16.5

  According to the cameras, there aren’t many security units (only about twenty, if I had to guess), though they are spread out quite well, meaning blowing them away isn’t exactly an option. To reach the sniper, I’ll have to take them head-on.

  So, after Vander’s next explosion, I push out through the doorway, keeping the corpse low in case the sniper goes for my legs.

  A bullet strikes the armour almost instantly, causing me to wobble back, but I find my footing and sprint forward. Through my neural display, I see security units pop out from the sides. I waste no time using ‘Short-circuit’. My cybersomatic optimiser kicks in with so much force I feel it vibrate on my frontal lobe, and suddenly five guards are electrocuted. They hit the floor, and a cooldown of half a minute begins ticking down.

  “A netrunner,” shouts a guard in the distance. “Stay out of sight!”

  Another sniper bullet whips down the lane, blowing the corpse’s head open and skinning my cranium. The grey matter splashes my face and gets in my mouth. I step off to the side and nearly vomit.

  After a moment, my neural AI speaks: “Gustorial stabiliser offline.” My tongue tightens, and the horrible taste is gone. “Please refrain from consuming toxic material.”

  I would normally say thanks, but right now bad taste is the least of my worries. If, however, my neural AI could find a way to stop that sniper from looking down the lane, then maybe…

  Wait, of course.

  Black Iris.

  If I can manage to blind him altogether, then he’ll have no chance of hitting me, or at the very least the chances would be significantly reduced. The problem is getting close enough for my quick-hack selector to identify his ID, and with these guards hiding, it’s doubly difficult.

  An idea comes to mind, though I’m not entirely sure if it will work.

  I speak into the Cloud Room: “Luck,” I say, “is there an emergency hatch above the sniper’s cabin?”

  A bit of static, and then Luck of the Draw says, “Now that would be very poor security if there were.” He clears his throat. “No, there ain’t, but the passenger carriages sure do have ’em.”

  “And you said you can control cyberware with your cards, right?”

  Luck of the Draw says, “That’s right. One in three chance.”

  “Do you think you could control one of the guards and get him to fire at the sniper?” I ask. “They’re pretty teched-up from what I can see.” Courtesy of Calyx Ward.

  “There’s a risk one of the bullets will hit the power core,” he says.

  I say, “You don’t have to aim for him, only in his general direction. If you hit the riot shield, everyone will open fire on him, giving me an opportunity to push forward and wipe them out.”

  He chuckles. “You willin’ to bet a 33% chance on that?”

  I swallow a glob of saliva down my throat. “They’re the best odds we have.”

  He sighs ruefully, and then asks, “Where are they? Which cabin?”

  I check the cabins, and see that the next batch are in Cabin 13. I tell him, and he starts making his way over towards it. Within a minute, the emergency hatch on the roof of the cabin pops open. No one notices; instead, they’re carefully waiting for me to move rather than wasting any more bullets.

  Then I see it: the card. It glides down into the cabin, through the smoke, carrying a golden glow with it. When it hits the guard in front, it explodes with yellow lightning.

  I watch closely.

  The guard doesn’t short-circuit, so that means he is either being controlled or blinded.

  Eventually, I hear him shout: “What’s happening?” And he steps out into the middle of the lane. “I can’t see!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “It’s just the luck of the draw,” says Luck of the Draw, hurling another card down into the cabin, hitting the guard a second time.

  Now, the guards look up at the hatch, preparing to open fire.

  But before they can, the previously blinded guard starts firing on everyone else. Most drop like flies, and a sniper bullet whips down the lane, taking the controlled guard out.

  I move, keeping the corpse as a shield. Using my neural display, I recognise the sniper’s outline through the smoke. He’s close enough now. I run ‘Black Iris’ on him, and he opens fire, this time completely missing the lane altogether.

  While the remaining guards are focused on shooting Luck of the Draw, I activate ‘Short-circuit’ on each of them, wiping them out. Vander blows up a couple more cabins, and before I know it, pretty much all of the guards are dead. All except the sniper.

  He’s no longer looking through the riot shield when I check the camera. In fact, I cannot see him at all.

  “The lane looks clear,” I yell into the Cloud Room. “I’m heading for the power core now.”

  “Sniper still in there?” Luck of the Draw asks.

  “Think so,” I say, “but he’s out of view.”

  “Headin’ down there now,” he says.

  “Not necessary,” I say. “Just focus on gettin’ everyone else out of here. Wait for me in one of the jeeps. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Luck of the Draw says, “You heard the lady. Move out, people!”

  I keep the corpse with me as I run down the lane towards the final cabin, just in case he decides to pop out and get one last bullet in, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, I reach the riot shield propped up against the doorway, rip it out of the floor, and step inside with my pistol at the ready. The only bit of light in here is the flickering blue strip on the ceiling, where a hatch would normally be. This section is larger than the others, about the width of a bedroom, and about as long as a truck’s freight container. The goods are stacked up in neat crates that act as dividers through the middle; the very centre has the power core, stored in a glass case.

  “I know you’re in here,” I say, and then more darkly: “You better pray I end you quickly, you cocksucker!”

  I check the camera again, just in case he pops up. Still, I don’t see him anywhere.

  Then I hear it.

  Movement, in the far back, behind one of the crate stacks.

  I grit my teeth but don’t say anything. Gotcha.

  I start making my way towards the back, gun ready for him to pop his head out, and I almost think it does, only to realise that it’s not a head at all.

  It’s something small, round, and rolling right in front of me. It beeps for a few seconds before I realise what it is.

  “Shit—”

  BOOM!

  Electricity whips up, and soon I’m struggling to move, my visor completely deactivated.

  An EMP.

  The sniper pops up from behind the crate, not carrying a sniper this time but instead an electric baton, and in that split-second I realise who he actually is.

  It’s the man from the Inn, the one who stood next to Adam Smoke and stared at me the entire time, as if he knew I was a criminal from the start.

  He comes up fast and bashes me in the face with the baton, knocking my visor clean off. A bolt of electricity shoots through me, and I go helplessly sprawling across the floor.

  I bring the pistol up to fire at him, but he whips off to the side, behind one of the crates. I get to my feet, heart pumping and eyes locked in for even the slightest bit of movement. Suddenly I’m reminded of the time I stood in Fingers’ practice range, watching targets fall with precision.

  All I have to do is repeat that, here and now.

  After some time, I notice movement behind another crate. I shoot into it, but nothing happens; another EMP rolls out.

  I duck behind cover. When the EMP explodes and I look over, a baton is hurling right towards my face.

  This time, I dodge it.

  I activate my mantisblade. It springs forward, but the man pushes my wrist up.

  The gun cracks, and he knocks it from my hand.

  I get a couple steps in, but to my shock he is much stronger than me. Before I know it, he kicks me back and unleashes several baton strikes into my body. First my legs give out, and then my arm. He strikes me right in the face.

  “Vitals low,” my neural AI says. “Activating emergency protocols.”

  A surge of electricity comes, but it’s of no help.

  This is not a regular cop.

  He brings the baton up, ready to crash it down on my skull.

  I cover my face, eyes shut, bracing for impact.

  But… nothing happens.

  When I open my eyes, the man is standing there, staring at me through his thick and faceless helmet. He brings the baton down, striking the floor with it. The sparks go out, and he begins taking off his helmet.

  I have no idea what he’s doing, why he’s wasting time, but I try bringing my mantisblade up anyway, ready to slice his leg.

  But then he takes his helmet off, and I freeze.

  Looking down at me is a black male with grey hair, thick on top. His eyes are bright yellow, and he looks about my age, with clear skin. His lips are familiar. His brows are familiar. Even his chin is familiar.

  Is that…

  The man’s mouth is wide open, as if he’s looking into the eyes of a ghost. “I remember you.”

  I blink up at him, and I don’t quite believe I’m saying the name out loud:

  “Lucian?”