by James Wake
Tess’s eyes cleared as she sat upright. “They were probably following that cop and messing with her. You just got lucky. Again.”
Nadia let it pass. Whether it was her nocturnal activities or the medicine she’d taken, she was drifting away, daylight or not.
“What are you reading?”
“The contents of that,” Tess said, pointing to a small receiver on the bench in front of her. It held the beautiful thing that Nadia had stolen, still shining bright with endless facets reflecting under its surface.
Nadia sighed. She’d almost gotten herself arrested or worse, and she didn’t even know what it was. “I assume it is some kind of memory drive?”
“You assume correctly. A crystal-array holographic data storage drive.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I wrote a paper about them in college. As a theoretical prototype,” Tess said. “First time I’ve seen one in person, though. I didn’t think anyone had gotten past the prototype stage.”
“Something good on it, surely?”
Tess shrugged. “Whatever’s on it, there’s a lot of it.”
So it hadn’t all been a waste. Not that a part of her hadn’t enjoyed her flight, outwitting and escaping an army that had oh so delightfully failed to capture her. Probably standing slack-jawed as she slipped right through their fingers.
Except for one. Nadia felt her breath suck in sharp, seeing it again, the barrel of a gun pointed right at her. Not the slick little weapons she was used to seeing on the belts of security guards and police officers, but a huge yawning pit of a barrel that made her heart halt in her chest.
That part didn’t thrill her so much.
“Do you think you could find anything on the officer who chased me?”
Tess handed her a pair of glasses. Images were already displayed when she put them on, pictures scrolling past of a rugged-looking man in various military uniforms in various hellish places. He didn’t look happy in any of them. Nadia cocked her head to the side, squinting at the soldier. Sure, there was plenty of resemblance, but…
“It was a woman chasing me,” she said.
Tess shook her head. “You’re so insensitive sometimes.”
Ah. Nadia tensed up a bit. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Ugh, I feel awful doxing her like this. I had no idea. I don’t even know if she’s out.”
The pictures scrolled away, replaced by a profile page from the city police database. Without the helmet on, Jackson sported slicked-back, bleached-blond hair, almost platinum. It was a striking contrast to her dark features.
And such fetching green eyes, of all hues. Nadia sat up a bit, even more intrigued now.
“Officer Alice Jackson,” Tess read. “Born outside Savannah. Her family came here as refugees after Savannah was…yeah, anyway. Spent most of her childhood here in the Georgian ghetto, outside the walls. Let’s see…former army ranger, ten years served. Fought in the Mexican punitive campaign and Taiwan peacekeeping operations. Part of an advisory detachment sent against the Peshmerga. You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”
Nadia only frowned a bit, waving at Tess to go on.
“You can see all this in your glasses, right?” Tess said.
“I like it when you read to me.”
“Oh…kay.” Tess shrugged. “Volunteered for experimental muscle enhancements. Honorably discharged. Transitioned right after leaving the military. Offered a position with Auktoris Defense Services, which she declined. Joined the city police and was captain of a tactical response team until…hmm.”
Nadia cocked an eyebrow. “Hmm? What does that mean?”
“Demonstrated insubordinate behavior during and after several civil disturbances. Reassigned to patrol officer duty.”
Nadia nodded her approval, more intrigued with every word. “No family listed?”
Tess raised an eyebrow. “How is that relevant?”
“Just curious,” Nadia said. It was true—this woman had caught up to her, almost caught her, not out of luck but out of prowess.
Enhancements.
Or not. Bit of an unfair advantage there. Then again, Nadia’s escape could be considered the result of a certain unfair advantage in the form of a jammer. She was willing to call it an even contest.
“What? Are you going to send her fan mail?” Tess said.
“Like I said, just curious,” Nadia said. “I do so need my very own Javert, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what we need,” Tess said, waving her off. “More police attention.”
* * *
It was light out by now. Still stuck, answering the same round of questions over and over.
Jackson sat in the back of an ambulance, her legs hanging over the rear bumper. There was nothing wrong with her at all, the pain merely temporary. Even so, the EMTs had gone over her with a comb, scanning her limbs and shining penlights in her eyes and measuring everything from her blood pressure to her breathing rate.
She hugged a Mylar blanket tightly around her shoulders, making a loud crinkling in her ears. They’d asked her to take off her armor vest and her uniform shirt, which had disappeared along with her helmet, goggles, and worst of all, her gun. The only thing she truly felt naked without. No doubt every bit of her goggle footage was being scrutinized, copied, cut up, and filed away in official reports.
It was the same girl. It had to be. Same height, same build, same dainty gait, even when running for her life. And now Jackson had a voice to go on—even if it was just a few words. She wondered if the Auktoris techs were up in that building right now, bagging up another of those small transmitters. Not that she would ever get access to their evidence.
Her shoulders slumped, followed by a long exhausted sigh. The street in front of her was still closed, chunks of glass and a shattered office chair lying there, surrounded by techs in red clean suits as small drones hovered around taking shots from every conceivable angle.
She ducked out of the ambulance a bit to see the broken hole in the side of the tower above. Seventeen stories up. The thick cable stretched across the chasm between two blocks, a four-lane road with a generous middle lane. The drop had to be three or four stories from top to bottom.
Insane. Stupid. Unbelievably stupid. And yet…
Ortega had been whisked away hours ago. This song and dance was familiar to her—split them up, check their stories against each other, keep asking her to repeat and repeat and repeat and see if the story changes. Waste of time; it was all there in the footage. No need to be interrogated by more of those uptight corporate suits.
They might as well have been the same ones from outside the jewelry store. Might actually have been, for all Jackson knew.
Two officers approached her. Not a pair of Auktoris goons, thankfully, but two members of her team. They wore similar blue uniforms as hers, but with more armor and a light rig, along with slick ballistic helmets instead of the bulky thing she wore while riding her hoverbike. Same goggles, though. They cautiously snuck up to her, checking over their shoulders before snapping into salutes.
“Don’t do that,” Jackson said, smiling and saluting back.
“Did you take a hit?” asked Officer Andrew Vicks, a man almost as tall as her.
“Yeah, what’s with the shock blanket?” Officer Sarah Wedge, a wiry, lean woman said. They were both white, born and raised here in the city. Jackson had learned not to hold it against them.
“Medics made me wear it,” Jackson said, her blanket crinkling again. “Liability or something.”
“Oh, good,” Vicks said. “I heard the perp put you down.”
“Bullshit. Jackson let her go,” Wedge said.
“Is that what’s going around?” Jackson said.
Vicks nodded. “That’s what the AGF pricks are saying already.”
“Gonna pin it on you after they let he
r go in the first place.” Wedge shook her head. “How’d she get by you?”
“Felt like one of them shrieker drones. Stronger, though.” It was of course not how she had described it for the investigation. “Crowd suppression/dispersion device” was the official term.
“Clever,” Vicks said.
“Wow, using your own super strength against you. How did they know the only thing that can stop Captain Jackson is…Captain Jackson?” Wedge said.
“Officer Jackson,” she said.
“Sorry,” Wedge said, looking down and shuffling in her boots. They both still had the patch on the shoulder of their uniforms: TACTICAL RESPONSE TEAM BRAVO. “B TEAM” IS FOR “BEST TEAM.”
Jackson sighed, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t true. All three of them had it tattooed on their shoulder, and she didn’t get a tattoo if she didn’t mean it.
“What did they call you guys out here for?” Jackson said. “Waste of a tac team.”
Vicks shrugged. “Stand around and look tough for the cameras, I guess.”
“Which we’re awesome at,” Wedge said.
Plenty of Domes were standing around, looking menacing. There were even a few Auktoris elite units, men in advanced rigs. Bright white thick armor, their helmets made of solid blank plates. Jackson scoffed. “I’d still take you two over all these fools any day.”
“Damn right,” Wedge said, pounding her chest a few times.
“We miss you too,” Vicks said.
“Taco Team Bravo isn’t the same without you,” Wedge said.
“Don’t call yourselves that,” Jackson said.
“Hey, you can’t tell us what to do anymore, Mom,” Wedge said. “Sorry,” she added, dropping her eyes and shuffling awkwardly again.
“It’s your fault we’re called that anyway,” Vicks said.
Jackson nodded a few times. An EMT hovered nearby with a bin full of her gear. Jackson waved him over.
“Speaking of,” she said, “I could use a traditional.”
“Oh shit.” Wedge looked up. “Post-mission beer and tacos? Sign me up.”
“It’s, like, eight in the morning,” Vicks said.
“Never stopped us before.” Wedge laughed. “I’ll get the rest of the guys. You gonna bring your new partner again?”
Good question. Jackson eyed a trio of Auktoris suits huddled near the wreckage of the office chair. No telling when they’d cut Ortega loose. As she pulled her goggles out of the bin, she wondered how much of her footage had been wiped.
“Naw, I’ll…check in with him later,” Jackson said.
It had been a while, after all. Her and the old crew had a lot of catching up to do. She watched Wedge scurry off to round up the troops. Officer Vicks didn’t move.
“You bugging out on us?” she asked him.
He watched Wedge until she was a good distance off. When he seemed satisfied, he pulled off his goggles, perched them on his helmet, and yanked his mask down so she could see his face.
Nice of him. He’d always had a good face, boyish and a little chubby.
“So, uh…” he said, clinging tightly to the submachine gun strapped to his chest. Hell of a security blanket. “Fellow Officer Jackson.”
She raised one eyebrow, cocked high and mighty. “Yeah?”
“Not Superior Officer Jackson anymore.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to glare at him. She couldn’t help but smile, though.
“So…” he said, clearing his throat. Rocking back and forth on his boots. Cute as a shy puppy. “It wouldn’t be inappropriate or anything for me to ask you out for a beer, would it?”
And there it was. Extremely unprofessional of him. Insubordinate almost.
“You can’t buy me a beer,” she said.
He opened his mouth to apologize and choked on it—too many words fighting to get out at once.
“But you can buy me a double of bourbon,” she said, chucking him on the arm. “You sweetheart. What took you so long?”
Vicks turned bright red and shrugged. “Is it weird if I say you intimidate me?”
Jackson snorted a laugh. A weird word. You put intimate and date together, and it comes out meaning something else entirely.
“I mean…I mean in a good way,” he said, eyes bulging as he thought the implications over. “I mean not like that kind of way but…geez, I’m making this weird, aren’t I?”
Nodding, she patted him on the arm. He nodded back, at ease again, no need for more words. That was more like the Vicks she knew.
It was one thing she’d always liked about him. Words were overrated anyway.
* * *
Tess was talking to someone else. Which would have been unusual enough on its own, but the someone else she was talking to was a girl.
Nadia frowned. Not a girl. A young woman, surely about Tess’s age, half her head shaved and the remaining half a bright red, streaked with electric pink. They were chatting, pointing at the painting on the wall next to them, looking amused.
They laughed. They both laughed. Really laughed, eyes closed and real smiles showing.
There was something appealing about the woman, sure, fine. But Nadia had to struggle to find it. She had a healthy tan, not exactly in style these days, but that only meant she was a free spirit. And those clothes. She knew, sadly, that Tess probably didn’t care, but the girl’s outfit was a disaster, scraps of skintight latex on top clashing with baggy dungarees. Probably why she had been drawn to Tess.
Scowling, Nadia tried to shift her attention back to the painting she’d been quietly and conspicuously appraising. It was beautiful, a close-up of a violet in the finest of O’Keeffe traditions but in ultraviolet shades, its petals graced with intricate patterns. The way insects saw them.
Lovely. So much to appreciate on the canvas before her, so much symbolism. Nadia contemplated none of it—this young woman touched Tess on the arm oh so not accidentally, and now Tess was cautiously, sheepishly sliding up her sleeve and showing off her handiwork, flexing the strands of her artificial limb out in the open for all to see.
That was entirely too much. Nadia huffed and strode over to the pair, her heels clicking through the muted conversation of the gallery. It had taken a few days, but her ankle was finally well enough for her to wear heels again.
“There you are!” she said, inserting herself between Tess and her admirer and winding her arm around the exposed prosthetic. “Come. You simply must see this painting.”
She dragged Tess away before either of them could protest, still scowling as the two women exchanged flirty goodbyes.
“Way to cockblock me,” Tess muttered.
Nadia gagged a bit at the phrase. “Please. We can do so much better for you. Tell me you didn’t exchange contact info with her?”
“No, but…” She felt Tess’s fingers twitching at her side. “I already know where she lives, where she works, and what kind of porn she was watching last night.”
Sighing, Nadia parked them in front of the lovely flower. Surely a bit of culture could do wonders for her friend. They stood arm in arm, admiring the bright colors decorating the petals on the canvas before them.
“That flower looks like a vagina,” Tess said.
“Don’t be crass.”
“Okay, but…it’s a vagina. Why can’t you just call it a vagina flower? Are you ashamed of your vagina?”
“It is a vulva, first of all,” Nadia said. “And it is a lovely exemplar of the resurgent school of pre-postmodernist impressionism.”
“And you made fun of me for what I studied in college?”
“Minor. Art history minor. And I only did it to spite my parents.”
“Seems like you did a lot of things to piss them off,” Tess said.
“...did a lot of men to piss them off.”
Tess flinched at her side. “What?”
“Nothing.”
> They stared at the flower for another long moment, Nadia becoming more and more awkwardly aware of the lanky, skeletal feel of Tess’s prosthetic as it rested against the crook of her arm. Tess had thrown an old army surplus jacket over her ever-present hoodie, her attempt at dressing up. It helped. But only just.
“Let’s go. This vagina flower is making me hungry,” Tess said.
“Tess!” Nadia fumed, too loudly, echoing in the gallery and drawing stares.
“You’re too easy sometimes,” she said. “For real, though. You promised me a victory dinner.”
“Victory,” Nadia scoffed, as they wandered through the exhibition, a spacious hall bathed in soft white light and the low murmur of elegant conversation. “You haven’t even deciphered anything from that drive yet.”
“Look, we both deserve a break. And you got to bring me here. Fair’s fair.”
Silently they drifted toward the next hall—this one not full of paintings but dozens of mirrors, everything from antique floor-length artifacts to compacts to broken shards of industrial glass arranged in a haphazard display of found art. Nadia steered them away—any direction but that.
“Ugh, no,” Tess said, realizing where Nadia was taking her. “That main exhibit looks awful.”
Nadia ignored her, staying the course. They turned a corner and came face-to-face with a wall-size cartoon of a brightly colored cat’s face, grinning at them with a mouthful of fangs.
“Relax. It’s just a painting,” Tess said. “You sure you’re okay?”
Nadia let out a breath and kept walking.
“Is your ankle okay? I told you not to wear heels,” Tess said.
“Is there any chance someone could be monitoring our communications?” Nadia quietly asked.
“Uh…what you mean, like…?”
“At night, yes.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Tess said, tapping her temple with her free hand. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”
“Mmm.” Nadia held Tess’s arm tighter as she cast a glance back at the Cheshire painting. “What’s on the drive?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight,” Tess said.
