42 – The Board Tilts

  Tony and Nora had gone over exactly that sort of scenario. Once she’d gotten the manufacturer’s specs for the conductive particle dispersal rounds—glitter to everyone in the biz—she’d developed targeting routines that would time the micro-bursts so the clouds of particles would trail Tony’s reticle as he tracked it along a path that would surely ruin LaMonte’s partner’s day. It would ruin LaMonte’s, too, but that was a secondary effect.

  Rather than the shotgun boom echoing through the corridor again, his forearm-mounted needler clicked in a staccato tck-tck-tck-tck, and particle-loaded needles sprayed forth. Tony already knew LaMonte had the plasma forge set to auto-defense; his earlier blasts had confirmed it. Incoming fire would trigger the forge’s onboard software to form a plasma shield capable of annihilating anything a person could reasonably shoot at it.

  Unfortunately for LaMonte, glitter rounds weren’t really projectiles. They were payloads.

  The first detonated near LaMonte’s blazing plasma sword just as it began to reshape into a shield. The glitter—highly conductive dust—pulled at the shield’s electrical charge, warping the containment field and forcing the plasma forge to strain, burning Dust to keep the gravity field stable. It was a tiny cloud—barely half a meter across—but Tony didn’t stop at one. In seconds, he dumped more than a hundred rounds, walking the reticle right and drowning LaMonte’s partner in a shimmering haze.

  The forge’s hum rose into a shrill whine. Glitter dragged the charge in every direction, and the containment failed. Plasma escaped—and the cloud became a conduit.

  LaMonte cursed, stumbling back. His partner screamed as the discharge flash-fried him. His SMG and extra mags detonated, every round rupturing at once, and Tony was once again grateful for his stolen helmet as shrapnel tore through the air.

  He forced his hands to remain steady as bits of metal and shattered polymers showered him, digging into his knuckles and the rips in his armored suit. Still, he maintained his shotgun aim. While LaMonte stumbled for balance, Tony unloaded both barrels at the other man’s knees. Tony had given the guy a good look while he’d been taunting him and determined the merc’s leg armor to be his weakest point. Of course, his unarmored face would have been better, but LaMonte was stumbling back, his face shielded by an arm as his buddy exploded, so Tony worked with what he could see.

  The shotgun roared, and the polymer shielding on LaMonte’s knees deformed and shredded. The big merc surprised Tony by not falling, though; he twisted and dove into a somersault, rolling over his shoulder and then back to his feet as he engaged his enhanced reflexes. LaMonte clearly meant to run for the corridor leading to the restroom, perhaps to regroup, perhaps to flee into the side entrance of the auditorium. He might have gotten away too, but Tony was used to high-speed combat engagements. Bracing himself against the loss of his remaining Dust, he fired his reflexes, too, and raced after the wounded man.

  Tony tried to reload the gun as he ran, but he was moving too fast, and LaMonte must have sensed him catching up. The other man whirled, swinging a buzzing vibroblade, and Tony had to deflect it with the shotgun. LaMonte’s knife cut through the plastic forestock and buried itself in the metal barrel before getting wedged. It rattled for a second before the safety mechanism cut the power, and Tony jerked the shotgun, ripping the knife out of LaMonte’s hand and throwing it to the side.

  The big, looming merc balled up his fists and his grin returned; this time his brilliant teeth were stained red with blood. “Nice trick, asshole.”

  Tony smirked, snapping a jab at the taller man’s jaw. “Always cut the power when someone deploys glitter, dumbass.” His speed boost had run out, but it seemed LaMonte’s was done, too. Even so, he dodged the blow, tucking his chin as he leaned back.

  “It’s not like there’s a user manual.” LaMonte came at Tony with a flurry of brutal punches—jabs and hooks that Tony easily deflected or slipped. In a corner of his mind, he wondered if he could be so lucky; was the merc really out of tricks? Would they finish this with a fistfight? He went at him, his right arm markedly faster than LaMonte’s human ones, especially the one burdened by the bulky plasma forge. For his part, the merc did a decent job of blocking, ducking, and weaving, but Tony landed one hit to his ribs, then another glancing blow to his skull, scraping his heavy metal knuckles over his ear.

  LaMonte stumbled back, his right hand groping for something under his armored vest. Tony didn’t wait to find out what it was; he stomped forward and pounded his metal fist against the merc’s vest, smashing the groping hand underneath it. LaMonte gasped in pain, and Tony hard the telltale sound of cracking glass. “You fuck!”

  “What?” Tony asked, continuing to pound him—a left hook to his cheek, and another punishing right to his ribs.

  “Dust! Hang on, l-listen!” LaMonte gasped, and Tony realized what had happened. The merc had been trying to feed a Dust vial into his reactor—not the smartest or easiest thing to do mid-fight—and Tony had shattered it. The plasma forge was hungry, but so were the merc’s other mods, no doubt. At the thought, memories of Tony’s first days in the Blast flashed through his mind; going from abundant Dust to none was a damn rough feeling.

  He should have realized the merc wouldn’t make small-talk about his Dust, though; the little ruse distracted Tony just long enough for LaMonte to pop the tab on a flashbang and drop it between them. It might have worked to evade a lesser operator, but Tony gripped LaMonte’s wrist, snatched the golf-ball-sized grenade on its first bounce, and stuffed it up under the merc’s vest before pushing him back.

  The look of panic on the man’s face as he pawed at his vest was almost comical, but something had changed in Tony since he’d met Addie; he couldn’t find the old cruel glee he used to enjoy as the grenade went whump, and Lamonte coughed a gout of thick red fluid as he fell onto his back, twitching and smoking. He took one step toward the downed man before fire erupted down the dim corridor and the buzz of an SMG tore through the sudden quiet.

  Tony hit the deck as two rounds impacted his coat. They felt like hammer blows, but he was reasonably sure the bullets hadn’t penetrated the material. He lay flat on the rough industrial carpet, trying to keep LaMonte’s corpse between himself and whoever was unloading on him. Bullets tore into the carpet, pinged off the merc’s armor, and hit Tony’s helmet like hot lead hail. Several hit his back, and one dug into the heel of his boot, but then the barrage was over and Tony was on his feet, sprinting toward the shooter.

  To his surprise, it was the first merc he’d taken down—the one he’d left alive, tied to the toilet pipes. LaMonte and his mercs must have freed him and given him a weapon. Cruz was standing in the alcove leading to the restroom, frantically trying to clear a jam from the breech of his SMG when Tony smashed into him, shoulder checking him back against the wall like a runaway train. “Should have stayed down,” Tony growled as he pounded his cybernetic fist into the guy’s forehead. He felt bones give way under the blow, and Cruz’s eyes went blank as he slid down the wall to the floor.

  After a few seconds, Tony’s comms lit up and Glitch’s voice came through: “T? You still with me? No cams down there.”

  Tony leaned his shoulder against the wall, heaving for breath, trying to assess the wounds on his body—too many to catalogue. “Still here. Messed up, but here.”

  “And the bad guys?”

  “Done.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to find a spot to lie low. Maybe just get in the elevator where you left your bag. I have control over it, but I haven’t worked out a bypass for the floor lockdown.”

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  “Any alarms going off?”

  “Nothing. It’s business as usual downstairs.”

  Tony frowned, hardly able to believe it was over—at least his end of it—and he was still alive. “What about the others?”

  “Smokey’s helping them. They’re making their move on the boss lady.”

  With a grunt, Tony pushed himself off the wall and limped his way over to the body of Jen’s top guy—well, her former top guy. “I’m counting on you, Glitch. Get me outta here so I can get over to their location.”

  “Working on it, T.”

  “Nora?” Tony asked, scanning the hallway.

  “Yes, Tony?”

  “Where’d that gun go? The shotgun with the vibroblade stuck in it?” He looked pointedly at LaMonte’s corpse near his feet. “I’m gonna need to do some cutting.”

  ###

  As the distant concussive booms echoed, Jen stood from her desk and walked over to join Eric at the window. “I don’t see anything,” he said as she peered through the hazy, rain-spotted diamond-glass.

  “Well, those are definitely gunshots, right?”

  “Yeah, but they sound far away. What did Haven say?”

  Jen sighed, shaking her head as she walked over to the coffee bar. “Said everything’s clear. Had two of her people go out and sweep the lot, but they said it’s just gangs having a dustup down the block.” She poured herself a cup of hot, too-thick coffee and turned back to him. He was leaning against the glass, rubbing his chin as he stared into space. “Relax, Eric. It couldn’t be him.”

  He nodded, holding up his fingers one by one. “He doesn’t know about this office; he’s tied down at the tower, and nobody in this district would dare work with him.”

  “Exactly.” She returned to her desk and tapped the crystal-glass display, swiping left to right, scanning the cam feeds from the tower. “What the hell is going on over there? Look at Devereaux—just standing in the lobby, looking around like Tony’s gonna give him a free shot.”

  “He’s probably hoping the others will flush him out.”

  Jen ignored him and activated her comm channel with LaMonte. “I need an update.”

  There was a long, irritating pause, but then LaMonte’s voice came through: “We’re mid-sweep. Can’t talk.”

  Jen frowned.

  “What?” Eric asked, fresh panic drawing the blood from his cheeks.

  “You’re spiraling.” She waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I’m sure it’s just the stress.”

  “What?”

  “I just don’t think LaMonte has ever not called me Boss. You know?”

  Eric hurried over to her desk. “You think we’re compromised.”

  Jen groaned, setting her cup onto her desk a little carelessly, spilling some of the bitter brew over the rim. “Did I say that? They’re in the Tower, Eric. You think Tony became some kind of world-class netjacker while he was in the Blast?” She snorted. “Come on—we’re just being paranoid.”

  Eric shook his head. “It’s been fifteen minutes since he slipped Cruz. We should have heard something by now.”

  Jen turned, determined to pace the length of the office—to give herself some space from Eric’s hysterics if nothing else—but then she heard a thump on the door. Before she could contact Haven to ask what was going on, the engineered wooden panel burst in a shower of splinters, and a giant stumbled into the room.

  “What the fuck?” Eric cried, but Jen dropped, putting her desk between herself and the enormous black-clad man who’d just violated her sanctum.

  “Get on the fucking ground,” a deep voice boomed, and then Eric ran—or he tried to.

  There was a storage closet on the far side of the office, past the windows. Maybe he thought he could get in there and barricade the door. Maybe there were some guns or other pieces of hardware stored inside; Jen hadn’t been involved much in the minutiae of the move. Whatever the case, Eric turned and bolted for it, but then the big man’s gun fired in a high-pitched brrt-brrt-brrt, and Eric fell not a meter from her desk, his suit pants shredded and bloodied.

  “Ah! You son of a bitch!” he wailed. Meanwhile, Jen opened her bottom drawer and reached for her pistol. It was a hell of a little gun—a stinger, the boys on her crew called it. It only carried four shots, but they packed a punch. Jen just liked the way it looked and how it fit perfectly in a clutch or strapped to the inside of her thigh. She liked how it used Dust to compensate for recoil. Most of all, she liked what it did to people when she pointed and pulled the trigger.

  Lumbering footsteps told her the big guy was walking around the side of her desk toward Eric’s writhing, wailing form. Her partner was groping at his belt, reaching for his sidearm, but he was clumsy with pain, his hand shaking with adrenaline as he gasped and whimpered. Watching him for a pair of seconds, Jen decided then and there that she could never be aroused by that man again.

  When the giant came into view, his long black duster flapping with his heavy strides, Jen lifted her pistol, and—

  “I’d put that down,” a voice said from behind her. It was feminine and youthful, but it had an edge that didn’t allow for doubt; she meant business.

  Jen lowered her little pistol and, still on her knees, turned to the other side of her desk. Not three meters away stood a smallish figure wearing a matte-black helmet. The intruder was clad in an armored vest and gripped a shiny, chromed-out pistol in her right hand. The barrel didn’t waver as she held it trained on Jen.

  “Sit up,” the giant grunted. She heard Eric groan, then the thud of something heavy hitting the office carpeting not far away. His pistol? “You want me to do him?” the giant asked.

  “No!” the smaller figure said, still staring at Jen. “You know the deal: injection and take out his chip.”

  “Listen,” Jen said, starting to build a mental picture of the situation. “Maybe you’re not aware of who I am. There’s going to be a world of trouble coming your way, but I can make that go away. I can offer—”

  “Quiet, snake,” the woman said, gesturing with the pistol. “I should save everyone some trouble and shoot you, but I need something. Cooperate, and I won’t kill you. Now drop your damned pistol!”

  “What do you need?” Jen asked, slowly lowering her gun to the carpet.

  “Lift the lockdown on the elevator at Cross Tower and give Tony security clearance to leave.”

  Jen’s eyes widened. “So you are with him.” She tilted her head, looking the woman up and down again, then turned to regard the giant. “I don’t recognize your team. He hired some randoms?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” the giant rumbled. “Do what she said.”

  “Jen,” Eric said, his voice wheezing, “don’t give them a reason to—” Something hissed, and Eric went silent. Jen glanced at him again and saw the giant groping around at his data port. He was going to pull his PAI. For the first time, something like genuine fear gripped Jen’s heart, and she held up her hands.

  “Listen, there’s no need to do anything rash. I’m assuming you have control of our comms? Is that why my team isn’t—”

  “Don’t fish,” the woman said, taking a step to the side, further splitting Jen’s attention from what the big guy was doing to Eric. “Just execute the command as you normally would, but, yeah, if you do something dumb, I’m going to know it.”

  A soft thud behind her told Jen that Eric was out—lying prone on the carpet. There’d be no help from that quarter. What about her team? She had to assume they were gone; nothing else explained how these two were in her office, nor how they seemed unconcerned by the shattered doorway. Jen frowned. Was it time for her ace? She’d held it so close that nobody knew about it—not Eric, and certainly not Tony.

  Jen looked at the woman, licking her lips as she tried to buy herself a few seconds to consider. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of state Tony’s in, but he shouldn’t have any trouble leaving. He—”

  “The elevator lockdown,” the woman growled. “Cancel it and give him clearance in case he draws suspicion.”

  As she spoke, Jen studied her. The woman’s face was covered, and most of her body, but her wrists and hands weren’t. Feigning nervousness—not difficult under the circumstances—Jen fidgeted, glancing back over her shoulder at the big man. He was better covered; even his neck was clad in black, armored dermal plates. His right hand was cybernetic, but his left was flesh and blood. He was wearing one of those half-gloves, though—the kind that covered his knuckles but left his fingers clear. Those big, thick fingers were the only bits of flesh he had exposed to the air. Would they be enough?

  “I’m waiting, lady. One more chance to get mercy from me. Issue the order!”

  “Just do her,” the big man growled. “We can wake up this asshole and make him clear the lockdown.”

  Jen scowled at the brute. He didn’t seem to be bluffing. It was all the impetus she needed. She focused on her AUI, staring at the green skull and crossbones in the corner. It flashed, slowly at first, but then a second later, far more rapidly. There was a built-in two-second failsafe—a chance for her to cancel. When she didn’t, she felt a vibration in her molars as two of them slid open, and still staring at the big guy, she opened her mouth as a nearly invisible, faintly green gas poured out.

  It was a mod she’d had installed years ago—a neurotoxin that would render anyone helpless in seconds and dead within minutes. To cover for her behavior, she coughed, and, confident that enough gas was floating toward the giant, she turned to deliver a dose to the cocky little—

  She was gone. Jen leaped to her feet just as the giant hit the carpet with a thud that shook the floor and rattled the furniture. The toxin stopped spraying; the payload had run dry. Still, the room was thick with it. Of course, Jen was immune; she’d received the requisite nanotech-assisted neutralizers when she’d had the mod installed. “Where are you, you little bitch?”

  When no answer was forthcoming, Jen reached down and picked up her stinger. “You can run, but you messed up tonight, sweetheart. I’ll find you.” She turned and regarded the two men lying unconscious on her carpet. “I’m sure you’ve got some answers for me, don’t you, big guy?”