Lucky 7

by Rae D. Magdon

  My timing is awful, because I find the bathroom right as Sasha’s leaving. When my eyes zero in on the short white towel wrapped around her body, I freeze in place. Dios. This chula isn’t just a trial against my willpower. She makes my fucking bones ache with want. It’s not fair that she’s this tall, this toned, this good at claiming every inch of space around her.

  Droplets of water cling to Sasha’s smooth skin, and her cornrows are freshly oiled. Her shoulders are squared, her brow furrowed in annoyance or perhaps frustration. Yeah, frustrated. That’s how Sasha looks. She’s frustrated, and that’s frustrating for me too, because it makes her look hotter. My shorts soak through in less than a second.

  “Sorry,” I blurt out. “Need to pee.”

  If Sasha’s embarrassed about being caught in a towel, she doesn’t show it. Her eyes are as cold as ever. “You asking for permission, Nevares?”

  “Yeah, right.” It’s not my wittiest comeback, so I scoot past her and into the bathroom. There are several toilets as well as some shower stalls, and the warm air still holds traces of steam and citrus soap—Sasha’s soap. That thought leads to other, less innocent thoughts. Sasha’s soap, Sasha in the shower, joining Sasha in the shower. I shake myself. Just because I’m attracted to an asshole doesn’t mean I need to do anything about it. There’s also the fact that Sasha hates me. My chances of a ‘yes’ are somewhere between cero y nada.

  After visiting one of the stalls, I head to the sink. “Who the fuck does she think she is anyway? ‘You asking for permission, Nevares?’” I say mockingly, as though repeating it in a dumb voice will make it any less sexy. “What kind of line is—¡chingada madre!” I yank my hands back, hissing in pain. The water’s gone scalding while I wasn’t paying attention. I turn off the faucet and shake my hands dry. “Thinks because she’s buff and has that damn jawline, she can march around acting like—whoa.”

  For the second time, I nearly run straight into someone else. A shirtless, barrel-chested someone. At first all I can see is a solid wall of muscle covered in a few curly blond hairs, but then I crane my neck back to see Rock peering down at me. He pats me gently on the arm and walks on by, taking up the entire bathroom doorway with his bulk.

  I shake my head in disbelief. And I thought my old crew was quirky. Compared to them, Sasha’s people are just plain weird. But as long as they’re the right kind of weird to keep me alive, I guess it doesn’t matter.

  “I think Rock likes you,” a low voice says. Doc’s lurking nearby, staring at me with laughing eyes.

  “Not my type, kid. I like pretty boys with long eyelashes and girls who look like they could step on my windpipe with their jackboot and make me thank them for it.” That second category is my favorite, and it’s my bad luck that Sasha falls right into it.

  Doc’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “Ew, I didn’t mean in a sex way. He’s not into any of that, plus he’s my brother. Are all adults like this, or just you?”

  I lean one shoulder against the wall and fold my arms. “Shouldn’t you know? I’m not the only adult you’ve met.”

  Doc rolls her eyes. “These ‘adults’ are statistical outliers. Any data I gather from them is useless.”

  “So, that mean I’m not a statistical outlier? Thanks, I guess.”

  “This conversation is over,” Rami says, gliding in from the next room. Today they’re in slightly more masculine clothes as well as makeup, with a pencil-thin mustache above their lip and a classic smoky eye.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Doc grumbles.

  “And you.” Rami aims an accusatory glare at me. “No talking about eyelashes and jackboots with the resident minor.”

  I stick my lip out. “She started it. Besides, the kid slices and dices people in her spare time. I doubt sex is going to faze her.”

  “I’ve got ears,” Doc says, more amused than upset.

  Rami boxes said ears lightly in both hands. “Quiet, you…now get. Meeting’s in ten. Don’t be late.”

  Doc scurries over to the table near the ‘kitchen’ section of the bunker. “Don’t worry,” Rami says once she’s out of earshot. “She wasn’t trying to set you up with Rock. He just doesn’t warm up to people quickly…which makes sense, since most of the people he meets try to shoot him.”

  “At least someone on this team likes me.”

  “I like you,” Rami says. “Doc likes you because you saved Rock. Cherry likes you because you found me.”

  “Fine, you made your point. We all know who doesn’t like me.”

  “You mean Sasha,” Cherry says, striding out of the bunkroom to join us. She slings an arm around Rami’s shoulders, leaning down to kiss the top of their head. “Is she being a dick? Because I’ll kick her ass for you.”

  “How’d you know?” I ask.

  Cherry smirks. “You have the Sasha look on your face.”

  “The Sasha look?”

  “Like you turned your milkshake upside down in your lap to cool off.”

  “I do not have a Sasha look,” I protest while Rami snorts out a laugh.

  “Yes, you do,” Cherry says. “Anyway, be patient with her. She’s…not herself. Things have been different since our last op went wrong.”

  That causes a flicker of curiosity. “You mean she’s not always like this?”

  We’re interrupted by the sound of boots on the floor. Sasha steps out of the bunk as well, wearing a sleeveless grey shirt and black fatigues. I pretend my shudder is from a stray lock of hair escaping my bun to tickle my neck.

  “Meeting, now,” Sasha says, jerking her head toward the table and chairs. The others wander over, with Doc already seated and Rock emerging from the bathroom. Thanks to his size, the towel draped across his shoulders looks more like a washcloth.

  When we arrive at the table, Sasha claims one of the chairs while Doc kneels on another. Cherry sits on Rami’s lap despite having four inches on them, and Rock leans against the wall. There’s one chair left, but I hesitate to take it, since it’s next to Sasha’s. I brace my arms against the back and lean over it instead.

  “If we want to stay alive,” Sasha says without preamble, “we need to wipe ourselves from AxysGen’s database of undesirables. It won’t be easy, and we’ll have to be subtle.” Her eyes fall directly on me as she says that, and my skin heats up. “Megan wrote a program called Poison Fruit that can change the information in a database, then alters any other databases or backups that communicate with it so there are no discrepancies. Think you can use something like that, Nevares?”

  “Alter the database? Sure. But a central database like that is gonna be a nightmare to get into. Decoys, booby traps, automatic Puls.wavs, not to mention corp jackers patrolling AxysGen’s intranet systems. And that’s not even touching what we’ll have to go through in meatspace to gain access.”

  “I didn’t ask if it would be hard,” Sasha says. “I asked if you could do it. You have those programs you modified with AxysGen’s code, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Sasha doesn’t wait for me to go on. “Which brings us to step two. In order to stay gone after we wipe the database, we need to retrieve… something I lost. Something AxysGen stole from me.”

  I don’t miss the hesitation. “What something?”

  “A brainbox. I lost it during our last op.” It’s obvious Sasha doesn’t mean our last op, but her last op with her old crew. With Megan.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s it? Really? Sorry, but I’m gonna need a little more info before I risk my neck.”

  “My brainbox has all kinds of important data on it. If AxysGen manages to decrypt it, we’re through. And it has some time I’m missing. My memories have been…choppy…since they took it.”

  I’m surprised. Sasha doesn’t seem like the type of person to record her memories. Or maybe she is. I barely know her, other than the fact that she loves her crew, dislikes me, and hates AxysGen. “Dios. How do you lose something that literally sits inside your skull?”

  “Putting tha
t aside,” Cherry says, “getting your box back won’t be easy. Do you even know where it is, jefa?”

  “Definitely somewhere under really tight security,” Rami says. “If it hasn’t been destroyed.”

  “It hasn’t,” Sasha says with certainty. “AxysGen wouldn’t waste a resource like that. We have methods of pinging its location, but that might alert whoever has it. We’ll wait until after we wipe the database. Otherwise, AxysGen could move it before we get there, or set up a trap for us.” She looks at the rest of the crew. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I need you with me on this, okay? Remember who you’re doing this for.”

  The room goes silent. Even though it isn’t a real explanation, and the way she phrased it is strangely vague, I’m almost convinced for a moment purely by Sasha’s sincerity. When I glance at the rest of the crew, there’s fear, worry, and concern on their faces, but absolutely no doubt.

  “I’m with you, Sasha,” Rami says, placing their hands flat on the table. “One hundred percent.”

  Cherry exhales upward through her bright red bangs. “Shit. Me too.”

  “I think you’re crazy,” Doc says, but when Rock gives her a pleading look, she sighs. “Us too.”

  Sasha turns to me. “Nevares?”

  “Doc’s right. This is crazy.” But I know I’ll go along with it anyway. Even if Sasha’s brainbox recovery heist doesn’t work, wiping AxysGen’s database is a good idea. A close to impossible idea, but a good one. It’ll increase my chances for survival exponentially if I’m not on their private hitlist. If I have to, I can bail before Sasha and her crew go to retrieve the brainbox. “I’m in for step one. No promises for step two yet, at least not until you give me a better explanation.”

  “Fair enough,” Sasha says, “although I’ll remind you that you were the one who came to me begging for protection in St. Petersburg.”

  “That was before you tried to jump the Seine on a hoverbike and made me puke in a sketchy Parisian alley.”

  Sasha snorts, and I stare at her in shock. I’m not sure I trust my ears, but that almost sounded like laughter. “Gear up,” she says, getting out of her chair. “You too, Nevares. We leave in thirty.”

  “Thirty? Don’t we need to plan more?”

  “It’s a couple hours to Tokyo. We can strategize on the way.”

  I smile. Tokyo. Abuela’s going to enjoy hearing about that.

  Friday, 06-11-65 16:04:43

  I TUG AT THE shoulder of my blazer, annoyed with how the seam digs into the soft flesh of my underarm. Rami’s clothes make a good disguise, but they’ve got a couple inches on me, and I’m fuller than they are in some important places. The business attire fits, but barely. It’s an effort to keep from making impolite adjustments.

  Rami, on the other hand, pulls the corp look off seamlessly. They’re wearing a hijab this time, as well as a sharp hound's-tooth women’s suit. A pair of square-rimmed glasses are perched on their nose, and their lips are painted one of the rare shades of bright pink that’s still neutral enough to be business-appropriate.

  We weave through the throng of people, heading for the silver tubes that will carry us to AxysGen’s upper floors. “If anyone tries to speak to you, let me do the talking,” Rami mutters from the corner of their mouth. “Just give them a white people smile.”

  “The close-lipped ‘I acknowledged you, now please go away’ gringo smile?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about the elevators? We need IDs.”

  “I’ve got you covered.” Rami produces a shiny red button that reads “AG” and pins it to my lapel. “Coded DNA and fingerprints should match yours. Welcome to AxysGen, new employee Esperanza Alvarez.”

  “That’ll work. And who are you?”

  “Laila Ahmad.”

  “This is your favorite part, isn’t it? Dressing up and picking a new name?”

  They grin. “Absolutely. Best job in the world.”

  We follow the sluggish river of people onto the elevator. No matter how much the corps stress productivity and efficiency, there’s no changing human nature. It still takes everyone forever to file in, and the enclosed space reeks of cologne and perfume.

  The elevator doors close, and the lift soars up through its silver tube. It stops on the first floor, then the second, and I twist to avoid being jostled by the people exiting and entering. Finally, we reach the third floor. I squeeze out of the sardine can, stepping into a large, segregated office area.

  Glowing terminals stretch as far as I can see. Hundreds of pale faces, all slack and lifeless, are bathed in the light shining from the screens. I shudder. I know I look the same when I’m jacked in, but the sight of so many organized rows of people doing it at once is downright eerie.

  Rami touches my elbow, guiding me down the rows until we find two empty terminals. They sit in one chair and I take the other. No one around seems to notice us. I guess assigned seating isn’t a thing.

  “Before you plug in, there’s one more thing we need to do,” Rami says.

  My heartbeat thuds faster. Now that I’m actually here, I’m increasingly aware of how dangerous this op is. Once I jack in, I might not jack out again. “What?”

  “This.” Rami passes me a tiny black box. It’s small enough to fit in my palm, with a red button on one side.

  “A databox?” I run my thumb over the button, and two sides of the cube open up. There’s a port on one end, shaped exactly like the one behind my ear. On the other is a thin silver cable. “What’s on it?”

  “A copy of Val. Hear me out,” Rami adds when I open my mouth to object. “I know you aren’t fond of AIs, and I understand why, but Val is really useful. I’ve taken her on missions myself, and she’s gotten me and the rest of the crew out of more sticky situations than I can count.”

  “You mean she’s programmed to run ops too? Not just pilot the shuttle?”

  Rami checks once more to make sure that no one’s listening. “Running ops is Val’s primary function, and she’s darn good at it. She’s the reason I managed to stay hidden under AxysGen’s nose for over a month. The best cloak in the world couldn’t have done it without her help.”

  I grimace. Using an AI when I’m used to regular programs has bad idea written all over it, even though I’m inclined to trust Rami. On the other hand, I’m sitting in the middle of enemy territory, about to infiltrate a security system that will melt my brain inside my skull if I put even one toe out of line.

  “Over a month, huh?”

  Rami nods. “Val knows AxysGen’s security inside and out. You’ll see.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. I’m already in for this op, and I’ll need all the help I can get. I attach the silver cable extending from the terminal to the black box, then insert the box’s cable behind my ear.

  network: ag 35689 . 13969

  Connection established

  welcome: user escudoespiga

  AxysGen’s employee intranet system is the same as it was months ago: a bunch of pulsing crimson cables and glowing gridwork that stretches high above my head. I try not to let the tall red tower and the empty black backdrop put me on edge. I’ve been here before, I’ve done this before… and I almost died.

  Almost, I tell myself. The key word is ‘almost.’

  I activate my toolbar and pull out my shield, bracing it on my arm with the forward spikes extended. I feel at least a hundred percent safer. My shield’s saved my life so many times I’ve stopped counting.

  Next, I start my doppelganger. Another version of myself pops up, a decoy made of light that looks exactly like me. Ideally, it’s meant to confuse automatic targeting programs. With a flesh-and-blood jacker, though, I’ve only got a fifty-fifty shot of pulling off the ruse; less if their scanning programs are stronger than my disguise.

  After activating the doppel, I put on my cloaking program. I can’t pull off complicated disguises in meatspace, but here, I’m in my element. A shroud of blue code envelops me, running over my body. To AxysGen’s intranet system,
my twin and I should look like harmless interoffice e-mails.

  Last, I check the final slot in my inventory. The icon for the Poison Fruit program is cheesy-looking, a bright red apple with a dripping green skull on its shiny skin. But if it works as well as Sasha says it does, it’s some serious shit.

  I check my toolbar one more time. Shield, scanner, doppel, cloak, stuns, Poison Fruit. And there’s also one more thing, a final icon I haven’t installed myself. It’s a small black square with a red circle in the middle, one that looks identical to the box Rami gave me. It’s time to see what Val can do.

  When I activate the program, a female avatar appears beside me and the doppel. She’s Black, thin, beautiful with medium-dark skin that has pink jewel tones for highlights. Her hair is long and wavy, and wearing a grey business suit, the type that looks sleek and expensive, with a purple shirt underneath.

  “Hello, Elena,” she says in a melodious voice, gazing at me with dark, expressive eyes. “As you know, my name is V.41, but you may call me Val. I am a multi-functional, fully realized artificial intelligence program designed to assist you.”

  My jaw drops. “Did you just say ‘fully-realized AI?’”

  “Yes.” A small smirk spreads across Val’s face, one that makes her avatar look surprisingly realistic. “As I recall, you did concede the point that a FRAI created by an independent programmer and offered the opportunity to develop proper moral parameters might not be a threat to the world.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ah, I get it. You’re fucking with me. Did Sasha tell you to say that? No, she’s too preoccupied with the stick up her ass. Was it Rami? Mierda, I’m gonna kill her.”

  "I would not recommend that course of action, Elena,” Val says.

  "Fine, whatever. If you’re a FRAI, then tell me who made you.”

  Val doesn’t seem bothered by my skepticism. “I was created by Megan Delaney, and my primary function is to assist the Lucky Seven. This priority was given to me by my creator. Now, how may I assist you?”