Ash in the Blood

by Lyn Forester

  He spots Laundreman at the same time Reagen freezes the run. The rotund man, ensconced at a corner booth, has an array of small dessert plates surrounding him.

  “Clark and Mr. Laundreman both visited at the same time. Do you see him on the screen?”

  He glances over the crowd, searching for a head of brown hair. The angle makes it hard to tell and multiple candidates are available.

  “Might be this one.” He points to one man by himself at a table, only a single dessert before him. He eats it slow, a treat he’s not used to indulging in. Clark’s bank account hadn’t shown a large income. He would have had to save up a month’s worth of salary to afford entry into the delicatessen.

  Her eyes flicker over the screen for a better option before she nods. “Yeah, let’s see if he goes to the back room.”

  “How did he afford Tony’s?”

  “The credits didn’t come from his account. He must have been using unregistered funds. Either he stole them or someone fronted his visit.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “He had something someone else wanted.” She sounds like the answer should be obvious.

  “But what could he have had?”

  “I don’t know, his personnel file is still under request.”

  “Can’t you just hack into it?”

  She slides a glance his way, a smile curving her lips. “I’m super flattered right now.”

  “You’ve hacked other info for the case.” She hasn’t come out and said it, but the pieces all fit, and she doesn’t deny it now.

  “Clark worked for Techstrom. Their security is top-of-the-line. It would have to be to protect all of their proprietary developments.” She taps her fingers against her thigh.

  “But you’re trying, aren’t you?”

  “He’s on the move.” She points at the screen, directing Drake’s attention to the top of the man’s head as an employee leads him toward the back room. Her finger moves to the camera in the upper left corner. “It’s lucky he was in the room next to Mr. Laundreman, or I wouldn’t have remembered his face.”

  The escort delivers Clark to the second room. The space, painted yellow and white, has a froth of lace covering the bed. A blonde woman opens the door, dressed in a scant nightgown. She leads him to the bed, pushes him down, and his face becomes visible.

  “Yep, that’s our guy.” As she taps at the keyboard, the feed moves into fast forward again.

  “Hey, we should watch this. It could be a learning experience.” Across the room, the thumps stop.

  “Buy a skin vid if you need education on sex.”

  “This is free instruction from a professional. Invaluable.”

  “It’s missionary the whole time. You can do better.” And she’s right. After a brief round of foreplay, courtesy of Lemon Chiffon, they get down to business.

  In fast-forward, Clark climbs on top of the prostitute and begins a frantic hip thrusting. After less than a minute of accelerated time, Clark rolls off Lemon Chiffon and lies on the bed, chest heaving. She raps against his chest, what is most likely a comforting pat in regular speed, then gets up and comes back with a washbasin.

  Then the couple pull their clothing back on and Lemon Chiffon walks Clark to the door. Reagen slows the feed again at this point, and the prostitute breaks protocol as she follows her client out into the hall to give him a lingering kiss. They’re ahead of schedule, and the escort hasn’t come back to fetch him.

  When Clark turns toward the main room, Lemon Chiffon grasps his arm and pulls him back with a laugh. She gestures down the hall the other direction. He looks confused, but follows her direction. She leads him to a back door, escorting him outside into the alley. Most likely an employee entrance.

  Reagen points to another screen; the angle of the camera indicates a high location on the alley wall. Positioned to cover the exit and the branching alley at the end, the wide angle warps the image, making everything look stretched, disproportionate.

  Lemon Chiffon leads Clark down the alley, clinging to his arm, face close to his ear as her mouth moves.

  “Can you read lips?” Reagen asks.

  “No. You?”

  “No. I’ve tried, but it’s hard to get the hang of.”

  As they watch, the image crackles, fuzzes out, then comes back online. Reagen frowns, fingers flying over the keyboard. The image fuzzes again, static across the screen. When it comes back, the couple has moved down the left alley.

  “What’s going on? Do you think a cloud skipper could have latched onto it?” The fist-sized balls of iridescent jelly can suck the life out of any electronic once they get their tentacles into a device.

  “I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like power failure.”

  The image blurs as a dark outline pulls up at the end of the alley: a car. Drake squints at the screen, trying to decipher the make of the vehicle. Cars aren’t unheard of on Level 5, but they’re not standard either. The screen crackles further as Lemon Chiffon and Clark near the car, and then the image goes black.

  “What just happened?”

  “Someone jammed the signal.” She sounds frustrated, her fingers flying over the keyboard. The image doesn’t come back online. “I need to sit.”

  She glances around the room, her eyes falling to the bed just as the thumping against the wall resumes. The entire bed shakes with the force of the pounding, sending the pink, ruffled skirt swaying again. Lifting the folding desk-port, she moves to the chairs, setting the device on one and dragging it around to face the other.

  “What can I do?” He looks around, at a loss.

  “Make sure no one comes in. And don’t disturb me.” She sits, hunching forward over the device as she types, eyes focused on the screen. Emotion slides from her face, and she goes blank, unblinking.

  He moves to the bed, pats the cover to check for dust. When his hand comes away clean, he lies down. The rhythmic pounding of the couple next door vibrates the mattress beneath him, almost like a massager.

  ~

  “Fucker!”

  Drake rolls from the bed, knees slamming into the carpet as he searches the room for danger. The cool grip of his psy-gun fills his palm with a comfortable weight. The light on the grip glows yellow for mild stun.

  No danger jumps out, the room unchanged from before he was rocked to sleep. The neighbor’s activity has stopped. They’ve either passed out from exhaustion or checked out by now. The clock on the wall shows a couple hours have passed.

  He stands and slides the psy-gun back into his shoulder holster. Reagen, the source of his rude awakening, doesn’t look up. She sits slumped in her chair, figure silhouetted against the balcony doors. The blue light of the port screen highlights her chin and cheekbones, turns her eyes into a black abyss.

  “What’s going on?” He comes around the bed to peek at the screen, and she leans back, rubbing a hand across her face. The screen shows a line of numbers. “What is all of this?”

  “Cameras.” She gestures at the screen as if it’s obvious. He leans closer. Looks like time stamps and location markers. Similar to the ones she pulled for the murdered den employee’s crime scene last night, but not as organized. She hasn’t worked on it long enough to organize it into something he can read.

  “I’m not seeing what you are.” But he has an inkling he knows what it means anyway.

  “They’re all out, same as last night. Same radius, same amount of time. Same fucking we-have-nothing-to-go-on.” She shoves a hand into her pants pocket and yanks out a Bell-E Up bar. With sharp jerks, she rips the foil open and shoves the entire bar into her mouth.

  “Are there any other reported outages? Palm-ports, desk-ports, lighting?” he asks. She gestures at the screen again, with both hands, chewing angrily. He looks down at her and stifles a laugh at her bulging cheeks. “I’m gonna need real adult language.”

  Her hands ball into fists, middle fingers popping back up to aim in his direction. She swallows, her throat working to get down the gum
my ball. Looks painful.

  “No, the anomaly only affects cameras.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “It shouldn’t be, not without intimate knowledge of every recording device in a half-mile radius. The attack would be targeted. Unless this is halion tech that hasn’t been released to the public. It would be dangerous to the general populous. As we’re seeing now.” She stands to move toward the sliding door. “Even with halion development in action, the device would need a central location. The radius seems to pin at the delicatessen. It could be located anywhere nearby, but my guess would be at the highest point.”

  He joins her, bicep brushing against her shoulder as he crowds into the small space. For once, she doesn’t skitter away, too focused on the hunt. “Why the highest point?”

  “If I built something like this, it would be nanoscale and would need a dispersal device. It makes the most sense to use gravity after the bugs are launched. I’m stumped on how the bugs would know which electronics to attack, though.”

  He stares down at the top of her head, stunned. “You could build something like that?”

  She stiffens, right arm crossed under her chest to grip her left arm. “In theory only.”

  It hadn’t sounded like theory, though, and he remembers the cupboards and desk piled with mystery parts and tiny tools. “Why are you working at Investigators, Inc.?”

  She cuts a glance at him from the corner of her eye and leans away just far enough to break contact. “None of these buildings are great candidates.”

  She’s ignoring him again. Not subtle at all.

  He frowns as he stares at the buildings framed by the opening. “Unless your guess is wrong.”

  “Unless our view is wrong.”

  “What?”

  She pulls the locking pin from the slider and yanks the door open, stepping out onto the narrow balcony. One step takes her to the railing, and she glances both ways. Then she turns around, faces him, and leans back against the railing, head tilting back. The metal bends beneath her weight.

  “Be careful.” He hovers in the opening, ready to grab her if the banister breaks. From the corner of his eye, he can see the street far below. Sweat breaks out across his forehead, a cold chill on his skin. Heart pounding in his chest, he grips the doorframe.

  “Go back inside,” Reagen murmurs, and when he shifts his gaze to her, she watches him with an odd expression. Soft, with brows creased in concern. As soon as he recognizes it, the expression changes, slides into annoyance. “You’re blocking the door. Move.”

  But she waits, patient, as he unclenches his hands one finger at a time and moves back on stiff legs.

  “Find any likely culprits?” His voice rubs thick in his throat.

  “Yeah, we’re in it.” She comes back inside, closes and locks the door, then draws the curtain. The room descends into a dim glow, almost romantic.

  “Huh?” His brain refuses to come back online, even with the offending view blocked. He hadn’t had this visceral of a reaction when he’d glanced out earlier. But the closed door acted as a fragile barrier that offered safety.

  “Come on, I’ll teach you how to hack basic locks.” She closes the screen on her port and moves to the console table, sliding the device back into her satchel. The strap flips over her head, and she settles the bag at her hip.

  She opens the door to the hall and waits for him, expectant, and he stumbles out of the room on stiff legs, glad to leave the pink hell behind. The bright lighting in the hall jogs him out of his funk, and he takes a deep breath to clear his head.

  The door clicks closed behind him as Reagen joins him in the hall. “How many doors to the elevator?”

  He glances at her, confused. “Four. Why?”

  “Every doorway is the entry route for potential danger or escape.”

  “Is this how you live your life?”

  “How many doors behind us? No peeking.” She adds when he starts to twist to glance back the way they’d come.

  “I don’t remember.” He admits.

  They pass the neighbor’s door, number five eleven, and a maid cart blocks the opening. The quiet sound of running water comes from within.

  “What room were we in?”

  “Five oh nine.”

  “And the numbers go in descending order. So how many doors behind us?”

  “Ten.”

  “Good job.” They stop in front of the elevators. “You want to push the up button?”

  ~

  “Okay, so the most important part to remember is…don’t drop my toy.”

  “Why would I drop it?” Drake adjusts his grip on the metal case. It looks smaller in his hands than it did in hers and has a surprising weight to it.

  They’d taken the elevator as high as it would go, then located a stairwell and climbed the rest of the way to the top. Only a flimsy rope had barred their way to the roof access door, and they had bypassed it by ducking beneath.

  “You’re holding it wrong.” Reagen reaches over and repositions his fingers to cover a row of bumps down the side of the metal case, pulling his pinky up to break contact. “Don’t let your pinky touch, or you’ll have to start over. Remember, this is a three-circuit lock.”

  “This isn’t how you held it.” He straightens his pinky until it sticks straight out.

  “I know what I’m doing, so I’m less obvious.” She holds the metal card over the door lock. “Remember. Don’t. Drop. My. Toy.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  She slides the metal card into the lock, and he almost drops it.

  A shock vibrates up his arm, shivers along his bones. He flinches, fumbles the case in his hands, and loses contact with the nubs on the side. The electric sensation dies in an instant.

  “Shit, you could have warned me.”

  “I did. I told you not to drop it.” She huffs and repositions his hand, looking up at him with eyes wide, face super serious. “Drake, you’ll experience an odd sensation, similar to being electrocuted. Have you ever been electrocuted?”

  “No.” He grunts as she presses his fingers back over the connectors, and the tingling vibration flows up his arm again.

  “But telling you that in advance might have scared you.”

  “Who would want to electrocute themselves?”

  “It’s not really electrocution, just similar.”

  “You’ve been electrocuted before?”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, it hurts a lot more.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “What you’re experiencing now is harmonic frequencies.” She places two fingers on his exposed wrist, feather light. The sensation lessens as if given a greater range of dispersal. “The screen has a grid, four by three.”

  He tilts the case and can make out dark green lines against the black screen, three vertical and two horizontal. “Okay, got it.”

  “Focus on the first three columns. If you tap the top square, the circuit’s pitch increases. The bottom, decreases. The center locks in the frequency.” She taps the screen at the top and a green ring blooms beneath her fingertip. The vibration in his arm increases. A tap at the bottom of the screen returns the buzz back to normal. “What you’re looking for is the frequency that harmonizes the circuit. That buzz is discordance. When you find the right combination, it will feel like waves.”

  Two fingers on his wrist, she taps at the screen, and the buzz in his arm fluctuates, almost like a beat of its own. It seems random, and his head begins to hurt, until she finds a specific cord that hums along his skin.

  “Feel that?” She taps the center of the first column to lock in the frequency.

  “Yeah,” he croaks out, his throat gone tight. The hum travels through his body to settle low in his hips.

  “Now you try.” The light touch on his wrist doesn’t waver, even for a second. Is it different for her, or is it not as strong, coming to her second hand through their link?

  He taps at the screen, clumsy fingered. I
t takes longer, a lot longer, but he eventually finds the point where the second circuit evens out into a hum. This one comes higher than the first, a counter hum that enhances the first. He glances at Reagen, finger hovering over the center block to lock in the code. She nods in encouragement, face placid and professional.

  The dual hums go straight to his groin, and he angles his body away to hide the growing erection. Code three takes longer, and, when he finds it, he has to lock his knees to not fall over.

  “Is this right?” He squeaks out through the humming wave that pulsates through his body.

  “You about to orgasm?”

  Shit, she knows.

  “How are you not affected right now?”

  “Compartmentalization.” She lifts her hand from him, breaking the contact, and the waves crash through his body like an undulating stroke. “Lock it in before you mess yourself.”

  He presses the center field on column three, and the hum travels out of his body and down the wires to the metal card in the lock. The door clicks open.

  “Does it always feel like that?”

  “Fuck no. Could you imagine all the pervs with lock picks getting their wank on in public?” She laughs, takes the device from him, and stores the card inside the case before sliding the whole thing back into her satchel. “The programmers had fun with this one. They probably knew where the locks would be installed.”

  “What do you think is out there?” He nods at the door.

  “No idea.” The hinges creak when she pushes the door open, and cold air gusts into the landing. Even in the middle of Spring-Cycle, the weather crafters don’t see the need to warm the air twenty stories up.

  Reagen steps through the door, and holds it open. He adjusts himself before following her through. Not that the erection will last. The door exits into the center of the roof, with short walls providing scant safety from the drop that waits beyond.

  Gravel crunches beneath his shoes, ready to roll him right over the edge. He backpedals fast.

  “See anything?” he calls from the safety of the doorway.

  She scuttles across the rooftop, around the advertised pool with its unappealing, gray-tinged water. The Pink Skirt Motel definitely cuts corners by using the cleaning cycle to top off the pool.