Living in Syn (35 page)

They
entered what appeared to be a private throne room.  Great.  This guy's not
crazy.  Paine seated himself on his throne and Mission took a more pedestrian
chair.

"So,
Paine, what do want to talk about?"

Paine
leaned forward and said,  "First it's Judas that interests me.  You paid
him to betray me?"

Mission
couldn't contain his irritation.  "I am really trying, Paine, but can't
you drop this metaphorical crap?  I don't know anyone named Judas!"

Paine
smiled.  "Do you believe the name he gave you is any more substantial? 
Just another pseudonym he adopted for purposes of deception.  But to speed
things along, I will say that he is the one who calls himself Atwood."

"Yes,
I spoke with Arthur several times.  A very intelligent and wise person.  I
think New Angeles is in quite capable hands."

"As
opposed to the Winwood Kingdom, is that what you are saying?"

"I
don't know much about you yet.  I do know Arthur would never allow a
crucifixion."

"But
he would betray his mentor to save his own pathetic little existence!"

"Look,
I can't mediate some argument between you and Arthur.  But if you're betrayed,
why hasn't the Army simply finished things, just disintegrated this
building?"

"Pretenses. 
Your arbitrary social conventions.  You delude yourself into thinking that you
maintain a value system and that your life is infused with meaning if you
follow your little rules.  You are one of the Knights of the Round Table.  If I
fall, you wait for me to get up before resuming combat.  Instead of killing me
outright, you come here to offer me banishment to New Angeles.  Only after I
refuse, will you kill me, and then you can sit in your easy chair at home with
your woman by your side, feeling smug and self-righteous that you did
everything you could for me."

His eyes
were wild as he screamed, "I will not be exiled!  I will not be shelved
and forgotten!"

He
jumped off of his throne and ran behind Mission's chair and then moved his head
over to the side, with his face no more than six inches from Mission's ear. 
"I am the Christ.  And you Pilate, you will play out your part.  The lives
of your comrades depend on it."

Mission
turned and said,  "Fine.  You're not of my race and I won't judge you. 
Show me your Herod, your ruler of the synthetics and I’ll turn you over to him
for judgment."

Paine
trembled with anger.  Mission had outsmarted Paine by remembering that Pilate
turned Christ over to the crowd on his second visit.  On his first, Pilate sent
him to Herod since Christ was Hebrew.

Paine
screamed, "My destiny is not to follow every detail of the Gospels.  My
destiny is that of a Savior.  Don't deny that our roles are quite clear.  From
the beginning, my vision set these tortured souls free.  My destiny is to carve
into the landscape a message so profound and enduring that it influences the
foundations of civilization from here on out.  Only a martyr can make such an
impact.  Your role is that of Pilate.  To deliver your ultimatum and then
destroy me when I refuse to surrender."

Mission
shook his head.  "You don't get it.  I'm not going to kill you.  Why are
you so eager to die?"

Paine
moved almost on top of Mission and his eyes seemed to envelope the entire
room.  "You don't
get
it.  I will raise from the dead!"

His eyes
locked with Mission's for almost a full minute.  Their power did border on the
hypnotic.  Mission broke the spell by shaking his head and saying, "You
are in ... "

Paine
grabbed him by the wrist.  "I'm not interested in your assessment.  Play
your part or watch your people die."

Mission's
mind raced.  Taking this guy as a hostage was out.  He could hold him for less
than a second before Paine broke Mission's arm off.  He pictured the room and
what would happen as they entered.  At least for an instant, everyone would
look up to see them enter.  At that point Pete or Carson or Montag could make a
move.  But what?  And how would they know it was time to do something?

Paine
twisted Mission's arm behind his back and pushed him up the hallway.  The
ultrasonics grenade.  If he could just get a hand on it, he could take out
everybody in the whole place and they could walk out.  He would look for the
instant when he could put his hand inside his coat.

Sergeant
Pete Wells' training sessions continually proved effective and Mission's team
was no exception.  As Mission entered the front door of the hotel, Montag
palmed a smoke grenade in his left hand with his thumb inside the ring. 

Among
other interests, Pete practiced an amateur magic act in his spare time.  He
understood how easy it became to accomplish the impossible by controlling where
the audience's attention would focus.  Thus, when Mission had motioned for them
to drop their guns, Pete pulled out his Winston with a flourish, insuring that
no one noticed his left hand darting inside his jacket for an ultrasonics grenade. 

Meanwhile,
Carson looked over the group guarding them.  Not the brightest in the world. 
They formed a circle around the three of them, almost guaranteeing that they
would kill more of themselves than the enemy if a fight broke out.

He
located two syns almost directly across from each other with automatic
weapons.  He slowly positioned himself between them.  With just a head fake
before he dropped to the floor, they might kill five of themselves on each side
of the circle when the heat turned up.  He looked over at Pete who motioned
with his eyes toward the hallway Mission and Paine had taken.  Carson
understood immediately.  The moment when they reentered would be the optimum
time of distraction.  For at least an instant, every head would turn toward the
hall.  And he bet that Mission would make a sound or gesture upon entering to
sweeten the pot.  He looked over at Montag who witnessed the entire non-verbal
conversation and nodded his head.

Mission
could only move forward in response to Paine manhandling him up the hall.  Just
before they came in sight of the lobby, he coughed hoping all eyes would focus
on their entrance.  When someone twists your arm behind your back to hold you,
your only real option is to drop to your knees, turning slightly to keep from
dislocating your arm.  The counter to this move is to drop to your knees along
with your captive, never releasing your grip.  So Mission depended on his team
for distraction.

At the
sound of the cough, Wells allowed the ultrasonics grenade to fall from his hand
and roll under one of the chairs.  The syns looked around to see what fell and
Montag bounced his smoke grenade off the ground.  Carson dove for the floor as
the gunfire exploded.  Mission dropped while pulling a 180 to face Paine as he
slid from his grip down between his legs.  Paine kicked him in the side and he
felt a rib snap.  As he pulled his foot up to stomp again, Mission caught him
on the inside of the thigh with his foot and threw him onto his throne. 

An
explosion rocked the left hand front of the lobby and threw splinters of
furniture and synthetics across the area.  Mission noticed a fighter frozen in
place and knew the ultrasonics were working.  The gunfire continued at a steady
pace and Mission realized that Paine also employed human mercenaries in his
combat force.  Crazy, not stupid.

The
center of the combat raged inside the radius of the smoke grenade and
visibility ran at zero except for muzzle flashes.  Along the periphery, Mission
noticed that fires started up like weeds on a summer lawn.  The rugs, the old
furniture, and the hotel structure itself burned.

Mission
flew across the elevated area and dove on the ground to enter the smoke.  He
found about an inch of clear vision on the bottom of the floor.  He kept
looking.  A mercenary smashed the back of his head with a rifle butt and he
rolled over stunned.  The merc came at him again and Mission caught him with
his left hand and juiced him with 20,000 volts.  It didn't kill a human, but it
didn't improve their hand/eye coordination either.  Mission hit him three
straight times: nose, forehead, and throat.  He kept looking.  There!  Mission
crawled over to Montag and grabbed a magnetic interrupter clip from him.  He
slapped them on the frozen syns as fast as he could.  A shot hit Mission and
... no!  It penetrated his coat.  He heard sputtering.  He ripped his jacket
back to see an orange explosive without a ring sparking like crazy.  He
snatched at it and threw it toward the pulpit, but it exploded in mid-air.  The
shrapnel pelted him all over and he hoped the flak suit held up.  The eighth
syn he came across lay on his stomach and Mission grabbed his foot for a
purchase to pull up to the shoulder blades.

The ultrasonics
died and the syn came alive and rolled over, reaching for Mission's throat and
missing but latching onto his collar.  The syn pulled Mission toward him so
fast that his arms flew back so that he couldn't use the interrupter.  This syn
wasted no time.  As Mission's face moved toward him, his stiffened finger on
the left hand pushed toward his eye.  It happened so fast.  Less than a tenth
of a second for Mission to realize he would die, to look into the cruel
expression of his executioner, and then too see that face explode into flame.

Pete
screamed over the barrel of his smoking Stiletto, "You're goddamned lucky
I like it."

The
fight really stepped up now that the ultrasound had died.  The smoke started to
clear.  Mission checked.  He and Pete in the middle.  Carson to the right
holding down that side.  Yes!  Montag snaking under the seats down the center. 
He used the orange explosives to simply blow hell out of the other half of the
lobby and Pete followed suit.

The
entire lobby burned out of control and it became difficult to take any
bearings, but Mission thought they had eliminated most of the resistance.  He
caught Pete's eye and motioned toward the door.  He nodded and soon Carson
moved with him while Montag who was closest to the door laid down a covering
fire.  Mission moved toward the pulpit.  Now it wasn't the grenade, it was the
smoke from the fire that obscured his vision.  He choked and pulled out his
oxygen supply.  He worried that the syn tore the hose when he snatched him by
the collar, but he bit down on the valve and tasted the sweet oxygen.  He
reached the steps to the elevated area and as he put his hand up on the floor,
he saw shoes just beyond it.  He rolled frantically and ... ZZZIPPP!  A sword
almost four feet long shoved completely through his flak suit, the right side
of his abdomen, and out the back and deep into the floor.  As quickly as it
stabbed him, it pulled free.  Mission rolled diagonally while swinging his arms
to try and ward off another thrust.

He heard
coughing nearby and he circled on his hands and knees, hoping that the tight
fit of the flak suit cut down on his blood loss.   There!  It was Paine alright
and Mission managed to get behind him.  He would juice him from behind and be
done with it. 

"Help
me!  Oh God, please help me!"

Mission
crawled toward the sound and then realized who it was.  He looked up and saw
Sabrina, pleading for her life with flames licking closer and closer.  How in
the hell would he get her down?  He looked around but there was nothing to see
except smoke and flame.  He would die if he didn't get out soon.  Inspiration
struck him.  Wary of Paine, he crawled over to the refrigerator pulpit and
pushed it slowly over to the wall.  He stood on it which put his head up to the
level of her head.  He whispered, "It's Mission, but I'm going to have to hurt
you to get you down."

He
tugged on her wrist and the nail gave a bit, but her screams were more than
Mission could stand.  The command implanter.  He pulled it out of a pocket and
put Sabrina to sleep.  He yanked her arm free with sudden panic, and then the other. 
He climbed up on the huge, rickety cross to get to her feet, realizing that
when the nail came out, she would probably take him to the ground with her. 
The feet weren't as easy.  Her entire weight pulled down on the nail, making it
very difficult to apply the force needed coming straight out. 

Suddenly
Mission entered free fall and he tried to twist and land on his feet. 
Sabrina's dead weight refused to cooperate and he landed with a leg underneath
him and Sabrina on top.  His leg was hurt badly. They rolled over twice just as
the carpet pile on the floor burst into flames and spread to the cross.

Mission
considered the length of the trip to the lobby door, lugging Sabrina with one
good leg.  Out of the smoke Paine appeared, stabbing him again.  As the sword
came down on his heart, Mission slashed out with his right forearm. pushing the
sword off to the side, but cutting his arm to the bone. 

As Paine
struggled to pull the sword out of the soft wooden floorboard, Mission tried to
get out from under Sabrina without compounding his leg injury.  He squirted
out, and got to his feet, or foot, mostly hopping, circling Paine, with
thoughts of Susan abruptly charging into his mind.  Paine stood just in front
of the burning carpet and when Mission moved within six feet of him, he brought
the sword full overhead for the kill.  Mission saw Susan laughing at him after
the horror movie, and he charged as fast and as hard as he could.  He struck
Paine in the mid-section with his shoulder and they fell into the flames.  As
they hit the wall, the flaming cross shuddered and fell on them.  Paine
absorbed the brunt of the blow with one of the arms striking Mission.

He
couldn't get up.  The flak suit protected him from the flames, but he saw blood
spurting from the severed artery in his arm.  He wouldn't make it.  He didn't
save Sabrina.  He wouldn't see Susan again.