Zero Rogue

by Matthew S. Cox

  Aaron cleared his throat. When she didn’t react, he did it again, louder.

  One of the holographic panels morphed into a ten-inch faerie, the tiny version of Shimmer he’d seen before. The false woman swiveled to face him, went open-mouthed, and screamed.

  Aaron waved.

  Chaos swam over the various displays; some windows closed while others erupted in red text. Two pie charts collapsed. Shimmer’s real body shot upright in the chair as though she’d been shocked with a defibrillator. She struggled to keep her head up, but kept slouching forward, almost falling off the seat. Her brown eyes seemed oversized in her moon-shaped face, wide with radiant fear. Sporadic twitches made her shake and convulse like a creature from a zombie vid. She drew her knees to her chest, squirming to cover herself while reaching for a pistol in a black canvas satchel hanging on the armrest.

  Aaron held his hands up. “Easy, Shimmer. It’s just me, Aaron.”

  She left her hand on the gun but didn’t pull it out, staring at him for another minute before attempting to speak. The stuttering squeak that leaked out of her throat didn’t come close to speech, though her words drifted clear in her surface thoughts. How did you find me?

  “A friend found you. She’s clairvoyant, a psionic.”

  Shimmer shifted toward him, letting her feet slip off the chair to the floor. The convulsive, disorienting effect of rapid disconnect faded, and her terrified affect changed to one of anger.

  “W-what the fuck? Do you just walk into people’s homes?”

  Aaron gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “Couldn’t find the doorbell.”

  She scowled, twisting her head left and right as she pulled wires out from behind each ear. “That’s because I don’t fucking have one. How about a little privacy?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if you’d have answered my calls, and you know they invented these things called clothes. Do you live in your skivvies?”

  “You’re the first person other than me to see the inside of this box for six years. What’s the point? It was supposed to be private.” She slid off the chair and stretched. Her hair fell down around her ankles. “I had a bit of a close call the last time I tried to vid you. Someone was watching your NetMini for incoming connections and tried to send a Traceweasel after me.”

  She stomped across the room, rummaging among the boxes of electronic gear in search of something more to put on.

  “A weasel?”

  Shimmer stepped into a pair of white shorts that stalled at her knees since they were sized for a preteen. “Dammit.” She offered up a cheap smile and threw them into a different box. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest. Traceweasel is a net soft that backtracks a connection and translates it into a real-world geolocation tag.”

  Aaron removed his suit jacket and handed it to her. “Might want to order some new things.”

  “Thanks.” She wrapped herself in it and took a NetMini out from between the pile of decks. “So, yeah… I was gonna call you as soon as I dealt with whoever was trying to find me.” Pale grey light bathed her from the little device’s holographic panel. She poked at it while wandering to the middle of the right wall, navigating the maze of wires and tubes without looking.

  “You should probably get out more. This can’t be healthy.”

  Shimmer grasped a handle on the wall by a stack of old food cartons. With a twist, a section pulled away, revealing a small chamber with a ladder. She took a step in and leaned around the door to wink at him. “Neither are Syndicate bullets.”

  Aaron glanced at the room while she disappeared. Echoing metallic sounds conjured the image of her climbing a ladder up a narrow shaft. He picked at some of the junk in the crates. Amid the carcasses of evolving, upgraded tech, the trappings of a once-childhood emerged. Dolls, old clothing, toys, and a couple of holo-bars. Aaron reached into the junk and pulled out a small silver bar. Three inches long and about as big around as his finger, it could hold thousands of photos. He traced his finger over the device and held it flat in his palm, as though it sat on a table. A three-dimensional image formed above it, depicting an important looking man in a suit seated in a fancy leather chair. To his left, Shimmer at around age six stood like a dutiful daughter in a white silk dress and kitten heels. A boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, a younger version of the sitting man, posed on the other side. All three wore huge smiles and expensive outfits.

  The bar contained several more portraits of the girl; he thought she looked strange with her natural hair color of black. One image had her at about eight or nine in the lobby of a corporate office tower. A stylized symbol hung on the wall in the distance, a series of round-ended rectangles of increasing size hinting at a segmented grub or some manner of insect larva.

  Air rushed out from the shaft as the upper hatch opened. The sound of hovercar traffic and advert bots filtered in. Aaron dropped the keepsake back in its box and wandered to the desk where her ‘current technology’ resided. A few steps past the desk atop a nauseating coral-pink foam mat, a datapad projected a hologram of an Indian man in the midst of an extreme yoga pose. At the edge of the pad, two small porcelain vessels held the ashes of incense. Every few seconds, a thin line of left-shift glided upward through the motionless man, revealing him as a hologram on pause.

  Between the GlobeNet interface decks, one picture-bar held a place of prominence. It contained twenty some odd images of the boy from the family photo, only later. At his oldest, he seemed to be in his twenties and wore the uniform of a Division 1 police trainee. Shimmer at about twelve clung to his side, grinning from ear to ear.

  Two boxes slapped to the floor inside the shaft. Aaron jumped, swatting at the holo-bar to turn it off as the rattle of the ladder grew louder. The photo went dark a split second before her bare feet appeared, and Aaron folded his hands behind his back in an exaggerated gesture of innocence.

  Shimmer emerged from the shaft and stepped over the boxes. After closing the door and locking it, she gathered them and returned to the chair.

  “Turn around. I’m gonna change.”

  Aaron obliged. Plastic crinkled behind him for a few minutes while he tried to make sense of all the wiring on the floor. Footprints in various substances from food to neural memory fluid appeared here and there. She tapped his arm with a bundle of cloth, returning his jacket. He assumed it safe to look and turned around. A stretchy black top that left about two hands’ width of stomach exposed replaced her ratty undershirt, and she wore a new pair of modest white panties.

  “Thanks.”

  Aaron put his jacket back on while she slipped into a loose pair of white/grey camouflage fatigue pants. The drawstring closures at the foot end flopped about as she went over to a small food reassembler, hidden among the storage boxes. She touched the door with her toe and closed her eyes. Seconds later, the machine beeped.

  “Son of a…” Aaron laughed. “Well, this certainly explains how a kid’s been able to avoid the Syndicate.”

  “I’m not a little kid, Pryce. I’m nineteen.” She squatted and took a plate of brown goo and yellow triangles out of the machine. After standing, she kicked the door closed. “Don’t get any ideas either. I know how you are with women.”

  Aaron put both hands on his chest in a ‘Moi?’ gesture.

  “Yeah, you.”

  “What in the name of holiness is that mess?”

  “Nachos with taco meat and beans.” She munched as she sauntered over to her chair and leaned on it. “Extra jalapenos, no sour cream.”

  Her toes peeked out from the oversized pant legs, traces of blue polish in combination with her posture made her seem younger than she claimed. Aaron watched her eat for a moment, gripped by distinct unease. In the months since Allison died, he’d probably manipulated several nineteen-year-olds to bed. At the time, he’d been too drunk to care, and the girls had been happy to enjoy some of his fortune and fame.

  Shimmer had nothing in common with those women. She hid in a self-imposed prison, avoiding the outs
ide world, barely containing her urge to run away from even Aaron. She didn’t care how much money he had or who he was, and the way she shrank against the chair nagged at his wounded conscience. Division 0 had been an escape route from the CSB, a means of asylum. Somewhere along the line, he’d developed a sense of duty. Frictionless had been one big game, a great stonking raised middle finger at the world, a pack of tossers running around a field and getting paid gobs of credits for it. Did the things he’d seen as a police officer change him or had it been Allison? The wretched, beaten, mess of his former self reached a hand out of the murk, trying to get his attention.

  Shimmer pushed a mass of brown paste and green bits around the plate with a chip. “Yeah, I’m psionic. Tech always liked me. The implants don’t even interfere with it. So, is this where you haul me off to the dorms or something? I don’t have to go, right? I’m nineteen now. Not a kid. I’m, uhh… not breaking that many laws.”

  He moved to her side, lifting her hair away enough to examine the M3 socket behind her earlobe. Her toes turned white with tension, the plate trembled. She refused to look at him.

  “Interesting. I’ve heard of a few people with technokinesis who opted for cybernetic augmentation. Most people think it makes us weaker… ’course I suppose you have to believe in all that ‘natural aura’ stuff for that to make sense. Either it’s bunk or I guess your mind rather likes tech.” He let her hair fall. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make you nervous. You’re right. A bit old for the dorms, though they would still take you in.” He frowned. “I don’t really recommend it, though. Seems they’re a bunch of wankers after all.”

  She risked a glance at his chest, still shying from eye contact. “I’m safe here.”

  “Is it worth all this?” He waved around. “Shutting yourself away from the world.”

  “I’m still part of the world.” Her tension faded as she crunched another chip. “I’m free on the net… and I don’t have to wear pants.”

  “You’ve been after the syndicate since you were what, twelve? Someone with your psionic abilities would do well in the legitimate world.”

  Her face darkened. She set the nachos down on the chair and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’m not some wannabe coasting on psionics. I am a real operator. Do you have any idea how much more effective psionics are when the person using them knows what the fuck they’re doing? I’ve pirated enough technical CBTs to run through university in two years and come out with a master’s degree in electronic engineering as well as software design. I could rewrite the operating system of a Nishihama Berserker in six days. Short of StarPoint, there’s not a network in this city I can’t have my way with. You think just because I’m this skinny kawaii chick with blue hair, I’m some kind of airhead that coasts on psionics?” She shoved away from her giant chair and paced in a random orbit, fuming. “Okay, maybe C-Branch is over my head, but still.”

  Aaron held his hands up, leaning back. “Sorry… didn’t mean to imply you weren’t talented. I said it because most who have an easy route take it.”

  She folded her arms. “I’m not coasting on psionics. I am a tech head. I don’t know how the hell you found me here, but I swear, if you blow my cover and make me move…” Her gaze hardened. “I know all about your private ICFC accounts, Dr. Yuichi Omaru. Maybe should I call you Sean Burke, or Jake Tanner? Or… what was the other one… Arturo Tyrondus?” She pointed. “I swear I’ll ruin your fucking life if you rat me out.”

  He slouched. “Too late.”

  “You’re a bastard,” she yelled. After a few seconds of looking for a suitable target, she kicked a stack of boxes over and then grabbed her foot. “Ow. Fuck.”

  “No,” said Aaron. “I mean my life. It’s already ruined.”

  “Dammit.” She limped back to the chair and rubbed her toes.

  “You shouldn’t kick metal crates.” Aaron chuckled. “Look, I need to find Talis. I’m not going to drag you off or anything. The only other person who knows where you are is not going to say a word.”

  “You’re giving me that look.”

  “What look?”

  She slid backward onto the chair, letting her feet dangle. “That pitying, ‘oh, you poor thing’ look. I’m fine.”

  He glanced at the door he’d come in from. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a windowless prison?”

  Her legs drifted back and forth. “I’m free in cyberspace. I don’t have any desire to be rich again. I find enough credits to get by. With Cray dead, I just gotta wait for the Syndicate to forget about me.”

  “Again?”

  “Dad was an executive. Pretty high up. We had money coming out of every orifice, but he never had time for me or Cory. He got me a synthetic unicorn when I was eight. I mean, we had more credits than we could spend. I grew up with nannies and live tutors and vacations… But it was all hollow, ya know?” She fidgeted with the pockets on the side of her pants. “I’ve met people online that I’d kill to protect. My dad? Whatever. I mean, he wasn’t mean or anything… just uninvolved. Felt more like ‘the guy that owned the building we got to stay in’ than a parent. Besides, he’s already dead anyway.” She made a sarcastic face. “Hostile takeover.”

  The name ‘Chrysalis Corporation’ floated around her mind.

  “So who are you, really?” He stared into her eyes.

  ‘Lily’ whispered in her thoughts, in a man’s voice. Her brother had been the last person to call her that.

  “I’m Shimmer.” She scooted back on the chair, faced the wall of light, and sat cross-legged. “I found your tiger lady, Rakshasi. She’s doing mercenary work for Preston Cryogenics. The files I was able to get into make it look like she’s on retainer to deal with defecting researchers. An assassin. I managed to track down her true identity. Aparna Devi is originally from India, former military intelligence. They tried to cover it up and make it look like a retirement. In truth, she humiliated them with the theft of several petabytes of sensitive information that wound up in ACC hands.”

  Shimmer took one of the wires off the chair and plugged it in behind her right ear. The curtain of holo-panels flickered and changed, showing camera feeds, personnel records, and maps. A woman’s face filled in, narrow and tall, with harsh angular lines. Dark stripes reminiscent of a tiger’s marked both cheeks. Waist-long black hair swept back into a ponytail, and both eyes had metallic gold irises with vertical slit pupils. Three hexagonal indentations on her right temple, progressively smaller, contained tiny numbers written in black. Shimmer leaned forward, taking a container of hours-old lo mein out of a drawer.

  “This bitch is wired to the nines.” She bundled a wad of cold noodles on chopsticks and stuffed it in her mouth. One of the screens went black with gold wireframe depicting a woman’s arm. Six-inch narrow transparent blades emerged from each finger. “Nano scratchers, reflex boosters, both eyes replaced, toxin filtering in her lungs and liver, bone reinforcements”―the hand shrank as the display became a full skeleton; patches of white flashed to indicate where metal had been grafted onto bone―“military grade speedware”―a hairline network of wiring flashed white throughout the entire body―“Flea mod for jumping.” Shimmer slurped more noodles. “I’m surprised she skipped the tail and cat ears.”

  Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tail gets in the way in a fight. One more thing an opponent could grab.” His initial disgust at the food gave way to a raised eyebrow. “That food isn’t slime.”

  “Nopf.” She mumbled past a full mouth. “Real.”

  “How do you afford that?”

  She grinned. “A hundred and fifty people are kind enough to donate half a credit each.”

  He shook his head.

  “What?” She jammed chopsticks into the mass of brown noodles and chicken as though slaying a dragon. “You’re going to go kill this bitch, and you’re giving me that face over a dinner stolen from people who won’t even notice?”

  He blew air between flapping lips. “Yes, I suppose when you
put it that way it does seem a bit hypocritical.”

  “Oh, don’t waste your time trying to charm this one.” Shimmer squinted at the fifth screen from the left, where a platinum blonde woman with Eastern European features appeared. “This is the agent that turned her traitor. Rakshasi isn’t going to find you appealing.”

  Aaron closed his eyes. “I had a feeling.”

  He thought back to the one time he’d almost caught up to her, about two months after Allison’s death. He’d chased them from one end of an automated manufacturing facility to the other. When they’d run out of factory, Lucky had made it out a door, which he had a clear shot on, trapping Talis and Rakshasi behind a plastisteel machine press. After the women kissed, Talis sent Rakshasi on a suicide run to buy herself the opportunity to escape. Now that he thought about it, the blade-fingered woman charging at him had the same terrified look that must have been in his eyes when he turned his weapon on his wife.

  The last he’d seen of Aparna Devi, aka Rakshasi, his telekinesis had boosted her charge into flight, sending her right over his head and into a vat of industrial lubricant. Before he’d ‘cracked,’ flinging an adult woman off her feet at all would’ve been near the edge of his power. He’d always had a lot more finesse than brute force.

  She stared at the pocket where his NetMini lurked. It beeped. “I’ve sent you all the info I found. Now I’m going to have to go into the net and make sure no one’s tracked your ass here.” She started to give him a threatening glare, but softened into a pleading stare. “Promise me you won’t sell me out?”

  Shimmer had read him like an online training course. Whatever talent young Lily Braddon had once employed to wheedle things out of her billionaire father came to the surface. He managed a dumb nod as he backed toward the door.

  “Aye. Thanks for the info, luv. You…” He sighed. “You sure you want to stay here?”

  “Yeah.” She drew her knees to her chin.