Lucky 7 Read online

  “Pinche loca.”

  Sasha gives me the side-eye. “You better be talking about yourself, Nevares. This is your only option.”

  She’s not wrong. My current situation is already bleak. I tried going off the grid in Mexico, but AxysGen was banging down my door within forty-eight hours. They’ll keep sending people as long as I’m in their system, and I can’t keep running forever.

  "Guess I’m in. So, why’s your crew out in the middle of Siberia?"

  "Not my whole crew. Just two." Sasha eases up on the propulsion, bringing us into a glide. A dark shape looms beyond the next snowy hill, growing larger and larger. "We're here. You have any mods aside from your implant?"

  I rub nervously behind my ear where my jack is. I can do wireless with my hand too—all jackers with professional gear Bronze and better can—but there’s a delay: a tenth of a second. In cyberspace, that counts. "Never needed them."

  "Weapons?"

  "Only this." I unclip my pistol from my hip, an S3 Hurricane without any extras.

  "That won’t work. Unfasten your harness and check the back."

  The Eagle chooses that moment to jolt. I give Sasha an exasperated look. "You want me to undo my harness? With the way you handle your bird, you'll be doing AxysGen's job for them."

  Sasha's fingers clench tight around the wheel. "We're about to walk into a serious firefight. If you don’t upgrade, crashing will be the least of your worries."

  "Fine." I unbuckle my harness and slide out of my seat. I have to clutch the headrest as the Eagle rocks around me, but I clamber into the back of the shuttle without cracking my skull. Benches line both sides of the shuttle’s rear, wide enough to seat at least four more people, but it’s the back wall that grabs my attention. An entire armory is bolted to the top half: full automatics, pulse rifles, and short-range pistols. I’m not a gun girl, but it’s pretty impressive shit.

  "¡Qué chingados! You're prepared for a war."

  "Only if we're lucky. Pick something out."

  I guide myself to the wall of guns with one hand on the bench. I need something lightweight, but with enough firepower to pierce shields and stop an oncoming enemy with a few shots. A medium-sized pistol catches my eye almost immediately. From my limited knowledge, it looks like what I want. LightningBolt v.6 is stamped across the grip in blocky golden lettering.

  “Perfect.” I test the grip in my hand, aiming at the wall. "It'd be nice to fire a few rounds so I can get a feel for the recoil, but looking at it..."

  Sasha glances back to see what I’ve picked. “Good choice. That should keep you breathing a little longer."

  I head back to the copilot’s seat, pistol in hand. "Only a little longer?”

  "As long as you're riding with my crew, Nevares, we'll keep you alive. Can't make any promises after that."

  “Fine with me. Once I’m off AxysGen’s shit list, I’m going straight back to Mexico.”

  “Home?”

  I’m surprised Sasha even cares enough to ask. “Was. I have two kid brothers. Jacobo and Mateo. They need to eat and study for their APS, and the freelance jobs that pay are international.”

  Sasha doesn’t look surprised, and she shouldn’t be. It’s an average story. You’re either born into a corp dynasty family, ace the Aptitude and Proficiency Survey, or work as a cog in the corp machine. Even the cogs are lucky, though, because most people don’t have jobs at all. The PBIs—partial basic incomes, or peebees—the corps give out to keep the unwashed masses from revolting is hardly enough to keep food on the table—and everyone knows they could take it away with a snap of their fingers the moment anyone dares to ask for more. It’s a rigged system, but saying that too loudly could mean the difference between eating table scraps and starving to death.

  Outside the window, the dark blotch in the distance resolves itself into a large square building, maybe three stories. Black columns of smoke rise above a large sign: Axys Generations Research & Biomedical Processing Facility.

  "That it up ahead?"

  "Yes,” says Sasha.

  “Give me the rundown. Who are we after? What type of security are we up against? How do we get inside?"

  "Doc and Rock, I don't know, and buckle up."

  "What?"

  Val’s pleasant voice fills the shuttle again before Sasha can answer. “Collision will occur in approximately fifteen seconds. Please fasten your harness and brace for impact.”

  Her placid tone is the opposite of calming. I fasten my harness just in time to see a large grey wall hurtling toward us. Sasha fires the front guns, and the wall explodes in fire and rubble. Chunks of concrete and steel rain down on top of the Eagle as we lurch through the opening. The shuttle shakes hard, red lights flashing from its dashboard, and sirens start to shriek outside.

  I panic. My eyes are open, but I don’t see the Eagle anymore. I’m back at the hotel in Mumbai, choking on smoke, fighting to get free of it, falling…

  A hand reaches over to hit my chest release. It’s Sasha, sitting calmly in her own seat, like the shuttle isn’t tilted sideways and half-buried in a pile of rubble.

  Once I can breathe, I glare at her. “¡Hija de la chingada! Seriously, what the fuck?”

  “We had the heat shields up.” Sasha presses a button on the dashboard, and the red lights stop flashing. Another button releases the seals on the doors. As I haul myself out, water spatters onto my face from above.

  "You set off the sprinkler system. We're gonna die of hypothermia if we get out of here."

  "Be quiet and follow me." Sasha climbs out behind me, strapping her pulse rifle across her back. "We don't have much time.”

  "But—"

  "For fuck's sake, just do what she says,” says someone who definitely isn’t Sasha.

  I whirl around. A short white kid is standing a few feet away from the wreck, glaring at Sasha impatiently through the glowing orange stripe of a VIS-R. I activate my own, and it adjusts the lighting so I can get a better look. Her stringy brown hair is matted down by the water raining down from the ceiling and she’s dressed in clothes big enough to swallow her. She looks the same age as Jacobo, maybe eleven or twelve.

  "Come on," the girl insists. "Rock's not gonna last much longer."

  "What were you thinking, Doc?” Sasha’s tone is hot with anger as she talks to the kid, but there’s actual concern on her face instead of icy blankness. I know that look. This kid is hers somehow—her responsibility. “I told you to stick to surveillance and wait for me to find us a jacker.”

  “He’s on borrowed time already,” the kid—Doc, I guess—protests. “And you were taking forever.”

  “We'll find him,” Sasha says, switching from anger to determination. “Go get the rest of your gear from the back."

  Doc runs for the Eagle and rips open the nearest door.

  I stare at Sasha in disbelief. "She’s like twelve years old! What’s a kid doing on your crew?"

  "She’s here because she’s the best medical officer I’ve ever had. And she's probably a better shot than you, Nevares.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  Doc runs back with a pistol in her hand. “Unless you two wanna stick around and wait for the guards, we need to move."

  Tuesday, 06-08-65 00:54:34

  WE MOVE, BUT NOT fast enough. A group of guards collides with us as we run through the first doorway. I aim my new pistol at one of them, but I'm unfamiliar with the location of the safety, and when I try to fire the gun just clicks. My reaction times are lightning fast on the extranet, but not so much in meatspace.

  While I fumble, Sasha dispatches him with her pulse rifle. The guard’s groan crackles through his helmet speakers as he slumps to the floor with a smoking hole in his chest. The other two guards raise their weapons, and I freeze. I've got nothing: no cloak, no shield, no protection.

  "Duck!"

  Sasha drags me to the ground. Something flies over my head from behind, glowing blue dots about the size of a thumbnail that stick to the gu
ards’ armor. They drop their guns, tearing at the tiny orbs with their gloves. I cover my head with my arms and close my eyes, unwilling to watch what happens next.

  Boom!

  An explosion shakes the hallway, followed by a series of gut-churning splats. My body seizes up, and I have to push back against an instinctive tide of fear. Ugh. I hate biogrenades. It's lucky I'm not on this weird kid’s bad side.

  Sasha slaps the middle of my back, urging me to move. "Get up, Nevares. We can't stay here."

  I wrench my eyes open. The walls in front of me are smeared with red. I try to avoid staring at the chunks on the floor, but I can't ignore them completely. The back of my throat twitches in disgust as I turn away from the three corpses—if the two exploded bodies can even be called corpses.

  Sasha brushes straight past me. "Leave the grenades to Cherry next time, okay, Doc? I don't want you blowing up Nevares."

  Doc ignores her. The kid’s on a mission, no detours allowed. "I tracked Rock to the west side of this floor before you got here. He can't wait much longer."

  Concern flashes across Sasha's face. She speeds up, leaving me to stumble after her. Doc is surprisingly fast on her feet, moving with the speed of desperation. We turn down another hallway, following the flashing red lights. The sirens wail louder as we stop at the next corner.

  "Get ready," Sasha orders, keeping her back to the wall. "Nevares, stay in cover when you're not shooting, and try to keep out of Doc's way."

  Sasha doesn't need to tell me twice. Doc still has a belt full of biogrenades, and the look in her eyes is terrifying. This time, we hear the crackling of comm units before we reach the next hallway, and we get the jump on the guards instead of the other way around. Sasha leaps around the corner, taking out the first one with a chest shot before the others even realize they’re under attack. One aims at her, but she dodges, knocking his arm aside and rolling under. She rams her shoulder into his stomach, sending him off balance. Before he can recover, she fires her rifle straight into his helmet.

  A third guard takes aim, and this time I finally remember how a trigger works. I extend my arm and squeeze. The guard jolts with the force of the round, crumpling to the floor. Either his armor’s crap, or my LightningBolt packs a wallop.

  "Glad to see you don't always freeze up in meatspace." Sasha steps over the bodies at her feet, avoiding the blood on the floor. I try not to breathe in too deep as I follow her, but a tinge of copper has joined the smell of recycled air.

  “Yeah, well...”

  Sasha turns. "Doc? Wait, Doc!"

  I catch a glimpse of Doc near the end of the hall. A door slides open, and she sprints ahead without waiting for us. Sasha takes off after her, and I bring up the rear...again.

  I flick off my pistol’s safety, but there’s no need. The only guard in the room is already flat on his back with his helmet off. Doc is kneeling over him, holding a stunner under his chin. "Tell me where my brother is, or I'll fry your fucking brain until it leaks out your ears."

  Everything clicks. No wonder Doc wants to find Rock so bad. They're siblings. Dios, Doc and Rock. Bet that got them teased in school.

  The guard’s eyes roll back and forth in his head, searching for an escape. There is none. Sasha deliberately turns to watch the door. I’ll definitely be asking her some questions about this later. What guardian lets a kid do this kind of work? I risk my life daily to keep my hermanitos out of it. I try to step between Doc and the guard, but he cracks before I can intervene.

  "Down the hall and to your right. Room 307. He's—ahh!"

  There’s a sickening crunch, but at least it isn't the sound of a body frying. Doc hops back to her feet, but the guard stays sprawled on the floor, a river of red pouring down his face. "I only broke his nose," Doc says when she notices me staring. She nudges his head with her foot so the blood spills onto the floor instead of pooling in his mouth. "He’ll wake up. Probably."

  The three of us head for the large steel door at the end of the hall. It’s heavily reinforced. At a glance, I doubt anything short of a bomb can crack it—but there’s also a glowing orange access port beside the frame. I square my shoulders. This is something I can handle. "I'll jack in and get the door open."

  Doc doesn’t hear me. She slams both hands into the door, resting her forehead against the metal. "Rock! Rock, are you in there? It's me, open the door!"

  Sasha lowers her rifle and puts a hand on Doc's shoulder. "We don't know what they've done to him, Doc. Let our jacker go in. It's why I brought her."

  Doc's fists clench, but she steps away and nods. She remains silent, trembling with anger and impatience. That’s probably the best 'go ahead' I’m going to get. There’s no access cable, so wireless will have to do. I touch my finger to the port.

  network: ag 61049 . 991147

  Connection established

  welcome: user escudoespiga

  My eyes snap open. I’m standing in a dim grey hallway, not unlike the corridors of the research facility. I let out a breath. Luckily, my brain’s decided to interpret the building's intranet security system in a familiar way. There are no doors or windows, only smooth walls. The sirens are absent, and no one else is nearby.

  I head down the hall, searching for an entrance. At first there’s nothing distinctive, only grey, grey, and more grey. I select the scanning program on my VIS-R’s toolbar by looking at its icon, a blue square with concentric white circles in the shape of a bullseye. I’ve got room for eight programs on my main dash, plus several others downloaded, but I keep the ones I use most often the most accessible. When I activate the scanner, a blue crosshatch pattern appears on the grey walls, and a door melts out of the sameness, just as huge and intimidating as the one I left behind in the physical world.

  Facilísimo.

  I curl my right hand into a fist and select another program: a silver circle with nine dark grey studs. A solid grip presses into my palm as a shield extends across my forearm. I aim the vertical rows of spikes on its surface at the door. Most jackers rely on their shield programs for protection, but I’ve turned mine into a battering ram.

  Elbow-first, I throw my entire weight at the door. Red light pours through the cracks spiderwebbing across its surface, and then, after a moment of stillness, the dull metal shatters completely. I dig my feet in, ducking behind my shield. When I look up, there’s a diamond-shaped hole in the middle of the door, and the light has turned from red to green.

  logging off network

  disconnection complete

  I slam back into my body. Even though I’m used to it, the return to meatspace is always jarring. I pull my hand away from the port, shaking the tingle from my arm. “Open sesame.”

  "Move!" Doc shoves past me and into the room without a second glance.

  "You’re welcome," I mutter.

  Sasha heads in after Doc, but pauses to give me a look. She doesn’t smile or nod, but I can tell I’ve gained at least a sliver of her approval.

  Tuesday, 06-08-65 00:58:13

  I GRIP MY PISTOL tight as I enter the room. No, not a room—a cell. The weak light from the open door is enough to flood the small space. Most of it is filled with a huge, shadowy shape, and it takes me several seconds to realize that the dark mass is moving. I step back.

  "Rock?" Doc is standing beside the trembling mountain, pressing her hands against its sides. "Rock, it's me. You have to get up."

  I stare at the mass in shock. The mountain is actually a man's shoulders, and the movement is his breathing. He’s slumped over on the floor, but he has to be two and a half meters tall. His clothes are in tatters, and so are patches of his bruised skin. I’m pretty sure I can see cables twisting through some of the ripped flesh. Two yellow lights shine from his face, and I realize they’re his eyes. This giant has been modded to hell and back. I can't tell how much of him is still human.

  My first thought is that AxysGen must’ve done this. Only they could be that fucked up, stealing some kid’s brother and turning him into a cy
borg. But Doc doesn't seem intimidated or even surprised by his appearance. She keeps on examining him.

  "Rock, can you hear me?”

  The mound of muscle twitches, but doesn't speak. His eyes flicker in and out of focus. Doc picks up one of his enormous hands and spreads his fingers, choosing one and pressing down on the nail bed. When he doesn’t respond, she lets out a choked sob of frustration, looking back at the two of us. “This is bad, Sasha. He’s not reacting to pain stimuli and he’s hardly conscious. We have to get him out of here.”

  “If you’ve got ideas, tell me.” Sasha’s words are terse, but her stony expression has some softness as she glances between Doc and the giant. “He’s too heavy to move, even with all three of us working together.”

  “NervPacs?” I suggest. “We’ve got some of those, right? Maybe if we put one on, he’ll come to.”

  “No.” Doc moves protectively in front of him, but her slender body barely covers a sliver of his bulk. "He's got built-in mods to repair his body. If we flood him with a NervPac, it could be too much."

  Sasha crouches, touching Doc’s shoulder and fixing the kid with a sympathetic stare. "If this was another patient with Rock’s mods, would you say the same thing? Or would you take the risk to get them out of here?"

  Doc’s face is tortured. She bites her lip, brushing off Sasha's hand and turning to stare at Rock. His slow breathing continues, but aside from his glowing eyes, he doesn't seem alert enough to notice us. Eventually, Doc nods. "Fine, but I'm doing it. And I'm lowering the dose."

  "Try and get him moving in under five," Sasha says.

  Doc reaches into a pocket in her fatigues and withdraws a circular silver patch. She rips the seal open, tilts Rock's head to the side, and slaps the NervPac over his jugular. His body twitches as soon as it makes contact. Doc remains completely calm. Her mouth forms numbers, counting down the seconds as Rock's muscles start to spasm. As soon as she hits ten, she rips the patch off.