Marlowe Kana (Book 1 Volume 1)

by Joe Peacock

about that, too," Marlowe replied. "It's...been a while." 

  "So I understand." Michael replied. "You two used to be close, right?"

  Marlowe sighed as she leaned forward and looked at Michael. "Look, she likes you. I'm happy for you both. And I get that you get off on taking charity cases and playing the role of savior. But I don't need a therapist. I don't need you to save me. I just need to get my shit and figure out how to clear my name." 

  "I may not be a therapist," Michael said, leaning forward, "but I'm a damn good lawyer. Let me help you. I will--"

  "--You'll what? Get the MilSec tribunal to overturn a guilty verdict for treason? For a soldier who was seen on the national NewsFeed being sprung from a prison transport by domestic terrorists?" 

  "Yes!" he replied. "You'll turn state's evidence. Testify against the MilSec soldiers who illegally kidnapped you and name the terrorists who assisted them. Tell the tribunal you had nothing to do with--"

  "--That didn't work at my first trial," Marlowe interjected. "They still found me guilty of treason, despite conclusive evidence that I acted in self defense against Corta and her little clique. They suppressed the footage. I doubt they even covered that on NewsFeed, did they?" 

  Michael looked at her, puzzled. "No?"

  "Yeah, well...fat chance they'd believe me now," Marlowe said. "Or even care if they did."

  "The way I see it, you really don't have any other choice," Michael replied. 

  "Sure I do," Marlowe said. "I can clear my name. Or die trying." 

  "And get us killed in the process..." Michael muttered. 

  "I'll be gone long before anyone even thinks to look for me here...if they even know to look here," Marlowe answered. "I just need--"

  Jen emerged from the hallway clutching a green duffel bag. 

  "--That," Marlowe continued. 

  Jen tossed the bag into Marlowe's lap. Marlowe unzipped it and let out a massive sigh of relief. In it was several stacks of perfectly legal Battery energy bars, along with a dozen or so exceedingly illegal inhalers loaded with AMP. 

  Michael's jaw dropped. "Is that AMP?" Michael asked Jen.

  "Yup," Marlowe answered for her. She immediately ripped open the packaging on a Battery bar and began devouring it. 

  "Jennifer! How could you?!?" Michael asked.

  Jen ducked her head and sighed.

  "Your girlfriend's a drug dealer," Marlowe said while chewing on the last bit of the extremely calorie-dense energy bar. "And a card shark, and a thief, and a really good hacker. But yes, among those other things, she deals drugs. And these are drugs...well, not this," she said, a crumb falling from her mouth as she waved half a Battery bar at him.

  Michael narrowed his eyes, clearly unamused. 

  "But these..." Marlowe grabbed an AMP inhaler, placed it in her mouth, pressed the blue button on the top, and took a deep breath. After a moment, she exhaled. She shivered and shook from head to toe. "Oh, yeah...THESE are drugs. Good ones, too. I mean, real grade-A stuff. Better than your average street shit." 

  Michael sat in his seat, stunned and hurt. Marlowe began unwrapping a second Battery bar. "Huh," she said, noticing the wrapper. "They took my picture off the package." 

  "Of course they did," Jen said. "They're not going to let a criminal represent their product. And you should slow down. You're going to puke."

  "Fine, at least I'll puke actual food," Marlowe replied. "Do you know how long it's been since I've eaten anything other than vitamin supplements and water?"

  "Three months, five days, and a few hours," Jen replied. 

  "...Sure. Something like that."

  "Well, even your science experiment of a body can't absorb that much nutrition that quickly," Jen said. 

  "Okay, well, if I waste it, I waste it," Marlowe replied. "It's not like you care. You wanted me out of here. I'm out of here." 

  Marlowe stood to leave. Her head spun and she immediately fell back on the makeshift couch. This time it couldn't hold her immense weight. The entire structure collapsed beneath her. 

  "Shit...Marlowe..." Jen said, exasperated. She went over to help Marlowe up. 

  "I'm fine..." Marlowe said, pushing Jen's hands away.

  "Clearly. Take my damn hand." 

  Marlowe reached out and grabbed Jen's hand. Jen groaned as she strained to hoist Marlowe up. Woozily, she leaned on Jen, who guided her to the empty seat next to the collapsed couch. 

  "You think I did it, don't you?" Marlowe asked.

  "I think you're in a world of trouble," Jen replied softly. "And I think your options are pretty limited. In fact, I think you're severely fucked." 

  "You didn't answer my question," Marlowe stated. "I am telling you right here and right now, I am innocent. I was attacked first and was defending myself. I want to hear you say you believe me."

  Jen placed her face in her palms. 

  "Jen!" Marlowe barked.

  Jen sighed. She lifted her head and looked at Marlowe. "Look, you say you didn't do it, and I believe you," she said.  "You say there's evidence that proves you're innocent, and I believe you. But Marlowe...it doesn't matter what I believe! You were found guilty of treason. You were sentenced to life in prison. You escaped and are now considered a traitor and a fugitive."

  Marlowe looked up at Jen, who could detect a note of vulnerability somewhere in her eyes. 

  "You're literally the most recognizable face in the nation. Short of getting a complete face replacement, I don't think you have any options left. Let us help you. I know some MilSec people, guys who buy from me. They'll listen to you."

  "We can fight this," Michael said, emerging from the kitchen holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a small box of cigars in the other.

  Marlowe did a double-take. She hadn't noticed that Michael had left the room, much less that she had been sitting in the seat he had vacated. 

  "I have a plan...if you'll hear me out," he said, offering Marlowe the bottle and the box. 

  Marlowe considered him for a moment. His existence on this planet was appalling to her. He embodied everything she hated about the society she spent her adult life protecting. The product of wealth and entitlement, the scumbag lawyer before her skated through life on the mistakes of others. And now he was slumming with Jen, spending his nights playing tourist in the Subs amongst the people he spent his days milking credits from, defending them against minor charges that usually had no merit to begin with and were easily dismissable. 

  But then again, he had scotch, cigars, and a plan -- three things she'd not had in months. She reached out and took his offerings.  

  "First, I want to know what happened," Michael said, taking a seat on the edge of the table, barely missing the plate with the fork. "Tell me everything. I'll believe you. I can help you." 

  Marlowe popped the cork on the bottle and took a long swig. She let out a massive sigh. It didn't matter that it was cheap synthetic stuff, or that Scotland no longer existed. It said "Scotch" on the bottle and right then, it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

  "Well," she said, cracking the lid on the box of extremely rare, vintage Cuestas cigars and removing a stogie. "You already know the back half of it...the footage of me tossing Corta around the barracks and nearly killing her. All that." 

  She removed the cigar from the wrapper, placed it to her nose and inhaled deeply. It was real. How this two-bit lawyer came across a box of Cuestas didn't matter to her, nor did the fact that it was a little stale. At that moment, it was pure heaven. She used the guillotine cutter she found in the box and lopped off a small sliver from the head of the cigar. 

  "What you don't know is that she attacked me first." 

  "So you said in your testimony," Michael replied. "But there's no evidence. And believe me, Jen tried to find it." 

  "I called in every favor I had," Jen said. "Scraped every Feed, chased down every lead. There's absolutely nothing out there that backs up your story." 

  "Yes there is," Marlowe r
eplied as she placed the cigar in her mouth. She pulled a match from a box and struck it. Even the sulfur smell of the matchstick igniting brought a smile to her face. "It was suppressed. But it does exist." 

  She placed the match to the foot of the cigar and inhaled deeply, puffing continuously to get it to ignite. Cherry-red embers glowed at the foot of the cigar. Marlowe took a deep drag, held the smoke in her mouth, and exhaled. She would have shed a tear, if her ocular implants hadn't made that impossible. 

  "Where?" Michael asked, snapping Marlowe back to the present moment. 

  "It was some private," Marlowe replied. "His Feed was broadcasting. It picked up Corta's ambush in the shower." 

  Suddenly, the security script that Jen was running sounded a loud DING, followed by another. 

  Jen snapped to attention. "Fuck," she said under her breath as she leapt toward the terminal on her desk. Marlowe followed suit with Michael close behind. 

  Two windows on the desktop screen showed footage that matched the search script's parameters. One was displaying a  MilSecFeed from Sergeant Henry Cain, with statistics that showed nearly ten million citizens were watching it live. The other was the exact same feed, simulcast on NewsFeed,