Unfeeling.
Her jaw trembled. Jett behaved more distant every time she saw him. She wanted him to be like he was before. Kind, caring. Affectionate. It wasn't fair. The better she got at being Spitfire, the more he built walls between them. She hated it.
She was still lost in her gloomy thoughts when she picked at her food later that evening. She didn't even hear Qhawa until the third time she asked a question.
"What?"
Qhawa gave her a wry grin. "So, she talks after all."
Mira idly toyed with her fork. "Just not hungry."
"I can see that. I thought things went well tonight."
"They did."
"Then what's the problem?"
Mira gave her plate a sullen stare. "Nothing."
"Mira."
She glanced up.
"No lies in this house."
Mira sighed. "It's … stupid. Don't wanna talk about it."
Qhawa gave her a knowing stare. "It's Jett, isn't it?"
Mira nodded miserably. "It's just … he's not the same. I don't think he … cares about me. Not like he used to."
Qhawa leaned back in her chair, dark eyes studying her for a moment. Finally, she smiled. "You're worried because things have changed."
"Well, yeah."
"Things are different. He didn't want you to partner up with him. He wanted you safe, away from the danger. And you know why."
Mira ran the scenario and came up with the obvious answer. "Because … he does care."
"That's right. But you chose to become Spitfire. You wanted to be like Jett. You wanted to help him, be his partner."
"Yeah."
"Then be his partner."
Mira lifted her head, giving Qhawa a quizzical glance. "That's what I'm doing."
"You can't have it both ways, Mira. Jett looked at you like a daughter, but now he has to see you as a partner. Those aren't the same things. He has to step back to make sure you grow into that role because he can't afford to be worried about your safety every time you wear that outfit. He wants to make sure you can handle yourself and be prepared at all times because things are going to get harder from here. Trust me, I know. Jett makes new enemies every day, and every single one of them would love to hurt him by any means possible. That makes you a target just as much as he is. You can't let feelings get in the way of things. Not if you want to survive. And not if you want to continue on as Spitfire."
"I do."
"Then let go. I told you from the beginning: being the partner of Vigil demands sacrifice if you want to succeed. You have to embrace the discipline. If you do, you'll be there when he needs you. Understand?"
Mira slowly nodded. "Yeah. I understand."
"Then finish your meal. We have work to do. Part of being Vigil's partner is helping him whether he welcomes it or not. Right now, he's being spread out too much, bled by a thousand tiny cuts. It's your job to focus on narrowing things down. Find the source of the problem, and you can slow the bleeding. You need a reliable contact, someone who knows the city from the bright lights to the dark underbelly."
A sly grin slid across Mira's lips. "I know somebody."
Ⓥ
Her sister sat in a strip of shade created by a slim hornbeam tree, alone in the grove planted in the rear of the Youth Haven. Zoe's self-designed holovisor covered most of her impish face, leaving only the bottom half visible. She swayed back and forth, humming a warbling tune as she waved her arms back and forth, fingers motioning as if casting spells. Her skinny legs protruded from baggy shorts, but she wore an oversized sweatshirt despite the heat.
Mira smiled. "Hey, Zoe."
Zoe paused, lifting up her goggles to stare upward with hazel eyes that practically glowed in the sunlight. "Hi, Mira."
Mira dropped beside her sister and threw her arms around her narrow shoulders. "Missed you."
Zoe grinned and leaned her head against Mira. "You too."
"You light as a bird. Need to eat, yo."
"Birds fly. Maybe me too. Did you bring the giant with you?"
"Jett? No, I don't know where he is."
"He's busy. Like you."
"I'm sorry, Zoe. It's been—"
"Busy. I know. You got work to do." She winked knowingly.
"Not too busy to drop by more."
"No problem. I've been busy too."
Mira took a hasty look around and lowered her voice. "I know. Seen the news. Network looks good."
Zoe tapped the holovisor "Getting there."
"Well, I think I need your help." Mira took another quick look around, but there still was no one in sight. "He needs your help. Have to narrow things down."
Zoe's expression turned somber. "Been scanning nonstop. Jacking systems, surveillance. Came up with something. A name."
"Just a name?"
"Dark name. Dangerous." Zoe tapped a sequence on the cy-gear on her arm. A second later, Mira's holoband buzzed. The word STYX scrolled across her screen, followed by a low-res gobble-monster that quickly ate the letters a few moments later.
"You see it?"
"Yeah."
"Pass it to him. It'll help him track Janus."
"Who's that?"
"Man who thinks he's a god."
"Okay." Mira glanced at her sister, who removed her helmet and closed her eyes, letting the rare breeze stir her wispy hair. With her girlish looks and childlike demeanor, no one would suspect that Zoe was the enigmatic Sentry, founder of the Cult of V. Behind the wide-eyed stares and the trauma, her sharp mind and mastery of computers allowed her to network, broadcast, and recruit disciples in the name and example of Vigil. She dealt with the horror of her past experiences every day but still managed to put her skills to good use for a cause she believed in.
Reaching out, she squeezed Zoe's hand. "Proud of you, sis."
A smile dimpled Zoe's cheek. "You too, sis."
Mira glanced around. Heat rippled across the asphalt, banishing the children off the basketball courts and playgrounds to the refuge of the air-conditioned building. The buildings shimmered in the haze around them, harsh sunlight glinting off the tinted windows. In the shade of the hornbeam tree, she and her sister could have been the only people in the world. It wasn't a bad sensation at all. It felt good. It felt right.
She sagged against the tree and thrust her hands behind her head. "Think I'll stay a while."
"Okay."
Ⓥ
"Hello, Khan."
Khan whirled around at the sound of the mechanical voice, panels in his cybernetic arm sliding back to allow the laser cannon to protrude from his palm. The safehouse was dimly lit, giving him only a glimpse of the shadowy figure that had somehow entered without detection. Before he could fire a shot, the weapon powered down with a dying whine, electric-blue lights blinking until they fizzled out.
Khan swallowed and took a hesitant step backward, reaching behind for the heat stashed under the workstation table.
The stranger raised a mechanized handgun. "Don't bother."
Khan slowly raised his hands. "How'd you track me, Vigil?"
"Vigil?"
The man stepped into the light. His dark exoskeleton armor gleamed, but it was the head that caught Khan's attention: entirely encased by a metallic, intricately detailed skull. It seemed to grin at Khan as if amused by his discomfort.
"My name isn't Vigil. And as you noticed, I took the liberty of shutting down your cybernetics so we could have this little chat."
Khan's muscles quivered with adrenaline when the recognition dawned. "I know you."
"No, you don't."
"I know of you. No one's seen you in decades. Not since—"
"I know."
Under his helm, Khan blinked flop sweat from his lashes. "What happened to my guards?"
"They were worthless."
"Did you kill them?"
"I just told you."
"You here to kill me?"
The intruder made a tiny gesture. Khan stared as the panels in his arm-canno
n winked back on, humming as they recharged the weapon.
"No, Khan. I'm here to make a proposition."
Khan quietly exhaled a sigh of relief. "What kind of proposition?"
"You have a lot of soldiers. I need them."
"For what?"
"To unleash hell on my command."
"What if I say no?"
The skull's grinning teeth glinted in the muted light.
"You won't."
Chapter 14: Negotiations
Jett worked out with the Constrictor, gritting his teeth against the strain. The exoskeleton frame was equipped with adjustable resistance cables that made every movement require extra effort. He went through several fighting forms, kicking and striking a poly-canvas heavy bag. Sweat slid down his face and slicked his bare chest, unheeded while he lost himself in the muscle strain and stress release.
"Nice work," Raven said, tossing him a towel. Turning to the students gathered around in a semicircle in the old gymnasium, she gestured.
"How about a round of applause for Mr. Wolfe taking time out of his busy schedule to demonstrate for us?"
The sweat-dampened children clapped obediently as Jett extracted himself from the Constrictor. He recognized a few faces—kids that popped up at the Youth Haven now and then. The rest were strangers, but they were polite and attentive for the session.
Raven looked different than when he encountered her at her father's church. She appeared more relaxed, comfortable in the worn and rusted atmosphere. The gym was outdated, the equipment mostly donated, but she kept it clean and organized. Casual in her gym outfit of snug leggings and cropped top, her athletic figure was on full display, her long dreadlocks pinned into a loose bun. She directed the children with firm familiarity, knowing every face and name.
"Okay, let's get some gloves and pads and square up. Keith, adjust your stance. Legs just so. Jen, don't just stand there—put your guard up."
Jett followed her lead, assisting the children as they paired off and sparred awkwardly, most wearing mismatched and ill-fitting gear. He meant to only stay an hour but ended up spending the afternoon. In between providing instruction, he chatted with Raven, who surprised him by being friendly and open.
She studied a demonstration he gave to a pair of students. "Interesting technique."
"Thanks."
"I'm not familiar with your style. Looks like a martial arts cocktail."
"That's a good description. It's called kizaru, the art of the Shido Warrior."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not making this up, are you?"
He laughed. "Just because you never heard of it doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
"Yeah, I guess. What's a Shido Warrior?"
"Oh, just an arcane faction of deadly fighters that vowed to protect humanity from the deadliest of threats. I only know of them because my brother was trained by one. In fact, he might have been the last of their kind. I tried to learn what I could, but I was nowhere as skilled."
"Your brother, huh?"
"Yeah. Two years senior. He's dead."
Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."
He waved the apology away. "No need. It was a long time ago. What about you? Do you have any siblings?"
Her gaze dropped. "I did. A brother. Not anymore. He was murdered three years ago."
"Sorry to hear that. I know it must have been hard."
"It was. He was three years younger than me. I was supposed to look out for him." For a moment, her eyes drifted. "He was special. Didn't deserve to go out like that."
"Few people do. Did they catch the person that did it?"
Her expression darkened. "No. It was just another unsolved murder in the Warrens. Cops went through the motions, but they don't really care. My father took it especially hard. It changed the way he preached, the way he approached his ministry."
"Less forgiveness, more fiery judgment, I'm guessing."
"You noticed."
"He's not exactly a subtle speaker."
A smile touched her lips before vanishing. "No, he is not. I worry about him sometimes."
"Seems to be doing okay doing his church thing."
She sat on a rickety stool, staring at her nylon-wrapped hands. "I don't know. The militant vibe, all the combat training … it's bound to catch all the wrong type of attention."
"Is the Church of Divinity that strict?"
"Let's just say that you don't want to stand out. They like their message served like donated meals: bland but filling. Season it too much, and they look for another cook."
"Sounds like you're worried about him losing his minister's license."
"Not that it will stop him. The gospel is in him—he'll preach on a wooden crate on the streets if it came down to it. No, I'm more worried about—" She cut off, giving Jett a wary look.
He decided to switch gears. "Your father trained you in self-defense, didn't he?"
She nodded. "It might not be 'the art of the Shino Warrior,' but it's effective."
"Oh, are those shots fired? Well, let's see what you got."
She looked up, a smirk on her lips. "You sure you wanna be embarrassed in front of an audience?"
"Wow, someone's really feeling herself." Stepping over to the careworn mats, he beckoned. "Show me what a church girl fights like."
Laughing, she leaped to her feet.
"You're on."
Ⓥ
Nearly an hour later, she walked him out of the gym into the sweltering evening air. "Nice work. You're not too shabby, Mr. Wolfe."
"You can call me Jett. I think the rules state you're on a first-name basis with someone after you kick their ass."
She smiled. "Okay, Jett. Next time don't hold back, though."
He froze. "What makes you think—?"
"C'mon—I can tell when someone's faking it. I appreciate you making me look good in front of the class, but the next time you drop by, we're going no-holds-barred."
"Sounds like an invitation."
"Yeah, but don't let it go to your head. You might be cute, but it's the kids I'm thinking about. They got a kick out of it today. Be a shame if it was a one-hit-wonder."
"I'll see what I can do. See you around, Raven."
"See you, Jett."
He walked toward the airlift station, making sure he turned the corner before tapping on the datcom in his ear.
"Incognito."
"I'm here, Vigil."
"See what you can dig up on Minister Donte. He's physically fit, has motivation for a serious grudge against criminals, and based on what he taught his daughter, he has some serious combat skills. I can't be one-hundred-percent sure, but I think he might be the one under the Heretic's robes."
"Makes sense, considering Heretic definitely qualifies as a religious zealot. I'll look into it."
"One more thing."
"Shoot."
"My tracker on Janus vanished. My guess is he entered an anti-surveillance field when he crossed over to Manhaven. Since Heretic took out Bishop Goodman, I figure his next move will be against Janus. So we need to find him before Heretic does, or we might not ever find out what was going on with those addicts in the church basement."
"You think it's connected to the girls we found in the Moneta club?"
"Yeah, I do. It's all connected; I can feel it. All this memory downloading and laundering feels downright sinister, and I hate to think of the implications if it isn't stopped."
"You sure this isn't personal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your memories were stolen and distributed like some cheap drug. Don't tell me you haven't been stewing on that."
"Maybe I have. So what?"
"Just want to make sure your head is clear. You can't afford to make mistakes, Vigil."
"I'll be fine, Incog."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'll be in touch when I find something. Stay healthy."
Ⓥ
The cells in Precinct 51 were located in the sublevels of the build
ing, accessible only by a heavily armored, remote-operated lift elevator that could be flooded with gas or water if necessary to prevent escape. Captain Ronnie Banks stepped out of the door, followed by Isaac. They were laser-scanned before checking their weapons with the android officer at the door.
The halls were dark, the cells brightly lit. Initially, the cells looked nearly empty but were equipped with beds and tables that smoothly unfolded or slid from panels in the walls. Prisoners lounged on their beds, worked out, or engaged with educational programs or counseling sessions via wall consoles in their corner nooks. Some wore holovisors, jacked into virtual environments designed to participate in community-based activities constructed to counter violent tendencies.
The prisoners wore plainclothes: outfits that allowed for individuality but not gang affiliations. Most of them were there temporarily, awaiting trial or sentencing. With their side of the view-wall heavily tinted, they didn't look up or notice as she and Isaac passed their cells. With the cells sound-dampened, there was no noise other than the sounds of their footsteps on the polished floor. It was strangely peaceful. The sensation was amplified by the Zen-styled music played on the speakers: flutes and soft drumbeats played over nature sounds.
They approached the cell block where some of the more interesting prisoners were held. A glam-punk prisoner called Manic Pixie Girl sat in a chair staring off into space, a tiny smile on her lips. She would be heading to a Recovery center in a few days, where she'd be detoxed from the heavy amounts of drugs in her system. Paul Onion, the man responsible for supplying the narcotics in exchange for her violent talents, was in a different sector, awaiting trial for several federal crimes.
The Furies were held in cells adjacent to each other. They had most of their cybernetics removed, and what remained was inhibited by special plating in the walls of their cells. The sisters couldn't see each other from their compartments, but they were better behaved when kept together.
Ronnie stopped by the first cell, where Alex engaged in core-strengthening planks, locked in position for over an hour. Staring determinably at the floor, she ignored the beads of sweat that slid down her brow and dripped from her nose. Her head was hairless and studded with metal plugs that housed the serpentine locks removed during processing. Her face was cruel—eyes like blood, dead lips, pasty skin blanched by surgeries to imbed cybernetic enhancements. Ronnie wondered how much of her humanity was lost in the process of stripping away flesh and replacing it with synthetic parts. Transhumanism was a culture with a niche but dedicated following that slowly gained recognition and acceptance, even popularity in the inner cities. Its devotees considered it the natural next step to humanity's evolution.
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 20