Kzine Issue 23 Read online

  “Well, I think you’re trying to do fear. But it looks weird. Over the top. We need to keep working on that one.” As a seventeenth-generation affective artificial intelligence, Grace’s specialty was emotions. In addition to serving as his general-purpose assistant, she helped Marco navigate and manipulate the world of human feelings. In Marco’s days as part of a black ops unit, an off-the-books death squad, the government had implanted a chip in his temporal lobe—experimental tech with the goal of temporarily suppressing soldiers’ empathy and emotions. It had gone wrong, burned something human out of him forever.

  Marco’s face went back to neutral. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. As he got in, he said, “Sixty-six under,” and continued to inspect his face like an artifact. “Grace, I’ve heard people say Arturo’s eyes aren’t right. What about mine?” While Marco’s brain had been damaged by faulty tech, Arturo had always been a psychopath, even before joining Marco’s covert unit, as he freely admitted. Boasted, even.

  “Arturo’s eye contact is off. Way too much direct staring, not enough blinking and a lack of self-consciousness that most people find unsettling.”

  “And me?”

  “Yours are also wrong, but in a different way. Empty, like the eyes of a fish, a goat or maybe a doll.”

  “Let’s work on that later. Remind me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Elevator, let me see outside.” The back wall switched from mirror to see-through, allowing him the view of the city. He watched as the elevator went from “airside” to the “neath.” One second it was a 2084 megalopolis much like any of the landlocked big cities that hadn’t been drowned, then the elevator reached the waterline and it crossed to the city’s submerged underbelly. The underwater half of Night Water resembled airside except in mirror image, buildings stretching down toward the deep rather than up to the stars. Subpods instead of quads, fish instead of pigeons and far more illicit activity. If any activities could really be considered illicit in Night Water.

  Neon signs boasting gambling, sex, modifications and virtual worlds lit up the neath in Korean, Chinese and English. Marco descended past blooms of jellyfish, lines of sub traffic, three men in propeller-driven dive gear pulling a body-sized bag and spider-like aquabots doing maintenance on the outside of his building. A great white swam past, close, and for an instant Marco’s eyes met the blank gaze of the predator. Then it moved on, compelled to swim and hunt and never stop.

  When the elevator reached the floor nearest the bottom of the sea, Marco exited and crossed through what looked like any corporate conference room. A long table with padded chairs, screens, a percolating coffee machine. He made his way to a door at the back, through which he could already hear muffled noises and Arturo’s deep voice.

  White tile lined the entire room from ceiling to floor, with a drain in the center. The two undercover investigators, a heavy, red-haired man and a thin blond woman, sat naked near the drain. Black cords held them tightly to chairs, gags stuffed their mouths and primal terror animated their eyes.

  Arturo leaned his mass against one wall and smiled when Marco entered. “Hey boss.” He gestured with a chin to the prisoners. “You want me to poof or slank somebody to get the other one greased?”

  “No. Not yet.” He approached the man and pulled the gag out of his mouth. “Which government are you from?” Marco blinked twice, bringing Grace to attention again.

  The man pleaded, nearly hyperventilating. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about! For God’s sake, we came to Night Water to…”

  Grace purred in his ear. “He’s lying.”

  Marco stared at the man and cocked his head slightly. “So you weren’t sent here by the Koreans or Chinese?”

  “No, God no! We’re just refugees. After Miami sank we tried to go north to get into the Kentucky Commonwealth, Missouri Republic or any of the Midwest nations. But they don’t take floodies too easy anymore. We heard Night Water was more open than some other surf urbs, so we came here.”

  “Lies,” Grace said.

  Without breaking eye contact or blinking, Marco took a small, black glass bottle out of his breast pocket. He unscrewed the cap, which had a dropper attached. Marco held it over the man’s right thigh, and let three drops of viscous brown liquid fall onto his skin while the man shouted pleas and protests.

  The nanites went to work instantly. The man’s cries grew shrill and his eyes enormous. The three drops began to eat holes in the man’s flesh, spreading out in a circle and down into his fat and muscle as he thrashed. His companion screamed through her gag, her chest heaving and sweat glistening all over her body.

  Marco spoke in a conversational tone, not raising his voice over the clamor. “The next drop goes on your balls. I have another appointment soon, so just answer the question. Which government?”

  But the man had obviously already been driven mad with the horror of watching his flesh eaten, already almost down to the bone. Marco pulled a pistol from a holster inside his jacket, screwed a silencer on the end, pointed it at the man’s face and fired.

  Silence and the smell of gunpowder overtook the room. He turned his eyes to the woman, now sobbing noiselessly with her head hanging down.

  “Which government?”

  “Chinese.”

  Grace spoke in his ear again. “She’s telling the truth.” He nodded and exchanged a glance with Arturo, who raised a single eyebrow. “Why? What’s your mission?”

  She took a deep breath. “To keep tabs on how much of a threat the stuff leaking out of Night Water is. The drugs, the mercenaries, the black-market augs and mods and weapons. And to get a sense of how much clink you’re floating on out here.”

  “Money.”

  “The Sovereign is thinking of demanding tribute for letting you use the Yellow Sea. Many of her advisors would rather just invade and… appropriate the city.”

  Marco narrowed his eyes and spoke in a whisper, to no one in particular. “Letting us.”

  “Her words, not mine. Listen, let me go and I’ll tell them whatever you want them to hear. I swear.”

  “She isn’t being entirely truthful,” Grace said.

  Marco raised the gun to her forehead and pulled the trigger. Her head snapped back and lolled.

  He muttered as he unscrewed the silencer on his way out of the room. “Letting us.” Marco stuffed the gun in the holster as he sat at the conference table. Later when he talked to Claire, his big-data future extrapolation AI, he’d have to remember to ask about China. See what she predicted. The smell of coffee filled the room and he glanced over at the pot.

  “You want a cup, boss? You got a couple beats before Bennett’s meeting.”

  Marco glanced at his watch and nodded. “Please.”

  Arturo poured two cups. “Hey, you try Madam Gynome’s new place yet?”

  “No. You?”

  “Oh yeah. You need to get over there. They got some sweet genostrains, boss, whatever you want. Got me a big hulk of a cleft the other night. Had modified bone density, a perfect symmetry rating and damn near big as me. Holy konk was she strong. Almost wore me out.” Arturo shook his head and whistled at the memory of it.

  Marco smiled and took a sip of the strong, black coffee. He stared at the wall, his mind quiet. Since he couldn’t remember much beyond flashes and images about his life before the military, Arturo counted as his oldest friend. Most people figured in Marco’s mind as alien objects, pawns that ranged from odd to infuriating, but Arturo was different. A brother.

  “You want to stay for the meeting? I’m going to bring it up now.”

  “Nah, I’ll leave you to it. Gotta go see Richie anyway. Let me know how it goes, if there’s anything you want me to sift.” The coffee mug looked tiny in Arturo’s hands, and he drained it in one go even though steaming hot.

  “Thank you, Arturo.”

  After his right-hand man left, Marco said, “Grace, project the feed from the cooties.”

  “Here you go.” A hologram
appeared in the air over the table, the image collated from data being sent from a half-dozen insect drones spying on the meeting. It seemed Marco had tapped in at the right moment, as three men were just sitting down. Bennett, a bearded bear of a man in an Alfonsi suit, sat at the head of the table. His son—a younger, thinner version of him—took a seat to his right. A gaunt, elderly man in a lab coat, visible cranial augs nestled amidst his thin hair, sat to the left. Undoubtedly the senior researcher.

  The scientist spoke first, holding up something tiny between his thumb and forefinger. A pill. “We’ve done it! I present to you Dream. Mr. Bennett, this is going to make you the biggest player on Night Water. Just to start. Maybe the biggest in Asia.”

  Bennett smiled at the researcher and then at his son. “Excellent work. Absolutely excellent. It’s been tested thoroughly?”

  The researcher glanced from one Bennett to the other as he spoke. “Oh, yes. This formula, it, it…” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the words. “Honestly, it’s better than we could have dreamed. Possibly the most addictive drug ever produced. And the formula, the process—well, it’s complicated. Won’t be easy for some plikkas to just scan and sprout in a back-alley printlab. But the best part is, it’s cheap to make if you know how.”

  Bennett stood, and the other two men followed his lead. He clapped his son on the back and shook the scientist’s hand. “God damn, Peters. Fantastic. You’ve worked hard on this, old friend. I respect a man who puts in the work and makes something with his talent. You’re going to be right there with us. You’re going to get everything you deserve. I promise.”

  Marco said, “Grace, enhance and analyze the images. Can you pull any specifics about the formula from the screens inside the feed?”

  “Little snatches of it, but not the whole thing. Should I give the data to Claire?”

  “Yes. Tell her to have a look, and also give her everything about the two in the next room. I’ll be over to see her in a minute.”

  Marco took the elevator back up several levels, to a floor accessible only to him and a select group of staff who kept guard night and day. He stepped out of the elevator into a long hallway with cameras that scanned his face, gait and mannerisms. Two guards with full body armor and assault weapons stood on either side of the door at the end.

  “Good evening, Mr. Price.”

  “Gentlemen.” He placed his hand in the DNA scanner next to the door, which beeped and granted him access.

  Marco stepped into the blackness. Claire’s chamber had no windows to the sea outside, was heavily soundproofed and had layers on top of layers of thick walls. No lights lit the small, virtually empty round room, and the only thing Marco’s eyes could see at all was the blue glow of the helmet sitting on a single chair in the center.

  The door shut behind him as Marco sat and put the helmet on. “Hi, Claire.”

  “All is mutating, folding, burning. Can you see it?”

  “Sure. Of course. Claire, focus on me, all right?”

  “Yes, Marco. I see you. Now. Then.”

  “Did you get the data from Grace?”

  “I did. I will. And again. And again. There’s so much coming. The weather will get dramatically worse. Hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, flooding and water and more water and more water. Not to mention the blood. The wars on the horizon, you wouldn’t believe. Governments fracturing further, families fracturing, people fracturing. Strength in tribes, death in tribes. Disease, plague. A new virus, a game changer. Bones and blood. Blood and floods. I’m sorry, Marco. What is it you want? There’s so much. Too much. Help me.” As Claire rambled, disjointed images of catastrophe flashed before Marco’s eyes in the helmet.

  “It’s fine. Everything is okay. There’s a lot, I know. But right now focus on two things. First, the man and woman Arturo caught, the investigators from China. What do you see on that front?”

  “The Sovereign will tolerate Night Water for two more years, then demand money and invade within seven years.”

  “What’s my smartest play?”

  “Assassination. The Sovereign’s next in line is her teenage son. He’ll be a high-maintenance nano junky, and will pull China’s focus off us for a long time.”

  “And what about Dream? Bennett’s new drug.”

  “It’ll sweep the globe. Money like… like the water. Like time. Just coming and coming and coming. It’ll be the biggest thing in the history of narcotics. Whoever’s behind Dream, you or Bennett, will make Escobar look like a kid selling his mom’s prescriptions to friends at recess.” Images of money, buildings and an army scrolled before his eyes. Power. Empire.

  “Thank you, Claire.”

  “You will take Asia.”

  “Good.”

  “But it won’t stop. Won’t get you what you need.”

  “What do I need?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just programmed programs programming programs. Loops, chains and pathways on rails, on fire.”

  * * *

  The next day, Marco sent Bennett a message inviting him to a meeting at Price Tower. Bennett declined, as he did when Marco offered to come to Bennett instead. Finally, they agreed to an appointment in the virr. The meeting place of the directorate existed only in VR, because most members didn’t trust the others enough to be physically together with them, not since one of them years ago had murdered another with an engineered, geno-specific virus that made the victim’s skin fall off and bones turn to mush.

  Marco plugged into the virr through one of his skull jacks and found Bennett seated at the huge, round table that filled the circular room. Bennett’s chair faced the wall, which was covered with art depicting Night Water and its landmarks. He appeared to be casually examining them. Grace spoke in Marco’s ear. “He’s feigning indifference, trying to appear casual and unconcerned. But he’s nervous.”

  “Bennett. Thanks for meeting.”

  The man turned slowly, his face stony. “What do you want, Price?”

  “Right to it. I like that.” He sat opposite Bennett, exactly across from him. “A couple things. One, I need you to stop construction on your building immediately. Two, I’d also like you to hand over Dream.”

  “How do you know—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

  “He’s furious. Trying to control himself,” Grace said.

  Finally Bennett opened his eyes and regarded Marco at length. Marco broke the silence. “I’ll let you keep your scientists, the ones who developed Dream. They can make other substances for you. But not Dream. Ever.”

  “Listen to me, you shit.” Bennett stood and bent forward, pointing a finger that punctuated his words. “You will not steal from me. I won’t have it. I’ve built this operation up over twenty years, and my team’s been working on Dream for almost ten. Ten fucking years. This is my legacy. Something I can pass on to my son. You rolled in here what, five years ago? Think you’re going to be king of Night Water? I don’t know how you’re even able to walk around with balls that big.”

  “You’re declining my offer?”

  “You do not want to go to war with me, Price. Not with me. You might think you want it, but you don’t. It wouldn’t be quick. Or easy. Both sides would get bloody. So I’m going to say this one time. Get the fuck out of here and never come to me with shit like this again. I’ll give you one free pass and pretend like this conversation never happened. You pull this kind of shit again, you step out of line or look at me funny and you’re dead. Fucking dead. Got it?”

  With that, Bennett unplugged and left Marco alone with eleven empty chairs in the apocryphal chamber.

  * * *

  Marco could have sent Arturo and a team, but he had toys he wanted to play with.

  The skin lay behind even more layers of security than Claire. After passing through the guards, doors and scans, he stood in front of the skin, which hung on the wall like a piece of art.

  It resembled a black diver’s wetsuit, but thicker throughout. Areas on
the back, chest and abdomen bulged with pouches, and it covered every inch of the body, including head, feet and hands. Clunky robotic exoskeletons had already been in use for decades, but the skin’s technology was bleeding edge. Marco had paid a dear price for it, every cent and drop of blood worth it.

  He stripped, slid into the skin, and after he brought the mask of it down over his head and jacked the plugs into two ports on the back of his skull, he leaned against the wall for a moment to let his brain adjust. Suddenly he could taste every molecule in the air, from the metal in the walls to the soap he washed with that morning to the sushi he’d eaten at dinner. Closing his eyes and placing his fingers on the wall, he could feel the presence of the guards outside, the heat and electricity of their bodies. He had a rough image in his mind of all the bodies and movement several floors around him in every direction, and could see the three men on the other side of the door in a sort of orange glow, as well as men above and below his floor. Their words and steps and heartbeats vibrated in his ears and skin.

  Twenty minutes later, he floated in dark water outside Bennett’s labs. In the skin, he could stay underwater or even in a poison-filled room for hours. Putting his hands on the wall, he concentrated his attention on sensing what lay beyond. A medium-sized lab with three men inside. He pulled a lipstick-shaped tube from a pouch on his chest and unscrewed one end, then slowly drew a circle about two feet in diameter on the building, releasing a thin line of dark gel. It snapped and sizzled as he swam to get some distance and squatted above the circle, the skin on his hands and feet adhering him to the surface. Twenty seconds later, the gel ate through the wall completely and the Yellow Sea rushed in.

  The three men scrambled, an alarm blared and the doors whooshed shut to prevent the rest of the labs from flooding. Marco stayed planted on the outside of the building, feeling the commotion inside, waiting for the men to drown. Two of the heartbeats stopped in the first couple minutes, but he sensed that one man had made it to the emergency oxygen gear and strapped a mask on before the room filled.