t understand nor comprehend.”

“OK, but that still doesn’t explain…”

“My illness started as nothing but muscle aches, but I knew there was nothing normal about it. I’ve not been ill since a bout of measles at seven years old. This made me obviously suspicious. I’ve tested my blood and it’s positive for an unknown biological agent. It could be a naturally occurring mutation, but its targets seem a bit localized.”

“I don’t think we should assume anything yet. We should give it a bit of time. We’re a small and closely knit group, after all.”

“Well, I’m going to institute some quarantine procedures. All those that are ill will not be allowed to further mingle with the rest of our team.”

“Seems logical no matter the cause. I don’t mean to sound belittling, but this sounds like an overreaction.”

“So be it. I find it all too convenient, but we shall see.”



* * *



For their regular quarterly meeting, the cabal met in person in the heart of a private space station orbiting the Moon. That they alone occupied the station or had ever been on the station since its construction didn’t seem to faze these ten wealthy individuals.

Living and sleeping in zero-gee, and the solitude no one ever got on Earth, rested one in a way no other relaxation could. Each had used it as a private retreat when the pressures of running a conglomerate climbed too high to withstand.

The tiny conference room would’ve seemed cramped in any gravity, but in zero-gee the group lay out flat nearly head-to-head in a formation that resembled the points of a three-dimensional compass. Each kept notes on an electronic stylus tethered to podiums that stretched out from the wall. Tokyo Industrials and CNI, both uncomfortable floating free, strapped themselves to the same solid structures.

“That brings us to the actions against the GAM,” directed Wintel, the chairman for this quarter.

“Actions here have taken a radical change,” said Taste Dynamics, who gently drifted away to the right from her notes.

“Agreed,” Nanogate said. “The actions against Nanogate have ceased, but the damage has been done. We are a ghost of our former strength. Our simulations show eight to ten years to reestablish ourselves even without any further attacks.”

“That’s within the overall window of damage we predicted,” claimed ECM.

Nanogate kept his face perfectly calm.

“Actually, the change I wanted to report is that we are now the ones under attack,” Taste Dynamics explained. “As has been the norm of late, no one has claimed responsibility. Additionally, the attacks have been very severe and quite uncanny in their targeting.”

“Please elaborate.”

“We’ve lost seven shipments of a rare chemical required in the production of nanites, and even more importantly the new NAD, Neural Amplification and Disruption, weaponry. We’ve beefed up our security on these shipments, and miraculously no one made attempts on the last four we sent. This puts our finished goods deliveries to our customers behind by at least a full quarter, even if we reduce our own uses to zero. The cost in penalties alone is ruinous.”

“Our original assessment of this was industrial sabotage, until someone succeeded in eradicating the formula for Pepsi. This formula is one of the most closely guarded secrets in my entire sphere of influence. Only three people, and one totally isolated and hidden computer system, knew the formula. All three of these people were killed within minutes of a large detonation which destroyed the computer system—a system whose location only three different people knew.

“I don’t need to inform you of the magnitude of this loss. To hide this, we’ve started a spin on all the nets to get people ready for the new and improved Pepsi. However, every netwired pundit has plastered the real story over every black channel available. Sixty-three percent of the viewers believe the truth, not our spin coverage.”

“Anything more?”

“Dozens of attacks on key industrial facilities. All of this has happened within the last week. Our stock, as I’m sure all of you have noticed, has plummeted to a mere thirty-four percent of its former value. My people are telling me that the word on the street is that the GAM has made Taste Dynamics its prime target. And as in the past, massive puts distributed across many over-the-counter operations again gave the perpetrators a massive infusion of cash.”

“Why the change?” Nanogate asked with a straight face. High stakes poker players could take tips from him. “They could’ve finished us off completely with just a bit more concentrated effort.”

“Lack of prime targets?” asked CNI. “A group like this feeds on morale and success. They don’t have the will to follow through with their actions to completion. I venture they realized all they could pick on with Nanogate was crumbs and decided to go after more juicy morsels elsewhere.”

“A plausible explanation,” Taste Dynamics reluctantly agreed. “I remain concerned that the damage to our fiscal structure seems a little too precise and convenient. Could there be inside information?”

“That’s definitely something you should investigate,” said Bell.

“Wait a moment,” Percomm Systems interjected. “Are you suggesting that someone in this room had anything to do with this?”

“I made no such implication,” Taste Dynamics said with the blandest expression as she floated just a bit away from her designated place. Her body made gentle and unconscious movements to recover her podium and her notes, but her face didn’t waver.

“That’s good. Without cooperation, we would not be able to function nearly as effectively.”

“Agreed.”

“Yes.”

“I suggest in the interest of continuing our support of those affected by the GAM that we extend our open loan policy to Taste Dynamics,” offered Nanogate in a fine hypocritical glow.

Taste Dynamics glared but said nothing.

“Passed by acclamation.”



* * *



“Grab her left arm…I mean, tentacle…I mean, just grab it!”

With a howl spawned from the deepest hell, Suet flailed again, throwing Tolly’s huge frame across the bedroom with predictable results in the centuries old home built with old-fashioned sheetrock.

With the devastation left by a hurricane, the room bore holes randomly spaced about the walls, along with shattered lamps, torn bedding, and shredded bits of indistinguishable electronics littered about. One sliding closet door hung from a single point at right angles to its tracks, and the other had been broken roughly horizontally in half. The bed on which Suet lay only retained its two right legs, canting it to the left. The loose jade tentacle snapped across the top quarter of the battered but previously intact TriVid, shattering any semblance of form or functionality.

This time Tony and Andrew managed to grab and hold down Suet’s right arm without damage to any party. The welts and bruises on everyone testified that they hadn’t been so successful in containing the chaos previously.

“Augustine! Hurry up!”

“Cracking body implants isn’t the easiest job in the world!” she snapped back from the other room. “Most of this is black market kludge. If I address the wrong command register, I could crash her completely!”

“I don’t care! If you ain’t smart, Sheila, we’ll all be mush!”

“Andrew, get this arm lashed down so we can try and control the other one.”

“P’ease shu’ me off,” Suet pleaded in a voice weak and cracked by hours of screaming.

“We’re trying, sweetie,” Tony said softly. “It won’t be long.”

“Oh, shi’! Here comes another one!” The screech of Suet’s voice mimicked the intensity and agony of tearing sheet steel in a high-speed vehicle crash.

“Tolly, get up and grab that arm!”

He made it by bare microseconds. This time, her body rocked in jackhammer-like strokes on the bed. Her hips lifted nearly 30 centimeters before crashing down each time. The third oscillation took off the remaining legs of the bed with the report similar to a pair of gunshots, milliseconds apart.

Sonya, the newest arrival, bolted in from the front door. She chanted something as she ran full speed to the side of the bed. From one hand she cast a handful of dust at Suet’s vibrating form. All motion stopped instantly.

“Augustine, that won’t last long,” Sonya announced as the others allowed themselves a brief moment to relax. “Get her implants shut down now!”

“Two minutes,” came the slightly muffled reply.

“This is no cold,” Sonya spat at Tony in the rarest display of temper.

Tony looked at her, stunned, unable to think of anything to say in response.

“What happened?” Sonya asked, forcibly calming herself down.

Tolly took up the description after two deep breaths and a brief examination of a dinner-plate-sized abrasion on his abdomen. “I got a ring from Suet’s flat-mate, Sandy. Suet asked her to ring me up because she was having troubles controlling voluntary servos. I’ve meched for Suet in the past. I didn’t think anything of it until I came in and found Sandy lying on the floor with her neck broken. Then I put out the all- points alarm per doctrine. You know most of the rest.”

“You were right about the illnesses, Sonya,” admitted Tony. “What’s our next step?”

“Closest to this I’ve heard of is epilepsy, but gengineering cleared that up fifty years or more ago. When Augustine’s done, I’ll have her search the medical databases.”

“What about the others?”

“Nothing like this. Jonah’s symptoms seem to be that of radiation poisoning. Frances looks more like malaria. Andrew, Colin, and Arthur have each complained of fevers, but have no further symptoms. The only core members that I know of that don’t seem to be affected are you, Augustine, and Christine.”

“What about you?” Tony asked.

Sonya’s composure momentarily slid. Deep lines showed out from under her eyes while the frown of her face intensified. A yellow pallor became visible under the olive skin. These images flashed for but a moment, and once again fell victim to her iron control. Her brows knitted tighter together in concentration.

“Mine seems to be focusing on my liver, similar to severe sclerosis. I’ll be honest…I’m holding myself together with spells and little else at the moment.”

“I think you made mention of a deeper probe into this. How can I help?” Tony asked.

“I brought my blood-drawing kit.”

“I’ve always hated needles,” Tony said with a shudder.



* * *



“Encryption enabled. Connection established,” said the sultry computer-automated device. Tony often wondered if they chose those voices to make certain men, at least, would pay attention. This time he, Augustine, and about eighty kilos of computer equipment crammed themselves into a two-and-a-half-meter square women’s bathroom in Benito’s Fine Dining. Andrea, duplicitously garbed in bodyguard yellow, watched the door. Based on the two previous meetings, they didn’t expect any danger, but they could take no chances.

“As we agreed, this will be my final call,” Nanogate said without preamble. He didn’t have to like what survival dictated.

“As agreed,” Tony said as he watched Augustine’s face for any sign of a trace, but it remained passive. While the last call, it also was the most dangerous in other ways—very little held the other from reneging on any promise.

“I hope by now I’ve given you enough evidence that I can be trusted.”

“You’ve been very forthcoming thus far.”

“As have you. My final intelligence is how to obtain a direct tap into the Taste Dynamics net.”

Augustine’s head jerked up.

“We have a tap into their network,” remarked Tony casually.

“Not beyond their executive firewall you don’t.”

The lust in Augustine’s eyes struck Tony harder than anything she could’ve said. “OK. You have our attention.”

Nanogate allowed himself a tiny chuckle. “I thought I might. As before, I won’t admit to any technical knowledge I don’t have. I’ve been assured by a very good source that there is an old fiber optic link inside Taste Dynamics that passes through a low security janitorial closet because of a remodel this last week. You will find the schematics and pictures on the data carrier.”

Augustine nodded.

“Apparently,” continued Nanogate, “some contractor didn’t know what it was and decided that for his ease of work, sliding it over a meter would be acceptable. I don’t know how long it’ll remain in place, but I expect until the inspection at the end of construction approximately one week from today.”

“That’s very impressive and seems complete. Anything more to share?”

“Just a question.”

“Go on.”

“How long will you leave Nanogate alone after this?”

Tony paused. It wasn’t a question he’d considered. He could lie. He could make something up. It wasn’t anything they as a team had remotely discussed.

“Assuming the information you gave us pays off, we won’t directly attack any physical asset of your conglomerate for three full years.”

“Acceptable. This finalizes our agreement, Mr. Sammis.”

Before Tony could respond the line went dead. Augustine once again went wide-eyed, but for a reason that Tony didn’t understand.

“Three years?!” burst Linc’s voice over the alternate line. “How could you propose such a thing?! We’ve finally got them on the run and you throw it away?” Venom dripped with each word, but it broke when Linc began a series of wracking coughs that just didn’t seem to end.

“I do have to agree with Linc’s assessment, if not his vehemence,” Sonya rasped in a voice that broke twice into a hoarse whisper.

“I had to come up with something on the fly,” Tony snapped from fatigue. “Look, I don’t see any of you sitting in the hot seat.” Between missions and Suet’s bedside vigil, his sleep in the last week totaled less than five hours, and that only because Sonya slipped a needle full of Doz into his ass.

“No one questioned your—”

“Yes, Sonya, they did. Before I drop this call, I want you to understand two things about this.

“First, we always have the option of NOT living up to the agreement I made. I don’t like that option, but it exists. Second, if we work through the other major conglomerates, it’ll take us at least three years, even with an increase in operational tempo, to get back to Nanogate.”

“But we’d finish off Nanogate without a sweat in just a few weeks.”

“True, but we’d be hitting lower priority targets when we need high visibility right now. We need to increase our recruiting to a point where we can run multiple operations every day all across the solar system. That’s something our pitiful dozen can’t manage, not even with the second cell that seems to be coming along so well.”

He sucked in a couple of deep breaths, rubbing his eyes from fatigue. “I’m sorry, I’m so tired I can’t be diplo.”

“Go back to your flat. We can hold the fort. Aces!”

“Just one more thing,” Augustine interrupted. “How did he know Tony’s real name?”



* * *



Tony entered the ancient theatre, stepping around the worst of the mold and mildew on the floor. Nearly one hundred people milled about, not settled and confident as usual before an all-hands strategy meeting, but more like a disturbed anthill. They whispered, but with large spaces between them and their confidant. No one shook hands, or kissed on the cheek or patted on another’s back. If any doubt remained, it erased itself as he moved closer. The stinging scent of nervous perspiration mixed with other less pleasant smells.

Sonya stepped around the puddles and the one large hole on the decrepit stage, bearing dark lines in her cheeks and creases in her brow. The ripped flatie screen behind her bore graffiti on top of other graffiti from several generations of tag artists. As she called the meeting to order, the team sat not in little knots as usual but spread wide, with no fewer than two seats between each listener. Tony found himself making a point to sit right next to Augustine in the front row as a show of confidence. Unfortunately for him, the seat upholstery held a vast quantity of water from the leaking roof and the moisture wicked up through his pants. He showed his solidarity by suffering the minor discomfort and not changing seats.

“I have two topics for our agenda, and then I’ll open it up for new business,” began Sonya. “First, Suet is doing as well as can be expected. Her seizures abated last night but she’s still running an excessively high fever.

“The other three aren’t doing as well.” What few smiles Suet’s condition prompted disappeared with the speed of a candle in a glass furnace. “Because of his high fever, Linc’s kidneys shut down yesterday and he’s being forced to suffer dialysis along with other treatments. I won’t trouble you with describing Tolly and Jonah’s symptoms. Just say they’re dissimilar and life–threatening, and leave it at that.

“Additionally we have four other cases of people coming down with mysterious ailments over the last week. While we aren’t sure they’re connected in any way, we’ve drawn blood from everyone in this room. The testing we’ve done thus far is inconclusive. As I know more, I’ll let you know.” The group murmured. While she couldn’t hear their words, Sonya felt their fear even more than when she had entered. “Are there any questions?”

“Are the symptoms at all similar?” someone called out.

“No, as I said earlier. The only common thing among all of them seems to be a fever. However, this is one of our body’s standard defense mechanisms to most illnesses.”

“Anyone outside of our group getting ill?”

“There’s no evidence of any others, associated or not with our group, getting ill in larger numbers or with similar pathologies.”

“If they’re so dissimilar, is there any reason to believe these illnesses are connected?”

“The statistical probability that this number of a small group should come down with seriously debilitating disease within the same timeframe is vanishingly small. In fact, ‘small’ is giving it too much credit. That they’re dissimilar actually makes it less likely, not more likely. When all factors are added in, the correct descriptive might be infinitesimal. If I covered this flattie screen behind me with zeros, it might not be enough. Any more questions?”

Sonya paused for just a few moments before moving on. “Item two: We have an opportunity for a coup in tapping into the corps’ executive data nets. This isn’t your standard icebreaker job, but rather a physical tap. Additionally, the data we may be obtaining could possibly be falsified, leading us into more than one trap. Any questions?”

“How did we find out about it?”

“We’re keeping that tight to our vest at the moment. Let us just say our source gave us other information that allowed us to successfully complete seven other very profitable missions with zero losses.”

“Why kinds of information are we likely to get?”

Augustine fielded this one. “Any new net we tackle gives us scads of useless information and a handful of gems. We feel this net will be the inverse, with a majority of the information truly valuable. Specifically what that information is, well, we can’t tell right now.” The auditorium fell silent except for the drips from the ubiquitous leaks from the ceiling.

“Normally, this type of decision would’ve remained at the executive action committee,” explained Sonya, “but that committee is down by four members and this kind of action could decimate our action member ranks.”

“F*ck that, we’re being decimated now,” someone called out from the back.

“In all good faith,” Tony threw in, “I should let you know the executive action committee did discuss this. They recognized the risks and the potential benefits. We agreed to bring it to the membership as a whole, but we also took our own vote. Seventy-five percent felt it should be done, the lowest of any action taken by the committee in nearly its entire existence.”

“OK, if there’s no more discussion, I will call for a vote. All those in favor of continuing with this action.” A mass of hands flew up into the air, covering most occupied seats. “Those opposed?” Exactly eleven hands went into the air, less than ten percent of the assembly.

“Passed. We’ll go ahead with this mission. To do so, we need some help from you. We’re in need of some specialized equipment. As I said, this isn’t your standard icebreaker mission, nor is it a simple breaking and entering. Please avail yourself should you be called upon by the team doing the job. With that, I’ll close the meeting.”

For the next thirty minutes Sonya did the meet-and-greet thing. Tony watched from his seat as people came up to talk with her, but never too closely. Sonya slumped slightly between each new face and then stood up straight in alternation, like someone catching themselves just before falling asleep in class. Not only that, but her hair had lost its black luster, like the faded look of a billboard out during one too many rainstorms. As she disengaged from her final conversation, her right hand twitched nervously. She dropped unceremoniously into the seat next to Tony wearing a frown of concentration.

“You look exhausted.”

“More than you can imagine.”

“I’ve been doing some research on witchcraft.”

“Research? The library, right?”

“Yeah. I read that some witches can draw energy from those around them. I’d like to volunteer.”

Sonya didn’t laugh, but the corners of her mouth did manage to go up. “Well, in this case your book learning didn’t do you one whit of good. That one’s a fable.”

“It was worth a try.”

“The only way you can help me is to carry me home.”

“I will if you want. Not like you’re large enough to make more than an armful.”

“Thanks, but no. Besides, we have something else to do.”

“Oh?”

Sonya scanned the room briefly, but no one lingered. “I dissembled when I said I didn’t have any more information about the disease. I do. The blood work shows a common base virus in each of those affected. The same base virus is in the vast majority of those in the audience.”

“Shit.”

“In that you’ve mastered the understatement, Tony.”

“So what’s next? Who do you know in the influenza game?”

“Our organization is missing medical people. For whatever reason, we’ve never been able to recruit anyone significant in that field. I’m the closest. However, I personally have someone who owes me a favor. His Shih Tzu nearly died of a respiratory infection. I think it’s time to call in that marker.”

“I can’t think of a better time,” Tony said, his damp ass reminding him of another issue. ”But can we stop by my place first? I have a wardrobe problem.”



* * *



“It’s a two,” the tiny Korean said, looking at the virus projection on the wall. He flicked to yet another picture that bore similarities.

“Come again, Doc?” Tony said, sitting on the padded examination table.

“Sorry. Common name for one of the genetically engineered war viruses.”

“A war virus? I don’t think I ever heard of that.”

“Probably not. It was a failed experiment in the ABC teams back some hundred years or so ago. The bio warfare folks were trying to create a plague that wouldn’t wipe out the entire population, but rather stop after causing a bunch of damage. Best they came up with was a strain of influenza that would only be passed on by two generations of hosts, hence the name.”

“Want to give an example, Doctor?”

“Sure. Let us say we give a two to patient A, also known as patient zero. He’s the original host. Once the disease has spread to a certain point, he can pass the disease to anyone he comes into contact with—let’s call them patients B1 through B20. Note that it passes just like any influenza, mostly large droplets or touch. All the B’s are contagious when this disease progresses to a certain point. They pass it on to C1,1 through C20,20, if you can envision the matrix in your head. Note that the study I read showed a contagion rate of twenty individuals was nominal during normal activities, at least with an agent deadly enough to be effective for its original intent.

“By the time it reaches the C hosts, the virus has worn out its ability to replicate and is no longer contagious. The Cs can’t give it to anyone. Note by this time A is dead and ninety percent of Bs are dying. The Cs will have about a seventy percent mortality. It worked out to an optimax of about four hundred total victims, with an overall mortality rate of seventy-one or seventy-two percent.”

“Only four hundred people, eh?” Tony said sourly.

“Yes, sir. The risks weren’t worth it. Bio weapons then, just as today, are only a good way to get the entire deploying country removed from the gene pool. They tried to work it up to a three transfers or higher, but it never scaled. Anyway, they passed it on to the black ops folks. Never heard of it being used.”

“You do now.”

“Really?”

“Those are all blood samples from people I know,” Sonya said quietly. Her eyes barely changed when she heard her own death sentence.

“Are you…” The doctor looked up to hear the continuous—and, in this case, reassuring—whisper of a decontamination particle flow coming down from the ceiling.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Sonya. It’d take months to work out something akin to a vaccination. Note I said vaccination, not a cure, and any vaccine has about a two percent disease rate. It would just restart a disease that’ll die out after two generations on its own.”

“I know. Still, can you explain why it would manifest differently in each host?”

“Maybe because of the catalyst. Ah, your look reminds me I forgot to share that bit. This disease requires a trigger to start its actions. No catalyst, no disease. It’ll lie dormant for years waiting. Some catalysts can be gengineered to be as common as oxygen, but others can be quite complex, such as the specific ethanol combination that makes up Bailey’s whiskey, but not Jack Daniels. Others may be just any alcohol. If the catalyst possessed the latter’s broadness, each set of symptoms would depend on the type of trigger.”

“Doc, I have just two more minor requests and then I’ll consider our debt wiped.”

“Ask away.”

“I need to know which of these samples shows patient zero and what catalyst this particular strain would trigger on.”

“Give me two days.”



* * *



Tony sweated despite the November chill. He huddled further under the active-camouflage cloak. His right hand flexed spasmodically around a machine pistol, chosen because its larger slugs were more effective against any of the possible armored targets today than those of a flechette gun. Two pairs of footsteps closed on his position and approached within a meter of his position before veering off along the fence line.

The GAM members knew they all remained undetected by the simple fact that no cries of alarm pierced the chill night air, nor were any weapons discharged. When Tony could no longer hear the footfalls, he risked lifting his poncho just enough to see the guards at over 100 hundred meters and moving away. The aerial purr from a hover drone caused Tony to freeze in place. Drone visuals focused like some primitive predator, mostly on motion. While he couldn’t see it, he could hear it pause and hover in place.

“Just move on,” Tony thought. “Nothing here but a patch of grass.”

The drone’s sounds finally receded. Tony risked another quick look to see it floating back the other direction, ignoring the patch of grass that his cloak imitated. Three clicks on his mic sounded the all-clear.

Martin and Andrea both came up from their nearly invisible positions. Despite the advances in electronic surveillance and visual aids, night remained a playground for the professional thief and saboteur. Tony’s team wore black garb under their active camo, either of which offered little for the natural or electronic eye to focus on outside the brightness of day.

Without talking, the three walked slowly but cautiously over to the nearby building and began climbing up the patterned stone face. Mechanical tools, designed specifically for this mission, gripped the patterns themselves, allowing the trio to scale the building confidently, if slowly. They opened and slid through an unlocked, nondescript fourth floor window. Despite always being lit, bathrooms seemed to offer themselves as perfect points of entry with no surveillance, and often less than zero physical security. The GAM actively sought them out as entrances and exits.

Tony pointed at the stall second from the end. There they set up a dummy on the toilet and stored several sets of emergency equipment. Andrea wired an explosive to the stall door so that if it were forced open, the smoldering ruin would announce a compromised escape route. Martin changed clothes while Tony stood guard.

Martin, now wearing a business suit and a badly faked employee badge, walked brazenly out of the bathroom, just like a corpie who belonged. Tony and Andrea waited until the three clicks over their comms told them the camera outside pointed away. Almost as one they sprinted across the hall into its blind spot. The camera blithely spun from one side to the other, allowing the pair to sprint down the hall to an unmarked door just twenty meters from the bathroom. All this took place as Martin continued to walk up and around the next corner.

Andrea gave three clicks on her mic as she opened the simple lock in less than four-tenths of a second. After they raced in, Tony mostly closed the door, watching the camera through the crack in the door. The mindless Cyclops tracked back toward them and then away again. Tony clicked thrice and Martin sprinted around the corner and through the door.

The janitorial closet, like most of its ilk, measured three meters deep and two across. A drain sink hunkered down in the far corner sporting a faucet that leaked just one drop every few seconds. An automated floor polishing bot silently occupied its charging cradle. Two meters of industrial shelving neatly displayed bathroom and cleaning products. Seven meters above their head, a plastic network trough clothed in Taste Dynamics security tape hung next to the exposed ceramcrete supports from the fifth floor.

Andrea pointed at an exposed bolt near the ceiling, probably left from the construction of the building a dozen or more years ago. Tony nodded and formed a cradle with his fingers. The tiny Andrea ran with a jump into his hands. Tony flung her upward, where she latched onto the support with one hand much stronger than that of most Olympic gymnasts. She quickly fastened her climbing belt to the bolt as a working point to hang from. Tony bent over and let Martin climb up on top of him. Andrea and Martin worked with the smooth and steady speed of seasoned professionals, with every move rehearsed. The trickiest part of the operation involved nothing more than two trinkets eight centimeters long, bearing an official Taste Dynamics seal, artificially weathered to look more than two years old.

The two devices must simultaneously cut each of the unidirectional security optics, in two precise locations each. “In place,” Tony heard whispered through his earpiece from his crouched position.

“In place here. Cut in three, two, one, cut.”

“Augustine?”

“Good link on both devices,” she replied from her far distant location. “No apparent deception from Nanogate. Definitely high-level information and controls. No direct connection to security except a one-way lockdown function, so I can’t poll to see if this link compromised itself.”

“Mission complete. Wrapping up and returning.” Tony grunted quietly as Martin shifted his weight. Martin gave him the thumbs-up as he dismounted. They created a cradle of their arms and Andrea disconnected and dropped from her perch into it.

Martin cracked the door and watched for the camera to swing away before exiting. As a group they bolted back to the eye’s blind spot and just moments later off to the bathroom. Reversing their procedures, they climbed down. The moment their feet hit the ground, their good luck came to an end.

“Excuse me. May I have your DNA, please?” The security bot trained a variety of weapons on them, but spoke in the most deferential of tones.

“My name is Tony Meyers, Manager Optical Systems, sixtieth floor,” Martin said, trying the bluff they had rehearsed for an interception inside.

“Thank you, Mr. Mey—”

Andrea struck first. Her machine pistol tore into the optical sensors on the robot’s head as she dove to the side. Tony and Martin both fired simultaneously and with equal ineffectuality at the armored body.

“Must disable before its control gets picked up by human intervention, or the mission is blown,” Martin called out.

Lightning bolts of pain struck along Tony’s nervous system. The bot’s Neural Amplification Device caused no physical damage, but Tony felt his body tear itself apart. The agony made him wish it literally tore him apart to limit his pain. He shook violently in place, unable to move from his position. While the torture limited his curiosity, his mind processed Martin and Andrea in similar straits.

After seemingly an eternity of electrical impulses that felt as if they were charring blackened pathways through his body, a tiny white man, his lower body encased in skintight lemon yellow, appeared behind the security bot. A single, deceptively slow swipe of his katana removed its head. Another swing split the body vertically in two, and the sword lodged itself a full meter into its massive motive mechanism.

As suddenly as the pain had begun, it released. Tony gasped as the cessation hurt almost as bad as the source. Andrew and Andrea lay on the ground next to him. It took him several moments to regain body orientation enough to even realize he also lay prone.

“I know you’re in pain,” the little man said with a precision in his voice. “The pain was nerve inducted only. You must go before the security force arrives. You have thirty-six seconds.”

“Thank you…” Tony gasped as the trio wrenched themselves off the ground.

“My name is unimportant. Nanogate, however, sends his regards. Now, please go. You now have twenty-eight seconds.”

“But what about you?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve been seen. Your faces are known. I, however, must erase my DNA to prevent implications. Fifteen seconds.” From out of nowhere the man produced a pair of nova grenades.

Tony wasted none of the remaining time on the horror he felt as he sprinted for their exit. Moments later, an ultra-brilliant flare of light announced that everything in a 60 meter radius of the small man ceased to exist. Tony wasted a brief glance back. He mentally sent a “godspeed” to their immolated savior.



* * *



The Portland rain caused the theatre to leak even more than during their last meeting. The rain always lifted Sonya’s spirits in the past, but now it dragged her down even more into the gray oblivion she faced. In some places, the noise of water cascades covered up even nearby conversations like the sun overpowers a tiny penlight.

Saddened, she watched Tony converse with Carl and Andrew down in the front row. In a few moments everyone would share her world, a world that had diverged from the others since yesterday afternoon. Selfishly, she wondered if she should allow them to keep the gift of ignorance.

One of the constant aches in her side increased in intensity to something just shy of a burning brand. She couldn’t continue to hide her own infirmity much longer. They must know the truth.

Even through her pain, she laughed at herself. She wore the pride of keeping the spies from her organization like a cloak of gold. In the end, avoiding her mental abilities involved nothing more than ignorance. “You could be wrong,” she remonstrated herself. “He could still be guilty.” Shaking her head, she cocooned herself in his innocence.

A waterlogged piece of the ceiling chose that moment to drop, hitting the floor with the sound of a gavel. Time to deliver the bad news. Time to expose their weakness. Time to break her dream in two.

“Follow me,” she said, not even looking at her muscle. She walked with dignity to the forward edge of the stage. Per agreement, Greg and Tuan, the Mob enforcers she’d hired, fell in behind her. They weren’t here for her protection.

Sonya looked out at the faces that proved, if not their friendship, then at least common goals. In spite of this, she knew over half of them would try to rip apart her vision once she shared her news. She hoped to be able to sway them with logic, but emotion hefted a much larger stick with many of these visionaries.

She wondered what they saw in her now. She knew what stared back at her when she had checked herself in the mirror earlier—dark, rheumy eyes, shoulders hunched in tension, and a face creased in constant pain. Her future seemed so insignificant in comparison to the rift she foresaw. She had to find a way to keep them focused on the mission. To do that she willed away her pain and her fatigue one last time.

“I’ve called all of you executive members to this meeting for several important announcements, and for us to make at least one critical decision,” she began, pausing while the others quieted down and turned their attentions to her.

“First, you may have noticed that Colin is not among us, but Suet, Linc, and Tolly are online.”

Augustine nodded that the link operated normally.

“We’ll start with the fact that Colin exhibited frank symptoms last night and is in critical condition. His internal body temperature dropped to life-threatening levels. I could do nothing more for him, so I took the drastic step of putting him in the hands of medical professionals to save his life. Be certain that Augustine helped us forge full medical and a new identity for him. It’ll be months before the bureaucracy correctly sorts it out. I have no prognosis on his condition. Because of the risk, I’m declaring him off-limits to any visits.”

“What?!” Frances erupted.

“The reason for the ban is as most of you have probably already suspected. I can now confirm that we have a bio-weapon targeting our group.”

Several people nodded and others looked somber. No one felt the need to say anything.

Good, Sonya thought. They hadn’t recoiled from the danger and the fear. “The weapon is of degrading capabilities and probably won’t spread beyond our tiny community. I’ve learned that the catalyst for this disease is explosives. It’s triggered by any number of explosives, from gunpowder all the way to the newest molecular putty.”

A minor ripple went through the assembly as some who never handled explosives sighed in relief, and others who procured or prepared them took a greater anxiety.

“Naturally, anyone outside our group wouldn’t know an explosive from a toilet and have never handled them, so they’re safe. We deal with them daily, so you can see why the ban is necessary. The perpetrators know this disease’s shape and its parameters. I may have saved Colin only to put him in the hands of the corps, but his condition forced my hand. If he lives, and that’s a huge question right now, we’ll mount a mission to bring him back.”

“If they haven’t executed him first!”

Sonya didn’t see who spoke, but she felt she missed more and more lately as she concentrated on the mere process of staying alive each minute longer.

“I can’t stress how narrowly he missed death. I may have only postponed the inevitable, however. This disease has over a seventy percent fatality rate.”

This fired through the tiny body of people like a taser. Murmurs loud enough to drown out the water rippled through the staff.

“Please let me go on, because our time is limited.” In respect, the group settled and quieted. “Along the same vein, I’ve been hiding a secret and can’t postpone sharing. I really shouldn’t have hid it this long anyway. As some of you may have guessed, I am also ill with this disease.”

“NO!” three people shouted in unison, jumping up from their seats.

“Please, hush,” Sonya said, using both of her hands to wave them back to their places. “Denying the obvious won’t change the outcome. I’ve been holding off the ravages of this with my own force of will, but that hasn’t changed the fact that I am dying.”

This time four people jumped from their seats, but refrained from any verbal outburst. She watched as Tony turned his head away, failing to cover the tears dripping down his cheeks with one hand. He snuffled and tried to put up a brave face, but the bright red streaked circles around his eyes spoke volumes. A vain part of herself felt gratified that not even Christine’s eyes exempted themselves from at least welling up with tears.

“My liver has been severely compromised and it is only a matter of time. I suspect I have between one and two weeks left. I’ll last as long as I can for the good of our cause. This brings us to the obvious requirement of choosing my replacement.

“But, before we get to that, I don’t want anyone accusing me of skewing the outcome of picking a successor before I release the piece of news that will shock you all.”

Puzzlement didn’t quite replace grief on some of the faces lifted up toward her. The question in their minds etched itself in their non-verbal communication—how can she shock us after telling us she is going to die?

“This message is the reason I’ve violated our long-standing rules of having outsiders,” she pointed back at the hired bodyguards, “and using a meeting place twice.”

She hesitated, gathering her strength before continuing. “Research discovered patient zero, the means by which we have all been attacked. Before I reveal this person I have to emphasize what I just said: ‘the means.’ Please do not confuse the source with the intent.” Sonya paused.

“Who is it?” someone demanded.

Sonya gave a tiny nod to the guards, who sauntered down into the audience to flank the person, to even his surprise. His eyes questioned hers and then his shoulders fell at the response.

“Tony Sammis.”

Every eye turned on him.

“I don’t expect this can be a bad joke, can it?” Tony asked.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but no. I ensured all tests were run thrice. Only I knew the random identity codes for each of the blood samples.”

“It seems I’ve been a fool,” he said quietly.

The room exploded in a mishmash of conversations, most of them yelled. All the while she experienced Tony’s eyes locked on hers. She read a wealth of communication in those guileless eyes. Her faith in his innocence restored itself.

“I told you we should’ve vaped him!”

“He’s killing Sonya. That must’ve been his real mission!”

“With all the help he’s given us, we are so close!”

“We’re close, all right…close to extinction!”

“No, I meant winning, you nitwit.”

“How did that corpie know Tony’s name?”

“How could he have done this?”

One voice finally cut through the rest with the power of a bull in rage. “SHUT UP!” Andrew wavered as he stood defiantly. “Now sit the fark down.” Slowly, the group settled. “I know why Sonya did this. Think about it, people. If she hadn’t told us, we would’ve overwhelmingly voted Tony in as our next leader. Am I right?”

A few grudging and a few enthusiastic agreements answered him.

“You should know I’ve got this farking disease,” he went on, using one hand to hold himself upright. Andrew’s normally swarthy skin paled to the color of a pear’s flesh. “Yes, that’s right. I was hoping it’s just a cold, but now I know better. I’ve got a rash covering about half my body and a high fever, so I’m probably dead already.

“All that being said, you need to think about this long and hard before you decide to pass judgment. I still believe in Tony. I don’t think he could’ve done this knowingly.”

More than one person tried to speak next. Sonya silenced them all by starting to talk quietly.

“I agree with Andrew. Some of you know of my skills and capabilities. They all tell me that he’s not the culprit here, but rather a victim himself.”

“Why isn’t HE sick?” someone demanded.

“Why kill off your weapon?” Sonya asked. “Whoever gave this to him made him immune. Worse, he’ll continue to carry this disease, threatening everyone around him for the rest of his life. Not so confident about him being the villain of this piece now, are you?

“Think on everything you’ve heard here today. We’ll vote next week,” Sonya said weakly. “Please go home.”

Several people glared at Tony as they left. Gregori glared back. Tony seemingly ignored this byplay, instead keeping his eyes fixed on Sonya. As the group dispersed, she flopped down into the seat next to him with a heavy sigh.

“Why are things always so hard?”

“You don’t believe…”

“Tony, if I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. From what I know with my skills, there are only two options: they infected you without your knowledge, or you agreed and they deep-hypnoed your memories. In either case, your current persona is not to blame.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Don’t fret, it’ll play out as it will.”

Tony turned three shades of crimson before turning toward her, his mouth tight and his forehead furrowed. “Do you think I give one good goddamn about becoming the next leader of the GAM?”

Sonya stopped herself before answering. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Fark, no!” His face softened. “I worried about losing your trust and faith…and your friendship.”

She laughed lightly but found it brought on a cough that wouldn’t stop. For the better part of five minutes she coughed until a thick plug of mucus, tinged in deep red, hit the floor.

“Are you all right? Actually, that’s a silly question. Sorry.”

Sonya opted for a smile this time. “I’m as all right as I can be. And to get back to your worry…never at any time did I feel you did this deliberately. I’m proud to be your friend.

“Before this turns blubbery, I do have to say I’ve taken the liberty of booking you into a suite at the Seattle Grand Hilton. In the end, you don’t want your home known to these two stalwart champions of your safety, and I don’t know how this will play out with the rest of the team, so you will need their protection.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. Despite everything said, you’ve given us hope that we’ll win, despite everything. May I exact a promise?”

“You have but to ask.”

“Even if this goes badly and our team breaks up, please start another group to finish what we’re so near to accomplishing.”

Tony sat quietly for nearly a minute. “I won’t let your dreams die…any of them.”



* * *



The holes still dotted the walls, but an enterprising person had cleaned up the broken debris. Tony perched on a director’s chair and mopped Suet’s jade-colored forehead with a cold cloth. The artificial skin still needed to perform all the normal functions of what it replaced. Sweating profusely, her body desperately tried to lower its core temperature. Even from his chair he could feel waves of heat roiling off her, like a space heater accidentally left on maximum.

Her tentacles and legs twitched feebly as they tested the Kevlar straps like an outclassed boxer who refused to throw in the towel. She regularly moaned nonsense words in her delirium.

On previous visits, Tony had brought Cin with him. She spent the time circling Suet’s head, licking the overheated ears and head-butting Suet’s tentacles. When tired of this, Cin would lie between Tony and the patient, showing concern with a constant purr. He thankfully didn’t have the help of his furry friend on this impromptu trip.

After sixteen hours this session, Tony formed a system that made the chore of tending Suet somewhat mindless. Soak the washrag in ice water and mop her brow and hair. Repeat three times. Soak again and wipe down her entire body: her face, each tentacle (taking care around the glucose/saline IV), each leg, and her torso. Rinse the washrag and do the groin. Rinse again before each armpit. Finally, take the other iced washcloth and run it over her cracked lips, making sure to squeeze a little moisture into her mouth.

Repeat. Once every tenth repetition he’d loosen one of her restraints and wipe under there as well. Tuan, the second bodyguard provided to him by Sonya, proved useful here by holding that limb down until Tony retightened it. This seemed to be the bodyguards’ sole usefulness. One would relieve the other every twelve hours. They never spoke except in whispers to one another.

At one point Tony asked to try the tub, but the pair of them couldn’t control her enough to keep her from hurting herself or them, so she remained in bed, a prisoner of her own failing body and some low-tech bondage.

Most of the time Tony thought of his promises to Sonya. Of course she could be wrong. She may not die, he thought optimistically. A little voice in his head warned him he might as well wish for the moon to be green cheese.

He couldn’t break out of the circularity of his thoughts, matching the repetitions of his bedside ministrations. “How can I possibly keep this promise? There are too many unknowns. How many would live through this thing?” he said, pointing at his friend bathed in her own sweat. “How many of those would feel that being shot is too good for me? How does one go about starting a guerilla organization from scratch?”

Four repetitions later Tony finally kicked his mind. “Break it down, Nil. The best choice would be for me to take over the current organization. Our action group is being decimated, but the support organizations will remain intact. To do this I would have to, at minimum, prove I had no knowledge or complicity in this. As Linc would say, ‘I smell a lot of footwork.’”

The nurse, Susan, came in to check the IV and to take vitals. She shook her head at what she got from the body beneath her.

“Thank you for letting me help,” Tony offered, just glad to talk to someone who’d talk back.

“I feel kinda silly just sitting here when you’re the one doing all the work,” she replied.

“Oh, I doubt she even knows I’m here.”

“Not true. Her reactions and restlessness are far worse when you aren’t here.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. It does make me feel better.” Tony paused. “Does she have any chance?”

Susan lowered her head and turned away.



* * *



“But why should we even vote? How can he lead us when he’s the source of the disease?” asked Andrea, the spokesperson. The small congregation sprawled uncomfortably on the floor while the cats imperiously controlled the couch. The Pomeranian yipped at anyone other than Sonya speaking or anyone with the temerity to move more than an eyelash—that is to say, almost constantly. The Chihuahua walked amongst the four visitors looking for attention. Frances petted it absently. Only Christine seemed more interested in the animals than the conversation.

Sonya heard sound come out of her throat as a croak rather than words. She soothed her broken voice with a careful sip of water. It burned like alcohol on an open canker sore as it went down.

“If I could, I would insist. He did nothing wrong.” Sonya forced herself through each painful word. So many things going wrong with her body all at once. Not much more time to put things right.

“We don’t know that and can’t prove that,” Jackson interjected.

“Look, I know I can’t force you to do anything after I die, so doing anything other than trying to persuade you would be foolish. It would be equally foolish to let you destroy our team.”

“We aren’t trying to do that.”

“Whether you’re trying or not, that’ll be the end result. You will drive out Tony. Those who believe you’re acting hastily and without proof will rally to him. He won’t have enough to create decisive actions, and you’ll be left with the empty shell that was the GAM.”

“But we can’t vote him to the leadership,” Andrea said, crossing her arms and scowling. “He could be working for them. Hell, we know he worked for them, wittingly or not. I don’t know which is worse.”

Sonya knew better than to reach out to Andrea, the most stubborn and set in her hatred of Tony. Once her mind formed on a course, nothing could get it off except a very painful lesson. But the others…if she might sway even one, it was worth the effort. Sonya took another swig of liquid fire.

“I don’t think we’ll solve this here. The proper place is to debate it and vote.”

“We have been debating, but we—”

“No, Andrea,” Frances interjected, calmly but firmly. “We haven’t been debating, but rather heterodyning off one another’s fears. Sonya’s right in her form. I’m not sure if she’s right about Tony.”

“Thank you, Frances. I won’t live to know if I’m right or not, but I believe it here,” she said, thumping her chest. Mistake. She knew at once as the coughing began. Despite the body-doubling whoops, she caught the horror in Jackson’s eyes.

“Afraid?” she choked out as soon as she could manage.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been having muscle aches and really bad headaches that over-the-counter meds do nothing for.”

“I sympathize. Talk to Linc. He may be able to help you with the pain and the fear. To my surprise, our friendly bartender is quite knowledgeable in many of the religious areas—an oddity considering his previous line of work. I’ve already made my peace with this life. You might want to investigate yours.”

Jackson looked possibly even more frightened that he did before. The drain on Sonya left her unable to comfort him any further.

“I’m sorry,” she went on, “but I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. First, though, let me give you just one more thought.”

“What’s that?”

“How often have I been wrong…?”



* * *



A line of corpie couples stretched back and forth through a velvet rope maze, waiting for the venue to open. Their outfits would’ve gotten them arrested in most restaurants or on public transportation, but here at ground level in the club district their sensuality and erotic nature fit in with the rest of their kind.

Tony focused on one couple, trying to remember life in those confines. The man dressed only in maroon see-through tights and a purple dinner jacket. His companion wore nothing but a pair of iridescent panties, matching heels and a 30 centimeter diamond chain dangling from each of her oversized nipples that swayed and bobbed with the tiniest of her movements.

Tony listened in but couldn’t make heads nor tails of their conversation. Somewhere over the last few weeks, he’d lost the ability to speak and communicate with corpies. He couldn’t decide if he should be happy or sad. Before he could make up his mind, the reason for his visit exited the door.

The massive arms reflected the glaring light of the dying rose solido high overhead. As his usual practice, the doorman-cum-bouncer looked over the crowd to get an idea of the patrons before he invited any in. As usual he’d ban any troublemakers before they nerfed the guests’ evening of fun and the club’s profits.

“Hello, Mr. Tony,” Jock said without turning as Tony walked up behind him.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what, sir?”

“I believe it’s called situational awareness. You knew I was coming up behind you even though your attention is focused on the crowd.”

“I always could. Wouldn’t be good at my job if I couldn’t. Canya, take over for me, I’m going to break for just a few before we open.”

“Yar.”

“Oh, and watch the Brazilian couple in the third rank. He usually carries a molecular blade in his boot.”

Jock turned and walked over with Tony to sit down on a planter sporting a trio of artificial arborvitae. “Oh,” he added with a grin, “I also have rear-facing visual prosthesis. Saved my life more than once. I have it programmed to ignore things unless something approaches on a near-collision course.”

“Interesting. Maybe I should think about more prostheses.”

“I wouldn’t, sir. If I had to do it all over again, I probably wouldn’t have made the modifications to my body.”

“I never would’ve taken you for a naturalist.”

“I’m not. I don’t see any problem with cybernetics or implants where necessary, but augmentation? Naw. But that was then, this is now. You didn’t come here to talk about implants, sir. I still can’t let you into the club. Miss Carmine has that wrapped up tighter than a Martian kohlrabi in winter.”

“No. I wouldn’t want you in trouble. Besides, it’s not my scene anymore, Jock.”

“OK, then why?”

“It was something you said last time we met.”

“Uh-oh, I don’t have the greatest memory.”

“Not to worry. I only wanted to know about Carmine.”

“Mmm. I’m not supposed to talk about our customers, but seeing as you’re going to be the head of the GAM…”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, c’mon, man…er, I mean, sir. It’s on all the wires. Pick any toast and you can read about it.”

“All over the web?”

“Just about every single one.”

“OK. Well then, let’s see what it gets me.”

“OK. Carmine is grinding money. Everyone’s toadying up to that coupon and she’s loving it.”

“How much money?”

“At least five, maybe six.”

“Tens of thousands, maybe hundreds? Wow. I know she doesn’t or didn’t have that much.”

“And that doesn’t count the five she paid off Tito to keep you out of here. And it ain’t run out yet. She comes here with an entourage and Tito can’t wait to sell her and her ‘friends’ overpriced drinks and other goodies. Her tab on a typical night is four.”

“You know if she’s still living in the same place?”

“Don’t know, sir, but I can find out.”

“Please do,” Tony said pulling out a roll of bills.

“Sir, I ain’t your doer. I’ll do it for you, but don’t insult me with money.”

Tony nodded, understanding he had more of a friend in Jock than he ever thought. “If I wanted money, I would’ve capped you before the price on Greenie heads disappeared.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, just after you dropped out, the corporate bounty on known Greenie heads just evaporated. It had been sizable, in the high fives. Now it just doesn’t exist. Hey, Canya’s waving me over. They must be about to open the doors. I should get back.”

“Thanks, Jock. Here’s a way to contact me with Carmine’s address and anything else you can think of.”