her had been left on, the blue flame blackening the brass nozzle. I moved a plastic crate of cables and steel fibers, setting the food on the counter. The dial on the torch twisted closed easily under the pressure my grip.
“There's your problem right there,” I opened the plastic to-go bag and handed her a folded paper box before sitting on a nearby stool, “That's why this place keeps catching on fire.”
She looked up through the tinted lens of the mask, reaching back to unhook the strap, “Yeah, well—shut up,” She lifted the mask, letting her bangs fall around her emerald eyes, a line of soot marked her high cheekbones and made a ring across her forehead, “Ooh, food. Extra spicy?”
I nodded and opened my own box with one hand, pulling chopsticks from the paper sleeve with my teeth, “This time it's the hand—military-grade crap.”
She opened her box and shoveled rice into her mouth, still wearing the leather welding glove, “What did you do to it now? Trying to open a stubborn can of pork and beans?”
“Nailed it—the Razors and I were having a picnic,” I got my chopsticks around a slab of grilled tofu and pushed it into my mouth.
She closed her chopsticks inside the box and placed it in an open metal hand on the workbench, “No more flirting, show me the damage.”
I put the hand out with the palm up, the severed piece dangling with the thumb to the side.
She took a tool that looked like a large pair of tweezers and grabbed an exposed fiber optic, “Wiggle your fingers.”
I did as she asked—the thumb didn't respond.
She moved her grip to a glowing cable and pulled it, showing me the frayed end, “You're going to need a new one of these.” She clicked a headset over her ear and twisted the projector toward her eye, snapping on a holographic pane. She replaced the cable she had shown me as well as a few others, pressing the severed hand together and applying a silver epoxy to the cut. She took a shot glass off a shelf and used what looked like a thick black paint to cover the mark, “The epoxy needs to cure overnight. Don't be catching any knives for a while.”
“No promises,” I flexed the cybernetic limb, clenching a fist and spreading the fingers in turn. I hadn't told her exactly how I'd damaged the limb but she'd figured it out, “Feels good.”
Reiko took the holographic headset from her eye and held it in the welding glove, “You don't have to come to me for maintenance, you know. I do need the work but—the manufacturer still supports that model—they'll provide you with all the free fixes you want.”
“They'd fix the safety limits too, I wouldn't be able to split concrete anymore,” I took a hex bolt from the counter and squeezed it with the black fingers, testing the resistance of the grip.
She pulled the heavy leather glove from her hand and sat cross-legged on a stool, “I think you want a reason to check on me.”
My cybernetic hand mashed the bolt into flattened steel, “Didn't mean to do that.”
She took my arm in her delicate thin fingers and pushed up the sleeve of my coat, “It's fine, I have tons of bolts. Your servos probably need to recalibrate,” She opened an access panel in my forearm and clicked over a plastic tab that joined two fiber optic cables, “You ever think about that kidnapper in Osaka, the one you killed?”
“No.”
“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me if you hadn't been there. He had me locked in that closet for almost three days. I was just a kid back then, didn't know what he was going to do with me. I still remember that day you kicked through the door and put two shots into his chest—you could have been anyone under that helmet. But that day, you were my knight in a laminate vest,” She closed the panel in my arm and flashed a glance at me through a tuft of fallen hair, her pink lips beginning to curl up into a half smile.
I cleared my throat and pulled my arm back, letting the sleeve of my coat fall over it, “That's better, thanks. You're good at what you do.”
“I'm good at doing a lot of things,” She leaned back on her hips and took the folded to-go box from the open metal hand.
“I should get going, I'm working,” I stood from my stool and pulled the flap of my trench coat away from the dusty floor.
“Isn't it a little late to be working?” Reiko put a clump of fried rice in her mouth and bit down on the chopsticks.
“Yeah, but it's important. Good night.”
I left the warehouse district and started back down the escalator.
The man who had kidnapped Reiko in Osaka was Kaito Fukui, the bastard heir to the Fukui corporation. Amcorp had sent me his name and identity as a target for termination. Eliminating him meant they could work their own agent into Fukui's ranks and seize control of its assets.
My job had been simple, to retire Kaito and detonate a pack of explosive gel to burn down his estate. Explosive gel had been popular with my employers, after if burns it leaves a residue similar to household gas. The intention had been to make the accident look like a ruptured gas line, reducing Amcorp's connection to the attack. Intelligence had already penetrated the city's mainframe to adjust records and documents, evidence that could be later used to convince Police of the cover story. I hadn't even known he had been holding Reiko captive.
I'd found him in his back bedroom, tearing a lime-colored summer dress from her small frame. She must have been ten years old. She had been trying to push him away, hitting him in the ribs with tiny fists. My orders to arrange his accidental death had been explicit. I hadn't managed it.
I tapped the rail pistol's trigger sensor twice, the magnetic hammer humming before flinging the projectiles with a whistling hiss. The shots landed in his naked torso near his heart, painting the paper screen behind him crimson. He fell to his knees before collapsing to the hardwood floor, muscles beginning to quiver as color drained from his lips. I picked up Reiko with my cybernetic arm and she wrapped herself around my neck, gripping my chest with her legs. Dark blood was bubbling from Kaito's slacked mouth. I figured he only had a few seconds to live. I made sure that Reiko's face was looking away as I put another round into Kaito's forehead. The satchel of explosive gel was difficult to remove from its strap with one hand. I reached the door and hurled the explosive into the hallway near his body.
Reiko and I left the estate and boarded a taxi on the street corner. I waited until we had driven a few blocks from the bamboo and stone walls of the complex before clicking my mobile open to detonate the gel. The explosion shook the windows in the cab and I could see the building in the rear-view monitor. The glass had shattered and flame was licking from the broken windows, blackening the exposed metal frame. In a few moments, the heat had stressed the I-beams to the point of breaking. The building had fallen in on itself in a heap of charred glass and twisted steel. Any staff or servants had been evacuated from the premises before I had arrived. Kaito had been the only casualty.
The resulting investigation had ruled Kaito's death as a homicide. There hadn't been enough evidence to convict me, but Amcorp hadn't been pleased with the negative publicity. The attack had easily been connected with them, even though no official charges could be filed. Amcorp terminated my contract the following month and I was dishonorably discharged from duty for unspecified reasons.
04
I found my way back to the tram station and rode it until it slid into a tunnel and came to a quick stop on a platform near my apartment building. The apartment complex itself was a thick square building, the paneled siding showed its age with rust-colored marks. The temperature control vents showed pale stains the color of moss where they leaked coolant.
My apartment is twelve levels above my office in the slums. I had slept in my office before, wrapping myself in an insulated blanket I'd kept from the Marines. I'd had my fill of it. Trying to sleep while the slums refused to was more work than rest, the crimson neon sign glaring at me from across the street. I'd paid my rent this month and I was looking forward to sleeping in my bed rather than the floor behind my
desk.
I walked through an automated door and took a lift up to my floor. My door is near the stairwell and has a lighting panel over it that flickers. I never remember the number. I stood motionless in front of the door, letting the camera take a moment to recognize me. The light faded from red to green and my door slid open with a grind of gears and motors.
I opened a cabinet above my refrigerator and pulled a plastic bag with a rubber spout on the bottom. I popped the spout open and filled a short glass with a clear liquid. I sipped at it and winced, reminding myself that this was supposed to be the good stuff. The grain alcohol was bitter and made me think of cleaner, but it was better than the toilet wine they made in the slums. My supply comes from medical crates, alcohol they use to treat addicts when they need to taper off.
I ignored the stack of paper takeout boxes that festered on my couch and instead decided on the windowsill. I approached the dirty pane of glass and shrugged out of my trench coat, it was a heavy black thing made of some material that was smoother than the common soy-based fibers. A memento from my service in the Marines.
“Open.”
The pane of glass glided out of its place and disappeared, sliding into the wall. I fished my last rolled cigarette out of the pocket in my coat and found my lighter where I had left it. The
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