Jayne had to take a gamble on that warehouse.
With the sound of sirens once again growing near, Jayne was fueled to get to that warehouse if she had to pull herself with nothing but her teeth.
She threw the briefcase over the chain-link fence and forced herself to climb. She relied on her right leg and arms, letting the swelling left leg hang limp. She straddled the top of the fence and worked her way back down on the other side.
She clutched the briefcase to her chest – she wasn’t getting rid of this thing now, not after all she’d been through. She limped toward the warehouse. The condemned notice reassured Jayne that the warehouse would be abandoned and quiet.
Jayne threw the metal door open and immediately realized this warehouse would be neither of those things. She dragged her useless leg behind her down a long, day-glo hallway. A rapid beat vibrated throughout the building, which she internalized as a warning.
She shimmied around a corner and came face-to-face with a typical junkhead. He jumped, startled out of his krum daze. He had your trademark junkhead mohawk, spiked and running from ear-to-ear instead of down the middle of his head. Reflective goggles hung around his neck, the strap barely covering a tattoo of a children’s cartoon character, and a bright pink jumpsuit hung loosely on his wan figure. Krum dramatically diminished appetite and was cheaper than food, anyway. This guy had been using for a long time.
The junkhead’s red, sleep-deprived eyes scanned Jayne up and down, horrified and unsure if she was a hallucination. “You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
With confirmation that she was real, the junkhead took out a small bottle of glowing green krum and offered it to Jayne.
She shook her head, no thanks. It had been a bad night already, she wasn’t about to start tripping.
The junkhead unscrewed the dropper and placed a few small drops at the base of his eyes. “Are you sure? It will help with the pain.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
He pulled up the reflective goggles as his eyes quickly dilated. “You the girl all the cops are after?”
Jayne narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust this guy yet. “Go on.”
The junkhead pulled out his comm. “We all monitor police scanners. They bust us all the time, so we like to stay one step ahead. You’ve been the chat all night. We’re all rooting for you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “We love who cops hate. I’ve got to warn you, though…” He showed his comm to Jayne. The photo from the security drone had been issued to all devices as a wide, high security alert. “Follow me.”
The junkhead placed a few more drops of krum in each eye, slid the bottle in one of the jumpsuit’s many pockets, and led Jayne down the hallway.
Soon, they were descending a staircase into pitch darkness. Despite the emerging smell of body odor and liquor, breathing this subterranean air was a relief compared to the pollution outside.
The music grew unbearably loud when they reached another shut door. Her new ally said some indiscernible words into the ear of a musclebound meathead guarding the passage. The meathead took Jayne into account, nodded, and opened the door.
The intense beats assaulted Jayne’s senses. More overwhelming than the decibel level was the pulsing vibrations shaking her body.
Hundreds of junkheads packed into an industrial dungeon slammed against each other. The sour smell of krum was pungent. Her nameless junkhead took her by the hand and led her around the perimeter of the chaos.
Junkcore came by its name honestly. In the previous decade, musician and DJ Umlaut Panzram bought an ancient, earth-native computer drive from a junk shop in Tyga Town on Level 31. On the hard drive, Umlaut discovered thousands of music tracks in the long obsolete “.mp3” format. Electronic tones, fast and with an edge, but there was a warmth there. You could tell from the quality there was only one degree of separation between computer and man, as opposed to the programs upon programs which wrote the popular music now.
Umlaut’s discovery influenced his own music, and quickly blossomed into an underground scene referred to in hushed tones among the chronically in-crowd as ‘junkcore’. The music evolved past its ancient, earthly origins – many tracks surpassed 800 BPMs – but the defining factor of junkcore was the limit of one-degree of separation between man and machine.
Of course, Jayne only knew the basics of junkcore, all of it absorbed casually from sensationalized headlines about the threat it posed toward Techcropolis’s youth and the occasional song Merry blasted while working. Jayne was immediately touched by the scene. All she saw were people having fun. Most of them were here for the same reason she was: they weren’t welcome anywhere else.
The junkhead disappeared every time the strobe lights plunged the club into darkness, then he would reappear several feet ahead. Jayne had a hard time keeping up because of her ankle, but she knew time was against them.
They passed a makeshift bar operating out of a broken window that must have looked into the foreman’s office when the warehouse operated. Junkheads dealt out generous amounts of alcohol in exchange for cash or, more generally, a couple drops of krum.
In a moment of foresight, Jayne reached in and stealthily grabbed a pint-sized bottle of tequila. She tucked it into the back pocket of her pants.
The kids, dancing hard, seemed to instinctively clear a path for Jayne. The junkhead turned back and waited for her. He shouted above the music into Jayne’s ear. “Can you climb stairs?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He shook his head and pointed up. He started climbing an iron, spiral staircase. Jayne struggled behind him. The pain made her clench the handle of the briefcase even harder.
The staircase climbed ten, fifteen, twenty feet above the crowd onto a catwalk. Jayne could look down below at the wild youth she long ago gave up a chance to be. She was okay with that, but she took her current situation into account and couldn’t help but wonder how she could have been living differently.
But flights of wistfulness and regret were not going to help her now. The junkhead tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the opposite end of the catwalk toward a ladder.
A ladder!? Jayne thought. She gave the junkhead a look, as if to say, “are you freaking kidding me?”
The junkhead understood and shrugged again but couldn’t help but smile.
Then they heard the sound of sonic-detonations, louder than the music, which abruptly cut out. The sonic-charge emitted an electromagnetic pulse that shut down the electronics blasting the music. The lights died and the entire club went pitch black. Screams.
“GO!” yelled the junkhead. He ran down the catwalk and slid down the staircase into the crowd of his fellow frightened scenesters.
Police swarmed the illegal club. Drones hovered over the crowd, shining ultra-bright super-beams onto the panicking kids.
Jayne knew the cops weren’t there to bust a rave. They were looking for her. As she gathered her strength to struggle toward the ladder, she looked down at the scene below her. Not all of the junkheads ran away. Dozens of them, more than dozens, locked hands and formed a barricade around the base of the staircase. Police attempted to shove through them, pulling some of them to the ground. They were ready to bust skulls, but the junkheads didn’t move. They were buying Jayne time.
Jayne righted herself and ran. Pain be damned, she ran down the catwalk and scaled the ladder. She could hurt later, right now she had to escape. She looked back to see that the wall of ravers had finally cracked, but they hadn’t given up. In the back of Jayne’s mind, she realized she was about to become some sort of folk hero.
She reached the top of the ladder and forced open a latch. Compared to the raging inferno of sweat and body heat below, the humid smog air felt like an autumn breeze.
She lifted herself out of the manhole, shut the lid, twisted it shut and collapsed onto her back. She screamed. The pain was ferocious. Tears streamed down her face.
Finally, as if an answered
prayer, a familiar voice came to Jayne. “Yo, yo, yo! This is DJ Merry checking in with my favorite listener J-J-J-JAAAYYYNEEE! How’s it going?”
Jayne smiled, relieved, ecstatic, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to joke back. “Merry… I am so glad to hear from you. I am literally going through hell right now.”
“I bet. As soon as we found out about the drone photo I decided to end the radio silence. If they want to track you now, they don’t need our high-frequency to do it.”
“Okay. I am going to stand up… In a minute. I need to find a place to set this sprain as soon as possible. My ankle looks like a watermelon.”
“Okay, we’ll come to get you—”
“Merry, no!”
Merry huffed and puffed on the other end. “What are you going to do, Jayne? It’s a miracle you’re not arrested already. Or dead, for that matter.”
“And it’ll be even worse if you get arrested, or dead, too.”
Vlad came in on the line. “She’s right, Merry.”
Jayne listened to the silence. It was rare that Merry didn’t know what to say. “Okay, first you have to get rid of that briefcase.”
“No, Merry, it’s full of—”
“Your files. Everything. We know, and so does the entire city.”
For a moment, Jayne’s anger rose above the pain. “This was a fucking set-up! How did we fall for this?”
“Don’t put that on me, Jayne! I’m sorry, but how was I supposed to know before it was too late?”
“Because it’s your job, Merry! It’s literally your job.” Jayne dropped the back of her head onto the concrete.
Merry came back. “I’m not wasting my time arguing. Jayne, find a place to hide. Third time’s the charm, right?”
Jayne recognized that Merry was putting their tiff aside for the sake of saving the day. She was glad Merry was on her side.
Jayne stood up, hopefully for the last time that night. “Okay. Merry, I will alert you of my location once I find a secure hiding place. At that time, I’ll break radio silence.”
Merry’s voice was full of courage for Jayne. “Got it. I’m with you Jayne.”
Vlad came in next. “Be safe, Jayne.”
Jayne knew that Vlad was, deep down, a sweetheart. However, he didn’t like to show it. When Vlad expressed concern, it was usually a sign that he was very, very nervous about what lay ahead. “Thanks, you guys. And Vlad – please save that Pad Thai for me.”
Vlad laughed. “Consider it in the fridge!”
Jayne killed the signal with a twist of her earring.
CHAPTER THREE
Dean Geiger’s Bathroom, Espionage Academy, Avalon Space Station
Dean Geiger was a staunch believer in the power of bathing, citing the pre-ancient earth philosophers like Aristotle and Plato, who would lounge in baths all day and ponder existence.
Noora, Dean Geiger’s assistant of seventeen years, knew that Dean Geiger was flattering himself. Geiger’s shower musings were rarely more than a stream-of-conscious rant about how he couldn’t lose weight.
Noora figured Geiger must’ve been in rare-form that day, talking up a storm to himself as he bathed. She knocked a third time, and still he didn’t seem to hear her.
Finally, she opened the door, a blast of cold air rushing into the steamy bathroom, in time to hear Dean Geiger harrumph from inside the steamy shower. “I knew this Grow-Tru shampoo was baloney. Washing with it for three months. Bullshit. If anything, I’ve gotten balder.”
Noora cleared her throat. “Dean Geiger?” She heard the sound of a shampoo bottle hitting the ground and the squeak of startled feet regaining balance.
“YES!? I mean, yes, Mrs. Barcellos? Is that you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Steam billowed over the top of the frosted glass partition. “What is it? Better be good. I, uh… I was in the middle of a pontification, on the edge of a breakthrough.”
“The police, sir. They just called and would like to speak with you.”
A pause from the other side of the shower. “When?”
“Now, sir… They’re waiting on the telescan.”
The billowing steam slowed down as Dean Geiger shut off the water. He reached over the glass door with his chubby fingers. “Towel!”
Noora handed the Dean a fresh towel. “Tell the police I’ll be right out!”
Dean Geiger stepped out of the shower, hanging free, using the towel to dry his balding head. Noora shut her eyes and fumbled back to the door. “I’ll tell them you’ll be right out.”
As Noora finally reached the door, Dean Geiger called for her attention once more. “Noora, when you say ‘police,’ what do you mean?”
“The police. Commissioner Cromwell.”
Dean Geiger smiled. “Excellent. Vamp until I’m ready.”
He motioned with one waving hand to Noora. Grateful for the assignment, she left the bathroom.
Dean Geiger slid a finger across the touch screen mirror, pulling up a 3D signal of the news.
The news story focused on the aftermath of the Jayne Pursuit. Her identity was out, and so were the contents of her briefcase. She was Public Enemy Number One – a threat to the safety of the people, and the security of the federation. As the news anchor explained Jayne’s less-than-amicable relationship with the Espionage Academy, they finally cut to a brief statement Geiger had made earlier that day.
Damn, he thought, I need to stand behind a podium more often. He grabbed his belly and frowned down at the heft. Just another one of the many problems he would start crossing off his list.
That list included Jayne. She was written somewhere in the middle of the proverbial list, with multiple arrows in the margins re-allocating her ranking. Geiger hadn’t figured out when he would cross her off, but soon he would relish drawing a dark strike-mark through her name.
He placed all blame on Jayne for making their relationship far more than antagonistic. He knew there were whispers behind his back about his decision. Plenty of Academy staff and benefactors had heard the rumors about Jayne’s unprecedented success in the private sector. Geiger’s decision to make room for the senator’s son had been a bust. That spoiled-brat dropped out after one semester. He had the lowest marks in Academy history. Two staff members quit once they learned about the backdoor politics.
Jayne’s performance at the Academy did not, however, excuse the danger she placed herself, the Academy, and her peers in. Surely that justified Dean Geiger’s decision to oust her over any of the less-than-satisfactory students who struggled behind her by miles.
Jayne’s outspoken hatred for his approach to leadership of the Academy didn’t make that decision any more difficult, of course.
Worst of all, in Geiger’s mind, Jayne had destroyed one of his prized possessions. Ever since, he had kept the shards he could never glue back together in a wooden lockbox in his desk drawer. He couldn’t bring himself to throw the pieces of the poodle away. It’d be a final goodbye he wasn’t ready for.
But no, Geiger thought to himself, it was important to separate all personal hatred of Jayne from the matter at hand. He must remind himself to look at her as nothing more than a convenient pawn.
Besides, he thought to himself, if she wishes to spite me, I can spite her back. What’s wrong with killing two birds with one scheme? Once the public realizes Jayne is a criminal, and was always a criminal with her own special interests at heart, my decision will be duly reappraised, he mused. Geiger knew he would soon have his revenge not only over Jayne, but all those at the Academy who cut him off, left the school, and said nasty things about him at fancy dinner parties he was no longer invited to.
The anchor finally shut his mouth, and the audio tuned into Dean Geiger’s statement. “Based on the knowledge I have currently, Jayne Austin is acting independently and with malicious intent directed at the Espionage Academy. I cannot make any announcements at this time, but I can assure the public that security measures will be taken. Thank you.”
It
was a brief statement, but Geiger was proud of himself. He looked good handling a crisis. Confident and calm. It was a good look for him.
Dean Geiger burst out of the bathroom wearing his secret weapon: a garish, heliotrope bathrobe with his initials, RG, embroidered over the breast in literally radiating silk. “Connect me to the Commissioner, Noora.”
Noora gasped in horror. “But, sir…”
He tugged the robe’s strap tight around his belly. “Go ahead. I know what I’m doing.”
Noora connected Dean Geiger to the Commissioner, then sat down and began to think of new jobs she could start applying to.
A hologram of Commissioner Cromwell appeared below the holo-light in the Dean’s ceiling. Simultaneously, a hologram of bathrobed Dean Geiger appeared before Commissioner Cromwell at his office. Cromwell’s eyes bulged a moment before he quickly attempted to act as if all was normal. He proceeded with his plan without addressing Dean Geiger’s state.
It’s already working, Dean Geiger thought. “Commissioner! So good to hear from you.”
“Dean Geiger. I hope you’re doing well. At least, as well as the present circumstances can permit you to be.”
“I’m fine. How is the… thirtieth precinct I believe it was? How are they handling the situation?”
“A combination of our thirtieth, twenty-ninth, and twenty-eighth precincts, Dean Geiger. It was a long night for all of them, but we keep our chins up high.”
“As you should.”
“Dean Geiger, I would like to discuss your connection to Jayne Austin in a little more detail.”
Dean Geiger pulled up a chair and sat down. “Absolutely. I can provide any and all information you’d like to know.”
For a brief moment, Cromwell seemed to be distracted by something beyond the vision of the hologram. He looked away and would not turn back. Geiger realized he was revealing a little too much by sitting down. He readjusted his bathrobe.
Cromwell reluctantly turned back to Dean Geiger. He did his best to keep their conversation on topic. “Information is precisely what I’d like to talk to you about. Why she had those files and, more importantly, how did she get them?”
Exposed (Interplanetary Spy for Hire Book 2) Page 3