Fade to Black

by Nyx Smith

  "I don't... I don't have any idea." Surikov looked astonished.

  "Your wife just tried to dust you." Rico looked at Dok. "She is his wife, right?"

  Dok didn't answer.

  "You checked her, right?"

  Doc still said nothing, but the answer was obvious.

  "You didn't verify her identity."

  Filly cursed.

  "Fragging Fuchi security was right there!" Dok exclaimed. "We didn't have time. We just grabbed her and ran."

  "Do it now."

  Dok turned and headed upstairs.

  Rico had few doubts about what had happened, or what was happening here now. His team's weaknesses were showing.

  The truth was that even an old pro like Dok could get sloppy, stupid. The kind of body Marena Farris owned would make a lot of slags get stupid, and Dok was one of them. Filly knew it, and Rico knew it That was why Filly had cursed. That was also why she'd stayed so close to Dok ever since they'd left Manhattan tonight. Given the right opportunity, Dok couldn't keep his pants on to save his life. He had a half a dozen little pieces of fun scattered all over the plex, not to mention the new ones he was always finding.

  Filly put up with it because she knew she was number one and she knew what that meant to Dok. Rico put up with it because it usually wasn't a problem, wasn't usually any of his freaking biz. It only mattered now because people were slotting up and that could get them all killed.

  Being under pressure was no excuse. It was irrelevant. Shank and Dok were pros. They were paid to handle the pressure and paid to do it right.

  The only thing more dangerous than busting out Surikov's wife would be coming away with the wrong woman. Busting out a willing corporate defector was one thing. The kidnapping of a loyal employee ... that could start a fragging war.

  Rico gazed steadily at Surikov, waiting, trying to scope the slag out.

  Everything was about Surikov. His reaction to Marena Farris grabbing a gun and trying to waste him mattered more than any explanations Farris might have to give. Rico wondered if the slag had some special agenda that he hadn't mentioned yet. Rico hadn't forgotten what he'd seen that night at Maas Intertech when he and the team busted Surikov out. The man had been on top of a woman and going at her like he owned her. Maybe that woman had been nothing more than a corporate joygirl. Maybe not. Maybe Surikov had Dok's kind of problem with women. Maybe not. Maybe the only reason Surikov had wanted his wife busted out was so he could settle a score with her. Who knows? Maybe the only reason Marena Farris was still alive was because Surikov hadn't grabbed a gun first.

  Paranoia was catching.

  Dok returned. "It's a match," he said. "Ninety-eight percent certainty. She's Marena Farris." He paused a moment, then said, "Boss, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

  Right. "You're on watch in two hours. Take a bedroom."

  Dok and Filly headed upstairs.

  Rico looked over at Surikov. The slag leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. "I can't believe it," he said finally. "I can't believe that's truly Marena. She would never... She's not a violent woman."

  Piper had provided comparative data for both a retina print and DNA scan from straight outta the Fuchi security files. "Ninety-eight percent certainty," Rico said. "It don't get much more certain than that."

  "They must have done something to her."

  "Yeah? Maybe she hates your guts."

  Surikov's eyes flared wide. For a moment, he seemed about to roar with anger, but then the emotion faded. He stared at the ceiling, and shook his head very slightly. "No," he said. "You don't know Marena.

  The real Marera. I can imagine what you must think, based on her looks. But she's a very loving woman.

  She's devoted to me. I can see it in her eyes. That's how I know this woman who just tried to shoot me isn't her. She doesn't have Marena's eyes. Good God, what have they done to her!"

  The emotion in Surikov's voice built slowly and steadily to that final exclamation. Rico wasn't sure what to make of it. No question that a corp like Fuchi could do practically anything to a person if they wanted to spend the money. Could they install some kind of implant to override a person's brain and turn them into a one-shot killer? Rico had heard of it being done. Hell, the right mage with the right batch of spells could make a person do almost anything and leave him thinking it was his own idea. That much he had direct from Bandit Speaking of which ...

  Where the frag was Bandit?

  22

  Shank guided Marena Farris to the door at the end of the second-floor hallway, then into the room there. She seemed weak, dazed. Bandit followed them in. Shank guided the woman to the bed, made her sit, then looked at the shaman.

  "I'll watch her," Bandit said.

  "Rico told me to do it."

  Bandit lifted the Mask of Sassacus up before his own face and whispered words of power. The past few days had given him some time to further examine the mask and to experiment with it. He had harmonized its power with his own.

  Aloud, he told Shank, "You must be hungry. Why not get something to eat?"

  Shank grunted, nodded. "Yeah, you got a point. Thanks, chummer."

  "Do not think of it."

  "Think of what?"

  "Just kidding."

  Shank paused a moment, looked at Bandit, then grinned ferociously and left. Bandit considered the mask, then noticed Marena Farris slowly turning to face him. She would not see the mask. It was cloaked.

  Only Bandit could see it.

  Marena Farris appeared emotionally upset. She moved her hands about her face, covering her mouth, her eyes, wiping at her brow, her cheeks. She spent several moments pressing her hair back from her face.

  Her eyes looked red, her face flushed.

  "Care for a cigarette?" Bandit asked.

  Marena Farris shook her head.

  Bandit shrugged and took a cig from his open pack, then ignited it with a lighter from his duster pocket.

  He didn't actually draw the smoke into his lungs, only into his mouth, then blew it out. He was a practiced smoker. He practiced the habit because people seemed to become more at ease when they saw him doing something so mundane. That was his only reason for smoking. To appear somewhat mundane.

  He smoked Millennium Reds. One of the most common brands available. They could be gotten anywhere.

  Between one drag and the next, he gazed at Marena Farris as she appeared on the astral plane. She looked back at him, though only on the physical plane, it seemed.

  "You have an interesting aura."

  Marena Farris smiled a polite kind of smile. Not very enthusiastic. Not very interested. Perhaps a bit pained. Was it an attempt at deception or a reflection of her true feelings? On the astral plane, she was a storm of color, a boiling cauldron of light, of life energy. In Bandit's experience, such a tumultuous aura reflected tumultuous emotions or thoughts, sometimes both. The intensity and diverse coloring of the aura said more about the individual, their strength, their will, the force of their life.

  "What's going to happen to me?" Marena Farris said.

  Bandit wondered how she meant that.. Did she mean now? tomorrow? next year? Did she wonder what would happen to her when her body grew too worn and decayed to support her biological existence?

  "I wonder," Bandit replied, pausing to take another drag of the cig. "You're much older than you seem."

  She gasped softly, then.

  As in surprise.

  "What ... what do you mean?" she asked quietly.

  "What do you think?" Bandit replied.

  "Well, yes," she said, slowly. "Yes, you're right. It's true. I am. Older than I look. Why ... do you ask? Why am I telling you this?"

  "You'd like to tell me more."

  "Yes, I would." She stopped and smiled again and nodded. Then frowned. "I don't understand."

  "There's nothing to understand."

  "Yes,, yes, there is. I'm sure of it."

  "You just like talking to me."

  "Yes,
I do. But there's more. You're ..."

  "No."

  "You are." Her expression grew pained. She gasped for breath as if running a race. "You're ... doing things to me. Stop it. Stop it, please! It hurts..." Incredible.

  Bandit lowered the mask. Marena Farris dropped her head to her breast. Her hair tumbled down around her face, concealing her features completely. But not her aura. Bandit looked at that again just to see how it had changed, but it was difficult to read. Certain aspects of it were puzzling, out of sync, conflicting with the whole. Conflicting with aspects of her aura that seemed to imply that she had a great latent potential for magic. Great enough that she might have made a powerful mage, had she begun the study early enough.

  Then again, her potential was not entirely latent. She had some very minor raw ability. Unrefined, untrained. A sensitivity to spells of influence, a sort of natural resistance, and great strength of will.

  Bandit wondered if she might not be one of those people, successful people, powerful people, who are often credited with great personal charisma, charm, influence, and a thousand other traits that mundanes found so difficult to describe.

  Magic by other names.

  It would be interesting to spend more time with Marena Farris. Bandit could see the value in it clearly.

  If nothing else, her own natural resistance would help him reveal the true depth of power possessed by the Mask of Sassacus.

  The bedroom door swung inward.

  Rico entered. "Looking for you," he said. "Have a seat, I wanna talk to our guest."

  Bandit found himself a chair.

  Heading into this, Rico tried to keep an open mind.

  Marena Farris lifted her head and met his eyes. She looked distraught enough to cry, scared, too. It made her seem more human.

  Her Fuchi file said she was forty-three, but she didn't look anywhere near that age. Maybe twenty-five. She had the kind of looks that leapt out and demanded a man's attention, no question about it Her face was pure exec, cool and sophisticated, flawless. Her figure was beyond belief. She had all the makings of a primo slut or prostitute, the kind of woman who got whatever she wanted, regardless of what it took. She'd started at Fuchi as a corporate joygirl, a sort of combination hooker and geisha, but had broken out of that mold in just a few short years. The corp had educated her, boosted her up the ladder.

  Rico noticed how the light from the room's only lamp gleamed on the moist skin beneath Marena Farris' eyes, and he decided how to proceed. An honorable man would plumb his own depths searching for mercy. Understanding. Compassion. But Rico couldn't afford it.

  "What's your story?"

  She hesitated, blinked like she didn't understand, the looked at him steadily and said, "Please don't kill me."

  Rico clenched his teeth. "Gimme a reason."

  "I'm worth more alive."

  What the hell was she talking about? Rico straggled to keep his face deadpan, concealing his surprise.

  Did she think she'd been kidnapped? That someone intended to kill her? Rico thought he ought to explain, only he didn't wanna explain, not till he got the truth out of her. "You always say hello to a slag by trying to waste him?"

  "What else could I do?" Farris seemed to get choked up. Her voice wavered. Tears spilled from her eyes. She moaned, looking around like she wanted to find some way out. "You had me, you brought me straight to him. He obviously hired you for that." She paused a moment, hand at her brow. Her fingers trembled visibly. "I can't believe this is happening. Isn't there anything I can say? I'll give you any amount of money, twice whatever he paid you, if you'll get me out of here."

  Rico hated playing games like this, especially with a woman, especially with one who looked like she expected to be killed at any moment. It made him feel dirty-like slime. It didn't really matter that she was a suit, a corporate. She was still a woman. If so much wasn't at stake ... Rico clenched his teeth. "You got money?"

  The question nailed her attention. Her eyes went wide. She nodded. Adamantly. "Yes, I have a lot of money. I don't... I don't care how much you want. Just let me go. Please let me go."

  "Later," Rico said. "We'll talk about money later. I wanna know some things first."

  She nodded, looking like she'd willingly tell him anything. Rico wondered whether to believe it.

  "How'd you figure it out?" Rico said. "What we got in mind."

  Farris lowered her face to her hand, stared at the bed. She seemed about to cry again. "I've known for some time that Ansell loathes me. He can be very vengeful. That's why he volunteered-"

  "Volunteered? For what?"

  Farris looked at him again. "You don't really need to know that. It's proprietary,"

  Rico stepped toward the bed. "I'll tell you about proprietary. I almost got my cojones blown off coming after you. So you're gonna tell me what you know. Everything."

  "Please ... I took an oath."

  A real corporate thing to say.

  Rico sat down on the edge of the bed facing her. A new rise of fear showed plainly in her eyes, yet something in the way she held her head, the angle of her chin, seemed almost like a challenge. Defiant.

  That changed when the razorspurs slid out of the rear of Rico's arm and snicked softly into position. Farris' eyes caught the movement. She looked, then looked again. When Rico lifted his forearm, moving those blades toward her throat, she stiffened, lifted her hands to her face, and leaned away.

  Another moment and she was squirming.

  She gasped. "Please!"

  When she started shaking. Rico drew back. She was hard to read, and harder to figure. One big contradiction from start to finish. She could peddle that body of hers in any bar in the sprawl without even trying, yet she seemed sharp, maybe sharp enough to go anywhere, right to the top. She didn't seem like the type to be physically brave, and yet this same woman had just grabbed a gun and tried to blow away her own husband. What the hell kind of sense did that make? None. None whatsoever. Surikov didn't seem to understand it. Rico sure didn't.

  "Consider yourself threatened," he said. "Now talk."

  Farris was more than just a few moments calming down. If it was an act, it was a fragging good one.

  Every move flush, a seamless performance. Right down to the way she pursed her lips, as if forcing herself to at least seem in control of herself, when really she was shaking. Rico wasn't sure if he believed her act or not.

  "You said your husband volunteered. Volunteered for what?"

  "A special program," Farris said in a voice that seemed weak with emotion. "He didn't have to do it.

  He did it to get away from me. To spite me."

  "Spite you why?"

  "Because things didn't work out."

  "What things?"

  She hesitated and swallowed visibly. "Our relationship," she said. "Our marriage."

  Rico figured that much had to be true. If it hadn't been true, it was now. Unless Surikov didn't mind almost getting wasted by his wife. "Tell me about this special program. You said your husband volunteered."

  "It's a secret."

  "You wanna get hurt?"

  She lowered her head, shook it, and said, "It was a program to infiltrate Fuchi competitors. Security services have been doing that ... doing it forever. The problem is ... your average security operative lacks the qualifications to get at the data you really want. The agent typically ends up on the competition's security staff or else posted in some security function to an executive, with only very limited access to proprietary material. The Fuchi program changed all that. We developed an interdisciplinary scheme for training scientists and researchers to work as security operatives, and to work effectively. That's basically what it was about."

  "Keep talking."

  Something crossed her face, maybe dismay. "The program was very involved," she said softly, almost moaning. "It was five years in the making. I was part of it from the beginning. Ansell resented the hours I logged. He's very possessive. He wanted me to be with him whenever he was fre
e from his work. My work didn't matter to him. I tried working from our condo and ultimately went on leave, but by then it was too late. He resented me, resented everything about me, and that resentment turned vile. It turned into hatred."

  "So he volunteered for your program."

  "It was ... it was a way to use my own work against me. He felt that I had betrayed him. This was his revenge. Knowing how it would make me feel."

  Rico wondered how much of this was true. Farris' file said that she had worked on some special project for going on five years. More than that, he didn't know. A lot of what Marena Farris was telling him wouldn't likely appear in any files. "Surikov's a big deal biotechnician. You're telling me Fuchi put this slag, this asset, into some experimental program and sent him straight to the enemy. I don't buy it."

  "Ansell's qualifications made him perfect for the role. That was the point of the program, to get astute people into the competition's camp, people who would know what they were seeing, who could report in specific detail on how competition research was developing." She hesitated a moment, wiped her eyes.

  "Yes. Ansell Surikov is a highly qualified scientist with an enviable reputation. Fuchi has many highly qualified scientists with good reputations. None of them are irreplaceable."

  "Where'd they send him?"

  "Kuze Nihon. A subsidiary, Maas Intertech. That's located in New Jersey."

  "How long you been on leave?"

  "About... about three years."

  Her Fuchi file agreed. "Why do you rate your own personal security team?"

  Farris hesitated, "I... I was never told why. In the beginning, I assumed it was because I had always been loyal to the corporation. I'm still an asset, even if I am on leave. I haven't resigned."

  "What makes you an asset?"

  "I'm a psychologist."

  Her Fuchi file verified that. Fuchi had sent Farris to several universities in the U.C.A.S., and she'd earned a degree in psychology. It had seemed odd to Rico that a corp would spend money like that on a corporate hooker, but apparently it wasn't as strange as he thought. Piper said that a lot of the megacorps used their more sophisticated joygirls and joyboys a lot like shrinks. Some even worked as spies for corporate security.