The woman’s mannerisms made her feel like she’d slipped into some reality-altering wormhole and landed in a sleepover party where body-hugging armor and laser pistols replaced lame movies and girl talk. At some point over half an hour or more, Tamashī’s unending chatter had devolved within Risa’s mind from words to an oscillating tonal flux that swallowed time. The haunting nostalgia the scene created let daydreams of what might have been render her mute. Risa wanted to yell at her to stop rambling and get on with it, but couldn’t bring herself to break the illusion.
For a few minutes, she ceased being an agent of the MLF in the middle of a Syndicate hotel talking to a mercenary cyberspace thief. For one tiny slice of the disaster that was her life, Risa felt like a normal girl with a normal friend, failing to keep up with a conversation that shifted topics at the rate of two every ten seconds. Alas, Tamashī’s infectious energy couldn’t sustain her dazed detachment forever.
Risa looked from the woman’s pink-painted toenails to the net deck on the table at the side of the room, one corner protruding from beneath a pair of panties, a jacket, and a small fortress of empty soda canisters. The unending warble stopped. Silence weighed on her, more noticeable than any word the girl had spoken over the past ten minutes.
“Hello? Mars to Risa…” Tamashī waved. “Did you get any of that? Are you high?”
“No. I couldn’t figure out who they were either. I thought they were Special Forces or mercenaries looking to collect the bounty on me. I’m sorry that got out of control.” Risa cringed. “Sorry again about pulling your wire.”
“Ugh.” Tamashī pressed a hand into the side of her head. “That sucked so much… but it’s better than getting killed. Whoever they were, they were damn good. I didn’t even notice I got snooped on the net. Good thing you’ve got like ESP or something.” She giggled. “I’ve been through worse. Ever get trapped naked on the catwalk around the needle at the Apex Marti?”
“CamNano?” When Risa looked up, Tamashī appeared to be a hollow shirt. Maybe I am closer to an assassin than I think. “Yeah. I got one of those. Not a big favorite. I hate the way it tingles.”
“You have one too?” Skin and hair faded from the exact color of the wall and sheets back into the Japanese woman. “It was so damn cold… but they never found me. Tingles? Oh, you haven’t used it much then… the pins and needles thing stops eventually, once you get used to it.”
At Risa’s mental command, her skin turned dark brown and white spread over her hair from root to end. A basic tweak to color represented a mere fraction of what the image processor could handle, but it did enough to play the girl’s game. Before she thought about it, Risa caught herself laughing along with her. The whole thing felt surreal, like playing dress up with a million and a half credits worth of cyberware. This tiny woman acting like a preteen in the midst of a discussion involving breaking into government facilities left Risa feeling more secure about her own sanity. She disabled the effect. Hundreds of thousands of nanobots dissolved the cell-by-cell pigmentation of her skin. She clenched her jaw to hide her reaction to the feeling of millions of needlepoints crawling over her body.
“Have you ever been shot?” Tamashī bent forward until her elbows touched the bed between her knees.
“Yeah. Couple of times. I don’t recommend it.”
Tamashī stuck one leg out, poking Risa in the belly with a toe. “That stuff won’t stop lasers, right? Everyone on Mars has lasers. Why bother?”
“Any armor that can stop lasers is too stiff for me to move in, and it doesn’t fit in the shafts. Ballistics are cheap enough that they still see a lot of use.”
“Ooo,” said Tamashī, “you go in vents too?”
“Once or twice.” Risa shifted. “Look, Walsh didn’t exactly give me all night.”
“Oh…” The girl made a raspberry noise. “I’ll talk to him.”
Risa buried her face in her hands as the small woman flew from the bed to a Vidphone on the wall and whined at Walsh like a girl asking her father to let a friend stay the night. And people think I’m Cat-6? This girl has some damage. She chuckled low enough to keep it to herself. Maybe she’s just using her size to manipulate people.
The call ended. Tamashī bounced back to the bed and raised both arms. “You can stay!”
Then again, maybe she’s just nuts. Her exuberance was at least a little contagious. Who isn’t?
“Sorry about sticking you here. I didn’t know you had a… history with the Syndicate.” Risa leaned back, hands squished into the silk-covered gel slab.
“No majors. I did a job for Kuroshi Pharma, pinched design specs outta Amaranth Industries… some new cybernetic implant that can keep you up and moving for days without sleep.” Tamashī showed off ten white cartoon cat-faces painted on her nails. “You’d think they wanted to give it away, their security was so weak.”
“So Amaranth came after you?”
“No, they paid the Syndicate to kill me.” Tamashī giggled again.
Okay, now that is creepy. “Which, naturally explains why Walsh was so happy to extend his protection.” So much for doing us a favor.
“Oh… yeah, well. They got all handcuffy and chloroformy at first… but I offered to work for them instead. Couple more jobs and they’ll call it even.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, then pounced on her, whispering, “Yanno I convinced them I was only thirteen?”
“No way.” Risa held back the sarcastic face. And now you’re stuck that way because they’re watching you. Maybe not so crazy? “I’m looking for information. You’re the best deck jockey I know of.”
“What’s the nab?” She scrambled off the bed again, and rummaged one of the drawers along the frame.
“My father was killed about sixteen years ago… I want to know who ordered it.”
“Pocky?” Tamashī held up a narrow cookie stick covered in chocolate with a spiral of darker chocolate around that. She had a half-dozen more in her other hand. “You don’t remember exactly?”
“Uhh… sure.” Risa took the offering. “I know I was eight that night. I think I’m twenty-five now. I don’t really remember. Just going off what I overheard. Couple years were just a blur.”
“Okay.” She bounced up, jogged to the table, and returned with her deck, munching. “Are my hosts covering the fee?”
“I’m doing a favor for Walsh, so yeah.” Risa bit the end of the treat, finding it less unpleasant than she expected.
“What do you know? I need a place to start.”
“His name was Colonel Darren Black, UCF Marine Corps. We lived in Secundus City at the time. The attack was a military operation, and I don’t think they were expecting me there.”
“Okay.” The girl held one of the stick-cookies in her lips, nibbling it into oblivion as she extended a wire from the back of the deck. “Wish me luck. Once I finish this, you wanna play Outer Rim Assault IV?”
Risa made a clueless face. “Sure, why not.”
Tamashī pulled the hair away from her neck and held the asterisk-shaped prong over her M3 port. “Gimme a few minutes. If you see a lot of smoke and crap blowing out of these vent ports, pull the wire out fast.”
Risa nodded.
Tamashī’s eyes rolled up as she plugged in. Her little body flopped backwards as though she’d been shot dead. Risa leaned forward and tugged the oversized T-shirt down to cover more of the girl’s legs. For the better part of the next hour, the slow rise and fall of her chest gave away the only sign of life. A sudden twisting of her innocent face into a glower of determination caused a spike of anticipation in Risa, but the girl faded back to placidity.
She helped herself to another one of the candied sticks, crunching it absentmindedly while waiting another ten minutes. Tamashī’s body shot upright and lapsed into a shiver. Risa held on to her shoulders.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
Tamashī flashed an impish grin. “Fine. I know something you don’t know.”
The singson
g quality of her voice grated on Risa’s nerves. “What? Tell me!”
“You’re my friend, right?”
Cat-1. Yes, definitely Cat-1. Poor thing. Risa swallowed her anger. Play along. “Yes.”
“I know a name.” The girl unplugged. “I thought the military would have better security.”
“Do you always say that?” Risa shook her by the shoulders “Who!”
“Sometimes I say that to brag, but this time it felt too easy. Like, someone breadcrumbed me through the door. Kinda scary.” Tamashī ate two pocky sticks at once. “You’re twenty-five, and the name on the mission authorization was Major General Donald Everett.”
“Did you see anything about a Colonel Wymar?”
“Uhh.” Tamashī’s eyes rolled into her skull for a moment. “Found him. He’s listed as the commander of the facility where the strike team that did the deed was based.”
Risa stared at the wall. General Everett. The name had no meaning. She’d never heard it before, but she would also never forget it. Now, at least, she had a starting point.
An explosion from behind shook the room. Risa triggered her speedware, leaping, twisting in midair. She yanked both Hotaru-6s from their holsters and aimed… at the enormous holo-pane. A squadron of starfighters flew through an expanding fireball on the display. Her back hit the wall, butt on the pillows.
“Ready to play Outer Rim?” chirped Tamashī. “What’s wrong? You look tense.”
Risa shifted her gaze from her gunsights to the little woman at her right. “Yeah, a little.”
hopsticks slid from Risa’s hand, clattering into the plastic bowl. A teaspoon’s worth of broth at the bottom swirled as flecks of seaweed chased grains of exotic pepper. Her black silk robe, patterned with a metallic gold dragon on the back and sleeves, did little to stall the chill in the air. Tamashī had insisted she take it since she had far too many of them. Her meal was an exercise of routine rather than desire, a mechanical activity devoid of pleasure.
High off the ground in a mid-grade hotel room in Arcadia City, she stared through steam-fogged sliding doors at the ominous silhouette of the distant military complex. Elysium and its dome had been impressive, but with the advent of atmospheric retention fields, Arcadia existed without a physical barrier overhead. In addition, it sat clear in the path of the strongest wind current down from the North Polar Region, and the terraforming engines. Every so often, the glow of ion thrusters, in pairs or quartets, emerged from behind the dark mass and streaked into the sky. The hazy weather obscured the form and dimension of the vessels, reducing them to shapes Risa’s consciousness dubbed ‘air whales.’
Risa had watched luminous orbs ascending into the grey for over an hour. Her disinterest in the food prolonged the meal. Was General Everett on one of those ships? Tamashī said he should be at this facility, working a nice, comfortable desk job.
Fading daylight would soon give way to night. Violent gusts came at random, flinging water at the patio. The name of whoever figured out how to make it rain on Mars escaped her. Normal children absorbed factoids like that in school. Her education had been more… specialized. Garrison did what he could, but wanted men who had to stay underground could only teach so much.
Demolitions, how to handle firearms, hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, rudimentary hacking, lock picking―everything a little girl needed. Everything except how to escape the guilt.
A heavy rumble rattled the patio door. Another ship went skyward, this one with six violet-blue thrust cones. Whatever it was, it had enough size to appear as a dark smear in the mist. Transport, probably. Maybe a cargo vessel. Infiltrating the military base, especially one attached to Arcadia City, was far more difficult than anything she’d ever attempted.
Risa stood and stretched. She padded to the bathroom, unsure how to feel about the sensation of smooth silk sliding over her legs. Subdued lighting flickered on as soon as she entered and crossed to lean on the sink. The face in the mirror resembled a Class 1 doll. High-resolution airbrushed makeup created the appearance of gaps, lines at the corners of her mouth where a machine-jaw had to move as well as small numbers on her cheek. Planting Walsh’s bugs had been easier than she’d imagined. She already had the glowing violet eyes. A long session of pondering how to hide them gave her the epiphany of using them as part of a disguise. Modern military-grade cybereyes looked no different from living ones. Hers had the same function, but at half the price. No one suspected the housecleaning doll was really a live woman. A little sleight of hand while tidying up planted fourteen tiny electronic spies. The hardest part of the job had been doing actual cleaning work.
Fortunately, no one looked at her twice. Ironic. No one tries to slap the ass of the sub-sent in a short dress, but the sub-sent wouldn’t care. I guess I am dead inside, a robot. Sub-sentient.
She scowled down at herself and let the robe fall around her feet, basking in shame from the illusion of robotic joints painted on her wrists, knees, fingers, and elbows. Her thumb rubbed the underside of her left wrist, over smooth skin instead of the metal and struts that appeared to run beneath.
I’m turning into a machine.
The thought triggered a diagnostic process within her Neural Interface Unit. Her vision exploded with an array of graphical and text readouts for each component: NIU self-test, M3 port, Nishihama Oracle eyes, AuraCorp augmented audio, Mishiro reflex booster, NSK Senpū speedware, Starpoint Industries Nano claws, Teradyne Toxin Filter, Kurotai CamNano Mk II, Lexcon Industries chipboard, and a Wraith spatial sensor. That component was the most expensive of the lot, the one that let her live in total darkness. Garrison still owed someone big for that. Risa never wanted it, but he had been worried about her. The thought of him in debt for a gift she hated having filled her with guilt. At the same time she loathed what it made her, she couldn’t imagine losing it. She looked away as tests ran on the wirepaths in her arms and legs.
Sixteen years ago, I was human. What am I now?
She rushed into the autoshower, scrubbing at her arms and face. Dark smears of silver and black ran in rivulets over snow-white skin. Risa took handfuls of sprayed soap, feverishly working it over every spot of paint. Desperation, as though she could wash the machine out of her, took hold. Moments later, she knelt at the bottom of the tube in a puddle of murk, feeling like a used paintbrush left in a glass of water.
Maybe it wasn’t the disguise that fooled Governor Almden’s guards. Maybe she was a machine servant. Too convincing. Risa burst into teary-eyed laughter. She’d been a maid for years, but instead of cleaning up physical trash, she cleaned up political garbage. Get a hold of yourself, Risa. She stood. What’s with all the self-pity lately? The once-photorealistic paint had reduced to smears of dark. I can wash it out… It would just take money. She hit the button to run the wash cycle again. I was okay with this life until… She shot a plaintive stare through her reflection, daydreaming of her first meeting with Pavo. How did meeting that idiot change me? He’s so clumsy. She remembered him tripping down the rocky path with the bomb.
He didn’t seem interested. She sighed. He still doesn’t.
Eyes closed, she stood still and let the autoshower do its job, holding her arms to the side so the water had access to her body. Medical technology could regenerate her natural eyes, albeit at a cost that made her artificial ones seem cheap. She daydreamed of how to go about it. She smiled at the thought of Pavo holding a Medtech at gunpoint, forcing them to make her human again. Rotating water jets became his hands, caressing everywhere.
The dream went south, ending in a bloodbath. Reduced to the capabilities of a normal person, all she could do was struggle helplessly in the grip of an MDF officer while they killed Pavo. She covered her face with her hands, leaning back and twisting through the spray of soap foam.
Shiro. She slipped into another brief fantasy, this one of marrying him. His wedding gift, a two-day stay at a clinic and a paid-for, legal return to humanity. After a moment of imagining white-sand beaches and living ey
es, a blast of hot air knocked her back to the present.
He could afford that, but then I’d be no use to him. Without my augmentation, what would I be? A bit of arm candy with small tits and no useful skills in the ‘legitimate’ world. She grumbled. He’s so hard to read. Half the time he seems to want me, and half the time he only wants what I can do for him.
The tube clicked and opened. Risa held on to the handrail for several minutes, paralyzed by an internal argument. She had gotten used to feeling superhuman. As much as she hated the slow infiltration of technology into her body, she feared being ordinary. It sounds romantic, but how fun would it be to get grabbed on the street as a normal woman? She gazed down at herself. Look at me. I’m a hundred pounds wet. I couldn’t fight off teenagers without my ‘ware.
Her head lifted. Dry hair brushed her back. How long was I standing there? Ignoring the robe, she walked into the main room and stood in view of a full-length mirror against the wall on the opposite side. She cringed as the paneling touched her back, and flattened her body against the frigid surface. Risa locked eyes with her reflection, stark white against the Mars-red wall. As though the room devoured her, color spread through her skin and hair. Within thirty seconds, her outline was indiscernible from the environment. In the mirror, it looked as though two dots of violet light floated in front of the wall.
The door chirped.
Risa closed her eyes. Someone rushed in, a man by the sound of his weight. Motion went to the bathroom, then right past her to the patio.
“Risa?” yelled a familiar male voice.
“Pavo?” She looked at him and took a step closer. “What are you doing here?”
He let out a startled cry, staggering away, pistol half out from under his arm―then slouched to his knees, holding his chest, panting. “I got the weirdest text message saying you were in danger. Are you trying to stop my heart?”
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 25