“I’m originally from Britain. What, never heard of immigration?”
“Oh. Sorry. Should I offer you tea or something?”
Aaron cackled. “That would be nice.”
Ken took an aggressive step closer, but Aaron levitated him across the room and dropped him in a recliner.
“Need a minnit to find me breath before we do that again. Those boots aren’t regulation are they?”
Anna glanced at her past-the-knee blue faux-suede high-heeled boots. “I don’t rightly know. The commander’s never made a big issue of it before. I think he fancies them.”
“You believe me now?” Aaron lifted an eyebrow. How many people you think he’s done that to?
Her face reddened. You don’t honestly think James did this? Why would he?
Aaron smiled at Melissa’s mother as she handed him a glass of iced tea. “Thank you, so very much.” He gulped down half of it before stopping for air.
Ken jumped up and made it one step before he floated back into his seat.
Christina blinked.
“Stay put, mate,” said Aaron, before looking at Anna. Because, Anna… He wanted Melissa. The girl’s Awakened. Precious to him, but she had a home. They needed some help handling her, but her parents do care for her. He had to sever that connection to get her. She’d never have joined him if she had a home. “Mrs. McKay, we’ll ‘ave your hubby right as rain in a moment. Whoever altered your memories is quite powerful. It took a lot out of me to get rid of it.”
Anna shook her head, closing her eyes. “No…”
Of course, it’s him. Apparently, I’m Awakened. That makes my abilities, what was it, an ‘order of magnitude’ stronger than other psionics?
Anna nodded.
It stands to reason my telepathic abilities should far outstrip a psionic that wasn’t Awakened, yes?
Anna frowned, though she nodded. Aye.
Then who else could’ve left an imprint that’s such a ballache for me to dislodge?
Tears gathered in the corners of Anna’s eyes but didn’t fall.
Aaron finished the tea, handed the empty cup to Christina, and stood. How many people do you think he’s done that to, eh?
No. Anna grabbed his arm, fixing him with a glare. You’re being paranoid. James wouldn’t do that.
He pulled her over to the chair where Ken cowered. No, I suppose he wouldn’t do it with everyone. Only when there was an Awakened he rather wanted to have on his side, and something got in his way. If it’s a question of what he is willing to do … Look at what he ‘as Talis doin’ at the starport.
Anna cringed, shuddering. “T-that’s different.”
“What is?” asked Melissa’s parents, in unison.
“Oh.” Aaron flashed a disarming smile at Christina. “The nature of the implant. One moment. Agent Postlethwaite… would you mind giving me a hand?”
When Christina looked at Ken, Anna jabbed him in the ribs.
Aaron grunted. “We’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”
The woman stood behind her husband, hands on his shoulders, staring at Aaron. “Where’s my daughter?”
He rubbed his side, grimacing. “We’re working on that, ma’am.”
18
A Thousand Steel Claws
Mamoru
Steam whorled along the surface of the water. Mamoru reclined, alone in a large hot tub in the bathroom of a two-thousand credit a night hotel. The distractions of the city, of once again being within civilization, had drained a day out of his life. His return to the world of cyberspace had been nothing short of transcendental, an exiled god returning to the kingdom of his creation.
Despite his rush of rekindled power, he had been cautious. His influence over the digital world made padding his credit statement trivial. He’d added enough to brush off the cost of the room and four gourmet meals. Three showers, eighteen hours of sleep, and two bottles of imported, unfiltered sake had almost erased the Badlands from his soul.
He relaxed in the slow churn of water jets, gazing at droplets of condensation gathering on the grey-white tiles. Need lurked at the back of his mind; he had something to do. Urgency seemed unnecessary since he had hidden the ship well enough. A day or four to enjoy civilization again seemed a well-earned respite from the primitive mess.
When he had gone to the terminal to order female entertainment, he hesitated, thinking of Nami. That which was not Mamoru, yet dwelled within him, savored the emotion of her finding him with another woman, yet he could not bring himself to betray the woman he had been too afraid to admit his feelings to. He had not thought of her since the crash. Consumed by worry of Sadako, his mind never strayed from its focus for his sister’s safety until he had confronted that horrible creature disguised as a little girl. Her blue-glowing eyes bored from his memory into his soul, torturing him with her very presence. Timid, fragile, innocent—all lies. Concern. “Hah!” His laugh echoed in the warm humidity. She has concern only for destroying us.
The journey from Querq to the city had passed in a blur. As best he could remember, he’d wandered alone in the desert for days. Nothing about it felt real, as though he’d staggered away from the crash and twenty minutes later found West City. Here, safe in the warm bath, he allowed himself the pain of remembering her.
“Nami-chan,” he whispered.
“You have a guest,” said a soft, female voice.
A hologram shimmered into view above the tub. A woman, only a year or two removed from being a girl, stood in the hotel hallway outside his door. She had the build of a runway model wrapped in a plain black coat. Her a delicate nose and high cheekbones conveyed a look of bored resignation. Porcelain skin reflected luminous violet NanoLED tattoos, a glowing raccoon mask of blacklight eye shadow. Half-inch gemstone spheres clung to her earlobes, matching the candy red of gleaming high-heels held on by a lattice of finger-thick tendrils winding up her legs to the knee.
The fourteen-inch tall figure showed no reaction to his nakedness, a clear sign a one-way observation camera created the hologram.
Nami’s face appeared in his mind. I do not remember sending for this woman. His arm emerged from the water to rub his forehead, sending warm trails down his face. “Inform the woman she has come to the wrong room.”
“Thank you, sir,” chimed the AI room attendant.
He settled into the tub once more, eyes closed and trying to remember what had become of his woman. His woman. Slave? Mamoru cringed. Nami had been his servant. His possession. No. He had never thought of her that way. It felt wrong. The Nippon Shōgyō-Kumiai had made a slave of his sister when she was only eight years old. How could he do the same to another person?
Mamoru looked up at the delicate flutter of cloth crumpling to the floor.
The slender woman from the hallway stood over him, wearing only her high-heeled shoes and earrings. No hair hid her womanhood from his eyes. She held her arms slightly apart, as if showing herself off. In person, she seemed even younger. Seventeen if a day.
“I hope I am to your liking.”
Red serpents receded from around her calves, withdrawing back into her shoes, which she kicked aside.
Mamoru put a hand to his brow, at once averting his eyes and rubbing the beginnings of a headache out of his temple. “You are quite beautiful and quite young.”
She clasped his wrist with both hands, delicate fingers caressing his skin. He found himself captivated by her small breasts as she knelt beside the tub and pulled his hand against them. Emotion, at last, appeared on her blank face—a hint of a smile, perhaps at his awkwardness. Her chest felt neither warm nor cool.
“I’m Chloe,” whispered the girl, “but you can call me whatever you like.”
Her hands dragged his down her stomach, toward her sex. She grinned. Continuing to hold his wrist in her left hand, she leaned over the edge and reached underwater to caress his cock.
“Your eyes say no,” she cooed. “Your body has other ideas.”
Mamoru pulled h
is hand away before she could push his fingers inside her. “Stop. You are too young. I have a—”
“You’re not wearing a ring.” Chloe closed her narrow fingers around his length. She placed her left hand on his chest, sliding it up to his shoulder. “You aren’t doing anything wrong if you’re not married.”
Mamoru cringed inside, ashamed of his body for its reaction. What is wrong with this girl? She is too forward. This is improper. He shuddered, grabbing the hand that stroked him. She continued rubbing up and down, her wrist too slippery to halt. “You do not need to do this. S-stop.”
“I am yours, Master. To do with as you will.” Her sudden switch to Japanese almost stopped his heart.
The hand between his legs became a vice; the hand on his shoulder slid over his throat and crushed. Crimson light shone from her eyes. All the strength left his legs as she dragged him by the genitals deeper in the tub so his head slipped under. Whirring, the high-pitched whine of water jets grew deafening; distorted blobs of ceiling lights danced around the placid face of the girl trying to drown him.
Paralytic agony between his legs left him disoriented. He couldn’t decide which arm to grab first, the one crushing his throat or the one strangling his manhood. His surroundings vanished in a flare of whiteness and full-body pain that made the squeezing hand seem trivial. Lightning arced from the drain to his back, creating a dazzle of ice blue flickers glinting on the shiny cream-colored tub.
Chloe convulsed and her grip weakened. Instinct kicked in. Mamoru’s mind channeled psionic energy into his muscles, empowering his body against the electrical assault. Flames of psionic energy burst along his back and shoulders. He swung his left arm forward, knocking her hand away from his crotch, and his right arm up, catching her in the abdomen. Mamoru screamed in pain from the electrical arcs raking over the small of his back as he rolled and flung her into the wall.
Tiles cracked on impact, a clattering rain fell with her into the water.
Mamoru dove over the side, away from the deadly bath, landing on his hands and knees upon the thick, black bath-rug. He let his forehead rest upon the sopping wet mat, gasping for air, and grabbed himself to make sure everything remained attached. Inches to his right, the plastic clunking and banging of Chloe’s convulsions thudded within the tub. Water splashed over the edge onto him. Her screaming gave way to a horrible, digitized warbling noise, followed seconds later by silence.
Only the faint buzzing of electricity remained.
“Ngh.” Mamoru groaned, still holding himself.
He sat back on his heels, panting, catching sight of his crimson face in the mirror. Behind him, a small fire flickered in the middle of the hot tub. Chloe’s body draped in the water, her hair fanned out like ebon seaweed. Perfect white teeth showed between her parted lips. Flames sputtered out of her chest, between her breasts, where a hole the size of a fist revealed metal ribs. Acrid fumes watered his eyes with the stink of molten plastic and singed silicon.
A doll.
It made sense now why he had felt so awkward. She did not radiate any chi, a body with no sense of presence. Mamoru frowned, took a deep breath, and forced himself to his feet, twisting to examine the red lines zigzagged over his back and shoulders from the electrical arc.
The buzzing crackle of runaway electricity ceased. Chloe continued to smolder. Dense, black smoke wisped from the ends of the flame. A malfunctioning artificial concubine was one thing, but he had not ordered it, and to have the hot tub short out at the same instant defied belief. Mamoru leaned against the sink, his legs still not thrilled about the prospect of bearing all his weight. He stared down at his bruises, contending with a momentary worry he might no longer be able to produce an heir.
Someone tried to kill me.
With anger, his pain faded. He’d lost his Matsushita Oni deck in the crash and had not yet thought to replace it. He thought of only one explanation: the Nippon Shōgyō-Kumiai, Sadako’s former masters, had somehow discovered he had freed her and come for him. He stared at the vibro-katana, dormant in its scabbard on the bed by the clothes he had set out before his bath. If the NSK sought to make an example of him for defying them, he would wipe them from the face of Japan.
Mamoru reached for a pair of black boxer briefs, still brand new in plastic. A hundred pound naked body landed on his back before his fingers touched it. Wet arms the size of a teenaged girl, but imbued with the strength of a large man, closed around his neck. The dry crust of burnt plastic scraped at his back.
A sheath of glowing white energy covered his arms as he channeled psionic energy into physical power. He seized the doll by the elbows and wrenched downward, tearing the left arm off at the shoulder and flinging the machine to the bed in front of him.
Chloe kicked into a back flip, rolling off the far side of the Comforgel pad. Mamoru dropped into a fighting stance as she sprinted around the end and rushed him. He leaned back to avoid a spinning kick and drove his fist into the side of her head as her body came upright again. The hit sent the lithe artificial body careening into the air. Graceful flight ended with a loud crack. She hit the wall and fell onto a wide chest of drawers.
When she sat up, a sleeve of artificial skin gathered loose about her neck, exposing a metal skull with a fist-sized crater below the missing left eye. Six-inch blades sprouted from the fingertips of her remaining hand. Mamoru used his power to accelerate his body and mind; reality sank into slow motion, reducing Chloe’s charge into an ungainly shamble. His grip closed about the handle of his sword, drawing it with such force the scabbard did not slide upon the bed.
The doll raised her hand, claws gleaming. Bright white flames rippled along his arms, deafening in the slowed world. Mamoru brought his blade down onto the doll’s right shoulder. Three eruptions of sparks and light came from inside her chest in the blade’s wake. The hypersonic edge met little resistance on its way to her left hip. Two halves of torso went in different directions, collapsing in a heap before catching fire.
Mamoru relaxed his power and time returned to normal. His rush of adrenaline dissipated, leaving fatigue in its wake.
Cutting this abomination down had been as easy as performing Tameshigiri on a goza target. The artificial body hadn’t split as cleanly as a rolled up straw mat, twitching and sputtering dark green fluid as well as blue sparks. He loosened his grip on the rubberized handle, allowing the vibro-inducer to quiet, and the blade to cool. He took a knee, touching the defunct automaton on the side of the head. A moment’s concentration allowed him to attune his psionic talent for machinery to the fallen doll and know its every circuit.
Mamoru closed his eyes and found himself as a suit of gleaming white samurai armor standing in a small room with walls of black onyx squares separated by bright blue lines. Ornate picture frames of gleaming silver surrounded rectangles of plain black. The largest of the ‘paintings’ contained a swirling vortex: a standard depiction of a wireless uplink to the GlobeNet. A Comforgel pad, also black, rested atop a chrome slab. Chloe sat at the end, whole again and naked.
“System failure. Personality construct designated Chloe has been backed up to a removable neuro-memory module. System shutdown in fourteen seconds due to power core failure.”
Fourteen seconds? An eternity in here. “You are sub-sentient?”
“Novo-Aram Waif series, Type 4. I am a semi-sentient Class 2 doll. My primary function is entertainment. I am not considered self-aware by the AI Sentience Act.” Her head changed in an instant, from facing forward to staring over her left shoulder at him. “I am owned by Mercury Onyx Incorporated. An entertainment services company.”
“Who sent you to this hotel room?”
“That data is unavailable.” Her eyes became pools of chromatic light. “Memory recording jumps from 21:02 PST to 21:58 PST.”
“Display 21:00 PST, today’s date.”
A video panel stretched open in the middle of the room, four feet past the edge of the bed. It expanded to cover the entire rear wall and filled with an
image of a row of small berths, like twenty metal coffins stood on end. Each bore the nude figure of a person, three female to one male. At the left edge of the view, racks of clothing lingered as a blur. The view came from Chloe’s eyes as she lay in her bunk, awaiting ‘work.’
“Play,” said Mamoru.
The image became video, though the only indication it moved came from a changing time display at the lower right corner. At 21:02, the time display leapt to 21:58, and the image shifted to Mamoru’s nakedness as viewed from the floor of this hotel room.
Mamoru grumbled. “Reconstruct missing time segments from I/O ingress buffer.”
Chloe’s hollow eyes shifted to deep green light. The virtual holo-panel displayed a copy of this room, with the doll seated as she was before him.
“Play, half speed,” said Mamoru.
At 21:01, two black tendrils emerged from the swirl in the large painting, pulling it wider. The samurai armor floated closer to the screen, gazing into the cold yellow eyes of an enormous Onyx-scaled dragon as it pulled itself into the tiny room.
“Stop.”
He stared at the creature. The C-branch network AI. The Black Dragon construct.
Nightwing.
“Mercury Onyx offers a reward of five thousand credits for the return of my memory backup.”
“They can get it themselves.”
Chloe faced the GlobeNet uplink and raised her arm. A white butterfly appeared in a flash of pixie dust and took flight. It disappeared into the hole a nanosecond before the azure glow in the gridded walls faded. Mamoru released his link and returned to the real world.
He slid the blade into its scabbard and leapt into his boxers and pants. A two-inch thick disc-shaped carpet maintenance bot slid out of a trapdoor in the wall. He assumed it headed for the puddle of doll ‘blood’ in the carpet and ignored the machine until it zoomed into the side of his ankle. Mamoru let out a yell.
The complimentary food assembler hummed to life.
Angel Descended (The Awakened Book 6) Page 20
