A persistent buzzing sounds from beside us. I slap the ignore button without skipping a beat and return her sentiment, feasting on her neck in attempts to recover the moment.
More buzzing. I choose to ignore it, but Jenna grabs it and slams it forcefully into my chest. “Just fucking take it.”
I shoot her a look of more irritation than hurt, then click ‘accept’ and hold the phone to my ear. “What?” I growl into the receiver.
“Mr. Fallows. We have the lab results back from toxicology,” an unfamiliar masculine voice says flatly.
“Not the best time, pal. Unless I’m dying in the next…” I look over Jenna’s naked form from the edge of her bed, “hour or two, this can probably wait.”
“Given your location, I think it’s best you understand that you haven’t been poisoned, you’ve been injected with a large dosage of potency hormones.”
“Come again?”
“You’re firing live rounds.” All blood drains from my face. I feel Jenna’s arms slide around me from behind and the warm moisture of her lips on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. And not in the good way.
“How? And why? And… does that even matter? It has to go both ways, right?”
“These are questions best asked of a fertility specialist and whoever felt the need to inject you. Though given the peculiar circumstances, it may be safe to assume that any interested parties might have also injected your partner.”
“Well how long do these things last?” Fingertips trickle down my abdomen to the seam of my pants before professionally working the clasp of my belt.
“Anywhere from three to six months depending on potency, dosage, and the metabolism of the persons involved.”
“Three to six months??” I leap from my perch on the bed, hanging up on the unknown bearer of bad news as my pants fall to my feet. “I gotta go,” I mutter.
“Like hell you do! Who was that on the phone?”
“My mom. I was supposed to be home for dinner an hour ago.”
My pants are barely back up above my knees before the first attack comes, one discarded knee-high boot flying fiercely into the side of my head. “Screw you! Who the fuck was on the phone?”
“Damn, kiddo! Don’t worry about it!” Buttons clasped and the next boot buries heel-first into my side.
“Get the hell out of my apartment!” she shrieks, face red and contorted.
Abandoning the rest of my things before she finds the lamp, I turn tail and run, bolting across the small living area, out the front door and into the hallway.
I fall back against the door, the smooth metal feeling cool against my back and let out a long sigh. My job just got more awkward.
Thirteen
Ever since Wyrmwood informed me about the numerous surveillance bugs infesting my apartment, I’ve made naked yoga a morning ritual, positioning myself for maximum effect. At first it was just to be an asshole, but I’ve found that it legitimately begins my day feeling calm and limber.
Balancing on my hands upside down and spread eagle, my center is nearly lost and threatens to send me toppling as an unfamiliar chime sounds through my apartment. Who the hell uses the doorbell? My eyes creep suspiciously towards the clock. And before nine in the morning? Favoring a pistol over pants, I saunter across my apartment towards the front door and peep through the spyhole.
My heart skips a beat as I spy a young woman in professional business attire, orange-red hair pulled tight across her scalp into a ponytail and thick rimmed glasses shadowing her gaunt face. I’d been expecting some random tweaker looking for a handout. Or my landlord. Did I pay rent this month? “Whaddya want?” I grumble through the intercom.
“Good morning, Mr. Fallows. I’m Valerie Lawrence, your new handler.” Her hand disappears into the fold of her jacket, then returns revealing a badge bearing the United Assembly logo. I think I’d prefer the tweakers.
Unlocking the door, I hit the button and it slides open silently. Her eyes widen in surprise as her gaze drifts from my disheveled hair down to my gun, bringing me no small amount of satisfaction. “Come on in,” I say, turning and walking towards the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”
“Coffee would be nice,” she calls softly from behind me. I barely hear her enter as I head to the kitchen, scrounging through towers of frozen dinner boxes for the coffee pot. It’s seen better days. I wipe away the worst of the burned grime with my hand before rinsing it in the sink and spooning some grounds into the coffee maker.
“So what does a handler do?”
“I am in charge of monitoring your actions on assignments from the United Assembly. I provide advice where needed and inform you of tasks that the organization deems necessary.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
I pour two cups and doctor one to a light cream color. She’s sitting on my couch, posture straight as a board while holding a datapad in front of her. Her face looks up to meet mine, then back down to the offered cup, hovering inches from my indecency before turning to the side in a flush of color. “Mr. Fallows, please put on some pants.”
A grin sweeps across my face and I set her cup down on the small table beside the couch. “I never could say ‘no’ to manners.” In my room, I pull on a pair of sweats and a clean shirt. Well, cleanish. “So who’d you piss off to land this position?”
“I volunteered,” she calls back with more volume in her voice than I’d thought her capable of.
“Why the hell would you do that?” I ask as I walk back into the room, grabbing a folding chair and swinging it in front of me before straddling it and settling in with my own much more informal posture.
Her face flushes again and her gaze focuses more intently on her datapad than when I’d been naked. “Your file is more exciting than most. I was previously on the surveillance team and read through your reports on the Impulse incident.” My head spins, recollecting the handful of days that had been my first introduction to the UA, trying to remember what all I’d put in the report and what I’d left out. Sadly, it settles on the fact that she was previously on surveillance. Which means she knew I’d be doing naked yoga right now. Cursing my hormones, I choose to push that thought away. Kids with crushes are cute, but not when their job is to keep me from getting ghosted.
“What makes you think you’re qualified for this position?”
Squaring her shoulders and beamingly proudly, she appears to sit up straighter if that’s even possible. “I graduated from Masonic Tech Magna Cum Laude in only three years after making Dean’s list for six consecutive semesters. I was recruited by the United Assembly during my fifth semester at college and interned with them through graduation before becoming an official agent seven months ago. I have intimate knowledge of the equipment used during the data heists and a firm understanding of the software embedded in them that was used to crack through system security and upload the information. I have done formal sweeps of all locations following the break-ins and have assisted in adding security measures to help prevent future privacy invasions.”
“Val…”
“Valerie.”
“Have you ever been shot at?”
Her face scrunches as if she had just opened my fridge. “No, of course not.”
“Jumped off a building? Evaded enforcers? Been assaulted in a public restroom? Ridden a tram from the outside? Or maybe just punched somebody in the face?” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, finally seeming to understand my line of questioning before pinching her lips tight and silently shaking her head.
“I’m not a field agent,” she offers softly.
“Under whose authority were you sent to my apartment today?”
Shrinking even lower, her focus returns to the pad, now trembling in her hands. Voice barely audible, she mutters, “I thought it would be good if we met face to face.”
“That was stupid.” My words shake her worse than a full swing slap across the face. “You don’t know me. I’m not words on a fi
le. I wasn’t recruited out of school. I was blackmailed into performing a task that, from what I’ve pieced together thus far, was a suicide mission. This apartment may be under surveillance, but you came down to the streets alone to converse with a man you know nothing about and are currently locked alone with him inside his apartment. There isn’t a force on earth that could save you before I can close a two-foot gap.”
For a moment I stare at her, datapad hugged tightly to her chest and head bowed, then my vision goes blurry and I can’t grasp a single thought except the feeling that every single one of my muscles decided to flex at the same time.
When they finally release, I take a moment to reacclimate myself to my body before rubbing the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. The side of my mouth is on fire and the whole of my body feels like I just went through a two-hour work-out in the span of five seconds. I stare at the ceiling for only a second before I realize I’m lying on my back on the floor. “What in the actual hell…”
“I apologize for the discomfort, but I felt personally attacked. I am not defenseless, Mr. Fallows. It is best that you understand that before we continue our relationship.”
“This probably isn’t the best introduction.”
“It’s certainly a far cry from the scenarios that they set up in the academy.”
Pushing myself up from the floor, I resume my perch on the chair and reach for my coffee, taking a long swig before setting the cup down again. Valerie’s posture is as straight as ever, but her demeanor has changed in the slightest bit. I had horrifically miscalculated and she was now making it as clear as ever which of us has the upper hand, even on home turf. “I’m a little new to having conversations with UA agents that don’t involve me being told what to do ‘or else’. How exactly is this meeting supposed to go?”
“Initially we are introduced to each other, then you update me on any information you may have, particularly any additional intel you wish to report on the situation with the data thieves, then I give you instruction from our present point and we work out a plan of action.”
“I need to give Milton a call in a bit,” I say, taking another drink of coffee. “Was gonna let him sleep in a bit first, he was up all night tracking the guys we busted out last night.”
“That was you??” And here I thought these guys knew everything. “That action wasn’t authorized!”
I ignore her. “Then I was gonna track ‘em down to their hideout and see what intel I can get on who’s buying their services and why.”
“And they’re just going to give you this information?”
“Probably not,” I wink. “But I wasn’t recruited for my charming personality. Then I figured I’d grab some lunch, drag a load of laundry down to the laundromat, check in on a missing person, then play with the new toy I stole from the Mengko District’s evidence locker.” Oh no. Oh crap. I didn’t… “After I break into my coworker’s apartment and get it back.”
“I didn’t need to know all of that.”
“Just wanted to make sure my handler was up to date. Wouldn’t want to do anything that might make the United Assembly nervous that their new plaything is a loose cannon.”
“I’m going to need the location of that laundromat.”
Her comment sets me back a step. “Wait. Really?”
“I was making a joke.”
My eyes roll and I stand to grab my holster and jacket. I bring out the comedian in everybody.
“Come on. Get up. Let me throw some shoes on and I’ll walk you to the station. The worst people on the streets hide from daylight like roaches, but there’s always a few crazies out on Sunday mornings.”
“It’s Tuesday,” she corrects me.
“Yeah, but they don’t know that.” Her face softens a bit and I can see a smile play at her lips. If I’m going to have to deal with the UA on a regular basis, I should probably try and keep things civil with whatever face they put in front of me. At least this one is a good bit easier on the eyes than Cellar.
Fourteen
“Hello?”
The sleep heavy voice brings about a lost longing of sleeping in, a luxury abandoned further back than I care to recollect in favor of break-neck lifestyles and the endless pursuit of changing that lifestyle. “Rise and shine, baby boy. We’re burning daylight and I like being outside of the districts in the dark about as much as the next person with half a mind.
Through the earpiece, I hear static, groans, heavy footfalls, then finally the familiar sound of a broken seal on some carbonated beverage. It’s the loud slurp that makes me cringe. “Shit, Milton. At least have the decency to put the phone down before you do that. Gives me the willies.”
“Sorry, Heath. Morning rituals.” Everybody’s got them. “How’s your day going so far?”
Pulling in a deep breath, I hold it tight and count to ten. Don’t scream at him. Don’t scream at him. Don’t scream at him. He’s just being friendly. Feeling a bit better, I let the air out slowly before answering. “Not bad. Had some little UA agent stop by my apartment to let me know I’m under constant surveillance after a late night of a hot date turning unexpectedly cold because, get this, apparently the psychos behind all of the disappearances lately didn’t poison me. They fertilized me.” Is that even the right word? That sounds bad.
There’s a spewing sound from across the phone line, soon followed by a round of unhealthy coughing. “You’re pregnant? How is that even possible?” Definitely not the right word.
“No, asshole. I’m not pregnant, just a walking baby-maker for the next few months.”
“What kind of sick bastards would want you of all people to procreate? I mean… no offense but…” None taken.
“No clue. Add one more mystery to the mix. But that’s a problem for another morning after. What’s the latest on the run away techies?” I ask, tapping on the shiny new toy crudely bolted to the dashboard of the loader.
“I went ahead and installed a short-range tracker to your truck. It won’t pick up important things like terrain, so you’ll have to watch where you’re going.” Was that really not obvious? Backseat drivers. “It also won’t pick up any signals until you’re within a couple thousand yards from the tracking devices.”
“You didn’t follow them last night??”
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“So where the hell am I supposed to look?”
“West.”
“That’s not a location, that’s a direction.” Deep breath. Count to ten. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. “Fine. I’ll find some way to make it work. Thanks, Milton. I’ll get back to ya when I’m back in town.”
“Before you go, the tracking devices only stay live for about twenty-four hours. So time is of the essence.”
I hate you so hard right now.
Slamming the ‘Disconnect’ button with my finger seems a bit flacid as far as hang-ups go, but it makes me feel a bit better as I fire up the loader. At least the screen of the tracker lights up and sends a soft blue glow through the cab, suggesting Milton did something right.
Truck in gear, I press down on the accelerator and watch as my view of the wasteland shifts from nothingness to nothingness, remnants of a lost civilization drifting past the edges of the windshield and into the rearview mirror.
Creature of habit, I cling to the familiar and steer the course to the clinic where I spent most of my adolescence. Found on the street poisoned and half-dead, Dr. Simon Andrews took me in and became the closest thing to family I still have. It’s a good a place to start as any.
My mind wanders to nostalgia. Not warm feelings of home, but the comforting smell of disinfectant and long nights of practicing stitches on rubber dolls while Myria, his lone assistant and my surrogate stepmother, would drill me about symptoms of common ailments. Neither of them cared for the life I chose after I left, and a part of me still longs for the peacefulness and solitude of the wayward quack shack, but it was never the life for me. Probably never will be.
Beep.
The unfamiliar noise snaps my attention instantly to the gas gauge. I don’t remember the last time I scrounged for the stuff. Still a quarter tank, my eyes drift over to the unfamiliar screen on the dashboard, cautiously optimistic.
There’s a red mark.
“Milton I could fucking tongue-kiss that sexy fat mouth of yours!”
I let out a hoot and pull my attention back to the scenery, vision flitting from screen to terrain as my foot gets heavy on the gas. It takes a moment to orient myself, acclimating to the idea of chasing a red dot on the screen while avoiding shattered cinder blocks, potholes, and other hidden joys of a discarded world.
The gap closes slower than I would have hoped and I can feel my anxiety building, attempting to plot out some method of approach that doesn’t involve getting shot. It’s not the type of place that takes door to door house calls and my pool of charm and wit can only get me so far outside the districts.
The loader makes an unexpected jolt hard to the left, rolling up on its side wheels. I steer hard to the left, into the momentum. The truck responds and rocks back the other way, dancing to the other tires before dropping down to a hard stop. Looks like they rolled out the welcome mat a bit early. Scanning out across the twilight landscape, I don’t see any signs of life save for clouds of dust rushing a brown fog across the quivering beams from the headlights. My fingers hover momentarily above the clip release for the seatbelt, then move away, instead slipping beneath the fold of my jacket for the familiar grip of my holstered pistol.
I twist in my seat, scanning all along the horizon. No sign of life anywhere, just discarded debris. Something had to hit me pretty hard to move the truck like that. Something big. Something that shouldn’t be able to hide right now.
Only a gentle pat pat pat gives any warning before the next hit comes, slamming into the truck from the other side and beating my head against the glass window before whiplashing my neck across the nylon strap restraining me. The pistol slips from my grip and drops to the floorboards, clacking uselessly across the plastic mat.
Vessel Page 9
