“We did not think you would find the terms onerous.” For all its unreadable nature, the face on the screen conveyed ‘smug’ rather clearly.
Paulson realized that he was dangerously close to looking like a lackey at this point. He scrambled to reassert dominance. “I’ll get The Fixer, no question. I can even save his head for you, too. But you gotta explain to me why the hell I would want you screw-ups to be any part of it. You can’t fight for shit. You don’t got any ships or guns. You just push money and politicians around. What the hell are you bringing to the table, here?”
“Enormous piles of money?”
Paulson nodded, a begrudging eyebrow cocked in acknowledgment. “Good answer.”
Deciding that the eavesdroppers had seen and heard enough, Sven swung his leg back down to plunk on the deck with a thud. “Okay. Let’s talk business over here. I’ll send a shuttle for you. Just you, by the way.”
“Of course,” replied the man on the screen, tilting his head in a nod just this side of amenable. “I’ll await your shuttle at docking bay three.”
“Do that.” The mercenary cut the connection with a slap and stood. Just over six feet tall, Sven Paulson was wiry and strong. His hairline was receding, his face was roughly lined, and he moved with a brisk and energetic bounce when he turned to the hatch. He called over his shoulder to a baby-faced bridge officer standing just behind the captain’s chair. “All right. Henriksen, you have the bridge. Don’t fuck up.”
The younger man replied with a nod both brisk and earnest. “Aye, captain. No fuck ups.”
“Good kid,” Paulsen acknowledged. “Now daddy’s gotta go make some goddamn money.”
He heard the bridge crew chuckling as he stomped down the hall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Hey, Boss! You’re up early today!”
The call was energetic, and it brimmed with sincere warmth. It was a friendly greeting from a friendly young man and as God was her witness, Lucia was going to try to be friendly about it. This meant a serious effort because Lucia did not appreciate mornings. Manuel’s ability to be both alert and cheerful before the sun rose vexed and amused her. Like some sort of simple universal law, the ratio of vexation to amusement was inversely proportional to how much coffee she had consumed. Twenty-six ounces of life-affirming go-juice into her morning was just enough personality fuel to bless the boy with a weak smile and cordial bob of her head.
“Manny,” she groaned as her backside hit her chair. “How do you manage to be so goddamn happy this early in the morning?”
“I don’t drink, I get lots of exercise, and I go to bed early.”
“Now I know why you are single. You’re one seriously boring guy.”
Manny shrugged and his long black hair bounced jauntily. “I have a bionic arm that shoots lightning and my job has me committing felonies on a regular basis. I’ll keep my home life bland, all the same.”
“You are too smart for your own good,” Lucia acknowledged. Then she noticed the smashed remains of Roland’s desk wedged into the wall. Her gaze went from the corpse of the desk back to Manny, who was blithely tapping away at his DataPad. She took the time for a thoughtful slurp of quadruple-espresso caramel latte-atto, allowed her brain to plot all the potential reasons for the untimely death of an expensive piece of office furniture, and then asked Manny in her calmest, most businesslike tone, “Manny? Where is Roland?”
“He said he was going for a walk, Boss.”
“Did he mention why he murdered his desk?”
“Boss. That desk weighs close to a ton. When I arrived it looked just like that. When Mr. Tankowicz decides that something needs to die, he’s not usually looking for feedback about it. I’ve learned not to ask a lot of questions in those cases.”
“So you arrived and found Roland here, presumably brooding in the dark like a tired cliché, and you let him just leave without explaining why he smashed his desk and half the wall?”
Manny looked up, and a weak smile turned one corner of his mouth. “You think I should have stopped him?” He held up his fists in a vaguely combative manner. “I have been practicing a lot. Think I can take him?”
Lucia was forced to concede that any attempt to stop Roland by Manny would have been comically brief and one-sided. “Oh, I get it.” She pointed to the mess in the corner. “It’s just that he did not come home last night. That’s not so strange, but when I see that,” she waved emphatically to the detritus, “now I’m worried.”
“He looked fine to me. Something has him pissed off in that special way of his, obviously. But I don’t think he’s going to kill anyone. I’ve been monitoring police and fire channels all morning. No signs of a killer cyborg on a rampage.”
“Here’s to small mercies,” she mumbled back, raising her coffee cup in a mock toast.
The door slid open with a squeal, and a small blond woman flounced in with a vapid, toothy grin on her face. She was short, athletic, and conspicuously top-heavy. This was all the more obvious because her blouse was open halfway to her navel in a manner quite clearly intentional. The view was overt, scandalous, and riveting to any individual whose preferences leaned toward beautiful women of limited inhibition. “Morning, Boss!” the woman drawled to Lucia. She turned to Manny, “Hey, kid!”
“Hey, look. Mindy’s here. Yay.” Manny did not look up to administer his dry retort. Lucia noticed he was getting better at winning the little games Mindy liked to play with him. His young man’s hormones were rarely a match for Mindy’s tsunami of sexual energy, but he seemed determined to deny the tiny assassin the pleasure of making him sweat.
“You and Roland have a fight, Boss?” Mindy pointed to the wrecked desk. Then in a hushed tone that neither Manny nor Lucia was entirely sure was facetious she added, “Need me to kill him?”
“Oh, please lord,” Manny whispered, “let her try...”
“You know I can hear you, Manny-boy?”
Manny’s tone was pure innocence. “Did I say something out loud? Sometimes my thoughts escape through my mouth. Sorry.”
Lucia decided to stop the pair before they got into it in earnest. “No to both, Mindy. We don’t know why Roland decided to destroy his expensive custom desk, but apparently he is out wandering the streets with a serious sulk on over something.”
“Nah. I saw him earlier. He’s over at The Smoking Wreck.”
“It’s seven o’clock in the morning!” Lucia cried.
“Why were you over by The Wreck so early?” Manny asked the more pertinent question. “Coming back from Kitty’s, maybe?”
Mindy fired back. “None of your damn business, kid.”
Lucia sighed. They seemed bound and determined to get after each other this morning. “Manny, leave Mindy’s walk of shame out of this...”
Mindy put on a wolfish grin. “Hardly, boss. I ain’t ashamed of shit...”
Lucia ignored that. “If Roland is at The Wreck, it means he’s talking to Marty. If he’s talking to Marty, it means whatever is pissing him off is military.”
“How do you figure, Boss?” Mindy asked.
“Because anything else he’d talk to me about. He and Marty have a lot of shared history when it comes to the UEDF. I love Roland, but I’ll never understand what it's like to be a soldier the way Marty does. He knows that.”
“So something the military did or is doing is causing our lovable nine-hundred-pound super-soldier to throw temper tantrums?” Mindy slumped into a stuffed chair in the corner of the office. “I mean, when I pout it’s adorable. Old Ironsides on the other hand...”
“Significantly less so,” Lucia finished.
“One of us needs to go get him and make him talk, huh?” Mindy did not sound enthusiastic about this prospect.
“Send the bionic assassin,” Manny offered helpfully.
“I am probably the most qualified,” Mindy agreed.
“Plus you’re expendable,” Manny added with a chuckle.
“Oh for God’s sake you two,” Lucia huff
ed in irritation. “Obviously I’ll go get him. If I leave you two here to mind the office, can you manage not to squabble like toddlers the whole time?”
“No promises,” Mindy said with a wink.
“She always starts it,” Manny quipped.
“Ugh.” Lucia stood and downed the last of her coffee. Then she grabbed a jacket from the rack and strapped her CZ-105 flechette pistol to her waist. “Manny, find that Marceau character please. That is your only priority right now.”
“Roger that, Boss.”
“Mindy, you are still on dirty cop watch. Sam is trying to keep everything quiet, but there is still a whole bushel of bad apples in the department to deal with. Anyone who doesn’t look like they are listening to Sam, feel free to put them on medical leave.”
“You give the best assignments!” Mindy almost squealed her delight.
“Nothing permanent, Mindy. Oh, and for the love of all that’s holy, close up your shirt. This is a business, not a brothel.”
Mindy put on the previously mentioned adorable pout and set to stuffing her chest into the too-small shirt she had chosen. “Words hurt, you know.”
“Get a therapist. See if they care.” With that, Lucia left the office in the dubious care of her employees.
The trek to The Smoking Wreck was not a long one. The unassuming pub stood out from its neighbors, a gray slab of a building wedged between a Korean restaurant and a pawn shop. The proprietor had fanciful aspirations toward a more genteel establishment, and to that effect some money had been spent on brightly lit signage and a nominally fresh coat of paint. In Dockside, this was a clear indication that a person might get a beer in this place with only the marginal chance of suffering dismemberment or some other species of mayhem. Lucia did not dislike The Smoking Wreck. When Roger Dawkins and his squad of androids had come hunting her, it was to The Wreck her father’s message had sent her. It was here she had met the tired old soldier who she had grown so inexplicably fond of, and it was here her old life ended and her new one had begun.
She had a fondness for the place, and great affection for Marty Mudd, the owner. But it would be a lie to say she liked it here. No quantity of paint or lighting had a prayer of changing the fact that this was Dockside and Dockside bars were all dives.
At this early hour, the space was well-lit and almost cheerful. It still smelled like a bar, which was not particularly pleasant, but the worst of the aromas were smashed by the overwhelming olfactory assault of strong detergent. The tables had been pushed to the edges, and the chairs stacked neatly atop them. A bleary-eyed and tousled-haired teenager pushed a grimy mop across the hardwood floor, pausing only to acknowledge Lucia as she cleared the door. Satisfied that her presence was okay, he gave her a tired nod and resumed the task of trying to wash away four decades of filth and stink.
At the bar Lucia saw Roland’s back. His width was hard to miss. As good as he was at masking his emotions, Lucia knew him better than anyone. His posture and body language told her everything she needed to know. The man was tired and angry. When his mind was heavy, the bulk of his body seemed to drag him downward. The ramrod stiffness of his spine had melted into an uncharacteristic slouch. The proud thrust of his chest and wary tension in his arms was gone. The calm and alert scowl that so many people found intimidating had been replaced with a blank and expressionless glare. To anyone else, he probably just looked grumpier than usual. To Lucia, his appearance was a bleak testimony to the magnitude of whatever had caused him to destroy his desk.
With his massive shoulders hunched and his head bowed, the big man was conversing earnestly with a stocky man with graying hair and skin like tanned rawhide. The rough leather face broadened in a contagious smile when it saw the woman crossing the floor. Marty Mudd always had a smile for Lucia Ribiero.
“Hey, doll! How ya doin’?”
“Hi, Marty,” she replied. “How’s business?”
“Absolute shit. Thanks for asking.” As Lucia stepped up to the bar, Marty quickly rubbed her place down with a damp rag. “Wanna drink? I found a great dry white that my clientele are too stinkin’ cheap to ever actually order.”
“Marty?”
“Yeah, doll?”
“It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”
“Oof. Is it? Can’t drink white wine with breakfast, can we?” He slapped the bar with a broad palm. “Mimosas it is then!”
“He won’t stop until you drink something,” Roland rumbled.
“Can I get a coffee?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.
“Sure thing, doll. Hold on.” Marty turned from the bar to fuss with the ancient coffee machine he kept in back.
With Marty safely handled, Roland turned to Lucia. “Sorry about the desk.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I’m sort of working through it.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” She gave his forearm a playful slap. “You’re supposed to let me help. It's one of those ‘relationship’ things.”
“Relationships are goddamn complicated.” Roland’s grunt of acknowledgment was not particularly conciliatory. The answering fire in Lucia’s eyes informed him as to how he was going to proceed whether he liked it or not, while conveying very specific instructions as to exactly where he could stuff his ‘complications.’ Ever the tactical pragmatist, he chose to explore this aspect of relationships with an open mind. If he stonewalled, she would become angry with him and Roland was simply not equipped to handle an angry Lucia.
“After the meeting with Sam last night, a spook from DECO was waiting for me outside the office.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
Roland did not bother to equivocate. “Somebody stole a Golem armature.”
Lucia let out a low whistle. “I guess that explains the desk, then. I’m so sorry, Roland. Was anyone, uhm...” She fumbled, not knowing how to phrase the question. “Were any of your old teammates... uh...”
“No. The organics had been removed. Buried with full honors years ago.”
“Oh, thank God. But why would anyone steal a thirty-year-old armature? If I understand what you’ve said about Golems, they’re grown from the individual’s DNA. They can’t even re-use it.”
“Don’t really know. DECO thinks it’s The Brokerage, by the way. They think The Brokerage wants a Golem with the organics intact, too. It’s why they have been harassing the docks ever since word got out that I was still alive.”
“The Better Man thing?”
“Yup. Johnson and Fox must have told them what I was. That’s when they stole Rook’s body.”
Lucia stared blankly at the reference, and Roland explained. “Lieutenant Charles Rooker. ‘Lead.’ They stole the Lead armature that is.”
“Got it. After they found out you were alive, The Brokerage stole a Golem armature. But that wasn’t enough?” She figured it out on her own. “They want Dad’s ‘bots, too, don’t they?”
“Armature doesn’t work right without them.”
With pieces of the greater mosaic falling onto place, Lucia’s brain began to make great leaps in logic. “Oh, shit. They’re behind everything, aren’t they? Vladivostok, Fox and those mercenaries, Chico...”
“Even Venus. Those three commandos in Kano armatures? They were there to grab me, not watch the Red Hats.”
“How do you know that?”
“According to DECO, Lincoln Hardesty’s point of contact with OmniCorp was Bob Robertson.”
“Oh, goddammit,” Lucia sighed. “Now I want to smash a desk, too. This must be so awful for you. I’m so sorry.”
Roland was taken aback. “The fate of the whole city is being manipulated by a giant criminal enterprise, and you’re thinking about how awful it will be for me?”
“And you are worrying about how awful things will be for everyone if you don’t hop on your pale horse to go kill the enemy all by your lonesome. We’re both way off track, aren’t we?” She gave his bicep a gentle hug. �
��You will just keep worrying about all the people you have to save, and I’ll keep worrying about your feelings. It’s sort of our system.”
“I can’t help it, Lucy. I hate that this is about me. People are getting hurt because I didn’t have the guts to die with the rest of the team. Now I find out that it’s not over and more people are going to die and get hurt over what I am.”
“That’s just stupid. The Brokerage would be going after some other poor slob and doing the same stuff if you weren’t here. That’s what they do. Believe it or not, Dockside is lucky these jerks are going after you and not someone else.”
“Oh really?” Roland did not sound convinced. “How do you figure that?”
“They might be going after someone they could beat.” Lucia knew what he needed to hear, and she gave up trying to change this part of him a long time ago. “But lucky us, they decided to come after the one guy everybody else knows to stay away from. They are messing with the one guy who never loses.” She turned back to the bar. “So quit whining and go deal with them.”
The big man shifted slightly, and some of his signature strength seemed to suffuse his posture. “Goddammit, I love you.”
“Okay, romance is something we still need to work on, I see.”
Marty rejoined the pair at this instant and set a steaming mug of black coffee before Lucia. “There you go, doll. My famous pub coffee. Guaranteed to perk you right up.”
Marty looked over at Roland. “So have you broken the bad news to Roland yet, doll?”
Lucia was raising the mug to her lips. She paused to ask, “What news is that, Marty?”
“That you’ve finally wised up and are ditchin’ this lumpy loser for a real man.” He punctuated the last bit by pointing to himself with a leer.
“As soon as I find one of those, Marty, I will. Let me know if you spot one.”
Bushy eyebrows rose as the bartender clasped both hands over his heart like a man shot. “Ow. Words can hurt, ya know.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that today,” Lucia said as she took her first sip of coffee. As she swallowed, her eyes suddenly snapped open and nearly bugged out of her face. A gasp came next and was followed by an explosive cough. The woman nearly spilled the liquid as a hacking spasm overtook her body. When it passed, she stared daggers at the man. “Jesus, Marty! What’s in this?”
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