The Real Thing

by Jacob Prytherch

  “Someone in the hotel saw the news and matched your description to Luis. They've sold you out. I managed to intercept the call and get here first, but ParCorp are only a few minutes behind me, if that much. Our whole plan will collapse if you're caught.”

  Roman staggered back to the bed and starting packing away his net gear quickly whilst Seita kept watch out of a small crack in the open doorway. Roman heard the ping as the elevator arrived at his floor. Seita pushed the door shut and locked it.

  “Too late,” he said, looking around for another way out. The tall man moved over to the room’s bay windows and pulled them open, stepping out onto the balcony. The sound of a helicopter moving around the building made Seita duck down and move back inside quickly, pulling the curtains shut behind him. He started rubbing his forehead, obviously trying to think of some other way out. Roman quickly checked the bathroom, but there was no window or air vent, no way of escaping.

  A sudden heavy thump against the door signalled the ParCorp security force’s arrival. Roman moved to one side while Seita moved to the other, pulling on a full face black cloth mask as he went. They had moved none too soon as the door suddenly flew backwards, hitting Roman hard. He staggered back into the wall, the pain of his injuries momentarily crippling him. As he was struggling to get up, he heard the shouts and heavy impact of hand to hand fighting. Seita twisted the arm of one of the guards and made him drop the assault shotgun he was holding, whilst kicking the other hard in the gut. The attackers were heavily armoured, wearing black Kevlar plated fatigues emblazoned with the ParCorp logo and mirror visored helmets covering their faces, but Seita’s martial skill was letting him hold his own, for the moment.

  The nearest guard raised an automatic pistol towards Seita, but Roman was on him in an instant, twisting the man's wrist. The guard fired wildly before dropping the weapon with a grunt of pain. He swung his other arm towards Roman, but Roman ducked under the blow and slipped onto the guard's shoulders. Through shifting his weight he was able to tip the heavy man off balance, and they tumbled to the floor in a heap. The guard was strong but Roman was quick, and he managed to force his forearm under the guard's visor before applying a sleeper hold. The guard arched his back as he tried to get away but Roman held on for dear life.

  The one guard left with Seita had no chance. His arm was forced back, before Seita threw him into the wall where his head crashed into the plaster. Seita followed up with a sharp kick to the guard's visor, snapping the guard's head back and sending him to the floor.

  The attacker in Roman's arms was also giving up, his arms swatting Roman's feebly as he finally blacked out. Roman pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his bag from the bed before slinging it over his shoulders.

  “You don't use guns, that's good,” said Roman as they slipped out of the apartment and into the fire escape stairwell, moving downwards two steps at a time.

  “They're my people,” said Seita. “I’ll just have to stay incognito and keep them alive.” There seemed to be an edge to his voice that indicated he wished the situation was different.

  Another guard was below them. Roman spotted him in time and vaulted over across the stairwell, landing on the man and sending him backwards into the wall. The automatic weapon fell from his grasp, and Roman kicked it down the staircase.

  “We can't keep running like this,” said Seita, giving the crumpled guard another savage kick for good measure. “You have to find Medea. Today.”

  “I'll always have to keep running,” said Roman, pushing his way out of the final fire escape door and into a back corridor of the hotel. The carpet was plain blue and the walls were a simple white, so Roman guessed this was a staff area.

  “That was your choice,” said Seita. “I can still bring you in, if you'd prefer that.”

  “No, no thank you. Very kind offer though,” said Roman as they headed down the corridor to what sounded like the kitchen.

  They slipped in quickly, surprising five or six chefs busy at work cutting soy-meat. The kitchen was a huge, sweltering room filled with metal fans and cookers, noise and movement, but Roman still managed to spot the two guards entering at the other side, guns raised.

  “No!” yelled Seita, managing to pull Roman to the floor before the guards opened fire. The staff also dropped instinctively as bullets flew through the air, knocking pans spinning and drilling their way through the fridges and counters that Roman and Seita were using as cover.

  Roman saw Seita slip around the counter to his left. He tried to follow but a fresh barrage of bullets pinned him behind the counter. After another burst of gunfire Roman heard the sound of impact, yells and finally two heavy thumps. He risked a glance over the counter and spotted the guards lying on the ground with Seita standing over them. He was a formidable combatant. Roman was glad he was on his side.

  The kitchen staff seemed to have escaped without injury and had scattered deeper into the hotel, so both Roman and Seita moved out of the door where the security had entered. It led down into a loading bay resplendent in dirty concrete and dim strip lights..

  “Bastard guards. My bike's this way,” said Seita, leading Roman down a concrete ramp and behind a couple of large dumpsters. He threw a few plastic sacks of rubbish aside to reveal his motorbike, which had lost some of its sheen from being covered in refuse. The masked agent reached for his bike helmet and slipped it on before looking back at Roman, his face a dark black oval conveying no emotion.

  “I don't have a second helmet. For your own sake, hold on tight.”

  Seita got on the bike and Roman slid on behind him, putting his hands behind his own back to hold onto the passenger bar. The agent revved the engine before powering it forwards towards the exit. They zipped past the blacked out ParCorp transports that the guards had obviously arrived in.

  Another transport was heading down from street level towards them. A guard was leaning out of the window and trying to get a bead on them with a submachine gun, but Seita accelerated hard, skimming past them before he could fire a shot and bursting out onto the street.

  The agent was forced to turn in a large arc, narrowly avoiding a snarl of traffic, before moving onto the pavement by necessity. People scattered before Seita managed to weave back into the traffic, moving quickly in between the lines of cars towards Techosaka down-town.

  After ten minutes they pulled into an alleyway and slowed to a halt. Roman stretched as he got off the bike, his adrenalin slipping away and leaving in its place a considerable amount of pain. Seita craned his neck to search above them for any security cameras, but the walls were bare. The few people were walking past the far end of the alleyway but were too engrossed in their own problems to care about them. When Seita seemed to be satisfied that they were safely hidden – at least momentarily – he pulled off the mask and flexed his arms and neck, wincing as he did so.

  “It's been a while since I've seen that much fighting,” he muttered. He checked his arm and noticed a graze along his shoulder where a bullet had obviously skimmed his leather jacket and torn it open.

  “What now?” Roman asked, whilst checking his equipment bag for signs of damage.

  Seita reached into a container strapped to the back of his bike and pulled out a bandage. Roman watched as the agent peeled off his jacket, revealing a long sleeved t shirt that was also ripped at the shoulder and beginning to stain with blood. Roman spotted blue and green tattoos peering out through the accompanying red. “Get in the Network. Find Medea,” said Seita as he began to bind his shoulder.

  “Here?” asked Roman, looking left and right. A rainbow film shone on the oil that was smeared on the concrete. Dirt hung heavy from webs on the walls either side. Cardboard lay piled next to overflowing refuse sacks.

  “Sorry we don't have a bed for you to lie on your highness, but time is of the essence. I can't keep you hidden forever. The sooner you find them, the sooner you can be on your way...”

  Roman began to search around in the alleyway for somewhere a little more se
cluded and a little less like the inside of a dustbin. Eventually he settled on an area of flat cardboard that lay behind a low wall, which was mercifully dry and not visible from the street. With Seita standing guard he opened his bag, slipped the gloves on, wrapped the visor around his face and quickly jacked back in.

  He was able to recall his previous location without any trouble and re-appeared in the centre of the marketplace, narrowly avoiding re-materialising inside a passing trade ghost.

  After the grimy physicality of the hotel escape this world seemed a wondrous retreat, but he knew he needed to get to work. Tavisi had gone, and he had no time to look for her or even run through the reasons why she might be in the Marketplace in the first place. He had to find a link back to Medea as quickly as possible, if only for his own sake.

  His ghost slipped between the more reserved and refined images and also the totally outlandish, tendrils of rough information licking across their features as they whirled and span, making the most of the fantastical options available to them. He moved between stalls, stopping at each vendor who dealt with Mendel, until he spotted Callisto, the dealer that Medea had most often dealt with in the past. Callisto was the name he had used to gain entry to the Marketplace, so he felt it was prudent to at least show his digital face there, and keep suspicion off him as long as possible.

  He spotted the dealer, who for some reason despite the multitude of options available had chosen a corpulent man with green skin as his ghost. A thin smile ran across Callisto's features as Roman approached.

  “A new face in the mix,” said the merchant. His voice was abrasive, cutting through Roman's thoughts.

  “You have to start some time,” replied Roman. He made a show of looking at the rotating holographic images that showed all of the various drugs, tech mods and weapons on offer.

  “Oh, don't get me wrong, I like meeting new traders. It keeps the others on their toes, and keeps dealer prices competitive.”

  The fat man crossed his arms across his swollen belly. Roman noticed that he didn't have any legs but simply floated on a disk of digital data, a carpet of bits and bytes that flowed and drifted away before returning and circling.

  “So what are you in the market for? Pleasure or pain?” he asked, sweeping his fat fingers around the display and quickly separating out the items into two distinct categories, with the weapons on the right and the drugs on the left. Roman kept himself stoic, trying not to seem rushed despite the urgency of his situation. He looked over the drugs before casting his eyes over the Mendel in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

  “This. What are its properties?” he asked. Callisto smiled and swept his arm in a stubby arc, drawing up the image of the Mendel in a kaleidoscopic three dimensional display. Blue liquid swirled around in a whirlpool. He flicked his fingers and the image zoomed in towards a molecular level, showing the formula that Roman knew well.

  “The building block of most hallucinogens nowadays. On its own it elicits a state of receptiveness that can then be tailored with other drugs to help engineer specific feelings or thoughts. Unless you know what you're doing you would waste it. Better to get one of the ready-made derivatives.”

  Callisto moved through various other coloured liquids. “We have it all! Combat Fury, Lust, Jealousy, Hatred, Insanity, Paranoia. Even Love.”

  “Love,” murmured Roman, looking closer at the image of the liquid in front of him. It looked similar to Cupid but was obviously not his own formula. The pink was a little darker, a little cloudier, and there was no gold leaf.

  “Does this work?” he asked with genuine interest, curious about the cheap knock off that Medea had created, which was still expensive despite its obvious flaws. The traitor was selling the drug out directly, not even keeping the formula controlled as Roman always had. What a greedy, reckless bastard.

  “Of course, it's perfection itself. There are a few intricacies that can be confusing to those not used to dealing with it but as long as you have good judgement you will be successful.”

  Roman nodded to himself. He could move around looking for more Mendel but this Cupid had to be from Medea, so it would be as good as anything. Calling it simply 'Love'. Where is the poetry in that? What a waste.

  Roman looked up at Callisto. “Can I get a look at its genetic makeup?”

  He saw Callisto tense as soon as he had spoken. The man wasn't happy about the request.

  “Strictly confidential I'm afraid. I can give you a sample,” replied the fat man.

  “Free?” asked Roman.

  “You have a sense of humour, friend. No, a modest price for a trial run. You name the target and they will become temporarily blessed with the feeling of love towards whoever you wish.”

  “How modest a price?” asked Roman, conscious that his solo account would soon be considerably lighter in funds.

  “Five million Yen. You will of course have that amount discounted from the final purchase should you choose to buy,” said Callisto, keeping an admirably unemotional face as he named the high price. At least Roman had enough, just.

  “Who administers the trial?” he asked, reaching forwards with his hand. A data box appeared automatically and let him key in his bank transfer details.

  “The drug's creator is currently available to administer and troubleshoot,” said Callisto. Roman's hand hovered over the ‘finalise’ tab, as the words sank in. “Outstanding,” he said with satisfaction. He pressed the button as the money was withdrawn from his account.

  “Excellent. Allow me to pass you on to his agent who will sort out all the details.”

  Roman waited as Callisto's head jerked back a little. The request was sent out electronically and almost immediately a woman formed out of the ether next to Roman.

  “Greetings valued customer. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Medea.”

  The face all too familiar. Of course. What a fool I am. How easily love could turn to hate, but there was nothing left now, not even hatred, not even disappointment.

  It was Idalia.

  Chapter 8

  He was lucky that Idalia had never seen his previous face – his real face – although if she had then perhaps she wouldn't have been so keen on playing the role of wife. That was what it had clearly been, a role. She had met him, her and Luis, and they had used him for years. Roman rubbed his gloves, bringing out his voice modulator. Anonymity was the only advantage he had. Idalia had chosen no such shield for herself, obviously revelling in her own beauty to such an extent that she had chosen her own form for her ghost, with not even a change of hair colour.

  “You must be the creator,” said Roman, his voice changed in intonation whilst still sounding natural. He moved away from Callisto's stall so that the huge man wouldn't spot the change and become suspicious. Idalia followed, her ghost showing all of her usual lazy confidence, wearing little more than a white veil over naked flesh. Perhaps she was intending to mirror Aphrodite, but all that Roman could think about was how duplicitous and black her heart was, a perfect mirror for himself.

  “In a way,” she said. “I understand you wish to trial it.”

  “If I’m to invest a considerable amount then I wish to see how well it will work. I’ve heard stories of issues,” said Roman, hoping that his attempt to play the genuine customer would not backfire if he showed too much knowledge. He had to stick to what information was perhaps not widely known but was at least available.

  “I can assure you those stories are merely rumours. Both I and my associate are professionals. I even used this formula to keep a man enamoured with myself for years, giving small but regular doses through touch.”

  Roman was glad for the lack of emotion conveyed by his ghost. If they had been talking face to face she would have been able to see his jaw clench and his hands flexing. Every caress, every hug, every kiss. Each one could have been dosed. Which were real? Were any of them real? She had been using her own weaker formula on him for years, using his own Mendel to create it. All the while he had been
working for her without his knowledge. What a perfect way to keep an eye on your employee.

  “Any side effects?” he asked, making a show of looking at the other stalls as they walked together. Idalia’s feet seemed to skim the surface of the marketplace, as if she were an angel. This simple affectation sickened him, along with the fact that he had been no better. It was a disgust born of hypocrisy.

  “None, none at all. I even used some myself when times were testing. Truly, the feeling it elicits is true love.”

  It was not his Cupid though. The simple fact that she had used multiple doses over time made it clear that it was imperfect. The love that Roman had created was lasting, the real thing.

  “Is there no permanence?” he asked, before realising his mistake. Stop showing how much you know.

  “No, but is there any permanence with people’s feelings? Love grows and fades, and this formula simply initiates the first stage. It is left to fade by itself, a much more healthy state of affairs.”

  As much as Roman was loath to admit, she had a point. The permanence of the love he had given Sandrine for him on top of her own feelings had stayed for years despite their distance apart, and had eventually killed her.

  “Who is the target?” asked Idalia, clearly trying to push the transaction along as fast as she could.

  Roman drew a blank, not knowing what to say. He had to stall.

  “You don’t need to know her name.”

  “Probably not, but I at least need to know a place,” said Idalia, irritation clear in the tone of her voice.

  “Techosaka central park,” said Roman, without thinking. His mind had drifted to Tavisi, her purity of spirit and her irrepressible personality, that fated meeting that very night at eight. He had to have this business concluded before then.

  “A local man, very good.” said Idalia. “Time?”

  “Two hours,” he said quickly, hoping that it would be enough time for Seita.