‘‘I’ve got a message coming into your brain,’’ HARV said. ‘‘It’s from the blonde, Stacy; she says, ‘Have fun.’ ’’
So, the blonde was pulling the strings and the goons were just performing chimps. Two hover-cams rose from the sedan, their lights blinking red, indicating they were recording.
The goons pulled their chains and approached. Sidney made a step forward in protest but Stacy touched him on his shoulder and he stopped. This was going to be just me and the big boys.
They each pounded a meaty fist into an open hand. They smirked as they drew nearer.
‘‘This is going to be fun,’’ they both grumbled. (Two thugs, one brain—DickCo probably got them at a discount rate. That’s the thing about DickCo—they don’t really care about solving the case, just making a buck.)
I slid slightly to the left, stationing myself right between them. I had quite the surprise up my sleeve for them.
‘‘You boys are going to fight fair now, aren’t you?’’ I asked more as a distraction than anything else.
‘‘We got you outmuscled and outnumbered. You’re old and slow. We don’t need to cheat,’’ one of them laughed.
‘‘We just need to break a few bones, gain us some rep points,’’ the other said. He slid a barely visible neck side to side, making a crunching noise.
‘‘Your moms must be so proud,’’ I said.
They were so close to me I could smell their breath. It was much more pleasant than I would have thought. Still, pleasant breath or not, I was going to have to put them down, hard and fast. I didn’t like the idea of two one-bit goons thinking I was ripe for the picking.
I played it coy, bending down to feign tying my shoe, like I didn’t notice their advance on me. I wasn’t looking at the goons, but HARV was tracking them via my wrist communicator so I knew exactly when they would be in striking distance. I grabbed a handful of dirt and gravel as the thugs closed to within striking distance. I needed to make sure I was the one who would be doing the striking. I straightened slowly as they advanced quickly. I tossed the dirt in their faces.
They halted their attack and starting rubbing their eyes frantically while mumbling something about how dirty outfits look poor on camera. I flicked my wrist in just that right way to make my trusty Colt 2062 pop into my hand. I didn’t shoot though, no fun or flair in that. Instead, I spun the weapon in my hand so I was gripping it in the middle. I punched forward with my gun hand aiming for the spot right between the now befuddled goons. As my fist approached them the sides of the weapon expanded outward, turning my firearm into a staff—a very hard staff. I clocked both the offending thugs in the jaw, one with the right side of the staff the other with the left.
They both buckled over backward, smashing into the roadside. I held GUS with both hands ready to use it as a bat if needed. It wasn’t. The two were out colder than New Moscow in mid February. Fooled by the age-old fake tie-your-shoe, dirt-in-the-face trick. DOS, my old third grade teacher Sister D wouldn’t even fall for that—Gates knows I tried. It just goes to show that DickCo was really trolling the bottom the barrel for their talent.
‘‘Sorry, Johnson,’’ Sidney said. ‘‘They’re nonunion workers. The union thugs are just so pricey. We have to cut corners these days.’’
I looked past Sidney to Stacy the psi. ‘‘Happy?’’ I said.
‘‘Not really,’’ Sidney said not knowing I wasn’t talking to him. ‘‘Is it too much to ask for backups who are happy being backups? None of these new guys are team players anymore. They don’t know how to take orders.’’
‘‘They were taking orders, just not from you,’’ I said.
Sidney turned to Stacy. ‘‘Stacy, what the freaking DOS were you doing?’’
Stacy had a subtle smile on her face. She pointed to the thugs. They lifted off the ground and started floating to the hover. ‘‘You have your orders . . . I have mine,’’ she said. ‘‘The boss lady wanted some clips we can use in a training video on how not to approach Zachary Nixon Johnson.’’
Yes, this was an ambitious woman. I was going to have to watch out for her in the future.
‘‘So what’s the message, Sidney?’’
‘‘The boss lady wants to meet you in one hour at Madam Ti Chi’s Restaurant on Arnold Ave.’’
‘‘The boss lady?’’
‘‘Ona Thompson,’’
HARV said in my brain.
‘‘Ona Thompson,’’ Sidney and Stacy both said.
‘‘Oh, that’s right, Ona’s EnterCorp owns you guys,’’ I said thinking out loud. ‘‘Why didn’t Ona just tell me that herself?’’
‘‘She’s so rich and powerful she never does anything herself,’’ Stacy said.
‘‘And when she says jump, we jump and jump and jump,’’ Sidney said. He pointed at me. ‘‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be there.’’
I arrived at Madam Ti Chi’s during the heart of the lunch hour. I had never eaten there but I heard the food was great. It must have been as the place held at least three hundred and if there was an empty seat in the house it was hard to find.
An older Asian woman, who I assumed was Madam Ti Chi, greeted me at the door with a polite bow. She was short and slightly wrinkled; she could have been anywhere from 60 to 160. She had a tiny microphone next to her mouth and an earpiece clipped to her left ear lobe. At first I thought it was PIHI-Pod then I realized it had to be a translational computer.
The women spoke in the microphone and the words ‘‘Greetings, Mr. Johnson,’’ came out of the microphone. She motioned to the back of the room. ‘‘Follow me,’’ she said.
She led. I followed. ‘‘Please pardon the use of a translator computer,’’ the woman said through the translator as we weaved through the crowd. ‘‘I have so many customers from so many places I find it only fair that I speak to them all through my translator.’’
‘‘Not a problem,’’ I said.
She stopped at a small table for two near the back corner. There was already food on the table. One place setting had chicken and broccoli and rice, the other sushi of some sort. The woman pointed to a chair next to the chicken dish.
‘‘You sit here,’’ she said. ‘‘The other will be here soon.’’
I looked at the place setting. Chicken and broccoli was my favorite. This had certainly been arranged. I sat down.
‘‘Hmm,’’
HARV said inside my head.
‘‘I’m detecting an energy surge.’’
‘‘A good surge or a bad one?’’ I thought.
‘‘Energy is neither good nor bad,’’
HARV said.
‘‘Is it dangerous?’’
I thought.
‘‘Depends,’’
HARV snickered. I absolutely hate it when he snickers.
There was a commotion in the restaurant. I looked around and every other person, whether they be patron, waitress, or even kitchen staff, had stood up and were filing out of the building. It was like a weird zombie Chinese fire drill.
‘‘Should I leave?’’ I asked HARV.
‘‘No,’’ said a nearby voice. I turned toward that voice to see Ona had materialized in the chair opposite me in all her splendor. Ona stood over two meters tall and had golden skin with just a hint of purple in it. You would have thought it would be unappealing, but instead it was oh-so-sensual. Her platinum blond hair was draped just over her shoulders. She had a body to make a goddess envious. She was wearing a clothlike miniskirt that looked like she borrowed it from Betty Rubble. On anybody else it would have been silly but on her, stunning. I had no idea what color her eyes were, as rumor was that anybody who looked her in the eyes was instantly transfixed.
‘‘You really know how to make an entrance,’’ I told her.
‘‘I bought one of Santana Clausa’s personal teleporters,’’she said. ‘‘There are times when it’s useful being the richest being on the planet,’’ she said, munching on sushi.
‘‘I can imagine.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘No, you can’t.’’ She pointed at my dish. ‘‘Eat your food. You’re going to need your strength for where I’m taking you.’’
I was afraid to ask, but I did anyhow. ‘‘So, where you taking me?’’
‘‘To Threa’s realm.’’
‘‘So you believe me that she may be involved?’’
Ona looked down, grabbing a Chinese roll. ‘‘I owe you a favor, Zach. You’re the only person ever to save me. Let’s leave it at that.’’
Wise advice a smart man would have taken. ‘‘What if Threa is involved?’’ I pressed.
‘‘That would be bad,’’ Ona said. ‘‘My sister may be a loon but she’s a powerful loon. I don’t think she’s behind this but I have to check it out.’’
I took a bite of the chicken. ‘‘Glad you can help.’’
Ona took a sip of wine. ‘‘I must admit this isn’t totally altruistic on my part.’’ She held her glass up for me to toast. I did.
‘‘You’re a businesswoman. I’m not surprised.’’
We both took sips of our drinks.
She looked up at me from hers. ‘‘I may be more than that in the near future.’’
‘‘More than a billionaire superbabe?’’
‘‘I’ve been asked to replace Sexy on the WC.’’
‘‘What?’’ I choked, spitting out my drink.
‘‘The World Council has a policy of replacing assassinated members with new members of very similar values. They figured it would cut down on killings.’’ She took another sip. ‘‘Since I’m nearly invulnerable, they figure that will cut down on attacks.’’
I looked at her. ‘‘So your sole qualifications are that you think like Sexy Sprockets and are hard to kill?’’
‘‘Yeah, kind of scary.’’
Kind of
didn’t even come close to describing the level of scariness.
Ona pointed to my plate. ‘‘Finish your broccoli. You’re going to need your strength.’’
I speared a broccoli floret. I took a moment to take in the ironic aspects of it. ‘‘Yes,
Mom
.’’
She smiled lightly. ‘‘Chew your food at least thirty-two times.’’
I did as I was told. After all, I didn’t want to accidentally choke to death without giving Threa a chance to kill me. I chewed then swallowed. In most cases that’s hardly noteworthy, but in this case I knew it might be the last time I performed those simple actions.
Ona stood up and looked at me.
‘‘Ready to roll?’’ I asked.
‘‘You’re such a strange little man,’’ she said.
She snapped her fingers.
Chapter 13
The next thing I knew Ona and I were standing on a path in the middle of a lush green tropical forest. A butterfly floated by. I had been to Threa’s realm before, but it was different this time, less gothic and D&D-like than I remembered it.
‘‘Look alive,’’ Ona said as we started walking up the path. ‘‘You never know what’s in Threa’s demented mind.’’
‘‘So is this place real?’’ I asked.
Ona shrugged. ‘‘Real enough. It’s a mix of holograms with some genetic and psionic creations tossed in.’’
‘‘That’s what I was thinking,’’ I said.
‘‘You were not,’’
HARV protested in my brain.
We walked on for a few minutes. It was peaceful and serene. I knew it couldn’t last long.
‘‘It’s quiet,’’ Ona said. ‘‘Too quiet.’’
‘‘Is that a bad sign?’’ I asked.
‘‘Nah, I just always wanted to say that,’’ Ona winked.
HARV appeared between us. ‘‘Ms. Ona,’’ he said as politely as HARV is able. ‘‘I need something more quantifiable than a mix of holograms with some genetic and psionic creations.’’
‘‘Sorry,’’ she said as we forged forward. ‘‘I need a being that can handle one of my orgasms without needing to be hospitalized.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘Not even superbeings and supercomputers always get what they want.’’
We kept walking, luckily in silence. After a few minutes I popped my Colt 2062 into my hand. It just felt like the right thing to do.
‘‘A bit edgy, Zach,’’ Ona said.
‘‘He pulls out that silly little thing whenever he’s feeling inadequate,’’ HARV said.
‘‘Just being cautious,’’ I told them, ‘‘I’ve got a bad feeling . . .’’
‘‘Oh, good, glad to see your actions are based on such empirical concepts,’’ HARV said, eyes raised and rolling.
The next thing I saw spooked me. There, standing in front of us, were over one thousand humanoid-shaped shadows. Saying they were
eerie
would be as much of an understatement as noting that World Council budget planning premeetings are boring.
‘‘Halt!’’ the gaggle of shadow beings decreed at once. ‘‘The mistress will not be disturbed,’’ they all said, not quite in unison. It was like each of them said it about a nano before the next, making the statement echo thousands of times.
‘‘See, this is why I drew my weapon,’’ I said to Ona and HARV.
HARV put a hand to his eyes and leaned forward as if to get a bitter glimpse. ‘‘These are like nothing I have ever processed.’’
‘‘They are a half-baked concoction from Threa’s brain and lab, part real, part surreal. Part of all the things that scare humans: demons, darkness, depression,vampires, ghosts, clowns, taxes, career politicians, and telemarketers.’’
‘‘Oh, good. I was afraid it was going to be something weird,’’ I said.
‘‘They have no true form, just partial substance. Threa cooks them up in a hurry when she needs a legion of easy to maintain minions.’’
‘‘How often does she need a legion of minions?’’ HARV asked, truly curious.
‘‘More often than you would think.’’
The living darkness crept toward us. It sent a chill up my spine and not in a good way.
‘‘So these things aren’t technically alive?’’ I asked.
Ona thought for a nano or two. ‘‘Depends on your definition of alive. Threa thinks they are alive. Twoa and I disagree. They certainly don’t have individual will or consciousness, if you want to go spiritual on me.’’ Ona thought for a nano more, then added, ‘‘They do give great foot massages though.’’
Hearing that they were not alive was all I needed. I held out the Colt 2062. ‘‘GUS, I’m going to need a wide distribution blast.’’
‘‘Ah, check, I guess,’’ GUS said far less enthusiastically than normal.