Part three

Disaster strikes

„Out of the way, babe!"

„...wheelchair-bound, free lance cyber journalist, former co-owner of Cale Industries, died, shot execution style in his home in the Fogle Towers. The self proclaimed free voice of the city *was* traced, *was* stopped and is no more."

Max didn't know how she passed the checkpoint. She remained rooted on the side, unable to process any thought as the triumphant female voice droned on.

„...Military Police have taken over the case. Stay tuned for more information as KIPH brings you the hottest news in town."

Her sensitive ears didn't hear the sector police yelling at her. She was however painfully aware of the hushed voices murmuring in the background.

„Cale? Wasn't he...?"

„Yes, ...killer hoverdrones..."

„...transgenic ass kisser..."

„...mayor Steckler..."

„Eyes Only ? ...fucking crip..."

Her fingers gripped the bike with incredible fierceness, as if needing to feel it, to make up for the gaping hole in her heart and the numbness enveloping her brain.

NO ! Logan. Logan ! Logan ???

Max raced through the crowded streets, not even noticing the one or the other person barely making it to the sidewalk. Hands clenched tight on the bike, head spinning, heart pumping madly, she tried to get her mind to work again. An X 5 soldier caught by surprise, lacking the necessary focus to concentrate on the mission ? A disgrace. What mission ? Where was Lydecker when one needed to be yelled at ?

Her brain seemed to be stuck on a loop, endlessly repeating a name, almost like in a chant: Logan, Logan, Logan. He had looped the video camera at Manticore so that they could get in. But she had died in his arms. Was this what he had felt ? Helpless ? Powerless ? What could she do ? She had rushed to his rescue several times, in each instance relying on split second decisions, not thinking even for a moment that he could actually die. She had jumped off a building after him, certain she would catch him in time.

While he had been in serious danger more than once, she never had to actually face the idea that he was gone. There had always been a loophole: a transfusion, an antidote, the voice clone of Eyes Only. There had always been something for her to focus on, never giving her the time to really think about losing him.

„Shot execution style". No loophole there. Tears were threatening to overwhelm her, blurring her perfect vision; the own pulse was madly rushing in her ears. Just then, an incredible loud and high pitched tone made her jump in her seat, somewhat loosening the dead grip she had on her bike. Someone was paging her.

She stopped on the side of the road to check her pager. Original Cindy. She couldn't deal with her friend right now. For the fraction of a second her hand had trembled as she wanted to clip the pager back to her belt. And then it really started trembling, as the information slowly seeped through to her hazed brain. There had been another call three hours earlier. From Logan.