10 – Playing the Part
Tony sat in the back of the cab, duffel beside him, feeling like he was some kind of vagabond, a deadbeat, a loser who’d just walked out on everything and everyone he loved. Of course, he knew better, but he had to actively think about why those feelings were wrong in order to find some comfort: Addie was on board. Addie was the one who’d rewritten all of his plans. It eased his conscience when he remembered that, but then fresh, raw guilt rose up as he reminded himself that the only reason he could say that was because she’d caught him. If she hadn’t, then what?
He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. A part of him still believed his plan had been the right one. He would have handled things with Eric and Jen, and then he could have gone back to Addie and begged her to forgive him. She would have, right? Now, she was involved—big time—and that meant the plan was better, sure, but it also meant that while he was risking his neck, she’d be risking hers, too.
Overall, when he managed to look at the big picture, he was glad she’d caught him. Part of him believed he’d let her. Still, feelings weren’t rational, and he had his doubts—his fears. She was banking a lot on her talent, but Tony knew there were things she wasn’t ready for. There were countermeasures for sparks; he just hoped she’d be able to find targets that didn’t have any. Dust disruption fields weren’t cheap, and not very many people or corporations could or would justify the expense. High-end sparks were just too uncommon. It was like buying hurricane insurance when you lived in Arizona.
“That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway,” he muttered.
“Pardon me, sir?” the cab’s AI asked.
“Nothing.” Tony looked at his mini-map, frowning when he saw only his dot on it. He’d had Nora delete any trace of Addie, Beef, and Glitch. If things went the way he hoped, his PAI was going to be scrutinized, and Cross would probably load him up with monitoring daemons. He’d find a workaround, but for now, he had to play the part of a guy with no friends, no connections, and nothing to lose. It would have been easy a couple of months ago, but Addie…
Tony groaned, thumping his forehead with his fist to try to drive the thoughts out. He needed to get cold. He needed to wake up his old self. Could he still be Tony the Solo? Could he still make people cringe at the sight of him? It wouldn’t be so easy now that he wasn’t sporting five million bits' worth of gear, but was that all he was? His gear? He knew the answer was no.
He glanced at the map again, remembering why he’d looked the first time. They were ten minutes from the checkpoint to District One—New Manhattan. He’d never known the city when it was just Manhattan, but he knew why it was “new.” During the second AI war, more than half the skyscrapers had been damaged or brought down. The rebuilding effort had taken ten years, which was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but with the kinds of nanite swarms that had been employed back then… “And that tech’s lost,” he muttered, trying to imagine what it would have been like to see clouds of tiny robots building a plasteel tower out of nothing.
He pulled up his bit-vault, another wave of guilt hitting him when he saw the blinking balance: 107,000 Sol-bits. It was most of the savings he and Addie had left. She’d insisted that he’d need it, and she was right. It just made him feel…ashamed, knowing he’d left her with scraps. After all, she had a hell of a lot more gear to come up with than he did. Still, her logic had been sound: she’d need ten times that many bits for what she needed, so he might as well have some money in his pocket when he got to ’Hattan.
He glanced at his duffel. It didn’t have much in it. The District One checkpoint was strict, and he didn’t have the kinds of passes he’d need to bring his guns through with him. He could have tried to obtain some forged documents or even apply for them—his SOA license would have helped in that regard—but that would have taken time. No, he’d buy a new gun or two when he got through. He’d need to gear up a little anyway; there was no way he was going to approach Eric or any of his old contacts until he hooked up a little more chrome.
Tony tapped his breastbone, feeling the crystal-glass display of his Dust reactor. That should be step one: buy the best reactor he could afford. If he were going to have any hope of approaching Cross and not getting iced on sight, he’d need his speed boost. It was a major factor in his intimidation game. People had respected him for a lot of reasons, but his speed had been a primary factor. He called up his Dust reading:
Dust Purity: Impure – 1.9 LIR
Dust Capacity: 177/200
Gain Rate: 1 unit per 417 seconds
Current Dust-tech drain: 1 unit per 73 seconds
The gain rate outside the Blast was pitiful, but that was the reality most people were dealing with. At least the purity would gradually increase as the corrupted Dust burned off. Regardless, he’d need to get his hands on some Dust cartridges, especially if he planned to be firing off his reflexes. “Nora, give the cab a new destination: Azalea’s Boutique.”
“Done.”
Tony watched as his map updated, reflecting the cab’s planned route. Azalea’s was twenty minutes from the checkpoint. As he settled into his seat, his mind drifted back to his discussion with Addie. She’d smiled at the end and even kissed him, but he knew something was different. Something was off. He’d burned her in a way she hadn’t expected, and now it was going to take some time to rebuild that trust. He was going to have to prove that he wouldn’t do that again.
His thoughts continued to drift until the AutoCab got in line at the checkpoint, and he realized it was going to be a short wait. Tony glanced at the clock: 0113. He supposed it was typical traffic for that time of day. He tried to relax, waiting for the vehicle to advance slowly. When it came to the scanner, he sat up a little straighter, glancing at his duffel nervously. All it contained were some clothes and a cheap deck—one he’d use to contact Addie via an encrypted mailbox.
He shouldn’t have worried. The cab proceeded with hardly a pause, green lights flashing. Even so, one of the raincoat-wearing metro-cops waved for it to slow, then he approached Tony’s window, tapping on the glass with the muzzle of a stubby, mean-looking SMG. Tony didn’t get to decide whether or not he’d lower the glass; the cab did it without asking.
The cop leaned over, peering at Tony through his chrome visor, the rest of his face obscured by a breather. It wasn’t the kind of breather someone might wear in the Blast; it was the kind you wore when you expected chemical weapons might be deployed. Metro-cops were no joke, and despite their name, they were very much a corporate entity, just one that claimed neutrality, policing the criminal dealings of all corporations in the first five districts. Everyone knew that was bullshit—they enforced laws against whoever paid the least. And that was never the corpos; it was the regular citizens.
“Shepherd, huh?” the cop asked, his voice mechanical and harsh.
“That’s right.”
“SOA number?”
“Quizzing me now?”
The cop tapped the muzzle of his gun against the car door. “Answer the question.”
Tony scowled, but he answered, “26778.”
“Got anything I should know about? Scanner says your arm is 100% artificial.”
“That’s right.”
“Anything up your sleeve?”
Tony knew the guy was asking if he had a gun built into his arm, but he was still tempted to play dumb. He pictured Addie’s face, though, and remembered she was counting on him. “Nothing built into the arm. It has a couple of upgrade slots, but they’re empty.”
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“What’s on the deck?”
Tony reached his hand toward his duffel, and the cop’s muzzle came up. Tony froze, lowering his hand slowly. “It’s just for entertainment files. I don’t have a lot of memory.” He turned his head and tilted forward so the cop could see his data port.
“Why you coming into District One?”
“Looking to get a job. Gotta apply with a fixer.”
“Name?”
Tony knew a hundred fixers in New Manhattan, so he didn’t have a problem throwing out a name; he just had to pause a second to reflect on which one might be the most believable. He settled on a particular individual who was known to associate with some real lowlifes—a guy who was accused of crimes almost as often as high-level execs hired him to clean up messes. “Sly Howzer.”
That got a chuckle out of the cop. “Seriously? Poor bastard. Good luck, I guess.” He took a step back and waved his gun forward. The cab responded immediately, accelerating rapidly toward a pair of looming megatowers. The one on the left looked like a series of slightly narrowing cylinders that rose higher than Tony could see out the cab’s window. Giant pale-blue neon letters flashed near the center, pronouncing it the Versatech Building. Across the street was a colossal rectangular structure lit up in yellow and white. He couldn’t see the sign at the top, but Tony knew it was the WBD building.
Looking out the windows, he supposed that was the starkest difference between the Blast and New Manhattan—the megatowers. The Blast had exactly half of one tower: the NGT building. District One? There had to be dozens of them. The lights shining outside his cab windows made the night almost as bright as daytime. He could only imagine the amount of energy that the city consumed.
The ride was quick and painless; even District One was relatively quiet at two in the morning. When the cab arrived, the AI said, “We’ve reached your requested destination; however, this establishment is listed as closed at this hour. Would you like to enter a new dest—”
“No. This is fine.” Tony pushed the door open, grabbed his bag, and stepped out onto the quiet sidewalk. It was cold, but his jacket kept him plenty warm. He stuffed his left hand into the pocket, and Addie’s face flashed through his mind, pleased and…proud. When she’d given him the coat, it had been a big deal for her. Had he shown enough appreciation? Would he ever get the chance to let her know how much he appreciated everything she did for him?
“Get it together, asshole,” he muttered, walking toward the dark doorway of the building in front of him. A neon sign hung above the door, but it wasn’t turned on. Instead, another sign hanging in the window to the left flashed with red LEDs: Closed. Tony pushed the call button on the door panel. Nothing happened, so he pressed it again, holding it for a few seconds.
“What?” The word was short, but Tony recognized the buttery, low, feminine voice.
“Az, it’s T. Could you do me a favor and not sell me out right away? Wait until I leave.”
“Hah, T, huh? I only know one T, and he’s dead.”
“Think I’m using a genned voice? What about this face?” Tony peered into the little camera. “How about the fact that I remember what you told me on your daughter’s birthday one year? You know, when we sat on the roof drinking the bourbon you stole from your stepdad when you ran away from—”
“Holy shit! Hush up!” The door buzzed and clicked, and Tony pulled it open, stepping into the foyer of a dark, eclectic shop. It was a tattoo parlor in the front and a chop clinic in the back, though it was a high-end chop clinic. People from all over ’Hattan made appointments to have Azalea work on their chrome. She was an artist when it came to mods. Tony walked past the first of the empty tattoo stations, and then the beads at the back of the parlor rattled, and a woman with big, curly hair stepped through. Her hands were occupied holding a fat, short-barreled auto-shotgun.
“Don’t shoot.” Tony held up his hands.
“You asshole!”
Tony frowned, trying to determine what he heard in her voice. Fear? Anger? Betrayal? All of the above? “What—”
“You know how long I sat in a Cross Corp interrogation room?”
“I—”
“Four days. Four days they held me, T! They fuckin tossed my place, too! Took that go-bag you left with me, so I hope you’re not here for that!”
“Az, I’m sorry.” Tony shrugged, hands still up. “You think you had a bad few days? You wanna hear what they did to me?”
She lowered the shotgun, though it was still trained on Tony’s lower half, making him more than a little nervous. “The hell happened to your eye?”
“That’s only the tip of the iceberg. Tell you what, hear me out, and if you wanna kill me or rat on me, I won’t put up a fight. Fair?”
She sucked her teeth, shaking her head as she said, “Mm. You know I ain’t gonna ice you. Better get out of the doorway, though. More than a few creeps who make it a pastime to spy on my pretty ass.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and slipped through the beaded curtain. It rattled and bounced as Tony followed her through.
The back half of the shop was a little less eclectic and a lot more clinical. Even so, it had a certain flair that was all Azalea. Artwork hung on earth-toned walls, depicting things like flowers, handmade pottery, and a diverse mix of scenes from Native American pueblos to Aztec pyramids. Azalea walked past her surgical suite and up the stairs into her loft.
It was like he remembered it—similar styling to her clinic, but busier, with more knick-knacks, clothes, and curtains all over, dividing the wide-open space into sections. He focused on the exits and the major furniture pieces—a couch, a bed, a table, and a kitchen cabinet—clocking the quickest way to get in or out of the place. Azalea put her gun on the counter and yanked open her fridge. “Beer?”
Tony let his duffel slide to the floor beside the door. “Might as well.”
Azalea straightened, holding the beer pouches. As she set them on the counter, she eyed his bag. “You aren’t getting some messed-up idea of staying here, are you?”
“Nah. No longer than it’ll take to do a little surgery.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re nuts. If you think I’m not reporting you, you’d better think again. They really put their hooks into me, Tony. Made crystal clear they know where my daughter is. Put a bug in here”—she tapped the side of her skull—“that cost me almost fifty k to get removed.”
Tony smiled. “But you got it out, right?”
“I’m not gonna—”
Tony held up a hand, stepping close enough to grab one of the beers. “Relax. You can tell them I was here, but please wait until I’m gone. Just tell Eric you were scared to make a move while I was watching you—I had a gun on you or something. They’ll be happy enough that you report the visit. Hell, just tell them I came for my go-bag and took off when I realized it was gone.”
“Meanwhile, you want what?”
“Some chrome. I’m gonna try to get my life back. You know, fix the bridges that got burned with Cross. Thing is, they stripped a lot of my stuff, and I ain’t gonna stack up as is.”
“T, we had some good times, and I used to think of you as a friend, but I’m not rich. I can’t spot you—”
Tony waved his hand. “I’ll pay. I’m not looking for a lot, just a decent reactor and maybe some mods for this arm.”
She sighed, finally lowering her left arm, which she’d been using to hold her silky orange robe closed. It fell open, exposing a pair of matching pajamas underneath. As she ripped the top off her beer pouch, she shook her head. “I’ll do the work for free, for old times’ sake, but you gotta tell me why you did it. Why’d you steal from Cross? Why’d you burn everything up?”
“That’s not how it was.” Tony sighed, frustrated because he wanted to tell Azalea everything, but he knew he had to stick to Addie’s plan. It wasn’t just that he felt he owed it to Addie, but he knew she was right. If he were going to get close to Eric and Jen again, then he had to act the part all the time. For all he knew, cams were watching him right then. Even if there weren’t, he knew Az was going to call Eric, and she wouldn’t lie; she’d tell them what Tony did there, and she’d tell them what he said.
“Tell me how it was, then.”
Tony smiled, squeezing some of the beer into his mouth. Azalea was pretty—nice hair, upgraded, customizable irises, smooth skin, enhanced lips—but she was hard, too. She was a fun friend, but she wasn’t someone he would call “loyal,” and she certainly wasn’t going to risk her neck for him. The thought made him smile. Before he’d met Addie, he wasn’t sure he would have said that. He probably used to trust Azalea, but then, the person he’d trusted most in the world had turned against him. Trust was a commodity that he now held very tightly. He hardly trusted himself… but he definitely trusted Addie.
“I guess you could say I pissed Jen off. I was stupid and selfish, and she lashed out.” Tony shrugged. “I talked about leaving, and I might have said some things I shouldn’t have. It was ugly, Az, but you know how things were. Eric and Jen—they’re everything to me. I have to try to earn my way back in.”
“Tony, Tony, Tony…” She sighed and sipped her beer again, shaking her head. “They really were pissed. I wasn’t the only one of your friends they picked up.”
Tony nodded. “I figured.” That much was true. Of course, Cross would visit all of his contacts; they wanted to burn him, and they hadn’t wanted anyone looking for him. No, it was pretty standard procedure when you iced a high-end operator: make his friends and colleagues think he fucked up and that it’s better off that he’s gone—better that they aren’t mixed up in whatever he did.
She put the beer down and walked around the counter, spreading her arms wide. “Well? Give me a hug. I’m glad you’re not dead, and if you’re going to work things out with Cross, maybe this won’t be the last time I see you, huh?”
Tony tried to force a real-looking smile as he walked into her embrace, pulling her close. Part of him remembered how she felt against him and savored the familiar warmth. Another, louder part called him a traitor. “I hope you’re right. I hope things work out,” he lied.
