Murmurs break out at such a significant expansion of our responsibilities. Fleet and Cache exchange a look, but I can’t tell what they’re thinking. Kat told me that because of all the difficulties in getting permission to have a confidant on the outside, Cache always toes the company line now. Fleet was in the same boat as me, wanting to help his family ascend from the lower levels. For him, Aventine has been a godsend. Can’t imagine either of them speaking up now even if Aventine’s new security protocols go above and beyond.
Harding pulls the focus back to him. “I’ve already pledged our support to the New Worth government. Any information you can provide related to the Disconnects and their movements throughout the city at this delicate time will be of interest to them. Your handlers will instruct you how to proceed if you find yourself in such a position, but in the meantime, stay focused on each data transfer as it comes.”
He surveys the silent room, then he nods. “You’re dismissed.”
Chapter Twelve
Our waiter drops off a round of liquor concoctions at the corner booth Kat, Dash, and I’ve taken over. There’s no way we’d be able to get in here without a reservation at night, but a late lunch on Aventine’s dime at the buzziest restaurant in the Understory is no problem.
“Sorry your celebration got sidelined by the meeting,” Kat says, as Dash passes me a glass full of fizzy grapefruit liquid.
I take a sip and try not to wince. A bit too tart for my tastes. “Not a big deal.” Supposedly everyone gets a party after their first job, some kind of courier rite of passage, but after the day I’ve had, it’s just as well. As a consolation prize, Kat and Dash set up an approved excursion for the three of us.
“Still,” Kat says, “we want you to feel welcome.” She nudges Dash’s shoulder. “After all, you’re one of us now.”
My head thumps against the back of the booth. “I’m just glad training’s over.” They exchange a look. “It’s not?”
Dash shrugs. “There’s way less of it, sure, but there’s still plenty more to learn, depending on what mix of clients you get assigned.”
Different types of data require different precautions, same with different industries, whether they’re corporate clients or government units. Apparently the world of fashion’s rather cutthroat at the moment, requiring couriers to take extra care. Priority or highly sensitive transactions often call for the more experienced couriers. Whether it’s a routine or a one-off transaction can also influence assignments. Some companies want to deal with only one courier or set of couriers. Others want assignments randomized. I’ve even caught whispers of occasional jobs we’ve done for celebrities and prominent public figures.
“Don’t worry. Tahir’ll give you a break,” Kat adds.
Dash chuckles. “He gave me a day off after my first job.”
I turn to him as if seeing him for the first time. “Wait. You’re one of Tahir’s couriers too?”
He nods. Being calibrated with Tahir these past few weeks and getting the bulk of his attention as he’s gotten me trained up, I have to remember he has obligations to people besides me. Looking at Dash and knowing he’s just as close to Tahir as I am, maybe closer… It feels kinda weird. Like we’re in competition with one another, when really we aren’t. We just happen to share the same handler.
Kat tousles his hair. “Apparently Tahir’s very particular about who he brings on.” She aims a smile my way. “Maybe he and I have more in common than I thought if he picked both of you.”
“Sounds like you two are more than just blink buddies…”
My words hang there as Kat darts a glance at Dash. His ears pinken slightly. “We became confidants last year.”
“And Aventine’s OK with that?” I ask.
Kat frowns slightly. “It’s not explicitly forbidden and circumvents a lot of the issues of calibrating with someone on the outside.”
“You mean like freezing all communication requests the second I’m eligible to make one?”
She winces. “Yeah. Shitty timing, I know.”
The waiter brings over a large platter. Golden-fried potato and yucca straws drizzled with avocado crema and cheddar béchamel, all nestled on a bed of microgreens. Cilantro and chive stud the dish.
Kat waits for him to move off. “Now do you see why we brought you here?”
“An inappropriate carb chaser like this is verboten in the dining hall,” Dash says, “and Finola has cracked down on what takeout gets brought into HQ.”
The aromas curl into my nose, and my stomach growls. “But we’re going to eat it anyway, right?”
“Oh, certainly. The doc will fuss over our nutrient levels for the next couple of days, but it’ll be worth it.” Kat takes a yucca straw and stabs it at the garnish of pea shoots, baby arugula, and frizzled kale. “Besides, it has some green in it.”
As we dig in, the late lunchgoers trickle out. Our waiter’s enthusiasm starts to wane as Kat and Dash order another round of drinks instead of the bill. “Have you thought about what we’re supposed to call you?” Dash asks, nabbing the last potato straw and dredging it through some leftover crema.
“Uhh…”
“We can’t just keep calling you M.”
“Why not?” In truth, I’d prefer it.
Kat crosses her arms. “Because everyone gets a nickname. We’re supposed to bestow them after a successful first job, but…”
“No party, no name,” Dash finishes for her.
“It’s really not a big deal.”
“You can’t be the only one without a nickname,” Kat says.
“Doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s not fair,” she says with a pout. “I never wanted one either.”
Dash pats her shoulder in mock-sympathy. “There, there. You’ll get over it soon, I’m sure.” Suddenly her cheeks burn redder than her hair, and she whirls toward him. Silently, they look at each other. He breaks off first, with the corner of his mouth tucked up, victory or amusement, I don’t know.
When I reach the bottom of my cocktail, I’m ready to call it, stuffed full of decadent food and sleepy with drink. It doesn’t help watching Kat and Dash pretend they aren’t holding hands underneath the table when they totally are. I should be happy they can share so much of themselves without running afoul of Aventine’s confidentiality requirements. But it just reminds me of what I’ve lost. Or rather, what I could’ve had without Aventine in my life. Even if Rik and I had calibrated at Brita’s party, I still would have lost him – all of him – when Aventine wiped my implant.
Somehow that seems even worse, knowing exactly what I’d be giving up instead of the vague loss I feel now.
“I’ll see you two back at headquarters.”
Kat’s attention snaps to me. “You don’t have to go. We have the whole afternoon.”
Pretty sure I do with the way Dash looks at her, by now too buzzed to moderate his expression. “It’s OK. I’m pretty tired anyway.” I get to my feet. “Thanks for today. I mean that.”
Just before I exit the restaurant, I glance back at our table. They’re already making out. I can be happy for them even when I’m annoyed at the same time, right?
People bustle through the Understory around me. What next? Approved excursions are good because Aventine selects an ID I can use for the day, usually one flush with credits and privileges. None of the anonymous user nonsense they threatened me with in the beginning. Retail therapy, entertainment, and apparently cuisine Aventine won’t import.
Perhaps an arcade rec suite rental’s in order. This time of day, it’s only me and the hardcore, mind-scrambled regulars. Those addicted to the experience or with nothing better to do except submerge themselves into the digital spectrum and forget their worries. As I scan through my options, deliberately ignoring the icon for Partners in Crime, I have to force back my annoyance at not being able to pick up where I left off. BA – before Aventine – my arcade profile stored information and stats on my different avatars, progress through differen
t games and dramatic scenarios.
But I’ve learned from this experience that it’s less painful to start over with something new than to try to recreate what I had.
When I go down to the cafe for lunch the next day, a handful of couriers who haven’t been sent out on assignment are already seated at the tables, chatting with one another. Almost imperceptibly, there’s a short lag in the conversation as I cross the room. Grabbing the entrée salad I ordered ahead of time, I feel their eyes on me. Are they just sizing up the newest recruit? Or maybe they blame me for why half of us are benched for the day under the new security protocols Aventine’s adopted.
I shake that thought off. I don’t know what I could have done differently. Tahir even said so. I debate taking my suddenly unappealing salad back upstairs, but no, that would just mean I’d be in my room all alone. Rather pathetic all in all.
Dash and Bandit sit at a nearby table. They watch me with amused grins on their faces. At least it’s not animosity. “What’s going on?”
Dash leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “You tell me, M.” Based on some things Kat has said, it sounds like he was a bit of a loner before signing on with Aventine. But now that he’s among his own kind, so to speak, he’s relished taking up the unofficial role of courier spokesperson.
“Just another day at Aventine,” I say with a shrug. “Why?”
“Must not have gotten the good news yet,” Bandit says with a smirk.
“What news?”
Dash just chuckles. “You got the short straw, newbie.” He gives me a wink. “But it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
Bandit gets to his feet. “Have fun on your walkabout,” he says in a singsong voice on his way out of the room.
Walkabout? Another of Aventine’s games? I stab my fork into my salad, skewering a slice of tomato.
Kat files in. “There you are,” she says breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What’s with everyone lately?”
She exchanges a glance with Dash that has me grinding my teeth. “Have you spoken with Tahir yet?” Kat asks me.
I shake my head. “Should I?”
I’m just about to ping him when Dash says, “No. He’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure.”
“In touch about what? Everyone’s being really weird today.”
Kat fidgets with the edge of her glove. “It’s just that–”
Tahir breezes into the room. “M, just the person I wanted to see.” He heads for my table, his steps slowing as he takes in Kat and Dash.
I turn to him, completely fed up. “What’s a walkabout?”
Dash holds out his hands and gives Tahir a beseeching look. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”
Tahir levels a hard stare their way, but it’s just for show. “Give us a few minutes.”
Kat pings my implant. <
>>I’ll hold you to that.>>
She flashes me a grin before the two of them disappear down the hall. Tahir settles into the seat across from me.
I push back my plate. “So what’s this job that has everyone all twisted up?”
“One of the best ways couriers can protect the data they’re carrying is to keep moving, right? Well, sometimes a client’s uncomfortable holding onto the data and shifts the risk onto Aventine by having our couriers keep it longer than the time it typically takes to make a transfer. There can be a lot of reasons for this. Timing, logistics, and rare cases where a buyer’s still being arranged.”
“Why not just keep the data locked up at HQ or some other secure location?” I ask.
“Because the client doesn’t want us to have that much control over the data either.”
“They don’t trust the network, but they don’t trust us either?”
“Let’s just say they are more comfortable with our couriers transporting the data out in the open where they can still monitor it.”
“Sounds a bit more nefarious than usual jobs.”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes it’s simply a result of poor planning. Or a unique set of circumstances. We had one job last year where the client was moving offices, but the leases didn’t match up. They’d been dealing with incursions from a competitor for months and didn’t want to run the risk of them making another attempt to steal their data in the chaos leading up to the move.”
“But a job where we pad out the time it takes to do a data transfer deliberately provokes the curdle.”
“Yes. Sometimes it’s necessary to hold onto the data for a couple of days. And the best way to protect it is–”
“Is to go on walkabout,” I finish for him. Most jobs, the goal is to make the transfer as soon as possible, where time literally is money. But I guess occasionally there are jobs like this one, where finding constructive – and secure – ways to pass the time are just as important. “And since I’m the most junior courier…” Short straw indeed.
Tahir shrugs. “You want to go back out there, don’t you?”
That he knows that much… “Yes, but…” I want the distraction, but not at the cost of courting the curdle.
He stands. “Finish your meal, and we’ll get you briefed.”
So much for a day off.
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving a modest office in the transitional Understory a few hours later, I can’t quite quell my unease. Maybe it was the client’s flustered actions when I showed up for the data transfer. I arrived on time, but they clearly didn’t have their act together as they scrambled to get everything set up. Or maybe it was the blood. I’ve gotten better, but I did get a good eyeful before I had the presence of mind to turn my head away as the encoded blood was injected into me.
Either way, this walkabout’s already pissing me off.
<
>>Yes. They went over everything like six times before I was allowed to leave.>>
I keep my steps quick as I put more distance between me and the client. Have to make the drop somewhere on the other side of the Understory, but not until tomorrow afternoon. Holding the blood inside me until the end of day two is what makes this job tough. Then there’s the whole walkabout piece. I’m pretty much on my own until I make the drop. No telling HQ what my plans are to pass the time. No making hotel reservations with my Aventine account. Or using the maglevs.
Tahir said less paranoid clients don’t mind if couriers kill time on the trains looping round and round New Worth until we can unburden ourselves of our precious cargo. But that’s a no-go for this job. At least I have a data stick from the client with untraceable credits. Enough for a hotel room and a couple of meals. Though I was told to check in and stay for no longer than eight hours. Then I’ll need to be on the move again.
>>Also? This job’s sketchy as hell. I thought we didn’t do anything illegal.>>
<
>>We need to have a conversation about my preferred risk-to-reward balance.>>
He laughs, creating a warm pressure on my chest. <
Most definitely, but… >>I can’t give you any clues, remember?>>
<
I blink our connection to the background. Aventine and the client will only learn my route through the city as it unfolds in real time. Starting now, as I head to the closest bank of elevators.
Spangled sunlight fills the lift as the doors open on Level 2 of the Upper Canopy. My reward after braving the gloom of the Understory and climbing the towers of New Worth. With the sun tinting everything a soft orange, I almost don’t mind being jostled by the other elevator occupants as we fight to be first to step onto
the crowded concourse.
It’s been way too long since I’ve had cause to be up here. The light, the fresh air, the ache in my chest at the loss of my old life. The work makes it easier to forget, but with only my own wits to manage the walkabout today, I find it that much harder to bury the old Emery down deep where she belongs.
I scan the crowds, perversely curious to see if I recognize anyone. But no, people pass by, absorbed in their own concerns, a bubble of obliviousness surrounding them as they’re buffeted through the Canopy. When I turn off onto a smaller walkway, the air changes, the scent of orange blossoms beckoning me on. The Orangery, one of my favorite places in the Canopy, takes up a whole block, open to the glass sky. A path winds through the groves of trees and flowers, linking the two entrances, north and south.
A little after lunch, the gardens have thinned out. A young woman draws on her tablet in the corner underneath a bright patch of sun. Two men have an intense conversation on another bench, their takeout forgotten. Others drift past, some cutting through the Orangery to save time or to take in the sights. No one seems overly concerned by my presence on a bench where I can monitor both entrances, just in case. In fact, I doubt any of them even see me. Something I never would have noticed if not for Aventine and their training to pull the wool from my eyes.
Kat pings me. <
>>Ugh. Who would’ve thought killing time would be so hard?>>
She laughs. <
>>Believe me, I’m trying.>> I used to spend hours in the Orangery studying or synching with Rik. >>But I still have at least twenty-four hours to go before I can dump this blood and get on with things.>
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