S.L Huang - Root of Unity

ROOT OF UNITY

by SL Huang

Copyright 2015 SL Huang

The text of this book is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/.
For more information or further permissions, contact information is available at www.slhuang.com.

This non-commercial, "Hugo consideration" release of Root of Unity is issued under the same CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 International License, and the author does not know about or condone it beyond the terms of that license.

A new cover image was created to comply with the terms of the original cover's copyright. The new cover is released under a CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) Public Domain Dedication:
https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance in the text to actual events or to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Editing: Anna Genoese

C HAPTER 1

T HE LITTLE charge blew the safe open with a satisfying pop. The only thing inside was the flash drive Id come for; I tucked it into my inside jacket pocket, thinking in an idiotically conceited fashion that this job had been a piece of cake.

Then I turned around and found myself facing three assault rifles.

Well, shit.

We take a dim view of thieves in this house, said the one man not holding an M16. He flicked open a silver lighter and lit a cigarette, playing the casually evil villain clich to a T, down to his expensive suit and cavalier posturing. Probably one of the Grigoryan brothers themselves.

Thats funny, I said, considering that you stole this. Im just stealing it back.

Very high and mighty, said the Grigoryan man. He made a condescending tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. Strange attitude for someone I hear will take any job for the right price.

He knew who I was, then. I shrugged. Never said I didnt. My eyes flicked over his goons. Their gun barrels were trained on me steadily, their eyes unwavering. Well-trainedor perhaps they had been forewarned. Dammit. I was good, but I wasnt faster than a bullet.

The boss villain shook a finger at me, smiling as if I were a puzzle. Oh, you! You intrigue me. Cas Russell, am I correct? I hear you are a little lady with superpowers. At least, that is what they tell me, eh? He spread his arms expansively. Perhaps you could demonstrate them for us.

Superpower, I corrected. Just one.

And what is that? His smile was indulgent.

I can do math, I said. Really, really fast.

His smile flickered, like someone trying to figure out the punchline to a joke. One of the goons blinked, his gun barrel wavering for a precious split second.

I was ready. Lines and angles and pivot points whirled around me like a fourth dimension, a sixth sense. Trig functions and force calculations cascaded through my brain faster than thought. Todays problem was relatively simple: did the number of goons divided by the rate at which I could bash in goon heads equal less than the time it would take for one of the goons to shoot me?

It did, assuming the men only had normal human reaction time. Im very good at bashing in goon heads.

If there was any possibility one of them had some sort of unexpected ability, like me, I didnt give much weight to it. Mathematical expectation: the probability any of the goons was supernaturally fast, the probability one of them could get me with a nontrivial gunshot wound

More than worth the risk.

Before Goon #3 was halfway done blinking, I pivoted toward him, spinning to leverage one boot off the wall at the exact angle calculated to give me the force I needed. I slammed into him from the side, my leg shooting out to connect with his face with a sickening crunch as I wrenched the M16 away. Unfortunately, the momentum of that move carried the assault rifle toward Goons #1 and #2 stock first, with no time to spin it and line up a shot, but that was okay. While Goon #2 was still turning to get me back in his sights, I continued my M16s arc to slam into his weapon and followed through with my body, diving into a roll. Goon #1 got off a burst of automatic gunfire that sprayed over my head. I rolled out onto my back and pulled the trigger.

This M16 had been set on full auto, too. The weapon stuttered in my hands and Goon #1 jerked like a marionette with a bad puppet master before falling inelegantly back through a glass bookcase.

I rolled up to my feet, my borrowed M16 pointed at the Grigoryan brother. Goon #2 had managed to collect his battered weapon and had it retrained on me, but I ignored him.

Impressive, said the Grigoryan, his voice shaking a little. Damn well better be. Three goons neutralized in about two and a half seconds. I was good. But now we have a standoff.

Nah, I jammed up his weapon when I hit it, I said, jerking my head toward Goon #2. Thanks for giving your men M16s, by the way. AKs are a lot sturdier.

Grigoryans dark eyebrows drew together furiously and he glanced toward Goon #2, who tried to pull the trigger. A spectacular amount of nothing happened.

Bye now, I said to Grigoryan, and slid carefully out of the room, keeping an eye on him the whole time. He stared at me as I left, his cigarette dangling forgotten from a corner of his mouth.

It made my day. I liked impressing people.

Of course, now I had to get off the grounds. Grigoryan had probably raised every alarm in the place before he set foot in that room. I flicked the M16s selector lever to semiautoautomatic fire was for people more concerned with looking impressive and chewing up furniture than being deadly. I didnt need spray-and-pray; I needed precision.

The one thing M16s do pretty well is accuracy. If youre a good shot, its possible to hit a target six hundred meters away. And I was better than a good shot. When it came to guns, I was a fucking computer program.

Some peoplethose I might be tempted to call good peoplepreferred a fair fight. Sniping a target from a long distance without any warning at all was disturbing to them. Killing at all was disturbing to them.

I wasnt one of those people.

With every loud bark of the M16 in my hands, the projectile motion played out perfectly and another tiny target dropped in the distance, efficiently clearing my way to exit the Grigoryan estate. It was like reading a particularly artistic mathematical proof: every step as it should be, every piece following seamlessly from the last with no wasted moves.

The shouts and screams multiplied exponentially, emanating from all over the sprawling mansion. I didnt let any of the search parties get remotely close to me. Instead I played my own fucked up game of cat and mouse with them, one in which the mouse turned out to be an invisible assassin with an assault rifle who never missed.

I made it to the fence and set a ten-second charge. The explosion would bring them all running this direction, but by the time any of them made it this far, Id be long gone. Tomorrow Id deliver the goods and get paid, and this job would be over.

That was the part I wasnt looking forward to.

T WO DAYS later, I slumped very predictably in a bar, trying to drown myself in cheap whiskey. Also very predictably, it wasnt working.

I signaled the bartender for a fifteenth round. He frowned at me. I wasnt a large woman, and hed never seen me beforeI purposely didnt keep to a local. I could tell he was wondering if he should cut me off. It didnt help that even though I was legal, I probably could have passed for a teenager if I really tried.

Im not drunk, I said crossly. Yet. That was the goal.

You drive? he asked.

No, I lied. Unfortunately, I was just as good at math drunk as I was sober. Id never been in a car crash. At least not an unintentional one. Now give me another one.