The Eternal Prison (45 page)

 

 

 

 

“Rule number one,” I said to myself, “is I am in charge. I’m the fucking
Prime,
get it? Don’t improvise, innovate, or interpret.”

 

The avatar cocked its head and looked at Marko. “Am I always such an asshole?”

 

Marko nodded glumly. “Pretty much, yep.”

 

“Rule number two is don’t fucking talk to them,” I hissed. “You’re here for one single purpose, and once that’s done I’ll probably have you crushed into a cube and carry you around as a souvenir.”

 

The avatar frowned. “Keep it up, Meat. I’m starting to dig being digital. It’s got its advantages, first of which is that nothing hurts, like when I do this.”

 

It reached out for me, fast, and I just managed to dodge its hand, slapping it aside and stepping away. “Mr. Marko, do we have control over this unit?”

 

“Yes! Yes,” Marko stuttered, for some reason stepping forward. “Periscope depth, Mr. Smith.”

 

The avatar went still. “Ah, nuts,” it whispered.

 

I looked at Marko. “Periscope depth?”

 

He shrugged. “I wanted something that doesn’t come up in normal conversation.”

 

“Okay. What now?”

 

The Techie sighed. “Mr. Smith, transfer and duplicate administrative privileges to Mr. Cates, standing before you. Indicate compliance.”

 

“Done,” the avatar said, its voice flat.

 

“Mr. Smith,” Marko continued, rubbing his eyes, “stand by for voiceprint of Mr. Cates.”

 

“Standing by.”

 

The Techie motioned to me. I turned to face the avatar—which stood without expression, blank and motionless. I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, and managed a grunt to clear my throat.

 

“Voiceprint captured,” the avatar said.

 

“Very well,” Marko said, sweeping his arm toward me. “Return to normal operation. Cates, feel free to issue orders.”

 

I nodded as animation flowed back into Marin’s plastic face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I said.

 

It cocked its head toward me, scowling. “Nuts.”

 

I jabbed my finger at it. “Don’t harm me in any way. You are a suicide bomber, okay? Your job is to walk in and handle the fucking Spook—a Pusher. Your job is to walk over to him and break his fucking neck, okay? No matter what else is being thrown your way.”

 

Dick Marin’s face folded up into a mask of shock. “A
suicide
bomber? You’re fucking shitting me.
Suicide?
As in, I’ve hung on by my fucking fingernails for decades living hand to mouth, and now I’m going to dash into a room and get turned into a fine red—uh,
white
—mist so you can hide behind my ass?”

 

I nodded, grinning. “Something like that.”

 

The avatar shook its head. “You’re a fucking prick.”

 

“Let’s go,” I said, turning away and heading back for the swinging doors. I wanted out of this room as soon as possible.

 

This was where I’d been split off into who knew how many versions. This was where I’d lost control of everything. I didn’t know if there really were dozens of avatars of me running around or if that was just another lie meant to get me in line. It didn’t matter—one was bad enough.

 

As I crashed back through the swinging doors, I took stock. I had two human Techies, one useful in a fight and one not; one unhappy imprint of myself in Dick Marin’s body; and three Tasers. I was hundreds of feet under a desert and listening to voices in my head. The corridors with their rough rock ceilings and walls and the smooth, machined flooring seemed heavy and sagging, like the whole prison had been hollowed out of the earth above us and was going to collapse in at any moment.

 

Don’t worry—Ruberto’s overconfident. He thinks he owns this place. He thinks we’re brothers. Now, guns.

 

A thrill went through me. I’d known there were guns in Chengara—I had vivid memories of those silent puffs of dust from the snipers—but I hadn’t known if the hardware was still on premises. “Mr. Wizard, you’re melting my heart.”

 

Turn right and take six steps. Munitions Closet in left wall. Light arms only.

 

I gestured as instructed and a hidden panel slid back into the wall, revealing a nice selection of standard cop iron: five Roon automatics, light and balanced, and two gleaming sniper rifles that looked never used, as well as plastic boxes of ammunition.

 

“Happy fucking birthday,” the avatar said. I took charge of two autos and Grisha, Marko, and the avatar took the other three, Marko appearing to have indulged in absolutely zero efforts to familiarize himself with handguns since I’d last seen him misuse a weapon. I considered taking it away from him but decided to let him keep it—there was no reason to humiliate one-third of my army, and fuck, maybe a few badly placed bullets would make all the difference. I’d seen Techies manage lucky shots before.

 

We loaded up on ammo and left the snipes. Loading as we walked, no one said anything as I led us down the corridors again, listening to Marin’s one-word directions and giving every impression of knowing where I was headed.

 

Stop.

 

We had turned a corner and now faced a double-wide doorway, unmarked, the sort that would be sucked into the wall when triggered. I stopped immediately and put out my hands to block the other three. “Well, Mr. Wizard?” I said, looking up at the ceiling. I enjoyed worrying Grisha.

 

There will be two perfunctory guards outside his office,
Marin hissed inside my head.
Be ready for them.

 

I nodded and leaned in to my three followers. “Two avatars guarding the door. I don’t know what’s inside. I can gesture the door open. So, we rush the guards and take them down—you’re in the lead on that too”—I hesitated a moment—“Mr. Smith.”

 

The avatar nodded. “Naturally.”

 

“Then we’re in, and we have to move fast, so let’s be clear on our roles.” I pointed at the avatar again.

 

“I know,” it said immediately, forming its hand into a gun and pointing it at me. “Suicide by Spook.”

 

I nodded. “I’m on Ruberto. You two are gonna have to take on whatever else might be in there. I don’t care what you do, or how, but keep it off me until I’m done, okay? Or else you’re never getting out of here.”

 

“Got it,” Grisha said, grinning. “Suicide by miscellaneous.”

 

Marko moaned. I smiled at Grisha and reached out, patting him on his bristly cheek. “If I had a pass to sell, Grigoriy, I’d sell you one. Let’s go.”

 

The avatar stepped forward as the three of us raised our guns.

 

Don’t fuck up. That would be disappointing,
Marin whispered, somehow conveying mild annoyance with the thought—I was just a fucking tool for him, disposable. If my head got blown off in there, well, it was back to the drawing board for Dick. If he ever even found out about this little plot of his.

 

The avatar glanced back at me for a second, our eyes meeting. For one strange moment I almost imagined there was some hint of a soul in them, some spark of myself staring back at me, hating me the way I hated Marin and Ruberto and everyone who viewed me as a tool, a means to their end. Then it nodded and turned back to the doors. I waited another stunned moment and then gestured the doors open with a jerky motion of my hand, following Marin’s instructions. They parted so quickly it was almost as if they’d dissolved into thin air, and then we were running down a short corridor toward another pair of avatars dressed in Crusher uniforms.

 

They reacted instantly. One second they’d been leaning against the wall on either side of the doors, the next they had Tasers in their hands as they braced themselves.

 

“Headshots!” my avatar and I yelled simultaneously as we both stopped, planted our feet, and took aim. Grisha ducked down as low as he could while moving forward, but Marko kept running full speed and upright at them. I squeezed the trigger, and a second later a second shot exploded next to me, and both guards dropped to the floor.

 

“Keep moving!” I hurried forward, pushing Marko aside and stepping over the two guards. I gestured at the door savagely, and nothing happened. My pulse pounding, I lowered the gun and forced myself to take a deep breath, moving my hand through the gesture slowly, all the rock above my head making me feel compressed and tight, like I was in an invisible box.

 

For a second, nothing happened, and panic seared my nerves, jolting my heart into a lurching, stuttering rhythm. Then the door dissolved just like the others, melting into thin air, and the avatar was instantly in motion, dashing into the room beyond before the rest of us could react. I lurched after it, displaying exactly zero of the speed and agility the avatar had just shown. With Grisha and Marko on my heels, I speed-limped into Ruberto’s office, made it four or five steps, and stumbled to a halt.

 

For a second, I was dazzled. We were in a jungle.

 

The air felt warm and wet, heavy like we’d been thrust into a sponge. There was a sweet, rotten scent to it that made my nose twitch. A random and natural-feeling breeze pushed back against me, thick and elastic. I glanced down, but instead of a thick bed of vegetation, there was just the blank white floor. The walls were covered in a thick, dark green tapestry of vegetation that almost seemed to twist and move in the wind.

 

Dimly, I saw the avatar leaping, seeming to fly for a few feet before landing on top of Neely, knocking the Spook down with a screech.

 

A simulation. It was all just light and effects. I pushed my eyes around, straining, and saw the outlines of the walls. And there, a few steps away, was Ruberto, sitting at a very normal desk that appeared to be in the middle of a jungle. Only a few seconds had gone by, and the Undersecretary still sat there with his hands frozen in midgesture over his desk, his plump little mouth open, glistening. His eyes were locked, wide in shock, on the writhing forms of Neely and the avatar, both of whom had hands on the gun, pushing it this way and that. Amazingly, there was no one else in the room. But then the prison was more or less deserted, and all threats safely locked inside cells.

 

I forced my legs into motion, ignoring the stiff pain. Vaguely I thought of instructing Marko and Grisha to just shoot Neely in the head if they could and save us a bit of trouble, but before I could act on the thought, Ruberto’s desk was rushing toward me, and I had to concentrate in order to leap on top of it without crashing down on my useless fucking leg and probably shooting myself in the foot.

 

I managed it with a little flash, landing well and bringing my gun around perfectly to slap against Ruberto’s nose as he swung his head around in sudden panic.

 

“What!” he gasped, pushing his seat back from his desk. Behind me I heard two shots. I didn’t turn to investigate; if Neely had gotten the upper hand I’d find out soon enough.

 

“Dick sold you out,” I said, clicking back the hammer. “So sorry, Cal.”

 

He pushed both hands up at me. “Wait!” he said, sounding suddenly reasonable, like he’d gotten his balance back just like that. The palms of his hands were pale, almost pink. “We can —”

 

I squeezed the trigger, and he flew away from me, landing on his back near the windows.

 

“We can’t,” I whispered.

 

Mr. Cates,
Marin breathed in me,
you are a marvel.

 

The jungle flickered and disappeared without ceremony, and suddenly we were standing in a bare concrete room. I turned halfway around and found Grisha and Marko standing pretty much uselessly just inside the door, the avatar straddling Neely, whose tanned head had rolled to the side, his wide blank eyes on me as if he were trying to touch my mind from beyond death.

 

I looked back down at Ruberto’s desk. A glint of reflected light caught my eye, and I bent down to retrieve a silver cigarette case. Flipping it open revealed a dozen perfect smokes, and my heart sang.

 

Then the lights went out. A second later, before I could turn and shout, the door slammed shut behind us, and the sudden quiet was shattered by the sharp wail of an alarm.

 

Perhaps I did not mention,
Marin said quietly,
that Cal had his biometric readings tied to the security shell of the prison. This will complicate things.

 

And then, like dust rising from the floor when you enter a long forgotten room, there was Dennis Squalor in my head.

 

It is no matter. He was saved long ago.

 

 

 

 

XLI

REACTING TO THE POWERFUL RADIATION OF THEIR THOUGHTS

 

 

 

 

Cocksucker,
I thought.

 

I looked over at the Techies and met Grisha’s gaze. We stared at each other for a moment.

 

“No Mr. Wizard, Avery?”

 

Our deal was made honestly and remains in effect, Mr. Cates. If you can escape this room and evade capture, I will certainly attempt to guide you to a hover, which can take you to safety.