She stopped at the edge of the moon pool, hands folded behind her back. “Good evening, Ms. January, Ms. Violet, Mr. Shaper. Beyond that excitement on the bridge, I trust that your voyage home was peaceful?”
“A damned sight more peaceful than what came before,” Shaper said as he and Violet drew down mooring lines from the winch arm that stretched overhead and engaged magnetic tether lines to the Jenny’s back. “You could call it a right goddamned dog’s breakfast, in fact.”
Bobbi grimaced. “I take it that you’ve been watching the news, Sumire?”
“I have,” Sumire replied in her placid fashion. The smile never left her face. “I see that you were successful in your hunt. Congratulations.”
“Not as successful as I’d like to have been.” She gestured for Sumire, who stooped to swing a gangplank of thick gray plastic over to where Bobbi could grab it and set it down. “We got hit on the way back.”
Sumire nodded. She looked at Violet for a moment, whose face was stormy as she engaged the mag-locks at the end of the cable tethers. “You were able to execute The Anticipation of a New Sculpture and escape.” She used the translation of Anderson’s Yathi name. “This is a vital point.”
They had the strangest names. Mother of Systems, The Sound of Wind on Bones. Reflection of Prey in a Hunter’s Eyes. She Who Screams In Victory. The problem was that the names changed as they got older, and did more things with their lives – except for Mother, of course, who had reached the zenith of her power.
“I don’t know if I’d agree with that,” Bobbi said. “If they were waiting on us to come out, it seems the least salient part of the evening.”
“Come,” Sumire said with the slightest hint of a nod. “Let us sit. Tell me what has happened, please.”
Sumire waited until Violet and Shaper secured the Jenny, and led them through blank corridors lined with conduit and sealed fluorescent fixtures toward the Cave’s planning room. They passed Bobbi’s people at work – in laboratories, workrooms, other spaces carved out and vaulted with concrete – as if she had never interrupted their toil with her arrival. These people she could trust to be stable; there were others around, pale-skinned devils of every description, combat machines and other horrors, who had given their assent to be used or waited in storage until the day they might be saved.
Bobbi had a real soft spot for them, those who weren’t so feral they had to be killed for the safety of all. She liked to think that maybe Mother was some kind of master vampire like you read about in old horror films: kill her off and the rest might be free of contagion. These disturbed ones slept in sealed chambers, in cold-freeze or the numbness of cortical suspension. She designed this installation so she had to look at the heavy hatches every time she walked through the base, to remind her it wasn’t just bog standard humanity that she had to fight for. They were victims, but in the end, only of their own exploitable flaws. In the crypts slept heroes, cursed but always willing.
The four of them walked down the central corridor that ran the length of the island, connecting most of the many chambers of the Cave together. Past the workshops were the dormitory cells, and beyond that, the conference room and administrative area. Still leading, Sumire entered the conference room, where an oval table of plain gray plastic stood lined with simple office chairs. Bobbi dropped into her seat at the head, followed on either side by Violet and Shaper. They remained quiet as Sumire poured a glass of scotch for each of them from a decanter in the middle. Bobbi was pretty damned pleased to have the sharp, smoky liquid pour down her throat, offsetting the dying thunder of adrenaline and the oncoming crush of paranoia. To her surprise, she found that she felt no fear at all; only tension remained, tension and expectation.
Sumire took her seat at the other end of the table. She folded her hands before her, placid as a mountain lake, and looked past Shaper and Violet’s expectant faces to regard Bobbi with dark eyes that cleared and went cold. “Please tell me what happened. In that moment, she sounded more like a chip-voiced computer than a living being.
The change in Sumire’s demeanor didn’t bother her. She knew the woman’s brain was loaded with organic-molecule processors and memory cells, hardware that turned her into an extremely powerful analytical machine. Though Cagliostro was a godlike thing in the network, doling out information on whatever schedule it deemed appropriate, Sumire would ingest huge reams of data gleaned from network sources, on targets identified by Cagliostro or by Violet’s observations, and formulated the strategies that made their deaths possible. She helped make Anderson’s death happen that night; Bobbi trusted her insight more than her own in these cases.
Bobbi explained how it all went down, punctuated with additions from Violet and to a lesser point from Shaper. The stories jived. Someone had been lying in wait.
Once she heard everything, Sumire looked to Violet. “Why are you wearing that dress?”
Violet looked down at her dress, dirty, scorched, and torn in places. “Oh…” She blinked as if she had forgotten. “I was at a bar. Waiting for Bobbi to call me.”
“A bar,” Sumire replied. “Were you approached by anyone?”
A frown lined Violet’s lips. “In this dress? I get approached by a lot of people.”
“Anyone whom you would consider suspicious?” Sumire’s brows arched slightly.
“No.” Violet’s tone cooled a bit. “I can sniff people out, you know that. Nobody suspicious, and definitely no Yathi presence.”
Sumire nodded.” I apologize. But I must ask.”
Bobbi’s brows arched.” What are you thinking, Sumire?”
“She’s wondering who, if not them milk bloods, would think you any kind of a target,” Shaper said. “‘Cause I must admit, chief, I was thinking that myself. If they knew that you were you, they wouldn’t just send the one drone, yeah? And they don’t tend to fuck around with public acts they can’t disguise as the work of the authorities.”
“Very true.” Sumire inclined her head at Shaper, smiling slightly. Violet had told Bobbi the two of them were together, and only armed with that knowledge could she see the chemistry sometimes. They were both very good at hiding it. “Of course, at this moment, the situation is still in flux. The media are awakening to the situation and none of the data taps we have in law enforcement organizations have returned any information suggesting the authorities – and thus the Yathi – are aware of the identities of either Anderson’s killer or of the parties involved on the bridge. We shall have to assume, at least for now, that you are in danger of discovery. And there is no information to suggest that the Jenny was detected, either – therefore, we must assume you have managed to escape from the situation entirely undetected.
“Even if people did see us on the bridge,” Violet said, “We were wearing combat visors, remember? It’s not like they could see our faces.”
“It is possible that they may have made you in some other way,” Shaper said. “We have false gene-profiles courtesy of our implants, but they may have gotten us twigged thanks to kinesthetic profile, infrared, something from a previous operation. We haven’t been able to burn everything ever, you know?”
Bobbi frowned as she considered that possibility. Since she had been running the show, they had been absolutely meticulous in their attempts to keep their profiles secret – gene-masking implants, EM screens, thermal baffling. They wore suicide devices when on missions, incredibly powerful thermobaric bombs that would incinerate them from the inside out. Wasn’t pretty by a fucking long shot, real horror-show, but it was absolutely vital to ensure the movement didn’t end with a recovered corpse. The Yathi were too smart to let that happen.” Maybe so. But they’ve got control over corporate and military satellites, never mind the public security grids of most cities in the world. They’re sniffing for us as much as we’re burying our trail. If they could find us that easily, they’d have plugged us already.”
“Just so.” Sumire nodded.
“All right, so what are you thinking?” Violet
watched Sumire from down the table.
“I consider three scenarios.” Sumire looked between them all. “Excluding random violence or mistaken identity. In the first, you were somehow detected, either through an error on your part or through some method of communication or surveillance which we were not aware of. Though the dispatch of an assassination device as obvious as a drone is unlike the Yathi, they have been known to use unusual tactics before – especially if this ties into a greater strategy. As Miss January says, if they had means of tracking or otherwise detecting our operatives, doubtless they would have used far less questionable means, however more effective, to remove you both from the field. It is possible, of course, that an overzealous Yathi agent may have made use of the drone instead of some other method of counteraction.”
Shaper pursed his lips. “Yes, love, but do you think that’s likely?”
Sumire shook her head. “I do not. And if this is not the case, then a second scenario exists in which a third party is responsible for the attack. This is potentially worrying, but also potentially not; if a third party exists which has collected your identities and has some reason to eliminate you, this is most alarming. Who would these parties be? An individual? An organization? Certainly, we have done much to raise the ire of conventional terrorists and other criminals in our bid to collect resources, especially in the early days of our movement. I asked Miss Violet if she were noticed for this reason; as well you know, her aerosolized control suite not only allows for the manipulation of others, but the ability to blank their memories over time. Perhaps, in some case, she did not succeed – some chemical immunity, perhaps, something the Yathi did not anticipate. Possibly these people have targeted her for assassination. This seems to be much more likely than Yathi detection.”
Bobbi gave her a flat look. “The incredibly advanced alien race is less likely to have sniffed Violet out than a bunch of criminals?”
Sumire shrugged. “It is what the data suggests, so far.”
Violet scoffed. “I’m almost insulted.”
“So all right.” Bobbi tapped her fingers on the table. “What’s the third scenario?”
At this, Sumire squared her shoulders as if to brace herself. “The third scenario is by far the least likely. It involves the deliberate targeting for assassination of our organization’s membership by the splinter faction headed by Mr. Marcus Scalli.”
For a long moment, silence.
“I don’t believe it,” Bobbi said. “No way.”
Shaper and Violet looked at one another for a tense moment.
Finally, Sumire spoke up. “You are correct. It is only a minute possibility. That being the case, I would like to contact Mr. Scalli through all known channels. If in fact the Yathi are involved, this could be the beginning of a purge. They must be made aware of the situation.”
“Do it.” Bobbi crossed her arms over her chest, the momentary sag in tension snapping tight once more. Whatever she might feel about Scalli, he had been her friend and now led a very important force, if a separate one, against the Yathi. He needed to know, just in case. He needed to be able to protect his people. “In the meantime, we’re going to get out of town.”
Violet and Shaper blinked at her.
Sumire smiled. “As I expected. You seek to contain the situation and investigate possibilities. Paris?”
Bobbi inclined her head. “Paris.”
“Fuck.” Violet frowned. “We’re going to see Pierre.”
“Well, we can’t guarantee that Cagliostro will deign to speak to us,” Bobbi said, “And even if he does, Pierre will know about street-level work faster than the ghost will anyway. Besides, I want to get a few things from him.”
“You’ll have to make up with the bastard.” Shaper made a face as if he’d smelled something rancid. “You’re on his shit list, after all.”
“Yes, well.” Bobbi paused. “There is a time when we must all make nice with motherfuckers, even if it is in the best interest of humanity. Especially when it’s in the best interest of humanity.”
“Saving the world by dealing with dickheads.” Violet grumbled.
Bobbi shrugged. “Our job in a nutshell.”
“Paris is always so nice this time of year.”
Bobbi looked up. “mm?”
“I said, Paris is always so nice this time of year.” Violet stood by the balcony doors of the enormous apartment, smooth white plaster walls wrestling with the exuberance of Rococo décor.
It had only been a few days since they had escaped the scene in Seattle, headed south into California, and from there took an express suborbital into Orly. Bobbi looked at Violet. Her dark hair licked the small of her back as she draped herself against the doorframe, pale and glorious in the morning sun – for the sun did indeed show itself in Paris, albeit muted. The march of pollution from Wonderland’s dark heart had established its vanguard, but had yet to blot out the sky.
“Yeah.” Bobbi sat at a small desk that looked as though it may have once belonged to Marie Antoinette, frowning at several floating panels of data. The tiny Mektrex superdeck they projected from looked like a little black snail, spewing planes of light out of pores in its shell as it sat on the ancient, varnished wood. “It’s a nice town, I suppose, though I haven’t gotten to see much of it.”
Data spilled across the tinted air of the monitor planes; Bobbi read news reports, scanned police activity, monitored bank transactions and more. The data flowed like entrails through the fingers of a shaman, read to determine if the monsters knew of their presence. And the tea leaves seemed to suggest that they did not. The hit on Anderson was ruled an unknown, which Bobbi had expected, but the trouble on the bridge wound up labeled as ‘narco-gang violence’ perpetrated between the Five Lions Mob and the Upraised Fists, who had been previously featured in the news for battling out for uptown business.
Well, Korean gangs fighting worked well enough to explain why an unmarked combat drone spewed full metal jacket all over a public motorway, Bobbi supposed. Footage of the two of them surprised her: streams of video submitted by terrified motorists via implant cameras and personal phones, blurry shots of Bobbi in her fatigues and Violet in her evening dress, both veiled and visored as they sprinted through traffic and down the bridge with guns in hand. No editing, no mention of the API. Just two crazy women carrying assault weapons and blasting at something out of frame. Another point in favor of the Yathi not being behind it. Stirring up fear and tightening the net a little was their M.O. Sumire continued to feed her information, but they learned little else. In addition to radio silence from Scalli and his crew, Cagliostro seemed intent on waiting for a prize ram to be burnt on an altar before he would make an appearance, regardless of the frequency of summons.
“Mother and father used to take me here when I was younger,” Violet said. “We would stay at the George V, sometimes, though most of the time they wanted to go to the coast.”
“Must have been nice.” Bobbi turned back to her monitors. “I can see you with a tan.”
“I used to love to tan. I used to do a lot of things, before they got me.” Violet sighed, came over to where Bobbi sat prodding at the superdeck’s conjured holographic keyboard, and began to knead Bobbi’s shoulders. “Do you think you can tear yourself away from work tonight? It might do you well to get some fresh air, given that it’s actually fresh for a change. Or at least very nearly.”
Bobbi let out a sigh as Violet worked at her shoulders, feeling the knots in her flesh undo themselves. “We’ve got to find out who was guiding that drone, girl. C’mon, we’re not here on vacation.”
“Well, it’s not like we haven’t made enemies before, doing what we do. Like Sumire said, half the time it seems as though we’ve pissed off more people trying to pull together resources and personnel than we’ve ever done with the ghosts.”
That got a grunt from Bobbi. “You’re not wrong. That’s why we’re here, after all. Got to see what Pierre has to say.”
“I know.” Violet
sighed, using a bored little-girl voice that worked very well on her targets. “I just want to go out, that’s all. I mean if whoever it is knew we were here, they’d have tried to kill us already, right?”
Though she remained human, more or less, Bobbi had managed to awaken some of the functionality of her old systems through direct hacks. Chemical emitters riddled her body, little modules that would release pheromones tailored and cooked on the fly by nanoassembly units inside her body. That kind of power frightened Bobbi; even in her reduced state, she could nuance her way under the Pope’s robe. At full strength, Bobbi wasn’t sure that there would have been anyone who could refuse her. Bobbi had locked out her own physiological profile from the scanner in Violet’s head, however, in case she went darkside again. No temptation for her.
Violet tutted at her softly while working at her stiffened muscles. “You can’t do what you do without some kind of relief. I don’t think we’re being hunted, and unless someone puts a rocket through that window, you can take five minutes to relax.”
“Maybe,” Bobbi muttered as she stared at the displays. “But on the other hand, they could just be waiting for a good time to drop us. Nature of the hunt, you know that.”
She grunted and cycled through more data feeds, though she did lean back against Violet’s hands. Over the last four years, Bobbi and Violet had become very close; the former Yathi transplantee had become Bobbi’s lieutenant of sorts, as she had been for Redeye before her. Violet’s mania for worship had found a new focus in Bobbi, who had – at least to Violet’s thinking – dared to spit in the face of the Devil and gotten away unscathed, and ascended to a figure of awe. On the one hand, it was nice to have someone so absolutely dedicated to her, without condition; on the other hand, Violet was as crazy and violent to others as she was sweet and affectionate to Bobbi.
“Besides, we’re hardly on the winning side here. We can’t fuck around if there’s the possibility that somebody’s let slip our identities.”
Gathering Ashes (The Wonderland Cycle Book 3) Page 6
