by James Wake
“What’s with you guys?” the man with the gun said, scoffing at the table. “What? This isn’t a surprise?”
“Just to you,” Brutus said, beaming. “Aleksa and I taught her how to fight.”
Aleksa shrugged, brushing a bit of lint off her shoulder.
“Sorry about all the gun stuff,” the familiar man said, holding out his hand for a shake. “Dave. You stole my bike.”
“Officer…Ortega?” Nadia managed, not coming anywhere near to shaking his hand. She stumbled backward, bracing her hands against the doorframe.
“Uh…Nadia?” Tess said. Her name. Tess used her name. “Why don’t you come have a seat?”
Nadia kept floating backward, back into the stairwell. Poor Tess. Her poor, dearest Tess. Lost. In way over her head. In desperate need of rescue.
One of her heels hit the front of a step, her backside painfully slamming into the cold concrete. She kept going, scrambling backward up the stairs without standing up, her eyes fixed on the empty seat waiting for her.
Next to Tess.
But there was nowhere to go. Nadia finally stopped, curling her knees up to her chest and rocking in place, sitting alone in the dark stairwell.
Chapter Seventeen: Resistance Cells
Nadia sat, back ramrod straight, arms neatly folded across her chest. With great effort, Tess had coaxed her into joining them at the table. That didn’t mean Nadia was going to put on any appearance of enjoying this.
Tess’s other guests seemed to be waiting on Nadia, staring at her with everything from Ortega’s—David’s—open wonder to Aleksa’s usual disappointment.
“I’m actually really glad you joined us tonight,” Tess said, sliding a small 3-D projector onto the table between them. “It means I’ll only have to explain this once.”
“How long have you been spilling my secrets behind my back?” Nadia said. The numbness had started to fade when she sat down, replaced with a simmering sharp glare at Tess.
“Hang on there, love,” Brutus said.
Nadia shot him a look that should have destroyed him: Private conversation. Excuse us, please. How dare you?
It didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “Really, if you think about it, Tess was spilling our secrets with you.”
The nerve. The nerve. Nadia’s teeth ground against each other, creaking in her jaw.
“He’s not technically wrong,” Tess said, only a little apologetically, “We go way back.”
The second sentence was punctuated with Tess pointing back and forth between herself and Brutus. Herself and Brutus. Ridiculous! It hadn’t been Brutus following her around through her years of high school, not Brutus staying up for long dorm-room slumber parties, enduring makeup lessons. She hadn’t gone to prom with Brutus.
“Look, we’re very cautious, that’s all. It’s risky to bring in new people,” Tess said.
“The cat’s always vouched for her,” Ortega said.
“What cat?” Nadia said, knowing the answer and already enraged by it.
“You know who I mean. He talks to you, right? He’s the one who brought us together,” Ortega said.
“I trust the cat,” Aleksa said, waving at her co-conspirators, “more than I trust these fools.”
Tess nodded. “Yeah, it’s a common thread. I mean, it’s not like you’ve been talking to Cheshire for a while and just, you know…not told anyone?”
She knew everything. Tess had a sharp, mean little smile on her face. Nothing like her usual playful sarcasm. Nothing like Nadia had seen on her before.
She knew and had known for a long time.
“You work for him,” Nadia said, dripping with disgust.
“That is not—” Tess said, jabbing her prosthetic hand through the air. She caught herself, taking a quick breath and a long blink. “Cheshire is an ally. A good one. He’s been instrumental in forming this cell.”
“Yeah, we don’t work for him.” Brutus chuckled. He nodded toward Tess. “We work for the boss here.”
“The boss?” Nadia said with open contempt.
“What? She doesn’t order you around?” Ortega said.
“I’m not anyone’s boss. This is an egalitarian clandestine cell,” Tess said, holding out her hands. “Now let’s get down to business. I don’t like meeting in meatspace for too long.”
“What is your business exactly?” Nadia said. A few ghastly thoughts occurred. “Don’t tell me you directed the CTE attack?”
“Eww, no!” Tess said.
“Hell no,” Ortega echoed her.
“So stupid. Counterproductive,” Tess said.
“And I suppose you conveniently had no knowledge of the perpetrators?” Nadia said.
“One of the disadvantages of our system,” Tess said, shaking her head. “No knowledge of what other cells are up to. Constant Orwellian surveillance will do that to a movement.”
“Quite an elaborate excuse for plausible deniability.”
“Like I said…distributed, anonymous clandestine cells,” Tess said. “Not the most efficient way to foment societal change, but APS and the police have crushed all attempts at open movement pretty ruthlessly.”
“Yes, crushed,” Nadia said, turning her nose up at Ortega’s presence. “Crushed by officers of the law.”
Ortega threw his hands up in the air. “Hey, I gave up my bike for you!”
“I stole your bike. It’s much better now that I’ve made some modifications,” Nadia said.
“You didn’t steal shit,” Tess scoffed. “He gave me the access code, and I unlocked it for you.”
Nadia pouted and crossed her arms even harder. “All of this, just so you people can throw a little temper tantrum rebellion?”
“Wow. Gonna disregard that,” Tess said, standing up. “This is about a real cause, Nadia. This is about smashing the oligarchy that controls this city. It’s about redefining civil society in the wake of new technology. We can keep repeating what we’ve been doing throughout history—rulers at the top, living on the backs of the masses—or we can finally become something new, something better.”
“And your friend Cheshire plans to accomplish this by vandalizing advertisements?”
“We need people active! If that’s what it takes, yes. A new society can’t function without mass participation. They already have everything centralized, controlled by the hands of a privileged few. All we need is to give that power to the people.”
“Power to the people!” Ortega said, raising one solid fist. Brutus nodded and raised his fist in support.
Nadia scoffed, loudly and deliberately. “Trite populism. I think it might have been tried before. Doesn’t seem to be working out particularly well for the American government.”
“The federal government is a problem, yes.” Tess said. “But they’re busy with the Separatists. Which gives us an opportunity here.”
Brutus leaned in close to Nadia. “This is what we’re fighting for, Nadia—a free city. With free people. It’s happening in other places. It’s not impossible.”
“As long as we don’t end up like New Hampshire,” Aleksa said, shaking her head.
“Or Portland,” Ortega said, shuddering.
“I know it hasn’t always been pretty, but there are places making it work. Look at California!” Tess said.
Nadia raised her hand. “How many dead?”
“Before the droughts,” Tess said, waving her off. “If we can be California, but with water, I’d say that’d be pretty good.”
Nadia’s head was pounding, edging over into spinning. She took off her glasses and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you think I would be quite an asset to your little movement, no doubt.”
“You already are,” Tess said, activating the projector with a swipe of her artificial hand. Documents, pictures, and schematics flew above the table, moving too fast for Nadia to make sense of any
of it. “We’ve made a lot of progress based on the stuff you’ve been stealing.”
“You mean the stuff you’ve been stealing.”
“You’re so modest,” Tess said, which got a snort out of Aleksa. “Unfortunately AGF’s counter psy-ops have been effective. Many people here aren’t seeing them as an existential threat. Yet. Tonight will change that.”
A model of a sprawling compound appeared, hovering above the table. Nadia recognized it, but only from pictures.
“Holy shit,” Ortega said.
“Whoa, are you…? No, that’s fuckin’ barmy,” Brutus said.
“The Omniplant,” Tess said, undaunted. “That’s right. We’re going outside the city’s walls.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” Brutus said, shoving away from the table and standing up.
“What, you’re scared of the slums?” Ortega said.
“Last time we went outside the walls, she almost died!” Brutus pointed to Aleksa. He paused for a long moment, blinking. “And I did die!”
Aleksa got up as well, sighing and taking Brutus by the arm. “Kurwa, still being a baby about it…Excuse us.”
“Polly, I’m not doing this. We are not doing this!”
Whatever Aleksa said in response was lost as the two withdrew to a dark corner.
“What does the cat man think of this?” Ortega said, noticeably a few shades paler.
Tess grinned. “He’s very excited. Has he not mentioned it to you yet?”
“That’s too far out,” Ortega said. “How is he…?”
“He’ll be on site.”
That piqued Nadia’s interest. It was a small blip, though, quickly swamped under the roiling waves in her chest.
“How’s the new prospect coming along?” Tess said.
“I’m working on it. I’ll try for tonight,” Ortega said. “We shouldn’t have trouble either way, though, right? I mean, Blue Eyes herself is coming along?”
They both paused, staring at Nadia.
“Yes,” Tess said. “Of course she is.”
* * *
Eighteen hours.
Jackson stared at the message, the seconds ticking down. Most of it was obscured in here, with large patches missing and cracks running through the rest. She’d never bothered to get the bathroom mirror fixed after she’d ripped the cameras and microphones out from behind it. They would’ve sent in a couple of bored workers to replace the whole thing, and then she’d be right back where she’d started. With that damn cat watching her.
Eighteen hours. With bits of text peeking around it. Jackson got the message anyway.
She finished drying her hair with a towel, the scent of tear gas still lingering in her nostrils. All the blood on her hands from earlier was gone, finally. Tomorrow felt like a long time away, even with the numbers ticking down right in front of her.
Aching in her limbs. It hardly even mattered anymore. Routine, expected. Numb. Jackson shuffled back to the main room, where she collapsed into her recliner with an exhausted sigh.
Maybe just sleep eighteen hours. That was one good thing about being on scattershot shifts here and there, limping along until the end, occasionally not working at night. It helped. Still fitful, restless sleep. But it helped.
What would they even do if she didn’t go in tomorrow? How would she be punished for not showing up on her last day of work? Her severance was gone already. She couldn’t think of anything more punitive than being forced to sit at a desk for eight hours.
Her eyes drifted, floating up to the one small window of her apartment, dull and gray and flecked with rain. The countdown stared back at her, embedded in the glass.
Couldn’t even enjoy a nice rainy night.
Bing.
She sat up in her chair. The soft light above her door was blinking. Her new headset blinked and vibrated on her dresser, skittering across the top of it until it fell off the side.
“Hang on,” she said, knowing they couldn’t hear her. All the rooms in this place were soundproof, isolated, silent little bubbles to keep you from the discomfort of ever dealing with your neighbors.
She snatched her headset off the floor—the casing was cracked, damn it—and checked the door cam.
Ortega, wearing civilian clothes, stared up at her. The jeweled cross of his profile flashed up next to his face, along with that stupid Spanish about liberty. Their conversation history scrolled below, all of it several months old now.
Awfully convenient, him showing up here. Her conceal-carry was gone, lost in the protest. She frowned at the spot on the dresser where it should have been, next to an empty case for a stolen gun. Her badge rested there instead. Stupid decision.
No, what was stupid was looking for a gun in the first place. It was only Ortega; she could handle Ortega. She opened the door, but only a crack, and braced it against one leg.
“Hey!” Ortega said, with that huge smile of his. “Whoa, bad time?”
Jackson said nothing, not right away at least. His hands were empty. A gun was holstered on his hip, badly hidden. He appeared to be alone.
“How did you know where I live?”
“I followed you. Every day, for months.” He waved his hands around. “No, come on. I looked you up at the station. You can get away with a lot when a department’s getting shut down.”
He was lying. Both times. Jackson narrowed her eyes, unable to stop herself. “I was gonna call you later.”
“Good thing I stopped by then. You wanna talk about that job?”
“Yeah, something like that,” she said. She didn’t move.
Ortega glanced both ways down the hall. “You gonna let me in or what?”
It wasn’t a large room. Nowhere for a second person to sit. She stepped back and swung the door open anyway, not taking her eyes off her former partner.
“Oof, Jackson.” Ortega said, whistling as he stepped in. “Redecorating, huh?”
“Cállate el hocico,” she said.
“Hey, you’re the pit bull, remember?” Ortega nodded toward the window. “Did you see this? Looks serious.”
She clicked the door shut behind her. It would only be her door for eighteen more hours, though.
The window was still ticking down the seconds. Due to the termination of her employment contract, it said, she would be required to vacate the premises.
“Nothing else lined up? Really?” Ortega said.
“Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me what the catch is, and I tell you to go fuck yourself.”
Ortega laughed, quietly, nodding like he deserved that. Nowhere near his usual boisterous laugh. “You got plans tonight?”
“Yeah. Sleeping.”
He glanced at the window. “What? You don’t want to make the most of the time you got left?”
“I can’t even go out for a drink without getting blood on my hands,” she said, “What makes you think—”
He held a finger up to his lips. His other hand was typing. She heard something click in her ears.
“Officer Jackson,” Ortega said, “I think you’ve had an unfortunate equipment malfunction.”
She swiped to open up a call. Nothing. Dead air on her comms. That was all she needed to hear to make up her mind.
“I heard about earlier, at the protest,” Ortega said. “Me and you, we need to have a little talk. This job—”
He never finished the sentence. One of the advantages of having such a small apartment. It didn’t take much to move from the door and grab him by the throat. Only a few steps.
“Gack! Ja—aaaagh—Jackson, wait,” he choked out as she slammed him against the wall, one hand squeezing his windpipe shut. Ortega’s right hand clawed at his waist, trying for the gun. She slapped his arm to the side and grabbed it for him, a cheap homemade piece.
A quick shift of one leg against his so he couldn’t get a good kick on her, and there. Pinned again
st the wall, with his own gun to his forehead.
“Talk. Now,” she said.
“We’re trying to—ggggkkkk—can’t bre—” His eyes bugged out, sweat running down his face.
“We?” she said, pressing the gun hard against his skull. “Trying to what?”
“Help! Help you!”
Those were fighting words if she’d ever heard them. “Who is ‘we’?”
His heels banged against the wall, kicking on their own as his eyes rolled back to dead whites. Jackson lowered him to the floor, swinging an elbow into his gut to drive the point home, before stepping back with the gun trained on him.
Ortega spent a good minute coughing and gasping for breath. Finally he sank against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “Fucking hell, Jackson…”
“You’re the one who showed up strapped,” she said, giving the gun in her hands a long look. Translucent, small and light. Hardened plastic rounds. “How long?”
“How long what?” he said, raspy and still coughing
“How long have you been dirty?”
That got a pained, wheezing laugh out of him.
“What? It wasn’t money? What do they have on you? Family?”
“If I could afford to have a family,” he said, “I wouldn’t be working with him.”
Him. She didn’t even need to ask.
“He’s in my ears right now,” Ortega said, “yelling at me for turning your ears off. I figured you’d rather hear it from me.”
“You figured right,” she said, the gun still aimed at his head.
“You need a job. We need you,” he said. “I think you’d like it.”
“Need me? Are you saying you want me to kill someone?”
Ortega managed a laugh. “Ha! Not unless you really want to. Shouldn’t come to that, though.”
Jackson’s shoulders sank, her chest emptied out a bit. It wasn’t so different from the phone calls she still got sometimes, federal spooks tempting her with money in offshore accounts, trying to drag her back to the life of a soldier.
“I’m not killing anyone,” she said.
“What? Except for me? What’s to stop me if I get up and try to leave right now?”