She raised her visor, took in the street, which was suddenly, conveniently empty of people. No one wanted to get involved, not in a part of the city like this. No one wanted to help. They’d come crawling back when Hope was gone, pawing over the remains she’d left behind, like hyenas, scavenging for the remains of the kill. Hope almost sank to her knees, because she wasn’t a killer. She hadn’t been one before, and didn’t want to start now. And these three would survive, but whether it was a good life in the shadow of injuries like that was a hard question to answer. Hope looked at the bodies groaning, crying, and moaning at her feet, then set off. It would all be worth it.
It’d all be worth it once she found Rei-Rei.
• • •
The elevator was out.
Hope stood in front of it, her eyes scanning around through the visor. She took in security cameras, their electronic eyes looking for people just like her, but unable to get a match through the visor. Not a real match; if she’d just blanked out her eyes, made it impossible to read, that would have ignited the Republic’s interest, had them swarming in here like flies to honey. She’d programmed the rig’s visor, got the surface — designed to deal with the glowing radiation of a fusion drive, the scan of harsh space, the fire and fury of burning machinery — to accept the gentle touch of the cameras. Take the retina scanning, hold it close, and give an image back. She didn’t know whose eyes she was using; she’d grabbed a quick scan of a woman on the street, clean clothes, a business jacket — and put that in play. As far as these cameras knew — for as long as Hope’s visor was down — Hope was a woman in the wrong part of town, nothing more. It wasn’t a crime, and as long as she didn’t become a part of the problem rather than the solution, she figured they’d leave her alone. If the Guild hadn’t killed all the AIs hundreds of years ago, something behind those cameras might have worked out something was amiss, but as it was? Nothing but humans and dumb logic gates were watching her. Which were kind of the same thing, in Hope’s experience.
The Republic was one thing, but this elevator was quite another. Her intel said Rei-Rei was sixty flights of stairs closer to the sky than the lobby where Hope stood.
Of course the elevator was out. The machine was old, prehistoric. The power was still on to the building — the rig confirmed it, glowing lines appearing in her visor’s HUD, where live conduit lay behind walls. She followed the lines, some of them going to apartments, others crawling into the elevator shaft. The buttons were broken, smashed by a previous hand that had been frustrated with the idea of climbing five or fifty flights. Hope sighed — at least the lobby’s lights worked, no gangs waiting here to take from her the things she needed for what was to come — as she fired up the rig’s manipulators. Time to go to work.
The rig pulled the panel off the elevator’s controls — an old-style touch interface, its capacitive surface cracked and marred. The rig exposed the circuits behind the panel, a brief shower of sparks falling to the floor. Its manipulators were quick, their movements faster than Hope’s hands would ever be. They shucked corroded wiring, spat solvents at dirty metal and glass, curled metal fingers around components that needed to be straightened, teased back into alignment. There was a click from the panel, then something in the elevator shaft groaned. Lights in the lobby flickered as power breathed back into the elevator system.
Hope allowed herself a small smile behind her visor. She had fixed the elevator. She could fix anything.
Except, perhaps, what had fallen between her and Reiko. That was a dark shadow, something that blotted out the sun itself. It felt bigger than Hope, bigger than the whole world. It wasn’t a machine, and she didn’t understand it very well. But she had to try.
There was a chime, and the elevator doors shuddered open in front of her. The floor of the car was dirty but otherwise empty. No angry youths holding angry weapons, although they’d have been angry and hungry, having been stuck in a broken elevator for a couple weeks. Hope took a step inside, feeling the car shift with her weight, cables above more elastic than metal should be. That’d need fixing too, but fixing it would take supplies, materials she didn’t have, so some other Engineer would have to do it. Which meant no one would, and Reiko’s apartment’s elevator would be dangerous. But it wouldn’t be Reiko’s apartment for too much longer, not if Hope could fix all the things that were broken.
Hope reached out a trembling finger, touching the elevator controls. There was an off-tone chime, the car’s speakers damaged, but it accepted her entry and shrugged the doors closed in front of her. With a jerk, Hope rose.
• • •
Bodies in the hallway. Just four, and not — at least, not as far as the rig could tell — dead. But bodies, high on stims or down on liquor, whatever they could afford. One person had been nestled against the doors of the elevator, a mumbled go fuck yourself teased free as they opened. Hope stepped over the body, doors closing behind her. The light from the elevator car was cut off, leaving the gloom of the hallway — maybe one in four lights was still working here.
It didn’t matter to the rig, the visor capable of working in the hard black of space that seeped into every corner out between the stars. It chattered happily to her, her display adjusting lighting to show her the way. She counted off the doors as she passed, arriving at the one she wanted.
The one she needed.
There wasn’t a panel to press, no camera to speak to. Hope curled her hand, rapped fingers against the door, the wood hard and cruel against her skin.
“Fuck off,” said a voice from behind the door. The voice she knew; it was more familiar than breathing. It was the best part of her, and she’d left that voice behind.
“Rei-Rei,” said Hope. “It’s me.” She wondered if she should add, Hope, the lover who left you. She wanted to know if Rei-Rei remembered her. Whether her wife remembered the smell of her, like she remembered Reiko’s. But if she said those things, she’d never know, so she bit her lip again, held her breath like she held her hands to her sides.
There was silence for a few more seconds, then the pinpoint of light over the door’s spyglass was blocked. Reiko would look out into the hallway, would see Hope’s rig, and figure someone was screwing with her. And then she’d tell Hope to go away.
“Take off the visor,” said Reiko. “I need to know it’s you. I need—”
“I … can’t,” said Hope. “Not here.”
“Cameras are out in the hallway,” said Reiko.
Hope reached a hand up, pressing the controls at the base of her visor. The rig shuddered, the helmet pulling back away from her face. Her pink hair fell across her face in sweaty clumps, and she brushed it away. The air of the hallway smelled of old mildew and pain, and without the visor on her face she felt blind. Like maybe she didn’t want to see. Still, the air was cooling, like a gentle hand telling her it would be okay.
“Rei-Rei,” said Hope. “Reiko. It’s me.”
The sound of bolts and chains being drawn sounded from behind the door, then it was yanked open. Light streamed out, blinding Hope for a second. She held a hand in front of her eyes, squinting against the brightness of it, her face turning away. Hope didn’t want to see. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have come back. Reiko would be in danger, Reiko would hate her, Reiko would turn her away—
Hope felt strong hands against her arms, felt Reiko shake her. Fingers pushed into her arms, urgent. Hope made herself open her eyes, saw Reiko’s face inches from hers. That face she’d never thought to see again. She wanted to cry, to run, but she was held there by Reiko’s strong hands. Hope’s wife had always been the strong one. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I—”
Reiko Crous-Povilaitis pulled Hope close, kissed her hard on the lips. Reiko was crying, and Hope was crying. Then they kissed again, and tumbled back into Reiko’s apartment, the door closing behind them like a bible closing on the sins of the past.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KOHL DIDN’T MUCH like being interrogated. It broug
ht back the bad memories, reminding him of the first gang he’d run with. Never a good moment to be had, always somebody’s bitch.
The trick was to claw your way to the top, fast and mean. Using people’s eye sockets as finger holds if need be. Kohl wasn’t fussy how it happened, but it needed to happen. Here, it wasn’t happening. This whole deal in front of him? Not his thing.
The man in black was watching him, eyes hooded, expression closed. There was a standard Republic officer at his side, generic type, all minted from the same factory as near as Kohl could tell. Same uniforms, same equipment, same damn haircut over the same damn clean-shaven face. That whole shtick made Kohl want to go over there and punch the Republic officer in his perfect, clean mouth. Bloody it up some.
“I guess one of you needs to say something,” said Kohl. “You ain’t here for the quiet, and you ain’t here to ask me what happened to these chumps.” These chumps were the five men sprawled at Kohl’s feet in various stages of out for the count through to will need coma care and six months in rehab. That last guy had just been mean with his fists, and Kohl didn’t like mean when he was chained to a wall. He gave his chains a tug; good strong steel, running through eyelets set above him. Enough play to swing his arms, not enough play to get to the man in black or his piano monkey Republic officer. More than enough for Kohl to lay about like a lumberjack when the now-unconscious five had come for him, all quiet intent and hard eyes.
“Many of these men will need intensive medical care,” said Piano Monkey.
“Okay, got it,” said Kohl. “You’re bad cop. He,” he jerked his chin at the man in black, “is the good cop. You know what, though?”
Kohl could see the officer fighting with the urge to not respond, and watched him lose that internal battle. “What, prisoner?”
“You’re both total assholes,” said Kohl. “Tremendous assholes. Giant, Jupiter-sized—”
“I get where you’re going with this,” said the man in black, “but it’s all beside the point.”
A little puddle of quiet settled between the three of them, broken by one man on the ground groaning. Kohl sniffed, wiped blood from his nose across his arm with a jangle of chains, and coughed. “Okay, so you’re both bad cops. Still assholes, near as I can figure.”
“Depending on your point of view, we could be angels from the heavens,” said the man in black. “Do you like angels, October Kohl?”
“Dunno,” said Kohl. “Never had the pleasure. I know one thing, though.” He jerked at his chains. “Angels do not chain a man.”
“Do they not?” said the man in black. “I have seen all humankind tethered to rocky crusts, unable to fly free.”
“The Tyche flies pretty good,” said Kohl.
“The Tyche flies where we want, when we want, and only when it pleases us,” said the man in black.
Kohl gave that a little bit of thought. “Okay, I get you,” he said. “Help me with one thing.”
“What’s that?” said Piano Monkey, as if he remembered having a voice. Like someone had just wound up his gears, put in a new battery, and set him to the GO position.
“Y’all giving me this speech about being angels, and about being the very boot on our necks.” Kohl worked his tongue around his mouth, wiggled a fragment of tooth free, and spat it to the ground. “Your story ain’t very consistent.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” said Piano Monkey. “You’re lucky we didn’t exercise our legal rights of summary execution.”
“Legal’s one word for it,” said Kohl.
“You’ve got another word?”
Kohl looked at him, then to the man in black. “Your piano monkey is wearing the uniform, but you’re the one in charge. So, bossman, why are we having this conversation? Angels, whatever. I don’t give a shit. Honestly. You got a thing you want to do, you do it. That’s my motto. You don’t need the hard sell on October Kohl. You got to speak plain.”
The officer took a step forward. “You’ll show respect to your betters.”
“If I saw any of these betters, which — and I’m trying to be clear — are as likely to walk in here as his mythical angels,” said Kohl, “I’d show ’em respect. All I see are two assholes. Giant assholes.”
The Republic officer’s face twitched, and before the thought had cleared High Command in his brain, he’d dropped the shock rod from his belt, took two steps forward towards Kohl, and swung.
Perfect. Kohl let it come, then jerked aside, the shock rod sparking against the ceramicrete wall where his face had been. Kohl brought his knee up into Piano Monkey’s stomach — not groin, because it hadn’t got personal yet — and as the officer sagged forward, Kohl slammed his forehead into the other man’s face. Piano Monkey dropped to the floor, joining the other five bodies, his shock rod tumbling free. It sparked a few times as it rolled across the ground, coming to rest against the man in black’s shiny leather shoes.
The man in black hadn’t moved before, and he looked like he didn’t want to start now. Heaving a sigh, he leaned forward, picking up the fallen shock rod. He stood, holding it in front of his face, turning it this way and that. “Ah,” was all he said.
“Yeah,” said Kohl.
“I think that you are just the man we need.”
“I’m the man everyone needs,” said Kohl. “When the fucking sun goes dark, you’ll still need someone to do the dirty things that need doing.”
“Someone to do the heavy lifting,” said the man in black.
Kohl cocked his head sideways at that one. “Huh,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Well, you’re not the first person I’ve known to use that turn of phrase,” said Kohl.
“If the shoe fits,” said the man in black. “Or, should I say, boot.”
“Huh,” said Kohl again.
“If you’re wondering about the theatrics,” said the man in black, “there’s a reason.”
“A reason,” said Kohl. “I figured as much. You could have had me … what’d he call it?”
“Legal summary execution.”
“That thing,” said Kohl. “You didn’t need five of your boys to come in here and try and work me over.”
“No,” agreed the other man. “It’s more fun this way though.”
“I thought so,” said Kohl, showing his teeth in something that could have, under a certain light, been called a grin. “Guns and shit like that? They get the job done. But fists and harsh language, that’s more my speed.”
“You want it to be personal,” said the man in black.
“Fuck, I just wanna get mad,” said Kohl. “I went to this anger management class once. My probie said I had to. You know what those fools wanted me to do? Reduce my anger. As if you can put the brakes on awesome, you know?”
“Indeed,” said the man in black. “What we were trying to find out is just how far you’d go. How skilled you were at doing … how did you put it? Doing the dirty things that need doing.”
“You want to pay me to hurt someone,” said Kohl.
“Yes.”
“You want to pay me to hurt someone I know,” said Kohl.
“Two for two.”
“I ain’t gonna hurt the captain,” said Kohl.
The man in black pursed his lips. “Why is that?” He held up a hand. “Not that it’s required, in this instance. But I’m curious.”
“Well,” said Kohl. He thought maybe I couldn’t, followed by maybe I shouldn’t. “He’s already paying me. Gives a bad rep, you know, if you take a man’s coin and then space him.”
“Good enough for me,” said the man in black. “We will pay you two hundred thousand Republic coins to bring us to Grace Gushiken.”
“Gracie?” said Kohl. His surprise level went from a steady zero right to eleven.
“Is there a problem?” said the man in black.
“Naw,” said Kohl, but his brain said yes, big fucking problem, and then it said, there’s no problem. His brain was swinging back and forth between thos
e two compass points, trying to work out which one was north. It was confusing, so he tried running his mouth for a while. “It’s just … well, you’ve made the offer now, so no take-backs, right? But I’d have done that for free.”
“A fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay. Isn’t that what our great Republic is built on?”
“I’m not a politics kind of guy,” said Kohl. Still, the man had a point. The Republic’s whole deal was being fair all around. He jerked his chains. “I’m more of a let-me-go kind of guy.”
“You must have a view,” said the man in black. “You must feel the might of the Republic.”
“Yeah, I kinda like it,” said Kohl.
“You ‘kinda like it?’”
“That’s right,” said Kohl. “The Old Empire was run by assholes.” He shrugged. “There are still assholes.” He nudged the Republic officer with the toe of his boot. “But they’re more my speed.”
“Hmm.” The other man shook his head. “I guess we’ll take what we can get.” He made no obvious gesture, but the clamps holding Kohl’s wrists released with a clink, the chains falling back against the wall.
“Let me get this right,” said Kohl, rubbing his wrists. “You want me to bring you to Gracie? You don’t want me to hurt her? Not even a little?”
“No,” said the man in black. “We want Grace Gushiken, alive, and unharmed. So, rather than ask you to get her — something we don’t have great confidence in you being able to achieve — we’d like you to find her, and make sure she doesn’t get away while we come to you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” agreed the man in black.
“Just one more thing,” said Kohl. “I’m gonna need my carbine back.” He stretched, rolled one of his shoulders, winced, and then started forward. “That was a fine gun, and I’m expecting to need it.”
• • •
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