26 – Sunday Roast

  Hector looked around the room, his eyes coming back to the entryway just in time to see Orin lift a little courier bag out of the grocery box. He pulled out a plastic-wrapped bundle of black chem-sticks, and his eyes bulged out. “Oh, shit!” He tore the plastic and pulled one out, exposing dozens of little silver stars laced up and down the black chemical compound. “Starbursts!”

  Hector tilted his head and was about to ask what those were, but Evie filled him in before he spoke:

  //Designer chemical inhalant highly prized for its dream-like hallucinatory effects. Made by an unidentified individual known as the Red Prince—according to chatter on city-net forums, they’ve been in short supply for the last several months.//

  “These’ll smooth things over about us rolling these guys. Grando’s gonna freak.”

  Hector ignored Orin’s assumption that Grando would find out what they’d done. “Worth a lot?”

  The bruiser nodded. “Enough that we ought to get the fuck out of here. Don’t take any weapons. The PK drones might spot something, and then we’d be screwed.” He held up the bundle of chem-sticks to emphasize his point.

  Hector shrugged. He was pretty sure he’d looted all the bit-lockers from his three victims, and their weapons weren’t exactly noteworthy. Still, he gave the dead crew boss a final look, wondering if any of his clothes were worthwhile. The jacket might have been, but he’d done a number on it with the vibro-sword.

  “Coming?” Orin asked, standing in the doorway.

  “A minute.” There was a counter with a sink not three steps from him, so Hector walked over, turned on the water, and rinsed his hands and sleeves. The synth-leather didn’t absorb the water, and the blood washed off pretty well. He shook his hands dry over the sink, looking around for a towel and finding nothing.

  “Come on, man,” Orin urged.

  Hector grunted and followed him out.

  The enforcer had to hunch forward as he walked, and on the stairs, he made slow progress, wheezing and wincing with each step down. Hector hurried ahead, partly to check for another ambush, but also so he wouldn’t have to listen to the guy struggle. Nobody was out and about, in the stairwell or the lobby; it seemed the residents knew better than to nose around when bangers were going at each other.

  Is that what I am now?

  The thought was sobering, and he had to remind himself that he was only working with Grando as a means to an end. He had much bigger problems, much bigger enemies to deal with. He wondered if maybe that was why the prospect of looking into Paul Chevalier’s death appealed to him so much. It wasn’t something a guy like Grando would get mixed up in, and the antagonists in that situation weren’t petty thieves and lowlifes. Tacitianus was a Royal—a distant one, but a Royal nonetheless, and it felt more right to go after him with regard to building up some potentia and a pile of bits—things he very much needed if he’d ever fulfill his blood oath.

  Those were the thoughts passing through his mind as he watched out the door to the street, waiting for Orin to catch up to him. When the big man came limping around the corner, Hector held the door open for him, and then they continued down the sidewalk, heads down, and Hector, at least, working to disguise his gait.

  He shuffled a bit with one foot and twitched his torso to the side, hoping the drones filming from above wouldn’t connect him to Paul Chevalier’s warrant. He wouldn’t normally worry, but once wind got out that some bangers had been taken out at the location, he figured the local peacekeeper might review some time-stamped footage.

  “We’ll grab a local train and get lost in the crowd.” Orin pointed to a group of people, bundled against the cold, waiting at a nearby stop.

  “Away from the club?”

  Orin nodded. “Just a couple of stops. Then we’ll walk through a market and pick up a different line heading back. Don’t worry; we won’t go near any PKs.”

  Hector nodded.

  The next hour and a half unfolded just the way Orin described. They took a ground-level train deeper into the city and got off again just five or so klicks from where they boarded. Orin picked that stop because it was just a block from a large indoor market—similar to Lefty’s Bazaar, but more formalized and regulated, with permanent, plasteel shops on the perimeter of the ground floor.

  In the market, they paused to buy a paper cup of cider with a splash of mystery alcohol, drank it down, and then exited on the far side, which opened onto a train platform that was shielded with a high, metallic awning. From there, they took the train back the way they’d come, though on a different line. Twenty minutes later, they were walking toward the Velvet Strip.

  At the corner outside the club, Orin paused and looked at Hector. “Coming in?”

  He shook his head. “Gonna work on another job.” When Orin frowned, he added, “Grando knows about it.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  Hector put his hands in his pockets, feeling the bit-lockers he’d stashed in there. “Probably not.”

  “Oh yeah? Big job? Need some muscle?”

  “Not for this one.” After a brief pause, he added. “Was good work today, though.”

  Orin grinned. “Hell yes, it was! You’re a fucking machine. One second I was blasted with a lead brick and the next you were standing over two dead bangers!” He laughed. “I wish I was around to watch your fight on Friday.”

  Hector shrugged. “Maybe next week.”

  “Oh, that would be sweet.” He held out a fist. “See you in a few days then?”

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  Hector nodded, pulling his hand from the warmth of his pocket to knock his knuckles against Orin’s. “Probably.”

  “Right, well”—he patted the courier bag full of chem-sticks—“I’ll be sure to tell Grando you get a cut.”

  “Sounds good.” With that, Hector turned and crossed the street, following the route Evie had outlined for him.

  //Hector, I thought you’d want to know that I’m sensing a near-band link from one of the bit-lockers you took from those gang members. I believe it’s the necklace.//

  Yeah? Can you connect to it?

  //I can, but it’s encrypted. If you take me to that Sol-Terminal, I could try to purchase some cracking algorithms from the city net. While researching the Gray Phage, I found some intriguing dark-net sites.//

  Legitimate?

  //Unknown. I’ll have an idea after we make a purchase. It’s only 229 bits.//

  Hector sighed, but Evie could read his surface thoughts, and she updated his mini-map to re-route him to the Sol-Terminal. It seemed he’d already decided to try the software. Check if my new ID is online yet.

  //I’ve been checking hourly. Nothing yet. I’ll keep you updated.//

  He spent the next twenty minutes walking to the grocer’s shop and allowing Evie to connect to the terminal. He paid for the illicit software with his skull ring, and Evie ensured the transaction was anonymous, but he didn’t like the idea of her relying on some questionable code she found on the Martian net. She was clever, but she was no net-jacker’s AI.

  Despite that, part of what made Evie an excellent aura system was her creativity; she was a natural problem solver, so he thought the gamble was worth a try. He saw it as a matter of convenience; if she could pop some of the bit-lockers, it would make things easier than relying on Lemon’s friend.

  He was halfway back to Lemon’s place with a sack of groceries weighing him down when Evie spoke into his ear implants again:

  //Your ID is online! Hector Valerius! A fitting name, if you ask me.//

  That was fast… I wasn’t really expecting it today. Didn’t he say Monday?

  //The ID Fixer’s contact must have uploaded it right away. Perhaps he under-promised to manage your expectations.//

  It’s correctly tied to my biometrics?

  //Your retinas, which is standard for someone who hasn’t had a run-in with the law.//

  Hector felt his cheeks tugging into a smile. Having a proper ID would make travel to Redwick Station a lot easier, and it meant he’d be able to leave as soon as he wanted. More than that, he’d be able to open an Imperial bit-vault—useful for all sorts of transactions that the bit-lockers he’d been dealing with weren’t suited for. Even if Evie managed to crack the necklace with its “near-band” link, there were many merchants and services that would only accept payment from Empire-backed vaults.

  The value of bit-lockers, especially ones that weren’t perpetually online, was that they were safe from digital confiscation and far more anonymous. In his newfound criminal wisdom, Hector thought it would be good to have access to both. In fact, he liked the idea of having physical control over most of his wealth. If the Empire flagged him for some reason and locked his bit-vault, he could lose everything in it.

  //Agreed, Hector. Your current incarnation will benefit from a much-reduced reliance on Imperial services—and regulation.//

  Hector snorted, crossing the street and hurrying the last few steps to Lemon’s building. The weather was better—the wind was dying down—but he was eager to get out of the cold. When he reached Lemon’s door and rang the buzzer, her voice, muffled by the plasteel panel, called out, “If that’s you, Hector, just come in!”

  He touched the lock panel with his thumb and then went inside. His nostrils were immediately flooded with the scent of well-seasoned roasted meat. “Ah, you cooked,” he said, his eyes going straight to the auto-oven. It was burbling away, venting steam every few seconds.

  “I made us a roast! The price of a piece of vat-meat that size was criminal, but things are good right now.”

  “You paid your landlord off?”

  Lemon, standing in the kitchen, looked up from a bowl of greens she was mixing and scowled at him. “Don’t be a downer!”

  Hector snorted and held up his bag. “Got some drinks.” He’d bought some canned cocktails at the grocer. The bag was also loaded with a dozen meal bars, but he didn’t see any point in mentioning those.

  “Oh? Something good?”

  His lips curled crookedly. “You like cheap vodka and fruit juice?”

  Lemon laughed. “Wow! Really know how to make a girl feel special.” She walked over and took the bag, peering into it as she returned to the kitchen. “Oh, I like these! You got some good ones!” She held up a yellow can. “This is a margarita! That’s got tequila, not vodka.”

  Hector doubted it. The company probably used the same flavorless alcohol in all of its mixers. He didn’t care, though; something about the job he’d done with Orin, and his intention to leave town, even if for just a little while, made him feel like having a few drinks with Lemon. Was he celebrating? His oath of vengeance flashed through his mind, chased by a wave of guilt.

  “Something wrong?”

  He shook his head, taking off his jacket and boots. In the process, he saw some blood on his sleeve that he’d missed, so he carried it over to the kitchen and pointed to a box of SunBleach wipes she kept on the counter. “Can you hand me one of those?”

  Lemon shook her head. “Don’t use those on your jacket; you might discolor the leather.”

  He shrugged. “It’s synthetic.”

  “Even more reason to be careful! You want a blotchy-looking jacket?”

  She reached into her sink and picked up a dishrag. “Here, let me see it.”

  Hector held onto the jacket. “It’s blood.”

  “I’ll wash my hands after. Gimme.”

  Hector passed her the coat and then leaned back against the back of the couch, watching as she methodically wiped the jacket down.

  “Guess you and Orin got into some trouble.”

  “Not really.”

  “Uh-huh.” As she finished, she hung the jacket from the end of a clothing rack near her sleeping alcove. She gestured to the couch. “Sit down. I’m almost done in here. Roast will be done in ten minutes. You’re going to like it; I added potatoes and carrots, and I even rehydrated some mushrooms. It won’t be like a proper Earth roast; I mean, who can afford real beef, right? Even so, it’s gonna be good.” As she spoke, the oven burbled and ejected some mouth-watering steam, and she smiled. “Smell that?”

  Hector nodded, lifting his leg over the couch and sliding down onto a cushion.

  Lemon watched him settle in. “You want a drink?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Lemon laughed. “I will!” As she rummaged for glasses, she said, “You seem different—more human. I noticed it this morning too. Something to do with your AI coming online, maybe?”

  Hector didn’t think he was different, but he didn’t feel like trying to convince her otherwise. “Maybe.”

  “Well, what’s next on your plan to conquer the universe?”

  “Heading out for a job tomorrow. Might be gone a few days.”

  “Oh?” Lemon’s upbeat tone turned a bit sour. “Why so long? Grando’s territory isn’t that big.”

  “Something to do with this skin.” Hector’s paranoia reared its ugly head, and he decided not to say more.

  “Something like?”

  “Better you don’t know.”

  “Ugh. I take it back—what I said about you being different.”

  Hector smiled.

  “Well, you are coming back, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I take it that means…” She kept talking, but Hector missed her further words because Evie also made an announcement:

  //I’ve finished mapping the pathways and performing the conversion calculations for the new archetype, Hector. It seems like it might be worth exploring. I’m naming it The Berserker—I believe it would open some interesting aura talents.///

  That sounds…worth looking into.

  “…so anyway, I’ll be happy to look after your stuff if you don’t want to haul all that with you.”

  Hector looked up to see Lemon approaching with two tumblers, each full of ice and whatever cocktail she’d decided on. For just a moment he mentally backed off, stopped constantly policing his emotions, and allowed himself to feel good. He had reason to, after all: he and Orin had gotten out of a scrap without any serious injuries; his new ID was online; Evie was figuring out more and more with his aura system; and he had a worthy target in mind, someone who deserved a taste of justice. Besides all that, Lemon was cooking him an Empire-damned Sunday roast.

  “Yeah,” he said, offering her a smile as he took the drink. “I’d like that, Lemon.”