Davis looks over at Sawyer, who inclines his head slightly and twitches a finger. A smile spreads across Jase’s face, and he pushes past Davis to the table.
“Daaaaaamn, look at those transfer rates. Okay, let’s see what you got… yeah… mmm… so the issue with the array switches here is…”
As Jase descends into incomprehensible techspeak, the other scientists stare at him, then cautiously approach the table, Davis holding his nose up like he just ate a slice of rotten needlefish. The expression quickly disappears, though, and soon they’re all deep into the muttered half conversations of techies everywhere, nonsense words interspersed with hapgloved gestures bringing pertinent bits of info to each others’ glasses. Sawyer looks at Jase with a curious expression, his gaze oddly paternal, then he motions to me. I follow him out of the room.
“That kid’s smart, Ash. Smarter than I thought. Reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago.” He stares at me. “You sure you want him going back to Ditchtown, wasting his life on grayhat crap? I could give him a chance here.”
“You leave Jase out of this,” I tell him fiercely. “He doesn’t need to get sucked into your shit. You’ll burn him out, and you know it.”
“Undoubtedly true,” Sawyer responds. “My masters are not nearly as patient as I am. However, he would be well taken care of while his flame lasted.”
“No. He’s free, or I don’t play your games.”
“Very well.”
We walk in silence for a bit, boots ringing off the metal grates of the floor, until I can’t hold it in anymore. The question rots me from the inside, like it always does.
“Why’d you do it, Sawyer? Why’d you abandon her? After everything she did?”
Wordlessly, he opens another door, revealing a spacious room packed with viewscreens and whispered conversations, camo-clad figures sitting in padded chairs with integrated hapglove armrests. A floor-to-ceiling glass window sits at the far end, overlooking a huge open chamber. Twelve spheres, four meters in diameter, sit inside skeletal scaffolding like caged silver marbles, the farthest surrounded by more camo-draped shapes working on its opened surface. Sawyer turns to look at me, still ignoring my previous question.
“This will be your home until the op is finished.” My glasses flash to life, a small map appearing. “Barracks for you and your squad are here.” A doorway highlights in the room below, set in the side wall. “Canteen is here.” Another doorway highlights. “We’ve isolated this area. Do not attempt to interact with the other soldiers, do not attempt to leave your assigned quarters when you’re not running ops, and above all, do not make me regret this. You’ll be briefed on the first target after you meet your squad. Stairs are over there.”
I slam to a stop. “You said we were autonomous. How do you know who I want on my squad? I don’t trust your people.”
Sawyer grins mockingly, his eyes slivers of ice.
“Who else would Ashura the Terrible, champion of Infinite Game, want other than her SunJewel Warriors? The briefing is in ten. I suggest you hurry.”
11
[Ghosting the Metal]
“Ash!”
A bubbly voice meets my entrance into the room, followed closely by a pair of arms squeezing me into a crushing bear hug. The owner of the arms is about twenty centimeters shorter than me, her long black hair tickling my chin where it pulls loose from its braid, a Hajj burka draping her body and shoulders. Gummie anonymity restrictions prevent the wearing of full head covers except for extremely specific religious observances. Somehow, none of the Hajj rituals seem to qualify—another drop of intolerance in a vast ocean. I hug her back and smile.
“Ooof. Heya, Wind. Slend. Good to see you both.”
A pale-faced woman with close-cropped blue hair, a deep purple bruise spreading from her left eye under the green octagonal lenses of her glasses, nods at me from the corner of the room. She dwarfs the chair she’s sitting in, muscles rolling underneath her matching blue tank top when she shifts back and forth. Thin gray gloves cling to her hands and cargo shorts barely contain her thick legs. A viewscreen covers the wall next to her, its surface the dull black of inactive pixels.
Wind hugs me again, then pushes herself back, folding her own gloved hands into her robes. A feeling of energy radiates from her, as if she’s constantly restraining herself from dancing side to side. She looks up at me through her sleek winged glasses, angular facets trailing back almost to her ears.
“They grabbed me right after you called. I’d barely gotten back from the hapchamber, after you told us to get those hoods off. Scared the shit out of my parents. They thought it was fundie stuff, another crackdown. My dad about had a heart attack, especially when they told him to keep quiet or it was my life. Mom wanted to argue, but…”
She shrugs, and I pull her into another quick hug.
“Yeah, I know. No chance anyone’s gonna listen to a Hajj, especially right now. Fucking gummies.”
“Yup. Slend says they picked her up at the same time.”
A grunt from the corner.
“Broke a drone. Was being rude.”
I laugh in spite of myself.
“That explains the war wound. You two doing okay?”
Wind starts pacing around the room.
“Yeah, we’re fine, just a little confused. They didn’t tell us anything. Textbook blackbagging. What’s going on, Ash? Is Brand coming?”
My stomach clenches, like a punch to the gut.
They don’t know yet.
“Brand’s dead, Wind. She’s one of the reasons we’re here.”
Wind drops back into a chair, her body going still. Over in the corner, a thunderous expression appears on Slend’s face.
“Mikelas? Boardshits?”
“No. It… was my fault.” Quickly, I explain the encounter on the cargo ship, fighting an unresponsive Brand, the haphood frying her brain. By the end, tears are rolling down my cheeks. “I couldn’t save her. I didn’t even know she needed saving. That fucking hood…”
I find a chair of my own and collapse into it, head in my hands. Wind whistles, long and low, then walks over and wraps her arms around me.
“Shit, Ash. Just… shit. That’s beyond fucked up. And it’s not your fault. What are we gonna do?”
“Dunno,” I reply, voice muffled by her sleeve covering my mouth. “Sawyer wants us to figure out who’s behind it, but I don’t have much. Got a silkie corp that sent Brand her hood, but that’s it.”
“Name?” Slend’s voice is intense.
“Golgbank subsidiary by the name of Unlimited Holdings Limited. Found the message in her portal.”
“That’s the same corp that sent mine,” Wind says, subdued. Slend nods once, sharply.
“And that’s your first target.”
The voice coming through hidden speakers in the room shatters the illusion of normalcy. I gently disengage from Wind’s embrace, looking for the cameras, but they’re not immediately obvious. They’re probably in the lights. Wind sits down next to me, and I address the viewscreen—as good an option as any.
“Thanks, Sawyer. Good to know your spook shit extends everywhere.”
“Spare me the crocodile tears, Ashley. You’re in my world now. I’m watching everything.”
The viewscreen on the wall next to Slend lights up, Golgbank’s rainbow logo spinning in the middle. Sawyer continues talking.
“We’ve isolated the primary staging facility for the hoods. Production center on the outskirts of Industan, owned by Golgbank through four proxies. We haven’t been able to pierce the corporate veil surrounding Golgbank and find out which of the Big Three controls it yet. That’s your job. A carrier will be in position within an hour. You three are ghosting the metal.”