Skyler Grant Anthology

by Skyler Grant

  "SantaFe is acceptable with one other of my choosing, not to include Roma," I said.

  I hoped that I wasn’t betraying our clients with this line of conversation. The words I chose here could be casting a lot of suspicion, but then they were the likely sources of this disruption.

  "Null that. SantaFe or nothing," said the guard.

  They'd now pinned us as corporate interlopers, which was why they were suddenly being so reasonable. If anyone were caught performing a bit of espionage like this, things usually became absolutely cordial. We'd be taken into custody, treated well, likely judged guilty and eventually exchanged for Pharosans in a similar situation.

  "Coming out," I said. I still hadn't agreed to their terms. In my combat armor and with my features, I looked the most corporate, buying us those few more seconds until their shields ran out.

  I stepped from behind my cover with my hands raised and advanced a few steps.

  "Halt and have your companions come out as well," said the lead guard.

  With a flicker his shield faded. The guns would still have a single charge in their coils, but that just meant I had to be fast. I leapt forward and drove my hands down on the head of the lead guard. It sent him staggering, and with another well-placed blow to the temple he was on the ground.

  I wouldn't have time to close into melee range with the second. I fired my pistol, aiming to scrape his head. A glancing round might do no lasting damage, but still knock him out. Instead my shot took him in the eye and he howled as he fell backward. Nothing to do about it. Pharosa could install an implant later. An energy shot went wide and off into the darkness as he fired his rifle wildly, and my follow-up blow took him under the chin and finished him.

  Both were down.

  "That didn't go as plan," Masque said, stepping out.

  "No kidding," Diva said. "You almost got us killed, Princess. I'll have words later. Sparks, where are their reinforcements?"

  "Five minutes out with orders to come in hot. You folks are going to want to mosey on out any time now," Sparks said over the Comm.

  "Hammer, do we still have wheels?" Diva asked.

  "Armor is shot, but I can get us out of here," Hammer said.

  "Let me move the guards before you trigger the detonators," I said.

  "They're corporate fucks. They aren't even important corporate fucks. We need to move," Diva said.

  "I insist," I said, grabbing one of the guards by the wrist and starting to drag him towards safety.

  Hammer arrived and flung the other one over a shoulder.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Got a soft spot for those that seem on the wrong side of things," Hammer said.

  We set them down outside the building.

  It was a tight fit inside the vehicle, but we managed to squeeze in. It was an ugly, squat thing with heavy armored plating to the front and rear, and a massive engine. Most of the armor on one side had been slagged, but it still worked as an escape vehicle.

  "Where are the reinforcements?" Diva asked.

  "Three minutes out," Sparks said, then added, "Things are going to start to get a little boom happy in about two. Want me to give their eye in the sky a little poke?"

  "Do what you can," Diva said.

  Hammer revved the engine to life and we were out of there.

  It was a little over a mile until we reached a large tunnel. It wasn't a sewer.

  "Where are we?" I asked.

  "The arteries. It was supposed to be the start of the next great era of mass transportation. One of the last great gasps of big government before the whole thing fell apart. They never finished it," Diva said.

  "Won't they search here? If not on the streets, it would be the first place I'd look," I said.

  "Not that simple. Street gangs control most of the Network and all the major junctions. Between home and here, we've got the Dragons, the Hellions, and the Greentown Girls," Diva said.

  "Not the Hellions. They lost their turf last week to the Kopesh," Masque said.

  Diva shrugged. "Long as it’s not the Snakes. We pay the toll and we go on, but any corporate tools that come down here are going to have a fight every step of the way."

  I didn't doubt that. This would be a tough environment for a protracted fight.

  I worried that things wouldn't work out smoothly, but I was proved wrong. Several times during the trip we paused at heavily fortified junctures, heavy weapons that would have been old in my time leveled in our direction. Still, in each case, we were allowed on after a bit of haggling.

  89

  Sparks was already back at the warehouse by the time we arrived. Hammer parked the vehicle and we unloaded our gear.

  "I know you all want to go and get some rest, but we've got business to attend to first. Princess, we need to have a chat," Diva said.

  "If this is about keeping you from using the detonator, it was the right call. You'd have killed Masque and it still wouldn't have broken their shields," I said.

  "For the record, I'm against being blown up," Masque said.

  "That isn't it. I can take someone telling me my ideas are bad. Trust me, I was a bitch and a half to Lance anytime he'd try something noble and dumb," Diva said.

  "They almost came to blows a time or two," Masque said.

  "If not getting in your way for a stupid plan, then what is it?" I asked.

  "We're not big on stories. Most people take to this life because they're running from something and we've all got our secrets to share. We're comfortable with that. We all know Sparks has enough SantaFe in his speech to mean he was birthed in the corporate womb, but we don't pry," Diva said.

  Sparks shifted uncomfortably at the words, but he nodded.

  "You already know my story. Fought and bled for the machines," Hammer said.

  "Diva was a child star in Liberty. Seriously," Masque said.

  "And Masque is a mass of lies of which we're never going to get to the bottom. I figured you were just some corporate experiment who escaped the lab, cutting the leash. We see those every so often," Diva said.

  They wanted my story. I didn't know if I wanted to give it. I trusted these people, enough at least. I'd bled on their behalf and slept in their presence. I wasn't sure they wouldn't sell me out for a big enough paycheck, but I also wasn't sure they would either.

  "You sure you want to know? It's probably dangerous," I said.

  "If it’s dangerous to know, then it’s probably twice as dangerous not to know," Diva said.

  She had a point.

  "Yesterday, from my point of view, I was on Olympus Station. I was born and raised there as a soldier in the Olympian army. We came under attack and I wound up falling to Earth along with the rest of the station," I said.

  "That was twenty years ago," Sparks said.

  Diva was simply staring at me and looking thoughtful. "Where did you wake up?"

  "A sewer buried in a pile of rubble. It looked like the roof had caved in a long time ago. I guess it must have been in Viper territory. When I got out and went exploring, that’s when I bumped into your cousin," I said.

  "Is any of this bullshit believable. Sparks?" Diva asked.

  "Olympians were engineered to hell and back, and we've seen her fight, and I've got the scans of her genome. Nothing there is normal. But muscle mass is inconsistent with her being raised on a station," Sparks said.

  "I don't have an answer for that. I should need a full support suit in Earth gravity," I said.

  "How old do you remember being?" Diva asked.

  "Twenty-one," I said.

  Diva was, if anything, frowning even more at that. "Well you sure look it. Which, of course, is a problem."

  I knew that. I should be in my forties.

  "I think we're getting past the bigger problem than the missing time and muscle mass. How did she survive the fall from orbit?" Masque said.

  "I wasn't in an escape pod. Just this support suit. I was dying. I felt myself dying," I said.

  Diva still had t
hat thoughtful look and she glanced towards Masque. "What is her legal standing?"

  Masque tilted her head. "Officially there are no survivors of Olympus Station. If she could actually prove to be one, then there might be a survivor’s clause to invoke. In addition, there would be some inheritance..." she winced. "From your perspective, your family only just died."

  That was what I was hoping wouldn't happen. Sympathy. I didn't know how to deal with sympathy. Sympathy made it all real and I didn't want it to be real.

  "They did," I said. I was proud my tone stayed steady. It mostly stayed steady.

  "Forgetting your personal trauma, you might be rich. If you're incredibly wealthy you need to know about it. What do we need to support some kind of case?" Diva asked.

  "Genetics records wouldn't be of any help. Olympians kept those confidential and they were lost with the station," Masque said.

  "Access to the Network would go by brain-mapping. If we can get her back online and let the Network peek into her brain, it should figure out who she is right quick," Sparks said.

  "Then we need to get her that symbiote," Diva said. "I already made the call, so we're good to go there. Is there anything else that might bolster a case?"

  "They aren't solid, but the acknowledgement of any others who might have known her. Guests to the station, Olympians who were off-station when the attack hit," Masque said.

  "We aren't tearing around the countryside asking questions when this is all probably just a set of manufactured memories tossed in the head of an experiment. She’s all part of somebody’s game," Diva said.

  Is that what I was? An experiment? I didn't feel like an experiment. I was certain that my memories of the station were real. There were too many and they were too complex. I had a whole lifetime of experiences there. Of course, I couldn't deny the obvious arguments as well. This body couldn't have been raised on the station, the muscle mass was wrong. My reflexes weren't quite right, I'd already gotten into trouble more than once for my body not responding as I expected. If I were being cold and rational about things, my conclusion would be that my mind and my memories were genuine—and my body wasn't.

  "Why would someone manufacture an Olympian?" I asked.

  "Why did Olympus make you to start with? Someone wanted a pet killer? Someone wanted a toy with a pretty face? It happens," Diva said.

  That sort of thing didn't happen on Olympus.

  Masque reached out and set a hand on my arm. "But that isn't the story that we're going with."

  "Masque is right. Someone's escaped experiment isn't going to bring in piles of glitter, but a corporate princess fallen from heaven just might," Diva said.

  "Which really would explain it all, wouldn't it?" Sparks said.

  Of course, he was correct. If someone had staged the scene of my crash in that sewer, then there was likely one reason. They wanted to make it look authentic. Perhaps someone had intended to play rescuer and never gotten the opportunity, or perhaps they were just waiting for the moment I'd announce myself—and they'd swoop in to profit from the situation.

  It was a good reason not to trust this group who had been so welcoming. So far, they were the only ones who seemed interested in profit.

  "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'm going to take Princess downstairs and run some more tests on that armor of hers. The systems still aren't working like they should and there might be some answers there," Sparks said.

  "Do it. Masque, make some discrete inquiries and find us a contact for inheritance law. Hammer, chat up the machine collective and see what they have to say," Diva said.

  "I'm not sure it’s a good idea to go talking about this publicly," I said.

  "Why?" Diva asked.

  It was a fair question.

  "Because I saw what happened to Olympus Station and I know the official reports aren't true. The vote wasn't going to go against machine suffrage, it was going to go for it. The station AIs didn't stage a rebellion and kill everyone, they died valiantly doing their best to defend us from the attack," I said.

  Oddly, nobody seemed particularly surprised. Hammer simply gave a nod.

  "Did you see anything to give you a clue who was responsible?" Diva asked.

  "Me, a clue? No. But I did see the vessel launching the attack. I did get a look at the drones used," I said.

  Diva said, "That part you are not going to discuss. You're right, that part would get us killed—but we can leave it out. Get downstairs and get checked. We leave in a few hours to get you that symbiote and find out if you really are who you think you are."

  90

  A few hours later and we were bound for a new destination. After a long drive through the crumbling streets we at last came to what looked to have once been a rail terminal. Tracks were everywhere, and heavy fences were walked by guards in body armor and carrying assault rifles. Their equipment looked to be more modern.

  We were allowed through the gate.

  It didn't escape me that my companions were more armed than usual. Everyone was carrying extra rounds.

  "Are we expecting trouble?" I asked, as we pulled up outside the brightly lit terminal building.

  "Never look defenseless around a predator. The Peddler is a predator, if there ever was one," Masque said.

  We were greeted by guards when we left the vehicle. They scanned us with a hand-held device, but didn't ask us to give up our weapons. We followed one inside.

  The interior was stunning.

  Like my home Olympus, I saw a true obsession with art. The walls were lined with paintings and statuary, and while the styling was a bit Versailles for my tastes I couldn't mind too terribly. The Peddler clearly had something of a fascination for that culture.

  His ruffled collars and ornately patterned surcoat confirmed that.

  "Diva, my little flower, my sympathies about Lance. I heard what happened and it is quite the tragedy," said the Peddler, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

  "The Vipers bled for it," Diva said.

  The Peddler's gaze fell upon me and he smiled broadly. "Oh, I see why you wanted such a rare prize. You've found one of your own. Oh, you are exquisite my dear. Those cheekbones are flawless. I don't suppose you'd consider selling her?"

  I was rather liking him up until that last bit. I wasn't for sale. "You couldn't handle me."

  "Princess. This is Anton, more commonly called the Flesh Peddler. He is a completely awful human being," Diva said.

  "As terrible and as monstrous as they come," Anton said, kissing the back of my hand now before giving the same treatment to Masque. "And you wouldn't be my first Olympian. How else would I come by the prize you seek?"

  "So he's a slaver?" I asked. A few of the corporations practiced some form of slavery, usually a means for eventual entry into proper employment. I didn't think that was what this fellow did.

  "Nothing so common I assure you. Shall you tell her or shall I?" Anton said with a giggle. "I do love how disgusted and panicked their expressions become."

  "Anton sells one-of-a-kind simulations. Beautiful women and beautiful boys," Diva said flatly.

  "I buy them. I hook them up and have such terrible things done to them. I measure every scream and every moan, and then take them apart piece by piece and do it all over again. By the time I'm done the simulation is quite perfectly flawless. My clients can have whatever sort of fun they want with a purchased simulation and know they have the one and only version of their little toy," Anton said.

  My blood went cold. If I understood that correctly he bought people, then raped and tortured them to death, all to make a perfect digital version which he'd then sell.

  "That is the expression," Anton said, staring at my features enraptured and his tongue flicking at his lips. "Oh, I love it. Do sell her. I'll make it worth your while."

  "Can I kill him?" I asked.

  "If you look around this tacky and overdone interior you'll see multiple precision weapons aimed at each one of us. Anton takes his security very seriously,
" Diva said.

  "If skinning a thousand people teaches you anything, it is just how precious your own hide is and how thoroughly you should work to protect it," Anton said. He waved a hand. "Bring it. Let's show our merchandise."

  A guard stepped forward holding a carved wooden box and opened it. Inside was a familiar sight. Nestled within a plush interior was a tube filled with suspension liquid—in which floated a Network symbiote. It wasn't a baby, usually they were implanted young and grew along with the host.

  "It's an adult," I said.

  "I wasn't going to grow my own. I pulled it out of an Olympian I added to the collection decades ago. I bought quite a few of their assets when the Corporation fell apart. You'll find she was around your age and size, my little poppet, so it should be compatible," Anton said.

  It was a symbiote he had torn out of an Olympian. A girl my age. The fury that had been building in my chest became a cold hard thing. This man would die, and he would die by my hand. Today wasn't the day, today I'd play nice and bide my time, but one day... One day, I was going to see this man dead.

  "Perfect," I said, giving him a smile entirely feigned.

  Anton leaned in and studied me, and his smile became all the wider. "Oh, most Olympians are fire. They burn like the sun. But you, my dear. You're ice, aren't you?"

  "I'm a living corpse," I said. It was the truth.

  Diva cleared her throat. Masque pulled out a box of her own. Opened, it revealed an ancient flintlock pistol.

  Anton was pleased. "Oh, you weren't lying. I must inspect it, of course."

  "Of course," Diva said. A guard approached Masque, who handed the box over. A squirrely-looking man with an implant for one eye studied it for some time.

  "The trigger assembly is a nineteenth century reproduction. The rest is original and as promised."

  "Good enough?" Diva asked.

  "Good enough," Anton said, and motioned to the guard who handed the box with the symbiote over to Masque.

  "Would you care to stay for dinner? The chef has prepared some truly exquisite dishes," Anton said.

  "We'll pass. Amongst his other terrible vices, Anton is something of a cannibal," Diva said to me.