I stared at the printout. The young Haxel Rod in uniform, puffing his chest out. The late Dolly, hair in pigtails, holding the hand of the girl next to her. Lila Poole. Where was she now?
Computer personal incoming chime.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. I had null routed all incomings. No inquiries or new cases. Focus was everything now. I had built the firewalls, bounced my signals around the globe. Privacy until I found Lila. I had no idea how much time it would take. And now a chime? This could only be a direct from the Level Boss.
Except it wasn’t.
Haxel shimmered before me, his eyes bleary from booze and lack of sleep. He just sat there, not saying anything.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you ever again. Gonna share the bits from that tip on the feather?” I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice, so instead I used it to try and get a rise out of him. Not even one of his smarmy know-it-all smirks in return.
“I can offer you bits direct. I need help. I need to hire you.” His voice was after-party raspy. He spoke slowly, shaping each word in his mouth until they dribbled out.
I laughed a cheerless laugh. What was I, new to the Stream? Trying out for kickball, hoping the jock was going to pick me?
“How did you even get on my line? I never took you for an admin.”
“I told the Level Boss you would sort this.”
So I was right. The Level Boss was behind this.
“What the hell does that mean? Am I supposed to teach you how to wipe your ass, or did you think I was just going to go ahead and do that for you?”
“Dolly didn’t commit suicide.”
“Oh, shock! I better cancel the mental health vigil.”
“Shut up and let me finish. Dolly didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”
Maybe what I thought was a hungover stupor was actually fear. “Well, c’mon,” my voice softened a notch, “she wasn’t exactly getting the kid glove treatment from the Censors.” I tried my reasoning tone, “I assumed they took the corners on the joyride to Liberation Rehab too fast.”
“No, they got her there alright. Someone went in after, past all the filters, past the Censors, the Editors, the Redistributors and took her out.”
“So what? Why get me involved, and what’s it to you, Haxel?”
“Level Boss wants control of the narrative. No random murders. She wants me to use the other feather as a lure to catch the killer. Said she’d send out some incentive later this morning.”
“Fresh bits or back pay for Dolly?”
“Nothing with bits. Said her incentive would inspire me, and my success would be its own reward.”
“Ha, now who’s the Good Citizen?”
“I can’t do this without you,” he snarled. He had some color in his cheeks again. Anger felt normal—the begging was unnerving. “She’s not coming back to the Chit Chat Room ever again. I need some real tracking this time. Only you can do that.”
Even when he was belligerent and desperate, it was hard to resist his charisma. For others, I mean. I had a hard NO on my lips out of reflex, but I stopped myself. I needed to find Lila Poole, and he wanted to use her, which would get her killed. If I worked with him, I could gain access to the club comms, obscure my trail and find her quicker. Protect her. Worth it, then. Working with Haxel would get me further in my case. And save the life of someone I cared about.
“Alright, alright. Turns out, we both wanna find this bird.”
“What do you want her for?” He raised his head like a hunting dog picking up a scent.
“It’s for another investigation, nothing to fog your viewers. I’ll help you, and we’ll find her fast. But I want something in return.”
“Look, the Level Boss-”
“And nothing to do with the Level Boss! Keep her out of it. We find this bird, and you let me have some one-on-one in your office.” After the Clone Battle, Haxel had swung his newfound hero status into creating an untappable. I needed to have a private conversation with Lila, find out what she knew. Any other ears would mean death for both of us.
He covered his shock with an appraising look.
“Takes all kinds, I learned that as a Liberator.”
I sat on a scoff. I bet he had, the “Liberator.” I kept my expression neutral.
He eyed me as he lit a stick and inhaled slowly, then snorted out the smoke with superior disdain. “Deal. Whatever you’re…investigating…fine,” he shrugged, “just no marks on the face, or anything that can’t be covered up with long sleeves and a scarf.”
“I’m not looking to pervert! Give me a private hour and don’t squeal that it went down. That’s the deal.”
“I already said ‘deal’. Don’t keep adding conditions. We find her, you get your one-on, and afterwards, no one has to know you went down. That’s all I’m agreeing to.”
He pushed my buttons whenever he could.
“I remember 5 minutes ago when you were acting like you actually wanted my help,” I felt a good head of steam building against my pressure valve, “I’m not looking for a locker room towel fight. Find someone else, I’ve got my own work.” I started to lean over to hit delete on the connection while he yammered on.
“I got enough work keeping the ladies in my clubs happy, I don’t need to sit here and fawn over a washed up-”
Generic computer chime.
NEWSFLASH: WAS WAR HERO MAJOR HAXEL ROD WORKING FOR THE ENEMY? NEW EVIDENCE SUGGESTS HE MAY HAVE BEEN AN OPPRESSOR. INVESTIGATIONS UNDERWAY, UPDATES AS SOON AS THEY REACH THE SURFACE.
My finger hovered over delete as I looked at Haxel. The fight in him had deflated into shock. The next phase was going to be him lashing out in a destructive rage. The Level Boss could swing public opinion whatever way she needed, whenever she needed. She could megawatt the entire Stream and make a revue out of it. That had real consequences for undercovers. Lila was the key to my whole investigation. I needed to find her. Even at the cost of my dignity.
“Alright, clock is ticking. We need to move before cyber ops curtail your access. Meet you in 20 at the Blunderbuss.”
He nodded in resignation, his eyes on his shoes.
The station was crowded, commuters overflowing the platform, rats on the tracks. I stood there for 10 minutes before an agent came by and told us that the whole system was down. I hied it to the surface, tripping a few commuters on the stairs in front of me and shoving another one into the gutter to get to a rickshaw before the whole waiting queue was hired and gone.
“Blunderbuss.”
“5.”
“7 if you can do it in 10,” I said, rapping the rickshaw frame hard for emphasis.
The driver nodded, then pushed and strained, rickshaw handles balanced on his shoulders, boot catching a rat’s tail at the light. It hissed and scurried into a sewer. He found traction and accelerated into a run, careening us into traffic.
The Blunderbuss was below level, the entrance down narrow, steep steps cut into the sidewalk. A single replica gun hung diagonally on the door, no other sign or lights or indication that this was a legitimate establishment. I pulled the door open and a gust of basement sequestered cigarette smoke blew out and clung to my coat like a heavy fog.
It was the same layout as the Chit Chat Room, but seedier, more downtrodden. A dark, dusty curtain blocked the stage at the back, the cocktail tables on the floor in front of it in disarray. The leather booths along the sides were worn through in spots, tables dinged and gouged with impromptu graffiti. All vacant. The bar was in the center, dividing the performance area at the back and the professional drinkers in the front. It was a dark mahogany, stools bolted to the floor at regular intervals around it. The shelf of liquors behind the bartender had some spaces missing where bottles had not been replenished, others had a good layer of dust on them. There were only two beers on tap: Paleface Tomahawk and Brown Bess. A well-worn local crouched at one end of the bar, his shoulders rolled into a protective shelter over a smudged glass of cheap ginch.
Haxel was slumped at the other end of bar, his back to the front door. He had none of the swagger he displayed at the Chit Chat Room.
“I didn’t think you could keep this low a profile.” He was so entranced with his glass of Brown Bess that I expected to startle him. He didn’t flinch.
“My comps at the UA and Homestead have been shut off.”
“Just the beginning. I’m surprised there hasn’t been another broadcast, unless I missed it. The rickshaw had a screen, no sound, though.”
“No, nothing. Level Boss is going to make this an agony, keep tightening the screws until she gets results. I can drink this flat Bess down, but then all the taps will be shut off.”
“Alright, let’s find her.”
Haxel shrugged.
I needed to prod him into motion. “Check the static filters and see if there’s any mention of a Lila Poole on the back end.”
He looked up finally. “Her name already? I’m im-”
Generic computer chime.
NEWSFLASH: FORENSIC ANALYSIS PROVES MAJOR ROD DOCTORED HIS UNIFORM TO COVER OPPRESSOR INSIGNIA IN ORDER TO APPEAR AS A LIBERATOR. GROWING EVIDENCE SUGGESTS HAXEL ROD MAY BE A WAR CRIMINAL HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT. DO NOT APPROACH THE MAJOR. CENSORS HAVE BEEN PUT ON ALERT. Close up of the old photograph that accompanied Dolly Drury’s death announcement, but with the patch on Haxel’s chest blown up, revealing a corner of the Oppressor “R” peeking out from underneath.
The announcement blast died and left the club more desolate than before. Was it really a patch? I couldn’t tell if this photo had been doctored up. I’d have to check when I could compare it to the printout in my office. That was going to be awhile, though.
“She always keeps her name out of it.” Haxel was bitter. He picked up the glass of beer and bolted it.
“Even so, you and I know it’s the Level Boss flexing her muscle. You’re right, Lila is not going to risk another visit to the Chit Chat. That means she’s gonna Greyhound or try to mix with the Port UA crowd and sneak onto a transport. I’ll hit both unless I hear about a new lead from you first.” I put my hand on his shoulder. The sap. Dummy obviously never fell from grace over the course of a single morning before.
“OK. I’ll underground it to the Chit Chat untappable and start eavesdropping.”
He teetered a bit when he came to standing, but there was resolve in his squared shoulders.
I hopped a bus to the Greyhound Portal. The same derelicts were propped up on benches, same wide berth in front of the public heads. I beelined to the ticket kiosk and rapped on the glass.
“Looking for a petite woman, blond spiky hair, oversized military coat. Seen her around?”
The same ticket agent, forced to look up from the pirate broadcast jammed under his counter to engage long enough to get rid of me.
“What, no screenshot this time?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Not that it did any good jogging your memory last time. Seen her or not?” The grip on my temper was loosening. I slid my hand into my coat pocket and found the shiv.
“You sure don’t hang onto them long, do you? Never knew investigating dames had such a high turnover rate.”
It really wasn’t even worth it. If he had seen her, he would have tried to sell me a “ticket” already and pocketed the bits. The screen over the booth was off, which meant he wasn’t being surveilled. Probably turned it off at set intervals to run info scams, then clicked it back on before the Censors caught the lag. No updates from Haxel meant I needed to at least try to get an answer before heading to Port UA, though. When in the Stream…
“If I buy a ticket will you tell me what you know?” I was surprised at how solicitous I sounded considering how I was lapping at the very dregs of my patience.
“Oh, sure you can buy a ticket—anywhere we go, just name it. All I can do is give you a ticket and some change, though, I can’t make up a traveler to suit your…proclivities. If you do find her, come back and tell me about the ride.” He chuckled at his own wit and brought up the schedule screen and turned it toward me.
I leaned in and rested my forehead on the glass.“Alright, you’re onto me. Wanna know what I really do with them?” I whispered so he would have to scoot forward to hear.
He broke into a smirk and came closer.
I jammed my hand through the ticket slot, grabbed his tie and used it to slam his head into the glass. I did it quick—five times in succession until the glass cracked and I could punch it out. It shattered to the floor as I drove the shiv into his neck.
I expected a bloody mess, not the electric shock from his neck to the shiv through my arm to my heart. I was on my back, the cracked and dusty ceiling overhead. There was a great stillness, the silence of a heartbeat I had never noticed before. My heartbeat. Gone. These were the final thoughts of the final moments of my life. It was ending in a Greyhound Portal. I didn’t feel anything.
Two bums blocked out the ceiling. Then it all faded and I couldn’t see anymore. They said something, but I couldn’t hear words anymore. There was the sensation of being lifted and carried, but I suppose everyone feels that on their way out.
***
A thudding sound
“Viv. Viv. Vivisection! He’s back, you can quit the chest thumps.”
A terrible gasp for air. The outside and the inside were in the wrong places.
The blackness pixilated into color from the corners of my vision to the center. I was looking up at a tiled ceiling this time. Then a horrible stench hit my nose, throat and stomach. I flailed to sitting, then dry heaved back down onto my side. Military boots, new soles. Patched and ragged bum pants.
“Ahh, Big Polly, now he’s all the way back,” Vivisection laughed.
I was in the public head at the Greyhound Portal. Just went things couldn’t get worse.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, that’s not you, just a little fragrance we spray around for privacy.” There was a low hum, which might have been the sound of some auto mister, or the sound of my mind coming back online. I started to collect information: that was “Vivisection” standing right in front of my face.
“We noticed you had a little trouble booking your journey, thought we could help.” That was “Big Polly,” standing behind me.
“I’m looking for someone,” I rasped.
“Of course you are,” Vivisection crouched down solicitously. She smiled, her mouth full of alternating brown nubs and black gaps. Her head was shaved except for a patch of scraggly magenta hair. It hung down into her face in a matted clump, which she brushed back with a dirty hand. “You were flashing a screenshot in here just the other day. Why don’t you tell us who you’re looking for and we can make sure we get you on the right track this time?”
“We can back door you before the Censors show up and start wondering why their ticket bot’s offline and the screen’s disengaged.” Big Polly was smooth, reasonable.
They were too articulate for Greyhound Portal squatters. The military boots, too. I regretted admitting I was looking for anyone. Thank goodness there had been enough blood pooled in my brain to prevent me from spilling her name.
I started to get up off the floor. Standing seemed a long way off. Longer still when Big Polly kicked me back down.
“Not so fast there, Mr. Shiv,” Vivisection had a mean laugh. She knelt down and got right in my face. Her breath was the ass of a rotting skunk. “We’re not asking about bits for saving your life, although, hey, we wouldn’t mind. Just give us the name for now.”
“I appreciate the-”
“Truth of the matter is,” Big Polly said, looking down at me with her arms crossed. “It would be a whole lot easier for all of us—less nosing around, I mean, if we just choke you purple and dump your body on top of that short circuit out there and let the Censors connect the dots.”
I was thinking as fast as I could, but each thought was like a train derailing.
“I don’t have a name…that’s why I’m here.”
“The stink is even getting to me now. Let’s whack him,” Vivisection said to Big Polly, standing up and slapping her hands together.
“I can give you a description-”
Lightening bolts flared in my vision to accompany the cracking of bones in my hand. Big Polly still had her arms crossed. She lifted her boot again and stomped down on the same spot. She had a curious look on her face, like she was watching a rat caught in a trap.
“Ok, ok.” I rolled over into a protective squat, cradling my broken hand to my chest.
“Just the name will do.” Big Polly kicked me hard in the kidney.
“He woulda told us by now, let’s just gut him and drag him back out.”
“Agreed, Viv.” Big Polly pulled me roughly to my feet.
Vivisection had rescued my shiv from the electronics mess back at the ticket booth and held it in her hand now, crouched in a fighting stance.
There was the sticky, sucking sound of someone’s shoe on the floor behind me, then a blinding flash from a Mag5. Vivisection dropped. She lay twitching for a moment, then went still. A horrific burnt flesh smell rose up in a cloud and mingled with the fetid air.
Big Polly transformed into a cowering beggar, hands outstretched in supplication. Another flash and the smell of burning wires as she dropped into a twitching mess. After a moment, she stopped moving.
“I caught a thread of worrisome static,” Haxel said, coming up beside me. “You weren’t answering, and then the line went dead. I’m surprised to find you alive.”
“Thanks,” I said and meant it. “I’d shake your hand, but…” I had a good look at the lump of meat on the end of my arm. My Animator Patch13s were back at the office.
He chuckled and slapped a flask into my good hand. “Here, trick I learned in the war. A couple swigs of that will tide you over until we can get that into a reanimator. You must remember this stuff from your time in uniform, huh?”
I put the flask to my lips so I wouldn’t have to time travel and reminisce with him. I kicked it back gratefully, upending the entire contents into my throat.
“Great,” I nodded, handing it back to him. “These two mentioned the Censors coming soon, we better get a move on.”
“They’re already here, I tailed them in. They’re counting nuts and bolts over by the ticket booth, gonna be awhile before they get around to doing their jobs and have a look in here. When they do, these two lumps will waylay them for the rest of the night. Back when my unit was occupying this portal, there was an exit from the stall at the end. Led to an abandoned track.”
I followed him out through the sewers up a level to an old track. We emerged onto Causeway from an alley. It was just after rush hour and the air was thick with smog. I leaned against a brick wall and took a deep breath. It was good to be part of the Stream again.
“You mentioned some worrisome static on the comms, what’d you catch?”
“Some kind of protest at the Clone Factory Memorial. I got the sense that this was something to do with me. I didn’t want to go there by myself.”
On any other day, I would have given him shit for thinking everything in the Stream was about him. This time, though, I had to agree. It was probably a trap to lure him out, string him up and slice his throat open: the last Oppressor, brought to “justice.”
“Well, there’s no sense in going there anyway, we’re looking for Lila, not a bunch of rabble rousers egged on by the broadcasts. Let’s cast our net in the other direction and ease through some of your rival clubs. Makes sense she’d avoid the Chit Chat for the other side to run a vengeance for Dolly.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? This Lila Poole is leading the mob. She got an ultimatum up on the screens somehow—We’re supposed to meet and moon over old yearbooks from her school days or something. Talk about what might have been, I guess.”
My heart sank. The Level Boss must have greenlit the broadcast invitation, which means she already knew all about Lila Poole. So much for my reunion in the untappable. The trap was set, nothing to do but walk right into it.
“Alright, let’s go see what we can learn.” I stood back from the wall and did a quick internal: the broken hand was a floating cloud after Haxel’s flask ginch. Back was a little sore from Big Polly getting her kicks in, chest would sport a dinner plate of a bruise from Viv’s faux EMT work. Pretty solid, but the best way to test out my seaworthiness was to proceed. I looked Haxel up and down with an idea of trying to tone his hero/celebrity facade down so we could incognito long enough to work an exit for ourselves when this got hands-on. The bum’s military boots flashed in my mind. “Let’s add some local color before hopping a train.” I motioned for Haxel to follow me back down the alley.
We pummeled a few derelicts roughly our size and donned their rags. I felt refreshed from limbering up and spreading hurt. Haxel looked like an idiot in his oversized cook’s pants and tight sweater. Perfect. He pulled a grease stained cap over his buzzcut and we trammed it to the docks.
The clone factory rubble had been preserved and turned into a war memorial. It was fenced in with only one entrance. There was no sign of activity. I turned to Haxel and raised my eyebrows—here?
“Where is everybody?” Haxel whispered.
“Most definitely a trap, but I’m not sure for whom. Let’s keep going.”
“What?” Haxel didn’t bother whispering. “I know who they’re trying to trap, idiot. I’m not going in there like a lamb. Fat good your plan to show up in disguise is—there’s only one way in.”
“But there’s more than one way out. Beats standing here hoping for an invitation.”
Haxel had his crafty look again. “So you have been here before. And you act like you weren’t in the war.”
“C’mon, let’s get out of the open.”
We passed the entrance. The stone plinth was askew, the brass plaque with the engraved list of the Liberator fallen had been knocked off. Fresh bricks had been dropped in the cobblestone pathway, next to protein wrappers and crushed cans of Beanbrew as though there had been a crowd armed for damage. Vintage bricks from the battle were untouched, still piled up next to the blown out windows and crumbling walls of the factory itself. A thin stream of salty smog threaded through the ruins.
We walked through the archway into the factory. There were memorial lights at regular intervals, for signs and photo displays. Some had been smashed out recently and broken glass littered the floor in front of darkened cases. We followed the snaking walkway through the main floor then back into the lab spaces. All the doors had been removed to show visitors where the atrocities had been committed. Each glass-walled room was open to the elements and had dust and dead leaves in the corners, but no new signs of disturbance. An examination table sheet, neatly tucked in a the corners, had a dark stain on it. We were walking back toward the entrance when the lights flared up and went out. The Streamlight at the entrance to the factory darkened. The sound of a turning bolt echoed in the space.
“Well, genius, how do we find our way out in the dark?”
My senses were sharpened. Underneath the slate walkway and polished displays was an old familiar scent. Spilled body fluids, ammonia and burning flesh clung to the grout. The ghost of scanner gear whirs and tortured screams hung in the heavy air. Muscle memory turned me back toward the lab with the examination table.
“This way,” I said mechanically. For once, Haxel didn’t object.
We got to the lab and I crouched, groping for the outlet behind the bed. It had been many years since I had come this way. My fingers were much smaller back then. I found the lever and jammed my index finger against it to spring the hatch.
Red emergency lights lit our way along the metal staircase to the basement. We started down a twisting corridor. Random doors were open on the right and left, most rooms empty, any screens on the walls were cracked or ripped out entirely.
“This will put us right on the pier. We can jump an outboard or blend into a commuter barge. Should be back at the Chit Chat before rush hour is over.”
Haxel whistled between his teeth. “I’m impressed. I thought my unit was the first one in. We didn’t have time for reconnaissance. Nice job remembering this. Once the missiles started flying, it was all we could do to cover our heads and get the survivors out.”
“Were there any?”
“What’s that?” Haxel had stopped and was sniffing the air. Something was burning.
We eased around the next bend and stopped. The door was ripped off its hinges with a burning trashcan blocking the entrance. There was a figure inside, bent over, arms raised over the head for protection.
“Let’s keep going,” Haxel said, skirting around me to take the lead.
This was so obviously a trap, I might have been embarrassed for whoever set it, except I was confused. How would they have known we would come this way?
“No,” I said. “You go. The pier is at the end of this hallway. Flimsy lock on the door—one kick should take care of it. I’ll get to the bottom of this. Meet you back at the untappable.”
Haxel searched my face, a million questions crowding behind his eyes. He nodded once and strode off. I kicked the burning trashcan aside and entered.
“Come with me,” I said to the bent figure, “I know a way out.”
No movement.
I came closer, looking back over my shoulder, expecting someone at any moment. I crouched down to touch a shoulder, whispering, “how did you get here?”
The figured slumped over, landing in a puddle of fresh blood. I turned the face toward me.
Lila Poole. “Oh, Lila, my sister,” I said softly, touching her cheek, “how did you get here? Who did this to you?” She would always be that little girl, running through the hallways, laughing, trying to hide but her giggles giving her away. She never got away.
The cracked screen on the wall lit up. The AI avatar of Level Boss faded in.
“Viktor Romeo, home at last? And what’s this? Abetting a felon and another murder on your hands?”
The computer voice of the avatar was toneless, yet it filled me with terror. There was no hiding from her. My mouth was dry, I couldn’t form words.
“Nothing to say for yourself? You’re running out of Facts. And your Oppressor friend is running out of time. Where is he?”
“You said you wanted Lila … here she is. Haxel didn’t do it.”
“I know that,” the AI volume rose. “Any Oppressor or victim could have done it. Not worth wasting Censor resources and time. Although, keeping Haxel on the hop has its rewards. You work for me now. Don’t worry, there are perks: I’ll get you a uniform—one that fits. All Stream comms and resources, at your fingertips, what more could a has-been like you want? Bring me Haxel.”
***
I faded into the commuter crowds, but any sense of anonymity was gone. Every screen was a pair of her eyes, every passing Censor her ears. Her will bore into every input, every output. I stood on the tram platform, shifting my weight while trying to remain still.
Generic computer chime.
NEWSFLASH: MAJOR HAXEL ROD: THE OPPRESSOR HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT. HAXEL ROD IS WANTED BY THE CENSORS FOR IMMEDIATE STREAM REMOVAL. 1500 BIT REWARD FOR BRINGING HIM IN. USE ANY FORCE NECESSARY.
Level Boss wasn’t waiting around for me to deliver. I entered the Chit Chat Room in an after-work crowd, hoping not to be noticed. There was a burlesque show underway and all eyes were on the stage. I faded to the back hallway and rapped lightly on the untappable.
“In here,” Haxel called out.
I closed the door behind me. Haxel had changed back into his impresario outfit—pinstripes, pink tie, shiny shoes.
“Took you long enough. Well, you don’t look beat up—what happened with the trap?”
“You were right, it was for you. Level Boss busted into my investigation and demanded I bring you in.”
“Yeah, I heard the broadcast. 1500? A man likes to think he’s worth a little more than that after a lifetime of service. Well, I’m heading out.” He reached over and grabbed his homburg from the desk.
“Stop! You can’t go out there. The only reason the Censors haven’t bust in already is because they can’t trace you to here. We have to figure out our next moves—I can’t incognito either, Level Boss made it clear she’s gonna clap eyes on me, too if you aren’t turned over soon.”
“Look, I just need to get off planet. Let me think for a minute.” He sunk down into his chair and stared off into space, fidgeting a set of skeleton keys in his hands. “Gotta get to a transport. Damn this burlesque, I could really use one of the…” He snapped his fingers. “Ahhh, one bird’s not on stage tonight—she can get me the all clear.”
“Who’s going to do that for you?” There was excitement in my voice—I wouldn’t have to be involved with getting him out.
“Curb your urge, perv. Kandi Kane works the Port UA, too. She can tap their comms and send us the feed. Tell her I can’t leave here until she says so.”
It was an ice bucket over my head. The flash of a cheap doodle, “Kandi Kane” in loops and swirls, rainbows and unicorns surfaced from a deep memory. She had made it out.
“Who’s Kandi?” I tried to sound disinterested, bored.
“What do you mean, ‘who’s Kandi’? You met her—oh, wait, you were mooning over your new fake sweetheart Sherry Bracken. I guess you only had eyes for that cheap pixel. What kind of undercover are you? She was right there in the room with us. Dope.”
“Kandi was-” I couldn’t breathe. Was I only ever going to see stats after they were plattered right in front of me and then whisked away? Dolly made it out. Lila made it out. Of course she had, too. Haxel in bed with some brunette. Except, not some brunette. Kandi Kane. “I need to talk to her.”
“You need to talk to her? Who do you think I’m sending you to right now, Level Boss’s yenta? Go over and tell her to tap the Port UA now. I don’t have time to chocolate and roses her. I’ll be here waiting for the link to go live.”
Port UA was half a step above Greyhound Portal, meaning regulars could use the public heads and the bars had more than Brown Bess on tap.
Back at the motel, I had only caught a glimpse of Kandi before Sherry got degaussed and the Censors took over. Still, now that I knew her name, of course I recognized those cheekbones. She was bartending, pulling pints and sliding them down the bar at customers.
“Haxel sent me,” I said under my breath.
She roughed a glass at me. “Drink already, everyone’s listening out to hear his name for a chance to make a bit.”
“He wants you to tap the comms here and relay the signal to him.”
“Oh, let me drop every keg and get right on that.” Kandi’s attention was on a faulty tap. She pulled a screwdriver and assaulted it as she talked. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Got him in a safe place. He’s not going to go until you give him an all clear.”
“Oh, the big investigator is taking over. Alright, I’ll give him a line. I’m going to empty this keg and get a new one. Why don’t you come with me and be my cover while I hook it up?”
I stood in the back hallway and looked out toward the bar while she hacked the Port UA publics.
“Alright, big man. I still need to know where Haxel is to connect him.”
“Route it to the Chit Chat Room and I’ll finish the connection when I get back.”
“Yeah, lemme just send a pirate signal to the most wanted man’s nightclub, no one will ever notice. Covering my ass isn’t just for when I’m jimming lines. Tell me where this terminates or I’ll pull it right from the wall and let the Censors come here and sort out why broadcast is offline.”
“Ok, ok. He’s in his office. Put it there.”
“I hate repeating myself. I can’t send this to the Chit Chat—it’s Haxel’s nightclub and that’s all the Censor’s are going to be looking at tonight. His office? Idiot.”
“They won’t see—send it there, it’s an untappable.”
“It’s a … oh. Just when you think you know a man.” She was done in under a minute. I rolled the keg back to the bar for her.
She sidled back to her station and started pulling pints. She didn’t look at me again.
I was heading to the exit when the lights flared.
Generic computer chime.
NEWSFLASH: SHELTER IN PLACE, SHELTER IN PLACE. CENSORS IN PURSUIT OF OPPRESSOR HAXEL ROD. ANYONE ON THE STREETS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT. SHELTER IN PLACE UNTIL THE CENSORS GIVE THE ALL CLEAR.
Censors were storming into Port UA, demanding login records from everyone at the bar.
For the second time in one day, I ended up in the public head. I stood on a toilet in a stall for over an hour before the alarm was turned off. The bar was vacant—I guess shelter in place only worked as long as the taps stay open. No sign of Kandi, either.
I undergrounded to the Chit Chat. It looked pretty run over—brawls had left the floor covered in broken glass, plenty of chairs overturned and the curtain ripped from the stage. Burn marks from degaussers on tables and walls. The bartenders and waitstaff had beat it and left the front door wide open. All this while Haxel hid in the untappable. It was going to kill him to see what a wreck the Censors had made of his baby while they “searched” for signs of the major. I closed the door behind me and locked it. I mulled over a route to get Haxel from here to Port UA and secreted on a transport as I walked gingerly over broken glasses to the back hall.
The office door was cracked open. I rolled my eyes. He just couldn’t resist being big major on campus.
“Would it kill you to lay low for more than 5 minutes?” I swung the door open and stopped in my tracks.
No, was the answer to my question. It wouldn’t kill him. He was already dead.