“Wasabi burger,” chirped Tamashī. “With double fries.”
“Meat.” Pavo pursed his lips. “Possibly cooked.”
“Someone’s had a bad day.” The woman chuckled. “You want the super space cow rare?”
“What the hell is a cow?” asked Tamashī.
The waitress held her hands about ten inches apart. “Half a pound of beef, our biggest burger.”
“Sure.” Pavo waved at her. “Onions if you got ‘em. I can take the rest home.”
“That’s a cow?” asked Tamashī.
“A cow is a rare animal from Earth,” muttered Pavo. “It’s what beef used to come from before they determined it ‘cruel’ to kill for food.”
The girl gaped at him. “They kill stuff for beef? I thought it grew in tanks.”
“I thought you were supposed to be smart,” said Risa with a hint of a smile.
Tamashī blew her a raspberry.
Is that an act? She’s crazier than I am.
“So, what’s wrong with him?” Tamashī pointed a thumb at Pavo. “He doesn’t think Raziel’s real?”
“Apparently not,” said Risa.
Pavo sighed. “Combat troops always come up with weird superstitions. Whatever gets you home at night, I suppose.”
She closed her eyes. Thank you Raziel, for getting us out of there. Don’t mind him.
avigating the dark had become something of a second nature to Risa. The vast system of air ducts, fans, filter stations, and seemingly purposeless chambers afforded her both a home and a path to anywhere in Primus City. As with most times she found herself crawling through the dark, her idle mind dwelled on the cloud of flames that devoured her father’s face.
Her hands flashed into her field of view in a rhythmic back and forth as she moved, the entire world rendered in various shades of monochromatic grey. She wondered where her real eyes had ended up. Did someone needy get them? Of course not; the monetary value of a seventeen-year-old’s eyes guaranteed they’d go to some rich bastard with macular degeneration, or someone that merely wanted―she paused, one hand on the rung of a ladder leading down. She couldn’t remember what color her natural eyes had been. A strange, mournful sadness crept over her, soon flushed away with anger.
Normal eyes can’t see in the dark. If I hadn’t let them do it, I’d be dead by now. She descended, steeping in her own fury at the soldiers who’d killed her father, more so the person who ordered it. Even Garrison couldn’t find out who it was. Raziel could, of that she had no doubt. However, for reasons she could not determine, he had thus far been unwilling to. Maybe I wouldn’t need them if I’d said no. I’d be that girl serving burgers. Killing people with cholesterol would cause far fewer sleepless nights than using high explosives.
The fragrance of food drifted by on a draft that stank of metal and dust, smells she no longer much noticed until something else altered the taste of her breaths. An air handler halted her progress long enough for her to pound the emergency maintenance button. When the enormous fan finally ground to a halt, she hit the button again to extend the timer, and shimmied through a gap in the blades.
Ten meters later, she stopped again, this time listening. To her right, silence. From straight ahead came the din of a restaurant: the clank of a plate, clink of a utensil, random snippets of conversation, and a distant crowd. A grunt from the right broke the quiet. She cringed when the sound became the unmistakable churn of an energetic bowel evacuation. Sure enough, the first vent led to the men’s room. The next one offered a view straight down at an open toilet stall. She pulled back the grating, lowered herself down, and dangled on her fingertips for a few seconds before dropping to stand on the seat. A few passes of her hand removed vent dust from her coat sleeves, and she wandered out of the ladies’ room as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
Garrison sat at the far end of the dining area. He’d chosen a small corner table with two seats, both with their backs to the wall. Bartleby’s sat midway along the main length of a large shopping concourse, a simple design consisting of a one-room rectangle open at the distant side, the sort of place that could charge sixty credits for vat-grown coffee, and get it. According to her adoptive father, their food was unmatched anywhere on Mars. At two minutes past noon, a steady mass of people moved in both directions beyond the entrance. The occasional squeak of a sneaker or shout of a child rose above the continuous murmur of civilization.
She played the usual game, moving slow and blending into the surroundings. Whenever she met Garrison outside of the safehouse, it always turned into a playful contest of cat and mouse. Normal dads take their girls to the mall. Mine taught me how to sneak up on sentries. How close could she get before he saw her? Of course, she didn’t use any tricks other than pace. Startling him could prove painful. Risa managed to get within six feet of him before he caught sight of her and twitched. Garrison tried to act as though he hadn’t jumped, and the old accusing smirk he used every time made her want to laugh.
“I didn’t see you come in.”
Risa sat in the other chair. “I used the back door.”
“This establishment doesn’t have a back door.” He sipped a drink as violet as her eyes.
She smiled. “Everywhere has a back door if you know where to look.”
He released the grip of a weapon under his coat and slid his hand over the table to hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you more direct support on that BMC run. General Maris doesn’t like to piss in the coffee of independent companies. The day will come when we’re going to need their backing. I got the usual rant for not stopping you.”
“Maris is the kind of asshole to complain when I bring in nine new people.” Risa squeezed his hand. “We’re not trying to re-create the ACC. Independent or not, they were treating their workers like slaves. That isn’t the Mars we are trying to create. Fuck the general and fuck―”
“Hi, miss. Can I get you something?” A woman in a plain black shift dress with a high neck and silver leggings smiled.
She’s my age. Would that be me if things were different? Risa’s mouth opened, though all she managed was a trapped stare. She probably makes more than the girl from Great Red Burger.
“Ji Mei Fun, please. Vat-grown meat.” Garrison patted Risa’s hand. “On me. I can’t make my daughter pay for her own food.”
The waitress smiled and wandered off tapping something into a device on a bracelet. Risa let her head sag forward, hiding behind her hair.
“I know you’re sensitive about that, but”―he leaned in, whispering―“I’m not trying to replace him, just be there for you.”
One tear rolled over her cheek. She could stop it by thinking about something that would make her angry, but she didn’t bother. Her voice came weak, barely as loud as an electronic recording of a ghost. “You found me when I was little. I should think of you like a father, but…” You’re the reason I’m involved with the MLF. If my real father was still alive, I’d be happy. I wouldn’t be killing people. I’m no better than they are.
“I don’t like that look in your eyes, Risa. I’ll find out who killed him.”
She exhaled, wiping her face and fixing her hair. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore. How much of me is left? The bones in my fingers are plastisteel. I have wires all through me. My eyes are fake.”
“Even your father is fake?” he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.
“I don’t…”
“I honestly can’t say where you would be if I never found you. Sure, you can blame me for getting you neck deep in the Front, but… that normal, happy life you deserve is not gone. It’s waiting for us at the end of a difficult road.”
They both got quiet as the server returned with a plate of fine white noodles interspersed with strips of chicken, peas, and chopped scallions. She also dropped off a cup of hot tea. Risa gathered a clump on chopsticks, and studied it for a few seconds before putting it in her mouth. She chewed, staring at the silver dragons wrapped around the black lacq
uer utensils.
“Pavo told me about the bad wiring. You should’ve said something. I thought that”―he waved his hand in a circle―“weird posture thing you did was only to be creepy.”
“It is,” she said past a mouthful. “I’d rather they run away.” She poked at her food. “When I kill people, it makes me no better than the bastards who destroyed my life.”
Garrison gave her a moment before continuing. “We need your help again. I promise there’s no killing involved.” He smiled. “All we are asking is for you to meet someone for dinner.”
“Why me? There’s a dozen women.”
“They all look like soldiers. Most have the scars to prove it. The ones that don’t are too young.”
“Oh, like I’m some kind of old maid. I don’t even think I’m twenty-five yet.” She prodded the mass of noodles, frowning. Eight plus sixteen… twenty-four. Daddy died a month or so before my ninth birthday.
“You’re pretty, you’re capable, and almost no one can connect your face to the MLF.”
“No, just my eyes,” she said, taking another bite. “Skinny chick with violet eyes doesn’t stand out, not at all.”
“Bah, not as much as you think you do. The MDF caught a ton of shit for detaining people based on that. They clipped Senator Undine’s mistress a few months ago. Come to think of it, she does kind of resemble you… in ten years.”
“Hah.” Risa laughed. “Bet that went over well.”
“Yeah it caused a bit of a debacle. Look, I need you to meet with this man. He’s a heavy hitter from Earth. Owns a respectable investment firm and is on the board of directors for a larger one.”
Garrison pushed a datapad across the table. It projected a six-inch hologram of a Japanese man. White shirt, white tie, white leather coat, and of course―white shoes. Risa smirked at him.
“How old is he? I can’t tell.”
“According to our intel, twenty-eight.”
“Is he expecting full penetration or just lip service?” She took another bite, letting the chopsticks linger in her mouth.
Garrison leaned back, raising his hands. “I don’t want to know anything about anything in that respect. You’re only expected to meet with him. No one’s telling you to seduce him. He is sympathetic to our cause and looking for a way to help us out financially. Nothing of this exchange can leak.” He pointed at the little figure. “He can finance us. He can influence people on Earth―”
Risa scoffed.
“Risa… I don’t know what kind of frontier cowgirl world you’re living in, but cutting the umbilical binding Mars to Earth is going to take more than Nano claws. We need help, even if it means accepting it from someone from Earth. Not everyone down there thinks they deserve to own us.”
“No,” she mumbled. “Only the bastards in power. So what’s this tool’s name?”
“Shiro Murasame.”
Risa locked stares with him. Wrinkles around his eyes deepened. He seems worried. She slouched. “Okay. I’ll talk to him, but I’m not Maris’s whore.”
Garrison leaned back, smiling. “That’s my girl.”
Risa squirmed and fidgeted with her fancy outfit whenever she felt safe enough to let go of the taxi’s walls. The cloth clung to her body as though she had been dipped up to the armpits in dark blue paint. Having her neck and shoulders exposed felt alien. She’d gotten the ballistic suit at least five years ago, and rarely took it off since. Risa tugged at her leggings, smirking at the patches of pale skin showing above her gloss-black flats. The snug fit didn’t bother her as much as the sense of vulnerability that came with it not being armor.
The driver glanced over his shoulder through a clear barrier. The way he kept looking at her made her appreciate the bullet-resistant partition even more. Few cabbies were as dangerous as they appeared. Elysium City was cruel to those who looked weak. Still, her attire made her look like an easy target. At least her armor’s thickness obscured certain curves and bumps.
She fidgeted at the small fake sapphire set in the fabric near her right armpit. It popped open with a click to reveal a standard M3 connector on the end of a micro-thin wire. She drew the cord out and plugged it into the socket behind her right ear. I gotta change this thing around. The cab pulled to a halt at the side of the street. Her NetMini chimed as she waved it past the reader to pay the fare. As soon as the transaction registered, the side door opened to let her out. The driver leered at her, displaying zero shame as he used his NetMini to video her.
Too much work to kill him. She hurried away from the cab, careful not to let him get a shot of her face. He might be a bounty hunter acting like a perv. Not that the two are mutually exclusive.
Ten paces from the curb, she stopped to sigh at the façade of the Crimson Rose. Shiro had chosen the place for their meeting. Her best guess was that it came as close to high end as one could get before verging on pretentious. One doesn’t stay rich by wasting credits. A synapse fired. Intent carried down the wire to the processor in the false gem. Ripples ran down the length of the garment, like a sound wave bouncing off her ankles and coming back up. She brought her feet together. The fabric adhered on contact, changing from tight leggings to a hobble skirt before it shrank up her legs and billowed out to something she could move in. With her bodysuit reconfigured to an evening gown, she disconnected the wire and put it away.
She frowned at the people hovering around the door, and lifted one foot to push a button on the toe. A heel strut popped out of the sole. After repeating it with the other shoe, she tried to adjust to the sense of walking on her toes. Fortunately, agility well past normal human limits kept her looking somewhat balanced as she entered the lobby and approached a man by a small podium.
“Can I help you, miss?”
A dozen micro-corrections per second tensed the muscles of her legs as she worked not to fall over. I’ve spent more time crawling than walking on heels. “Yes. Can you tell me if Shiro Murasame is here yet? I’m expected. Raina Aum.”
A faint panel of light appeared, black text unreadable from the back. The man studied the display for a moment before extending his right arm to the side.
She walked past an animated hologram mimicking a bas-relief of white Greek marble come to life. Red-lit fountains streamed to simulate lava as the slow-motion battle of four men against a minotaur played out in an endless loop. On the far side of the artwork, an archway let her into the dining room, where a fist-sized orb-bot greeted her. Its front lens flickered white and it wobbled with delight before spinning and gliding away at a walking pace. The people that designed combat neuralware probably never imagined anyone would use it to keep from falling on their ass while wearing high heels. Hey, whatever works.
The orb led her to a table occupied by the man she remembered from Garrison’s hologram, though even if she’d forgotten his face, he would have been instantly recognizable. Every article of clothing he wore from shoes to tie gleamed pure white. Green eyes sized her up as her violet ones flipped through alternate scan modes. Metallurgical indicated some blurriness in his arms and skull, fainter in the legs. Not the usual fine detail the scanner provided about cyberware. He had parts, but either something messed with her scan or he had minor cosmetic augments not worth worrying over. The mystery brought a smile to the corner of her mouth. A few mental impulses activated the language chip Maris handed her along with the dress. Words formed in English at the tip of her brain, and exited her lips in Japanese.
“Murasame Shiro. I am honored to meet you.” She bowed.
He moved from his seat, standing with an elegant flair as if to help her into a chair. “It is quite all right, Miss Aum. I am not a native speaker myself, having grown up in East City. While I appreciate the respect of your gesture, I do not see much point in us both using language chips.”
She sat, smiling at the white-lacquered katana scabbard leaning on the table. Synthetic rubber grips simulated the pattern of a traditional braided handle. At her mental urging, a digital menu scrolled open in t
he periphery of her vision. The highlight followed her gaze. Common > Chips > Language > Japanese. She flicked her glance up to English and the hollow button filled in yellow. When she looked back to Shiro, the heads-up display slid out of sight to the left. “I thought katanas were a stereotype.”
“I suppose they are.” He gestured to attract the attention of a waiter. “I decided to run with it. Throws people off by adding a random element. People will question what to expect from a man who carries a sword in a world of lasers. You seem uncomfortable.”
Risa fell into the chair in her normal, casual pose. Every other woman in the room sat with their legs crossed. Risa adopted a similar posture not to stand out. I’m not used to doing the ‘female’ thing. A tiny trace of motion at his eye gave away he had noticed her squirming. She frowned, picking at the dress around her hip. He likes to throw people off. Two can play that. “I’m fine. It’s been a few years since I’ve worn underwear. I’m not used to the feeling.”
Shiro’s face reddened in a valiant effort not to cough sake all over the table. When he could breathe again, he forced a smile. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. “I see we both study the art of keeping others off balance.”
“Sorry, I’m not much of a negotiator.”
The waiter arrived and bowed at them.
“Sashimi for two?” asked Shiro.
Risa nodded.
“Anything to drink?” The waiter tilted his head at her.
“Asteroid shower, easy on the blue stuff.”
Shiro’s eyes narrowed as he flashed a broad smile. “You’re an interesting woman, Raina.” He looked up at the waiter. “Unfiltered sake, warm.”
“Very good.” The man bowed, and walked away.
“I find it pleasant on Mars, Miss Black. There are very few dolls here to take jobs away from humans. It’s nice to deal with people. We are not negotiating. I am sympathetic to your cause, but wanted to learn more about what it is you do. How committed are your people to harming the ACC or the UCF?”
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 13
