Nanoshock

by K C Alexander

  I’d never actually been here this early. Kinda pretty, what with the enormous lobby windows open wide to violent pink and bruised purple streaks. Dawn hugged that low-hanging orange haze clogging the far wards and painted it in shades even more aggressive, and Reed’s ever so tasteful color scheme picked up those contrasting colors. Tossed them around. No music played yet – maybe it was early for Hope, too.

  She was already circling the desk as I stepped inside, features set in stern lines. A cup of something hot and red-purple steamed behind her. Smelled like organics in here. Fruity stuff.

  She met me halfway across the lobby, arms splayed. “What are you wearing?” she demanded. Oh, sure. That was her first question.

  “Latest street fashion,” I replied blandly, sidestepped left.

  She sidestepped with me, her lovely mouth a secretarial line and eyes practically broadcasting Muerte’s no bueno. “Mr Reed isn’t in. You really need to start making appointments.”

  I stepped the other way, went sideways and skirted around her. “No, thanks.”

  “Riko!” Nude high heels covered good ground. She ducked around me, braced herself in front again. Red flushed her cheeks, her jaw set. In her light pink tweed skirt and silky cream blouse, belt matching her shoes, it was like she was the good girl in a dramavid and I was the villain of the moment.

  Not even of the show, I thought moodily. Just the one scripted to rape the sweet girl so she could become the badass she was always meant to be.

  Tired trope.

  My smile must have turned a different way than I meant. Hope looked at me over her small framed glasses, and I would be fucked up the ass with whatever passed for Reed’s personal pleasure rod if I’d stand here and be looked at like I needed the help.

  I bent until my nose aligned with hers. “Get out of my way, Hope.”

  “No.” Her eyebrows knotted – worry, not anger. Not fear. Worry and trust. “Please. Go get some sleep, Riko. You look exhausted.”

  Beaten, she meant. I looked beaten.

  All the good things rolled out of the past twenty-four hours and it wasn’t enough. Having Digo back in my corner, however cautiously, didn’t outweigh the diarrhea of my cred. Of the chopshops. Of the fact I had to come back to godforsaken white tile just to get my tech fixed.

  My patience snapped. She recoiled when I moved, took a defensive step back. My hands closed on her waist, dragged her up and pinned her to my side. With my flesh arm free, I caught her flailing arms by the wrists, pinned together.

  “Put me down!”

  I crossed the expanse of the chic lobby.

  “Riko.” Hope’s voice wavered.

  My jaw clenched. My chest kicked hard enough to turn my stomach, upend itself into the void spiraling wide between my ribs. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said flatly. Snapped it, rough and meaner than I’d meant.

  Her teeth clicked together. She stopped fighting me, stared at my grasp on her wrists, tucked between us. Her cheeks had gone darker red, but much paler around the splotches. Didn’t have to hit her to nail her where it hurt most.

  I’d broken her trust.

  And now I wanted to punch myself in the face. Wanted to sit down and apologize and explain to her that I’d had a rough fucking month, but I couldn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  Everything about my world right now centered on one truth, the only answer that made any sense: MetaCorp wanted me. They’d linked up with Battery’s chopshop. They worked with Kern’s Knacklock shop.

  They’d chased my ass into the Vid Zone, the thing that started it all.

  I needed to be at peak performance. I needed more than that. I needed everything I could get my hands on, and I needed it now.

  I needed Orchard to do it.

  Sorry, I thought as I plunked Hope’s ass on the top of the desk. It was higher than her legs could reach, one of those desks meant to provide a barrier elbow-high between her and clients.

  Her cup rattled – real cunting porcelain.

  Hope didn’t move. Her fists clenched in her lap.

  I didn’t look at her face. Didn’t want to see what expression she gave me as I left her there. I don’t even know if she watched me go.

  The back of my neck burned all the way to hell.

  Cameras watched me, and I assumed security tagged me down every hall. Despite my entry – and yesterday’s exit – nobody came tearing at me, no automated voices told me to stop.

  Maybe Hope had alerted the lab. Maybe Orchard was just always there, always prepared for whatever came through the doors.

  Maybe I was beyond caring what everybody else wanted to do.

  This time, when I shoved through the doors into the already cold space of Orchard’s… no, of Malik’s lab, white tile was the last thing on my mind. Orchard, her hair twisted into a messy orange knot and her lab coat forgotten somewhere, met me with a metal cup of something steaming in hand.

  I smelled coffee.

  I smelled sanitizer.

  And the smile that already curved her lips screamed talk the crazy bitch down. “Hey, you’re here early–”

  Fuck, no. I grabbed her by the upper arms, dragged her face to mine. The cup in her hand tilted, spilled the black brew over her skin, and then fell out of her grasp completely, soaking her denim and oversized blue sweater.

  She flinched.

  I tore the part of me that cared out and stomped it bloody into the spreading liquid on the floor. “Tech,” I growled. “Fix my protocols. Pain dampeners, first tier.” What else? “Skinweave, second generation processing.” Agility enhancements? No, I relied on myself for that. With pain dampeners, the risk of hyperextending my joints without noticing would put me on my face. “And tighten my fucking chipset before I tear it out.”

  Orchard shook in my grasp. Tiny vibrations that mirrored the strain in her neck, delicate cords taut all the way into the soft, folded collar of her high-neck sweater. Surprise and pain and something much, much deeper – something kinder than I expected or deserved – swam behind her eyes. One squinted, same side as the corner of her twisted mouth pulled up.

  Fucking flowers from her hair. Her soap, maybe.

  Orchard cupped my elbow in one hand – the only part of me she could reach. Gentle, too.

  Goddammit.

  “Riko.” A very quiet way to say my name. Quieter than I was used to. “I’m willing to listen, but you need to let me go.”

  No. My fingers spasmed. “Can you do it or not?” I demanded, rasping every word. Something twisted inside me. Something ugly and raw; it fed the gaping wound inside my chest and tore it wider. Deeper.

  We’d made progress, but Indigo hadn’t filled it in. I didn’t know if anything ever would.

  Her flinch this time left lines bracketing her mouth. Her skin whitened around her freckles, darkening them. “Riko.” Firmer. “You’re hurting me.”

  Hurting?

  This pampered little sinner didn’t know the first thing about the concept.

  And because that thought, violent and cruel, screamed through the front of my brain, I let her go. Shoved her away from me.

  One of her feet slid in the coffee puddle and nearly wiped her out entirely. She caught herself on the corner of a machine bristling with tubes while I skipped back three feet and jammed my hands behind my back. They fisted hard. Specs in my left optic scrolled from bone-threatening to steel-denting.

  Fuck me. Fuck me with every goddamn thing possible, and skip the lubrication.

  What was I doing?

  Orchard righted herself, rubbed at her upper arm as she surveyed the mess on the floor. Ruefully, she shook her head. “I guess you don’t want coffee?”

  No. I wanted to scream. To throw a fist at her and make her run from me; why wasn’t she calling for security? What the fuck did she stand there for, why did she look up from the stain and turn that rueful, gentle smile on me?

  “Never mind,” I snarled. “Forget everything.” I turned around, fully intending to stride ri
ght the fuck out, but collided with the back of another stupid piece of tech in the way. Swore some more.

  When a long, spindly hand cupped my flesh arm, thumb on an overly tender streak of shiny pink skin, I went still. Froze in place. Punching, I thought numbly, was my first impulse. So much so that my hand was already a fist, cocked at the elbow.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Blood on white tile.

  It didn’t help.

  Guts dripping down cement.

  My teeth gritted hard enough, they creaked with the strain.

  Scattered hunks of black hair crusted in gore.

  Nothing made sense. Nothing fit; I couldn’t keep it all straight. Memories that weren’t memories, dreams that weren’t dreams; what-ifs and almosts and fear and wants–

  That hand tugged me around.

  Copper in white. Light blue eyes ringed in burnt orange lashes.

  These things were in front of me.

  The smell of coffee.

  The thick burn of sanitizer.

  I hate it here.

  Orchard’s mouth moved, and as I stared at it, her words pushed through the buzzing, roaring cacophony pounding between my ears. “–panic, it’s OK, take deep breaths. In.” She inhaled deeply; a caricature of a breath. Let it out in just as overdone a fashion. “Out. You’re not anywhere but here.”

  I hate it here.

  Her nails, short and clipped to nearly nothing, left no dents as she tightened her grip. “Come on.” Quiet voice. Firm. Level, like all she wanted to do was narrate the weather. “Step back into now, Riko. Focus.” And then, stern like a teacher, “Breathe, Riko.”

  I breathed. Took in a gulp of air I didn’t know I was missing until her voice crashed into my daze and oxygen tore my world back into pulsating, vibrant color.

  Or what there was of it in this fucking white lab.

  I hate it here.

  I wobbled. For all her birdlike build, Orchard had a grip made for something other than fragile glass tubes and delicate equipment. She pulled me forward, turned me easily and sat me in the chair she must have evacuated when told I was coming.

  My butt hit the soft padding.

  Orchard crouched between my splayed legs, balanced between my knees, and looked up at me with those stupidly soulful crystal eyes. She could wait me out. She had the time. The inclination.

  I didn’t expect judgment from her. Wouldn’t get it. She wasn’t the type. Too godfuckinglydamn pure for my world.

  I judged myself.

  Her hands rested on my bare knees, which let her balance lightly on the balls of her feet. And gave her a perfect view of my face. Gone was the hurt. The wariness.

  But the bright red patch on her nearly translucent skin, that still glowed.

  I’d done that.

  Orchard searched my face until she felt confident I’d come back. I guess I did. Suddenly, I found my skin impossible to wear, heavy and itchy and constricting.

  Her mouth did that smile thing again. “Hey.”

  My lips peeled back from gritted teeth.

  I wanted to say sorry.

  I wouldn’t. Still wouldn’t. Not here. I wasn’t; I needed what I needed.

  My sorries had all tapped out.

  She unfolded, using my knees as a brace, and stepped away. The stain on her sweater turned the bright blue fibers muddy brown. It dripped down her denim, tracing one skinny knee on the outside knob of her kneecap. “You stay put. I’m going to go change into scrubs.”

  I opened my mouth, managed, “I’ll–”

  “You,” she cut in over me, and pointed at the usual place. Curtained room. White gowns all stocked up. “Will go put on a medical gown so I can keep the scan as clean as possible.” Her gaze dropped to my healing arm. “And I’ll pull up some rechargers for you.”

  Somehow, she wasn’t yelling.

  Crying.

  Staring.

  Whatever her responses could have been, she chose calm, matter-of-fact, kind. No matter how that burn on her hand might feel. I’d left bruises on her upper arm. Her nanos would heal it fast, but that wasn’t the point, was it?

  I was six sides of a thorny asshole, and for once, I didn’t feel good about it.

  33

  When I came back from the land of the anaesthetized, Orchard was the first thing I saw. Or rather, her hair. Even I could tell my fascination with it was getting ridiculous.

  She looked up from whatever work she did on her desk – no projections this time. She, like me, preferred tablets. Solid things to carry around, I suspected, rather than for security’s sake. Her smile flashed, far too bright and open for the shit I’d laid on her.

  I didn’t get it. I didn’t get any of it.

  “Hey, you woke up quick. How’re you feeling?”

  No different, except more rested than usual. I frowned, sitting up easily from the usual table-bed thing. “What time is it?”

  She checked the delicate watch on her wrist. It hung too loosely, she had to tilt her wrist to do it. Bright fuck-off green, not elegant at all. “Quarter past eight.” Great. Still in too-early-for-thinking time. “Are you feeling better?”

  I thought about it as I swung my feet to the side of the platform. She’d changed the crinkly paper shirt thing for comfortable recovery wear. This time, she’d given me white boardshorts and a white sports bra. Like she knew.

  Bless her with whatever supreme power she liked.

  I rubbed my scalp. “Head doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Good start,” she replied, scooting her heels off the chair seat and unbending from it. I couldn’t fold up that small, too much muscle. “Your projection protocols are active again. I also checked out your arm. The replacement girdle has held up well. Aside from some minor cosmetic damage, you’re in good shape.”

  I looked down at the matte metal. Poked at the extra ammo slot built in.

  Still full.

  When I looked back up, Orchard’s smile was wry. “Yes, you are still armed.” She pointed at a small pile of clothes, and the assault rifle hung over the back of a chair. “That’s yours.”

  My bare feet hit the cold tile. I flinched, bit it back. Prepped for a spike of panic.

  It didn’t come.

  I frowned at nothing. Thought about it all over again, checked in with my various body parts.

  No sense of being watched.

  No aching wound behind my ribs.

  No deeply rooted need to murder every screwhead in the city.

  Well. That was new.

  Orchard watched me pad barefoot to the chair, pull the clothes up for inspection. Canvas pants – yellow, I noted in bemusement, like dark mustard – and a black, high-collar tank top. Nicer than I’d usually print up, but beggars and all that. Wasn’t going anywhere I needed to impress anyone, anyway.

  I needed some fucking peace and quiet while I waited for Indigo to crack those chipsets.

  “Thanks,” I said. I dropped shorts and top, pulled on the underwear she’d printed for me, too. Slimfit white boxer-briefs – oh, yeah, she had my number – and another sports tank to keep everything in place. Also white.

  Could’ve done without the white, but I figured her options were limited.

  Orchard sat back down, stretched out her long legs. They crossed at thin ankles. “I did not,” she continued, “implant any more cybernetics than what you already have.”

  I grimaced down at the button fly I struggled to snap together.

  “You’re already pushing yourself to the brink,” she continued, “and the risk of hitting your threshold is too high. Even with our schematics and research, it’s not a risk worth taking. This soon after nanoshock, recovery takes precedence.”

  Finishing the last button, I looked up. Not surprising she knew. Nanoshock takes its toll, and that shows up in scans. I nodded. “Fine.”

  I mean, what else was I supposed to do? In my state of zen, I recognized the logic. I preferred fighting necros, not joining them. I’d gotten impatient. Desperate. />
  Orchard’s pale pink lips curved down, just a little. Her eyes settled on the ruined ink on my arm, though the scarring felt much less tender when I flexed it. “Be kinder to yourself, Riko. I can patch you up to a point, but I can’t dose you up every time you come in here.”

  My brow furrowed. “Dose?”

  “Anti-anxiety.”

  Well, that explained the lack of breath-shortening hysteria. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that one, either. It was nice to breathe. It wasn’t so nice to learn what it was I’d been missing in all the stress.

  “Thanks,” I said again, looking away.

  “None needed. Just maybe go easy?”

  Nope. Couldn’t do that. I shrugged in answer. She, because she was too goddamn savvy to my shit, didn’t push it.

  The black tank was stretchy, but the collar took a bit of work to pull over my head. I missed the compressed hiss of doors from a farther exit, was too focused on tugging the fabric over the expanse of my cold abs and testing my internals for even a twitch of pain. Regardless of my eerily steady calm, the place was still too damn cold.

  “Riko.”

  Ah, shit.

  Orchard spoke up out of my line of sight. “Sir.”

  “Leave us, Dr Gearailteach.” More snap than Orchard deserved. More authority than I would ever tolerate from him. But her? She had to suck it up and answer. Probably didn’t think twice about it.

  “Sir,” she echoed. “Bye, Riko.” The soft step of her footfalls faded, until they vanished behind another set of doors across the lab.

  He barely waited for her to go.

  “You,” he told my back, “are not welcome here.”

  Shirt in place, boots in hand – at least my boots had lasted this far – I turned to meet Malik’s icy stare. Man, I thought it was cold in here before. I smiled. Smirked, really. “Just leaving.”

  The ground he covered might have been intimidating for somebody else. I just watched him halt outside my reach. “Only you would cause chaos and think you can walk back into my offices like you belong.”

  I shrugged. And thank fuck, none of it hurt. “I don’t belong,” I said. “I’m just a contractor.”

  “Not anymore, you aren’t.”

  I blame whatever Orchard gave me. The words didn’t make me angry. Didn’t affect me me in the least bit. Another shrug. My smirk deepened.