Finn's Golem (17 page)

He stood stock still in the middle of the great aisle that cut through
the
room. Thin traces of light blazed through tiny cracks in the roof above and splayed around him in every direction, their narro
w beams dancing with the decade’
s worth of dust we had thrown into the air. It surrounded him like an aura. Even in stillness and in silence he was a force of nature – an element onto himself. And he was not pleased.

I slid through the darkness, unsure of what to do. From which angle was it best to attack an angry God?

“Why would you do this? Why would you betray me?”
His
voice was raw, but quieter now, as if he were thinking aloud, not even addressing me. “You killed that fool detective, just as I ordered, and when you took his place I applauded. You would deliver her right to us, along with the Protocol... such brilliant improvisation.”

He fell silent. I stopped in my tracks, hardly daring to breathe.

“Or was it?”

The question hung in the air a moment before he turned. Turned and looked right at me. The fat bastard had known right where I was, probably from the moment I took out the prick with the soul
-
patch. There was a hand-cannon still clutched in his grasp, but his arms hung loosely by his side. He had no fear of me.

I raised my gun arm and tried to pull the trigger. My arm began to shake with the effort, it was like holding a hundred pounds at the full extension of my arm. My forehead began to bead with sweat. I tried to curse him through clenched teeth, but it was useless. I brought my left arm up to support the right, gripping my wrist and trying to counterbalance the growing weight, but it was a losing battle. Even as I gained control over my arms, my legs began to give out at the knees. At last my arms collapsed before me with the strain. I knelt before him, helpless. He was not the sort to miss the significance of such a moment, nor to fail to savor it.

He stepped closer to me, the echoes of his footsteps ringing through the great open space
with
an expression on his face that was gentle, almost kindly.

“Don
’
t be too hard on yourself, my boy
,”
he said
.
“The brain is a delicate instrument. The neural block seemed like such a simple thing, but there is no true simplicity when it comes to altering the human mind. And yours has seen its share of abuse. You uploaded an info pack on Bountiful just last week. You know every corner of this cesspool of a city, a place where you had never been.” He rested his great ham of a hand on the back of my head, like he was blessing me. “You
’
ve had your mind wiped so many times to get you past security scans... somehow...” He looked at me
,
quaking at his feet
,
still struggling with the gun
.
“...is it possible?”

And then he began to laugh. It started at the back of his throat like a private chortle and grew exponentially until it filled every corner, ever
y
space of the stinking warehouse we were in and shook every fiber of my being. My face grew hot with hate.

“You actually thought that you
were
Drake Finn, didn’
t you?” he roared
.
“The puppet is a real boy again at last!”

I let my arms drop. It couldn
’
t end like this
–
there had to be a way.

“That
’
s why Felco couldn
’
t bribe you... why you wouldn
’
t stop tr
ying to protect the girl... you’
ve been acting like a hero fr
om one of those dime novels you’
re always reading. They were written before you were born, Monarch. Written and forgotten.”

Twenty feet behind Carter was a large crate sitting on the floor. Its lid was smashed open; it had probably been looted years ago. I focused on the crate with everything I had. Focused on it
to the point that I almost didn’
t see the very large man that was directly between it and me. Directly in the line of fire.

Cyrus the Locust raised his gun. It was a nice little Mark III. He practically spat his farewell to me through clenched teeth.

“There are no more heroes, Monarch. No more!”

I raised the GAT and fired at the crate. It was my true intention to frag that empty wooden box behind Carter. Or at least it was true enough to get past the inhibitors of t
he neural block, because I didn’
t feel a thing as the
plasma bolt tore through Carter’
s left leg on its way to the crate. He fell, cursing, and I pulled the trigger again. That one was harder, but the bolt still flew free and punched through part of his arm as he fell. I tried to give it a third in the hope of pulling something center mass, but the neural block was all through being fooled. I stood up and walked over to him, picking up the Mark III from the floor where it lay and slipping it into another pocket. I was building quite a little arsenal. I doubted that would help me with the whole “killing fewer people” thing, but there was time for that later.

He was panting where he lay. He looked far less imposing sprawled out on the floor like that, gasping like a fish on a dock. He looked up at me with his eyes full of rage.

“It’
s over
,”
I said simply.

“Over?” he sputtered
.
“Over? You really think the world is that simple? One pathetic little
Shade
with a concussion and a bad case of puppy love can bring the might
y
Cyrus Carter to his knees? You really need to lay off the paperbacks.”

I circled him, forced him to shift to
keep his eyes on me. He couldn’t know the trick I’
d used to get past the inhibitors
–
to him I was a threat again. If I raised
the gun against him
one more time
and couldn’t follow through, he’
d know the truth. I had no idea what to do about that.

He sneered at me through his pain
.
“I was born rich, Monarch. I was born powerful. You were born when you were un-made. When someone pressed
delete
on your behalf. There is no right side, no wrong side. Only the winning side. We leave nothing standing in our wake. But I am merciful. Join me and you will sit at my right hand.”

“Is that the one with the smoking crater in it?” I smiled.

“Insolent fool!” he barked
.
“Don’
t you know w
ho I am? Bring me the girl! Don’
t share her fate.”
Unbelievably
, he was hauling himself ba
ck up to stand. There just wasn’
t any quit in this guy. “As long as I shall live there is nowhere she can run, nowhere she can hide.”

“You know what Cyrus?” I said
.
“I believe you’
re right.”

I raised the gun, thinking as hard as I could about showing him the barrel, not doing him any harm.
It seemed to work, I didn’
t get the shakes – but Carter did.

“Oh, you’
re
really going to shoot a man you’
ve disarmed? Hero?”
He
spat the word at me.

If there was going to be another conclusion to this little saga, this would be a real good time to think one up.

Carter screamed like he was on fire. It took me half
a second to realize that I hadn’
t shot him. He lit up like a Christmas tree as a second electric charge punched into him. Then a third. He staggered and turned. Even with his mass, he had to be dea
d already. Had to be.

Claire didn’
t seem to share this opinion. Sh
e squeezed the trigger of Felco’
s little ACS Monitor again and took him center mass, nice and clean. Cyrus
“
the Locust
”
Carter, master of the world and would-be demigod
,
fell to the floor like a bag of wet hammers and did not move.

“Hi
,”
I said to her. She didn’
t speak. She knelt next to Carter’s ample frame where it lay, still smoldering on the cracked wooden floor. She seemed reluctant to touch him, but needed to know that he was dead. I said nothing. At last she seemed certain.

“Why did you come back for me?” she asked without looking at me.

“Because you’re my client
,”
I said.

“No
,”
she said
,
“I’m not.”

“Would you like to be?” I asked
.
“I work cheap.”

She laughed in spite of herself and looked up at me. I felt a little awkward standing there, the gun still in my hand. She smiled at me but something wasn’t there. Now that I think about it, I suppose it was the lines. When she smiled, or laughed, there were always those little lines around her eyes, but they were nowhere to be seen. I only knew that something felt wrong. She looked down at the ground.

“You aren’t Drake Finn
,” she
said
.

“That’s what I hear.”

“Did you... did you know all along?”

“I found out when you did.” It didn’t sound clever, but it was true.

She nodded. “You’re a killer
,” she
said.

“So are you.”

She looked at me and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. “You do it for money.”

“What are you planning on doing with the Golem Protocol?” I asked
.
“Donate it to the Widows and Orphans fund?”

She looked away. So it was like that.

“You want me to go, I’ll go
,”
I said
.

“Where?”
Her
voice was soft.

I shook my head
.
“Couldn’t say.”

Neither of us said anything for what felt like a very long time.

“All right
,”
I said, and turned towards the door we had come through.

Claire lifted her head and her eyes grew wide.

“Oh, God
,” she
said frantically, stabbing the Monitor out into the air in front of her and firing wildly at something behind me. It had to be Soul Patch. I turned and with two long strides was between her and her target, the GAT outstretched to finish the job I’d left undone.

But Soul Patch was nowhere to be seen.

Damn.

I didn’t hear her move. She was soft and sudden as anything you could imagine. I didn’t know she had it in her, but Claire Marsland had done nothing but surprise me from the moment that she stepped onto the shuttle pad. Every time I was sure that I could read the thoughts behind t
hose eyes, I’d been dead wrong.

Now I was just plain dead.

I felt the snub nose of the ACS Monitor buried in the base of my skull, just above the hairline. I didn’t say a thing. Neither did she.

“You do like to play hero, don’t you?” she asked at last.

“It’s getting old pretty fast
,”
I admitted.

“Not fast enough. I heard what the Locust said to you.”

I said nothing.

“And he was right
,” she
said, pressing the muzzle into my flesh a little harder.
“You play the hero every time.” She growled like she was cursing me
.
“I even fell for it at first. Can you blame me?”

I didn’t exactly blame her, so I didn’t speak.

“But in the end it made you predictable. And that made you weak.” She seemed to be finished, but still she didn’t
do
anything. I could
feel the end of the pistol begi
n to quake a little.

“Damn you, why don’t you say something?” she shouted.

“Sure thing
,”
I said
.
“The Monitor is a funny piece of hardware. Self-charging, if you like that kind of thing. Some do. I don’t.”

“What are you talking about?” she almost whispered.

I ignored her
.
“Thing is, variable ambient static fields make it unpredictable at best.”

“Shut up
,” she
said quietly, her voice wavering. What had she expected from a killer, love poetry? She had the drop on me right enough. And now she was going to get the facts and plenty of them.

“Comes down to this, angel. Sometimes you get five shots. Sometimes you get six. Takes about a day to charge again.”