We Dare

by Chris Kennedy

Marisa Wolf Bio

  Marisa Wolf was born in New England, and raised on Boston sports teams, Star Wars, Star Trek, and the longest books in the library (usually fantasy). Over the years she majored in English in part to get credits for reading (this...only partly worked), taught middle school, was headbutted by an alligator, built a career in education, earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and finally decided to finish all those half-started stories in her head.

  She currently lives in Texas with three absurd rescue dogs, one deeply understanding husband, and more books than seems sensible. Learn more at www.marisawolf.net.

  # # # # #

  Now You See Me by Kacey Ezell

  I engaged the tactile feedback from my sim’s shell and felt the thumping rhythm of the club’s dance music reverberate deep in my chest. It wasn’t quite the same as being out in my own body, but it was close. Plus, I’ve always liked that song.

  One by one, my other sensory inputs flooded in: the club was dark, with red and blue colored lights flashing over the press of gyrating bodies. Some would be sims, like this shell, but most were actual living people out in the eternal pursuit of pleasure. More dance music flooded through my neural connection, and I made the shell move in time with the beat as it crossed the crowded dance floor toward the bar.

  The bartender, Jhed, was another sim, but I’d never have guessed it if I hadn’t already known. I magnified the sim’s visual detection to see if I could catch sight of any tell-tale jerkiness or artificiality, but Jhed was a pro, and his sim piloting was seamless as always.

  “Cary,” Jhed said, giving me a nod as I approached. His hands wiped a glass clean with a cloth, and one of the flashing lights glinted off the rim. “The usual?”

  “Yeah, Jhed, thanks,” I said. I toggled my sim’s lips into a curving smile and caught the appreciative flash of interest in Jhed’s expression. It didn’t mean anything, of course. It was just Jhed’s pilot complimenting me on my shell control, but it was nice to feel like someone saw and appreciated my skills.

  “Your usual table is free,” he said, and then turned to pay attention to another customer, a young woman who careened drunkenly at the bar and laughingly ordered a popular drink laced with a mild stimulant.

  I steered my shell to the right, back toward a marginally quieter section of the club. Low tables squatted between high-backed, round booths that offered a modicum of privacy. Especially when the music was jacked and loud. Like now.

  The last booth before the swinging kitchen door had one occupant, and I switched the shell’s facial expression from smile to scowl as I slid into the booth.

  “Awww, why are you looking like that? You’re so much prettier when you smile,” the sim said. He was male, as was his pilot, but that and his name were all the personal details I knew. This time, the pilot had selected a shell that aped a middle-aged, overweight man with a hygiene problem. It was probably intended to be funny.

  “You have no idea what I look like, Gage,” I said, assuming a bored expression and blinking insouciantly. “Therefore, you haven’t got the faintest idea whether I’m pretty, smile or not.”

  “You’re always beautiful to me, sweetheart.” Gage sneered with practiced, comical insincerity. I rolled my shell’s eyes and stifled a laugh. I may not know much about Gage’s identity details, but I knew his personality to a T.

  “And you’re always boring and predictable,” I shot back. “What do you want?”

  “Other than to see you? I like the blue hair, by the way,” Gage said. “It suits the cat eyes you’re sporting with this shell. Nice to see you stepping out of the normal, “beautiful human” trend everyone’s been obsessed with lately.”

  “By lately, do you mean the last couple of millennia?” I asked. “Because that’s about how long every single person has been fighting to be attractive to other humans. Well…everyone except you.” I waved a hand at his current shell, cranking my expression over to indicate distaste.

  “I’m beautiful on the inside, sweetheart, just like you. Speaking of the inside…” Gage leaned his shell’s elbows on the table and scooted himself forward.

  “Oh, finally. Have we gotten past the obligatory cute banter and can now get to the heart of this meeting you requested?”

  “Cary! I’m hurt. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

  “I don’t.”

  His shell grinned, and I cursed inwardly. I’d fallen into his trap.

  “Awww, now we both know that’s not true. You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t like me a little bit!”

  “Can we just get on with this, Gage?” I sighed. “I have better things to do than waste my time talking to you.”

  “Oooh, busy woman! Prepping for a job, perhaps?”

  Something in his tone warned me, and I magnified my vision again and looked closely at his shell’s smug smile. A tiny flame of suspicion sparked and began to burn.

  “Always. Why?”

  “Word on the street is that you’re after a big score. Trying to pay off Cybercorp for all of your upgrades?”

  “Like you can talk.” I snorted. “Everyone knows your ass is quite literally in hock to Bioinforma.”

  “Not for long.” Gage smirked, and that tiny suspicion erupted into outright certainty.

  “You’re going after Neurovation’s new interface,” I said. I’d just gotten the job specs myself. No one knew the details of what it was, but this new tech was supposed to be groundbreaking enough to destabilize the holdings of both major cybernetic firms the minute it launched publically. Which was where I came in.

  Because if my employers had their way, it wouldn’t. And they were paying me very well to see that it didn’t.

  “Just like you,” Gage said. He leaned back in the booth, crossed his arms, and threw her a wink. “Figured you’d want to know.”

  “Why?” I asked, leaning back and trying to appear mostly disinterested. I had the sinking feeling that I failed miserably. “Even if you steal the whole thing and bring it back to Bioinforma, you’ll never get enough for you to be free of them. Not with that new electronic countermeasures suite.”

  “That’s what you think,” Gage said. “I’ve got it on contract that they’ll release me if I bring back the info wholesale.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “I’ve got it on contract. It’s registered with the Hampson City archives and everything.”

  “Gage...” I said slowly, drawing the name out. Rival or not, irritating or not, Gage was one of my oldest acquaintances. “You know better. They’ll find some way out of it; you know they will.”

  “I’m sure they’ll try,” he said, his grin never wavering. “But I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. I just wanted to let you know that if you’re gunning for the interface…get ready.”

  “You’ve never beaten me, Gage. Every time we’ve gone after the same loot, we’ve both lost.”

  “And you’ve never beaten me, Cary. Every day is a new chance.” He started to slide the bulky, fragrant mass of his shell across the booth’s seat. “Good luck to you.”

  “I don’t need luck,” I said automatically.

  “We all need luck, Cary; don’t be cocky. That’s my schtick.” He reached the edge of the booth and pushed up to his feet. “See you around.”

  “Not if I see you first,” I muttered. “And I will see you first.”

  “It warms my heart to see how much you care, Sweetheart.”

  “You mean that I don’t, at all?”

  Gage laughed and shook his head. “C’mon Cary, admit it. Your life would be so much less fun without me.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  He laughed again and walked away. Not for the first time, I wished that I could just shoot him. But killing his shell wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it was a terrible idea in this crowded club.

  Damn it all, anyway.

  * * *

  “Gods of stars and rocks, Gage, you are getting predictable,” I muttered as a cloud of icon
s flashed up on the tac display that overlaid my visual field. “Here you are, right on time.”

  As soon as I’d gotten my blue-haired, cat-eyed sim back to the storage garage after our meeting in the bar, a message from Cybercorp had pinged in my ear, asking for a status update on the neural interface job. I’d pulsed a terse message back, enough to remind them of who I was. My tech upgrades and track record spoke for themselves. Cybercorp had a reputation of being willing to pay for the best. I am the best, and I’d be happy to get on with things if they’d leave me the hell alone to do it.

  They’d retreated happily enough, though not without reminding me that while they’d pay for destruction of the upstart technology, they’d really prefer to have the whole shebang, and could I please take extra care?

  That pointed comment had reminded me of Gage, and his irritating habit of messing up my scores whenever we happened to go after the same target. Was that why he’d broadcast his intentions? Was he trying to scare me away?

  Possibly. Though I’d be disappointed if that was his intent. Gage knew me well enough to know that warning me off was never going to work. In fact, it was likely to have the opposite effect, even if Cybercorp hadn’t been chirping in my ear.

  So here I was, on the roof of one of the highest buildings on Hel 2629A, waiting for Gage to show up and try to break into a much more secured building down below. I’d had a bet with myself as to how he’d make his approach, and, judging by the movement of the icons in my display, I was right. He’d taken the train.

  “Ah, Gage,” I said again, more for the fun of it than anything else. “All that money on your internal countermeasures, and yet you still haven’t learned to vet your Gambit dealer properly.” I used my tongue to depress one of the pressure triggers implanted into my back molar, which caused a burst of predatory data to radiate outward from the broadcast antenna embedded in the bones of my jaw. I tilted my head with a smile as a dark figure vaulted from the train over to the side of the building.

  Two of the icons in my display winked out, making me sigh. I’d hoped to catch more of them with that data burst. It was practically untraceable. My other methods of destroying them weren’t quite as subtle and might cast suspicion on my old friend Cyclo. Probably not, but it was possible. I’d have to be super careful.

  Which was fine, because I was always super careful.

  Thinking I’d probably have better luck inside the building, I turned and headed back to the roof access door. I leaned in so that the retinal scanner could do its thing. Sure enough, just as it had done before, the scanner chimed, and I heard the thick ker-thunk of the physical locks disengaging.

  Retinal scan technology was about as old and as basic as it came, but its very simplicity ensured that it wasn’t likely to go out of style anytime soon. Retinas were impossible to duplicate, short of birthing and raising a clone version of yourself. And even then, you’d have to create exact environmental factors throughout the raising process. They couldn’t be stolen or misplaced, not and still work, and so they provided the perfect mechanism for determining an employee’s identity.

  So how did mine work?

  Simple. I had my retinal information uploaded into this building’s security database, via an innocuous inquiry about potential employment opportunities for a young, up-and-coming security tech. I’d included a resume—of course—and the resume had included my retinal profile encoded in the standard background check information that gets routed to security as a matter of course.

  I think I had an interview set up for next week, actually. I’d probably have to call and reschedule.

  The rev of a patrol boat startled me out of my admiration of my own cleverness, and I hunkered down next to the access door, trying to stay in the shadows. In the database or not, I wasn’t supposed to be up on the roof at this hour, and especially not when I wanted them on alert and looking for Gage. They were up too high, damn them! They’d never see him from here. If this was going to work, I was going to have to do something drastic.

  “Sorry, Cyc,” I whispered, and keyed another trigger. Four of Gage’s Gambits ignited in obedient response. On my tac display, I could see their icons turn red, and then wink out one by one as they presumably exploded. I heard the whine of the patrol boat’s engines ratchet up in pitch and volume, then fade as she descended from the roofline down to the source of the trouble.

  I exhaled, and slowly made my way back to the line of the roof. Why had they come up here? Had my retinal passcode not worked? It had gotten me into the building and up to the roof, so why…?

  Unless the timing was an issue? Shit. Maybe I needed another way in.

  Another one of Gage’s Gambit icons winked out on my display. I pursed my lips and looked around for any other “eye in the sky” types and made a dash back to my earlier vantage point on the corner of this edifice.

  I couldn’t see him, but I was tracking the Gambits’ control feed, and it led back to a spot on the side of Neurovation’s headquarters, twenty stories down. He was probably going up the outside. Risky, with a patrol boat in the air, but it could be done.

  If his Gambits continued to work.

  Which they didn’t. One blinked out as I formed the thought, followed closely by the other three. That left him all alone and exposed, stuck on the side of the building like an insect in fly-paper.

  So sorry, Gage.

  My turn.

  I glanced down at the traffic flowing in the steel-and-glass canyons between the buildings. There—an Albatross-class transit shuttle, so-named because of the incredibly wide wingspan that saved on fuel and made them hard as hell to maneuver in tight quarters. My accelerated neural processes calculated a quick intercept trajectory, and I leapt, arcing outward with my arms spread and my chest thrown out in a swan dive.

  Style counts, after all. Even if no one sees it.

  But someone did see it.

  “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Just couldn’t do it.”

  “Why, Gage,” I answered, drawing the words out as I tucked into a roll on the Albatross’s wing. I came right back up to my feet and began to run along the leading edge. Less chance of damaging the wing that way. As I ran, I locked onto Gage’s direct link. Without the Gambits running electronic interference for him, he could risk a little chat. I was happy to accommodate, if it kept him occupied. “Whatever do you mean, Sweetheart?”

  “Knock off your shit,” he growled. “This is my score.”

  “Not if I make it there first.” I said, reaching the far end of the shuttle’s wingspan and launching into another dive.

  “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Do me a favor would ya,” I said, flipping over and landing feet first on the edge of the building’s roof. “Take a couple of those curious shits with you when you go, if you don’t mind. I’m sure they won’t appreciate what I’m going to do next.”

  I cut the connection just in time to hear the revving of the patrol boat’s engines as it started to rise up the side of the building toward the pinned, vulnerable Gage. Perfect.

  Like the other, taller building, Neurovation’s headquarters had a roof access door with a retinal scanner. Unlike the previous one, however, my retinal signature wasn’t in this database. The ruse I’d used to infect the other database with my information would never fly with Neurovation; their information security was too good. If I wanted my retinal print in their file so it would open this door, I was going to have to use brute force to get it there.

  Staying low so as not to highlight my movement, I crept over to the roof access hatch and the small scanner mounted on a short pole next to it. I leaned forward into the scanner, opening my eyes wide to allow the imager to see what it would see. At the first moment of flash, I slammed my right hand against the scanner. In my palm, I’d been holding a cylindrical object no bigger than a child’s thumb. When the metal cylinder of the object met the hard plastic shell of the scanner, the shell cracked, and the cylinder was ab
le to expel its nanowire contents inside the imager. I could tell the moment that my nanowires made contact with the information flow from the scanner’s controlling server, because the flashing yellow light at the edge of my vision stilled. There wasn’t a whir or a click, or any kind of noise at all, but that flashing yellow just simply flashed off and never came back on again. Instead, the light turned green and the hatch at my feet unlatched and popped up in invitation.

  I slipped inside just in time to hear the patrol boat’s engines revving. Out of curiosity, I opened the link to Gage again, just in time to hear him swearing under his breath. I didn’t recognize the language and was fairly sure he didn’t even realize he was speaking. The idea of it made me smile, even as a tiny worm of worry started to wriggle in the back of my head. Gage could take care of himself, and I wanted him occupied, didn’t I? This was all part of the plan.

  …but I didn’t want him hurt…

  Whatever. Like I said, he could take care of himself. I had a job to do. Still…

  “Careful down there,” I said as I dropped down to a crouch in the stairwell below the roof access hatch and took a moment to listen, dialing my audio receptors up to eleven. I heard the access hatch click closed above me and then nothing but the whoosh of air in the HVAC system.

  Sweet.

  I moved forward, pressing down the stairwell. If I was right—and I usually was—security would be busy with Gage for a minute, but when they came back, they’d head right for the roof. It was, after all, the most vulnerable spot, and my brute-force entry into the retinal database had left a mark. The upside was that it had corrupted the database as soon as it had let me in, however, so, while they knew that someone was in, they wouldn’t necessarily know it was me. Not the most elegant solution, but hopefully a survivable one.

  As long as they didn’t catch me, anyway.

  So I kept moving. The problem was that I didn’t really know where I was going. Neurovation’s security was so tight there were no building schematics to be had anywhere. I’d tried the usual information sources, and even the sketchier, less reliable options, but I’d come up completely empty. So I was flying blind, trusting to my instincts and hoping to get lucky.