by ST Branton
“Not all of it.” She stared into her square cup. “But there was a lot—most of it—that they didn’t tell us, such as what they meant by ‘communications.’ The company grew like crazy, and a couple years in, I found out our main source of income was mining and selling customers’ data. I mean millions of people who just became commodities. Everything they were, and everything they wished they weren’t, out there for someone to buy. Just so they could market stupid shit even better.”
“Pretty slimy,” I remarked. It was the best response I could muster, my own sense of ethics having been dulled by my thirst for vengeance. “So, you quit?”
“Of course, I quit!” She glared at nothing in particular. “They don’t give a shit about people in Silicon Valley. All they care about is money and ownership.”
“Sounds about right.” I drank the last two drops of sake and switched back to my beer, which tasted like water in comparison. “It’s like that in New York, too.”
“It’s like that everywhere. Which is why I started my blog, to expose that kind of garbage.” Suddenly, she blinked. “Wait, you came here from New York? That’s a long way just to talk.” Her hands steepled beneath her chin. “I spilled my story. Why the hell are you here?”
I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll just throw you in the deep end and see if you can swim. My parents are dead, and while I was chasing the guy who killed them, I got wrapped up in some truly unbelievable shit. The kind of thing you dream about after eating pizza at midnight.”
I expected her to jump on that, but she let a moment of stillness filter through the air. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. It wasn’t necessarily the correct response, but defusing the awkwardness that came with any explanation of my current state of affairs was second nature to me.
“I want to,” she said. “My parents are really, well, important to me.”
We were quiet then, not looking at each other. “Thanks,” I told her finally. “It was five years ago. I’m working through it. And honestly, it sort of helps that my life’s gone off the rails since then.”
“Then, I’m… glad?” She smirked. “Is this where the vampires come in?”
I raised my eyebrows and grinned. “Yeah...turns out they’re real. And worse. It’s basically my new life’s calling to stop them.”
“So you’re like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
I rolled my eyes—I knew that joke would get old fast.
“Yeah, something like that. And I have reason to believe they’re somehow tied to Monk Industries.”
“Why? Because of that story I wrote about the exsanguinations?” She poured more sake for both of us. “I’m not saying I believe you, but it’s no less insane than some of the stuff I know is actually happening in the Valley. It’s like, if Monk can build a weapon that will potentially solve the energy crisis forever, why can’t there be a bunch of blood-crazed weirdos with fangs running around? The threshold for normality gets lower every day.”
“Run that by me again? Silas Monk is doing what?” All of my senses perked up.
“No one knows for sure yet, but I’ve been around a while, and I’ve done my research on him. He’s always talking about trying to change the way we use energy on Earth.” The blogger’s dark eyes lit up with a keen spark of excitement. “And he’s spoken a lot in recent months about geothermal methods specifically. It’s complicated, of course, but the simple explanation is that energy drawn from deep within the planet is a renewable resource and could theoretically replace all of our current finite sources like fossil fuels. Which is basically saying it has the potential to save the planet, and therefore, save humanity.”
“I’m sensing a catch,” I said, signaling for another beer. This was one of those times where I didn’t want to be hammered inside of half an hour, and I didn’t trust the sake not to do that. “And I noticed that you called this thing a weapon, not a tool.”
“Yeah. Monk has always been shady, but recently he’s changed. His clothes, the way he talks, the people he interacts with. Monk’s been screwing around with weapons’ contractors on the side. He thinks he’s being discreet, but I mean, the evidence is all over if you know where to look. We’ve even uncovered a possible code name. Light.” She shrugged. “Most likely an acronym for something.”
The entire planet screeched to a halt. Everything dissolved except me, this stranger whose life I’d just saved, and the mental videotape of that vamp in the alley, talking at me through two major holes in his mouth. Pretty soon, we’re gonna have a light of our own. His words ambled through my head, over and over.
My brain told me the connection was a stretch at best, but a tiny little voice in the back of my head, the one I associated with my instincts, refused to let it go. A light of their own. No, not light, but LIGHT. All caps.
How could it be a coincidence?
“Interesting,” I said, so as not to be silent for too long. “Any guesses what it might be?”
Are you thinking what I am thinking, Victoria? Marcus inquired.
I nodded slightly, pretending it was to myself as I considered everything SplitScreen had said. On the inside, my head spun like a carnival ride. This was it—this had to be it. The reason mobsters were being shipped out West, never to return. The reason things were so damned quiet in New York as of late. All the baddies were flocking here to get a load of the brand-new toy they were about to nab from the humans.
“I don’t want to contribute too much to base conjecture,” the blogger said. “It can be risky to put too much of this stuff out there. Besides, Monk is set to present something at the Global Tech Expo next week—something big, by the sounds of it.”
“The weapon.”
“It might not be a weapon,” she said.
“You don’t buy that.”
She leaned forward. “Listen. The death threats I was getting? They started when I was writing about Codename: LIGHT, whatever it is. I’m paranoid, but I’m not an idiot. There’s something going on here, and I need to know what it is.”
Spoken like a smart girl after my own heart. I sat up straight and looked her dead in the eye. “One last thing.”
“Shoot.”
“I need to ask you about what went down in that warehouse. I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but that woman and her lackeys obviously meant business, and I have to know what that business was. What did she say to you?”
The blogger fell silent for a few seconds, studying a point on the wall over my shoulder. When she spoke again, her voice was very quiet. “I’m not afraid of much,” she said. “But she freaked me the hell out.” Her eyes suddenly snapped to my face, full of burning intensity. “If you know her, tell me who she is. Just because I didn’t crack the first time doesn’t mean she won’t come back for me.”
“I have no clue who she is. I was hoping she gave you a hint.”
SplitScreen frowned. “All she wanted to talk about was that damn drill. What I knew. What I’d heard. What I was planning to ‘release,’ as she put it. She wanted to know if I was a threat.”
“Are you?” I asked.
SplitScreen smiled. “If I wasn’t before, I am now.”
Staring into her stony, defiant expression, I saw no hints of deception, and even though I’d already seen her champion level poker face in action, it was a lot easier to believe her when I could actually see her face. “Alright. Looks like we’re on the same side of this one. But if we’re going to work together, I need to know your name. SplitScreen was fine until you got a face.”
“Oh!” Her pale cheeks pinked a little. “Namiko.”
“A mononym?” I grinned. “Does that make you an artist?”
She snorted. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna make fun of it.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “I got one, too. It’s Vic.”
I put my hand out. Namiko took it carefully. We shook.
“Here’s to the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she said.
Namiko’s phone vibrated as she was using it to call her car. She read the notification without saying a word, but then her hand reached out and gripped my arm. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?” I steeled myself for news of the earth splitting open or another golden meteorite crash landing in San Francisco Bay.
“The news just broke. Monk decided to move up his reveal. Guess he’s just too excited to wait until next week.” This last sentence fairly dripped disdain.
“What?” I asked. “When?”
Namiko pursed her lips. “Tonight. Tech Institute of San Francisco. Invitation only.”
“Well, I know what I’m doing tonight.” I ran a hand through my hair and frowned. “I should probably take a shower first, huh?”
My new friend laughed. “Yeah, right, Vic. Do you know how totally exclusive these things are? I have a whole web of connections, and I wouldn’t be able to get in.”
“Good thing I’m not you, then,” I said cheerfully. The silver sedan slipped into the lot.
“Hilarious. Really though, you don’t get it. They won’t even look at you if you’re not on the list.” She held the door open and then got into the back beside me. “Better come up with a plan B.”
“And miss this golden opportunity to see everything up close and personal? No way in hell. There must be some way to hack the system, right?”
“Maybe you should ask a hacker,” she retorted. “Although...hang on.” She entrenched herself in her phone for a minute. Then she held it up so I could see the screen. “Do you think you could pretend to be her?”
“What?” In hindsight, I probably should have seen this coming, but in the moment, I was totally blindsided. “Who’s that?”
I pointed at the picture of the woman with long, dark hair and green eyes. We shared the same complexion, but the similarities didn’t go much further.
“Her name is Monica Tellenburg. She’s a tech journo, which means we have the same job, except hers is above board. She’s one of the top writers for the biggest tech site out there. And that means she is going to be at the event tonight.”
“How do you know that?” The picture of Namiko’s plan was beginning to form in my mind. I had never engaged in that sort of actual espionage before, but if it would get me closer to Monk and his secret weapon, I was already warming to the idea.
“Oh, please. They wouldn’t miss this scoop if their lives depended on it.”
“And how exactly am I going to get in under her name? If she’s a big shot, they’ll recognize her, won’t they?”
“‘Big-shot’ is a relative term in our field. She might technically be more successful than me, but she’s not even orbiting these guys’ pay grade. Most of them know her name, maybe they’ve seen her headshot.” She looked at the picture and then up at me. “I mean, you’re a couple of all-American white girls. How hard could it be? As long as you get there first, you can slip in. I can call someone who’ll make it a little easier. Deal?”
I pressed my lips together. “This is our best bet, huh?”
“Unless you have a better idea, yeah. Also, I’ll give Monica an offer she can’t refuse.”
Raising an eyebrow, I responded. “You deal in threats in the blogosphere?”
Namiko laughed. “Hardly. I have a scoop on a new driverless car tech that I got the first leak on. I’ll offer her that, in exchange for her not showing up at the expo tonight. It’s a pretty huge scoop. She’d be crazy not to take it.” She pressed down a silver button in the backseat with her thumb. “Drop my friend off at The Crown, please.”
For the first time, I examined the interior of the car—all white leather seats and wood accents. “Real wood?”
She tapped the button. “And real silver. What’s the point in being bougie if you’re not going to take it all the way?”
I laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how can you afford it if you’re living on the fringes of society as an outcast blogger?”
Namiko sighed. “It’s a weird dichotomy. My dad does import/export over in Japan. Suffice it to say, he makes bank. I don’t really like to flaunt it on the outside. Most of the things that I have, I earned myself. That distinction is critical to me. I need to feel like I’m playing an active role in my own life.” She thought for a minute. “It’s also important to note: I attended Stanford on a full-ride scholarship. My father did not pay my way. But now...let’s just say that he believes in the good that I do.”
So, she made up for her miniscule stature with a brain five times the size of mine. I tried not to think about the last time I did real math. “That’s cool. I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“You know what?” she said. “I think I’m glad, too.” The silver sedan cruised to a slow stop outside the front of my motel. I moved to get out, and Namiko stopped me. “Oh, I almost forgot. Silas Monk has a new lady in his life. You might want to keep an eye on her.”
I do not recall any mention of a partner in your research, Marcus piped up. Of course, he’d want to talk about the girlfriend.
Still, his sentiments were worth paraphrasing. “I didn’t know Monk had a girlfriend.”
“That’s the thing. He didn’t up until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s got this hot model glued to his side. He hasn’t made a single public appearance alone since he met her.”
“Maybe they’re in love,” I quipped.
“Uh huh. Or maybe one of them is hiding something.” Her face eased into a small smile. “Good luck, Vic. I’ll contact you later with details on your admission. I’m rooting for you.”
***
Among the surreal landscape that continued to be my life, it felt strange to have sort of made a friend. I took a quick shower, resisting the urge to soak in the actual bathtub, and pulled on the clothes I grabbed from the store beside the hotel. White blouse. Charcoal pants. Black pumps. They would have to do.
As an afterthought, I used the motel’s wall-mounted dryer on my hair, carefully brushing out every errant snarl. If Namiko was right about the status of this event, then I needed to be sure I was as divorced as possible from my true identity.
“What do you think?” I asked Marcus as I stood in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. “Nice enough? Or do I look like a poser?”
You’re not Cleopatra, but we have no choice but to hope this disguise is sufficient, he replied. Your usual boorish ways are off limits tonight.
I grabbed my bag off the back of the hotel chair. “Did you hear that? That’s the sound of me never asking for your opinion again.” Satisfied that I had everything I needed to fake my way through the night, I sat down on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand to wait for Namiko’s message.
Are you prepared for this, Victoria? Marcus asked. It is something of an unusual undertaking.
“It’ll be...fine.” I hoped that projecting an aura of confidence would make my words true. “I wanna know what you think about that woman. The tall one with the red hair. Other than the fact that I shouldn’t trust her; I got that part.”
It is hard to pinpoint her nature, except to say she is clearly a creature of deceit...and likely also one of significant power. Not every Forgotten appears as the monster they are, you know. And not every battle requires a sword.
“I—” My phone went off with a message from Namiko: Monica took my deal. Get there early. You’re going to get ‘recognized.’ Pick up her press pass. Boom.
It all seemed straightforward enough. I stood up, checked my reflection one last time. “Let’s get this shit show on the road.”
***
The San Francisco Tech Institute was a marvel of modern engineering set like a diamond in the middle of its meticulously groomed campus, all sparkling glass and sleek metal. A red carpet had been rolled out from the main entrance of the built-in conference hall, all the way down to the curb. I had asked the cab driver to let me out two blocks away, and the walk over gave me a full view of the
technological elite stepping out in their finest evening wear.
I glanced down at my outfit. “Definitely a poser.”
Your words, not mine.
It didn’t really matter. There was no way I could pass as an actual invited guest anyway. The success of this night hinged heavily on Namiko’s help, and to a somewhat lesser extent, my capacity for stealth and cunning, neither of which I had honed much in recent days, beyond the occasional takedown of inattentive guards and a few surly vampires.
So, I was already off to a promising start.
I picked up my pace as I wove into the edge of the throng gathered alongside the red carpet. Namiko had said I’d get recognized, but neglected to provide further details. What exactly did she mean? I kept my eyes peeled for a plant—if there was one, they’d have to be somewhere out here, on the border of the event itself. Photographers jockeyed for space along the velvet rope perimeter, calling out to the rich and famous in hopes of snapping the perfect shot.
Still constantly on the move, I leaned in to see if I could catch a glimpse of Silas Monk. His bland, face barely stood out in my memory. Would he look different in front of the lens? Would there be some miraculous transformation to reflect his wealth and intellect in the eyes of the public?
Probably not. I fully expected him to step onto the makeshift catwalk looking like the universe’s most illustrious geometry teacher, because in this part of the country, the nerds were the rock stars.
A matte black limousine purred up to the sidewalk, causing the crowd to hush for a second. I got bumped in the shoulder by an eager dude in a bowtie and a jacket that didn’t fit his skinny arms.
“Sorry,” he said, looking at me a little too long. “Hey, do I—”
“Monica? Monica, over here!” Since my name isn’t Monica, it took me a few to realize that the call was directed at me. “Monica! Come pick up your press pass! You’re gonna be late!”
I shot a look at the guy calling me, intending to confirm that he had identified the wrong person with the right intentions, but he just beckoned insistently and then disappeared into the crowd. Not much of a failsafe, but I guessed I’d never really had one. Namiko had been very clear on the whole ‘no promises’ thing.