by J. N. Chaney
“It isn’t going to happen.” I took a bite of the plum and was surprised to find that it tasted delightful. I hadn’t expected it to taste like anything, not the way I’d been feeling since Sophie’s death. But the skin was tart and the flesh was sweet, and the juice ran down my chin.
“You’re not going back to your old job?” Andrea frowned a little. “That’s okay, we’ll still clear your record. You can always go back to your original career. Didn’t you used to design cars or something?”
I tossed the plum in a waste disposal and took a bite of my roll. “What was that you said a few minutes ago? It’s all shadows? Well, I think you’re right. There are layers and layers, a whole world beneath the world I thought I knew. And maybe it’s a dark world, and maybe it isn’t the role of Section 9 to cast a light on whatever’s down there. But you’re down there fighting it, and as far as I know there’s no one else. I want to fight it with you. I want to join Section 9.”
From the looks on their faces, no one was expecting me to take this step. At first there was silence, the kind of silence that means no one has any idea what to say or do. For a second or two I thought the offer had been withdrawn, and I had just made everything awkward. I tried to think of something to smooth things over, but I didn’t know where I would even start.
Then Thomas Young broke the tension. “Andrew Jones isn’t here, so I’ll say this for him. You’re going to get some incredible training. Far beyond anything available in the Arbiter Force.”
Everyone started laughing. That was when I first felt like I was one of them.
Epilogue
The street was busy, but the waves of chatter and other random noises couldn’t distract me from my target. In fact, they helped. I’d dip in and out of them, checking in on the mood of the crowd. A woman bought a designer handbag. A man was looking for an engagement ring. A pair of friends debated their dating prospects. No one was anxious, and no one was asking, “what’s going on?”
If my target saw me, if he even suspected my presence behind him, he was not yet reacting.
The cyborg was up about a block from me, moving discreetly toward his usual rendezvous. Both of his hands were in his pockets that were specially tailored and deep enough to hold them. To all these people, he was nothing more than a bearded man wearing a long coat and expensive sunglasses. When they saw him, they didn’t see a ruthless killer. They didn’t see an Augman.
And they didn’t see me at all. As it turns out, Thomas and Andrew were absolutely right. The training available in Section 9 is the best in the solar system, and beyond anything available to any Arbiter. The course in tracking, for instance—how to look like no one, how to go gray, so if witnesses were later asked about every person on the block, you’d still be the one person no one thought to mention. How to stay on your target, even if your target has been trained to spot a tail. How to become another person, so you look like you belong no matter where you are. How to gauge the crowd, so you can get a sense for when the tension is rising.
Those cyborgs are tough, but their toughness has been built into them. They don’t learn it from life, and there’s something about them that stays strangely innocent. Compared to normal humans, they tend to act like nothing can hurt them. I can hardly blame them. There aren’t many things that can hurt them.
So, I drifted after it, wandering aimlessly along. I was window shopping for a present, even though I knew I couldn’t afford anything in this neighborhood. I was screwing up the courage to go apply for a job, even though my one qualification was my subservient little smile. I was just a loser, someone nobody needed to notice.
It never noticed. It just went straight to its rendezvous, sitting down at an outdoor table in front of a little café. It ordered a mineral water from the waiter, without any intention of ever drinking it. It scanned the crowd with its eyes, looking for a threat or a familiar face and seeing neither, even though I was near and closing.
When I sat down across from it, its first reaction was honest confusion. I wasn’t the person it expected to meet, and I wasn’t anyone it recognized. The disguise was that good, and I still wasn’t showing anything.
It just stared at me stupidly, then growled. “Clear off.”
I shot it once underneath the table, and it shuddered at the impact of the uranium round. The sound was loud, but no one could tell where it might have come from. I was sticking to character, a faceless nobody with an obsequious grin.
Someone yelled, “What’s that?” and someone else said, “a gun!” A third person disagreed, insisting that the sound was something else. An illegal firecracker?
I reached across the table and pulled off the cyborg’s expensive sunglasses. In its all-to-human eyes, I could see that it knew. I could see the pain, and the fear of being hurt for the first time ever. I could see it recognize me, and I could see that it knew why I was about to kill it.
“In case you’re wondering if this will be quick, it will.”
I pulled out my gun, put it directly against her killer’s head, and pulled the trigger.
Tycho will return in DIGITAL CHIMERA, coming January 2020.
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About J.N. Chaney
J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.
He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.
