by James Knapp
What are you drinking? I asked.
You buying?
Sure.
Whiskey. Straight up.
I got the bartender’s attention and let him scan my card. With a glass in each hand, I made my way over to her. The two guys were gone before I got there.
“Friends of yours?” I asked, handing one over.
“Fight buddies,” she said. She took it and drank half without blinking.
“You get set up okay?”
“Yeah. Guy named Buckster from that group Second Chance picked me up. They set me up with a place.”
Second Chance. Sean had written that on his bathroom mirror, minutes before he disappeared.
“Who set you up?” I asked.
“Second Chance,” she said. “They work with vets. What’s the problem? You look like you just shit yourself.”
I ran a search on the organization. It was like Cal said; they were big on fund-raising for vets and charity work. They ran free clinics in some of the worst neighborhoods. They were also one of the biggest referrers for Posthumous Service recruits, funneling third-tier citizens to recruitment centers to get wired. Centers like Concrete Falls.
“What was your contact’s name again?” I asked.
“Leon Buckster. Seriously, what’s up?”
I shook my head.
“Probably nothing,” I said. “Keep an eye open for me though, would you?”
“Keep an eye open for what?”
“Anything to do with revivors.”
“Hell,” she said, “he was trying to get some hobo to wire up when I stepped off the fucking train. I figured he got a kickback or something. Does this have to do with a case?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Just keep an eye open. Have you found a job yet?”
“Still working on that.”
“Will you go back to the arena?”
Can’t.
She held up her left hand so I could see it. Even in the dim light, I could see the black veins standing out.
Sorry, I said. I didn’t know.
Ugly, huh?
I’ve seen worse. The hand’s not a bad match. Where’s the join?
She pulled the sleeve of her jacket up so I could see where the skin changed color. Inside there was a thin filter, a piece of revivor tech that handled the nerve and muscle interaction and kept the living side from attacking the necrotized one. A small circulator ran the revivor blood through the limb. It wasn’t a bad job.
How’s it working out for you?
She shrugged like it was no big deal, but I could see it was.
Do you get used to it?
Not really.
I did some digging. You made a name for yourself over there.
She shrugged again, like it was no big deal, but, honestly, it was. With no formal education, she’d gone from grunt status to full control over a squad of revivors in less than two years. In that short time, the bandits who ran the area learned to know her by a name they themselves had given her.
I’m impressed, I said.
Yeah?
Yes.
How impressed?
I wasn’t sure what she meant. When I didn’t answer, she gritted her teeth, then leaned forward and grabbed my lapel. She put her lips near my ear and I could smell the whiskey on her breath.
“I know the score,” she said. “A tour buys you a leg up, but that’s it. I’m done with the grind and I can’t fight anymore, but I didn’t lose my hand over there to come back and flip burgers.”
She sighed, breath hot on my neck, then leaned back and let go of my coat.
“Before I left, you told me I could be more than I was,” she said. “You said if I busted my ass, it could all be mine. You mean that?”
“I did.”
The reality was that if she hadn’t enlisted, Calliope would have ended up in jail, in a shelter, or on the street. The housing project where she was holed up got shut down while she was gone, and the police had forced everybody out. Some were arrested, and the rest slipped through the cracks. With no education, money, or assets, and sitting at tier three with no way to get any, she would have lost what little she had.
I told myself that when I looked at her hand.
“Well, here I am,” she said.
The military had changed her. She looked more in control and more focused. I thought I could help her. I owed her that much. In some ways, I owed her my life.
Ex-military, especially decorated ones, pulled a lot of weight. I have some contacts. What can you do?
I’m wired to run revivors—units or groups. I know weapons and intel extraction.
That wasn’t bad, actually. It would be easy, even after coming back, for someone like her to end up back where she started. It would be a waste.
How did you like soldiering?
Better than flipping burgers. I raised my eyebrows, and she changed her tone.
I liked it, she said.
There’s always private military. Stillwell Corps takes a lot of soldiers on after their tours. It’s good pay, access to the latest tech, and some great training.
She thought about that, and I could see the idea take root. She nodded.
That sounds okay, she said.
Let me put out some feelers.
She smiled and nodded again. She punched me in the arm. Thanks.
The smile went away and she looked at the floor. Her tongue poked through the gap where her tooth was missing.
Thanks for writing me over there too.
No problem.
You do that because you thought you had to?
At first.
The truth was, I did it because I didn’t think anyone else would. Any kind of contact from back home was a big deal over there. I kept the messages short, and wrote three times without hearing back. After that, I stopped. It was months later when, out of the blue, I got a message back from her. After that, it got to be a regular thing. I kept her up on things she asked about, and she told me stories about day-to-day downtime in the middle of a war zone, something I knew well. She never talked about combat or any of the bloodshed I knew she must have seen. I never asked.
Yeah, well, thanks.
I liked hearing from you. It took me back.
I’ll bet.
We going to stay friends?
We’ll see.
She smiled, eyelids drooping. She was drunk.
You worry about me?
I did, a little.
A call came in as she shook her glass at the bartender across the room.
Incoming call. It was headquarters. I held up one hand while I picked up.
Wachalowski here.
Agent, your victim, Holst, from the raid. She’s dead.
I thought she was stable.
She was. Someone assassinated her right there in the hospital.
What?
Your operative was the only one with her when it happened.
What are you saying? Zoe shot her?
I’m not saying anything. I’m just telling you what happened.
Where is Zoe now?
She fled the scene.
That would have been hours ago. If it was true, she had to be losing it by now.
Do not let them bring her in, understand? I’ll find her.
I’ll do what I can, but—
Don’t let them bring her in.
Calliope was looking at me and I noticed her scowl.
“You got somewhere else you got to be?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, official business. Have a few drinks on me. We’ll have to catch up later.” Her scowl deepened.
Who is Zoe Ott?
That took me by surprise. Cal hadn’t seen Zoe since the factory, when she pulled her out of Fawkes’s holding pens. She hadn’t said anything about it even under direct questioning. I had assumed that Zoe made her forget, though she never admitted to it.
I ran a check on my JZI, and found a brief intrusion. She’d been monitoring the wire for references to Zoe, and
when she got a hit she’d snooped at least part of the conversation. I’d underestimated Calliope Flax.
Cal, listening in on FBI communications is a felony—
Who is she, Wachalowski?
She was one of the people we recovered from the underground factory when it was infiltrated.
I know that. I was there. I mean, who is she?
What do you mean?
Her mouth parted to show the gap from her missing tooth, and her eyes got serious.
Look, I saw her at the FBI. I know you know what I’m talking about. What is the deal with that spooky little bitch? What did she do to me?
I didn’t have a good answer for that. She needed one, I could see, but I didn’t have one for her.
Don’t tell me you don’t know her, she said.
I know her.
Did she make me forget?
If she was asking, then she knew the answer to that. I wasn’t sure what Zoe had done to her, exactly, but I knew it was something. Cal needed someone—me—to verify that, but there were more of them out there than just Zoe. That kind of knowledge could be dangerous.
You saved her life. Do you remember going underground?
Parts.
You went down there to get her, I think.
Did she make me forget?
We’ll talk about it later.
It’s a yes or no question, Wachalowski.
It’s not that simple. We’ll talk about it later, but for now, don’t say anything about it to anyone else.
What?
I mean it. You’ll attract the wrong kind of attention. Don’t talk about it.
What wrong kind of attention? What the hell is going on?
Look, what happened two years ago …it didn’t end then. The bombings, the attacks—they’re going to get worse. Powerful people are involved in this, and I don’t want you getting caught up in it.
And this thing you can’t get into, it involves revivors and Second Chance?
I have to go. Forget I said it. I turned to leave but she grabbed my coat.
I want in. Let me in. You can trust me.
I know.
Then trust me. I’ll sniff around.
I should have stopped her, but I didn’t. The truth was, though, that I needed all the help I could get, and even at the FBI, I wasn’t sure who I could count on.
I have to go.
She nodded, but I already didn’t like the look in her eye. I had a second opportunity to stop her, and I didn’t. Instead I waved good-bye and began to make my way back through the crowd.
Zoe Ott—Pleasantview Apartments, Apartment #713
I sat on my couch, waiting for the police to come knocking on my door. They were going to blame me for what happened at the hospital; I knew they were. Someone shot that woman, and as far as they knew, I was the only one there. I wasn’t, but they weren’t going to believe me. No one else saw the other guy or revivor or whatever it was. No one else saw it. They thought I did it. The cops were probably looking for me already.
I should have just stayed there. I didn’t have a gun; I couldn’t have done it. Now they’d think I just threw it away or hid it or something. Going right home was stupid; it was the first place they’d look. They were probably on their way over already and there I was, just waiting for it to happen.
If they did come, I’d send them away. I’d have to. I could just make them think I didn’t have anything to do with it, which I didn’t. It wouldn’t even be a lie. I’d tell them the truth. A revivor did it. It didn’t matter if they believed me. I’d make them believe me.
I wanted a drink. I couldn’t calm down, and I just really, really wanted a drink. The pills helped, but right then I didn’t care. My heart was still beating too fast and I tried to breathe slower, but I couldn’t.
I closed my eyes and squeezed my fists against them. My hands were shaking, and I was sweating. I wanted to scream. Maybe the drinking was killing me before, but I must have been happier than this. I never had to feel like I did almost every day now….
“They took the ship,” a voice said. I opened my eyes, and my apartment was gone. I was sitting on a metal floor, painted white. The room I was in was small, and it was dark except for an emergency light mounted on one wall.
There was a man sitting a few feet away. He had long, dirty hair and the start of a beard. His face was pale and his lips were chapped and peeling. His eyes were half shut. He looked like he could barely move.
“Who are you?” I asked him. Behind him, I could see more people huddled against the wall. They all looked like him, or worse.
“They took the ship,” he said again. His voice was hoarse. I watched as he lifted a glass jar off the floor and it shook in his hand, like he could barely lift it. Dark yellow liquid sloshed inside, and I realized it was urine. He put the jar to his chapped lips and drank.
I put my hand over my mouth, horrified. His eyes looked apologetic and ashamed.
“We can’t go out there,” he whispered, “We won’t make it. This way is better.”
Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped. When I turned, I was back in my apartment. The strange room was gone. The man with the urine was gone. The knock came again.
It was the police. They were here to get me. My heart started thumping as I got up off the couch and stood in the middle of the room, not moving.
“It’s not the cops,” a woman’s voice said from the other side. “Come on, open up!”
I headed over and opened the door. It was that woman, the one from the subway the other night. She had on the same wool hat and the same red poncho. Under one arm she had a big, flat cardboard box that was tied with a bow.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s you.”
“Penny,” she said.
“Sorry, I thought …I can’t get into it. I just …”
“The cops won’t come here,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.”
“Taken care of?”
“They thought about it and realized they made a mistake. Besides, the Feds stepped in and took over.”
“But they’ll—”
“They’ll be looking for the revivor, like they should be. You’re off the hook. Forget about it.”
The whole thing was weird, but I had to admit, it was a huge weight off my chest.
“You going to let me in?” she asked.
“Um, sure.”
I moved out of her way and she walked in, looking around my place. She didn’t look like she thought much of what she saw, but she didn’t say anything.
“How do you know where I live?” I asked. She shrugged.
“I know a lot about you.”
“Have you been following me?”
“A little.”
She said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Who was she? She stared up at me with her blue eyes that kind of reminded me of Nico’s, and I felt a little dizzy for a second.
The phone rang, and my heart jumped. Maybe it was him.
“Never mind that,” the woman said. “He’ll leave a message. I want to talk to you first.”
I got that dizzy feeling again. The phone rang a few more times; then the machine picked up.
“Zoe? It’s Nico. I’ve been trying to re—”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Ai sent me,” she said.
“Who?”
“Ai. I work for her.”
“…straightened it out with them. Just stay put for now. Call me as soon as you get …”
She talked to me like we knew each other, like we were old friends. She was like some robot friend in a box that got mailed to my doorstep. It was weird, but I didn’t feel funny about letting her in. Something told me I could trust her.
“No offense …”
“Penny.”
“No offense, Penny, but what do you want?”
“Ai wants to meet with you, and your friend Nico too.”
“Who’s Ai?” She pronounced it like the letter I.
“You’ll re
cognize her when you see her,” she said. “You’ve seen her before, sort of. She’s seen you too.”
“Who is she?”
“The most important person you’ll ever meet,” she said.
“Why does she want to meet with me?”
“You’re important too.”
“Yeah, right.”
There was another knock at the door, and I saw I’d left it just hanging open, which I never did. Karen was standing there in the doorway, looking from Penny to me.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” I said. I started fumbling for how I was going to introduce the weird girl who’d just showed up and who I didn’t even know, but she introduced herself.
“I’m Penny,” she said, holding out her hand with a smile. Karen smiled back and shook it.
“Karen.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Karen.”
“You too.”
She looked at both of us for a second.
“Are you two related?”
“No,” I said. “No, no. She’s …from work.”
“Oh, you work at the FBI?” Karen asked.
“No.”
I saw Karen’s smile kind of go down a notch, and she looked confused.
“Actually, I’m with the Lesbian Recruitment Corps,” Penny said. “We’re—”
“Okay, that’s it,” I said, cutting her off. I went to usher Karen out so I could get rid of the weirdo, but before I could, Penny’s eyes changed. Her pupils opened all the way, and Karen’s face relaxed. The confused look that was starting to get mad went away, and she looked totally at ease.
“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Penny said to me over her shoulder. She thought it was funny.
“I’m a new friend of Zoe’s,” she said to Karen. “I don’t work at the FBI, but she met me through work. That’s all you need to know. I’ll be a very good influence on her, and I’m no threat at all to your friendship.”
“Oh,” Karen said.
“I’m pretty too. And funny.”
“Come on,” I said. “Stop it.”
“Well, those things are true,” she said, but I thought that might be debatable.
“Let her go.”
It wasn’t like I’d never done it to her myself, but I wasn’t comfortable watching someone else do it to her. Penny didn’t argue; she just nodded.