They shrugged. Javier took his time unbuttoning the jacket. He and Hayward had decided on something versatile: two buttons, charcoal alpaca, relatively short and light. But it was all he had, and it would have to do. He eased it off himself slowly. He took hold of the collar, brushing the jacket carefully before pretending to lay it across the back of the chair.
Then he circled his wrist, coiled the fabric tight, and whipped one vN in the eyes with it. He grabbed the chair by the legs, and slammed it into the other vN’s ribs. This one grabbed the chair and yanked it out of Javier’s hands. As Javier watched, he folded the chair backward. It snapped at the hinges.
In Javier’s mind, simulations and probabilities branched away into a forest of possibility. They both rushed him at once. He jumped. He gripped the pipes above him, and kicked one in the face. The other grabbed his other foot. One cheap canvas shoe came off. The vN holding his bare foot held it under one arm and brought out the pen. Primed it. Javier used his other foot to kick him away.
Above him, the pipes began to creak. The other two vN were holding their faces. Smoke and fluid drained away from their skin. One’s nose had collapsed in completely. He started to swing. Maybe one was electrical. He brought his legs together to slice through the air faster. His body sketched a perfect half circle. Forward. Back.
The pipes gave. He fell. Steam clouded the room. He felt no pain, but he did feel the damage. In a minute, his skin would start peeling. So would theirs. They ran for the door. He grabbed one side of the broken chair, snapped off both the back legs, and shoved them up under two sets of ribs. Then he pulled the chair legs out, flipped his grip to overhand, and stabbed again. He pulled down, from shoulder to waist. Seams ripped with skin. Smoke mingled with steam. They howled in frustration. They knew it was over, probably. Their wounds were too deep. They were smoking out. They turned.
“This was a mistake,” one said.
“Yeah,” Javier said. “Your mistake was giving a guy with a ten-foot jump the chance to kick you in the head.”
He buried the chair legs in their throats, watched their faces go slack, picked up his jacket, and left the room.
In the elevator, humans stared at him.
“I fell in the pool,” he said, and got off at his floor. His key card no longer worked. He kicked the door in. The room lit up to greet him, but the terrace remained dark. There, he took off his other shoe. He hid it under the chaise.
He had both feet on the railing when the hotel started talking to him.
“What are you doing, sir?”
The hotel interface was really very sweet. It was Rory’s voice, but it wasn’t Rory. At least, he didn’t think so. She didn’t seem to mince her words, lately.
“I’m going out for a walk.” He placed one foot in front of the other. He didn’t have a wraparound terrace, but he was willing to bet that Holberton did. Somewhere. Up a few floors.
“Please, sir. Get down from there. Please reconsider.”
“I’m not reconsidering anything. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Below him, the lights of the Las Vegas Strip glowed and pulsed. At the dead fountain, scores of tourists stood watching. Their glasses twinkled with tiny embedded lights. They were holding hands, or carrying children on their shoulders. They were all so happy, staring at nothing.
“I’m sure you have a lot to live for, sir. There must be people out there who care about you. You must have a family, somewhere. They must be very worried about you. Would you like me to call them?”
Javier made it to the edge of the balcony. A concrete pillar stood before him. It stretched up the southwest edge of the building. He looked up. He was on the sixty-second floor. That meant there were at least eight floors between himself and the penthouse. And his hands were burnt.
“Sir? Is there someone you would like to speak with? Someone I can contact, for you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m on my own.”
He jumped.
Making his way up the building required a sort of monkey shimmy. This meant clinging with his fingers, his toes, and his inner thighs and inching up, slowly, with the wind at his back and music in his ears. It was funny, how noise from the Strip floated up so intact.
“Well, then he started grinding up on me. And I couldn’t get away.”
“You should have just punched him. Or elbowed him in the stomach, or something.”
Humans had it so easy.
He inched up a little higher. His suit was slippery. He’d only made it one floor. Trees were easier. Why hadn’t he just gone to the rainforest, in Costa Rica? He could have found a way out from there. Or maybe he never would have. Maybe he could have just gotten lost in there. It would have been better for everyone if he had never left the rainforest. Better for Amy. Better for his iterations. It was his father’s choice to take them out of the forest. He was a child, then, but he hadn’t wanted to go. Hadn’t wanted to leave. Why had he followed Arcadio? What had the old man ever done for him?
He had taught him to climb.