A Conspiracy of Whispers

by Ada Harper

  It sounded more like an assumption than empathy. “As you said, it was a year ago,” Olivia said around the lump that had formed in her throat. She’d lost her only ally when her mother died. Thank gods for Yoshi, or Olivia really would have no family.

  “And then right after there was that botched Quiet.”

  Olivia grimaced, remembering. The target had been altusii, and had surprised her with a boot pistol. She’d taken it in the leg, a messy shot. She’d barely had enough time to stop the bleeding and dump enough whiskey and gutter water over the scene to dilute her scent before the containment crew had arrived. It’d been her closest call yet. She’d panicked and forgotten her print ID for the assignment. Wallis had docked her pay and chewed her out. She’d run newbie chits for six weeks after, but she’d been so relieved to keep her secret she hadn’t cared.

  Anxiety combined with old loss to leave her feeling nauseated. But Wallis was watching her for a reaction. She dug up a weak smile. “That was a mistake I have never made again. That’s why I am grateful. To you. Freelance work keeps me busy, and I’m happy to work alongside Whispers such as yourself.”

  “Well. Emotional mistakes aside, you are a model Whisper. I’ve been very pleased noting your progress this year, and I felt you were the perfect fit for this particular mission. Still...” Wallis returned to her grievance. “Nine days, Shaw.”

  “A spot of insurrection broke out.” Galen’s words found their way into her mouth. Olivia pursed her lips. Gods, she needed to get his voice out of her head. “It created some difficulties with extraction. I had to walk across the border.”

  Wallis consulted her feed again and the cloud over her irises gave her an inhuman look. “What bad luck for your first priority assignment.”

  “Whispers don’t believe in luck. I am confused why I’m here.” Olivia forced herself to look Wallis in those disconcerting eyes. “Was there something wrong with my report?”

  “It was adequate, if unorthodox, but that is your weakness. Information is scarce, but our sources say the situation in the Empire has gotten volatile. Your report lacked some details. You mentioned insurrection just now. What’d you encounter?”

  Could they read any trace of Galen on her, on her trail back to the Syndicate? Olivia had avoided the FL-AIs and disposed of the Empire fatigues as soon as she got a fresh change of clothing, but who knew what sources someone like Wallis had for information. Olivia forced her eyes to stay steady and focused on the pips bobbing at Wallis’s collar. “There were factions in the Cae—in the woods. I didn’t stay to get the details. You emphasized no contact, no witnesses in the briefing.”

  “As you say.” Wallis leaned forward. Olivia abruptly felt less like an underling and more like a specimen. “You injured your hand. Those are Empire bandages, are they not? The weave is different.”

  Olivia glanced down to her right hand. She told herself she hadn’t had time to change the bandage Galen had so carefully wrapped her hand in. Calloused fingertips, resting featherlight on her pulse. Get this treated, Liv. She gathered herself. “I ran out of supplies on the way back, ma’am. Poor planning on my part, but I was able to scavenge.”

  “From the forces you didn’t encounter. That is clever.” Wallis gave her a metallic smile, cold and manufactured. “So let’s talk about what else you might have not-encountered, shall we?”

  Wallis brought out a light pen and held it above her pulse UI, scalpel-like. And Olivia felt a new dread bloom in her stomach.

  * * *

  Two weeks in the Caeweld had taught her how to face a stronger predator: bend a neck and hope they lose interest.

  She did much the same in the Whisper interrogation, circling an endless round of the same questions with Wallis. An endless litany of minute questions about how Olivia had spent the past ten days, designed to trip her up. If the Whispers had shown their teeth, Olivia showed her neck and it seemed to work: Wallis abruptly stood, clapping her shoulder in an unfamiliar embrace that Olivia just managed not to flinch from. She insisted on taking a holo image, recording Olivia’s injuries for her official records. Then Wallis stated how they’d be in touch and sent her on her way. Olivia’s payment pinged her band a minute later.

  She felt eyes on her the moment she stepped out the door. That creeping, back-of-the-neck scrape that whispered attention. Olivia mimicked dropping her scarf and turned as she picked it up, scanning the square. Nothing stood out. No government shadows in long-coats, just the usual hum of half-attention as the downtown citizens of the Syndicate filled the walkways.

  It didn’t reassure her. She’d left her gun at home, but she was not defenseless. The Syn was at least as complicated and thick with hidden spots as the Caeweld, and these were Olivia’s kind of wilds.

  So once Olivia’s feet hit the steps of the square, she kept moving. She took turns at random, first with the crowd, then against it. Large thoroughfares, no side streets. Alleys would be tighter, faster, easier to lose someone, but if you didn’t lose a tail it was also a great place to get ambushed. So Olivia committed herself to a long game of illogical routes and backtracking.

  It was no surprise when she found herself in front of a familiar building. Yoshi’s bar squatted in the basement beneath a holo arcade, which had a shabby quaramesh den above that. A warm glow beckoned from the bottom of a steep set of steps tucked behind the building.

  If the Whispers were watching for a familiar routine, there was nothing more familiar to Olivia than Yoshi’s. And she didn’t feel much in the mood for socializing, but she did need to pick up B sometime, and Yoshi would be worried by now. She squared her shoulders, forced her paranoid feelings from her face, and stomped down the stairs.

  The bar hosted its usual infestation of retired regulars and off-shift drinkers at this hour. Olivia hovered at the door, letting the canned music drift over her as she scanned the room. A couple kids in blue jumpsuits, looking barely old enough for the labor contracts their clothing indicated, huddled over a holo that played tinny pop music. In the next booth, three women swigged shots of something dark and angry as they discussed the news feeds. A good afternoon crowd, no altusii in sight, and Olivia was happy to see her laser-plated seats at the end of the bar empty. Maybe she could come home, after all.

  If home was a place with no mercenaries, no sticky forest heat, no Galen. Olivia barely had time to flinch away from that thought before a sound like a dying sewer rat drew her attention.

  “Liv! Fuck!” Yoshi practically shoved the ale he was pouring at a patron so he could run out from behind the bar, pulling her to him with the strength of his enthusiasm.

  Yoshi’s arms shot out to hug her, then appeared to think better of it. He settled for clasping the sleeve of her jacket, a pat, as if to reassure himself she was real. He guided her to her usual seat. “You were due a week ago. Where in blue hell have you been?”

  A tender feeling in her chest thawed, just a little. A small wound that had been clenched up and frozen since she leaped out an Imperial mansion window. No, this was good. She could let it hurt, she could survive this. “Out.”

  “‘Out,’ she says. While I’ve been at the mercy of a shrieking, shitting fur demon for two weeks.” Yoshi slid her a glass splashed with her usual water and garnish. His elbows clacked against the bar carelessly. “I think you owe me a story. Did you bag that naughty doglord?”

  ...but it still hurt. Olivia grimaced. “I’ve been telling stories for the last three hours. Mercy, Yoshi.”

  Yoshi’s cheer softened. He wiggled a bottle of brown liquid threateningly in her general direction. “Fine. Plan B. You’re taking a bottle home with the cat. No arguing.”

  Olivia ceded lest she get a splash of rotgut in the face. “I thought the cat was the plan B.”

  “Well, we’ll call this Plan C. I’m a firm believer in the therapeutic benefits of altered states.” Yoshi broke into a conspiratorial smile that Olivia co
uldn’t help but mirror. At least until she felt the shadow of a coat brush the back of her chair.

  “Whisper Olivia Shaw.”

  The voice was mild, calm, and set every single hair on Olivia’s neck on end. She didn’t turn around; she slid her gaze to the filthy band of mirror backing the bar. Between half-filled bottles, a tall man in glasses and a government long-coat stood directly behind her. He wasn’t alone. She hadn’t heard them approach. She hadn’t even heard them come in.

  “These seats are taken,” Yoshi said for her.

  “We won’t be sitting,” the man said flatly. “You are Olivia Shaw?”

  “That’s what it says on my seat.” Olivia quietly ticked the way the man stood just behind her. A thick man stood just to the side of the bar, a third, even larger one, by the door. Whispers didn’t work in threes. This was something new. Her pulse jumped up a notch. “Can I help you?”

  “Whisper Redding. This is Whisper Milo. Voss.” The man nodded in his partners’ directions then flashed a packet to her pulseband that confirmed their identifications. Olivia barely risked glancing away from the mirror to read it.

  “I didn’t know any other Whispers frequented this bar.” Olivia pretended to inspect her drink. The tension in Yoshi’s face said they didn’t. “Let alone Internal Affairs specialists. I’ll ask again: what can I do for you?”

  “We will need you to accompany us back to headquarters.”

  Olivia’s smile froze. “I just came from headquarters. There must be some mistake.”

  Whisper Redding didn’t register any surprise at that. “We have some questions related to an investigation.”

  “What investigation?” Olivia twisted her ankle to hook the toe of her boot around the foot of the stool next to her. She swigged her drink with more force than ice water called for. “I don’t see how I could be any help. I’ve been out of the country for weeks on my own assignment. Whisper Wallis has the details.”

  “Our order comes from Whisper Wallis,” Redding said but Olivia was distracted by trying to identify the creeping feeling that was growing on her. It was like a base dread, shivering down her spine, making her want to suddenly do nothing more than lie down, curl up, and...and—

  Oh, fuck, he was pushing on her. And he was quite good.

  It wasn’t just rude to use a pheromone push in public, it was considered assault. Olivia clenched her jaw, voice light as if she hadn’t noticed. “Your order? I thought you just had questions.”

  “It would be wise to come with us, Whisper Shaw.” Another push, less subtle this time. It was giving her a nauseous headache. Fucker.

  “Would it? Be wise?” Olivia raised her eyes and met Redding’s gaze in the reflected surface above the bar.

  He studied her steadily before his smile slid off his face, replaced with an expression reserved for people he wouldn’t see again. The bitter hints of his push came back twice as strong. “Whisper Shaw, you are under—”

  It was all the confirmation Olivia needed. Redding’s shoulders twitched. Olivia flung herself gut first against the bar, upending the stool behind her. Her back foot levered up and kicked the neighboring barstool into Redding’s path. Yoshi was already pulling her over the counter by the time the Whisper shoved the chairs out of his way. Her rear landed ungracefully on the filthy floor between Yoshi’s legs. A muffled curse and shower of broken glass told her Yoshi had Redding occupied with the sharp edge of a broken bottle.

  Milo, Redding’s blocky partner, was already filling the end of the bar but Olivia rushed in that direction. A Whisper that size had to be strong, but as long as Olivia was too fast to let him get a hand on her, she had a chance. He stepped toward her, swinging wide as she ducked past. She dodged between tables for the door, but her progress was slowed by the panicked stampede of bar regulars who’d decided this was more than a normal scuffle.

  She’d nearly reached the door when a hard something punched her square at the base of her spine and sent her to her knees. When she came up again a hand clamped on her wrist and threatened to break it. Milo made to pin her against a booth but Olivia spun toward him instead.

  Her kick to his groin he saw coming, but it was enough to draw his attention away from his grip. She sank her teeth into the back of his bare hand. A foul swipe of scent, sweat, and blood flooded her mouth. Milo’s wounded howl allowed her to rip her arm free. She smashed her elbow into his nose and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch of soft tissue that sent him to the floor.

  Olivia didn’t have time to strike again before something slammed her head into the brick wall in front of her. The third Whisper. She’d lost track of him in the scuffle. The room was tilting, black fireflies in her vision, but a yell from the bar surged Olivia to her feet again.

  “Just scruff the cunt!”

  No. Olivia twisted, but the Whisper already had a naked hand on her shoulder. She’d lost her scarf at some point during the scuffle. Feeling rough fingers against her skin, she screamed curses, pathetic and scared to her own ears. A hand clawed viciously around the nape of her neck.

  The scruff dropped the world out from beneath her, like being swept along by an undertow. Her muscles went limp and ceased responding to her panic.

  It was like being drugged, a pipe of quaramesh to her brain. An instant, detached lassitude that allowed her to only distantly note the nails digging into her skin, the way her voice quivered and fell silent before her eyelids became heavy. It was a detachment, a transportation, where suddenly her world narrowed to the flutter of her pulse and the foreign spike of heat curling in her stomach that sent her mind screaming. She distantly registered new sounds. A crash from the door, splintering wood, and the roar of raised voices.

  Without control of her muscles, she was suspended by the Whisper’s fingers clawing into her neck. The hand abruptly disappeared. Olivia barely felt her face hit the floor of the bar. Dim shadows moved beyond her eyelids, some struggle, but the haze was slow to lift.

  Then there was a hand on her side, turning her. Olivia flinched, but it wasn’t a clawing touch. Warm, rough fingertips brushed her hair back into place, an arm wrapped around her. Olivia realized the constant low murmur in her ears was words, her name, over and over. She breathed in and was flooded with an irrational and entirely inappropriate feeling of safety. The familiarity of it finally pulled her eyes open.

  “... Galen?”

  Olivia’s tongue refused to work enough to say more than that. Galen crouched over her, blood flecking the haunted look on his face. For the first time since she’d met him, he wasn’t wearing his military fatigues. Instead, he’d acquired a poorly fitting mash of Syndicate-cut clothes from somewhere. The wool dress pants were shoved into work boots. Her addled brain noted that neither went with the black long-sleeved undershirt that strained across his shoulders. His chest heaved beneath the fabric, breath ragged from struggle. Olivia couldn’t see what had become of the Whispers over the protective wall of his shoulder. Galen’s hand didn’t stop sweeping over her cheek and down to her shoulder, as if he could sweep away the cobwebs from her mind.

  Didn’t stop, at least, until a ratcheting sound froze them both. Of old-fashioned ammunition loading. Olivia pulled her gaze up. Yoshi kept a large, rather ancient shotgun behind the bar, though she’d only ever seen him pull it out to scare off rowdy drunks. He’d never fired it and that was a good thing because, despite Olivia’s best tutoring, Yoshi couldn’t hit a dumpster from the inside. Now, however, he had it firmly leveled at Galen’s head. It was a bit like being threatened by a hamster.

  “Liv, if you’re back with us—” Yoshi’s eyes widened as he put together something about the scene in front of him, the way Galen’s arm tightened minutely around Olivia’s shoulder, turning as much of himself into a shield as their positions allowed. “What the hell is an Empire altus doing wrecking my bar?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Olivia w
as a horizon, a hollow-boned bird, a flighty cat. Galen had come to accept that Olivia would be constantly changing in his grasp, ever evolving into featherlight, untouched things. So the weight of her, heavy, loose, still against his chest, breath slow and liquid against his hand, lit up every alarm in his brain. The first had lit when he’d noticed she was being followed; the second when he burst into the cramped bar and found those trench-coated monsters with their hands on her. Scruffing her. Everything had turned red for a moment but now that she was back in his arms he was trying to assert his will back on reality.

  The sound of a shotgun leveled at his head was clarifying in that regard. But with his hands full of Olivia and his mind reeling, he was reduced to a low growl that promised violence.

  “It’s...it’s okay, Yoshi. He’s a...friend.” Olivia’s voice was far away. Her cheek was soft and heavy in his palm. He didn’t like the way she was still boneless against his chest, struggle visible in her glassy eyes.

  The shotgun in the bartender’s hands had wavered, but he put it down after a contemplative moment. A sunny smile was a slow bloom on his face. “Well. Friend, you have great timing. I’m Yoshi.”

  “I’m—” Galen forced himself to relax and see the stranger approaching as an ally and not a threat. “Galen.”

  “Galen...?” Yoshi repeated the name like a question. His smile turned precise when he glanced to Olivia. “Naughty doglord? I know I asked for a souvenir but—”

  “That’s not—” Olivia stopped. Galen could see her coming back to herself, tension reentering her eyes as her muscles coiled. She pulled away to look at him. “Why.”

  It was a question, phrased like an accusation. Galen had been prepared for it, but the fright of seeing the attacker scruff Olivia had burned all his prepared, reasoned arguments from his brain. His lips parted. “I... You.” You are everything. It’d just taken him a kiss too long to realize that.

  “Are we talking in code now?” Yoshi said with confusion, but Olivia’s mouth worked into a sputter.