by Stina Leicht
Angel caught the scent of fresh bleach. The floor had been recently mopped. Having worked in a nightclub once—she’d made a terrible waitperson—she recognized the signs of morning prep: the back bar was spotless, fresh towels lay stacked on a shelf where the staff could grab them in a rush, and the supply of clean glasses of varying shapes and sizes had been replenished.
Closer inspection revealed the black rubber bar matts used to keep staff from slipping on spills were clean but were rolled and tilted against the wall. Most telling of all: a lone, unbroken glass lay on the bare construction-grade concrete floor. An open bottle of bourbon sat on the bar.
A muffled thump came from the direction of Rosie’s office. From the opposite side of the room, Sukyi froze and looked to Angel for confirmation.
After a short pause, Angel gave hand signals indicating the stairs and the hallway at the bottom. Sukyi joined her at the bar. She produced a sterilizing cloth from a pocket and wiped down the bottle one-handed. Then she took a swallow of bourbon from the neck.
Lifting an eyebrow, Angel sighed.
Sukyi silently mouthed the words Waste not, want not.
Angel shook her head and then proceeded to the hallway. When they reached the end of the steps, Angel motioned for Sukyi to wait. If anyone was there, Kurosawa would’ve given a warning, but it never hurt to be careful. It’d been a year since her last illegal tech upgrade. Weapons tech advanced at a frenetic pace. She dreaded the day she found herself behind the technology curve. Let’s hope today isn’t that day.
She knelt and then peered around the corner to where the hallway dead-ended into Rosie’s office. The door was closed. Angel spied a fresh pool of blood on the wooden floor. Smears of crimson darkened the walls. The guards, the ones that kept anyone from entering without a thorough search, were missing.
Angel retreated to the bottom step where Sukyi waited. Rosie is in trouble, Angel thought. And they’re people who don’t care about messes. She made gestures confirming danger.
A grim expression took over Sukyi’s face.
Should I send for corporate security? Kurosawa asked.
Wouldn’t do any good. We’re still on the wrong side of the Dead Line. Might be an internal matter. Whoever they are, Sarah knew them well enough to let them in. Continue to monitor progress.
Affirmative.
Using stealth, they both eased around the corner and didn’t stop until they reached the end of the hallway. Once there, Angel laid an ear against the office door.
Even with enhanced hearing, she couldn’t make out the conversation—only muffled voices. The emotional tone was tense, however. She didn’t get the impression that those on the other side were in a hurry. The intruders weren’t yet aware that she and Sukyi had arrived, indicating the security system had been deliberately powered down. The intruders appeared confident that no one would intercede.
Kurosawa indicated that the infrared data was ready. Angel’s vision acquired an overlay of brightly colored figures. She thanked the gods that Rosie hadn’t employed robust broad-spectrum visual dampening.
Sukyi counted nine figures on the other side of the door. One of them—Rosie by the size and lack of hair—was seated behind their desk with their hands in the air. Sarah stood behind and to the right. She was aiming a laser pistol at the intruders. Two bodies cooled on the floor.
The door guards.
Angel made the necessary visual adjustments. She turned and pointed to the dark sunglasses Sukyi had pushed up on top of her head and indicated that she should put them on. There were reflective surfaces in Rosie’s office. Everything could go real bad, real fast, and neither of them wanted to lose their vision.
Sukyi rolled her eyes and mouthed the words Thank you, mother. But she slipped the glasses on anyway. With that, Angel indicated the locations of the attackers in the office. Sukyi was to take out the three intruders on the right while Angel would be responsible for the four on the left and middle. Sukyi acknowledged the order. Angel checked her gun one last time. Rosie and Sarah’s lives depended upon accuracy and speed.
Hand in the air, Angel visually counted down. Three. Two. One.
Sukyi kicked in the door. Angel registered that all seven assailants were wearing Serrao-Orlov uniforms before the shooting began.
The cops turned toward the sound of the breaking door. Rosie’s hands dropped under the desk. Sarah pulled the trigger on her pistol, hitting the policeman in the center of his chest. Sukyi did the same, blasting the closest officer on the right. The headless body remained standing for the moment—the wound was cauterized at once.
The noise of discharging weapons seemed too big to fit in the room. Angel’s hearing automatically dampened the noise as she began firing. Sukyi took down all three cops on the right with one plasma blast. Angel hit her first target in the chest and head with the stunner. Something exploded. The discharge was close enough that she felt the heat of it on her cheek as it passed.
A green laser blast of energy knifed across the room at chest height. Angel instinctively flinched, but it stopped before it reached her. All the remaining assailants dropped.
Rosie yanked open a desk drawer and fished out a pistol. They got to their feet.
“Hello, Rosie,” Sukyi said. “How are you doing this fine morning?”
Rosie dusted off the front of their black leather vest left-handed. “I’ve had better days,” they said. “A lot better. Shut the damned door.”
Sarah said, “You took your time.” She was wearing ripped black jeans and a band t-shirt. She’d cut the sleeves off and created a V-shaped neckline that pierced the demon graphic on the front. There were bruises on her upper arm. She laid her gun on the table before keying in a code on Rosie’s desk. The glasstop activated. She began typing.
Angel recognized the interface for the security system. “Maybe you should’ve mentioned you needed assistance? I could’ve brought the rest of the crew.”
Rosie turned to look at the rather large blaster burn now running along the right side of the room. All three paintings that had graced the wall in question were a lost cause. Smoke drifted from the blackened patches. They raised an eyebrow. “Any more of you, and I might have had to invest in a new bar.”
Sukyi smiled. “You’re welcome.”
On the floor, the policeman Angel had stunned groaned.
“You two are getting sloppy,” Rosie said, stepping around the desk. They shot the cop in the head.
Angel felt a warm mist on her face and tasted salt. She wiped at the blood with the back of a hand. So much for this shirt. “I stunned them for a reason.” She glanced down and then turned to Rosie. “They’re cops.”
Sukyi tugged her red knitted scarf up over her nose and mouth.
“Then perhaps they shouldn’t have been moonlighting as Correct thugs,” Rosie said. “It sends mixed messages.” They proceeded to shoot the rest in the head one by one.
“What do we do now?” Angel asked, turning away. Rosie’s place. Rosie’s rules. Rosie’s responsibility.
Rosie shrugged. “I’ll do the same thing I did last time the Serrao-Orlov made a dramatic change in power structure.”
“This has happened before?”
“It’s why I maintain connections within Serrao-Orlov,” Rosie said. “Remember, children, if you’re interested in keeping secrets, treat your admin staff well.”
Rosie continued. “Theodella lasted four years longer than her predecessor. I had hope for her.”
Angel frowned. “I’d have thought having an AGI strategizing company interests would prevent, ah… violent shake ups.”
“For the most part, they do,” Rosie said. “However, human beings aren’t always predictable.
“Don’t look so worried. I have contingencies in place. Your biggest problem at this moment is that this is going to be a shit avalanche, and you’re at the bottom of the mountain.”
“My problem?” Angel asked.
“Confirmed.” Sarah bent down and scooped up o
ne of the cop’s guns. “They’re carrying Walker assault blasters.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” Rosie asked.
“Why is that important?” Angel asked.
Sarah said, “The charger is shipped in from Topher’s Station where it’s produced. Jasper McKenna has a monopoly on those shipping contracts. His people use them exclusively.”
And Jasper McKenna is Correct Family. “Oh,” Angel said.
“It’s illegal to hire corporate cops—even off-duty ones,” Rosie said. “McKenna knows that. And he knows I know it.”
“Couldn’t someone have acquired the guns and counted on your coming to certain conclusions?” Angel asked.
The military had a term for when a third party started an altercation between two other groups. Shit clump war.
“It’s likely,” Rosie said. “I know McKenna, and McKenna isn’t sloppy.” They shrugged. “I have a good idea who would be, however.”
From Rosie’s desk, Sarah said, “Han, Jiao, and Peizhi are on their way. Jun is initiating a security sweep. I’ll have the results shortly. Mrs. Hudson is confirmed and will arrive in twenty minutes. Told her to bring the patch crew.”
“Thank you. Collect the guns. They may come in handy later,” Rosie said. “And would you mind getting a round of drinks? Make sure to add one for yourself. I’d handle it, but I’ve business with Angel and Sukyi.”
Sarah rounded up the guns and left.
“All right, ladies. Let’s chat about last night,” Rosie said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Angel did her best to be both brief and thorough. “Check the stats on Enid’s pulse rifle. The charge numbers will match up. She took three shots, not six. Enid never misses. If you need more evidence, Sukyi can give her report. She was there.”
Rosie held up a hand, signifying there was no need. “I had to ask for formality’s sake.”
Angel relaxed a little. “Shouldn’t that be the end of it?”
“Do you think corporate is going to let a little thing like evidence stop them from pinning it on you?” Rosie asked. “We were set up. McKenna, if McKenna is involved, isn’t acting alone.”
Angel blinked.
“Vissia Corsini decided to take a shortcut to promotion via three bullets,” Rosie said. “This is a war.”
“Shit,” Angel said.
Rosie said, “I’ve got to cover all of our asses. And fast. That means I need you out of the way. Are you ready to go to ground?”
“I thought you were sending us off-world?” Angel asked.
“Not yet,” Rosie said. “It isn’t safe.”
Angel said, “I’ve somewhere to go. But nowhere hidden well enough to avoid corporate and the Correct Family at the same time.”
“Normally, I’d offer up Sergeant Todd,” Sukyi said with some chagrin. She tugged her scarf down and looked away. “But he’s not traveling anywhere at the moment.”
Angel’s heart sank. “Did you lose—”
Sukyi scowled. “He’s berthed for repairs. He won’t be ready to fly for another couple of weeks. I was counting on acquiring a few URW credits to cover expenses in the meantime. However, having to hide from Planetary authorities puts somewhat of a damper on that plan.”
“Do you have a repair estimate?” Rosie asked. “And a recent ship appraisal?”
Sukyi lifted an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I sell Sergeant Todd? If so, I must respectfully decline.”
“If you expect a loan, think again,” Rosie said. “I’m familiar with your reputation.”
“Come on, Rosie. Cut her a break,” Angel said. “Didn’t she just help save you and your bar?”
Rosie glanced at the long burn mark on the wall and folded their arms across their chest. “You call this saving?”
“The building remains standing,” Sukyi said. “This room needed a makeover anyway.”
“Sukyi,” Angel said. “Cut it out.”
Sukyi threw up her hands and dropped them.
Rosie appeared to reconsider. “A small favor may be in order. But I’m not investing in a bucket of bolts—”
“Pardon me? Did you just call—”
Angel grabbed Sukyi by the arm. “Hold on there, Tex.”
“I’m from Nigeria,” Sukyi said through clenched teeth.
“Whatever, Earther,” Angel said, and smiled. “Do you have anything that will assure Rosie that your ship is worth more than the cost of repairs?”
“I am not selling my—”
“Rosie needs reassurance that you won’t run on the debt,” Angel said. “This is about a cosigned lien, not a sale. You’ve had liens before.” She tilted her head slightly in emphasis. And we both know why Rosie might be nervous.
Sukyi’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t protest. “My insurance policy is up-to-date. Perhaps I can acquire a figure based upon the policy renewal.”
Angel asked, “Will that be enough for you?”
Rosie said, “If the math is favorable.” There was a short pause before they continued. “Will Sukyi agree to sign a temporary employment waiver? If so, I’m willing to pay for the repairs immediately.”
Sukyi said, “I’m not an assassin.”
“I’m not in the market for one. I’ve already contracted the services of several who are far less squeamish, cheap”—Rosie gave the walls a significant look—“and definitely tidier. Well?”
Angel elbowed Sukyi and whispered between clenched teeth. “Say yes.”
“I do not believe I’ve had a more attractive offer,” Sukyi said, and gave a toothy smile.
“Is that an acceptance?” Rosie asked.
Angel nudged her again.
“It is,” Sukyi said.
Rosie appeared to want more. Therefore, Angel mouthed the words Go on.
The muscles in Sukyi’s already tense jaw appeared to twitch. “I formally accept your kind offer of employment.”
Rosie said, “As in many things, acquiring enthusiastic consent is crucial. Thank you, M. Edozie.” They began typing on their glasstop.
Sarah entered with a tray of whiskey shots balanced on one hand and a cat in the other. “Mrs. Hudson is here.”
After setting the animal on Rosie’s desk, she began making the rounds with the drinks. A muffled ping erupted. Sukyi reached into her pocket for her hand terminal. After reading the new message, she placed her thumb on the terminal’s glass surface.
“Done,” Sukyi said.
“Welcome to the family. I’ll prepare the official paperwork and have a copy sent to you,” Rosie said, accepting a short glass. They turned to Sarah. “Thank you.”
Swallowing the whiskey all at once, Angel barely had time to taste the difference between the usual cheap brand Rosie served and the smooth Earther vintage warming her throat. The alcohol worked its way down to her stomach.
It was eight thirty in the morning, and her day was already in the toilet.
“You’ll have both the estimate and the appraisal in an hour,” Sukyi said. She slipped her hand terminal back into her pocket.
“Your ship will be ready as soon as possible,” Rosie said. They returned their attention to their glasstop. “Go home. Pack. Gather the team from the Archady job. Then meet me at the address I’m sending. Bring Kurosawa. You’ll want to settle your affairs before you go. You may be away for a while.”
Angel nodded.
There came a knock on the door. Sarah ushered in a short older woman with iron-grey hair bound in a prim bun. She was pale and small in her immaculate grey suit coat and skirt. Her face and build reminded Angel of a kindly grandmother from a vid-show featuring plates of cookies and mischievous children. Given a second glance, one would make another assessment entirely. Her eyes were a little too hard as she took in the state of the room. Behind her, three young men dressed in worker’s coveralls carried heavy equipment. Each had a strong resemblance to the others. The words “Hudson’s Cleaning Service” were printed across their left breast pockets.
“Good mor
ning, Mrs. Hudson,” Rosie said.
Mrs. Hudson’s voice was cold and matter-of-fact. “A rush job, I assume?”
“I’m afraid so,” Rosie said. “The usual fee with the standard surcharge and NDA?”
Mrs. Hudson scanned the room one more time. She paused as she took in the uniforms and then gave them one short nod. “Of course.”
Rosie keyed the security code for the bottom desk drawer. Then they counted out ten URW gold chits before closing the drawer. Mrs. Hudson approached the desk. Her demeanor spoke of lethal precision and expertise.
“I’d like the special treatment for my guards,” Rosie said. “They deserve it.”
Mrs. Hudson gave her boys a sideways nod. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, as always.”
“The same to you, Mrs. Hudson,” Rosie said.
Mrs. Hudson’s boys began arranging individual bodies onto sheets of unrolled plastic.
“Come on, Sukyi,” Angel said. “We’ve got things to do.”
11
TIME: 12:00
DAY: SUNDAY
Gun-metal-grey clouds roiled overhead as yet another storm prepared an assault on the city. Kennedy detected an almost electrical charge in the air. Restless gusts scented with sulfur, decay, and ozone pushed and pulled at her scarf and open coat. Humidity weighed on her chest like a sodden blanket. She didn’t normally concern herself with the lack of natural sunlight, but she found the combination of darkness and polluted damp uncomfortable.
An undercurrent of weather vigilance was a large component of life in Brynner. Apparently, the city’s founders had selected the one spot on the globe with the highest levels of precipitation. That seemed illogical until she took into account the planet’s indigenous life-forms. Frequent flooding washed away potential safety issues, not merely stray trash.
This would be her third visit to Monk’s. The iconography in its decor confused her. It was reverent and blasphemous at the same time. Humans were made of contradictions. She suspected the motivation behind spirituality in particular would always remain a mystery. It suddenly occurred to her that habitually calculating Transcendental Numbers could be classified as a ritual. Contemplating a nonthreatening problem—one that was familiar, predictable, and never-ending—provided a feeling of order in a chaotic world. Comfort could be found there.
