Free Radical (54 page)

She lay on the hard floor while drawing in short, spasmodic breaths. She rocked back and fourth as tears streamed down her face.

In the distance, she could hear the sounds of bots securing the docking assembly to the shuttle. It was almost over.

She played the brief fight over in her head. Whatever his implant did for him, it clearly made him a killing machine. She had never been beaten so easily, and that included many opponents even larger than The Director. She thought it was strange that he didn't want to kill her yet, and he had attacked her in a way that probably wasn't going to leave a bruise. She knew there must be a reason for this.

Several minutes passed as she knelt on the floor, recovering her breath. The guards fidgeted, obviously anxious for action. The Director stood, impassive, as if he was simply waiting for a bus.

A luggage bot lumbered by, it's heavy black frame loaded with assorted personal possessions sealed in durable packaging. A thrower - a bot with multi-jointed arms designed to move the luggage around - chased after it with a lone suitcase. It's body was carried by a pair of hefty tank treads that provided a good anchor of weight for heavy lifting tasks.

When she had the breath she spoke, "So... you bring Hacker down here and shoot us both. Then you can claim he put up a fight, shot me and forced you to kill him."

The Director nodded, "Like I said, its a bit late in the game to start figuring things out, Lansing." His vox squawked and he lifted it to his face, "What's the situation?"

The voice of Commander Bruton answered, "This guy is a mess. He won't be giving us any trouble. He can hardly walk."

The Director nodded, "Bring him down. Let's finish this."

A vacuum bot rolled idly by. Another bot followed, buffing the floor in its wake.

Another minute passed. A courtesy bot zipped by, covered in pockets filled with maps, travel guides, and brochures. After that was another thrower.

The Director frowned, "What the hell?"

He lifted the vox again, "Bruton, where are you? What's taking so long?"

The reply came, "Almost there, Sir. Just running the subject through the scanner now."

For the first time since she met him, Rebecca saw The Director display some real emotion. A look of disbelief and outrage crossed his face, "Dammit! I said no electronic equipment! That includes the scanner!"

The nervous voice of Commander Bruton came back, "Right. Sorry Sir. Just having a strange problem here."

"What?"

Bruton's voice sounded confused this time, "Sir? Did you send for all these bots?"

Suddenly gunfire erupted in the distance, followed by screams. The Director shot a severe look at his men, "Watch her. If she moves, kill her. Otherwise, wait for my order." Then he turned and ran for the end of the terminal with a speed that Rebecca wouldn't have thought possible for a man his size, much less dressed in a business suit.

The men grabbed her and pinned her to the floor, face-down. One of them pinned her arm behind her and dug his knee into her spine.

There was more gunfire and shouting in the distance. Suddenly the lights went out. Sunlight was still streaming in the windows, but the place took on a dim, gloomy appearance without the constant bombardment of fluorescent lighting.

The high-pitched sound of bot motors returned. With her face mashed into the floor, she couldn't see what was happening on the concourse, but it sounded as though the group was heading the other way, back to the main axis.

They were followed closely by the yelling, cursing sounds of the remaining TriOp guards. Rebecca could hear the Director's voice as he ran by, "Take care of her!"

The lighting changed as some new source of light came on from the main corridor.

The knee dug deeper into her back as her captor drew his weapon. It clicked as the cold metal met the back of her neck.

"What the hell?"

"Wait a second."

"Is that on all the screens?"

There was a pause as the other guard walked a few feet away, "Looks like it."

The one on her back pulled the pistol away, "We can't do it with all of those on. Who knows where its being displayed?"

"Hey, The Director ordered us."

"Fine. You do it."

Rebecca used her free hand to push herself up so she could turn her head. Looking out into the concourse, every screen she could see had the same image. It showed two TriOptimum guards standing over an unarmed woman, holding her down. One of them was pointing a gun at the back of her head.

More shots rang out in the distance, followed by a security alarm.

The standing guard looked around, "The camera must be around here someplace. All we have to do is nail it and finish the job."

The other one snorted, "Forget that. Say this is being shown out in the main corridor..."

Rebecca fought to escape the hold, but he tightened his grip and smashed her in the back of the head with his pistol. She fell back onto her face as she covered the wound with her free hand.

He continued, "...say it's being shown out in the main corridor, and everybody's seen it already. If they see you destroy the camera and she turns up dead, it's gonna be obvious what happened."

"Is that why you're pistol-whipping her on TV?," the standing guard shot back. He paced back and fourth in frustration. Finally he said, "So, what to you want to do? Disobey a direct order? What did he say? He said if we obey orders he will take care of us no matter what."

The guard on her back eased up on his hold as he thought. Finally he responded, "I don't know. He's got friends in high places, but I don't think he could get us out of an execution in front of the entire population of GALF."

"You don't know that. It might just be this wing. In that case, who cares? Shoot her."

The guard's anger rose, "That's easy for you to say, you're not the one doing the shooting. You don't know where this is on display. It could be all over the city for all you know."

There was a long pause. Still more shooting could be heard in the distance. There was an agonized scream cut short, and the shooting stopped.

The standing guard placed his hand on his weapon nervously. When he spoke, his voice had a tinge of fear in it, "What the hell is going on down there?" He paced some more and continued, "I don't think the signal is all over the city. I mean, he's just one guy. He can't just hack a whole broadcast network like that."

The arm lock released and the guard that had been holding her stood, "Oh, like you would know! Forget it, I'm not shooting her. It doesn't matter if it's all over the city or not. If it's on these screens, someone has seen it, and I'm not going to freaking jail for the company."

"Look out. One of them is coming back."

Rebecca sat up to see a thrower heading for them. Both of the men aimed their weapons at it.

Rebecca laughed at them, "Run you idiots. You can't win."

One of them snapped back, "Shut up before I feed you a bullet. I think we can take a baggage handler."

"There are plenty more where that one came from," she argued, "This is the exact same thing that happened on Citadel. You can't..."

The two men began peppering the bot, cutting her off in mid-sentence. They backed away, trying to stay beyond the reach of the grasping claws as they unloaded their their weapons into the already bullet-scarred frame."

She backed away from the fight and took off running in the direction of the main axis.

Rebecca drew close to the end of the concourse. The shooting had stopped behind her, and now she could hear only frightened yelling.

Overhead, a display screen changed from the view of the now-empty waiting area to a single word.

She stopped short. In the distance there was a shriek of pain.

The image changed.

Her mouth went dry. She became suddenly aware of the dozens of electronic eyes that must be watching her from every direction. She went right into a large room filled with benches and Global Net kiosks. There was an elevator on the right, and an escalator to her left. Most of the power seemed to be out. The escalator was off, and the lights were out. With no windows nearby, the room was quite dark.

She jabbed the elevator button, but nothing happened. The nearby display was black. It was dead.

She turned and headed for the escalator. As she approached it came to life, ready to carry her down.

The stairs themselves were almost pitch dark, with a small pool of natural light showing at the bottom. She stepped on and rode down.

At the base of the escalator was a small room that led to the baggage claim area. The remains of three TriOp security guards were stacked in one corner. Spent shell casings littered the floor. The room smelled like a firing range, and a haze of smoke filled the room. Humid air flowed in through the shattered window, which was the only source of light in the room.

She looked in horror at the bodies, and stepped carefully past them into the baggage claim area.

The lights were off here as well, but two large windows provided enough illumination to see where she was going. On top of the smell of gunfire, there was a strong smell of burning rubber. Black tire tracks crisscrossed the floor.

A man was pinned against the wall by a luggage bot. She immediately recognized him from his outline. It was The Director. Everything below his ribcage was trapped between the hard block wall and the heavy, thick chassis of the bot. She was alarmed to see him at first, but then horrified when she realized that the front end of the bot was only a few centimeters away from the wall.

Unless his implant gave him the ability to survive with most of his lower torso squeezed into the thickness of a few magazines, he was dead. As she approached, she could see that his skin was stone white, and his eyes were wide open in an eternal stare. His mouth hung open with a look of utter surprise. In his right hand he still held his sidearm.

A display screen flickered to life in a dark corner of the room.

Suddenly a phone began to ring. She looked around quickly but didn't see any obvious public phones around. It rang again, and she realized the sound was coming from The Director.

She approached him slowly, and the phone rang again.

The memory of his speed and strength were fresh in her mind. She didn't want to come within arm's reach of him, dead or not. It rang again.

She stood as far away as she could, and with one hand slowly pulled open his jacket. The bottom of the jacket was trapped in the mess between the bot and the wall, but she was able to pull it off to one side. It rang again.

Reluctantly, she reached in with her other hand and drew the phone from his breast pocket. She jumped back away from the body and hit the answer button in time to cut off another ring.

The moment she connected, an unmistakable voice spoke, "You need to get out of here. I don't want to have to kill any more of them."

"Are you ok Hacker?"

His voice was quick, urgent, "Don't worry about me. They're looking for you. Well, both of us, really, but you're the one in danger. Take off your jacket."

Beside her, the baggage machine began running, producing a steady supply of incoming luggage from the depths of the airport.

"What?"

"The uniform you're wearing makes you stand out. Right now they're looking for a woman in her early thirties in a TriOp uniform with brown hair. Sound like anyone you know?"

"
Early thirties?
Give me some credit you bastards."

She stripped off the jacket. She was still wearing the pants, but they looked like any other pair of black pants. On top, she was now wearing a plain white undershirt. The moment she brought the phone back to her ear he spoke again, "Now, grab one of these bags and get out of here. Don't go back the way you came in."

She nodded and grabbed a suitcase at random from the moving conveyor. She followed the signs directing her out to the main concourse and broke into a light jog. Movement wasn't smooth with a phone in one hand and a heavy suitcase in another.

She neared a corner and he broke in again, "Walk here, don't run. You're just another passenger, following the evacuation."

As she rounded the corner she could see the way was guarded by three TriOp security personnel. They had moved away from the end of the hall and were now yelling at someone in the crowd.

She reached the end of the hall, she could see they were involved in a dispute with some police officers, who had drawn their weapons on the TriOp forces. The round, dark body of a peace sentry sat nearby, it's red and blue lights flashing. It's loudspeaker proclaimed that it had detected unauthorized weapons.

One of the TriOp guys was screaming over the din of moving civilians and the blaring of the peace sentry that they did in fact have full permission to be armed in this area. A police officer was screaming back that he didn't care 
what
 permission they thought they had, they needed to disarm 
right now
. The fight was escalating quickly and she walked out behind the TriOp forces without so much as a glance in her direction.

She joined the flow of the crowd as they headed for the exit.

She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, "There is a car on the way now. It should be there by the time you reach the main entrance."

"Where are you?," she asked.

There was a strange laugh on the other end, "That question is a bit abstract for me right now, but I suppose you mean where is my body, physically."

"Yeah," she replied, "That's what I'm asking". He sounded so strange. It was clearly him, but he spoke differently. He spoke clearly, and with less attitude. His diction was clean, and free of the sloppy slacker accent he always seemed to have.

"Well, I'm safe. That's good enough for now."

"Where can I meet you?"

"That would not be wise right now," he responded, "That would be putting all our eggs in one basket, wouldn't it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"