"I did it to help her." He looked at Mira, eyes pleading. "You know that, Mira."
"I know," she said. "But I have to help myself, too."
"No." His expression changed to stubborn denial. "Nothing wrong with training. Nothing wrong with self-defense. But this whole Spitfire thing has to stop." He folded his muscular arms and frowned. "I won't allow it."
Then Mira finally saw it. A flash of anger in Qhawa's eyes. Her full lips thinned. "You won't allow it?"
Jett must have seen the same thing, because he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just saying that—"
"You have no say in what we do or don't do, Jett."
He held up his hands as if to ward her off. "I'm just trying to get you to listen to reason."
"Reason."
"Yeah. I don't want to see her get hurt. Look at her!"
"I've been looking at her every day. Working with her on more than just combat. Education, healthy nutrition, exercise, history. Helping her mature, Jett. Where have you been?"
He rubbed the back of his head, giving Mira a guilty sidelong glance. "Look, I meant to stop by more often, but I've been busy. You know what's been going on out there."
"But you think you can come by now and tell us what we should do like you're in charge?"
"No. Listen, maybe I came across in a wrong way, but it's from a good place. I care about Mira, and—"
"You care about Mira? Have you asked her what she wants?"
He sighed. "I already know what she'll say."
"Do you?"
Shoulders slumping, he looked at Mira. "Do you want to stop, Mira?"
Mira shook her head. "Do you want to stop being Vigil?"
He looked at Qhawa, gesturing helplessly. "You see?"
"I see a brave young woman determined to find her path. You should support that, Jett. And if you can't support it, you should at least respect it."
He sucked in a deep breath, and for a second, Mira was sure he would argue further. Instead, he looked at her for a moment, eyes searching. Finally, he exhaled, nodding his head.
"Okay. I don't like it, but I respect what you're doing, Mira. Just promise you'll be more careful from now on."
She had to force herself from breaking out in a beaming smile. "I promise."
"Okay. Well, I guess I'd better head out. We'll talk again soon."
Qhawa patted him on the chest. "Leaving so quickly? Why not stay for a little bit and eat with us? Mira will want to tell you about what she's been up to."
He paused, off balance from Qhawa's shift of temperament. Then he shrugged. "Why not? I guess I can stay for a while."
Qhawa beckoned. "Come on, then. I have something prepared for us."
As they walked out of the command post and into Qhawa's townhouse, he looked down at Mira with a wry smile.
"Sorry if I came down hard on you, kiddo."
She gave him a mischievous grin. "I forgive you. This time."
"Yeah?" He playfully ruffled her hair. "Well, guess I'm a lucky guy."
Blushing, she dropped her head, not wanting him to see her cry.
Ⓥ
The pine-nut battered catfish was golden brown, flaky, and delicious. The side dishes were frybread and baked pumpkin cooked with apple cider and maple syrup. Jett's fork scraped his plate and he glanced up, surprise to see that Qhawa and Mira had barely begun eating. He gave them an apologetic smile.
"Guess I was hungrier than I thought."
Qhawa scooped more food onto his plate. "Let me guess—you've been making meals of ration bars and microwave dinners."
"Whatever I can get on the fly. Haven't had much time to concentrate on stuff like cooking."
"Or any time at all," she said. "You need to take better care of yourself, Jett. Your conditioning in stasis might have improved your physicality, but you're still flesh and blood. So take care of your body, and your body takes care of you."
"I'll try to remember that." He looked over the small dining table at Mira. "You've been quiet."
He was surprised by how much she'd grown in just a few months. She had sprung up in height, several inches taller than when he'd last seen her. Her dark hair was longer, dyed pink at the ends, her skin browner from being out in the sun. No longy skinny, she looked lean and healthy, her eyes brighter. Aside from being bruised like she fell down a flight of stairs, it was a complete improvement.
"Just thinking," she said, looking uncharacteristically shy. That was new, too. In the past, she never hesitated to say what was on her mind, always putting on a tough front.
"Well, tell me about Spitfire. What you've been doing."
She considered for a minute. "You heard about the new drug?"
"Amnesia, right? All the punks in the city seem to be pushing it."
"Remember Lukas?"
"Lukas?"
"From the Youth Haven."
Jett frowned. "No. I know all the kids at the YH, Mira. Not any Lukas, though."
"He called himself Lucky."
Jett groaned. "Lucky Luke. Always dropping bars, thought he was a rapper. Yeah, I remember him. He didn't come to the YH all that much, though. What happened—he got into trouble dealing Amnesia?"
Her gaze dropped. "No. He got hooked. They found his body in an alley three weeks ago. Brain bleeding."
"Seriously? I didn't even hear about it."
Qhawa shook her head. "A street kid found dead in an alley? No, that wouldn't make the news. Just another day in Neo York."
Mira looked miserable. "He was … my friend. He was always joking, made me laugh. And sometimes, he'd bring Zoe oranges from the market. We'd walk around the city, and…" She cut off as a tear slid down her cheek. "Now he's dead."
Jett reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mira."
She looked up with glistening eyes. "I want to stop them, Jett. Before more people die like Lukas."
He nodded. "I have my own reasons for wanting to stop this memory distribution business. It's a violation of every ethical and moral boundary that exists. I just found out the same tech was being used to rape women through virtual interaction. We'll get to the bottom of this."
Her face brightened. "Together?"
He paused, taking a deep breath. "You're injured right now. So if you promise to take the time to heal up first, we'll talk about it."
She eyed him suspiciously, but finally nodded. "Sure. We'll talk."
Qhawa glanced at her. "Mira, you need to rest now. Say goodbye to Jett and get some sleep in the hyperbaric chamber to help your arm heal."
Mira nodded, getting up from the table. As she passed by Jett, she abruptly stopped and threw her arms around his shoulders. "I missed you."
He awkwardly patted her arm. "Missed you too, kiddo. I'll be by more often, I promise."
"Okay."
Qhawa watched with a tiny smile on her lips. After Mira left, she poured a berry-flavored drink from a glass pitcher and handed him a cup. "She loves you very much, you know that."
He sighed. "Yeah, I know."
"I think she's in love with you too, but we're working on that."
He nearly choked on the drink. "What?"
"She's at that age, Jett. Hormones, crushes. You're a handsome man and a savior figure. She thinks you can do anything."
"If anything, I'm a father figure. She can't look at me like … however you think she does."
"Not to worry, she'll sort it out. Like I said, she's at that age. She didn't tell you that she and Lukas were more than just friends, did she?"
"What? You mean they were—"
"Flirting? Yes. Kissing? Again, yes. But it was nothing beyond that, Jett. Summer love, that's all."
He rubbed his temples. "They grow up so fast."
"Nice of you to finally acknowledge it. She's coming into herself, and nothing you or I can do will stop her from doing what she feels she wants to do. And right now, that's to be like you."
"I think it's a bad idea, Qhawa."
"Do you trust m
e, Jett?"
He looked into her eyes. "You know I do."
"Then trust the process. I was in her shoes once. And unlike Arthur, I made it through my time with Vigil without permanent damage. I will teach her everything I know and will always be there to guard her back. You have my word on that."
"Okay, Qhawa. I'll stay out of it."
"Not entirely out, Jett. Mira is your family now. She needs you."
"What about you?"
She gave him an amused smile. "I don't need you."
He cleared his throat. "I mean, aren't we family too? Because this sure feels like split parenting."
"You can think of it that way, I suppose. So be sure you don't become a deadbeat dad, and we'll be fine."
He glowered. "Funny."
"Well, I'm a humorous woman. Here." She handed him a duffel bag.
"What's this?"
"Food. Packaged and ready to eat. If you're going to keep pushing yourself to the limit, you'll need to refuel properly."
He raised an eyebrow. "You had this already put together? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you cared."
"It was for Mira. I'll put another together later."
He grinned. "Always a pleasure, Qhawa."
"Take care of yourself, Jett."
Ⓥ
Kermit the bartender was a surly, unshaven mass of sweaty, balding flab. He didn't look sanitary enough to mop a floor in his dirty, overstretched tank top and shorts, much less serve drinks. But as always, he lurked behind the bar, grunting at his patrons while sliding bottles and glasses across his worn bar countertop. He gave Jett a beady-eyed glance when he entered.
"Huh. Ain't seen you in a minute, scab. Figured you was a chalk outline or something."
"Good to see you too, Kermit. Slide me a brew, will you?"
Kermit harrumphed, sliding Jett a bottle of Horse Piss lager. Jett placed the bottle against his forehead. At least it was cold. He took the empty seat next to LeBlanc at the bar.
"Been a while."
LeBlanc glanced at him with a tight smile. As usual, he looked like he slept in his rumpled clothes: worn slacks and a wrinkled button-down with a nondescript tie hanging loose around his neck. He had cut his hair since Jett saw him last. Instead of his customary ponytail, his disheveled brown hair was cut mid-length. Buckshot stubble blasted his face, and his eyes were shadowed as if sleep was just an idea that he never experienced. He called himself a Troubleshooter, whatever that meant. As far as Jett knew, it consisted of spending every waking moment barely avoiding getting shot.
"Jett. How'd you know where to find me?"
"Who says I was looking?"
"No other reason for you to pull into this dump. Not with the new job and all."
Jett carefully kept his expression neutral. "What job is that?"
LeBlanc grinned. "Golding Security, of course. Seen you on a couple of buildings, replacing lines and whatnot. Figure it pays enough to afford you a better bar than this one."
"Yeah, but this place has character you can't find anywhere else."
LeBlanc snickered. "Now you're just rubbing it in."
"Yeah, maybe. Listen, I got a problem you might be able to help with."
"I'm all ears."
"I visited a Haze parlor recently."
"Hit that Immersion, huh? I like the roller coaster sims myself. Nothing like throwing up all over yourself even though you're really not moving at all. Just kidding—I just go for the sex like everyone else."
"Um … yeah. I went for myself."
"We all do, bud."
"No—I found my own memories there. Being sold like the rest. It was … disturbing."
LeBlanc frowned. "How in the hell did someone get ahold of your memories? I thought that was all VR stuff. You mean the hot sex I've been having with the bosomy movie starlet is actually reliving someone else's memory?" He scratched his stubbly chin. "What a lucky guy he was."
"You're not helping, LeBlanc."
"Oh, sorry. Go on."
"It must have happened during my stasis. I was in that pod for three centuries—plenty of time for Golding's tech to extract memories from my mind. Memory manipulation was a thing before the Cataclysm, so I'm sure the science was perfected in the years afterward."
"Yeah, but to just launder them and sell them like simulations? That's cold, man."
"There's gotta be a source. Someone in charge who makes the selections. Who knows how they're fed into the system."
LeBlanc nodded. "And you want to find out who it is."
"I want ownership of what's mine." Jett slipped a hand in his pocket and extracted a handful of thin units the size and width of playing cards, marked with threads of circuitry, glinting golden in the dim light.
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow. Bullion cards? And gold at that. Guess I'm getting paid for this one." He plucked two cards from Jett's fingers. "You're being too generous, friend. That will get you a lot poorer real quick in this neighborhood."
Jett slipped the remaining units back in his pocket. "I'll keep that in mind."
LeBlanc stood up and swiped his holoband across the sensor on the counter to pay his tab. "Well, guess I'll do some digging. Meet me here in two days. I should have the info you're looking for."
"Be careful, LeBlanc. Krazy Eights head up the Sensync trade, and I don't think they'll be too kind to someone digging in their business. Especially after the Moneta incident."
"Yeah, I heard about that. Some new player in town, likes to deliver righteous judgment and whatnot. I have a feeling he and Vigil are gonna butt heads sooner or later."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Two days, Jett."
"I'll be here."
After LeBlanc left, Jett took a swig of his beer and winced. "Hey, Kermit—you get an after-expiration date special on these? It tastes worse than last time."
Kermit grunted as he signed a panel on a delivery droid that floated in with a package. "Same piss as always. Not my fault you got too good for the joint, Mr. Fancy-Farts." He tossed the box across the counter. "For you. Tell your friends this ain't a delivery service. Next time I send it back to owner."
Jett opened the small box, already knowing what he'd find inside. As soon as he picked up the cellular phone, it buzzed. He raised the phone to his ear and after glancing at Kermit, paid his tab and walked out the bar. A blast of heat slapped him in the face immediately, breaking his brow out in a sweat.
"What do you want?"
Dolos' electronically masked voice answered. "The nightclub was a beginning. But do you know how this ends, Vigil?"
"It ends with me taking Diabolis down. That's the deal, remember?"
"I'm talking about the finale. The endgame. Or do you have one? Are you a man of vision or just someone driven by impulse, hurting people to justify some personal vendetta?"
Jett paused, mind working. He hated the flash of guilt, the loss of equilibrium from Dolos' simple question. "It ends when the city is safe."
"The city will never be safe. You know that. You can't conquer evil with combat skills and a cyber-suit. The more you try, the more you create. Evil must be eradicated, or else all your efforts will ultimately be futile."
Jett's fingers tightened on the phone until the casing creaked. "Did you call just to taunt me? Because I have things to do."
"Yes, you do. Moneta should have been revealing to you. You saw what they were doing there."
"Yeah, the sex den was disturbing."
"That's not the only thing. Anyone linked to the women made their minds vulnerable to invasion."
Jett frowned in thought. "So, the women were bait?"
"Exactly. A lot of corporate scumbags frequented the Moneta. Some very high up the ladder. Not to mention the backrooms where some of our politicians and reputable public figures came and went. Privacy is guaranteed by the Krazy Eight syndicate, but if someone hacked the system, they'd be able to collect some pretty damning evidence against some high-profile people."
"And let me guess:
you hacked the system. Something tells me you won't be turning it over to the authorities."
"If I did, I'd be dead within hours. Some of the most perverse people involved are in law enforcement."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"I told you: there must be an endgame. You'll see."
"I don't like the way that sounds."
"That's because you haven't committed yet. You still think you can be a hero like your brother."
"Don't bring my brother into this."
"It's okay. I understand. It's hard to live in the shadow of a martyr. You question every choice you make, trying to measure up. Trying to be someone you're not. You're a solider, Vigil. And this is war. The sooner you see that, the quicker you adapt and become the man you're born to be."
"You mean like Heretic. Is he one of yours, Dolos? Someone you're manipulating the same as you're trying with me?"
"Not my doing. Heretic is your problem."
"I don't have anything to do with him."
"Oh, but you do. You created him, can't you see? If there is no Vigil, there's no Heretic. Didn't you realize that your example would spawn imitators?"
"You know who he is?"
"A random element. A spin-off of your actions. It doesn't matter who he is. What matters that he's not the only religious element tied in this game."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a wolf in sheep's clothing tied in with the Krazy Eight's business. Their memory laundering specifically."
Jett felt a stab of curiosity despite himself. "Who?"
"Follow the money, Vigil. It will put you on a godly path."
Jett's teeth gritted. "Can't you just spit it out? I'm tired of playing word games."
"I could, but you never know who's listening. Wolf in sheep's clothing, Vigil. Find him, and you'll find your answers."
"Whatever." Jett tossed the phone across the street, where it slid into a gutter. He tapped the datacom in his ear. "You there, Incognito?"
"I'm here, Vigil."
"Let's go wolf hunting."
Chapter 7: Cerberus
Ronnie Banks sighed as she exited from her RCE aerodyne into the sweltering heat. The gated community in Brickland was a full block of Gothic Revival-styled Brownstone homes that dated back to the Pre-Cataclysm era. The colors were dark reds and luxurious browns, the stonework immaculate, the window treatments and banisters featuring decorative wrought iron. It was quiet and clean, an oasis of normality in a city where normal was nearly a foreign word.
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 10
