Marlowe Kana (Book 1 Volume 1)

by Joe Peacock

retorted. "And you were released because the evidence suddenly went missing. Who do you think misplaced it?" 

  Jen clenched her teeth. "I got off because my lawyer--"

  "--Is an imbecile who you're sleeping with," Marlowe interjected. "All he did was push some papers around. I made sure there weren't that many to push. I've never not had your back." 

  "Well I'm sure helping me had some benefits for you as well," Jen replied. "All that AMP that mysteriously disappeared was put to good use, I hope."

  "Sure," Marlowe said, rolling her head back and closing her eyes. "Saving the world, being the hero...all that shit."

  "And trying to kill one of the ‘Next Top Soldier’ contestants, and breaking out of prison..." Jen replied.

  Marlowe sat up with a surge of fury. "How dare you!"

  "What, you're automatically innocent because 'I'm supposed to know you better than that?" Jen said. "All I know about you these days is you got all famous and disappeared!"

  "Fuck fame!" Marlowe snapped. "You think I care what a bunch of Feed junkies think? You think I give a rat’s ass about whatever 'fame' I've gotten from a bunch of people who would just as happily watch me die as see me kill people, lift weights, or shop for groceries all day?"

  "You certainly don't shy away from it, miss three-time Top Soldier..." 

  Marlowe rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, slumping on the makeshift couch. "Look, I can't help it if 'war' is everyone's favorite show! I'm MilSec. I have to broadcast twenty-four seven. It's the law. People watched me as I did my damn job. I kill terrorists and--"

  "--keep this country safe, yeah, I know," Jen finished. "I read the bio on the back of the packaging for your action figures."

  "...Fuck you," Marlowe said with a huff.

  "I really like the shopping one best," she said, driving the knife in a little deeper. "Looks so realistic." 

  "I don't have any say in what Imagen uses my likeness for, okay?" 

  "No say on your own action figures, no say on product placement, no say on broadcasting on the Feeds...man, you're such a victim of the Imagen industrial complex!" 

  "Hey, at least I know who I am! What’s your name now? ‘Jen Kujaku?’ Dad’s silly nickname for us is your new super-secret identity? Does your lawyer fuckbuddy even know who you really are?”

  “HA!” Jen chortled. “You know who you are?!? You just said you have no say in how you live your life or how everyone sees you!”

  “...Just shut up and get me some food, okay?" Marlowe said. 

  "I bet you didn't have a say in trying to murder your competition either --"

  "--Enough!" Marlowe yelled, leaping to her feet. "You know what? Fine. You don't want to help me, I'll figure it out on my own. I'm out of--"

  "--Jen?" A man's voice said from the hallway.  "Is everything okay?"

  Marlowe and Jen both turned their heads to face a fit, balding middle-aged man clad only in his undershorts, who had appeared from the darkness of the hallway. "Wha...holy shit!" the man said as he looked at Marlowe. He turned toward Jen. "What the fuck is your sister doing here?!?"

  "Michael--" Jen began to explain.

  "--Adopted sister," Marlowe interjected. "And don't worry, I'm not staying."  

  "You're goddamn right you're not," Michael replied. "Jen, you're on probation! What the hell are you thinking? She can't be here! This is aiding and abetting a known traitor!" 

  "I'm not aiding or abetting," Jen said. "She just...showed up. I had to let her in." 

  "You had to let her in?" Michael exclaimed. "You have all these fancy locks and surveillance equipment, and you had to let her in?" 

  "Michael..." Jen replied. 

  "I'm calling MilSec," Michael stated, turning to march back to the bedroom. 

  "Do that and I'll have your other other testicle," Marlowe said as she sat back down.  

  Michael stopped dead in his tracks. "How...how do you..."

  "Hoverskate accident when you were thirteen," Marlowe replied. "You had surgery. It's all on record. Well, sealed record. But hey, being me has its advantages."

  Michael stammered. Jen attempted to cover her smirk. Marlowe continued. "I'm the United American State's best soldier for a reason, Michael," Marlowe said in a mocking, nasal tone. "I'm very thorough. I do my research. Especially on the lawyers who represent my sister. And double especially on the ones who she decides to let inside her." 

  "Hey!" Jen yelled. 

  "Just saying," Marlowe said innocently.

  "...This is bullshit," Michael snapped. He took a step toward the doorway. 

  In a fraction of a second, Marlowe shot up from the makeshift couch and seized a steak knife that had been left on a plate on the table in front of her. She grasped it by the hilt, flipped it one hundred and eighty degrees into the air, and caught it by the tip. With a slight flick of her wrist, she flung the knife toward Michael, pinning the left leg of his boxer shorts to the door frame, mere inches from his remaining testicle. 

  Michael froze. 

  Jen rushed over to him. "Are you okay?" She asked, stifling a laugh. 

  "This is funny to you?!?" Michael asked. 

  "I mean...yeah? A little?" Jen replied.

  "She could have cut off my...you know!" Michael exclaimed. 

  "It wasn’t an accident. I chose not to," Marlowe said from behind them. 

  "Look, I'm going to get her what she needs, and then she's going to go, okay?" Jen said to reassure Michael. 

  "Jen, if you get caught...if they find her here...you're done. They'll execute you. And I'll be disbarred. If I'm lucky!"

  Jen placed her hands on Michael's shoulders. "That's why we'll make sure they won't, okay?" 

  "I'll be out of your hair in no time," Marlowe replied. "Both the top hairs and the ones I just shaved." 

  Michael looked past Jen at Marlowe. He scowled. He returned his glance to Jen. "This is bad, Jen," he said. 

  "I know," Jen replied. "But she's my sister." 

  Michael closed his eyes and shook his head. "She is going to get us both killed." 

  "Michael...trust me," Jen said.

  He gritted his teeth and then sighed. "You have ten minutes," he said to Marlowe over Jen's shoulder. He turned to exit the room. 

  "Uh, no," Marlowe said. "You're staying right here." 

  Michael began to retort. Marlowe reached for the fork from the same plate the knife had previously rested on. Michael quickly shut his mouth and took a seat in the makeshift chair near the couch. 

  "Good boy."

  "Leave him alone," Jen said. "I'll go get your shit, but then you need to go." 

  Marlowe lifted her hand and lazily waved Jen off. She turned and disappeared down the hallway. 

  Marlowe stretched her arms over her head, then interlaced her fingers and rested her palms on the back of her skull as she sighed. Michael sat with his hands in his lap, visibly uncomfortable.

  The screen on Jen's desk continued the nearly endless recapping of the events that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. Everything from the footage of Marlowe attacking Sergeant Corta in the locker rooms of their barracks, to Marlowe's guilty verdict at the trial, to the sentencing hearing, to the prison break and the subsequent sniping of the camera drones by the soldiers who had sprung her -- everything was being covered and analyzed in frenzied, minute detail. Various recap blurbs crawled across the bottom of the screen while the NewsFeed anchors bantered with assorted experts in fields from legal, to MilSec domestic operations, to psychology.

  Marlowe was glad the audio was muted. She never could stand her own press. Still, she couldn't help but keep one eye on the footage. Suddenly, NewsFeed cycled through something Marlowe wasn't familiar with: a recap of the announcements by President Cook regarding “Next Top Soldier” and the return of Sergeant Corta. And the fact that capturing Marlowe was now the sole determination for victory. 

  Marlowe sat  up straight. The entire nation may have been glued to their screens
for the better part of three months, but she was watching all of this for the first time. Seeing Corta standing beside President Cook alive and well was genuinely intriguing. 

   "JAQi, turn up the volume," she said aloud. 

   There was no response. 

   "JAQi..." Marlowe grimaced. "Ah, fuck, I keep forgetting..." she said, shutting her eyes. 

   "They flashed your Pod, right? When you were arrested and processed?" Michael asked. 

   Marlowe looked over toward Michael. She was too exhausted at this point to be a smartass. She simply nodded. 

  "Huh… The Prisoner Operating System has GPS. How did they not track you during the escape?" 

  "They can't," Marlowe answered. "I performed a little...self-surgery when I was inside." She tilted her head and pointed to a small scar behind her left ear, just above her jawbone. “No Pod, no POS.”

   "Christ!" Michael said, wincing. "That couldn't have felt good." 

   Marlowe answered by raising her eyebrows and shrugging. With a sigh, she laid her head back and closed her eyes once more. 

   "Well, it wouldn't work here anyway," Michael replied. "Jen keeps things dark. No JAQi here. No outside connections. All closed feeds and proxied connections." 

   "Yeah, I forgot