“Okay, you wanted me to impress me; I’m impressed. This Ship is obviously operational. Why do you need me at all?”
Hideo smiled. “Bismil Singh’s granddaughter—”
“I’m sure you don’t need a figurehead,” I interrupted him, “so don’t waste our time.”
He raised his hands. “Figurehead, no, but people respond to a symbol. Don’t tell me you’ve never used your name to get ahead.”
“It can also make you a target,” I replied, thinking of my parents. “It can make you try too hard and risk too much to deal with all the hopes people invest in you.”
“True, but you didn’t let me finish. Bismil Singh’s granddaughter, former member of the Resistance, now sergeant—more or less—in the CPF, has an enviable portfolio. Amira, you have fought on several fronts now: urban centers on Earth, alien and human networks, moons and asteroids and deep space. We need your experience. The Resistance must create a fleet of space-based Ships.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Who are you planning to fight? Accordance? Conglomeration?”
“That’s step two, Sergeant. The point is, you won’t even have a chance to fight if you can’t get into the ring.” He placed a cup in front of me. “Supplies are so disrupted these days, unless it’s something the Accordance can use, of course, but this is the best green tea available. It doesn’t compare to my pre-Accordance childhood memories, but does anything?”
“You’re trying to duplicate the Icarus Corps. That’s only going to create more conflict.”
“Duplicate? Are you really comparing our Ships to the space arm of the CPF?”
“You said it yourself, it’s as simple as us and them. Where do you put the CPF in that equation?”
Hideo leaned back a bit and drank his tea in temporary retreat. “It was easier,” he said finally, “when the CPF was mostly collaborators. Now they have martyrs, lots of martyrs, and a few key heroes. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what strong symbols those are.”
Heroes. I thought of Devlin, often screwing up the small things but coming through when it really mattered, principled and loyal, honor and trust together. I missed him, and I wondered whether I could find the same kind of team bond with Hideo and JP that I’d found with him and Ken.
“So, Amira, it comes down to this. Humans must be in space. Will you bet on the Icarus Corps, or on the Resistance?” He pushed away his cup and stood up. “I’ll even help you decide.”
He went to that massive ribbon of tech that I envied so much and tapped a panel to life. A familiar face appeared. “Slate, this is Hideo. Put Rai on my channel.”
The panel switched view so quickly that I missed whether Slate had reacted at all to the request. I saw a small, brightly lit room, empty of furniture, with Mawusi Rai sitting cross-legged on the padded floor. She appeared unhurt and at ease. I felt my jaw tighten.
“Symbols aren’t hard to find, Amira. Rai is another descendant of famous leaders. Her grandfather was Mehmed Rai, founder of Ship 9, and her mother was Kira Andrushko of the Black Sea Syndicate, which provided a lot of support to the Resistance in the early days before the full blockade. Rai did indeed try too hard and risk too much, and no one would blame me if I handed her over to you. I won’t, but I doubt I could stop you if you really wanted to take her in.”
“Not another test,” I growled.
“A test, a trap, or an opportunity. Most of all, a way back into the CPF’s good graces—success covers a multitude of sins. Or, if you prefer, have your own personal revenge on Rai and take her place in my team.”
“Either way, I’d be in debt to you,” I noted.
He shrugged as if to say, That’s your problem.
I took off the shades, folded them neatly, and placed them next to my cup. “I think it’s time for me to leave, Hideo Pereira. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Here,” he said, tossing me something. I caught it on reflex, and the hard metal of a car key on a key ring stung my hand. “Take the jeep back to the hostel. It doesn’t have built-in nav, but I doubt you need it.”
“Thanks. Uh . . . how do I get out?”
Hideo put his hands behind his back and gave me a very sarcastic smile.
I shook my head. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.”
I never get lost. I followed the internal map that my tech traced as Hideo was showing me around. No one tried to stop me, and when I went up the ladder, the hatch cracked open when I was within two rungs of it. I scrambled through, closed it, and after a pause, I gave it a tug. Locked down, of course. Would I be able to find it in the dark again? I looked at it carefully, expanding the spectrum to see if there was any excess heat, any unusual radiation. Then I saw it, invisible to the unaided eye, luminescent in the ultraviolet—a thumb-sized emblem stamped into the hatch, which at first glance looked like a triangle set in a circle, but which I knew from experience to be the sail of a ship on a segment of ocean in a ring of rope. No—not rope. A ring of chain.
I walked back through the fields and past the restaurant’s gardens and greenhouses. The parking lot was almost empty. I went to the jeep and started it up. Hideo didn’t even ask if I could drive a car without autopilot or cruise control. I can, but it’s not that common these days.
I was quite sure that he knew everything about me. That’s why I decided that out of the two options he was offering, I would choose—neither.
+ + + +
The drive back was quiet and incident-free. I braced myself to face the concierge, but she wasn’t there. The desk sported a cheerful sign next to an old brass bell, inviting latecomers to ring for help checking in. I resisted giving it a spiteful flick as I passed, and went straight to my room. One roommate was already in bed, tucked in and motionless. I quietly checked Bugkiller, repacked my bag and secured it, then took a deep breath.
“You’re not asleep, Mrs. Chaudry,” I said softly. “I can tell.”
She sat up. I could faintly see her reproachful frown in the darkness.
“What?” I grumbled. My head felt heavy. I blamed the concierge and her tea.
“Yesterday, a man grabbed me, demanding to know about you.” She held out her arm, bruised below the elbow. “We stay here to be safe. If you are doing something dangerous or illegal, you should leave.”
“I am leaving.” I shifted my vision to a broader spectrum to see her face more clearly . . . and something caught my eye. A scarf lay across Karina Wilmer’s bed. It had the usual embedded tech, no surprises there, but it also had a bright ultraviolet logo. Not the 507 logo, but a similar type—a dhow with a single wind-filled sail ringed with pearls.
I took a wild guess. “I’d leave a lot faster if you’d help me with something.”
“I don’t see how—”
“You have skills. I bet you could help me break into a Ship stronghold and extract a prisoner.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I still work for the CPF. Because you value your safety. And because you had someone waiting to test me the moment I walked through that door. What’s her name, really?”
Silence, then, “Wilmer. Jody Wilmer. She’s related to Karina.” A small, proud smile. “She talks in riddles, but she rarely lies.”
“And you all belong to another Ship. I’m guessing . . . 98, based in Charlotte? Just passing through New Jacksonville?”
“Not really.”
Still cautious. I didn’t blame her. “Do you know what Ship 507 is planning? Do you agree with them?”
“I don’t know the details. We all know how the recruits died, but I don’t think they meant to do that.”
“No one will believe that if they don’t hand over the person who did it. Not the CPF. Not the Accordance. They’ll target all the Ships.”
She breathed shakily. “What do you want me to do?”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and stood in front of her. “Get Wilmer into 507. She looks like the adventurous type. Let her make some noise, stir up some trouble, then get her out. I�
�ll take care of the rest. Tell her she can reach me with this.” I handed her one of my old business cards, comm tech embedded in paper.
“Where are you going?” she asked as I turned away.
“To find a place to sleep. I don’t feel safe here.”
Nowhere was safe, really, so I did the only sensible thing. I went back to 507, did a little sneaking to get in through another entrance, and slept in the backseat of one of the five hundred jeeps parked and waiting for the revolution.
10
* * *
I woke up with a stiff neck to a sharp tapping on the window. It was Wilmer the younger, looking far too relaxed for a covert operation. I wound down the glass and glared at her.
“Well, I’m here,” she said.
“I can see that. Let’s be clear—what do you expect to get out of this?”
She grinned. “I already told you. Find my brother. Take a message back from me.”
“I can try. What else do you want if I can’t deliver on that?”
She finally sobered. “Remember Ship 98 helped you. We had to lie dormant for a few years, but when the time comes, put in a good word for us.”
“Deal.” We shook hands. I took up my bag and got out. The muzzle of the EPC-1 poked out of the top and I paused to adjust the flap over it.
“What are you going to do with that?” Wilmer asked with a tiny hint of “are you crazy” in her tone.
“Wide beam takes out crickets. Narrow beam takes out surveillance tech. Narrow beam needs more aiming accuracy but also has a remote firing option. I’m guessing you took your own precautions or else you wouldn’t be standing here chatting.”
She pointed to her jacket. “Bulletproof and more. And there’s this.” She showed me a stun gun. I was relieved. I didn’t want collateral damage.
“Good. Your target is being held in a padded cell three levels down. That’s an educated guess, by the way, so if I’m wrong or she’s been moved, be adaptable. Open the door for her and get out of her way fast. Don’t look back.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Wilmer now sounded a little worried. Not accustomed to solo action?
“I have my own target,” I replied.
We parted ways and I made for the panopticon office. It was still early, predawn time, and I had calculated that before sunup and after sundown were the likeliest times for Hideo to come in to his second job. I crossed the near-empty hall boldly, walking like a guest rather than an intruder. I could clearly see the signature long black coat moving about in the office during the entire fifteen seconds it took me to cross open space. I stood before the door, and another twenty seconds passed before it opened. Hideo faced me, and the screens behind him fuzzed and flickered.
“Sergeant Singh. I thought from the unusual static that you were on your way to take out Rai, one way or another.”
I shrugged. “I’ll catch up with Rai later. Right now, you’re coming with me.”
His mouth twisted in vexation. “JP was right. She said you’d rather be owed than be in debt to anyone. Ah well, that’s why we prepare for all eventualities.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on,” I said as I unleashed a microburst from Bugkiller.
Five of the screens grayed out completely. Hideo staggered and the hem of his coat began to smolder. There was a clatter of running and JP, Slate, and five armed security regulars appeared at the office. It was too late; I already had a knife at Hideo’s throat.
“You were right, JP,” he said cheerfully as he squirmed between the sharpness of the blade and the strength of my hold.
“Didn’t want to be,” she answered, her eyes regretful as she regarded me. “Amira, just go. Rai’s gone, but she won’t be hard to find. Let’s end it here.”
“Hideo’s a bigger fish, wouldn’t you say? Lots of information and lots of ambition.”
JP signaled for a lowering of weapons and raised her arms in surrender to me. “Let’s bargain. What do you want?”
“As you said, I can pick up Rai anytime. What I really want is you running this Ship quietly without competing with the CPF, and Hideo with me learning to be useful in less dramatic ways. That’s a win for you, I’d say.”
“Okay.” She nodded, more considering than agreeing. “What about—”
I’ll never know what she was going to propose, because just then I got hit with a dart in the hip. I looked at it in alarm as I felt my legs go slack. I clutched Hideo as I fell; the knife sketched a faint red line down his neck and arm.
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Rai.” That was JP’s voice, slightly envious, slightly sarcastic.
My nemesis came into my field of view long enough to stare into my eyes, not gloating but assessing. I watched as she kneeled and pulled out the dart. The pain was a shock. While she still crouched over me, Hideo bent close to her ear and murmured, “This changes nothing, Mawusi. The numbers don’t lie.” Whatever the phrase meant, it turned her expression from confidence to sorrow.
Hideo straightened up. “I need my tools. She’s knocked out some of our security shielding with this.” His body shifted as he nudged my bagged EPC-1 with his toe. “Can’t risk the CPF tracking down their transponder.”
Hands lifted me and placed me on the conference table. I twitched but failed to raise a limb. “Hold her,” said Hideo, and the hands pressed me down. A faint reflection in the glass ceiling showed him setting a metal tube to my arm, right against the CPF tattoo over my deltoid. I gave a choked scream as the device ripped the transponder out of my skin. Someone held out a metal bowl; Hideo dropped it in with a ping and wiped the blood from his gloved fingertips with a slight sneer of disgust.
“Get rid of that,” he said. “JP, secure the Ship. Find Singh’s accomplice. I’ll watch over the sergeant.”
The room cleared and the sound of footsteps faded into the distance. Hideo frowned at me, not in anger, but as if I was a problem he hadn’t had time or data to properly assess.
“You didn’t have to take it out,” I slurred. “That only makes it worse. You should have disabled it. Simple procedure for someone with your processing power.”
He looked away, picked up an inking stylus and scrutinized me again. He traced the tip of the stylus down below the freshly bleeding tattoo, over the nano-ink that coiled around my arms. “You’ll thank me someday. I’ve discovered that this kind of tech is more of a liability than an asset. Do you think you could learn to do without it?”
“Get myself a long coat like yours?”
He smiled. “Maybe. But first, a little pain.”
I tried to hit him. He caught my sluggish arm midswing and said firmly, “I’m going to temporarily restrain you because you do not want me distracted during this operation.”
“No, wait.” I had nothing to bargain with. “Don’t be stupid. If you torture me, I’ll tell you pigs fly if that’s what I think you want to hear.”
He stared in surprise. “Do you really think I’m such a fool as to interrogate so inefficiently? Here’s your first lesson, Amira. A human with the right amount of tech is like a computer that can never shut off. I don’t have to ask you a thing when I can plug straight into your circuits and download your memories.”
+ + + +
I’d been trained to bear a certain amount of pain, but Hideo’s linkup hit me like a nasty mix of sleep deprivation and poorly maintained tech. Dreaming in reverse. Hallucinating to order. It was a nauseating violation of will and intelligence that made the physical ties around my wrists and ankles a mere detail of indignity and the probes in my arm tats a simple itch.
I lost track of time and then of the sequence of time. I saw JP, but she was in the deserted office of that Orlando warehouse, in the hostel, in the streets—no, that was a younger image of her, not a memory but some fragment of information from Jasen that had been filed under “later.” I tried to break out of it and wake up, but memory blurred with reality and I couldn’t trust anything. I thought I was in a hospital bed with diagnostic li
nes plugged into my body, then I recognized it as the time my arm got broken on the Moon during Icarus training—Devlin’s fault, but that was old history. I transitioned to a new scene: sitting in a chair, no lines and no probes, but with bands uncomfortably snug around my wrists, making some new connection to my nano-ink. I was still in the glass office. Hideo stood on the other side of the room, tablet in hand and several lit screens before him. He looked over his shoulder at me, and I was angry, first angry at Devlin for being a child and not a soldier, then angry at Hideo for trapping me in a space where past emotions sliced as sharp as present feelings.
I heard JP’s voice, firm and reproachful. “She needs to sleep.”
Hideo answered, “Don’t worry, I won’t damage her, but there’s so much! Her memories of her grandfather . . . those alone would keep me occupied for months!”
“She’ll never work with us now,” JP said.
Hideo made a tutting noise. “Amira Singh is not known for holding grudges when the stakes are high—and they are very high.”
“You’ve crossed a line, Hideo,” JP warned. “You’re becoming what you fight against. She won’t hold a grudge, but she finds you lacking, you’re dead to her.”
He sighed. “I’ll end it soon, I promise.”
JP laughed sarcastically. “It might already be too late.”
The memories changed direction drastically. Hideo chose to indulge his pet passion and pulled up every possible reference and encounter with my grandfather. I was embarrassed at how much I had forgotten. Many times he had talked to me not as if I were a child, but a confessional, or a diary, or a living excuse to hear his innermost thoughts spoken aloud and made real. Even in the midst of the crushing torrent that Hideo drew from me, certain words stood out and stayed with me, fresh with new context and adult comprehension.
After a meeting with the fractious alliance with mafia leaders, he said to me, “I have approached this situation as if we were facing one enemy, perhaps two. What if I am wrong? What if there is a third enemy, in plain sight, where we refuse to see them?”
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