Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

G oernx

I crouched in the shadows of the abandoned commerce district, my cybernetic systems running in stealth mode. The dilapidated storefronts and crumbling infrastructure provided perfect cover for clandestine meetings and perfect ambush points. My contact was already twenty-three seconds late.

A flicker of movement caught my enhanced vision. Three levels up, western quadrant. I tracked the motion while maintaining my position, processing the signature. Not my contact. The heat pattern suggested a human, not a cyborg, and someone was moving with too much skill for it to be casual.

We were being watched.

I activated my subvocal comm link. "Meeting compromised. Switch to alternate location beta."

No response. Not unexpected, but concerning. I began calculating exit vectors, my combat subroutines spinning up in the background. The afternoon's diplomatic session had left me with more questions than answers, and now these complications .

A sudden burst of encrypted data hit my neural network. Origin point: directly above. I processed it instantly.

GENEVA WASN'T THE END. IT WAS THE BEGINNING.

The data packet disappeared as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind a familiar digital signature. My processors kicked into overdrive, cross-referencing the pattern against my archived files. The match hit like a physical blow: it was identical to transmissions recorded during the Geneva Collapse.

Movement again, this time multiple signatures. They were closing in. I had nineteen seconds before their converging paths would trap me in this position.

I initiated emergency protocols, my cybernetic enhancements flooding my system with combat optimizations. As I moved, my mind was already processing the implications of the message. Geneva. Always back to Geneva. Back to where Clover lost everything and where this whole conspiracy might have started.

The thought of Clover sent an unexpected surge through my emotional processors. Earlier today, watching her navigate the diplomatic minefield with Syntax-7, I'd admired more than just her professional skills. There was something about her that defied my usual analytical approach.

A projectile whizzed past my head, impacting the wall behind me with a soft thud. Tranquilizer dart. They wanted me alive. Interesting.

I vaulted over a fallen support beam, my enhanced muscles propelling me into the shadows of a defunct retail space. My pursuers were good, their movement patterns suggested professional training. But they were still human, limited by organic constraints.

I wasn't.

"Target moving to sector seven," one of them whispered into a comm unit. My enhanced hearing picked it up easily. "No clear shot."

"Maintain pursuit," came the response. "Priority one is the data package."

They were after the message, not me. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I accessed my secured memory core, reviewing the surveillance footage I'd gathered over the past weeks. Delegate Chen's suspicious meetings. Martinez's encrypted communications. Koda's unexplained absences.

A pattern emerged, one that sent warning signals cascading through my neural network. The same pattern I'd noticed in Clover's historical files from Geneva, but I'd dismissed it as a coincidence.

It wasn't a coincidence. It was coordination.

I needed to warn her. But first, I had to shake my pursuers and verify my suspicions. I initiated my holographic projector, creating multiple copies of my heat signature. As they scattered in different directions, I slipped through a maintenance shaft, engaging my stealth systems to full capacity.

My internal chronometer showed 19:42 when I finally reached the secure observation post I'd established weeks ago. From here, I could monitor key areas of the diplomatic quarter while remaining undetected. I began processing the data I'd gathered, looking for connections.

The diplomatic feeds showed Clover still in her office, working late as usual. She was reviewing treaty documents, but her body language suggested distraction. My enhancement zoomed in on her notebook where she was drawing those circles again, the same pattern I'd noticed during moments of stress.

I studied her face, noting the way her brow furrowed in concentration, how she absently tucked strands of blonde hair behind her ear. My emotional subroutines tagged these observations as "irrelevant," but I archived them, anyway.

A movement in the corridor outside her office caught my attention. Delegate Martinez, trying very hard to appear casual as he planted something under a decorative panel. My scanners identified it immediately: a quantum data siphon, designed to intercept secure communications.

The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture I didn't like. I pulled up the Geneva files, focusing on the events immediately preceding the collapse. The patterns aligned with an 89% match. They were setting up the same play, but this time on a much larger scale.

And Clover was right in the middle of it.

My processors spun through options, calculating risks and probabilities. The logical choice was to maintain distance, continue gathering intelligence. But watching her there, unaware of the net closing around her, triggered something that bypassed my logical circuits entirely.

I opened a secure channel to her private comm:

Need to meet. Urgent. The Nexus Gardens, 22:00. Come alone.

I watched her receive the message, noted the slight tensing of her shoulders, and the quick glance around her office. She was cautious, good. She'd learned from Geneva. But would she trust me enough to come?

"Message received and acknowledged," she sent back. "I'll be there."

I settled in to wait, my systems continuing to monitor the diplomatic quarter. Over the next two hours, I documented seven more suspicious interactions between the delegates I'd been watching. They were getting bolder, more confident. That suggested a timetable with one that was approaching its end point.

At 21:45, I observed Clover leaving her office. She took an indirect route to the Gardens, checking for tails. Her caution impressed me. She'd learned more from Geneva than anyone suspected.

I made my way to our meeting point, choosing a position that gave me clear sightlines in all directions. The Gardens were beautiful at night, the bioluminescent flora casting soft blue light across the paths. It was calming, but my combat systems remained on high alert.

She arrived precisely on time, her professional demeanor firmly in place. But I detected elevated heart rate, subtle tension in her posture. She was nervous, but controlling it well.

"Alright, Goernx," she said softly. "No more cryptic warnings. Tell me what's really going on."

I studied her for a moment, my systems running one final analysis. Everything depended on this moment and on whether I could trust her, and whether she could trust me.

"What do you remember about the last transmission from Geneva," I asked, "before everything went dark?"

She stiffened, her hand automatically reaching for her notebook. "That's classified information. How do you?—"

"Because I was there," I interrupted. "Not physically, but I was monitoring the quantum channels. I saw the pattern then, just as I'm seeing it now."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You're talking about the Geneva Protocol. The failsafe that never activated."

"No," I said, stepping closer. "I'm talking about why it never activated. About who made sure it couldn't."

A soft gasp escaped her as the implications hit. "You're saying..."

"The same people who orchestrated Geneva are here now," I confirmed. "And they're using the same playbook. Only this time, the stakes are much higher."

I reached into my secure memory core and extracted a data crystal. "This contains everything I've discovered so far. Including..." I hesitated, knowing this next part would hit her hard. "Including the real reason your friend Mitch died."

She took the crystal with trembling fingers. "How long have you known?"

"Not long enough to prevent what's coming," I admitted. "But maybe long enough to stop it, if you're willing to help."

Her blue eyes met mine, searching for something. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because she straightened her spine and nodded.

"I'm in," she said firmly. "Whatever it takes."

I was about to respond when my threat detection systems suddenly spiked. Multiple signatures converging on our position. I grabbed her arm, pulling her into the shadows just as a beam of energy scorched the ground where she'd been standing.

"We need to move," I whispered. "Now."

But as we turned to flee, my sensors picked up something that made my processors stutter: a quantum signature I hadn't detected in years. One that should have been impossible.

It was Mitch's personal encryption key.

The dead, it seemed, had secrets of their own.