by Lyn Forester
"I'm sure you've heard of the recent influx of Ash." He keeps his voice low, and I stop myself from moving closer.
I nod my assent.
The Peace Keepers' news feed blew up last night with alerts about bodies found in the streets. All symptoms point to aphremore overdose.
"The Peace Keepers are angry." I swirl the tea in my cup and watch bits of leaves float around.
"Yes. They want this resolved fast, before it becomes a public problem.” Mr. Black folds his hands in his lap. “Our contracts with them could come under review if this continues."
"That's unfortunate." Worry gnaws in my stomach at the turn of conversation.
His voice rises, signaling our arrival at the real point of this meeting. "I'd like you to look into this matter for me, find the source of the Ash."
Worse than I thought.
"I'm flattered you think highly of my investigative skills," I draw the words out while I try to find a way out that allows me to keep my sponsorship with Investigators, Inc. "But there must be more qualified people on your payroll?"
"On the contrary." His creepy eyes train on me. "I require an outsider with a vested interest in resolving this problem as soon as possible. Your track record speaks for itself."
I'm not in Roen under a real identity, but the one I purchased from Mr. Black sure feels like one. I live in a decent place, work the job I love, and all it costs is my freedom to refuse jobs like this.
It won't make a difference, but I give it one more try. "My halfbreed blood makes me less than ideal."
He leans back on his cushions and folds his hands, eyes sympathetic. "Yes, I took that into consideration before I brought you in. The drug's negative reaction on women with halion blood is troubling."
That's a mild way of putting it. Sixty percent of female halfbreeds die from contact with aphremore. The fatality rate rises to ninety percent for pureblood halions. Some survive, but the blood fever warps their brains. Few survive unaltered. Hence the need for strict regulation.
"I've come up with a solution." Mr. Black raises his hand and Goon Two steps forward to stand at his back. "For the duration of your investigation, you will have Mr. Esten along to handle matters that might be too dangerous for you."
I glance up to meet the goon’s pale eyes, blue-gray like steel. I'd bet credits his halion sire comes from the Troehan clan. He stands, shoulders stiff, as he watches me through a narrowed gaze.
My expression open and neutral, I keep the tension from showing in my body language. A difficult task today, when I’m already irritated by thirst. I don't like working with other people, and I don't need some goon slowing me down.
"Please don't deprive yourself of a bodyguard." I return my focus to Mr. Black. "I can figure out a workaround for any danger."
The mob boss shows me his teeth in a counterfeit smile. "Oh, but I insist."
~
After that, we settle into serious negotiations.
On my side, I receive an unregistered stick of credit, a full replacement of the cameras I lost the night before, and tithe exemption on my next five cases. Pleasure fills me at that last one. It doesn't make up for the glitch in my schedule, but it helps. I take heavy hits with the cut the Peace Keepers take from every case. Black Corporation demands additional taxes for the less than legal datband that allows me to work for Investigators, Inc.
Mr. Black receives my complete focus, with agreement to postpone any new cases until I solve this one. And my unenthusiastic acceptance to have his babysitter following me around.
I tell Goon Two where we'll meet tomorrow and sashay my way out of the office. An extra swing to my stride draws attention to my ass, where the words Kiss This cover the seat of my short shorts. The skin between my shoulder blades itches until the heavy doors swing shut behind me.
I pause to see if Unibrow and his minion will escort me back home, but they ignore me. Apparently their responsibility ended with my arrival.
I'm less than pleased with the turn of events. "Where's my towel?"
Unibrow keeps his eyes forward, ignoring me. Whatever, I have more towels. I turn and move down the short hall towards the outer office.
Today, Mr. Black used his offices in NuArc Tower, which houses the tech development company, with a foundation on Level 9 and walls that punch through Level 10 and 11's holo-skies. The roof stops a mere hundred feet from Level 12's ceiling.
Only two other buildings boast larger square footage. The Halls of Justice, which pillar through all thirteen levels of Roen, and halion-run Techstrom Developments, NuArc's direct competition.
I'm four city levels above home.
Mr. Black's personal secretary sits behind a smaller version of her boss's desk. Her desk placement forces visitors to walk around her to get to the Black Councilor's office. A tall, beautiful halfbreed, she wears her shining platinum hair slicked back from her face in a tight bun. Her iron-gray dress suit matches the flinty tones of her desk.
Her beauty puts visitors off guard while her halfbreed blood makes her a good first line of defense.
She gives me a wintery smile and holds out a silver bag as I pass. Curious, I peek inside to find the gym towel I’d handed to Unibrow. Without comment, I take it and make my way down the hall toward the elevator. The executive floor features offices with heavy wood furnishings and holo-screens on every wall, customizable to the employee's preference. Exterior walls made from plas-glass offer a sweeping view of the city level below. From up here, I can see all the way to the rim.
Breathtaking.
Every desk faces inward toward the gray hallway. What a waste.
At the end of the hall, the elevator conductor tips his shiny, black hat at me. "Mr. Black has made the portal available for your personal use."
His enthusiastic tone makes me think he doesn't have a lot of opportunities to use the shimmering portal. Executives must dial in their own destinations. He positions himself at the access panel and glances back at me.
I almost feel guilty as I walk away from the portal. "I have business before I head home."
His shoulders slump with dejection before he pulls himself together. "Mr. Black didn't specify an exit location. You may use the portal to reach any public point."
I examine the shimmering door with extreme distaste. Portals log DNA sequences and upload them to a mainframe to safeguard users in case of portal malfunctions. With the right knowledge, the database can track a person's movements. I've used portal logs more than once in my career.
Refusing, I lean forward to press the call button for the elevator. He frowns at my finger with reproach. When the doors open, he hurries through ahead of me and presses the ground floor button, then holds the door until I step inside.
With a tip of his shiny hat, he moves off the elevator before the doors close, whisking me away.
A CAUSE FOR CONCERN
Drake waits until the door clicks shut behind the investigator before he pulls up the video feed on his palm-port, watching until she gets on the elevator.
"She's gone." Drake tucks the device back into his suit's inner pocket where it can snuggle with his psy-gun.
Mr. Black lifts his teacup from the table and leans back on the couch to cradle it in one long-fingered hand. It must be cold by now, but Drake doesn't offer to refill it for him. Like many things Mr. Black owns, he uses it as a prop. That he's alone with Drake doesn't matter, the habit is so ingrained in his behavior that he never falls out of character.
Without turning to look at him, Mr. Black waves his hand for Drake to take a seat on the other couch. "What do you think of Ms. Thorpe?"
Surprised, Drake pauses in the process of lowering himself onto the puffy piece of furniture. The question lands with the weight of a trap. He settles into place, his tired brain unable to pick out the response his boss wants to hear from him. His body hurts with fatigue and he resists the urge to lounge back into the cozy seat. Too much comfort and he'll fall asleep.
He straightens his spine an
d clasps his hands in his lap. Across from him, Mr. Black swirls the tea in his cup, patient while he waits for a response.
"I'm unclear why you've brought her in on this," he admits. "She's not part of the company and she's a female halfbreed. The case will be dangerous for her. If she comes in contact with Ash, she could die. It won't motivate her to give the case her best effort." He clears his throat before forcing out the next sentence. "If you doubt my ability to resolve this on my own, there are company employees who can offer better support. I've already begun the investigation."
"Forget that she's a halfbreed." Mr. Black waves the topic away as inconsequential. "What's your opinion of Ms. Thorpe herself?"
Drake pictures the Kiss This short shorts and suppresses a scowl. "She's unprofessional and I'm concerned with how fast she capitulated to your demands. I think she'll roll over under minimal pressure. She's a mercenary and her ethics are questionable. At least with a Black Corp employee, there’s guaranteed loyalty."
Mr. Black clicks his tongue, and in an instant, Drake knows he's disappointed the other man. "Did you read the personnel report I sent you before the meeting?"
Drake cringes on the inside. He'd listened to the audio of it while showering and shaving. Multitasking left a lot of gaps in his memory, but one thing stuck out.
The nugget of info niggling at his brain this entire time pops to the forefront of his thoughts. "The cases she registers for are all easy."
The corner of Mr. Black's mouth tilts up, the smallest twitch of facial movement before it disappears again. His equivalent of a full-bodied laugh. "Yes, she registers for easy cases."
He glances up from his tea, his quiet gaze settling on Drake. "You see Ms. Thorpe as a lazy Investigator, Inc. employee, making money on easy cases and giving up easily when pressured. Her attitude is irreverent, and her attire leaves little to the imagination."
Drake shifts, uneasy, as that heavy feeling of a trap tightens around him. His brain flashes danger signals, but he already committed to his stance.
"I like you, Mr. Esten." Drake tamps down the instant satisfaction that rocks through his body at the praise. Mr. Black leans forward, sets his teacup on the table, and places his elbows on his knees. His voice lowers and Drake inches closer. "You were there for me when I took over Black Corporation and you've been integral in maintaining many aspects of my company. I'd like to make you aware of some concerns I have."
Dread knots in Drake's stomach, warring with his previous endorphin rush to leave him nauseated. Employees that cause Mr. Black concern disappear. He resists the impulse to peek over his shoulder to check for a psy-gun pointed at his head.
"I would like the opportunity to resolve these concerns, Mr. Black." He keeps his voice confident and hopes the other man doesn't sense his terror.
"I know you would." Mr. Black nods, as if he expects nothing less from Drake. "First, let me assure you, my concerns are not about your loyalty to myself or to Black Corporation."
"I'm glad." He refuses to let the relief make him relax.
"Forgive me. You've been working since yesterday. You must be famished." Mr. Black reaches out, lifts the tongs on the cart, and places a sandwich wedge onto a clean plate. He sets it in front of Drake, before pouring a fresh cup of tea and pushing it across the table.
Drake accepts the food, his stomach settling with the kind gesture. Sharp, bitter liquid fills his mouth. More watery than coffee, but the caffeine will stave off his fatigue a little longer. He sets the cup down and reaches for the sandwich. "How can I make things right, Mr. Black?"
"Our security team is good, but I believe it can be better. I'd like you to make that happen."
Drake pauses, sandwich in hand. The rich, bright blend of cream cheese and cucumber taunts him as he returns it to his plate. "I'm always eager to take on new projects, but I'd like to consult an expert for something of this scope."
"That's why Ms. Thorpe came today."
"I don't follow. Wasn't she here for the Ash issue?"
"We'll call this a test run." He steeples his fingers, dark brown gaze intense. "I want you to work with her, learn to be more perceptive. Ms. Thorpe possesses a stunning level of observation skills."
Drake can't keep the doubt from his face and lifts his teacup to hide behind. "You know her better than I do."
"You take too much at face value. It's the first thing that needs to change." He smiles to soften the sting. "Everything you said about Ms. Thorpe is accurate, but untrue." He holds up one long, tapered finger. "Her attire is horrible, but I had her picked up when I knew she'd be at the gym. She arrived with confidence where others would be self-conscious."
Drake concedes she made the best of her situation.
Mr. Black holds up another finger, ticking off the points. "She is irreverent, without question. She shows no fear where others tremble." That hint of amusement flickers across his face again. Only his long years working for the man allows Drake to spot it before it vanishes. "She's extremely realistic in her worldview. She knows I can have her killed and there's little she can do about it. She doesn't waste energy on fear when the situation is out of her control."
A third finger joins the others, another point. Drake can't remember how many he made against her, but his boss does.
"She only registers for easy cases. But what we aren't seeing are the blackout cases she works. The Laundreman case wasn't easy, yet she accomplished it on her own. She doesn't work with partners. I believe she takes on far more blackout and unregistered cases than public ones. Her income doesn't support her registered workload."
"I'll admit I didn't have time to look into her finances," Drake acknowledges. "But that still doesn't address her questionable loyalty. What's stopping her from selling out to someone who wants your position, sir? She's a security risk."
"You know we sponsor her to Investigators Incorporated, correct?"
"Yes." Drake nods. "Which cements she has a questionable character. Good people don't buy identities through Black Corporation."
"I'm not concerned about that." Mr. Black waves his hand to dismiss the issue. "What piques my interest is how she doesn't hurry to fill silences. She shows infinite patience. And she refuses to eat or drink when in my office."
Drake glances down at the crumbs on his plate, the sandwich heavy in his belly. He doesn't even remember eating it. The sandwich on Mr. Black's plate still sits untouched, a mirror of the one she left behind.
Mr. Black glances at the door, then lowers his voice even more.
"The day I agreed to sponsor Ms. Thorpe, she snuck into my private office, disabled my security alarms, and looped my video feedbacks. She then located every weapon in the room and lined them up on my desk." Drake rears back, insulted on behalf of the security team. No wonder Mr. Black wants to see improvement.
"It's in the past now. The security team has been re-educated," Mr. Black placates. "But my point is, Ms. Thorpe sat in the chair, back to the door, and waited for me. It intrigued me enough not to kill her on the spot. She put up quite a negotiation and is the founder of many of our existing security protocols."
Drake remembers the security changes a few years back. Many of the improvements came across as paranoid. But no coup has succeeded since Mr. Black took control of the corporation. He’s now outlived the previous Mr. Black by a year.
"Since then, Ms. Thorpe has given every impression of being an average member of society. Good at her job, but lacking the drive to be exceptional. She's a wonderful actress. She's only shown her hand once, on our first meeting."
Stunned, Drake sits back. "Then why haven't you hired her to head Black Corp security?"
"I've tried to bring her on." Mr. Black's fingers fold into each other and the backs of his hands turn white beneath his blunt nails. "I even offered to allow her to set up a Black Investigations and run the entire project. She has proven reticent in this one area. Bribes do not work on her."
"What about threats?"
"Over the years, I've
had various people check in on her." He straightens and reaches for his tea. Red crescents mark the backs of his hands. "She has nothing she cares about that can be leveraged against her."
"Everyone has something." Drake watches as his boss lifts the cup halfway to his mouth, then lowers it to his knee. His boss's agitation unsettles him. "What about revoking her citizenship?"
"That is a step I'd like to avoid. I believe she would disappear to a different city. We need something for leverage, something she can't leave behind." His cold gaze fixes on Drake.
"What do you need me to do?"
Mr. Black allows himself a smile, a perfect curve of the lips that in no way looks amused. "I’m sending you, Mr. Esten, to learn from her. How to be more perceptive, how to act. Because you need these skills. And while you're doing this, I want you to find out who Ms. Thorpe is."
OF BEAUTY AND SANITIZATION
When I woke up this morning, my plan for the day didn't include being stranded on Level 9. Pace slow and casual, I stroll away from NuArc Towers, trying to appear like I know where I'm going, like I belong on this level.
If the scandalized glances I receive from my fellow pedestrians are any indication, my efforts fail. No amount of confidence can make me blend into a sea of suits.
I need to leave the business district.
As much as my short shorts make me laugh, Level 9 doesn't approve of profanity-printed exercise clothes. Not this close to the rim, where the average citizen can afford a personal gym and the trainer to live in it. I should find a store and buy a change of clothes. I have enough clothing credits stockpiled to help cut down the cost of shopping on Level 9.
My stomach growls and my mouth feels cottony. I'll keep my eye out for a QuikMart, too.
