The Silent Army

rusted metal door, near where a group of homeless men were huddled underneath a plastic tarp. A sign on the door read HEALING HANDS CLINIC.

Incoming call: Fawkes, Samuel.

I’d expected another contact from him. I’d been lucky at the restaurant. With the lip-reading software, I’d transcribed some interesting information. Motoko was trying to recruit Nico. They knew Fawkes had the weapons. Nico, at least, had drawn a connection to Concrete Falls.

The only thing I hadn’t shared was one phrase, one that Motoko had repeated to Nico: You kill Fawkes. I wasn’t sure yet why I hadn’t told him.

Call Accepted.

I’ve reviewed your report, Faye.

And what have you decided?

That giving Wachalowski the information he wants would be extremely risky.

Fawkes had gathered a lot of concrete data. Over the years he had tracked down many names, and had verified connections between them. He had connected many secret accounts, and traced money trails to key politicians. He’d managed to peel back their many layers and identified their many different fronts. He tracked their holdings and their hidden assets. He knew where they’d based themselves, and the chain of their command. Outside a court of law, he could prove it all, but exposing them would accomplish nothing. Those told would simply forget, and all Fawkes would expose was how much he knew.

Still …

It is the only thing that will convince him, I said.

I agree, but I’ll only authorize a small piece, and we must control it carefully. I’ll draw something up to present to him. It will have to be enough.

He won’t kill her anyway.

I’ve seen Wachalowski’s war record, Faye; don’t be so sure. He’s made decisions that might surprise you.

He didn’t offer up what those might have been. It didn’t really matter.

Lev is waiting for you. He’ll have your work detail.

I understand. May I ask you one question?

Yes.

Why attempt the shooting at the restaurant?

I’d not been told that the shot was coming. After, I saw him follow the trail of smoke, and spot the hole in the glass. I had to move quickly to get off the street, as the paparazzi swarmed. The slug had passed within six inches of me.

I didn’t order that, Fawkes said. If killing her was that easy, I’d have done it by now.

Then who fired the rail gun?

Not a revivor. Maybe one of the Second Chance recruits acting on his own.

With a million-dollar high-tech weapon?

Maybe she staged the assassination.

You think the shooting was staged?

I don’t know. Like you said; not many people have access to a weapon like that. I’m looking into it. Concentrate on Wachalowski for now.

Understood.

The call dropped, and I moved toward the metal door as the words faded away.

No direct sunlight could reach the area, but neither could rain or snow. It was cold, but I sensed warmth under the tarp. I sensed the low, staggered beats of the men’s hearts, and one conspicuous pocket of silence. Two eyes opened in the dark, and cast a moonlit glow into the alley.

When the revivor moved, the living men stirred, but not much and not for long. Except for the eyes, it looked no different from them. In the cold, no one noticed its lack of warmth. Under layers of dirt, blankets, and plastic, it was ignored completely.

It thumped the metal door three times with its fist. A moment later, I heard a dead bolt turn and the door opened slowly.

Lev appeared in the dark space, his eyes staring down from under his thick brow. His expression didn’t change, but he extended a private connection. I accepted it, and he began to stream. This assignment would be different from field work, but it would be simpler. One of the revivors who was stationed there was receiving the upgrade. He assured me the job was temporary, and understood why I cared; some of us liked the quiet, but I wasn’t one of them. It left too much time to pick through memories and to contemplate the blackness beneath them.

You’re in luck tonight, he said.

How is that?

Tonight will not be quiet.

He walked into the darkness, and I followed. The door creaked closed behind us.

He led me down a cinderblock corridor, to an old wooden door at the halfway point. At the far end was another heavy door, a slit of light underneath. In the hall, I could smell rubbing alcohol and human body odor. Lev pushed open the wooden door and stepped through.

Inside was a musty storage area. Boxes had been stacked up along the far wall, but had since been pushed aside. In the space between them was a heavy door, made of thick, shielded metal. A security scanner was mounted there, its lens glowing a soft red.

Lev stooped slightly and placed one eye to the lens, which flickered and turned to green. The door opened silently, and a huff of humid air blew over me. Through the metal door, I saw sheets of plastic. The eyes of revivors stared from along the walls there. I heard the hum of electronics inside, and heavy, scraping footsteps.

I’d heard groupings of revivors called nests and, on one occasion, hives. The terms were meant to be derogatory, but there was some truth to them. I found a certain comfort in these places, the stillness and the quiet. In life, I might have called the feeling cozy. The vibrations of their hearts and the faint smell of decomp inhibitor had become familiar and safe to me.

Lev and I found empty spots along the wall, and watched the figures move behind the plastic as we tuned to each other, out of the common communications pool, to share our thoughts in silence.

What do you think of the upgrade? Lev asked me.

I like the different voices, I said, even if I can’t understand them. It’s hard for me to explain.

I sense hundreds of them, Lev said.

Yes, me too.

Like tuning to a common pool, but larger.

Yes.

I like the sound, too, he said. I think they’re a promise of something greater.

Across the room, his eyes jittered rapidly in tune, I knew, with my own. I thought that was a good way of putting it; the whispers were a promise. A new community about to wake.

Where do they come from? I asked.

You’ll see for yourself tonight.

Fawkes said they might be dreaming.

He’s being poetic. I think it’s subconscious bleed-back from wired humans who are still alive.

Do you know that for a fact?

No, but it’s what I think.

Before Lev was made into a revivor, I eventually learned, he had been an engineer. His knowledge was put to use by his captors, before he was turned and packaged with the rest. He’d fought in Orikhiv for close to two years, before its collapse, when he was impounded. Later, he would end up on the black market.

Can I ask you something about Orikhiv?

Orikhiv no longer exists.