34 – Getting the Gang Back Together

  Addie watched through the misting rain as District One drew ever closer. She’d given control over to the van’s AI, as usual, so she was free to gawk. Of course, she’d seen parts of New Manhattan from a distance, but this was the first time she’d been close enough to recognize the individual megatowers stretching up to the heavens. In the Blast, only the NGT tower matched their scale, but it had been truncated decades before she’d been born. District One had dozens, and around those giants was a veritable forest of skyscrapers.

  “Something else, isn’t it?” Glitch asked, leaning forward in the passenger seat, peering up.

  “Yeah.” Addie pointed and added, “Look at that one, the skinny one with silver lights.”

  “My PAI says it’s the Yang-Sheridan Building. It’s 242 stories, but the antenna array on the top makes it the second-tallest in ’Hattan.”

  Addie nodded, craning her neck to see the cluster of blinking red lights atop the needle-like point of the building. The van slowed, so she looked ahead and realized they’d finally caught up to the river of red brake lights she’d seen from a distance. “Looks like the checkpoint’s busy.”

  Beef snorted from the back of the van. “Always is, going into D1.”

  Addie turned her chair so she could look at him. “You’ve been?”

  “Nah, but people talk.” He shrugged, and Addie was struck by how different he looked after all the work Doc Katz had done. It wasn’t his face, really, though the black dermal plating that ran up his chest to wrap around his throat all the way to his jawline had the secondary effect of making him look leaner. He’d had jowls before, for lack of a better word, and now his neck was smooth, matte-black, and it gave his jaw and chin a more chiseled, defined look. Honestly, it looked good, and Glitch had said as much, too.

  Beef’s right arm reminded her of Tony’s old one, but it was bronze-colored and lined with heavy armored plates—not industrial but mil-tech. His right leg and left knee were made by the same manufacturer. They weren’t fancy tech, but they were durable and strong. All in all, the big guy had become a hell of a lot more dangerous and hard to kill, which was saying a lot for Beef; his stoutness was already legendary in the Blast.

  “Saving a vid for later?” he asked, arching one of his heavy brows.

  “Um, sorry.” Addie looked down. “New gear all good to go?”

  “Mine or Glitch’s? Don’t matter; answer’s yes in both cases.” He slapped the black-visored helmet beside him on the jump seat. It was an upgrade over the one Tony had gotten him. Most of the features were the same: enhanced visual spectrums with a built in PAI interface for targeting and threat assessment; high-gain smart audio designed to make even a hell-on-Earth battlefield tolerable for a human; and ablative gel that would make concussions or skull injuries nearly impossible. The big upgrade was the shell—a layer of self-repairing nanites that, given time and assuming the batts didn’t drain to zero, could mend almost any damage.

  They’d also bought him a new smart rifle that interfaced with the helmet. It fired flechettes and held two high-capacity mags. Beef had loaded one with low-velocity “quiet-rounds” and the other with shredders. The main selling point of the gun, though, was that as long as Beef pointed the barrel in the general direction of his target, the software that interfaced with his helmet would fine-tune the aiming.

  They’d done a little practicing in the vacant lot where she and Tony did their training. Glitch had thrown rubber balls in random directions, and Beef, firing on full-auto, had been able to punch dozens of needles into the balls before they came down. Of course, he’d been shooting the quiet-rounds; if he’d been using shredders, the ball wouldn’t have lasted long. If she were honest, Addie felt a little jealous as she eyed the sleek black rifle sitting atop Glitch’s immersion rig.

  As the thought crossed her mind, she drew her needler from its holster and held it out. “Better stow our guns.”

  Beef grunted, leaning forward to take the weapon, then he pressed his thumb to a biometrics reader on the immersion rig. The thing looked like a baby-blue plasteel coffin to Addie, but it was a damned expensive coffin. “Nice thing about this,” he said, as the hydraulics hissed and the top end of the rig tilted off the van floor, exposing the stash, “is that most corpo-sec grunts will shit themselves with nerves poking around a rig like this. Damn thing cost more than most of them make in a few years.”

  “Yep,” Glitch agreed, “and it gives off ambient readings that will confuse a lot of sensors. Tony’s mods to the undercarriage are still good, too. Down there, the stash just looks like an extra batt for the van.”

  Beef set their weapons, ammo, and the pack of extra goodies—grenades, stims, emergency nanite injectors—into the recessed secret cargo compartment, then he pushed Glitch’s rig back down until it clicked. “Hope it works, or we’ll be spending the last of your bits buying new guns.”

  Addie snorted, folding her arms. “It’s so annoying that they require separate permits to bring weapons into District One!”

  Glitch shrugged. “Well, if we’d had a little more heads-up, that wouldn’t have been a problem. It’s just paperwork and a fee.”

  “Not just paperwork,” Addie replied. “It’s a paper trail. We can’t afford even a tiny chance that one of Tony’s enemies catches wind of what we’re up to.”

  The netjacker nodded, pressing her visor up on the bridge of her nose and turning back toward the front of the van. “Right. Speaking of, I need to keep working on these daemons.”

  “Thought you bought the best,” Beef said, ripping open a protein bar.

  “Nothing’s up-to-the-minute, sweetie. We paid for some very good intel and about six months of groundwork on the daemons’ coding. Now I just need to fine-tune.”

  Beef shrugged, stuffing half the bar into his mouth and chomping down. He leaned back on the jump seat, throwing one leg over the other arm. He was a lot more comfortable with his new limbs, Addie could tell. His new mobility was a testament to his silent suffering since his run-in with Zane. He might have said he’d recovered, but he very clearly hadn’t. He noticed Addie staring again, but rather than tease her, he asked, “What’s the place like? Where we’re meeting T for the plan, I mean.”

  “It’s a club. He said it’s one he never goes to, one the people who know him wouldn’t spot him in. Of course, they’re all new to me, so…” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s in one of those megatowers.” She peered through the windshield again, but Beef didn’t move.

  “Yeah? Which one?”

  Glitch answered for Addie. “She told us this, you big goon. Mercury Spire. I looked it up—mixed corporate housing for about twenty different companies and a bunch of retail and recreation levels.”

  “Cool,” Beef said, chewing the second half of his protein bar.

  Addie had almost tuned them out; her eyes had glazed over as she stared at the sea of brake lights ahead. “So many cars.”

  “Yeah, I feel like something must be up,” Glitch agreed. “Let me do a little digging.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “No, you keep working. I’ll have JJ check it out.”

  JJ had been listening, of course, and he was quick to respond. “I don’t see any publicly available explanation, but the checkpoint we’re driving toward has been marked as ‘red’. Metro Traffic Control says to expect an additional seventy-minute delay.”

  “Lovely,” Addie sighed. “No explanation, but a seventy-minute delay.”

  “Probably gonna get worse,” Glitch muttered. “They’re never right with their estimates.”

  Addie looked at her clock. “It’s only seven. We’ve got three hours.”

  Glitch spared her a quick smile. “It’s all good, Ads. We’ll make the meet.”

  ###

  Tony nodded to the synth at the check-in kiosk for the private rooms. He was in a club called Meztaka on a recommendation from Titania. He’d asked her for a place that valued privacy in a tower on the far side of the park—someplace the folks who ran in Jen’s circle wouldn’t be likely to be found.

  It wasn’t a tall order in a district as populous as New Manhattan; he could probably go to any bar in the city and the chances of someone recognizing him would be vanishingly small, but Tony wanted to take every precaution. So there he was, in a forest-themed club in the Mercury Spire—a building he hadn’t entered during his entire career as an operator.

  “Did you have a reservation, sir?”

  Tony nodded. “Yeah, under ‘Beef’. Should be a shielded conference room.”

  “Yes, Mr. Beef—”

  “I’m not Beef. He’s coming.”

  “Of course, apologies, Mr.…”

  “Dog.” Tony had almost said “Shepherd,” but changed his mind at the last second.

  “Ah, thank you, Mr. Dog. I’ll be happy to show you to Mr. Beef’s reservation. It looks like your party will be in the Canopy Suite. If you’ll follow me.”

  Tony, shaking his head at the synth’s formality with his stupid alias, followed down a long hallway where the décor tried—almost convincingly—to pretend it was something organic. Polymer “bark” panels curved along the walls, their surfaces etched with faint circuit filigrees that pulsed in slow greens and ambers. The air carried a clean, artificial humidity, cool against the skin, scented with something approximating cedar but a little too perfect; something about it felt sterile.

  Overhead, narrow strips of light mimicked canopy breaks, dimming and brightening in a rhythm meant to resemble passing clouds. Somewhere in the walls, a soft thrumming created the illusion of distant wind, though the frequency modulation gave it away.

  The synth stopped at a matte-black door that irised open with a sigh, revealing the meeting room. Tony stepped inside and found himself standing under a ceiling shaped like the underside of an enormous tree—broad, translucent “leaves” layered like stained glass, each one lit from within by shifting gradients of green and gold. The effect made the room feel alive, as though sunlight filtered through a forest, even though they were halfway up a corporate spire.

  “Not bad,” he muttered, finding the ceiling far more tasteful than the weird bark walls.

  Soft, mossy textures covered the floor, but when Tony shifted his weight, he felt the subtle give of smart-foam, not soil. A long table of dark composite “wood” sat in the center, its grain patterns moving faintly, like slow-flowing data. Golden fields of barely visible static shimmered faintly along the walls, and the air inside carried a low electrostatic hush. Whatever tech Meztaka used to shield their rooms was a lot smoother than the jammers Tony was used to.

  “Are you pleased with the room, Mr. Dog?”

  “Yeah, it’ll work. The jammer’s always active?”

  “Yes, sir. There is no option to disable the privacy field. Should it go down, you’d be wise to assume that your meeting was compromised.” He stepped away from the door and added, “I’ll let the hospitality staff know you’re here so that they can start your beverage and food service.”

  “Thanks.” Tony sat down in one of the plush synth-leather chairs facing the door. When he put his hand on the table, it pulsed with light and a display appeared in the faux wood.

  A circle pulsed, and Nora said, “If you hold your finger on that spot, I can pair with the table. It will allow me to display maps or anything else you’d like projected.”

  “Right.” As he held his finger on the spot and Nora made his connection, Tony tried to wrap his head around his nervousness; his left palm was damp, his nanites were working overtime to keep him from sweating through his shirt, and he had a general feeling of anxiety—more than he’d had going into his meetings with Eric, more than when he’d stared down Wasp and his crew.

  “Addie,” he whispered, chasing her name with a soft chuckle.

  “Was there something you wanted me to do—”

  “No, Nora. I’m just thinking out loud.” The fact of the matter was that Tony was nervous to see Addie after so long apart. Had he changed too much? Had he managed to hang onto the aspects of himself that she liked? Had their time apart cooled her feelings toward him, regardless? He wouldn’t be surprised. She was too damn smart to be caught up with a guy like him, wasn’t she?

  He realized that was the crux of his nervousness. What if she didn’t come? What if she’d just been stringing him along with those messages, but when push came to shove, she couldn’t bring herself to go all the way out to District One and stick her neck out against a corp like Cross?

  “Calm down,” he hissed, clenching his mechanical fingers.

  It was strange how that worked, he mused, looking down at his fist. It was a different feeling from his flesh-and-blood hand. He had sensation—could feel temperatures and even the smallest touch—but there weren’t bones and tendons in there. When he squeezed his grip tight, he felt the pressure, but not in the same way his left hand did. The point was that it didn’t matter; he still felt a stress release when he did it.

  “A testament to human adaptability.” He snorted, shaking his head at the weird rabbit holes his brain was willing to go down in order to avoid thinking about what was bothering him. As he shook his hand out and leaned back, the door chimed and his heart began to pound in his chest.

  “It’s a hospitality synth,” Nora announced.

  “You have access to the door?”

  “Yes. When I paired with the table, it gave me access.”

  “Open it, then.”

  The door hissed as it irised open, and a feminine synth pushed a cart through. “Hello, Mr. Dog. Mr. Beef ordered the Verdant Glimmer cocktails, a pot of Forest Shade Brew, and a sampler of cedar-smoked protein bites, glow-cap skewers, and radial root chips. Shall I leave the cart?”

  “Is that right, Nora?” She was the one who’d actually made the order.

  “Yes, Tony—a variety of flavors and beverages. I thought Beef would prefer the beer to the cocktails.”

  Tony nodded, gesturing to the space between the wall and the table. “Yeah, just put it over there.”

  “Perfect,” the synth said, wheeling the cart over. “The top compartment is heated and humidity-optimized, so don’t feel you need to rush. The drinks are arranged in the refrigerated section.”

  “Thanks.” Tony watched as the synth sauntered out of the room, then he walked over to the cart. He could use a drink. Unfortunately, he’d just opened the side of the cart, revealing an array of cocktails and a pitcher of green-tinted beer when the door chimed again.

  “It’s Addie,” Nora announced, her voice surprisingly eager. Tony tilted his head, intrigued. Of course, he knew Nora wasn’t a true AI, but the emotion sounded pretty damn convincing. There were degrees of sentience when it came to synths and AIs, and he wondered if she was a little more evolved than he gave her credit for sometimes. “Should I open it?” she prodded.

  Tony closed the fridge and stood. He took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and faced the door. “Open it.”

  The door hissed, and there she was. Addie looked different; her hair was cut shorter, smoothed back, and pinned into submission with barrettes. Her lips curled into a smile, her glossy lipstick color shifting subtly through shades of pink. She wore her usual yellow jacket with the high collar, but her body was clad in a form-fitting black jumper crisscrossed with polymer webbing that Tony knew was meant to distribute impact force from small arms fire.

  He didn’t get a chance to inspect her further; she practically leaped through the door and smashed into him, squeezing his ribs as she buried her face in his chest. “Oh, God, Tony! You smell so good.” At her words, all of his stress fell away, and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her against him.

  They might have stood like that for a year if Beef hadn’t appeared in the doorway, stooping to clear the opening—barely broad enough for his shoulders. “The hell is this? Who makes a door shaped like an asshole?”

  Tony barked a short laugh, and Addie pulled away from him a little. She didn’t look at Beef, though; she stared up into Tony’s eyes and said, “Ignore him and kiss me.”

  Tony was already leaning in as she finished the sentence. He started out with a gentle press of the lips, but she was hungry for more, and he obliged. Beef grumbled something obscene, but Glitch, whom Tony had yet to lay eyes on, hushed him. He could taste something in Addie’s lip gloss—vanilla and something else, but then her tongue darted past his lips and he lost track, savoring the warmth and familiarity of her mouth, the smell of the little puffs of breath coming out of her nose.

  When she pulled away, his smile was stupid, but the first thing to come out of his mouth was stupider: “Damn, that lip gloss didn’t even smear.”

  Addie smiled. “It’s new. Glitch gave it to me.”

  When Tony turned to the table, Glitch looked away, but her smile was too big to disguise as she hastily made a show of coughing into her sleeve. Then Tony’s eyes fell on Beef and he said, “Holy shit! Somebody took Beef and replaced him with a proper operator!”

  The big man grinned, holding up his armored cybernetic arm and mock-flexing. “Wanted to be more like you, T.”

  Tony arched an eyebrow. “That right?”

  “Well,” Beef chuckled. “Except for the looks.” He scratched his jaw, tilting his head to give Tony a better profile view. “Why would I mess up the best-looking face in the Blast?”