Necrotech (21 page)

My heart did a painful ricochet.

Too late, I realized he'd witnessed every word. Every bitter moment between Indigo and me. So this was vulnerability, huh?

It sucked. No wonder Lucky had always been a loner.

I turned slowly. More than a little numb. “A brand new team on a suicide run? They better be incredible.”

“They're professionals.” Malik's gaze held mine, but his expression hadn't changed. If he thought anything about our exchange – about me – I couldn't tell. The sun painted his eyes a strangely warmer shade of brown, turned his freckles to lighter golden flecks against his dusky skin. No sympathy there. Not even understanding. He could have been a robot, for all the emotion he showed me.

Now I felt unbalanced. Exposed.

“Great,” Indigo said, clipped from behind me “One question. Why bring her?”

I jerked. “Shut your cocksu–”

“She's the only one who's been inside,” Malik said, resonant conviction that sliced right through my streak of temper like it didn't matter. “We've got no blueprints of the interior and we're already flying in blind. Her boots on the ground take some of the risk out of the operation, which means I'm more likely to provide you the backing you need.”

If he could feel the hammer of my heart against his palm, he didn't so much as look at me. I'd give him points for that one.

I was ready to punch someone. Just on principle.

“She could just as well increase the risk,” Indigo said flatly.

I bit down on my retort so fast, I'm pretty sure the sound cracked through the room. It was kneejerk to fight back, but the fact was, he wasn't entirely wrong.

I was not in my best shape. I'd had blackouts. I killed Jim without even batting an eyelash.

But that wasn't corruption. Lucky had cleared me. And Digo didn't know about the rest.

He was just being... angry.

I hated this.

When I stepped away from Malik's hand, he still didn't bother looking at me.

“I'm bankrolling the both of you, a unit. Her inside knowledge, your expertise. If you want that team, you have your terms.” Malik's stare leveled on Indigo. “Mr Koupra, I'm willing to offer you a sum three times your current rate for data extraction.” He reached beside him to pull his expensive chair back from the glass desk. “Aside from your pet project, I want you to locate the source of the infection and download it to a mobile unit.”

Well, that was unexpected. A side quest. How cute. “Isn't that impossible?” I asked.

“No.” This from Indigo, surprising me. His jaw was still locked tight, his words forced through thinned lips, but he spoke like he knew his shit. As a linker, there were few I trusted more. Even now. “Necro conversion starts in a flesh-tech hybrid, but if it's going to spread, it has to infect a system just like any other computer virus. There's a point of entry.”

I glanced at Malik, who waited in silence. His expression, on the grim side of patient, didn't shift. “Why doesn't it infect the bandwidth and take it all down?” I asked.

“Fucking A, Riko, don't jinx it,” Indigo said sharply. He scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Whatever the reason, necrotech code spreads through physical connection. It's never hit the bandwidth, just burns out on wireless hubs. I don't know why.”

“There are working theories on the subject,” Malik offered in his deep, steady voice. If he was at all worried by the subject, I sure as shit couldn't tell.

“Reassuring.” I folded my arms, eyeing Indigo cautiously. “
Can
you find the source?”

“It'll be in the data logs, if I can get in far enough back.”

“And you're... willing?”

His gaze flicked to me. “I'm not willing,” he said flatly. “I'm insisting. If you have to be there, fine, but I'll see this with my own eyes.” Before I could do anything to the intel. He didn't have to say it for me to get it.

There was so much uncertainty, so much weird, that we didn't have anything else between us. Just hatred and suspicion.

That sucked so hard.

Indigo was all I had left. Whether he liked it or not, he was the only one who had even a grasp of how in-fucking-credible this whole mess was, and I needed him to stay alive with that knowledge.

He might hate me, he might blame me for Nanji's death, that was fine. Just as long as he helped me figure out everything on that file.

Now that he'd cut me loose, actually dumped my ass, I wanted him back. Selfish as that was.

But it could mean losing him for real. “Dead men don't spend creds,” I said, voice low as I stared at Indigo. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Digo stared down at the floor between his feet.

“Three times your going rate,” Malik repeated. “On top of what it is owed for previous services.”

Owed? For what?

“Fuck.” Indigo rolled his shoulders. “Fine. I'll work with her.”

Whatever just happened between them, I wasn't sure. I turned, jaw set, shoulders so tense, it turned my phantom ache into a bone-deep vibration. “Damn it, Digo, I am trying to save your life.”

There was nothing remotely friendly in him as he gave me his back. “Wrong time,” he replied shortly, “wrong Koupra.”

Motherfucker, that one hurt. Bad.

He left the room without another word.

Sucking in a breath, I whirled on Malik. “What just happened there?”

“Happened?”

I pointed at the door. “That. What you just did. What do you owe him for?”

He studied me with mild interest. “Do you think Mr Koupra wants your nose in his financial concerns?”

“Fuck what he wants.” My jaw thrust out, mulish to his cool reserve. “Did he set me up our first meeting?”

He tipped his head faintly. An inquisitive line. “That question completely fails to credit me with any of my own agency.”

“You're saying that was all you and your douchedigger crew?” Malik's eyes creased faintly at me, that hint of a smile playing around his mouth again, but he didn't give me full-on teeth. Or an answer. I slapped a hand on the desk. “Why are you willing to let him go along?”

“Because he wants to ensure that you're telling the truth,” he answered mildly, “and I am willing to afford him the opportunity to soothe his conscience while equipping the team I'm sending down there with the best information available. That's your firsthand knowledge and Mr Koupra's coordinator – excuse me,” he corrected pointedly, “his linker expertise. It's a guaranteed win for me.”

“You're using him.”

“I'm using all of you,” he replied. Didn't even try to smile his way out of that one. “Make no mistake. I couldn't care less about your so-called cred or whatever emotional tug-of-war you're playing. I want the intel in that lab. I will use every asset I have to achieve what I want. You may consider doing the same.”

“Digo's not an asset.”

He shrugged. “On the contrary. He is an extremely valuable asset. Have you thought about affording him that much respect, at least?”

I stared at him. “What, I should walk up to him and tell him how much of a stellar tool I think he is? He's my
friend
.”

Was.
Was
my friend.

His mouth slanted, a corner twisted into humor that might have been rueful. Or just amused. “The way you treat your friends, I wonder how you sleep at night. Speaking of,” he continued over my sharp inhale and bitten-off challenge, “I suggest you get some rest. There won't be time for sleep later.” He reached into thin air over his desk and withdrew that pale screen between three pinched fingers, the projection flawless. He focused his attention on the data.

Dismissal. Damn him. My hands fisted at my side. “You think you're so cute.”

“Like you, I suspect,
cute
is not a word I often hear.” Before I could decide if I should be surprised or insulted, he looked up, a glint in his dark eyes. “Thank you.”
Bag of dicks.
Those two words combined with that sure confidence, and I remembered exactly why he pushed all my buttons.

“That wasn't a compliment,” I muttered.

“As you say.” But I'd lost him again to the data on his projection. “Ms Ramsay will show you to your quarters.”

Okay, so I could admit some admiration for the guy. He had implacability down to an art form. I shook my head. “Fine,” I said, unwilling to let him have the last word. I folded my arms over my ribs, rocking back on my heels. “But only because I refuse to leave Indigo in your hands unsupervised.”

Malik Reed was not the sort of gentleman to let a lady have the last word. “I think Mr Koupra would rather get paid. Even if he has to do it with you.”

Such an asshole. Which worked, because I was no lady.

I shot him a raised finger as I left the sun-dappled office with its crystal clear skylights. If he noticed, he didn't make any sound.

I'd gotten what I wanted – a team, Reed's support. Even a linker I more or less trusted to know his shit. I would have felt better if Indigo stayed behind, but then, I didn't trust anyone else out in the field to see this through. It made my job harder.

Still, I was not going to let Digo take this on without me. No matter what.

If Malik wanted him to link it so bad, I'd be riding Digo's ass all the way to hell.

And then we'd both know what happened to me.

For better or for worse.

I
wasn't a complicated girl
. I liked things simple, to the point, and up front. I wasn't into angst, didn't much care for chrome, and rich kids swaggering into my turf were tedious as hell to deal with.

But they sure knew how to live.

I'd expected some kind of barracks. A bunk out of the way, someplace quiet to rack out until we were ready to go. The “quarters” turned out to be a full-on suite of rooms linked together by double-wide archways. Short on doors, heavy on windows, light on the color palette.

“Do you like it?”

The receptionist's first name was Hope. I'd learned it on the escort up another seventeen flights. Being trapped in an elevator didn't leave a whole lot of room to avoid the small talk.

On the plus side, she didn't seem to mind that I wasn't as chatty as she was.

“Mr Reed suggested this room personally,” she continued, crossing the open expanse of bare flooring to nudge one of the handful of throw rugs into some kind of better positioning. The palette was all in gray, shades of charcoal and smoke and other words for it I didn't bother coming up with, but the accents were pastel. Lavender, pale blue.

“It's...” I scrounged for the right word. “Delicate.”

Hope's polite smile compressed into a mischievous line. “You don't like it.”

“It's just...” I spread my hands, as if I could encapsulate the whole room on one end, and me on the other. The contrast between the soft colors and my tough, ink-spattered edge was pointedly ludicrous. “It's...”

“Feminine? Soft?”

“Not even a little bit my style
.
”

To my surprise, Hope laughed. “You'll get over it for a few hours.” She turned, her curvy figure in its pristine black pencil skirt and belted blouse looking as perfectly at home as I did out of place. “The bedroom is through there,” she said, gesturing to a far wall and a double-arch, also lacking in doors. “The bathroom is also there. There's a shower and a tub, so feel free to–”

“Hold it.” I didn't move from my spot in front of the door, weirdly afraid that my boots would leave marks on the floor, but I did raise my voice.

Hope tilted her head. “Yes?”

I stared hard at her. “Tub? A real tub?”

Inquiry turned to deeper mischief in her smile. “Yes, ma'am. A tub. A real bathtub, with water and everything. It's even hot.” She chuckled as she added, “And it's completely safe.”

Holy shit. I mean,
holy shit.
I could count on one finger the amount of times I'd been in a hot water scrub, and that had been a brief luxury I'd paid dearly for. Even the decent places only had hot water for sinks and maybe a timed shower. A full on bathtub meant gallons upon gallons of water; pure, hot,
expensive
.

Hope studied me, her hands on her flared hips. She wore sheer stockings under her professional skirt, her blouse was buttoned to her neck, and her dark blonde hair didn't allow a single strand out of place. Even her glasses were plain frames, with none of the shine shopped around on the sales feeds. The overall effect was definitely a cultivated air of proficiency, too old for her youthful face.

“You are welcome to come in, you know,” she said pointedly. One hand gestured at me, an efficient
come here
as if I were a stray dog needing a brisk order. “The place won't bite, and you're not under arrest or anything.”

“Right.” I didn't move. “Uh, look, Miss Ramsay–”

“Hope.”

I shot her a raised eyebrow. “Is that professional?”

This time, I think her smile caught her off guard. Wide-lipped and full, it was also crooked – a touch wider at one corner than the other. “You
really
don't like it, do you?”

Sort of. “It's not the room. It's a nice room,” I protested. But I offered both arms, forearms up, as if in evidence. “It's not my kind of room.”

“You want me to order in some rebar and neon girders?”

I narrowed my eyes at her dry tone. “Would you?”

“If you worked for us.”

Her level gaze was so mild over her smile that I couldn't tell if she was yanking my chain or was as earnest as an aneurysm. “Seriously?”

She didn't snort. I think she almost did, but she cleared her throat instead, shaking her head. The sunlight filtered through her bound hair, picking out glints of red here and there, tossing off a corona of gold. “You're an odd woman.” She approached me, empty hands swinging idly by her sides.

I stared dumbly when she stopped half a foot away.

“Ah...” She gestured. “You're blocking the door.”

I moved. “Sorry.”

“Relax,” she assured me gently. Easy for her to say. My shoulders felt like I'd banded them in cement, and the back of my neck hadn't stopped prickling since I'd walked out of Malik's office.

The door hissed open with a touch to a silver panel, and Hope paused. “Take a bath or use the shower, whatever you need. Just use this panel if you get hungry.” Her eyes sparkled through her simple frames. “We deliver.”

I eyed the bright, airy hallway behind her. “Are you sure I'm not under some kind of house arrest?”

“Relax,” she told me again. “Really. It's a word.”

“So is ‘trap'.”

“So is ‘paranoid',” she replied. “You can walk around all you want, but given your discomfort, Mr Reed figured you'd be better off taking it easy.” Her smile returned, but her brisk tones didn't soften. “You'll have a full exam in one hour, so I'll make sure you're escorted to–”

I raised a hand. “Stop. Back up. Revise. I'll have a what?”

Hope tilted her head a fraction. The sunlight pooled in her glasses, hiding her eyes. “An exam. It's standard procedure before any excursion.”

I backed up a step, putting distance between us and folding my arms. “No.”

That surprised her. So much so that she adjusted the glasses that didn't need adjusting. “I'm sorry?”

“No exam. I'm here, I'll work with your boss, I'll work with his
professional
team, but screw his exam.” If I sounded a little bitter, tough. The fact my ex-team had given up on me still smarted. Hope opened her mouth to argue, but I didn't care. “If he has a problem with it,
Mr Reed
can deal with it himself.” Preferably by fucking himself with the implements I'd already suggested he acquire, but I figured I'd let that go unsaid.

She shook her head. “I'll deliver the message,” was her reproachful acknowledgment. She said nothing else, stepped out of the threshold. The door slid shut, soundless and quick.

I glowered at the panel.

So I was being a
little
antagonistic. The reasons were more practical than I let on. A SINless has two things going for her: a lack of a Security Identification Number, and complete faith in her tech. If we are smart mercs, we choose our chopshops and street docs with care, and we never, ever let our bodies fall into the hands of people we don't trust.

Well, for medical reasons, anyway.

It's just good policy. Half our systems are strung together on individual metrics custom tailored to our chipsets, needs and patterns. The last thing I wanted to do was let Malik Reed's people fuck around with my setup any more than it already was. Annoying him was only part of the fun.

But it was more than that.

What if Malik's people found something? What if he tested my arm, or found some kind of brain anomaly, and used that to keep me off the team? Out of the loop?

If it were me, I'd do it to myself. Hell, if we were talking standard op, Indigo would yank me so fast, my head would spin.

No. It was better policy to keep myself
to
myself. I'd have to find a new doc sooner or later – or clear my cred so I could go back to Lucky – but I didn't need to risk that just yet.

I spun in a slow circle, rolling my tense shoulders as I took in the bright, spacious room with its sparse but neat furniture and inset arches. Columns. Honestly. Who put columns inside a living space?

I wrinkled my nose, finally stepping completely into the quarters I'd been allotted. If I checked behind me to make sure I wasn't leaving boot prints, at least I was alone to do it. Physically, anyway. I wasn't positive that these quarters weren't under surveillance, but since I had no plans to do anything to impede the run – and only minimal ideas to do something dirty in case I had a virtual babysitter – I let it go.

The space was quiet. Soundproofed, probably. The light streaming in through the wide windows was warm but not uncomfortable, and the place smelled clean in a way that seemed less intrusive than the overly sanitary fragrance of a hospital or that gutwrenching clinical disinfectant I now associated with a lab. I approached the curtainless windows, squinting against the light.

Pretty view, in a reflective kind of way. Miles of glass and metal, intersected by the byways linking taller buildings together in a crisscrossed grid of streets and overhangs. A spot of green here and there had to be some kind of deliberately cultivated garden in allotted alcoves, and below, cars and people streamed in a jumbled streak of black and occasional glint of color.

I pressed my left hand against the glass.

Durable. Hybrid material, bulletproof. Most of the numbers scrolling through my display meant nothing – one day, I'd sit down and work out all the various digits, but I only bothered to learn what I found immediately useful – but I knew enough to get the impression of shatterproof glass and hardcore security.

Must be nice, living in all this safety. Like fragile little birds, rolling in the creds. Probably even something of a good life, if it's the life you want, but who would? Anyone with a SIN is ripe for overwatch. The whole concept of freedom got trumped by the demand for security decades ago. It started with communication taps and bled into everyday existence from there. Maybe you aren't being watched
all
the time, but it always bothered me that no one seemed to mind it meant anyone could clock into your freqs simply by pulling up your SIN.

Granted, most couldn't read the SIN without illegal tech, but that stuff is only illegal for the people who can't afford it.

I guess if you like power with strings and a leash, being a sinner isn't so bad.

“Chunk it,” I muttered, turning away. I'd take my freedoms, hard and dirty and bloody as it got.

I briefly contemplated calling Indigo, checking in with him – see if he got a sweet room like this one – but I discarded the idea. He was... not happy with me. Okay, understatement of the year. He was pissed, which only frustrated me. Not fair, I guess, but
come on.
I was trying to fix a mess I didn't know the whole scope of, and it was his sister.

My girlfriend.

I winced, rubbing my face.

I needed to stop calling her that. My words, sharp and angry, echoed in the silent room around me.

I never said I was marrying her.

And because I said it, because saying it had made my shoulders loosen some, I'd gone from feeling guilty and responsible to feeling guilty, responsible and a lot like the cunt I was.

I never did promise her anything but what I had at the time – my attention, mostly. But that didn't make it any less of a shitty thing to say.

If we found out that she was targeted with no help from me, would that absolve me of the guilt I carried for stringing her along? Would I be given the chance to make it right?

How much of an asshole was I that I didn't think it'd matter? It couldn't possibly be worse.

“Balls,” I muttered. That was enough. I couldn't sink down into all this, not right now. Malik Reed had one thing right: a merc needed some time off before a run, or at least I did. And some downtime after. The what-ifs I said I didn't like? They tended to double in those hours before a team headed out.

Indigo had taught me to deal with the details in the days leading up, then take a day off before. It was a system that worked for me. For most of us. I could make the best of the time I had.

Even if I would have done it
with
the team before all this.

A pang in my chest forced me to shake myself before I went right back down that road I said I didn't want to go down.

There had to be something better to do.

Something I could do in some kind of effort to... I don't know, fix things.

When the idea hit me, I didn't even think twice about it. I closed my eyes, sat back on the couch, and uploaded a call through my projection frequencies.

The room was as it always was, and I didn't sit in the chair this time. I perched on the edge of the table, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. My arms folded over my shiny red tank-top as I waited for Greg's connection.

He didn't keep me waiting. His persona looked no less worse for wear as he strode into view – a strange mix of digital processing and physical movement that made it look like he blurred into existence. “Riko,” he said in greeting. “This is unexpected.”

But not entirely unwelcome, I gathered. I flipped him a crooked smile as the walls bled neon advertising and the white door closed behind him. “Are you busy?”

“Compared to what?”

“Point.”

The detective didn't sit either, eschewing the metal table for the space in front of my outstretched legs. He hooked his fingers into his pockets, a patient stance that drew my eye to the lean shape of his shoulders beneath his brown coat. His badge glinted from a chain around his neck. It didn't surprise me that his persona still wore it.

I think most of Detective Gregory Keith's personality was wrapped up in that badge.

I wouldn't tell him this, but it had a lot to do with why I turned down his offer. Some people were born to be cops. They had the attitude, the ability, and the means to deal with the shit. Good or bad, easy or hard, they knew how to cope.