Code Enforcement: Wetware

In that silent moment in Morgan's office, watching her fish-faced lips work soundlessly, I feel a righteous sense of victory. The gears are turning, her mind is working, and I've given her only losing options. I catch maybe the faintest click and whine in that quiet moment, coming from the stairwell door, and the hair rises on my arms. I should have put it together, but there's only a second or so before I'm airborne.

The surge blows out the wall beside the metal door with brilliant blue-white flash that leaves an angry purple weal across my vision. The air is driven from my lungs as the chair I'm sitting in kicks me off like a wild horse. The metal rectangle of the door sails past me and buries itself in the wall, and I follow.

It feels like a fist is gripping my chest and belly as I collide with the shocked, scarred bodyguard. He breaks my impact with a strangled yelp as I grunt, slamming him against the wall as we flail together. My ears ring as I cough, hot dust blowing over me, and a rain of ferrocrete and metal slivers fall around us.

Holy void-spawned fuck! Well, that can't be Clearfield; no way she's trying to save her career by causing explosions on a pressurized civilian station. Caspian then? Damn, that was fast. No time-waster indeed, Mr. Casey!

My ears are ringing as I blink through the dust and look over at Cara Morgan. The grey-haired madam lies splayed on the floor, shoulders and head against the wall. Her desk has been thrown back a half-dozen paces and lies on its side beside her. The right side of her face is covered with dust, and a trail of blood trickles from one nostril as she blinks her glassy, unfocused eyes.

"Cara, it's Caspian; he overloaded the power grid," I croak, but she doesn't respond, mouth hanging open. I growl, shaking my head and sending a shower of grey dust into the air to float slowly in the low gravity. Crawling over a strewn layer of debris, hearing a muted series of pops below us, I slap her across the face and savor a startled squeal.

"Morgan! Look at me."

Her eyes seem to sharpen as her lips work, and she shakes her head. "What? What happened?"

I grit my teeth. "Looks like the electronics blew out in an arc-flash, and I think they took the fire suppression system with them. If the same thing just happened downstairs, I'd say most of your folks here are disabled or dazed."

The woman trembles, shaking her head. "What? What? Did you do this?"

I scoff. "Blow myself up? Don't be a chrome-licking moron," I spit, coughing in the dusty air. "I think your partner decided to betray you before you can betray him," I shout above the ringing in my ears.

The woman's wrinkled face furrows in confusion. "What? No! What? Casey? But I didn't even make a deal yet," she protests as she wipes the blood from her face with one hand.

Hah, yet. I had you. "Well, it looks like he didn't want to give you the chance to." There's a staccato of gunfire, and the high-pitched whine of plasma weapons firing in response. "And sounds like they're sporting serious heat. I recommend bailing, unless you'd prefer to have it out with Casey's crew."

The woman wipes her bloody hand on her skirt. "Wait, I can fix this! Razor, get up."

The scarred man shifts and rolls to all fours, retching and coughing. "I uh... ack, Ms. Morgan, I- ugh..."

She crawls towards him, one hand gripping his collar tightly. "Razor, get Trinity and the Daughters in here! Tell them Casey's crashing the grid, we have to defend!" she says, as he blinks slowly at her.

I pull the stun-stick off my belt. "No, you oxide-huffing idiot! He's trying to take you out before you cut a deal," I hiss, standing on unsteady legs and making my wobbly way to the smoking wall and jagged doorframe. The scent of ozone and burning plastic makes my throat tingle, and I cough as I lean out to look into the stairwell, seeing the second smoking doorway below. "The bottom door blew out too; we're exposed."

Cara whimpers. "Then I need reinforcements. Razor, go get some of the Daughters-"

I step back into her ruined office. "No! This is a decapitation strike! Don't dig in, get the hell out of here," I snarl. Just then I hear bootsteps flying up the stairwell and I press myself flat against the wall.

The first person through the ruined, smoking doorway gets my elbow to his face, but I scream as bone strikes the hard ceramic of a combat helmet. The blow stops the figure dead, but a short-muzzled plasma carbine swings around. I grab the stock with one hand and keep the barrel pointed down, and I jam the end of my stun-stick into his kidneys.

If he'd been wearing a polymer voidsuit, I'd be fucked. Thankfully, the carbon-fiber combat armor is less effective at blocking 800,000 volts than it is blades or projectiles, and the bulky figure drops like a stone with a muttered 'glrk'.

The second figure fires two blazing blue rounds of superheated plasma through the door, blowing swirling holes in the dust and smoke and making me duck back with a strangled yelp.

Cara screams and scrabbles behind the overturned desk. I turn to see the boiling, smoking ruin where Razor's face used to be. The bubbling mess slumps forward slowly, almost lazily sliding to the ground, as rivulets of crimson spill along the floor. Cara pulls her feet back from it and gives a low howl, and the twitching armored figure next to me groans.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

But nobody else comes through the door. A familiar voice calls out. "Ms. Cruz, I assume that's you who stunned my partner?"

It takes me a moment to place the voice. "Cid, right? Fancy seeing you again so soon. I never thanked you for the shoulder," I call back, biting my bottom lip and feeling it ache, matching my throbbing elbow.

I'm positive I hear him chuckle. "It wasn't personal. But this is pretty simple. You give me the stick, come quietly, and I can guarantee your life," he says, and I hear the voice grow a little closer.

The madam pulls her head above the desk, wide eyes peeking out. "Cid? Wait! Wait, tell Casey this was a setup! I didn't make a deal with her," she stammers, panting and shaking.

There's a pause. "I see. Were you going to make a deal?"

"Of course not!" She squeaks, drawing her legs further away from the spreading blood.

A familiar female voice hums from behind the doorway. "Heightened vocal tension, delayed response time. She's lying." The hair rises on the back of my neck. Cassandra.

Morgan's eyes bulge. "No! Caspian can have the squid, he can-"

A brilliant blue bolt takes the older woman in the throat, blowing her back from the overturned desk as the smell of scorched meat fills the air. "Sorry Cara, you became a liability," Cid calls out. "But you might have a chance, Ms. Cruz, if you give up now. Casey would prefer you alive, if you give me the choice."

I shiver, feeling goosebumps running down my arms. The armored figure next to me stirs, and I jam the stick into his back, hearing the loud clicking as he jerks and twitches. "Casey still wants the squid, huh? Mmm, alright Cid, how about a counteroffer-"

A fist-sized chunk of the wall beside me explodes, sending molten ribbons and blazing embers flying past me. I hiss, covering the side of my face, as I hear him shout. "No. Either drop the stun-stick or I drop you. I'll give you three seconds," Cid calls loudly.

Damn. The walls aren't gonna stop their fire. How many did Casey send? I close my eyes for a moment as I call up my channel and link to the janitorial-bots camera. I try to ignore the wave of vertigo as I pull the castor wheels around and see the image move. "Fine," I call out, dropping the stun-stick and letting it clatter to the floor.

There's a long moment of silence broken by the sound of three more gunshots below, then the whine of two more plasma rounds. I pilot the chassis towards the gunfire. "Kick the baton over to me," Cid calls out.

I lean out of the doorway, kicking the stick hard and sending the foot-long baton skittering past Cid, before stepping back and smiling. I try not to let the narrow field of the picture in my head distract me. No more shots. Sounds like Cid's crew are about finished cleaning house below.

From the second vantage point, I can see Cid through the front door, which is also a smoking hole in the building. Someone blew the electronic locks' circuits on all the doors at once; I bet Aquarius managed that. Cid crouches in the stairwell, shielded by the wall. He narrows his eyes, weapon steady on the doorway.

He takes a few steps backward, slowly kneeling and taking a hand off his plasma carbine, reaching out for the stun-baton. "Now, come out of the doorway slowly with your hands empty and raised above your head."

His back is to the bottom landing, and he doesn't see washbot. Well, better a mop than a broom. I lick my lips. "Before I come out, how do I know you aren't just going to shoot me?" I ask, as I trundle the chassis forward.

The mercenary growls. "I'm going to shoot if you don't, so I'd say you can roll the dice, or die. Last chance; do you surrender?"

I bite my bottom lip. "I'll take my chances; besides, my backup can clean house," I say, as I use the pogo-pegs to jump, sending the bot up and forward in the reduced gravity.

I raise the nozzle arm as it flies. Cid turns his head just in time to catch the spray in the face as I grab for his carbine with the clamp-hand. The fluid cascades around his faceplate, blinding him for a moment as I swing for the weapon with the bots arm. The hand manages to catch the stock as he turns, right before he puts two plasma rounds through the bot's chassis, sending a billowing pillar of steam out from its body.

Well, that didn't work. The shots must have missed anything vital, because the link doesn't drop. The clamp arm hangs on, and I turn and dash around the door in my meatsuit. Or, I make the attempt, just in time for the stunned mercenary to jerk and catch my foot with his hand. Stumbling, I careen into Cid and the chassis and all three of us tumble down the stairs together.

Even in low G, the impact drives the air from my lungs. Cid breaks my fall with a muffled grunt, before the washbot crashes and pins us both down and douses us in the sharp-smelling fluid. I kick, planting my foot in his face, but the helmet takes the brunt of it. He wrestles his carbine up, but I get a hand up around the stock, straining to push the muzzle away from my head. Fuck.

"Cassandra, if you're there, I need Aquarius to listen!" I call out, wrestling the weight of both the chassis and strength of Cid. The wheels and pegs turn uselessly, but I get the clamp arm to close around something. The stun stick.

I swing the arm around and listen to the gasp and satisfying clicking as Cid tenses and jerks. I hear cursing from above as the other merc catches his breath, so I shove the stun-stick against Cid's backside again before pulling myself free of the tangle.

As I do, I get a ping on my channel from an anonymous profile. No, a series of pings. Now a storm of them, and my malware filters begin to scream. I groan, reaching into my pocket and snapping the dampener on and losing my overlay once again. The flurry of hostile packets cease, but my link to the chassis drops and the bot slumps against Cid.

But my skin crawls when the chassis tenses again, and I hear a familiar deep voice from the washbot. "Meatsack." That one word, in Aquarius's heavy tone, seems to carry an ocean of rage. Cid twitches, and I hear a scrabbling from above; the other merc must be recovering.

Shit, this is bad. "Aquarius, listen, I know why Rusteater-"

"Don't say their name!" The scream is primal, nothing I'd expect from a synth, and the bot lunges for me, stun stick flailing and buzzing as I dance back towards the front door.

I hear a shout from the first floor, from further inside the brothel. Well, every good cop knows when to cut their losses. So much for finding allies among enemies. I duck through the wrecked door and into the cramped alley. At least I'm not the first cop to flee a brothel, soaking wet and without paying.

Not that it has me concerned. I'm much more worried about which organs that chassis is going to cost me.