“Bugger.”
He trudged to the miraculously functional autoshower and spent the next ten minutes trying to remember if he had been with a woman last night. At the cessation of the whirr from the dry cycle, he came to the only conclusion possible: the footprint was old, and he’d not noticed it before that morning.
It amused him to think of the shirt’s prominence as some manner of omen. Without a second thought as to how it had made it from the duffel bag against the wall to the back of a chair, he put it on. The same feminine scent clung to the fabric, but he refused to let it reignite the debate. He managed an easy explanation for that as well: a female guest had borrowed it at some point. Allison might have, but she didn’t wear that perfume. Any woman who he’d share a bed with would run screaming at the sight of this place. Despite his current situation, he still had standards.
“It’s got to be the stress.”
He moved to sit on nothing; the broken chair swiveled and slid into place in time to catch him. Aaron paused, not even realizing he’d used telekinesis as a reflex until his ass hit the battered leather.
“Hmm. How about that then.” He held out a hand, awaiting the NetMini floating over from his nightstand, which slid into his grasp.
“Hey.” Shimmer answered on the fourth attempt to call her; the voice sounded far sleepier than the smiling faerie looked. “I haven’t found anything more.”
“I met some of your associates the other day. They seemed pretty keen on finding you.”
She crossed her arms, glaring. At eight inches tall, her avatar was a perfect fit for the limit of the NetMini’s emitter, though the top of her head and her toes blurred. A tiny foot tapped. “They’re not my associates. What did you tell them?”
Aaron smiled. “Oh, not much. Just gave them a lesson on applied gravity. Alas, they didn’t seem the scholarly type.”
“I should hang up on you right now.” She tossed her glare to the left with an audible “Hmmf!”
“That Lucky chap wasn’t terribly useful; about all he could give me was the name Rakshasi.”
Shimmer looked at him, glowing blue antenna drifting together with a furrow of her brow. “Level 54 evil extraplanar, typically masters of necromancy, illusion, and/or enchantment. I didn’t know you played.”
“What in the name of heck are you prattling on about?” His face scrunched up.
“Oh, I thought you were talking about the Monwyn MMO. Rakshasa are creatures in the game.”
Fantasy obsessed twit. “No… This isn’t a damn game. Some Tí-zhèn who worked with Talis goes by the name Rakshasi. I need you to find her.”
“I’ve never heard of a ‘tee gen.’ Is that a new creature?”
Aaron squinted. “Do you ever go outside?”
Shimmer pouted.
“A Tí-zhèn is an aug with a lot of speedware. Boosted agility, boosted reflexes, run on walls, that sort of thing.”
The holographic faerie’s eyes turned to white video snow. “Urban slang term coined somewhere around 2210, often carrying a feminine connotation.”
“Yes, thank you GlobeNet,” muttered Aaron.
Shimmer curtsied. “Rakshasi is the feminine form of Rakshasa. Oh, apparently it’s some Hindu thing. Something about a man eater.”
“Spare me the encyclopedia electronica.” Aaron picked crumbs from the corners of his eyes. “Can you help me find this woman or not?”
“Maybe.” A burst of yellow energy fell from her wings. “You have to do me a favor in return.”
He closed his eyes and droned, “What.”
The faerie held out her arm with an upturned palm, above which a man’s holographic head appeared. Expensive suit, later thirties, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I want you to kill Julian Cray.”
“I’m not a hired thug. That’s hardly a fair exchange for information.”
She threw the head over her shoulder and leaned closer. Her entire face filled the projection. “You have to do this if you want my help.”
Her attempt to sound demanding seemed more desperate.
“I’m not going to kill some random tosser because you ask me to.”
Black seeped like ink down her bright wings, darkening from her back toward the tip. “How’s it okay for you to kill for revenge but not me? I can’t confront the son of a bitch myself. I don’t have the kind of skills you have. I’m just a…”
“Just a what?”
Shimmer turned her back on him, her tiny virtual body shaking.
“I knew it,” he muttered. “You’re a little kid, aren’t you?”
“No!” she shouted, whirling around.
Balled up fists and a midair stomp did little to convince him otherwise. He smirked.
“I’m nineteen, but I… don’t go out much.”
“Oh, that’s so much better. You’re still a bit young to be calling hits.”
A cough came from Darwin’s room, followed by the wet gurgling of phlegm doing acrobatics in his throat. Aaron cringed.
“Julian Cray ordered my brother killed. I’ve been trying to get revenge on the Syndicate ever since, but there’s only so much I can do over the net, and it’s impossible for me to get to someone as high up as him.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Aaron sprang to his feet and paced in an erratic figure eight. “You want me to kill some muckety muck in the Syndicate? Are you daft?” He let all the air from his lungs in a long moaning sigh. “Explains why they’re after you.”
“Cory was a cop. He’d infiltrated them, but got found out. He was only twenty-three. You used to be a cop.”
“Yeah… Used to being the operative fact. Besides, cops don’t do contract killings.”
“It’s not a contract killing when cops kill a cop-killer. He’s a criminal!” she shrieked.
The image of an eight-inch woman turning red from rage got him chuckling.
She glared, shaking her finger at him. “You wanna kill the bitch that murdered your wife.” Her shrill diatribe fell to a near-whisper. “The way you feel about her is how I feel about the asshole who killed my brother.”
Aaron sneered at nothing in particular. Darwin emerged from his curtained enclave, muttered an incoherent greeting, and stumbled into the bathroom with one hand inside his underwear, scratching his ass. Shimmer worked a series of expressions from pleading to demanding to about to cry.
“Getting into a pissing contest with the Syndicate isn’t going to do anything more than add another layer of complexity to finding Talis. I’ll have ten times the ball ache trying to track her down with thugs coming after me at every turn.”
“I’ll help you set it up to look casual. Please… I’ll do everything I can to help you get revenge for your wife. Please help me. You want to find Talis, you have to do this.”
He flicked at the nametag in his pocket pondering what Allison would think of this. She wouldn’t approve at all, even if this Julian Cray was eyeballs deep in organized crime. The Syndicate traded in drugs, illegal weapons, military hardware, and girls.
“All right, but I am going to set a condition.”
“What?” She sniffled.
“If he didn’t actually order it, I’m not going to kill him.”
“I know he did it! I have files, video, recordings… what do you want?”
“What’s your last name?”
Suspicion hardened her tiny face. “Why?”
“I’m going to mention it and see what he thinks.”
The faerie kicked at the ground, fidgeting for a minute or so. Darwin emerged from the bathroom, hand still buried, scratching. He smelled less like Nicohaler vapor and more like cheap soap. He muttered an incomprehensible series of syllables, waved, and disappeared into his room.
“Braddon,” she whispered. “My brother was Cory Braddon. How will that help?”
Aaron flashed the smile that brought women home. “I’m psychic.”
egret walked beside Aaron on the three-block journey from his squat to the beginning of civilization. N
ervous stuttering came from a thin blonde man in a too-large trench coat, who leaned against the wall a short distance away from the apartment. He’d gotten a pistol handle out of his pocket before he seemed to remember the first time he’d tried to mug Aaron. The hole in the third floor safety glass window still had the profile of a body. He lost composure and ran off, whimpering. Aaron wasn’t sure how to feel about inspiring such terror after spending several years with Division 0 trying to convince the world that people like him weren’t monsters. Of course, out in the grey zones everyone was a monster to a degree―or became monsters’ playthings.
Aaron much preferred the former.
The nearest functioning coffee shop sat at the center of a cluster of corporate buildings, behind a wall of private peace officers in plain green armor who maintained a show of force along the edge of where the grey zone ‘officially’ stopped. A silhouette of a gladius adorned each shoulder, above the words Spartan Security.
They were paid to stand there and hold weapons, responding to any attempted aggression with the finely-crafted overkill reserved for those who enjoyed having power over others. Any crime happening even ten steps outside the corporation property went on uninterrupted. Most struck him as police washouts, bullies, or imbalanced individuals not quite off the cracker enough for Spartan’s laughable evaluation process to flag them. At least their presence was sufficient to make the less organized gangs leave the place alone.
‘Morning Bean’ had become a favorite stop for Aaron in the months since he’d gone off the grid. Tucked into the corner of an office tower’s ground floor, it was always busy but never to the point of an arduous wait. For whatever reason, the ubiquitous delivery bots had never gotten into the business of offering genuine coffee, or food that hadn’t come from OmniSoy. Walking into a place was the only way to get ‘real’ food, though only twenty or so percent of the citizenry could afford to do that.
Half the people inside worked for Spartan, vigilant in their protection of cheap plastic chairs and scones. Aaron ignored them, even the ones who made an obvious show of holding their armbands up while scanning him. The E-90 waited under his pillow back home; by all appearances, he was unarmed. A coffee or two mysteriously toppled into laps as he made his way to the ordering station, grinning at the howls of frustration behind him.
The kid behind the counter looked about sixteen, with short, pink hair and a smirk somewhere between boredom and forced cheer. He tapped his fingers on the counter while Aaron looked over the board above his head. A palm-sized white button on his shirt announced he was a living teen and not a doll, because The Bean cares about people.
“Welcome to Morning Bean,” droned the boy. “How may I caffeinate you?”
“Cheesy Fiesta omwich, non-soy,” replied Aaron, managing a tone even more bored than the clerk. The boy poked at a terminal, which beeped. “With mushrooms. Also, an extra-large genuine tea. English Breakfast or whatever your strongest leaf is.”
More beeping. “Uhh, you mean Grande?”
“Extra-large,” said Aaron.
“We don’t have that size.” The kid sighed. “Minuto, Medio, Grande, or Grosso.”
Aaron fixed him with a stare, a thin strip of teeth showing between tense lips. “Whatever the largest bloody size you’ve got is.”
“That would be grosso.” The boy waited with an expectant look.
Aaron glowered.
“Did you want a gro―”
“What I want”―Aaron glanced at the clerk’s nametag―“Josh, is a cup of bloody tea without a bloody lesson in bloody foreign languages. Does it sodding matter what language I say fecking huge in? Tea, now! Sehr grosse. Ogromnyy. Bahut bada. Fecking grande! I’m not orderin’ tea to look trendy. I’m ordering tea because I am fecking English!”
Somewhere out of sight in the back, a girl giggled.
Josh gawked. He prodded the holo-terminal, which beeped. “Uhh, seventy-nine credits, sir.”
Aaron swiped his NetMini over the reader hard enough to make the clerk flinch. A scrape of plasticized armor came from the left. Two Sentinel Security officers eased out of their chairs. Aaron glared at them with a wild flare of ‘please do something’ in his eyes. The man on the left glanced at his armband and shook his head. They walked out.
“Thanks. Your order will be out in a minute”―he pointed to his left―“at the end of the counter.”
Aaron took two steps to his right. “You know, Josh. You’ve seen me come in here every damn day for at least two months. You’d think I know the routine by now.”
Josh blinked, his face a mask of utter confusion.
“He’s just following a script,” said Anna from behind.
His anger melted away. Enough sunlight fought past the cheap tint film on the windows to make her snow-white hair seem to glow in a frizzy puffball. She clung to a tall cup, clutched to her chest. Steam lofted the scent of Earl Grey from a tiny hole in its plastic dome lid. Pink fingerless gloves lent a splash of color to her otherwise monochromatic outfit of black: long coat, shirt, leggings, and boots.
Her amused grin fell to a flat line when she looked at his chest. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Aaron looked down. “Couldn’t have spilled anything, I’ve not gotten my food yet.”
“That.” She pointed at his chest.
“It’s a shirt, luv.”
“Obviously.” She squinted, muttering, “twit.”
“You looked almost chipper a moment ago.” Motion made him glance left. A violet-haired girl with coffee-colored skin forced herself not to look at him as she set his order on the corner pick up space. She scurried away, giggling. Josh made a petulant face at her. Aaron snatched his egg sandwich and tea. “Just poppin’ in for a bite. Care to join me?”
Anna picked at the lid of her cup. She took a sip as he walked around her and sat at window table. He took a long sniff of the sandwich before lifting it with both hands to his face. Eyes closed, he inhaled back and forth, adoring the fragrance of egg not made from protein slime.
“Are you going to eat that or snog it?”
He popped one eye open. “Shh. You’ll ruin the moment.”
“Now it makes sense.” She plopped into the chair opposite him, crossed her legs, and let off a long-suffering sigh.
Aaron tuned his environs out as he took a bite―not too much at once―and chewed.
“You keep making faces like that, people will wonder what I’m doing under the table.”
“At least do me the courtesy of allowing me to do something crass before you get cross with me.” He stared over his sandwich at her. “What’s that? Makes sense?”
“Aurora. No wonder she insisted I find you. She’s usually the one to make first contact. Bitch.” Anna popped the lid off her cup and took a swig.
“Mind that.” Aaron fanned the air. “All I can taste now is Earl.”
“Don’t fancy it?” She exhaled over the cup at him.
“It’s all right. Just doesn’t mix with eggs.” He set the food down and grasped his cup. “What did this Aurora person do to you?”
“She’s probably watching us right now, laughing her tits off that I’m sharing a table with an Arsenal wanker.”
Between the unexpected heat of his drink and her comment, he almost choked. “That? That’s what’s got you in a tizzy? Fecking frictionless? You looked almost chipper before.” He took another bite, mumbling over the food. “Tragic.”
“I had hoped having the night to think it over would’ve made you more inclined to help us out, but I’m not honestly sure an Arsenal wanker would fit in.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, lass.”
Her face reddened.
“Besides, I’m not exactly playing for them anymore.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Did you say playing?”
“You said I looked familiar, right?” He held his arms, and the precious sandwich, out to the side. “Lose the scruff, about fifteen pounds, and four years.”
Ann
a’s expression went from shock to the bastard child of fear and loathing. “You…”
“Yep. I’m that Aaron Pryce.” He put on a voice as though narrating a documentary. “A former striker for the Arsenal F.C., Pryce was considered the leading scorer for the last three years of his impressive, but tragically short career.”
“You bastard.” She leaned toward him, her voice a raspy whisper. “You don’t know how many times you made me throw beer across a room. God!” She fumed. “You’re the reason I dabbled in abandoning atheism.”
“How’s that?” He grinned.
“Well…” Her anger receded to guilt. “I… sort of prayed for you to get injured.”
Aaron frowned at the crumbs, all that remained of his wondrous breakfast. “You and most of the tools that favor Manchester.”
“Yeah, well… Around the time I asked the man upstairs to get rid of you, you had your injury. You’ll ’ave to forgive me, I was in a rough patch.” She tried to hide behind her tea. “Sorry. Hope it didn’t hurt too much.”
“I’m over it.” He made thoughtful eyebrows while taking a long swig. “Most peculiar thing. When I woke up this morning, this shirt had been set out.”
Anna’s scowl seemed as playful as it was angry. “Lauren.”
“Who’s that then?”
“Aurora.”
He tilted his head. “Who’s Lauren?”
“Aurora.”
His face went blank.
“Stupid Arsenal wanker. Aurora and Lauren are the same person.”
“You’ve got a funny way of endearing people to your cause.” He stood.
“So, you’ll meet Archon?”
“Archon again. What is it with you people and funny names? Do you have a funny name too?”
She blushed. It didn’t seem like a cute blush either, more like a crawl-into-a-dark-pit blush.
“Let’s hear it.”
Anna stared at her tea. “I…”
“Right. I’ve got things to do.” He rendered a salute and walked out.
The scrape of her chair didn’t surprise him. She caught up a block later, walking astride until they reached the decaying building where his sorry excuse for an apartment waited. On the outside, the place seemed in better repair than its surroundings. Perhaps why vagrants and spent pneumatic autoinjectors hadn’t yet packed the stairwells, they assumed the place still had owners. Perhaps it did, in some bureaucratic on-the-books-but-not-for-real way.
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