was like a god of the seas from eons ago, black with hundreds of tendrils wavering in an unseen wind, all of them ready to strike. It lashed out again and again, but I had learned more than a few tricks in my time and wouldn't be caught so easily.
I sent out several paladin sprites in the next few milliseconds, and while the IC was deciding which of those to attack, I tethered several of its arms to the one of the paladins, forcing it into a regressive loop that would take precious seconds to unravel.
At the same time, I activated the encrypted tunnel to Allora. Immediately, and for the first time, I could feel her. She was indeed hidden deep within the maze of Cylestra's net, and she was fighting to remain hidden, for it was clear that Cylestra was now digging recklessly in order to find her.
I probed, hoping to create a stronger connection with Allora, but every time I did Cylestra's IC whipped its arms toward me. Only by feinting and launching more paladins was I able to keep them from striking home.
But then something changed. An alarm had been raised, and all proximal firewalls flared red, limiting traffic to secure channels only. I'd anticipated that, but the IC had activated an enhanced sniffer subroutine. The IC-even with the sniffer-wasn't good enough to catch me if I was careful, but it was more than adequate to make sure I remained separated from Allora.
I was growing desperate. The squad Cylestra had sent would reach the door any moment, and if I reached out to Allora in any significant way, the sniffer would find us both. I tried again and again, using all the complex forms I had learned over the years, but none of it was working.
At the back of my mind, I sensed an alarm from Skittles. The squad had broken through the door. I released the inhibitors that prevented her from launching tranq darts without my approval, hoping it would help Koorong, if only to a small degree. When I did so, I felt the telltale remains of Koorong's virus.
And that's when it struck me. The solution was crystal clear. The only thing I wasn't sure of was whether I had the time to do it.
Using Koorong's virus-a truly masterful piece of ware-as a model, I altered the sprites I'd used earlier. It was rushed, and I knew there were holes, but I only needed several good seconds. After adding some tracerouting, I released the paladins, moving as close to Cylestra as I dared. I could tell they'd found Allora, but had not yet been able to purge her from their systems. I commanded the paladins to ping loudly, forcing the IC to split its attention.
The dark and deadly arms turned and attacked. I nearly got caught in the initial onslaught, but was able to slip away as they fell upon the duplicates. Immediately I spread my awareness among the sprawl, pulling together the previous data I had earmarked regarding Sindara. I had not gone further at the time, thinking the other patients irrelevant, but I found more and more participants, building a case of circumstantial data that, when viewed as a whole, would paint a very uncomfortable picture of Cylestra's medical practices.
As I continued, I felt the data stream from me, through the paladins, and all the way to Allora. She was feeling everything I was.
I hoped it was enough. It would have to be, because the IC-even though it had nearly succumbed to Koorong's virus-had finally traced the signals back to me. It began boring through my defenses. The pain was worse than the bullet wound, for I felt it everywhere. It was nearly impossible to think, but I couldn't leave. Not yet.
I sent the information to all of the district attorneys that were responsible for the patients in Cylestra's kidney trials, and several more copies to the most independent news outlets I knew.
And then I dropped out.
I woke to the sound of rapid, heavy gunfire.
In front of me, a chromed up troll lay unconscious in the hallway, two darts sticking out of his neck, another from his right cheek.
Next to me, the rotating barrel of the machine gun stopped as the bullets ran out. Koorong glanced over at me, realizing I was back. 'Is it done?' he asked while feeding another belt of bullets into the gun.
'I-'
My words were cut off as a stream of bullets tore into the room. Koorong's shoulder blossomed red, and he howled in pain. The gypsum board above me crumbled as I dove to the floor. The bullets stopped a moment later, and in the following silence I heard a series of sharp puffs as Skittles' dart gun fired.
The short burst of gunfire that followed ended with a horrible, high-pitched yelp. Moments later, there came the sound of a body falling heavily to the floor.
Koorong was silent. Unconscious. I searched for Skittles' signal, but the only response I received was a simple readout showing that nearly all of her systems had been destroyed but that the one of last resort-the thermite grenade tucked into her chest cavity-was active and waiting for the signal to detonate.
Two more sets of footsteps approached the entrance. They stepped into the forward room a moment later, their boots scraping noisily over the detritus of battle. There was a moment of silence: the men taking caution after so many had unexpectedly died.
The grenade's active status blinked in my readout, but I didn't think I could do it-didn't know if I could kill her, even to save myself-but the moment I saw the shadow of the first of them stepping into the short hallway leading to the bedroom, a fear so expansive welled up in my chest that I gladly grabbed for the chance Skittles was offering me.
I crab-walked into the corner, curled up into a ball, and gave Skittles the affirmative.
The grenade detonated a split-second later.
Even with my eyes shut tight, everything went white. The explosion was deafening. The shockwave pounded every part of me at once. Debris blew into the room and rained down for long moments, and I swear I felt the section of the building we were in sway back and forth.
As the sound of pattering debris filled the room, I slowly got to my feet and brushed away the powdery white bits of wall that had fallen over me. I coughed as I waded through the cloud, looking for Koorong.
I found him lying in the closet, dead, three bullets-red on white-stitched across his chest. I turned away immediately, unable to look upon him like that.
I turned to the gurney. Allora was still there, but when I touched her neck to find a pulse, I found nothing. I stared at her for long moments, feeling like a sister-in cause, if not in blood. Sadness welled up inside me and begged to be let out, but it was not something I could allow to happen. Not now. Not here.
I left the apartment quickly and wandered in a semi-random path toward the nearest exit from The Blax. I found no resistance. I hitched a ride on an old-style water ferry and took it to the north side of Sydney. Then I paid for a coffin hotel with anonymous cred. Several hours of sheer terror followed where I was sure I would be found and shot dead where I lay, but eventually it became clear that I wouldn't be followed. Not today, at least.
And finally, hiding in that small, darkened space, I allowed myself to cry.
I didn't dare get a new SIN in Australia, and I didn't dare keep myself anywhere near Cylestra's sphere of influence, so I headed for Tokyo. I set up shop and began taking very simple jobs-data scrubbing and the like-and then one day I was sitting in a seedy bar drinking a truly horrible cup of kaf when a Japanese man in a black suit walked in and headed directly for my table. The look on his face as he wove through the tables was one of serious intent.
Seven months had passed since the devastation in Blaxland, but I knew immediately he was somehow connected to it. I hadn't had the heart to get another dog after Skittles. I had, however, picked up a gun. I reached into my purse, but before I could wrap my shaking fingers around the grip, the man slipped one hand inside his suit coat and pulled out a chip the size of a thumbnail. He set it carefully onto my table, then turned and left.
I grabbed the chip and held it tight in my fist. Only after the attention of the others patrons had returned to other things did I slip the chip into a reader inside my purse.
It contained, I found, a SIN. Fiona Douglass. Born within six months of me in Scotland. Her parents had moved to Brisbane when she was twelve, and after graduating early with a degree in datalytics, she'd moved around Australia-not surprisingly to many of the places I had been, both before and after Liam. I could tell already that it was a consummate job; Fiona Douglass had no doubt died recently, but I had few doubts that it would be difficult to tell that without speaking directly to people who'd known her.
I was now Fiona Douglass.
Before I knew it, tears were welling in my eyes. I sniffed and wiped them away, sipping the bitter kaf to camouflage the outward signs of my utmost joy.
Allora had made it. She hadn't died in that apartment in Blaxland, she'd jacked in. Permanently. A ghost in the
