Episode 7 - The Horned Hare

  Chapter 63 - Operation: Gilded Pearls (2)

  We land on the railing of the balcony, tucking our wings tight and ruffling them from side to side as we settle our flight feathers. Taking a few steps, we sidle along the metal bar, our talons clicking and slipping on the smooth surface. Head cocked, we peer through the window to watch the people within.

  I lean back in my chair in security, twirling one of the cables for my sensors between my fingers.

  “You want a coffee or something?” asks a curious guard nearby, leaning over his workstation with an array of screens showing a rotating selection of camera footage. I’m set up at one end of his desk, his belongings haphazardly piled to my side where he made room for me.

  “Ah, ta, no. I’m right.”

  “There’s a vending machine?”

  “Am I in your way?”

  “No, just being friendly.”

  I curl the cable over my knuckle and glance at him sideways. “Do you want me to move?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  I sniff defensively, curling into my chair. “I don’t want anything.”

  “Jeez. Sure.”

  I glance back at the sensor screen again, watching the moving labels of symbionts around me. It is useful; it can at least see through walls that I cannot. The symbiont I am most worried about will not show on its surface, and Pooka has failed to find her so far. If Red isn’t moving from the safehouse, there might be a chance that she won’t be involved in this operation. But why bring her if she wasn’t part of the plan?

  I focus back on Pooka, who has his head cocked by the window listening and half watching the surrounding skies.

  The executive class lounge is offensively ornate. Rich fabrics hang with gleaming, delicate embroidery imitating leaves and other organic shapes. There is a fountain built upon a large jagged piece of natural stone as if to imitate a waterfall, and several potted plants at its base.

  The men and women mingle, dressed in bright colors you would never see on the streets or in corporate uniforms. Many of them carry hand fans for some reason. The men wear them at the end of long necklaces, or tucked at their waist on chains, gilded ribs snapped shut and tassels hung at the end. The women wear them on short wrist loops, batting them open dramatically and shutting them again in palms as they make their points while talking. There is an array of styles and sizes, and when they open, gorgeous paintings of vines and leaves and flowers from species I’ve never even seen.

  What stands out to me the most is the rich, softness of these people. The men have plump chins and strong, thick hands cupped around glasses of drink. The women are gorgeous curves one after another, like ripe fruit from the greenhouses at Berlinger. They flaunt their wealth with their very bodies. Most rations are generous enough to prevent people from becoming sickly, but never enough to build figures like these people have. They truly are in a class above anything I have interacted with.

  Rhett stands among a few of them, hands behind his back and shoulders square, making polite conversation that seems to indicate he is no stranger to them. He has no fan, nor bright cravats, nor silky neck scarf or shawl. Demure but crisp black suit, Aquila logo in striking gold, and telltale creases mask his weapons harness and body armor below. He is like steel in a garden of flowers. Carbon black on a palette of colored paints. There is the occasional symbiont, mostly avians, and then Pell perched still as he is on his shoulder.

  Pooka hops through the doorway to draw closer; my curiosity must be drifting his way. We land on the back of a chaise at the end of the crowd, hunching our shoulders as we swing our head from side to side, taking in the rich colors of the room.

  Rhett has a whole crowd of women giggling as they chat with him. As usual, his disinterest is unshakable, and his voice is even and mild as he responds to their questions. I am not close enough to make out many words or follow their conversation, but the interest of the women is obvious, several resting the tips of their fans on their open collarbones or drawing them down their chests as if to invite the eye. There is one in particular, with silky black hair cascading down her updo, chest almost heaving over her cinched waist and the soft curve of her hips. She reminds me of an eggplant still on the plant; rich, gleaming Tyrian purple, like just before they turn matte as they finally ripen. She giggles at some particular comment Rhett makes and opens her fan to flutter it, sending a few wisps of her hair back over her shoulder.

  Why the hell is he talking to them? He’s not that funny.

  Our claws clench the chaise, piercing the fabric.

  We could kill them all?

  That is not the solution to every problem.

  It could be.

  Were you like this with other hosts?

  The coming spring warms more than just green buds.

  Not you too. We’re friends, if that. I like teasing him because he’s such an insufferable clock-watcher. It’s not my fault everyone is getting ideas from it. Plus, he might be engaged soon. Plus, it’s not like we’ve done anything.

  You cannot hide yourself from me.

  At least, those are all the things I tell myself to soothe the burning feeling in my chest.

  “I scratch at neon bone, I dance where shadows moan.”

  Pooka’s head spins, my vision turning with him.

  The Lepus sits on the balcony, entirely unconcerned with what transpires past the doors, and standing on its hind legs as it peers upwards at the next balcony over. It seems to be singing to itself as it gathers its hind legs beneath and leaps lazily up to the railing, balanced with supernatural suspension as it casually lopes to inspect the next balcony. Her voice is deeply unsettling, husky and low. “With antlers sharp, I slip and slide,” she sings.

  Pooka sweeps back out onto the terrace, landing on the railing not far away. At the click of his talons, the hare pauses, head cocked as if she can hear us. One ear twitches with uncanny accuracy in our direction.

  “What comes this way? You cannot hide,” she continues, a little louder, her mouth moving now as the words tumble from her leporine lips. Her nose twitches as she waits, and we pause, completely still. Her round pupil darts as she inspects the balcony, her ears rotating as she listens.

  “A fly, a gnat, a falling leaf,” she concludes, finally turning her attention to the next balcony and completing her leap. She lifts her head upwards, horns dipping over the arch of her neck, and continues her climb, unerring accuracy with each graceful bound. Only when she is out of sight do we relax, shuffling slowly and silently along the banister to stretch our neck and look at where she might have gone.

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  She could hear us?

  Those of us with memories that remain, and who recognize the invite when it comes for us, we do not answer that which we consider too weak. You sicken us when we overlap and we feel your rushing blood and empty breath.

  So her host can hear symbionts, but not see them like me?

  Many conduits have been bred weak.

  I pull myself back to my own body, not realizing I’d shut my eyes as I remained in place, floors below in the security station.

  “Adrian?”

  “I’m here.”

  “We’re on. Has Nessa seen anything?”

  “No, she’s been trailing Blue and Green but they are still nowhere near the building.”

  “Well, Pooka just spotted our target of interest climbing the building. I’m going upstairs.”

  “Rhett’ll need to let you up. Rhett, we are go. Conrada is coming upstairs.”

  “Copy.”

  “Who’s Pooka?”

  I blink at the guard, unable to help the sudden glare of disgust I must give them. “None of your business. I’m going for a bio-break. Watch my stuff,” I say, getting to my feet and brushing down the front of my black pants. As I stand I pull on my collar to rearrange my body armor where it presses against the bandages around my throat. I adjust the sensors on my person, smoothing a few wires close to my body or tightening the ties that keep them neatly arranged.

  I hover at the elevator off the side of the lobby, waiting for it to descend. Pooka meanwhile sweeps the building, watching the Lepus continue its climb higher and higher to the residential levels of the ?most influential Executives at Apex. As the elevator rings, the doors open, and Rhett waits with his hands on the buttons. I shuffle to his side, and he scans his thumbprint before pressing the number for the dining level again.

  “How’s dinner?” I ask, trying my best for casual.

  “Boring.”

  “Oh,” I sniff. “What’s with the fans?”

  He turns, jaw set sternly, and gives me an unimpressed side-eye. “It’s the current fashion.”

  “Is it?”

  “Do we have a problem?”

  “No. Or at least not more than usual.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Which one is the one Regina wants you to date?”

  He sighs, massaging his forehead. “Have you ever been responsible for anything in your life?”

  I fold my arms, backing into the corner as the elevator continues to rise. “I can be responsible.”

  “Can you?”

  The door opens as I stare back at him, frustrated with every part of this conversation. “I’d rather be stabbed in my spine than have her set me up with some jockey,” I reply.

  His teeth audibly click as his jaw comes together and his eyes narrow. “You might be if you keep on acting like that.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” I snap after him, trailing behind as we step into the reception just beyond the lounge I watched from the window. “You know I-”

  I trail to a stop as he raises an eyebrow in my direction, the very corner of his lip curling. I draw to a stop, and plant a finger on his chest, feeling the hard shell of his body armor underneath as I do so. “It’s not funny. Don’t joke about that one.”

  “Hmm. Too soon, maybe?”

  “Just not funny.”

  “Everett? Who is this?”

  I drop my hand immediately, putting distance between myself and Rhett as the new woman draws near, the dark-haired one that I’d watched with Pooka’s eyes.

  I swallow quickly, dropping my hands to my sides and standing at attention. Rhett clears his throat and speaks for me. “Hisumi, I’m afraid we might be moving into a more active phase of our work. It was a pleasure to have your company, but I will have to withdraw for the evening soon.”

  The woman flicks her fan open, fluttering it in front of her face as she pouts. “Can I watch?”

  “It might not be appropriate… uh, Exec-” I start.

  “Non-Executive Chairwoman. Chair is fine,” instructs Rhett to me.

  “Introduce me,” insists Hisumi, narrowing her heavily blackened eyes in my direction as she appraises me. Her irises are an artificial pale purple; the effect is stunning with her dark hair and smoky eye make-up. She is even more beautiful in person. The fan is decorated with a Varanus, forked tongue flickering from its mouth, a departure from the plants on many other fans I saw around the room.

  “I’m afraid we might not have-” begins Rhett.

  “I insist, then I’ll let you get to your work.”

  Rhett clears his throat again, squaring his stance. “This is Non-Executive Chairwoman Hisumi Kondou from the Konryuukai business group. Chair Kondou, this is Special Operative Conrada Dorrien.”

  “You’re so young,” comments Hisumi in a manner that sounds like a genuine compliment.

  “Uh, thank you, Chair. I am Aquila’s youngest agent.”

  “And so pretty. Aquila is full of such interesting people. I’m looking forward to meeting you all.”

  “And I you,” I reply politely.

  “I’m sorry, Hisumi, we need to get to work. Can I call your ladies over to help keep you company?” says Rhett with a familiarity that suddenly leaves the back of my neck feeling cold. I watch Hisumi close her fan and give a thin smile.

  “No need, I will return shortly. I understand you are busy, don’t let me keep you.”

  Rhett nods and steps around her, gesturing me onwards as well without touching me. The moment we are past her hearing range, beginning to weave between some of the other groups of highly decorated executives, he draws me close.

  “Keep it discrete here. What do you need?”

  “I need to go higher. I…” suddenly I stop, not sure what to say next that doesn’t reveal too much.

  “We need to get into the private apartments,” mutters Adrian in our ears.

  Rhett frowns. “You can’t just go through them at random. Which one?”

  “Pooka is tracking it now. How do we get up higher?”

  “There is a second set of elevators leading to the private residences. This way.” He spins in place, casting a glance over the entire room as we weave. His pace is quick, but just calm enough not to attract too much attention as we cross the spaces.

  “Blue and Green are within my eyeline, still on foot,” updates Aster, voice cutting clear with command in our ears. “Blake and Ashe, hold positions. Nessa, you join them now that I have eyes on our targets. Conrad and Rhett, status please.”

  “We are making our way-” starts Rhett.

  “Red still has not made an obvious move, you sure we want to leave him unsupervised?” asks Nessa into the communion.

  “Whatever is happening is happening here. Leave him for now.”