Daughter of Zeus

by Red Harvey

  After taking numerous short cuts, he pulled into an underground parking lot. Shylar got out of the car and walked to the elevator. No stopping and no second-guessing. He pressed the “7” button on the elevator with surety. On the ascent, he whistled along with the muzak.

  The elevator stopped at the seventh floor. He smiled at the woman stepping in as he stepped out.

  Nearly a resident. Confidence sang through him, pushing him along. One, two, three doors down from the elevators, he stopped. Under the straw welcome mat, he would find the code to enter into his interface. He programmed the numbers and lined up the optical output with the

  keypad on the door. The keypad lit up green; the door film dissipated a second later.

  No one greeted him, which was what he expected. The one bag he brought he put down at the door. He would put his things away later. First, he needed to shower. Then, a proper meal. No more smoothies, thank you. When he was clean and full of good processed food, he would search for the woman. He knew the city better than most. How he did escaped him.

  “Hello, Shylar.” A lilting male voice from the living room startled him.

  At the same time, the voice relaxed him. An older man emerged from the living room. “Our plan of approach has changed.” The Brit’s tone held a light edge.

  Shylar stood up all the straighter. “What are the new mission parameters, sir?”

  ~ * ~

  Ah, Ada loved being alone. All quiet. No more lies about a fake daughter. No more Glory Spice cologne, the smell of an old man who wanted to be young again.

  Hours before, she messaged Tranquility hospital for yet another update on her mother. Gemina was still unconscious, but the nurse promised Ada she would receive a message once her mother awoke.

  What she loved most about being alone was the alleviation of guilt. Kressick’s presence had been a painful reminder of her mother’s condition—all my fault—and strangely, August’s death.

  Really all my fault. Without guilt, she was free to concentrate on her task. She didn’t allow herself to focus on the notion that once she was done committing patricide, she might feel guilt of a serious magnitude.

  She directed her thoughts at the shower: Off. The water pressure ceased.

  “Would you like to be dried off?”

  Sure.

  Being dried off was a new experience. Her shower at home never received the necessary upgrades. Hot air blasted from small holes below, next to, and above her. The air smelled pleasant, warm. Her hair lifted, flying all about her face. After thirty seconds, the miniscule vents went quiet, and her shining, dry, hair settled on her shoulders.

  At her approach, the shower door dissipated. She had chosen a more expensive hotel for the added state security, but the tech benefits were nice too.

  The mirror was clouded by steam, then clear in the next instant. Briefly, she assessed herself in its reflection: average body, average brown hair, average features. The only thing that stood out was her dark skin, unfashionable among Prominents. People had called her plain all her life. But not him. August had called her beautiful. But he never would again.

  Her vision clouded, and Ada shook her head. Tears brought nothing back that was taken away. Tears wasted you.

  You could’ve brought him back, had you known how to control your powers at the time, a voice whispered. She’d heard the suggestion come from a dark place within many times over.

  “Shut up. Not my fault.”

  You want someone else to take the blame. But his murder wasn’t the first time. If only you hadn’t looked down. Now you’ll always see that face.

  She slapped her hands to her cheeks, willing the voice to go away, leave her alone, cease the pain. Her pain persisted, unable to stop just yet.

  Murdering someone will turn you into something else, an Other. A killer, like Him.

  The voice had belittled her before, but never had it employed reason in its taunts. Reason was more the route Kressick would take.

  Damnit, she left him, and he was still managing to annoy the shit out of her. Stupid accent. Stupid hair. Stupid...smartness. He made her feel like a kid, and since she was nearing thirty, the inadequacy wasn’t something she relished.

  Naked, she approached the dresser. She activated her wristlet, commanding a search liquid screen.

  When she saw the first set of results from her digital search, she thought, I might be able to stand feeling like a killer.

  No “Brontes Corentin” in the Atlanta area. Hell, no “Brontes Corentin” in the Georgia area. Corentin’s loser friend had lied, leading her halfway across the country on a ghost hunt. She should have checked the status of Corentin’s residency before leaving Colorado. What a waste of time she made in journeying to Atlanta.

  She felt like hurtling her interface across the room to watch it shatter on the wall, but the silicone construction could withstand plenty of abuse, and she would be deprived of the satisfaction of shattering something.

  Getting to Atlanta had been a long trip, full of paperwork, clearances, and exchanges with Sammies. Getting back home would be harder. She had the option of traveling by zeppelin, but zeppelin travel required a higher citizen status. She would never be allowed to board.

  A car would have to do. She liked her station wagon and wanted to take it back with her. But she had to stay a few days in Atlanta, to satisfy the interstate police. Kressick had told the last interstate agency that they’d both be vacationing at his condo, and the excuse was recorded into the system. She would need a signed record from his landlord if she wanted to drive back home without a problem.

  She didn’t want to see Kressick again. A visit with him would be saved for last. If she had to be stuck in the city temporarily, she planned to enjoy her stay. The five grand called her name, begging to be spent. She had checked with Cybil, and the next synth payment wasn’t due for a month. Plenty of time for Ada to find and blackmail Corentin, and pay off her mother’s bills.

  She kept calm and searched the interwebs for another mention of her father, focusing on all the state and local officials in the Atlanta area. The interface flashed hundreds of photos on her skin, and synced with the tech as she was, they flashed in her brain as well. Ada scanned through them, but none of the faces jumped out at her. She stored the search in her head, carefully unpacking each image and putting it away when she was satisfied her father wasn’t among them.

  If she really wanted to catch a government official, she had to look the part. One look in the mirror at her large hair and lackluster clothes told her she needed a better costume. A damn good one if her copper skin was going to command respect from a Prominent.

  ~*~

  Shylar was following orders. The object of his mission was a red dot among the blue intersecting lines. Inevitably, he was getting

  closer.

  He was told to watch, not engage. So far, he had not even reached the “watching” stage as his prey kept moving from place to place. If the old man, Kressick, hadn’t linked his wristlet to the one on the woman, Ada, he was following, Shylar would have really been in a pickle.

  For two hours he had been following the red beep. It finally stopped in one place for more than ten minutes.

  “The user you are trying to locate is now at Zugart’s Hair and Clothing Boutique.”

  The virtual map had been helpful in listing each of Ada’s numerous stops. Most of her destinations ended with a derivative of the word “shop” or “boutique”. She must have come to Atlanta to shop. He merely wished she would spree a little less sporadically.

  The woman he encountered in the motel had seemed very self-involved, and he had only known her for a few minutes. A shopping spree made sense. Beautiful eyes didn’t mean a thing; he would remember she was stuck up. Stuck up and part of his mission. He mustn’t forget that.

  Around the corner, he saw the boutique, a small store wedged in between a sandwich shop and an interface-upgrade emporium. Shylar skulked back to the alley. He could see the entrance fro
m where he was. All he had to do was wait for Ada to come out.

  In five minutes, she emerged from the boutique clutching several packages. He was positive of her identity thanks to the tracking program, but he would have sworn she was a stranger. Ada was wearing sunglasses, new clothes, and her hair was blown out and glossed. She had been pretty before, but now she was at a new level of beautiful, an alien-like status models inhabited.

  Yes, he was impressed, but all the fake trappings she wore screamed I am a woman. Look at me! also turned him off. When he first met her wearing a T-shirt and jeans, it had been enough to attract him. The new feminine polish she had on was a separator, a rebuff that taunted a person to see and not to touch. She was now a mannequin.

  Focus, a voice in his head reminded him. He closed his mouth and straightened his stance. He had a job to do. For once in his life, he meant to finish something.

  She was loading her purchases into the trunk. He jogged back to his car parked one street over, then told the car to turn on and waited.

  When the red blip moved on his skin, he directed the car to follow.

  He stayed two vehicle lengths behind the woman. With the tech, he didn’t have to follow too closely. They passed a rich neighborhood in the northern downtown district. Some of the lawns were bare, but one lawn had LCD lawn signs that blinked with their message:

  “VOTE FOR BRONTES MORETZ.”

  Unexpectedly, his car slowed and stopped. “Emergency stop commenced.”

  Ahead, the other cars were also stopped. Ada was blocking the street with her blue station wagon, inspecting the signs on the lawn.

  Each sign was flashing the words,

  “VOTE FOR BRONTES MORETZ” in red, set against a blue background. Next to the words, a picture of the smiling man flashed and was gone, to be replaced with the slogan,

  “VOTE MORETZ FOR SENATOR”.

  She stared at the sign as if it were written in another language. Horns honked. People cursed at her. Frustrated with the wait, the other cars drove around her.

  Shylar was forced to follow the line of traffic and go around the blue station wagon, lest he look suspicious. As he passed, he watched her. She seemed to be thinking, or deciding. What her decision turned out to be, it didn’t matter to him. He knew what she thought her mission was, and why. If he wanted to find her later, he knew how.

  Twelve

  Sacra forda, the bastard was a congressman.

  And he had changed his name to Moretz, no more Corentin. Two major things Ada should’ve researched but didn’t. All of his contacts failed to mention his exact occupation, or name change.

  The lawn sign flashed the picture of the man she’d known to be her father. His hazel eyes and dimples were much like her own, and that wasn’t all he passed on to his daughter.

  She could guess as to why Corentin changed his last name. Not many citizens would vote for a candidate with a drug and crime- riddled past. Sometimes it happened, but Corentin wasn’t taking chances. Changing names was an expensive and lengthy process. How had the bastard done it? She remembered how she had acquired her own private stash of funds. Corentin must have found a similar route to riches and influence.

  All of the information she found on Corentin—now Moretz—never included his home address. His downtown office was in the public domain, and he was to be reached there by appointment only. She called the number displayed on her wristlet. While pretending to be a healthcare lobbyist, she made an appointment with Moretz’s assistant. He was a busy man, she was told, but she was persuasive, and her meeting was pushed up from two weeks to two days.

  Her packages of new clothes gave her the disguise she needed. Her new hairstyle helped as well, and she could pass for an ambitious lobbyist.

  Over the next two days, she wandered the city. Along her walks and trips on the Marta monorail system, the image on the lawn stayed with her. Moretz’s plastic smile. The few times she had met him as a child, he hadn’t smiled. He had swayed, slurred, and tried making conversation. Even then, she hated him.

  Passing the lawn sign was fate. If she hadn’t seen the sign, she would’ve been leaving town about now. Her earlier plan of visiting Kressick and having his landlord sign off on her departure seemed so far away, like a bad dream fading upon waking. Her life was back on track, and she could finish it with dignity and justice.

  Ada imagined what she would say to Moretz. She couldn’t start with Hello bastard, I’m your daughter, and I’ve come to kill you. Perhaps she could say, You killed my husband. Something satisfying like that.

  Moretz had passed his powers onto her. He might anticipate her use of them, therefore, she would have to act quickly. She planned on bringing her gun to the meeting. At the moment she pulled the trigger, she would increase the power of the bullet’s trajectory by delivering an electric shock through the weapon. Practice, practice, practice.

  She found a field with minimal o-plane fly-over in which to try out her idea. With her new method, the bullets fired so fast their disbursement was virtually soundless. She wouldn’t require a silencer. When electrified, the bullets also became superheated and burned holes through whatever they came into contact with. She was anxious to see the damage the electric bullets would cause while ripping through her father’s body.

  Surprisingly, thoughts like those hindered a good night’s sleep.

  ~ * ~

  The day of the meeting arrived.

  Ada dressed conservatively, donning a pair of faux-prescription glasses. She went over and over what she would say. When the moment came for her to speak, she feared what might filter past her lips. Gun in hand, she needn’t worry about words anyway.

  She left her station wagon at the hotel. In an emergency, an electronic pulse was sent out to disable all vehicles in a mile radius. She didn’t want her car abandoned to the authorities once she was done killing herself a congressman. Public transportation did her just as well. She mapped a safe walking route for the return journey.

  After stepping out of the hotel, she stopped for coffee, even chatting pleasantly with a young man who flirted with her. Usually, she told flirty young men to “fuck off”, but this morning, blending in was essential. While no one was looking, she taped a blonde wig to the underside of the outdoor table. On her way out of the particle archway, she waved goodbye to the young man.

  She bought her ticket at the Marta station and waited. There was a grinding of metal on metal as the monorail arrived. The chrome exterior created a blinding effect with the brilliance of the yellow sun rebounding off the surface.

  Onboard the monorail, it was all white plastic and cramped seating. Two panel interfaces were at either end of the car, broadcasting local news. The car held one passenger and Ada.

  A woman with black hair and almond eyes smiled at her. She did not return the smile.

  The woman muttered, “Prominent bitch,” then moved to the back of the car.

  Ada beamed.

  After three stops, the train arrived at the right street. She exited through the dissipating doors. On the platform, she flicked her wrist, activating a map display. A dark-skinned man exited the same monorail two cars down. For a flashing second, he looked familiar, but he walked away, and she dismissed the déjà vu.

  “Your end destination is near. Keep walking north,” the interface told her.

  She walked a few blocks down from the station.

  “Go straight for fifty yards, then make a left.” She increased her pace. “You are two minutes from your destination. Please turn left.”

  A building with large columns came into view. To the left was the city courthouse, and to the right, the tax office. Standing sentinel over the building were two mercenary bots. She had never seen military tech before entering Atlanta.

  The bots were expensive and could be found guarding financial or government institutions in major cities. Their shiny exteriors glinted in the sunlight, and their dual-laser weapons were up, not down as with most bots. No chances taken at a government
building. Black panels served as their faces, watching and waiting for their chance to shoot.

  Ada felt a connection with the tech as she passed, albeit a resistant one. Cracking their encryption codes would take work. She walked on.

  Large granite steps led to the mahogany entrance of the office building.

  She reached for the golden door handle, but the mahogany doors dissipated. They were a composite hologram, not real wood. She resisted the urge to shake her head. The world was crazy with unnecessary tech.

  At least for her, tech was as malleable as dough. She couldn’t imagine how other people allowed themselves to become slaves to it. Not her. And certainly not Moretz.

  Moretz. It had been his mother’s maiden name. When searching for info on him, Ada should have expected a name change. Then she would have found her father sooner. The bounce of the ambition and the bitterness of the anger bounced through her. She couldn’t wait to put her emotions to greater use.

  The end of the first hallway was empty. There was no desk for an assistant either. An indentation on the wall indicated a dissipating barrier, and next to that, a large and expensive wall panel.

  “Do you have an appointment?” asked the machine.

  She recognized the same voice she had spoken with over the phone two days prior. She had assumed she had been speaking with a human.

  “Yes, I’m the healthcare rep.”

  “Which one?” the interface smirked. Yes, the interface smirked, or the tone in its voice held a smirk.

  “Mali Muth.” Ada’s borrowed name left her mouth as if it were hers.

  “Oh yes. Miss Muth. The Congressman will be ready momentarily. Please wait.”

  She stood, waiting.

  “Would you like a chair?”

  There were no chairs in the hallway. A chair seemed to grow from the wall. Ada started. The chair was there, but...shimmery. It looked to be made up of loose particles.

  “You may sit. The chair is a holographic poly-fiber composite, suitable to sustain your mass.”