by Elle E. Ire
“Vick, meet David Locher, BioTech.” Vick visibly flinches at the name of the corporation that built her implants. I doubt most people would have noticed, but my mother’s concerned gaze meets mine. “I’m not entirely clear on what he does there….”
David extends a hand, and Vick hesitates before dropping mine to take it. It’s a quick handshake, as little contact as possible without appearing rude. “I’m an analyst.”
“And what, exactly, do you analyze?” Vick asks, monotone. Is this her speaking? Or is it VC1 probing for information? Her eyes unfocus, then refocus again. I have the distinct impression she’s recording this response.
“Oh, lots of things,” David says, smarmy as ever. “Market trends, profit margins, what you’re doing right now.”
Vick blinks and takes a step backward. I’ve virtually never seen her retreat from anything or anyone. It’s terrifying.
“Anything with a predictable outcome,” he finishes with a predatory smile.
“David’s a precognitive, if I recall correctly,” Dad chimes in. His talent of microtelekinesis doesn’t contribute to his understanding of human nature, but he’s always been perceptive. Even he has picked up on something wrong in this interaction.
Mom steps to Vick’s other side. Dad moves to stand behind her. Inside, I beam. We’ve got her protected on three sides. Under normal circumstances, she’d say she doesn’t need protecting, but she makes no move to leave the shelter of my family.
“I thought precognition was an unmeasurable talent.”
That sounds like Vick. So it’s VC1 who’s retreating? Also not a comforting thought.
David shrugs and turns to head toward the main building. If we want to check in and leave this mess for the safety and security of our cottage, we’re going to have to go there as well, so we fall into step behind him. “It’s not scientifically quantifiable,” David admits. “The Academy recognizes it, studies it, attempts to measure it, so far without accurate results. Still,” he adds, tossing another smile over his shoulder, “some people are far more successful than others in knowing what comes next. And companies pay big money for that kind of knowledge. In return I get to work around some fascinating projects, projects that shape the very future of humankind.” He stops and stares at Vick, gaze running from her boots to her face, like she’s more lab specimen than person.
Vick’s had to deal with that look since VC1 became part of her reality, since she became property of the Fighting Storm. She hates it. So do I.
“Big changes are coming for humanity. I intend to profit from helping BioTech remain on the cutting edge. The future is now.” David’s eyes lock with Vick’s. “And here.”
A shiver passes through her, transferring to me via our connection. Might be the breeze on her spray-dampened clothes. Might not.
Mom comes to our rescue, placing an authoritative hand on David’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure these two are exhausted from all the excitement today. We should let them get settled in.”
“Right,” David agrees, to my surprise. “Dinner will be delayed,” he adds, gesturing toward the beach and the ruined buffet we caused on our way in.
Vick flushes with embarrassment. My heart aches for her.
“Hopefully I’ll still see you there?” He’s talking to me now, pointedly ignoring Vick. Taking my hand between both of his, he continues, “We need to catch up. It’s been a long time since our college fling.”
A pang of shock and hurt resonates through my bond with Vick. On the one hand, I’m annoyed by that. She’s not the only one allowed to have had past relationships. I had very few, and I never slept with any of them, whereas Vick was known for being a player. But still, I’m entitled to my own romantic past, such as it was.
On the other hand, Vick doesn’t need this right now. And David was a one-date disaster. He played the charmer, took me to an expensive French bistro on his parents’ money, then tried to get me into bed. Like so many of my nonempath classmates, he’d heard the rumors about sex with someone who could read your every desire with a touch. He wasn’t the first or the last, but I’d fallen for his flattery, and his quick rejection when I’d said I wanted to know him better before sleeping with him hurt a lot.
To his credit, he’d sent flowers and an apology the following day. We’d remained friends through graduation, but there were multiple times when I felt he kept me around because he thought he could gain something, like he’d had a precognition about me that somewhere down the line our relationship would prove profitable for him.
I’m wondering if he believes that premonition is coming true now.
We’re at the foot of the steps leading to the wide porch of the main resort building. Staff members hurry past us with serving trays and fresh tablecloths. I take two steps up, bringing me even in height with David, and turn to face him.
“We can catch up,” I say, “but if you consider one date to be a fling, I doubt you’ll have much to share about your love life.” I glance over his head to my parents and give them both a wave. “Mom, Dad, we’ll meet you later.”
Vick’s face breaks into a grin. She steps up to join me and takes my hand, chuckling under her breath. Together, we head into the lobby.
Chapter 25: Vick—Bribes and Blackmail
I AM out of my element.
Outside, the island resort’s main lobby resembles an old-Earth beach mansion: wide wraparound porches with swings and rocking chairs, white-painted shutters, pale-peach exterior, well-dressed guests being served tall, cool drinks by fancier staff in tan slacks and white button-downs. Things are calming down since our tumultuous arrival, returning to what must be the vacation norm. Some of the guests resemble Kelly in one way or another, same hair color, eye color, the curve of her nose, the shape of her face. Others bear no resemblance but still wave and call out greetings. Friends and family. I’m surrounded by people who love her and have every reason to be suspicious of me and my intentions in her life.
Considering I have no clear idea of what those intentions are, I guess they have every right.
An image of me in a tux and Kelly wearing a long white dress flashes on my internal screen, long enough for me to see the bright, happy smile on her face as she gazes up at me. In the image, I’m happy too. Happier than I believe I’ve ever seen myself. Then it’s gone.
That’s not happening. Not until I can give Kelly all of me, physically, emotionally, without side effects. Like nightmares, panic attacks, and vomiting.
She already has all of you. You just have not accepted that yet. You are scared. Your heart rate increased and your anxiety spiked when you viewed that image.
And Kelly is casting worried glances at me over her shoulder. Great. I give her a little wave and a thumbs-up, and she frowns but continues through the swinging doors into the lobby.
If I’m still scared about the relationship, I certainly shouldn’t be making it permanent.
It is already permanent in all but ceremony. And it should occur to you that if you make it permanent in some official manner, you might no longer be scared.
We cross a wide, polished light-wood floor. More guests lounge on white wicker furniture covered in thick pastel cushions of all colors, tables and chairs and couches clustered in groups seating two to four with a few larger ones for bigger families.
You should mind your own business.
Your mind is my business.
I’ve got a snarky AI giving me relationship advice.
We arrive at a wide check-in desk also of polished wood. The desk staff is in all white, their clothing so bright it’s almost blinding. There’s no line, no waiting. They have three assistants ready to help us. We just have to pick one. Kelly selects a twentysomething woman with long red hair and green eyes, freckled cheeks, and a warm smile. Not her type. Not mine either, so far as I know. I wonder if the choice is intentional. We’ve had a lot of jealousy triggers lately.
Kelly steps up and presents her identification. Check-in goes smoothly. Dealing w
ith the sunken shuttle, not so much. Still, once I explain our needs, an upper management type arrives and makes a few comm calls. He reaches what he refers to as “the Mainland”—really a larger island to the south of us, accessible via about a thirty-minute boat trip, where there’s an actual town with shops and services. He arranges for a salvage company to retrieve the shuttle and store it in one of their facilities until the rental company can decide what to do about it.
Which brings me to my next job. “Is there a long-range comm I can use?” I ask the redhead.
“Not in your cottage. We try to encourage relaxation above everything else, and some guests have a difficult time leaving work at work when they can connect with their jobs too easily.” She smiles, a touch of sympathy in her expression like she thinks I’m a complete workaholic.
I’m not a workaholic. I’m a slave. But I don’t attempt an explanation.
“And what about for emergencies?” Like rival mercs hunting me and bribed rental agents selling me out.
The clerk frowns in disapproval, but she points to a secluded booth in the corner of the lobby, discreetly hidden by tall potted palms.
“Great.” I turn to Kelly. “Catch up to you later?”
“Go do what you need to do. I know it’s important. But join me as soon as you can.”
I give her a grateful smile and head off to the booth.
There’s no waiting for access. These people have high-powered jobs, important things to do. Kelly’s mom is a diplomat for the One-World government on Earth. But they aren’t being hunted, and they all seem to understand how to take a vacation better than I do.
I settle myself on the plush cushioned seat, tell the computer interface to seal the booth and activate the soundproofing feature, shade the smartglass surround windows, and recite my classified contact code out loud to have the device give me a direct connect to the Fighting Storm’s system. Well, it’s not really direct. Intellectually, I comprehend that the signal is scrambled six ways from Sunday, bounced through multiple false-trail satellite routes, and made as untraceable on both ends as the Storm’s cutting-edge technology can make it.
There’s a tingle in my head, an almost audible clicking and settling of data into its proper place. It’s like I can feel when the signal stops traveling and finds the Storm’s internal system. I pause before entering additional codes, for the first time wondering if this completely normal seeming sensation is something all humans with embedded comms experience or if it’s yet one more thing that sets me apart from the rest of humanity.
We are unique, VC1 says, answering the unasked question. It is not a separation from others of your kind. It is an advantage. You should learn to view it as such, along with the many other gifts you possess. You would have far fewer psychological and emotional problems if you would do so.
And now the AI is not only a marriage counselor but my psych-med as well.
The day I start seeing myself as superior to other people is the day Kelly walks away from me, I think back. Kelly has no tolerance for ego. From what I’ve remembered and others have told me, she wouldn’t like the person I was before the accident. I had more pride than a military parade.
I don’t think I would have liked me, either.
You do not like you now.
Fair point.
I request the alphanumeric comm sequences for both Lyle and Alex and bring them into the conversation together. It’s early there, around 5:00 a.m., but this can’t wait any longer. A split screen embedded in the booth’s glass activates before me. Lyle pops up in the right-hand half, wet hair dripping into his eyes, shirtless, a towel draped around his neck. There’s a soft rustling in my right ear as he swipes the towel over his head. The image isn’t full-body. I’m grateful for that. It would be just like him to see my name on the call and answer naked to embarrass me.
Or he knows Alex is part of the call and wants to show off. Either way, the thought has red creeping into my cheeks.
This is serious shit. Do something about the blush, will you?
The heat in my face recedes.
The left half of the split screen remains dark, but another click tells me Alex has opened the channel. A second later, there’s a growl in my left ear, then, “What the hell, Corren? You’re on vacation. Let me guess. You don’t know how to relax.”
“It’s not my fault this time,” I say, holding up my hands in mock defense. Even if Alex won’t let me see him, they can both see me. Without further pleasantries, I fill them in on our fateful trip so far, backing up to include why the Alpha Dog fight occurred, then adding the Sunfires’ bribery of the rental clerk, their tracking of us to Infinity Bay, me losing them, and the crash, leaving out the swath of destruction I caused getting the ship down in one piece.
A low whistle sounds from Alex’s side of my audio input. “That sucks. You deserve a break. We’ve been talking and we agree, you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
They’ve been worried about me? I don’t know whether to be touched or annoyed. I go with avoidance. “Regardless of my personal issues, this is a bigger problem. You’re recording this, right?”
“It’s procedure,” Alex says, a little miffed.
“Right, and we always follow procedure.” We don’t. We do what works. “Show this to the Storm’s board. They need to know how serious the Sunfires are about getting their hands on this tech.” And on me, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. If push comes to shove, if the Sunfires go all-out against us rather than pulling these isolated attacks in small groups, will the Fighting Storm come to my rescue? My gut says they will, not for any love of me personally, but because the technology in my head is beyond anything any soldier has ever possessed, beyond even what the Storm’s decision-making board knows, and probably more important to them, it cost a fortune to install and almost as much to maintain when one considers upgrades, an entire medical team trained and assigned to me whenever I need them, and technically Kelly’s salary as well. With me, the Storm is the highest-rated, most-requested mercenary organization in the settled worlds. Okay, not just because of me, though my team is the best of the best. We have many good teams. But the more success we have as a whole, the more it means the entire company can afford good training, good equipment, and get better applicants. Our success percentages surpass the next best outfit (the Sunfires) by several points. The only reason the Sunfires are even as close to us as they are is because they’re willing to take the missions we turn down. The unethical ones. The immoral ones. If they get the implants, it will shift the power balance. They’ll use them without discretion.
It will mean a whole lot of fucked-up, very dangerous, highly trained killers running around without the support I receive to keep me on the edge of balance. There can’t be a lot of Kellys out there. The Sunfires have no idea what they’re trying to do. They have to be stopped at all costs.
On the screen, Lyle cracks his knuckles, bringing me back from my waking nightmare. “Want me to get some of the guys and take care of the rental company? Off-duty Storm personnel use that outfit all the time. If they’re going to sell us out for a few credits, they need a lesson in customer service. For all we know, you aren’t the first they’ve done this to.”
I consider that, then discard it. “Let me handle them. I think I am the first, and I don’t think it was a ‘few’ credits.” I know it wasn’t. VC1 showed me the numbers she pulled from the rental agent’s personal computer. “They’d have ruined their reputation by now if they’d been doing this a long time. I’ll take care of it.” My grin at the cameras is feral.
Alex chuckles softly in my ear. “Yeah. I just bet you will.”
We disconnect, and I contact the rental company next. My agent isn’t on duty, but VC1 hacks his home code, and a few seconds later I’m staring down a pasty-faced guy in his pajamas looking very different from the overconfident ass I dealt with a few days ago. He pales further when he recognizes me. Guess I’m supposed to be dead or captured by now.
&nbs
p; There’s a quick attempt at bluster and insurance threats when I tell him I crashed his yacht. It all goes away when I show him the footage VC1 snagged off the security cams of him pointing out the ship to a couple of Sunfires, and a screen capture of his bank account with the deposited bribe highlighted in yellow.
“Your company will take responsibility for the shuttle damage. You will send me a new shuttle, the best you have, and it will be here in three days. You will deposit the entire amount of the bribe into my personal account.” I rattle off a secure transfer code to a secret account I’ve been building a little at a time that VC1 helps me keep hidden from the Storm. Someday I’m going to break their programmed hold on me. Someday I’m going to take Kelly and run as far from fighting and killing as I can get, and I’ll need credits for that.
“But… but I’ve spent—”
I narrow my glare at him. He takes an involuntary step back from his comm screen.
“You’ll deposit all of it, and you’ll do it within twenty-four hours. Or I will send the entire Fighting Storm after you and your little rental company. And it won’t just be us. Imagine if word gets around to all the mercenary outfits, hell, all your other customers as well, that you’ll sell out our travel information for a bribe. You know who we are. You know what we’re capable of. I’ve already informed my team. You fail to do this, you try to double-cross me again, and I’ll paint a target on your back that will bury you and leave your business one more crater on the moon.”
He nods, his head a bobble on his shoulders. “You’ll get it. All of it. How? How did you do it? Our security is the best money can buy.”
I laugh, a harsh sound unfamiliar to my own ears. “It’s not even close to military best. Besides, you can’t out-tech me.”
Much as I hate what I’ve become, there are advantages.
“I’m VC1.”
Chapter 26: Kelly—Beach Party
VICK NEEDS friends.
