12 – Friendly Discount
After Tony watched Azalea finish her third beer while he nursed his first one, and after she’d caught him up on all the things she’d been up to—mostly trying to build her business while going through not one, but two breakups—she led him back downstairs to her surgical suite. Tony recognized the space immediately. In the past, Azalea had worked on his implants several times in that room, modding one piece of equipment or another.
She did high-end work, but her auto-surgeon was an antique—a pricey, well-maintained one, but still an antique. “Still using this old thing?” Tony ran his palm over the bulbous chrome of the contoured bed.
“That old thing is more reliable than any of the new, fancy models. Back in the day, that beauty would have cost as much as an entire new clinic’s worth of equipment. They don’t make ’em like Lennox Medco used to.”
Tony arched an eyebrow, watching as Azalea pulled out a floor-to-ceiling storage drawer, revealing racks of plastic-wrapped implants. “Yeah? Why are they out of business, then?”
“They’re not. I think Osgood Medical bought them about ten years ago, when they were Stone and Oracle, which was about two mergers back. So technically they’re still around, but Osgood makes garbage, throwaway public clinic machines now.” She rifled through red, yellow, and black packages. “So, I get to install an entirely new piece on you, huh? I’m surprised you didn’t go and see Chavez when you got back into town.”
Before he could modulate himself, Tony growled, “Fuck that guy.”
“Oho! Excuse me? You’re on the outs with the illustrious Doc Chavez?”
Tony shook his head, trying to decide how much to backtrack. “Let’s just say he wasn’t cool when everything went down with Eric and Jen.” He supposed there wasn’t any need to mention the fact that Chavez had all-too-eagerly drugged him up, cut out most of his old gear, and left him with some butcher-shop-grade sutures.
“So, what am I working with? What kind of reactor are you sporting?”
Tony tapped his chest. “Nothing special. Low-end—worth a few thousand.”
She looked at him sharply. “A few? My, how the mighty have fallen. You had a million-bit piece of gear before.”
“I don’t have much of my old tech left, Az. I’ve got my wire-job, though, but, as you know, it’s a thirsty bit of shine. I need more juice.” He tapped his chest, knocking his knuckles against the crystal-glass display of his Dust reactor.
She paused what she was doing and looked at him, studying his hand. “No plasma forge anymore, I see. Still, that arm’s not a bad piece.”
Tony lifted his hand and clenched his red fingers into a fist. “Nah, it’s pretty great, actually. Got a hell of a deal.”
“Is that what you’re looking for today? A deal?”
“Told you what I want. A decent reactor and maybe some mods on this arm. Don’t expect charity, but thought you might forego some profit for old time’s sake.”
She sighed and waved a hand dismissively, turning back to her shelf. “I’m just busting your balls. Besides, if you’re gonna get back in with Cross, I know you’re good for it.”
“Told you—I’ve got some bits.”
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “We’ll see.” She put a package on the cart and then wheeled it over to him. “Okay, if I remember right, that wire-job was considered tier-two. At least it was when you got it, yeah?”
“Yeah. ’Bout two years old now. Think it still holds up?”
“Dust-tech like that’s on a very slow iteration cycle. I’m sure you’ll still be one of the fastest guns in the room. I was mainly asking because, if I remember right, that bit of gear will be mostly useless unless you’ve got five hundred or so refined Dust units, yeah?”
Tony winced because he knew she was right. “Refined” meant a Luminal Index rating of about 4, which was about two and a half times more potent than the stuff he and Addie had been using in the Blast. “Five hundred refined will give me about ten seconds of boost.”
Azalea grinned, revealing her electrum-plated canines, as she held up the black, vacuum-sealed package. “Got what the doctor ordered here. Lightly used, but fully refurbished by yours truly.”
Tony arched an eyebrow, leaning against her bulky, chrome auto-surgeon and folding his arms. “Sounds like a sales pitch.”
“Maybe, but it’s one you can’t really say no to, not if you want enough Dust on a shoestring budget.”
“What makes you think it’s shoestring? We haven’t talked numbers yet.”
“Come on, T. Come to me with a fifty-bit eye in that socket”—her right eye flared with purple LEDs, creating a faint matrix effect as she looked at him—“and maybe enough Dust to power a bedside lamp for a few minutes, and you expect me to think you’ve got a pile of bits tucked away somewhere?”
Tony frowned, but he didn’t protest. He might have a hundred k to spend, but to Azalea, that wasn’t much scratch. “Okay, let’s hear it.” He held up a finger. “For the record, this eye is worth more than fifty bits, and it works damn good.”
Azalea smiled, her voice almost purring as she said, “Sure, tiger.” She set the package down, but left her hand atop it. “This is Shimizu tech. An Arashi Dust Reactor. It’s nine years old, but back then, it was close to first-tier. Only a 900 Dust capacity, but a ridiculous gain rate. Even here in ’Hattan, it’ll pull fifty Dust an hour outta the air.”
Tony nodded, rubbing his chin. In District One, he could expect to gain Dust with an LIR of about 3.1—not as good as “refined,” but far better than the Blast. If he took his time and let it charge up, he’d be able to manage a few short boosts, even if he didn’t buy better Dust. “How much?”
“Well, free install, and no markup for an old friend”—she emphasized the word, winking, and Tony inwardly groaned, fearing she’d try to rekindle…something—“I’ll give it to you for a 150k.”
“Come on, Az. You were right the first time. I don’t have a pile of bits stashed away. I can afford maybe ninety.”
She leaned closer, reaching up to tap her index finger against his chin as she looked into his expensive eye. “Maybe you could work for a discount?”
“Is work a euphemism?”
“Um, it could be, but I have another little favor you could do for me, if you’re not feeling particularly loving. I’m gathering, from your stiffening posture, that you’re not.”
The corners of Tony’s mouth turned down. “What kind of favor?”
“Client owes me a pile of bits. Needs a little nudge to remember that when I send a payment request his way, it isn’t a suggestion. You feel?”
“I’m taking it this client isn’t a pushover.”
“Would I need any help if he were?”
Tony hadn’t expected to get everything he wanted in one quick afternoon. He knew this process was going to take a little time, so he wasn’t exactly put off by the idea of doing a quick side job. Still, he wondered if he might be able to squeeze a little more out of her. “If I know you at all—and I do—then this guy’s either connected or well-insulated. I’ll do it, Az, because you’ve got me over a barrel, but how about you sweeten the deal a little?” He held up his right arm. “Any chance you could give me some mods for these upgrade slots?”
Her grin returned, her metallic fangs winking in the bright lights of the surgical suite. “I’ve got some custom odds and ends lying around—projects I might have been experimenting on or maybe couldn’t sell. I’ll hook you up.”
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“Sounds like we’re in business.”
###
Tony’s head was spinning as he looked at the Dust report:
Dust Purity: Raw – 2.99 LIR
Dust Capacity: 312/900
Gain Rate: 1 unit per 70 seconds
Current Dust-tech drain: 1 unit per 203 seconds
The numbers made his head feel better. The gain rate was even better than Azalea had promised, and the improved LIR meant his nanites were stretching each unit a hell of a lot further. That would continue to improve along with the Dust purity. If he could get his hands on some refined Dust or even better… He blinked, shaking his head, trying to shake off the residual queasiness from the drugs.
“Still feeling funny?” Azalea asked, looking over at him. She was sitting at her workbench—a long table on the side of her surgical suite—where she worked on her custom mods.
“Just a little. My nanites are clearing the drugs.”
“Damn good bugs. Nice Chavez didn’t rip ’em out.”
“Didn’t know about ’em. Picked up the battery while I was in Mexico. Finished a job and had a week off.”
“Nice to know.” She winked at him, and Tony’s level of comfort plummeted. He really couldn’t trust her. She’d noticed the nanites during the surgery, though; it wasn’t like he’d volunteered the info. “I’ve got a couple of nice little mods that’ll fit in that arm. I think you’re going to be happy. This one”—she held up a small black and gold-plated object—“really surprised me. I thought I’d sell it immediately. Had a client in mind for it, but she said it was too messy. Said it would go against her code. Some kind of Buddhist or something.”
“Messy?” Tony frowned.
“I’ll show you in a minute.”
Azalea had promised him two mods. “What about the other one?”
“You’ll like it.”
“Jesus! Just tell me!”
She grinned, but didn’t speak. She just hummed softly as she made adjustments to something Tony couldn’t see from the autosurgeon’s bed. He rolled his head from left to right, blinking his eye, trying to shake the queasiness. Azalea had always been one to tease and mess around, but he wasn’t feeling it. He was in New Manhattan, and there were people in the district who wanted him dead. Worse, he was vulnerable. He hadn’t let Azalea put him under, but those blockers she’d given him were serious business. Too serious, maybe? He blinked again, noting that the walls in his peripheral vision still seemed to be shifting left and right. Shouldn’t the software compensate for that?
He subvocalized the question, “Nora, what’s up with my disorientation? My visual and auditory implants should be able to compensate for the drugs, right?”
His scowl deepened when Nora didn’t respond. He focused on his AUI, opening his nanite management window. It was blank. His first instinct was to curse and ask Azalea what the hell was going on, but he forced himself to be calm. Something wasn’t working right, and he didn’t think it was drugs. She hadn’t plugged anything into his data port, but if she’d given him some corrupted nanites through the autosurgeon…
He moved to sit up, but his right arm didn’t respond, and his other limbs felt like they were filled with lead. Growling, he tried harder, jerking his legs to the side and throwing himself upward with his core. He managed a half-sitting position, and then his left leg slid off the side of the surgeon’s table, and his body followed it down to the cold concrete floor.
He was shirtless, but he hadn’t taken his pants off—why would he when the reactor was in his chest? Even so, that little fact didn’t help his dignity much when he flopped around like a dying fish. Between grunts, he asked, “What the fuck, Az?”
He heard her stool’s casters on the concrete as she rolled it back, then her bare feet padded over to him. When she was standing over him, arms folded, Tony stopped trying to move and glared up at her from the floor. “You figured it out faster than I’d hoped. How are you still moving?”
“You bitch.”
“I’m the bitch? I don’t think so, T. That would be you. You come crawling in here with that damn rust-tech gear and a little pile of scratch and expect me to forget all my loyalties? Really? You think I’m gonna throw a quarter-million-bit reactor in your chest, and all you gotta do is collect a little debt?”
Tony, lying on his side, tilted his chin down and looked at his chest. “You didn’t?”
“Oh, I did. But Eric’s going to pay the full price if he wants me to leave it in.”
“Eric?” Tony groaned, squeezing his eye shut. He wasn’t ready yet.
“He’s coming first thing in the morning. Just sit tight, lover. You’re not hurt or anything. Just a tailored paralytic and a bit of malware. I wish you hadn’t thrown yourself off the table, though—no way I can pick you up.”
Tony was about to respond—another curse or insult—but then he felt his arm vibrate slightly, and an icon he hadn’t seen flashed on his AUI. He focused on it, and a small window appeared with a tiny 3D model of his arm and a flashing message: Secondary operating module online. He wanted to laugh, but he kept a straight face. The Bose Ares line of prosthetics was designed to be mil-spec; it had a shielded, secondary backup processor, intended to counteract malware or EMPs.
“Can you at least give me a pillow and move me onto my back?”
Azalea snorted a soft laugh. “Seriously? You done cussing me out?”
“What’s the point? I should’ve seen this coming.”
Azalia tsked at him, leaning over to peer at his face. Her irises shifted from brown to pale gold as she smiled, exposing those fangs again. “I know where my bread is buttered, honey. You’re damaged goods—rotten fruit. I can’t have the mold spreading onto me, cert?”
Tony rolled his eye. “Certified.”
“Glad there’s at least a shadow of the old Tony in there—the mercenary. You get it. It’s just business. Honestly, I wish you were still on the table, though. I want to get that nanite battery out of you, and the surgeon can’t reach you here.” She straightened up and walked over to another supply cabinet. “In your femur, huh? I guess I’ll have to cut it out the old-fashioned way.”
“Thought you were gonna wait for Eric to see—”
“You told me he doesn’t know about that. It’s worth a million, easy, right?” She looked over at him and winked one of her big, golden eyes.
“You think I won’t tell him—”
“He isn’t going to wanna listen to all that. Come on, lover, be serious. He didn’t sound happy that you were in the city, by the way.”
“Wasn’t lying about getting in with him again, Az. Gonna be bad for your business when I get back on my feet.”
“Lover,” she said, tsking again, “I’ve had dinner with Jen a few times since you disappeared. I know what’s up. Let’s be real. You’re not getting back on your feet.” Tony heard the clatter of equipment, and then a few seconds later, she appeared, a circular bone saw in one hand and an autoinjector in the other. “I think you’re still numb, but I’m gonna shoot you up again anyway; this would hurt without the drugs, hon.”
“You serious right now? You cut my femur out with my nanites offline, and I’m gonna bleed out.”
She shook the injector. “Cauterizing bots in chamber two.” She shrugged. “Tell you what—if there’s some kind of miracle and you work things out with Cross, I’ll install a brand new leg for you.” She shook her head and smiled pityingly. It almost looked sincere. “You know how things are, T. Put yourself in my shoes—you’d do worse.”
Tony stared at her as she approached. He didn’t respond because the words actually stung. Old Tony would have done something similar, wouldn’t he? It was hard to say for sure; he’d never been in her shoes—never would be—but he’d definitely done some cutthroat shit in his day. He watched her approach, and when she stood by his side again, he said, “I’m glad you said that, Az. It makes this easier.”
“What?”
“This.” Tony snatched her ankle with his mechanical arm and squeezed. Azalea screamed as her tibia and fibula fragmented, grinding against one another. She instantly collapsed, and Tony jerked her leg, dragging her body closer. With unerring adroitness and viper-like speed, he clasped her throat in his hand and twisted violently, breaking the bones in her neck. Immediately, he groped for the base of her skull and, with his powerful, mechanical fingers, he pulled her PAI chip, trailing its tail of glistening neural fibers.
He wondered if he’d been fast enough. Had she gotten out a call for help? He looked around the surgical room. There weren’t any cams that he could see. Was she such an iconoclast? Rolling his eyes to the right, seeing her old-fashioned auto-surgeon, he supposed the answer was yes. He snapped the wafer-like chip between his fingers, then tossed it to the side.
To his amazement, he could feel Azalea’s chest rise and fall under his arm. “Still alive, huh?” He supposed it made sense. Of course she’d have some incredible nanites. Even if he’d severed her spinal cord, they’d keep her alive until they managed to repair the damage. “Which means I should hurry.”
Using his single functioning limb, he dragged himself a little closer to the table and then reached up to grab the chrome edge. The arm was easily powerful enough to lift his bodyweight, but it was still a hell of a struggle to wriggle onto the hard surface. It took him a good ten minutes to position himself close enough to tug the control screen closer to his face.
It took him another few minutes to navigate the menus to the surgical history to see what Azalea had done to him. When he saw the two injections—paralytics and “custom dampening phage #4T”—he highlighted them and chose the “counteract” option. The auto-surgeon whirred, an autoinjector arm crossed his field of view, and then Tony felt pressure on his neck and a soft hiss. Two minutes later, his body started to work again.
As he pushed himself into a sitting position, looking down to ensure Azalea was still out of it, his AUI flickered, and then Nora’s voice came to him, “Tony, I think I might have been infected with malware. I recommend a deep scan and—”
“It’s all right, Nora. I’m pretty sure I got rid of it, but go ahead and give yourself a thorough examination.”
Tony spent a few minutes searching the cabinets and—far too easily, if he really thought about it—he found some shrink-cords. He bound Azalea’s hands behind her back, then her ankles, and hoisted her up onto the auto-surgeon. He contemplated waiting for her to come around—assuming her nanites could fix any brain damage he might have done by yanking her PAI—but decided he couldn’t risk it. There was a chance she’d called for help. There was also a chance Eric would come earlier than she’d expected.
In a way, he was glad she wasn’t dead, but he couldn’t take credit; he’d fully intended to kill her. Still, it felt right that he hadn’t—lucky. He pulled his shirt and jacket on, picked up his duffel bag, and glanced at her workbench. Had she really been getting some mods together, or had she just been stalling? He walked over and, sure enough, a pair of devices sat there.
One was the gold and black rectangle, and the other was a cylinder attached to a small square. Tony turned it in his hand, examining it. “A magazine. This one’s some kind of gun.” Shrugging, he put both devices into his duffel; he could find someone—a stranger this time—to install them. Duffel over his shoulder, he glanced at Azalea’s unconscious figure one more time, shook his head, then walked out the door. “Nora, call me a cab.”
