A door crashing open interrupts me. I pull my attention away from my portal and back to the real. Framed in Jase’s narrow doorway is the headless, gleaming metallic bulk of a hapdrone in riot control configuration, boxy immobilization spray nozzles on both sides of oddly jointed arms, long legs hinged backward, like a bird’s. A voice booms out from a speaker beneath the sensor cluster on its chest.
“PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. RESISTANCE WILL BE MET WITH FORCE.”
“Shit. Wind, I gotta go, just please get those damn hoods off.”
Without waiting for her response, I close the connection and slowly raise my hands in the air. I could probably take a hapdrone in the open, with room to maneuver, but not in a situation like this. Next to me, Jase raises his hands as well.
“ACCOMPANY US OUTSIDE. RESISTANCE WILL BE MET WITH FORCE.”
I can’t help myself.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Lay on, Macduff. Take us to your leader. Terminate. Whatever.”
“SARCASM WILL ALSO BE MET WITH FORCE. FOLLOW.”
The hapdrone collects the battered hood on the table with a curiously delicate touch, storing it in an exterior compartment on its body, then backs away on stilted legs, neatly avoiding the boxes on the ground. We emerge into the restaurant, where two other drones have Johnny covered at the stove, his hands in the air. He looks at me, a question in his eyes, but I shake my head the barest fraction, as if I were flicking hair from my face. He blinks once, soberly. The lead drone walks backward through the bead curtain, suppression weapons still aimed directly at us, and the other two drones fall in behind, legs bending and reforming into segmented wheels. They click on the tile floor like falling bones.
We make our way through the dim hallways of the Brown to an access hatch, the corridors empty, cleared out by yet more drones standing guard at intersections, cameras above shifting blindly as powerful jammers cut their vision. An entire patrol squad, just for us? I want to ask, but discretion stills my tongue. Our little convoy proceeds in silence, broken only by the clicking of metal wheels molding themselves to floor and stairs.
Multiple descended levels later, the lead drone approaches a warning sign–covered door, and it swings open, revealing the lean yet boxy shape of a gummie littoral cruiser bobbing in the noonday sun, all polymer angles and edges. Eye-bending camopanels cover its swept back length, seeming to merge with the blue water below. A wobbling gangplank extends from the ship to the megaspire, guard railings sticking up from its sides. Clacking wheels roll across, followed by our footsteps, weapons still tracking our every move. I walk across into the cool darkness of the ship’s hold, Jase behind me, a train of drones behind him.
Inside, the hapdrone says in a normal voice, “We appreciate the restraint. Sawyer only wants to talk. Please strap yourselves in. I will have to confiscate your equipment, though.” Sighing, I peel off my hapgloves and AR glasses, then my blade, and hand them over. I motion for Jase to do the same. He does, reluctantly. The drone collects them in dextrous motions, then waves us to a pair of comfortable-looking seats bolted to the deck. A lap belt closes across my waist, and the drone leans in closer. Its voice drops to a whisper.
“Also, hell of a show with that dragon. Won me a couple thousand.”
The drone straightens back up and rolls over to a gap in the wall, placing the confiscated haphood and our gear into a small hatch, then folds in on itself until it’s a featureless cube almost two meters to a side. The other drones settle in next to it.
“That… that whole wall is drones, isn’t it?” Jase asks, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I respond, talking normally, “and I wouldn’t bother whispering. There are sensors everywhere. Don’t try to hack them either, when we get our stuff back. That’ll end… badly.”
“What the hell is going on, Ash?” Jase sounds like he might throw up.
I grin, but there’s nothing approaching humor in my expression.
“We’ve been disappeared. Hopefully they put us back.”
10
[Spook Games]
“Ashley, it’s good to see you again. How’s your mother?”
The bulky man behind the desk has close-cropped white hair above an almond-skinned face; not the white of age, but of stress. A loosely tailored green and brown uniform doesn’t quite conceal his muscular chest and arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and his neck strains against the fabric of the buttoned collar. A small name patch is the only insignia on the uniform, and a sleek pair of military-style augmented glasses rest atop his overlarge nose. A small picture frame, contents invisible from this angle, is the only item on the desk aside from our confiscated gear.
I glare at him, and then take a seat across the desk, grabbing my glasses and hapgloves from its surface. My blade’s still missing. Guess they don’t trust me with it this close to Sawyer. Jase silently joins me, clutching his gear like a talisman. Being blackbagged for however many hours we were in the ship seems to have shaken him. We could be anywhere right now, and he knows it.
Me, I took the opportunity to get some sleep.
Just another psych-sec.
Just another encounter.
“Spare me the concern, Sawyer. You know how she is; broken, and I get to try and fix her. Still playing spook games, huh?”
He laughs genially, but it never reaches his eyes.
“And we’re almost as good as you are, Ashley. The offer still stands. Whenever you want to join, there’s a rig waiting for you.”
“Same answer as before, Sawyer. I saw what happened to Mom. How you used her up and spit her out.”
“And you think it’s not already happening to you? You’re turning into quite the little savage, my dear. Normally you need a license to neuter animals.”
Of course he knows what happened in the skyway. I hate Sawyer, hate everything he represents, his emotionless fucking guts, but he’s good at what he does.
No.
He’s the best at what he does, or the gummies would’ve replaced him a long time ago. It’s not gonna keep him alive, though, if I learn he’s responsible for what happened to Brand.
“Maybe if any of your people gave a fuck about us, I wouldn’t have been in that position, and Mom wouldn’t be broken. Let’s cut the crap, Sawyer—what do you want?”
He leans forward, elbows on the desk.
“I want”—he points at Jase—“to know what Jason Tanner here knows. More specifically, what he knows about that piece of silkie tech, seven thousand units of which are sitting onboard a cargo ship currently tied up in a customs dispute I manufactured out of thin air, burning a significant amount of political capital to do so.” Sawyer points at Jase again, harder, jabbing his finger like a bayonet. “I also want to know how he managed to open one of those damn things up when my scientists keep exploding them. I know a lot about what we’re dealing with, but I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. He does.”
Jase gulps, color draining from his face. He’s probably wondering how Sawyer knew his real name.
“Then,” he continues, pointing at me, “I want you to do something about it.” Jase looks over at me, eyes wide, and Sawyer laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. “Relax, kid, you’re fine. You’ve done good work for us in the past, and I don’t forget that. I want her to do something about the tech, not you.”
I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms in front of my chest. We need to take care of the important business first.