4.4

  A quick scan of the android reveals that all the information previously accessible on the data cube is now unavailable. Everything is greyed out, locked away, and none of my quick-hacks can penetrate the system.

  The bot rips through the other androids, tearing them apart limb by mechanical limb, splattering blue synthetic fluid in every direction. Obadele sweeps his arm out, motioning frantically from side to side, but nothing seems to work.

  “Destroy it,” he shouts, but the other bots stay motionless, their glowing eye lines pulsing red.

  One of them beeps, and a voice plays out: “Request rejected.”

  Perhaps a safety feature. Given Maelstrom’s explanation of The Helios Paradox, it makes sense that it would exist.

  One of the massive claws embedded in the ceiling jolts to life. It swings towards the flood gates with such speed I half expect it to snap clean off the pistons. The claw swivels downward, its magnet tilting diagonally relative to the ground. A low hum vibrates through the air as it begins pulling in the debris: shattered android limbs, spilled oil, and finally, the rogue bot itself. The bot’s thick, pinpointed talons screech along the steel flooring and draw deep, jagged furrows that glint with all the spark of tortured metal, the magnetic force so intense that the wires in its wrists snap loose, one by one, before finally tearing free.

  The android whips up into the bed of the magnet and begins to melt away.

  Fingers pats my shoulder, pointing first at the hanging snake crate and then at the stairwell leading up to the platform. “Upstairs. Now. We don’t have much time.”

  She’s right. No time like the present to head up, lower the crate, grab the item, and get the hell out of this place for good. So, I follow her up the stairwell, along the grated platform, and towards the elevated snake crate. It’s suspended about seven feet above the railing—too high to jump—so I take control of the claw, guiding it down until it’s level with us. With a quick rotation of the unit, the crate aligns perfectly, letting us step inside without a hitch.

  Below us, Obadele is still locked in his struggle with the rogue bot. The android twitches and jerks, not fully dead yet, though it’s clearly not far from its end. If he looks up just once, even for a moment, we’re as good as caught.

  We step into the snake crate, finding that a lot of the stuff inside—pallets of coiled tubing, industrial hoses, and stacks of reinforced steel plates—has been shoved haphazardly to one side, likely caused from the fall. The digital tags attached to the items have disintegrated into digital smear and are glitching in and out of existence. However, tucked in the far corner lies a bundle of old tarps, draped like a shroud over something too large, or too inconspicuous, to be ignored.

  Fingers edges her way through the mess, each step a careful struggle to find solid footing. The space is so cramped that we’re forced to shift some of the debris aside. It’s noisy, but not enough to drown out the low hum of the magnet beneath us.

  The hum doesn’t last long, though. It eventually fades away, leaving a tense silence in its wake. I catch the faint sound of Obadele speaking, though the words are in a language I don’t recognise. Probably just muttering to himself.

  “Help me with this,” Fingers says, trying to muscle a steel plate out from the tarps.

  I grip it firmly and slowly slide it out until the area separating the front from the back containing the tarps is free. I place it against the wall and keep it pressed, just for the time being. It’s a little too awkward, and perhaps too noisy, to position it somewhere else.

  Fingers kneels and removes the tarps from the corner. She pulls something from the clutter and dusts it off. It’s a silver briefcase with a four-digit combination padlock running across the centre, simple save for the engraving of a snake and the brand stamping that reads OUROVANE.

  Where have I heard that name before?

  Fingers steps up from the tarp pile, gripping the silver case with both hands, keeping it low. There’s no way for us to keep that invisible—the pockets in the anti-fibre suit simply aren’t large enough to accommodate such size—meaning that the chances of someone spotting us on the way out have significantly increased. The best bet would be to catch the crane over the cargo ship, towards the terminal, and wait until the coast is clear, because given the whole situation with the rogue bot, many of the human workers have likely evacuated, or are the very least not focused on their duties until given the go-ahead by their superiors. Still, it’s risky, but doable with the amount of cover provided by the units. I already know where most of the infrared cameras are, and if push comes to shove, I can manually override them, but for now following the original path should suffice, back towards the loading gate, towards the market, and to the parking lot. Out. Gone. Just like that.

  I wait for Fingers to pass me and then ease the steel plate into its original position, but suddenly I feel the weight of the unit shift and spin, and Fingers is thrust back into me. We stumble and crash onto the bed of the unit. Metal tubes rumble over us. Industrial cords whip down, and we’re nearly stuck.

  What happened?

  I stagger to my feet as the crate finally stops rotating, my balance barely holding. When I look up, there he is: Obadele, standing high above on one of the massive organiser claws. He clings to one of its forks, suspended in the air, the green visor locked onto us through the crate’s opening.

  He scowls, teeth grinding, his eyes flashing that same eerie shade of blue I’ve seen so many times before, on Li Wei, on Rico. “Rats,” he shouts. “Southsider rats!”

  I’m already reaching for the pistol tucked in my anti-fibre pouch, feeling the skin peel away the moment my fingers touch the grip. But as I draw it out and take aim, Obadele jerks the claw upward, and a magnet’s bed lowers with a loud thud, sealing us in.

  “Grab the plate,” Fingers snaps, urgency in her voice.

  I holster the pistol, feeling the force of the magnet begin to build, pull the metal plate in front of us, using as much strength as possible, and—

  Whoosh!

  We’re thrown violently towards the bed of the magnet, the thick steel plate doing its best to absorb the impact, though barely enough to keep us from crashing. At the same time, coiled tubing, pallets, and industrial hoses are ripped from their places, hurtling towards us like debris caught in the pull of a black hole.

  Fingers wrestles the silver briefcase between our faces, and we lean behind it, feeling the metal strike painlessly.

  “Warning,” the voice in my head says. “Magnetic field pressure exceeding safe levels. Proceed with caution or risk severe injury from forceful compression.”

  No time to think. No time to breathe.

  This is it. We’re caught.

  The skins of our anti-fibre suits emerge as the sharp objects prod us, revealing the black padding in its entirety.

  My lungs seize up, every breath cut short like I’m trying to suck air through a straw. The walls of the unit groan, a low, metallic shriek that sends shivers crawling over my skin. The sound is alive, hungry, and closing in.

  I can feel it now, the pressure building, squeezing tighter and tighter, as if some invisible hand is reaching in to crush us like empty beer cans. The force weakens slightly, and then the claw pulls out, strong enough to hold us captive but not strong enough to bring the unit with it. Everything spills over, down onto the metal floor, striking with heavy, echoing clangours.

  We’re stuck to the steel plate which is in turn stuck to the bed of the magnet. The claw repositions itself until we’re facedown, looking at the gore of shredded bodies and mangled android corpses, unable to move a muscle, our cybernetic enhancements holding us captive.

  I cough, and then I see Obadele rumble towards us on the other claw, staring at us. He doesn’t have a scowl on his face anymore; he’s grinning.

  “So, you two are the ones disrupting my business, ah?” he says, his African accent sounding thicker than ever, the gauntlet pointed at us. “Jesu, I should have known. Two southsider scum coming to steal corporate cargo, thinking they can get away with it. Weren’t you stupid, ah?”

  “Fuck you,” Fingers says, her voice struggling.

  “Not so smart, eh?” he says, descending on the claw a little, scanning her more closely with that green visor. “Morgan Ellis-Vale. Or, as the streets know you: Fingers. Big price on your head, ah? Thought you could sneak under my nose, ah?”

  “Thought you could smuggle illegal cargo out of the state, ahhhhh?” Fingers says, mimicking his accent. “Your operation won’t last long. Only a matter of time before the blues show up and catch on. Faulty androids, mislabelled cargo? You’re a shoo-in for the slammer.”

  He laughs, the rain from the flood gates passing over him. It’s stronger now, heavier, but his perfectly coiffed slickback remains untouched. “You really believe the warriors are coming, eh? You’re as foolish as they say, isn’t it?” Another laugh, this one sharper. “You people, eh? Life would be much simpler if you just bowed your heads and accepted your place. But no, you want to stir up nonsense, giving the others some foolish hope that they can rise up and fight. Fight what? Eh? You will always be the ones scraping for crumbs, always weak, always at the bottom.” He shakes his head, his smile cruel. “But you don’t learn, do you? You try to take from the ones who make this land move, who feed your rivers and keep your streets alive. You don’t realise we could crush it all if we wanted, eh? All of it.”

  “You won’t destroy a damn thing,” Fingers snaps, her voice sharp and unflinching. “You think you’re some big shot, strutting around with your fancy implants and your shiny tech, but the truth is, you’re nothing. No more powerful than us, no more important. Hell, you can be replaced tomorrow—probably already have a replacement lined up, just waiting to slide into your spot. But you cling to this, don’t you? Bullying the ones beneath you, your own team, because it makes you feel bigger. Gives you some false sense of control.” Her tone turns razor-edged. “But you know what? When the end-of-month review hits, and your boss is breathing down your neck, you’ll be shaking. Terrified they’ll toss you down here with the rest of us. You’re scared. Just another coward in a cheap suit pretending to be untouchable.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Heh. As if you know anything about a corporate structure,” he says. “But it’s too late for you to understand, ah. Too late for you to continue complaining.” He clenches the gauntlet and the force of the magnet strengthens. “I’m going to kill you and take the money. Both of you.” He suddenly scans me, the green eye twisting. “Hm. Why is that? Why is it that you are... dead?”

  I scan him back, particularly the gauntlet. Short-circuiting him isn’t an option, because the ICE imbedded in his defence software will ward it off and retaliate, likely damaging me instead.

  “I asked you a question, eh?” he says, getting closer, but not too close so as to be pulled under. “Why are you dead, Rhea Steele?”

  I use ‘Server Locator’ on his gauntlet, seeing the red lines attach themselves to the claws, which gives me an idea. I select ‘Data Blocker’, which prompts the additional options of ‘Delete’, ‘Alter’, and ‘Transfer’. “I’m not,” I say, selecting ‘Delete’ on the claw holding us, watching as the bar zips up to 100%. “But you’re about to be.”

  The red line disintegrates, and suddenly the magnet switches off, dropping us along with all the other metal pieces. We hit the ground hard but scramble to our feet, adrenaline pumping. I reach into the pouch of my suit and pull out the pistol, levelling it at Obadele. I fire without hesitation.

  The bullet ricochets harmlessly off the claw.

  He’s fast, unnervingly fast.

  “You want to do things the hard way, then?” Obadele’s green visor flashes in sharp intervals, scanning us, calculating. “Fine.”

  The snake crate slams down near us, so close it sends us stumbling backward. Dust and loose shards of metal scatter into the air, choking the space.

  From above, the claws converge, like predatory beasts closing in. The one Obadele stands on moves first, jerking into position above him, as if he’s the master conductor of this mechanical orchestra. The other three whip along the ceiling’s railing system, the sound of grinding metal cutting across the line. They twist, extend, and snap into alignment, enormous arms of industry. The claws loom over us, their massive pincers snapping in calculated unison over circular magnet beds. They move with the fluidity of something alive, steel limbs becoming grotesque extensions of Obadele’s will. He grins down at us, fearless, his gauntlet glowing brighter.

  “Have it your way,” he sneers.

  A claw dives in, descending with bone-rattling speed, its hulking form casting a shadow that stretches and ripples.

  I whip to one side, and Fingers to the other.

  The forks snap but miss, and the claw rotates to face me, charging up with a magnetic pull that sucks me back. I activate ‘Data Blocker’ again, and then use ‘Delete’ to disengage the connection. The claw hangs limp momentarily, giving me enough time to hurry towards the crate piles, before it slowly brings itself back up, under his control once again.

  “A netrunner from the south,” shouts Obadele. “How cute. Might make some money off your cyberware once all is said and done, eh?”

  I press the chest button on my suit above the sternum, hoping it will turn invisible again, but it doesn’t. It beeps in defiance.

  Shit.

  Bullets being fired in the distance. Fingers. She’s distracting him. I have to be careful here. She doesn’t have any quick-hacks or spoofing software, so if she gets caught, I’ll have to free her. The best bet would be for me to get a good view on him, on everything.

  The platform.

  I navigate to the stairwell and begin making my way up and around to the other side, keeping low behind the railing, but right when I’m about to reach the office hallway at the far end, I spot a claw swooping towards me. Quickly, I snap away, and the claw tears the platform down, causing me to slide along the grate. The pincers flex out straight, about to pierce my chest, but I shimmy to the middle, falling between them. The claw retracts and brings me up. I hold on tight, looking ahead.

  Obadele is focused on me and me alone, and I don’t see Fingers anywhere. He whips his gauntlet up, causing the claw to rise beneath my feet; it bumps into the railing with a harsh snap and I’m thrust off. When I hit the floor and look up, the claw zooms down real close and begins activating the magnet. Thinking quickly, I delete the connection once again, but I don’t let the claw recover this time; instead, I step onto the burger-shaped head of the claw, wrap my pistol-wielding hand around one of the pistons, and use ‘Manual Override’ to bring myself up level with Obadele.

  He’s slowly reeling himself towards me, no longer grinning. He has a cold, calculative look on his face, nearly empty, only save for a semblance of anger. He raises his gauntlet, but I anticipate it, watching the red line begin to take form, and immediately delete it. Then I scan the claw that he stands on and use ‘Short-circuit’, thinking that if I can’t attack him directly, I’ll attack his toys.

  The claw that Obadele stands on shudders violently the moment Short-circuit uploads, the glowing blue wires running through its structure turning a chaotic, crimson red. Sparks erupt from its joints like fireworks, spraying molten flecks in every direction. The stabilising pistons scream under the strain, jerking and misfiring, causing the claw to lurch sideways. Obadele staggers, his footing slipping as the entire structure beneath him groans like a wounded animal. The glow of his gauntlet intensifies while he tries to regain control, frantically inputting commands, but the claw ignores him, convulsing in a digital seizure.

  Then the central mechanism snaps, sending a plume of smoke and sparks into the air. The claw’s pincers spasm, opening and closing in erratic bursts before locking halfway open, trembling, the internal systems failing one by one.

  The platform tips suddenly, forcing Obadele to grip the edge to keep from being flung off. Sparks rain down around him, but he's still out of sight. Can't get a good shot on him.

  So, instead I try to do the same to the other claws, but the neural AI fights the demand:

  “Request rejected. Please wait one hundred. And. Four. Seconds.”

  Of course, I should have known a quick-hack this powerful couldn’t be continuously used without some sort of limitation.

  “You’re really still trying?” Obadele snarls, voice distorted by the screeching of the dying claw, pulling himself up as it begins to steady itself again.

  Then I notice Fingers coming along the side of the platform.

  This is it. A perfect shot.

  She peeks over the railing, aims her pistol right at him, and—

  An organiser claw whips towards her, looming over her with a mind of its own. She fires at it but the bullet does nothing. Before it has an opportunity to suck her in with the magnet, I disconnect the line, causing it to hang limp once again, and Fingers hops from the platform to one of the crate stacks’ tops. The claw jerks back to life, searching for her, while the other two are heading towards me. I aim my pistol at Obadele, thinking I might be able to land a shot on him, but he’s smart: he moves behind the pistons for cover.

  I look around, trying to calculate the best possible solution, looking at everything. With Short-circuit still on cooldown, my options are limited, and soon one of the claws will swing in. So, I use ‘Server Locator’, observing the red lines converging on Obadele’s gauntlet. It’s interesting. In theory, he should only be able to control one claw at a time, but somehow, he’s able to control them all, even when faced away from them. The speed of the claw faced away from him, however, is slower, more mechanical in nature, as it scans the area in search of Fingers. If it’s not controlled by Obadele, and it’s able to see Fingers, then that means it must be...

  Of course, the employee. Manual control.

  I use ‘Server Locator’ on the claw that had attacked Fingers, finding that indeed the line connecting its ID to the primary server doesn’t just lead to Obadele’s gauntlet. Whenever the claw moves, the red line switches to a separate server, directed behind me, through the hallway leading out from the stairwell.

  The operator room.

  I can see it through the walls; it’s in there.

  That’s the solution: get to the server room and disconnect all the claws, then he’s a sitting duck, with no visible weaponry to protect himself. That employee won’t be able to stop me either, not after being fried to bits.

  Seeing no other option, I hop off the claw and onto the platform. The landing causes the supports to screech. Given that it had already been damaged, that’s no surprise. Thankfully, it holds under my weight, and I make for the hallway by the stairwell, but when I’m about to head inside, the door slides shut.

  I look back and see Obadele pointing his gauntlet at it. “Oh, you think I’m that stupid, ah?”

  He’s close now, very close, so close that—

  A claw whips down and strikes me in the left shoulder, knocking my entire body to the side and into the wall.

  “Vitals low,” the voice in my head says. “Activating emergency protocols.”

  Electricity surges through my body, pumping adrenaline, but I feel weak, very weak, too weak to even stand. I try to activate my spoofer again, but this time it doesn’t work.

  “Data error,” the AI says. “Delinking.”

  The skin surrounding the spoofer on my shoulder peels away, as does the skin around my left temple, and my neural cord zips back into place. It’s been knocked out.

  I’m done for.

  Bullets fly in from the side, but they stop suddenly, and when I look over, I see Fingers dodging the other claw. Then she holds onto something tight, because moments later the magnet begins to pull against her. It’s high up, so she’s not completely ripped apart, thank goodness, but it’s clear she’s not going to last very long either.

  “You’re all the same,” shouts Obadele. “Weak, worthless southsiders. No jobs, and even when you do have jobs, you mess them up, ah. Just like you did this one. You will never be anything. You will always be nothing. Pathetic dirt. But don’t worry, eh. I’ll make sure you stay dead. For. Ever.”

  Obadele’s magnet tilts upwards to face me, as does the other, and soon both claw magnets pull me up from the platform and keep me suspended in the air. The magnetic force grips every piece of metal in my body, stretching my limbs outwards. My pistol slips from my grasp, sucked violently towards the claw on the right, and my body trembles as the opposing magnets counteract, keeping me frozen in midair like a marionette caught between two strings.

  “Pressure critical,” the AI says. “Please evacuate the area.”

  Although I cannot feel the pain, I’m terrified; after having been given another chance to live, by what I can only assume is the luck of God, I’d chosen the wrong path and messed everything up. This is it. The end of the road. Darkness.

  Forever.

  But then, oh then, something shifts.

  The magnets disengage, and I’m dropped on top of a crate stack, gasping for air.

  I look up, and the claws aren’t responding to Obadele’s movements. The claw on which he stands suddenly jerks forward, kicking him off, onto the platform.

  “What?” he shouts. “This isn’t right. Obey your master!”

  But the claws don’t. The one to his left rotates smoothly, its pincers clicking open and shut with mechanical grace, while the claw to his right advances, blocking his path. They move in unison, cornering him on the narrow platform.

  “Stop! What is this?” he screams, but his question is met with nothing but the hum of machinery.

  Then, a voice crackles through the ship’s intercom:

  “You were right, sir.”

  The employee.

  “Don’t you dare, Jesu,” says Obadele. “What do you think you’re doing?” He freezes, his face twisting into a mix of rage and realisation. He tries to run, but the claws move faster.

  With an elegant sweep, one claw hooks the platform beneath his feet, tilting it just enough to send him stumbling towards the edge. He grabs desperately at the railing, his gauntlet slipping. Another claw moves in close, its pincers poised.

  “You traitor,” Obadele roars. “You—”

  The claw thrusts forward, smashing through the gauntlet on his arm and sending him hurtling backwards. He falls to the floor, out of view.

  The intercom crackles again, the same voice speaking with quiet satisfaction:

  “Always remember where you came from, Mr. Kanyama.”

  I pull an MX-inhaler from my pocket, press it to my lips, and puff twice. The chemical rush hits immediately, cooling the fire in my veins and steadying my breath. My vision sharpens, my vitals sputtering back to green in my neural HUD. I climb over to the edge, looking down at him.

  The claws descend and jerk sharply, pulling Obadele’s body taut. His cry of rage becomes a scream of agony as the force doubles, then triples. His cybernetic enhancements buckle first, the synthetic plating of his arm snapping with a metallic shriek. Blood sprays into the air. His legs give next, bones shattering under the immense pressure. Obadele’s scream falters, choking off, his body finally ripping in two. The claws jerk back simultaneously, sending the torn halves of his lifeless form against the walls and pallets.

  Silence follows, broken only by the faint hum of the claws retreating to their rails above.

  The sound of grinding cogs pulls my attention to the far left. I glance over to see the crane head descending through the flood gates.

  “You’ll want to move fast,” the voice crackles through the intercom one last time. “The blues might not be on their way, but their security will be worse. Trust me. And hey... never stop fighting.”

  Never stop fighting...

  He just... saved me, my life, our lives....

  The intercom fizzles out, and all I can hear is the steady pitter-patter of blood pooling on the floor.

  I clench my jaw, grab my pistol, and take one last look at the wreckage.

  Then, I run.

  It’s time to get the fuck out of here.