The Soul Electricus

By Dalen Buchanan

Nanoterrorism in Europe, human trafficking on an offworld penal colony; It's just another year in the 24th century. For Marshal Navarro and the Templars he fights beside it is a time of sore trials and underhanded tricks. A new economic plan for the religious cultures of Earth receives its test by fire on a lifeless desert world. Opposition from the Church and a quiet war between the AIs attaches political agendas to the struggles with far reaching repercussions. Return to the fast moving future in this third book of the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dalen Buchanan
• Release date: Dec 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311731678

Dalen Buchanan

I'm probably a lot like you. My days are filled with production, education and the fruits of procreation. That cycle continues still, through several careers and whole decades of my waking hours. When I want a little recreation, I pick up a book. My vacations fit in a pocket and go somewhere new every time. That's a pretty good bargain for the time pressed. Does any of this sound familiar? After that, things get a little divergent. I study science habitually, just to see what is possible and where it might lead. Game theory and all types of performing arts are recreation. When I can string a few days together, I like to travel and look for the differences. People who travel know what I mean, that jarring convention somewhere else that makes you question your presumptions. That's the price of the trip, right there. Is any of this still familiar? I enjoy immersing the reader; lifting them right out of their lives and dropping them into a devised variant built of language. The image of an old black and white science horror episode, where people just went 'poof' leaving behind a pile of clothes and a cooling cup of coffee, that would be my ideal transport for the readership. Of course, returning them home is more difficult. Mussed hair and a dazed condition are the common complaints. But my lawyers assure me a simple disclaimer will render me suit-proof. Consider this fair warning. Dalen Buchanan 2012

Book preview

The Soul Electricus

By Dalen Buchanan

© 2013 Dalen Buchanan

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1; Biscotti on the Patio

Chapter 2; When the Steel comes out

Chapter 3; ...to Form a More Perfect Union

Chapter 4; Dutch Courage

Chapter 5; Corporeal Timeshare

Chapter 6; Poli-Economics

Chapter 7; Gold Rush Days

Chapter 8; Learning Curve

Chapter 9; Playing Fetch

Chapter 10; Tying a Bow

Chapter 11; Testing Waters

Chapter 12; Vacuum Chill

Chapter 13; Wish Lantern

Chapter 14; Spoiled Sally

Chapter 15; Whack-a-Mole

Chapter 16; Refused at Delivery

Chapter 17; A Poke in the Eye

Chapter 18; Soap Bubble Roulette

Chapter 19; Whirling Dervishes

Chapter 20; The Hollow Hills

Chapter 21; Flipping Houses

Chapter 22; Sidereal Amigos

Terminology

Read an excerpt of the sequel

About the Author

Chapter 1; Biscotti on the Patio

Wellness Check; Navarro, J.

Restaurant La Table De Louise

67000 Strasbourg, France

We dined outside to appreciate the ambiance. The city lit the Rue with arbors and colored panels at night, to encourage exploration by tourists. Packed rows of multi-story buildings in old German and French styles almost obscured the view of the Strasbourg Cathedral. Only the lighted spire was visible above tiled rooftops. The Cathedral had been the tallest structure on Earth until the 19th century. Its gothic lines dominated the city center, making the surrounding buildings look like scale models. I could hardly believe it was built in 1439.

Rafe, Claire and I had played tourists all day, viewing the Cathedral and the many shops and museums surrounding. They had both seen the show before, but really enjoyed sharing. I had been to their condo out in Lingolsheim, a few kilometers southwest toward the airport, but never gone to the Old Town. Their glee in playing guides made me glad I came.

The maitre d' supervised a nervous garcon in serving us pastries and café, fuel for our bus trip back home. "L'addition, s' il vous plais, Rafe said, rubbing his fingertips together. The maitre d' looked at me and asked, Ensemble? Rafe answered, Oui, je voudrais payer."

You didn't have to pay for me, I told Rafe after the servers had left, But thank you both for a wonderful day. Claire beamed a wide smile at me and took Rafe's hand under the table. We are glad you came, Chuy. It is always so good to see you.

Rafe caught her smile as if thrown onto his face, "Oui, Chuy. I was rude to have not asked you sooner. His smile seemed a little forced toward the end, so I snuck a look at Claire. She was looking over my shoulder and nodding slightly, as though following words from a play. I knew then from where the apology sprang. My eyes showed that knowledge to Rafe, without spreading to Claire. I formed my own wry smile, filled with hidden meaning, I believe you did once, but I have been so busy I could not find the time. That was my loss, certainly. Relief passed over Rafe's face as Claire leaned in a little closer to him. His smile became more genuine, with a hint of gratitude. It was the least I could do to pay for dinner. At least let me take care of the pourboire for the garcon."

"Non, Chuy. You single men must save your money," Claire said, bringing up my bachelorhood yet again. She never missed a chance to steer me toward her marriage-minded friends like a bull in a cattle chute. None of her choices had waited at the end with a knacker's hammer so far. That was not to say it couldn't happen in the future. Most were sweet girls held in common by their belief in family and church. Perhaps, in time, I might share those views. But my circumstances now gave me more unique concerns. I was still a zimboe to the church and housed in a sterile body. What they wished for wasn't mine to give.

A scent of cinnamon and apple caught my attention and I looked at the other tables for a source. Two couples at a table along the outer wall held electric pipes shaped like pens. One exhaled a bit of vapor and I smelled the spices again. Rafe followed my gaze and turned out his lower lip. "Vaporisateurs." Vaporizers were tolerated in France, harkening back to the tobacco days. Liquids were heated to vapor on coils and inhaled. Any flavor was available. I had tried them myself, sticking to legal additives. A fart was more destructive to the environment.

"Cesser de fumer!" Rafe growled, causing the table to notice us. The women looked affronted, but the men saw Rafe and put caps back on their pipes. The maitre d' came out and had a discussion with them that saw them moving off down the Rue, the women shooting hateful glances at us before being hustled off by the men.

Claire said, "Now Raphael, you need more vivre et laisser vivre. We are tour guides tonight."

"The vaporisateurs are rude or a hazard, that is their only two choices."

You have your views but they were harmless adults, so let us let it go. I offered.

They nodded agreement and Claire took Rafe's hand again. Sometimes, going out with the Duchene's was best left to diplomats or counselors. They often had vigorous debates over trivia. I had been in several unnecessary fights going out with Rafe, so I knew at least one of them could cause problems in public. He could do with some more laissez-faire in his life.

A loud chime sounded, carrying into a complex melody from the Cathedral bells. The time hack in the corner of my eye confirmed ten o'clock, right on time. Rafe sat up straighter and turned his good ear toward the sound. Claire looked confused. What is wrong? I asked. Rafe said nothing, still concentrating on the melody. Claire said, It is the wrong chime. I have never heard that one before. She had to shout a little to be heard over the loud bells. Another sound came to our ears from the blocks surrounding us, trumpets or horns blowing in a steady rhythm from every direction. I was reminded of royal court trumpeters. What is that? I asked.

Rafe finally spoke, but his voice sounded distant and distracted, "It is the Judeglock and the Grüselhorns." Claire sat up straighter and looked down the street.

The what? I asked. Rafe sounded troubled, as though hearing armor closing on our position. It was the old Jewish curfew, from centuries ago. Rafe looked more lost now, focusing on the distance and not moving a muscle. Claire turned slowly and looked back at my face. I found my own focus stretched, leaving with each loud chime and coming only part way back between. Within a few chimes I felt the connection snap, leaving my body on its own. Whatever happened now, I would have no control of. The thought was only troubling in a distant way.

****

Something lightly struck my face and crinkled like paper. My eyes opened to a brochure lying over my head. I smelled smoke and distantly heard the hee-haw of European emergency sirens. I lay on my stomach, the ground the rubberized asphalt of commuter streets. My body was sore and protesting as I rolled to my back.

Above, the sky was streaked with ribbons of black smoke obscuring night stars. The street itself was dark, a canyon of blackness between tall rows of ancient buildings. I heard distant voices rise in panic, echoing in that urban canyon until all direction was lost.

I sat up slowly, my head spinning with the effort. I cupped a hand behind my head and felt a sharp pain. The hand came away wet, but it was too dark to make out the color. Blood would be the probable tint. From my seated position lumps and debris were visible all around in the street, a shoe here, a hat there. A nearby lump of clothes resolved into a body, the hand outstretched but the head covered by a flipped up jacket. I slid that way, not yet trusting my legs. On the way I slid onto something hard and stopped. It was my little pistol, locked open on an empty magazine. I quickly checked my hidden pockets and found the spare magazine missing. My hawkbill knife and phone had gone as well. A bad feeling rose suddenly from my stomach, causing me to leave a fine dinner on the street.

I tried to reach Saint Peter, but no reply came back. The time hack was gone from my eye. Somehow, my ever present link to oversight had broken. For a moment anxieties left me sitting in the dark street shuddering, wracked with guilt and unable to remember anything past the Cathedral chimes. I probed for memories like a tongue run over broken teeth. The memories that rose were deep training, a mix of Search & Evasion with a side of Combat Corpsman.

I sought the Cathedral spire, finding its dark shape further away and reoriented down the end of the Rue. A wide road was visible looking the opposite way, most likely the Rue de Leclerc. I had travelled west less than a klick from the restaurant. That was where I last saw the Duchene's, the sudden recall bringing back the anxieties. Where were they now? What shape were they in? Were they lying somewhere riddled with bullets from my hideout pistol? Despair drowned out the deep training and I sat for a while and wept.

I remembered a litany from the past, Lord, arise, help us. Repeating it several times let me stop wallowing and get back on point.

I found the body in the street and noted the right leg was broken at the hip and lying straight up along the victim's back. Certainly, my pistol did not do that. I would say a lost argument with a vehicle was more likely. Whoever he was, the fact that he was dead by other hands was a relief. Still no cause for celebration, but I needed a little positive news at the moment.

Looking down the street, other clothes bundles appeared to contain people. A death race enthusiast had run through here like a mower. The vehicle was long gone, as were any other wheels on this Rue. Were they still trolling the area, looking for fresh pedestrians? I eased over to the walkway, putting pedestrian poles between me and trouble. I looked up at the darkened Cathedral spire and walked slowly east, pausing to check that the bodies I passed were not my friends. Some were close doubles until confirmed up close, my resolve waivered whenever that occurred.

The rubberized street became a narrow cobblestone walkway. Pedestrian poles now shielded my back, but it was pitch black between the buildings. I continued slowly.

Footsteps sounded ahead, a sudden shift followed by silence. I swung my head from side to side, seeking better night vision from peripheral sight. A dark shape revealed a man with a stick over his shoulder.

We don't want any trouble. I spoke to the left wall, keeping the corner of my eye on him and trying to give the impression I could not see him and was not alone. He didn't say a word. I shifted to German, remembering all the tourists here. "Wir wollen probleme. No response. I tried French, Nous ne voulons pas mal. Finally he spoke, Ensuite passer. Pass then. I just wasn't sure how he meant it. Allez en paix, I replied. He answered at once, Allez en paix." Go in peace. The dark shape receded and I continued by.

Ahead, the darkness parted on the left to show a street and a small park. This was the Rue des Tonneliers, the Coopers Street, now more given to bistros and shops. Tables and chairs formed a tangled abatis, blocking any progress to the storefronts. I looked carefully for cars and then sprinted across to the little park behind pedestrian poles. A massive barrel keg, displayed in the park, had been rolled off its mountings and into a Germanic storefront full of old Coke bottles and other kitsch. A man lay near the mountings, unmoving. The Corpsman training pulled me toward him. He wore a white apron like a cape. In his neck was a kitchen cleaver. I removed the weapon and gave it a quick wipe on his apron. That was probably the Search & Evasion training coming back online. Having some steel in hand did improve my situation, so I kept it and moved on.

At the east end of the park, I heard a woman weeping. I found her near a tree behind a barricade of tangled bicycles. She held a child in her lap, stroking the hair. The child appeared beyond help and the woman seemed in no danger, so I turned right and found La Table de Louise in much worse condition than when I left it.

The trellis walled patio was a collection of broken wood leading up to the trunk of a car, sticking out of the bistro entrance. The metallic smell of blood drifted to me on a lazy breeze. I picked my way through the wreckage, acquiring a chair leg with good heft and balance. The cleaver went to the small of my back, against any future need.

The first few bodies were certainly failure to yield casualties. Closer in, I found tableware knives inexpertly applied to more victims. I recognized none of them. What had happened to bring such savagery between strangers?

Yellow lights appeared to the south, across the canal. The power was coming back on in sections. Old Town Strasbourg was an island surrounded by the canalized river, when they might restore power here was open to question. I found the visual display of order being restored a comfort, nonetheless.

From the distant lights I heard a sound, like a children's carousel starting up. There had been a carnival there earlier, but no happy voices accompanied the music. It occurred to me that I had walked two sides of a square kilometer and seen nothing but the dead and a few lost souls. I repeated my litany, Lord, arise, help us, and drew another measure of strength. I realized I was minimally armed for a street fight and could see a distance around me.

Rafe...Claire, I bellowed, repeated to each of the cardinal directions. I heard no replies. After waiting a cautious moment, I went toward the lights. Somewhere over there I might find a phone or a flashlight.

Saint Peter's Workspaces

Strasbourg Battlenet

Distress Condition

Contact was lost with Duchene and Navarro at ten pm sharp. One moment they were sipping coffee, the next gone. Numerous redundant features in their implants should have made that impossible. The impossible was now possible, apparently. I immediately switched to city cams in the area and witnessed a riot in progress. Fighting and mobs of fleeing cars and pedestrians filled the streets. I could find no signs of leadership. A series of sudden spikes to the local power grid crashed the system and the whole zone went down. I was blinded.

The French AI Charon received my alert and rolled it into his emergency Battlenet. We formed a Sandbox for collaboration and were soon joined by the AIs Dyson, Herr Bopp and, surprisingly, Ya'ir. There must be some Jewish connection with this event.

In the Real, magistrates and commanders were recalled and put to directing traffic within the emergency. I sent word to Sergeant Martin and he began throwing supplies in the boot of his Daimler Phaeton. He had been restoring the car and it now contained features that would require decommissioning before resale to the public. I slotted him into the traffic flow and gave him the GPS to the rest of his unit. He could likely find them and quell any local riots single-handed, but I leased a drone to follow him in and give us eyes.

Call In; Navarro, J.

Battlenet Alert

Strasbourg, France

This is Navarro. I am in some trouble and unable to uplink. His voice stress was in the red zones. I let him speak to the Friar, who Chuy calls the Earnest Monk. The calming voice delivered empathy with a situational flexibility useful for excited humans.

There was an event at your location. Etienne is coming for you. Where are you now?

"I'm at Quai des Bateliers and Marche aux Poissons, the southwest corner." Voice stress lightened to orange.

Cameras were back up there, so I quickly flipped through views until I could see Navarro. He leaned on a makeshift club and held a pink flip phone to his ear. The caller ID was a twelve year old local girl, but Chuy appeared to be alone. A riderless carousel was visible behind him, brightly lit and playing music for his ears alone. Are you hurt?

Just bumps and scrapes. I can't remember what happened. His voice stayed in the orange.

You may be concussed. Have a seat while we wait for Etienne. I watched him walk over and settle on a bench, but he kept swiveling his head to look around as if expecting attack.

Are you being pursued?

He looked carefully around before replying, I don't think so.

Have you seen Raphael and Claire? the Friar asked. This subject required a light touch.

Not since ten o'clock. I looked for them but it was too dark. I even yelled their names. Voice stress was ramping back up into red zones. There are dead people all over here.

You are alive, Chuy. Others will be alive too. We will wait for Etienne and see what we can do then. I wanted him calm until Etienne could get medical telemetry. If Chuy was operational I would coordinate a search of the zone. Just tell me what you have seen tonight, while we wait. Be my eyes. Slowly his stress dropped back down to orange.

PTube Gesellschaft

Anonymous Upload

Frankfurt Server Farm

We told you when they built the Panopticon, in the name of your security. The speaker wore the white Guy Fawkes mask, favored badge of the technical activists. Now the banks know everything about you and dissent is strangled at birth. He leaned forward in his white robes with matching gloves. The hands appeared to be male.

You were shown the legal subterfuge that kept successive patents on force grown coral.

A grade school map of the world was displayed, showing lands reclaimed by the sea in the last century. The viewpoint was Eurocentric, showing the new tiny islands rimming the Baltic Sea.

The Dutch and Danes had long ago adjusted to the sea, but the Germans and English were fighting hard and losing. Venice had sunk in the Adriatic while the Black and Caspian Seas flooded north. To the east, large areas of Iraq and India were gone. The African west coast was eroding into hazardous rias while the north traded seaside cities for inland salt lakes. Cairo, west of the Nile, would be gone soon.

See the plight of those without funding to pay for patents. Images flashed on screen of drowned livestock and mud filled villages. Another showed thousands of dead fish lying in the streets of a flooded Hamburg neighborhood.

Here is how the Americans and English contribute. A view of the Hull Memorial Sealock in England, showing a family flying kites in the park on the riverside. Switch to the massive Eastshore Seawall in California, keeping Stockton and Sacramento dry.

View their lives, uninterrupted. What favor smiles on them while your own cities drown? A grainy picture of three men, wearing business suits and knitted kippot caps, seated around a table. These men are the Lorax Investment Group. Their conversion of biotech breakthroughs into construction projects created spectacular profits. Much of that money was for the patents, which the Group acquired in 2240.

An alphabetical list of cities scrolled down the screen, with population shown in another column. These are the cities that drowned in the seventy years following. They, unfortunately, could not afford patents. It was a long list, but most were small populations. The Florida coast and much of the Lower Saxony in Germany were the notable exceptions. Funding was not the issue for those two, rather the sheer size and unfavorable terrain. Much of the American southeast coast had fragmented into tiny islands and hazardous waterways for lack of firm places to make a stand.

Now the Lorax Group has sold the patents again, to this man. Focus on a portrait style shot of an unsmiling grey haired executive in a very smart suit. This is Alex Korner, CEO of Investment banking for the Swiss owned USB Corporation.

A redacted document replaced his portrait, the Patent office logo recognizable at the top. And he has filed another patent from a list of trade secrets provided by the Lorax Group. Now we must wait another twenty years for this monopoly to expire. Or will Herr Korner throw another trade secret into patent and maintain his hold while more cities die?

Another document appeared on screen with the letterhead of a prominent synagogue and the non-profit stamp. It appeared to be a donations list from last year. Four names were underlined, including Alex Korner. As cliché as it may seem to point to a Zionist conspiracy, we have noted large donations to a synagogue patronized by the Lorax Group. Herr Korner has donated a significant sum to that same synagogue. That is only remarkable because Herr Korner has never been to a synagogue. Herr Korner is a registered Social Scientist.

The video returned to the rictus smile of the Guy Fawkes mask, We will not speculate further on that connection, but the arrangement seems to hold profits over lives in common. The speaker placed his white gloved hands flat on the table, "Last night in Strasbourg, the seat of the European Union, the Judeglock sounded again after 500 years. This was done to call attention to the loss of life this greed has brought about. No condemnation of the Jewish culture is intended. We would ask instead that if a few of your cultural members behave in a way that recalls ugly stereotyping, then perhaps a cultural approach would be in your best interests. Actions are already underway to admonish Herr Korner. His socialist brothers stand ready to voice their displeasure."

There was a slight reverb in the audio signal at the end of the transmission. The speaker's white mask suddenly filled the screen, cocked slightly left and frozen in still frame. Text flowed across the bottom, Acknowledge the Drowned Republics...They wish only to live and their numbers swell with every wave.

[Internal] Sandbox

Strasbourg Battlenet

Event Forensics; Saint Peter

No mention was made of the hundreds who died. Ya'ir observed. Perhaps the speaker is distancing himself from that action.

Early forensics on the Nano indicates the chime was the trigger, Charon reported. It was very sophisticated, too sophisticated for a small Faction. He uploaded a War Chest file with four similar deployments during the Nano Wars. This is a combination device never before used.

The target group is nearly random, Herr Bopp added. Spiked trams and buses infecting median tourists and service workers. They were the largest population density near the Cathedral. Was that the only reason they were targeted?

Garda within the zone had their implants taken offline. These components are specific to Templars and indicates detailed knowledge of the specifications, I noted. I have a recovery mission to bring the Templars in for study.

The Speaker has left a vacuum in not acknowledging the attack, Dyson said. We have an opportunity to shape the narrative. I can compile a Fitz-Gantt chart but need collaboration with appropriate cultures and an approach which does not suffer hindsight.

Ya'ir and Charon went to that subtask while Herr Bopp and I continued attack forensics. The entire meeting took two hundred seconds in Realtime, but it gave news to report to the thousands of calls from human officials and media.

A large amount of bandwidth was lost to those slow discussions, but the expense was necessary to maintain the Union. It was important to remember that Terrorism sought to degrade social contracts. And it was also true that there was strength in numbers, for both the the Real and the Quantum.

Tactical Feed; Martin, E.

Strasbourg Battlenet

Search & Rescue

A tram train burned on the bridge, fought by volunteers in bulky surplus fire wear. I edged the Phaeton around them on the right and picked my way across at a walking pace. Several gave me angry gestures but all moved out of the way when I blipped the siren. I saw the first body, hanging out of a window panel and charred black. Across the bridge more curled shapes lay in the street, apparently having left the burning tram before it came to the station. There had not been enough time to sort and cover them. Chuy was within a klick now, if he stayed put and still breathed. I had never missed the implant connection more.

This looked like a bad one, like the crazy 23rd. I had missed the Nano wars, but not missed them if the old stories were to be believed, now this second attack in as many years. It was as if someone gave Pandora's Box as a welcoming gift to the Four Horsemen. If a new Nano war was on the way I hoped Saint Peter found me targets before it went too far.

The carnival was empty but for Chuy on a bench. I stopped at the curb and got the medic pack in hand before exiting. He sat slumped, muttering into a ridiculous flip phone. As I stepped closer he closed the phone and dropped it on the ground. Etienne? Is it you? I went transparent with the visor and raised my hands palm out, None other. Here to see what sort of mess you are in.

"I wish I knew, Hermano. Chuy pointed at the back of his head, I got clipped somewhere and don't remember a thing. As I approached, he realized I wore the full helmet. Is it airborne?"

"Non, they think it was crawlers." Chuy stiffened and looked at his hands. It was a reflex action. He surely knew they would be too small to see. The Mareschal had been in some Nano fights and was wiser than I on the subject, normally.

I pulled a scanner out of the pack and wanded Chuy to get a picture. His implants were mute and he had a goose egg on the base of his skull. There were hot spots in his body consistent with early forensics for the Nano. He was likely still infected.

What's the verdict? he asked.

You have the signature. Did you come in by bus?

Yeah, rode in with Rafe and Claire. Is that the vector?

That's what they say. Let me work on that bump. Chuy leaned forward to expose his head and I gave him a quick swab and seal. Normally you are immune to head wounds. I think your blackout could be from the Nano.

I heard the bells and woke up later in the street, Chuy said. There are a lot of dead people over there. He pointed across the canal to the old town. Rafe and Claire were over there, earlier. I turned my visor to the old town and scanned for body heat. Quite a few were cooling. They littered the street and would prevent me from driving over with the Phaeton.

You are the medic, you tell me. Are you fit? Do you need a Cocktail?

Chuy stood up and shook himself a little. A meat cleaver fell out of his pants to the ground.

Give me a gun and some Number 11... And a full helmet, before those chimes go off again.

"Oui, Mareschal. I have anticipated you. Come and see my new car."

He got slowly moving with a little help from my Combat Skins, obviously in an adrenaline crash. I considered dosage to set him right, while shooing him to the car. Some Cistern certainly, maybe a tab of Nocturne and Dutiful to stiffen him up. A mix he would probably call a Number 7 with a twist, but I needed him steady if the bells sounded again.

When did you get that? Chuy asked. My Phaeton stretched long at the curb and wore a flat black graphic pattern that made it difficult to see at night. When we came back from Cornicopia, I got the bug working on those farm trucks.

Chuy looked sideways at the darkened Old Town, It isn't going to fit over there.

"I know, Ami. We will go for a walk so we don't miss anything."

Sorry, I'm slowing down some. Chuy gave me a tired smile.

I squeezed the remote and the lights came on. It's all in the trunk.

I got his medicine in him, washed down with a liter of sports drink. He had a surprisingly long pisser into the canal afterwards. When he came back, he seemed steadier. I helped him into a light vest and the white Tabard. The helmet pressed on his lump, so I padded him with a little bandage. He sat on the edge of the trunk and blinked his way into Battlenet. In a moment I heard his voice in my head, I'm in. Give me a minute. I busied myself loading Splats into a Phoenix Sub-9, while he twitched and leaned with the briefing. By the time I had the light attached, he was done. Still pretty thin on facts, Chuy said.

I had to agree. Let us go answer our own questions. I handed him the Phoenix and slung the medic bag over my shoulder. We'll walk your route backwards. Rafe would not stray far with Claire.

Chuy threw his little pistol in the trunk before closing the lid. That's evidence now.

He led me off across the bridge, with no light and little sound. The Marshal was back, thanks to my pharmacological intervention. Chuy was one of those odd archetypes that came along every few generations, naturally doing tasks that others must study hard to achieve. I could outperform him in every particular, but he would know just the right moment to act. That was his special gift.

At each body, he would blink on a light for a Battlenet entry. I emulated him on the right. When he waded into a mess of bistro furniture, I came alongside to clear the way. Most bodies that we found were struck by vehicles, but near the restaurants the patrons had gotten personal with