Corporate Gunslinger

by Doug Engstrom

  Betty relaxed once Prescott left, her death grip on the data pads fading to a more normal pressure.

  “Kira, can you give me a hand with this?” Already back at the control panel, Diana directed the mech to its charging station, the first step in simulator shutdown. Kira stepped up to the panel, reset timers, and cleared the log.

  “Oh.” Diana pointed to the cluster of controls on the big touch-panel just off Kira’s right hand. “Don’t forget to delete the video logs for the field camera and mic. They moved them under Media instead of Records.”

  Kira kept her face calm. The change must have come during the last software upgrade.

  Diana continued, her deadpan just a bit too perfect. “If you don’t erase it or move it to long-term storage, the next trainer will see you on the vid and track me down to ask if I want to keep the record.” Diana paused, like a comedian about to deliver a punch line. “Professional courtesy.”

  Kira’s mouth went dry and her throat tightened. How much trouble was she in?

  Kira swallowed hard. “Sure.” She caught the barest hint of a smile on Diana’s face. Did she approve of last night’s escapade, or was her trainer just enjoying her embarrassment?

  Kira’s ears burned, but Diana didn’t say any more.

  With the shutdown complete, they picked up their gear bags and followed Betty out of the cab and across the floor. At a guard booth, Betty presented her ID and negotiated passage for Kira and Diana.

  They entered an area building maps labeled “support equipment.” Betty led them up some stairs, through an armored entrance, and finally into a hallway that could have been part of a five-star hotel, although the label on the elegant wood door at the far end declared annex simulator. A sharp industrial scent underlay the stale air, and Kira’s nose wrinkled. The place smelled like a clean room left unused for a long time. “What is this?”

  Betty responded in a voice like a tour guide. “It’s the section annex. It meets or exceeds all Guild standards for out-of-town accommodations and provides a dedicated practice area. We use it for visitors and high-stakes matches.”

  That accounted for the lack of use. As TKC’s flagship facility, Des Moines was more likely to send gunfighters out than take them in.

  “This is Ms. Reynolds’s room.” The admin presented the interior space as if she were selling it.

  Chloe would have loved the annex. In the main living area, a kitchenette covered the right wall, separated from the rest of the room by a natural rock serving bar with matching stools made from dark wood. An oversize vid terminal bearing the logo of Blaupunkt Electronics’ most expensive line dominated the left wall, and a leather couch faced the terminal. The couch exuded the scent of luxury camel skin rather than ordinary cowhide.

  Betty reentered the hallway. “Ms. Clark’s room is right across the hall.” She opened the door to reveal the same interior arrangements in mirror image.

  “Although you’re free to do your own cooking, we recommend you have the staff handle meal preparation. The executive kitchen will be available around the clock until the match. They’ll send your meals via the dumbwaiter.” Betty pointed at a cabinet in Kira’s kitchenette, then stepped back into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

  “These are high-security VIP quarters. Contact the front desk for anything you need—laundry services, massage, physical trainers, anything. They’ll get good people who have been properly vetted.” She removed a stylus from its carrying slot and held it above her data pad. “Do you want anything from your apartments?”

  Kira responded. “I’ll need some clothes. All I have here is my uniforms and one set of street clothes. Can’t I just go get them?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Clark, but you’re expected to be here and be focused every day between now and the match. We can deliver clothing and other necessities from your home.”

  Kira shot Diana a quizzical look. Diana shook her head.

  Kira sent two short-term key files to Betty’s handset. “Those will get you into my work locker and my apartment.”

  Betty made a note on her data pad. She made more notes as Kira described the contents of her closet and how to identify what she needed.

  Diana’s list was shorter and less complicated, partially because Howard would be available to assist with locating the items.

  Betty pointed down the hall. “The Annex Simulator is reserved for your exclusive use, as is the range and exercise area downstairs. If you get an inspiration at three in the morning and want to act on it, you can. If there are any problems, use the red comm link in the control cab. That connects you directly with Executive Support, and they’ll know it’s a priority call.” She was obviously wrapping up. “Is there anything else?”

  Diana responded. “No, we’re fine. Thanks for your help.”

  As soon as Betty departed, Diana consulted her handset. “I thought so. No outside connections, internal company only.”

  Kira put her hand on the wall, as if that would stop it from closing in. “It feels like we’re prisoners.”

  Diana opened the door to Kira’s room and pointed at the bottle of sparkling water and fresh flowers on the serving bar. “I’ll tell you from experience, this is a lot nicer than prison. But we are sequestered.”

  “Sequestered?”

  “Isolated. Whatever you want to call it. TKC isn’t depending on those statements we just signed to keep us on their side; they’re making sure we don’t get a better offer.” Diana returned her handset to her belt. “Also, be aware everything we say here is probably being monitored.”

  “They can do that?”

  “Didn’t you see the ‘consent to any measures necessary to enforce’ language at the end of the Code of Conduct?”

  “I guess I didn’t realize that’s what it meant.”

  Diana laughed. “You’re probably not the only one. Let’s go check the simulator.”

  In addition to being brighter and sleeker than any equipment in the main area, the control cab smelled of new plastic and fresh paint. It looked out over a simulator field with a domed roof of its own and no connections to the rest of the facility.

  Diana surveyed the equipment, fired up the console, and tapped out a few commands. She smiled. “Nice. We’ll have a Mark IV mech with release 12.4 software.” She pointed to the version number in the upper right corner of the screen. “They told me just this morning that update wasn’t available.”

  The console warbled for attention, and Diana brought up the message monitor. It displayed a joint press release from TKC and United Reinsurance, announcing their respective champions for the coming duel. Kira’s photo appeared under the headline on the TKC side of the statement. and next to her, on the United Re side, Niles LeBlanc’s likeness stared back.

  Diana stepped back from the console and faced Kira. “What do you think?”

  “Chloe’s ex?” Kira laughed. “And I was afraid they might pick somebody I didn’t want to shoot.”

  “I thought it might be him.” Diana folded her arms. “He’s good, and it fits with being an adrenaline junkie.”

  Kira gave her trainer a sideways glance. “You buy that act?”

  Diana shrugged. “It’s not as if he needs the money. I had the underwriters take a look at potential opponents, and Niles has a sky-high credit score and an even higher estimated net worth.”

  Kira shook her head. “I think it’s daddy issues.”

  Diana looked intrigued. “Really?”

  “He’s from an old Southern family. Chloe said his dad’s people go back to a plantation someplace in South Carolina. Mom is DAR, and they live in this big old country house where the men go off to smoke together after dinner parties—actual cigarettes and cigars with real tobacco. It’s wild.” Kira paused, relishing the sensation of knowing something Diana didn’t. “He’s the youngest of three boys. The oldest followed Dad into law, the next-oldest is in the Army—”

  “Wait, Dad’s a lawyer?”

  “Was. Now he’s a cir
cuit court judge.”

  Diana exhaled sharply and shook her head. “I can imagine how that goes over. A judge’s son working in dueling—the bastard child of the bar.”

  “I don’t think Dad’s happy, but I don’t think they were ever close. Chloe said Niles kept going on about how his dad’s opinion didn’t matter, but he did everything he could to impress him. Like, he kept saying when he made enough as a gunfighter, he was going to pay his dad back for the money he blew flunking out of Grinnell College, just to make the old man shut up about it.”

  “So, you think Niles has gone his own way and wants Dad to recognize him for it.”

  “Yup. He thinks that if he’s just successful enough, Dad will have to break down and admit he was right.”

  “And that never happens.”

  “No, but I’m sure this match looks like one hell of an opportunity. With a purse this big, he’d be set.”

  Diana scratched her chin. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to use that.”

  Kira conjured the cold, mocking Death’s Angel smile and voice. “I’ll hit him at the time and place he least expects it.”

  Diana chuckled. “As your trainer, I approve of that strategy.”

  Kira grinned with real warmth. “Can we give that executive kitchen a workout before we get started? I’m hungry.”

  Diana considered. “I suppose so. It’s been a big day. After supper, we can get in a couple sessions to get used to the equipment and call it a night.”

  Diana was obviously in a conciliatory mood. Maybe conciliatory enough to answer a question that had been picking at the edge of Kira’s mind all afternoon. “I heard Raj talking in the cafeteria. He said seconds always quit after a professional match.”

  Diana nodded. “That’s true. Once you’ve coached a professional win, there isn’t much else to do.”

  “He said if we lose, you probably won’t have a choice.”

  “That’s true, too.” Diana’s joke-that-only-she-got smile appeared. “So let’s make this one a win, OK?”

  Kira nodded. “As your gunfighter, I approve of that strategy.”

  Chapter 34

  The transportation arrangements to the duel were ridiculous. They could have walked from the annex through the TKC facility, crossed the skywalk to the Association complex, and entered the arena—pretty much Diana’s normal route to a match. However, TKC security fussed about keeping them in a “controlled environment,” and the Association lobbied for the drama of having the gunfighters pass through a group of carefully vetted fans as they entered the arena. The result left Kira, Diana, and a dozen security people at the training facility’s back entrance, waiting for VIP transport to complete about two blocks’ worth of travel.

  Two members of the security team waited in the vestibule, while the rest held positions along the sidewalk leading to the turnout where the driver would arrive. Kira and Diana waited in the hallway, Diana in her gray-and-green second’s uniform, Kira in her full Death’s Angel regalia of hat, cloak, and black leather.

  Kira reached into her gear bag and withdrew a thin stack of paper envelopes. She held them out for Diana. “Will you take care of these for me? I don’t want them stuck in the personal effects bin.”

  The letters, written on old-fashioned stationary with a pen Kira ordered for the occasion, contained her parting words for family and friends, the thoughts she wanted them to remember her by if she didn’t leave the field alive.

  It was a depressingly small stack.

  Becoming a gunfighter had shrunk her circle of friends, wearing away relationships under the pressure of both distance and the uncertainties of Kira’s all-consuming work schedule. How many weddings, anniversaries, and birthday parties had she sent regrets to because she couldn’t fit them into her brief and unpredictable time off? How many times had changes in the dueling schedule forced her to cancel plans? And on top of all that, how many people stopped talking to her because they regarded her as little more than a well-paid murderer?

  When Kira tried to justify her career to a former New York roommate, Patty had replied, “Your suffering doesn’t make you innocent.” Many old friends probably agreed with the rebuke, but few had the courage to say it to Kira’s face. Instead, they gradually stopped talking to her.

  Diana accepted the stack and placed them in a side pocket of her bag. “I’ll do that. But I expect to hand them back to you after the match.”

  Kira gave her second a wan smile. “Thanks.”

  “Hey.” Diana’s voice was firm, but not harsh. “You’re ready. It’s going to be OK.”

  “You used to finish sentences like that with ‘baby girl.’” Kira waited for her trainer’s reaction. There were some things that needed to be said.

  Diana looked down at her hands. “I guess it doesn’t feel appropriate.”

  “No. That’s OK.” Kira swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’s . . . It’s what my Mom used to call me. Right up to that last night in the hospital.”

  Diana looked stricken. “Kira, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know—”

  “No, no. I said it’s OK. I’m glad you call me that. Mom always looked out for me, just like you do. She backed me up when I got in trouble at school but then gave me the what-for when we got home. She made things right with Dad when he couldn’t figure me out and I wouldn’t talk to him.” Kira’s eyes were wet. “Diana, I let you call me ‘baby girl’ because you earned it, OK?”

  Diana’s eyes glistened. “I’m honored. I really am. But I think you’re past needing that from me or anyone else.”

  Kira pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed her eyes dry, and offered silent thanks to the unsung genius who created waterproof mascara. Death’s Angel shouldn’t display that kind of vulnerability.

  Diana let her finish, then spoke. “I meant what I said about you being ready.”

  “I’m reaching for a really big prize. What if I don’t deserve it?” Kira looked down the hall and out the glass door before looking back at Diana.

  Her trainer’s expression became serious. “Whatever happens tonight, I’m proud of you. Not just for this, but for everything. Ever since we started working together, I’ve driven you hard. Harder than any of my other clients. But you did everything I asked, and you never quit. You’re a good gunfighter. You deserve to win.” A smile pulled at the corner of Diana’s mouth. “Baby girl.”

  Kira responded with a smile of her own. The kind of gunfighter she was might not be her most important concern, but it was the one that would make a difference tonight. Kira latched on to Diana’s words and tried to pull herself up by them.

  At the far end of the hall, the door opened, and a guard spoke. “The driver’s here.”

  When two light thumps from closing doors announced the security teams had taken their places in the driver’s fore and aft compartments, the vehicle moved forward. From her seat opposite Kira in the cavernous, standup center section, Diana contemplated the whole needlessly complex arrangement with obvious irritation. “At least we won the coin toss.”

  Coming out on top during that little ritual had won the right to enter first. LeBlanc and his second would wait while Kira and Diana entered the arena, security moved Kira’s fans off the premises to a theater showing a live stream from the dueling field, and Niles’s followers assembled. That cut into the combatants’ waiting room time, but it wasn’t like either one of them might arrive late.

  Kira pulled at her cloak and stared out the window. The driver rounded the corner, presenting her with her first good view of the crowd. A solid mass of humanity filled the space in front of the arena, packed like New Year’s Eve partygoers in Times Square.

  As the driver approached, someone angled a go team estrogen! sign so it could be seen through the window. Kira pointed it out for Diana, who rolled her eyes.

  The driver pulled up to the spot where the broad sidewalk leading to the arena entrance met the unloading area. Diana stood and extended her hand. “I’ll take the bags.” She n
odded toward the throng outside. “Show them what they came to see.”

  Kira surrendered her bag, then squeezed past Diana to position herself in front of the sliding main door and prepare for her entrance. A chime sounded to indicate full stop, followed by soft thumps from the security team’s doors. Outside, Kira could make out individual faces. Men in their twenties and thirties, the demographic backbone of gunfighter fandom, dominated the crowd, but the group contained a fair number of young women as well. By any measure, Kira’s following had always skewed female.

  Although the sidewalk to the main entrance could easily allow four people to walk abreast, against the mass on either side it looked like a thin line kept clear only by twin rows of Association security personnel.

  Kira nudged Diana. “You know, on my first day as a trainee, I was nervous about walking past half a dozen guys to get to my room.”

  Diana chuckled, and Kira turned her attention back to the window. Despite the celebratory air, bloodlust underlaid the mood. While this crowd cheered for her and the one that would replace it would cheer for Niles, they all ultimately cheered for death. They’d shown up so they could tell envious friends they’d been among the last to see the gunfighters alive. Kira Clark might feel a little queasy about that, but to Death’s Angel, it was all part of the show. She adjusted her hat and cloak, squared her shoulders, and set her expression, draining any hint of softness or empathy from her face. Under her breath, she recited: “I am death. I am terror. I am blood.”

  The leader of the security detail signaled, and the door eased open. Without filtering from the windows, harsh white camera lights made the scene resemble an overexposed photo.

  The crowd responded to her appearance with a palpable roar. The noise contained no hint of support or hostility; it was simply sound.

  She stepped down from the transport, ignoring the helping hand proffered by the guard on her right. Death’s Angel was cold, perfect, and independent, beyond the need for such warm human gestures. Two guards took up positions ahead of her, and they moved down the sidewalk enough to allow Diana and the rest of the TKC security detail to assemble behind them.