Sean Williams - Metak Fatigue

HarperCollinsPublishers

First published in Australia in 1996 by HarperCollinsPublishers Pty Limited

ACN 009 913 517 A member of the HarperCollinsPublishers (Australia) Pry

Limited Group

Copyright (D Sean Williams 1996

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of

private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright

Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.

Inquiries should be addressed to the publishers.

HarperCoffinsPublishers

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10 East 53rd Street, New York NY 10032, USA

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data:

Williams, Sean, 1967

Metal fatigue. ISBN 0 7322 5633 X.

1. Title. A823.3

Cover illustration by Greg Bridges Cover design by Darian Causby

Printed in Australia by Griffin Paperbacks, Adelaide

7654321

99989796

"Each culture casts its own shadow, a shadow which is

a perfect description of its own form and nature. The shadow which our

technological civilisation casts is that of Lilith, 'the maid of desolation'

who dances in the ruins of cities. Now that we have made a single polluted

city of the entire world, she is preparing to dance in the ruins of our

planetary megalopolis."

William Irwin Thompson The Time Falling Bodies Take To Light

In memoriam Harold Alwin Schiller

1903-1983 David John Williams

1942-1995

The author would like to thank the following people for their help during the

preparation of this novel: Bill Congreve, Shane Dix, Bill Gee, Jeff Harris,

Phillip & Jo Knowles, Kelly Manison, Peter McNamara, Sputnik, Nick

Stathopoulos, Jonathan Strahan, Louise Thurtell, Damien Warman and Juliette

Woods.

Some sections of this novel are loosely based on the short story "Robbery,

Assault and Battery", published in Nemesis'#17 (March, 1992).

PART ONE: THOU SHALT NOT STEAL

PRELUDE

Friday, 14 September, 2 096, 11:1 S P.m.

"I am Lucifer," said the voice.

He woke with a start, and opened his eyes. The room was lit by second-hand

streetlight, an

indistinct, yellow haze which spilled through the curtains and lapped at the

damp-stained walls. The curfew had not yet fallen, which placed the time at

before twelve o'clock; still, the faint electric light was

not quite enough to fully dispel the night. Shadows crowded about the bed,

whispering black secrets in the distant voice of the city.

He sat up, letting the sheet slip from his shoulders to his lap. The humid

air, stirred by the sudden movement, brushed the rigid bulges of his muscles

with the electric caress of an approaching thunderstorm. The woman

beside him snuffled to herself and rolled over. There was a subtle tension in

the air, an expectant pause, a moment waiting to be filled.

He listened ... People stirred in the buildings around him: someone

screamed, another laughed, a third raised her voice in anger. A nearby couple

made love with abandon, oblivious to his prying, sensitive ears. Far away, the

languid tongue of the river licked its lips and tasted the rotten teeth of

Patriot Bridge.

When the voice spoke again, it did so without sound ,,'or, expression. It

whispered directly into his mind a

second time, "I am Lucifer," then fell silent again, "Waiting.

He closed his eyes, concentrated, and visualised a

ljrgply, parcelling the soundless words into a bundle of electric thought and

hurling it outward into the night. I The response was instantaneous: "Remember

your duty." , He slid from beneath the sheet and stood upright. In profile and

near-darkness, his naked body was sexless and smooth-skinned. His chest and

shoulders were

massive, and his limbs gifted with both power and grace. His poise balanced,

trembling, on the brink of blinding motion.

He remained that way for some time - frozen, indecisive, reluctant to commit

himself to any course of action - until movement through a part in the

curtains caught his pinprick eye. Leaning closer to the window, he peered out

and down at the empty street below. As he watched, a shadow moved, stepped

onto the littered roadway and into a wash of streetlight.

The man stood 'a full foot shorter than he, with wide shoulders and a

wrestler's build not yet soft with age. Receding mouse-brown hair exposed a

high, proud forehead and generous ears. A thick moustache bristled beneath the

snub nose, lending the man an air of familiarity that defied the best efforts

of his memory. He might have seen this man somewhere before, although he

wasn't sure where.

It didn't matter. The man, whoever he was, was

irrelevant. Curiosity had been carefully bred out of him, replaced with an

inescapable compulsion to obey orders.

There was something about the man's silent watchfulness, though, that made him

nervous. Something

indefinably wrong. The man was so still, he hardly seemed to breathe ...

The woman stirred again, not quite awake. Her voice

was muffled by sleep. "Cati?"

He turned away from the window. The blackness of her hair formed a puddle on

the pillow, a pool of darkness deeper than the shadows. Reaching down with one

massive hand, he touched her reassuringly on the shoulder. The trembling of

his fingertips eased as he gently caressed her soft skin, even when the voice

called a third time. She was Sanctuary in a world he could not begin to

understand, queen of a haven called Peace; he would protect his Sanctuary

every way he could, even if it was his own nature that threatened her.

Slowly, her breathing deepened, became more regulaT, until she finally

returned to sleep.

He went to the bathroom, where he would not disturb her further, and opened

his mind to the insistent touch of the one who called himself Lucifer.

When curfew fell at midnight, he was leaping from rooftop to rooftop high

above the streets, hunting. And the silent man who had stood on the street

under his window had long since disappeared.

(HAPTER ONE

Saturday, 15 September, 1:25 a.m.

From the outside, it looked like an empty warehouse: its doors had rusted

shut; its windows were broken and -boarded up; its roof was slowly caving in.

@- Kennedy Polis had many such buildings. Once, six decades past, swift,

solar-powered ferries had shunted back and forth along the river, bringing

with them trade goods from nearby towns. The warehouses had been full, then,

and business brisk. Kennedy had shone like a

jewel in the North American Model City Project's crown. Completely free of

petrochemical fuels, selfsufficient except for a few basic raw materials and

equipped with the latest reclamation technologies, it had symbolised the new,

cleaner lifestyle promised by politicians for decades - a harbinger of the

NAMCPs utopian dream.

The War, however, had killed the dream, and the Dissolut;on that had followed

had killed most of the dreamers. Now the warehouses stood empty, rotting

slowly in the moist air drifting off the river. Some had become temporary

homes for refugees, others were taken over by the Mayoralty; the remainder

simply awaited the reopening of the city's self-imposed walls, if such ever

happened.

The years rested heavily upon Kennedy, and upon its warehouses in particular.

But it had not died.

Not yet. This warehouse was located on a deserted cul-de-sac not far from the

slosh and tumble of the river. A white, electric vehicle slid to a halt by a

rusted phone booth at the end of the street. The letters "RSD" were painted in

bold black down each side of the car and on its trunk.

The younger of the two people inside the car, a

woman in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length blonde hair and strong

laughter-lines, peered sceptically through the rain-spattered windscreen.

"You're sure this is the right place, Phil?"

The man beside her nodded. With a slightly receding hairline, a thick

moustache and a body that was past its peak without being infirm, he looked to

be only a few years older than his companion; perhaps in his midforties. He

was in fact much older. It showed sometimes in his voice. "This is it, Barney.

Trust me." He smiled, teasing. "You wanted to come, remember?" "Only

because you promised to buy me a drink." She pouted mournfully, and he knew

she was ribbing him in return. Barney Daniels and Phil Roads had been close

friends for most of her life, especially since her father's death, and knew

each other's games well. "Best bar in Kennedy, you said," she continued,

nodding disdainfully through the window at the derelict warehouse, no

different from the scores of others within spitting distance. "Doesn't look

like much to me." "Nevertheless." He locked the dash with his thumbprint and

keyed the car's security system. Thirty seconds. "Coming?" "Do I have a

choice?"

They stepped out of the car and into the street, pulling coats closer to

protect their bodies. The rain was heavy and thick, failing in a warm sheet

from the dark

lky, a solid mass only slightly less dense than the nearby river. Their

clothing consisted of the standard casual _gniforms of the city's Regional

Security Department: grey synthetic fabric, recycled aluminium buttons and

thick greatcoats. Roads' genuine leather boots were a

rarity in Kennedy, and allowed him to walk through puddles with greater

comfort than Barney. "This way." He led her down a narrow flight of stairs

,between two buildings. Paint peelings from the crum-

bling brick walls littered the asphalt path. A left turn

took them to a steel door, which slid aside on smoothoiled runners as they

approached. The passageway on

Itthe other side was gloomily lit, but at least relatively clean and dry. . As

they passed through the entrance, Roads noted the tingling, skin-crawling

sensation of security scanners, electromagnetic fingers that reached through

their clothes to search for the telltale shapes of concealed weapons. Barney,

beside him, was far too young to remember the technology that had been

available, if not commonplace, before the War, and nervously rubbed the

suddenly erect hair of her forearms.

Roads didn't break his stride; the security-sweep was

just the first of many technological traps designed to

unsettle the unwary or the ignorant, and he didn't want

to stop each time to bring her up to date. Besides, she was canny enough. If

he looked like he knew what he was doing, she would follow his example.

He only hoped he did know. It had been so long since he had last come this way

...

The door at the far end of the corridor remained closed. A panel slid aside in

the wall to the right of the door and a gender-neutral voice spoke: "Please

disarm. Your weapons will be returned to you when you leave."

"Phil?" Barney's voice betrayed her nervousness. "It's okay." He opened his

coat and removed his belt. The pistol - loaded with plastic bullets, lead

being another rarity - and its holster vanished behind the panel; hers

followed after a slight hesitation.

The door slid open. They stepped through into a muffled riot of noise.

Somewhere nearby, removed by only a wall or two, a very large, very noisy

party was taking place. Roads smelled smoke and liquor in large quantities,

and a general miasma of damp flesh.

Two large bouncers awaited them behind a low counter. "Names?" asked one

without looking up from a neon-bright video screen. His left eye was covered

with what looked like a simple leather patch. Roads didn't doubt that it hid

more than an empty socket. "Phil Roads." He pressed palm to scanner and waited

for. confirmation. "I still have access here, I believe." "That is correct,

sir," said the bouncer, his manner formal once the ID was approved. He waved

Barney forward, and she likewise subjected her handprint to the machine's

scrutiny. -

It beeped a negative: as far as its files were concerned, she did not exist.

That wasn't necessarily a problem; at least she wasn't a known threat. "Ms

Daniels is my guest," explained Roads. "We're here to see the Head. He's

expecting us." "I'll notify him of your presence." The bouncer listened to an

earplug's whisper for a moment, then said: "He'll meet you shortly. This way."

Barney hesitated again, and Roads patted her on the shoulder, nudging her

forward. "After you." "Will I regret it?" she asked. "Probably."

She grimaced. "If you insist, then." He smiled in return, and followed her

inside.

The bar was full of half-seen, vaguely demonic shapes that twisted and writhed

in the smoke of a hundred lit cigarettes, thrown into sharp relief by

irregular strobes. .Music blared from towering wall speakers as Roads and

Barney headed in the general direction indicated by the bouncer. An expansive,

horseshoe-shaped counter draped with bodies lay across their path. Short but

solid, Roads used his weight plus the occasional elbow to clear a way through

the crowd. Barney followed close at his heels.

The cubicle awaiting them was the only empty space in the entire venue, one of

ten similar cubicles raised half a metre above floor level. Containing nothing

more than a table and two leather-bound chairs, it was tucked into an

anonymous corner opposite the entrance. A yellow lamp provided its sole

illumination.

Roads shrugged out of his damp overcoat and slid awkwardly into the cramped

enclosure, noting with relief that it was acoustically shielded. Behind them,

the bellow of the crowd diminished to an irritating rather than painful

mumble. Barney settled into the seat across the table from him, looking

bedraggled and slightly stunned. "Drinks?" asked a woman via the booth's

intercom. "Water, thanks." He glanced at Barney. Drinking on duty was

forbidden, but she looked like she needed it. "And a Scotch." "Any preference?

We have "Something from the cellar. Glenfiddich, if possible. No ice. 11

"Certainly. Your drinks will be with you shortly."

He leaned an elbow onto the table and smiled at his assistant's expression,

waiting for her to speak. She

seemed to be having trouble choosing one question out of the thousands she

obviously wanted to ask. "Where's your friend going to sit?" she eventually

managed. "He'll cope." "I guess he'll have to." She looked around. "Are you

going to tell me where we are, or -?"

He hushed her with a finger to his lips. "Wait until he arrives. Then he can

explain."

They scanned the room to pass the time. Kennedy no longer boasted a decadent

social set, but this crowd wouldn't have been part of it even if it had. Roads

recognised a number of people, several matching records in the city's Most

Wanted datapool. It was almost as if all the riff-raff of Kennedy.Polis had

gathered for a quick drink before venturing out into the night to pursue their

regular activities. A disconcerting number were young -

from teenagers to mid-twenties - reflecting the city's growing youth crime

problem. "If only I had my gun," whispered Barney. "Isn't that Danny Chong,

the bounty-bunter?"

Roads nodded. "It is, but forget it. This is neutral territory. No-one has

jurisdiction in here." "Except 'the Head'?" "Right. And I shouldn't have to

add that we're outnumbered as well.' "Point taken. As long as the restriction

works both ways, I'll keep quiet." "It does." He was glad she understood.

Barney wasn't stupid, but she was still young. At his age, he tended to forget

about justice and aim for workable compromises instead.

He was about to point out another celebrity of the underworld when a third

voice from within the cubicle cleared its throat and spoke:

I@Vould you care for a conversation?" They turned to face a holographic image

of the head a man in his late forties. The head was bald and ,angular, somehow

twisted from true; the nose in particular was obviously crooked. Its lips

curled with wry amusement.

The head floated in the air one centimetre above the tabletop. Barney's gasp

of astonishment was clearly audible. "The cost for my time is negotiable," the

head con-

tinued, radiating dubious goodwill. "It can be debited from your R&R account

or settled in cash. Whichever you prefer." "Really?" Roads settled back into

the chair. He doubted that the first option was accepted very often; the

Rations and Resources transaction could be too easily traced, for both patron

and establishment. Although the alternative, cash money, had only recently

reappeared in the city, as a result of the latest downgrade of the R&R

commerce network, unofficial currencies had always circulated through the

underground economy.

Barney reached out to touch the hologram, as though she couldn't believe what

she was seeing. Her hand passed through it unimpeded. "What is it?" she hissed

to Roads. "I am a computer-generated psychogenic template," said the hologram

before he could reply. "A simulated personality, if you like, provided for

nothing more than your entertainment." "But -" "My existence is highly

illegal. I can assure you of that." The head grinned, obviously enjoying her

discomfort. Hardware sophisticated enough to generate real-time holograms

hadn't been used in decades for anything as frivolous as entertainment.

Roads leaned forward to butt in. "Quit playing games, Keith. I haven't got all

night."

The head froze in mid-expression, caught between a

frown and the beginning of a word, like a movie in midframe. An instant later

it returned to life. Although its grey features hadn't changed, Roads detected

a subtle difference, a nuance of facial tension that suggested another, quite

separate personality. "Ah, yes," said the head, tilting in acknowledgment. "I

apologise for the previous personality. A simple ruse

to affirm your identity." "And you are?" "Tut-tut, Phil. It hasn't been that

long, has it?" "No, but it pays to be sure." "Quite so, for both of us."

Roads felt the pressure of eyes upon him, and belatedly turned to his

companion. "Keith, I'd like you to meet my assistant, Barney Daniels. Barney,

this is Keith Morrow."

Her eyes widened. "Pleasure," said the Head, bowing at the neck. Not just 'a

head', but the Head.

She stared at the hologram, then at Roads. "The Keith Morrow?" "At your

service." "Oh my God."

Roads knew what Barney was thinking. Keith Morrow was on the city's other Most

Wanted list, the one the general public didn't see. There was no physical

description for anyone on that list, just a tally of suspected crimes against

the city - including conspiracy, murder, and resource misappropriation.

Standing orders were not to arrest, but to 'decommission'. In Morrow's case,

in all the years Barney had been on the force, no Regional Security Department

officer had come close to doing either.

,*,-13arney's hand slipped down to the radio in her pocket.

t*Don't." Roads reached across the table to stop her. 94t of the corner of his

eye he saw the bouncers hov- "This isn't a bust." ',Hereyes flashed. "Then

what is it?" @'A very bad pun," said Morrow, looking pained. "I

a businessman, my dear, not a petty criminal. Ask Phil. just a smuggler with

connections, I swear." .,".Hoarding is still illegal," she protested. "It is,

yes, for the moment. These are desperate times.

4 do what I can to survive, and no more, until the day when I am no longer

considered to be a criminal."

1-1 @'@,On those charges only." @

n

40 all charges. I do not prey on the weak; only the stiong." IShe hesitated,

but her hand remained in her coat. "Phil?" "Trust me,' he repeated. "I'm not

bent, if that's what's worrying you." "Alas," rued the Head. "How true." "And

besides," Roads went on, "we couldn't arrest

him if we wanted to." "Why not?"

Morrow smiled. "Because I'm dead, my dear, that's why not. I died over fifty

years ago." "That's impossible -"

"'Impossible' is a ridiculous word." Morrow rolled his eyes. "You children of

the Dissolution are all the same. You have difficulty accepting the fact that

the present is not representative of the past. Many things that once could be

done cannot be done now. That is all, my dear."

Barney still floundered. "I don't understand." "No,," said Morrow. "And

therein lies the difference between us."

"I'll explain later," said Roads, leaning over the table to place a hand on

her arm. "We've got more important things to talk about at the moment."

Barney nodded dumbly, casting a What the hell have you got me into? look back

at him.

Their drinks arrived at that moment via a trapdoor in the rear of the cubicle.

Roads put his in one corner of the table, away from the flickering hologram.

Barney drank half of hers in one gulp.

Roads reached into a pocket, produced a cigarette and a lighter. He lit up and

took a deep, sour breath. "I need your help," he said to Morrow, getting down

to business. "I guessed as much." The Head rotated to face him. "How much do

you know?" "That you have a serious problem. I'm glad it's you and not me, no

offence." "Thanks. Are you going to help me?" "That depends. Are you going to

help me?" Morrow countered. "If I can." "How?" "I don't know. Put in a good

word, perhaps." "That won't be necessary. I have something more

concrete in mind." "Tell me." "First, the problem," said Morrow. "You've got a

thief to catch. And a killer too." "How much do you know?" "Enough. Since the

first of August, there have been thirty break-ins and eighteen political

assassinations within the city - all of them unsolved. The bulletin boards

think that both series of crimes were performed by one and the same person,

although RSD is treating

*t'as separate matters entirely. No-one has given the

a nickname yet, but the thief has been dubbed 'the

What little evidence you have in either case is

jo@oriclusive. In particular, the identikit pictures of the

are ... how do I put this? ... interesting. Motrow, smiled apologetically.

"You can't blame me for

been suspicious of you, at first."

don't." In the six weeks the Mole had been tin RSD had learned only one thing

about hi , 9 Im: -,he looked

exactly like Roads. After the first breakiti@`Ooads had been on suspension

until he could prove ,Wwilibi; he didn't like remembering the experience. "Is

you've found out?"

4@Absolutely not, my friend. I know that the murders vytre of highly placed

officials who actively supported the Reassimilation Bill. Mayor Packard is

down-playing the political motive behind the killings, but the thought of

joining the Reunited States of America has obviously ruffled, someone's

feathers. I know security has been Upped at Mayor's House, and another hundred

officers have been drafted from RSD to help with the arrival of General

Stedman on Tuesday." The Head winked. "I'm SUM,that's ruffled still more

feathers downtown. Or haVeRSD and the MSA finally reached a consensus that PW

not aware of?"

Roads didn't dignify the comment with a reply, although it certainly hit home.

RSD had evolved during the Dissolution from a small, privately-owned security

company. Kennedy's former police department and a

small Army garrison had been combined to form the Military Services Authority.

While RSD officers patrolled the streets and maintained civil law, the MSA`s

main task had originally been to keep external forces out of the city. In

recent years, however, the MSA`s authority had been extended to cover many

matters

dealing with the city's internal safety - a fact many oldhand RSD officers,

including Roads, resented.

Roads put aside the cigarette and leaned forward. "Go on." "The thief is

another kettle of fish," Morrow said, his face sobering. "And the one you're

after in particular -

the Mole, rather than the assassin. That's been your assignment for the last

six weeks. But you've had no luck thus far, and I can well see why.- "Oh?" "Of

course. The thefts were not of valuable items that would reappear later, as

the b-boards depict them, but of information concerning RSD resources,

movements of the MSA, reactor status and population figures, among other

things. Correct?" "Yes." The MSA break-in tended to overshadow the other

thefts, but Roads knew them all by heart.

Morrow went on: "It's hard to see why anyone would bother stealing this data

at all. There's so much of it, for a start, and of such variety. Who could

possibly find a

use for it all?" "That's what we've been trying to determine." Roads leaned

back into the seat, away from Morrow's probing stare. "As you say, the

evidence is nonexistent, and the few suspects we've uncovered all had alibis.

Motive is all that's left, and it's getting us nowhere." "So you've finally

come to me for help," Morrow said, the suggestion of a grin at the corners of

his mouth. "Do you suspect that I am involved, perhaps?" "No," Roads said.

"You could break into any system you wanted without sending in the heavies."

"Exactly. The computer sciences employed by this city are not what they used

to be." A fleeting regret clouded the Head's face, almost as though he missed

the challenge.

..,"They're still not exactly easy to break into," sai

ney irritably. "Whoever the Mole is, he knows what Is doing." "True," the Head

conceded. "So it would seem." "I'm hoping you might have heard something,"

"'Roads prompted. "A rumour, anything."

If I had, I would tell you for free." "Does that mean you haven't?" Roads

tried to keep .....,the disappointment from showing.

itated. "But it's strange," Not exactly." Morrow hes

d ' thought you would have guessed by now." :.:he sai . 'I "What?" asked

Barney. "Let's study the Mole's behaviour, shall we? He works under the cover

of darkness, often three or four nights in a row. He is a meticulous

professional, and he works alone. He does not socialise or talk to others,

for, if he did, someone would surely have seen him doing so b by no

y now "We know this, Keith," Roads said.

'he does'do on his nights off?"

Yes but have you ever stopped to ask yourself what

He had, frequently. "I've got a feeling you re going to W@,@ teU me."

"Exactly. And the time has come for me to ask for

that favour in return." "Go ahead." "It's quite simple," Morrow said. "I too

want you to catch the Mole."

Roads performed a mental double-take. "You what?" "I want you to catch him,

for even I am not immune to this invisible thief. On every night the Mole has

not

been robbing you, he has been locking horns with me.

And winning, I should add."

Roads almost laughed at the Head's expression. It must have hurt Morrow plenty

to even contemplate

Sean Williams - Metak Fatigue

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