<b>Roo'd</b>

# Roo'd

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# Chapter #23

Fede crashed sometime after noon the next day. Cessus had brought him a tea with strange ping-pong-ball sized seedpods in it which he drank without thinking. He’d spent at least twelve solid hours coding, twenty data streams dancing in the background of his vision, behind his compile jobs and module libraries, behind the blinking cursor from which all things came. Cessus had dropped him into a simple biometric feedback loop once he’d taken his first line, an image of a broad red vertical stripe and a thick red ball. The clearer Fede’s head was the closer the ball came to center. Fede had finally gotten it hidden behind the line after half an hour and lost it completely when Cessus pulled up the first data stream. In another forty-five minutes he was able to keep the ball hidden and the data stream running. Another hour after that and he could spot errors from the simple TCP/IP traffic flow Cessus was pushing past him without letting the ball slip.

Fede lost track of time after that. Cessus pushed him data, he acclimated to it, and soon he had a development environment chock-full of inputs flowing through his visual space. But it wasn’t like that — it wasn’t external. He was the data, he was the environment. He saw the compile errors before they occurred, felt it in the debugger’s increase in cycles. Sometime early in the morning he’d had a flash of understanding, had seen crystal-clear how the compromised Java libraries could be used to run his algorithms against the as-yet-unseen data set spread across the sea of Chinese boxes. He’d understood it the same way you understand that the next beat of a song is going to happen, the same way you know where your coffee cup is behind the paper you’re reading. He reached out and took it, drank deep. The code happened.

Cessus danced, played music, went in the bathroom and masturbated. He brought Fede countless glasses of water that Fede emptied from his bladder while chording one-handed. Fede sat behind the tall red line and let it all go through him, and the sun came up, and he drank the tea. He remembered keying in a save sequence before slipping into a peaceful, hot sleep.

When he woke up his head felt like someone had rubbed shattered glass into his brainpan. He was desperate, panicked and fatigued. That he couldn’t figure out how to socket on his legs was a tragedy beyond all description, so he left them lying on the floor, sniveling, and crawled as quietly as possible to the bathroom. He vomited in the toilet and lay there, heaving breath, cold spasms pulling at his stomach.

Eventually Marcus appeared, picked him up in his arms like a baby and gently seating him downstairs on the couch, his legs placed neatly besides. Cessus was nowhere to be seen. The mod fighter brought him a bowl of gray-green mush, blackish swirls of what tasted like dirt spiraling through it. He tried to protest but the big man wouldn’t budge, and eventually he’d just shoveled the cardboard-tasting mash down his throat. When he was through Marcus brought him a big mug of coffee, pulled out an ancient monitor-pad, and keyed him into the house media database. Fede sat and listlessly watched cartoons, sobbing occasionally. His life wasn’t supposed to be like this, this chaos. He had worked so hard for so long to go the right way, to not make the same mistake Tonx had made, and now here he was. Doing exactly what his brother had done, thrown it all away. Fede sat and listened to his blood creep, felt the heavy black weight of sure dead certainty that everything was ruined.

After an hour or so Cessus appeared, moving slowly downstairs. He waved briefly at Fede, his eyes red and throbbing, and disappeared into the kitchen. A conversation so soft he couldn’t follow drifted through the doorways, and he fell asleep.

Fede woke up again to Cass’s voice, cold panic flooding him. “Marcus?” her voice had asked from down the hall. There was fear there, a vibrating waver. “I think there’s someone following me.”

Then there was a thump followed by a bright flash and her high-pitched scream, and from where Fede was sitting he could see her helmet bounce across the doorway and out of sight down the hall. Marcus flew from the kitchen, his tiny, deep-set eyes glowing as he danced to the door, bellowing for Cessus. A mass of dreads appeared taking three steps at a time and Cessus’s white robe spun wide as he twisted into the doorway behind the fighter. Fede had a single image of Cessus’s hairy black ass beneath the robe before he snapped to and grabbed for his legs, slamming them on and jumping out of the couch. He almost pissed himself right then, very nearly dumped a load in his own pants. His guts twisted tight, his lungs spasmed, and he fell limply across the living room table.

“Get the fuck up and help, Feed” screamed Cessus over his shoulder, pulling Cass across the floor and into the living room by one arm. She was dressed in her usual black cargo pants and a bloody wife-beater. Bloody. Fede peered at her as she went past, and one of her eyes swiveled towards him, pink froth slowly sliding from her lips. She grinned.

He struggled up and over the table, tried to grab a leg as Cessus pulled her into the dining room. She kicked feebly.

“Sa’right” she slurred, one arm waving. “Gimmie water.”

Cessus came back with a pink power-puff girls mug. She tossed it back, getting more on herself than down her throat.

“Get your guns, cowboys” she said, slapping the back of her hand against her mouth. Blood began to trickle from her upper lip, but she didn’t seem to notice. “We got company.”

That was when they heard Marcus bellow. Fede watched Cass’s eyes dilate at the stone-hard sound, the raw animal groan from the front doorstep. There was a sharp crack and a flash down the hall before somebody let loose a muffled scream. Marcus stormed inside, a body in a suit limply trailing behind the man’s head, which Marcus held in one hand. He was bleeding from a hole in his hip and there was a quickly purpling dent in his forehead.

“Get the pack” he said, pointing a thick finger at Cessus. “Type 9947 into the keypad downstairs” he said, pointing at Cass. “Take her there” he said to Fede, swiveling to stare him in the eyes. There was nothing behind them, just a blank, seamless shape, a functioning Fede didn’t, couldn’t understand.

“Now” said Marcus. His voice was soft, but it made Fede’s feet jumped beneath him, made him grab Cass despite the twisting in his guts and sling her arm over his shoulder.

They were on the stairs and halfway to the basement when he realized his gogs and chord were upstairs.

“I’ve got to go back” he huffed.

“Fuck no” she coughed.

“Fuck yes” he said, moving to prop her up against the stairs.

She stabbed her thumb in his eye. They dropped, her legs not strong enough to take the two of them. The servos in his ankles whirred and creaked, rattling against the steps as they slowly shuffled into a collapse. They slid several steps to the landing at the bottom of the stairs. He heard her retch, struggled up to see her long pale neck bent back over her shoulder. She spit a phlegmy glob across her arm and turned to glare at him.

“Help me up” she grunted. He did as she asked, blinking away tears.

The tiny basement had a five-foot tall server rack wired to a punch panel on the far wall. The punch panel had a keypad, and Cass typed in the code before collapsing against the wall under it. Fede crouched next to her, his hand pressed hard against his swollen eye. He couldn’t open it. There was an explosion upstairs and Fede smelled smoke.

“Fucking hurts” he said, his head ringing with a deep, threatening buzz. He realized she was crying beside him, tiny little-girl gasps. His one good eye made out her sweat-slicked face, snot dribbling down one nostril, lips curled into a wounded pout. She gasped again, louder, and started dry heaving.

Cessus appeared with a hammer and a slick-looking hiking pack. He took one quick look at them and started whaling at the pressboard wall at the back of the room. Stacks of old-style muscle vids, a pile of training pads and several 20-gallon containers of protein powder scattered underfoot. Gray dust flew and chunks of plaster scattered over them, Cessus swinging like a maniac, peppering the wall with blows. In less than a minute he’d cleared away a big hole in the plasterboard. “Fuck” he breathed. Through the dim light Fede could see a dozen rebar poles set horizontally through the frame, solid-looking wooden boards nailed neatly behind them.

The ceiling suddenly shook and a man screamed. It wasn’t like in the movies, Fede thought remotely, where people howled dramatically. This was a desperate thing, a whimpering, terrified sound, and it ended quickly. The door at the top of the stairs blew open and Marcus came thundering down the steps. Cessus had produced some kind of pistol and had it aimed and ready, his arms straight, one lens forward and glowing slightly over his eye. When he saw it was Marcus he lowered the gun, nodded at the hole in the wall. Marcus nodded back, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw the rebar.

Cessus handed Fede the pistol, pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards the bottom of the stairs. Fede put his finger over the trigger, raised it to aim at the empty landing at the top of the stair, tried to stare down its length like they did in the vids.

Behind him he heard Marcus tear the first piece of rebar out of the wall. The stairs shook and his ears rang. The tip of the gun bounced around at the end of his arm, a live thing. Marcus tore another bar out of the wall. Cessus cursed and bent to search through the pack. Marcus tore another piece of rebar, grabbed a big plastic jug of powder and slammed it several times against the boards mounted there. They shuddered, tore away, and a sharp yellow light flooded the room through the hole. Cessus swung the pack over to Marcus, who stuffed it through the hole and let it fall into the space beyond. Then Cessus clambered over the larger man and followed the pack. Marcus gently picked up Cass and fed her, feet-first, through the hole, then turned and pulled the gun from Fede’s hand before feeding him through the hole too. Marcus shouted at them to get back. Then he disappeared into the dark of the basement.

They were in some kind of storage room, cardboard boxes stacked along both sides of the long space. Long flat-panel lights lay yellowed and torpid against the ceiling.

Marcus jumped through the hole. His shoulders were slightly too wide and a piece of board stuck to his shoulder by a nail, a gash opening up through his shirt and flesh. He landed facedown flat on the concrete with a heavy thump. He turned his head to where they were huddled nearby, waved one hand to get down. A white-hot sheet of flame shot through the hole like a jet engine. Marcus scuttled forward, the piece of board sticking to him like a badge. They found a fire door leading to stairs and hurried up them, Marcus in the front and Cessus to the rear. Fede supported Cass as they went, felt the itching tear as the mounting post in his right leg twisted. He’d meant to get it adjusted, had never found the time. They came out the top of the stairs and jogged down a long hallway, climbed another set of stairs and went through a wide empty room, bare metal wall framing standing silent next to soggy piles of plasterboard. They turned and went down another set of stairs and came out onto a fire escape on the second floor of a long alley. Across from them a featureless brick wall rose two floors, mute and windowless.

“I’ll go” said Cessus, smiling widely at Marcus. The tendons in his neck shone slick with sweat. He nodded briefly at the bloody stain on Marcus’s thigh. “You do something about that.”

Cessus climbed over the side of the escape and Marcus grabbed his free hand, leaning out wide to lower the smaller man closer to the ground. It was still a good-sized drop, and when Cessus fell and rolled on the black tarmac Fede could see it hurt. He stood and waved jauntily, turned and limped quickly down the alley towards an oversized garage.

“Who are they?” asked Marcus, turning and examining Cass. “How’d they find us?”

She hissed slightly as he probed her ribs, one big hand pushing aside her breast to find the hole in her side. He sniffed, then turned and reached into the bag.

“They got to be the mouse” she said, her teeth ground tightly together. “I came back to the shop. Somebody had been there. Mil wasn’t around. It smelled like trouble, so I didn’t go in, took off from the back.” She cringed again, tears starting from her eyes as Marcus lifted her arm over her head and tore her shirt open across her midriff with two fingers, like party paper. He sprayed a small blue aerosol can over the wound. Her skin stained yellow.

“I couldn’t get Tonx on the comm. Went for a lookup on the public proxy before I realized they’d owned my comm too. Took the long way here, thought I was clear until I got to fifth.” She whimpered slightly as Marcus smoothed half of a strip of tape over the top of her wound, pulled it down to fasten the hole together.

“Shouldn’t you get the bullet out?” asked Fede.

“Shut up” snapped Cass, glaring at him. “There’s no bullet in there. Marcus is the one with the bullet.” Marcus put one thick finger against the smooth line of her chin and pulled her face back towards his.

“Then what?” he asked before turning back to the bag.

“Then I walked in your front door and they fucking shot me. I got scared, Marcus. I brought them down on you.” She began to cry again.

“We don’t have time for crying, my dear. I’m touched, but I’ll bill you later. Turn your head.” Marcus sprayed the contents of another small can over the tape, pink film forming against her golden skin. He pulled her arm down.

“Try not to move that much” he said. “Feed, you okay?”

Fede nodded.

“Liar” said Marcus, smiling. He lowered himself against the railing and pulled long stainless steel tweezers from a plastic Tupperware box. He hooked a thumb over the hem of his pants and pulled them out from his hip, revealing a bruised black hole. Fede looked away as Marcus stuck the tweezers in the hole and started searching. The big man grunted twice and something small clanked against the landing before falling to the cement below. Fede felt nausea grip him, turned in time to see Marcus wiping the tweezers neatly on his pants before reaching for the aerosol cans. The door at the end of the alley began to open, electric winches pulling it smoothly upwards.

“Our ride’s here, people” said Marcus, slowly standing. The metal landing shuddered and shook as he pulled himself up, flakes of rusted paint fluttering away beneath them.

Cessus drove the cab of the huge cargo truck under the landing and Marcus lowered them all onto it. They limped over the hood and into the cab, Fede and Cass crawling into the back of the cab where a small couch formed a bed. The truck was an unmarked shipping line, a huge white freight container its only cargo. A steep whine announced the release of the pressure break, and Cessus pulled out of the alley and into a yard full of similar trucks. They stopped next to the oversized gate and Cessus pulled out a pen-shaped device. He twisted its top and held it out towards the speaker grille.

“Samuel M. Miller” the pen announced. The voice reeked of New Jersey. The gate opened and they pulled out, took a right onto the arterial, went two blocks more before turning onto an onramp.

Cessus pulled up some maps on the dash-mounted view screen. The hiss of aerosol came from the front seat as Marcus tended to himself.

“Where are we going?” asked Cass.

“South” said Cessus. “We’re going south.”

They rolled on, the truck taking to the far lane and settling into cruise control. Cessus sighed, point out the window to his left. “Going to miss that place.” he said. In the distance a thin pale plume of dirty smoke rose above the center of the city.

“Sorry about your house, Cessus” said Cass.

“Cessus’s house?” asked Fede. “I thought that was Marcus’.”

Marcus chuckled and Cessus smiled.

“Turns out international credit card theft pays more than mod fighting” he said. “Get some sleep. The shock’s going to wear off any minute and when it does you’re going to wish you were unconscious.”

Fede sat back against the small couch, Cass’s boots wedged against his hip. Traffic rolled by, Cessus and Marcus speaking quietly together in the front, words hidden by engine noise. Fede looked around the small space, saw a poly-fleece blanket wadded into one shelf and pulled it out. Slowly, he spread it out over Cass, tucked it gently over her shoulder.

She wiped her nose against the back of her hand, wincing slightly as the cut on her lip reopened. Fede smiled, and she smiled back.

“Sorry about your eye” she said quietly. She laughed. “You look like shit.”

Fede waddled up to the front of the cab.

“I left my comm back in the house” he announced.

“Bullshit” said Cessus, without turning. “Picked it up on the way out. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway; I was running a tracker on your box all last night as part of the input monitor.”

Fede turned and looked expectantly at the bag resting between Marcus’s knees.

“Get some rest, Feed” said Marcus. “We’re going to need you pretty soon.” The big man crossed his arms and leaned his head against the rear of the cab.

Fede did as he was told.

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