The Hands We're Given

by O E Tearmann

  "Sure," Yvonne murmured absently.

  In the doorway, Kevin stopped, glancing back at the woman on the bed. "Sorry," he murmured. Then he was out the door.

  Outside, he fell into his easy stride, tucking his 'buds into either ear.

  The contact Kevin labeled as Dilya in their base files had a very nice office in the Wash Park area, housed in one of the few renovated nineteenth-century houses that still stood. Kevin climbed the stairs and held his hand out to the discrete thumbprint reader.

  "I'm expected," he added, and the voice recognition in the security system beeped through the panel. The door at the top of the stairs clicked into its unlocked position.

  Dilya's home was what Kevin thought he might have opted for himself, had things gone differently. He let himself relax a little into the warm dark wood, the white walls and the tasteful antiques as he walked through the small loft where the man lived above his offices. At the study door, he knocked softly on the frame and cleared his throat.

  "Afternoon."

  At the desk, the grizzle-haired man glanced up and smiled. "John!"

  Standing, he gave Kevin a quick hug, then a handshake. The warm light gleamed on the blue Wellness Chip set in the skin of his wrist.

  Kevin shook the older man's hand with a grin. "How is everything? How's the family?"

  "We're doing well, very well. Marta's just turned seven, and she passed her ArgusCo Aptitude with flying colors. She's headed to the ArgusCo Primary Education next week." The thickset financial planner beamed. "I had to pull a few strings, but my Corporation has agreed to allow her to move into their workforce and trade out a young man who's more suited to their needs. She'll make a wonderful city planner when she's finished."

  Discreetly, Dilya tapped his pen on the desk, and Kevin felt the tingle in his ears as a sound box began to work somewhere in the room.

  "And you? How are things? Did the information I got you do any good?" Dilya asked.

  "A shocking amount," Kevin agreed with a grim smile. "We very carefully leaked the information on your superior's bad habits in all the right places. You should see it on your news feed any time now. We've already been seeing the turmoil. It's left us a wonderful loophole to empty a few illicit bank accounts while everyone was distracted."

  Neither of them said aloud that anyone who could do what the men high in the Denver branch of National Banking had been doing to children at their private club needed to go down in the most public and messy way that could be arranged.

  "I think I may have seen it already," the other man replied, his smile cold. "Portam has been given a month's 'sick leave'. I have the feeling he won't be back. As much as I hate the cause, at least this scandal will do some good now that it's out. We think every Denver CES-level member of National Banking's management will be taken down by this." The older man raked fingers through his hair. "Honestly, John, sometimes I wonder if they've edited the empathy out of CES people all together. Children."

  Kevin nodded. "And how are the kids?"

  "Recovering," the older man replied. "We've got them in a program. They'll heal in time. We're getting them positions in another city when they're old enough."

  Kevin nodded, reaching over to clasp the other man's shoulder for a beat. Dilya returned the gesture.

  They lived in a strange world. He would never call this man by his real name, yet Kevin had more respect for this man than some base commanders he knew. Anyone brave enough to stay on Grid and fight the system quietly from within was high on his list.

  The older man studied his face. "You look tired, son." Stepping around his desk, he pulled out a crystal decanter and a glass, poured a measure. "Do you have time to relax?"

  "A little, but I can't take your-"

  "Psh." The older man waved a hand. "Grain production was good last year, almost a forty percent survival rate. The price is down. They're practically giving the drink away. Enjoy."

  Tentatively, Kevin took a sip. "Thanks."

  "Good?"

  "Better than I've had in some time." Kevin tipped the glass in acknowledgement. "To a good day's work."

  "Skol," the older man agreed, pouring himself a measure.

  Kevin had just begun to relax when his tab pinged in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checked the physical screen rather than activating the hologram.

  Message Handle: NineOfHearts

  Message: FOUND YOUR CODER. Meet me.

  Below a GPS coordinate blinked, waiting to be clicked.

  Kevin shook his head as he read, suppressing the urge to grin. Leave it to Yvonne.

  "Sorry, Dilya, I'm back on duty. We'll finish this drink next time, shall we?"

  Yvonne was down an alley when Kevin finally found her, and she was practically vibrating with excitement.

  "I checked in with Rivera," she murmured, grabbing Kevin's elbow and leading him further down. "Then I figured I'd say hi to Jazz while I was up this way. Well, that girl, you know, her new assistant? She was heading out the back and she was looking around all nervous, right? So I got interested. I followed her down here, and, Kev, there's a whole coding rig down in one of the apartments. A shitty one, but it's a rig all right, in the basement. Saw it through the window."

  "Through the window?" Kevin asked in surprise.

  Yvonne grinned. "Okay, through a scope shoved under the window. They had it blocked with cardboard was all. And there's no security system. She's too good to have no security."

  "Especially with you around, apparently," Kevin agreed dryly. "Curiosity kill the standards as well as the cat, did it?"

  Yvonne rolled her eyes. "Cut it out, Kev. I gave you solid intel. You're the officer. Do we follow up?"

  Kevin considered the idea, studying the door that led down to the basement level of the building. His mind ran through possibilities, but there were no warning signs here. This kind of Citizen Poor Standing area was too downtrodden to be watched particularly closely.

  Eventually, he shrugged. "We can knock on the door while we're here, I suppose. But we're playing this close to the vest, agreed?"

  Yvonne bobbed her head in agreement. "I know the drill, boss. You talk, I stand here and look pretty."

  Kevin gave her a dry look. "Haha." Straightening his shoulders, he headed down the stairs, Yvonne at his back.

  The door squeaked as it opened, and one wide brown eye peeped through the gap between chain and door frame. "What?"

  "Afternoon," Kevin began with a gentle smile, hands spread to show them empty. "A mutual friend suggested that we come by for a chat. We hear there's a very good coder in the area, and we've got a project that needs her skills."

  The gap closed a fraction as the girl behind the door jerked. "Dunno anybody coding. Who says?"

  "A few friends," Kevin deflected easily. "But the sort of contract we can offer could be lucrative if there was a coder around. We offer good money for good work. On the other hand, it's hard to discuss details standing in a hallway…"

  Silence behind the door. The eye watched them, panicky. "Get lost."

  The door started to close. Adrenaline shot through Kevin. Quickly, he stepped forward and put the toe of his boot in the doorjamb. "Please, just-"

  There was an odd scuffle behind the wood, and then the door and the world seemed to explode. A breath later, he was flat on his back, bells were ringing in his head, and a very nasty set of electric brass knuckles were sparking inches from his face.

  Event File 20

  File Tag: Valuable Skills

  Timestamp:15:00-7-4-2155

  "The fuck are you?"

  Kevin stared up at the girl straddling him, trying to piece together a coherent sentence through the pain in his head.

  It was like having an angry starling perched on his chest. She was tiny. She would have been interesting, possibly even pretty, if her face hadn't been a mask of rage. The black leather jacket s
he wore couldn't be hers. It was at least three sizes too big. Bandaged hands the size of a child's stuck out of sleeves the same color as the shining, straight hair. The eyes were black too in this light. An angry starling. Yes, that was a good description.

  He was going to die, and he was spending his last moments deciding on descriptors for his murderer. Funny what the brain did under stress.

  "What the fuck? Tweak! Get off him!"

  The girl looked up like a feral dog, snarling. "You s-sold us out! Bitch! F-f-fuck you!"

  "Oh for godssakes, Tweak, give it a rest." Jazz sighed, coming down the alley. "And get off him, he's harmless."

  "Harmless?" Kevin muttered dazedly. "Jazz, you'll ruin a reputation that way."

  Jazz's irritated face stared down at him, beaded dreadlocks clacking together. "Yeah, keep talking smart and you'll get a taze in the throat. What the everloving fuck are you guys doing?" She glanced at the tiny woman still sitting on Kevin's chest. "Tweak. Seriously, you're okay. Get up and put that thing away. These guys are okay. I know them."

  As if she'd been electrocuted herself, the little woman leaped off Kevin's chest. Warily, Jazz knelt, offering him a hand.

  "Thanks," Kevin managed, slowly levering himself to his feet and waiting for the world to stop spinning. He smiled weakly at Jazz, who didn't smile in return.

  "Don't try to play nice, I'm still pissed. The hell are you guys doing here? Don't make me ask again."

  "Maybe we can talk inside?" Yvonne suggested quietly. Kevin was glad someone had.

  Jazz sighed. "Okay, fine. Tweak? Billie? I swear they won't stay long. I'll get rid of them myself when they get to be a pain. Is it okay?"

  Kevin watched dazedly as the tiny Asian girl held her taller friend's eyes. Billie bit her lip. Finally, the taller girl nodded. "I guess?"

  Soon enough, Kevin was sitting in a three legged chair with a wet washcloth held to the back of his head, watching the two girls and Jazz. Yvonne leaned against the wall behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

  "Okay. Give," Jazz snapped.

  Yvonne shrugged. "I saw Billie coming out of your place and I figured I'd give her a job offer, 'cause you weren't doing it. Or give… Tweak the offer I guess. Who codes so good?"

  Kevin resisted the instinct to cringe. If the situation hadn't been so delicate, he would have corrected his foster sister's abominable sentence structure.

  "Tweak," the black girl murmured, talking down to her hands.

  The tiny Asian beside her glared, eyes still slitted. "So?" the girl spat.

  "So," Kevin stated, "we always need a good coder. We were wondering if you'd be interested in freelancing. Or in coming on with us, for that matter."

  "I warned you, Kevin," Jazz growled. "Don't go there."

  "Go where?" Tweak demanded, and Kevin was struck by the way she spoke. Every word was said as if she was rationing the air it took, staccato bursts with distinct pauses between them. He wondered where she was from as she continued, "What gives? Who they?"

  Jazz gave a long sigh. "Dusters, Tweak. These two are Dusters."

  Tweak's eyes widened. Kevin studied her as she stared at him. He would have liked to ask how old she was. She looked no more than fifteen.

  "Dust?" the girl asked, her voice rising. "Off-g-g-Grid?" She stumbled over the word, stuttering it out.

  Ah. Not an accent, Kevin thought. An attempt to say things in a way that accommodated a bad stutter. Poor thing.

  Moving slowly in case he startled the girl, he nodded. "Logistical division of the Wildcards base. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  Tweak stared at him blankly. Then she turned to Jazz. "The fuck?"

  "Don't worry about Kevin. He collects old words for fun. Problem is he uses them, too. He means hi," Yvonne explained behind him.

  Tweak glanced up at her. "He yours?"

  Yvonne barked a laugh. "My baby brother, sure. My officer. Nothing else."

  Tweak glanced at Billie. Then she turned those black eyes back on Kevin. "How you get off-g-Grid?"

  Jazz drew a breath. "Tweak, that's-"

  "Gotta," the girl interrupted shortly. "Gotta. Gotta g-go. We g-g-get out. S-s-safe off-g-Grid."

  "Depending on your definition of safe," Kevin stated carefully. "I won't mislead you, Tweak, but if you would like off the Grid there are options. With your skills, we'd be overjoyed to count you in our ranks. Or we could arrange to get you out of the country in exchange for some consultation and code work."

  "Some?" Tweak demanded, and Kevin smiled. "You'd have to work it out with my commander."

  The tiny girl cocked her head. "Who?"

  "The commander of my base," Kevin explained. "He's the one who makes decisions. My job is to supply expertise."

  "What?"

  "The commander tells us what to do and we figure out how to do it," Yvonne explained gently. "So if you wanted to be a Duster, our commander would have to approve it. And if we made a deal for getting you off Grid, he'd decide how much work that's worth in trade."

  Tweak stared at them, hands clenched on the edge of the table. "Where he?"

  "At home," Kevin replied, watching both girls carefully. Tweak was practically shaking, and Billie had hunched even lower in her chair. He met Jazz's smoldering eyes. No wonder she'd been so protective. These two were like a pair of street puppies that someone had beaten. One wrong word would set either of them off.

  But the right words could get the Force that amazing coding skill. How had a CPS level girl as young as this gotten the resources to become such a coding prodigy?

  He set that question aside for later analysis. "Our commanders don't come on Grid very often. The danger's too great."

  Tweak gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "D-danger. No shit."

  She cocked her head from one side to the other. "He makes the rules?"

  "For our base," Kevin agreed quietly, realizing that he was smiling. "Yes."

  "You guys fight the f-fuckers? The Corps?"

  Kevin's smile grew cold as he nodded. "Oh, yes. That's what we're here for."

  The girl stared at him as if she could read his thoughts off the back of his skull. "You winning?"

  Kevin gave a shrug. He'd shoot himself in the foot before he'd admit how close they were to losing, but he wouldn't lie to the girl. "We're trying. We think we do some good."

  Tweak's fingers began to tap on the table. She swallowed hard. Then she turned.

  "Billie? Talk."

  Billie slowly raised her head. Then she glanced at the rest of the table apologetically. "We're gonna go into the bedroom for a couple minutes," she whispered. "Be out in a bit."

  She stood and followed her friend into the tiny bedroom, leaving the three staring at each other. The sound of the door closing seemed loud in the tight space.

  If he strained, Kevin could just make out the murmur of voices. He glanced at Jazz. "This building is clean, isn't it?"

  Jazz gave him a dry look. "Too piss poor to be worth a bug. I checked. If I hadn't I wouldn't be chilling. Cool it."

  Kevin nodded, and regretted the movement. Tweak really had fetched a good crack to his head. He should have seen that coming. But she'd been so unbelievably fast.

  Finally, the two young women stepped out. Standing side by side, they stared at the three people sitting around the table.

  "Wanna fight. Wanna k-kick ass," Tweak stated, every word sharp.

  "Wonderful, we'll make the-" Kevin began, but the girl cut him off.

  "I wanna talk your boss first. Deal," Tweak rattled out. "Not the m-m-middle m-m… Not you. Your boss. I make deals with the boss. Not the help."

  Kevin tried not to take the girl's bluntness as an insult. Since when had he been the help?

  "We can arrange a vid call over-"

  "No!" The girl slashed a bandaged hand through the air as she spoke.

  Bandaged palms. B
andaged arms under that leather jacket, perhaps? Kevin set that aside to consider later as well.

  "Vids easy t-to fake. F-face to f-f-face. Or nothing. T-t-t-take it or leave."

  "She means we meet who's in charge in person or we don't go, take it or leave it," Billie added quietly.

  Tweak stared at him with the fierce, frightened eyes of a street kid. She was breathing so fast that the jacket's zipper jangled a quiet metallic percussion.

  Kevin considered his options. Finally, he nodded. "I'm not authorized to make you a promise, but I'll discuss it with my commander. I'm almost certain he'd see the trip to meet you as worth the risk. We'd really value you as part of the team."

  No response. His charming smile was going nowhere. He turned to Jazz. "Can we use you as a liaison in setting this up?"

  Jazz gave him a glare of disgust. But she glanced at the girls, sighed, and nodded. "Don't guess I got much of a choice. Bastard," she growled.

  Kevin repressed a wince as he nodded. "Thanks. You're a great help."

  That got him another incendiary glare.

  Kevin knew when his welcome was worn out. Carefully, he stood, glad the dizziness had receded into a dull headache. "We'll be in touch within two weeks. Thanks for having us in."

  He held out his hand to shake. Tweak leaned back in her seat. "Nobody touch me."

  Kevin lowered his hand. "My apologies."

  No response.

  Jazz closed the door behind them, following them down the alley. But she stepped in front of the Dusters before they'd reached the street. "You two just tried to recruit a pair of fucking babies who already got it hard into a war. You ever fuck me and mine over like that again and you people can find yourselves another mech'n'tech. Capiche?"

  Kevin stared down at the woman, the ache in his head and the sting of truth in her words combining to leave him drained. He said the only thing he could. "I'm sorry Jazz, but they're in a war already. We all are."

  Gently, he stepped past her and into the heat of the day.

  Event File 21