Escape (6 page)

Kieran's eyes narrowed angrily, and he was half out of his chair before he even realized why. “What have you done to me?”

Reddick rolled his eyes and pointed to the chair. “Sit down, Kieran. No need to get your balls crossed.”

“You've drugged me!”

“Relax. It's not addictive.”

Kieran shook his head to clear it, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He gritted his teeth, against the now loathsome feeling of euphoria guiltily tiptoeing through his brain. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his brother's blissed-out face.

“Let's make this visit shorter, just to be on the safe side. I need a loan. One thousand tokens, but I'll pay it back before the month is out.”

Despite whatever ecstasy-inducing drugs were in the atmosphere, Reddick's face clouded. “A loan?”

“Just for a few days. I have a big claim coming in, but I need the money to pay some bills until then.” That was almost a lie
—
he
did
need the money to pay his bills, but he was going to use it to pay the tolls on the IF-57 instead.

Reddick's expression had turned slack and childishly disappointed. He looked up at Kieran with wide brown eyes, one hand scratching immaculately manicured fingernails through his curly black hair, as if he couldn't understand what he was hearing. Having satisfied the itch on his scalp, Reddick used the same hand to point an accusing finger at Kieran. “For four years, I barely see my own brother
—
”

“Well
 
.
 
.
 
.
” Kieran began to interrupt.

Reddick held up his accusing finger to stop his younger brother from finishing that thought. “And not for want of invitations.”

“Look, Reddick, after dad died
—
”

Reddick bolted out of his chair, his expression suddenly angry. “What are you saying? That you were the only one grieving?! Because I cried myself to sleep every night
 
.
 
.
 
.
for years! I still haven't come to terms with what happened!”

Kieran frowned, wondering at his brother's outburst. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I wasn't suggesting that you haven't been grieving.” Reddick's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his fists were clenched. “I was just trying to explain why I've been so solitary.”

“Why have you been?” There wasn't an ounce of understanding in Reddick's face. Somehow Kieran had the impression that it wouldn't matter what he said at this point, his brother wouldn't understand. Maybe it was a side effect of the drugs in the air.

“Things haven't been quite as easy for me, as I'm sure you know. I've had to work really hard just to put food in my belly and pay the rent, sometimes working 20 hours in the belts
—
collecting samples, running scans, sleeping in trispace space between runs. I haven't exactly had much time for socializing. No offense, but I don't think you can relate.”

Reddick shrugged and looked away, but Kieran caught a hint of the contemptuous twist of his brother's upper lip. Reddick was staring absently into the holo-screen mounted on the wall opposite the glassine holo-table. The holo-screen was presently displaying an underwater scene with a school of angelic, semi-translucent fish drifting quietly past the camera. The fish seemed humanoid, but that wasn't terribly unusual.
A nature show. The legal drama must have ended.
Kieran watched as one of the creatures stopped and turned to the cameraman. Its face looked almost human, definitely intelligent, but it wasn't a species he recognized. Smooth, feminine features; long, drifting, yellow hair; wide, green eyes. The creature reached out with a delicate, translucent tendril. Curiously probing. It appeared to be fondling the camera.
Or possibly the cameraman.
The creature smiled, revealing a double row of jagged black teeth. Kieran frowned, realizing for the first time that something was horribly wrong.

Then there was a blur of movement, and suddenly the blue water turned a dark, misty red.

The alien was nowhere to be seen.

Kieran gaped at the screen. The camera angles switched, showing exactly what had happened to the cameraman. Ragged, unidentifiable chunks of him were floating in a massive, rapidly-spreading cloud of blood. It was just barely possible to make out signs of movement within that cloud
—
tentacles and tendrils whipping impossibly fast through the water. That angelic creature was viciously ripping its prey into even smaller pieces.

Kieran shuddered. “What are you
watching?
”

“Hmmm?” Reddick asked, his head turning from the screen. “Oh
—
criminal justice on Lucicus. They get the worst offenders to film their own executions
—
for posterity. They play the videos in school. A form of prevention, you see. Quite effective.”

Kieran grimaced, morbidly unable to look away from the screen. Half a ragged, bloody foot floated past the camera. “So what are
you
watching it for?”

Reddick smiled, enjoying his brother's revolted fascination. “I find it soothing. Is that sick?”

Kieran finally looked away from the screen and gave his brother and incredulous look. “Soothing?” His eyebrows must have been scraping the ceiling.

“Yes, it reminds me that everyone gets what's coming to them. Sooner or later.” Reddick's gaze drifted back to the screen.

Kieran wisely kept his eyes on his brother. “Well, that's
 
.
 
.
 
.
” Kieran shook his head. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Not.” Reddick turned on him with a patronizing, pitying look. “First of all, you could learn to ask a little more nicely. Second of all, how do I know you don't need the money to settle gambling debts, or to pay your tab at the bar?” Reddick shook his head. “I'm not going to contribute to my little brother's corruption.”

Kieran's lips twisted into an ironic grin. “Suppose I need the money to lace the air in my apartment with drugs?”

A quiet smile touched Reddick's lips. “Would you like some of mine?”

The offer almost seemed genuine. Whether or not it was, it just made Kieran angrier. “Forget it. I'll borrow the money from the loans department.”

“You do that, brother of mine. And when you've learned how to properly ask someone for help, feel free to come crawling back.”

Kieran smiled thinly. “Well, I'm sorry to have interrupted your
 
.
 
.
 
.
” His gaze slid sideways to the holo-screen. “Evening's
entertainment
. Goodbye.” Kieran turned and strode for the door.

“Watch the sculptures on your way out!”

Kieran had half a mind to trip over one and accidentally fall against another. Now he remembered why he'd taken so long to visit his brother. Reddick was a defalita.

Chapter 3

A
s far as Kieran was concerned, the only productive thing to do with rage was to hit the nearest gym and drown it in sweat.

And of all the sweat-inducing activities at the gym, nothing was more cathartic than beating the infernal out of an automaton in the ring.
Maybe not the healthiest form of expression, but at least I'm not picking on the first lowlife to cross my path
.
 
.
 
.
 
.

Kieran stood panting in one corner of the ring, his bare chest rising and falling, rising and falling, rippling with hard knots of muscle, glistening with sweat which was running in rivulets between his well-carved abs. In the opposite corner from him was a hulking leviathan of a man, his black face smugly confident, his synthetic flesh
—
seemingly one layer of muscle after another
—
free of sweat (that cost extra). It was a convincing substitute for a live, human opponent
—
an automaton that would bleed, sweat, and whose synthetic flesh would bruise, swell, and split if the customer wished to pay extra for those features. Kieran didn't have that kind of money to waste, and he wasn't sure he wanted the experience to be that realistic.

The automaton began walking slowly, confidently forward, his grin still in place, his synthetic muscles rippling. The automaton's programming allowed it to behave like a real man of comparative size and apparent strength. There were a number of different models available. Kieran had selected the hardest one, well out of his weight class (he wanted a challenge, not a punching bag).

Not one of his smarter ideas. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Kieran wiped his brow to prevent more from trickling into them. He watched the automaton's every slow and plodding step, trying to guess what move it would make first, using the time to catch his breath.

Suddenly, he was out of time. The automaton rushed him with an angry roar. Kieran dashed to the right, ducking a solid left hook, and taking a glancing right jab on his shoulder.

Ouch.

The only restrictions he'd programmed were no broken bones and no concussions. He could bruise and bleed as much as he liked.

Kieran shot past his opponent, the momentum from the punch sending him spinning into the springy red railings of the ring. He bounced off and straight into a sucker punch to his gut that took the wind out of him and knocked him onto his coccyx.

He sprang to his feet before the bell could ring and end the round. Feinting to the left, he went right again and shot a straight jab into his opponent's jaw. The automaton looked like he hadn't felt a thing. Kieran danced backward, keeping his guard up, looking for an opening. The automaton walked blithely forward. No technique, no defense employed, his guard down.

Kieran frowned around his mouth guard. Unless they'd programmed overconfidence into this model, it was definitely up to something. This had to be a trick.

The automaton was almost in striking range. And it definitely could have hit him, with its greater reach. Unable to deduce any strategy in the automaton's puzzling movements, Kieran rushed in with a right hook. The blow landed on the automaton's left cheek, spinning his head around. Kieran grinned and used the opening to fire a quick one-two punch into his opponent's stomach.

Nothing. It was like punching a wall. The automaton's head came around. It was laughing, mouth guard bared.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a heavy uppercut clicked his teeth together and started his ears ringing. Kieran stumbled backward a few steps and shook his head to clear it. Another two punches
—
one to his shoulder, spinning him halfway around, another to his chest while he was tottering dizzily from one foot to the other. That last punch sent him sprawling onto his coccyx again, but this time he couldn't even keep partially upright. The back of his head collided with the solid floor of the ring, and a supernova erupted behind his eyes.

Distantly, he heard a bell ring. The round was over. Kieran pressed a shaking glove to his forehead.
I'll get you next round.
Those last two punches had only been body shots out of respect for Kieran's
no concussions
parameter. If it had been a real fight, they would have been aimed for his skull and connected with deadly force.
One-two
—
smack, crack
 
.
 
.
 
.
THUD
—
enjoy the afterlife, cretitch!

“You know, most people go to the bar when they're depressed. They have the decency to knock back a few drinks with their friends before they get suicidal. You jump straight to suicidal.”

Jilly.
Kieran tried to sit up to see where she was. He caught just a glimpse of her climbing through the springy red railings of the ring before his dizzily spinning head forced him to lay back down. A second later, she loomed over him, hands on her hips, head mercifully blocking the glare from the overhead light. She didn't look amused.

“What were you thinking? He could have killed you!”

Kieran grimaced and spat out his mouth guard. “He was programmed not to.”

“Accidents happen.”

Kieran sat up, successfully this time, and shrugged. “Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.”

“Don't be a cretitch.”

Kieran looked up at her with a wide grin that painfully disturbed a swelling lump on his cheek. “You're right. You would miss me too much.”

Jilly shook her head and smiled in spite of herself. “At least you still have your sense of humor.” She held a hand out to help him up, but he got up on his own. He stood swaying slightly in front of her
—
eye to eye, his green to her blue.