If Wolf Microsystems were to discover it was someone deep in Erinas who pilfered their software and not just a rogue operator in Cave Networks, they would likely rain hellfire down on the company. Orio needs the blame to be on Cave Networks. His life likely depends on it.
This is the state of the world. If things are to play out like Orio intends, Cave Networks would likely send a groveling apology, and future business endeavors would carry on. A few executives in Cave Networks would be fired to save face and show how serious they take the infraction. Wolf Microsystems would certainly be offered a good measure of compensation from Cave, all shadow work, naturally.
At a ten-thousand-meter level, this doesn’t bode well for Erinas’ reputation. Cave Networks will be a rotting bruise on their hide for months to come. When drilled down into the weeds, however, Orio’s team will derive outlandish returns by possessing the stolen encryption software. Raises will be handed out like candy and bonuses greater than most country’s GDP. As far as Orio is concerned, the risk to reward is well worth it. Erinas will lavish the subsidiary with a bigger budget for more “research” of this ilk. On a long enough timeline, this will be good for Erinas. This is why there are Strings.
People only care about what they can see in their immediate vicinity. Orio is seeing upgraded nanos, real wine from organic grapes, none of that lab shit. Maybe a new apartment. Perhaps he’ll only use platinum level autocars in the future.
From a public perspective, reputation matters. Erinas is strong on reputation, even in their advertisements they use the tagline “Honor in Business.” It’s all bullshit. Any employee who is dumb enough to let their dark work be brought into the light is publicly and metaphorically flagellated.
Directors are caught cheating on their wives. Managers are implicated in prostitute gangbangs while high on a cocktail of chems. Mid-level accountants are found altering the books. Getting caught isn’t the problem but keeping mistakes out of the public eye is. There are a lot of eager hands willing and ready to be bribed. Discretion is expensive.
This is good. Now I have power and leverage over Orio. This is game-changing intel for me. If one’s secrets are exposed, the only right thing to do after such a public disgrace is suicide.
It doesn’t always have to be that way, but it’s often easier than trying to salvage a ruined business reputation. A best-case scenario results in only a lost job. Without the backing of a corporation, you’re nothing. There’s a good chance you’ll have to survive on dumpster scraps, or maybe join a gang.
It’s clear in the intel that Orio has commandeered my territories at Erinas now that I’m presumed dead. How could Suro possibly fail at killing a defenseless lamb?
I still have friends in Erinas, despite Orio trying to fuck me. Dagger is the first I think of and most loyal. I wouldn’t ask him to fight for me. His neck is essentially already extended across the guillotine by warning me. There is another person I think of.
I had a good relationship with a high-level director in Erinas West Coast named Issac Reid. Issac and I would go for drinks when I was out there, even shared a night with a woman we picked up from a club once. Sharing in bodily fluids makes for strong rapport. I think he thinks I know what I’m doing.
He tried to convince me to join his territory, but I like the Northeast far too much. But none of that matters as much as the fact that he is an angry asshole. Most of his employees hate him, but it’s a hate born of fear. He’s a great ally and a terrible enemy. I can only imagine how Issac might react when he hears what Orio has done. Orio has put the company’s reputation at risk, and thus, Issac’s.
This intel is turning out to be an incredible resource. My upper lip is beaded with happy sweat. My smile muscles are starting to hurt. Things were looking pretty bad until now. I feel like I’m getting my shit together and in control again. I will crush Orio like a maggot under my boots.
I focus on my AR clock. It’s one a.m. eastern. I convert it to Pacific time because my brain is mush and can’t remember the offset. Issac is probably with his family. I should probably call him tomorrow at a better time. I don’t know him well enough to disturb his slumber. Fuck.
There’s no stopping Paragon’s team. They’re determined to do this job, and there is much to be done. This is far from ideal, but it should be fine if they continue with the work. As long as I can prevent Orio from getting his hands on the encryption algorithm and acquire it myself to give to Issac. It’s just a question of how.
In one deft action, I can screw over Orio and put myself in Issac’s favor. Everything will work out fine, I assure myself. I got this. A blade of tension is extracted from my guts. My shoulders relax.
Despite my better judgment, I decide to send a voice memo to Issac for him to hear in the morning. I’m transparent and explain everything. I try to reach his secretary in case either of them are moonlighting in the office. I try to connect with two of our mutual allies in Erinas to no avail. At this point, I’ve done all I can without sounding any alarms. It’s not easy to reach men at his level. The fact that I have his secretary’s number is a monumental feat in of itself.
I lay back in the chair, put my hands behind my head, and blink at the ceiling. Everything goes in and out of focus. My body begs for sleep, but rest will come later. I decide to close my eyes for just a minute.
12
Paragon
I wake with a start, memory washing over me like a bucket of frozen water. My arm hair raises with nascent goosebumps.
“Shit.”
I’m weak. I fell asleep again. How long this time? I think it was an hour. I should ask the team for some stimulating chems. I’d bet Nightshade has some.
I turn onto my side with a groan. My shoulder feels loose and aches. I’m reminded that what happens in the Net translates to the body, despite conscious awareness of the stark difference. My nerves should’ve relaxed by now, realizing there wasn’t any legitimate damage to my body.
Nightshade has returned, and she appears to be back in the Net. Her eyes are closed, and muscles in her eyes and cheeks twitch as if she might be seizing. I wonder what she’s doing in there.
I leave her office. It feels hard to move, every step a concerted effort. The hive-like preparations of Paragon’s team have dwindled.
Saber is stretched out on a grease-stained reclining chair typically found poolside. One glimmering arm is draped over his eyes. He quietly snores, then shifts. I let out a snicker at seeing that he is in fact human.
Talos strolls about the hangar, fully armed and ready for war. He laughs and gestures with one hand, having a jovial chat with someone on the other end of his AR. It sounds like an old friend or maybe his mother.
Does the person on the other end of that conversation know there is a good chance he might murder a few people tonight? Probably. He pulls a long knife from a thigh sheath and starts casually twirling it as he walks. I have no business being here. I start to turn away when he sees me, pointing at me with the blade and giving me a friendly nod. Fucking psycho.
I embark on a stroll of my own, working the tension from my legs. I see Paragon slumped on a torn loveseat in a makeshift lounge. Sad stuffing spills out of the corners of the cushions, dangling like disemboweled organs. A projector mounted on the wall behind her makes a film dance on the opposing wall.
I walk under the door frame of the cramped room and ponder how they managed to work a couch through such a narrow space. I pause, and she doesn’t look up at me. Her eyes are glassy and transfixed on the screen. I watch her eyes and admire her long eyelashes. She doesn’t blink. I reason that she is high on something, but that doesn’t seem prudent before going to work.
I sit down next to her. I sigh and let my head loll back against the cushion. There might be lice in the fabric, but I’m too tired to care. I see she’s watching Fight Club, one of my personal favorites of the classics. I frown as I remember that my fingernails still have someone’s blood under them.
“This is one of the best
movies,” she drawls, lost in another dimension. Her pupils are pinholes.
“It is.” I nod. We watch shirtless men savage each other in a grimy basement. The movie isn’t the same for me anymore. I once identified with that youthful urge for self-destruction. I see now their rage is born of living in poverty. Poor people have a lot to be angry about. They don’t know how good it is up here.
“Have you seen it?” Her voice is a gossamer strand. It takes me a minute to sort out what she said.
“It’s been a while.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think this is the re-mastered version. Have you seen the first? The film quality was so gritty. It added something special to it.”
She speaks slow as mud. “I’m… not sure.” She turns to look at me, smiling as if waking from a pleasant dream. I look back at her, and our faces are inches away. The light and the intensity of her eyes is muted. “No, no. This is the only version I’ve seen. I like it before a job. I find it calming.”
I crook an eyebrow. “Strange.”
“I know.” She licks bright pink lips. I can feel her breath on my nose.
“What did you take?” I ask, craning my neck back.
“Why?” The corners of her eyes twitch.
“Just curious.”
“Saber calls it ‘Good Mood,’” she says with lazy air quotes. “He makes it himself.”
“Remind me to ask him for one.”
“We’re dying, you know?” She looks deep into my eyes, the light in hers returning, flaring like a pair of dying suns. “We work, sleep, dream. But we’re all slowly dying. We’re trapped, prisoners of our thoughts.” She leans toward me with a vestige of a laugh and a sly smile.
“What?” I shake my head at her. She’s very high. This is the Good Mood talking.
“This. All of this. Everything draws to a point of intense sorrow.”
She continues to stare at me, and I stare back. “It’s not about the endpoint. It’s about getting there. The path is what matters.” It sounds so cliche that I want to both puke and punch myself in the face. My cheeks go hot. “Is there anything else we have to do, for the job I mean?”
Paragon gives a breathy snicker. She sees through me like I’m made of glass. “No, not now. We’re too close to departure. Now, we relax. The anxiety before a gig gets all of us. We all have our special ways of fighting it off. I just chem it away. Nightshade hangs out in the Net, Saber sleeps… well, you’ve got the picture.”
“Yeah, I think so.” She looks away from me and back at the movie. It was a missed opportunity.
I lean back and settle into the couch, enjoying the movie. The back sinks and shrouds my shoulders in a scratchy hug. I let out a long breath and relax my eyes. Fifteen minutes or so pass.
I notice Paragon looking at me without moving her head. She slightly shifts her shoulders, turning toward me. Then she’s facing me again, mouth parted. Without hesitation, she’s falling on me.
I straighten in alarm. “What? Are you—” My words are cut off as she presses her front against my side, kissing me hard. Her tongue darts at my lips and gently pries my mouth open. She tastes like something sweet, and I want to eat it all.
I smile while I kiss her back. I slide my tongue under hers, then across her upper lip. She puts a hand on the back of my neck and the other on my thigh. I raise my hand to her breast and gently cup it, massaging her nipple with my thumb.
She kisses me harder, pressing lips and teeth against mine. It hurts a bit, but it’s still enjoyable. I release her breast, and my hand traces a path along her torso to rest on the crease of her hip. And just as quickly as it all started, she pulls away and gives me a puzzled look.
I frown. “Why did you stop?”
“You know why,” she says with a shrug. I don’t ask her again. There are a thousand reasons, and she would just tell me to pick one.
“Then why did you start?” I steal a glance over my shoulder to see if any of her teammates are watching us, finding none.
“It could all come to an end tomorrow,” she says. I wait for her to give me something else, but nothing comes. My boner deflates.
Sadly, this is not the first time I’ve heard this sort of line. Women use it as an excuse to finally let their inhibitions drop for an experience with a bad boy such as myself.
This time, though, it’s different. It’s not bullshit. She might actually die. I blow out a long breath and settle back into the couch.
13
Infiltration
Before Fight Club draws to its climactic end, the team starts into motion outside of the lounge. Paragon flips off the projector, then gives me a wordless nod as she leaves the room. I reply with a sideways smile, then follow after her.
Firearms are being double and triple checked. Gadgets with capabilities unknown are tinkered with and stuffed into pockets. Paragon vanishes into the bunk room and closes the door. She emerges five minutes later, bright kimono replaced with an outfit more appropriate for combat. She wears an armored vest over a black shirt and urban camo pants. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail and pinned against her head. Even in this outfit, I find her strikingly beautiful.
The dozens of firearms, magazines, and grenades that once littered the dining table are now all stowed in holsters and pouches. Saber grabs something dark from the back of a chair and throws it at me. I tear my eyes from Paragon and barely manage to catch it with a fumble.
Talos regards me with a mocking laugh. “String on a job. Never thought I’d live to witness it. Strange world.”
“Huh?” I see that Saber threw me an armored vest. I heft its weight. Pieces of my mind click into place. “Who says I’m going? I’m not going.” There is panic in my voice, and I can’t seem to master it.
“You’re going,” Saber says flatly, not bothering to look at me.
I want to tell him he’s forgetting how this works, but I remember how fucked I am. I set the vest over a chair back. Saber places a pistol on the table near me with two spare magazines. The metal roof groans. Rain starts to patter like thousands of tapping fingers.
“Shit, that’s loud,” I sheepishly mutter.
My mind isn’t here. It’s on Paragon’s lush mouth, her pillow lips, her tongue. It’s on the curve of her breast. I can still feel her stiffening nipple under my thumb. Her words echo in my head.
We’re all slowly dying.
I slide my eyes to Paragon, and her eyes meet mine for an iota before darting away. What was that? Embarrassment? Shame?
Sex with your employees is never advisable. Try as you might, it doesn’t end well. This is for the better.
A presence looms behind me. Talos is there, arms crossed. “You know how to use that.” He nods at the firearm. It’s a statement, not a question. “You’re coming. And we could use the help. And… you fucking owe us.”
I growl and turn on him, planting my hands on the tabletop. There is a part of me that wonders if I’ve misheard everyone all along. Maybe this is all a great misunderstanding. “I don’t have training for this. I’m a String, not a Merc. This isn’t my job. I don’t fight. I make deals, slice with my words, not weapons.”
A sickle smile spreads up Talos’ face.
“You’re going,” Paragon says, regarding me now with that impassive stare reserved for the rest of the world. Where did the Paragon from the lounge go? “Nightshade will protect you. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
My jaw falls open, and I can only respond by shaking my head at her. “What the fuck?” I breathe.
“Don’t worry, sweet tits, I’ll take good care of you,” Nightshade says as she stalks past, touching my elbow.
“Sweet tits?” I say in a disbelieving snicker.
She winks at me over her shoulder before rummaging through a crate. At least she seems pleased to be working with me again, that’s something. I reason the intel she pilfered from Erinas was worth the risk.
Nightshade emerges from the crate with a rifle slung over her shoulder. “Talos and Saber will b
e doing most of the killing. We’re going to get the thing while they provide the major distraction.”
“Right, okay. I can handle that. Really don’t want to get shot at again.” I think of the team I hired to die with an inward wince. They’re likely preparing much like this team, unaware of death’s looming scythe. I bite down on my inner cheeks.
“Good, good. That’s good.” Nightshade looks me over, studying my reaction. “Paragon will back us up if shit gets out of hand, laying down heavy damage with her Psionics.”
“Alright, okay,” I say with a helpless shrug. Nightshade grabs the pistol and lifts it for me to take. I put the proffered weapon into a belt holster I grab from the table, then work them both through my belt.
“We’ll be like rats in the dark, scampering about undetected.” Nightshade scrunches her nose and makes a little rat squeak impersonation. She raises her hands and makes little paw motions.
I stare at her in abject horror. “You’re shitting me.”
“You need to lighten up, String,” she mutters, stalking off.
I begrudgingly put on the body armor. It’s heavy and makes my shoulders ache minutes later. The pistol feels like a stone on my hip, threatening to drag me to the floor. I pray to the dead gods that I don’t need either.
I can think of one use of the pistol. I imagine the muzzle pointed at my head, directed by my betraying hand. I will not live out my days in the Falcon’s prison if this goes awry.
Who am I kidding? I know I don’t have the courage for suicide. I’d likely surrender. If I’m the last one standing, my plan is to raise my hands in a show of innocence. I’d claim the Mercs forced me to come and it would come out demonstrably true on any polygraph. It’s not the best plan, but it’s something.
Backstab (Worlds of Deception Book 1) Page 13
