First Breath: A Cyberpunk Novelette Page 2

  Nobody paid any attention as they went in, all lost in the drink, the drugs, or the dance. They went to Hardy’s usual table.

  “So who is it?” Mara asked.

  Hardy nodded at the other edge of the dance floor. Tony was standing there, perving on the perimeter. He wasn’t the type to get involved. Didn’t have it in him. He was happy to watch, though. There was a visible dent in the line of dancers around him.

  “Far edge. The guy not dressed the part.” He was in a heavy leather coat that wouldn’t allow much in the way of dancing. Hardy had never seen him without it. A memory clicked in his mind, the coat bridging the gap. He’d asked him about it once, and had gotten a very honest answer: “It makes me feel cool.”

  “And he’s got a key?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know what good it will do you. Jack’s paranoid. The key alone isn’t enough to get us in. It works in conjunction with an implant, and I ripped mine out.” That had been an odd discovery, fresh after his memories were wiped.

  “Z’s got it all worked out. Don’t worry about it.”

  Tony smiled across the dance floor. His eyes met Hardy’s, and his smile slackened. “He’s gonna run.”

  Tony was halfway to the door by the time Hardy stood, and slipped through it right before he got there. Hardy ran after him, down the brick-lined alley. Tony wasn’t that fast, so he caught up quick and grabbed the back of his coat. He hadn’t counted on the momentum, so they both fell to the ground, Hardy on top.

  They scuffled, but he managed to get Tony’s arms down. As soon as he was pinned, Tony put on the charm. “Hey, Hardy. Long time. How ya been?”

  His last dose was running out, and he saw that Mara had disappeared again. He didn’t feel like being chatty. “I need to get in, Tony. You got a key?”

  “Look, I don’t want trouble, Hardy. You know how it is. They find out I gave you the key, what happens to me? You wouldn’t want me hurt.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Tony laughed, his head still against the pavement. He was always laughing; it was a defense mechanism. “You’re a funny guy, Hardy. I don’t carry it on me. You’re out of luck.” His eyes darted down to his coat pocket. He wouldn’t give it up, but he’d let Hardy take it. Less liability that way. He’d probably punch himself in the face, too, once Hardy was gone—make it look like he’d beaten it out of him.

  Hardy reached into the pocket. The key was just a metal card—battery-operated—that gave off half the signal to open the door. “Don’t have it on you, eh?” He played along. Tony was a spineless pervert, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Not as far as Jack’s men went. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head close. “What did I tell you about lying to me?”

  He stood and let Tony get to his feet. “And you won’t be telling anyone, got it?”

  “Got it, Hardy.” Tony looked down at the ground. When he raised his head again, he was smiling. “So,” he said, “you and Mara.”

  Hardy took him by the coat all over again. “What do you know about her?”

  Tony laughed. “That’s not how it works, Hardy. Those memories were hostages. You don’t get them back.”

  What a time to grow a spine. He let Tony down. He’d get the information either way.

  “Get out of here.” He walked back toward the club, and Tony skittered down the alley.

  He hadn’t needed any more proof she had worked for Jack, but it didn’t matter; so had he. She was only part of the game, anyway. He’d save the girl, but there was something he wanted more.

  He wanted those memories back.

  6

  “PERFECT,” Z BEAMED when he brought her the metal card. She had given up choosing a color for her hair, and the fibers alternated throughout the spectrum.

  “I don’t know what you can do with it,” he said. “It’s a two-part lock.”

  “Yeah.” She lost her chipper glow. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Hardy,” Mara said, “leave her be. She’s got work to do.”

  When Hardy turned back to Z, she was facing away, back at her worktable. “Right.”

  Mara was sitting by the wall, and he joined her. He didn’t trust her in the slightest, but she at least was warm toward him; he’d get nothing from Les or Simek. “You’ve got an odd crew,” he said.

  She nodded. “I guess. I haven’t been with them long. They were just drawn together, you know?”

  He was only half paying attention. His head ached again, but he ignored it. He’d gotten over his fear of asking, but there was more to it than that. He’d seen what Mara tried to hide the last time. She was afraid of him.

  It didn’t make any sense—she had him in a vice. Every decision he had made to help, he realized, had been right after getting a dose of that breath. The guard in front of Jack’s, tracking down Tony for the key. He couldn’t even trust his own mind now, for fear the breath was making him do things he otherwise wouldn’t.

  He did hate Jack, though.

  Z pulled something from her pocket and gave it a funny look. It was just a disc, the size of a penny, with a couple of wires, but he could tell it weighed heavily on her.

  “Drawn together,” he said. “By their hatred of Jack?”

  “Sort of. They’ve all lost someone.”

  Hardy looked down at his hands, hovering over the gap between his knees. He had wondered. People hated Jack on principle, but to actually try to bring him down was different.

  “Les lost his mom,” she said. “Money trouble. She didn’t know what she was getting into. Simek’s brother works there, but he says it’s not him anymore.”

  “Z?” he asked.

  “See what she’s got there?” Z still held the disc, but he could tell she didn’t want to look at it. “That implant? Got it out of her sister.”

  Hardy stared at his fingernails. He had worked for Jack. He couldn’t remember much of that—just the few memories he had managed to reconnect. But he knew the kinds of things he had done, even if they weren’t specific memories.

  “Your sister,” he said, “Lynn. You know what they’re doing to her?”

  Mara looked away as she spoke, and he tried to imagine what it would be like to have family in there. “Aspect-selective stuff,” she said. “Isolating parts of her personality. Sticking them in new bodies.”

  “Clones?” That was a new one.

  “Just an aspect.” She shrugged. “Barely even a person.”

  Silence fell between them, and he went back to watching Z at her worktable. The lights in her hair were out. Paying respect to her sister, maybe.

  “Look,” Mara said, “I’m sorry. About bringing you into this.”

  He hadn’t had a breath in a couple of hours. His head hurt, but he felt he could trust his thoughts, untainted by the drug. “It’s all right,” he said. “Maybe I’d have done the same.”

  Besides, he wanted Jack gone too.

  7

  Z HAD ANESTHETIZED her arm and cut a slit just big enough for the disc implant to lay beneath her skin, biotech activated. Now they stood across the street from Jack’s. Nobody said anything. There wasn’t any real plan beyond the basics. Get in, Les and Simek get the crowns, and he, Mara, and Z would get the girl.

  The camera was tilted just too low to see them, but it made Hardy nervous. Z had done some research, and the two-part key was all it would take. It all felt too easy. Where was that guard? Was the two-part key really enough? Maybe the camera was a third part, scanning for identification.

  It wouldn’t find anything, anyway. The implant was hacked somehow. Z had tried explaining it, but it was beyond him. It wasn’t the signal of any one employee, but a blanket signal that covered everyone. It made sense to her; that was all that mattered.

  Mara’s silence bothered him. She stood only a few feet away, but the distance was palpable. She was avoiding him, and he couldn’t imagine why. Maybe just worried about her sister, or even about herself, or Les, or Z, or Simek. Probably not a
bout him. He was just a tool the group was using. Who cares if you break a hammer?

  “Alright,” Les said. His voice was an odd crack in the silence of the street. No sound came from Jack’s; it was eerie. Maybe nothing was going on. It was after business hours, but when a place held so much, there were always going to be guards.

  The word hung in the air for a few moments, waiting to be backed up by someone else. Everyone was quiet. Even Z, the fibers of her hair still off, looked down at her shoes. “Yeah,” Simek said finally. “Let’s go.”

  Hardy’s mind ached, and the sweat of withdrawal made a sheen over his skin. He’d asked for a breath—just a little something to get him through their little mission—but Mara kept her eyes on the ground or on the walls. They didn’t meet his a single time. “Let’s just get through this,” she’d said, and walked away.

  Something was on her mind, and he was paying for it in pain. On the other hand, he could be sure of his mental clarity. He was doing this because he wanted to, not because he was being tricked and juiced. Not this time, at least.

  The five of them made their way across the street, motions casual and relaxed, but they were rabbits ready to bolt. The camera watched them approach. Z raised her keycard and the signal went out from her card and from her implant. With hope, the combination would get them in and not set off any alarms.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t work. The door wouldn’t open, and no alarms would go off. They could just walk away and plan things properly. Get more members. Hit Jack hard.

  Or guards would spill out and kill them where they stood.

  The lock clicked.

  The door opened.

  They went in fast, down the hall together, but Les and Simek branched off quick, heading for what Hardy had identified as the crown room. It was on the second floor, same as Lynn’s whie silhouette, but closer to another stairwell. He and the girls would go straight. Mara could probably take care of herself, but with only Z along that left them as the only muscle. He didn’t like that idea.

  The stairs passed under their feet, black-painted grates digging into their shoes. Despite their speed, they passed quietly over them. They were upstairs, heading for the room four doors down, where Lynn was captive. Getting in had been easy; they hadn’t seen any guards, and it made Hardy nervous. He could feel those nerves beside him, radiating from Mara.

  Something was wrong. A click he hadn’t realized he had heard. The distinct lack of a second set of footsteps behind him. He turned, still running. Z was gone.

  A door opened behind them. He found the guards. “Dammit! Keep running!” he said to Mara, and turned back toward them.

  They didn’t have guns, but the batons at their sides looked like more than enough. And they were running toward him.

  “Loop around and get the others out of here!”

  Hardy was never a tough for Jack, but a hundred and eighty pounds flying through the air at a person will leave a mark. He collided with the men and started punching.

  His fist connected with one and his foot with another, but already the cudgels struck him in the ribs. He kept fighting. One punch landed with a satisfying crack.

  He saw the black stick for a fraction of a second before it cracked into his face.

  And then he saw nothing.

  8

  THE ROOM CAME INTO focus, and Hardy winced against the pain. He couldn’t tell what came from the crack to the head, and what came from the ache for breath. He closed his eyes again and lifted his head; it was the only part he could move. His arms and legs were strapped to a chair. The pain in his temple still felt fresh.

  He could see her, though. Past the silhouette of her sister a few rooms over was another silhouette—a smaller one, maybe outside the building somewhere. Mara had gotten out, and probably the rest as well.

  “Good morning, Hardy,” someone said, and he opened his eyes. The voice bridged more gaps in his memory. He hadn’t heard it in over a year now, but the impressions it brought back rankled at him. Jack.

  “Glad you’re awake,” Jack said. He stood over Hardy, a thin man in a business suit, hair graying at the edges. “We need to talk.”

  Hardy tried to speak, but his head throbbed. He managed, “What do you want?” before his jaw clenched.

  “What do I want?” Jack asked. “This isn’t about me. This is all about what you want.”

  The pain screamed at Jack to get to the point, and the frustration made it to his lips in a strained grunt.

  “No, that’s not true. I do want something. I want you back, Hardy. Your friends got away, but what they were after is still here. You know that, though, don’t you? You can see her lying just on the other side of that wall.” He laughed. “Z did pretty good on you.”

  Z. She was another tool of Jack’s. The hacked implant hadn’t sat well with him from the beginning, and now he knew why. It wasn’t hacked at all. It was coded to let her in, just like any employee. He wondered where she was now, but knew it didn't matter.

  The pain struck again in a harsh throb, and Hardy clenched his teeth tighter and pushed against the bonds. They held tight.

  “Too good, maybe,” Jack said, frowning. “If you can’t speak, you are useless to me.” He stood over him.

  Hardy blinked again, lifting his head. He could still see Mara. She was closer, now. Inside the building?

  “You remember me, don’t you?” Jack said. “It’s the flaw in those crowns. They don’t remove memories the way they should. The right stimulus and they come back, one by one. Like Mara.”

  Hardy went still, fighting the urge to dig his fingers into the chair.

  “You remember her, don’t you? When you met here? The way you hit it off, the brief escapes into closets or empty rooms. Plans whispered in range of cameras you didn’t know were there. We can take him down, she would tell you. Yeah. We’ll take him down. And then we’ll be together.”

  Memories crashed back into Hardy. Memories so sweet they ached as much as his need for her breath. Memories of stolen kisses and sly glances. Memories of nights spent together and days spent plotting. Memories of laughter and shared smiles as they planned Jack’s downfall.

  He closed his eyes, just to see her again—for the first time—and there she was. Just outside the door. He smiled up at Jack, and the man’s brow furrowed.

  The door burst open, and there was chaos. He couldn’t see everything, bound as he was, but he heard a guard fall, and Jack curse. A gun rose above his head, sweeping upward in Jack’s hand, but it never made it level. Something collided with Jack’s head, and he went down, out of view.

  And then everything was quiet.

  Mara stared down at him, and he remembered her. She was conniving. She was deceptive and manipulative. She had changed—become more so. It didn’t matter. All that mattered were the memories.

  The pain was still there, tearing at his mind. It ached for her breath, so close now, but there were other aches as well. More pressing aches. He ached for her touch, her smile. He ached to hear her voice. He ached for the chance to tell her he loved her, and that he was sorry he threw it all away. He was sorry he let her memory be held hostage, and sorry he had walked out, when he knew what he would be losing.

  Jack lay on the floor, barely visible through the black that crept from the edges of Hardy’s vision. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pain. Something touched his lips, and with it came salvation. The drug that could only be Mara’s breath coursed through him, sating his need—his need for it, and his need for her.

  With each movement of her lips, memories came back to him. Nights in each other’s arms. Bonding over their hatred of who they worked for. The pain was gone in an instant, but he let the moment last—a druggie drawing every last breath and memory.

  The straps fell from his arms. “Hardy,” Mara whispered, “we have to go.” Her voice was fear and goose-down pillows. “We have to get her out.”

  He spun on the table and dropped to the floor. His legs tried to give
way under him, but he caught himself.

  Reality set in. Jack was unconscious, but his guards were still out there. And once they saw Jack, the building would be secured with him inside. And with Mara. He laughed; suddenly there was something to his name that he could lose.

  “Yeah,” he said, “let’s go.”

  Les was outside the door with two guards at his feet. He twirled one of their batons in his fingers and grinned. Hardy grinned back. He’d won some respect with his stupid stunt.

  “Sim’s in the crown room,” he said. “I’ll give him a hand. You two get the girl.”

  Hardy blinked. They were on the second floor, so she was nearly at eye level now, suspended in her tank only a few rooms away. They closed the distance between those rooms in seconds and stood outside the door. He wished Les had hung around, but suspected the crown room would be better guarded. Simek would need his help.

  He glanced over at Mara. He found himself doing that a lot now. Her face was set in a sad resolve.

  “We’ll get her out,” he said.

  She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek. “I know.” Then she put her hand over the doorknob and turned it over. “Let’s go.”

  The scene flashed before him. Tanks on the right, one guard on the left holding a gun. It arched up, hovering over Hardy’s stomach, chest, then his head.

  A cudgel cracked into his arm and the gun fell to the floor. The arm bent at an odd angle and the guard cried out. The cudgel struck his head and the cry ceased.

  Mara turned to a tank across the room. Hardy walked over to it and read the name on the sheet taped to the end. Lynn Amaranta Stevens. It was strange seeing a person’s full name in an age of anonymity. It was something you shared with loved ones and family, and that was it. To the rest of the world, she would just be Lynn.