Diana scowled, but after a long pause, she opened the data pad. “They’re still arguing with the Guild, but they’ve agreed the total value of the dispute won’t be considered any less than 275 million unification dollars when they calculate the purse.”
Kira’s breath caught. “Good lord. Who screwed up and let anything that big slide into arbitration?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure they don’t work here anymore.”
Kira punched the numbers into her handset. Her breath caught again as the totals came up. “So, that’s about eleven million for me, and a little less than three million for you.”
Diana nodded in agreement.
“That’s . . . that’s not just paid off. Even after taxes and everything, that’s rich. I could do anything I want.”
Diana slapped the data pad shut. “You don’t get to spend it if you’re dead. You have to fight another professional for it.” Diana leaned across the table, using her size to put weight behind her point. “That means you’re not going to psych them out in the waiting room, and you can’t count on outdrawing them on the field. They’re going to show up, and they’re going to be just as fast, just as well trained, and just as deadly as you are. And just as motivated by the purse.” For a split second, Diana’s weariness and fear showed in her face. “There’s nothing from the AI, Claire’s stats, or even the betting line that says your chances of walking away aren’t equal to your chances of leaving in a body bag.” The mask of calm determination dropped back into place. “If you’re selected, the only way out is to resign. It’s either the field or foreclosure.”
“So, in other words, just another Tuesday.” Kira managed a small smile.
Diana let out a frustrated sigh and focused on Kira with an intensity that registered as physical pressure. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you—are you really up for this?”
Kira barely hesitated. “This job is killing me either way.” She nodded toward the door and the Gunslinger’s Lounge beyond, where her bourbon waited with her name on it. “Even if I can dodge the bullets for another year, I can’t dodge the bottle. I’ll pickle myself.” In her mind’s eye, a year of failure and humiliation stretched out before her, as alcohol and guilt consumed her life, her dignity, and whatever talent she might possess. “If I’m going to die, I’ll take a quick, glorious end over a slow, miserable one.”
Kira sat up straight, put her handset in note-taking mode, and faced her trainer; a professional dealing with a professional issue. “So, yeah, I’m up for this. What’s the drill?”
After another long hesitation, Diana reached for her data pad. “They’re looking for volunteers, but they’re not limited to that. They’re going to review all the records, listen to trainer’s assessments, and draw up a short list this week. The selection committee will interview the candidates, then they’ll get it down to three to five finalists, run that group through some additional tests, and make the final pick ten days before.”
Kira nodded. “What are my chances of getting it?”
“Lots of variables on this one.” Diana rubbed her chin. “But it’s probably yours to lose.”
“So not everyone is as pessimistic about my chances as you are.”
Diana set the data pad aside and adopted her speaker-of-hard-truths tone. “This isn’t going to be a rational decision. It’s being made by scared little men in big suits who are more concerned about looking good than being right. You’re our best-known gunfighter, you’ve got an exemplary record against citizens, and I’m sure you’ll have the committee eating out of your hand when the interview is over. Unfortunately, none of that has any bearing on how you’ll fare against another professional.”
Diana paused, sizing up Kira’s reaction. Backing out was still an option.
Kira spoke in a relaxed but firm tone. “It’s still my best chance, no matter how they decide.”
Diana nodded, her Marine officer reflexes almost visibly kicking in. She’d argued hard for her point of view, but even though the decision had gone against her, Diana would put her best effort into supporting it.
“All right. I’ll list you as a formal volunteer as soon as we finish. That gives us extended simulator access hours, and we’ll be using them. I want to see you in Simulator Three at 0600 on Monday.” Diana made an entry in her data pad, closed it, and faced Kira. “Remember what I said. I need you straight, sober, and at the absolute top of your game, no matter what’s going on in your head. Can you promise me that?”
“I promise.”
“Good. I hope it goes without saying that I’ll be working your ass off the entire time.”
Kira grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Good girl.”
Diana stood, signaling the end of the session. Kira rose as well.
With their business concluded, Diana seemed to soften. She put her hand on Kira’s forearm. “You’ve had a big day today. Are you OK?”
Kira hesitated for a few seconds before responding. “Good enough to go home.”
Diana examined her carefully. “The Guild says the next forty-eight hours are yours, and I can’t tell you to do anything, but I’d like it if you stayed in our spare room until it’s time to go back to work. Howard or I will be around most of the time.”
Gratitude manifested itself as an ache in Kira’s chest. “Thanks. I think that’s a good idea.”
Chapter 31
Below Kira’s perch on the catwalk opposite the control cab, the final moments of the day’s last selection match played out on the field of Simulator Six. She leaned on the railing just a few feet from Diana, who maintained a laser-like focus on the duel below.
Felix García entered his kill box, turned, and drew with his customary speed. On the other side of the Wall, the mech completed the same actions, but just a split-second slower. Felix fired first, winging the mech and sending its shot wide. At the judge’s table, Felix’s second, Raj, raised his hands in triumph, though Felix’s victory was not as impressive as the three clean kills Kira had scored earlier in the set.
Kira nodded in appreciation. Farther down the walkway, Don Myers and his trainer, Adam, watched their rival in stoic silence, while a few staff members standing near them applauded. The day’s business concluded, Kira picked up her gear bag and joined the line to descend the staircase. When she reached the floor, she caught up with Diana.
“So, what do you think?”
Diana had her data pad open and tapped something into it. “Felix had a good set.”
“I mean overall. Where do you think I stand?”
Bringing Kira’s rivals to Des Moines for the final trials should have made it easier to assess their relative positions, but Diana pursed her lips. “The selection committee still won’t say exactly what data they’re using or how.”
“Come on, you must have some idea.”
Diana looked thoughtful. “Felix has the best speed, but he falls apart when the mechs control the Wall and change up their firing position. Don is inconsistent, but on his best days, he can beat anybody. My hand tally says you’re the most consistent and you have the best overall score. But you’ve also lost to mechs set to emulate every probable United Re opponent in at least one match.” Diana continued fiddling with her data pad as they walked. “Plus, we don’t know how they’re scoring your records against citizens or your interviews. It’s all up in the air.”
Kira sighed. The adrenaline buzz she’d allowed herself after the match was wearing off, replaced by frustration at the uncertainty.
Diana remained resolutely upbeat. “Word on the interviews is starting to leak out. I’m hearing the committee was impressed with you.”
“That’s good.” Her meeting with all four members of the selection committee had featured a predictable mix of staff-developed technical questions asked by executives who didn’t understand what they were asking, ham-fisted attempts to gauge her loyalty and motivation—she’d almost failed to cover her reaction when asked to descri
be her long-term goals—and inquiries that were just plain weird. Although she was rather proud of coming up with “a great blue heron, because they’re patient, but fast and accurate” in response to the completely bizarre “What kind of animal do you see yourself as?”
Still, the vibe had been favorable when she left the room, and that was all that mattered.
They reached an intersection, and Diana closed her data pad, ready to wrap up. “Only three sets left. By this time tomorrow, we should know if it’s you, Don, or Felix.”
Kira leaned toward the hallway leading to the firing range area. “OK. I’m going to the range and try to shave a little off my draw-to-hit time before I leave.”
Diana shook her head. “I can’t go with you. Arjun took a swing at his weight trainer, and Claire wants to talk about it.” Even though Diana’s clients were temporarily reassigned to other seconds while she ran through the selection process with Kira, Diana’s sense of responsibility persisted. “Besides, rest would be better.”
Kira squirmed. “I don’t think I’ll get much rest if I go home right now.”
Diana frowned. Sending Kira home was definitely on the table.
“If I go back to the apartment, I’ll just sit there thinking about what I should be doing instead.”
“All right. Put in a little range time. But get a good meal with some protein and eight hours of sleep, OK?”
Kira adjusted her gear bag. “OK. I’ll do that.”
Kira lowered her pistol and scowled at the data readout. Two hours in Firing Point One had produced sore feet from the concrete floor, an aching skull from the ear protection headset, and no improvement in her draw-to-hit time.
She directed the computer to display impact markers, and a tight group of red Xs appeared on the chest of the target projection. At least her accuracy was holding up. Maybe it was time for a real break. She put her pistol on the safety stand, put the range control computer on hold, grabbed her water bottle, and entered the break area.
Aside from the scattering of simple tables and plastic chairs, the space was as empty as a school cafeteria in summertime. She sat and pulled the headset down around her neck. Muffled shots sounded from Firing Point Four. When they stopped, a muscular, brown-haired man emerged from the access door. Don Myers. A shock suit peeked out from under his uniform sleeve. Like Kira, he must have come straight here after watching Felix, spurred on by anxiety over tomorrow’s final set of trials.
He removed his headset and waved in Kira’s direction. “Calling it a night?”
“Nope.” She might have, but if Don was staying, leaving was out of the question. “Just taking a break before the next set.” She took a swig from her water bottle.
Don ambled over to the vending area, picked an energy drink with the improbable name of Crunk, and pulled up a chair at Kira’s table. “Big day for us tomorrow.”
Kira took another deep drink from her water. “Yup.”
“So, what are you working on?” Don’s attempt to feign casual interest wasn’t going well.
Kira fiddled with her bottle. “Better draw-to-hit time. How about you?”
“Quick-draw accuracy.”
“Interesting.” No point in tipping her hand any more than necessary to keep him talking.
He leaned forward and slid his chair closer to the table. “So, when do you plan to wrap up?”
No matter what time she gave, he’d stay later, just to prove he’d “outworked” her. She made a vague gesture toward her firing point. “I dunno. Whenever I’m satisfied with where I’m at, I guess.”
“Me, too.”
Annoying bastard. Kira drained her water bottle. “Well, we’d best get to it, then.”
He pounded down the last of his Crunk and walked back to his station.
Back on the range, Kira instructed the computer to give her a set of ten against a fixed target. At the end of the drill, her average was one one-hundredth of a second worse than her previous round. She’d reached the point of diminishing returns, and it was time to go home.
Or it would be, if Don went home, too. It was petty, it was small, and she was absolutely going to stay at the range longer than he did, even if that meant they both saw the sunrise on the way home.
She left her weapon on the safety stand, uncleaned, and poked her head out the door to find Don doing the same thing. She stepped out and stretched.
He said something. Kira let the headset fall around her neck. “What?”
“I said, ‘Packing it in?’”
She shook her head. “Nope. Just a stretch before the next set.”
He hesitated a split second too long. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Kira re-entered her station and told the computer to give her another ten shots.
She laid out the cartridges for rapid reloading, slapping them into their holders, and jammed one into the dueling pistol. She snapped the action shut and holstered the weapon. Doing the set one-handed would break things up a little, and if she were hit with a damaging shot that didn’t knock her down, it might even be useful.
She narrowed her focus and blasted through the set: fire, empty, reload, holster, draw, fire, repeat. Over and over, until she reached for the next cartridge and her hand closed on air instead. All done. The sharp scent of gun smoke hung in the air, and haze obscured her view of the target. The ventilation system must be struggling. Her time remained the same, and her hit marks fell in a tight pattern, though just a bit to the left. Good enough.
She poked her head out the door and found Don halfway out his. He frowned. “If we keep this up, we’re going to be here all night. Felix will smoke both of us just because he’s had some sleep.”
She stepped out into the common area. “Fine. Go home.”
His annoyance deepened. “You know I’m not going to do that.”
“Neither am I.” Shoulders square, chin forward, wide stance. Take up space. Look big. Make it clear she wasn’t going to back down.
He stepped out and let the door shut behind him. “Just give it up, OK? You know you’re only in it for the dramatic value.”
Muscles on the back of Kira’s neck tightened. “What the hell did you just say?”
He spread his hands. “Oh, come on. You don’t think you’re a real contender for this, do you? They only named you as a finalist to get people’s attention. You’ve got that whole ‘Death’s Angel’ thing going, people have heard of you, so it adds some interest. The Association likes that, and TKC’s willing to throw ’em a bone.”
“I’ve got the best win-loss record in the whole company!”
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Only because half your opponents don’t show up. That’s a sweet gig, and I understand why they keep you on the payroll. But this is a real match, and they’re going to pick a real gunfighter for it, not somebody who just plays one on vid.”
The muscles in Kira’s neck tightened further, and heat rose in her chest. “I’ve got the best on-field win percentage in the entire damn region!”
“Pfttt. For the matches you’ve fought. It’s easy to rack up nice stats when you barely need to show up for work.”
Kira ground her teeth.
Movement in the simulator area tickled at her peripheral vision. Someone wearing a green service coverall propped the door of a control cab open. Kira licked her lips and stepped in close to Don. “OK, ‘real gunfighter,’ we’ve both got shock suits on. Let’s grab a couple pseudoguns and settle this in a simulator.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “They’ll bust our chops for being in there without a trainer. Besides, everything’s locked up for the night.”
She pointed through the arch between the break room and the simulator area. “Four’s open.”
Don turned to where Kira pointed. When he looked back, he responded in a steady, low-pitched voice. “OK, let’s go.” He led the way and Kira followed, determined to keep up despite her shorter legs.
They climbed the stairs to the control cab, eliciting
a burst of what sounded like Portuguese from the startled janitorial service employee. Don responded in the same language. Several seconds of vigorous conversation followed, punctuated by hand gestures. There was a brief pause while the wiry, brown-skinned man leaned around Don and took a long look at Kira. No telling what Don had said, but that looked like progress. A bunch of handset activity followed. A personal payment? When they finished, the custodian gathered up his supplies, adjusted the floor cleaner on his back, and paused to take another long look at Kira. Then he hustled out the door.
She punched a generic training ID into the command console and initialized the simulator. From their stand near the door, the pseudoguns chirped as the capacitors took a charge. “What did you tell him?”
Don waved in the general direction of the door. “I told him you got off on doing it in the control cab, gave him twenty unis, and asked for some privacy.”
The muscles in the back of Kira’s neck wound tight again, and heat flushed her face. “You miserable asshole! I’m not—” Lacking a suitable conclusion for the sentence, she stormed toward the door instead.
Don spoke with exasperating calm. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
Kira stopped, her hand on the exit plate, and turned back. Don stood with his arms folded across his chest and his chin raised, wearing the look of a man seeing what he expected to see, and feeling smug about it.
“I knew you’d find some way to back out and make it look like it was my fault. You know you’re going to lose when you come up against the real thing.”
The heat in Kira’s chest rose higher, but she hid it behind an expression of icy resolve. She took her hand off the door and walked back toward Don with a series of measured steps. When she arrived in front of him, she wore her best version of the Death’s Angel face and spoke in a voice calculated to shave ten degrees off the room temperature. “OK, you want to have a gunfight? We’ll have a gunfight. One match, ten yards each, one shot, standard scoring. Loser tells winner, ‘You’re the best real gunfighter in TKC.’ Then he goes home.”
Don scowled. “Sounds good.”
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