by Jessie Kwak
“That it’s not fair. You ain’t even breathing hard.”
Oriol laughs. A leap, a handclasp, a bow, and he’s finished his cycle. He grabs a towel off the edge of his cot and begins a lovely show drying off. The scar over his hipbone stands out like a rope. “I’ve trained since I was a kid.”
“Well, your form’s not too bad. There’s hope for you yet.” Manu pushes himself off his casual stance against the wall. “Military? That why you’re so good?”
For a second he doesn’t think Oriol is going to answer him — professionals don’t talk — but, “Indiran Alliance,” Oriol says after a moment. His attention’s caught by something past Manu’s shoulder, and Manu glances behind him to see the techno-thug, Sarah, talking with Kai and Gia at the other end of the warehouse.
“You and Sarah both, huh?”
Oriol frowns, as though he’s not sure how Manu knew. Most people aren’t aware of a fraction of the information their body language broadcasts, Manu’s found.
“Yeah, looks like,” Oriol says. “Tech like what she’s got isn’t normally civilian.” He tosses aside the towel and pulls on a shirt, then sits on his cot. Manu sits across from him, not waiting for invitation.
“You serve out your indenture?”
“Disability discharge. Then an old buddy needed some security and I needed some cash. And now?” Oriol doesn’t say more, just waves a hand around the warehouse as if to say, And this is where I ended up.
Manu doesn’t have to ask about the injury. The way Oriol’s thumb started rubbing his hip, it must be whatever intriguing scar runs below his waistband. Maybe after all this wraps up Manu will get a chance to learn more about it. He sincerely hopes so.
“How about you?”
“Me? Nah, no military for me.”
Oriol rolls his eyes. “I can see that, kid. I meant how did you get into the business?”
Marisa’s the only person Manu’s ever told the truth to. They’d finally had the “This is what I do, this is how I got here” conversation, which ended with her begging him to get out of the business, him refusing, and her parents calling the cops. Good times.
“My cousin got in with this abusive asshole a few years back,” he says before he regrets not saying it. “She got pregnant and tried to leave him, so he killed her.” Manu clears his throat. “He was my first hit.”
Oriol whistles, low. “Good for you.”
Manu hasn’t told this story enough to dull it up yet, and he didn’t expect the stab of pain, like the moment’s still fresh-cut and razor-sharp. Those guilty feelings about Toshiyo must be dredging up company; Manu’s having trouble pushing back the memory of Siggy’s papery palm cooling in his hand.
For one wild moment he wants desperately to turn Oriol into a confessor. To peel back a little of the bandage and show the wound — like he tried to do with Marisa before that all blew up in his face. I tried to tell her he was no good, he wants to say, or, I figured if she could handle her dad all those years she could handle him, or, She told me she loved him.
But Oriol? Oriol’s a professional.
Manu’s a professional.
“Too little too late,” is what Manu finally says, with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, turns out the asshole was in deep with a local gang and they had a bounty out on him. They paid me off and asked if I’d work another job for them. Not like I had anything else going on, so I said yes.” He spreads his arms. “Almost five years later, look at me. Working with the best.”
“I’m flattered.”
Manu winks. “I was talking about Blackheart.”
Oriol doesn’t return his levity. “I know you were,” he says, and for a moment there’s something weary behind his gaze. “Tell you what, kid. You wanna join a crew, that’s your call. Just don’t do anything stupid to get on some boss’s good side.”
Way too late for that.
Manu wants to ask why, pry at that tiny chink in Oriol’s armor. For a moment, the way Oriol’s watching him, Manu thinks he might even just answer.
But that kind of intimacy isn’t just frowned upon by professionals — it’s dangerous. Distracting.
“Thanks for the advice, old-timer,” is what Manu says, and the moment is gone.
Oriol shakes his head in faux outrage. “Old-timer? How old do you think I am?”
“Not too old.” Manu glances over his shoulder. “But old enough to see we’re not being told everything about what’s going on.”
A shrug. “Of course we aren’t. Name of the game. Here.” Oriol reaches into the duffel at the foot of his bed, pulls out a clear bottle filled with brown liquid. It’s a familiar label — not the cheapest whiskey, but not the priciest, either. Something Manu himself would have bought.
He takes the offered bottle and Oriol’s fingers brush up against his companionably. Oriol’s watching him, those honey-gold eyes catching the light.
Manu smiles. Sips. Hands it back. “What’s next for you?” he asks.
“I never think about the next job in the middle of the current job,” he says.
“That’s not true,” Manu says. “Everybody’s always got the next plan brewing. You got somebody waiting back for you, or what’s next?”
“Thought I might lie low for a while. Get some relaxation on somewhere.”
“That sounds good.”
“I know it does. You oughta think about the same.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Oriol just shrugs, but the way he tilts his head says yes.
“I’ll check my calendar,” Manu says.
Manu almost doesn’t hear it when she calls, that tentative alto not quite rising above the rest of the group’s clamor. He lifts a hand, and Oriol falls silent beside him.
“Uh, guys?” Toshiyo calls again, a little louder this time. She hasn’t left the cheap desk, and she’s hunched over her strange hand terminal, eyes wide with worry. Manu’s halfway across the room before he realizes he’s moving; across the warehouse, Jaantzen shoulders past Kai.
“What is it?” Jaantzen’s voice booms where hers is timid, and the rest of the chatter in the warehouse fades away.
“They’re on the move,” Toshiyo says. “It’s showtime.”
11
We’re a Go for Trouble
“Now?” That’s Kai.
Toshiyo just blinks at him. She’s thumbing commands into her hand terminal with her right hand, cupping her left over her ear to help her listen in better to whatever she’s got going on.
“Now?” Kai growls again.
“Let her work,” Manu snaps, and Kai rounds on him with teeth bared.
“Let her work,” a voice echoes, and Manu’s surprised to see it’s Coeur. She glances at him only briefly as she turns to study Toshiyo. Kai falls silent beside her, chin dropping.
Well.
Manu glances at Jaantzen, but he doesn’t seem to notice his bulldog’s come to heel for Coeur.
“The courier company’s moving the package,” Toshiyo says, ignoring everyone except for the voices in her earpiece and whatever she sees on her hand terminal.
“Have they changed routes?” Jaantzen asks.
“No, boss. Just delivery times.”
“Why?”
“Not sure. Could be because of the storm coming in.”
“You find out, you let me know.”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Then the job’s still on as discussed,” Jaantzen says. “Kai, Oriol, you’re with Sarah in the truck. Manu, Jaxie, you’re with Beni.”
Manu catches the earpiece Gia tosses him — they’re all getting one, except for Sarah, who taps a sequence into her gauntlet. Oriol’s popped a caffeine tab under his tongue; he sees Manu notice and offers up the package. Manu shakes his head. Caffeine doesn’t play well with his natural adrenaline, and he’s got plenty of that going at the moment.
“Where’s she going?” Jaxie says, thumbing over her shoulder at Gia.
“Gia’s either making sure you don’t get shot up,
or fixing you if you do,” says Jaantzen. “Your choice.”
“I’ll take the former,” Manu says.
“Then you best stop testing me, boy,” Gia answers. She tosses the last of the earpieces to Jaxie and grins at Manu; she looks like the goddess of war on the eve of battle. How this one was ever accepted to a religious academy like Sulila is beyond him. “Here,” she says, and hands him a thumb-sized neural stunner. “I been saving this for you.”
Manu turns it over in his palm: it’s a matte-black rubber bracelet with a pair of nodes on the side about fifteen millimeters apart. It’s the type off-planet women wear discreetly on their wrists when they go out slumming in Bulari. Manu lifts an eyebrow at Gia. “Gee. Thanks.”
“Less mess when you deal with the driver,” she says. She’s got one on her own wrist, like she couldn’t just knock any asshole out with one good punch from her well-muscled arms.
No one asks where Coeur is going to be — far away and out of the line of fire is what’s understood. Manu’s surprised she even bothered to show up at the warehouse, and wonders again just what’s in this shipment.
None of his business, is what.
Manu pops in his earpiece and has a strange out-of-body sensation as Toshiyo speaks both in his ear and across the desk.
“Testing,” says Toshiyo, repeating herself as they gear up. She frowns at Sarah. “Do you — ”
“I gotcha,” Sarah says, tapping a finger on the panel behind her right ear. “Loud and clear.” Toshiyo stares at her in naked fascination.
“All right. I’ll be keeping an eye on the transport from here and direct you where to go.”
They break apart into teams; as Manu’s waiting for Jaxie and Beni to finish suiting up, he spots Coeur standing by herself, the light pooling in the soft drape of her black silk blouse to highlight the topography of muscles beneath. Her arms are crossed; the long, scarred red-brown fingers of one hand tap an impatient rhythm.
Manu licks his lips, makes the move. “Wanted to say thank you for the opportunity,” he says, and Coeur’s gaze drifts onto him like a feather, light and impermanent; he’s no threat to her.
She’s drinking him in, filing him away, and Manu stays relaxed, lets his body fall into the same casual stance as hers, mirroring the angle of her hips, his hands in his pockets. Not a troublemaker — he’s useful. Friendly.
“Good to see new talent,” she says finally. “You and me, we’ll talk when this is all over. I like me some fresh blood from time to time.”
“Sounds good,” he says, with little bow of his head to show he appreciates she’s doing him a favor.
His pride should be buzzing — he’s getting the green light from his dream boss — but it’s not untying that knot in his gut.
He glances back at the desk and sees Toshiyo watching him, disappointment clear on her face. When he meets her gaze, she looks away and does not turn back.
Manu shakes it off. It’s not like he was on her side, or Jaantzen’s side, or even Sylla’s side. Maybe Coeur’s side’s a bit rotten, but it’s no worse than any other.
And if so, then why does he feel no better than his grandma? Choosing poorly by failing to choose at all?
Goddamn this job and what it’s dredged up.
“Manu.”
He spins to find Gia, grateful for the interruption of his thoughts.
“I grabbed this from your gear,” she says, and slips a package into his hand. He pockets it without looking, knowing by touch that familiar roll of adhesive-backed tags and miniature remote controller. The last of his hornet tags. Manu grins.
“I already regret giving you this,” Gia says. “You look way too happy.”
“I’ll do you proud,” he says, and gets only a shaking head in return.
“Just keep yourself off my table.”
“Got it, Giaconda.”
He winks and walks away before she can answer. Jaxie and Beni are waiting for him, now; Beni shouts at him from the door to hurry up.
“Good luck,” Coeur calls to Jaantzen, and her brilliant smile beams a fraction of a second too slow. No love lost there, Manu realizes. But then, what he hears, there’s no love lost between anyone in the business and Jaantzen.
Except for Toshiyo.
And except for Gia; Manu sees her solemn nod to the big gang boss as she walks past.
Manu gives him a deep nod, too. Respectful. He means it, no matter what brought them together and where their paths may go from here.
“Good luck,” Manu says to Toshiyo, and gets only a cool look in return.
He tells himself it’s a good thing. That he’s only helping sour her on a business she shouldn’t be in in the first place.
He tells himself that no matter what he’s heard about Jaantzen, the man seems to honestly care about Toshiyo. And anyway, Gia’s got her back — and she’s the fiercest woman he’s ever met.
He feels like shit.
12
Heisting
It’s dark outside, dusty, a sandstorm blowing down from the desert and into the Bulari Valley so that the whole city is blanketed in a faint haze. It probably made for a romantic blood-red sunset from the decks of high-rise tourist bars earlier this evening, but now it’s got plans for mischief. Manu can’t tell if the constant rumble of cargo shuttles and magtrucks out of the spaceport is shut down, what with the wind. Probably.
Manu coughs; beside him, Jaxie sneezes in a series of short, ridiculous bursts. When she gets herself under control she gives the rest of the group a feral glare, light glinting off her turquoise-and-gold incisors. No one comments.
Manu’s got a nice breathing mask back at his apartment, one of the better biosilk ones, but he hadn’t brought it with him to bust up the Bronze Room. He hadn’t realized he was going to get into such a fun new adventure.
He’ll be better prepared next time.
He gives Oriol a salute, then lets Jaxie shoulder past him to take the front seat in Beni’s spinner. He’d rather be in the back keeping an eye on them, anyway.
Out into the road, and Beni’s driving fast and loose while Toshiyo’s voice echoes through their earpieces with updates on the courier’s route. Beni handles the spinner like the pro Jaantzen said he was — Manu guesses all those games of cards must indeed be good for the mind and the hands.
Jaxie lets out another round of the ridiculous sneezes, bitches about hating sandstorms. Manu ignores her.
Their position is marked by a glowing green dot in the faint hologram of the city superimposed over the windshield, but once Manu gets his bearings he doesn’t need to follow it to know where they are.
This is his city and he’s in the zone, following their route in his mind even as his vision glazes at the flashing images outside the window. Store lights are soft glows in the haze.
Manu’s never been off-world — hell, he’s never left Bulari — and he’s not sure he wants to. But something about Oriol’s soft accent, and the idea of emerald rice paddies and actual oceans sending in storms and hurricanes rather than the whirling dust storms sent in by the Jupari Desert — it sounds awfully nice right about now.
“He just reached Pioneer Plaza, turning left onto Mahti Drive.”
Toshiyo’s voice comes staticky through his earpiece, bringing him back to the moment. They’re getting close — he blinks to refocus his eyes and lets the blur outside resolve into familiar scenery.
Beni takes a sharp right into an alley; Manu sways with the motion of the spinner. In the front seat, Jaxie is muttering to herself as she checks her weapons.
“Hold tight,” Beni says, and Manu digs into the handholds. Beni skids the spinner around the corner, drifting into the path of the courier van. Manu braces himself for impact, but the van skids to a halt, swerving to miss Beni and crashing into a low retainer wall with a screech and a spark of electronics.
Beni dances the spinner out of range as a second crash sounds — Sarah’s vehicle smashing into the back of the van.
Manu’s first out
of the spinner, guns up to cover the driver. Smoke is pouring out of the engine, out of the cab, and the man stumbles out hacking. He’s got a lightweight pistol in his hand, but he’s too disoriented by the smoke and the crash to do more than wave it through the air in front of him.
“Drop it,” Manu yells, and the man’s eyes widen as the smoke clears enough for him to register Manu’s guns and Jaxie’s hefty stun carbine. He sets the pistol carefully on the ground; Jaxie scoops it up, shoves it in her belt.
The area is secluded, mostly warehouses and industrial businesses, but it won’t be long before someone comes to investigate the noise. Manu hopes Gia had enough time to get in position and warn them if she sees anything.
“He alone?” Manu shouts to Jaxie, who’s prodding at the smoke boiling out of the cab with the glowing tip of her stun carbine. “You alone?” he asks the driver.
The driver coughs, refusing to answer.
“He left alone,” Toshiyo says in his ear; he thinks she says — the static is getting worse as the storm intensifies. “Secure him . . . back help the others.”
“All clear in here,” Jaxie yells, hopping down from the cab.
Manu zaps the driver with the neural stunner — it’s got a bigger, more satisfying kick than he expects — then he and Jaxie each grab one of the driver’s arms, hauling him away from the smoldering ruin of his courier van to prop him against a warehouse grate.
Manu reaches across his chest to cuff him, and the man’s jacket falls open. Manu can see the edge of what looks like a badge: concentric circles on a blood-red background. He shoves the jacket open the rest of the way to be sure.
Alliance.
Shit.
“Shit!” Jaxie’s eyes are wide. “Should I kill him?”
“How are you such an idiot?” Manu says.
He ignores the daggers she’s glaring his way. Trigger-happy psycho has no sense of how consequences play out no matter what the game, apparently. He snaps the cuffs into place and frisks the man for weapons, electronics, anything. Not that it matters much what he finds — the call was probably sent automatically as soon as the van crashed. And a whole swarm of Alliance special security ops will be on them in a minute.
