“All right, I really gotta go.” The girl stood again, brushing her hands off on her spacesuit. “The guy in the office said he’d consider my offer if it was better than the Ziqaid’s.” She squinted in the direction of the office and held up her hand, hiding her mouth as if she was afraid someone might hear us. “Although, I don’t think he took me seriously. The good thing is, I don’t think he likes that alien much.”
That’s it. I swallowed down the last decadent bite of fish, a balm for my shrunken belly, and swished my tail, marching ahead of her long-legged stride. That Ziqaid is not getting my ship. This alien is!
I padded straight through the front door of the dingy junkyard office, carefully avoiding touching the horrible Mr. Kabuki. The cocky pilot and the grizzled marine had crammed themselves in between the angry Mr. Kabuki and the junkyard owner, Jacque. The combined scent was nothing short of fetid. I pushed away my disgust, realizing not everyone had as delicate of sensibilities as I did. ACHOO! I sneezed, the dust tickling my nose. The things I do for my ship.
I hopped up onto the counter and twitched my tail, asserting my supremacy amidst the room full of suitors.
“How much? We’ll pay it.” The cocky pilot begged, eyes wide.
“Kid, I can get top dollar for a working hauler.” The owner stepped back and scanned the room.
“We’ve got money.” He looked over his shoulder at the grizzled Marine I’d seen earlier. “Right Sarge?” He turned back, leaned over the counter, and made sure he put himself squarely back in the owner’s view. He seemed young to be a pilot, but he had the right attitude. Pushy, confident. Loud.
The one the pilot had called “Sarge” was a thick, muscular older man dressed in well-worn fatigues, and an old military anorak with the patches removed. He rocked back on his heels. “Darren,” he groaned, “I don’t even have enough to get off the planet.”
The girl stepped up to the counter. I liked her; she was quiet. Pensive. She read a room before reacting. She reminded me of a cat. She slid an absentminded hand around my waist and lifted me off the countertop, curling me into her arms and running a hand from my head and down to the tip of my tail in a soothing motion. I flexed my claws, gently kneading against her flesh as I started to purr. She scratched behind my ears between strokes.
The pilot glanced her way then looked back at Sarge, pleading. “But we need this ship!”
“I know we need a ship, but unless he’ll take this knife in trade, I got nothing.” Sarge made a show of pulling his pockets inside out before tossing a piece of military tech on the counter.
The owner, a thin, whitehaired human, held the knife up. “Haven’t seen one of these in awhile. Nice piece.”
“But is it enough, Jaque?” the kid asked.
The owner scratched his head, punched some numbers out on his calculator, and squinted at the knife again. “You got any more of these?”
“That’s it.” The marine sighed. “Sorry kid, that’s all I’ve got.”
Mr. Kabuki started waving his arms, then lunged across the counter, gripping the owner’s shirt with a growl. “The ship is mine. We had a deal!”
“Sorry,” Jaque replied, nonchalant. “You offered me 60,000 corona and told me I should be happy to get that much.” And then he turned and laughed in the Ziqaid’s face. “If these two punks, or anyone else, can beat your offer, the ship is theirs.”
“But we had a deal!” The Ziqaid shouted, turning an apoplectic shade of deep purple.
I smirked at him from my cradle in the girl’s arms. He was unworthy of my ship, but so too were these humans. I needed to get the girl to speak up, but that would mean interrupting my massage.
Before I could muster the willpower to mentally nudge her, the girl spoke of her own accord. “I can beat his offer.” Unnoticed until she spoke, her voice—an octave higher than anyone else who’d been sucking down oxygen so far—stopped everyone in the room.
“You?” the old man addressed her, eyebrow raised, a skeptical note in his voice.
Setting me down on the counter, she elbowed her way to the front, stopping across from the old man, where she pulled a battered duffel bag off her back and slapped it down. “I’ll give you 75, cash.” Unzipping the bag, she upended it, spilling loose corona across the glass, bills sliding and coins rolling every which way. I had to restrain myself from giving chase as light glinted suggestively off the face of a rolling coin.
The old man’s eyes lit up. Most paid in Sovereignty chits these days, the war making cash scarce, but that meant transactions were tracked. Cash still couldn’t be traced, no matter how hard the Sovereignty tried. Seventy-five was a good price; even I would admit that 100,000 corona was highway robbery. Don’t get me wrong, my ship’s big, but she’s a transport hauler. Built for both air and water, she could go anywhere—just not very fast. Her engines were old, her electronics outdated, and the Alphorians hadn’t been kind, or clean. Why would a cat burden itself with such bipedal concerns, you ask?! What good is a king, who does not understand the value of his domain?
I held my breath. I could tell the owner was tempted, but was it enough? Tuna, jellyfish, catnip, visions of all manner of delicacies delivered by the girl’s delicate green hand flashed before my eyes. The two men and the Ziqaid all stood frozen, as we awaited the junkyard owner’s response.
“I believe the lady just bought herself a ship.” The old man ignored Darren, Sarge, and Mr. Kabuki, hands flashing as he scooped the chits into a drawer and out of sight as fast as he could. “Sign here, here, and here.” He passed the girl a tablet.
With a flourish she printed ALINA and tapped the screen. I held my breath until Alina accepted the plastic square with the seal of the Sovereignty, transferring the ship’s ownership.
I licked my lips. Alina. Ah-Lee-Na. I rolled her name around in my mind. It fit. Alina had FOOD! I would finally get fed! I stood and turned a happy circle, momentarily distracted by my tail.
Gleeful, I batted at a forgotten coin, spinning it and flipping it around the counter. I pounced and it skidded away and then I gave chased once more, until Jaque reached over and swiped it from my clutches. Hmmmph! I sneezed at him, still grinning a feline grin.
My plan worked! Darren and Sarge surrounded Alina, offering more and more outrageous trades, but I didn’t stay to listen, instead hopping off the counter and scooting out the door. I needed to make it back to the ship and establish myself in residence before the girl took possession and moved the ship from the junkyard. My minion. All would be right with the world.
Streaking up the gangway, I zipped inside, making a beeline for my favorite hidey-hole deep in the bowels of the ship. What is THAT??? I noticed a new smell and stopped, half in and half out of the wall leading to my favorite empty space. Spicy, with a hint of musk. Sniff, sniff. I rotated my head around, trying to locate the source. My eyes widened when I spotted a large, dark form near the back of the hidden room.
Hello, friend. Yellow cat eyes stared back at me from what appeared to be a human. His thoughts presented in my mind as if they were my own. Hmmmmm, an elevated mind. Large, bipedal, encased in a black, synthetic suit he stared, unblinking. The hair on my neck stood, noting his presence, but strangely, I wasn’t frightened.
Who are you? The new arrival might look human, except for his eyes, but my nose told me he was anything but.
Your new roommate.
The human-who-could-beam-thoughts-inside-my-head held out a scrap of fish and I no longer cared why he was here.
I ambled forward, swiped the fish from his hand, and sauntered into my domain.
Author. Gamer. College student. Grayson Walker writes, plays video games, and likes editing videos from his loft near the equator. He's interested in technology and considers dogs very important. (Although he is willing to acknowledge the benefits of cats) He loves writing science fiction because it affords a lot of creative freedom.
Find out more at www.amazon.com/author/graysonwalker.
48
; Scratch the Surface
by Aleta Goin
Wesleyn Price, inventor of the bionet, stands on the brink of creating the world’s first megacorps conglomerate. Only one thing stands in his way. It’s a cyberpunk game of cat and mouse, but who is the cat and who is the mouse?
//
C:usersPRICE*1cd C:pricebionetsys1
C:Program Filespricebionetsys1start CAT1.exe
Price Bionet System*1:Release 1.1.0.0.0 - Production on Aug 12 06:35:422330
Copyright
Enter user-name: hr
Enter password:*
Connected to Cybernet Access Terminal
C:run CAT1.exe
C:_
>DEATH I AM DYING
>PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN…
C:execute sys check
>I|i|ii —
C:system shutdown
>error
//
Wesleyn Price, Chairman and CEO of Price Biosystems Inc. (and youngest ever CEO of a megacorp), paced the length of the oval-shaped room, arms folded across his chest, scanning the continuous array of readouts and status graphics on each of the holoscreens. Data consumption reports, user interface reports, hub statistics, node tracking, and security data. He stopped in front of one screen and tapped in a few adjustments. The lines of data halted for a brief second, reset, and then continued their path.
Satisfied, Price stepped away from the screens and turned toward the sleek, two-meter long tank in the center of the room. Cables and wires sprouted from its surface, and a small narrow biopanel ran the length of the top. Fluid stasis gel filled the inside of the tank, thick and viscous but far from inert. This was CAT—the Cybernetic Access Terminal—the beating heart of the world’s first biologically interfaced internet (bionet).
“There, my darling,” he said soothingly. He tapped a couple of buttons on the biopanel’s screen. “Nothing to worry about. Another tiny error in the code, but I’ve fixed it. All systems are operating normally now.”
Price was a scientist and a businessman. His life was extrapolating and interpreting data, identifying patterns, asking unanswerable questions, and then creating novel answers. He lived by calculated risk. And taking calculated risks meant knowing exactly what you stood to lose when things went wrong. If the anomalies couldn’t be contained or bypassed, the bionet would spiral into decay and eventual system failure.
Civilization as they knew it wouldn’t exist anymore. In just a few short years—less than a decade—the world had become completely dependent on his technology. Business, politics, finance, entertainment, newsmedia—there wasn’t a single facet of the modern world that operated without it. The world would be plunged into chaos and disaster the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the Dark ages.
Three days from now the board of the first megacorps conglomerate in history would convene under the control of one CEO—him. After years of planning and careful maneuvering, everything was coming together exactly as he had planned. Nothing, and no one, was going to stop him.
Price gently placed a hand on the tank before turning and walking toward the steel doors. They split down the center and parted at his touch—only his touch—and snicked shut behind him.
The blue light gently faded to a soft, almost imperceptible glow. Colored lines of data continued to trundle up the holoscreens. Then, as though snagged by something sharp, the lines of data snapped tight and skewed to the side. A single hand, thin and delicate, stretched its palm flat against the inside of the tank’s biopanel. The screens went completely dark, and the light cells flickered and went out. When they relit, the lines of data continued to scroll upward into the ether without a trace of interruption. The window of the biopanel stared vacantly toward the ceiling.
//
“I have to say, I’m surprised that Price would agree to discuss my terms. I expected more…resistance.” The man behind the desk leaned back slightly in his chair. Calvano Montanegro, sixty-two years old, CEO of Montanegro BioImplants, Inc. Average height, slightly receding salt and pepper hairline, flawless skin that denied his actual years, the powerful build of a man forty years younger. His body had an easy confidence borne of complete security in his position and many hours spent in a rejuvenation pod. His hard eyes, twin chunks of glacial blue, fixed on the woman in the chair in front of him.
“Your counteroffer was…intriguing,” Irina said. Her legs were crossed, fingers woven together on top. She was every inch the picture of perfect beauty, her looks topped only by her lethality. Price’s girlfriend, bodyguard, and enforcer. A true femme fatale. Calvano knew he’d do well to remember that.
“Does that mean he’s considering it?”
She tilted her head to one side as she considered him. “No,” she said. “You’re sinking fast. You know it. Price knows it. It’s a fair offer. You won’t get a better one from any of the other companies, and he won’t make his offer twice. It’s non-negotiable.”
“Nothing at the end of a gun ever is.”
Ivrina looked bored. “You have nothing left. Your company is in ruins and you don’t have the funds to bail it out. None of the financial corps are willing to give you a loan. Price is producing the same products at a faster rate. You can’t underbid him because your company can’t afford any more losses than you already have. You have nothing to offer your suppliers as a means of incentive to sell exclusively to you. Price has given you three possible choices.” She held up a finger. “ One—you can go bankrupt, but you know what happens to corps that go bankrupt.”
Calvano managed not to flinch at the thought.
“Two—you can put your company on the market at the next Board Meeting and let the other sharks rip you apart into even smaller pieces.”
He blanched.
“Or three—you can accept his offer.”
“You mean I have no choice but to accept his offer.”
She smiled. “There’s always a choice.”
“Extortion isn’t a choice.” Calvano drew a hand down his face. He felt like he’d just aged ten years. “What you’re asking me to do is commit career suicide. To destroy a lifetime’s worth of work. If I sign my company over to him I’ll be nothing but a puppet on strings.”
“True.” Ivrina inspected the fingernails on her right hand. “But you already are, anyway.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “There is a fourth option,” she said.
Calvano felt a small spark of hope burst into life and he cursed himself for it. Cursed himself for hoping for help from his destroyers.
“You’re just toying with me,” he said flatly, but the spark remained.
She laughed softly, a sound like the contented purr of a cat. “Actually, the game is already over.”
Calvano’s brows drew together in a frown. Was she talking about Price? “Wha—”
Ivrina stood and ghosted across the room in one fluid, graceful motion before his lips finished forming the word.
Calvano swallowed. “He sent you to kill me if I didn’t agree to his terms, didn’t he.” A statement, not a question. He had to give himself credit for how steady his voice sounded. “I would rather die than give him my company.” He lifted his chin.
She nodded. “We expected as much.” Moving slowly this time, languorously, she walked behind him, trailing the tips of her nails across the back of his neck. With a quick flick of her wrist, a single nail sliced a small line in his skin, no more than a centimeter in length. He hissed an expletive and jerked away from her. She continued to his other side and then turned to face him, perching lightly on the corner of his desk.
“I could kill you,” she said. “I have the means and the authority to do so. But I prefer to think outside the box.”
She winked.
“I don’t understand.” Beads of perspiration appeared on Calvano’s forehead and trickled down the side of his face. He felt strange, distant, disconnected. His bionet feed went dark. Raw, primitive fear flooded through him. “Even if you kill me you won’t get out of this building alive.”
Again the soft purr. She was still purring when his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went into spasms, one foot thumping uselessly against the floor.
//
C:net helpmsg *HK01
C:start syscheck
C:runtest
C:sysoverride.PRICE*1.exe
//
Price sat at his desk, eyes moving rapidly underneath closed lids.
He sensed the moment Ivrina stepped into the room, gliding silently across the open space and leaned against the corner of his desk facing him.
Hellcats: Anthology Page 83