In the future, I’d only have to behave inconspicuously and cautiously watch my steps, as I always had done. To pretend as if nothing had happened. Hadn’t I done this for all my life?
“Hello, Jo!”
“Hello, Lydia!”
“You wanted to talk to me?” My boss—ex-boss, even if she didn’t know about that yet—hugged me heartily as ever.
“Yes, Lydia. I want to say goodbye.”
“For Hawaii? Already? Oh—for acclimatization, right? Jet lag and climate change are surely poison for your stamina.”
“That, too, Lydia. The plane leaves on Sunday, and I won’t come back.”
“You want to turn your back on your home again?”
“Not necessarily. I want to see more of the world, and Germany is part of it. But I’ve decided to turn my back on this profession.”
Lydia immediately saw through me—partially. “For the known reasons?”
“Exactly.”
She bit her lip. “Can’t blame you for that. It’s not like before, and it won’t ever be. Times are becoming rougher, and our clients, too. What will you do?”
“After the Ironman? I will see—perhaps utilize my degree.”
“Oh yes. You’ll surely find a job.”
“Sure.” Only not what you’re thinking of. No peaceful pencil pusher job. I’ll find appropriate challenges for a big little girl. I only must stay below the radar.
“Farewell, Jo. And if you’re in Frankfurt one day, come along. You know, normally nothing’s for free here, but for you, I’ll always make an exception.”
I winked at her. “I don’t know whether I’d make one for you.”
“Oh, Jo!” Lydia laughed, then she hugged me again. “Watch for yourself, will you?”
“Sure.”
Sure. You can’t know how carefully I’ll watch for myself.
Then I went to my car.
Chapter One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Four
Too conspicuous. Only rich people drove a Martian. It would be good to impress in Monte Carlo—but would I want that? No, surely not! I wanted to stay unimportant, inconspicuous, invisible, only one of many gamblers who you’d have forgotten soon after their visit. So I had to get rid of this car, although I was quite fond of Phoebe.
Why?
I needed a different car, a car that looked like a common car, that looked used, that looked cheap—but decently maintained. Middle class instead of pretentious, a convenience item that could be found at every other corner, that you immediately forgot.
I could have that anyway.
Crap, who caused these thoughts?
I myself. My Analogy only provided the associations from its memory, and I still had to think the thoughts myself. That was a sign of advanced integration. Cool.
So, how would that work with the car, how could I keep the classy car and still drive a jalopy? Dragon technology was the answer. Body and supporting parts were made of self-repairing nano material which could principally assume any shape, as long as it fit around the interior parts. At the factory it was told what a Martian had to look like. The factory computers could relay this information to the nanos. Customers couldn’t do that. They didn’t know how, and if they knew, they wouldn’t have the means.
I had the means. I bore an active signature, and Phoebe had accepted it. She had released all special functions for me. It wasn’t just the University approval, as my Analogy now instructed me. I was privileged at a higher level. I could command Phoebe to look different. Each day a new car. Great!
And the very best of it—I was the only person in the world who even had the slightest idea of that!
“Johanna! You’re really here—great! And that dress—how you look—that’s a stunner! Come in, sweetheart!”
Ronnie in his white silk tuxedo gave way for the door of his residence, and I entered. I had deliberately picked a plain black halterneck dress that shouldn’t stand out, complemented by low-heel sandals, no jewelry, and low-key perfume. So why a stunner?
“Be a bit cautious about my guests,” he quietly advised me. “Among them are important people, and some are a bit impatient with others. Jen’s over there at the pool.” His cheerful features froze when he saw a bulky man in a dark red tuxedo approaching. “Hans Schmidt. Of all.” Then he turned to the guest and raised his voice again. “Hans! Come, may I introduce you to a good friend? Hans, this is Johanna Meier. Johanna, this is Hans Schmidt, a long-term business partner.”
According to the two-faced smile he gave his business partner, that man had to be very dangerous. So I put up my nicest smile, reached Mr. Schmidt my hand and performed a curtsy. He gently took my hand and placed a kiss on it. Dangerous and in style, I made a mental note and attentively watched his face. Despite the late hour he was perfectly shaved, his full hair showed no traces of gray. Had he enjoyed a shamelessly expensive hair transplant?
“I’m very pleased to finally meet you, Ms. Meier. I’ve heard a lot of you. An outstanding graduation as Master of Dragon Technology at the Melbourne University, winner of this year’s Ironman, and in your profession, you must be outstanding, too. That made me curious.”
My alarm bells rang. “You have a clear advantage over me, Mr. Schmidt,” I enticed him. However, he still held my hand as if he would own me now. “I’ve come for a farewell, though. I’m aspiring to a professional change.”
“So? We should talk about that. I can always use competent employees.”
I bet on that, otherwise you’d take no one to bed ever. “My next destination is Hawaii,” I took the wind out of his sails. “I’ve been surprised myself that I’ve won here. Now it’s a question of honor to compete in the world championships and at the same time offer my competitors an opportunity for rematch.”
Hans Schmidt—surely that wasn’t his true name—raised his thin eyebrows. “Of course. Which goal did you set for yourself?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I can do the competition easy. I’ll simply give my best and see what it brings.”
“You don’t have an approximate idea?” he dug deeper in a slightly impatient voice. What did he want to hear? What did I want to let him hear?
“If I finish like here, I could come out among the top ten. To hope for a victory would be rather unrealistic. I’d have to improve significantly for that.”
“And that would be impossible?”
“Everything is possible. I will continue my training. And if I see any chance to run for a place on the rostrum when I’m close to the finish, I’ll fight.” Boldly, I looked into Mr. Schmidt’s eyes, withstood his scrutiny. “I’m not content with mediocrity. When I start something, I pull it through thoroughly, as good as I can.”
“Against all resistance. I’ve also heard of your—trouble—in Melbourne. It couldn’t stop you. Your ambition is admirable.”
He had learned a lot more than was publicly known—or at least he tried to trigger that impression. However, I’d rather assume the former.
“Yes, that must be so. Sometimes I have to stop myself to not burden myself too much. That’s why I decided—regardless how Hawaii goes, thereafter it’s over with sports. I will have then seen where I am compared to the world leaders, and the world leaders will have seen that I’m no flash in the pan, that’s enough. I need the leeway to look for new goals.”
That was a clear statement—tolerate my interference once again, as the public expects, too, and then you’re rid of me. I hoped that this message would reach the right ears.
Chapter One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Five
“Well done,” Ronnie quietly praised, while focusing on the departing Mr. Schmidt’s collar. I was focusing on my friend, client, and sponsor. What did he know? What did he want to insinuate?
Ronnie didn’t give anything away. Instead he winked at me. “Like a glass of champagne?”
He knew very well that I preferred to avoid alcohol outside of my role. So I surprised him with a confident, cheerful, “Yes, gladly,” linked
arms with him, and let myself be led to the house bar.
“Which kind do you prefer?” he asked. “Red or white?”
His barkeeper was eyeing me with interest. I couldn’t tell if he was more interested in me or in my choice.
“Lorch sparkling Pinot Noir, otherwise a champagne extra brut. What have you got?”
With a sigh Ronnie nodded toward the barkeeper. “Then you’ll have to do with champagne. Why Lorch?”
“Steep slope vineyards,” I explained. “Very mineral taste. Do you know about wine, or can you only do expensive?”
“Touché. I should have known that my Jo is versed even in areas where she has little practical experience.”
Your Jo? Today all men are claiming ownership on me? Okay, two of two so far. “I’ve been to Australia, you remember? Once you’ve sampled sparkling Shiraz, you know that it pays to know your ways.”
He gave me a blank gaze. “If you say so.”
I realized that there was more than one world separating us. Not only that Ronnie very surely belonged to organized crime, not only that he was a man and I was a woman—he lacked the last finesse. He was—provincial.
Who was saying that? The stupid little whore? The loser?
As if! Saying that was the inventor of the Meier effect, even if nobody around me had made the connection so far. Even Hans Schmidt seemingly hadn’t taken that turn yet, otherwise he’d surely have mentioned it. Would he?
The nano essence I carried wouldn’t qualify as Artificial Intelligence—it was nothing more than an extension of my body—but the strict rationality this little Dragonish miracle brought along did no longer allow me to lie to myself. I was good, I was intelligent, and I had been sufficiently ruthless to simply take what I wanted. I might be a loser, but I was a surviving loser. I simply I had to keep it that way. Optimistic, complacent assumptions about my opponents didn’t help me there.
“You’re looking contemplative. Are you worried about anything?” a familiar voice asked.
I turned around. “Ulf? What are you doing here?”
“Officially or unofficially?” he asked. “Officially, I’m ensuring that no drug trade is discussed or even processed here. Unofficially, I’m at a party of a friend who invited me, because another good old friend celebrates her farewell party there—unofficially as well. Hello, Jo.”
“Hello, Ulf.” I placed my champagne glass on the counter and first gave him a kiss each on his left and right cheek, then an extended kiss on his lips. He didn’t play hard to get.
“So you’re a friend of Ronnie.”
“Well—we’ve talked about a case once. You might remember the testimony you’ve withdrawn? Surely you’ve heard that the culprit had an accident. Tragic.”
“I won’t shed a tear for him.”
“Of course not.”
I waited patiently, but Ulf offered no further explanation. So I had to guess the rest—that he hadn’t continued his investigations overly diligently, perhaps motivated by a little gratuity from Ronnie. I didn’t want to know the details. Not knowing was healthier, even if it might have been okay in this case.
“So, what’s bitten you?” Ulf inquired.
“Hans Schmidt,” I briefly commented and drank another sip of champagne. I could grant myself a little amusement, at least as long as I was here.
Ulf’s lips formed an O, but he didn’t say a word. He only turned around and scanned the hall.
Ronnie saw a chance to join the conversation again. “Tell me, what was that about the Master?”
“Why?”
He didn’t try to avoid my gaze. “I know that you’re versed with Dragon technology. You’d mentioned that. You didn’t mention that you’ve graduated.”
“No—what for?” I realized that Ronnie didn’t want to drop that subject yet, and Ulf listened very attentively, too. “Yes. Master of Dragon Technology. For that—for the study—I had been to Australia.”
“How did you come out?”
For a very brief moment, I felt dizzy. Then my self control kicked in—probably aided by my nanos—and I could look at Ronnie again. The insinuation of escape triggered very unpleasant associations in connection with Melbourne.
Back into your role, Johanna. “With top marks, of course.” I didn’t even have to be ashamed for this result. I hadn’t joined the final exam, because I had been in hospital, but I had checked the problems later. I’d been able to solve them all, so I could tell with conviction that there was a Master inside where the label stuck.
“Of course,” Ronnie echoed reservedly. “Yes, sure. When our Jo does something, she does it right. I should have known that you wouldn’t leave it at some shallow tricks. All that’s missing now is that the Meier effect would have been named after you.”
Poker face, Jo, and stay calm. He didn’t need to know that. Until tonight, I had hoped nobody would have been on my heels. My glass was empty—I held it demandingly toward the barkeeper.
“Crap, Jo.”
Ulf grinned, obviously happy about Ronnie’s amazement. “So it’s true?” he asked. “Our Johanna Meier is responsible for the greatest breakthrough in Dragon technology that mankind ever made without Dragon aid?”
I nodded and gave both a pleading glance. Now I had to play the innocent again. “Mr. Schmidt doesn’t know about it. I’d prefer if it remained that way.”
Ulf placed a finger on his lips. Ronnie only nodded as confirmation. “Girl, you’re full of surprises.”
“I’m currently empty,” I corrected and briefly lifted the hem of my dress to show them my bare pussy. It was high time to distract these men.
Chapter One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Six
“Truly sad that you’re leaving us,” Ulf said later. Ronnie had spotted his Jen and disappeared with her—probably to follow a sudden urge. I was at my third glass of champagne. You could get used to this sparkling stuff. Without the risk of ugly side effects like dizziness, imbalance, and hangover, it tasted even better.
“Yes, I agree,” I admitted. “I don’t like to leave my friends behind.” That was at least half true—I didn’t like to leave Ronnie and Ulf behind, just like Kat, Jen or Lydia, only regarding the label friend I was unsure to a varying degree.
“In any case it should be healthier for you,” he quietly added. Upon my questioning gaze, he continued, “A storm’s coming up here. The presence of certain persons is a sign. The farther you’re away once it starts, the better for you.”
“Okaaay,” I returned, likewise quietly. How should I understand this hint? As a warning to keep out? As a friend’s advice?
Ulf scanned the hall again—perhaps even somewhat anxiously? If he thought someone would reproach him for that tip for me and he nevertheless helped me, I might have to adjust my judgment regarding his friendship.
This didn’t change my plans. I’d depart as soon as possible.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I reassured him. “I’m gone soon. Moreover, I can watch out over myself.”
My Commissioner sighed. “Yes. I’m looking at you once, and I see a dainty young thing triggering my protective instincts. I’m taking a second glance, and I recognize the grown-up woman who’s up to every trick. Sometimes both pictures are hard to merge. Well, it surely can’t harm you if you’re a bit underestimated.”
“As with the Ironman?”
“Exactly.” He took me in his arm. “Come, let’s find a quiet place. Perhaps in the garden?”
Where an eavesdropper could wait behind every bush? Or only his bug? “Perhaps in my car?” I winked at him. “I’ve got a quite cozy cargo bed—um, reclining bed. There, we’ll be unmolested.” And unoverheard.
“Great.” His hand wandered down on my buttocks, which I didn’t find unpleasant, although his proximity provided a false feeling of security. He wouldn’t be able to protect me.
My car—yet unchanged—enticed him an approving whistle. “Befitting the rank of a Dragon tech graduate. Expensive?”
“Ask Ronnie, it was h
is gift.”
“Yes—I can imagine how much you’ve impressed him.” Ulf sounded amused. No, he surely didn’t know that I had helped our mutual friend other than in an erotic way before, and that had better remain so.
For potential observers, I sensually nestled up to him again, before we entered my car. Then the back door closed, and we were alone. “Phoebe, shielding,” I briefly ordered.
“Confirmed.”
Ulf looked around. “Voice control?”
“Exactly. Standard function for Martian models, just as the shielding against eavesdroppers. What did you want to tell me?”
“That you’re the sweetest girl I know. What else?” He feigned a dodge. “I wanted to warn you. I don’t know where you’ll go after Hawaii, but avoid the large urban centers. If Frankfurt is typical, soon nothing will happen without Corporate Sponsoring.”
Chapter One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Seven
“I’ve heard that term before. A euphemism for bribery, correct?”
“Bribery, racketeering, pimping—all inclusive,” Ulf corrected.
“And they’re many, powerful, unscrupulous—a life doesn’t count much, right? The embodied cliché of organized crime.”
“This cliché perseveres in the public reception because it often matches and it’s always useful. It causes respect or even fear, and organized crime depends on that. The closer you stick to the cliché, the lesser you have to do for it.”
“Okay, I have respect. No, I even fear them a bit. I’ll stay out of their way.”
“That won’t do, Jo.” Ulf gave me a stern look in the half-darkness of my car. “I have to tell you a short story.”
I made myself comfortable and remained silent.
“Okay. A few months ago I went to a murder crime scene. The corpse showed unusual burns—there were several ugly holes where the heat had burned deep into the body. We all asked ourselves, what kind of weapons causes such holes?”
Loser Page 28
