The Bridge Chronicles Trilogy (49 page)

Epilogue

April 30, 2029

2: 34 a.m.

Bridge waited in the giant sewer tunnel a mile on the Los Angeles side of the autonomous zone, trying hard not to dissect the various fetid smells of the water slowly rippling down the center of the tunnel. He wished he smoked just so he could mask the stench. His shoes were already ruined by his three block trek underground. Next time he’d wear boots or something. Maybe put on some of those shoe-protecting nanoskin sprays. These shoes cost more than he used to make in a week, but the first royalty checks had come in this week and he’d needed something legit to spend it on.

The premiere episode of
Gangland
had been released on the GlobalNet earlier tonight. The initial download numbers were staggering. At least 40% of all Los Angeles residents had streamed the broadcast live, with another 10% having paid to download it for later viewing. National and even some international numbers had come trickling in, each showing similar levels of success. Thames had called Bridge personally to congratulate him on their shared success, lathering such accolades on Bridge that his bunghole felt waxed to a sparkling shine. It always amazed Bridge how bundles of money smoothed out all the worst resentments.

The residents of the city had unofficially dubbed the Los Angeles Valley Autonomous Zone, formerly known as the Warehouse District and the Arts District before that, “Gangland.” The press conference announcing the establishment of the zone had been a circus, one Bridge had delighted in watching. Soto had hand-picked all the journalists allowed at the conference, choosing only the most softball-tossing corporate-friendly sycophants, and even then he’d had to face tougher questions than expected. Even corporate drones balked at the idea of a free-for-all zone filled with violent sociopaths and every manner of illicit good or act. Of course, their editors back at the office had done their appointed tasks, sanitizing the conference as much as possible to make the LGL’s plan appear as non-threatening as possible. The week prior to the premiere had been filled with the kind of talking head punditry that accompanied a media-manufactured controversy, the pointless nattering, overwrought moralizing and sensationalist discussion providing all the free publicity for the show’s premiere a television executive could want.

Bridge had watched the premiere live, and had to admit the whole thing made for exciting television. The Bottle City Boys fulfilled their role as cameramen and directors with unexpected proficiency, capturing the visceral feel of street combat while managing to provide adequate meta-context for the events with the practiced efficiency of the best sports broadcast. Stonewall’s
Los Magos
had planned and executed a lightning raid against one of
El Diablos’
warehouses in the southern tip of Gangland. Casualties had been light, but the Boys had captured at least three good deaths on camera, as well as many of the various less serious injuries. They’d capped the whole raid off with a spectacular explosion, all captured in glorious high-definition from multiple camera angles. A final cliffhanger showing a few members of AsiaTown ambushing the victorious
Los Magos
ensured there would be repeat viewers next week. If every week turned out to be as well produced as the premiere, money would fall from the heavens like rain.

As he stood waiting for his appointment in that sewer tunnel, hoping against hope that his visitor could make it out of Gangland without getting spotted, he replayed parts of the show on his internal HUD. Mu stood watch a few hundred meters away at the bottom of the ladder they’d used to enter the tunnel, surveying the scene with multiple invisible nanocameras flying undetected around Bridge’s position. Mu had been unhappy about Bridge’s deal with the Bottle City Boys, but a quick scolding by the Council at Bridge’s behest had put the technomancer back in line. At some point, Bridge knew he’d have to read Mu into his special relationship with the Council, or else be forced to switch bodyguards to keep the wizard out of the loop. He had gotten too used to Mu, too reliant on his abilities, so he knew the former would be his only option. The kid deserved to know a little of the truth eventually.

The zone itself had been prepared with startling speed. The entire area had been walled off within a week, giant concrete barriers twenty feet tall with concertina wire along the top now separated Gangland physically from the rest of Los Angeles proper. The subway lines had been cut, new tracks laid bypassing the area completely. All roads leading in and out were closed off by CLED-staffed checkpoints, and all entrants into the zone were photographed, identified and tracked. Only those who had entered legally were allowed to leave, keeping the Family members buttoned up in the zone at all times. Potential recruits to the gangs could enter as they wished, but if they earned the ink, they were forced to stay. Recruits came in droves, every wannabe thug coming from miles around for the opportunity to do their gangster shit without repercussions. Bridge did fantastic trade providing certified fake ID’s, provided by Chronosoft on the down low, allowing normal citizens to partake in the illegalities of Gangland anonymously… for a price. Bridge kicked back a portion to Chronosoft, a portion to the Families, and kept the rest himself, adding to the money he was already raking in for his silent turn as an uncredited producer. Gangland closed for business late Saturday afternoon and opened back up on Sunday morning, to keep those normal citizens out of the crossfire. It wouldn’t do to have regular jagoffs capped on live television.

Certain areas were off limits, of course. The Citizens Brigades took over a few buildings in the north zone, and the warehouse where the original meet had taken place became the epicenter of the television production. A few of the corporate TV crew worked in the building during the broadcast, buzzing around the stacks of crèches that were supposed to house the Bottle City Boys. Unknown to the crews, the crèches were completely empty, serving merely as dummy terminals for the Boys, who operated in hiding from multiple Glowbugged locations with the help of the technomancers.

The Panthers steadfastly refused to get involved with the violence, of course, setting up a fortress on the East Side of the zone as an outreach center. Despite their pacifism, they maintained a well-stocked arsenal, vowing only to use it in self-defense. Aristotle stayed with them, preaching the doctrine of non-violence to anyone who would listen. He would often be found wandering the zone, offering guidance and advice to the young black men who came looking for drugs or violence. Bridge could tell how happy this made him. Aristotle once said, “If I can be the guy who does for someone else what my grandmother did for me, it’ll all be worth it.” For once, Bridge let the doe-eyed optimism go by without sarcastic, cynical commentary.

Bridge regarded the money he took in from Gangland with suspicion. For one, it came to him in the form of corporate credit scrip, something he refused to use because of the ability for anyone in any corporation to track his purchases. He had the Bottle City Boys set up all sorts of fake transactions with the money, maintaining three apartments he never used, all under barely concealed names. If the corporation that had sent the assassin out after him sent another, they’d find it impossible to track him by normal means. His trade in Gangland passes on top of the money he made the old way provided more than enough untraceable cash to improve his standard of living, as well as his now-ruined shoes.

He had reached the credits of the highlights on his HUD, and froze the image on the cast picture of Stonewall. Frozen in a pose of masculine threat, running across a street under fire with an automatic shotgun in hand, Stonewall presented such a compelling figure of rebellious leadership, the ex-soccer star turned revolutionary gang leader. The image dissolved into the real life image of Stonewall as Bridge shut down his viewer. “Good to see you, brother,” Bridge said to the ex-soccer star.

“You too,
ese
,” Stonewall replied with a smile.

“You seen the show yet?”

“Not yet, no. How’d we look?”

“Fucking awesome. I totally believed the whole thing, especially the explosion. That bit was genius.”

“That was real.
El Diablos
still ain’t very good with explosives. They lost two in that fuckup.”

Bridge grimaced. “I told them to go easy on that shit. How’d the rubber bullets work out? I saw you took one in the shoulder.”

“Hurt like a motherfucker, but I’ll live.” He pulled his shirt aside, revealing a purple and yellow bruise on his dark skin. Bridge winced. “The blood packs worked perfect, though. Bullet hits the skin, blows up and makes it look like you’re bleeding. Hell, it looked real to me, and I knew it was fake. Made the doctor’s job confusing, though. They kept triaging the wrong casualties.”

“Heh, well, we had to make it look like each death was real. Other than the real deaths, that is. How many did you lose?”

“Calico took one of those rubbers in the eye. Docs couldn’t get to him in time.”

The words stuck in Bridge’s throat, but he managed to push them past his teeth anyway. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, brother.”

“Yeah.” Stonewall shuffled his feet sadly, pushing a rusted spring from the floor into the water with a tentative toe. “You think they bought my Bridge hater act?”

“Oh yeah, hook line and sinker. Thames actually offered me a new bodyguard in case you came after me. I declined, of course. Last thing I need is one of his eyes and eaӀ"0" wrs following me. The maps I give you guys work out all right?”

“I’m here, ain’t I? The sewers in and out are wide open. The half you said would be, that is.”

“Yeah, the Bottle City Boys did good work, thanks to that backdoor Freeman gave them. For all the CLED knows, every sewer tunnel in and out of Gangland is impassable to human beings. As long as you’re careful, you can move an army in and out of the zone without anyone being the wiser.”

“How long we gotta be their circus monkeys, Bridge?”

“Long as it takes, brother. You got what you wanted, Stoney. You got a completely independent commune for your Families, a place to start over with your own rules. You saved your tribe.”

“Yeah. Saved them from destruction by a corporate-controlled police state so they could die slow providing bread and circuses for the doped-up masses. Be careful what you wish for, eh?”

“Exactly. Look on the bright side. You now have a platform for spreading your message around the world. The ex-soccer superstar turned revolutionary. You can’t buy press copy like that. Well, you couldn’t. I could. The first webisode goes live midweek. You got your speech written?”

“Yeah. I’m going to talk about the inherent exploitative nature of capitalism or something.”

“Riveting. All right, what can I get you guys?”

They talked business for a few minutes. Bridge would use the now-secret subway tunnels to provide Stonewall with all the stuff he’d need that he wanted to keep secret from Chronosoft such as the special rubber bullets.

With business concluded, Stonewall turned around to go, then stopped and turned back. “You think this will work, Bridge? You really think this will undermine the whole LGL concept?”

Bridge pondered the question. His reply lacked conviction. “I don’t know, brother. But you and me both studied enough history to know how corruption eats away at a system like this. The whole thing was set up with corruption at the center. The system is designed to eat itself, and I say let it. All we’re doing is providing the tasty sauce.”

“You are one sick fucker, you know that, Bridge? How do you live with yourself?”

Without waiting for an answer, the gang leader disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. He likely never heard Bridge’s whispered response over the trickle of foul water.

“Not very easily, brother. Not very easily at all.” Angela’s face floated in his mind, a stabbing reminder of what he had to live with. He turned his back on the memory and vanished into shadow.