"I found him."
"What are you talking about?"
"None of Wayne's Vigil gear was found when they discovered his body. I ran an inventory check. One of the helmets, a protective trench and a pair of gauntlets were missing from one of Wayne's substations. There was a major brawl in the alley where Wayne was found. He was fighting some street gang when he died, so he had the equipment then. Must have been removed afterward. At first, I thought it might have been one of the gang members who got away. But another man was in the alley." He sent the image to her console.
She glanced at it. "Who is he?"
"Nobody special. Name is Jett Wolfe. Scab worker at a city plumbing company."
"Then he'll try to sell the gear. He has to know it's valuable. We can't have anything traced back to us. Give me his address, and I'll get it back."
Arthur took another sip of scotch. "Maybe we should hold off for a minute. Monitor the situation."
"For what?"
"I don't know. Just have a feeling. Maybe he didn't steal it. Maybe Wayne gave it to him."
Her eyes narrowed. "Arthur."
"What?"
"What aren't you telling me?"
He sighed. "The guy is a Defrost. Ex-military. Kept in great shape while in stasis. Better than great shape. Physically he's about as perfect as it gets."
"Don't even think about it."
He assumed his best innocent expression. "Think about what?"
"You know what. We've been down this road before. You know how it ended. I don't want any more blood on my hands."
"Look, I'm just saying let's see what Jett does. Wayne might have had his reasons for giving the gear to him."
"You're assuming Wayne gave it to him. You don't know that. For all we know, this Jett person looted Wayne's body and made off with the equipment."
"Regardless, I think we should take a hands-off approach for now."
She was silent for a moment, studying him. "It's your call. Your responsibility."
"Fine. I take full accountability."
"I'm not getting pulled into that life again, Arthur."
"You won't have to."
"You got out. You made that very clear to Wayne after the…incident."
"I know that, Qhawa."
"Vigil died with Wayne. Let them both rest in peace."
"I intend to."
"Fine. I'll leave it in your hands. But if you don't take care of it, I will."
"Agreed."
Qhawa's face softened. "How are you? I know it was tough today."
"I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"I'll…be fine. It's okay, Qhawa."
"I'll check back with you in a few days."
"Okay. Talk to you soon."
The call winked out, leaving the cemetery recording on the screen. Arthur stared at it for a long time.
"Fast forward."
"Stop and play."
You saved my life. I owe you for that. So I'll get the guy that got you. I'll take him down. For you. I can right that wrong, at least. I can do that.
"Pause."
Arthur smiled.
Chapter 5
"I don't get this at all." Jett rotated his forearms, examining the gauntlets. Deep in the gloomy bowels of the sewers, he was free to get a closer look at them without fear of detection. They were composed of segmented alloy plates bonded to metallic mesh. The gloves were of the same material, reinforced with powdered lead sewn over the backs and knuckles for added protection and offensive impact.
He threw a few shadow punches. There was little additional weight, as if the material was comprised of lightweight fabric.
"Nice. How do I turn them on, though?"
Zip buzzed from where he hovered, soldering the patch from the other day. His domed head swiveled around. "Jett need interface."
"Yeah, but I don't see one."
"Jett has interface." A thin arm extended from Zip's shell, tapping the headgear strapped around Jett's brow.
"Okay." He fiddled with the band, searching for an activation button. "Can't seem to find a way to—"
"In back." Zip's arm tapped a button on the rear the head strap. Thin, translucent plates emerged, encircling Jett's head and face before solidifying into a silver helmet. The sudden movement startled Jett. He staggered and nearly fell, holding out his arms to steady himself.
"Whoa. Nice looking out, Zip."
Zip buzzed. "Zip happy to help."
The helmet interior lit up inside, displaying a command screen. A crisp, masculine voice intoned in Jett's ear.
"Welcome, Jett Wolfe. I am Proto, your digital assistant. This cyberdermis suit database has been reset. I will now set up a new program to accommodate you as the new user."
"Who reset the database? And how do you know my name?"
"I have synced to your holoband for easy access, downloading all pertinent information into my system. And the database was reset by the previous owner, Wayne Thomas, just before his demise."
"Okay…so what happens now?"
"Your biological characteristics are now imprinted into my system, ensuring the combat suit will not operate for any other person. You are now in command of the N6 system and all of its capabilities."
"Great. What can I do with it?"
"You are limited by the lack of complete components. However, the gauntlet tools and weapons are fully operational."
"Let's start with those, then."
"Very good. We'll begin by activating your gauntlet spanners. G-spans if prefer a shorter version."
"That works for me."
"Noted. Rotate your wrist twice the same direction in quick succession."
Jett followed the instruction. A holographic display panel sprang into view over his left g-span.
"This is your control panel for basic operation. You can also program functions as voice commands. Would you like to experience virtual reality training at this time to safely test the capabilities of your g-spans?"
"That would be great, Proto."
"Booting program now."
Jett's surroundings morphed, transforming into a digital replacement. He was on top of a rooftop, surveying moving figures on the streets below. Most of the people were outlined in a yellowish glow. A few others were illuminated in red.
"Running rescue and combat simulations."
A slow grin spread across Jett's face.
Ⓥ
"Hey, Defrost. Mind if I sit?"
Without waiting for a response, Tim LeBlanc slid onto the seat next to Jett on the bar, grinning like a mouse that just found a hunk of fresh cheese.
"Haven't seen you in a bit. Thought you might have got some class and started drinking at one of those fancy joints."
"At my pay rate? No chance. I've just been busy, is all." Jett downed his shot of whiskey. "I was hoping I'd run into you, though."
"Oh yeah?" LeBlanc's face lit up as if he'd been complimented. "What's up?"
Jett lowered his voice. "You said you're a Troubleshooter, right?"
"In the flesh."
"Do you think you can find someone for me?"
"If it lives and breathes in Neo York, I can find it or my name ain't Tim LeBlanc."
Jett glanced around. The bar was half full, but the patrons were engaged in their usual business of muttering, cursing, and drinking themselves sick. "There's a guy I'm looking for. Big, built like a football player."
"What's football?"
Jet paused, then shook his head. "Never mind. Point is, he's a big boy. Member of the Crimson Kings gang. Dragon tattoos around both arms. Might be running with a small man he calls Slick."
LeBlanc nodded, focused on every word. "Big guy, dragons, Kings, partner named Slick. Got it. Shouldn't be hard to find."
"How long will it take?"
"Meet me back here tomorrow night."
"Yeah?"
"Sure. Finding a tough like that is a piece of cake when you know where to look. Don't worry; I'll have what you want."
>
"Okay. One thing, though." Jett shifted uncomfortably. "V-notes are a little tight right now, so…"
LeBlanc slapped him on the shoulder. "Not to worry. I'll front you on this one. Consider it a favor. As good as v-notes, sometimes. Who knows? I might need a favor from you one day."
Jett exhaled in relief. "Hey, I really appreciate that."
"No problem. Look, I'm going to get on this right away. Go nothing going on right now. Been waiting for a little action." LeBlanc yanked his trench coat on. "Remember—tomorrow night. Same time."
"I'll be here." Jett turned to the counter scanner and swiped his holoband to clear his tab.
Kermit the bartender glanced at him. "Leaving already? You only had two drinks. I know you're good for at least three more."
"Not this time. Gotta go."
"Yeah? You ain't been around much of late. Got another gig or something?"
"A few prospects."
"Well, the offer's still on the table for muscle work. If your prospects don't fall through."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Jett walked out into the cold, pulling his furred collar up. Still have an hour or two to burn before sleep. Figure I can get in at least one more sim exercise.
He burned through the VR sessions at a steady rate, taking on a wild assortment of combat and rescue scenarios. It was hard to score a success rate on many because he didn't have the complete cyber combat suit. But he persisted, engaging again and again, familiarizing himself with unlocking the full potential of the helmet and g-spans.
"Hey—get away from me!"
Jett froze at the sound of the voice. So familiar…
He turned, scanning the crowd of bundled pedestrians. The people walked in groups, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not. From the swaggering street gangs in their oversized hoodies, caps, and jackets emblazoned with their respective insignias to the scabs in work clothes coming and going from one shift to the next, to the pockets of citizens huddling together as they strode along from whatever business they were involved in. It was almost like the VR simulations, groups marked by color coding, separating potential hunters and prey.
He finally spotted the source of the shout. It was the same girl he had seen in the alley, cornered by the Crimson Kings. He was sure of it, even though she was dressed entirely different. Leather pants squeezed tight on her slim legs and hips. Jacket studded with spikes, open to reveal a chainmail bodice. Dark hair long, streaked with flashes of bright red. Face painted in a garish attempt to make her look old enough to trick on the street.
A tall man with a grinning bandana wrapped around his mouth had one arm clamped on her arm, the other under her chin, forcing her head up. He leaned in, continuing his attempts to convince her. The furious expression on her face said she wasn't into what he was selling.
Jett made his way over and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Don't think the lady's interested."
The man's head whipped around. His voice was muffled by the bandana, but the words spat through with no problem. "Anyone ask you? Sod off, ya wanker."
Jett's arm shot forward, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. "I'll only say this once. Step off before I lose my temper." He hurled the man so hard he bounced when he hit the sidewalk. The nearby crowd laughed as he scrambled to his feet and ran, throwing frantic looks over his shoulder.
Jett turned to the girl. She looked much younger up close. He doubted if she was older than fifteen.
"You okay?"
She glared at him. "You. Same one from the alley."
"That's right."
"Stop getting in the way."
He was taken aback from the fierceness of her tone. "Wait just a minute…"
Her finger jabbed into his chest. "You wait. Twice you screw the game. Get clued, yo."
"Screw the game?" His face heated so fast he was surprised the air didn't steam. "You were about to be assaulted by an entire gang. You know what they would've done to you?"
"Can take care of myself. No prob losing those numbtards."
"Oh, really? You didn't look like it."
"The whole point. So do like skel say and go sod. I'm good, yo."
Jett stared as she gave him a final warning look before shoving her way forward. In his mind he saw Wayne Thomas go limp; eyes closing, body sagging.
Jett's fists clenched. He darted through the crowds, catching up to her in a few long strides.
"Hey."
"Get lost."
He sped up, placing himself in front of her. "Not until you listen to what I have to say."
Her hand slid into her back pocket. "You want shank or something, elderberry?"
"What does that even mean? Why does everyone talk like stupid is their first language?"
Her brows knitted. "What—you don't streetspeak?"
"Does it sound like I do? What the hell is streetspeak, anyway?"
"Lingo. Quick, easy. Blow and go. No time waste."
Jett gave a rueful shake of his head. "Tweets and texts are a spoken language now. Unbelievable."
"What's tweets?"
"A sad form of ancient communication. Before your time."
She folded her arms, looking him over. "Where you from, anyhow? You different."
"I'm from another age."
It was her turn to look confused. "What?"
"You wouldn't understand. Let's cut to the chase. You almost got me killed. And a good man died, saving my life after you conveniently hit the skids. So don't act like your nose is clean."
Her head dropped, defiant stare softening. "Heard someone got off with biogun. Building fell. People…died."
"That's right. And one of them wasn't a tough. Like it or not, if you hadn't been in that alley, he wouldn't have died. So you owe it to him to straighten this out."
She gave him an angry stare. "How I pay up? Man down. Feel bad, but case closed."
"Case isn't closed. I want to know why you were there in the first place. Why you're out here dressed up like a two-dollar hooker but not selling skin."
"What's a hooker?"
Jett sighed. "Prostitute. Escort. You know—cash for, uh…"
She grinned. "Cash for cunny. You mean prossie. Trickflip. Kankibank."
"Okay, I get it. Why are you dressed like one? You didn't look anything like this the other night."
She fingered her spike-studded collar. "This camo. Masking up for lip slips."
He concentrated, trying to decipher her jargon. "So…you're undercover, looking for information?"
"Ace."
"About what?"
"Why you interested?"
"Maybe I can help."
"Why?"
"Because…it's the right thing."
She stared at him "You seven-thirty or something?"
"Don't know what that means."
She made a whirly gesture next to her head. "Brain-gassed. Nutso."
"Why? Because I want to help you?"
She dropped her gaze. "No one helps. Pay for play. Can't afford."
He reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll help. No strings attached."
She shrugged his hand off as if it were a giant spider. Backing away, she held up a warning finger. "Don't touch me. Don't need you. Don't need help."
He raised up his hands. "Okay. No touching. No help. You get killed on your own. Or…maybe you trust. Just for a minute. Give me a chance." He pointed to Kermit's bar across the street. "I'm there most nights. You change your mind, look me up."
She jerked her chin that direction. "Maybe. Don't hold breath." She backed away, checking to see if he'd follow. When he remained in place, she turned and darted ahead, weaving between moving bodies under flashes of night and neon. Jett watched until she vanished before heading back home.
Forget about the girl. You have more important things to focus on.
Chapter 6
Good evening. You're with Cam Danvers on another NYN news Fast Break. Residents of the Warrens are furious with the lack of RCE
response to crimes in the area. They claim their neighborhood is overlooked while districts like Manhaven feature regular patrols and fast response to emergency calls. Demonstrators clashed with Peacekeepers in front of the RCE headquarters in a display of protest gone wrong. Instead of peaceful discourse, once again the message is only more violence.
Tim LeBlanc thought about his little girl.
He smiled. His baby. Lil' Debbie, he used to call her. That was five years ago. She was just four. She was nine now. Probably didn't like being called Lil' Debbie anymore, if anyone bothered. He doubted it. That was his little nickname, something between just him and her. He was sure she went by her real name now. Deborah. If they allowed her to keep her name.
If she's even still alive.
"Looking fer cheese again, rat?"
LeBlanc glanced up. Metalmouth McGrath flashed a smile, light reflecting off his silver grin. He was a wide, flabby man with a massive head and no visible neck. Lank, dishwater-colored hair hung to his shoulder.
"Yeah, you're on the hunt again, I can see it in yer eyes. What is it this time? Lemme guess—missing pet case? Someone lose a little doggy?"
LeBlanc ignored the barb, raising his shot glass in salute. "McGrath."
The bar was grimy and dark. Other than that, it wasn't at all like Kermit's place. LeBlanc sat at the bar, taking his time with his shots. He had already hit five dives and had more to prospect, with limited funds to waste on drinking. He could have risked tracking down his regular snitches but snitching worked both ways, and the last thing he wanted was putting himself on the CKs radar. But he could haunt their favorite hangouts. Sometimes all the job required was listening. People always let something slip at bars. Loose lips sank ships a lot faster when booze was involved.
LeBlanc held two fingers up, motioning the bartender. "Give my man McGrath a double on me."
McGrath blinked, taking a seat beside LeBlanc. "What's this? The world's stingiest bastard offering to buy me a drink? What kinda setup is this?"
"No setup. A celebration. To your luck."
"My luck, eh? Funny, I don't feel so lucky."
Knight in Cyber Armor Page 6
