Nanoshock

by K C Alexander

  Tashi grabbed her drink, looked down at it like it was way more important. “Fuck me, you need Digo’s help,” she drawled, sarcasm and shattered glass. No mistaking that for calm. Menace laced every syllable, lethal as her knives and twice as sharp. “Who could have fucking guessed? It’s like you can’t do jack and piss without his help.” Now she looked up, meeting my eyes with violence in hers. Calm as her outward appearance was, she had eyes like goddamn windows to her internal hellscape. When she started, somebody died to stop it. “Go away. Indigo won’t like it when I slit your throat.”

  Now Boone sighed, massive shoulders moving like a mountain avalanche. “Tash, you’re harsh.”

  The skin over her cheeks went so taut, I expected them to tear like paper. “Tell that to Nanji,” she spat, holding my stare.

  I flinched. And then I got angry. Angrier. Furious. “Listen, you pintsized twat–”

  Muerte grabbed my left bicep before I cleared the step. Tashi only watched me, but every muscle hummed. Ready for me. A blade in reach; I’d stake my life on it.

  Was ready to do just that.

  Boone didn’t have to stretch to reach my face. His whole fucking hand covered it, buzzed scalp to set chin. His thumb pressed into my temple. “Chill, Ree,” he said, his low voice much, much calmer than ours. “Take a breath.”

  I pushed his hand away. He let me – I’d have to use far more force if he’d been serious. I inhaled loudly through flared nostrils, just for him, and eased back off the step. Muerte let me go. Real slow.

  My only win here was that he’d palmed Tashi’s face, too. She pushed it away with the back of her arm, tightlipped.

  “Look.” I put my hands down my sides. See? No facepunching. “I’m not bringing him trouble. I just need a name. Someone trustworthy who can fix my projection protocols.” A lie. Big and fat. Muerte knew it, and to her credit, she said nothing to counter me.

  I didn’t have to spill my shit all over the team who’d left me behind.

  Tashi, freed of Boone’s block, held my eyes. Long enough that my scraped-together patience began to bubble into every bad idea I could form in the space of seconds – every one of them leading to Shiva busting my ass for all the cred I’d ever earn again. If not outright killing me.

  Boone nudged Tashi’s hip with that elbow planted by it. “She’s still Ree,” he said. “Digo still talks to her.”

  Not a reminder she liked hearing.

  For all our instincts, our back-assward protective streaks and our bonds, soured or otherwise, we all knew the same thing – what the linker says, goes. Saints who don’t listen to their linker get very dead, very fast.

  Tashi lifted a hand, white ink pale as frost scrolled over each finger. She gouged thumb and forefinger into her eyes, rubbed hard. “Fine,” she bit out. This time, when she raised her head again, she’d regained enough of her usual calm – at least on the outside – to look at me without snarling. “You get one shot. Fuck this up again–” Get one of us killed, she meant. “–and you’ll wish you’d gone necro with Nanji.”

  Boone nodded. Once.

  Muerte let out a breath. “Seems fair,” she said, graveled voice amused. Tash flicked her a glance, gave her another once-over, nodded.

  It took a titsload of effort to unclench my fists. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” Tashi stood, tall only because of the seat she stood on. She set down her drink; didn’t touch the rest. “Don’t know where Digo is.”

  “You call him?”

  “No pick up.”

  I blinked at her. “You never lose him.”

  Bracing one hand on the back of the booth, she leapt over it with spiderlike agility. All spindled limbs and perfect landing. “I know,” she said as she came back around. Next to Boone, she was laughably small. “None of us know where he is.”

  We all stared at each other, Muerte more bemused than worried.

  Tashi was something of a personal bodyguard – she’d made it her mission early in our formation to keep tabs on him wherever he’d let her. At the very least, she could project him up and make sure he hadn’t fallen into a sewer somewhere.

  Which was more my style.

  She didn’t usually talk so much, left most of that to us. This conversation tapped her quota, and it also meant she was worried. If she didn’t know where he was, not even if he was OK somewhere, then something had gone very, very wrong.

  “Fuck.” I whirled, pushed Muerte out of my way – she sidestepped it easily. “I’ll go talk to Shiva.”

  “Mm.” Tashi hesitated. Then, like it hurt to say, she muttered, “Watch your back.”

  How sweet. “Stay here, compare ink,” I snapped to Muerte. I left them to get acquainted, rolled through the club with violence openly etched in every step, every line of my body. I met stares and drilled them down. Left a wake of ruffled ego behind me; more runners considering what kind of boost my corpse would give them than I liked to know about.

  Didn’t have to roll far before Shiva materialized behind the bar, farther in than Andalais. They remained at their post, doing that thing that bartenders always seem to do when not pulling drinks – wiping down glasses and polishing up the bar.

  Shiva liked the touch of class it gave the place.

  Three patrons and me all aimed for the seat in front of her. A cool stare from exotic violet eyes convinced two of the patrons to find something safer to do.

  The third blocked my path with a muscled shoulder.

  Kilo.

  She looked down on me with enough scorn to burn. Assuming I cared what some brave little heavy thought about me. “Get,” I said softly, “out of my way.”

  “Get,” she echoed flatly, “the fuck out.”

  I didn’t know what Shiva was doing behind the much larger shield of the heavy. Didn’t hear anything; wouldn’t have mattered if I did. My vision tunneled down to Kilo. And the very intense lack of mercenary chatter behind me.

  Even the slummers had finally picked up on the vibe. The smart ones made a quick getaway to the door – walking, not running. Running slummers make excellent targets, especially in bar fights.

  “This a warning or a threat?” I asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think,” I said slowly, “that your panties are bunched over the wrong saint.”

  Kilo’s smile barely shifted her square jaw. Didn’t reach her eyes. “Either way, little girl, you’re walking meat.”

  My nanosteel fist drove so hard into her gut, no warning for her to brace, that her whole body bent. Blood splattered down her chin, peppered the front of my shirt.

  Normally, I don’t punch people in front of Shiva. It’s bad for quality of service, and I did like quality service. Special circumstances required a little flexibility.

  Kilo fell to her knees, gasping. Perfect height for me to slam my knee into her temple. She spun out, crashed to the floor. I turned, bared my teeth at the mercs who hadn’t moved. They weren’t really looking at me, as it turned out. Something much scarier waited patiently behind me.

  A cloud of spicy smoke drifted my way. “Enough, darling. I’m not in the mood for blood tonight.”

  Shiva’s voice fascinated me on some fundamental level. Sultry enough to ride the libido, smoky enough to muddle all sense of gender identification; I’d never heard her shout. Her diction was damn near educated, and her delivery perfect.

  We all had theories on her origin. Few dared to speak them aloud.

  I turned my back on the rest. Used Kilo’s ribs as a stepping stone; her curses croaked.

  Shiva eyed me, resting her elbows on the bar. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “Nice’ll get me in trouble.”

  The curve of her sinfully luscious mouth had its own fan club. I wasn’t one of them – because I liked my ass where it was, and even I had waters too deep to jump in. So when it curved, I had the sense to read it for what it was.

  Tolerance.

  I eased onto the stool in front of her. “Sorry for the mes
s. Put it on Digo’s tab.”

  She shrugged one elegant shoulder. Her style changed nearly every day, and today’s was elegant androgyny. Pristine white, high-collared button-down, shimmering like Kongtown silk and threaded with glittering filaments. The collar was left open to her fine collarbones, hinting at what may or may not be hidden just one button down.

  With pointed, unbuttoned cuffs barely hiding complicated silver rings at four of her knuckles, and narrow cigarette clasped between middle and ring finger, Shiva looked almost like any other patron hitting her bar. Her long, long hair – black as midnight today – braided up at the sides, giving her a magnificent fauxhawk.

  Silver rimmed her eyes, shiny as Andalais’ hair. The grab bag of ethnicities too mixed to pick out, bundled with some bottom-shelf Thai, gave her that exoticism sinners would take out several mortgages to claim.

  Her midnight blue lips stretched wider as she reached across the bar and ran a hand over my buzzed head. “Soft.” I let her. “Run into a chainsaw, Riko?”

  I shrugged. “Two of them. Only one,” I added with a glance over my shoulder, “is still railing my ass.”

  “You’re such a troublemaker,” she said, amused. She tucked a small shot glass in front of me. The smoke from her lips carried a spicy mix that was almost like cloves, but sharper. Personal blend, maybe. Didn’t often see her indulging. “Nova?”

  I nodded. You don’t say no when Shiva gives you a drink. “I’m worried,” I said flatly.

  One handed, she poured raw green liquor into the glass, topped it with ash from her cigarette. “You’re safe here.” Her lashes flicked up, violet eyes touching mine. “For the moment. Your price is higher than most.”

  “Does everyone else know that?”

  Setting the bottle behind the bar, she resumed her casual lean – a classic vid star in every way, right down to her siren smile. “They will.”

  If I survived whoever wanted to be made a lesson of first.

  Not like I could complain. I’d take every one of these smegheads and mop the floor with them on any given day, but only if they came at me one at a time. Maybe two.

  Three was pushing it. I hadn’t done quite as well against three enforcers at once, had gotten my ass thoroughly beaten down by four not all that long ago, and this crowd fought dirtier.

  She nudged the shot glass toward me with a long finger. “On the house.”

  If there was a catch, I’d deal with it later. I downed it in one. Hissed back a wild burn and set the glass – gently – on the bar top. The stuff sizzled all the way down. Left a hint of acid and spice in its wake. “Thanks,” I rasped.

  She took the glass, tucked it away, and straightened. “You’re worried for Indigo, I take it.”

  Nodding, I clasped metal hand to flesh and hunched in, easing the strain. “You know anything?”

  She tilted her head. “What’s your budget?” When I flinched, her throaty laugh drifted on a seam of smoke. Tucking one hand under her other elbow, she studied me in thoughtful silence.

  I sighed. “You know I’m boned.”

  “I know.” A wave of her hand, smoke trailing. “I don’t feel the need to remove you.”

  “Yet,” I muttered. I knew something, for once, that Shiva did not. Not unless Muerte had been chatting Shiva up behind my back.

  “Yet,” she agreed. “But as for Indigo, darling, I haven’t seen him since last night.” Her very white teeth peeked out from between those vivid blue lips. “He went home empty-handed. Much on his plate, our Indigo.”

  No ass in hand, huh? He sniffed after the ladies as much as I did, though he’d never admit it and played far subtler about it. Must have lots on his mind. I dragged one hand down my face. “Tash can’t find him either. Have you heard anything?”

  “No.” Simple, one syllable. Eye to eye and saint to saint; I trusted this side of Shiva. She had no reason to yank me around. Her paygrade was so far above mine, I doubted I’d bring her more than pocket change for her trouble.

  I wanted to be Shiva when I grew up. Except maybe less playing nice and talky-talky and also more obvious vag. What I really wanted was her impossibly ironfisted control on her own cred.

  Nothing like losing it to reflect on what you did to lose it.

  I sighed. “Afraid you’d say that.” I pushed up from the stool, gave her a faint smile. “Thanks.”

  She inclined her head, gracious to the last. She’d be gracious even when she spit on your corpse. Had seen it. Fucking magnificent.

  I turned, hesitated again. Turned half around and dropped my voice. “Have you heard from–”

  That enigmatic smile again. “Your drink is done, darling.”

  She wasn’t going to give away anything she didn’t want to.

  I left with a nod of thanks, chewing on my own questions. Better I didn’t ask after Lucky anyway. I’d done more than enough there. And if I found him, I’d do so much more than punch him.

  I ignored every motherfucker in the room, left them grumbling in my wake, and ducked through the beaded curtain. Lien Ta waved from her perch on the tall, Jad-sized stool. “Watch your back, kiddo.”

  “I know,” I snapped.

  The front door slammed shut behind me. Half the line had disappeared – a sign that Shiva wasn’t inclined to tolerate chumheads tonight. Tashi, Boone and Muerte huddled to the left, expressions serious as Muerte and Boone spoke. I made it halfway there when a man strolled into my direct line of sight, waving me down.

  Casual denim, sturdy boots made for all day support. Woven, heat-friendly shirt unbuttoned at his neck, sleeves shoved over suntanned forearms. Tousled, too-long sandy hair pushed off his forehead, green eyes, five o’clock shadow on permanent lockdown… I could piece the bits together all day, if I had that kind of time. Could even describe the shape of his cock – three fingers wide and crooked to one side, for the record, and he really liked a finger in his ass when he came.

  But I didn’t have that time.

  Abruptly changing direction, I grabbed two fistfuls of his street chic shirt and barreled him away from the Mecca’s door, the remaining line – fuck, away from any merc that’d roll out that door and start making guesses. “What,” I snarled, low and in his face, “the shit?”

  Detective Gregory Keith didn’t smile. He grabbed my metal arm in a sweaty hand. “Thank God you’re here. You need to come with me,” he added, looking quickly over my shoulder. “Indigo needs help.”

  26

  Purists don’t like tech. They don’t want it, or so they claim. Don’t appreciate it, don’t welcome it in their vicinity. And they especially don’t touch it. Detective Douchedick had never once touched my nanosteel replacement, and that was exactly why I gave him the credit his urgency deserved. “Follow me.”

  He did. The others looked up as I shoved him across the semicircle, pushed him into place so that Boone’s bulk blocked the Mecca’s view of the detective.

  “Who’s this?” Tashi, I had no doubt, had caught a whiff of his blue blood.

  “He says Indigo’s in trouble,” I told her.

  She jerked like she’d just been slapped. Her whole body went ice cold, like a statue made of knives. She took a step into Greg’s space, seized him by the front of his shirt and dragged him down to her eye level. “What. Do. You. Know?” Razors honed to precision violence.

  He paled, hands up by his waist, fingers nice and loose. No weapons, no problem. No badge, either, I noticed.

  “Indigo projected me about an hour ago,” he said, stuffing as many words as he could into a breath. “Said a corp raid was circling Catcurry and I needed to come here to find his team for extraction.”

  “Why didn’t he call us direct?” Boone wondered.

  Greg slanted him a quick look. “Don’t know.”

  “Shit.” I dragged both hands over my hair, a rough back and forth. “Shit, shit, fucking cuntsanding–”

  Tashi shook him hard enough to snap his teeth. “Where in Catcurry?”

  Those hand
s went up just a little higher, but his dark blond lashes narrowed. “All traffic’s locked in or out for seven blocks around Catcurry’s Central Market – data, communications, foot and vehicular traffic.” For being eye to eye with death in pixie form, he was remarkably calmer than I expected. “Blackout on all sides. Indigo got a signal out to me, but it dropped halfway.”

  Tashi’s grip on his shirt tightened to the point of tearing.

  Muerte whistled behind me, low and soft. “What would they want in Deli?”

  “What if they want Indigo?”

  Boone studied me, putting a large, ungentle hand on Tashi’s shoulder. Dwarfed it. “One linker is not often the target of a corp raid.”

  With obvious effort, Tashi let Greg go.

  Something in my gut turned to a lump. A knot wound so tight, it pinched that ugly, numbing void I tried so hard to shut the fuck down.

  I’d been part of that kind of trust once. That team.

  I would again. Somehow.

  “Did he just get caught up in it?” Muerte asked.

  Greg shook his head, another wordless don’t know.

  “Market’s about two-fifths of the zone,” I said. “Where did he say he’d meet us?”

  “He didn’t,” Greg said, straightening his shirt. “I’m sorry. The signal dropped before he got farther than coming here for you.” When he looked up, he met my eyes. Not flirty. Not wheedling. Somehow, he seemed surer than when I left him. “I contacted a buddy on the force. Deli patrol’s been advised to cut loose for the night.” That gaze shifted to Tashi. “They’ve gone out for drinks in Kongtown.”

  “Then we get in there,” I said flatly.

  Muerte nudged me in the side, her voice a harsh whisper. “Also, maybe we should get out of here.”

  Tashi leaned around Boone to scope the area. Her narrow nose flared, neon glancing off white ink in myriad pastels. “Kilo,” she muttered, hatred in her voice.

  I followed her line of sight. Grimaced when I noted three mercs – Kilo included, that twat – gathering next to the chained-off, very small line. I don’t know what history those two had, but it partly explained Kilo’s attitude towards me. She stared our way. Maybe just at Tash, maybe me, too. Maybe at whatever we were hiding with our huddle.