Simmons Pier served as one of several dozen docking centers along Montrose Harbor.
All sorts of shops, restaurants, bars, and hotels, extended-stay and otherwise, dotted the coastline’s outer rim. Sure, over half were empty at the moment, but that was still a vast improvement over the abandoned labyrinthine buildings people used to call ‘malls’. Now, they were just pre-Colapse ruins. Except ruins tended to be less picked-clean.
The instant I opened the door, I got sucker-punched by the chill coming off the water. The wind-tunnel from a particularly unfortunate gap between the shops was like a release valve pointlessly venting its infinite pressure into the parking lot.
Not exactly what I needed after how my day was already going. I hadn’t felt this exhausted in years. And it was supposed to be my day off… Granted, that’d gone out the window the moment Jameson chose today for his little get-rich-quick act of high treason.
So, instead of relaxing, I was running all over town, tracking people down, presenting my badge, and explaining the same thing over, and over, and over, to what felt like everyone I’d ever met. That wasn’t the kind of agent I was anymore. Hadn’t been for years. But sometimes, I suppose, plans do change. Even the best ones.
Speaking of which… “Alvarez, if you would, please repeat your orders.”
Nearly off the hook after he was stuck chauffeuring me all over town for the past hour, the task force’s greenest member started. “Uh… First, wait until the target disembarks. Second, track the target while waiting for your signal. Third… On your signal… Move in to subdue?”
With effort, I suppressed a groan. I even suppressed the urge to massage my temples. Again with this guy… “And?”
Alvarez let out a snicker absolutely bursting with anxiety as he stuttered. “And then… We proceed to… Uh… That is… I’m sorry, I’m drawing a blank. What am I forgetting, sir?”
I sighed even louder than I might’ve as I remembered how much I’d done that today. Well, I’d been a recruit too, once. Although I could swear I’d never been quite as inept as everyone under me now. Which meant I’d probably been worse… Well, whatever. Course-correct now, dress-down later. “And… The most important part iiis..?”
He tried his best to pretend to know exactly what I was after. “Ah, yes sir. I just thought it was obvious. Fourth… Agents lacking kinetic shield vests are to provide cover fire while those in possession of them secure the suspect.”
“Wrong. What else?”
“Uh… Oh! You mean the girl, sir?”
Finally some progress with this kid. “That doesn’t SOUND like the most important part, Alvarez.”
“The girl, sir!”
“The Girl. What precisely about this… What did you call it… ‘Girl’?”
“Don’t hurt her, sir.”
“Did you vow to ‘don’t hurt’ and serve?!”
“Protect her, sir!”
Reaching out, I gripped the other man’s shoulder. A habit I still hadn’t kicked from my years as a recovery counselor. “Never forget that, Alvarez. Protecting bystanders is ALWAYS the most important part.”
Hand still on his shoulder, I met my subordinate’s eyes. A much rarer card for me to play. And not one I could do very often unless I wanted to be known as ‘That Guy’. Used sparingly though, it worked wonders for perceived emphasis. “But ESPECIALLY today. She’ll probably fight back, so keep in mind that she’s a hostage. If you forget everything else I’ve said, remember that. Now then… Let’s move.”
Dear god what a slapdash mess of a plan this was. Who would’ve thought the sister would run when she had? Who would’ve thought she’d run at all? Let alone steal the damn car? Clearly not Bill. And certainly not me.
Bookish. Antisocial. No record of any kind. THAT girl stole a government vehicle? And what even was that thing she’d used? Some kind of mechanized drone? There were no records even hinting of such a thing in her files. And didn’t she have more of those? Like in those other pokéballs she was carrying? Footage from the car’s third camera clearly showed that was where she’d pulled it from. It was such an obvious hiding spot in retrospect. Three pool-ball-sized cases hanging in plain sight everywhere she went? I couldn’t decide if it was stupid, or genius.
None of us had even considered it. Days of meetings, scrutinizing every little detail of the operation, and… Nobody even thought to comment on them. Nor was her school aware of such contraband, or her record wouldn’t have been so clean. Yeah, she swore a lot. But so did Stephie. And that girl’s record wasn’t nearly so spotless. I needed a drink…
Here I was anyway. Right in front of this bar… At which I was forbidden from ordering even one of the twelve drinks I wanted just now. Not while I was on duty. This did not help my disposition.
The sister had just disappeared in the middle of this walkway after leaving the car she’d hired? The bartender remembered a girl like that passing her window, but afterwards? Nothing. From anyone. All her known acquaintances were all absent and accounted for, nowhere near this side of the city. I’d know. I’d checked. Teachers. Classmates. Friends… Or lack thereof. Family, ESPECIALLY lack thereof. I’d memorized the names and faces of everyone she’d talked to in anything more than passing, going back two years.
There should’ve been cameras all over the place, of course. But there were none. At all. Old Man Simmons simply hated them. Even now, the geezer living in the house on his dock was still rebelling against pre-Collapse concerns. When we had the luxury to care about things like corporations. And personal data. And privacy.
As it was, if there’d been any clue to be had, the entire task force exhaustively searching the pier would’ve found it by now. Not that I’d call them off. Even if they didn’t turn up anything, it’d at least keep them busy. A situation this delicate with how much had already gone wrong? Nothing could be worse for morale than idle anticipation.
That wouldn’t work on me though. As resident distractor, the only one I couldn’t distract was myself. Like… Did Jameson really think he could get away with this? Buying salvage rights for one building and then switching it out for another with some sleight-of-hand?
Even if we hadn’t found him out right away, we would’ve put it together as soon as the recovery team got to the site of the BS relic and discovered copper wire. The recon drones hadn’t found any copper anything in the building we’d scouted. Just the priceless replicator. That could feed this entire city… Forever. Literally forever.
It belonged to everyone. Not one man. Not for any reason, let alone one so selfish as money. Not a single replicator had popped up since BFS disappeared without telling anyone how he’d made them. Not an especially helpful move when even still to this day, nobody’s managed to reverse-engineer the century-old technology.
Not that they hadn’t tried. In fact, they’d tried far more than they should’ve. It’d been the dream of every nation on Earth since he’d left. If they could’ve reproduced the technology so advanced that it still felt like magic, they could’ve literally ruled the world.
So they’d tried, and destroyed each device in the attempt. Opening the outer shell had broken it forever, rendering whatever was making it work totally inert. Just a 3D-printed chassis and a basic joint system to facilitate moving parts, but no electronics or programming, or… Anything. Despite each converter’s working displays and hatches that really did seem to work on hydraulics.
But no. Each was just a big plastic nothing, all surrounding a plain, if heavy, metal ball. That was theorized to be the device’s core, in more than just the obvious sense. But it was just a solid, unornamented metal ball without so much as an etching, inside or out. Nothing connecting it to any of the rest, either. The alloy, quality, and every other aspect of the metal used, seemed to be totally random. Even between the same models of the same converter. Like BFS had just used whatever was on-hand, as though it made no difference in the final result. The same went for the 3D printer filament of the shell.
But, despite the consistent, unwavering failure of all attempts to harness the same power themselves, they’d kept trying. As they tended to do. Eventually, they’d broken one too many of the CO2-to-O2 Converters to keep global warming subdued like it had been since he’d put them up.
Then the planet flooded. Then the Revolution. Then the new nations were established around nexuses of whatever converters still worked.
Now, long after the fact, we just wanted to find more. Find and use them to help whoever we could. It was, quite literally, the most important thing in the world.
I truly believed that. Everyone in the New Colonies believed that. It was the very promise we’d built them around. If this went badly, it really could mean war. Nobody, anywhere, wanted that again.
Except Jameson Simmons, apparently. He’d take another field of mass graves if it meant he could sell it to the highest bidder. All for himself… And probably his sister… And maybe Stephie…
She wouldn’t worry about anything, ever again. That by itself almost seemed worth letting him have the damn thing. But no. The number of lives at stake. Not even… My own niece… Was worth… That. Could. NOT. HAPPEN. Not if I had anything to say about it. And I intended to scream that denial as loud as I could.
If I didn’t, how could I ever bear to face Sasha again? Or her mother? Or… myself? No. I WOULD save my niece. And I WOULD save this city.
But first? Idle anticipation. Yep… Nothing… Worse… For… Morale… No, you idiot. Were you even listening to yourself? Keep busy. Find things to do.
So I did. Not much to be done, really. But I puttered up and down this part of the pier, individually repeating my orders to everyone, and looking everywhere for even the slightest thing that someone might’ve missed until…
Eventually, I heard Doug in my ear. “Target spotted, Sir.”
I leaned into my shoulder even as it relaxed for the first time in hours. “Alright, showtime people. Get in-”
“NOW!!!” A voice. Female. Young. The bar..? The roof!
I snapped my head in that direction to find… Nothing?
And why was it getting darker? Well… It was the evening, or else the pier’s lights wouldn’t be on, but-Oh. Those same lights were dimming. Oh thank god, I’d thought… I didn’t even know. But there was still a good bit of sunlight left in the day. Not for long though.
So we’d better get moving. “Enter Phase One.”
But while my entire team scrambled, something else happened. As though that was what ‘Phase One’ referred to, the previously dimming light fixtures FLARED to a brightness level clearly far above what they were made to handle. I didn’t particularly fancy myself an electrician. It was more a common sense determination judging by the blinding effect it was already starting to have on everyone here.
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And yet, they brightened more. Brighter still. Some of the smaller lights burst in a shower of glass on a few of my agents.
That took precedence. “Away from the lights, NOW!!!”
Just then, the bar door banged open and a homeless man ran out, covering his head as someone from inside yelled after him. “-fat bitch stole my hat!”
Interesting distraction as that was, we had more important things to worry about just now. Such as the fact that all non-exploded lights were still getting brighter.
But then, like the foot of God stomping on the bubble wrap of my day so far, all the bigger lights exploded at once, each propelling more glass shards over a longer distance than all the smaller ones combined.
Damn it. After the lights went out, I couldn’t see a thing. My eyes… They were used to that level of light now. I’d slipped up when the hobo ran by and looked right into a light. Now I was stuck, not moving, for several precious seconds just because I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t fall in the damn water.
A few of my guys had to have been hit by glass, right? “Status!”
No response. Good. If anyone was hurt, or if they saw something important, that was their signal to say s-
“Visuals compromised, sir!”
Shit! Had to go and say it… Even if it was just in my own head. I knew that voice. I even knew where it came from. After the girl stole my damn binoculars, Doug was on lookout duty with the high-end scope on that sniper rifle we confiscated mid-operation.
And he’d just been flashbanged. Everyone on the pier had. But with that kind of enhancement… He might’ve just lost the use of that eye. His other one would recover. All of ours would. Just not nearly in time.
It may have looked like the dead of night to me right now, but I could still see what I needed to do. “Repositioning!” I was the only other one of us with the clearance to even touch that thing.
As I ran across the blurry pier, I scrambled to get my bearings on my new role in all this. “Banks, how many magazines?”
Doug mumbled, rapidly coming out of one kind of shock and into another. “None, sir.”
“None?” Well, perhaps that was for the best. There were reasons they were banned in the colonies.
“There is one magazine in the case, but… I think there’s room for six shots in there?”
Ah. So someone really had hired a hit. Who was the target of that… Later. “Six? Seriously?”
“I said I THINK… No way to confirm without firing since-Oh there it goesss…” At that, it sounded like he slumped to the floor. Unconscious? I hoped so.
Booking it for the dockside hotel, I raised my badge and gun in front of me like a pike to hopefully get people out of my way while I couldn’t really see them. This had the unfortunate effect of drawing public attention like moths to a flame. But nothing for it. I was, after all, in a hurry. Please, Please, PLEASE don’t be too late. This was not a mission any of us could afford me to fail.
I stop at the building’s door to wait far longer than can reasonably be expected for it to process my retina scan. The instant the door slid open just enough for me to think I could fit through the still-widening crack, I almost immediately realized my mistake as I BARGED through the damn thing.
Slamming past, I dislodged the unlocked door from its track moments before I heard it behind me, beginning its auto-repair. Then I pulled a repeat-performance, running all the way across the mostly empty lobby, massive sidearm and badge both in full display. I maintained my speed as I entered the stairway door, counted two clockwise sets of four small flights before I finally stopped.
Please…
Finally, this doorway’s retinal scanner activated as well.
Please…
SLAMMING the currently opening stairwell door even more off its track than the other, I stepped into the hallway and immediately reached my goal.
Another retina scanner. This one wasn’t as fast as the last two.
I felt like I was about to have a heart attack. And I should know. I’d set up our staging room here for a reason. And I needed to use that reason now. Preferably sooner. But I’d take what I could get. If I wasn’t full-on panicking, I might’ve asked Doug to keep it unlocked. But who knew if he could even do that at this point?
I checked my phone. No alerts. Nothing else either. Come on, sweetie…
Finally, this door opened too.
I brushed past the haphazardly scattered equipment, past Doug on the bed, clutching his face in a death grip around a freshly ruined eye. I could tell he was breathing, but… No time.
Steadying the gun on its still-mounted tripod, I looked through the sights just long enough to verify the burn-in before scrambling for the replacement I’d spotted in the case.
That was when I noticed what Doug had been getting at. There was one magazine. And it was hooked up to the momentum converter. I’d never used one, but… What choice did I have? I knew from my research that there was no disconnecting it without destroying whatever it was connected to.
I just stared at the thing. Damn it, we didn’t have time for this!
I hooked in the replacement sights and jammed the magazine, converter and all, into the rifle. Firing this thing wasn’t part of the plan. But that had gone out the window with the lights. The city came first.
Sweating profusely now, I finally lined up the sights, even as my eyes were nowhere near recovered from the lights outside. As dark as it all looked to me, I was at least on-the-ball enough to remember that it was actually well-lit, so the scope’s night-vision switch was out of the question.
But what I could see? It was enough to make out a distinct silhouette of a dark-blue bag on the far-lighter brown deck of the boat I was already sighting. The one with… A crane? Huh… It looked like the girl really had been holding out on us. But why that? And why… No. The bag. That’s what was important. It was exactly the right size. And… shape? A little bulbous to fit the standard profile. But I had no doubt of what I was looking at.
Switching to sixteen-times zoom, I could just make out the edge of a matte-white-plastic bit sticking out.
I laughed. Slowly. Humorlessly. At some point, it turned into crying. That crazy bastard had really done it. And he was dragging little Stephie down with him? No. No, no, no. He thought he could use MY family as a hostage?
I sat there for a moment. Totally frozen. No way around it. I might get fired for this. I didn’t care. I might go to prison. I. Didn’t. CARE. I had a mission. For a country. For a city. For a sweet little girl. For the brother I’d never seen happier. For the niece I was ashamed of. Ashamed because I loved her more than the city or the country or any of it. Ashamed of the hypocrite I was about to become.
But I’d gladly leap into hell if it meant she’d be saved. I’d throw away everything I’d ever stood for. If it meant saving her.
I gripped the gun. For the first time in my long career, I put my finger on a trigger with not just the resolve, but intent to kill. Now… Where was that little shit about to tear my family apart?
My eyes were recovered enough to just barely see into the cabin. But I couldn’t quite make out the details under the shadowed roof. Was someone in there? Jameson? It definitely looked like it could be… Should I shoot?
No. Think clearly, damn it! Without a clear shot? Seriously? What was I doing? There was stupid, and then there was stupid. Maybe I really should be fired if I was gonna display that kind of discipline with this kind of weapon.
That was when my phone played a sound clip of my niece singing into the little Karaoke machine I bought her on her fourth birthday.
My entire body froze as I made absolutely, positively sure not to jostle the weapon or pull the trigger by surprise reaction of any kind.
No need to check who it was. “Hiii, Sweetie.”
Only one person had that ringtone. “Heeey Unkie Mikey.”
Oh thank god. “H-” I caught myself the instant the first tense syllable came out. Acting, Mike. Remember how you’d been commended for acting under pressure? How about you act like a goddamned professional and prove you’d earned it! “Hi sweetie!” Now, I was sounding like an Unkie Mikey should. “Did the job go good?”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yeah, we just got back.”
Could I get her away from there? “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Hurry up and spill the tea while you come meet me at the pier.”
Niiice and slow. Feel free to ramble. The more the better. “The… The pier?”
Not exactly what I had in mind. Shit, um… “Yeah, sweetie. I just parked at Simmons Marina. Isn’t that where you wanted to meet for dinner after you got back from your thing? To, you know… Celebrate?”
“No… I definitely don’t remember-Wait, no! If you’re on the pier, then what in the fuck was that light just now? Did the marina get bombed or what?” The hell was she-Oh! The power surge.
I struggled to force out a probably unconvincing chuckle through the golf ball in my throat. “Sorry Stephie, I don’t know what you mean. I’m still in the parking lot, so maybe I just missed it?” I paused, hopefully selling the act. “Tell you what, why don’t you head down to the pier and I’ll buy you some grub? You can run me through the whole day in person while Jameson unloads everything. I’ll even make sure he knows I made you not help him. You’re blameless. It’ll be aaallll my fault that you got out of doing any more work today.”
Please? Please be lazy. You’d always been so good at that. Just leave. Please… Please leave, Stephie.
Taking my finger completely off the trigger, I rotated my sights to investigate some movement underneath the boat just now.
Oh. There she was. Stephie had finally walked far enough down the dock for me to see her from here. So that wasn’t her in the cabin. That could only mean one thing.
Target confirmed. Sixteen-times zoom. Center mass. Aaand-“What the…”
Something happened in the cabin. There was some sort of… Swampy green, wavy thing moving all around in there. What even was that?
“What’s wrong?” Stephie sounded worried. So caring of her. Swearing or no, she was my favorite niece for a reason.
“Just a sec sweetie, gotta talk to someone. Head on down the dock and I’ll meet you at the end.” I hung up on her before she could reply.
Now seriously though… “What..? Just had him… Is that a tarp, or-”
Sweetie!? No! Why was she going back up!? Nooo…
But what the hell was that thing? It was… Moving towards the window. Was Jameson behind it? More to the point… Was it bulletproof?
A distinctly blonde head moved into my sights.
Scared shitless, my finger darted away from the trigger. I almost reacted… Could’ve killed… Focus.
The blonde head moved out of my view as soon as the strange figure… Took a swipe at her? Good enough for me. I couldn’t lose her. Not here. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I did know what to do about someone attacking my family. The family it just shoved out of my way.
My finger landed back on the trigger. Back onto the cold sweat coating every part of the gun I’d touched for more than a moment. My little girl would never run from a fight. Now was the only chance I was likely to get before she jumped back in.
Swallowing the hesitation I’d always prided myself on, I pulled the trigger.
My pride hit the green blob. The tarp-thing stopped moving. But that was it. Then it moved forward again. Jameson. Had to be.
I fired again.
My self-esteem hit the green monster. Jameson moved back a bit. Whatever sort of body armor he’d found for himself, he obviously wasn’t expecting high-caliber armor-piercing rounds.
Another shot.
My self-respect hit the green demon. It moved back even more. Jameson started to fall backwards. Too slowly. Who knew what he’d do to her if he recovered.
I squeezed a bit too tightly, firing three more rounds far faster than was ever intended by the gun’s manufacturers.
The tarp fell backwards onto… Jameson? Still fast asleep.
I pulled again. But it didn’t fire. Nor did I hear the click of an empty magazine. Instead, there was a sort of whirring noise and… Ow!
My hand reeled back like I’d just touched a pan right out of the oven. The gun barrel was red-hot. The rest of it wasn’t doing much better.
Not sure if I really was out of ammo, the sniper was nonetheless unusable. I could do nothing. Nothing but watch the panic. The confusion. And as I watched, my sight gradually returned to normal. I watched them abandon what I now clearly recognized as a dead body in a green coat on the floor of their boat’s cabin.
I recoiled away from the sights. Oh dear god. What had I done?
Hands trembling, voice struggling to overcome the baseball in my throat, I pressed a button on my uniform. “Target… On the move…”
My hand fell limp.
Mind racing, overwhelmed with confusion, worry, but now most of all guilt, I mechanically got up and walked out of the hotel room.
My other hand snagged.
Oh. Still in the trigger guard. That was right… Gotta give this back to…
I glanced over at Doug out cold on the bed. In no condition to be responsible for much of anything right now.
Not thinking clearly enough to adopt a carrying grip, I didn’t pay particular attention to the thin trail of blackened thread that marked my progress out of the room.
The sizzling of a burning-hot sniper barrel dragging across the carpet kept up even after I shut the door.