“About two hives, all slaved into the aerostat relay. Gave me a good, close-in aerial of the town, so I knew right where the action was. I figured folks’d come pouring out of that building when the Badger opened the dance, and I wanted to know if they came out waving Kalashnikovs or library cards.”
“Shoot ’em if they have the cards,” said Lyle. “It’s the shit they read drives ’em to it.”
“You don’t believe that, Lyle,” I said.
He stuck his chin out. “You’re the writer,” he said. “Either you move people or you don’t. And if you don’t, why bother writing? Maybe there’d be fewer murdering rebel scumbags if we’d put some of those books and websites off-limits.”
“No,” said Jimmy. “I’d rather shoot a man dead because he’s a murdering rebel scumbag than treat him and everyone else like children who’re told what they can read or listen to.”
Lyle was unconvinced. “Yeah? What do you owe Joey Sixpack?”
Jimmy said, “I’m coming to that part.” He leaned forward and rubbed his palms against his lap. We had run out of beer already—not unusual when the four of us gathered in those days—but no one volunteered to make a run, which was unusual.
“I walked my machine to a low ridge overlooking the town and scanned the target with my high-rezz ’nocs. It was just like the Badger figured. No one was watching the north. Just to be on the safe side, though, I turned on my pixelflage.”
“Me,” said Angel, “I just boogie right on up.”
I didn’t think there was any imputation of cowardice in what Angel said, but I pointed out that pixelflage could help the suit louie round up more Joeys because the bandits wouldn’t know how close he actually was. “Yeah, I read that story,” Angel said. “ ‘Invisible Avenger.’ Pretty good. ’Cept it’s not like you’re really invisible.”
And there it was again. That curtain. “I know that,” I growled. “I juice it a little for the civilians, is all.”
“All it does is duplicate the landscape on your pixel array, so—”
My right arm twitched and knocked over an empty bottle. “I said, I know that. I went through the training with you. Got higher scores, too. If it hadn’t been for the accident—”
Lyle looked at me. “An’ we know that. Sure, you woulda been good. You woulda been hell on wheels. You woulda been the next Lieutenant Bellcampo, with medals down to your crotch, if you hadn’t spilled on Jimmy’s bike that night. But you did; so you’re not; and it’s over. We love you, man. You know that. We’re the ‘Fantastic Four,’ right? But you can’t change what happened. You just got to go on from where you are.”
Jimmy reached out and touched me on the arm. “It’s over for me, too,” he said, but I jerked my arm away. Blame it on a spasm.
“I still don’t understand that,” I said.
Jimmy and I locked eyes for a moment. “I don’t know if I can explain,” he told me quietly, “if you never been Inside.” I looked away and he touched my arm again. This time, I did not pull back. “No diss, man,” he said. “Just word. I really don’t know if I can make you feel what I felt.” He looked at the others. “Don’t know if I can make them feel it, either.”
“Try us,” said Lyle. “But the beer’s gone; so—”
Jimmy shrugged. “Yeah. We’re just swapping Inside stories, right? No big deal.” He made a fist of his right hand and rubbed it with his left. “OK, so it goes down like this.
“I get as far as the spruce on the north edge of town, just where it gives way to open meadow around the creek. That puts me three jumps from the center of town and one jump from a herd of cows. There’s a cowboy out with them. Don’t know if he was a bandit or one of the regular townsfolk. Never did find out, and it didn’t matter in the end. You lie down with dogs; you wake up with fleas.
“I put the walker on stand-by, so nothing moves. The pixels is all green and brown and black, so I blend into the forest behind me. The cowboy looks my way once or twice, puzzled-like, like he ain’t sure he’s seen something or not. Me, I got my ’nocs locked in on the big building, waiting for Badger to call the dance.
“I didn’t have long to wait before I hear gunshots over my channel to Stoltz. Maybe they were loud enough to carry by air, because my cowboy, he frowns and peers south. Wild Bob’s pickets call in for help and my Artificial Stupid locks in on their freq. Can’t make heads or tails of the traffic, though, because it’s all black…”
“Shoulda kept that kind of encryption illegal,” Lyle said.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Illegal. That would have stopped the likes of Wild Bob. Codes don’t make conspiracies; conspirators do. Besides, PGE and other black codes were all over the Net. Might as well’ve made the wind illegal.”
“And besides,” Angel said, “the big corporations didn’t like the idea of the government holding keys to all their codes. And they’re the ones that call the shots.”
Jimmy looked at him. “Yeah? That’s what Wild Bob always said. Big corporations, Wall Street, the Jews. Besides, what do I care what Joey’s saying, coded or not? It wasn’t more’n fifteen seconds after Badger started the music that they come pouring out of that big building. They all have ’sault rifles and bags full of bananas. Two of ’em are lugging a mortar and some shells. I give Badger a heads-up over the aerostat relay and tell him what’s coming his way.
“The cowboy decides either to join the fun or to head for home. He spurs his horse and goes galloping across the meadow. I take that as my cue and go into leaper mode. Anyone hears a noise, they look over and see that cowboy easier than they can see me. That gives me maybe another jump or two before the balloon goes up. Last jump put me right in front of the main building. The bandits usually don’t post guards—they own the town’s soul—but all the shooting has got them nervous. So there’s a Joey standing around the front door with one thumb on his rifle’s safety and the other’n up his ass. When I come down on the street behind him, he jumps like Old Shaq’ in his glory days, and I chop him up before he even hits ground.”
“What’d you use,” Lyle asked. “Finger gun?”
Jimmy ignored him. “I bust through the front door and bounce from office to office, leaving little calling cards in each. The radio was in the third room. Some old bat was on the horn, hollering. When she sees me, she reaches in her desk drawer and pulls a .38.1 don’t have time for that crap, so I give her a spray and then shred the radio set.”
“Think she got the warning out?”
“I know she did. But a suit louie never figures to go unnoticed when he’s Inside. I work my way through the building—and pop a few more Joeys who want to field test their ammo. By the time I bust out the back wall, my little presents start going off and pretty soon the whole building’s in flames. So you see, what did I care about the radio? I was the one sending the message. If she hadn’t gone for the gun, she could’ve run with the others.”
“Generous,” said Lyle.
“Those were the Rules of Engagement, Style. Remember, the area was officially ‘pacified.’ I could shoot whoever came at me armed; but anyone else, I had to tranq, smoke, strobe, or leave alone.”
“And decide which is which on a moment’s notice,” Angel commented bitterly. “All Joey has to do is not go for his gun and he’s a peaceable citizen.”
“So I guess I lucked out, because I don’t think there were more’n two dozen folks there who weren’t potting at me. Some heavy rounds. Armor piercing. One cholo had ramjet rounds. You know, with the discarding sabot and the jet core through its middle? They hit with a couple of Mach. My walker took some damage; and the blowback…”