Gunwitch: Rebirth

by Niall Teasdale

  ‘You had your daughter to look after,’ Annette said.

  Gillian nodded. ‘I was at the hospital all of yesterday. She… Well, her career is over, she’s blind, but she’s alive. I can’t thank you en–’

  ‘I was too slow,’ Annette broke in. ‘If I’d found her faster…’

  Reaching out, Gillian took Annette’s arm in a firm grip. ‘Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Maybe I should have come to you sooner. Maybe, and it’s just a thought, we should both blame the bastards who did this to her. But, from what I’ve been told, you made sure they won’t be doing that to anyone else.’

  Annette nodded slowly. ‘No, they won’t. Look, do you or Tina have any objections to cybernetics?’

  ‘Not if it can let her see again, but we don’t have the money to–’

  ‘Right.’ Annette turned and pulled her bag of money out from under the bed. She handed a couple of bundles of cash over along with a data stick. ‘You can say it was an anonymous benefactor, or whatever you like. Just… you didn’t get it from me. There are detailed plans for some eyes they should be able to build here. They’ll look normal, not like mine. They were one of my early designs, but they should give her full function.’

  Gillian looked around at Annette’s tiny apartment. ‘You’re living here, and you’re giving me money? You could use this to get somewhere better.’

  Annette shrugged. ‘This place has its advantages. They don’t ask questions and they take pets. Take the money. This place needs good cops and if your daughter got close enough to that lot for them to grab her like that, she’s got the makings of a good cop.’

  ‘I think the enclave needs people like you, Louise. You’re… You’re a hero.’

  Annette laughed. ‘I’m a vigilante at best.’

  Gillian shook her head. ‘A hero. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.’

  Greenland District, 5/4/2117.

  Alison Hennessey opened the door of her office and stepped inside. It was not a typical office door and if it were not for the motors in the hinges, she would not have been able to move the thing. She waited patiently once inside for the armoured, twenty-centimetre-thick slab to close and seal, and indicate that the electromagnetic shielding was operational. To Alison, privacy was not simply a necessity, it was a matter of life or death.

  The word ‘office’ failed to adequately describe the room, but that was what she thought of it as. Behind some glass screens, the majority of the room consisted of equipment racks. Alison’s office boasted some of the most powerful computers and best communications equipment in the enclave, and she had a project underway to improve those systems to rival anything on the planet. On the more office-like side of the screens was her desk with its eight monitors, already lighting up to display various preconfigured operational dashboards, and her chair which had been custom-made for her and, given she spent so much time in it, the comfort that gave was appreciated. And against one wall was a cot which she tried not to use too much though she believed she was not trying hard enough.

  She walked over to her desk fairly carefully, limping on her left leg. It was always a little worse first thing in the morning and she refused to use a cane in the house. At fifty-four, well, almost fifty-five, Alison was not old, but she had had an active life which had taken its toll. She was wearing her years well, but not entirely without discomfort.

  Unlocking her systems fully required a thumbprint and a password, at which point the displays changed from relatively innocuous views related to economics and environmental factors within the enclave, all useful in their own right, to various reports from various assets she had in various locations. One caught her eye almost immediately; she selected that window and then clicked on the contact panel attached to it. A second later, her call went through.

  ‘You believe you’ve found her?’ Alison asked.

  ‘Gillian Clement-Bride came through with money to get her daughter fitted with cybernetic eyes,’ the voice on the other end replied.

  ‘Interesting, but–’

  ‘It’s not the money; it’s the design documents she supplied with it that caught my interest. I recognise them. I’d recognise the style even if I hadn’t seen this specific design before. I’ve been backtracking Clement-Bride’s movements over the last few days. I’m narrowing it down. I believe I’ll have a definite location today.’

  Alison nodded. ‘Good. I want her. If she’s even half as good as you indicated, I want her.’

  ‘I’m working off old data. She’s probably better than I think she is. I’m sure she was the one who cracked the LIPD network and the drug lab was her work.’

  ‘Very well. Call as soon as you have a definite location. It’s time I met Miss Barrington.’

  ‘Will do. I just hope she listens.’

  A faint smile crossed Alison’s lips. ‘Mariel, I’m sure you’ve noticed that I can be very persuasive when I want to be. She’ll listen. She won’t have any other choice.’

  Queens District, 6/4/2117.

  The noise woke Annette several hours before her internal alarm did. She was upright in bed, attempting to assess the situation, in a flat second, but the sound of Mickey barking and men shouting, coupled with the continued distortion she was experiencing in her vision, did not help.

  Light caught her eyes, was assessed, and a display appeared indicating that she had seen a sighting laser. Another display came up indicating the continued work to address the protein build-up around her optical systems and was quickly dismissed. She managed to resolve four men, all in black body armour, all carrying close-combat assault weaponry. One of them was shouting. ‘Hands on your head! Do not move! Control your dog or–’

  ‘First,’ Annette said as she raised her hands, ‘if you hurt my dog, I will hunt you down and kill you. Mickey! Basket!’ Mickey gave one, final, contrite bark and settled into his basket, chin on his paws. He looked like he would go for someone’s throat given the slightest provocation. ‘Second,’ Annette went on, ‘do you want me to put my hands on my head, or not move, or control my dog. At least two of those are mutually exclusive.’

  Mickey had, apparently, unsettled the men as much as anything. Maybe they had been told Annette was dangerous, which she was. The equipment suggested police rather than some private concern. Maybe the LIPD’s special operations training lacked something. Whatever, Mickey’s obedience and Annette’s calm voice seemed to settle the four gunmen. The one who had spoken before spoke again. ‘You’re Louise Barrington?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Long Island Police Department.’

  ‘In that case, yes, I’m Louise Barrington. I have some ID–’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Get off the bed slowly. Kneel on the floor with your hands on your head. You will be cuffed and taken for interview. Do you understand?’

  Annette looked at him for a second. ‘Yes, I understand, but unless the LIPD normally conducts interviews with nude women, would you mind if I got dressed first?’ Annette could see his eyes narrow behind his ballistic glasses; most of his expression was hidden behind a black balaclava. ‘You’ve got four guys in here and four more in the corridor. I’m good, but those odds are a little long and someone might hurt Mickey.’

  The man’s jaw worked behind black cloth. ‘I am covering you. Get dressed.’

  Annette flashed him a smile. ‘See? We can all be reasonable if we want to be.’

  Sky City District.

  The room Annette was taken to was bland and grey, and it was somewhere in the LIPD headquarters building which was to be expected, but not good. She had been cuffed for the ride there, in an unmarked, black van, but the cuffs had been removed before the door had been locked behind her. Then she was left to wait for almost thirty minutes.

  The ‘almost’ qualifier came to be important when the door finally opened and a woman walked into the room, because the newcomer said, ‘My apologies for the delay, Miss Barrington. My last meeting overran.’ Which seemed m
ore believable given the irregular time involved. ‘You may call me Alison and, for today, I am with the LIPD’s immigration irregularities department.’

  Annette watched as Alison took her seat. She saw a dark-skinned, strong woman with a slightly irregular bob of sandy-blonde hair in a dark-grey skirt suit and black blouse. Kitten heels: feminine, but fairly practical, though Annette noticed the slight limp and wondered whether flats might have been better. Alison had a memorable face, aging gracefully and very attractive. Quite a long straight nose, high cheekbones with sharp definition, full lips, and eyebrows which arched high on their outer edges. Her suit jacket tried to hide quite a substantial bust, but just managed to accentuate broad hips. Her skirt fell below the knee, but her calves suggested reasonable strength, even if there was that limp on the left side. Alison was more than just a paper pusher, or she had been.

  ‘You said “for today,”’ Annette said. ‘The implication is that this isn’t your actual job.’

  ‘That would be an accurate assessment.’ Alison settled herself in her chair and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table between them. ‘I’m in asset management.’

  ‘I’m going to assume that there’s some form of euphemism embedded in that too.’

  Alison gave a shrug. ‘I find people with talents and find a way for them to become assets. I make my assets available to others who may have a requirement for those talents. I manage assets. You would make an excellent asset.’

  ‘Okay…’ Annette watched Alison’s face for a second, but her software was having a lot of trouble picking up anything from the woman. ‘I suppose I should ask what’s in it for me?’

  ‘I can arrange to fully legitimise those forged documents you’re using. I am not part of the enclave government, but I have close ties to it and I have considerable influence. This is a job, in essence, so you get paid. There’s a reasonably healthy retainer and a bonus for each high-value assignment you undertake successfully. You won’t be working on a street corner any more. I will require you to register under the Citizen Deputy Programme. It’s up to you how you discharge your duties to that, but the certification process helps me with determining the assignments you’re suitable for and… Let’s just say that, given your recent activities, I feel you’ll be a useful addition to the programme.’

  Which meant she was associating Annette with the drug lab and Marlow’s place, even if she had no solid proof. Annette decided to let that lie. ‘That all sounds very good. Perhaps a little too good.’

  ‘Some of your assignments may not be to your taste. I try to avoid that kind of clash. An asset operating outside their comfort zone is likely to be less effective, conflicted. It’s simply good business, but sometimes it’s necessary.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t get a say in the matter?’

  ‘Generally not.’

  Annette nodded. ‘And just to be quite clear, what happens if I decide I would rather not take your… offer?’

  Alison smiled. It was not an especially nice smile. ‘We have you on entering the enclave illegally. Do I really need to spell it out?’

  ‘No,’ Annette replied, raising her hands. ‘I just wanted to hear you say it so I know what my working conditions are. Sign me up.’ It was not like she had a lot of choice in the matter.

  Queens District.

  Sarah opened her mouth as soon as Annette got her apartment door open; apparently, the blonde had been waiting there for several hours, worried sick. ‘Where have you been?! You didn’t show up on the avenue and I came back here to check on you and Mickey was barking so I let myself in and I fed Mickey but you weren’t here and…’ There was a pause to draw in another huge lungful of air and Annette took the opportunity to jump in.

  ‘Stop! Before you burst something. Besides, that top is more low-cut than usual and when you breathe in, it’s like watching continental drift.’

  Sarah let out a somewhat hysterical giggle. ‘Mickey made it sound like you’d been dragged off at gunpoint.’ Annette was not going to worry over how Sarah had worked that one out. ‘You didn’t take your guns, so I knew you weren’t out working. Your phone didn’t pick up. I was worried.’

  ‘Yeah, well… Sit down. I’m going to make sure Mickey knows I’m okay, and then we’ll talk.’ Annette turned to her dog who had given her a sniff, detected no blood, and decided that his mistress was okay and needed to be shunned a little for worrying him so much. ‘I’ll get sausages for later,’ Annette whispered in his ear, which got her both forgiveness and a lick which covered her face in doggy drool. ‘Okay, I didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘What wasn’t your fault?’ Sarah asked, dropping onto the edge of the unmade bed. ‘Also, “we’ll talk” is never a good sign. Just saying.’

  Annette got to her feet and went to the bathroom to get a towel to dry her face. ‘Okay, so Mickey was abnormally communicative. I was dragged away at gunpoint. Well, not quite dragged, but certainly taken.’ She glanced at the door. ‘And, apparently, they fixed the door while I was out which is… nice of them.’

  Sarah’s eyes were now wide, of course. ‘Dragged by who?’

  ‘Whom,’ Annette corrected. ‘Though that’s a bit pedantic. The LIPD, but they were acting for someone else. Let’s call her a “mysterious benefactor.” She offered me a job which I would be very stupid to refuse.’

  Sarah’s face fell a little. ‘A job? You’re out of the game? That’s… great.’

  With her face more or less free of mucus, Annette sat down beside Sarah. ‘No, we’re out of the game. I’m not leaving you alone on that avenue. I get paid enough that I can quit this place and get somewhere a bit bigger. You’ll be my room-mate. There may be times when I’m working irregular hours or even have to go out of the enclave. You’ll be looking after Mickey when I can’t.’

  ‘No…’ Sarah frowned and then shook her head. ‘I can’t just… It wouldn’t be right to be living off your earnings. And what would I do with myself all day. I can’t just–’

  ‘Oh, I know just what you’ll be doing. You’re going back to school. We can get you caught up on the basics before the new year starts, then we’ll get you into some courses in Sky City. I spoke to my benefactor about it.’

  ‘Your mysterious benefactor?’

  ‘Yes, and she thought it was a wonderful idea. She can help getting you placed. She’s… a strange one. I’m not really sure I can trust her yet, but there’s just something about her… Anyway, unless you have any real objections to getting off your back and behind a school desk, it’s settled.’

  Sarah grinned. Once again, the girl’s mind had shifted gears from profound worry to glee in a few short minutes. ‘I can’t really think of anything else. And I do look good in a schoolgirl outfit.’

  Part Four: Damnation

  Queens District, the Long Island Enclave, 19/4/2117.

  Annette opened her eyes and looked up at a strange ceiling. It was not an entirely new experience; in fact, she had seen more ceilings since moving into Queens than she cared to think about, but this was her strange new ceiling. This was the ceiling of her new bedroom, in her new apartment, which she had moved into the previous day.

  Moving Sarah into the bedroom next door had taken more effort. Annette and Mickey had relatively few possessions, but Sarah had significantly more. That had been useful in that Sarah had picked up a few things for the home that Annette never had, like kitchen stuff and a table lamp, but Sarah also had a lot of clothes. Well, to be fair, there was probably not a lot of clothes, but there was a lot more than Annette had and there seemed to be a lot of pastels.

  Mickey, of course, had his basket. Technically, he also had his collar and leash, but the collar kind of went with him everywhere and had not needed much moving. Mickey had sniffed in every corner of the apartment he could find, announced with a bark that it was good, and been perfectly happy. He had given sneaking onto Annette’s bed a try and then settled down beside it when rebuffed, which maybe indicated he needed a littl
e reassurance about the new place. Or he could have just been trying it on. New home, new rules? Maybe? No? Darn. In her mind, Annette thought Mickey’s strongest curse word was probably darn.

  Annette’s internal computer reminded her that there were things to do this morning, hence the early rise. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge, and winced as a stab of pain lanced from above her right eye through to the back of her skull. Mickey raised his head from his paws and gave her an inquisitive whine. ‘Just a headache,’ she told him. ‘I’ve had way worse. Now, I’m going to take a shower. Give me fifteen minutes, then you can jump on Sarah’s bed.’ Annette was sure the dog would have snickered if he could.

  Getting to her feet, she headed for the door. There were painkillers in the bathroom cabinet. This headache did not seem to warrant her heavy-duty pills. Maybe it was just a headache, given that Sarah had insisted on celebrating their move and they had gone to bed later than expected. Yes, it seemed likely that a Mickey-shaped alarm clock would be in order to get Sarah up for her first day at school.

  ~~~

  ‘That was not funny,’ Sarah grumbled as she came back to the lounge after her shower. The apartment consisted, basically, of a lounge/dining room with a corridor linking it to the front door. Off the corridor were the two bedrooms – Sarah had insisted that Annette take the slightly larger one – the bathroom, and the kitchen. The latter had a door/hatch combo between it and the lounge too, and Sarah had to circle around to lean through the hatch since Annette was cooking breakfast.

  ‘It was a bit funny,’ Annette replied and Mickey, at Annette’s feet supervising the cooking of sausages, gruffed his agreement.

  ‘It was not! I nearly jumped out of my skin. I thought we were being attacked by rabid werewolves or something.’

  Annette looked down at Mickey, who looked back for a second before they both looked at Sarah. ‘We’re both pretty sure that werewolf attacks involve less tongue.’

  Sarah bit her lips to stop herself giggling. ‘Depends how kinky the werewolf is. Anyway, thanks, Mickey, I had to boil-wash my face. How do dogs formulate spit like that?’