Ramez Naam - Crux

He felt them fall, crumpling like puppets with their strings cut all across the grounds.

Kade was breathing hard. His heart was still pounding, aching. His body hurt so bad. He forced himself to crawl, crawl back towards Shiva, one painful inch at a time, until they were face to face, both on their knees.

Then he reached out, out through the house’s limping network system, out into the world, to use his back door one final time.

Sam’s trembling faded bit by bit. By then the house was quiet. The gun was still in her hands, in front of her, the barrel pointed straight up, close enough to kiss. Death, her one true lover.

She heard a voice. Feng’s. “Kade!” it yelled. “Kade!” No one answered.

So that’s how it was.

The hood of her suit was stifling, now. The goggles fogged over. She reached up, pulled the hood off of her. Then she rose to her feet, and started in towards Feng’s voice.

Kade found her mind online. The signature he’d taken from Hiroshi’s thoughts. Miranda Shepherd. He slipped into her stealthily. She was there, at the main table. There were people everywhere, on their feet, their hands coming together in applause. Miranda’s own hands were clapping. Her gaze was fixed on her husband, at the podium, grinning and warmly shaking the hand of Daniel Chandler.

Where was the bomb? How was it going to be triggered? How could he stop it?

Then a message flashed across Miranda Shepherd’s vision.

TOO LATE, FUCKER.

Kade felt Miranda Shepherd gasp in surprise. He reached out to find the process behind the message, to track it back to her controllers.

Then chaos.

White noise.

[CONNECTION LOST]

Kade slammed back into his body.

No, no, no!

Kade jumped online, searched on the church, looking for contact information, a way to warn the people there.

What he found was a headline instead.

BREAKING: MASSIVE EXPLOSION AT HOUSTON CHURCH

Oh no.

He waited, waited for more news. Who? How many? Dear God.

More headlines started to scroll across Kade’s eyes, coming in even as he watched.

FRONT RUNNER FOR TEXAS GOVERNOR AT GROUND ZERO OF BOMBING

Another link appeared. Images and video of fire and explosions from inside the building came next. A few cameras furthest from the blast were still running. The explosion had torn everyone and everything within fifty feet of the podium apart. The rest of the church was a raging firestorm. He saw chaos, men and women, racing, screaming, clothes and limbs aflame as they tried to scramble for the exit, collapsing from the fire and heat and smoke. Sprinklers futilely trying to douse the conflagration.

A commentator’s voice overlaid the video, talking about emergency response, help on the way, the number of people in the church, the likelihood that this was the deadliest terror attack in America since the Aryan Rising a decade ago.

Then another headline scrolled across Kade’s vision.

PLF CLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY FOR HOUSTON BOMBING.

Kade cut himself off from the flow of data.

Too late. Dear God. He’d chosen Sam, chosen to take Shiva down first.

Hundreds had died for his choice.

And war was one step closer.

FUCK!

He slammed his good hand into the rooftop tile next to him. He felt a flicker of something go across Shiva’s mind, some complex emotion. The man was still aware, still sensing, even as Kade’s back door held him there.

Kade clenched his jaw in a hard line, then burrowed deeper into Shiva’s mind. He still had work to do. He had to understand what Shiva had done with the back door so far, what minds he’d already reached, what hooks he’d sunk into them.

Then he had to destroy all the back doors. Forever.

SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE DONE, Kade commanded Shiva. SHOW ME EVERYTHING.

Shiva opened himself wide at Kade’s command, and secrets streamed from his mind.

Kade was still there, minutes later, on his knees, face to face with Shiva, sucking at every bit of knowledge the man had, every detail of the infiltration software they’d written, of the data from the Nexus experiments they’d run, of the access codes to the hidden computing clusters and orbiting satellites and all the other machinery Shiva had planned to use.

He was still there when Feng limped up to the rooftop. Kade turned to look at his friend. Feng’s chameleonware was tattered, faltering. Through it he was bleeding, cut in multiple places, scorched, dirty. His left arm hung limp at his side. In his right was a pistol.

He limped towards Kade. His mind was exhausted, in pain, but grimly satisfied.

Feng stared at Shiva, a frown across his face, and gestured with his pistol. His lips moved, but Kade heard nothing, shook his head in reply.

Ears are ringing, Kade sent to Feng. Can’t hear.

Feng nodded, spoke to him mentally instead. We kill him?

Kade shook his head tiredly. Too much death, Feng.

Then he looked again at Shiva. The man’s awareness was there. He knew what they were discussing. Yet Shiva showed no sign of fear. His mind felt calm, serene almost, at peace with what he’d done. The best he’d known how to do.

Shiva’s eyes burrowed into Kade’s, daring him to do better.

Kade looked back at Feng. He tried to do the right thing, he sent.

Feng just stared down at the man.

Then Sam was there. Kade saw her ascend the stairs to the roof, an uncloaked head atop a body that was little more than a blur. He saw her, but he didn’t feel her in his mind.

She walked with purpose from the stairs towards them. There was an uncloaked pistol in her right hand. Her eyes were cold and lethal. Kade felt a chill go up his spine. Then her gaze went past him, and locked onto Shiva. She strode over until she was above them, staring down at Shiva. Her face was a grim mask.

She raised the pistol, pointed it at Shiva’s head, just inches from his skull, less than two feet from Kade.

“Sam.” Kade forced himself to speak aloud, couldn’t hear himself, stared up at her, his eyes trying to connect to hers. “No, Sam. Don’t do this. He tried to do the…”

Sam pulled the trigger, and death burst out from the barrel of her gun.

EPILOGUE

SATURDAY NOVEMBER 3RD, 2040

88

SAFE AND SOUND

Saturday November 3rd

Rangan Shankari woke slowly. Everything hurt. His head was spinning.

“Steady there, son,” a voice said. A man’s voice, gruff. “You’re safe now. You did it.”

Rangan blinked, tried to take in his surroundings. Dark. A damp smell. A cellar.

He was on a cot, under a blanket. His clothes were missing. He could feel a bandage around his abdomen. He was groggy and half numb.

Seated next to him, in an old-fashioned rocking chair, was an older man in boots and jeans and a checked shirt. His hair was damp, like he’d been out in the rain. An ancient-looking shotgun rested across the man’s knees.

“Where?” Rangan tried to speak. It came out weakly. His head ached. His mouth felt filled with cotton balls.

“You’re at my farm,” the man said. “My wife’s gettin’ ya some soup. I’m Earl Miller, friend of Father Levi’s.”

Rangan cleared his throat, tried to clear his head.

“Thank you, Mr Miller. The risk you’re taking…”

Earl waved that away.

“ You took a risk, son,” he said. “Me? Those bastards took my grandson. This ain’t no risk at all.”

“So what now?” Rangan asked.

Earl Miller chuckled. “Now, you rest up. You got a bullet in your side, at least one broken rib, some burns you’re gonna feel when the pills wear off. We’ll hide ya here long as we need to, heal ya up. Then we’ll get ya out. And after that we’re gonna give these baby-stealin’ sons-a-bitches hell.”