The Harmony Paradox Page 22

  Masaru shook his head and sheathed his sword. “That made too much noise. I must move.”

  He jogged south again.

  Twenty-one minutes later according to the time display on his NetMini’s compass app, he emerged from two rows of collapsing buildings into a large intersection where a six-lane road met a four-lane road. Not far from where the larger street headed south back among buildings, the wreckage of a green-painted military transport aircraft sat crumpled nose-first into a decaying high-rise. Dark smoke still poured from both engines along the midpoint of its VTOL wings, which canted upward at a forty-five degree angle, as though it had been in the process of slowing to land when something went quite wrong.

  JSDF… He wondered if the Japan State Defense Force might have had some sort of facility set up here responsible for jamming signals. He could think of no other reason (aside from wild stories about radiation and fantasy) why his NetMini remained unable to connect. Hoping something in the wreck might provide a way to talk to the outside world, Masaru sprinted for it.

  He approached the left side and peered into an open hatch at a space with twelve small seats, six against each wall. Three of the harnesses extended to their upmost position, suggesting the ship hadn’t come in with a full squad. Masaru pulled himself in and moved toward the cockpit, but stopped a few feet away at the stink of rotting body.

  A waterfall of broken metal struts and concrete jutting in through the windscreen convinced him any useful electronics this bird may have had no longer worked. Shaking his head, he backed away and headed for the door.

  When he jumped to the ground, he caught sight of a trail of blood leading away from the crash.

  This looks recent. Perhaps there are survivors.

  Masaru jogged across the intersection, his shoes falling upon pale grey silt so thick the area could pass for the surface of the Moon. Footprints and blood led west out of the intersection along the four-lane road before turning right at the first possible chance. The JSDF went west. Perhaps I have chosen poorly with south. He stopped at the corner and peeked around. After spotting no threats, he continued following the trail for two blocks before it went across the street and down an alley.

  Five bodies, more rag-clad nomads like the ones who had attacked him, lay draped over old cars half a block later. The area swarmed with footprints, making it impossible to tell who went where. Masaru wandered around the scene of a gunfight until he spotted blood leading away once more. A greater number of less damaged structures here appeared to have a dampening effect on the silt, as it didn’t coat the road thick enough for footprints to form.

  Fourteen paces later, he followed the blood to the doorway of an old sushi restaurant. It had no roof left, consisting only of four walls so rickety he figured an ordinary man might be able to push them over with sufficient effort. Masaru approached the door and stepped inside.

  “Don’t move,” said a female voice on his right.

  He froze, and shifted only his eyes toward her. Late morning sun glinted from the tip of an assault rifle trained on him, in the hands of a young woman wearing beige JSDF armor over a dark navy blue jumpsuit. She sat on the floor about twenty feet away, propped up against the wall in the near corner. Her helmet lay beside her on the ground, its amber visor cracked. Loose black hair hung even with her jawline, framing wide and fearful eyes. Dust and smears of red streaked her too-pale face, and blood pooled under her right leg.

  “You’re hurt.” He took a step closer.

  “I said, don’t move.” She swallowed; the tip of her rifle wobbled. “Take another step, and it’ll be your last.”

  atya wished she had a MOM-E, that is, a multi-orientation monitor eye… essentially a tiny camera embedded in the back of the head, about twice the size of a pore. At the time she’d been ‘put together’ by her former owners, the technology hadn’t evolved down small enough to be invisible. Similar devices existed, but the ones with any decent visual clarity had 2mm lenses and would’ve been obvious if someone she’d been sent to spy on stroked her hair. Since she’d escaped, adding more parts to further embed herself in the life she tried to flee hadn’t been high on the list of things to do.

  The whole Eve thing had been a curveball too.

  She needed money to survive… and support this ‘kid,’ but couldn’t find a job.

  She wanted out of ‘the business,’ but it’s all she knew.

  She shouldn’t have taken this mission from Alex, but she did it anyway.

  She thought she’d gotten out clean, but had a tail.

  If she got caught, the life she’d spent the past eight months trying to establish would all go to hell, and probably take Eve with it.

  Something’s not right. If he’s on to me, where are the police?

  On a whim, she made a spontaneous turn into a Morning Bean coffee shop and headed straight for the shelves of mugs, teas, and other various overpriced whatnot. As soon as she had enough of a barrier between her and the glass front of the store, she ducked down out of sight. Her CamNano activated at a mental nudge, shifting her hair to lemon blonde and her skin back to its usual shade―pale.

  Sometimes a little change is all it takes to fool a tail. This is what I get for thinking the job would be easy and not wearing a second outfit.

  Once her hair completed the transition, she emerged from the shelves and approached the counter.

  “Welcome to Morning bean, how may I caffeinate you?” asked a dark-skinned girl of about sixteen with hot-pink hair and iridescent blue yes.

  “Oh, hi,” said Katya, adding a giggle. “Double espresso on ice please.”

  The girl smiled and tapped her terminal screen. “Twenty-four credits, please.”

  Katya reverted her NetMini back to its standard profile and waved it past the reader. While standing by the pick-up counter, she watched the street out of the corner of her eye. The man who’d followed her out of the LRI building chatted with a busker by the corner, but kept his attention on the coffee place.

  A moment later, an elderly man behind the counter set a small plastic cup in front of her, gave a polite nod, and proceeded to work on someone else’s drink. Katya took the cup and edged toward the exit, measuring the ebb and flow of pedestrians. Her tail’s shadow stretched away from the Morning Bean store, which meant she’d be walking into the sun, giving her the advantage of glare. He probably couldn’t even see into the windows too well.

  As soon as a dense cluster of pedestrians came by, Katya ducked out and fell in stride with them. Creative tilting of her NetMini let her peer back over her shoulder at the man, who continued to watch the coffee shop. Feeling relieved, and a touch proud of herself, she walked onward while pulling up a navigation applet to locate ‘Bruno’s Bistro.’

  Four minutes after leaving Morning Bean, Katya found the place Alex wanted her to go. A small white trapezoid-shaped building jutted out from the side of a century tower behind an outdoor seating area enclosed in a thigh-high fence made to resemble wrought iron. Around twenty or so small, round tables with umbrellas that looked more decorative than useful occupied the patio, while a mere six tables stood inside. Most of the restaurant’s interior space appeared to be kitchen. Sliding glass doors on the front face offered a view clean through to the lobby of the high-rise.

  They should’ve called it the Remora Café.

  She spotted an empty table inside and hurried over to the doors. Spices and garlic hung thick in the air along with the aroma of sausage. A shortish man in a chef’s outfit emitted a faint whistle with his teeth, waved at a woman with platinum blonde curls, wearing a frilly black top and teeny skirt who appeared to be serving tables, and set an order up on the counter. Katya eyed a plate of what appeared to be thin-sliced sausage with broccoli rabe over penne pasta. The intense garlic wafting off it triggered unexpected hunger.

  The waitress hurried over to pick up the plate. As soon as she glanced at Katya, telltale seams in the face by the mouth and eyes gave her away as a Class 2 doll, but her man
nerisms had enough humanity to suggest her AI had sentience.

  “Hello!” chirped the doll in French-accented English. “What can I get for you today?”

  Katya gestured at the food on the tray. “I’ll have that too. It smells wonderful.”

  “Oh, oui, oui! It is exquisite!” She faced the chef. “Antoine, please let me know when it is ready for her.” The doll escorted her to the empty table on the way to take the plate outside to one of the tables there.

  That looks like Italian food. Why is the waitress French?

  The instant she took a seat, the thirteen-million-credit stowaway made itself known. In all the years she’d been used by Vertex Investments, she’d never once had to physically smuggle a high-value object in a body cavity. Of course, while being trained, she’d been made to do so. The squat, balding, neckless Otto Kepler returned to her memory, chuckling at her. The man could’ve been her grandfather by age, but seemed to take great delight in that particular training course. They’d forced her to insert a little metal orb to simulate ‘the objective,’ but didn’t bother to mention it could vibrate or shock whenever Otto hit a button.

  She―as well as the other five girls and three boys―had to navigate a small section of the Vertex Investments compound and interact with randomly selected people without giving away any sign they ‘smuggled contraband.’ Not an easy task when Otto decided to set off the zapper or buzzer in mid-conversation. They’d made them all do it over and over again until they could keep a straight face no matter what.

  Katya narrowed her eyes. Not once had she needed to ‘use that training’ during the time she’d been working for Vertex. If Otto’s insistence that he watch them put ‘the objective’ in place hadn’t been enough of a clue where his interests lied, that all the boys passed the course on their first attempt days before any of the girls did made his intentions clear. What were we, fourteen? She sighed into her coffee. Female, young, a commoner, and not one of us had parents. Exactly the wrong combination of things to be in the ACC. I suppose it could have been far worse. At least I’m alive.

  Yulia Danov had been the director in charge of Vertex Investments’ ‘ghost’ program. She didn’t seem the type to have tolerated anyone molesting her ‘assets.’ At least, outside of the desensitization training, but that hadn’t started until seventeen.

  Katya had forgotten how to enjoy sex. Her first time had been with a ‘trainer’ whose job it had been to take away all emotional association from the act. By the time she’d turned eighteen, it carried no more emotional weight than a handshake. Sometimes she used it to get information, sometimes to get close enough to poison someone. Never to stash an object.

  Kepler was a piece of shit. She let a dark chuckle slip under her breath. Anya, a baby-faced blonde farm girl who’d been picked up from the countryside, had shot him after the fourteenth time she’d failed his ‘hide the orb’ training. Yulia hadn’t even taken away the girl’s rec center privileges. Katya stared off into nowhere, sipping espresso and wondering what had become of Anya. She’d been so quiet and timid when they’d first met at around ten. The last she’d seen the girl, she looked perpetually sad and broken, but did everything they ordered her to do with an emotionless detachment worthy of a sub-sentient doll.

  Though Katya did get treated a little better than most because they couldn’t make her psionic, despite their best efforts. Evidently, being so far away from gifted that even a top-tier government run facility trying to give her psionic abilities failed made them trust her.

  Everyone over there… you’d think psionics were practitioners of black magic who could damn the soul with a glare.

  When the doll waitress glided back in, she brought Katya ice water. “Would you care for a drink as well, madame?”

  “The water is fine, thanks.” Katya returned a polite smile.

  She closed her eyes and daydreamed about a world where some form of God existed, so he, she, or it could visit death and suffering down upon everyone involved with Vertex Investments.

  “Miss Hernandez, you’re looking rather pale,” said a man.

  Katya’s head snapped up; she gazed at the guy who’d followed her from Laughlin-Reed standing within arm’s reach. Lamps in the ceiling made the front edge of his perfect light-brown hair almost glow. A narrow nose, angular cheeks, and flat chin almost gave him the good looks of a holovid star, though a slight asymmetry in his face kept him from being too perfect.

  Before she could get a single word out, he slid into the other chair. The concealed neural memory stick practically screamed under the table, radiating her guilt in a way she feared he could detect. Something in the quality of his stare set her on edge. He didn’t have the look of a man who planned to catch a thief. He looked more… intrigued. Katya clenched her jaw, detesting that she couldn’t bring her handgun on this job. Maybe this man had nothing at all to do with what she’d stolen, and had less noble intentions.

  “Nice move at the Bean.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

  Muscles at the back of her neck tensed, her body expected Otto to hit the button as soon as she tried to talk. “I’ve already ordered.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind.” He leaned back. “I wanted conversation more than food.”

  The doll walked up to the table and set her meal down before rendering a polite curtsey to the man. “Bonjour, sir. Can I get you anything?”

  He glanced at a holographic rendition of a menu hovering by the wall next to the chef. “I’ll have the caprese panini, and hot tea.”

  The waitress doll smiled and emitted a cheerful noise. “Excellent choice. I will bring it out as soon as it is ready.”

  Katya narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. Any enjoyment she might’ve gotten from the food, this man had ruined. She couldn’t betray worry or fear, and so she ate while keeping an outward blasé demeanor. Fortunately, the food was good enough to ease her nerves ever so slightly. “So what is it you wanted to talk about? Must be interesting if you’ve followed me all the way here.”

  He let off the sort of chuckle a wealthy person uses to call someone a fool in a polite way. “I couldn’t help but notice your eyes, and wanted a closer look.”

  “And now that you’ve gotten that look?” She sliced a wafer of sausage in half, and speared her fork through it into some of the broccoli before lifting it to her mouth. The green strand glistened with a coating of garlic-infused olive oil.

  He waited as the doll dropped off a cup of tea and walked away. “I am more inclined to trust my initial impression of you.”

  To control her mood, Katya kept replaying the moment Anya approached Otto so he could watch her insert ‘the objective.’ She pulled up the drab grey company-issued skirt they all had to wear, exposing herself, as well as a pistol strapped to her thigh. Otto never got the chance to scream. She drew, shot him once in the forehead, and put the weapon on the floor. Hands raised, she had offered no resistance when the handlers swarmed in and dragged her off. That had been the last, if not only, time Katya had seen the girl smile. Even two hours later when Anya had walked back down the hall to her ‘apartment,’ she looked lost.

  She’d wanted to die. Anya had expected to be executed for that.

  Focusing on a depressing moment allowed for passable outward detachment. Disinterest and sorrow often looked alike.

  “So you’ve busted me for not having a class.” Katya shrugged her right shoulder. “Crowley had me sorting boxes. I needed to get out of there. I’m supposed to be learning, not moving crap around shelves.”

  “I think we both know why you’re at LRI, Rosalie.” He flared his eyebrows. “I’m Zack.”

  She teased at her food with the fork for a few seconds. “I’m interning.”

  “Right.” He winked. “You forgot to keep the age-reducing contouring in your nano makeup.”

  Shit. If I say I made myself older to lose him, I admit to having cam and he’ll know… If I play dumb, he’ll know. Katya rolled her eyes. “Okay, you got
me. I’m not really nineteen. Found a loophole to get the government to pay for university.”

  “Not bad.” Zack again waited as the doll waitress set down a plate before him, bearing an oblong caprese panini and a portion of tri-color pasta salad. He nodded at the false woman. “Thanks.” As soon as the doll walked away, he leaned close and whispered, “I’m in the network defense group at LRI. I recognized your technique. Classic OOI.”

  Electric shock bedamned, Otto could’ve set off a hand grenade inside her at that moment, and her face wouldn’t have even twitched.

  Zack picked up half his sandwich and winked. “That’s an excellent confused face.”

  She watched him eat for a moment, not quite able to bring herself to lift food to her mouth.

  “I can tell you’re not primarily a cyberspace infiltrator, but not bad work.” He dabbed a napkin at his chin. “I couldn’t find you on the list of assets involved in this operation, but we both know that’s likely on purpose. Separation in case of compromise. Standard.” He tossed the last of his panini in his mouth and winked.

  He’s talking right out in the open. Katya shifted her eyes to the right. The chef looked too far away to have possibly heard anything. She glanced past Zack at the other five tables: a woman her age with two small boys, a young couple, a middle-aged couple, and a pudgy old man so into the contents of his NetMini screen a gang shootout could tear the place apart and he probably wouldn’t twitch. Katya doubted the young mother at the nearest table eavesdropped much over the boys rambling on and on about some video game they couldn’t wait to get home to.

  Is this guy working for the police, trying to bait me? If he’s really ACC, he’s a fool.

  “Oh, I know,” he whispered. “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you at all if our teams are supposed to remain isolated, but you had such amazing eyes I couldn’t help myself.”