Wind starts giggling.
“The Prophet wept. That’s not a plan, Ash, that’s the plot to a terrible hap movie. One of those gun-porn pieces Slend loves.”
“Lens flares are pretty.”
“Look,” I reply, “it’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one I can think of in the time we have left that has even a chance of working.” I drop my voice. “Speaking of which, are you two sure you want to do this? I can’t back out, not anymore, but that doesn’t mean you have to join me. This is probably a one-way run with no rezzes.”
Slend puts her hand on my shoulder, a comforting grip.
“Gotta stick together. Only ever us. Wish Brand was here. Always wanted to save the world.”
I pat her hand, hot prickling pushing its way to my eyes.
“Thanks, Slend. I wish she was here too. Wind? You can probably get your parents out if you move quick.”
She smacks me in the other arm, then curses, waving her hand.
“Of course I’m staying, you granite-bicepped idiot. We’re a team, right? SunJewel Warriors? Masters of the Game and all that? Slend’s right—we have to stick together.”
“It’s just, last night. You were pretty upset.”
“Yeah, well, I talked with my parents, and they said that the true measure of one’s faith isn’t kneeling when times are good, but standing when times are hard. Then my dad shook his finger at me; you know how he is. ‘You help those who help you, Fatimah. Go. Your mother and I trust you to do the right thing.’ What was I supposed to do after that, be the asshole who didn’t help her friends protect the planet?”
I grab her into another hug, crushing her against my side.
“Well, I appreciate it, and I’m sure Slend does too.” Slend nods, and I wipe the moisture from my eyes. “Ok. Let’s figure out some strats. The way I see it, our primary needs are gear to assault the compound, and something to reroute the shuttle.”
“Might be the boy and I can help you out a bit there,” Johnny says. “Think you can reprogram an orbital shuttle by remote, son?” Jase nods once, firmly. “Good.” He waves us to join him behind the counter. “Follow me.”
Bemused, I watch Johnny roll back the rubber floor covering, spotted with spilled grease and trampled noodle bits, to reveal a crude hatch set into the floor, ragged edges rounded in the curving flows of arc-burned metal. He punches in a code on the heavy-looking lock, then pulls the hatch open, revealing a short ladder leading down, lights flicking on to banish the darkness. I look over at Jase, but he seems just as confused as I am. Johnny climbs down the ladder, and we follow.
At the bottom is an armory.
The room is long and thin, one wall covered in various projectile-launching devices ranging from pistols to what looks to be a crew-serviced heavy machine gun. A counter runs along the other wall, tools and printers neatly arrayed along its surface, carefully labeled cases of ammo stacked underneath between scattered pallets of grenades and flashbangs. Suits of body armor hang against the far end, like a war fashionista’s dressing room.
“Now it’s definitely a gun-porn movie,” Wind whispers, her voice awed. “Look at all this stuff.”
Jase’s eyes are three sizes too big for his head, dreadlocks whipping back and forth across his face as he scans the room. I get the sense he’s having difficulty reconciling who a parent really is compared to who he thought they were. I should know.
“Damn, Johnny.” I run my hand over the polymer grip of a vintage Water Wars pistol. A red warning light blinks gently on, internal processor not recognizing my biometrics. “Never took you for a collector.” I take my hand off, and the light fades away. Johnny stops next to a battered assault rifle located in the exact center of the wall, an older model, the only piece in the room that looks less than perfect.
“Got caught without a weapon, once. Wouldn’t have made it out by myself.” He raises his hand, as if he’s going to lay it on the rifle, but then lets it fall and turns to face us. “More accurate to call me a lender than a collector, though. Sometimes someone needs a little extra oomph. Take down a couple sentries on a cargo ship, bust a synthetics dealer, maybe blow open the door of a pedohouse.” He inclines his head at me. “Helps keep the bills paid.”
Slend grunts from behind.
“Heavy. Like it.”
She’s holding the crew-serviced machine gun, muscles not quite visibly straining.
“You and your big guns,” Wind scoffs. “Don’t ask me to carry that for you. And don’t blame me when you crater—we have to jump out of a shuttle, remember?”
“Taking it anyway.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. How are you even going to carry ammo for that beast? Seems a little awkward to use as a club.”
Slend scowls, and Johnny hitches a thumb at the back wall.
“Should be a mecha frame under the flak vests. See if it fits.”
“How… how do you have a mecha, Pops?” Jase sounds stunned. “The Han don’t let anyone have mechas. They’re designed to self-destruct when the user dies or has one removed without a password, and no one’s ever cracked their manufacturing facility.”
“Knew a razorgirl, once. Helped her with some problems. She let me keep it as a souvenir.”
I feel my jaw slowly drop open. I knew Johnny was capable, but this is something else. He laughs, a long, deep rumble.
“I was in your mother’s unit for a reason, Ashley. I may not have been on her level—hell, none of us were, not even Sawyer—but that didn’t mean we sat around with our thumbs up our asses either. Once I got out, I had to make ends meet, feed a hungry kid, and that meant doing the work that needed doing.” His laughter dies down, and the smile vanishes from his eyes. “No matter what the job was. That life’s behind me now, but I still lived it. Every second.”
Silence fills the room, finally broken by a small cough from Wind.
“Got anything suited more for someone my size? Something lightweight? With fur, maybe?”
Johnny nods, a little bit of the tightness banished from his face.
“I don’t know about the fur, but there are some SMGs over here that you might like. Come take a look.”
Wind and Johnny walk farther down the wall, debating the merits of various types of ammunition. Slend pushes past them to scrounge up the mecha, leaving Jase and me standing next to each other. I nudge him with my elbow.
“You doing okay?”
He tugs on a handful of his hair.
“I… it’s just… the old man, I’ve never seen him do anything other than make noodles all day. I knew he fought in the Dubs, hell, that’s where he found me, but all this…” Jase sighs. “Shit. I dunno, Ash. Every time I think I have a handle on the world, it flips upside down again.”
I clap him on the back.
“You’re not alone, Jase. You’re definitely not alone. Parents are a pain in the ass.”
I leave him to his thoughts and amble along the room, mentally cataloging the various weapon systems. A familiar bullpup rifle on the wall catches my eye, and I take a closer look. A neat line of stitching, nearly invisible, scars the otherwise immaculate shoulder strap. I turn away, trying not to think about Brand, searching for something else to consume my mind. A pair of shapes above the workbench, slender and slightly curved, one longer than the other, draw me forward with hypnotic intensity. I stop in front of them, rapt.