After that’s done and I’ve managed to silence the nagging voice in my brain telling me I’m the world’s shittiest sister, I throw on a cloak and tab out of the menu, heading for the extranet. At first I float in dark, empty space, but as my thoughts branch out, silver filigree appears in the air around me. It crawls in every direction, shining like tinsel. I remember the wonder I felt the first time I saw it—a never-ending net that stretches over the horizon, a million little nodes along its strands.
“Wolf+Kremlin,” I say.
Several of the nodes brighten, swelling like dewdrops until they’re almost as big as I am. They play raw news footage—a burning building, not singed like AxysGen’s Paris headquarters, but demolished to rubble. Fire crews attempt to put out the blaze, but it keeps smoldering. I tab away quickly. Fire is the last thing I want to see.
I look at the next node, news footage dated three months ago. A reporter’s face appears in the corner of the screen, a thin, heavily made-up gringa with platinum hair. “A highly dangerous crew of mercenaries attempted a violent attack on Axys Generations’ London headquarters today—”
I snort. This looks like more than ‘attempted’.
“...Sasha Young, also known as the Wolf of the Kremlin. Investigating authorities believe she was caught in the blast she initiated…”
I cut off the feed. I already know the rest of the world thinks Sasha died along with Megan, even if some top-level suits at AxysGen know better. That reminds me. I pull up my menu again, selecting one of my spyders. In addition to extracting information from other people’s intranet servers, they also do deep extranet searches.
“All right, little buddy,” I whisper into my hand. “Keywords: Megan, Sasha+Young, Wolf+Kremlin, jacker, handler, AyxsGen, Axys+Generations.” The spyder’s delicate legs tickle my palm as I set it on the nearest silver tendril. It scurries off, disappearing from sight.
Once it’s gone, I drag a savefile from my inventory. The world of black and silver fades until I’m surrounded by the sound of the ocean and the warmth of the sun on my skin. The air smells like fresh salt. I'm on the deck of a private yacht, sprawled on a lounge chair. A gorgeous woman is sitting beside me: dark curly hair, brown skin, washboard abs, and kissable lips.
Maybe a little too kissable. I make her lips thinner, her hair longer, her hips and breasts bigger. When I'm still not satisfied, I lighten up her skin too. She’s not really my type, but my presets are uncomfortably familiar, and I don't want to think too much about why.
I moan as the woman’s hand runs up along my stomach, unfastening the strings of my swimsuit. Maybe it’s rude to play a porn VR while Sasha’s so close to my body in meatspace, but I honestly have no fucks left to give. I almost died twice today. I deserve a little stress relief.
Friday, 06-11-65 02:43:45
I REST MY CHEEK against the cool metal of the Eagle’s belly, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. I'm exhausted, or at least my brain is. Staying slumped in the hotel chair for a couple hours doesn’t count as sleep, especially since Sasha shook me awake and shepherded me back to the Eagle in the middle of the night.
She's sitting next to me, careful to keep space between our thighs. Rock and Doc are side by side on the opposite bench. Rami and Cherry are in the pilot and copilot’s seat, although I think Cherry’s snoring. I'm tempted to join her. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open.
Doc’s in the opposite frame of mind. The kid is twitchy, both knees jiggling, taking up more space on the bench than she needs. The motion’s strong enough for me to feel despite the vibration of the engines. “How’d you become a jacker, Elena?”
I yawn. “Luck. Me and my kid brothers were stuck in the outer rings of Mexico City. No family left except a sick abuela. Taking care of them full time meant I failed my APS. An ex-corp jacker was working for this fixer I knew, Jento. He felt bad for me, I guess, and gave me a key to Darkspace. You know, the deep web where jackers learn the trade. I was self-taught from there.” I sit up a little straighter. “Someday, I’ll pass a key along to some other kid. What about you, chiquita? You’re around that age. You’re what, eleven?”
“Thirteen,” Doc says, clearly annoyed.
“Yeah, you look…never mind.”
Doc snorts. “That’s right, never mind. But yeah, I took my APS. Aced ‘em. One year of a corp scholarship, then I started to feel gross about it. So I left.”
I wake up a bit more, surprised. “You know how many kids would kill for one of those slots, right? I mean literally kill someone. Straight up murder them.”
“Didn’t feel like being a marketing tool,” Doc says. “They used me in promotional vids. ‘See? If this poor girl from the slums can do it, so can your kid! Look at her and ignore all the corp dynasty kids who got spoon-fed the answers in advance.’ They’re selling fake hope to keep the starving masses complacent, pretending it’s all randomized.”
“What about your family? They could have used the credits on top of their peebees.”
Doc slugs Rock’s enormous arm. “Don’t have one except for him. When I left, they tried to come after me. They didn’t want their ‘investment’ to get away. So Rock suggested I make myself a bodyguard.”
“Wait, you modded him? I thought AxysGen did him like that, or maybe some back-alley surgeon.” I study Rock with new eyes, trying to process it. From what I saw in Siberia, he’s more machine than man under the skin. He must have had a shit-ton of surgeries—probably painful ones.
“His idea,” Doc says warily. “He wanted to protect me.”
“So you turned him into a cyborg?” I look at Rock. “And you were…okay with that?”
Rock nods. He puts one of his massive hands on top of Doc’s head in what’s clearly a gesture of affection. His palm nearly swallows her whole skull.
“See?” Doc says. “Patient consent.”
“And you’re the reason he doesn’t talk?”
Doc’s face clouds with anger. “No. He just doesn’t. And he’s fine the way he is,” she says, an edge of protectiveness in her tone.
“Says the girl who modded him to hell and back.”
“Cool it,” Cherry says from the passenger’s seat. Our argument must have woken her up. “No one thinks there’s anything wrong with Rock. Right, Elena?”
It’s clearly a warning. “Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Damn right,” Doc grumbles, but her eyes flick down toward her lap. I wonder if she feels guilty under it all. I would if I had turned my big brother into a cyborg, no matter who was after us. It’s really fucked up, and it tracks with what Sasha claims—Doc isn’t an ordinary kid. No ordinary kid could make Rock, or would make Rock. Hell, no ordinary adult would either.
“Doc didn’t have much choice, sweetie,” Rami says from the pilot’s seat. “It’s what the corps do. Claiming the peebees are all they can afford to give while they live in their mansions, ‘uplifting’ a few undesirables with the APS and random shows of philanthropy. They go through the motions just often enough for people to forget they should be angry. And if somebody disagrees or tries to buck the system, they shut them up. Permanently.”
I know. Everyone in this shuttle knows. Injustice can be staring you right in the face, but if there’s a sliver of a chance to rise to the top, to beat the system, a lot of people will ignore it. It’s not their fault for hoping. We all want to believe we’ll win the lottery, so we all end up screwed.
“Prepare for arrival at the Hole. Begin descent in six hundred meters,” Val announces, interrupting my thoughts.
When I glance through the viewscreen, the endless white tundra doesn’t have any distinguishing features. Then the Eagle glides to a stop, perching above a snowdrift. The ground beneath us opens, allowing Rami to park the shuttle. “Nice job, Val,” they say, giving the dashboard an affectionate pat.
I narrow my eyes at Rami. “You like AIs?”
Rami smiles back at me. “I like this one.”
“Ever use ‘em for
ops?”
“Sometimes. Why, do you prefer VIs?”
“Yeah. I like knowing exactly what my programs will do. Plus the idea of a fully-realized AI creeps me out more than a little.”
Suddenly, I’ve got the whole shuttle’s attention. Cherry stops in the middle of unbuckling her harness. Doc sucks in a quick breath. Rock tilts his head. Most unsettling of all, Sasha’s hard brown eyes fix straight on me, dark and inscrutable and decidedly unfriendly.
“What?” I say, slightly defensive. “Corps make 98 percent of the AIs on the market, right? Do you want them in charge of designing one that’s basically a human made of code?”
Cherry laughs, and it’s only a little bit forced. “You’ve got a point, chaparrita. Corps aren’t exactly beacons of morality.”
The rest of the crew chuckles along, but Sasha’s stare is unwavering. “Don’t you think it depends on the creator?”
I resist the temptation to squirm. “I guess so. It’s all hypothetical, though. No one’s managed to create a FRAI yet.” In an effort to avoid Sasha's eyes, I look at the ceiling where the rear speakers are. “Hey, Val, what do you think? Can a good creator make a good FRAI?”
“Yes,” Val answers. “According to an analysis of peer reviewed studies by known experts in the field, the general consensus is that the creation of a fully-realized artificial intelligence with appropriate moral parameters is theoretically possible.”
“Well, Val has spoken. Let’s hope she’s right, for the sake of the future.” I unbuckle my harness and stand up. “So, we going in or what?”
The Hole looks the same as we left it, an empty garage with a few dark puddles on the concrete floor. I jump out of the shuttle as soon as the doors open. The shuttle bay is heated, but the air following us in is freezing. I wrap my arms around myself, shuddering as the others climb out.
“Get some rest,” Sasha says to the crew. “We’ll finalize the details for our next job first thing in the morning.”
I force my teeth stop chattering. “Job? I thought protecting ourselves from AxysGen was our job.”
“That’s the job I’m talking about, Nevares.” Sasha heads for the bunker, taking long strides that make it clear she doesn’t want company.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. “Don’t mind her,” Rami says. They’ve taken off their wig from earlier, revealing a short black pixie cut underneath. Though they’re wearing makeup again, it’s much lighter and more natural-looking than the maroon lipstick. “Sasha gets tense during times like this.”
“I hope she has a damn good plan, because otherwise we’re screwed.”
Cherry approaches from my other side, her red bob bouncing. I have to crane my neck a little to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry. Sasha knows her shit, and so do the rest of us.” She claps a hand on my opposite shoulder, making it clear that she means me too.
“Thanks.”
We head down into the bunker together. Compared to the wind outside, the air in here feels like a warm blanket. The place smells like CO2 scrubbers and disinfectant, but it’s not unpleasant. The Hole feels exactly like what it is—a safe space sealed away from the world.
“So, I heard Doc’s story. Why are you two in this?” I ask Cherry and Rami. “Credits? Family?”
“I played it straight for a while,” Cherry says. “Passed my APS with high scores, got shipped off to engineering school. Then I realized I hated it. Or maybe my coworkers hated me. My teammates and I… we didn’t get along. After that, it was whatever freelance shit I could find until I met Sasha.”
Rami glances at me when Cherry hesitates, but they don’t have to worry. I’m nosey, sure, but I don’t pester people for bad memories. “What about you, Rami?” I ask them.
“I was a corp kid. I tried to be what my family wanted, but one day, I just…couldn’t anymore. I wanted to be someone, anyone else. So, I kind of became everyone else. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I get it,” I say, even though I really don’t. As much as I hate corp kids, I’d send my brothers off to live that life in a hot second. Anything to keep them warm and fed. I can’t wrap my mind around how Rami could give that up.
We arrive at the bunks. Inside the room is a metal sink and a mirror, two dressers, and six thin cots, maybe big enough to hold two people if they spoon the whole night. Aside from the three of us, the room’s empty. Sasha’s nowhere to be seen.
I take the same cot Doc gave me last time, glancing warily at the door. “Sasha’s not gonna come in here and start freaking out because I took Megan’s old bunk or something, right?”
“Nah,” Cherry says, flopping on the bunk across from me.
Rami heads over to the sink to wash their face. “She means Megan usually shared Sasha’s bunk.”
I strip off my shirt, tossing it somewhere beyond the foot of my cot. I’d keep it on for extra warmth, but it still reeks of diesel and vomit. I need to pester someone for a change of clothes soon. “So, what’s Sasha’s story? I mean, I can see how the whole dead-fiancée thing would mess you up.”
“That’s not really a bedtime story,” Cherry says.
“And we’re not the ones who should tell it.” Rami finishes removing their makeup and heads over to one of the dressers. “Here, sweetie,” they say, tossing a bundle at my chest. “Thought you might like a fresh nightshirt. The shower’s down the hall if you want it.”
I snuggle into the clean shirt. Comfortably large, but very soft. “Nah, I showered back at the hotel. Just needed something clean to wear.” I yawn, wiggling under the covers. They’re a little scratchy, but heavy enough to offer some comforting weight. “Hey…”
“Hey, what?” Rami asks, sitting beside Cherry.
“Can you give me an outline, at least? I’m not trying to stick my nose in Sasha’s business, but if there’s any landmines I should avoid…”
“I feel you,” Cherry says. “The short version is, Sasha and Megan were APS kids who met at school. Megan was…uh, how do I say this without sounding like an asshole?”
“I think it’s fair to say she could be self-centered sometimes,” Rami says, at the very same moment that Cherry decides on, "Kind of a brat.”
“She was brilliant, but sometimes her work took precedence over everything else,” Rami continues.
Cherry sighs. “Right. She left Sasha for a while after they quit school. Ditched her to work on some crackpot projects. That’s when Sasha and I met.” A sly grin spreads across her face. “She was definitely a ladykiller then, until Megan came back. Had a new girl every week.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
“You really surprised?” Cherry chuckles. “You’ve seen her. Boss-lady can get it.”
That’s absolutely true, although I’ve never seen Sasha turn on any kind of charm. The girls she seduced must have been looking for hookups that didn’t involve much talking. It’s uncomfortably obvious to me that, in years past, I might have been one of those girls. But, Rami and Cherry don’t need to know that. “But Megan came back, right?”
“Yes, she came back,” Rami says. “We were all on Sasha’s crew by then. The one-night stands stopped immediately. Sasha…when she makes you part of her family, there’s no one more devoted. That goes for all of us.”
That tracks with what I’ve observed. Sasha might be an asshole, but she’s a protective asshole.
“It’s true,” Cherry insists, perhaps interpreting my silence as skepticism. “Sasha would take a bullet for any of us, no hesitation.”
“I know she seems cold,” Rami says, “but try and trust her. She always has a plan, and she’ll do…whatever it takes to keep us safe.”
“Hey, I believe it.” I flop back on my bunk, folding my hands under my head. “She definitely knows her shit. But she’s just one handler. We’re one crew. A whole corp is trying to kill us. Kind of unfair when you think about the odds.”
“Aren’t the odds of most ops unfair?” Cherry points out. “Bad odds didn’t stop you from becoming a jacker an
d joining a crew, did it, chaparrita?”
“Guess you have a point. But hey, if we have to die, no more explosions. That’s not how I wanna go.”
“No fun at all,” Cherry grumbles. Rami shushes her.
“Get some sleep, Elena. And welcome to the crew.”
Even though I’m not the crewbonding type, Rami and Cherry’s friendliness is a nice change. Sasha’s made it clear she doesn’t like me, but everyone else seems to think I’m okay. I’ll take ‘okay’ from these people, at least until we’re done working together. I settle under the covers and roll onto my side, curling my knees up to my chest.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. First Doc and Rock make a minor commotion finding their bunks, and after that, the loudness of my thoughts keeps me awake. I only drift off after hours of tossing and turning, trying not to imagine the smell of smoke. Sasha never joins us.
Friday, 06-11-65 11:32:45
WHEN I WAKE UP the next morning, I’m just as exhausted as I was before I went to sleep. A layer of sweat drips from my skin, and the sheets are twisted around my legs. My limbs feel weighed down, heavy, a contrast to the strange floating sensation in my chest. Or maybe not so strange. I’ve been riding the nightmare for months now.
I kick the covers off and look around the room. None of the nearby bunks are occupied, and all the sheets are stripped. All that’s left in the room is Cherry and Rami’s makeup cases, sitting side by side beneath the mirror. I sigh, which turns into a jaw-cracking yawn. Running from AxysGen hasn’t really given me time to keep up with my beauty routine.
I grab some spare shorts and a tank top from the dresser before swinging by the mirror. After borrowing one of Rami’s eye pencils and smudging some of Cherry’s lipstick on with my finger, I feel more like myself. Rami doesn’t have the right colors for contouring, but I bet they have more shades somewhere for their disguises. They’d probably let me borrow some if I asked. But first, I really need to pee.
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