The Beam: Season One (67 page)

“You’re telling me Leo has an iron fist?”
 

“Well, surgical steel. There was a movie back around when Leo was a kid, called
The Terminator.
The idea for the warrior’s fist came from that movie, from the arm of a kind of human robot in it. They apparently tried to make the full arms, which looked like the innards of an angry toaster, but in the 30s, the medical technology just wasn’t there. The things looked good, but they couldn’t generate any power and were too slow. So they did this hybrid thing, stapling new materials to what was already there. It was all the rage in certain quarters. Really just the next step for a lot of folks. In the early 2000s and up through the catastrophic years, there was this huge upsurge in body modification. People started piercing more of their dangling parts, then started hacking huge holes in their earlobes. Then when things got good and it looked like we might finally have world peace, some people couldn’t take all the joy and started doing things like implanting spikes under their shaved scalps so they’d look more fucked up. There was a wave of people who tattooed their whole bodies. Then there was digit replacement, when people started having their middle fingers amputated and replaced with the Terminator’s middle finger, so they could tell the shiny happy world to go fuck itself with a chrome salute. But hey, that was just the warm-up. After the world went to shit, the wackos thought nothing of giving themselves metal fists. Luckily Leo opted for an approach that was useful, rather than just flashy. He also had structural enhancements added to both legs. He also has an early covert communicator that works on RadioFi, which means it’s just a hunk of crap in his head today. Rudimentary vision enhancers. None of it Beam-enabled, of course. At the time, those mods were state of the art. But who knows how much of it works today, if any.”
 

Dominic felt like the air had left his lungs.
 

“You’re lying,” he said. He had never studied the old mods, but Dominic knew Leo. Leo had always been kind and gentle. He’d given Dominic countless lectures about peace, moderation in (not elimination of) technology,
 
being fair, and trying to live and let live. Agent Smith wasn’t describing Leo. He was describing someone else — someone horrible. Leo had been forty back when Dominic had met him, and now that he was in his eighties, he was growing old gracefully and naturally, without age enhancement or nanobots.
 

But suddenly it was Dominic’s version of the story that was starting to smell like bullshit. According to Austin and apparently a whole file’s worth of paper, his old friend was practically a cyborg.

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” said Austin. “Don’t go out drinking with Leo and get to the point where you have to carry him home, because I’d guess he weighs nearly three hundred pounds with all that old hardware in him. But don’t blame Leo for being vain, Dominic. Back then, he needed those doodads. I don’t suppose you know Organa’s roots?”
 

Dominic shook his head.
 

“No, of course not. Nobody does, except for a few old-timers on the fringe who nobody listens to. If you don’t believe me, look it up sometime. Organa’s history goes back until around 2048 and then just stops like it was cut off with a knife. But in ’48, you’ll see mentions of large groups with complex hierarchies, stuff you’d see in a mature organization. And at first, you might say, ‘Wow, this group got its shit together right away, as soon as it was formed.’ But if you’re not a stupid cop, which I know you’re not, that tune will whistle sour. If you’re smart, which I know you
are
, it’ll look like an organization that’s been around for years but has no recorded history. And that’s exactly what it was. Because in 2048 — and this is the part we’ll deny if you ever mention it publicly — the NAU cut a deal with them to erase their history from The Beam.”
 

“You cut a deal with Organa? Why?”
 

“They started calling themselves ‘Organa’ in ’48 or so, when Mr. Booker had a public change of heart about his group’s mission and decided it was important to be natural, blah blah blah. Before that, they were known as Gaia’s Hammer. Have you heard of Gaia’s Hammer?”
 

Dominic had vague recollections of dinner table discussions in his youth, remembered hearing that name used between his father and Grandy. But even then, those discussions had the feel of ancient history — two old soldiers swapping old tales. But he couldn’t put his finger on it for sure. He shook his head.
 

“Paramilitary organization, founded and led by your buddy Leo. Very fringe. Their premise was that the ecological disaster in the 20s and 30s that fucked the world right up the butt was humans’ doing, which of course it was. They said that people had refused to listen for decades while signs kept mounting about how we were damaging the planet. They said that the old hippies were well-intentioned but soft, and that peace was all well and good except for the fact that nobody paid it any fucking attention. So after the chaos, as the country started to get back on its feet and build the same old machines back up, Gaia’s Hammer took it upon themselves to stop it all from happening again. They said they wanted an organic world, without polluting factories and big, self-interested businesses. Same as the old hippies, except that Gaia’s Hammer didn’t just sing Kumbaya and smoke bongs. I suppose the way they enhanced the crap out of themselves was intended as some kind of poetic irony — harnessing technology to fuck technology. The group grew fast, because apparently people were plenty pissed off after the fall and wanted someone to blame. They stayed mostly hidden and staged massive, well-coordinated, well-targeted attacks on recovering infrastructures. Quark’s Crossbrace project, which was the first version of The Beam, was constantly set back by Hammer attacks. Hammer had people everywhere. In 2034, fifteen politicians were assassinated at once, in the same day, all throughout different locations in the satellite government offices outside of DZ. All were reconstructionists who wanted to pause previously established ecological programs so they’d be able to fast-track the rebuilding of industry. Gaia’s Hammer burned factories, bombed network centers, and murdered whoever was in their way. It was all for the greater good, they said, to avoid another catastrophe. They said they were on the Earth’s side, and would keep hitting hard even after she herself stopped delivering punches.”
 

Dominic blinked, then stared up at Austin. “I’ve never heard any of this.”
 

“Like I said, it was mostly hidden. They weren’t showy. They must have had insiders, because they always hit in the right places and did plenty of damage without drawing any more attention to themselves than was inevitable. Then they made that deal in ’48, and it went like this: the NAU government said, ‘let us rebuild and leave us alone and we’ll do it within agreed-upon, ecologically sound boundaries.’ You see, there was dissent in their ranks, and a lot of people wanted to leave Hammer, but Leo ran it like a mafia don. When lieutenants tried to get out, they ended up dead. But in the end, Leo was tired, too. The deal gave both sides a way to stop the war and start fresh without losing face. Both sides were able to claim victory. All records pertaining to the Hammer were expunged, leaving only memories. Those memories faded fast, and today you’d have to find someone directly involved to hear the story I’ve just told you. But it’s the truth, Dominic, and you’re a good enough cop to find evidence to verify it now that you know what you’re looking for.”
 

Dominic considered. He didn’t want to believe anything Austin was saying, but he was right about the last bit — Dominic could easily investigate and find out for himself. Austin had given him a bunch of clear steps to verify pieces of the puzzle: somehow check Leo’s weight, ask the right people about Gaia’s Hammer. He could be bullshitting, but there would be no point if Dominic could confirm or deny so easily.
 

“So what happened to Gaia’s Hammer?”
 

“They settled down, apparently. Reinvented themselves as Organa — which became, very soon after, an ineffectual hippie group like the ones Leo used to laugh at. He started talking about peace and connecting with the planet and eschewing technology. He stopped actively fighting to stop progress, and in the intervening fifty years, he seems to have mellowed. He even looks the part. We think he got pulse treatment to kill off his nanos and is now aging naturally, which seems about right based on his appearance. For a while, after a few years of mistrust, the NAU thought he might have actually chilled out completely. Like he finally got tired of his old ideals. He’s been actively hiding the group’s past and his old ways, and apparently he’s been showing himself to people since the fifties —” Austin opened his palm toward Dominic. “— as a kindly, granola-munching, tree-hugging hippie. And maybe he is. But he didn’t used to be, and we have good reason to suspect, now, that he hasn’t entirely given up his old revolutionary ways.”
 

“They’re harmless today,” said Dominic, wanting to believe it himself. “Even if what you’re saying is true, which I’m not saying it is, they’re not a threat anymore. At all.” He thought of the teacher he’d met, the friend he’d had, the village he’d visited, the peaceful man he’d known for forty years. They’d had their arguments, and Dominic had never detected one iota of threat from Leo — or even significant anger. How could he square his entire life’s impression with Austin’s portrait of Leo as a ruthless revolutionary and killer?

“We don’t think that’s true,” said Austin.

“I do.”
 

“Because you know him, right? Because you know Leo Booker — the man he is today, even if it’s not who he used to be.”
 

“Right,” said Dominic.
 

“You’re
sure
you know him?” Austin almost smiled. “Totally, completely, absolutely sure?”
 

Dominic hesitated.
 

“Because, Captain Long,” said Austin, “what I’ve told you so far is just the beginning.”

Chapter 9

Nicolai paced his apartment, feeling more conflicted than he ever had in his life.
 

In the past few days, it seemed as if everything in Nicolai’s world had flipped end-for-end. He used to rank high in the Directorate; now he was planning a shift to Enterprise. He used to have a good, high-paying job; he’d just quit, then broken into his ex-employer’s home. He’d spent sixty years at Isaac Ryan’s beck and call, but now, after Shift, he’d find himself under the eye of Isaac’s brother.
 

The thought of ending up in Micah’s camp — not by intention, but because the younger Ryan would no doubt seize on Nicolai’s defection as a PR bomb in his favor — felt to Nicolai like diving into oil. There had been a day when he’d spent time with all of the Ryans, sure, but Micah had always bothered Nicolai. Micah had a way of being obliviously selfish, as if he were so single-mindedly focused on his own aims that it never occurred to him what damage he might do to others in his pursuits. He reminded Nicolai of the proverbial bull in a china shop. The bull didn’t necessarily even realize that it was too wide and too strong or that its horns were too sharp. It only knew it wanted that pewter salt and pepper shaker set at the back of the store, and it would pay no mind to the little old ladies who were underfoot between here and there.
 

Nicolai had hoped to avoid Micah, but he’d been kidding himself. There would be no avoiding Micah. He’d avoided Micah for years — had, in fact, wasted a lot of breath advising Isaac to do the same — but a shift to Enterprise would mean inviting Micah back inside. Nicolai was a valuable piece on the Ryans’ chessboard (a rook, at least), and Micah wouldn’t allow him to silently switch affiliations. Micah would be on him the minute he heard Nicolai’s traitorous news — which, because Isaac was Isaac, he’d probably hear soon no matter what Nicolai did. Because Isaac himself would tell him, and then Shift would be all over for the Directorate.
 

But, arguments aside, Nicolai had been with Isaac for six decades. It didn’t feel right to abandon him so completely. Isaac was infuriating, but he was also helpless. Nicolai couldn’t help but pity him.
 

Nicolai paced his apartment, running his fingers down the slanted top of the gorgeous grand piano that he would now, finally, have a chance to learn and play. He’d suss out his other wetchip — from another dealer if not from Doc — and he’d spend a lot more time writing the things he wanted to write. He’d put a blank canvas on his easel and paint. But before he could do any of those things with a clear conscience, he had one last bit of political business. He owed it to Isaac.
 

“Canvas, get me Micah Ryan. Audio only, track and follow.”

While the connection sniffed out Micah, Nicolai set a hand on the flat part of the piano, his back to the beautiful instrument, his eyes looking out across District Zero. The light had mostly bled from the day. He could see an almost-f moon in the sky, its luminance dimmed only slightly by the NAU lattice that kept Nicolai safe from his old home in Europe… trapped in paradise. He told himself to keep his call to Micah direct and brief. He’d propose a deal: Nicolai would make an exclusive announcement for Micah later if Micah would keep his mouth shut about his brother’s speechwriter’s defection until Shift was over. Once Micah agreed (or disagreed; he could only try his best), he’d get off the line. He’d keep the conversation businesslike, and he wouldn’t go to video for Micah to read his facial expressions. If he could do those things, Micah might never suspect that Nicolai had learned what had happened during his missing days, who Kai had said was behind those erased happenings, or the other things she’d told him about Micah’s dealings — about just how heavy the bull was willing to tromp as it smashed and gored its way toward the objects of its desire.

“Well, isn’t this a delightful surprise,” Micah’s voice said as they connected. “I thought you might call, Nicolai.”