Hammerjack (2 page)

Caleb had to take it all in before he could answer: “No.”

Faces turned upward toward the sky, reacting to the roar of the approaching hovercraft.
Hundreds
of them, spread out across the grounds outside the Works. All had heard the word, and all had responded.

Is this what they’ve been waiting for?
Caleb wondered.

From Abby Silva’s vantage point, it was easy to see why the street species had ended up there. They had been working their way to it from the start, the genetically engineered drugs in their veins driving them home. They were, after all, children of the technology developed at the Works. If there was ever a place for them to make a pilgrimage, this would be it.

The Collective erected the building over a century ago, to be their Combined Centers for Scientific Research and Development—the best minds from all of the major corporations coming together to see what kind of hell they could unleash on Earth. A dwarf among the other towers that surrounded it, the Works rose a scant two hundred stories into the sky—but the place had a
presence
that few other buildings in the world could match. A perfect four-sided obelisk—walls gradually tapered to form a pyramid apex at the very top—projected the epic and intimidating feel of a place of worship. A temple for those who would lay themselves down as offerings on the altar of technology. A mystical home for secrets known only by the few who were allowed to enter.

And this bunch only puts the icing on the cake,
Abby thought.

She noticed a couple of Urban Goths hanging out next to the plaza fountain and went over to have a look. She was actually surprised to see them. Unlike most of the species out there, Goths weren’t into accelerated reality. Deathplay was their thing—which was why the rest of the subculture left them alone.
Freaks among the freaks,
Abby thought. If
they
were invited to the party, the boundaries were starting to crumble.

The Goths were deep in play when Abby approached them, darting eyes hidden beneath closed lids. Both were better than seven feet tall, a genetic anomaly caused by inbreeding among their sect. Their pale, gaunt faces were pocked with scars from cheap electrodes. From the fiber protruding out of the backs of their skulls, Abby saw they had graduated to permanent implants.

“Anything good on?” she asked.

The taller of the two opened his eyes and looked down at her. The sclera were as black as the pupils, a result of the implant surgery. “Take this trip and you won’t want to come back,” he said, unplugging a fiber from behind his left ear. “If you like, I can arrange an exchange. I know people who pay top dollar for a cop’s death.”

“I had no idea we were so popular.”

The Goth smiled. His teeth were filed down to points. “You’re not. But corporate security don’t like to mix it up with us like you do.”

Abby returned the smile, acknowledging the joke. The only time CSS worked street species was to bust their balls. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, motioning toward his friend, who was still down in it. “Must be some good shit for him to be this tuned out. You sure he ain’t poaching illegal?”

This time the Goth laughed. “Snuff stuff is just a big lie. What I make, even
better
than the real thing.”

Abby believed him. Deathplay was recorded from tec-induced hallucinations, uploaded from junkies so desperate for money they let the Goths steal their nightmares. It was cheaper and less complicated than actual murder. But it still gave Abby the chills.

“So what are you fellas doing here?” she asked, changing the subject. “This usually isn’t your kind of scene.”

“Say the same about you,” the Goth replied, plugging back in. “You come looking for answers. We come for the same thing. Been waiting a long time.”

“For what?”

The Goth spasmed for a moment while the latest death simulation filled his cerebral cortex. It was supposedly more intense than an orgasm, though Abby was never curious enough to give it a go. Mortality was enough of a drag when you only did it once.

“For the word,” the Goth breathed, sinking into his fantasy. “It coming down. We all been listening.”

“Don’t suppose you’d share the word with a cop.”

“The word for everyone,
mon amour
. Besides, we all find out sooner or later. Evolution don’t leave nobody behind. That’s what they tell us.”

“Who tells you?”

“
Inru,
” the Goth said, and phased out of the world again.

Abby had no idea what that meant—although the word
Inru
had been making the rounds through the subculture for a while. Before now, Abby had thought it was the lingo for some new brand of stim. But Goths didn’t get their kicks from that sort of thing.
Inru
had to be something different.

Maybe something right here . . .

Abby headed back toward the police line when the whine of the hovercraft’s engines passed overhead. She emerged from the crowd just as it was descending on the plaza, and had to marvel at the lieutenant’s bravery for going near that heap. An ugly relic of a previous time, the vehicle would have been equally at home in a transportation museum or a junkyard. Abby hoped that the screeching turbofans held together long enough to get her boss on the ground.

The landing gear engaged with a shrill, metallic grind—but the pilot managed to bring his craft down softly, almost gracefully. The old mechanical beast seemed to exude relief as the engines cut off, belching one last cloud of smoke before spinning into silence. Shortly after, the passenger hatch opened and Caleb appeared. He was obviously shaken, but alert. Abby smiled, admiring his resolve.

“I won’t hold it against you if you kiss the ground.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you kiss something
else,
” he shot back, walking over to her. “You’re supposed to keep me informed, Abby. How come I wasn’t invited to the party?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. You know the species. We couldn’t keep a pulse on them even
before
this stuff was going down.”

Caleb quickly scanned the line of officers doing the crowd control, a dozen cops holding back ten times their own number. Any appearance of control was just that—an appearance. The species could overrun them in two seconds if somebody made the call.

“I don’t like these odds, Abby.”

“I wouldn’t worry. They haven’t been violent.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t start,” Caleb said, and started walking toward the building. Abby quickly fell in step beside him. “We don’t even know what set them off.”

“You ever hear of something called
Inru
?”

“You’re the one dialed into the culture, Abby. If you don’t know what it is
, I
sure as hell don’t. Why? Did you get anything out of these people?”

“Just a couple of Goths talking trash.”

Caleb smiled knowingly. “Too bad the Collective doesn’t consider this bunch a threat. So what’s with CSS, anyway? I thought they had a frigging army in this place.”

“They do—but they haven’t shown their faces yet.”

That in itself was odd. Even if the Collective didn’t give a shit, Corporate Special Services still had an image to maintain. They should have been out here breaking up what was, in effect, an illegal assembly. Cops weren’t usually called until after, when it was time to bag the corpses and haul them away.

So where were they?

“Dispatch got the call telling us about the freak show,” Abby explained. “For some reason they couldn’t get a trap, so we don’t know who phoned it in. All we know is that it didn’t come from here.”

“Have you talked with
anyone
inside the building yet?”

Abby shook her head. “No one is answering any calls. And we don’t have the equipment to do a remote link and see if their communications are still active.”

“Up to our usual standards of efficiency,” Caleb muttered. “Damn.”

They stopped at the base of the stairway that led to the main entrance. Abby lifted her eyes skyward, taking in the whole of the tower a little bit at a time. Up above the pyramid, she could see the strands of laser light that marked the pulser grid that stretched over the city. It was hard for her to get a sense of why they were here—but underneath that, the certainty that they were
supposed
to be.

“Any ideas?” she asked Caleb.

“That depends on how much you trust me.”

Abby heard the intent in his voice, and she knew where it was leading. “You got some kind of death wish, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it, Abby,” Caleb said, motioning back toward the crowd. Abby turned to see it for herself, and it was only then she noticed how
silent
they had become. Everyone was fixated on the two of them, waiting to see what they would do next. And it was then she remembered very clearly what the Goth had told her.

Evolution don’t leave nobody behind.

“We can do this ourselves,” Caleb told her. “It’s the only way we’re going to find out for sure.”

Abby couldn’t deny she was tempted. If they contacted the Collective directly, a CSS unit would be there in fifteen minutes. In twenty minutes, the cleanup would begin. And in an hour, both she and Caleb would be in an interrogation room being attacked with questions they couldn’t begin to answer.

But she was still scared.

“What’s going to happen to us if we go up there?” she asked.

“Damned if I know,” Caleb said.

They headed upstairs.

Caleb felt an electric tingle as they reached the electronic surveillance, the waves of sensor energy playing across his skin—but beyond that, there was absolutely no sensation of presence. The closer they got to the security zone, the more it felt like they were stepping into a void. It was as if a veil of nothingness surrounded the entire building.

They paused when they reached the top of the steps. There was a clear line between them and the main entrance, but a quick glance over his head told Caleb what really stood between. Three remote cameras were already tracking him, while a particle-beam microturret turned to acquire its new target.

Abby had spotted the thing as well. They crouched down, waiting to see what the tiny cannon would do. After a few moments, they were satisfied that it would hold off—for now.

“You ever seen one of those in action?” she asked.

Caleb nodded. “Takes about a microsecond to cut you in half,” he replied. “Better watch yourself.”

Carefully, they slid past one of the support columns to get a better view of the entrance itself—and found themselves faced with something even more problematic. The emergency door had descended, putting a fifteen-meter-by-fifteen-meter slab of titanium alloy—ten centimeters thick—between them and the lobby. Not even a pulse weapon could blast through it.

“Lovely,” Abby observed.

“Something must have tripped the fail-safe system,” Caleb said. “Locks the whole place down. Whatever happened in there, it was pretty serious.”

“Well, I guess that’s it for us.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What are you going to do? Knock on the door?”

“Something like that,” Caleb said, drawing his weapon. “You stay here.”

“
Lieutenant
—” Abby began, but before she could protest Caleb was on the move again.

He took a few steps toward the edge of the security sphere, making sure that his gun would be totally visible to the electronic tracking system. He guessed that the program would be sophisticated enough to detect any weaponry within the sphere; if that was the case, then it would turn on him the moment he stepped inside. There would be no time for him to react—only the whine of the alarm Klaxon. After that, the high-pitched, almost human scream of the particle beam.

They never came.

Looking up, he saw that the cameras still followed his movements. There was no way the countermeasures could have missed him. Even so, it seemed as if they didn’t consider him a threat. It defied all logic—but it was just as Caleb expected.

He looked back at Abby, who stood mesmerized.

“Come on,” he told her. They ran for the entrance.

When they arrived, Abby was breathing hard. She pressed her hands against the cold, brushed surface of the door.