Ecko Rising

travailing worker, bent under his load. Beside it unrolled the strapline that now bound the heart and mind of every man, woman and child, the words that framed their lives, the flag that had become their only compass and motivation, and the banner against which the Boss’s organisation had pitched itself.

Valiant Be.

“Valium Be”, more like. Lugan relit the repaired dog-end and coughed tar. There’s a Fifth ’Orseman an’ his name’s “Apathy”. He flicked the little fame on the lighter, glanced at Fuller.

But Fuller shrugged, and pointedly turned his attention back to the screen.

The Boss said, cool and clear, “Quite apart from the collateral damage, Ecko killed fourteen people, one of them an approved Pilgrim medic –”

“An armed-to-the-teeth combat medic with an ’ypo fetish –”

“A trail of bodies, and a media circus. I don’t appreciate having to tidy that sort of a mess.” Her profile was perfect, pure and cold. “Unless you two have anything to add, this hearing has one conclusion.”

Fuck.

Thinking hard now, Lugan chewed stray tobacco.

Bloody Ecko. The little man was a genius – an erratic, irritating, indispensable fucking genius. He’d got a smart mouth and a ready wit, and a thing for practical jokes – in the three months he’d been with Lugan, he’d grown on the cell team like a particularly virulent form of mould.

Shit!

He wasn’t going to let her do this.

Aloud, Lugan said, “Without Ecko, we’d have fuck all. No info, no lead on Grey, a boot up our collective arse- crack.”

The Boss’s flawless face gave the faintest hint of a smile.

“Without Collator’s clean-up,” she said, “your collective arse-crack would be sitting on a cold metal bench. And that would be the fun just beginning. Ecko has a peculiar charisma, certainly, and I know you’re fond of him –”

“’E did the job.” Lugan gripped the dog-end between yellow-stained thumb and forefinger and blew a long, dirty plume of smoke. “You know I need ’im – ’e’s deniable, ’e can do the shit I can’t. My ’ands stay clean.”

“Unless they’re covered in bits of medic.” The lights on her flawless face changed, shadows flickered and cycled.

Her skin was shifting with mottle like Ecko’s. With a grin like a rusty knife, Lugan flicked the lighter’s wheel with a tiny, metallic chink. Nothin’ like takin’ a trip down Irony Lane...

“I need ’im.” Lugan blew the flame out and dropped the lighter back in the pocket of his old denim cut-down. “I want ’im on my team.”

“Do your team want him?”

“’E needs family,” Lugan said. “We –”

“He has family.” The Boss cut him short. “His mother still lives in London. The charity she founded isn’t large, but it operates. His siblings have lives and families that are easily traceable. He had a solid and loving –”

“Four bleedin’ half-sisters, an’ a storybook wicked stepdad. It’s enough to make anyone retreat into a world of comic-book ’eroics.”

“Yes, but I question his ability to come out.” Her voice hinted at a steel edge. “He’s critically damaged, socially certifiable and an unnecessary risk to my security and yours. You’re a radical.”

“I’m a businessman –”

“But Ecko’s insane.”

“Yeah.” Lugan leaned forward, he wasn’t backing down from this. “’E’s also a fuckin’ gem.” He coughed smoke, inhaled harder. “’E got a lead on Doc Grey – got a location! We can get that bastard, kick Pilgrim where it ’urts.” In an “up yours” gesture, he tapped his ash into the glass carafe on the table.

There was a tiny, defiant hiss.

“Lugan.” Almost regretfully, the Boss said, “I know why you’ve taken to Ecko so strongly. He’s the part of you that you miss, the part that Pilgrim’s new society has taken from you. You’ve learned to conform – at least as far as you have to. Ecko...” She trailed off into a pale, perfect shrug. “...Hasn’t.”

Conform, my arse. Goaded now, Lugan marshalled his assault.

“Yeah, maybe I was like that once – no fuckin’ brakes.” His tone revved like a gunned engine. “It’s why I understand ’im – I get it. But think – just think what ’e could bring down!”

“Us?” Her tinkling laugh was ice-cold; she almost turned to face them. Lugan held himself still, lungs full of oily smoke. Her chin was lifted, the lights tinged with colours, tantalising hints of shapes that teased her perfect, ageless skin.

She said, “Your faith in him is touching.” Light and laughter pulsed again. “But I think his presence affects your decisions. If he won’t follow orders, then I can’t use him. And neither can you.”

Lugan glowered. “We got the location of Grey’s lair. You know Ecko’s gotta do this...”

The Boss inhaled, mustering patience. “Don’t be ridiculous. If the data you’ve given me clears, then this may be one of the single most important penetrations we’ve ever attempted. Ecko’s Tech was one of the doctors that went renegade when Pilgrim took over. What she did to him has damaged his mental stability beyond repair. We can’t let him handle something like this – we send in a full team.”

“Bollocks,” Lugan said again. He dumped the dog-end in the carafe and exhaled a double lungful of oily smoke. “That’ll just be a mess. ’E can do this. In an’ out. Quick an’ clean. Recon first – full stealth. No muss, no fuss.”

The lights on the Boss’s face were moving more swiftly. “Your loyalty is impressive, but –”

“But I’ve never quit on a mate an’ I never will. That’s why I’ve got this.” From beneath his t-shirt, he produced the half-black, half-white symbol that marked him as a ranking member of the Boss’s organisation. “It says you trust me to run my ops, my way.”

“Of course I trust you. But...” She gave a tight sigh, tucked her hair behind her ear in a gesture that was oddly girlish. “This job is imperative.”

“An’ ’e can do it – better than any fucker else!” Lugan pressed the point. “Three months! He’s done his prospectin’ –”

“The days of your bike gangs are gone, Lugan.” She tapped her lips with her finger, long nail gleaming.

The days of your bike gangs...

Suddenly robbed of words, Lugan eyed the faded-blue ink that decorated his muscled forearms – a reminder of the way things had been before Pilgrim’s Fifth Horseman had doled out the pharmaceuticals and smothered the world in happy grey smog.

The days of your bike gangs...

The ink reminded him who he was – who he’d been. It was youth and fire, experience and wisdom. Not only was he Alexander David Eastermann, retired biker, he was still the Lugan he’d once been.

When the world’d had the time for such things.

Tapping her index finger on her chin, she said, “I will admit that Ecko’s fear of authority means his hatred of Pilgrim is sincere. And he remains remarkably untouched by the changes of today’s society.” Her eyes flickered as though she was watching something. “Eliza’s initial psych report details the massive damage inflicted by his Tech – he calls her ‘Mom’?” Her eyebrow raised slightly. “She also lists the physical and neurological adjustments he bears – and some very interesting psych reactions to his being effectively more than human.” A smile touched her lips. “When so many people are now less.”

Lugan said absolutely nothing. Unless he missed his guess, she was right on the fucking verge...

“All right – the details on Grey’s location are cleared. Collator gives me 84.61 per cent success if Ecko runs solo reconnaissance and retrieval.”

Lugan said, “An’ if he don’t?”