Archon's Queen (37 page)

entle rocking lulled Anna into a stupor of comfort. For several minutes after regaining consciousness, she lay on her side like a corpse. Salty air wafted about, creating small whorls of dust over the dull grey-green surface that stretched out along the right side of her vision. The sound of water lapping against thin plastisteel provided a rhythmic backdrop to the intermittent cry of gulls and the distant echoing laughter of men. The smell of saltwater dominated every breath.

Her hand slid over rough cloth, across a patch of coarse traction coating, and onto her face. A stripe of pain circled her skull, tender to the touch like a burn from a hair iron. Anna forced herself into a sitting position. The small rowboat in which she sprawled drifted a few yards from a rocky shoreline. She peered over the side into inky black water, a mirror of the night sky. Her gaze climbed a stained concrete pylon to the underside of the pier a distance above.

It took her a moment to realize she was dressed in her own clothing again. The yellow too-short smock seemed like a foggy memory. Anna gathered her coat tight to her chest, struggling to remember how she had gone from stalking a nonce to sitting in a rowboat. Despite the covering, the air upon the water blew a chill through her bones. Her eyes widened as she recalled who had taken her, her fingers grabbed at her neck with a feverish panic that lasted until she felt no trace of an implanted detonator. She tucked her hands into her armpits for warmth, spotting red marks around both wrists. Agent Gordon’s voice came back to her, threatening to whisk Penny, Spawny, and Faye off the face of the Earth. Arms around her knees, she bawled like a child from guilt.

Kill an innocent man or my friends suffer?
Anna wiped her eyes.
He’s a politician. How innocent can he be?

Anna leaned against the shallow wall, staring up at the lights of the city. The panic of the past several hours melted away as the little boat rocked with the gentle undulation of the water. Head in her hands, she cradled her skull against her knees and tried to forget the torture caused by the device they had put on her. Motion timed with a gust of wind drew her attention to a clean black satchel next to her. It was as out of place as she, no doubt a gift from Agent Gordon. A twinge of nausea crept through her gut as she rummaged through the contents: a NetMini, a datapad, and a small black case about the size of a large bar of soap.

The datapad, eight by ten inches, caught moonlight in a smear of white across the otherwise onyx surface. Anna tilted it back and forth, using the glare as an impromptu mirror to check her face.

She jammed the datapad back into the bag; it was far too cold and unstable down here to dawdle. Anger and relief mixed. Gordon could have killed her, or put one of those bombs in her, but they had simply drugged her and set her loose. She shrugged out of her coat and ran her hands all over under her clothes, searching for anything out of place: bugs, trackers, electricity where there shouldn’t be. All seemed normal, save for the raw marks caused by the handcuffs.

He must really want that bloke dead if he let me go.
She thought of her friends, clueless of the danger she’d gotten them into merely by existing.
Gordon, you bastard.

The NetMini was obvious in purpose and she dropped it into her coat pocket before she moved on to examine the small black case. She spun it around in her fingers until she found a release button. It popped open, revealing six small red cylinders with red crosses on the ends. A nervous giggle echoed up from the hull of the boat as she mistook them for some manner of narcotic.

Trembles shook all of the injectors out of the case, sending them clattering to the floor. She stared at them, her mind craving zoom. Anna clutched her arm to her chest until the shaking ceased, and gathered the injectors back into the case except for one. Mr. Carroll had given her some of these once; he called them stimpaks. Each one contained a solution of synthetic adrenaline, base biomatter, and nanobots. The combination could repair minor damage to the body at the same time it provided a burst of energy.

The safety cap went flying at the behest of her thumbnail, and she pulled her sleeve back to expose skin. After a faint hiss, the empty slipped through her fingers to the bottom of the boat with a
clack.
Icy coldness from the nanobot-laced fluid swam up her arm. Warm tingling circled where the restraints had been, the marks vanished, but discomfort remained. Her toes and fingers were two shades shy of numb and the howl of the wind brought cravings for a warm place to hide. Anna forced herself upright and wobbled, flailing, to the front of the boat.

A rusty ladder led up the side of one of the pylons about ten feet ahead. She fell to her knees and pulled at the mooring line, hand over hand, drawing the tiny craft forward. The wet rope further chilled her hands. By the time the boat thunked against the concrete, her teeth chattered. Anna tossed the satchel over her shoulder and dragged her achy body up the rungs until she could peek over the edge. The dock stank of industry and pollution, though the air was a touch warmer than below. Without the shield of the sunken waterway, the stiff breeze fluttered her coat and hair. She forced herself over the top and hurried out of the gale into the cover of stacked cargo containers.

Light drew her through a maze of enormous boxes to an alley alongside a warehouse. Conversations and the occasional fit of laughter wandered in from the lit frontage. At the edge of the building, she peeked out of the dark and stopped breathing.

A group of about a dozen men in long black coats emblazoned with silver crosses arranged themselves around a loading dock by an old, dead lorry. Some stood at street level, leaning on the platform, others sat on crates up top, and one rummaged through a shipping box in search of an unopened synthbeer.

Quite a few had sunken lines traced over the side of their faces, the telltale mark of implanted neuralware. Here and there, an obvious mechanical eye glowed green or amber; a lime green light within the pupils of otherwise normal looking eyes gave another man away as augmented.

Four women sat among them, wearing the same coats and some sporting visible cybernetic augmentation.

Anna retreated into the alley with a spin, back pressed to the wall. Her memory of the attack sent her sliding down the wet metal until her chest met her knees. Even through the fog of the miserable state she had been in that night, the attack leapt to the forefront of her mind as though it had happened only minutes ago. She held her trembling hands out, staring at them. Guilt came on at the question of what her life would have been like if her father did not beat her for breaking expensive things. How could he have known the more he yelled, the more it happened? Those Crossmen were different; they wanted to pay Spawny back for stealing. They would have attacked her regardless of what she could do―without her power, she would have been helpless.

Anna gathered her wits and stood, thinking she might walk out into the street and away like nothing was amiss. From where she was, she had two choices. Go swimming, or wander past them in plain sight. She glanced up at a broken window two stories overhead, but there was no way to climb up to it. A long exhale came with the hope that maybe they’d leave her alone if she didn’t look at them. Crossmen had more of a reputation for stealing augmentations, turf warfare, and robbery than attacking women, but who could say how they’d react to her alone.

More likely they’ll be after me like hounds on a fox.

Venturing a peek, she squinted at their number. There were thirteen. All things considered, it would be far better to slip away into the night. That number was too many to influence with her telepathic invisibility, which could deal with a handful at most. Making them not see anything would be impossible to maintain.

Anna held her breath and edged into the street, as far away from them as she could get against the right side wall. She moved at a pace as if she carried liquid nitroglycerin in a Dixie cup, hoping not to attract their attention by fast movement.

James’s choice of boot earned him a future kiss; the padded soles made no sound.

Anxiety manifested as sweat, the taste of salt upon her lip. She felt like a mouse sneaking past snakes.

“Hey bitch!”

Somewhere behind her, a NetMini detonated.

“Fetch me a beer,” yelled the same man.

“Sod off,” replied a woman. “Fetch this.”

Voices laughed.

In the second or four it took her to rein in her startlement, two more small things erupted with sparks.
They’re
not talking to me.
She resumed breathing.

“Hey, white.”

The man’s voice so close almost stopped her heart. Anna whirled, finding a tall Crossman a step behind her. She splayed the fingers of her right hand, ready to strike.

“Nasty part of town, this. You shouldn’t be alone, kid.”

She couldn’t move or breathe. Her gaze dropped to her chest for an instant before snapping back up to the man’s face. The baggy coat hid her breasts, her height made her look young.

“I-I’ll be okay.” She forced a smile that lasted only a second. “Thanks.”

“Some nasty business goes on ‘ere at night. Where’s your folks?”

Fingers relaxed, hands stuffed in pockets. “Waitin’ on me. I should go.”

She started away, but his hand clasped her shoulder. Anna froze.

“You sure? Things out here would eat you alive.”

Anna made eye contact and opened herself to his surface thoughts. He thought she was fourteen or so, a runaway. He attributed the terror in her face to fear of a pimp, not that she felt terrified of being so close to him. She couldn’t believe it.
He wants me to go home.
This is a Crossman?

“S-sorry. I… Friend of mine got attacked by some of your mates.”

The man folded his arms. “Oh, what’d they do to pick a fight?”

“She…” Anna looked at her boots; fear became anger. “They almost raped her.”

“Bollocks. That’s not how we operate.”

His anger made her take a step back. His surface thoughts were…
true
. The concept of a Crossman committing rape offended him as much as it horrified her. She turned to the side, confused, nauseous. The stink in the air didn’t help settle her stomach.