Готовый перевод Нова Проспект / Nova Prospect: Shinigami (Адам)

Shinigami (Adam)

* * *

A three-dimensional image of two twisted spirals hovered above the black surface of the table. An ocean of information encoded in chains of nucleotides.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?"

There was an almost religious reverence in Armitage's question. Technology had brought physical and mental illnesses that almost everyone but Taggart had kept silent about - the first augments had damaged biochemistry. The consequences ranged from mild crankiness to a completely blown-off roof. Armitage was not spared, judging by the biohorror-style interior.

"A DNA helix?" Adam shrugged. "Of course, I saw it."

However, he was not well enough versed in genetics to know exactly where to look.

"The girl... Let's just say she's not quite human," Armitidge replied with a sense of slight superiority. "The number of chromosomes is the same, but there are chains that are not found in the genome of a normal human."

Adam didn't like him calling Ciri a girl - she was at least twenty years old, dammit.

The DNA fragment on the projection enlarged several times.

"For example, this one," Armitidge highlighted the nucleotide chain with a red flash, "looks like a dormant HARE6 gene. It is involved in the formation of brain matter. In the girl, it's active."

It didn't take a look at his personnel file to realize that Armitidge had been a former teacher. His mentor's tone gave him away. Adam glanced at the monitor as Ciri leaned over the bar with a look of desperate boredom.

"Have you ever heard of Halberstam's theory? He wrote that the expulsion from Eden was merely a metaphor for a biological catastrophe, a metavirus that infected the human race and deprived..."

He has no time for religion and speculation.

"So what do you want in return?" Adam interrupted, shaking nonexistent dust off his cloak.

Armitidge's artificial fingernails tapped irritably on the smooth surface of the armrest.

Red Bank in China has become a household name, an urban legend like black helicopters. A repository of faces, fingerprints, and search terms. It is most likely just a fancy database - myths are just myths to embellish reality.

"The smallest thing..." As far as Adam was concerned, no "small thing" had ever turned out to be a small thing. "Meeting with Wintermute in Geneva."

Adam didn't associate Switzerland much with hackers. For a man who only needed a network, choosing a cheaper country made sense. Just one meeting - but why the hell?

Adam nodded. Anything could be promised. He'd make enough enemies by the end of this story - one more, one less - it didn't matter. Glossy, silicone-coated thin eyes drilled Adam.

Ciri, meanwhile, was ordering a drink, tapping her foot impatiently on the bar.

Armitidge erased the DNA image; the web of neon strands turned into a projection of a multi-level building. Someone had prepared well - Adam assumed an insider - too precise a scheme. The blue lines of the ventilation system intertwined with gray corridors, nodes indicating the location of surveillance cameras.

Three floors, two of which are underground. On the lower levels, four nodes are illuminated red: quantum supermachines, protected by a dense layer of metal from electromagnetic interference. Weird. How did they get in there...?

"There's no entrance," Armitage guessed the reason for the surprise, "no exit, either. Only service tunnels for miniature drones. But walls are no barrier to a girl, is it?"

If she can teleport. Even if she does.

"It's suicide," Adam shook his head. "Ciri couldn't differentiate a computer from a tin can, and you're suggesting we infiltrate a secure facility?"

The question was clearly expected; Armitage nodded to his assistant. The Japanese woman bowed respectfully and held out her hand to Adam. She held a small chip in her palm.

"Three years," Armitidge said slowly, "we've been trying to destroy the Bank. It took three years for logistics, sabotage, and bribery, to develop the virus. All you have to do is push the fall one."

Adam read the data and checked the coordinates. An unremarkable building in Yancheng, one of the many faceless creations of Communism. The Red Bank of the last red state had come to symbolize universal equality in front of Big Brother. Quite in the spirit of modern art.

"And why? Even a backup has a backup. Yes, there will be losses, but they'll recover most of it. Unless the cyber defense is run by a complete idiot, of course."

Something predatory flashed across Armitage's disfigured face.

"It's personal."

Espionage? Terrorist attack? Adam had enough headaches already to guess at his motives, though. As long as the security cameras lost sight of them, they had time to get to the nearest airfield. Malik will have to do the rest.

There are about a hundred active drones and the same number of soldiers in the building; there are a couple dozen civilians. If Armitidge's plan was to be believed, once they were infected with the virus, all the electrical engineering should be on their side. If not... Adam checked the optical camouflage system; in response to a status query, it gave a critical error.

"I need a mechanic."

"There's a clinic nearby," said Armitidge, and he coughed hoarsely, another shot of neuroposin flowing through a long tube into his vein. "I'll let them know you're coming. You'll spend the night there."

In the ghetto of Shanghai itself? That must be some illegal meat grinder.

The bar was empty. In the poor resolution, you could barely make out a rhythmically twitching figure in the crowd. Shit, she found time to dance! Adam zoomed in closer: the absent smile was still on Ciri's face. He'd been in drug enforcement too long not to know what that looked like.

What the hell?!

After a couple of seconds, the auditory module had to filter out the bass of the electro-techno-spidmix from the roaring speakers. The bright light coming from the stage diffused the semi-darkness, highlighting the faces of people immersed in dreams - or hallucinations.

Adam elbowed the dancers, not very politely, as he made his way to the other end of the room. Ciri was moving to the beat of the music, unaware of her surroundings, and he had to shake her by the shoulder to snap her out of her blissful trance.

Upon seeing him, Ciri blossomed into a smile and clung to his chest unequivocally. Wide-open green eyes glistened moistly. //"Have a fucking conscience. You're on a mission, she's in her early twenties, and she's high," Adam suppressed the non-work-related thoughts that flashed somewhere in the back of his mind.

Trying to keep his distance, he gently grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her toward the exit. The club erupted in black and white strobe flashes. Losing her balance, Ciri bowed awkwardly and collapsed against his arm. Adam quickly checked her pulse - rapid and uneven, but not critically so. Epilepsy? An allergic reaction?

The lights in the club faded, flashed, and faded again. The people parted, allowing him to lay Ciri on the neon-red couch. She was breathing convulsively. Her eyes rolled back, revealing whites reddened by burst vessels.

"The Hour of Cold," the metallic voice sounded as if it had been run through a synthesizer. "Duettaeann aef cirran caerme glaeddyv. Winter's stillness. The world will die, plunged into darkness, and be reborn with a new sun."

The speakers gave out with an unpleasant pop. The silence was broken only by someone's swearing and Ciri's otherworldly voice. Some woman called for a doctor.

"Destruction. Disintegration. Fracture," Ciri stamped in a quick staccato. It's horror-movie bullshit.

Someone pulled out a cell phone; the flash illuminated the girl's pale face.

"Okay, the show's over," Adam barked, lifting Ciri.

* * *

A set of hieroglyphics on a sign made of dead-neon tubes identified the building as the LEE GON EXPERIMENTAL CENTER.

Inside, it looked exactly as a clandestine clinic should: lousy. The brown-haired Chinese man at the front desk stared blankly into the void - Adam had to repeat the question twice before he reacted. The clientele was overwhelmingly made up of Triad members and other scum, and it was rare for any of them not to show signs of neuroposin addiction. Medicine and commerce were inseparable here: illegal modifications at bargain prices, clandestine medicines, and smuggled weapons.

"DIGITIZING THE HUMAN MIND IS DEATH! JOIN THE ANTI-TRANSHUMANISTS." - reads a poster on an armored door. Soon there will be no words left to which to add the prefix "anti". Slogans will not stop humanity's desire to surpass its capabilities.

The strong coffee revitalized the stiffened neuronal circuits a little. Adam had to watch almost all of Taggart's speech on the yellowed TV before the door opened and a suspiciously young medic smiled through thirty-two chrome teeth. Razor-sharp fangs - denture transplants in China are the latest fashion trend. The nametag read: Shangfu Appleby, specialist. A specialist in what, it didn't specify.

"Second overdose in one night," he sighed, listening to Adam. "When is this fucking Halloween going to end?"

In the medical chair, Ciri began to slowly regain consciousness as the medic deftly attached sensors to her temples. The sight of the wires cheered her up better than an electric shock. The blade glinted in the yellow light of the medical lamp and was right at Shangfu's jugular vein. It was hard to believe she didn't have enhanced reflexes.

"Kaonima!"

"Ciri, it's all right," said a slightly dazed Adam slowly. "He's a medic."

The green Mohawk didn't inspire confidence in him either, but he had no choice. When she heard the familiar voice, Ciri put her knife away.

Shangfu swore, but it was more for the sake of order - they weren't the strangest customers here, and credit wasn't something you could find easily. He pulled a syringe from the medical locker. Blood was being drawn, like in prehistoric times.

"What, the wheels didn't go?"

Small talk was clearly not the doctor's strong suit - no wonder with such a vocabulary he couldn't find a better place to work.

"What?"

"Bad trip, huh? That's the first time I've ever heard someone get a glitch from the speed."

"Adam?" asked Ciri helplessly.

And he doesn't have time for that either.

"Just examine," Adam waved his hand, meanwhile reading the security protocol.

"Has this happened to you before?" Shangfu asked, rubbing alcohol on Ciri's wrist.

She hesitated, flicking a strand of hair off her forehead.

"A long time ago, when I was a kid. I drank the wrong potion."

Adam broke away from his reading.

"What potion?" Shangfu was astonished.

"Lapwing, I think," Ciri replied thoughtfully, and explained, "from witch mushrooms."

The medic almost dropped the syringe, glancing at Adam. He shrugged. His ability to wonder has been squandered over the last couple of days.

"It's fun living there, in Eastern Europe," the guy sighed, apparently recognizing the language, and plunged the needle into Ciri's thin arm.

Adam had managed to get to the description of the laser sensors when the doctor's verdict came in:

"There's nothing wrong with you, Looney Toons. Don't eat junk and you'll live a long and happy life."

He wondered if he should have sent Ciri to the hospital room but decided it was too dangerous to let the girl out of his sight. She had fallen asleep on the couch, covered by a thin blanket.

Adam closed his eyes, trying to ignore the crackling of the prehistoric equipment as Shangfu ran diagnostics. The medic would leak a couple of Sharif Industries technologies, of course, but it wouldn't be much of a price to pay to see the "All systems operating normally" message again.

At least before Ciri sets off green fireworks. We need to test her abilities on a more or less safe testing ground. Adam wrote down the parameters in his head: distance of the portals, frequency of use, and radius of effect. Few things gave him greater satisfaction than lists and classifications. It's some order amid raging entropy.

"Selling guns?" Adam asked while the boy was rooting around the port in his chest.

"Anything you want for your money."

And a lot of money at that: the rates are ridiculous as if China had embargoed Hurricane and Steiner-Bisley in the last couple of days. At this rate, his bank account would be a memory. And so would his travel expenses - Tai Yun had tightened the screws on all international transactions. He strongly regretted that he had once advocated the abolition of the cache.

When Shangfu saw the order, he grinned crocodile-like. Adam was lucky that Sharif had been generous with his dental enamel.

Ciri stirred in her sleep, throwing off her blanket. She had scratched her leg somewhere, a thin scratch stretching from knee to ankle.

"Why don't you buy some Looney Toons too?" Shangfu came up with another way to fill his pockets. "Cause in shorts, she'll run before the first bullet. That won't last long."

A reasonable point: Adam had added another item to the list. All that was left was to tell Malik what an exciting journey she would have tomorrow. He forwarded the files to Pritchard and added the seizure video.

The old hospital rooms in the clinic had been converted into guest rooms. The clean twin-hinged bed smelled of disinfectants, the shower stall was starting to pull away from the wall it had been glued to with epoxy. Adam looked out the dirty window. Outside, a fine, nasty drizzle rustled, leaving beads of droplets on the glass.

Ciri wrinkled her nose and opened her eyes as he tried to shift her onto the bed.

"Do you feel better?" Adam asked.

Dark circles under her eyes, and her Atomic Kittens T-shirt was stuck to her body. Poor thing, she'd been through a lot. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a sharp urge to protect flared up. The urge that had once compelled him to apply to the Detroit Police Department.

"Yes," Ciri sighed, making herself comfortable on the bed. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

She was silent, wiping drops of sweat from her temple with the back of her hand.

"Your booze is bad, that's all. It makes you bounce around like your Kelpie in the swamps," Ciri hesitated before continuing: "I don't know what got into me, then, in the hall."

"Never mind."

There was silence again. Adam thought of something that might cheer her up.

"Armidge sent you something. He wanted to apologize for the inconvenience."

He'll regret it, of course, but a gift is a gift.

Such big eyes Adam hadn't seen in a long time. Ciri jumped up from the bed and grabbed the outstretched vakizashi. She assumed a fighting stance, twisting around a couple of times, trying to find her center of gravity. The weapon was clearly unfamiliar to the girl - but still much better than if it had been a gun.

"You'll get your playtime," Adam grinned. "You need to rest. I'm right here if you need me."

He nodded at the floor, Ciri glanced skeptically at the red smudges on the cheap laminate flooring.

"Okay, it's a wide bed," she shrugged: "You're not going to attack me in my sleep, are you?"

Is it coquetry or normal medieval girl apprehension? He shouldn't have turned off the CASIE after all. Adam bet on the former.

"More like you on me," Jensen joked back.

Ciri tucked her hair back behind her ear and smiled broadly. A gift was a surefire way to cheer a woman up, after all. What kind of freak would scar her cheek?

Adam went to the bathroom, leaving Ciri alone with her new toy. The room reeked of cheap makeup and cigarettes, and the walls of the stall were covered with dirty stains. Adam immediately remembered how devilishly he wanted to smoke and patted his pockets, hoping he'd find something.

Empty.

Adam looked at his reflection with a frown. There was no razor. He released the blade from his forearm with a sigh. One wrong move and the news would report the most ridiculous suicide in the county.

++"Message from nucl3arsnake: I looked at your fucking plan, Jensen, and if you want my opinion, you've clearly eaten drugs together."

"Do you have a better idea?"

++"Message from nucl3arsnake: No. But I promise Malik and I will water the flowers on your nameless grave."

Pritchard's right, the odds are shittier than shit. Did he ever have any others? What are the odds of surviving a bullet to the temple? Losing his parents twice? Meeting an alien from another world?

Adam pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the hot water. It was a luxurious ten minutes until the boiler gave a long whistle.

Ciri pretended to sleep as he settled on the other side of the bed, keeping the puritanical distance of half a meter. But as soon as he turned his back to the wall, curious eyes stared back at him.

How many questions had he heard, veiled and frankly tactless: //"Are you all iron? Can I touch you? And how is it there - cut off or left? Are you bionic too?". He quickly learned to send amateur biologists to hell.

And he rarely slept with women in the same bed rather than calling a cab right afterward.

"Listen," Adam said a second before falling into slumber, "who's the Calpy, and why is he galloping across the moors?"

"She," Ciri replied equally sleepily, "is afraid of the Foglers.".

Makes sense. He can't believe he didn't figure it out in the first place.

* * *

There was no testing ground. So the experiments had damaged a couple of light bulbs, three computers, and one life-support system - the shaved-headed brute was lucky to have a spare. The preliminary results confirmed Adam's suspicions: the shorter the distance, the easier for Ciri to teleport. The relatively safe distance for implants was about three meters. Magic, if the girl was to be believed, was hindered by "invisible waves," but what kind of waves - it was necessary to check under other conditions.

Armitidge was not deceptive with the transportation: the automatically controlled truck arrived at the appointed place. The hacker's implant docked with the terminal, and white lines flashed across the black background. Hacked masterfully: either Wintermute had something to do with Tai Yun or he was a fucking genius. He'd injected a metavirus into the system, forcing the system to infect itself with customized code. It was the first time Adam had seen such a thing in practice.

The truck was speeding along an incredibly straight highway, like a surgical incision, in the middle of the desert that China had become. Outside of the megacities, no people are left willing to breathe the unfiltered emissions of the industrial giants. Everything is as the party promised - a Chinese miracle without limits and boundaries.

Qiri, clad in black armor that seemed to absorb light, leaned against the wall of the cargo bay. The confined space was lit only by a pair of fluorescent lights. Patient explanations of the dangers of the monomolecular blade were ignored, and she twirled the wakizashi in her hands, admiring the chrome sheen.

The girl's stomach suddenly made a long rumbling sound. Adam handed Ciri a hamburger he'd bought from a vending machine. She sighed heavily and took a bite of half a bun, smearing ketchup on her cheek.

"It's hard for you here," she said out of the blue after a few moments of silence. "Let's say we run away from this land. What then?"

"We'll get to Detroit," Adam replied absent-mindedly, checking the route on the terminal.

"And then what?"

The question hangs in the air. Then? A biological scan and an attempt to replicate the gene. A bunch of unpleasant conversations with Sharif, a deal with his conscience, and Ciri's safe return to the land of sword and magic. By whatever means.

"You'll have to spend a couple of days in the lab," Adam said. "Don't worry, no one will hurt you."

Ciri looked at him very carefully as soon as he said the word "laboratory," and it wasn't because of any difficulty in understanding. Her green eyes narrowed, which didn't bode well. Hell, if she tried to get away from him as well, chaos would ensue.

"Believe me, I'm sick of labs."

Adam understood her. He, too, hated hospitals, labs, and anyone who wanted to help without asking permission. Ironically, that role now fell to him. He stepped away from the terminal and squatted beside her.

"Ciri," he said firmly, "I told you I won't let you get hurt."

Her features softened subtly. Ciri was uncomfortable in the tight jumpsuit, tugging at the sleeves and collar now and then.

"It's okay to chivalry, I can take care of myself," she was silent for a moment before adding a little more quietly, "But thanks anyway."

They drove in a steady stream of perfectly disciplined vehicles until dawn began to break through the smog. The truck pulled out to the bay and turned toward the sea.

* * *

During the operation, Adam's brain switched into a different mode - not literally, of course. He liked the feeling of it: unnecessary thoughts faded into the background, and only the target remained in his mind. The target. And the means. He felt nothing else.

Infrared sensor, terahertz sensor, external sound processing - "all systems online". He missed this message.

ETA is ten minutes.

A schematic of the interior appeared before his eyes: dull gray ceiling blocks reinforced by crossed beams, a bare concrete floor, and a maze of corridors made of corrugated steel. Adam noted the places to disable magnetic anomaly detectors and laser sensors.

Two figures illuminated in the thermal spectrum approached the truck. It was protocol: additional inspection. Twenty-first century still there's a misconception human factors can reduce the likelihood of error.

Any warm-blooded creature in the cargo hold would have set off the alarm systems. Ciri knew where to teleport - a flash and Adam was alone in the car. Discharges, crackling, ran up and down his back.

Footsteps. One, two, three. Soles rustled on the granite. Camouflage hid his body temperature. To the eyes of the guards, Adam merged with the chrome walls. A short, curt command. Footsteps in the opposite direction.

The truck moved off. No one noticed the transparent silhouette leaving the car near one of the service entrances.

Ciri was waiting for him, hiding behind a door labeled "NO ENTRY". The camera in the corner was blackened and crackling.

The corridor inside was brightly lit by powerful lamps hidden in recesses in the ceiling. The distance to the ventilation hatch was about three meters from the floor. Adam nodded to Ciri - she climbed onto his shoulders and pulled herself up, skirting into the opening. It's better not to resort to teleportation too often. Hell knows how long it would last.

He jumped in next. There was barely enough space to accommodate a technician checking equipment.

Ciri crawled ahead, nimbly squeezing through the narrow passage. The armor was a little tight on her. Not that Adam was complaining about the view.

The ventilation system must have been designed with intruders in mind - short sections. Inside, as usual, junk piled up: scraps of fiber optic cables, dust, and scraps of paper. When an airlock appeared in front of Ciri, she pushed on it with all her might. Contrary to expectations, the wheel turned easily enough.

Another perfectly clean corridor with white walls, an exact copy of the previous one. The terahertz sensor picked up movement behind the thin walls. Kitchen and storage areas: this part should be mostly civilian.

Indeed - the man cursed loudly when he saw Jensen and tried to pound his fist on the alarm button. Faster than the man could realize it, Adam brought his hand up to his neck. The taser turned the man's nervous system into skeins of red-hot barbed wire in an instant. Body collapsing, Adam unceremoniously shoved the bystander into the nearest storage room.

Terminal One. Ciri slumped nervously against the wall, listening for footsteps as Adam loaded the Wintermute meta virus into the system.

...PLEASE DON'T TURN IT OFF.....

Someone was coming this way. Judging by the heavy footsteps, in armor. Adam gritted his teeth.

...DONE...

Click. There was a loud crackle - somewhere in the distance, a fake alarm went off. The first stage of the contamination had gone according to plan.

Adam pulled the data from the cameras - patrols were moving toward the lower levels of the building, clearing the way to the next room. It's the final station. From here, Ciri would be able to teleport without risking getting stuck in the wall.

The two drones that remained on guard blinked green LEDs as they came into view. For once, someone had done all the work for him.

The room matched the projection exactly. Every surface was covered with screens, and a cluster of projectors hung from the ceiling. Above the desk, a holographic display of some kind of data slowly rippled. There was nothing in the room that wasn't made of artificial materials.

Time was running out; Adam sat in front of the terminal and typed a command, a series of data and numbers sliding across the screen.

...ERROR....

The doors behind them slammed shut with a metallic clang. The lines ran down the monitor at machine-gun speed, and the outline of a ghostly human face was beginning to be visible in the stream, staring through it at Adam.

The symphony of alarms and beeps turned into a hysterical howl. The adrenaline in my blood began to rise exponentially.

...FATAL ERROR....

* * *

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