“Nothing you need to be involved with.”
A unit AWOL worried me awfully. Carne had done something. Probably something terrible and premeditated. The urge to check in became great.
“Rogue, means unstable,” he put forward tentatively.
“I’m not unstable,” I said meaningfully.
He rocked backed on his heels. If he started whistling I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I held up the vials. The blood so dark it looked like tar.
I tossed them to Jobe. He fumbled, but caught them. Held them as if they were precious gems. To him they were. Immediately radiant, but trying to be duplicitous he asked, “Where?”
“Here is my apartment security bypass code. Enter it within two seconds. That’s important. Call me when you’re in and haven’t been followed, and I’ll give you directions to my synced device. You can forward the files to me before you C&B. Yes?”
The vials were stealing his concentration. He held one to the light as if it offered some sort of divination.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” he said without looking at me.
“That blood will last less than ten more minutes.”
“Huh?”
“Move! Call me when you’re in.”
Chapter Eleven
With data on the auction participants hours off, I had time to backtrack to Ardman. He may have died but his past still lived. Because he’d lived, so had Kuroyuri. To me, she’d not existed before he died so, while I wasn’t close with humans, I felt close to him in a way.
Depraved, he may have been but I thought his profile was more practical though is actions were inexcusable. Variants weren’t meat available for sale and he’d perpetuated exactly that. ‘The Subject’ had been caught, broken and made to fight, before being sold to a pharmaceutical company for research and development. I may not yet have the link I needed to Cercek from Frankie but I knew Ardman was linked to the cage fights and the Sector Governor.
By all openly available accounts, Mr. Milligan was a very dangerous man. He controlled his Burrows by way of despotism. Another word for that being tyranny. If anything happened in this Sector he either orchestrated it or allowed it.
The Sector Guard was paid ‘under the table’ in cash, women, electronics, weapons, gambling (rigged races, fixed fights). If you could call those dealings discreet I wear designer heels and the people under his reign lived in palaces instead of squalor.
But, I lurked about a damp two story concrete dwelling after meeting with Jobe, following an ambiguous address from one of the many transfers disbursed from bogus companies attributed vaguely to Milligan. It housed a single woman wearing functional pants, shirt and holey purple running shoes, mediating a mish mash of squabbling children quite plainly not her own.
Despite having to cover my nose from the stench of sewerage in the street, I’d found a fairly decent foster home. Shadowing at it’s back window, stocked homework and food on the table proved it was not the Sector Governor’s residence. I spun as the one of the kids barrelled out the back door, lobbing a ball about with preternatural skill for one so young.
Shadows clung to me for only short bursts as I left the property. I couldn’t be frivolous with my energy as I tracked the properties with ties to both Ardman and the SG.
Four o’clock was looming and I’d yet to hear from Jobe. Contacting him directly again could attract notice now. Onyxeal would be appraised of my movements for months prior, not just who I acquainted myself with recently and they’d had long enough to start tracking Jobe.
I worried, I hedged I’d have a couple of hours before they scraped Jobe’s details from Spartan. But what if they’d already picked him up?
No, I had to rely on the fact that Jobe had been paid in blood and if he had a brain for business he’d want more. He’d keep a low profile and get back to me.
I had one other acquaintance I should worry about: Lolly. A rock slowly sunk to the pit of my belly. Making friends, grand ideas. Look where I was now? I should’ve known better.
In a quiet, well networked spot closer to the super city’s centre I dug for more on Milligan. Non-existent companies funded the local hospital through unidentifiable accounts as well as the few foster homes.
Did he have interests in hospital research? Some initiative inside the public facilities, or had I simply just forgotten that this world of ours was not black or white? That the man could be grey.
Despite his reign of terror as the other Sectors labelled it, I did not fear the man I wanted to meet. I also seriously doubted a Variant would murder one of the Governor’s lower ranking employees simply to bait him – if they even knew whom Ardman worked for. ‘The Subject’ had done it out of continued survival or revenge. To me, perfectly reasonable.
A Governor who kept such close tabs on the dealings in his community had full disclosure of the events surrounding an employees’ death. He would know about said ‘Subject’ and he would know something about Kuroyuri.
Honestly I had no qualms what sort of man Milligan was personally. That would change if I found him to be the head of our auction but I required the knowledge to assess and build a character profile of Ardman. Though, I could identify with people’s rationale: better the devil you knew. If not Mr. Milligan, someone else would run the city and the other might not have a secret desire to keep his people fed and cared for. A reign of terror might actually be that.
Not one bad word had been muttered as my ears loitered during the night, waiting for Jobe.
Oh, there were plenty from mercenaries, drug dealers, food producers and such (food being one of the most profitable enterprises in a world still struggling out of the dark ages), but never from the working class. They never sang his praises. They said nothing. It was louder than if screamed. It might have been from fear, the silence, but in an area under despotism you would always find those who would risk much to spout truths. There was none of that in Burrow 1. Good people worked, the cunning profited but none whinged about their lot.
I jumped Burrows again. Knew I’d lost tonight to waiting.
Jobe called - finally - apprehensive about being followed. I had to tell him to wait the night out. He was keen to repay me but he was scrappy and washed out. Nothing like his usual organised manner. He was unlikely to out manoeuvre anyone in his state.
“The blood lasted long enough. I doled it out to as many as I could, using small doses before rescanning,” he told me fervently. He was worn and scared but he’d do almost anything for another chance get more. He was hooked on his own personal drug now.
But, I was glad. Many of the kids his philanthropy company sponsored were saved or at least staved off their severe conditions for a time.
I found a rotten lean to, offering anonymity, and crouched off to one side to settle in for the night with the dregs of society, huddled from the cutting wind. Between sodden buildings it did warm me to know I made a tiny difference. One I couldn’t make again without starting rumours, endangering Variants. If Onyxeal ever found those children…
If I even thought for a second Jobe would have held off administering the blood for genetically testing it, I wouldn’t have taken such a massive risk, even for Kuroyuri. Variants as a whole were above the singular. I still retained some of my indoctrination.
It was a stark night but clear. I noticed the domestically challenged just as they took note of me. Some, like me, were dressed in clothes not worn, simply mixed. They pegged me as a eupho junkie, strung out and tweaky for a fix I’d waited too long to find.
The analogy worked. I was strung out and life was stunted.
Carne began calling me in earnest as the hours wore on. Turbulent and pawing for me. I gripped my head, my fingers open and gnarled, pressing against the urge to link. To mewl up to his protective warmth.
He begged me. For hours. And hours. It hurt to breathe. The telekinesis was crushing me and the empathy was bleeding me. Even the jagged and chaotic emotions from the vagrants around me weren’
t enough to distract me from the sensation of dehydrating to the point of mummification.
“Hey Darlin’ you want a sip?” Scruffy and dirty, I always saw beyond. He’d share what he had. Most here were ready to do the same when I’d started rocking after I’d clenched my jaw in a last ditch effort keep him out.
“Mm okay, thanks Mate,” I fought to say through clenched teeth.
“It’ll warm you,” he encouraged.
I took a swig to be polite. It wasn’t the food or drink I starved for. Hunger ate your backbone, this ate my very soul.
I nodded my thanks and he wandered off again, floating on his honest compassion.
Webs tangled in my ears and my senses played tricks on me. I could smell him!
Carne didn’t let up. It was like he thought if he battered at my defences hard enough he’d forge a new connection. The old one frayed for all he held it. But with the distance he couldn’t mould or rout, couldn’t trounce me.
Before dawn, it tired. I did, or he did. I hadn't given in, hadn't ran back to him, mindlessly following that bond like a rainbow to gold. I’d walked from that alley at sunrise free. The dirt marring my face offering a stark truth: A gilded cage, was still a cage and I would not be caught. I would be free.
Less than twenty four broken hours and I was barely above the waterline of independence I’d fought for, but I was above it.
Hidden by shadows I stood in the slight drizzle. The rain had a sweet taste tonight, when usually the pollution caused a metallic tang. The day had been quiet, unnaturally so. Carne had been only on the breeze and not as difficult to suppress. Must be distracted or sleeping… No, not sleeping.
Above me, rising to the third story was the window where a private meeting had commenced.
I scanned up as I gripped the bricks. My destination was one room over from my entry point. I climbed silently with only the pitter-patter melody of water drawing bleeding trails devoid of colour down my cheeks.
It took less than a minute to scale the brick veneer wall with my spiked toed boots I’d collected from my cache.
The balcony bars were slippery in the wet, almost greasy, but with a little momentum I scissored my legs up one at a time into a slow handstand. One handed I twisted to land with only a slight click of my spikes. The glass door was moist against the shell of my ear. I made certain the room beyond was unoccupied. I spied a breach in the velvet curtains and zoomed my camera-like eyesight around the room to confirm it.
The problem with technology these days is that it ain’t made like it used to’. I let my palm fall, the underlying print granting access.
The door slid open to accommodate me and I squeezed my way inside. I quickly skittered about the room double-checking for occupants and cameras. It turned out to be a sitting room for the rich and lazy. Who these days required a feinting couch?
Low and quiet I moved to the adjoining wall. My skin, as sensitive as it was, picked up small vibrations from conversation through my palm lain against the partition. Seconds later I’d calculated at least eight separate voices and their approximate positions within.
The conversation inside was a serious one. A congregation for the region’s food traffickers for the following evening. Sounded like a dangerous gathering, requiring some hired muscle to attend as well as a number of the City Guard.
If I could put faces to voices I’d be in a better position to track potential accomplices and associates of Ardman’s because I was not completely convinced Ardman wasn’t running a side gig.
A break in conversation decided my timing.
I was wet, painted with filth and paranoia. I was laden with various weapons; my knives, stiff and secure against my inner fore arms. My posture also now fit the two short swords laying flush either side of my spine and of course a dagger at each ankle. I carried what I could like the nomad I now was.
I left my sanctuary on enemy ground and hugged the wall as I slithered just shy of touching it. The usual traffic was scarce at this time. I suppose these parties had procedures in place to prevent eavesdroppers. A lone set of steps patrolled the hall I shadowed along. It was glitchy because of the energy drain last night.
The guard closed in on the doors I’d targeted and I moved in close to enter behind him.
He spun, as if I walked over his grave and I was so close he brushed my nose. It startled my concentration so much the shadow slipped from me.
“Oh ho ho and where the fuck have you been?”
Some people gave security detail a bad name. This impolite fellow was one of them but what the hell was he on about?
Chapter Twelve
It clicked.
Kuroyuri had the same talent. It was why he felt me and trusted those instincts enough to turn; he’d experienced it before.
My twin worked here. Worked for the Sector Governor - the murderer had beaten her when she’d stumbled upon her colleague’s death.
Conflicted, I hesitated. Kuroyuri was part of the very conglomerates Onyxeal and Variants in general had tried to put down or evade since our origin. She was part of the problem.
I should kill the Governor then walk.
Did Kuroyuri relate to these people more than her own? Was she a traitor, or ignorant. Could I take that chance? Did anyone deserve second chances?
I’d had many chances.
I never changed fundamentally and…I had my answer.
I’d play it no neck’s way and pretend I was invited. Huh, pretend. I was so used to pretending, I didn’t know who I was, underneath it all.
I didn’t falter at the thought of portraying my twin who was apparently void of the human traits it took to find distaste in food trafficking, let alone human slavery. Proof I was very good at taking a backseat to the very depths of human nature in my guile. Why did pride sneak to the forefront of the emotions warring? Was I proud I fell so easily into the role?
“Is that any way to talk to a lady!” I roused to my new friend, horrified and offended with one hand covering my open mouth to hide my shock like a lady might.
“Alright, alright. No one would believe that act, Yuri. What’s wrong with you? Did you actually grow a humour while MIA?”
Kuroyuri was more like me then I realised. I let my hand slide inside my inner arm. I smiled lovingly at the delicate weapon released from its home and stepped close. “Will I cut out your tongue instead?” I asked his locked lips.
I lent back, checked the sharpness by running a finger along the edge.
Blood welled.
“Just hurry up and get that arse moving inside so I can close the door. Your games don’t bother me anymore.” No neck offered an arm in invitation impatiently, closing the door behind him.
“But they do.” I nodded at his shaky hand on the door.
This side of me was vicious and greedy and oh so easy to slip back into. This was work. Here I was not monitored or biddable. I was my own creature and I always devoured these assignments. They lent me a glimpse of who I could be. Whether good or bad, it was who I strived to be all the time. If I could hold true to this while with Carne, I’d never squander his adoration the way I wasted it now.
I was guided past two more guys in spiffy uniforms to the second room of the suite. The one that overlooked the grimy street I’d been standing in earlier.
An arrogant little smile tilted my lips as I was ushered into the room filled with ‘dangerous’ men.
I truly had only ever known one and he was not here.
I held my head proudly, confident in my abilities – I’d seen the photo’s. Kuroyuri was my doppelgänger.
I took note of every person in the room. Everyone was where I’d suspected.
There were three on each sofa facing one another, the man beside me, and Mr. Milligan sitting stoically at his rich mahogany desk. I had everyone’s attention but his.
An important looking fellow in a suit stood to address me. His thinning, receding blonde hair gave him a bit of age but his unlined face and soft hands denied it. His sideb
urns were not attractive despite what he may have been told, neither was the pasty white foam gathering at one corner of his mouth.
He came toward me with an examining eye. At least he was smart. I’d seen the minute frames of expressions fly across his face from shock to wariness as he took in my deranged and filthy face. He stopped short of reaching distance.
“What happened? Where have you been?” he demanded without prelude.
I was quiet a moment. Studying the man. When I didn’t answer right away my inquisitor’s face twitched in irritation and I knew Kuroyuri didn’t answer to him either.
I was surprised to realise they’d still not located her, and more than that, had less information than me.
Milligan might know more, but what reason would have him hide it from his inner circle? Had Ardman been naughty, with friends?
“Actually, I’m here for Mr. Milligan,” I said, brushing right by him and giving him my back.
My elbow was quickly caught and I turned just as quickly to glare at him.
“Where have you been? Ardman is dead Kuroyuri! What happened?”
“That’s enough Wallace,” Mr. Milligan put down his pen and lifted his attentions to us.
A large man, dark skinned, with testosterone wafting from his glands saw the rebuke coming. He lifted his chin at me and winked with a feral mien.
My sister had friends.
“To what do I owe the honour for being titled Mr. Milligan, Kuroyuri?”
The grip on my arm let up and I let nothing show on my face as I reclaimed it.
“The fact that you credit my account doesn’t count?”
Grunts and drink spitting and choking abounded. Milligan did not. Surprise didn’t register on his squared jaw and handsome face. He was younger than I’d reckoned. Probably thirty-five but he had thickly veined fighter’s hands. He wasn’t a cocky youth. My instincts told me to tread carefully for the things I sought. He was shrewd.
“Leave,” Milligan told the room while holding my stare.
Variant Evasion: Trilogy (Variant Trilogy Book 2) Page 7
