Aura stared at her feet intently, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“I’m not that shallow to stop being your friend because my approval ratings might go down. People either like my music or they don’t. They can go to hell otherwise.”
Aura managed to look him in the eyes and smiled. “You don’t mean that.” She was tearing up.
“Okay, I’d never say that to anyone. What I mean is my fans don’t care about that, and they are my fans precisely because I don’t care about it either,” Orestes admitted.
Aura thought about it for a moment. “I just don’t want to ruin anything for you. Music is your life, I’d never forgive myself if I was to damage that.”
“Don’t worry,” Orestes said and gave her a reassuring smile.
Playlist: Video 5/67
Music school was a daily torture for Aura. Perhaps as equally a torture as was her screeching voice in her professor’s ears. Another day, another test, another torture.
Aura Nightingale, daughter of the world-famous Nightingale couldn’t possibly have had anything less than the same melodious voice as her father. People expected her to love singing with the same passion as him.
Silly fans.
She knew the theory, the breathing, the exercises, the scales. O. o. O. o. ooo. She knew how she was supposed to sound like, even those filthy unloved drummers could manage a 6 out of 10 in song practice.
Aura would never fail her class, simply because her father wanted her not to. Despite her sounding like a lamb getting slaughtered with a blunt knife, the teachers would sign off a passing grade.
Her father was self-taught of course, or at least that was the back-story spun by Dionysos Entertainment, when he was discovered and signed an exclusivity contract. He had some coaching and seminars after that, but he was an authentic Greek folk singer. Raw and alive. Mitropanos meets Kazantzidis. That’s how he was fed to the public, and Dionysos had revived the traditional Greek song. His success was meteoric and raised Nightingale to the poster boy of Dionysos. The company provided everything to Aura’s poor family, and they gave back by building on the company’s myth.
So, when some suit at the Marketing department had the bright idea of making up for a bad sales quarter by having Aura sing-along, her fate was sealed.
The single with her vocals that accompanied her dad stayed at the top of the charts in almost every music steaming site. It barely broke even for the company. The expert, who turned her screeching voice to a melodious creature worthy of accompanying the people’s voice, was paid in millions.
God bless Autotune.
She never did a proper recording after that, but her father wanted to keep the myth intact.
That’s why Aura coughed through her vocal exams and her professors turned a blind eye and probably a deaf ear.
No room for improvement, of course.
“Why don’t you try something else?” Orestes asked while she was storming out of the exam hall. There was nothing mean in his expression, contrary to everyone else’s around the place.
Aura sighed. “You know why.” She grabbed her bicycle’s steering wheel and imitated her father’s voice, “The company gave us all we have Aura. You were young when we had nothing Aura, but surely you remember how hard it was. Your brother wouldn’t be alive Aura.”
“He has a point… But there’s more than singing. There must be something you can do under Dionysos, something that you like.”
Aura brought the index finger to her chin and pretended to think hard. “Lemme think. Possible careers in Dionysos Entertainment. Singer. Musician. TV host. Actress… Dancer! Yeahsure. I can’t do anything like that without getting kicked out. A waitress is more plausible.”
“Try a new instrument. You never know, you might like something you’ve never played before!”
“Orestes,” she said and pulled down her t-shirt to present her bare neck to his face. “This scar is from the last baglamadaki that died in my arms and tried to take me with it down to Hades. Her argument left him speechless and blushing. Aura blushed too and stepped back. “Music hates me. You can’t possibly understand. You pick up a bouzouki and people start looking around for Tsitsanis.”
“I’ve been practising since five years old, it didn’t just happen one day…” he said apologetically, repeating the same line he had used hundreds of times.
“Yes, but when you got past the basics it was as if you were born for it. I got to six years old to figure out how to ride a bicycle… Look,” Aura said and opened her social profile on her phone. She clicked on a video some schoolmate had taken mere minutes before during her test and uploaded to make fun of her.
Orestes stared patiently. He knew very well what he'd hear. They practised together, he knew how she sounded. It was torture to the ears. Some schoolmates were looking at them and laughed. Orestes seemed to struggle coming up with something to make her feel better but he had nothing.
The video stopped, and Aura retried it. “They took it down. The spider caught it. You do know they have an exclusive spider to take down ‘non-approved,’ meaning non-fixed footage of me off the internet? How pathetic is that?” she asked rhetorically. Then she mumbled, mostly to herself, “Daddy thinks I don’t know.”
Orestes fumbled on his own phone, looking for the video.
“Nevermind that. Come on, let’s go for those strings you want to replace,” she said and they took off on their bicycles.
Playlist: Video 6/67
“Artemis will see you now,” said the squirrelly personal assistant dressed in an expensive and tailored business suit plus a modest skirt.
“Thanks. Get me a coffee and some snacks? Donuts would be awesome,” Antioche said.
The assistant slapped her tablet on her belly and squinted at Antioche with what she believed was a deadly stare. “I’ll see what I can do.” She pursed her lips and took off.
Antioche went inside, past the huge doors and into Artemis’ office. The room could be considered corporate minimal if not for the lion heads on the walls. Bows and arrows in specially-made glass cases, high powered rifles lining a whole wall, hunting trophies upon hunting trophies on display. Safari hunts from all over the world.
Artemis herself was standing in her window, watching the city outside. She was dressed in an Armani suit tailored to fit her strong body, wore trousers and no jewelry at all. Her black hair was cut in a straight carré short that fell lower in one side, very businesswoman-like. She wore flat shoes that looked that they cost more than some cars.
“I thought you were a feminist,” Antioche said a bit too loudly while she was perusing the armoury. “What’s with the skirt outside?”
Artemis turned from the window and walked back at her desk. She sat on her chair and only then did she nod at Antioche to sit down. Antioche picked up a rifle from the display and cradled it like a baby, then sat down.
“The skirt,” noted Artemis, “has three degrees and a Masters. She can wear whatever she damn well pleases as long as she is efficient.”
Antioche was touching the rifle, feeling its weight. It had seen action, and it was perfectly maintained, cleaned and oiled. Not one of the other Amazons had ever dared to pick up Artemis’ weapons and fondle them like that.
She continued, “Also, she has great legs. But that’s beside the point. First of all, are the children alright?”
Antioche looked her in the eye and reported, “Yes Ma’am, they were all returned safely to the SOS village.”
“Why did that maniac kidnap them?”
Antioche shrugged. “Who knows? Police had seized his escape vehicle, and he saw it as an opportunity for hostages. I don’t believe he thought it through. We tied him up in a neat bow and gave him to the authorities.”
“I see. Did any of the girls show initiative, something that stood out?”
“Not really, why? Are you planning to recruit them this young?”
“Well,” Artemis exhaled, “Just wishful thinking. Yes, I plan to take them unde
r my wing soon enough.”
Antioche forced a smile, but she was concerned. “Why? Aren’t the current Amazons enough for Athens?”
“Oh they are, but business is booming as they say. Artemis Automotive is becoming ever more necessary for our clients and research is showing that there will be increased demand in a few years, in Europe and the Middle-East.”
Antioche waved around and said, “Then you might get a skyscraper like the other guys, right?”
Artemis scoffed but did it like a lady. So it was more of a “puh” with a roll of the eyes. “I don’t need a titanic erect penis to show off my strength. We might expand at some point but I assure you it will be utilitarian.”
The building they were on was only ten stories high. Large enough to hold Artemis HQ, the barracks, a yard outside for training, the offices upstairs and the topmost office of the CEO, which was this one. It was high enough for Artemis to see over Athens but low enough for her to stay close to the people, to the streets. Keep her ear on the ground, so to say. The building had five underground parking levels and storage spaces, filled with an armada of bikes, cars, jeeps and trucks. They also had two APCs, armoured personnel carriers for emergencies. On top were two helicopters sitting on their pads.
Everything was kept well-oiled and ready to roll.
The skirt came in carrying a tray of Turkish coffee, its thick aroma filling the place, and a selection of delicious donuts. Artemis eyed her in anger and then at Antioche. The skirt put the tray next to Antioche and left in silence.
“Didn’t I just say she has three degrees? Even I don’t have her fetch coffee for me! There’s a perfectly well-staffed cafeteria for that.”
Antioche apologised but didn’t make it believable. “I didn’t know that coming in!” She propped the long-barrelled rifle on her chair and sipped coffee.
Then she stuffed a donut in her mouth as her CEO glared at her.
“I swear, if you weren’t so damn loyal I’d…” Artemis mumbled but then straightened her suit and calmed herself.
Antioche munched on, sipping loudly.
“I called you here for a mission,” Artemis said and tapped a spot on her desk. A keyboard pattern lit up, and she typed a command. On the large screen beside her data filled up, exterior images of buildings and people. “Do you know what fate is?”
“Moira, yes. Three chicks who decide who lives and who dies.”
“Pretty close,” Artemis said and tapped something. The screen showed a web of interconnected lines, with some profile pictures at the ends weaving into a bright mesh. “Fate can be now calculated. Everything is online, entertainment preferences, bank records, secret affairs, health habits, health monitor data, desires, sexual history. When something can be calculated, it can be defined. When it can be defined, it can be controlled.”
She tapped something else and various data appeared, with the Artemis Automotive logo in various places and vehicles. In the middle, there was a shining thin band of light. “This is the fate of my company.” She tapped again, another line appeared that bore the Zeus Electric logo. It was longer.
Antioche nodded.
“This is the fate of Zeus’ company. Self-explanatory right? My company will not make it though the next five years while Zeus Electric will march on.”
“Lemme guess who controls this fate thing…” Antioche said rhetorically. “Zeus.”
“Of course he does, the megalomaniac bastard.” Artemis tapped again. A similar line appeared, but this time, instead of the logo of some corporation, there was Antioche’s photo.
The bright line was shorter than five years. Much shorter.
Antioche spat out the coffee. “That fucker says I’m gonna die? Is he planning to kill me?”
“No. The fucker’s fate system says that you are going to die. Soon. That makes you uniquely motivated to act against it and carry on my mission.”
Antioche stood up. “Wait, it works for people? Not just corporations? How does that work?”
Artemis tried to calm her with her voice. “It’s all very complicated, I don’t pretend to understand it. But trust me, it works. The fate predicted is real. I’ve tested it exhaustively.”
Antioche put her fingers through her blonde hair and felt hot. Her heartbeat was racing, and she fumbled close to the screen, extending her hand to touch the bright line that represented her fate.
Her vision tunnelled, and she shut her eyes. She could still see it in weird colours. It was like the shape of the fate line had seared itself into her retinas. She hyperventilated and Artemis went around the desk and pulled her by her shoulder to the window. She opened it and Antioche held her face into the wind, taking in oxygen and breathing hard. She was staring down, at the yard with the trainees. She was low enough to see the figures, the people, but high enough to see the whole image, the group dynamics, the body language shifting as an officer came close, everything. Antioche guessed that there was a place high enough where you could see all the people as little ants and could predict what would happen to them. Artemis would never lie to her.
“Is it real? Can they tell what a person’s fate is?” Antioche exhaled.
Artemis stood up and whispered, “Yes. With great precision.”
Antioche frowned in disgust as if bile had come up her throat. “Why would you tell me this? I didn’t need to know!”
“Nobody knows, to be honest. Just the Olympian CEOs, a few scientists who built the thing I presume and now you.” She knelt down and looked at Antioche in the eyes. “I’m trusting you not to tell anyone. There will be a plausible back-story to your mission for your team, but only you must know the truth. Can I trust you?”
Antioche gulped and closed her eyes. “You know you can.”
Artemis touched her loyal warrior’s chin. “Great. Now you must learn the rest of it.”
Playlist: Video 7/67
The businessman had lost any shred of dignity and was simply begging them not to hurt him. His whole world had become a whirlwind of women on motorcycles, engine revs and melted tire. He had fallen on his knees indifferent to the fact that he was ruining his expensive tailored suit and was holding his leather briefcase to shield himself from the occasional punches and taunts. Those seemed to be more aimed at terrifying him rather than cause any real damage.
The riders were three, dressed in full motorcycle gear, but despite the blur and the burnt tire you could see bulletproof vests and huge military knives that were waved around menacingly.
The women’s battle cries had a primitive effect on the people around the place, who had disappeared discreetly and were only watching through tightly closed windowsills. The only exception was a fourth rider who was standing in place with her feet spread, propping the weight on one leg. She was calmly watching the racket.
“Get down! Are you nuts?” said a panicked Orestes and pulled her with him around a corner.
Aura was enchanted. She couldn’t take her eyes of the sight. She observed the fourth rider a little more, cause she would easily stand out even in a carnival parade. She was like a part of the team, but… slightly apart. She wasn’t like the others. They were heavily built, with dark clothing and equipped for combat, whereas the fourth was almost tiny on her on/off bike, one of those tall naked body motorcycles that were made for both streets and dirt, hence the name on-road off-road. Her clothing were colourful and slutty, even under the heavy protective shoulder pads and kneepads and everything. Her bike was a bright yellow colour filled with stickers, and she wore a red helmet with bright fluffy ears on it.
Aura fished out her phone and recorded the whole thing. That was after all the ingrained instinct of her whole generation. Orestes tried to contain her, but she ran kneeling low in a spot where she could see better and hid herself, recording on.
The riders were making a deafening mess, the businessman was begging for his life and the fourth rider was…
Watching.
With a single calculated gas throttle she repositioned herself
and stood silent as before, her gaze fixed upon the whirlwind of burning rubber.
Aura recognised in her stance something she had seen thousands of times with a father as famous as he.
The fourth rider wasn’t just looking, she was recording the event.
Through the black smoke she managed to take note of the action camera attached on the red helmet.
While she was absorbed with studying the camerawoman, the businessman in his last stand charged on the tornado of bikes and was lucky enough to get through a gap. Panicked and pumped up with adrenaline he saw the camerawoman as an easy way to escape, so he tackled her and threw her on the asphalt. He fell with plenty of force on her and if it wasn’t for her helmet he would have surely injured her. The businessman picked up the bike, stepped on the gas pedal and managed to cross five whole meters before a heavy hand hit him on the back of the head and had him flat on the asphalt.
The big woman appeared to be the leader of the gang. She helped the tiny camerawoman up. The other two where keeping the businessman in an arm-lock and sitting on his back, who had the fight knocked out of him at that point anyway. The fourth rider nodded that she was okay.
Then the leader picked up an extra tank of gas from her bike, spilt some gasoline on the street and passed it on to the next to do the same. It seemed like a ritual, and they murmured something.
The three riders left one way, and the fourth left the opposite one, leaving the businessman in the middle of the street, slightly bruised and dirtied up.
“Come on, let’s see where she’s heading,” said Aura and hopped on her bicycle, which she had discarded in a hurry a few minutes before.
Orestes thought his best-friend was going crazy, so he didn’t hesitate to grab her with an amount of force he wouldn’t ever dare use on a woman before. “Aura. Look at me. Aura! Listen to me carefully. These women are dangerous. These women are Amazons.”
Aura turned her head slowly to him. She raised her face and gazed at him with unfocused eyes and a silly grin.
MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets Page 45
