Prayers to Broken Stone
by Jon Adcock
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
I triggered the scanning software and carefully walked around the group. I got full facial scans and voice recordings as I went. It was a hodgepodge of factory workers and mid-level techs, with at least three or four women scattered among the men. Most of the group appeared to be in their 20’s: obviously the prime age-group for being outraged at social and economic injustice. Give them a few years, I thought, and they’ll get over it.
That was when, like stray dogs that scratched and clawed to come in from the cold, guilt and moral revulsion came back to make themselves a nuisance to me. What I planned to do would give these people only a few days or weeks left to live. Leading the cattle down the chute to the slaughterhouse was going to be harder than I thought.
With these thoughts in my head, I glanced over at one of the conspirators... and made eye contact. The ghosting tech had failed, and I had just enough time to think, Well, this is going to suck, before all hell broke loose.
He threw a wild punch that I easily dodged. I punched him once in the kidneys, pulled out a stun wand, and slapped it against the side of his head. There was a crackle and the smell of ozone. His eyes rolled back into his head. As he fell, I grabbed him and threw him into the others. I ghosted again and sprinted past the hands that reached out to grab me.
At least two of them had weapons. I went after the closest one first, a slightly built man who looked barely past puberty. The tech began to cycle on and off as I ran, causing me to appear and disappear erratically every few steps. One of the times I appeared, Junior was in his shooter’s stance and ready. Our eyes met and he hesitated just long enough to give me a brief smirk. The gloat cost him the kill.
Mid-step, I ghosted again and threw myself to the right. He fired repeatedly into empty space. The tech stayed on this time, and I weaved to come up on him from behind. I stunned four of them at the edge of the group as I ran by. When I got behind him, I pushed the wand against the base of his skull and kicked the gun into the darkness when he crumpled to the ground.
As I ran towards the last one with a gun, I tapped everyone I passed with the wand to stun them into unconsciousness. The last man standing was tall and stoop-shouldered. He had a look of absolute panic in his eyes and wildly squeezed off shot after shot as he backed up to the wall behind him. I came up on him from the right, grabbed the gun out of his hand, and threw it over my shoulder.
I started to strobe then; the tech cycled so rapidly that I flashed into and out of view with every heartbeat. He stood there transfixed, overwhelmed by what he saw. Finally, with a smell of burnt circuits, the ghosting tech failed completely.
“Boo,” I said as I tapped him on the forehead with the wand. He crumpled at my feet.
Near the edge of the pool of cool green light, I leaned over, tried to catch my breath, and reflected on how I was far too old for this. Then, someone pounded something hard and heavy up against the back of my head, and I sprawled face down on the ground. While I laid there dazed, I did a fair imitation of a piñata as he swung his weapon down on me repeatedly. There was enough soft tissue left for it to hurt like hell.
I rolled over onto my side and lashed out with one of my legs. I caught him just below the knees and swept him off his feet. We both got up quickly and crouched warily some distance away from each other. The “he” was she. The ass-kicker was a middle-aged woman with short red hair. She was tall and lean, with a look of murderous fury that would have shriveled braver men than me. She held a piece of rebar in her hands.
“Whoa, batting practice is over,” I said when she took a few steps towards me, the rebar raised as if she planned to hit one out of the park. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
“You can try.”
“You’re feisty, Red, but right now that isn’t working for me. Drop it. Maybe we can figure a way out of this.”
She looked away from me, and I followed her gaze to one of the guns. It was a distance away and, when she looked back, I could see the wheels turn as she estimated if she could get to it first. She threw the rebar at me and made her move, but I was already in motion and had the gun before she got halfway there. I kept the gun on her as I walked around and grabbed the other one. I also searched the pockets of the shooters and found a spare mag in one of them.
The stun wand’s effects were starting to wear off by then. I soon had a group of groggy and pissed-off would-be revolutionaries grouped up by one of the intact walls, while I sat on a nearby pile of rubble and tried to figure out what to do with them. I checked the wand just in case. It had just enough charge left to give one person an enthusiastic tickle. To hell with it. I knew I was going to let them go. Maybe I was getting soft, but if I turned over my scans and recordings, it would be as if I had turned over a box of puppies to someone to be clubbed to death.
“Hey, asshole, do you hear that?” the redhead finally asked.
“Hear what?” I answered, dumb enough to play the straight man.
“Exactly. If you’re Security, where’s your backup? Why aren’t Enforcers pouring in here right now? Since they aren’t, I’m guessing you’re just a freelancer, some little pissant looking to kiss up to the grubs.”
“There’s no reason to be mean,” I said with a smile as I kept the gun steadily pointed at the space between her eyes.
They exchanged looks and started to spread out in preparation to rush me. Some of them bent down and picked up bricks and other pieces of rubble as weapons. Karl hung back and looked like he would bolt the first chance he got. That figured.
“That’s enough of that, boys and girls,” I said as I took a few steps back to keep them in my line of sight. “I’ll drop the first person that takes a step towards me.”
“You won’t be able to shoot all of us,” the youngster said. He also gave me another smirk that guaranteed he’d be the first one I’d shoot if things went south.
“Willing to bet your life on that, son?” I said, then reached up, pulled my hood down, and tapped the implant under my ear. “Also, before any of you can lay a hand on me, I’ll have the scans uploaded to Security. Don’t make me do something we’ll all regret.”
“You’ll do it anyway.” Red said in a tone razor sharp with bitterness.
“Yeah, if I were smart, I would. You’re right, I’ve been freelancing for a while now. Doing the odd job now and then to keep credits in my bank account. That factory you managed to shut down a few months ago. The people who own it took that personally. They got sick of the bumblers in Security and hired me to track you down.”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors right now,” Red said.
“Well, the thing is, the people who hired me are dicks. And I get all this,” I said with a vague wave that encompassed the group. “The city is a shitshow, and you want to do something about it. It’s futile and it’s gonna get you killed, but I get it.”
“So, what are you trying to say?” she asked.
“We all leave and go our separate ways. I’ll delete the scans and recordings, and you live to raise a ruckus another day.”
“He’s a goddamn junkpile, Rachel,” the smirk blurted out. “Maybe his implant is as crappy as his stealth tech.” Yep, he was going to be the first one I’d shoot.
“Shut up, Bryce,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. After a moment, she said to me: “I don’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t, but it’s a legit offer. One last thing, though. Karl over there won’t be leaving with you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I didn’t just accidently wander into here. Karl likes to talk. He’s told more than a few people he has something to do with your group. I was sold that tidbit of info and followed him here. Seriously, you people need a better recruitment process.”
“He’s lying, Rachel!” Karl cried out; his eyes filled with fear as the realization dawned on him just how badly he had screwed up.
Outside the factory, I had started recording as soon as the facial recognition software registered a hit, and I projected the playback on the near wall. After a moment or two, I speeded it up until it resembled one of those old Benny Hill skits I used to watch on late night cable when I was a kid. For some reason, it struck me as funny, and I suppressed a laugh. There was no reason to give off a psychotic vibe right then.
While the star of our late-night movie screening continued to protest, the rest of the group watched the playback and saw him walk from the factory gates, through the Eastern section, and finally end up at this squalid and abandoned factory.
“You have a problem, Red, and it ain’t me.” I said once the playback was over.
“Quit calling me Red,” Rachel snapped.
“Fair enough. You have a problem, Rachel. He’s told people, and that makes him a liability. Someone else will talk. They’ll get arrested and will give him up to get reduced charges. Or they’ll just sell him out to get the credits. Either way, Karl will be pulled in for interrogation. I’ve got a feeling only a few harsh words will make him spill his guts. And if I let him go, he’ll be a danger to you and, more importantly, to me. Look, sometimes you need to cross a few lines to survive.”
“I’m not letting you kill him,” she said as she moved to stand between Karl and me.
“Then it would be an act of mercy if I just shot all of you right now and saved you from the pain that’s coming.”
“How many lines do I need to cross before I end up like you?” Rachel demanded angrily.
“Not as many as you’d think. But if this is a line you won’t cross, you’ll at least have a clear conscience when you die screaming.”
In the end, they left. What other choice did they have? I’ll spare you the details of what happened after. Suffice it to say, it was ugly and quick. I didn’t think much of Karl, but he didn’t deserve to die alone amidst the rubble and the rats.
After I deleted the scans and recordings I took of the group, I uploaded the earlier footage of Karl to Security and put a beacon on his body for retrieval. I also worked on the story I needed to explain why Karl was the only one that was going to be tagged and bagged. With luck, I’d still get a few credits for him.
I wasn’t alone when I left the factory. Melancholy was my companion as I walked those wounded streets. Up ahead, a large greenbelt stretched off to the right. Back in the day, it was probably peaceful and pretty, but now it was overgrown with weeds and filled with trash. Used condoms and empty Bliss vials were scattered everywhere.
At the start of it, a skinny, mangy tomcat crouched low underneath some bushes. He watched me warily, his tail slowly twitching. I’ve never been all that fond of cats, but my daughter had loved them, so I knelt and tried to coax him to me. If I had any rations with me, I might have been able to get him to come closer but after a bit, the cat slunk away into the underbrush. Time had taught him to be wary of all predators, both the four-legged and two-legged variety. My daughter had always tried to smuggle flea-bitten strays like him into the house, often taking the screen off her bedroom window so the cats could enter and exit without us knowing.
I ended up losing it years ago, but I used to carry around a picture of her in my shirt pocket, a photo from some family gathering that I thought captured her essence perfectly. She looked six or seven and she must have been at a tea party because she was wearing a dress, fake pearls, and a big, floppy hat. She was sitting on some steps, her hands clasped in her lap, and the photographer had caught her in mid-laugh, with her head thrown back and her eyes filled with joy. My one job had been to keep her safe, but now she was just a collection of fraying and fading memories. After a while, I rubbed my sleeve across my eyes and got up.
The bike was where I had left it. The rolling blackouts had hit this section of the city, and it was late enough that all the drunks and druggies had found doorways and abandoned squats to sleep it off in. It was too late for even the hard cases to prowl the night. I felt like the last man left alive as I rode through the darkened and deserted streets.
After a bit, I reached the beginning of the highway. I turned off the headlight and rushed through the night, cocooned in darkness and accompanied only by my thoughts and memories.
A few miles out, there was an old exit that led up to what had to have been a Vista Point/Lover’s Lane in simpler, more innocent times. I pulled the bike off the highway and rode up to the top of the hill. I was able to avoid most of the potholes as I did so.
Once there, I sat and stared out into the night. The blood-red moon dangled above me like a piece of rotten fruit that waited to be plucked. I sat and thought of the courage shown by Rachel and her friends, the courage it took to get off their knees and try to change things. I also thought about my life and wondered how I had ended up like this. How dark can a shade of grey get and still be considered grey? While Lucifer could make the claim that he’d been cast down, my long and spiraling fall from Grace had been freely taken.
I sat on top of that hill for a long time before I silently cursed and started back down to the highway. I had made my choices a long time ago, and it was time to get back home.
Once I reached the edge of the freeway, I stopped and checked to see if the bike’s sound system still worked and if any music files were left in its memory. I gave out a small whistle of appreciation when I found a treasure trove of late 20th-century Rock. I queued up my favorite Classic Rock song for some traveling music. It was a fitting choice. The music was as much a relic as the bike and I were.
I like smoke and lightning
Heavy metal thunder
Racin’ with the wind
And the feelin’ that I’m under
As John Kay’s vocals growled in my ears, I slid the bike to a stop. In the distance, I could see the glow of the compounds that surrounded Grubville. Inside the underground city, the air would be cool and filtered and the corridors safe. Giving all of that up would be a stupid thing to do, so, true to form, I crossed the median and started back. I was headed back to the squalor and filth of Old Town, hoping it would make me feel clean again one day.
Copyright © 2022 by Jon Adcock
