CHAPTER 9
◆◆◆
Ana and I are back in my apartment now. We have a lot to think about but very little concrete information to go on. I'm more suspicious of the Oligarchs than ever, but there's still no hard evidence against any of them.
“We're fresh out of luck, here,” I say, leaning back in my chair and resting a cool glass against my forehead. Its whiskey on the rocks. I’m not planning on drinking myself into a stupor, but I need a little something to take the edge off.
Ana’s hologram is standing a few feet away from me. She pretty much always stands whenever she decides to project her physical form. I noticed that fact a while ago, but I never said anything to her about it. Not like she gets tired. I guess it makes sense.
“Then we move to step two,” Ana eventually suggests. “Contact the hit squad directly.”
That’s a big step, but we both know it needs to be done. We need to get the ball rolling on this case as soon as possible, and I can’t think of a better way of getting that done.
When we got in touch with Abdo's contact, the one who had spoken with the hit squad in the past, he gave us the squad's omni code and instructions on how to contact it. Apparently, you need to send a message with a certain phrase in it, or else all you'll get back is the standard automated message claiming the code you're trying to reach is unused.
The phrase is aurora autumn asterisk. In that order. I guess it was chosen because it's easy enough to remember, and extremely unlikely to pop up in any ordinary message. So, Ana composes a message including that string of words and sends it to the provided code.
Any number of things could have changed since Abdo’s contact tried to hire the hit squad. They might have switched codes. And they also might have switched key phrases. Maybe both. This is a shot in the dark, but the worst that can happen is we end up back where we started.
I sit back with my glass to wait. I've got two fingers of whiskey and I intend to sip it slowly, make it last.
“I made a song for you once, you know?” I say to Ana, smiling as I take another sip from my glass.
“Really?” Ana says.
“Yup, recorded it on my omni. Layered the harmonies, mixed and mastered it… the whole deal. It was pretty nice,” I say, smiling as I recalled the process of making the song.
“How’d I like it?” she asks.
“Yeah… about that…” I start.
“You didn’t let me hear it?!” Ana exclaims, jokingly pouting. “You know I always loved your singing voice, Roman. I can’t believe you!”
“We had broken up,” I explain. “I don’t even know why I made it, to be honest. At first, I was going to use it as a way to weasel my way back in with you.”
I smile as Ana bursts into laughter.
“But I never sent it to you. I don’t know why. Cold feet, maybe. Or maybe I was afraid of being rejected after wasting all that time to put the damn thing together.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a waste,” Ana says warmly. “Do you still have it?”
“No. I deleted it a few days after I recorded it,” I admit.
“Well that sucks,” Ana pouts.
“Yeah, I know,” I grumble.
“You could always sing it to me now,” Ana suggests, as a wide smile spreads across her face.
“Absolutely not!” I say, smiling sheepishly as I take another sip of whiskey.
“God, Roman, I swear I’ll never understand why you’re so self-conscious about your singing. You have such a beautiful voice.”
“I know… I know. I guess it’s… stage fright. It’s easier for me to just record it while I’m alone,” I say. “Like I said, I recorded it on my omni. Sure, I deleted it, but I’m guessing someone as smart as you can figure out how to recover it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ana says, stroking her chin as she spoke, probably already figuring out how she was going to attack the problem of finding my long-lost vocal love letter to her.
My omni suddenly pings. My heartrate spikes and I nearly jump out of my skin. I sit up, burping whiskey, as Ana displays the reply message in hologram.
750k credits for meet. Send message when funds ready to wire. Meeting place supplied then.
I let out a big breath, sitting back. “Seven hundred and fifty K! Just for a damn meeting. I guess that’s a dead end. The Commander only gave us a buck fifty. Not to mention what we blew on bribing that therapist.”
“Calm down, Rome,” Ana says.
“I am calm. Just a bit drunk.”
“Off one glass?”
“Pretty big glass,” I shrug. “So, what do you suppose we do now?”
“I've already done it,” says Ana. “I've reached out to the OUSP. Namely, the same party member who hired you. His name is Foley. Hopefully he'll get back to us s—”
She's interrupted by the ping of a new message.
I understand your situation, it says. Here is an additional one million credits. Let it be clear, Roman, that I expect results. I don't throw this kind of money around lightly.
“Nice work!” I cheer, raising my empty glass. Ana winks and flashes me a smile.
That brilliant smile of hers drives me wild, but only for a moment. I force myself to bury my overwhelming attraction to her because I need to get my head back in the game now that we have a lead.
Ana composes a new message to the hit squad, a direct reply to the one they sent. They get back instantly, telling her that they must have the funds before they give us a meeting place.
Ana sends the dough and a few days fall off the calendar without so much as a peep from the mysterious Cronus. I'm starting to think we got swindled. Finally, a reply arrives a little over a week from the day we sent the money. The date, time, and address are locked in. Now I’m just hoping that someone actually shows up for the meet.
CHAPTER 10
◆◆◆
Two days later, I pull my twin jet hover bike up near the supposed meeting place. My heartbeat quickens as soon as I stop and look around. The big show is finally about to kick off. Or at least I hope so. I know it could be some kind of trap, but I don’t have a whole lot of options. I need to keep this case moving forward. At the end of the day, I’d rather be out here walking into the face of danger than sitting in my apartment hoping for a viable lead to magically appear.
The address they gave turns out to be an abandoned shell of a building out on the fringe of the Oligarchy. There's no one around. No lights. No sounds but the drip of rainwater, trickling through the rusty old gutters.
I pull the hood of my coat over my head, get off my bike and walk the rest of the way, looking around, hand resting firmly on the pistol holstered on my hip.
Approaching the building, I look up along the facade at the grimy old address numbers. Yup, this is the place. The doorway is wide open, and I can see straight inside. But, just in case I'm missing something, I step in and take a look around.
There's no one here. But this is the exact address, date and time they gave. These guys are professional enough. If they meant to be here, if they meant to actually meet me, I wouldn't have to work for it.
Fuming, I step back out onto the street and stomp my foot. Looks like we just got fucked over. Screwed out of damn near a million creds. Technically, it’s not my money but it still pisses me off beyond belief. I bet the son of a bitch who has that omni code now has nothing to do with the hit squad. Just a damn impostor looking to make a quick buck.
Just when I'm ready to really throw a tantrum, I realize my bike is still parked up the road. I know this isn’t the rosiest part of town, so I hurry back that way before some street magician decides to make my ride disappear.
As I'm heading away from the building, I glance to my side and notice something. It's hard to see, but it almost looks like a person. A shadow within a shadow, vaguely human shaped. It could easily just be a trick of the eyes, but I decide to slow down and take a better look.
As soon as I do this, the shadow mov
es and slinks down an alleyway, out of sight.
“Son of a bitch,” I say, and start to follow. Feeling a bit more hopeful, now.
Down the alleyway. It opens up into a slightly wider area, an overgrown kind of courtyard. Windows everywhere. I stop in the middle and wait, my hands in my pockets.
In a moment, three figures appear out of nowhere and come slowly toward me.
“Alright, guys,” I say. “You’ve got your money. Are we going to do this or what?”
I’m not the biggest guy in the world, but I’m pretty imposing standing next to an average sized man. So, I can’t help but notice that all three of the approaching figures are both taller and wider than me.
“What’s with the masks?” I ask, as they draw close enough for me to notice that all three are wearing black ski masks.
They get right up on me, so close I can feel their breath. One of them tells me, in a quiet voice, to show my hands. I put my hands up in the open, and that’s exactly when they attack.
One of them slams a hand against the back of my neck, making me pitch forward. Another doubles me up with a huge punch to the gut. I can feel myself kind of blacking out, but I force myself to stay conscious.
Just as the third guy is about to slam a fist into my jaw, I dodge to the side and send a powerful kick straight into the side of his knee. He grunts and slumps sideways, absorbing the blow. This quick reflex is the only reason he isn't crippled.
I send a fist flying at another guy. My punch almost makes it, too, but suddenly there's a hand on the back of my shirt and I'm being pulled backward hard enough to make my brain slosh around. I hit the dirt and, for a second, I barely know who I am.
The three guys are standing over me. One of them has my omni.
“Wait!” I yell just as the guy holding my omni threatens to spike it into the ground.
The man pauses with my omni still held high above his head. Omnis are very durable pieces of equipment. They can last for decades if you’re not the type to upgrade every year or so, but this is a burly guy. I have no doubt that he’s strong enough to shatter my device with one hurl if he wants to.
“I think he’s getting the picture,” one of them says in a quiet unidentifiable voice. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Ibarra.”
They know who I am, and it doesn’t take much detective work for me to deduce that they somehow know that Ana’s persona is stored on my omni.
I nod my head but remain silent.
The guy holding my omni abruptly lifts his arm even higher, as though to throw my omni against the wall of the building. Without thinking, without even knowing I'm doing it, I scream. I scream like a distraught child. The guy freezes.
“You're getting into things you have no business getting into, Roman Ibarra,” he tells me. “You're going to back off now. And if you don't, I'll make you regret it. You got that?”
I quickly nod my head. Anything to save Ana.
He drops my omni onto my chest without another word, and before I know it, the three guys are gone.
Ana’s voice suddenly rings out in my ear, letting me know that she’s okay and coaxing me to stay calm. A feeling of defeat washes over me as I pull myself from the ground and slowly limp out of the alleyway.
CHAPTER 11
◆◆◆
Another tall glass of whiskey. Coming right up. This time, I damn well need it. My lip is busted, though I don't remember how. I've got a few bruised ribs. Maybe they're even broken. And I've also got a pretty nice case of whiplash. Those guys delivered a carefully measured, perfectly dispersed amount of damage to me. I probably could have put the screws to either one of them in a fair fight, but three versus one with guys that size is a completely different story. Not quite as easy as they make it look in the movies.
“Seven hundred fifty thousand bones down the drain,” I say, pressing the cool glass against my bloody mouth. “I think we should send the rest of what we have back to the OUSP…”
“You're not giving up, Roman,” Ana says in a flat tone. “I won’t let you abandon this case just because those guys threatened me.”
“Those guys almost killed you, Ana.”
“Good thing I'm already dead,” she quips.
“If you want me to stay on the case you need to let me make a copy of you,” I say. “Just in case.”
“No! How can you ask me to do that, Rome? Don't cheapen me like that, please. I don’t want you to think of me as just some copy that you can reboot at the press of a button if something bad ever happens to me.”
I sit back and let out a sigh that hurts my ribs. I can't think of anything else to say. I just sip my whiskey and sulk in silence. I know she’s right and I know I should have kept that dumb ass suggestion to myself. I’m just so afraid to lose her again that I’m not thinking straight.
A while later, just as I'm drifting to a sad sleep, my omni pings again and Ana makes a surprised sound.
“It's from Lady Vangelina!” she says. She doesn’t sound quite as pissed as she was earlier.
I sit up fast. “Let's see it.”
The message pops up and I read it quickly.
Mr. Ibarra, I have to admit that I have certain information that you might be interested in. I did not want to discuss it in front of my counterparts for obvious reasons. If you’re interested, let me know and we can set up a meeting.”
“Well, this just got a lot more interesting,” I say, stroking my chin as my brain scrambles to connect the potential dots created by this new development.
“I trust you’ll be wanting to take that meeting,” Ana remarks.
“Absolutely,” I confirm. “And, hey… I’m sorry about what I said. About making a copy of you. It was selfish and I get why you were upset.”
“It’s okay, Roman. I know your heart was in the right place,” she replies.
She always knows the right things to say. Probably one of her greatest qualities. Just like that I feel a thousand times better and my mind is once again shifting back into world-class detective mode. Only thing left to do now is sober up and hit the pavement once again.
CHAPTER 12
◆◆◆
I'm still waiting on a reply from Vangelina, and I want to sober up right away just in case the meeting might happen tonight, so I decide to go for a walk.
The street is dark, lit here and there by dim lamps. The pavement is shiny with rain, like polished black marble. I stroll along the sidewalk, accompanied only by the sound of my footfalls. Ana’s hologram isn’t present, but she’s with me in spirit and in my ear via the omni in my coat pocket.
I clock that we're being followed just a few blocks from my apartment. But I let it go a bit further, just to be sure. No, we're definitely being followed. This person is staying just far enough back that I can't see a face or any identifying characteristics. But it could easily be one of those burly guys who kicked my ass a couple hours before.
Whoever it is, I want some damn answers.
I start to make a left turn. I glance to my side, back down the street at the faint and shadowy figure that's tailing me. I could have easily missed them. But I didn't.
With one quick motion, I pull my weapon and fire a nonlethal, concussive blast down the street.
The shockwave crackles through the air, lighting the street as it makes its lightning-fast journey. In the brief flash, I see a figure dashing down a side street away from me. With a grunt of pain for my aching ribs, I give chase.
I know a shortcut. A way to cut the bastard off. So I take it, limping along and baring my teeth, huffing and wincing in pain. I'm a pretty good runner, and on a decent day I might not need a shortcut. But tonight, I definitely do.
I stumble and slide my way out of an alley, slipping on some trash. Just ahead, running toward me, the figure I'm chasing draws up short and starts to turn around. I lunge forward, wrap my arms around them, and tackle them to the ground.
I don't stay on top for long. The bastard is incredibly strong. He flips me around like a rag dol
l, slams me into the pavement. Starts to go for my throat, either to subdue or kill me. Probably subdue, but I'm starting to get damn sick of being subdued. So, I pull out my gun and toggle to a lethal firing mode in one seamless motion. He moves to disarm me. The sucker is fast. I’ll give him that, but not fast enough to stop me from squeezing a shot off.
The figure jerks up mechanically and topples over backward, slamming to the ground much harder than I would have expected. Almost as if its body was far denser than it appeared to be.
I get up, wheezing and rubbing my chest and neck, and wobble my way over to the dead man.
But I guess “dead” isn't the right word.
It's a damn android. Some sort of faceless model. Just a blank expanse where the mouth and eyes and nose should be. It's shaped like a man but has no other similarities to one.
“What the hell?” I ask. “One of Vangelina's?”
“Maybe,” Ana says within my earpiece. “Rome, there’s something odd about this unit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t sense it,” Ana remarks. “That’s so… strange. Androids aren’t cyborgs or synths, but they should still have a pulse in the data sphere.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means this android was completely undetectable, Roman.”
“Interesting. Could be tech that was designed to circumvent the reach of the Collective,” I suggest. “How’s that even possible?”
“If I had to guess I’d say the unit was likely powered by some sort of air-gapped version of a cyber brain, a brain that can't access the data sphere. Or be accessed from it. I’ve never seen one like that but that’s the only logical explanation.”
“A cyber brain completely cut off from the sphere,” I say, rubbing my chin. “In the words of Fenix, the Oligarch, that sounds like science fiction. Who the hell could even create something like that?”
Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 54
