by LM. Preston
Sticking on the last tab, she peeked around the corner, hearing Garcia’s hard footsteps walking casually through the litter of beggars, and stray cats. A small group of former recovering drug addict dream heads squatted on the ground playing handheld game systems that allowed them to jack-in and be part of the gambling games that were one of Monev’s main draw for their high paying customers.
Her fingers rubbed against her thumbs. “You always did make the best toys Valens,” she mumbled and took a hasty glance around to make sure no one spied her ascent up the building. Slowly, the simmering returned, the rage that taunted her most of her life. It comforted her in times where she was on the hunt and stilled her fears. Pulling herself up and over the edge of the building, she back-flipped gracefully and landed on the roof. Stealthily, Shamira jumped from building to building while pursuing Garcia.
“Where are you going, Garcia?” She picked up her pace and stood on the ledge. Breathe, relax, go, she coaxed herself to control the anxious lick of energy traveling up her back while she rocked on the balls of her feet. That angry raging part of her that had clawed her back from death, beat against her ribs. It threatened to spill over to war with her technosuit, something she couldn’t let happen if she wanted to live to get her revenge. As the calm peace of a year of intense practice settled within her, she leapt against the wind and with a twisted flip, landed with legs spread on the shorter building.
She trailed Garcia for two more blocks. Suddenly, Garcia stopped across the street from Shamira. The officer glanced furtively around the outside of a rusty metal door on a windswept brick building several stories shorter than the one on which Shamira crouched, waiting. Several surreptitious knocks later, a tall, bulky boy emerged. The upper portion of his face was concealed by a knitted cap, but his pale skin was illuminated by the dim light above the door.
Shamira made her way down the side of the building, never taking her eyes off them.
Garcia punched the boy in the face. His hand remained fisted, but rested now at his side. Their argued voices got louder. Shamira shut her eyes briefly to concentrate on filtered words through the wind.
“I won’t believe it! You…will do it!” Garcia yelled.
The boy pulled out a weapon, pointed it at Garcia. “It’s true…Special…Nobles will…”
Garcia nodded. “Fine, dead…” Her hand twisted and the boy’s gun was in her hand. Then she stepped forward, choking the boy before she uttered a whispered threat, leaving the boy visibly shaken.
Shamira moved quickly. She was halfway down, hoping to stop the officer, but Garcia ran back toward her car. The boy warily observed Garcia’s retreat. Shamira snuggled closer to the building to remain undetected. The boy may prove to be more valuable for information than Garcia.
Her feet landed softly on the ground. She stilled, awaiting the boy’s next move. He tightened his jacket, hesitated, and stuffed his hands his jacket. Pivoting, he searched the city street one last time before heading toward the alleyway.
The wind kicked up, and the sand slapped her face. But she kept her distance while tailing him. Special Nobles dead? Can’t be. What the heck had they been talking about? Her steps faltered a moment while she digested what it could mean. She tucked the taunting thought of a possible additional threat to her parents could be the topic of the boy’s conversation with Garcia.
Shamira stalked the boy around the corner of the building and down the deserted alleyway. The area smelled a bit smoky. It was probably caused by some faulty underground heating pipes. This area wasn’t on the list to be serviced by the Mars Reconstruction Department for a year or so. Geysers of steam sprouted from small cracks in the jagged sidewalks. Light from the street barely touched the middle of the rock-paved alley between the several imposing buildings of iron or rock.
The boy hurried along, but comfortably, as though he was alone. Unfettered by the pulsating pieces of sand being carried upward by the whistling wind, he strode heedlessly on. Shamira tracked him with a frown on her face, barely able to hold her anger in check at the thought that Garcia and this kid were involved in some way with the fate of her family. Her muscles tensed, and her blood boiled. Taking a calming breath, she reined in her emotions when he pulled out a knife.
She smoothly pushed her back on the wall, gulped as a gust of sand hit her closed lips. Shamira observed him opening a manhole midway down the alley. He pushed the heavy lid aside, leaving it open as he disappeared inside.
Giving him a brief reprieve, she inched forward. A reflexive command delved her sight beneath the layer of ground to watch him descend deeper on the metal ladder. She waited a moment before she followed, climbing downward about two-hundred feet on the metal ladder suspended from the ceiling of the tunnel. While descending, she realized the boy had gone ahead into the carved rock tunnel to the left. With a final jump off the ladder, Shamira took a brief look around. Humph, train tracks for the underground heating system maintenance crew. She continued her pursuit.
Shamira observed the boy standing as if waiting for something. She hung back, watchfully awaiting his next move. Within seconds, the booming sound of one of the small maintenance trains pushed forward from his direction. She ran toward the wall of the tunnel, activating the sticking mechanism of Valens’ climbing tabs and scaled the wall. The train stopped, its front poking forward. Shamira took a deep breath before she leapt to land silently as possible onto its roof.
Every muscle within her body tensed as she flattened herself upon the metal roof. A squeak sounded in the hollowed space when the train took off. Her eyes closed against the onslaught of air pummeling her body. She held on as the train speed toward an unknown destination. Lowering her head a bit, her gaze traced the metal top below her to search out her target.
The boy sat alone, his heavy but fit body slumped on one of the six seats in the travel compartment. She laid her head down on the cool surface, thankful for her enhanced hearing, the side effect of her prolonged blindness. Maybe, just maybe, he would think out loud, and she could get a clue to what was really going on.
He snatched off his knitted hat, and threw it down onto the seat. Covering his face with his hands, he yelled, “I hate this shit!” Recovering, he took a look around. His brown eyes, set on his pale cheeks, looked pensive. “I did my damn job. They can kiss my ass, pay me and leave me the hell alone! Why would he send some sidekick to rough me up?”
The train veered off the main track to a side tunnel that resembled a repair stop. It was dark, smelled a bit damp, and the tracks weren’t as maintained like on the main path. Bumping slightly along the way, the train came to a jerky stop on a dimly lit platform.
Shamira moved toward the back of the train with caution as the guy sauntered on the narrow platform. Silently, she followed, concealed by the soft light and her tight black ensemble. With a blink, her eyes highlighted the dark path ahead. The jagged concrete walls narrowed and, after a few steps, the kid slid his gaze from side to side before knocking on a metal door.
The door opened, and the sound of pounding music poured out. After a brief conversation, the boy pushed past the entrance. Shamira quickened her step to follow. Before the door could slam shut, she jabbed her foot forward and continued inward with her shoulder.
“What the hell?” someone roared.
She used the heightened strength from her technosuit to push the broad boy backwards, and closed the door. “Sorry, he forgot about me.” She smiled and winked.
The surprised look on the guy’s face gave way to a scowl. Before he could speak, she rushed past him and melted into the crowded dance floor. She danced her way through the throng. The music pumped with rhythmic drums and guitars. Kids of all ages littered the floors, or leaned on the walls and tables. Heads bobbed, voices rose to the song boasting from angry lips of the band on the stage.
She held in a cough at the strong scent of cigarettes and a sweet sickening smell similar to dream. Her hand went up to cover her nose, and she danced through the crush as she
closed in on her target. He was arguing with some kid standing in front of a door on the side of the stage. The kid acted like he guarded the door with his life.
“Hey! You new here?” A handsome fair-skinned boy grabbed her by the waist to dance close behind her.
“Uh, yeah! You know that guy over there?” She relaxed into the dance briefly, hoping he had an answer.
“Ki? You here with ’im?” the guy said with attitude in his voice. “He’s a kiss-ass. Freaksheep’s errand boy. Forget him. Stay with me and I’ll give you something that will blow your mind with the first puff.”
She turned sharply out of his grasp. Her hand grabbed his wrist and forced his ear down to her lips. “What is it? What you selling?” She glared.
Shock at her strength registered on his face. “Just some dream-ash. Not as good as the old stuff, but will still give you a buzz. I-I don’t got none on me now, but I can get it if you go back to the bunk-down-shack with me.”
“What’s a bunk-down-shack?”
Confusion marred his features. “I thought you were—if you were with Ki, that’s where he sleeps. Where all the kids on the street go to shut our eyes without, you know, having to put up with the bullshit.”
She let his wrist go. “You sell that stuff?”
He swallowed, eyeing her suspiciously. “You sure you not a cop or something?”
“No, I’m not.” She made herself relax.
His eyes held Shamira’s, while the other dancers partied on, ignoring them. “I don’t, but I know someone who does. You know, can give us the hookup, if you want.”
“No, not this time. Hey, what’s your name? Where can I find you if I want to party?”
He relaxed, dancing a bit slowly. The kid grinned. “Here, and at the bunk-down-shack, if you know what I mean. Ask around for Drake. That’s me, baby.”
She nodded and headed toward Ki. She’d thought they brought those bastards to their knees, ended the drug trade on Mars, and kids suffering because of it. But all they’d done was give Mars a small break. Her head went side to side as she grumbled with disgust.
After a moment she spotted Ki, who stood next to Freaksheep, who was surrounded by two other large guys. I guess I killed Tiny, the one who gave me the second warning that I had a target on my head. She checked to see how the place was secured. Hoped she’d have a moment to get her hands on the Freaksheep guy who was talking to Ki, but there were too many witnesses.
Shamira sighed and danced over to the wall next to them. Closing her eyes as if to the music, she slit her gaze at them and focused on snippets of their conversation.
Ki stood rigid as Freaksheep yanked him by the shirt. “Do it! If you don’t, you’ll die,” he said with his nose on Ki’s.
“I told you, I don’t sell,” he pulled away slightly, “the shit killed my brother!”
Freaksheep whispered close to Ki’s ear.
Ki replied, “There’s no one left for you to kill, ’cept me.”
“You lucky I need you. When I don’t…”
The crowd yelled out, jumping with hands waving.
“I made sure it was done. Nobody will know what killed him. The message was sent.“ Ki jerked back. “Now, let me go.”
A hard smack landed on Ki’s face. Freaksheep’s handprint remained. “Beat it! Before I change my mind.”
Ki’s shoulder spun around as he headed to the back of the club. Shamira pushed through the crowd behind him and out the side door undetected. Several kids littered the tunnel leading from the back of the den. Shamira had to walk fast to keep a close watch on Ki as he weaved between them.
The tunnel came to a dead end. A black metal ladder went up several feet before it was enclosed in a metal cover, concealing Ki’s ascent. Shamira waited a moment before she followed. Lights aided in their rise upwards. The echoed sound of Ki’s tennis shoes as they pounded angrily on metal, vibrated around them. Shamira figured Ki was too furious to notice being followed, and she accelerated her pace to make sure he didn’t get too far away.
Chapter 27
In his anger Ki didn’t bother to close the pothole lid. Shamira grinned at his carelessness. Amateur. She sped up. With a final yank, she cleared the tunnel and trailed Ki down the deserted alley.
She slid her formfitting hood up to cover her face, as well as to protect her from any deadly blows from her planned attack. Although Ki was careless, she remembered the gun he’d pointed at Garcia. Her heart thundered in her chest, the anticipation of the attack excited a part of her deep within. Impatient to get answers, she reached in her pocket for the metal ball, compliments of Valens’ father’s invention for Cal. She fought against her melancholy from their absence. The metal ball fit firmly in her hand, she squinted and, with a flick of her wrist, sent it sailing.
The ball hit his thigh. Ki fell backward. He scrambled to get his bearings. “Who…”
She lunged toward him. Her booted foot came down to push his back against the ground. Bending, she thrust her knee into his stomach. He attempted to struggle. But her hand came down to hold his neck in place. “What do you know about Special Nobles?”
A flicker of fear crept across his face. He quickly recovered. His elbow came down on her shin. Shamira’s foot slid. And Ki twisted from under her.
With a hop to his feet, he pulled out a gun. Unflinching, he pointed at her, his stare deadly. “I will kill you. Get the hell out of my way!”
Figures the kid would have another weapon, Shamira berated herself. She stood, legs slightly apart, her hand on her weapons belt. “The feeling is mutual. Your choice? What will it be? And trust me, I will kill you first. If you don’t give me what I want. Special Nobels…what do you know about him?”
“I’m not playing with you!” he growled.
“Seems like you are.” Shamira shrugged. “Either answer my question or I’ll force it out of you.” She tapped her fingers on her belt. Her fingers inched closer to her star-knife.
Ki’s lips thinned. He pulled the trigger. Shamira dropped on one knee and flicked out the star-knife as the small laser-like bullet whizzed past.
The star-knife connected with his upper arm. Ki cried out. Dropping the gun, the knife cut through his jacket. He screamed a pitch higher. The star-knife returned obediently to Shamira’s gloved hand. She smirked. He sank to the ground, struggling.
In a burst of energy, Ki jumped up. His other arm fumbled around on his waist, and came up with a knife. Shamira ran at him at top speed. Before he could throw his weapon, she kicked it out of his hand. With a jump, she landed a kick to his chin.
Ki flew back and bounced several times on the ground. He tried to shake himself out of his daze, but Shamira pushed him back and sat on his chest. Tsking at Ki, she pulled out a miniature robotic truth chip. Then she jabbed it in Ki’s neck. He groaned. The miniscule legs of the tick dug deep into his skin to emit its poison.
“Now, you’ll tell me the truth. You have no choice. Keep fighting it and you won’t remember what happened to you for a month.”
“Who? Why are you…” he coughed, “Doing this?”
“I’m Shamira, Special Nobel’s daughter!”
His eyes widened. “The Sha…mira?” His head plopped back against the cold pavement submissively. “Shit.”
“Yeah, you know me?”
“Know of, you.” Tears slid from his eyes, the truth tick working. “I work for…Cal.”
“Cal had you working underground for him? Why? Who else do you communicate with?” she demanded.
“Wanted someone…still,” he gagged, the medicine’s poison working, “on the streets, find missing…Monev…leaders, and report drug oper…ation.”
“What was the last message you sent to the officer Garcia?” She pulled the tick out of his throat.
“Special Nobels will die.” Ki’s hand went up to squeeze his wound.
“Why did you talk to her and not wait for Cal?”
“She answered his private comm device.” He spit, “said he was dead and s
he would be taking over where he left off.”
Shamira snatched the truth tick out of him. Then she stood up and stepped back. Her eyes narrowed. “Who gave you that message that Special Nobels would die?”
“Keeper.” His eyes rolled around. He stumbled to his feet, wrapping his hand around his bleeding arm.
“From now on, don’t contact anyone but me. I’m taking Cal’s place, and I’ll take care of you. Garcia can’t be trusted. Team underground will keep you safe—I promise.”
Ki gave her a wry smile. “I know you will, but seems to me, you gotta watch your own back.” He nodded in the direction of the three shadows coming down the alley.
“Trust me, I can take care of myself. Get out of here. I don’t want anyone to know about you…and me.” She pushed his good arm.
“Whatever you want. Good luck. You want to find me, Cal‘s got a telecom signal he uses for me. I have an implant in my ear, I’ll pick it up.” With that, Ki ran off.
Shamari pulled out several stars, holding them in one hand. Her opposite hand teased the handle to her laser gun. At the ready, she hunched at the ready for an attack.
Air seeped out her mouth as one of her pursuers appeared in the dim light of the alley.
Anthony chuckled. “Come here to hunt without us?”
She relaxed and put her hand on her hip. “What are you doing here?”
Mitch and Kurt stepped forward into the light.
Kurt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Keeping your back safe—even though you are kickin’ us to the curb every chance you get.”
Anthony nodded. “Yeah girl, we starting to think—well…”
“That you are falling back into your old trust issues. You remember them, right—the kind you had before we called you a friend?” Mitch frowned.
Shamira rolled her eyes. “I told Dion to tell you to check your leads. Hit the street. Not waste time to tracking me!” she pointed at them.
