09: Ascent

I didn't trust Mikhail, not even as far as I could throw him, which wasn't very far, even if I am in pretty good shape. Naomy, on the other hand, she could probably have thrown him a fair distance with those robotic arms of hers; I had to force myself not to attempt the same with my feet. Despite the sheer genius of my plan, I couldn't help but think Mikhail had still somehow gotten the better of us; he was an impossible man to read, and gave away nothing of just how surprised he was to see us.

I had to wonder how Hugo had gotten involved with a person like Mikhail, and why? It was obvious that he had wanted somebody in Rico's End eliminated, and had unwittingly provided Hunterwraith with everything he had needed to send his abbies in to infect the entire colony. I had to assume that hadn't been Hugo's plan. Nothing about this setup smelled right to me – the note, the code, the meeting, and now this.

But it was the only link I had – my only way to see Hunterwraith up close and personal, and despite the probability that I was walking straight into a trap, I was too close to turn back now. I knew Naomy felt the same way, and Sal was there to back us both up, as well as taking a piece of the revenge himself, for the people he had know who had died at the killer's hands. As I waited, I envisioned all sorts of scenarios in which my enemy had caught me right where he wanted me; it seemed entirely possible, even probable, that he knew exactly who we were and why we were there. And yet, somehow I knew that the fire of my rage, the fire that had burned inside me ever since that day, would burn through any trap that the Hunterwraith could set.

It wouldn't be the first time, nor the last time, that I would wrong about him.

* * *

An hour passed in Mikhail's suite, and no one came. Noal's crew began to suspect that Mikhail had made the whole thing up and did not actually know Hunterwraith at all. It went on long enough that they almost left, but all knew that this might be their only chance to do what they had come to do. They weren't about to leave now.

Noal occupied himself by looking around the expansive domicile, which could properly be called the entire top floor of the apartments. It was lavishly outfitted and full of expensive and, Noal noted, genuine old-world artifacts, the quality of which Noal had scarcely encountered living in the Codex. Clearly there had been a lot of money changing hands over Hunterwraith's career, and he had done very well for himself. Despite all of that money, nothing in that room existed for simple fun or decoration; it all had a purpose, a design.

Naomy was acting like a caged bird, pacing back and forth across an expensive middle-eastern carpet, no doubt reliving the day she had lost her arms. Her characteristic pacifism and tolerance disappeared whenever mention of Hunterwraith arose; she, more than anyone, remembered the pain of what he had done to her, and the look guilt and deep regret in Kasim’s eyes as he had wielded the axe. She had said before that she would never forgive Hunterwraith for that fact alone, and now she was about to come face to face with him. Noal couldn’t blame her for being unsettled; he didn’t feel particularly settled, himself.

Meanwhile, Sal had made himself right at home, almost immediately seeking out the kitchen. He was impressed to see a working refrigerator – those were a rarity – stocked with delicious-looking food. Needless to say, he helped himself and had no regrets about it. Even Sal went about his business with a stance of readiness, however. He had not had personal contact with their quarry, but he had seen enough people who had, not to mention how close he had become to Noal and Naomy. And Sid. If he wanted revenge slightly less than his friends did, he still wanted it badly enough.

At the two-hour mark, they began to wonder if anyone was coming, but they kept waiting still, making awkward conversation about nothing of consequence. Everything they had been doing for the past two weeks had led them up to that point, and the anticipation of finally confronting the past was a heavy weight.

Then there was a strange whooshing noise from a non-descript wall in the suite’s central room, and a heretofore unseen door opened, revealing a tall silhouette behind the bright blinking lights glowing from behind him. The moment had come.

“I understand there is a certain conflict that you need my help to resolve,” said an unfeeling, metallic voice.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Noal replied, trying to hide his nervousness, “If you are, in fact, the person I have been looking for.”

“If I were to find out about someone masquerading as myself, they would not live long,” said the metallic voice, as the silhouette stepped into the light, revealing the same white survival-suit and masked helmet that Noal remembered so well; he was itching for the charade to be over. “Now then, who are you, and what do you need from—“ Hunterwraith paused, getting a better look at Noal, “We have met before, you and I. Why have you come here?”

Noal exchanged glances with his two companions and they whipped out their weapons in unison, cocked and ready to execute the mass-murderer before them. “To make sure you never hurt another soul the way you have done to us, Hunterwraith. Yes, we have met before. I’m sure I was just another one of your victims, but you spared my life for some reason, and I wanted to be here to personally show you the folly of your ways.”

“So, you’ve finally found me, mister Silver. Would you like a medal?” the faceless voice mocked. The mask took a long look at Sal and Naomy’s guns, then gestured dismissively, “What were you hoping to do with those, shoot me? It seems a somehow un-romantic way to effect one’s defining moment of revenge, don’t you think?”

Noal was momentarily taken aback, “I never told you my name.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” replied Hunterwraith, “But there I know more than you might expect. Kill me now and you may lose something even more precious than revenge.”

“We will not play your games any longer!” shouted Naomy, repeatedly pulling her shotgun’s trigger and prompting Sal to open up with his auto-recoilers, as the room danced with the light of multiple muzzle-flashes, and filled with the deafening concussion of the guns firing. The pair continued firing until their guns were dry, pumping out enough lead to kill a pack of aberrant-mammoths, and with deadly accuracy. Bullets flew true, striking what should have been the flesh of their target, but instead meeting with a shimmering barrier that deflected them away, making a pile of lead slugs on the floor in front of him. “Your children’s weapons cannot harm me!” The shimmer stayed in place a second longer, and then flashed outward as an invisible shockwave that knocked the Codexers off of their feet.

Hunterwraith wasted no time in leaping through a glass window behind him and into the open air beyond as a grappling line shot from a launcher on his arm, pulling him up into the city’s upper levels. Noal struggled to his feet and turned to check on his downed companions, who had taken the brunt of the punishment the strange concussion wave. “Sal are you—?”

“We’re fine, Noal, go after him!” shouted Sal.

“Nae…?”

“I’m alright too,” Naomy said, groaning, “Find him, Noal. You’re the only one who can, now.” Noal turned to go and Naomy called after, “Wait!” She pulled him to her, locking her lips with his, embracing him furiously. “Do not forget that there is something for you to come back to. I expect you to come back to me, whatever happens.”

“I promise,” muttered Noal, turning to follow his quarry, a lump in his throat. Okay robot legs, it’s time for you to earn your keep!

With a short sprint, he leaped through the broken window, his mechanical legs flexing and springing to throw him toward the building across from him with a sudden rush of super-human power. Time stood still for just a second as he flew, suspended in mid-air, across the expanse. Contacting with the solid matter of a wall, the ingeniously-designed legs switched to climbing mode, engaging sharp spurs that anchored Noal’s weight to the climbing surface and helped propel him upwards as he scaled his way along the path he hoped Hunterwraith had taken.

Having no grappling-hook to pull himself up with, Noal’s ascent was dependent upon having a wall to keep scaling. Fortunately, New Babylon was built in such a way that each higher level was built upon the tops of the taller buildings below it, and the building he had latched onto was one of those support buildings for the second residential level. Noal looked up and saw that a hard ceiling had been built between the first and second levels, and he was about to run into it. Across the way from him, and about one-hundred feet distant, a parallel tower ran, with a ladder leading up into a maintenance hatch. He barely caught the sight of white boots disappearing into the hatch when he reached the highest point he could get to from where he was. The only option was to leap for that ladder and hope for the best; it was a long way to jump.

Taking a deep breath, he surrendered to the strength of his metal legs, letting them do all the work for him, and work they did. With a mighty spring, he flew across the gap, the legs taking the brunt of the impact on the other side and grasping onto the lowest rung of the ladder. Noal could only shake his head at what he had just done, and hurried up the ladder into a mazelike labyrinth of poorly-kept maintenance tunnels. He stopped for a moment to listen and, hearing footsteps, raced off in pursuit.

The sounds led him around bend after bend, their source managing to stay just out of sight around a number of twists and turns. From around yet another corner shone a bright flash of light and a sound like whirlwind of crackling electricity, and Noal reached the location of the strange effect to find what had been another ladder, leading out of the maintenance tunnels and into a hatch to the second level-proper, twenty feet above. The ladder had been destroyed – melted and disintegrated by some unknown implement – rendering climbing impossible. Nice try, but it’s not enough.

A single leap rocketed Noal up into the air twenty feet and more, hurling him up through the hatch and back down the floor of New Babylon level two, much to the surprise and alarm of several citizens walking nearby. “Have you seen someone else come up through here, just a minute agao?” asked Noal, to whomever was listening, “Dressed in a white survival suit and a mask?” The people continued walking, saying nothing. “Please! Somebody had to have seen him!”

“We don’t talk much about that one,” said the voice of an old, cowled man, crouching in the doorway of a broken down tenement. “These people aren’t likely to risk making him angry by helping you, leastways.”

“And what about you?” asked Noal.

“What about me?” the old man responded.

“Well, you’re talking about him, at least.”

“What could you possibly want with the likes of him, anyway, boy?” asked the stranger, “You’re as likely as not to end up dead chasing after Hunterwraith, you know.” Noal wasn’t budging. “Oh very well, if you’re bound and determined to meet your maker, I’ll not get in your way. I imagine he’s on his up to the next level by now; there’s an access passage on the top floor of the hydroponics lab, down this street all the way into level central. You can’t really miss it, though I wouldn’t be going inside through the bottom floor; the security system in there’ll kill you before you reach the first flight of steps.”

“So how do I get to it, then?” Noal asked, impatiently.

“If it were me, and I had a pair of fancy legs like yours,” said the old man, “I’d be going up to the roof of the local militia – it’s at just about the highest thing nearby the lab, though I couldn’t tell you how to get from the one to the other.”

“Thanks!” shouted Noal, already running.

“You’re welcome! And don’t let the militia know you’re in their building; they won’t like that very much!” the man yelled after him, “And one more thing you must remember – one word: DRYAD!”

Noal raced through the streets of second level New Babylon, faster than any un-enhanced human could have run, and it was apparent by the looks on people’s faces that he was not the first man they had seen in the last few minutes to exhibit such speed. Level central was a busy place, bustling with hawkers and homeless, though to a lesser degree than the level below. The buildings here looked much sturdier than the ones on the first level, as well, even if marginally so in some cases.

The old man had been right about the hydroponics lab; Noal could see even from where he was that the last thing he wanted to do was trying climbing up that building, from the inside or outside. Across the square, the militia building didn’t look much more inviting, and he couldn’t help but think about what the old man had said about that place, as well. He considered just walking right up to the front doors and asking them to let him in, but thought better of it when he saw the men (and women?) who stood by, on guard duty. Everyone who walked past received the intense scrutiny of eyes just a tad too focused for Noal’s liking. Likely he’d be taken down and thrown into some dark cell before he got within fifty feet of the place.

Scouting around the building, he came across a series of militia patrols parading around the perimeter, on a seemingly regular schedule. As he passed one more of these, he saw his way in: a ventilation duct was situated about thirty feet off the ground, sucking air into what looked to be the building’s fourth story. It should be a simple enough climb up the side to the duct, however he knew his timing would have to be perfect if he wanted to avoid being seen by one of the patrols.

Continuing his sojourn around the building, hoping to avoid looking suspicious, Noal kept a close eye on the patrols that he passed, running a mental analysis of the patrol schedules and intervals between groups. Three passes around the building later, he had worked out the timing to what he thought was the best he could do without a timing device of some sort. It wasn’t going to be easy; however, as he would have to wait until one patrol had rounded the corner of the building to make his move. This would mean that the next patrol would just be rounding the opposite corner, giving him approximately fifteen seconds to scale thirty feet of wall and wriggle far enough up the pipe that his feet wouldn’t be visible sticking out of it. It would be tight, but he was sure he could make it.

Timing his arrival perfectly, Noal was lined up with the air duct at the exact moment he had intended to, and as the last patrolman disappeared around the corner, and the first patrol came around the other corner, he made his move. Running at the wall, Noal’s feet automatically engaged their climbing spurs, and his mechanical muscles worked at peak performance, lifting him up the wall and into the duct with blinding speed. Clawing his way higher up in the duct, he lifted his torso around a horizontal bend in time to get his feet out of view of the outside. Duct-travel could produce a lot of noise, Noal realized, so he waited until that patrol had turned the corner before crawling further through the pipe, into a black lightlessness only penetrated by the light from the numerous grates into the rooms fed air from the outside. As he crawled, Noal picked up pieces of many different conversations, none of them interesting until he heard two militia engineers discussing the array of geo-thermal heat distributors on top of the building.

“…run the entire length of the square between our roof, and ‘ponics lab on the other side, so you have to be real careful when you work on ‘em. One of those hits you while you’re on the pulley and you’ll end up as a splatter on the level bottom, got it?”

“Yes sir, got it good! I’ve worked on similar distribution systems before, but never ones that cycle the way yours do. How are they configured?”

“Every three minutes or so they extend and align to shunt heat over to ‘ponics – apparently they use a lot of heat over there for some reason; never did understand all of that farming jazz. Anyway, they extend a rapid intervals and destract just as quick, so like I said, you gotta be careful.”

“Ah, I see. Will I be responsible for maintaining the…”

Noal moved on, having heard what he needed to hear, quietly slipping along to the next bend in the duct as it moved up to the next floor of the building. Climbing up the shaft, he found his way into a cold air run-off duct that ran all the way up and out through the roof. It was a tight climb, made much easier thanks to Noal’s adaptable feet, and before long he found himself crawling out of the exit duct and onto the roof with a sigh of relief. He didn’t normally suffer from claustrophobia, but that was a tight squeeze!

The air seemed to get clearer and less polluted the high up one went; compared to down below it almost smelled clean up there. Across the square from him, and far to long of a jump, he saw the hydroponics lab continuing to stretch up into the third level of the city. To his left, the heat distribution nodes that he had overheard being talked about stretched from his location over to the lab, not extended at the moment.

Noal studied the nodes and had begun to figure them out when a klaxon went off, accompanied by a flashing red light, and the nodes began to extend and flip around, one at a time, in a horizontal line like a wall across the square. Each node, in turn, glowed red-hot before turning back around and detracting, as heat was shunted down the line. Each node stayed extended for about two-seconds, which gave him a very small window with which to traverse the entire length. It would have been a difficult path to cross even if it had been flat; as it was, he would have to run along the full length of the square, sideways. Not for the first time, Noal was thankful for his artificial limbs; between the surface, the speed and the extreme heat, it would not have been possible to accomplish otherwise.

Noal got into position, readying himself for the briskest jog of his life; his legs, at least, were ready for it. The klaxon rang, the first node extended, and Noal ran, spurs securing him to the side wall of the node as he ran to the next node, and the next, and the next, each one detracting right behind him. He was glad he didn't have too far to go, as he could feel the heat scorching his legs as he ran across. Approaching the end of the line, he could find nowhere to go but through a conveniently placed window, into the hydroponics lab. Pulling his zweihander out of its sheathe, Noal held it out in front and leaped from the last heat node, smashing through the window with a mighty crash.

The room he had landed in was a sterile laboratory, filled with banks of strange-looking machinery, the sort which he had never seen before, and whose uses eluded him. He surveyed the broken glass all around him with a sigh. If that doesn't alert security, maybe I should set off a bomb, next time. Over on the opposite side of the room he could see a heavy steel door marked 'Level Three Access', and quickly ran to it, finding it locked.

“Please enter passkey,” said an artificial voice from somewhere near the door. A small panel opened in the wall beside him, revealing a keypad covered in letters and numbers. Noal had no idea what the passkey could possibly be, until he remembered something the old man in the street had said, and punched in D-R-Y-A-D.

The door opened.