Danger’s Vice

by Amanda Carlson

  My residence was a little more than a kilometer away, and when I arrived, I’d have to figure out how to get myself up to the twelfth story of a building that was inhabited by people on the lower floors—and was virtually impassable from floors eight to twelve.

  Damn, I wished I had Luce. Life sucked without a craft.

  I was four blocks from my building when an angry shout assaulted my ears.

  It’d been directed at me.

  “Who are you?” the voice raged. “And what are you doing on my fucking street?”

  I put my game face on. An altercation was inevitable, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I kept walking, not giving my antagonist the pleasure of my attention. “Just passing through,” I replied loudly enough to be heard.

  “Stop right there, or I’ll blow your goddamn brains all over the sidewalk.”

  I stopped.

  “That’s a pretty sweet vest you’ve got there. Haven’t seen one of those before.”

  That’s because I had it custom made, asshole.

  The voice had come from across the street. There was movement—not only the man crossing the street, but two sets of footsteps. He wasn’t alone.

  Fingering my Gem, I waited patiently for his approach without turning. After giving him a few more moments to get close enough, I said, “I’d cease moving right there if you value a beating heart. I want no trouble. I’m just making my way through.” I’d uttered the words in my most don’t fuck with me tone. That usually did the trick—or at least made someone ponder the implications of my threat.

  Not this guy. He made a sound resembling a snort mixed with a huff, asserting himself. He could tell I was female. Not only did my hair, which was long and hung out the back of my helmet, give it away, but so did my curves. I wore formfitting synthetic leather from head to toe. It was warm and offered me the best unimpeded movement in this dark, dank, dreary city.

  “You think you scare me, you bit—”

  I pivoted, crashing my elbow into his jaw.

  He went down. Hard.

  If I decided to kill him, and he was someone prominent in this community, it would be a hell of a mess, with all kinds of retribution. Not that I wouldn’t do it to protect myself, because I would.

  Best to wait and see, and he wasn’t a threat any longer as he wheezed, having trouble drawing a single breath into his lungs, as his chest was being crushed to the point of asphyxiation under my boot. I cocked my Gem in his face. It was twice as big as the relic shooter he had curled in his fist, which I had pinched under my other toe. “Say it again,” I snarled. “I dare you.”

  A line of blood trickled out of the side of his mouth, though he looked far from acquiescing. Such a shame. “You think you’re tough? I’ll show you—”

  I bent over and coldcocked him with my free hand, ramming my fist into his temple, instead of his nose, as I still wasn’t eager to kill him. He looked like a street punk, not a mastermind of criminal activity. Knocking him out would suffice.

  His head lolled to the side, and I stepped back, the print of my wet boot standing out on his bland canvas jacket. I turned, my Gem up, to see who was next.

  Surprisingly, the guy in front of me appeared stunned, his hands already rising from his sides in a surrender pose. “I don’t want no trouble,” he stammered, his voice shaky, his hands now all the way up. “I…I know who you are.”

  I kept my barrel locked on him. “Is that so?” My tone was bored. “You might’ve done your buddy a solid and warned him. Then we all could’ve avoided this unpleasantness.”

  The guy’s expression became slightly horrified, his thin lips dropping into a frown. He nodded at the guy, out cold, blood still dripping from his mouth onto the wet ground. “That’s Dill. He’s no friend of mine.”

  “Dill, huh?” I glanced down at the son of a bitch who thought he was a tough guy, like most Northerners. “More like Dillweed.” I spat on the ground next to him, allowing my contempt to show.

  The man looked confused. “What?”

  “It’s a plant. One that used to grow. People used it as a spice…never mind,” I mumbled.

  “A spice?” The guy wore no helmet. His stringy brown hair was streaked with gray and hung limply to his shoulders. He was tall and thin, his cheeks hollowed and covered with days’ old growth. He looked nothing like Dill, who obviously ate his share of protein cakes and had to have coin, since his clothing was custom, judging by his synthetic-leather duds.

  “I said never mind.” I holstered my Gem, wanting to get out of here before we attracted a crowd. “What’s your name?”

  “Is it true you took out that outskirt the other day? Blasted a hole right through him?” the guy asked, not bothering to answer my question.

  I raised a single eyebrow.

  Sharing information with strangers didn’t happen. “I’m out of here. You might want to drag your friend inside. It would be a shame for him to get crushed by falling debris at this point, since I let him live and all.” I turned to leave. There was immediate shuffling behind me. I took a few more steps, just to be sure, then spun around, this time drawing my taser. It was set to stun. A burst to his chest would hurt like hell. The electrical charge pulsed through the nervous system, clenching muscles painfully, ensuring that any victim stayed down for a good half hour.

  If it was set to kill, this thing could stop a heart.

  “Listen, asshole. It’s not a good idea to follow me. Just turn around and scuttle back to where you came from and take the Dillweed with you.” I flicked my wrist, causing the taser to bob in the international sign of get lost and do it quickly before I change my mind.

  The guy still had his hands raised, but instead of taking my proffered advice, he skittered a step closer, stammering, “I…I can get you information.”

  My eyebrows quirked again, but this time slightly less satirically, leaning toward confused. In this city, one didn’t ignore an offer of information. The more you had, the more you lived. “What’s it going to cost me?”

  “Protection…I want protection.” As I watched, his face began to convey some Cozzi-like expressions. Worry, uncertainty, and a low-level fear flitted across his gaunt features.

  A Northerner was asking me for protection.

  What the hell was going on?

  This day wasn’t supposed to be unusual, dammit. Life was supposed to go back to something more predictable, even though I still had a kid and stuff. “Why do you need protection?” I asked, my taser still up. This guy could be playing me, which I detested. I’d been played enough recently.

  Real fear showed in his eyes, along with a dose of uncertainty. He rolled his bottom lip. It caught under one grimy, protruding tooth, which scraped along his stubble, making a scratching sound as he debated what he could share. “I can’t say just yet.”

  I turned to leave. I didn’t have time to dicker with noninformation.

  “Wait!” he called to my retreating back.

  “Sorry, guy,” I tossed over my shoulder. “I don’t work in half deals. I have places to be.” Footsteps began to shuffle after me, quicker this time. I wasn’t going to lose this guy unless I tased him, which was sounding more and more appealing. I turned, less gracefully this time, annoyed that he was still tagging after me, and walked backward as I talked. “Listen, I told you, I don’t work in I’ll-trade-you-now-for-info-later. If you have something to share in return for protection, you have to lay it out for me and make the deal worthwhile. Otherwise, stop wasting my time. Isn’t there a skell you can pop into to hobnob with your fellow Northerners about this? I’m pretty sure plenty of them would jump at a job if the price was right. Northerners live for that shit.” I nodded toward the guy’s waistband, which was devoid of anything to defend himself. “And just a suggestion, the first thing you may want to do is invest in a weapon of some kind. Even a half-tase is better than nothing.”

  It seemed I’d spoken too many words for this guy to process at once. His tooth sprang out from between his l
ips once again, and I almost tased him right there so I wouldn’t have to listen to the scratching. Must be his nervous tic. “Northerners aren’t enough for what’s coming,” he finally managed.

  I stopped. Since when were Northerners not enough? “Nobody loves a fight more than a North—”

  A clattering noise came from between two buildings across the street.

  My attention shot toward it, my taser following. Dill was still out cold thirty paces away.

  Less than three seconds later, a body stumbled into sight. It was a female. Her movements were irregular, her limbs jerking, her feet shuffling like her legs had forgotten how to work.

  I knew that gait anywhere.

  My gaze shifted, landing firmly on the guy in front of me. “What’s a seeker doing in The North? You’ve got half a second to answer before I shoot you.” My free hand unholstered my Gem.

  The guy’s hands were still in the air, although lower, his eyes pinned on the seeker who was continuing to stumble our way. “The men have Plush. I’m not supposed to say—”

  Dill groaned loudly as he stuck his head up, followed by a shrill, “What the fuck just happened?” He sat up, rubbing the side of his head, a pissed-off expression appearing on his face, clear from this distance. He was going to have a hell of a bruise. Sometimes my work was extremely satisfying.

  As we watched, the seeker changed direction slightly, stumbling toward the asshole on the ground. He’d be an easier target for her next fix.

  Breathy moans shot from her mouth, along with garbled words like need and pleasure.

  I knocked the guy in front of me on the shoulder with the barrel of my Gem, getting his attention, which had been utterly diverted by the seeker. Without knowing it, he’d scooted closer to me, like I was a rod of steel and he was a magnet. “As you were saying?”

  Startled, he whipped his head toward me.

  I’d scared him, which hadn’t been at all hard to do. The guy seemed like he lived in a perpetual state of unease. I was surprised he actually had any stubble ringing his bottom lip. It should’ve been scraped off a long time ago. He was about to say something when Dill jumped to his feet, swaying a little, his hand going up to brace his head, spouting, “Ned, get away from that bitch. We have things to do!” He ignored the seeker, who was three meters from him and closing.

  This was a huge red flag.

  About as red as it gets.

  People in The North didn’t have to deal with seekers, because they kept their neighborhoods protected. And even if a seeker did show up, they wouldn’t last more than an hour or two at most, since most Northerners would love the chance for a little target practice.

  Not to mention, Dill was not in the least alarmed.

  In fact, as we watched, he withdrew something from his waist. “Mary”—his voice projected irritation—“I thought I told you to stay inside. This is not your battle.”

  Mary?

  I was about to convey my thoughts on how fucked up the matter was when Ned turned, his eyeballs doing a crazy dance as he mouthed, Get out of here.

  The message could not have been conveyed any clearer, especially since we were standing close enough for his rank breath to steal up my nose. I wrinkled it and nodded once.

  As I backed away, I watched over Ned’s shoulder as Dill set a hand on the seeker’s shoulder and stuck a dart straight into her forehead.

  She collapsed into his arms, and he began to drag her away.

  What. The. Hell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I couldn’t get the image of Dill and Mary out of my head as I made my way down the streets, this time at a much quicker pace. I wasn’t going to be stopped a second time, and if anyone tried, they were not going to survive the event.

  That had been some of the craziest shit I’d seen in a long time.

  Nothing added up.

  Not Cozzi, not Ned, not the Dillweed, and certainly not the seeker.

  Trying to make sense of it all, I ducked into an alcove made of bent steel and old stone blocks right across from the entrance to my building. “This city has lost its mind,” I mumbled, angling my head up to try to see the twelfth story. My home. Drizzle pelted my visor, rolling off without impeding my view, but it was still hard to see, as the clouds were dark, obscuring the view higher than the fifth floor. “How the hell am I going to get up there?”

  A noise came from my left.

  Footsteps.

  If whoever was passing decided to investigate this spot, there could be trouble. I tucked myself into the nook as far as I could go, my black outfit benefiting me in these situations.

  I noticed the height of the man first, followed by the sweeping trench.

  The figure passed without glancing my way, head down. “What the hell are you doing here, Case?” I called to his retreating form, my voice irritated. “I thought you went to be with the kid after you dropped me off this morning.”

  Case stopped and backed up. The part of his face I could see beneath his visor showed no expression whatsoever. For a split second, it made me miss Ned, whose expression had been freakishly exposed and readily interpreted.

  Then I remembered his wandering tooth.

  “In the future, you might want to be a little more guarded,” I said, “and remember to check all the nooks and crannies as you pass by, especially in this neighborhood.”

  “I have business here,” he said by way of answering, which really wasn’t an answer. Typical. “The kid will be fine.” He was right, and I was showing all the signs of a fretting mother.

  What was wrong with me? Daze was back at the barracks, basically holed up in the lap of luxury—as lux as it got around here—with enough food and water and shelter to keep him nourished and safe for weeks on end. A big change from his former life. Just as long as he didn’t try to escape, which I’d drilled into his head a hundred times before I left. If he tried to get out, he’d blow himself up, or worse.

  Yes, there was worse. He could blow off an arm and then just wish he was dead.

  Case glanced around, seeming to recognize our surroundings for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

  “None of your business.”

  He shrugged. He was just about to take off when I asked, “Is Seven close by?” Case flew a matte black Q7 dronecraft. It handled like a dream, the fastest craft I’d ever handled.

  His expression changed a teensy bit, but because I still didn’t have a good view of his eyes under the visor, which was highly reflective, I could only partially guess what he was thinking. Best hypothesis was that he thought I’d lost some of my marbles. “Close enough.”

  How to ask this without sounding ridiculous? “Can I borrow her for about twenty minutes?” Shouldn’t take me longer than that to stock up on some stuff and look for the reflective cloth Lockland needed.

  He crossed his arms, not willing to give me the quick answer I’d been hoping for. I reached out and guided him into the alcove. He came willingly, thankfully. We didn’t need any witnesses noticing him loitering in the street.

  Case was taller than I was, which was irritating, and he was all brawn. The man was militia, whether he was active now or not, which meant he’d been trained to fight. After the dark days, the military had evolved quickly, becoming an active militia, first as a protectorate, then as aggressive backers of the government.

  Nowadays, because the militia was spread so thin, soldiers were mainly used as guards—as in, they protected the government from the angry townspeople who always wanted more. Honestly, could you blame us?

  “So? Can I borrow her?” I tried to make my tone less bitchy and more amiable, since I needed something from this guy, but it pretty much sounded the same as always.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I go with.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. That’s not how this is going to go.”

  “It’s how it goes, or you don’t get it.”

  “Her. Seven is a her. I can’t believe I’m trying to negotiate with a guy who never b
othered to name his craft.” I was superstitious like that. I positioned one of my gloved hands on a hip and contemplated my options. I could leave and forget it, finding my own complicated way to the top of a building that had four torn-up stories between my residence and the last usable public floor. Or I could agree to his stupid terms. Or I could barter. I chose the latter. “Fine. You go, but you stay in the craft.”

  He shook his head.

  The space in the alcove was tight, and I was getting antsy. I leaned forward, my expression hard. “Fine. You come in, I lead you over a trip wire, you blow yourself up, and I get my stuff and inherit a great craft for my sweet, barely strained efforts.”

  “My craft is trapped. You won’t get very far.” He was irritatingly unaffected by my awesome murder option.

  “Come on, Case.” My tone was impatient. “I need my stuff, and you have a craft that you’re currently not using. Twenty minutes, tops. I’ll have her back and parked at your desired location before you’re done with whatever business you have here.” What business did he have here?

  “Either I go, or no deal.”

  I huffed, angling my head out to gaze up at floor twelve. Only, I couldn’t see it because it was dark and cloudy and the rain was coming down harder now. Getting up there on my own would be a bitch, not to mention it could take me all day.

  Note to self: Make a cable swing for future use.

  Time to level with Case and up the ante. I dropped my hand and assumed a casual stance. My body felt odd, because all I wanted to do was throat-punch him and take his craft. But I tried to be civil. That should count for something. “Listen, a bunch of strange shit just happened. I encountered a seeker here, and there hasn’t been a seeker in this neighborhood since before I was born. Not only that, but this guy, Dill, controlled her with a dart to the forehead. He wasn’t scared at all. He called her Mary. I don’t know about you, but that was unsettling, especially after everything that just happened with Tandor. I need to get my supplies and get back to my crew so we can find our other friend, who’s in government holding, so we can get to the bottom of this.” I wasn’t going to tell him about Cozzi or what Ned had said. He didn’t need all the details, just the basic gloss, conveyed in a semibegging tone with my body nice and relaxed. See? I could play nice.