by R. K. Thorne
She hesitated, glaring. He held out the crook of his arm, and she only paused once before she took it, clutching him for balance as she slipped the shoes on. And then to simply walk.
Outside, it was raining. Or at least, it felt like it at first. After a moment or two, she realized it was just the heavy mist of a very thick fog, basically a dense cloud on the ground. It all seemed odd given the tropical-island setting, but she shrugged it off and made the fastest beeline she could through the mist toward the flyer. For all she knew maybe the fog was human generated.
She waved him in first, frowning at how the hell she was going to do this. One leg first? Butt first? How did anyone… ? There were no answers to be had in her analysis. She didn’t know the answers. She hadn’t lived a life where people walked around in fancy clothes and took flyers to parties. And thank God. But there was nothing to draw on. She just went for it.
She made it the last few steps toward the flyer surprisingly well, even if the shoes were starting to rub above her big right toe, but that was it. Ducking to get inside was a bridge too far. She wobbled and basically fell inside, landing nearly on top of him.
Hand gripping his knee for balance, she righted herself enough to rip off a shoe and glower at it. “Oh, these are done for. I never thought I could hate a shoe. Not this much.”
She eyed the spot where the heel joined the base, waiting for his response. None came. She twisted to meet his gaze.
Or actually no… His eyes were locked on her hand clutching his knee.
Right. Most COs didn’t get so familiar. Her hip was also pressed to his outer thigh. She hadn’t really moved away after she’d fallen against him. She didn’t want to.
He wasn’t asking.
She pretended not to notice his lack of response. “Thank God for pocket laserblades.” She reached into the wide belt where it was tucked in the single smartly sewn and padded satin pocket.
He jumped, suddenly remembering her stare. He cleared his throat as he met her eyes. “I have one too if you need one.”
Only then did she release his knee, and only because she needed one hand to hold the shoe and one hand to mutilate it. She was still perched a bit precariously on the seat edge, her hip still touching his leg, but she didn’t care. The flyer started to move, apparently not needing instructions that they weren’t bothering to give anyway. She remembered herself. “Can you check its destination?”
He glanced at a wall panel, then hit a different one on a ceiling readout. “Elderflower it is. Our fate is sealed now.”
“Thanks.” She sighed, turning the shoe this way and that, studying its construction. If she just lopped off the giant heel, would she still be able to walk on it? Probably it wouldn’t be easy, but maybe it’d be an improvement. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never really learned to walk in high heels.” Her cheeks were permanently made of fire. They should build space ports out of her. Fusion power plants. She twisted to face forward, as much to avoid his reaction as to better attack the shoe, and relished his warmth still against her hip.
She fired the blade up. Now where to try exactly…
“May I help you, madam?” An indignant male voice suddenly erupted from the shoe, its accent haughty. If the shoe had a nose, it’d be looking down it at her.
She blinked. Was she losing it?
“Madam, please put down the knife,” the shoe said again.
“What the—”
“I am your shoe soul, madam. There is no need for violence.”
“I can see that but—”
“No, ma’am. I am the soul of your shoe.”
“What kind of nut programmed the sole of a shoe to talk?”
The shoe actually made a clearing its throat sound through the tinny speaker. “A very rich designer nut, whose creations are highly sought after. How did you come to possess one of these highly coveted artworks without knowing that?”
“Art or not, I need to be able to walk, damn it.”
“Plebeians! Help! Someone, help! I’m in the hands of plebeians!”
“Hush.” She looked over her shoulder at Kael. “Maybe I should just go barefoot. Maybe I can pass it off as some kind of hot new trend?”
“Works for me.” He shrugged.
The shoe, however, scoffed. “How dare you. I am a fine shoe concierge. I simply objected to your bladed brutality.”
“My what?”
“I am an incredibly sophisticated artificial intelligence, state of the art and highly dedicated to managing your footwear. And this is how you treat me? How dare you.”
“Frag.”
“Can we please get down to the truly critical matter—the subject of why you feel the need to wield such a weapon in my direction? Hmm?”
She waved the shoe at Kael. “This just gets worse and worse. What do I do with this?”
“Have Xi talk to it?” he suggested.
The shoe nearly growled as she refocused on it. “I am detecting some deep customer dissatisfaction with these shoes in their extra high heel form. Is that interpretation correct?”
“How’d you figure that out, genius?”
“Your uncivilized desire for violence gave me a clue. Would you prefer a shorter heel, madam?”
“Uh… well, yes.”
“Loquacious, aren’t you. You’re a dear.”
“Why do I always get the weird AIs?” she grumbled.
Kael snickered. “It’s probably your charming personality.”
“This shoe can take on a variety of forms, including eight, six, four, and two centimeters and flat. Would one of those latter options be more to your taste?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Let’s try the two centimeter.”
“Excellent choice. Much more your speed.”
“You’re rude. For a shoe.”
“You try waiting in a box for an eternity only to be brought out, tossed around, and walked on by an idiot who doesn’t appreciate fine art. And then having a sword swung at you.”
“It was hardly a sword.”
“Given its relative proportion to my size, I disagree.”
“Look, sorry I offended you, shoe. No one told me you were there, all right? Someone bought me the shoes. She’s also kind of rude, so you might like her. She didn’t tell me you were there.” Oh, Josana would probably be enjoying this if she were here.
The shoe made another hmph noise, and she almost couldn’t believe it, but it shrank the heel to less than half its size and went silent. It felt incredibly awkward now, but she stuck the thing back on.
“Better?” Kael asked mildly.
“Much. Do you have a name, shoe sole?”
“Well, most just call me that. But yes, I do.” He stopped, not deigning to share it.
“And it is?” She’d win this shoe over if it was the last thing she did.
“My name is Richard 87437.”
“Of course it is. Okay, Richard, Kael, we’re off to quite a start on this mission. Can I call you Dick, Richard?”
“No, you may not.”
“Rich?”
“That’s tolerable, I suppose.”
“Excellent.” She flopped back off her perch finally, trying to relax for a moment, now that the shoe matter was settled.
Beside her, Kael stilled. She realized his arm had been braced over the back of the seat, and now she’d fallen back into his range. Almost like he had his arm around her. She could even feel the warmth of his arm through the coffee brown of that insane great coat that perfectly matched his eyes. Frag. If he’d just drop his arm an inch more…
He did the opposite, swinging it back toward him and scooting across on the seat toward the far door. Away from her. And he kept his eyes on the window now. Mist—or was it clouds now, as they rose into the air traffic lanes?—drew slashing lines of water across the windows and obscured the towers of Capital.
Her shoes were shorter, her thigh was starkly cold where his leg had been, and she was tired already.
Chapter Eigh
t
The flyer pulled up outside the Elderflower Club and glided smoothly to a stop. She opened the door and stepped out. If the shoes hadn’t staggered her, the transparent blue petroglic under her feet most certainly did.
“First time?” A smiling woman approached with an ID scanner.
“Whoa.” Kael emerged from the vehicle and found his footing beside her.
“Yeah,” she muttered to the attendant. “That obvious?”
“No, no way.” The woman shrugged a shoulder. “There’re new people here every night. You sort of train yourself to see it.”
“Any advice?” She wasn’t usually one for woman-to-woman confidences, and it probably showed, but the woman gave her a sympathetic smile.
“Try to have fun?” Still smiling as she scanned their idents, one eyebrow lifted in amusement.
“Isn’t that the point?” Kael was scanning around them, certainly getting the lay of the land just as she had. But he didn’t look nearly as military as his usual self. He looked… bored. Like a bored rich guy.
Weird. Appearances could be so deceiving.
Which of their new acquaintances were deceiving them, and which weren’t? Which of her crew, for that matter? Her fingers tensed slightly at the thought of the leak, but she held off further emotion, lest the attendant think it was directed at her.
“Yes, that is the point, Mr. Asidian. That doesn’t keep some people—many people—from failing at it. Ms. Ryu, Mr. Asidian, you two are all clear. Have a good time. Here’s a drink from me on the house.” She awarded it, smile sparkling, with a dramatic press of a button on her scanner. “Tell Josana I said hello.”
“Thanks,” Ellen murmured, “we will.”
She kept her eyes focused up on the shining bars of lavender around the Elderflower’s entrance, and not down on the unimpeded view of a dozen layers of air traffic below her.
“Well, that was nice of her.” He glanced back over his shoulder.
“You play this part well.”
“Me? What part?”
“Rich Capital type. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
He laughed outright. “Yeah, right. I don’t.”
“What other reason does she have for comping us? It can’t be because Josana’s so likable.”
He nearly giggled as they approached the main door. “All I know is that it wasn’t my ass she was looking at when I looked back.”
She ignored the blush on her cheeks. “That’s because your fancy cape is in the way.”
“Slag off, Ellen.” His tone was playful as he swaggered beside her toward the club. “I thought you said it was distinguished.”
“It is.”
“I thought you liked it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t.”
“That is such a you thing to say.”
Not knowing how to respond to that, she didn’t reply.
Smooth graphics whirled on a wall display by the door, elegant, thin, white lines and bars and numbers spinning: the air composition inside, as well as confirmation of the absence of the most common contaminants and pathogens. She still wasn’t removing her breather. Josana had dug up some fancy, expensive ones that were nearly invisible if you were okay with putting them way up your nose and having to keep your mouth and possibly eyes shut if the thing alarmed. And then of course, decon showers. Hers looked like little more than a silver nose ring, and Kael’s was barely a stud. Not the most comfortable, but discreet. And it sure fit the crowd.
The man at the door raised an eyebrow, looking Ellen and Kael up and down. “Are you two here for the… special events?”
“We’re friends of Josana Viliant,” she said, although she damn near had to grit her teeth to say it. She had no idea what special events, so she dodged. “We need to see Etrianala.”
He nodded as if that had been a yes. “Don’t they all. Good luck in the competition.” He glanced back at the attendant who’d cleared them, then stepped aside and waved them through. Apparently they had fallback checks.
She eased past him and into a dark hallway. She couldn’t see anything but black.
“The competition?” Kael raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Inside, the music was smothering. Bass beats pounded at her rib cage, the notes wild and dangerous. Her heart sped up. So many people. So many potential hostiles. A nightmare, if anything got out of hand. The club itself was a strange combination of a sea of frothy revelers, a bar full of holier-than-thou types—her classic Capital stereotype—and an environment so incredible, it actually made her pause to appreciate it. The ceiling was a latticework of tiny white flowers that moved and shifted as if swept up on rolling ocean waves or stirred by a finger trailing idly through a pond. Columns dotted the place, breaking up the view, but their shapes were like the tall trunks of trees, organic and winding, and yet they glowed from a deep black within to a pale blue at the edges, almost like they were encased in a force field. Except that was impossible, as force fields were always flat planes. The floors glittered black, and the purple of a nebula and a thousand stars swam underneath dark feet. It had to be digital. Or something. Her bet was that it would shift to something else as time passed or the music changed. On top of it all, fountains filled corners and sprayed water that caught the flashing lights from the dance floor in a myriad of hues. And all the while the white flowers swirled and swayed.
She bent close to his ear and yelled. “Some wine bar, huh?”
“Wine garden. But you should never trust what you read on the net.”
“Shoulda brought an ear piece to talk. This sound is enough to fry my circuits.”
It was an expression, but his eyes twinkled with laughter. He smiled, a slight edge to it, then bent to her ear himself. “Does this make you uncomfortable, Ellen?”
“No,” she shot back, stubborn as a mule kick. What a lie. Of course it did. The shoes were uncomfortable enough, without the dress, without him looking like a younger and cooler Ostrov, without his breath tickling her ear lobe.
Damn this whole stupid plan.
“Let’s do a lap and see if we see either of them!” she shouted.
He followed, scanning.
Their initial pass turned up nothing. No sign of Vivaan or Kentt or even any of the women he’d been searching for.
She decided to take a break and took a place at the bar with a sigh. No need to look more vulture than human.
“See anything?” she shouted as quietly as she could.
He shook his head. Still scanning. The incessant scanning, the always turned away gaze—they were starting to bother her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
A live bartender, not even a fancy droid, wiped the bar behind them, and she turned. Funny how only the richest and poorest places had real people. Droids were middle class—and could listen to your woes for hours. Not this guy. He wasn’t listening to anything over the music. He had a house breather on that a delicate sign behind him suggested you could rent for a nominal fee. Its tubes were white and silver and blue, and he had the wide-sleeved, flouncy shirts she’d seen on the streets when they arrived. The latest fashion? That he could afford?
“Wine? Or even better, beer?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “House drink is an elderflower ‘wine.’ ”
“Uh, okay?”
“It contains no alcohol, of course.”
She sighed. “Fine, whatever.”
“And you, sir?”
“Whatever she’s having.”
The bartender lifted his eyebrows slightly but complied.
“When in Rome.” Ellen pursed her lips as she leaned on the bar. “Josana said alcohol is illegal here.”
“Does that mean I need to stop calling you Ellen? If we’re not drinking?”
She snorted. “Nah. Don’t stop.”
He grinned, glanced at her before back to the crowd. “So what does that really mean? Do we need to slip him a twenty-credit card to get b
eer?”
“I don’t need beer. I’d rather keep the credits. But yeah, that’d be my guess.”
“Odd.”
A girl from beside Kael seemed to have been listening and took her opening. Her dress was a wall of purple sparkle that shifted as she moved. Whatever gave the dress its pigment was somehow suspended within liquid inside. “It’s a Buddhist thing, a holdover from the old founders’ traditions.” She draped herself across Kael’s shoulder and looked deep into his eyes, smiling slyly as an amethyst the size of an eye twinkled in a bracelet lounging around her wrist. Lips and nails glittered in coordinating shades, and Ellen tried not to openly scowl.
“Uh…” Kael grunted. “I don’t see much Buddhism going on in here.”
“No, you don’t, do you?” she said, laughing. “They battled it out with the Hindus, the Americans. The spirit of asceticism didn’t really last—”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Kael murmured.
“—but for some reason we kept substance limits and a park or two.” She shrugged and leaned even closer. “Are you Buddhist? Or here to visit the Movers’ temples? They’re so beautiful. You look like you’re definitely on vacation. The pilgrimage type?”
“Does he look like the pilgrimage type?” Ellen grumbled. But in truth—she didn’t know what type he looked like just at the moment. Josana had been stunningly successful at polishing off a lot of rough edges.
“Hmm.” The girl tapped a finger to her lips, parting them slightly, brazenly appraising.
“He’s not your type, whatever that is,” Ellen snapped, hooking a finger in the girl’s fancy bracelet and removing her hand from Kael’s chest.
The girl gave her a death glare, the augmented lavender color of her eyes flashing. “And you are?”
Kael chuckled softly.
“I’m his boss. And we’re working.”
The girl rolled her eyes, then looked at Kael. “Call me when you’re off. I’ll be at it all night.” She winked and turned away, throwing in one last long, meaningful look back for good measure. Kael didn’t turn his eyes away. Ellen gritted her teeth. He resumed scanning the club.