by D L Young
“He wouldn’t miss the business.”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head at his carelessness, and he didn’t blame her. It was a bad call, and deep down he’d probably known as much at the time. But sometimes the prospect of easy money clouded your thoughts, made you do things you ordinarily wouldn’t. This was especially true when you had negative cash flow.
“So if you do this, you and he are square,” she said.
“Right.”
“And you can’t just pay him back? Compensate him for the business you took?”
If only things were that simple, Maddox thought. “He’s hot for this job, wants it really bad. And he needs all the help he can get.” He sighed. “No, I painted myself into this corner. Playing ball’s the only way out.”
She stared at him for a long moment, wheels turning behind her eyes. “Have you considered the possibility this whole thing’s a setup? Send you on some impossible job to get you busted, or worse. A ruse to get you out of the way for good.”
It had indeed occurred to him, but the idea had only been a fleeting one. “I don’t see it.”
“No?”
“His best talent’s going to be plugging in with me. If it’s a set up, he’d be putting them at risk too.”
“What if they all jump you once you’re inside?”
Maddox shrugged. “But why bother? If he really wanted to take me out, it’s a lot easier to send a couple thugs to my bar. It’s not like I’m hard to find these days.”
“Maybe he’s counting on you thinking exactly that so you don’t see it coming. Maybe he’s trying to gain your trust.”
“He wouldn’t bother trying to do that.”
Beatrice smile wistfully. “Of course not,” she said. “He knows you, doesn’t he?”
The air in the suite chilled with the comment, which had nothing to do with Dezmund or the BNO job. The last time Maddox and Beatrice had been together, she’d invited him to leave the City with her and make a fresh start in Canada. For someone as guarded and private as Beatrice, it had been a rare moment of vulnerability. Maddox couldn’t remember exactly how he’d worded his refusal, but he hadn’t forgotten the uneasy moments that followed. It was as if a wall had immediately gone up between them. A wall he realized was still standing.
A timely knock on the door interrupted the awkward moment. Maddox hurriedly threw on his pants and opened the door to Tommy.
With gear bags slung over his shoulders, the kid stepped into the entryway, craning his neck around as he marveled at the luxury suite. “Nice digs, bruh,” he said, whistling.
Beatrice appeared around a corner, tying the sash on a short silk robe. The kid lowered the bags to the floor. “Hey, B. Long time no see. I dig the blue,” he said, referring to her hair.
“Tommy Park,” she said, smiling. “How’s my favorite Anarchy Boy?”
“Aw, you know,” the kid said. “Doing biz with the man.”
“Not letting him get you into trouble, I hope,” she said.
The kid’s face dropped, and he shot Maddox an icy stare. “No,” he said. “No trouble. Just throws me to the wolves sometimes and watches ’em eat me alive.”
“You still pouting about that?” Maddox said.
“I’m not pouting,” Tommy protested. “It’s righteous rage, bruh. You let me get roasted on home turf, in front of everyone. How uncool is that?”
“Christ, salaryman,” Beatrice said, “what the hell did you do to the kid?”
“Hung me out to dry,” the kid snapped, “that’s what.”
Maddox longed for a cigarette. He gave Beatrice a helpless look. “I’d heard about this hotshot on Dezmund’s crew. I wanted to see how good she really was, so I let the kid take her on. Now I know.”
“Thanks to me getting owned,” Tommy added.
“I’ll make it up to you, kid,” Maddox said, “I promise.”
“I bet you Old Man Rooney never did you like that,” the kid said, “did he?”
Well, shit. The kid had him on that one. No, Rooney hadn’t ever hung Maddox out to dry, even when he might have had a good reason to. The kid’s comment stung more than the datajacker wanted to admit.
“Well, I’m not Roon,” he said icily. “Am I?”
The kid seemed to sense he’d stepped over a line. Maddox took a calming breath and changed the subject. “You get everything I asked for?”
“And then some,” the kid said, handing Maddox one of the bags. “Brought backups, too.” He patted the bag he was still holding. “You know, just in case.”
“Good,” Maddox said. He’d forgotten to tell Tommy to bring backup gear, but the kid had prudently done it anyway. He might still be a novice datajacker, but the kid was definitely learning his trade.
Hanging from his shirt collar, Maddox’s lenses began to chime. He put them on, blinked away the alert, and slung the gear bag over his shoulder.
“Come on, kid,” he told Tommy. “Our ride’s here.”
4 - Pissing Contest
Morning rush hour in the City. The limo merged into the clogged, slowly moving transit lanes. Above and below, countless hovers snaked along in tight formations, their autonav sensors invisibly linked, synchronizing each vehicle’s acceleration and deceleration to optimize traffic flow. Maddox watched the City drift by: megastructure after megastructure, each with its own multicolored skin of graffiti tags and street murals reaching up thirty, forty, even fifty stories high in places. Locals called them hiverises, these conjoined, interconnected conglomerations of ancient buildings. Like some giant reef of concrete and steel, they formed the backbone of the massive archipelago simply known as the City, the continuous urban sprawl spanning over two hundred miles and home to over a hundred million residents, encompassing the old standalone cities of New York City, Newark, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C.
Normally gray and overcast, the sky this morning was an uncharacteristic bright and cloudless blue. Holo ads tens of stories high flickered dimly against building facades, their projections less effective and nearly transparent under the glare of direct sunlight. Next to Maddox, Tommy sat with his face pressed against the window, his breath making a fog smudge on the glass.
“Now this is what I call traveling in style,” Tommy said.
For his part, Maddox was less impressed by the ride’s soft leather seats, darkened windows, and roomy interior. Dezmund had always been a show-off, never missing an opportunity to flaunt his success, especially to anyone he considered a rival, like Maddox. Even back when they were teenagers and he couldn’t afford such extravagances, Dezmund had clothed himself in knockoff designer suits and fake leather shoes. And now that he could afford the real thing, the Armani-clad hustler businessman had become his personal brand. Yes, the limo was a comfortable ride, but it was also Dez’s not-so-subtle way of reminding Maddox who was the top dog in their little pack.
After a long, plodding descent through the traffic stack, they arrived at the meet, a gray-bricked lowrise in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. As the hover settled onto the rooftop landing pad, Maddox turned to the kid. “These people aren’t friends. Don’t forget that. I’ve known Dezmund for a long time, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.”
The kid gave Maddox a look, and the look said he knew what they were walking into, that he knew how to handle himself on rival turf, and that he didn’t need to be warned about something so damned obvious in the first place.
“Just saying,” Maddox added as a small concession, inwardly admitting his worry stemmed more from the job itself than any doubts he had about the kid. Tommy Park was a lot of things, but clueless wasn’t one of them. In fact, his datajacking apprentice was far brighter than Maddox had initially given him credit for, demonstrating as much over these last months on several occasions, both inside virtual space and out. Sure, he was impulsive and overconfident at times, and far more chatty than Maddox cared for. But for the most part the kid was all right. And if Maddox was being honest with himself, he coul
dn’t deny Tommy had grown on him.
When the doors lifted, Blayze was there to greet them. As if Tommy needed another reminder they weren’t on friendly turf. She smiled broadly at the kid, a grin that struck Maddox as every bit as flirtatious as it was gloating. He’d have to keep an eye on this one, he told himself. She looked like trouble.
***
The workspace they’d use for the job consisted of several interconnected suites rented on the building’s top floor. As they went down the rooftop stairwell, the address’s shabby first impression—a beat-up exterior, pockmarked and covered in faded street art—was soon forgotten as the trio entered to find an elegant, well-appointed interior.
“They gutted the whole thing and refurbished last year,” Blayze explained as she led them down the marble-tiled hallway. “A couple investors ran out of money before they started work on the outside, from what I hear.”
They reached the end of the corridor and passed through a doorway. Inside the spacious suite, Maddox found the most expensive collection of gear he’d ever seen assembled in one place. He counted twenty VS decks, at least twice that many holo projectors, and half a dozen small cone-shaped chatter bubble casters. Stacks of trodebands still in their shrinkwrap lay atop a long dining table, as did an assortment of portable storage devices and small tool sets. Around ten youths, presumably Dezmund’s top jackers, all in their late teens or early twenties, looked up from their work as the trio entered. After a long moment of icy stares, they slowly returned to their tasks.
Nice to meet you too, Maddox thought, unsurprised by the chilly reception. He was the competition, after all. And not only that, he was a low-down dirty deal-stealer on top of it.
“All right, people,” Blayze announced, “four days to showtime. Get your workstations up and running.” She left Maddox and Tommy standing in the entryway as she moved from person to person, checking their progress with shrewd, critical eyes. “I want to make a dry run in the test environment in an hour, so let’s get moving.”
Tommy elbowed Maddox. “What’s she doing, boss?” he murmured. “Thought you were calling the shots on training up.”
“That was the deal,” Maddox said. Apparently, Blayze had other ideas. He lit a cigarette, blew smoke, and watched Blayze purposefully ignore him as she finished her rounds. Then she began setting up what Maddox gathered was her own workstation. Another minute passed and neither she nor the assembled crew acknowledged him or Tommy in any way. Not even a glance thrown in their direction.
I get the feeling you’re not wanted here, boyo.
Thanks, Roon, I hadn’t noticed.
His late mentor’s voice haunted him less than it used to, but it never went away entirely. Maybe it never would, and that was fine with Maddox, even though he knew the voice was the creation of his own damaged psyche, a symptom of a wound that had never mended. Rooney was good company, dead or alive. And good company was hard to come by.
Maddox crossed the suite to the nearest youth, a kid maybe a year or two older than Tommy. The youth ignored Maddox, working away, his eyes fixed on a holo monitor, hands gesturing above his deck. The device’s motion sensors detected the commands and presented a series of code blocks on the monitor. Maddox gave the images a critical glance. Security sniffers out of Berlin.
“I wouldn’t use anything out of Germany right now,” Maddox said. “All the best sniffers are out of Singapore these days.”
The youth gave him an annoyed look, then looked beyond him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Blayze demanded from behind him. Maddox turned to face her.
“What your boss and I agreed to,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care what you think your role is here, but I’m running the show. You’re an extra set of hands on this gig, and that’s it. We understand each other?”
He blew smoke. “All right,” he said tiredly. “Let’s go ahead and get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“The pissing contest,” he replied. “We could just call your boss and have him set you straight, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or you I can show you why he brought me here.”
She glared at him. “Show me how?”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. He lifted his chin at Tommy. “Kid, bring me a couple decks.”
5 - Kick
“Very bad idea, bruh.” Tommy hovered over Maddox as the datajacker moved his hands through a series of command gestures, calibrating the deck to its new user. The suite’s occupants crowded around them. Across the table, Blayze ran through the same gestures.
“She’s wicked good,” the kid warned, keeping his voice low so only Maddox could hear. “You saw how fast she trashed me last night.”
“Trust me,” Maddox said as he finished the setup. He reached for a trodeband, the shrinkwrap crinkling in his hands.
It had taken Blayze about two seconds to agree to the contest, the same kind of head-to-head challenge she’d bested Tommy in the night before. She reached up and enlarged her holo monitor, so Maddox could see the menu of simulated dataspheres.
“Same one from last night, old man?” she asked, swiping through the menu.
Maddox shrugged. “Your choice,” he said. “Home field advantage.”
She settled on a high-difficulty DS, one Maddox had never seen before. One she probably knew inside and out, which was fine with him. The more confidence she had, the better. And best of all, this particular simulation didn’t require cloaking apps. The girl’s selection had played right into his hands. Still, what he had in mind was far from a sure thing. Maybe Tommy was right to be worried.
Like a fighter staring down her opponent before the opening bell, Blayze scowled at Maddox as they both donned their trodebands.
“Let’s go, Blayze,” one of her companions said.
“Show the old-timer how we do it,” another added.
An excited murmur filled the suite as the timer appeared and began its countdown.
Maddox took a deep breath, then gestured above the deck. The meat of his body and the room slipped away as his awareness plunged into virtual space. He became his avatar, floating in the dark void of the simulated environment. A couple dozen grid clicks beyond lay the challenge datasphere, a collection of pulsing, luminous geometrics, not unlike a cityscape when viewed from afar. A dense latticework of data streams connected the rectangular prisms and pyramids and cylinders, the visual representations of data partitions that corresponded to real-world organizational structures, usually company departments like finance, human resources, supply chain distribution, and so on. Uncountable bytes of information pulsed between partitions, transmissions through a cybernetic nervous system.
In the lower left of his perspective, a small window appeared, displaying his opponent’s perspective, the same feed the crowd watched raptly on a large holo monitor. It was a standard setup for a datajacking face-off, each opponent having a view of the other’s feed, and the spectators watching both feeds side by side.
What wasn’t standard, and what no one except Maddox could see, was a second small window, which materialized on Maddox’s lower right. The app catalog he’d loaded onto the deck from a fingertip archive moments earlier, the devious act hidden by a simple sleight-of-hand trick Rooney had taught him half a lifetime ago. As the timer began its ten-second countdown, he subvocalized a series of commands, fanning through the apps, pulling the ones he needed.
The audience chanted, “THREE…TWO…ONE…GO!!!” Applause and cheers broke out.
“Fuck him up!”
“You got this, Blayze!”
Instead of zooming toward the datasphere, Maddox orbited around it, scanning until he found his opponent’s avatar. She was on the opposite side, streaking toward the DS like a missile. Damn, she was fast. He locked onto her and a yellow smiley face icon popped into view, a graphic that matched the face on the back of her jacket. Maddox’s own icon was a disembodied hand flippin
g the bird. Seemed appropriate for the occasion.
He hand-gestured a command, then drew in a breath as his avatar thrust forward at blinding speed. He shot over the top of the DS and past it like a streaking meteorite.
The girl’s crew laughed and teased him, misinterpreting the maneuver as accidental.
“You see that? He missed the whole thing.”
“Hey, old man, you need some help? The DS is that giant glowing thing you just flew past.” More laughter erupted.
Old man. Before today, he’d never been called that. It felt strange. He didn’t think of himself as old. But then the label fit, didn’t it? He was the oldest one in the suite by at least a decade. Thirty-two was old for a datajacker. Ancient, even.
He subvocalized, and his lock-on appeared, visualizing as a long green cord, connecting the two avatars. His display showed the girl’s icon with a green circle around it, confirming the lock-on.
Nice to see you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you, old man.
Very funny, Roon. Keep watching. You’re going to love this.
Maddox’s avatar settled in behind Blayze’s as he followed her path.
“Hitching a ride?” the girl said, her voice a whisper in his ear.
“Don’t mind, do you?”
The girl didn’t pause, didn’t slow down. She rocketed toward the DS, now looming bright and large before them. Maddox followed close behind her like a water-skier towed by a motorboat.
“Don’t mind at all,” she said. “However you want to lose is your business.”
Maddox heard murmurs of confusion from the suite. The spectators’ bewilderment at his tactic—at his apparent tactic—was hardly surprising.
