CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So that’s how you use the All-Predator!” Susan whispered. “We thought it was useless.”
“Apparently not,” Isaac said. “I wonder if Nina was watching.”
The game state paused, the player pods opened, and Kohlberg strode onto the stage.
“Wow!” Kohlberg exclaimed, spreading his arms. “What an upset! What a comeback! Who could have seen it coming?” He waved Sako and Wong Fei to join him while other ActionStream attendants guided the two defeated players down into the understage. “What a finale tomorrow promises to be! Elly Sako versus Wong Fei! The sneaky assassin versus the defensive powerhouse! The Admin versus SysGov!”
Susan leaned over as Kohlberg continued his post-match wrap-up for the day.
“I heard back from Noxon,” she said. “Defender-Prime departed for the Admin a few minutes ago. We should have her background check sometime after midnight.”
“Good. Did he voice any concerns about our request?”
“None. Why would he?”
“I don’t know. I half-expected there to be some pushback to us wanting Sako’s background material, either with our access to the DTI files or the use of a chronoport.”
“Seemed straightforward enough to me,” Susan said. “You’re an investigator. The request was well within your authority.”
“Guess I’m still getting used to what this role means.”
The event began to break up after that. Highlights from the match played overhead while attendees filed out through the exits along the upper rows. A pair of armored DTI agents met Sako at the base of the stage and escorted her down into the understage.
Isaac stayed in his seat, watching the flow of the crowd and waiting for the rush to die down before making his own break for the exits. A second pair of DTI agents drew his eye, and his brow creased when he saw who they were protecting.
“Wait a second.” Isaac nudged Susan in the shoulder.
“What?”
“Look there.” He pointed. “What’s Masuda doing here? Shouldn’t he be on his way back to the Admin?”
“Don’t know. Want to find out?”
“I do.” Isaac rose from his chair.
* * *
“Mister Masuda,” Isaac said, approaching the player from the other side of the ramp down to the understage. His pair of DTI synthoids parted to allow Isaac and Susan through.
“Why, Investigator, good to see you,” Masuda replied, then nodded to Susan. “Agent. What can I do for you two?”
“I was surprised to see you in attendance today.”
“Ah, yes.” Masuda smiled bashfully. “I suppose you would be.”
“Last we spoke, you made it clear you had no intention to return. You seemed quite emphatic on that point.”
“Yes, I was,” Masuda admitted.
“What changed, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, I don’t mind. Not one bit, though I get the impression you’re wondering if my change of heart might have some relevance to the case.”
“It’s my job to be on the lookout for potential connections,” Isaac defended. “And you are acting in a way inconsistent with your testimony.”
“Then let me do my best to reassure you. The reason is quite simple. Sako asked me to come.”
“She did?”
“Yes. She stopped by the chronoport after the match was rescheduled.”
“Just to ask you to attend?”
“More or less. We talked a bit about the tournament and the threats we’ve both received, our reactions to them. Those sorts of things. Then later she asked me to join her for the tournament tonight.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
“Not specifically, though I could guess.” Masuda smiled. “She’s the only Admin player left, after all. It’s only natural to want some moral support while she faced down all three of SysGov’s top players.”
“That’s it, then?” Isaac asked. “She wanted you to come here and cheer her on?”
“Just so.”
“Did you tell her you’d attend?”
“At first, no. I gave her the same answer you heard from me, that I had no plans to leave the chronoport.”
“How did she react?”
“I could tell she was disappointed, but she didn’t press the point or argue over my decision, even though she clearly didn’t agree with it.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Why, the fine men and women of the DTI, of course!” Masuda slapped one of the agents on the shoulder, who seemed oblivious to the gesture while he continued to scan their surroundings for threats. “I spoke to Pérez after Sako left, and he walked me through all their enhanced security measures. I was quite impressed! Plus, a drone leads the way wherever I go! These countermeasures show the DTI is taking the death threats very seriously. It helped put me at ease. Not completely, mind you, but enough for me to come out tonight and support a fellow player. I hope you find that a satisfactory explanation.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“Not at this time, no.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a word with her before we go our separate ways.”
“Of course.” Isaac stepped aside.
Masuda and his escort headed down the ramp.
“How’s this fit into your Sako theory?” Susan asked.
“It doesn’t,” Isaac groused.
* * *
“Thanks for coming, Shingo!” Sako gave Masuda a warm, full-body hug, then released him and held him at arm’s length. “I knew you’d show!”
“That makes one of us,” Masuda replied. “Those were quite the moves you pulled off, by the way.”
“Thanks! I started practicing with the All-Predator back during the Byrgius qualifier.”
“But I never recall you using them before.”
“Right you are!” She winked at him. “I’ve been saving it for the finals.”
“That took guts,” Masuda commended.
“But it paid off. Grim and Yoo never saw it coming!”
“You would have caught me off guard, too, had I still been in the match.”
“Aww, don’t be like that.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Trust me, this trick could have blown up in my face a dozen different ways. It’s hellishly difficult to pull off.”
“I’d imagine so. I try to stay clear of self-harming weapons myself.”
“To be honest, keeping clear of the All-Predator is the easy part once you have access to endgame tech. The real trick is having enough resources to unlock it while at the same time avoiding other players who are much stronger than you.”
“You made it look easy, somehow.”
“That’s what I was going for!” she declared brightly. She nodded down the corridor. “You turning in for the day?”
“Yes. You?”
“Over to the Pollen Mixer for some drinks. Wong Fei’ll be there, too. You’re welcome to join us.”
“You’re having drinks with him?” Masuda asked. “But you two still need to fight it out tomorrow.”
“So?” she defended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have a drink with the guy.”
“No, I suppose not,” Masuda conceded.
“Interested? You’re welcome to join us. Some of these SysGov mixed drinks are amazing!”
“Thanks, but no. I’d rather not stay out any longer than I have to.” He leaned closer and spoke softly for emphasis. “And I suggest you do the same.”
Sako shook her head. “Not going to happen.”
“But the death threats—”
“Whoever made them can go fuck themselves,” she declared firmly. “I’m not going to let them rule my life.”
“Well, try not to stay out too late. You want to be fresh for tomorrow.”
“No promises.” She winked at him again, then tugged on the sleeve of one of her guards. “Come on guys! Let’s hit the Pollen Mixer!”
Masuda watched them disappear around the bend, then he turned to one of his own escorts. Agents Arlot and Duncan both stood alert and attentive a few paces back.
“Arlot?”
“Sir?”
“I’d like to return to the hangar now.”
“Of course. Please follow me.”
Arlot led the way down one of the understage passages in the opposite direction Sako’s party took, guiding Masuda to a small grav tube transfer station restricted to Crimson Flower staff and guests. A Wolverine drone waited for them, crouched by the entrance. It sat up on all fours when it saw them coming.
Arlot loaded their destination and let the drone go through first. He waited one minute and then he stepped in himself.
When it was Masuda’s turn, he paused ever so slightly. Antigravity was one of the SysGov marvels he struggled with. It was an empty, open tube, after all! Even in the low Lunar gravity, the fall would be fatal under normal conditions. But people walked in and out of these tubes as if it were the most normal thing to do!
Why couldn’t they use elevators like sane people? he wondered.
“Sir?” asked Agent Duncan, standing behind him.
Masuda hadn’t realized how long he’d delayed.
“I’m fine.”
He walked forward onto nothing and felt the low gravity of Luna vanish, replaced with the sensation of free fall. The graviton current whisked him down through a short passage filled with flashing rings of light before depositing him in a larger public transfer station located many levels below the stadium. His escort guided him to another tube, and they climbed in once more and sped further down the tower.
Masuda supposed, of all the wonders he’d experienced over in SysGov, antigravity was the most impressive. Certainly, the terraformed moon itself was quite the spectacle as well, but he believed the same could be achieved in the Admin with enough resources and patience.
The politics of Luna—and violent tendencies of its most radical citizens—made such a project difficult to justify. Why pour so much effort into creating and nurturing a biome on the airless moon when its inhabitants seemed more inclined to sabotage progress than welcome it?
In that regard, SysGov held a powerful edge over the Admin. Not only did this society possess the technical mastery to achieve great works across the solar system, but its people possessed the will to collectively see them through.
SysGov had terraformed both Luna and Mars and had even begun to remake hellholes like Venus! What had the Admin done with its own version of the solar system? Nothing, beyond preserving the status quo.
In that light, he thought dimly as he transited down the tube, I wonder if they view us like we view the Lunarians. As troublemakers one should keep a wary eye on.
The public tube delivered them to the wide plaza at the base of Pistil Tower. He stepped away from the exit and looked across the red, polished flagstones. He would have preferred a more private route back to the hangar, but the Crimson Flower wasn’t laid out with his convenience in mind. Every path from the stadium to the Admin hangar passed through the central plaza.
The Wolverine trotted across the open expanse, halfway to the other side, its head swiveling back and forth as it worked to verify the route ahead.
Masuda began to cross the plaza with Arlot ahead of him and Duncan behind, passing clusters of SysGov citizens along the way. A few locals turned to take in the curious foreigners and their mechanical guard dog, but most headed about their business with barely a glance, if that.
They had almost reached the Petal Four tubes along the outer circumference of the plaza when Arlot stopped in his tracks. He held out his palm as if reading an abstract message, but Masuda couldn’t see anything. The agent was keeping the message private.
“Is something wrong?” Masuda asked.
“Yes,” Arlot replied brusquely. “League protesters have broken into the Crimson Flower.”
“They’ve what?” Masuda blurted. “How many? Where are they now?”
“One moment, sir.”
Masuda gathered the impression the agent was trying to hold two conversations at once. He looked urgently around the plaza, but everything appeared normal to him. It was just another day in the Crimson Flower, except…
“Over a hundred protesters,” Arlot reported, “with more flooding in, and they’re making faster progress through the building than we projected. It’s like the Flower’s internal security isn’t even slowing them down. Either someone’s opening the checkpoints for them or they got their hands on some high level keycodes. Either way, we’re to head directly for the hangar. Duncan?”
“Ready!”
Arlot urged Masuda forward with a hand on his shoulder, and together they sprinted to the Petal Four transfer station. Someone shouted behind them, and Masuda turned to see a cluster of black-clad protesters pour out of a nearby transfer station.
“There he is!” one of the protesters shouted, pointing at Masuda. “After him!”
The protester must have manipulated the local infostructure, because a giant, abstract arrow materialized over Masuda’s head. It bobbed up and down, flashing between red and white while emitting a two-toned siren.
“Uh oh,” Masuda breathed.
Arlot grabbed a smoke grenade off his equipment harness and threw it so hard it traveled almost horizontally into the crowd. The compact cylinder sparked against the ground like a stone skipping across water, and jets of white smoke billowed out of both ends.
The thick cloud disoriented a few League protesters, but others raced through the smoke, homing in on the abstract marker over Masuda’s head. A large man wearing a black helmet with a reflective visor kicked the smoke grenade to the side.
“I don’t think nonlethal’s going to cut it,” Duncan said, placing a hand on his slung rifle.
“Those are the orders,” Arlot snapped. “Now into the tube! Go, go, go!”
Duncan grabbed Masuda by the shoulders and manhandled him into the tube, all while keeping his armored bulk interposed between the player and the advancing protesters. Arlot planted a second smoke grenade on the wall next to the grav tube, then backed into it. The graviton current whisked them away at a diagonal into Petal Four.
Masuda let out a long, calming exhale.
“That was a bit too exciting for my tastes.”
“Uh huh,” Duncan grunted, holding onto him and gazing up.
“At least they’re behind us.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, sir.”
“Huh?” Masuda asked, then gulped and followed the agent’s line of sight up along the tube’s path.
“Stick close to us,” Duncan said. “We’ll get you through this.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Not sure, sir.”
The grav tube dropped them off in a circular room with a central fountain and a dozen public access tubes—
—which protesters were already pouring out of.
“You have entered an exclusionary zone,” their Wolverine warned, standing between the intruders and the arriving agents. “Move back or I will—”
A burly man with black pants, a black scarf, and a bare chest with LEAVE written across it in greasy black paint tackled the drone to the ground while the others rushed toward Masuda. One of the protesters pulled some sort of round device from his pocket and tried to push past Arlot, readying a throw, but Arlot grabbed the man by his shirt and flung him back with enough force to bowl over two others.
“Ouch! That hurt!” whined one of the downed protesters.
“To the hangar!” Arlot snapped. “Move it!”
The pair hustled Masuda down a curving corridor lined with hotel suites. Behind them, black-clad protesters stumbled over their fallen brethren before advancing down the hall in a wild mass, though one of their number had stopped to paint huge black words on the side of the fountain.
“Should one of us break off and delay them?” Duncan asked.
“No! We stick with Masuda!” Arlot ordered.
They hurried down the arcing corridor and were about to pass a T-junction when shouting up ahead prompted Arlot to slow down. Another group of protesters hurried into view from around the bend, abstract arrows guiding them straight to Masuda.
“How’d they get ahead of us?” Duncan asked.
“Forget it! Left!” Arlot shouted. “Go left!”
They turned at the junction and sprinted down a straight hallway while the two mobs converged and poured in after them. The agents guided Masuda through several more turns before coming into view of the hangar entrance, where two more agents stood watch.
“Seal it behind us!” Arlot called out. “We’ve got company!”
“Yes, sir!”
They filed into the expansive hangar where Pathfinder-Prime sat in its docking cradle, belly ramp open. The two hangar guards backpedaled through the hangar entrance, even as protesters came into sight at the far end of the corridor. One of the agents palmed the interface, and the prog-steel door snapped shut.
“Locked, sir.”
“Good job.”
“Whew!” Masuda exhaled. His knees quavered like jelly, and he dropped to a crouch to steady himself.
“Report!” Noxon snapped, hurrying down the ramp with Pérez and three more agents.
“League protesters have reached the hangar exterior,” Arlot said. “However, Masuda’s inside here with us and the entrance is sec—”
The interface to the hangar entrance chimed. Prog-steel split open, and the first of many protesters stumbled in. Another clambered over the first, and more flooded through after him.
“Oh, hell,” Arlot breathed.
“But we locked that door!”
Virtual chimes sounded off from both hangar side entrances. Prog-steel yawned open, and more protesters flooded in from either direction. One of the protesters, a heavyset man with a black bandana and triumphant gleam in his eyes, flung a spherical device at the gathered agents. It burst open before impact and splattered Arlot with a black, tarlike substance.
The tar writhed around him, creeping across his armor. He tried to scrape it off but that only joined his hands to his torso via thick strands of the strange goop.
“Oh, shit!” cried Arlot, the fear and urgency palpable in his voice. “What is this stuff?!”
“Self-replicators!” Noxon snapped. “Purge your armor, agent! Do it now!”
“Shit! Here goes!”
“Get down, sir!” Duncan grabbed Masuda and shielded him with his body.
Arlot triggered a controlled detonation underneath his armor’s corrupted malmetal plates, which blew the front half of his suit off and sent pieces scything through the air. One hexagonal plate struck the heavyset protester with the bandana in the head. Blood sprayed into the air, and he dropped to a heap on the floor.
The advance of protesters slowed, then halted as all eyes turned to their downed comrade. The whole hangar seemed to hold its collective breath while a pool of blood gathered underneath the man’s head, soaking his bandana.
“Oh God,” uttered one of the protesters. “Is he dead?”
Arlot patted himself down, checking himself for infection points.
“See any more of that shit on me?” he asked urgently.
“You’re clean!” Duncan gave him a thumbs-up.
“They drew first blood!” shouted one protester with a black scarf pulled up over his mouth. “Get them!”
An angry throaty roar rose from the League members, and all three clusters charged in at once.
“Orders, sir?” Pérez asked.
“Neutralize them!” Noxon snapped. “Nonlethal suppression!”
“Yes, sir!”
“And someone get Masuda into the damn chronoport!”
Arlot grabbed Masuda while the other DTI agents charged into the advancing mob.
* * *
Isaac didn’t know what he expected to find when he reached the Admin hangar. All manner of blood-soaked worst-case scenarios played out in his mind as he rushed to the Admin’s aid. The League mob had moved through the Crimson Flower with startling rapidity, and local law enforcement had only begun to mobilize. Even then, so many protesters had entered the Flower and gone off in so many directions that it would take the state troopers valuable time to corral and subdue them.
Too much time, in Isaac’s estimation, which was why he and Susan had joined up with Nina, and together they’d headed straight for the Petal Four hangar.
They found the first sign of conflict immediately in front of the grav tubes where a damaged Wolverine stood triumphantly over an unconscious protester with black paint smeared across his bare chest. He was drooling on the carpet.
“You!” Isaac snapped. “Come with us!”
The drone trotted after them as they hurried to the hangar. Navigation arrows pulsed in his virtual vision, but he didn’t need them. He could have found the hangar blindfolded.
A raucous melee raged within the hangar. Outnumbered DTI agents fought against an angry mob of black-clad protesters, beating them back with their hands and feet and the butts of their rifles. They were living weapons clad in armor, and unconscious protesters littered the ground. He could almost feel the crunch of their impacts as synthetic fists broke ribs and cracked skulls.
But the protesters kept coming at them, and they had a few synthoids of their own, evident in the DTI agents and busted drones on the ground. One agent lay sprawled on the floor while a protester hammered the back of her head with her own severed arm.
Isaac’s LENS tracked the weapons in the room and highlighted them in his virtual vision: a few knives and smart-paint grenades on the protesters and the (as yet unfired) rifles belonging to the agents. One of the protesters had somehow claimed a rifle, but it was little more than a bludgeon without the authorization codes.
The situation was bad, but it wasn’t worst-case bad. This wasn’t the scenario where the Admin fought back with intent to kill. They’d busted heads and shattered bones, sure, but no one had died as far as Isaac could see. Every injury could be mended with the right care.
But that would have to wait.
Right now, he needed to restore order.
“Cephalie!” Isaac pointed at the man beating the downed agent with her own arm. “Crowd control mode!”
“You’ve got it!”
The LENS morphed into a teardrop and burst forward. It clipped the protester in his raised arm, ensnaring it in a globule of morphing prog-steel. He dropped the severed limb, his eyes growing wide, mouth forming an O as the force of the impact drove him back. The LENS angled down and struck the floor with a loud clang. It left a piece of itself spiked into the floor, then darted after its next target.
The protester yanked on his bound wrist but couldn’t pull it free.
“Nina!” Isaac faced her. “You, too!”
“All drones forward!” she shouted. “Crowd control mode!”
Her six forensics drones morphed into aerodynamic shapes and shot into the crowd. Together, their combined forces ricocheted through the mob like angry streaks of silver, bouncing from one protester to the next, binding wrists and ankles to the floor before speeding off in a new direction. Their shells shrank with more immobilizations as the drones expended pieces of themselves with each restraint.
One of the protesters saw the drone attack and decided to charge at Isaac, which almost made him roll his eyes at the futility. The man’s attire made him look like a mummy wrapped in black cloth strips with ragged streamers billowing behind him. Susan stepped in the protester’s path, dodged the sluggish punch he threw at her, grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and tackled him to the ground, all in one fluid motion.
“Thanks,” Isaac said.
“Anytime,” Susan replied, binding the prisoner with a prog-steel cuff.
The mob’s numbers were too great for their drones to incapacitate everyone, but the shock of seeing so many League members incapacitated so easily rippled through their ranks, and many halted there, unsure what to do next, now that their supporting numbers were stripped down.
A few protesters continued to fight, especially those closest to the agents and, therefore, unlikely to have witnessed the culling their numbers had received. However, the DTI agents knew an opening when they saw one, and they went on the offensive, clobbering the few remaining fighters.
It was quick, brutal, and efficient. Just what Isaac had come to expect from the Admin, and soon every protester was either incapacitated or had ceased to fight.
“This is the System Police!” Isaac shouted, his voice amplified over the room’s shared virtual senses. “You are engaged in an illegal assembly and are under arrest!”
“They started it!” whined one of the protesters. She pulled her scarf down from her mouth and pointed at the DTI agents.
“Sit down and wait your turn to be processed!”
“But—”
“Sit down!”
The whiny protester dropped onto her butt, and soon others followed her example.
“Are we under arrest, too?” one of the DTI agents asked. He didn’t recognize which.
“Don’t be dense.” Isaac opened a comm window. “Dispatch.”
“Themis Dispatch here. We’re seeing a lot of activity at your location, Detective. Do you require assistance?”
“You could say that. I need all available LSP units to converge on my position.” He surveyed the bloodied protesters littering the floor. “As well as all available medical responders. Same location.”
“Most of the CFPD is currently occupied with a multitude of crimes spread all over the Crimson Flower, but I see a few units available to support you. Routing them to your location now. Same with the medical teams. The first should arrive at your location in under ten minutes. Do you need anything else, Detective?”
“Not right now. I think the worst is over. Thanks, Dispatch.”
He closed the window, then stepped forward until he was near the middle of the carnage.
“Didn’t your branch president tell all of you to take it down a few notches?” he asked.
None of the protesters would meet his gaze.