“Did you know one of my guildies was going to be opfor on that run?”
“No.” The word comes out flat, tired, dead. “If I’d known, I would’ve used another asset. I can’t afford to lose your capabilities.”
Sawyer’s a good liar, but he’s not that good. Looks like he’s just as much in the dark as I am regarding Brand, but he’s still dangerous. Soothing words to Jase notwithstanding, he’ll burn us quicker than a midsummer wildfire, and leave behind less than ashes.
“What’s in it for us?”
“Ummm, Ash?”
Jase’s whisper is low, nervous.
“You mean other than your lives?” Sawyer asks conversationally, leaning backward, murder gleaming in his eyes. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I said cut the bullshit. You want me to do something for you, fine. I’ll do it. I’m not stupid. You’re gonna pay for my time, though, because if you’re blackbagging us, sending an entire squad to pick us up, it means you’ve got no other choice, and that’s time away from the Game, time I could be spending making money for Mom.” I uncross my arms and lean forward, fixing my eyes on his. “And since you fuckers have made it perfectly clear you’re willing to see her rot, I’m not feeling particularly generous with my time these days. Especially for something big like this. Whatever it is you want, my price is her treatment. For however long it takes.”
Jase’s eyes dart back and forth between us, whites clearly visible, a newbie suddenly thrust into an endgame he didn’t even know existed. Sawyer’s voice goes soft, and he leans back in.
“What makes you think you’re in any position to bargain with me, Ashley Akachi? With you disappeared, and seven aggravated assault charges waiting for me to make them a reality?”
My voice drops as well, and I let my anger, the simmering tension that comes from having to deal with this fucked-up world on a daily basis, finally show.
“Because I know what’s in those haphoods, and I know you’re shitting yourself thinking about what happens when the silkies activate them. A fifth column, composed of the most lethal members of your society, rampaging through dryburbs across the entire Eastern Board? You can’t intercept them all—not if you want to keep a low profile, prevent this from turning into all-out war. The riots are getting worse, the economy’s in the shitter again, and people are looking for blood. You think they won’t go after the Theocrophant with a nice silkie push? Got any Gamers in the drone forces, Sawyer?”
His nostrils flare, and muscles tense on his arms. For a second, I feel like I may have pushed him too far, but I don’t care. I’m tired of these manipulations, of these stupid boys thinking they can shove me around like a pawn. If Sawyer wants to play stupid spook games, then let’s play.
“I also know what Mom did for you all. Back in the Dubs. She’s the only reason you’re here today, and you know it. She did your dirty work, the work no one else could, and you abandoned her. Left her screaming her lungs out in a three-by-five in Ditchtown, rotting in the water and rust. Left her pieces for me to find.”
I lean the slightest bit farther forward, a deliberate motion, putting myself into his space, letting the words come out in a whisper, adrenaline singing its arpeggio across nerves and sinew and blood.
“Lastly, you’re in front of me. You say you saw what I did to the boardshits, Sawyer? Then let’s go, round two, pick your fucking tune. I love to dance.”
Tension fills the air.
“…Fine. We’ll put her in a hospice.”
“No. She’s already getting care, and you know she’s never coming back to the dryburbs. That life isn’t for her, not anymore. Never really was. You pay for where she’s at. Whatever they ask. Until she’s better.”
Sawyer’s brown eyes glint dangerously, but he nods.
“Very well. In return, you report directly to me on this op, and you’re in it for the duration. Until those hoods are dealt with, your ass is mine.”
Bristling, I nod back at him.
“I want full autonomy for my squad, though. We decide our tactics. Oh, and they get paid too.”
“Of course.”
“What about Jase?”
“If he helps us figure out how these things work, and he keeps his mouth shut for the rest of his life, I’ll let him go when it’s done, along with, say, fifty thousand. Unless he wants a job.”
I lean over to Jase, white eyes wide in his pale-brown face, jaw unconsciously slack.
“I wouldn’t recommend getting into spook games, but that’s probably the best you’re going to get.”
“Ye-yeah, that’s fine. Fifty thousand is fine.”
Fifty thousand is more creds than Jase has seen his entire life. Sawyer stands abruptly.
“Good. Both of you, follow me.”
Jase scrambles to his feet, pushing his chair back across the metal. Taking my time, I join him. Sawyer may have me cornered, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to nip at his heels like a grateful stray. He looks at me coolly, but doesn’t say anything. We step out into a deserted hallway, harsh bulbs dangling bare from rusted metal beams. The smell of brine fills the air.
Sawyer leads us past several unmarked doors, integrated biosecurity pads at waist level, augmented reality identifiers refusing to coalesce in front of our unclassified vision. I’m sure Sawyer can see them just fine. I try to access the ’Net, but there’s no connection. Eventually, he stops in front of a door that looks like all the rest. It slides open at his touch on the sensor.
Inside, several older men in spotless white coats over traditional dryburb robes cluster around a polymer table, painfully bright lights highlighting its entire surface. On it is the disassembled haphood, technical-looking instruments scattered around in various states of disarray. Their animated discussion cuts off when they realize Sawyer is standing behind them. One, older than the rest, blond hair slicked back like it’s painted on his head, turns to him, pushing sleek AR glasses up with a hapgloved hand.
“Sir, we’re still examining the device. We wo—”
“I know, Davis,” Sawyer interrupts. “This young man has been recruited to assist you. He’s the one who opened it. Something I believe you said was ‘impossible.’”
“H-he did?” The blond-haired man gawps at Jase. “But he barely looks fourteen. And he’s from the Squalor.”
“I’m sixteen, and we call it ‘Ditchtown,’ thanks,” Jase replies, a little of his old swagger reappearing. “Apparently my school’s a better teacher than whatever crap you got in the dryburbs.”
“‘Necessity is the mother of all invention, and the street finds strange uses,’” Sawyer murmurs, almost to himself. Louder, he continues. “There will be no animosity. That is an order. We need to understand the precise nature of this weapon. Quickly. If you cannot work with him, Davis, the Theocrophant will hear about it.” Davis gulps, Jase smirking at him. Sawyer turns around. “And if you needlessly antagonize my scientists, our deal is void. My patience is not limitless.” Jase’s smirk disappears, and Sawyer nods. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Get to work.”
Jase warily approaches the scientist, then sticks out a skinny arm, his hapgloved hand open at the end. Davis stares at it, uncomprehending.
“It’s called shaking hands. Supposed to be polite. I’m Jase.”
“We transfer introductions through AR in the Enclaves,” he responds stiffly. “Physical contact with outsiders can introduce unwanted diseases.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not on your ’Net, we’re not in the dryburbs, and she told me not to hack your stuff, sooooo?”
Davis continues staring at Jase, who shakes his head and lets his hand fall.
“Fucking burbies. I’ve had my vaccines. You gonna give me access or what?”