“As far as Mitsuhama has to know, she got snatched and shot up by some shadowrunners, you killed them, you recovered the data before she died, and now you’re a hero to the corp for recovering their research. No one has to know it all happened by accident. She gets tagged as KIA, Mitsuhama stops looking for her, my client’s happy, your bosses are happy, and we all win.”
I leaned in, letting him see the blood and ash on my suit and face, the sparkling glass in my hair, the determination in my eyes. I wanted him to see the shit I’d waded through to be able to talk to him, face to face, when I said this next sentence. I might be killing myself by saying it, but he had to hear it if he was staying in Puyallup.
“But you know, and I know, that you won’t ever steal a Puyallup girl from her family and make her into a fuckin’ cyborg sex toy ever again. Or it’s all off the table.”
I leaned back, shoulder slumping, drained. I snatched up a glass of who-the-hell-cares from his table and downed it in one gulp. I’d said my piece. The solution made sense to me. If it didn’t make sense to him, maybe we’d all die right here and the Yakuza would have to send someone else and this whole mess could just start all over again.
Ten
Thirty minutes later, my Americar rolled to a stop outside my office. Exhausted and bloody, I hauled myself up and out of it, stretched the stiffness out of my back, and looked up at the wom-an I knew was still waiting there. I gave her a minute to handle the stairs, and when she came out front, I gave her a long look.
“I know your name isn’t Johnson. I also know it hasn’t always been Tanaka, like your Shiawase records say. I know it was Nishimura, back when you worked for MCT.”
She nodded, trying to look through the tinted windows to see who sat in my car.
“I know Kyoko’s not an Arboritech employee, or a Shiawase employee at all. I know she’s MCT. I know she didn’t make it out in the extraction that got you out ten years ago. I know her father, your ex-husband, died in another extraction last week, at the same time the secondary team was grabbing her from that car.”
I know that’s why you wore black, I wanted to say. You wore the Western, not the Eastern, color for grief because Shiawase wouldn’t let you officially mourn someone who died working for Mitsuhama.
“I know she’s your daughter.”
I know you love her, I could have said. I know you love her enough to bash in your own face with a car door to fake being attacked, just to get my blood up. I know you love her enough to hire men to kill you when you light a cigarette against a tinted window, just to force me to chase them and speed up a confrontation that will get her back. I know you love her enough that when I lied and told you the research was lost, you were still willing to pay to get your little girl back.
“I’m sorry I lied to you—” she started to say, but I spat a wad of WhiteBrite on the ground to shut her up. Ariana opened my car door and—carefully, like a child holding a baby—lifted Kyoko’s unconscious form from where she lay in my passenger seat.
“Save it. I know you’re not sorry. I know you’d do it again. That’s the only reason I’m giving her to you.”
I held out my hand with a small datachip in it.
“Take this. It’s the datadump from the Yakuza clinic. Your husband’s research is on it, and so is a whole bunch of other stuff. Give it to Shiawase security, they’ll figure out a way to use it. I made a deal with the Kenran-kai, not MCT.”
She took it from me, then threw herself at me again in a hug while Ariana carried her baby girl to Ms. Nishimura’s little coupe. She smelled like vanilla, still. She was soft and warm, still. She was crying again. This time it was all for real, though. The actual emotions threw me off-balance. I wasn’t good with real gratitude.
I stiff-armed her away as gently as I could. “Get outta here. Go take care of her,” I said, trying to muster up the energy for a smile.
She left. A mother and her daughter, reunited after almost ten years of murder and lies and corporate bullshit and syndicate pride, finally left together in their car. I reached into my coat for my flask and took a celebratory drink as I started up my stairs.
Fuck you, world. I beat the Downtowners who act like no one decent or worth trying to make decent comes from my neighborhood. I beat the Mafia toughs and Yakuza punks who act like they’re natives when they’re really just parasites, sucking this place dry. I beat the megacorporations that play puppets on both sides, monsters that tear families apart to stop research or to snuff out a project or just to make a couple bucks. I beat Knight Errant, the so-called cops, who turn their back on Puyallup outside of the couple blocks closest to District Hall, and I solved their case for them. I beat the whole damned system.
I won this one. Me, not any of you.
I toasted myself as I drained my flask, taking my wins where I could find them. I didn’t worry about the debts that would eat up what was left of my payment, the enemies I’d juggled in the last couple days to make it all work, the times I’d nearly died. I didn’t worry about the extra favors I owed Khayyim the doc, or Skip and Trace, I didn’t dwell on how pissed Enzo’d be when he saw the Sleeping Tiger back up and running, I didn’t think about how I’d snubbed a Yakuza boss right there in public. A win was a win, and I had to enjoy it while it lasted.
I know I had a heck of a mess waiting upstairs. The way my head had been bleeding earlier, that meant popping the chips out of my datajacks, too, for a proper cleaning. Not just the chips I’d told Hard Exit about, either, but my third one. My lucky one. My secret one. The one that had given me the power—the almost magical power—to turn loss and cynicism and tragedy into strength and armor and something like nobility.
I knew the chip had burned out years ago, ’cause these cheap personafix jobs just weren’t designed to run for very long. I knew on a rational level that the old chip wasn’t doing anything for me any more, but somewhere in my belly I just liked keeping the thing around. It reminded me of who I was, who I’d chosen to be, who I’d put together from the broken pieces of my life. It reminded me of what it said on my office door:
JAMES KINCAID
PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR
That was it.
And that was enough.
DocWagon 19
Jennifer Brozek
A DocWagon Ares Citymaster ambulance, lights flashing and sirens blaring, screams down a city street as a man narrates in a dramatic tone. “Next on Stories with Hart, we go behind the scenes with Seattle’s finest as they rescue its citizens from dire circumstances.”
The Citymaster screeches to a halt and a High-Threat Response Team in DocWagon uniforms tumbles out of the ambulance, weapons blazing.
The scene switches to a woman’s hands grabbing and loading an Ares Light Fire 75 pistol as the narrator continues. “Join Simone Hart as she goes into danger to get her story.”
The scene shifts to a first-person perspective of someone running in a firefight. “And almost pays with her life!”
The scene cuts to a huge explosion from the point of view of a person falling and hitting the ground.
“This is Stories with Hart: DocWagon Edition!”
“Hello and welcome to a very special live edition of Stories with Hart. I’m Simone Hart, your host, and I’m coming to you live from Studio 15 in Seattle.”
Simone, a classically beautiful Italian woman, mugged for the camera from behind her desk. Her million-nuyen smile lit up the studio, but didn’t hide the scrapes or bruises on her face and neck, revealed by her low-cut white blouse and tailored cobalt blue jacket.
“Tonight, we present our special DocWagon edition. Last week I rode along with DocWagon 19. The night I spent with this High-Threat Response Team was like no other I’ve ever had, and I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. We have footage from the evening, followed by a very important live interview at the end of the show.”
As Simone turned to the second camera, her bruised cheek prominent, her tone turned serious. “Tonight’s live episode is sp
onsored by Ares Macrotechnology, DocWagon, Gaeatronics, the Gates Casino, and the Bellevue Pour House Tavern. We dedicate this special episode to all of those brave men and women who risk their lives each and every day, rescuing one and all. They know each shift could be their last…as was proven during the night I rode along with this DocWagon team.”
Simone turned back to the main camera and once again lit up the studio with the smile that had launched her career. “But, first, let me introduce you to DocWagon 19.”
Fading from the studio to a garage setting, the screen shows what Simone sees from her cybernetic implants and smart goggles. The view seamlessly switches from one to the other in pan-and-scan, then close ups. It’s clear that she’s also watching AR as icons float in and out of the shot as she moves.
“We’re here in DocWagon 19’s garage with Takeshi, the team lead.” Her voice is smooth, professional, and clear. The view shifts from looking around the busy but clean garage to regard the man in front of her.
Takeshi, a small Japanese man with spiky black hair, nods politely. He is clean cut, wearing a standard looking gray jumpsuit with the DocWagon symbol on his arm and chest. “Good evening, Miss Hart.”
“Please, call me Simone.”
He nods again. “Simone.”
The view shifts from Takeshi to the ambulance on one side of the garage with the DocWagon symbol on its side. The large truck has eight wheels, two rooftop turreted machine guns, and a communications array also sitting on the roof.
“As your team gets ready for their shift, could you tell me about your emergency vehicle? Is that the standard vehicle that all DocWagon teams use?”
“No, it’s an Ares Citymaster. Most DocWagon teams use the Ford SRT, or Standard Response Team ambulances.” Takeshi gives her a half-smile. “Perhaps our rigger would be a better person to answer that.” He turns, revealing a large DocWagon symbol on his back. “Gunther!” He turns back to Simone. “Gunther Two-Keys is one of the best riggers I know. He’s saved our lives plenty.”
Simone turns her attention from Takeshi to a clean-shaven, bald, male dwarf. He sports cybernetic eyes, a datajack, a cybernetic arm, and an easy smile. “What’s up, Tash?” Gunther grins at Simone as Takeshi gestures to her. He tips an imaginary cap, his grin growing wider. “What can I do for you, beautiful lady?”
“I was wondering if you could tell my viewers about your vehicle.”
“Of course, but…just the basics. Can’t give away all my secrets.” He winks. “At least not on camera. I’ve made a few modifications of my own.”
Simone’s laugh is rich and inviting. “I’ll take what I can get.”
The view turns to the big vehicle as Gunther walks to it. “She’s not quite the normal Citymaster. She’s got more comms and armor for when we go in hot. Matilda—that’s what I named her—seats six, plus me, plus three patients. We usually don’t have that many at one time, but it happens. Also, I’ve added a small bay for a couple of my drones on top. You never know when you’ll need extra machines.” He pats the side of the truck. “And this here’s a modded gull-wing door to let us get in and out quick. It also protects from overhead assaults.”
The scene faded from the DocWagon garage and back into the studio, where Simone smiled briefly for the audience. “For those who are unfamiliar with DocWagon, DocWagon contracts, and their High- Threat Response Teams, it’s very simple. Some of the best medical care in the city comes from private establishments like DocWagon and CrashCart. This can be anything from walk-in facilities to the contracts that allow the doctors to come to you. These are called ‘rescues’ by the DocWagon teams.”
Simone turned to the secondary camera. “DocWagon contracts come in different price points. The more expensive the contract, the more responsive the team. Though all DocWagon clients can expect excellent service.” Simone held up her left forearm, exposing her smooth skin, and tapped her wrist. “I have my DocWagon RFID tag right here. That way I can’t lose it and they can’t lose me. They always know how I’m doing.”
Simone turned back to the main camera and continued her explanation. “Upon receiving a call, DocWagon guarantees arrival of an armed trauma team within ten minutes, or medical services are free. The higher level contract, the more responsive the team. The more dangerous the situation, the more expensive the bills after the client is…” Simone searched for the right word for a moment, and settled on, “…rescued.”
Simone’s voice dropped into a serious tone. “Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, the DocWagon teams face danger every single time they answer a call. Ten percent of them lose their lives, and another five percent of DocWagon’s employees retire due to injury every year. High-Threat Response Teams must walk into every situation assuming everyone, except their client, is an enemy out to stop or kill them. When you see a DocWagon team drive up, I urge you to stay out of their way.”
The camera held Simone’s sober expression until she relaxed back into her normal reporting tone. “Now let’s introduce you to the rest of the DocWagon 19 team.”
Fading from the studio setting to the interior of a moving vehicle; it’s clear Simone is now sitting in the back of the Citymaster. All around her are medical supplies, weapons, and several gurneys. Everything looks to be in tiptop shape, with all equipment properly stowed and secured. Also in the back of the truck are Takeshi, a skinny black teen holding a cyberdeck, and a beautiful, blond elven woman with blue eyes.
Takeshi sits across from Simone. “This is Odder, our combat mage.” He nods at the woman by his side, who wears the same basic jumpsuit as him. She also has visible tattoos and telesma.
“Hello, Otter.”
Odder shakes her head, not looking at Simone. Instead, she seems to be watching something just to the side of the reporter. “Odder…with two Ds. You might say I’m a bit of an odd duck.”
“Odder. My apologies. A pleasure. May I ask what are you looking at?”
“One of the water spirits I summoned to assist me tonight.” The elf smiles, glancing at Simone. “It seems to like you.”
“Me?”
Odder shrugs. “It’s snuggled up to you right now.”
“That’s good…right?”
The mage nods and tilts her head in a quizzical, interested way. “Probably.”
Takeshi breaks in. “Sitting up front with Gunther is Hey Jude.” He points to his right.
Simone turns to look up the aisle into the front of the Citymaster and sees a female ork with pale green skin and a shock of short, crimson red hair. “Hey Jude? As in…?”
Hey Jude turns her massive head, revealing a broken tusk. “The one and only. Seattle Screamers from 2064 to 2066. Outrider.”
“It’s an honor! I had no idea that—”
Hey Jude nods, cutting Simone off. “We all had interesting lives before we hooked up with DocWagon. I’m pretty sure that’s true of every team out there.”
“Don’t forget me!” A humanoid creature made of blue flame appears in AR next to the unmoving teen and floats until it’s in between Simone and Takeshi.
“SIMaeon. We have guests.” Takeshi’s voice is mild in its rebuke. SIMaeon’s body is securely strapped in his seatbelt restraints.
His eyes are closed behind smart glasses. He is connected to his deck through a data jack just below his left ear. He holds the deck close to him as he interact with the team in AR.
“Sorry.” The fire creature morphs into a smaller floating version of the teen in the corner of the ambulance—complete with blue flamed hair. He grins and waves. “I’m SIMaeon.” The name flashes in AR briefly. “I do all the hacking.”
Takeshi coughs lightly and the boy shrugs a little, looking abashed. “I manage all of the communication, get corporate permission to fulfill contracts, track down schematics. Stuff like that.”
“Corporate permissions?”
SIMaeon lounges in mid-air. “Yeah. DocWagon doesn’t respond to calls on corporate property without permission. But we have blanket permission f
or some places on file while others I have to call. It’s a thing.”
“If you don’t get your foot out of my head, I’m going to curse your nodes and set your hair on fire for real.”
SIMaeon tucks himself into a floating cross-legged position at Odder’s irritated voice. “Sorry.”
“We’re a team.” Takeshi shakes his head with a rueful smile. The gesture makes him seem older than he appears. “And a family, with all its benefits and drawbacks.”
“What does that make you? The father of the team?”
“More like nursemaid.” Gunther’s voice comes from the speakers of the Citymaster. “He fusses like one. I—”
SIMaeon cuts him off. “Incoming. Platinum client. Chrome Holly. Looks like she overdosed on something.”
Takeshi’s voice takes on a tone of command. “On the clock everyone. SIMaeon, details.”
The screen faded to black and Simone reappeared in the studio. “This rescue of Chrome Holly was my first taste of the daily work life of a professional lifesaver—and it was an eye-opener. I captured it all with both my smart glasses and ocular implant. But first, a word from one of our sponsors.”
The camera pans over a GMC B150 “Workhorse” truck from the point of view of the person getting into the truck. You see the beautiful but rugged interior as it drives from the city into the woods. There, it parks by a GMC FQX all-terrain vehicle, which rockets forward, speeding up a hill through the trees, dirt flying everywhere.
The view shifts to a hand picking up the Ares Light Fire 75, firing three shots— all of which hits the target—followed by a hand picking up the Ares Predator V, firing three shots, and destroying the target.
The view shifts to running across a tarmac and getting into an Ares Penetrator fighter-bomber. The jet takes off into the air and shoots away into the distance.
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