Superego (36 page)

“Sure of what? Look at him. My orders are not to end him until after Gredler is dead. Let's just do this and then go out and get really drunk.”

“Okay.” Donner left the room.

I was able to position my head so I could see Morrigan. We were in a small room with no light except that from a tiny window near where Morrigan sat. She was putting together a sniper rifle. What a pathetic way to make the hit. Shooting from a distance implies fear, and I never liked to show anyone I was afraid.

Morrigan noticed I was looking at her and turned to me. “I might as well explain the plan, Rico: I snipe Gredler during his speech. I get out of here via my nice little escape route, and Donner ‘finds' this room and is the heroic security guard who kills the infamous Rico. Oh, yeah! I forgot to tell you. You're infamous, because we leaked some of your exploits to the news agencies here. Anyway, Donner shoots you so many times that no one will be able to tell your bones were already broken. Yes, that's right! You're going to finally be done in by the complete and utter screwup Donner, since you're just not worth any more of my time. I hope you find your death abrupt and pointless.”

It did seem a foolish death. That was sort of the point, I guess. A last, unwinnable fight against overwhelming odds—which was apparently how Nystrom now wanted my end to happen—only instead of doing that while serving them, I was weakly striking out against them. I fully expected to die while doing little more than making enough noise to disrupt Nystrom's original plans. My life was pointless, so I didn't see why I should have expected meaning from death.

Morrigan inspected her rifle and sighed. “I really wish I had more time to hurt you, Rico. I have some big anger issues to work out, but I guess Diane will just have to be the target of them. I'll work on her for days—weeks if I can manage. And I'll let her know it's because of you.” She turned to look at me, a sick grin barely visible in the shadows of the room.

I could picture Diane in misery—her last agonized thoughts of her hatred for me. And it wasn't just images in my mind—I felt distress at the thought. Morrigan must have seen some reaction from me, because she looked satisfied at the psychological pain she'd caused and chuckled as she turned back to her rifle.

And that's what would have made this all even more pointless. I didn't even delay Nystrom's plans to kill Gredler. All I was changing was in what manner I died while the syndicate's plan went on without me. And in what way Diane suffered for it.

Or that would have been the truth if Morrigan had just shot me in the head as she had threatened. That's why I let myself react with distress to her threats against Diane, because the other involuntary action I was fighting was a smile.

I had a plan. A very foolish plan that I didn't actually expect to work. Yet it had already worked even better than I'd imagined. Because here I was in the conference hall, past security. And Nystrom's guard against me was completely down.

Of course, there was good reason for that. I had nothing left but the simplest of motor functions. But what better way was there to get the enemy to disregard you than to let them wreck and break you? I had fought Morrigan with all my might, but I'd expected her to win (and my plans had actually been much sketchier had I somehow succeeded in killing her). The variable I couldn't control was whether she'd just kill me outright, or if pressure from the syndicate would force her to keep me alive longer. The ploy was only to have the element of surprise against Nystrom's people here on planet, but I hadn't expected them to deliver me exactly where I needed to be.

For a moment I considered the possibility there was a higher power looking out for me. It would seem odd that He'd concern Himself with something as horrible as me, but people did speak of God using terrible things to his purposes before—like floods, plagues, and earthquakes…And the angel of death.

I needed one more thing to fall into place if my plan were to work, and I soon heard a voice from above telling me everything was going to be all right.

“I'm in place, Rico,” Dip said. “They did come after me, but I was able to misdirect them with a decoy ship. Are you ready?”

I could not respond, so I didn't.

“I can tell you are conscious, so I will go ahead. The event should occur on schedule.”

The angel of death—sent by God to destroy the wicked. It was a fun thought, but if there was a God and He had a purpose for me, it existed beyond my reach. It would seem His concern would be better placed in protecting His faithful, like Diane. That was the one part of my plan that hadn't worked out at all, and she was now vulnerable to any one of the syndicates getting to her at any moment.

Except that they would soon have much bigger concerns. And certainly no one in this building would ever harm her.

“I will now implement the Fazium. I hope you're tied down, because your body is really not going to like this.”

CHAPTER 40

Pain. My existence was nothing but constant pain. Claws ripped apart my insides. My skin was being boiled and torn. My head was engulfed in a raging migraine while simultaneously being cut apart with an axe. My toes were being pulled off with pliers. Any horrible thing you could imagine happening to your body, I could feel it going on all at the same time. It was pure physical agony—what some must imagine hell to be. Still, pain is just a signal to the brain. The brain then makes you want to panic, but a rational mind can overcome that animal instinct.

The Fazium was killing me—or at least with that kind of pain, I hoped death was coming soon. I'd had it put inside my body some time ago and given Dip the ability to remotely activate it. This was my last-ditch chance for recovery I'd thought of after Morrigan had removed my original hand years earlier. I now felt the Fazium spreading throughout my body and quite haphazardly forcing everything back into place based on how it had been programmed that a body should look like, mending flesh and bone in a rapid process. It was like surgery being performed on the entire body at once, which is why a coma is always induced before application of the drug. Overloaded with pain, my brain very much wanted to shut down, but unconsciousness was not an option for me right now.

Here was an advantage of my split brain: I let the lesser half process the pain. It was a bit like holding all of the pain at arm's length. I could feel all the agony, but the idea was to not let it envelop my whole consciousness and control my actions. Still, the pain was too much for that part of the brain to keep completely sequestered from the rest of me, and every bit of instinct told me to flail about and scream. But I fought it and remained motionless on the ground as I watched Morrigan in front of me, her attention focused on the scope of her rifle. I wasn't sure how much time I had, but I had to wait for the bones to be set in my limbs. Each second seemed like an eternity. Every nerve in my body was urging me to move. I tried to feel whether my arms were being forced back into place, but it was hard to separate one bit of pain from another when nearly every pain receptor in my body was firing.

Finally, I lifted my right arm. I couldn't feel it move through the screaming nerves, but I could see it. I didn't know if it was fully healed, but if it hurt for me to move it, it was just one drop in the ocean of agony. With a little coordination, which required much more effort than it usually would, I pulled the rag from my mouth.

I slowly worked to get to my feet. I couldn't feel the floor below me, as it felt like all my skin was being shredded apart, so I had no feeling in my limbs beyond that. Still, I relied on muscle memory to move my limbs in proper sequence. It was hard to concentrate—my body didn't want me to think about anything other than the pain—but soon I was on my feet, looking down on Morrigan.

I must have made a noise. She slowly turned around. It was quite dark in this room, so I guessed all she could see was the silhouette of a man—a standing man who should have been too broken to move. And she couldn't hide the fear in her eyes.

“Remember,” I said, carefully working my tongue, which felt like it was being torn asunder like the rest of me, “when I told you about your violent death?”

I could sense her trying to bury the confusion, preparing to just kill me and figure out what had happened later, but it wasn't quite working. She was trembling. I was as she'd said: the boogeyman—a monster—and her natural response was to crush me quickly. She leapt at me and put her full strength into a punch to destroy the demon. But it was already over. She was no threat to me. I had fought her multiple times now, and I knew her movements. And in my present state, I had moved beyond the pain—beyond my own body. I floated past her fist with no effort, put my hand to her chin, and wrenched her head back as she threw every ounce of her momentum forward.

Through the window, I could see all the people gathered in an auditorium, looking toward a single stage which seemed to be protected with an energy shield. Apparently the vote was over, Gredler was now President of the Alliance, and the crowd was just waiting for him to come out and speak. Hundreds, perhaps thousands were inside. If things were as planned, they were mostly armed thugs guarding the politicians in the pockets of the syndicates.

I realized I had forgotten about Morrigan. I turned to see her lying in a heap on the ground. I had snapped her neck, but I didn't remember doing it. My mind was processing more stress than it had been designed to take, and as a result, I was having trouble concentrating on the here and now. But this was all simple enough for me—killing people—that perhaps it didn't need my intense concentration.

I took a pistol and what looked to be a remote off of Morrigan. “I'm guessing this was to turn off the energy shield for her kill shot.”

“Hard for me to say,” Dip answered. “Are you well enough for this?”

“I don't have time to take a sick day.”

“The speech will be in five minutes—which is also when the package will be delivered.”

I looked up at the vent above me. “I guess I'm going through the duct work.”

“It's more of a maintenance area above the building. It has very high, automated security throughout.”

On Morrigan's remote, I found a menu. One option was conveniently labeled “Disable Pathway Security.” I selected it. “Is the security on now?”

“It has just been turned off.”

“Direct me toward Gredler.” I climbed onto a chair, opened the vent, and pulled myself up. I felt like I had full control of my body now and had adjusted to my new condition. I had gone from agonizing in pain to being so divorced from it that I felt nothing anymore. I was me.

I made my way though a small, darkened area past wires and pipes. Per Dip's instructions, I soon found a shaft that supported some cabling, and it was just wide enough for me to climb down. I descended until I landed in a maintenance closet. “Gredler should be just outside, waiting for his speech,” Dip informed me.

I opened the door. Six security guards and Gredler were standing in front of me. And then the guards weren't. I never even felt slightly at risk, even as one guard got a shot off at me. I was untouchable now—that I was certain of. I bent down and grabbed two pistols from them—the Arco X5s. Gredler had listened to me, and now I was armed with my favorite weapons.

Gredler stared at me, too stunned to talk. I walked toward him. “It's your big moment now. You're going to change the galaxy.”

“I thought we were working together!”

“Three minutes left,” Dip informed me.

I pointed a gun at Gredler's head. “We are. Now we're going to go out there and talk to all those lovely people.”

“You'll never make it out of there alive if you don't give yourself up!”

I pushed him toward the door to the stage. “Sounds like a challenge.” Next to the door was a panel that controlled the energy shield. I made sure it was active and took Gredler onstage at gunpoint.

There were hundreds of people in front of me—a few political pawns of the syndicates backed by hundreds of syndicate killers, all posing as aides or security. And all the major syndicates I knew of were represented, including a few puppets of Nystrom. These were the criminals who thought they ran the universe, and all were now staring at me and the gun I had on Gredler. There were a few gasps when they first saw me, but only the uniformed security guards drew guns. Everyone else was smart enough not to escalate things with their rivals in close proximity.

Well, that would not do.

No one fled the area. If there were any innocents here, they were both foolish and unlucky to get trapped here with these people. And, anyway, even with Diane's influence, I still just could not make myself care. As has been well established, my purpose was to kill. Saving people was beyond me.

“You are on all the local television stations right now,” Dip told me. “I assume this signal will travel quite far quite quickly.”

I walked up to the podium, keeping a gun on Gredler. I hadn't planned to say anything, and with my body on fire I wasn't sure how coherent I could be. It seemed like there should be some introduction to the coming destruction for the viewers at home, though. Diane's intention had been to do as much harm to the syndicates as possible, and the best way to inflict harm on them was to expose them. But I wasn't here just for Diane, I realized. As I looked at all the smug criminals who held the power in the universe, a strange feeling bubbled up inside me, detectable despite the pain wracking my body: anger.

“Hello! What a great little show we're having! I'd like to congratulate Senator Gredler on becoming president of the new, more powerful Alliance—and I'd especially like to congratulate the Randatti criminal syndicate for helping their puppet to hold this powerful position. I know all you other syndicates wanted your own puppets in place here, but only one could do it, and it's nice to see that all you thugs and murderers can work together and compromise on occasion—especially when you see an opportunity to eliminate a powerful syndicate like Nystrom. You all plan to turn this joke of a democratic government against Nystrom. Of course, Nystrom has their own plans. They want to take out President Gredler in a spectacular fashion, something like this…”