by Sean Platt
Dominic’s mind churned. He looked at Lewis then at the agents.
“The Plasteel baron? And the…” He couldn’t even get out Hawes’s claim to fame before the agent cut him off again.
“Yes.”
“Why are they here? In the ghetto?”
“We do not know.”
“Who killed them?”
“We do not know. But we have seen the nature of the damage. Both had protections in place that Quark does not have on file. Whatever was done, it was…advanced.”
Dominic looked at Lewis again. Then at the agents. The dead men on the floor: two of the richest, most powerful people to ever live, dead here below the line. They’d both been shoddily dressed. Their faces obscured. They’d both been armed, traces of various narcotics scattered about. Whoever had set up this little diorama to cover two extraordinarily high-profile crimes had done an excellent job. If not for Dominic’s prickling sense of unease and the Quark agents’ arrival and ensuing gambit, nobody would ever have known.
And, because Quark was about to take over and erase all records, nobody ever would know. Except for Dominic and his partner, who would know to keep their mouths shut unless they wanted a visit from Quark — or maybe a creeper — too.
The first agent held out his hand. Reluctantly, knowing how far he could push and where he’d need to stop, Dominic handed over the pouch containing the creeper.
“And your query,” said the agent, nodding at the handheld in Dominic’s pocket. “Release your challenge on Quark’s takeover of this case.”
Dominic pulled the handheld from his pocket and hovered his finger above its screen, ready to release the query. Then he looked up and met the agents’ churning gray eyes.
“One more question,” Dominic said.
“You cannot do anything with the information we’ve given or will give you,” said the second agent.
“It’s for me. Personal curiosity.”
“You are forbidden to mention any of what’s happened here,” said the first agent. “It is irrelevant.”
“Indulge me,” said Dominic.
Beside Dom, Lewis looked ready to head out. His tough veneer had cracked. They’d pushed too hard — not just against the rapidly rising power of Quark PD clerics, but against something bigger. Something that obeyed the first rule of conspiracy: the less you know, the better.
“Let’s go, Dom,” said Lewis. “Release the query.”
But Dominic ignored him. “This vacuum of data you mentioned. It erased these two’s minds and identifiers. But did it touch anything else? Is there any other specific information you know that went missing today?”
“Only coincidentally, and only by association,” said the first agent.
Dominic moved his finger a millimeter closer to the handheld’s screen with its circling arrows.
“If it’s a coincidence,” Dominic said, “there’s no harm in telling me.”
The agents looked at each other. Dominic could imagine untold volumes of information and arguments streaming between their AI, trying to reason out the dilemma, wondering how far this troublesome human cop could be trusted.
“Ryan Enterprises,” the agent said. “An insubstantial metatrail between Oates, Hawes, and Ryan Enterprises vanished today as well, but our best analysis suggests it means nothing.”
Dominic smiled.
He couldn’t investigate any of this once he released the case to the agents. He couldn’t search The Beam to learn more…because these weren’t really men sharing the room, but something else entirely. He couldn’t even discuss it.
But he could wonder. And, although he could never share it, he could know.
Chapter Three
“Come in, dear,” said a doddering old voice.
Kai stood in front of Rachel Ryan’s complex, Alpha Place written in stone above the door. There had been a doorman, but Kai had found an entertaining way to distract him without raising his suspicions — though she had managed to raise something else. Right now, that doorman was two blocks down, asleep behind a refuse bin. Kai didn’t think he’d wonder why when he woke up. Men naturally relaxed after they came — but thanks to some creative sex toys and a bit of nanobot help, this one had come six times. Kai had given him a sedative before dragging him away with her obfuscation add-on activated, but when he woke, the man would probably just assume he’d jizzed himself out cold with the attractive stranger.
“Come in?” Kai puzzled at the intercom. She’d stuck a piece of chewing gum over the camera, but in a building like this it was entirely possible there were a dozen other sensors watching her at all times. She’d slipped in and out of Isaac and Natasha Ryan’s home without being seen, but that was only because nobody had known to sic spies on her. Rachel Ryan — who according to Micah was cream of the Beau Monde — apparently knew better.
“Yes, dear,” said the intercom. There was no video. Maybe Micah’s mother had stuck gum over her camera, too. It seemed impossible in a building this nice that the thing could simply be broken. “Come in.”
“You don’t even know who I am.”
“You’re Micah’s friend.”
Kai looked up then around. She was trying to spot flying cameras — a joke, considering they could be hidden just about anywhere, or possibly watching her from space. But there was more setting off her alarms than just recognition; “Micah’s friend” implied not just that Rachel knew a brown-haired woman in a short skirt was at her door, but that she knew who Kai was and how she was tied to Micah. The first could have come from Beau Monde Beam access. But the second? Nobody other than Nicolai and Doc (ahem…Kate) knew her connection to Micah.
There was a click as the door’s lock disengaged. At the same time, a barely audible hum stopped purring. Kai hadn’t noticed the hum until it was gone, but hearing it stop gave her a chill. If she’d used her add-ons to force the lock, what strange force field would have she found herself stepping through? She’d heard rumors of anti-augment protections, but they were only rumors — and, she thought, highly illegal to develop. Those rumors alone were enough to give her Orion memories a run for their money.
“Come on in, Kai,” said the voice.
Kai stared at the elegant-looking front door of Alpha Place. It looked like polished oak, but its heart was probably three-inch Plasteel. She verified this by touching the fine brass knob and dragging it partway open. The door moved without friction, but she could tell it was heavy. Plasteel could practically withstand a nuke blast at one inch thick, so using this much in the door made a statement beyond practicality. This place is serious business, it said. And Kai, looking at it, heard a second warning behind it: If we’ve shown you the door’s defenses, you’d better believe there are plenty of defenses we’ve kept hidden, too.
This wasn’t how this visit was supposed to go. She suddenly felt woefully underprepared. Usually, Kai felt confident to handle just about anything, knowing that if a situation turned against her, at least she’d be able to fight or sweet-talk her way out. Even if she had to flee a murder scene, Kai felt confident she could get through any window, climb to any roof, leap to safety and hide among the gutter’s forgotten tribes.
But she hadn’t expected Rachel’s first words to welcome her inside.
She hadn’t expected Rachel to know her name, and her tie to Micah.
Micah had implied that as advanced as he and his Beau Monde friends were, Rachel was somehow above them. At the time he’d said it, Kai’s usually unflappable confidence had brushed it aside as beneath concern. But right now, the reality struck her, and she suddenly felt as if the old woman was a dozen steps ahead.
But if that was true, was there any reason not to enter?
Probably not. If Rachel had a problem with Kai, she could probably command Kai’s Beam connection to turn her own nanobots against her and kill Kai in her sleep.
She looked into the lushly appointed lobby. From where she was standing outside, Alpha Place looked like a fabulously expensive hotel. There was an immaculate
ly dressed woman behind a counter, watching Kai. The room was strewn with fine, comfortable-looking chairs. Cut-glass chandeliers hung overhead, and the sounds of a pianist tinkled from somewhere out of sight.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Kai told herself. She was still Kai, and Kai was formidable. Rachel had surprised her, but so what? She’d been in Micah’s employ for years. She’d seen it all. She’d assassinated Beau Monde before. It didn’t take technology, or the skills of an expert cat burglar. She’d entered Isaac’s apartment just fine. She’d bent over Natasha’s form as she lay in her immersion rig, ignoring every part of her that wanted to squeal like a fangirl and wake the star to ask for an autograph. It wouldn’t have taken guile to slit Natasha’s throat. A simple ghetto blade would have done the trick.
“Yes, dear,” said Rachel’s voice. “That’s right. Don’t be an asshole.”
Kai passed through the doorway, flinching against a surety that the strange force field was still active and would cut her down. But nothing happened, and a moment later she was in one of the finest rooms she’d ever seen. The door closed quietly behind her.
The woman at the counter was so immaculate that at first Kai thought she must be a Beam-generated hologram.
“Welcome to Alpha Place, Miss Dreyfus. May I get you anything to eat or drink before you head up to visit Mrs. Ryan?”
Kai didn’t know how to respond. She just shook her head.
“Perhaps a cocktail?”
“No thank you.”
“If there is anything I can get you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” She smiled wide, saccharine sweet, friendly enough to be vicious. “Anything at all.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“The elevators are to your left.”
“Which floor?”
“The elevator will deliver you to her door.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
The woman smiled even wider, full of servility. “Because it’s on the schedule.”
“What schedule?”
“To your left, Miss Dreyfus.” Again, she gestured to the elevators.
Kai began to move, but instead of walking into the elevator bank (one was open as if waiting, a plush couch along its back wall and an open champagne bottle in a silver bucket), she walked past it. The elevators were in the lobby’s center, the shaft rising through a triple-tall ceiling high enough to give the room the feel of having its own weather. Enormous chandeliers dangled above conversation pits pocking the huge space.
A few well-dressed men and women populated the couches, all in evening wear and sporting white hair. Most of the men had white mustaches, and several had top hats on the tables beside them. Some of the women had black bands around their heads, many stuck with feathers or bows, most wearing long black or white gloves. The men were drinking amber liquid from old-fashioned glasses filled with spherical ice cubes. One of the women was smoking what smelled like a genuine cigarette through a long black holder.
The pianist was along the back wall, sitting at a piano that looked like Nicolai’s, with the lid propped up. The pianist ceased playing, and Kai heard trumpets and trombones, soft and somehow distant. This despite the fact that she could now see the band clearly across a polished dance floor. One old couple, dressed like the others (a tuxedo for the man, a gown and long gloves for the woman) but youthful and dancing to what sounded like a 150-year-old big band-era tune. The man’s oiled hair was combed so close to his skull that it looked painted on.
“May I get you anything, Miss Dreyfus?”
Kai spun. She didn’t realize until coming face to face with the woman who’d been behind the desk that her heart was beating hard in her throat.
“Anything at all,” the woman elaborated. She had yellow hair that Kai hadn’t noticed until now was piled high in the same style as the older women around the room. And she wasn’t wearing a uniform after all; she was wearing a long black evening gown and a choker with an oval stone in its center.
“What is this place?” Kai asked.
“This is Alpha Place. Luxurious graduation living for elite citizens.”
“‘Graduation living’?”
“Yes, Miss Dreyfus.”
“Graduation from what?”
“From life.”
“You mean it’s an old folks’ home.” But of course it was. Kai had known all of this coming in. But something about Alpha Place was making her skin crawl. She’d been to an old folks home; her own grandmother had expired below the line in one. It had smelled like ointment and death. This looked like a scene from one of Grandma’s favorite movies.
The woman smiled. Kai noticed she was wearing a name tag that read Miss Trudy. “It’s a bit more than that,” she said.
“Did Rachel…did Mrs. Ryan tell you to expect me?”
“I expected you because Mrs. Ryan expected you.” Not really an answer, or even a restatement of the question.
“I think I will take a drink after all,” said Kai, feeling uneasy.
Miss Trudy’s hands had been behind her back. Kai had assumed they’d been clasped in a butler’s farce of servility. But now the right one came out, and Kai found herself looking at a Manhattan, two ice cubes, one olive. Exactly the drink she’d have requested if given a chance. The woman was holding it in long fingers hidden beneath the silk of a long black glove.
“How did Mrs. Ryan know to expect me?” Kai asked, taking the drink with shaking fingers.
“Do you like the band?” Miss Trudy asked. The music had changed again, and now there were three young couples dancing instead of just one. This time, Kai recognized the ancient hit: Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”
“They’re very talented,” was all Kai could think to say.
“They’ve been practicing all their lives,” said Miss Trudy. “As long as a week now.”
“Are they artificial?”
Instead of answering, Miss Trudy gave Kai another smile. “You should head upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Mrs. Ryan is getting bored.”
Kai looked at the woman’s ears. Was she wearing a headset? No. She must have a cochlear implant, or be wired into a shared mind network. Such things must be much more advanced than even Kai knew among the Beau Monde, at their Beau Monde facilities.
“She is?”
Kai squinted. Suddenly, Miss Trudy seemed very familiar.
“Yes.” She patiently noted Kai’s stare. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t believe so, Miss.”
“Were you…?” Kai didn’t want to say it, but she realized where she knew Trudy from, down to her name. She forced the words. “Did you ever dance at Club Galaxy?”
“I don’t recollect that, no.”
But Kai was sure. This was Trudy, the stripper who’d stolen thousands of credits from Kai before running off, back when Kai had been nothing. She had the same mole on her neck, even. But Kai had heard she was dead.
“Right this way, Miss Dreyfus,” Miss Trudy said.
She took Kai by the arm and led her to the elevator. Then she nodded toward the still-open box with its comfortable couch — which Kai now noticed had a blood-red stain in its middle. Kai turned to say something to Miss Trudy about the couch needing cleaning, but when she looked back, the stain was gone.
“I’m sure I know you,” said Kai.
“Have a pleasant visit,” the woman said as the doors closed.
The elevator began to crawl. It gained speed and was soon exploding upward fast enough to make Kai unsteady on her heels. Her knees wanted to buckle from the force. She was about to succumb to the couch’s support (and wondering how the elevator was still accelerating; the spire hadn’t seemed that tall from the outside) when the movement stopped. It happened suddenly enough that the momentum caused Kai to hop off the ground. When she landed, her heels finally failed her, and she collapsed to the floor.
The doors opened. Kai found hers
elf looking down a long hallway with only one door at its far end. The arrangement didn’t make sense. If Rachel’s room was the only one on this floor, wasn’t the hallway needlessly bisecting her space? Why not a short hallway?
Kai found her feet, brushed off, and ambled out on unsteady legs. She barely reached the lush carpet before the elevator snapped shut behind her and Kai heard it scream away.
She paused. Forced herself to breathe. Blinked once, hard.
Kai walked toward the room, but it took too long to reach. Or maybe she was that disoriented, that tired, that baffled by the magic tricks that Rachel Ryan had lined up for her would-be assassin.
She reached for the knob.
The door opened before she could touch it, and Kai saw an old woman in the opening.
“So,” Rachel said, “you’ve come to kill me.”
Chapter Four
Listening to Micah, Nicolai found himself thinking back to his one-sided discussion with another Ryan — Micah’s mother, Rachel. That was one thing the Ryan matriarch and her younger son had in common: They soliloquized under the guise of conversation. They pretended to speak with a person then proceeded to speak at them.
And on the heels of that thought, Nicolai found himself doing something he thought he’d never do: missing the stupid, gullible, weak simplicity of Isaac Ryan.
“I know you’d rather not work under me,” Micah told Nicolai, “but really, it’s something you were almost born to do. You could try to find fulfillment being creative, but your mind is going to keep coming back here either way.”
Nicolai kept his face neutral — easy, given that Micah was enamored enough by the sound of his own voice that he probably didn’t even remember that he was speaking to someone, and that the big leather chair near the office’s middle wasn’t empty of one bored former speechwriter. Everything about Micah’s monologue was subtly insulting. And of the phrase subtly insulting, both words were equally important. Nicolai had made his living manipulating words, and Micah was a master. Everything he said had a primary and secondary meaning, leaning as heavily on subtle as insulting. It wasn’t just the presumption of this entire scene that burrowed under Nicolai’s skin. Even the intonation Micah gave the word “creative” was a slap across his face. It was Micah’s implication that Nicolai would fail to be creative while being both cute and pitiable in his attempt.
