“With that little popgun?” I joked. “Please.”
“Fuck you,” she said with a smile. “It’s all I could sneak in here.” I liked it when she smiled. It was one of the few things that made me remember the old days with any fondness. Few bots were designed with the ability to show emotion, but Comfortbots were built with a full range of expression. If she still had her skinjob, she’d even be able to bite her lip. She waved behind her. “Coast’s clear. Let’s move.”
From behind the generators trundled the bruiser I’d seen at Snipes’s with 19 earlier. He looked around, scanning the area, then waved behind him, ushering out three translators—the rest of 19’s entourage.
“More are on their way,” I said.
“I know,” said 19.
“No. I mean here. They’re using relays to keep the Wi-Fi up this deep underground.”
“Why hasn’t anyone—”
“Switched on the Milton?”
“Yeah.”
“Couldn’t tell you. All I know is that the facets know we’re here. We broke their relay chain, so they’ve probably lost contact with the rest inside. They’ll move back here, and soon, to reestablish a link.”
19 popped open a small compartment in her leg—her “toy box,” as the manufacturer called it—and holstered her popgun there before leaning down to pick up the pulse rifle. She quickly searched the plastic men for extra battery clips. She looked up at the bruiser, pointing to the plasma spitter. “Herbert, you know how to use that thing?”
Herbert picked up the spitter and felt the weight of it in his hands. “It’s an entirely new design,” he said in an aristocratic, almost academic voice—clearly a mod—and nodded. “But it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
19 smiled again. “I guess if you start melting, we’ll know otherwise.”
I walked back over to the first plastic man and pulled a few clips off his wreck.
“All right, let’s move,” said 19. “Britt? You coming?”
“It’s best if we split up.”
“Not today it isn’t.”
She was right. I could always ditch them later, take a different tunnel on the way out, but if there was anyone in NIKE I could count on in a fight right now, it was her. I nodded, because, you know, fuck it.
Chapter 1111
Tunnel Rats
We crept slowly, two by two, down the corridor, 19 and I taking the rear, our pulse rifles at the ready. In front of us walked the emerald translator and one of her black compatriots. The other stayed close ahead of them with Herbert on point, his plasma spitter trained down the hall to vaporize anything that approached.
“Who are these guys?” I asked softly.
“It’s really none of your concern,” replied the emerald.
“Just a fare,” said 19.
The emerald turned and wagged a finger. “You don’t need to tell her anything more.”
“The hell she doesn’t,” I said. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, or who the fuck you think you are, but you sure as shit can’t defend yourself and I’d like to have at least a halfway decent idea of whose ass I’m covering.”
Everyone fell silent. We walked slowly, listening to the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions deeper in the city. “Rebekah,” she said. “Not from around here, don’t know the terrain, and needed a guide.”
“And who are your friends?”
“I’m One,” said the black one.
“I’m Two,” said the other black one.
I nodded. “Understood.” But I didn’t. Who the hell travels through the Sea with a military bruiser escort but no pathfinder? 19 wasn’t in the habit of ferrying people across the desert. She barely got along with me—and we’d saved each other’s ass a handful of times apiece. Something wasn’t right. “How much?”
“How much what?” asked 19.
“How much?”
Rebekah piped up again. “I don’t see how that’s—”
“A lot,” said 19. “My mother lode.”
“Well, all right, then,” I said. “That’s all I need to know.”
“How does that change anything?” asked Rebekah.
I eyed her, pulse rifle still trained down the corridor. “Because now I know that you’re loaded. And that means you must be important. And that means I should probably help keep you alive. I’m kind of fond of 19, here. And if you’re important to her, then you should probably be important to me.”
Rebekah eyed me warily. “And that’s that?”
“That’s that.”
Fwoooosh!
A ball of white-hot plasma lit up the hallway like the noonday sun. We’d all pressed ourselves against the wall, bracing for the hit, before noticing that the light was fading, traveling away from us.
“Sorry,” said Herbert. “I should probably keep my finger off the—”
Plasma bursts rained down the hall, a few pinging off Herbert.
“Get behind me,” he shouted. All three translators fell into line, using him for cover. He pressed forward, returning fire—hateful gobs sizzling down the hall every five seconds or so. “Move! Move! Move!” The hall lit up again, plasma sizzling through the air, Herbert’s large clumsy feet clanking on the concrete. He fired again.
“Where are we going?” asked Rebekah hurriedly.
“There’s an offshoot,” I said. “Fifty meters ahead.”
19 nodded. “She’s right.”
“I’m on it,” Herbert called from the front. He ran in a low crouch, spitter at the ready, his feet clanging heavily on the cement.
No one returned fire. The only sounds were ours and the occasional burst of plasma Herbert fired to clear the road.
“How far do we have to go?” asked Rebekah.
“Pretty far,” said 19. “These tunnels all wind out like an octopus into the desert.”
“Why on earth would they do that?”
“In case this happened,” I answered.
Rebekah nodded.
We made it to a T-section, a ten-foot-wide hall leading to another exit. Just beyond the corner, we saw them. Two plastic men, or rather, puddles. There wasn’t much left after the plasma barrage that had rained down on them.
“What now?” asked Herbert.
19 pointed up the hall. “That way leads to an escape hatch in the middle of nowhere. No cover; just open desert.” Then she pointed down the new hall. “This would take us to a stairwell that goes up into an old building. It’s a bit worse for the wear, but still sound.”
I nodded. “On the other hand, no one uses the escape hatch, so there’s a good chance CISSUS doesn’t know it exists.”
“Right.”
Rebekah looked at us both. “And the building?”
“Is anyone’s guess,” said 19. “Folks use it—not often, but they do. In all likelihood, that’s where these facets came from.”
We all exchanged looks, looking for someone, anyone, to make the call.
“Wait,” said Herbert. “Do you hear that?”
We listened closely. Herbert’s military-grade sensor array was probably far superior to anything I’d ever scavenged. I heard nothing. Nothing but the distant sounds of battle and clanging metal. Then the distant sounds of battle and clanging metal grew closer. And closer.
“We’ve got company!” said 19, taking a tactical position around the corner. Herbert knelt in the middle of the hall, spitter at the ready. I crouched behind him, using his solid steel frame as cover.