James Swallow - Deus Ex - Icarus Effect

“Trust is a rare commodity these days. But you can only accumulate it by spending it. An ironic fact, in present circumstances.” There was a pause. “You have questions. I’ll answer them if lean.”

Anna frowned. “This… vote. The United Nations. You’re telling me that all the assassinations have been to set that up to fall one way?”

“Yes.” The screen blinked and became a map of the world. As Janus spoke, dots of red appeared across the span of nations, each briefly displaying a data window with death certificates, accident reports, security camera footage, and other information sources. “What you’re seeing are the targets of the Tyrants. Hundreds of people, all of whom have lines of influence that can be drawn back to the proposed regulation vote, and how it will play out. “

Over the map, a matrix of connections formed, a web bringing each person together, showing the human effect of the targeted individuals. Anna was suddenly reminded of a stone dropped in a lake, the ripples radiating outward; only here, the ripples were being guided, controlled—and in many cases, erased.

One thread through the complex knot of effect was highlighted. “ Consider this ” said Janus, displaying an image of a smiling middle-aged man and his family. “A midlevel minister in the Italian government, with many friends in the Euro-Parliament. His son was cured of debilitating brain damage because of a neural implant. He is well disposed toward the spread of human augmentation technology. The recommendations he makes carry weight. A committee of United Nations representatives are currently entertaining a suggestion from certain groups to call for a vote on the regulation of H.E. development…”

Lebedev nodded slowly. “But before the minister can be consulted on behalf of his country, his wife is suddenly diagnosed with a variant neo-SARS strain. His family comes first. He’s unable to fulfill his duties. Instead, the man who replaces him on Italy’s technology advisory board is a known associate of William Taggart, the pro-humanist… and now that country is supporting the push for the ballot.” He spread his hands. “That’s just one story. You saw another, more violent approach firsthand, with Skyler and Dansky.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to the minister’s wife?”

“She died from complications. The minister has been suspended on medical grounds and is currently undergoing treatment for depression .” The map returned. “ This is how they work, Anna. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny actions, individually small, collectively gigantic, all working in concert. Every person they have exerted control over has been a part of a plan to dominate a vote that has yet to happen. And even this is only one element of an even greater schema.”

“The Illuminati are working in tandem with one of their satellite groups, a faction called Majestic 12 born out of the Cold War era, a technology division of sorts… Together, they’re in the process of securing a power base for something beyond the scope of the UN vote. Something much bigger.”

Anna was reeling from the import of what she was hearing, caught between incredulity and acceptance. “Bigger than regulating the most radical science ever created?”

“We can see only the edges of the conspiracy ” Janus told her. “ But what we can be sure of is that the Illuminati s goal is and always has been command over the future of humanity. A New World Order, without freedoms, without questions. Without end.”

She turned away, shaking her head. “No… No! It’s too much! I’ve come here looking for a murderer and you’re telling me that the world is turning on all this?” Anna looked toward Lebedev. “Listen to me. I don’t care about your damned conspiracy theories! I don’t care about who else they’ve killed! I’ve thrown away everything I have because I want just one, single thing—Justice, for Matt Ryan.” Her voice caught. “He saved my life. I couldn’t save him. So I am going to find the person who killed him and make them pay. If you won’t help me do that, then I’ll be better off alone.” Furious, she stormed out of the tent and strode away over the uneven concrete floor.

Aerial Transit Corridor—Gulf of St. Lawrence—North Atlantic

Saxon tried to think of a worse tactical situation he had been in, and came up empty. Trapped on board an airborne jet with four heavily augmented mercenaries and no means of escape, armed only with a couple of rounds of stun-dart ammo that was nearly useless against these adversaries… Yeah, it’s pretty grim , he told himself. About the only positive point he could find was that without Federova among them, at least he would see the other Tyrants coming. He wondered how much good that would do him.

Despite Namir’s commands, the fire alarms were still in full effect, but retardants had only been triggered inside the ops room. Saxon moved quickly through the galley area, panning the Buzzkill this way and that, going forward.

His mind raced through the tactical options open to him. He had to make a choice; he needed a better weapon, something lethal, and he needed it fast. He could set up a quick-and-dirty ambush, try to kill one of the others when they came for him, and take their gun—but that would cost him time. The second option would be to get into the cockpit, lock himself in there, and force the crew to land the jet on the nearest piece of ground, maybe Newfoundland or Nova Scotia. Without at least one pilot, he’d have to handle the aircraft alone, and Saxon wasn’t willing to trust himself on that score. With his rudimentary understanding of piloting, the best he could do in that case was ditch in the coastal shallows and hope he survived.

Every second he spent deliberating, they were getting farther and farther away from land. He nodded to himself. Take the plane, then , he thought. Figure the rest out later.

He could hear noises behind him. Namir hadn’t come back on the mastoid comm after his first announcement, and Saxon imagined he’d be passing a new channel assignment to each of the others by hand. Another reason to move fast; once they were ready, they’d box him in and that would be that.

He thought about weapons again; at least it cut both ways. None of the standard-issue firearms used by the Tyrants could be discharged inside the jet, not without taking the risk of overpenetration. A 10 mm round could pass right through flesh and punch a hole in the fuselage, causing a catastrophic depressurization.

Saxon grimaced. Back down the length of the aircraft there was a weapons locker stocked with all he needed—a crossbow, maybe? A pulse gun? But he was thinking like Namir, and Namir would have posted someone there already. He’d have to make do.

Saxon checked his pockets for anything he could use, and his fingers touched the vu-phone. He drew it out and considered it for a second before hitting the redial key. There was a good chance he wasn’t going to get out of this alive; if he could make his last few minutes count, maybe contact the hacker-movement from the corner of his eye spun him around, and he forgot the phone, coming up with the Buzzkill. He saw a flash of spiked blond hair and a figure in black combat gear burst from the shadow of a storage cabinet. Gunther Hermann collided with Saxon with such force that they were both propelled across the galley and through a folding partition into the next anteroom.

“This time it will be different,” Hermann snarled. “I think I will enjoy this.” He struck out with a storm of blows that made Saxon’s skull ring, lighting flares of pain behind his eyes. Blood hazed his vision and he threw a punch that cut empty air but little else. Hermann came in and hit him again; each shot to the head was like taking a hit from a sledgehammer. Saxon’s body possessed a base level of subdermal armor, the Rhino-class augmentation commonplace on Belltower spec-ops soldiers, but it wouldn’t be enough to prevent the German’s rain of punches pushing him into a concussion. He had to stop the mercenary, and he had to do it quickly.