by Frost, E J
“Not all of them. But strictly no boys. Once I turned seventeen, I got custody of Ape and wanted him to live with me. But they wouldn’t let me. So I got a place of my own.” She’s silent for a moment. “How did we end up talking about me?”
I shrug, rolling my shoulder under the weight of her head. But I know exactly how we ended up talking about her. I directed the conversation that way. There’s nothing about my past she needs to know, or that I want to talk about. I could invent a more palatable past, but I don’t see the point. I don’t particularly want to lie to her, even if I don’t particularly want to tell her the truth. “Is your brother always that hostile, or is it just me?”
“Fifty-fifty. He doesn’t take to strangers easily. Trust issues.”
Lots of abandoned kids have those. I might even be one of them. Kez might be, too. Her story explains why her trust issues haven’t been on full display. She’s looked to me for approval from the start. Father figure. And as long as she doesn’t mind fucking daddy, I’m okay with that.
“And he might be a little jealous.”
“Yeah?” I wipe my mouth and turn my head so I can nuzzle her hair. Her dreads feel soft and lumpy against my face. I like the texture. “Why’s that?”
I have a pretty good idea already, having observed the interaction between the chimp and his big sister. He wants her all to himself. But I want to hear if she sees it the same way.
“I, uh, I haven’t been interested in a guy for a while. He doesn’t like sharing me. It’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it.”
Nothing wrong with her peopleometer. And I like hearing that there hasn’t been anyone else for a while. “I’m not a big deal, huh?”
She bumps her head against my nose. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“Ow.”
“Sorry.” She yawns and stretches. “You’re keeping me awake, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t trying to, actually. She perked up pretty well after her cat-nap, so another one probably wouldn’t hurt her. She’s fading now, though. Shadows deepening around her eyes and under her cheekbones. She needs more than just two hours of sleep. So do I. I check the chrono in my eye. Zero-five-thirty. “They’re pretty fuckin’ late.”
“I know.” She nods at the window wall through which the Marie looms in her wet, darkly oxidized glory. Good ship. “Sun’s up.”
It is, shafts of light peeking through the rain clouds. Might be rainbows later. Rainbows and sunsets. I didn’t give a fuck about either until Marin’s death. Then I began looking for beauty wherever I could. Trying to replace what I’d lost.
Kez fiddles with her dreads, turning off the lightshow, then draws her knees up. Leans them against my thigh and cuddles into me. Her warm weight against me is beautiful. Her funny, fragile trust is beautiful. The noises she made when she came were beautiful. Against her beauty, my rage against the late-ass fuckers who are keeping us from moving on to the things I’d rather be doing with her grows.
“You got any way of contacting them?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t told anything about the drop. Only that the box had to be here, Dock 216 North, by five, and if it was, I’d be given hard credits in hand. No messing around.”
I’m tempted to ask how many hard credits, but I restrain myself. Her trust is too beautiful to fuck with.
“There’s not another Dock 216 North, is there?” she asks.
“Ship would have asked me to confirm which one if there was. We’re in the right place. They’re just fuckin’ late.”
She sighs. “I’m beginning to understand Penny’s thing about being on time.”
“Be patient,” I say, as much to myself as to her.
“Snow—” she begins, then freezes. I hear it, too. The pneumatic hiss of one of the windows opening.
Kez draws herself up and slides away from me. Slips off the crate and gathers the tether for the box. Suppressing a shiver from the loss of her body heat, I follow her, catching her backpack as I climb off the crate. I fall into place behind her, deliberately framing her slender body with mine. In the rising light, in my black fatigues, I’ll loom like a huge shadow behind her. She wanted backup and that’s exactly what I give her. Extremely visible backup.
On the far wall from the windows looking out on my ship, one of the wall panels slides open. Guess the whole building’s a fucking door. Three people walk through the portal while it’s still sliding open. Two men and a woman. The woman is hired muscle. Every centimeter of her exposed skin ripples with augment scars. She’ll be the strongest person in the room. Only problem is, those retrogenned augments make you slow. She may be stronger than I am, but I bet in a fight, I could take her.
The two men aren’t as obvious, but as they draw close, I’m betting the small wiry one walking in step with the woman is a gun for hire, too. He and the woman walk like bodyguards. One step back. Hands at their waists, close to whatever weapons they’re carrying. Both have earpieces and the man wears smoked blue lenses that cast a flickering electric glow onto his cheeks. He’s wired for sight and sound.
I reach back and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. He can vid my chin to his heart’s content. My face isn’t as recognizable as it was before my visit to the chop doc on Cayster, but there’s no point in tempting fate.
The man in front of the two mercs is wired, too, but only for his own amusement. He wears pointed earbuds in both ears and even from several meters away, I can hear the heavy bass whump-whump. He bounces slightly with each step, grooving to his own personal soundtrack. He wears the uniform of an eDub street punk. Beige pseudosilk trousers so baggy the crotch rides just a few centimeters above his ankles. Matching jacket a size too small, straining across his skinny, sunken chest. A sweat-stained blue headband holds black dreadlocks off his face. They’re natty, not nearly as smooth and well-formed as Kez’s, bits of hair sticking out at all angles. Even from a distance, he smells, and not of soap.
He bops to a stop a meter away. Takes out one of the earbuds and offers Kez his hand. The two mercs stop a step behind him and cross their hands. Right hand to left wrist. Trained guard dogs.
“Hey, I’m Hat Trick,” the eDubber says as Kez briefly clasps his hand.
I glance at Kez, whose face is impassive. Maybe she didn’t read the Downers’ graffiti.
When Hat Trick extends his hand to me, I say, “I think I heard of you.”
“Hey, yodel. I’m famous. So you’re the runners? Kincaid said there would be two of you.”
Kez stiffens at the name. It’s one I recognize, too, although I control my reaction better than she does. Darra Kincaid. Runs the Hex-trade from Roysten south for the Tyng family. From everything I’ve heard, he’s addicted to his own product. I haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction, but a hooker at the Red Carpet pointed him out to me one night as I was coming and he was going. Or maybe, before I came and after he did. Thin, dark, good-looking in a way women seem to like. The hooker told me he liked it fast and rough, but since that’s what I was there for, too, I wasn’t in any position to judge.
His name answers one of my questions at any rate. If Darra Kincaid is paying Kez’s bill, then what’s in the box is definitely black-market.
“I was told to be here at five,” Kez says.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Mara overslept.” Hat Trick tilts his head towards the female muscle. There’s no change in her expression, but her shoulders bunch. I don’t think she’s the one who overslept. Too much of a pro. And I don’t think she likes being blamed for Hat Trick’s fuck-up.
“I was also told to ask for a code.” Kez tucks her hands behind her back, passes the box’s tether from one hand to the other while she wipes her palms on her ass. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or if she just doesn’t like Hat Trick and his bodyguards and doesn’t give a shit if they know it, but her tone is edging beyond irritation into aggression.
“Oh, yeah. Mike, what’s the code again?”
Blue Shades stiffens m
ore than his partner did when accused of oversleeping. He slowly unlocks his hands, reaches into a pocket of his black spidersilk trousers and pulls out a translucent plaz card, which he hands to Hat Trick. The eDubber turns the card around between his fingers before he hands it to Kez.
Mara-the-Merc makes a noise like the window machinery overloading. “Mister Hat, that card’s not supposed to leave your possession.”
I lower my head so no one sees my grin. I’m pretty sure I know what Mike and Mara call Mister Hat when he’s not in earshot.
Hat Trick shrugs one shoulder rhythmically. “I can’t fuckin’ read it.”
He can’t fucking read is more like it.
Kez glances and at the card and hands it back. “That’s right. Here’s the package.” She holds out the box’s tether.
Mara steps forward. Takes the tether and opens the box with a tensing of her huge shoulder muscles. She’s a bad judge of relative mass. The box lid flies open on its hinges, rocking back so hard the box nearly flips over before the floaters stabilize it.
She peers inside, nods and closes the box with another pointlessly heavy jerk. Yeah, we’re all impressed by how strong you are, sister.
“We’re good, Mister Hat,” she says.
“Realio.” The eDubber rocks forward and back on the soles of his two-toed, scuffed white peddies. “Skee-daddle.”
The two mercs nod and take a synchronized step back. The box bobs after them.
Until Kez slaps her palm down on it. “Uh, excuse me, but where the fuck’s my money?”
Mara and Mike exchange glances, settle back into waiting-mode, hands on wrists, although Mara holds on to the box’s tether.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Hat Trick adjusts himself with a quick tug at his crotch. Guess the graffiti didn’t lie. “Boss man wants to pay you himself. Personally.”
Extremely bad idea. I shift closer to Kez so she can feel me at her back, feel exactly how bad an idea I think that is.
“No, no one mentioned that,” Kez says. Her tone shifts towards a growl. She’s overtired and Hat Trick is really pissing her off. “Where is he?”
“At the tower. They’ll take you.” Hat Trick nods at the mercs.
“I don’t think so. I was told I’d be paid at the drop. No messing around. Give me back the package.” Kez flicks two fingers at Mara, who tosses her the box’s tether without argument.
“Hold up, b!” Hat Trick holds up his hands, exposing the bright pink palms of a New Brunny native. Freaking prawn. “No reason to get like that. Kincaid said he knows you. He just wants to say hello in person.”
“He was an asshole then and he’s an asshole now,” Kez hisses. I can almost see her fur standing on end. “Hey, what’s your name, Mike? Is Kincaid on there?” She points to his headgear.
Mike-the-Merc inclines his blue-spectacled head.
“Make sure he gets this. If I don’t have my money in five minutes, I’m putting this box up on the H-net for the highest bidder. I am not fucking around. I nearly died on this run and no one is walking away with fuck-all until I have my money. Get that?”
Mike-the-Merc takes off his spectacles and earpiece and holds them out to Kez. “Mister Kincaid would like a word with you.”
“Fine.” Kez tosses the box’s tether to me and snatches the glasses and earpiece out of the merc’s fingers. She jams the earpiece into her ear and snaps the spectacles down over her eyes. Pressing her fingers against the earpiece, she moves a few steps away.
None of us pretend not to listen.
“That’s very sentimental,” Kez says, in response to whatever Kincaid’s said to her. “But I was told I’d be paid at the drop.”
She’s silent for a moment, presumably while Kincaid speaks. During that silence, her shoulders hunch. She begins shaking her head before she even opens her mouth. “That wasn’t the deal. It was less whatever I paid for the buy. No extras.”
She’s silent again. A long silence. Her shoulders hunch further. She glances over her shoulder at me. “I need to be back in Nock by eight.”
Another long silence, during which she shakes her head. “No. I’ll come on my own. Snow will stay here with the package. Once I’ve got my money, your thugs can have the box.” She listens, takes a deep breath. “Look, that’s not my problem. I was here at five. Your boy was late. I’m sorry you’re on the clock now, but if you’d paid me at the drop like you were supposed to—” She breaks off. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
She tears the glasses and earpiece off and thrusts them at Mike-the-Merc. Turns to me. Her eyes are red, like whatever show the blue spectacles put on irritated them. Or upset her. “I’m sorry but I need to get my float board out of your ship.”
“Sure—” I start to say, but Mara-the-Merc interrupts me.
“We have a skimmer here.”
Kez gives her a withering glare. “Like I’d go anywhere with you.”
Mara’s head rocks back on her thick neck as if Kez had slapped her. “What—?”
“Oh, save it,” Kez snaps. “Kincaid wants you here anyway. You’re supposed to keep an eye on the package. Snow?”
I nod and follow her out of the dock, trailing the contentious box.
As soon as we’re out of earshot of the mercs, I say, “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.” Kez wipes her face. Whether she’s wiping off the persistent drizzle or something else, I’m not sure. “Kincaid wants to pay me in person.”
“D’you know him?”
“Yeah. I used to.” She hugs herself. It is cold outside in the rain, but not much colder than the dark, empty dock, and I don’t think it’s the ambient temp that has her shivering. “He was one of Livvy’s regulars. He used to offer all the runners free Hex. Try to get us hooked. He’s an ass and a half.”
I cycle open the ramp. Let her precede me up it. The memory of another woman, standing alone and afraid in the open ramp of her D.S.R. ship, flashes through my mind’s eye. She insisted on going back out to brave the monsters, too, and look what happened.
“Hold up,” I say to Kez, holding out my hand. She stops and turns to look back at me. “Rethink this. We can be out of here in two minutes. Back in Nock by seven. You put the box up for sale to the highest bidder.”
Kez grips her forehead like it hurts, but starts moving again. She’s silent all the way to the door into the passenger lounge. There, she pauses, and turns to look up at me. “I’ve never jacked a run. That’s why people hire me.”
“No one’s gonna blame you for walkin’ away from this one. They’re fucking with you.”
“I know that!” she flares, all teeth and claws for a moment. Then the fight drains out of her and she shakes her head wearily. “I can’t walk away. Okay? That’s all you need to know.” She makes short, chopping motions with her hand. “I need you to stay here. Hold on to the package. If things go bad, get Ape out of here. He knows the Jello who set up the run. He can arrange a trade for me on neutral ground.”
“There might not be anything left to trade after Kincaid gets his hands on you.”
“I know that.” She looks up at me, big eyes pleading. “Please, just do this for me.”
I don’t know why she needs this run so bad, but she does. Enough to risk her life for it. I slide my fingers under her chin. Run my thumb over her lower lip. Watch her pupils dilate. “Do something for me.”
“Anythin—” she starts to say, then shakes herself. “What?”
I nod at the jangle of straps around her right wrist. “Plex me once you get there and leave your viewie on so I know what’s happening.”
She gives me a sad little smile. “What are you going to do, fly in and rescue me?”
“If I need to.”
She turns her head, presses her mouth into my palm. “Thank you. I’ll try to leave it on.”
“How long’re you gonna be?”
“Fifteen minutes each way . . . no more than forty-five minutes.”
“Better hurry up t
hen.”
She nods and taps the door to the passenger lounge. It opens to the sound of her brother’s snoring.
Chapter 7
I stay on the Marie after she leaves. Settle on the flight deck with her fucking box floating serenely between the chairs and wait for her call. I take grim pleasure in seeing Hat Trick and his mercs watching me nervously out of the dock’s windows. Feels good to be holding some of the cards for once.
I could leave without her. Take the box back to Nock City. Sell it to the highest bidder myself. That the box has attracted the interest of Darra Kincaid gives me an indication of the contents’ value. Ten thou hard at least. Kez might even walk away clean once Kincaid learns she’s been double-crossed.
Probably the smart play.
Instead I sit and wait for her call like a bitch. I want to fuck her, not fuck her over. Her trust issues may not have been on loudspeaker so far, but a hint of betrayal and they’d be broadcasting on all frequencies.
I sit and watch the rivulets of acid rain snake down the flight canopy.
Right on schedule, fourteen minutes after she left, she calls. I tap the ship’s vcom and her face appears on one of the monitors. She looks beyond exhaustion. Running on adrenaline and whatever deep need is driving her. “Snow?”
“I’m here.”
“Everything’s okay so far. I’m in the lobby of Tyng Tower.”
In downtown New Brunny. Fifteen minutes away by floater. Considerably less than that in the Marie, except there’s nowhere to land. Much too far away for comfort.
“Leave your viewie on.”
“I will . . . I’m getting in the tube now. If I lose signal, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.”
Homemade or not, her viewie is a good little piece of tech. I can hear the hum of the tube’s neg cells. Kez’s frequent yawns. The snick of the tube’s platform settling into its brakes marks the end of her journey without any loss of signal. The viewie picks up the soft thumps of her boots on thick carpeting. She must have left her board in the building’s lobby because she’s swinging her arm freely. The red-veined pearlstone walls streak back and forth like a crazy pendulum. I flick off the vid before it gives me an epileptic fit and just listen to the audio.
