But I wasn’t sure how the guys would see it. I lifted my head and cleared my throat. “He hasn’t confirmed if he’s militia or not, but the barracks certainly are, and he has access.” To say Case wasn’t chatty was an understatement. If the man had said more than five words to me this morning on our trip to Port Station to get Luce, I hadn’t heard them. “And the reason Tandor was able to find us was because Case injected me with a tracker. He sedated me while I was sleeping, the night Daze was taken and we went back to the bunker.” I let that sink in. “That’s the reason I knocked him out and came to the gorge myself.” I shrugged. “He was playing both sides to get revenge for his nephew. His sustainee sister was one of Tandor’s followers, and she killed her son at the zealot’s request. In my estimation, after everything that’s gone down, he’s neutral. But I’ll go with whatever. Daze needs that medi-pod for at least a week.” I shoved away from the counter and began to pace. “After that, I’m happy to send Case packing.”
They were both quiet for a moment. “I only need to know one thing.” Bender’s tone was like steel. “Can we trust him?”
That same thought was on my mind.
How well can you trust someone who’s played you more than once? “Like I said, he’s neutral. He has no skin in our game anymore. My guess is we won’t need to trust him, because he’ll head back to wherever he came from soon enough.” I stopped in front of the worktable, my eyes inadvertently landing once again on the colorful array of conical-shaped sex toys. They ranged from big to bigger, with connection points integrated into the tops, so the user could choose to go virtual in tandem if they so desired. “Jesus, Bender, when did you start fixing everything under our nonexistent sun?”
Bender grunted, glancing over my shoulder to see what I was talking about. “Just pulled those out of storage. They were from a salvage a few years back. Forgot all about ’em. They came from that old licensed Pleasure Emporium near the canals.” I knew exactly where that was. I’d been in there a few times searching for useful tidbits over the years, but had never come across anything like this. They were in too good of condition to have been left out in the open. “I found them shoved into a wall I happened to bash in with my macro-sledge.” He pinned me with a look, his mouth quirking up on one side. Catching Bender in a real smile was next to impossible. “Didn’t take you as an antistimulus gal.” An actual snicker came out. “They each came with a pair of coded VR goggles, though the trigger nodules are missing, which is a damn shame. But they’ll bring in some real coin. That is, if I have enough pixie motors to fix ’em up. They’re in rough shape on the inside, but their synthetic covering is damn near lifelike, even after all these years. Go ahead, touch one.” He gave me a shit-eating grin. I barely refrained from sticking out my tongue like a six-year-old and then following it up with a punch to the face to get rid of that manic smile.
“I’m not anti-anything,” I grumbled, stuffing my hands in my pockets. There was no way I was going to touch those things. “And there’s nothing lifelike about them. Human skin doesn’t come in neon purple or nuclear orange, nor does it have a sheen.” I gave him the stink-eye, daring him to form a rebuttal as I maneuvered away.
If anyone had bothered to ask me, some things didn’t require batteries, nodes, and goggles.
But toys like these were the norm before the dark days. Sexual satisfaction had been a booming, multitrillion-dollar industry, according to the historical data left behind. You could purchase sex in every shape and form—from a TrueLife bot, to a hologram program with sensory nodules, and for the big bucks, even a human. And from what I’d read, any combination of the three.
The industry had been heavily regulated by the government, the biggest seller being the “total” virtual experience. A pleasure-seeking patron booked a room at a licensed emporium—just like the one where Bender had found his loot—selected their choice du jour, and away they went.
Plush had been developed as a “monitored” enhancing substance to go along with these pleasurable experiences. According to the old ads left behind, it was to be ingested to “unleash the complete sensory fantasy.” A few aluminum mega-boards had endured the test of time, mostly in the zoom tunnels, where people had traversed the city daily on briskly moving platforms that transported them through brightly lit underground corridors filled with visual distractions. The tunnels between the hypertube stations were the perfect places to reach a large audience, as daily riders swelled into the millions.
Inside the tubes themselves, which crisscrossed the city and beyond, were both screen and hologram advertisements, and companies hadn’t held back. Every inch of space had been utilized.
The mega-boards I’d seen for myself had the company’s name, Bliss Corp, engraved along the bottom and the word Plush front and center in huge seductive script, along with an etching of a heavily augmented woman holding a bullet-shaped vial cradled in her open palm.
In addition to the boards, which had been the only things to weather damage and time, Bliss Corp’s live screen and hologram ads had been legendary, constantly pushing the boundaries of what could be shown in public. Since it was literally a multitrillion-dollar industry, no one was going to stop them.
According to public records, just months prior to the dark days, something had gone awry with Plush. People were getting sick, exhibiting serious anger and control issues. The little rainbow-colored pill had recently gone through an overhaul, to both keep up with demand and address the fact that pleasure seekers were requiring larger and larger doses to achieve the same stimulus effect they’d initially received. Bliss Corp had partnered with SensiTouch to come up with a “new and improved” formula—marketed still as Plush, but with “enhanced capabilities.” It had hit the market less than six months before disaster struck.
Those “enhancements” had caused irreversible damage, but before they could fix the formula, a meteor the size of a mountain had destroyed life as every single soul on the planet had known it. Glancing off the moon, it had broken into three pieces, striking Earth with enough force to obliterate anything within thousands of kilometers of each blast and sending enough dirt, rocks, and debris up into the upper atmosphere to congest the sky for decades to come.
Bender chuckled, bringing me back to the here and now.
He was gleeful at my obvious discomfort as he hauled open the door to the cooling unit. “When you’re talking about pleasure,” he growled, “color doesn’t matter in the least. Purple, orange, green, they achieve the same desired outcome.” He upended a jug of aminos, taking large swigs. Once he was done, he ran a forearm over his mouth, continuing to grin hard enough to show teeth. “I’ll be sure to save you one.”
I made a noise between a squeak and a gurgle, but was saved from having to reply as Lockland cleared his throat. “We’ve got more important things to discuss than pleasure toys. First on the agenda is getting Luce back and procuring that quantum drive. The data on it was integral to Tandor’s plans, and we need it in our possession before any survivors from his group—if there are any—track it down. We do it tonight at blackout. I’ll be in touch with my contacts in Port Station today. If they don’t choose to release Luce, we’ll go in and take her.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.” I patted the Gem at my waist. My laser gun had seared a solid hole through Tandor yesterday. I’d smoked him, according to Daze. I was ready to get Luce back, whatever it took.
“Do you happen to have any reflective cloth lying around?” Lockland asked as he began to pace. “I had some, but used the last bit recently. It could come in handy tonight.”
“I think so.” Going back to my residence in the canals would be unadvisable, not knowing what Darby had told the outskirts or the government. I’d recently taken him there and introduced him to my fortress of illegal objects—including fifty times the amount of allowable solar panels, a cache of batteries that would qualify me for a nice over-the-head acid bath, and an E-unit that made compressed hydrogen bombs and cubes, which was so ille
gal they wouldn’t even come searching for it, because no one in their right mind would be stupid enough to have one. “My residence in The North has a stockpile of stuff. I haven’t been through it in a while, but my plan was to head there today anyway.”
“Good,” he said. “Do you need a lift?”
I shook my head. “No. I need to stop by one of my stashes on the way, so I’ll head in on foot.” There was a certain item I needed. It was extremely rare. A sneaky kind of deadly. Not knowing what was in store for us moving forward, I knew it would be better to be armed and prepared with one of my biggest assets until the threat of danger passed. But, honestly, it never really went away. As my last name suggested, Danger was everywhere.
“Fine. We meet back here an hour before blackout.” During blackout, the city shut down to conserve on battery power and to try to minimize chaos for its few remaining residents. But lots of crazy stuff happened after dark. “And, Holly”—I turned at the cadence of Lockland’s voice, which had been sterner than usual—“we don’t trust Case until I say we do.”
“Got it.” I headed toward the door that would lead me to the street. “I wasn’t planning on it.” As I worked the locks, I murmured to myself, “That asshole hasn’t earned it yet.”
CHAPTER TWO
Unlike the canals, which was thirty to forty feet underwater at its lowest point and covered in seekers, The North held its own risks. It was where able-bodied folks flouted government laws. Not put-up-your-dukes opposition, like Tandor had wanted—as in overthrow the government and burn what was left of the city to ashes—more thumbing their noses and waving their weapons in defiance of the rules they disliked.
Like, all of them.
It should’ve been called The Disgruntled North.
The inhabitants were always heavily armed and had a variety of watering holes called rathskells—skells, for short—where they congregated to trade goods and complain about their crappy lives. Skells catered to outskirts—individuals from out of town or those who’d been kicked out of the city for breaking the law.
I had a bunch of salvaging contacts in The North, which was what led to my residence there. When you found a perfect location, one that was easily defensible, discreet, and vacant, it was hard to pass up. But The North was my least-favorite place to frequent in the city. Honestly, I’d take a rage-filled seeker over a pissed-off Northerner.
Seekers were predictable in their crazy, Northerners were not.
Other than The North and the canals, the city contained two more “official” areas. The Middle, where Bender lived, was one. It was guarded ferociously by its residents, who mainly wanted peace and quiet and to be left alone. Government Square, which was made up of families and government workers, and contained the biggest span of uninterrupted blocks in the entire city, a kilometer square, was the other.
Government Square was where you found the Food Dispensary, where once a week we swiped the embedded tags on our wrists and received our protein cakes and the ever-delicious, thirst-quenching amino water, the cloudy brown drink of the bold and hardy. It was also where the Medi Center was located, where folks could go and wait for days to be treated, oftentimes dying first. And the Clothing Store, where you received a bland uniform if you didn’t have the funds to hire a seamstress to sew together clothing you’d salvaged from other places.
There used to be other services as well, like an Energy Office to supply you with a few batteries so you could get by, and a Residence Assistance Office to help you locate a home that wasn’t about to fall down around your head. But those offices had shut down or been whittled away to nothing over the last thirty years. Once The Water Initiative—where the elite had set out to sea with all our remaining resources—had taken place, the government had its hands full solving multiple crises, like finding enough slurry to fill the bio-printers so we all didn’t starve to death and trying to save as many lives as possible at the Medi Center.
The mass exodus and loss of supplies had started a downward spiral. We were on track for mass extinction in less than ten years. It was best not to linger on it overmuch. It was too depressing.
After a kilometer and a half on foot, I finally reached the boundary line. Entry to The North at this particular point was marked by a five-meter-tall wall of debris and a handmade sign that blared:
We Don Fucking want U Heer.
Enter at UR own Fucking Risk!
It wasn’t the words that would stop someone in their tracks, because the intelligence behind the message was suspect at best. It was the fact that it’d been painted in blood, with a brush that very well could’ve been made from human hair, judging by the uneven, stringy strokes. Then there were the plethora of laser holes and scorch marks covering it from one side to the other, making the message even harder to read.
It was meant to intimidate, and it had likely made a few turn back and rethink their plans. But the sign didn’t faze me. I immediately began to pick my way up and over the debris, moving at a quick clip. Coming in on foot was not my preferred method. Being without Luce sucked, especially since my residence was accessible only by craft, and once I arrived, I was going to have to get creative to figure out a way to ascend twelve stories without being seen.
I’d tackle that when I got there.
Just over the top, my foot slipped and I tumbled down a few meters before catching myself. Then, realizing it was easier, I slid the rest of the way down. “Well, that was fun,” I muttered as I brushed myself off, kicking a piece of stubborn garbage off my foot as I began what would likely be an interesting trek through a temperamental neighborhood.
My first stop was a hidey-hole located in an uninhabited building a half kilometer from here. That should be easy enough. Shoving my gloved hands into my pockets as light drizzle bounced off my helmet and shoulders, I took off. My boots caused the occasional splash when they hit the inevitable minefield of rust-colored puddles, but other than that, there was nothing blocking my path.
As I walked, I tried not to worry about Daze.
I’d given him instructions to get back in the medi-pod for his daily treatment, knowing I’d be gone well into the night. The kid had multiple broken bones—one in his hand, another in his arm—and a cracked rib. He was also malnourished and dehydrated, which was common for inhabitants of this city. I figured Case would keep track of him, but I had no real idea if that would be the case or not. Thinking of Case being “on the case” cracked me up, and I giggled out loud.
“Somethin’ funny there, missy?”
The voice, coming from the alcove of the building I was passing, surprised me, my hand instinctively going to my waist, my hips pivoting toward the threat.
I stopped just short of a full draw and squinted, my Gem already out of the holster, my fingers braced around the butt.
The figure in front of me was completely shrouded in fabric.
But it wasn’t your average sheeting—it was burial cloth.
The stuff we used to wrap dead bodies in before we lit them on fire. It was distinctive because of its metallic sheen and faint smell of accelerant. I leaned forward, sniffing the air. “Cozzi, is that you?” I asked. I’d recognized his voice, even though I couldn’t see his face.
The figure seemed to catch himself, startled he’d been addressed directly. Then, very slowly, a pair of grizzled hands came up to tug the cloth back. I had to wait, not so patiently, as he struggled to uncover the mass of fabric bunched around his face. After some significant crinkling and swearing, he managed to free his head. He leaned toward me, coaxing his bloodshot eyes to focus with some rapid blinking.
It took a while.
“Holly?”
“Yep, it’s me. I thought that was you. How are you, Cozzi? It’s been a long time.” His barely there snow-white hair was plastered to his head. If I was sweaty under my helmet, he looked as though he’d just gotten out of a cleaning stall without punching the dry cycle. “Why in the world would you be standing in a dirty alcove wrapped in burial cloth?
Enlighten me.”
His face broke out into a wide grin. More teeth were missing than when I’d seen him last, particularly the front bunch. “Holly Danger, well, well, well.” Then, surprisingly, he threw his arms out and came shuffling over. The cloth kept his movements to a minimum. “I can’t believe it! I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of ever laying eyes on you again.”
The physical aspect of our reunion was unexpected, but I allowed it, and even leaned in to facilitate a quick hug. Why not? I’d known Cozzi almost my entire life. It was a happy chance to find him here. I curled my nose as accelerant and the odor of unwashed body wafted up my nostrils, trying not to sputter as I stepped back. “Cozzi, why are you dressed in fire-probable clothing? One small spark and you’re a goner. If you can’t get down to the Clothing Store to get a new uniform, I can help you out. I have something that might fit at my residence.”
He tottered backward a few steps, his sweaty head, missing teeth, and unusual outfit not detracting from his jovial disposition. “Oh, no! I prefer it this way. Keeps me warm and snug.”
I quirked my head, spotting his belongings piled up next to the wall. They were spilling out haphazardly. Cozzi had always been eccentric, but this was beyond his usual. His cherished residence was located just a few blocks from here. I’d taken cover there in my youth on more than a few occasions, the old man always making room for me and giving me his share of food and water. Nothing less than a massive threat could’ve gotten him out of his beloved home—it was as quirky as he was, littered with broken objects that no one knew the use for any longer.
“Why is all your stuff here? What the hell happened?” I shot him a bewildered look. “And don’t even think about lying to me.” There was no way I was going to accept his “warm and snug” answer or that he’d acquired a new fetish for wrapping himself in flammable clothing.
His face took on a fearful expression, his eyes darting away from mine. “I…um…decided to leave. The place was getting too cramped, you see…I needed some space…”
Danger’s Vice Page 2
