Cyborg Strike (5 page)

“That’s an unkind comparison.”

“Apologies, but you get my meaning.
Five-meter targets. Right now I need you – the world needs you –
back in the drivers’ seat in Australia. It’s going to be the
launching pad of the new spacegoing naval force, and that means it
will be literally the most vital defense effort on Earth. I’m
afraid if you don’t take charge, someone like Smythe will derail it
and kill us all. Not to mention what is going on in Russia.”

Spooky ignored that last for now and smoked
some more, long minutes of thought that Markis left unfilled,
except to build two sandwiches and push one toward the other man.
Finally the Vietnamese spoke.

“I’m not inclined to do this. I have
discovered far more satisfaction in independent action, and in
self-actualization through martial philosophy. I am less
constrained this way. I might even be able to solve your Russian
problem better on my own, using my Direct Action operatives.”

Just as Markis was about to speak in protest,
he went on. “But I
will
do it, because you have persuaded
me.” Spooky picked up the proffered sandwich and bit off a healthy
chunk, refueling his body.

Markis sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. But I will do what I will
do, in my own way. I will not be ordered about by anyone, not even
you.”

Markis spread his hands in acceptance. “Once
you left my personal service, have I ever expected that?”

“No. I just wanted to be clear. If I take
over, I will rule Australia for the benefit of the world – and for
the people there, and for myself, not for you or for the Free
Communities.”

Markis threw him a jaunty salute. “Got it.
Now about Russia…”

“What about it? You said you have some
problem with them?”

“Just with the Septagon Shadow program, the
parts of it that fled the US. The Russians took them in. I’m sure
they love the idea of absorbing the technology and using it.”

“I fail to see that the issue is. Surely a
few cyborgs are not that disruptive to a technologically advanced
nation armed with nuclear weapons.”

Markis finished his sandwich and reached for
another. “Not of they stay in their lanes. My concern is that they
might turn the tables on the Russians.”

“The tail may wag the dog, you think?”

“I do. Cass has been looking into it for quit
a while, ever since her son Rick and daughter-in-law came home with
implanted cyberware.”

“Yes,” Spooky replied drily. “I can see the
motivation.”

“I’ve directed Cass to turn over a complete
package of data to you. All I ask is that you look at it and, once
you have secured your position, think about what needs to be done.
If the goal is to get all of Earth, especially the big players,
pulling the yoke together, we have to remove a rogue element like
Septagon Shadow.”

Spooky chuckled. “You want me to do your
dirty work.”

“Our dirty work, Tran. We do what we do best,
you do what you do best. Win-win.” Markis stared at Spooky a moment
longer, as if deciding what more to say. “Did you ever wonder why I
gave you so much material to work with?”

“Because you had no choice, if
Orion
was to be built?”

Markis laughed. “Not that kind of material…I
meant
human
resources.”

Spooky’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils
flared with suppressed realization.

Markis’ smile broadened. “It’s a rare thing
to get ahead of the great Spooky Nguyen. I’m talking about your
fellows, your compatriots.”

“Psychos?”

“If you have less pejorative term I’ll use
it.”

“I don’t really mind, between us alone.
Officially, we call them ‘Outliers’.” Spooky finished the sandwich,
drank a glass of water and relit his cigar. “So you’re claiming
you…”

“Killed at least two birds with one stone by
shipping you all the ‘Outliers’ we could find? Yes. Even Cass was
against it, but I think I was right. Getting rid of the Psychos
from the rest of the FC dramatically simplified our problems, and I
figured that someone would eventually put them to good use, or
eliminate them for us. The only risk I foresaw was that they would
seize power and make a mess of things, but once you took up
residence there, I slept like a baby.”

Spooky puffed his stogie contemplatively,
matched by Daniel across from him. “When did you know?”

“About you being one? For sure? I suppose
just now…but I was almost certain from the time the missile strikes
went awry. I just couldn’t see you getting duped that way, which
meant that somehow you had to be complicit. No Eden would sacrifice
hundreds of millions of people, even if the payoff was breaking the
back of the nations standing in the way of saving the Earth. But I
saw you infected. Ergo…an Outlier.”

“Hmm.” Spooky stood up to pace after tapping
a chunk of ash into the tray. “A deductive leap. I did not think it
would be so obvious.”

Daniel shook his head. “It was only obvious
to someone who knew you well, knew your skills and abilities, and
also knew the real ins and outs of the Eden Plague’s effects on the
human psyche.”

“Ah. Elise.”

“And her team, of course. We were talking one
day and suddenly I had an epiphany.”

“You are a fortunate man, to have such a
wife.”

“I am.” Markis stood up to match Spooky
across the table, putting down his stogie. “My reports say you have
a good woman, too.”

“Good? I’m not sure that’s the right term,
but…loyal, entertaining, and effective, yes. An excellent match.
But now we are just exchanging pleasantries, and I am very tired.”
Spooky made as if to grind out his cigar.

Markis leaned back in his chair, interlacing
his fingers behind his head, his elbows spread to the sides. “I
remember when we used to just shoot the breeze. Be a shame if we’re
beyond that simple pleasure now.” His eyes were wide, and held
something Nguyen could not completely fathom.

Spooky paused, momentarily astonished. Then
he tried to put himself in the other man’s place. Loneliness had
seldom been the Degar’s affliction, but Markis was a social man, a
white knight from his earliest days. Now he sat atop a political
pyramid that precluded him from relaxing with anyone except his
inner circle – who these days comprised mostly women. Cass, Elise,
Shawna, Millie…there was Larry Nightingale, but he was the only one
of the original A-team available. Vinny and Skull and Zeke were
dead, and Spooky had left Markis’ side.

“I understand, my friend.” Spooky sat back
down, putting his feet up on the table, and asked, “We have
beer?”

“I’ll send for some.” The Chairman of the
Free Communities stuck his head out the door and called for a
couple of six-packs, an unconscious smile on his face.

“Remember how Skull could spin a bottle cap
with his fingertips like a Frisbee?” Spooky set his first metal lid
between thumb and middle finger and snapped it toward Markis. It
flew in an arc and struck his target in the chest.

“I do! Looks like you mastered the
skill.”

“It took me some time. I couldn’t let him
show me up, after all.”

When the beer arrived the Chairman of the
Free Communities Council slid one of the cans across to his old
comrade, a man he hoped would soon be the absolute ruler of
Australia. Then he ordered the weather shutters that covered the
large window opened, allowing in the glow from the southern
aurora.

Under unearthly ribbons of dancing light,
they reminisced late into the Antarctic night.

Spooky’s trip back to Sydney was much more
comfortable than the ride in the drone: first class on a Quantas
jetliner out of Johannesburg. If not for his warring thoughts, he
would have enjoyed it, though the plane was full for a Sunday. He’d
been escorted on, VIP-style, at the last minute, as certain as it
was possible to be that his enemies had not had time to act against
him from this end.

As always, he had a plan for the other.

Not since before the Eden Plague repaired the
brain damage he did not know was there, had such an easy decision
seem so difficult. He wondered what had made him agree so quickly
to seize Australia.
Impulse? Since when have I been impulsive,
or anything less than self-serving?
The whole thing smacked of
sentimentality, something he had sworn to expunge from himself.

Now he wished he’d taken a trip up to
Carletonville with Daniel, to see Elise and her team of
biopsychologists, to delve more deeply into the Plague’s true
effects on the brain and mind. He’d always assumed that the virus
had remade him once, from something into something else, when he
had contracted it. Now he began to wonder if the process had ever
actually ended, or was ongoing.

And if it continued in him, then it did so in
others? What would that mean, for himself, and for humanity’s
evolution? Though that was perhaps the wrong word, as the virus was
most assuredly a product of intelligent design.

He had agreed to seize power, but now he
wished he hadn’t, so strong was the lure of self-discovery.
Brutally, he forced that concern down.

Plenty of time for that when we beat this
Destroyer.

Even so…when was a Psycho not a Psycho?

To this question, he fell asleep, waking only
upon touching down.

This time Ann did not meet him; he had
forbidden it, concerned that their mutual enemies might target them
together. Better that he use his skills to make his stealthy way
alone.

Pulling on a reflective vest and a ball cap,
he held some cheap red ear protectors under his arm as he exited
the plane. Instead of walking up the ramp, he spoke a quiet word in
the ear of the short Asian man guarding the small emergency
stairway at the jetway’s articulated corner. The worker handed him
an airport badge.

Spooky walked through the “authorized
personnel” door, clipped on the badge and slipped on the headgear
as he descended the steps. Sauntering across the tarmac, he was now
indistinguishable from the dozens of ground crew that scurried here
and there, conducting the airport’s business.

Sticking to the secure pathways, he
eventually exited the terminal in front, and took off the badge,
vest and ear guards, shoving them under his arm. He ditched them in
a nearby dustbin when the cab dropped him off at a corner near one
of Direct Action’s clandestine offices.

Glancing around, he had a feeling of
something out of place – perhaps of someone observing him closely.
Smoothly he adjusted his cap in a nearby storefront window, using
it as a mirror. It allowed him to spot a set of observers in a car
just pulled up across the street.

Must have made me after all, and followed me
from the airport.

Turning to his right, he stutter-stepped,
then performed a rear-march without pausing as he saw two more men
coming down the sidewalk, hands beneath their coats. The about-turn
gained him nothing, however, as two more came from that direction.
A quick spin spotted at least a dozen more closing in.

He thought he might be able to disable
several and get away, but the guns they undoubtedly carried would
cause chaos in the streets. While he did not care terribly about
innocent death, he loathed the idea of making the evening news, and
cameras looked down upon them from high on the walls. For someone
who lived his life in the shadows, there had to be a better
way.

Hurrying into the store, a popular coffee
shop, he slipped through the press of patrons and out the back,
into the alley. As he stepped out the door, he saw the eyes of a
strangely built man with a hoodie gaze at him from a metal
face.

Then he felt a noose settle over his
head.

Surprise did not stop him from reacting
instantly as the loop closed with machine speed. Reaching up as it
began to jerk skyward, he tightened his hands to keep his head from
being ripped right off his shoulders, and then jackknifed his body
to reach upward with his feet to grasp the cable like a circus
acrobat.

Now looking up vertically along the line, he
saw a man holding a winch control lever, gazing down at him with
grim purpose from an opened window. Bereft of weapons, Spooky had
only one choice.

Upside-down, he climbed like a gymnast with
his hands alone. Nano-infused power allowed him to gain at least
three meters, but the cable’s circle around his neck did not loosen
enough to release him.

As he approached the winch and man, he saw
only one chance to survive in literally one piece. Making a loop
with the available slack, he grasped it with one hand like a cowboy
with a lasso, and as his feet reached the upper window frame, he
dropped the circle over the man’s head.

Now his attacker had a dilemma. Continue
taking up the cable, and the winch would pull his own head off
first. Or, stop the winch and try to free himself.

He chose the latter, the only rational
decision for a human being.

As the man struggled with the noose around
his neck, Spooky arched his body into the window to place his feet
on the floor, then he kicked his assailant in the gut as hard as he
could. He could feel organs rupture as his curled-back toes dug
deep, tearing skin and ripping muscle.

Spooky’s triumph was short-lived, however, as
bullets stitched across the wall near him. One caught him in the
side, and he ignored the flare of pain to reach down and flip up a
chair in the direction of the shooter, apparently the winch-man’s
backup. With the cable around his neck, his options seemed few.

The chair caused the shooter to dodge for
long enough that Spooky could reach up to open the loop around his
neck. Muscled bulged with nanite strength as he overcame the
tightening clamp with pure power. He felt the skin of his fingers
abrade and a muscle in his left forearm rip loose from the bone
with the effort, but he was able to squeeze the cable over his head
and off.