by James Wake
“Heavy Response Teams on site,” Tess said, showing a feed of the front doors. Troopers in thick white armor were grouping together outside, ready to burst in at any second.
“Where is she?” Nadia said, sliding down the wall. She crouched at the bottom, ready to pounce.
“You promised you’d leave the moment the Heavies showed up.”
“Are they inside yet?” Nadia said, seeing the answer in the corner of her HUD.
“Their bullets will shred your suit. Shred. You know, like, massive lethal trauma?”
Darting across an aisle, wary and still crouched, Nadia checked her corners. This hall was still lit up. Not a bit of motion. “As much as I appreciate your concern, I think I shall—”
Her HUD flickered before she even felt the darts—clack-clack-clack ringing out as her vision was clouded with red error messages. Nadia turned to see Officer Jackson only a dozen feet away, grim and clenching her teeth as she pointed her stun gun.
“Oh, shit! She’s right behind—”
“Yes,” Nadia said. “Thank you. I found her.” She flicked on an external speaker, one that would project her voice with a bit of distortion. “Bravo, Alice.”
Jackson said nothing, growling and pulling her stun gun’s trigger again. Clack-clack-clack and that same peculiar tingling Nadia felt every time she let loose with her gloves.
Nadia rolled her eyes, forever disappointed with Jackson’s lack of banter. “Touché. Silly of you to get the drop on me and use that foolish little thing, though,” she said, tracing her flickering eyes up a pair of cables that led over to Jackson. She looped one arm around them, wrapping the wires around her forearm and gripping them tightly in one hand.
“Plenty of juice left!” Jackson said, yelling over the crackling and sizzling as she kept the trigger held down. “You can’t soak it all up.”
Nadia laughed, tsking as she yanked on the cables. Her tsk stopped short as the cables failed to pull. She’d done this before, yanking the weapon right out of a stupefied Dome’s hands. Jackson didn’t even flinch. Instead she dug her heels in as she held the stun gun steady.
“Okay um,” Tess said, “you actually can’t soak it all up. Just so you know, critical systems failure in nine…eight…seven…”
It was ticking off in her HUD. Nadia surged a jolt of her own through the glove holding the wires. That made Jackson flinch, dropping her weapon to shield her face from the shower of sparks flying out of the thing.
“There.” Nadia threw the wires to the ground. She yanked the darts out of her second skin and dropped those as well. “Much better.”
Jackson didn’t reach for anything else—empty hands, raised into gloved fists. Perfect. Ready and eager, Nadia crouched with her palms lit up at her sides.
“I’d like my gun back,” Jackson said.
“It’s right here in my bag,” Nadia lied. “Come and take it.”
Tess’s voice came again. “They just breached the front doors. Why aren’t you leaving?”
Jackson’s face was the only answer Nadia needed. Her favorite officer charged forward, grim rage plain over her usually stoic face. A straight right flew at her, so much faster than her training with Brutus. Nadia threw her forearms up together, elbows out front to absorb the punch—no countermeasures, no tricks, no gadgets. The force sent her skipping backward, light on her feet but sinking right back into a ready stance.
This was the first time she’d ever directly blocked a punch from Jackson. Brutus would never scare her again, pitiful soft taps compared to what she had just withstood. She grinned in delight as she shook out her aching right arm.
Jackson didn’t charge again, not right away, bouncing on her feet and sizing Nadia up. She threw a quick feint that led into a flurry of whooshing punches, any one of which could’ve laid Nadia out for good…if they’d made contact.
Back to the routine. Nadia dodged and weaved, silky smooth.
“Ain’t you ever get tired of runnin’ away?” Jackson said, that husky accent starting to slip out again. It always did.
“Ain’t?” Nadia scoffed. “Such grammar. Your mother should be ashamed.”
Moments like these made it all worthwhile. Jackson growled—actually growled—as she picked up a booth table and flung it at Nadia.
That was new. Nadia ducked it easily, standing back up in time to be knocked off her feet by Jackson’s shoulder. The woman had charged like a linebacker, all her considerable might sending Nadia rolling a good distance down the aisle. She banged into the broken table, shaking her head as Tess squawked in her ears.
“Are you okay? Say something!”
“Music?”
“Oh, fuck you!”
“Later.” Nadia rolled out of the way as Jackson caught up and stomped one boot straight through what remained of the table.
“Later what?” Jackson yelled.
“Just trying to place your lovely accent,” Nadia said, dodging punches again, “Clearly you ain’t from round these parts.”
It worked but not as well. Not quite table-destroying levels of rage. Nadia dodged to the side, sliding under a punch from Jackson, and skipped off in a new direction.
“I suppose you have a ghastly tattoo of ol’ Stars and Bars. Shouldn’t you be out West, fighting for the Constitution?”
“Do I look like a separatist to you?” Jackson screamed, pointing at her dark skin.
“Getting killed over a lost cause seems just so…you, dear,” Nadia said, swiping back with open, sparking palms. Jackson dodged both easily, slapping Nadia’s arms to the side.
“You should know,” Jackson said, “people downstairs are dying for you.”
Nadia jumped away from another flurry of attacks, which bumped her back up against a column. Jackson wasted no time capitalizing on this, advancing for the kill.
There were things Nadia had learned at the dance studio that seemed…not quite practical sometimes. But they were beautiful. The other night, she had perfected a takedown on Brutus, a complicated and glorious piece, smooth and elegant and flourishing when it worked.
When it worked.
Yet Brutus was about the same size as Ms. Jackson, was he not?
Nadia jumped straight up, then braced her feet on the column and launched herself directly at Jackson. It was a simple application of momentum—all she had to do was wrap her legs around the woman’s shoulder and swing with all the weight of her body, spinning and landing into an arm bar.
The glimpse she caught of Jackson’s surprised eyes was good, but nowhere near the sheer delight she felt at sticking the landing and swinging through the air with the officer’s wrist pinned against her chest. It felt right, for a moment; she was already flush with pleasure at the thought of pinning Jackson to the floor until she tapped out.
Nothing happened. Nadia pulled the woman’s wrist, sank her weight—and didn’t move. She was suspended in the air, hanging on Jackson’s outstretched arm.
Jackson blinked at her in what could only be disgust. There was an instant of eye contact between them, goggles to goggles, up so close for once. It occurred to Nadia that she could zap Jackson at any instant.
Apparently it occurred to Jackson as well.
One mighty swing. Jackson threw her, flinging her through the air straight toward a large glass screen in a booth. She crashed through it, floating in space surrounded by tiny chips of glass long enough to really wrap her ears around Tess’s gasping over comms.
Nothing like her usual graceful landings. Nadia bounced off the ground, rolling a few times and letting out quiet, unbecoming grunts before recovering. Her hands and feet stuck to the floor as she stopped in a ragged catlike crouch.
“Ouch,” Tess said. “Damn. Okay, are you done now? Throw some smoke out and run!”
“Just getting…” Nadia said, wincing at the aches in her right arm. “…started.”
“Why don’t you two
get a room already?”
“Oh, don’t be jealous.”
* * *
“Officer, disengage the suspect! That’s an order!”
Another of the many voices yelling in her ears the past few minutes. Once again, Jackson ignored it, rushing up to the remains of the screen.
“Disengage and retreat!” she heard in her comms.
Fuckers, all of them. Cowardly fuckers. Ready to finish off her quarry, Jackson vaulted the base of what had been a paper-thin LCD the size of a wall. This was probably her last chance—another few days, and there wouldn’t be a badge on her chest anymore.
The Sapphire Shadow crouched in front of her and shakily got to her feet. So much chaos over the past year, so much violence and mayhem and death, all for this small girl. Maybe Jackson would never catch that damned cat, but she sure as hell could do something about the girl.
Had to be careful. Couldn’t rush her. Jackson stayed light on her toes, hands up, fingers twitching and tense and ready to end this.
Those blue eyes glared back at her, narrowed and flickering, just like the sparks wreathed around her black-gloved hands.
Always something playful in those eyes. She’d never fought anyone like this girl, never seen someone take such absolute delight in getting her ass beat and running away again and again.
The blue eyes went wide, focused over Jackson’s shoulder.
Jackson didn’t even have to think. Pure instinct—long-honed impulse—kicked her legs out from under her as she dove to the floor with her hands over her head. A cracking of bullets ripped through the air, her ears hammered with the deep thunk-thunk-thunk of real guns tearing everything around her to shreds.
Explosions flashed, stun grenades and smoke bombs going off mere feet away. The lights went dead, a wall of pure echoing noise beating down at her from the speakers in the ceiling.
“Jackson?” She barely heard Ortega in her comms.
“Fuck, is she okay?” Wedge said. Fuzzy whispers in Jackson’s ringing ears. Above both their voices, another voice entered: a collection of voices, one she hadn’t heard in a long time.
“So very sorry about that. You know how she is.”
Her next breath dragged in and choked, sending her into a coughing fit on the floor, trapped in a cloud of dense gray smoke. It was the exact stuff they used on the tactical team, probably the same model: Auktoris Arms MS-19. Jackson would recognize that burning smell anywhere.
She crawled out of the smoke and whipped her goggles around in the dark, looking for glowing blue eyes. All she saw were men in white armor, their helmets blank with plating.
“She’s getting…” Jackson doubled over, racked with coughs. “She’s getting away!”
Something slammed into the backs of her knees. Jackson’s face met the floor, a boot on the small of her back and what could only be the barrel of a gun pressed against her neck.
“Clear!” someone yelled above her. “Move!”
Fuckers, all of them. Shaking her head, she held her hands up at her side.
The girl was long gone.
Chapter Thirteen: The Calm Before
“Mayhem at last night’s Auktoris Consumer Technology Exposition as the terrorist commonly known as the Sapphire Shadow led a small group of armed criminals…”
Nadia scowled and grunted as she did another pull-up, only a little upset at the unladylike noise.
Only a little—the results were worth it. She lowered herself from the bar, slow and controlled and deliberate. All the way down until she rested with her elbows locked, hanging with a crooked smile for a few long breaths.
She popped out the rest of her set, three more pull-ups in quick succession. Her back flexed as she pulled, strength springing out of nowhere on her bare shoulder blades.
“Their leader escaped capture and is still at large. All but one of the other terrorists were killed in a shootout with APS forces…”
“Collage mode, please,” Nadia said, dropping from the bar. She strolled past the screen, stretching her arms as it faded to a montage of precious memories, joining with the other screens hanging around it.
Muscles on her arms. Actual defined muscles. Maybe just a bit much, edging past the slender feminine curves she’d always been so proud of.
Also worth it. The screens reminded her why as she walked past—Tess still hated the screens, complained loudly and constantly about showing off incriminating evidence—but they were not for Tess.
Headlines faded in and out on each one: clips from news reports, still images of security footage, screenshots of articles. All extolling the dreadful career of the girl who’d been terrorizing the city for the better part of a year now.
Nadia lingered, like she always did, watching the screens cycle through—she knew the order by heart. Here came an article deriding the younger generation for their moral degeneracy, the primary example being the wild popularity of Sapphire Shadow costumes this past Halloween. Next to it was a picture she’d posed for and had Tess anonymously send to a news outlet—herself, in full regalia, posed with her legs crossed and draped in stolen jewels. The reporter had speculated on being able to interview the terrorist, but all he had received was a picture in the mail, signed with lipstick.
Next would fade in that magnificent clip of Nadia kicking an Auktoris Global Funds logo off the front of a building and blowing a kiss at the camera as the colored glass crashed to pieces.
She stayed and watched, for the thousandth time. Daring. Roguish. A mysterious thief with sharp, clever eyes. Fierce and dangerous and free. Nadia kept walking, seeing her reflection in a dark screen—not her own pale face. Never. Just a black mask with glowing blue eyes.
Her arms properly limbered up, she lifted one leg and stretched it straight up, her ankle high above her head. Even without the suit, she felt so good now, flexible and vigorous and overflowing with prowling energy.
Not to mention the oh-so-flattering effect all this had on her rear. She lowered her leg, slapping her behind and marveling at the feeling. Tight. A mischievous grin snuck onto her face, almost as fanged and ravenous as Cheshire himself.
All that prowling energy had to go somewhere. Nadia stalked over to Tess, who sat at her desk typing away at thin air. Nadia didn’t bump Tess’s chair or wave a hand in her face. She merely hovered over her partner, looming behind and watching the implants flicker in those lovely purple eyes.
“Interesting stuff from that place last night,” Tess said.
“Is that so?” Nadia said, leaning over the back of the chair, reclining it with her weight.
“Yeah, I mean not, like, in the place, but I managed to pop into some correspondence from credentials in Auktoris’s database and…”
Nadia didn’t listen to a word that followed. Probably something about AGF and their dastardly ways. She closed her eyes and wondered at the exact provenance of Tess’s perfume, some manner of sharp burnt metal that clung to her, that had followed from her workbench across the office. Eau du plastique.
She opened her eyes and let them drift down to a simple ponytail. Tess would say she had brown hair. Silly. It was a very fetching shade of chestnut, auburn if you caught it in the right light.
Tess droned on. Nadia’s eyes snuck lower, down the front of Tess’s zippered hoodie—this one said, “Meme Joke (Internet Meme).” Nadia ignored that as her hand followed after her eyes.
“Whoa!” Tess jumped in place. “Heh, uh, wow, you…uh, didn’t get it all out of your system earlier?”
“Get what out of my system?” Nadia said without a trace of naughtiness. Her hand infiltrated under Tess’s shirt to squeeze and gently pinch.
“Cold holy shit,” Tess said, squirming and biting her lip. “Someone’s a little friskier than usual—if that’s even possible. Ow!”
Perhaps a bit less than gentle. “Are you busy?”
“Uh, well, uh…” Tess was typing furiously.
“In the middle of something. Gimme two seconds.”
“No rush.” Nadia leaned down and clamped her teeth around Tess’s right ear.
Tess put up a mighty effort, continuing to squirm and type and cross her legs. Whatever she was doing must have, indeed, been important. Taking that as a challenge, Nadia traced her tongue up the edge of Tess’s ear.
“Ha! Ha-ha, wow. Okay, you win.” Tess threw her hands up as the flicker in her eyes died to nothing.
“Mmm, what do I win exactly?” Nadia said, spinning the chair around and climbing into Tess’s lap.
“Two years at least. Criminal distraction with intent to commit lewd sexual acts.”
Nadia’s smile didn't fade. “We can do much, much better than that.”
* * *
Wind howled against the glass of the building. Outside, rain raged through the streets, slashing down in great angry torrents.
Inside, Nadia lay in bed, half dressed. Finally tired. Tess lay quietly at her side. Both of them silent and sated and relaxed in the long trough of minutes between having caught their breath and initiating pillow talk, sweat still drying on the cheap satin sheets.
Nadia loved the sound of the storm outside, beating against the exterior walls. Wet season had started early this year, announcing itself with a brutal series of hurricanes that had already burst leaks in the seawalls, causing minor flooding in the city’s outlying neighborhoods.
Still safe inside. Warm in bed. For now.
Tess’s prosthetic was rested on Nadia’s hip, the fingers tucked into the elastic of her underwear. She snuck her own soft hand over top of it and traced her fingers up the space between each black artificial digit.
“Hmmm,” snuck out of Tess’s mouth.
Nadia couldn’t tell quite what the tone was. She rolled over to face her. “Something wrong?”
“No, actually,” Tess said, beaming. “You’ve gotten way better.”
Nadia blinked a few times, too shocked to feign indignation. “Are you implying I was bad at some point?”
“Let’s just say I could tell you’d never done it with a woman before.”