Metal Fatigue by Sean Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

and the illusion of safety it gave. That was why the conservative members of the Council that had held the upper hand ever since the War had initially been reluctant even to acknowledge the existence of the RUSA. Only at the last moment, when it became clear that the envoy wasn't going to take no for an answer, had they backed down and allowed negotiations to take place.
    And now, if one believed the rhetoric, all the city's problems would soon be solved. General Stedman and his convoy were due in a matter of days, and Kennedy would join the Reunited States of America within a month, at least as a partner if not as a member. Trade routes would open, allowing an influx of resources the city desperately needed. People would be able to leave and enter at will — maybe not at first, but certainly within a few years. And if all went well, within a generation or two the damage caused by the Dissolution would be erased forever.
    If all went well...
    Roads wasn't so naive as to believe that it would happen so easily, but he was certainly a long way from the assassin's point of view — who had killed, and would certainly kill again, in order to prevent it happening at all.
    Eventually the vividness of the day became too much for him.
    "My turn to help out, I guess," he said.
    "Just get a straight answer out of him," Barney said, "and you'll have done well."
    He entered the house and descended the steps to the cellar like a vampire returning to its crypt.
    The scene was one of organised turmoil. Raoul, still wearing dark-tinted glasses to hide his eyes, sat on a desk and directed the efforts of the four officers he had been assigned. As they rummaged through boxes and cupboards, he wrote down the serial numbers of any parts they found. If the part had no number, he wrote a brief description of what it appeared to be instead. Once each part had been catalogued, it was returned to its original place. Without a genuine reason, RSD was unable to impound the contents of Morrow's underground operation.
    "How's it going, Raoul?"
    The black man looked up from his hand-held terminal. "Slowly. Give us a few more hours, and we'll have the first list ready for you. Then another hour to run it through the inventory."
    "What about the data?"
    "I've patched a link through to the Head. He's scanning the system now. An hour, tops."
    "Good." Roads stepped gingerly to a pile of electronic components and studied them thoughtfully. "What exactly was this place?"
    "None of your business." Raoul added another number to the list and looked away.
    Roads didn't press the point.
    "Phil?" Barney's voice floated down from the floor above.
    "Yes?"
    "Call from HQ."
    "On my way."
    He took one last look around before heading back up the stairs. Barney was waiting for him at the top.
    "Can't help bad timing." She gave him a mobile phone. "It's Chappel."
    "Oh, hi, Margaret," he said into the phone. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
    "Good morning, Phil." Her voice was crisp and freshly-ironed; he hated her for sounding like that. "This is more than just a social call, I'm afraid. We need you at the office."
    "Now? I'm a little tied up — "
    "The MSA has requested your presence for a meeting in half an hour. You don't have any choice, I'm afraid."
    Roads cursed automatically. "Damned soldiers." He reached for a cigarette. "Always sticking their nose in."
    "And meaning business, unfortunately," said Chappel. "Time's running out on us."
    "Tell me about it." He dragged deeply on the smoke, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, Margaret, I'll be there ASAP."
    "Good. I'll make sure there's coffee ready," she replied, and cut the connection.
    He gave the phone back to Barney.
    "What is it?" she asked, noting the expression on his face.
    "Some military bigwig wants a bullshit session. You're in charge until I get back — which won't be long, I hope."
    They left the house, blinking in the razor-sharp daylight, and headed for the patrol car. Roads climbed into the driver's