Nina chuckled to herself. “Time for some leg work.”
After stopping at home, Nina traded her sand-brown government issue trench coat in for a puffy miniskirt that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be pink or purple, low-top boots with silver decorative chain bits on the outside, and a loose half-jacket to conceal the hand cannon under her arm. She’d turned her hair lavender, courtesy of her CamNano, and added a decorative ‘raccoon mask’ of glowing cyan, simulating a NanoLED tattoo. She never understood the appeal of the face tattoo thing, but it was common among the sort of women who associated with gangs.
Her ballistic stealth armor stayed on under the clothes, though she felt ridiculous wearing a hot pink halter-top over it. The glossy black bodysuit didn’t look like armor to most people, though foreign spies would recognize it. She hemmed and hawed about going without it. Small weapons, Class 1 or 2 pistols, would probably stop on the plastisteel plates between her synthetic skin and Myofiber muscles. Anything bigger would tear through. Fuck it. I don’t need to charge into a gunfight, and if they have people watching the dealers, I can’t stand out.
She stripped, peeled herself out of the armor, and dressed again in the skirt, halter top, boots, and jacket. The girl in the mirror looked like a prostitute. Her mother Camille would be horrified. Nina fidgeted. Months ago, she’d have thought nothing about walking outside with a tiny skirt and no panties. After all, this body wasn’t hers, no more than a guy piloting a giant robot could call the machine his body. Something had changed. The reborn Proscion’s words had nurtured the flame of her withered sense of humanity. At some point, she’d come to accept this body as her, but couldn’t pinpoint when. This skimpy outfit embarrassed her more than going out in public stark naked. She kicked off her boots, slipped on a pair of black lace panties, and added a matching bra under the halter-top.
“Okay. Better.”
After a few minutes of adding some ‘dirt’ and ‘bruises’ with the CamNano, she figured she could pass for a young woman from a grey zone. The puffy skirt didn’t cover much, and her boots stopped about two inches above her ankles. Hmm. Leg work indeed. If I wind up naked in a hot tub with an old man again, I’m going to hurt someone.
Ricky Barron’s neighborhood lurked in the shadow of a thick mass of abandoned office towers in the adjacent sector south. Metallic blight surrounded it, leaving Sector 71 in a perpetual dimness somewhere between sundown and midnight. She flew her unmarked patrol craft in low, tucking between a pair of filthy century towers. The ionic downblast from the hovercar stirred up a whirlwind of trash in the alley below, and sent small sparks flickering over the plastisteel ground. After getting out, she remote-controlled the car back into the air and north, away from the grey zone, to a roof parking area on a residence tower 2.4 miles away.
Nina walked to the end of the alley, stepping over and around old food cartons, cups, and unidentifiable junk, most of which appeared to have once been furniture that had fallen from the buildings on either side. She entered the alley about ten feet away from a pack of twenty-somethings with light cybernetics, wild hair, and grungy clothes in mostly black and grey. Of seventeen individuals, the four women regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and territorial glowers.
One, a skinny wisp with cherry-red hair, two metal arms, no shirt, and an ankle-long skirt made of thick, dangling strips of faux-leather held her arms out and thrust her chin forward. Her prosthetic arms glinted in the feeble light, dark metallic pewter and contoured in an elongated stylized version of human musculature. The fingers curved out to eight-inch claws that didn’t seem capable of retracting. Her legs, also metal from mid-thigh down, ended in permanent high heels with an array of small, bladed protrusions likely intended more for decoration than as weapons. It gave her the overall aesthetic of some humanoid-insectoid alien.
“Keep on walkin’ bitch,” said the woman. “You ain’t got ’nuff metal ta be here.”
Nina glanced sideways at her with a condescending smile, but kept walking.
“Oh, we’re lookin’ at me like that.” Alien Girl pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on and approached, her metal feet clicking on the plastisteel ground. “That’s gonna cost you some blood, little pixie.”
Nina stopped and turned to face her, one eyebrow up. Over the course of two seconds, seventeen small holo-panels appeared in her view, identifying all the gangers looking at her. Three had records, none had active warrants, and they didn’t appear connected to the ACC.
Alien Girl froze, her menacing glare flickered into confusion for an instant before returning to anger.
“Oh, is this the part where I’m supposed to scream and run?” asked Nina. “The alien hive queen look works for you, but I dunno about those nails. Don’t they get in the way when you play with yourself?”
A few chuckles came from the group.
“The fuck is wrong with you, chica?” yelled Alien Girl. “You tryin’ ta get fucked up?”
Nina’s scan didn’t pick up any speedware in the woman, so not having armor wouldn’t matter. “Back at you.”
“Ooooh, damn,” said a man. “She’s callin’ you out, Li.”
Li glared, leaning forward, her arms raised to strike.
Nina put her hands on her hips, again feeling ridiculous in such a short, puffy skirt. “Keep trying. Not scary.”
“Wow. This bitch has some damage.” Li shook her head. “Okay, maybe you’re cool.” The triangular claws on her right hand split apart into three slivers each that retracted around emerging metal fingers with human proportion. She offered a fist bump.
Whatever. Nina tapped knuckles.
Li returned to her spot on the wall, and Nina kept walking.
Random whistles and catcalls emanated from alleys and two other groups of punks, though none had much cyberware to speak of, at least nothing useful in a fight. She headed right at the next corner, following her nav point, and the ‘Universe Gym’ came into view a third of the way down the block. It took up the first three stories of a high-rise century tower, where the former owner had painted the walls yellow and littered it with stylized images of athletic figures. Most of the poses featured boxing or martial arts. Giant windows on the front wall looked in on a dojo-like space with well-worn heavy bags hanging on the left around an assortment of free weights, two boxing rings in the center, and an impressive array of large workout machines on the right. Much to her surprise, she counted fourteen people using the gym as a gym.
Upwards of forty more hung out in front, mostly men. Some wore dingy tracksuits, but most looked like run-of-the-mill grey zone fringers in tattered middle-class clothes ten years out of style. Her cybernetic eyes picked up weapons on all of them, pistols for the most part. A twinge of nervousness tickled her gut. With the right weapon, she could probably take out forty attackers, but her hand cannon only held fifteen shots.
A fleet of e-bikes and quads gathered by the street, their tires caked with dirt and bodies scratched from flying stones. She hung back as a wary looking man with face-wrap amber goggles jogged out of the main entrance, stuffing a fist-sized plastic canister in a backpack. He threw the pack over his shoulder, hopped on an e-bike, and zipped off to the south. She thought of putting a tracer on him, but the Citycams didn’t respond in time before he’d gone out of sight.
Screw it. He’s probably just running chems down off the plates to some dusty rat hole in the south.
Nina decided to try ‘casual,’ and adopted a mousy posture before walking across the street and up to the front of the gym. The expected whistles, rude comments, and ogling occurred as she crossed a small open area on her way to the door. One man followed her close enough to feel body heat, but stopped short of touching her.
“Aww man.” He stopped as she entered. “Why you walkin’ away like that?”
Inside, the air reeked of sweat and synthetic leather. Two men squared off in the more distant boxing ring under the supervision of a severe brown-skinned woman in a tank top and sweat pants. Her afro h
ad gone pewter-grey, but she had the physique and bearing of a military drill instructor. As the men went at it, she shouted tips and encouragement.
Pops and thuds emanated from the heavy bag area from a handful of people working out. The more elaborate machines on the other side stood empty. She wandered the space, looking for any sign of Ricky Barron. A few minutes into her roaming, she spotted a dark-skinned man in a yellow tracksuit leaning against the wall at the end of a corridor between two locker rooms. He rested his arm across an assault rifle dangling from his shoulder on a strap, in a pose about as casual as someone could have with such a weapon.
Nina ran his face, and got a hit: Sergeant First Class Corey Webb, retired. He’d been in the UCF military for eight years, four of which he’d spent on Mars in a combat unit. No way this guy’s turned. She smiled and walked up to him.
“Hey there, girl.” Corey nodded. “You lost?”
“I’m looking for Ricky Barron. I got a feeling he’s behind this door you’re watching.”
He gave her a slow head-to-toe look. “Ain’t never seen you before. What’s yo’ business with Barron?”
“Harmony.”
He shook his head. “Damn, girl. S’pose we all got problems, but you ain’t gotta see Barron for that.” Guy in the front office with the red hat. “Can tell him how many tabs you want.”
Nothing had come back on Webb’s record, nor had the sniffer turned up any evidence that data had gone from this building to an anonymous Mexican chimera address.
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I need to talk to Barron about where he’s getting so much from.”
“What’s it to you? You ain’t no cop. Them boys don’t care ’bout the easy chems. That means you’re either lookin’ to cut in on him, or buy big.”
Nina put her hands on her hips. “I’m not looking to cut in on his business, Sergeant Webb. I’m here to ask for his help with a matter of some delicateness.”
Corey’s eyebrows converged. “Who the hell…”
“Is he alone? I’ll explain to you both, but…” She looked around, switching vision modes to EMF. The world shifted into a view like a photonegative of black and white. Aside from a shitstorm of NetMinis spewing purple fountain blasts and three larger terminals throwing streamers of cyan energy into the air, she didn’t see anything that looked like bugs or listening devices. Nina went back to normal sight and lowered her voice. “It’s a national security issue.”
“You’re…”
“Division 9,” she muttered.
Both of Corey’s eyebrows went up. “For real?”
She nodded.
“Aiight. C’mon.” He swiped his NetMini past a sensor on the wall, causing the plain metal door behind him to slide open.
Nina followed him up a switchback staircase to the second floor. A sign indicated paths to saunas, a running track, treadmills, and another free-weight area. Corey headed for the third door on the left, labeled ‘Manager.’
“Yo, Rick.” He opened it and walked in. “Need a minute.”
The room didn’t have much space, less so due to columns of plastiboard shipping cartons stacked against the wall. A drab green desk stood before a bookshelf full of pill bottles, derm patches, bins full of autoinjectors, and several fat plastic bottles with screw-on lids. One still bore a label for ‘Mega Protein 9000.’ She doubted it still held anything even remotely associated with fitness.
“Hey, Cor. What’s up?” Ricky Barron didn’t look an hour older than his file photo. He peered around a holo-panel floating over a mirror-silver bar about the size of her forearm, a standard terminal. Strong light from the holographic keyboard tinted his shirt cobalt blue. “Oh, hello…” He winked at Nina. “Cor… you shouldn’t have.”
“She ain’t a pross.” Corey walked up to the desk. “Heavy shit, man.”
“Ricky.” She offered a hand. “Pardon the outfit. I’m with Division 9.”
Ricky Barron’s permanent smile went flat. “Umm.”
“Before you do something stupid, I’m not here to bust your balls over chems. I need to know who you’re getting Harmony from.”
“Didn’t you just say you didn’t come here to ’rass me about chems?” Ricky leaned back.
Nina stared at the red outline of a firearm her sensors picked up under the desk, a virtual highlight in her electronic vision. “Before you go for that MCP50 under the desk―nice choice by the way, I carry the same one―hear me out.”
Ricky stopped sliding his hand down his leg. “Okay… We flaz.”
“I’m not here because you’re selling what appears to be a harmless bit of stress avoidance for people. Whatever you’ve got going on here, at least two veterans are helping you keep this fitness center operational for the locals… I know you’ve got no love for the ACC.”
“You got that right,” muttered Corey.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah.” He seemed to relax and shifted his weight back and left, raising one hand to his chin. “So, you think they’re after me?”
“Not directly. Someone is tainting Harmony with nanobots, and these nanobots represent a foreign threat to the UCF. The only thing I need you to do is tell me where you’re getting such large quantities of it from. I suspect the ACC may be the ultimate source, and by distributing the tainted Harmony, you could be inadvertently assisting them in acts of espionage or sabotage.”
“Shit.” Ricky rubbed at his mouth for a moment in thought. “You know I’m makin’ bank on this stuff, right?”
“Harmony isn’t reliant on these nanobots to provide what it is your customers buy. I don’t expect there will be a need to shut down Harmony completely. The nanobots are the problem. Who’s the source?”
Ricky and Corey exchanged a look. Corey nodded.
“I don’t know his name.” Ricky let his arm fall away from his mouth, landing limp across his lap. “Tall white dude. Brown hair. Looks like the dick boyfriend from every chick vid out there. Kent Fuckworth or some shit. He shows up when he wants to. Dude don’t keep a schedule. Vids me about an hour before he rolls up in a van with the shit. Only reason he gives me any warning at all is on account of me havin’ to scramble to collect creds for him the first time. Dude’s in a severe hurry.”
An attempt to access the local Citycam net turned up zip. “Cams are out…”
“Yeah. This is a grey zone, right?” Ricky winked.
Nina folded her arms. “When do you expect him to contact you again?”
“Couple days probably. Gettin’ low on H. Shit’s flying out.” Ricky smiled.
“I want you to act normal. As soon as he contacts you, vid me on this PID.” She waved her official NetMini at him, making his chirp. “I promise your place here won’t get chewed up.”
“What you gonna do?” asked Ricky.
Nina glanced at a tiny sofa buried under boxes. “Sit there acting strung out. I just need to see this guy so we can figure out who he is.”
“There any kinda reward fo’ this?” Ricky’s grin returned.
“Assuming that the knowledge you’re acting in defense of your homeland isn’t enough?” She chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do, but it’ll depend on how useful this turns out to be.”
“What if your ass is wrong, and this dude ain’t ACC? ’Cept everything here”―Ricky twirled his hand around in a circle―”goes smooth.”
Nina swiped her fingers through her hair over her ear. “Well, then I suppose I’ll work out some kind of ‘cooperation fee’ for your time.”
“United from sea to sea.” Ricky saluted her.
His tone said he mocked the UCF motto. Corey noticed it and gave him a mild glare.
“Vid me forty seconds after you get off the line with him. Any faster and they might be watching for a rapid outbound.”
Ricky nodded. “You got it, babe. Sweet legs by the way.”
Nina winked. “Should be. They sure cost enough.”
She headed out and downstairs, pausing to wait for Corey to resume his post guard
ing the door. “What are you doing here, Sergeant? Seems a bit… sad for a vet to be running muscle for a chem peddler.”
Corey chuckled. “Actually I’m workin’ for CPSS. Ricky hired them, and I got the site.”
“Citadel Professional Security Solutions?” She blinked, then laughed. “What is the world coming to?”
“Like the man said… he’s making bank.”
It took about twenty-two minutes (shorter than the time it took her to fly north to Sector 10184) for Ops to trace the route-control signals that Jen Alvarez, aka ‘Mama Fine,’ used to distribute her chems back to their source. Nina brought her patrol craft in for a landing on the roof of an eighty-story tower in the heart of a grey zone. She shut the car down and pushed the door open, enjoying a blast of air that smelled (and tasted) like diaper pail.
Nina gagged. To her left, the hulking shapes of eight spherical tanks occupied a mostly-flat area beside a decrepit factory. From her perch seventy-six stories over the dead manufacturing plant, she had a clear view of hundreds of hydroponic tanks full of rotting proto-meat and moldy growth medium.
Oh… that’s foul. She coughed.
She jogged to a maintenance door, which ignored her police override code. It didn’t even chirp or buzz. Bet Mama cut the power. Nina grabbed the knob, and stopped. She took a step back and scanned around for any signs of a trap: power fluctuations, electrical current in the walls, or the telltale whirr of a sentry gun. Finding nothing, she again grasped the knob and increased tension until it broke open.
For a few minutes, Nina enjoyed not being an ordinary human: jogging down seventy-nine stories of stairs didn’t make her tired. Vagrants littered the steps over the last two floors, but the most coherent of them only managed to reach for her ass a full six seconds after she’d passed by. The door at the bottom opened to a dingy hallway packed with an assortment of drop ceiling tiles, LED light tubes, air filters, and a handful of food reassemblers still in their retail packaging. A thick layer of dust coated everything.
The Harmony Paradox Page 38