Cyber Dreams 2.37 - On a Mission

Well, we're nearing the climax of book 2. Hope you're still enjoying things. Looking forward to your feedback :)

-Plum

Juliet could smell the dead infiltrators before she could see them, and she paused to pull a bandanna out of her belt pouch, tying it around her nose and mouth. She’d started packing one after the “bug hunt” with Charlie Unit when she’d seen Houston and some of the others use them. Remembering Houston tying his black skull-pattern bandana on his face made her remember his snarky attitude, which reminded her that he was dead. Juliet frowned and, again, banished the thought from her conscious mind.

The bodies and equipment of the people White had shot were a mess, and after seeing the first one, she almost abandoned her plan to look for gear or intel. She understood, in theory, why the gauss rifle did so much damage at range. She understood Angel’s explanation about the velocity of the density of the nanite-coated needles. Juliet knew Angel had calibrated White’s rifle to push them to the limit, setting the gun to fire the needles as fast as possible without melting from friction in the air. Still, seeing the handiwork up close was mind-boggling.

Rather than dwell on the specifics, studying the ruined corpses, Juliet made a conscious effort to keep her eyes focused on what she was looking for; packs, belt pouches, weapons, and any other scattered gear. She pointedly avoided staring at the shredded torsos, the sprayed, fly-covered fluids, and the occasional orphaned limb.

Angel led her from corpse to corpse, and Juliet scooped up her salvage, piling it a dozen yards away toward the road. When she’d gathered what she could, she separated them into piles and tried to decide what was worth lugging out of the canyon. She’d found half a dozen intact sidearms and rifles, packs full of gear, and quite a bit of extra ammunition. Notably missing were any data decks. She figured the guy with the drone must have had some tech gear, but it hadn’t survived the initial impact of the gauss rifle or the secondary explosions from whatever had been in the drone case.

Juliet studied the sidearms first—four nine-millimeter pistols, one forty-caliber pistol, and one semi-automatic needler with ammo similar to her Taipan. Thinking of her Taipan reminded Juliet of her belongings still stashed in the apartment she’d rented as Lydia Roman. She wondered how long it would take before Gordon sent a squad to search and secure all of her stuff. She’d left nothing she couldn’t replace, but she’d miss that gun and a few other neat items she’d bought to play “corpo spy” before finding out she’d be in a Zeta Protocol unit.

“Maybe I still have time to go in and grab some things . . .” She shook her head, sighing. No, that would be monumentally stupid; at the very least, he’d have someone watching it, even if White reported her dead. “Angel, tell me about this needler.”

“That’s a Finch Executive four-millimeter, semi-automatic needler with a bio-sensing grip, sync-capable sighting coprocessor, and an aftermarket, noise-suppressing barrel. Remove the magazine and examine one of the rounds, please.” Juliet popped the magazine out, surprised by its weight; the rounds were very thin but long and packed in tightly. She worked one free and held it up—the casing looked like plasteel, and the plastic tips were dark blue.

“They look different from the rounds in my Taipan.”

“They are—your Taipan is loaded with shredders; these are low-noise cartridges. They fire at a sub-sonic velocity and only contain three needles. If you’re accurate, they’re quite deadly, but they’ll be stopped by armor rather easily.”

“So? Which of the pistols is the most valuable?”

“Monetarily speaking, the needler is worth twice as much as the other pistols.” That was enough for Juliet, and she unbuckled her belt, sliding the—slightly stained—nylon holster onto it and inserting the needler.

“What about these rifles? Any of them worth more than my shotgun?”

“Your Grave Industries electro-shotgun is considered a ‘budget’ model. There’s a Herschel Company MP5 variant there that is far more respected and retails for significantly more bits. I see you found seven magazines for it, as well.”

Juliet picked up the SMG as Angel highlighted it in her AUI and noted it was equipped with a sleek-looking, black, plasteel suppressor. “This has a lot of aftermarket mods, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, the suppressor is high-end and appears to be new, and the trigger is aftermarket and likely requires a very light touch—use caution should you use it. I see it’s also equipped with a sighting coprocessor that I can interface with, and it’s vented to reduce recoil and noise, though it will have less armor penetration potential. On a cursory inspection of each weapon, I didn’t note any identifying marks, either. If you interface with them, I can wipe any electronic signature and assign your biometrics.”

“These guys really were some kind of black ops, weren’t they?” Juliet set the MP5 aside along with the gathered magazines, then started rifling through packs, looking for a data deck or anything else with some information about who the mystery squad had been. She came up empty—nothing but protein bars, water bottles, and a smattering of camping gear. Though, in one black belt pack, she found four squares of powerful shape-charges with remote detonators.

“Those could be useful,” Angel said as Juliet read the labels.

“Hell, yes,” she said, taking them out of the pack, consolidating them with the supplies into the least-stained bag, and tucking the MP5 magazines into a side pocket. She shrugged into the pack, shouldered the SMG sling, and briefly considered burning the stuff she wasn’t taking. She decided it wasn’t worth it. Still clinging to her Grave-issued shotgun, she began hiking the rest of the way down, out of the canyon.

She’d been a little worried the fluttercraft that dropped the kill squad would return, but thinking about it, she figured it would be pretty stupid of them—whoever was piloting it had to know they were dead and had to have seen the Grave fluttercraft come in to pick up White’s team. Why would they risk coming back in? There was a reason the kill squad hadn’t had any identifying marks on their equipment.

By the time she walked out of the canyon and was making her way over the dry, grassy plains of the foothills toward a town that, according to Angel’s map, used to be called Green Valley, the sun was starting to dip toward the western horizon. “How many people live there?” she asked, noting the scattered lights in the distance.

“Not many—Bering Cooking Supplies bought up most of the town and surrounding countryside nearly forty years ago. They have several large pecan groves in the area and manufacture pressed protein squares and flour substitutes. Most of the twenty-thousand citizens in the area work for Bering.

“Okay, um, navigate me to the nearest neighborhood. I’ll try to buy someone’s car or bike.” Angel updated her map with a dotted line that showed a five-kilometer hike, and she paused to drink from a water bottle and then got moving, picking up the pace into a light jog. She’d gone about halfway when she passed over an ancient cattle guard and slipped her Grave Industries shotgun between the metal grates as she went over it. “I didn’t really like it, anyway.”

“Your old one, from Vikker’s garage, was certainly a more brutal weapon.”

“Right. A shotgun should be brutal.” Juliet frowned as she spoke, and as she jogged down the road in the cool air of the Arizona winter, she struggled to keep her mind from drifting toward thoughts about Houston, Delma, and Commander Garza.

She thought about Houston’s wisecracks and faux panic whenever something seemed to go wrong and wanted to sit on the side of the road and give in to utter depression when she realized she’d never hear that voice again. It was one thing to leave a person behind, to know, objectively, that you might not ever speak to them again, but it was something altogether different to realize that no matter what you did, that person was gone.

“It wasn’t like he was a good friend,” she said, trusting Angel to know who she was speaking about.

“No, but he was amusing,” Angel replied.

“Yeah. He was amusing, Angel. I’m going to miss him. And then there’s Delma. Fucking Gordon!” she spat, red fury taking the place of her sorrow, and she welcomed it in. She’d rather be angry than sad any day.

While she jogged, Juliet tried to think of her next move; she knew she wanted to re-infiltrate the Grave Tower, wanted to remove the data about the GIPEL program from their servers and backups and wanted to put a stop to Gordon and Vance. “At least,” she breathed, turning off the old, deserted road toward the scattered lights of some ancient, ranch-style homes.

As she began to pass by gravel driveways, she said, “See what you can find out on the sat-net about these houses and the vehicles out front. I mean, see if you can find who owns them and who they work for.”

“There isn’t much publicly available, but all indications are that these people mostly work for Bering.” Juliet watched as Angel highlighted various vehicles—pickup trucks, sedans, tractors, motorcycles, and flashed their ownership info in a window as she perused public records. “We could realistically expect to be able to steal any of these vehicles, Juliet.”

“I don’t want to steal one, though. Just find something that looks reliable but isn’t worth a whole lot.”

“Most of these vehicles fit that description. The dwelling ahead and to the left has three vehicles in the drive; perhaps the owner would be more likely to sell one, seeing as they’re all registered to the same man.”

“Worth a try,” Juliet said, jogging down the long gravel drive to the adobe, ranch-style home. She saw an old truck, a newer SUV, and an ancient, low, bulbous van, probably from the 2060s. “That thing’s ugly as hell,” she said.

“Fedder Systems Galaxy Wagon, circa 2071,” Angel supplied. “Current listings for similar vehicles are sub-1000 bits.”

Juliet chuckled as she shifted her MP5 so it mainly hung behind her. She was sweaty and probably had blood stains she’d missed on her hands and arms or her face, but she didn’t have the patience to try to clean up. She walked to the front door of the home and rang the bell, standing back a few feet and clasping her hands before her in an attempt to look non-threatening.

Nearly a minute later, a male voice called out from behind the door, “Who is it?”

“Hello, sir,” Juliet said, trying to sound upbeat and pleasant. “I was doing some work nearby and missed my ride out. I was hoping you could help.”

The door clicked and opened an inch, and Juliet could see, in her enhanced optics, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and dark brown eyes peering through the crack. “How the hell can I help? I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“No, sir, I was hoping you’d be willing to sell one of your vehicles. I have a long way to go.”

“Seriously?” The door opened a few more inches, and Juliet took in the man’s leathery skin, loose, long-sleeved shirt, and lack of shoes; he looked like someone who’d been working hard all day and was unwinding. “I need my vehicles. Why not call a cab?”

“How long will it take to get an AutoCab out here?” She offered her best pouting frown.

“Heh. Hours, I guess. Well, I was going to fix up that Galaxy for my daughter, but, I mean if the price is right . . .”

“Does it run?” Juliet eyed the old, sky-blue, bulbous vehicle skeptically.

“Sure it does. Batteries ain’t what they used to be, but they’ll get you a couple of hundred kilometers in one charge. Tires are probably good for a few hundred kilometers, too.” He shrugged as if to say, “I’m not the one in need here.”

“Couple hundred . . .” Juliet looked at her AUI, and Angel helpfully displayed a route to Phoenix—244 kilometers. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, how bad you need it? Someone else might have something better, or, shit; you can hang out here while you wait for a cab.” He eyed her pistol and the SMG poking out from behind her hip, then added, “I mean outside.”

“No, if you’ll sell it, I’ll transfer the bits right now. What’s your price?”

“Five thousand.” He didn’t blink or look the least ashamed.

“I mean, it’s almost forty years old, sir.” Juliet frowned and tried to sound a little less desperate as she added, “How about twenty-five hundred? That’s more than twice the market rate.”

“Sol bits?”

“Definitely.”

“All right, make it twenty-seven-fifty, and have your PAI start the contract handshake with mine.”

Juliet did as he asked, and Angel and his PAI made a secure connection, transferring the vehicle title and the bits, and then Juliet became the owner of an ancient electric van. “You need to get anything out of it?” she asked, glancing again at the ugly vehicle.

“Well, yeah. Thanks.” He pulled the door wide, and Juliet caught a glimpse of a young woman sitting at a table under a kitchen light, watching their interaction with wide eyes. He closed the door and, giving Juliet a wide berth, walked around her toward the van. “I’ve got some camping stuff in the back.”

“No problem. Was that your daughter?”

“Yep. You’re not a psycho or something, are you?”

“You got the bits I transferred, right?”

“Yeah, right. Sorry. I don’t see a lot of people with guns around here. I mean unless they work for Bering.” He walked around to the back of the van and opened the rear hatch, reaching in to pull out some plastic crates.

“Bering a decent corp to work for?” Juliet asked.

“Not really, but what options are there? At least I can afford the rent.” He jerked his head toward the ranchhouse.

“It’s pretty out here,” Juliet said, looking around at the moonlit street and the dark desert. “Better than working in an arcology, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s that. Dana wants to get a job in the city—complains about it out here all the time, but I know she’ll just drift away from me if one of the big corps gets their hooks in her.” He grunted as he lifted out the last crate and stacked it behind the van.

“Well, I hope things work out for you,” Juliet said, walking toward the van’s driver-side door. Angel had conducted the transaction anonymously, so she knew this man didn’t know her name or anything about her, but she still felt it was risky hanging around. “I’m gonna be in trouble if I don’t get moving. Thanks for selling me this old girl.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be able to buy Dana something better, I ‘spose.”

Juliet offered him one more smile, then unslung her MP5 and climbed into the driver’s seat, setting it on the passenger seat next to her. Five minutes later, she was humming down the old, windy road at sixty kilometers an hour, following the route Angel had laid out that would take her back to Phoenix.

It only took her fifteen minutes to make her way to Interstate 19, where the old van struggled to get up to highway speeds. Juliet watched, with horror, as the battery charge rapidly dropped from ninety to fifty-seven percent but then seemed to stabilize and hold steady. “Angel, you better add a couple of charging stations to the itinerary.”

“Noted. I think this vehicle is badly in need of service.”

“Haha. Understatement of the year,” Juliet said over the noisy hum of the rough, uneven tires on the freeway. “Plus side—nobody’s gonna be looking for me in this thing.”

“It’s possible Grave had a satellite watching the canyon and saw you walk out and get into this vehicle.”

“Possible, but I doubt it. I mean, they sent a kill squad out, and we got the drop on them. If they’d had satellite eyes, they might have fared better.”

“Perhaps Gordon severely underestimated White.”

“And Jensen.” Those thoughts keeping her mind busy, along with a million more, Juliet made her slow way north, stopping on the south side of Tucson to charge the van’s batts. While she waited, she ate a convenience store pizza and drank a half gallon of punch-flavored rehydration water. While she ate, she sat off to the side of the station, under an awning of a long-abandoned fast food restaurant, and watched her van and the traffic coming and going. She kept her MP5 in her lap, wary of anyone who gave her a second glance.

All that said, she was back on the road, unmolested, a half-hour later with a nearly full battery bank. When she got to a lightly populated ABZ town called Casa Grande, she pulled off again and ordered an Easycab. She tapped the roof of the old van as her cab pulled up and said, “Thanks for the lift, old girl.” Then, she climbed into the cab and rode toward Phoenix, stopping to change cabs twice more in busy parking lots as they came out of the ABZ.

When she reached downtown Phoenix, Juliet had her cab drop her off in front of the Palo Verde Inn. Seeing the softly pulsing green neon tree reminded her of when she’d first fled Tucson—it felt like it had been a million years since then. Glancing up and down the street, hardly believing she was back in downtown Phoenix, Juliet strode inside, knowing they’d scan her but also knowing they’d respect her operator’s license and weapons permit if Angel identified her as January, SOA-SP License #: JB789-029.

As a returning customer, her check-in was smooth, and Juliet didn’t even have to speak to the hotel clerk; Angel handled everything. She made her way up to her room, which was, unfortunately, different from the one she’d stayed in before. She’d hoped to stay in the same suite for nostalgia’s sake, but still, the room they assigned her was hardly any different—she still had a view of downtown and, of course, all the same amenities.

Juliet stripped down, took a long, hot shower, then had Angel place a vid call to Fresh Threads, and she was delighted when Rose, the same saleswoman who’d helped her before, answered the call, “Fresh Threads, where we keep you looking chic and ready to make a million-bit deal! This is Rose. How can I help you?”

“Rose! This is Lydia Roman. I bought a suit from you a few weeks back. Do you remember me?”

“Um,” she said, peering at Juliet through her video connection, and Juliet knew she didn’t recognize her. She was sure Angel wasn’t projecting her current appearance—she was still in the process of darkening her hair and changing her irises, after all. No, Angel was projecting an image that resembled Lydia Roman when she’d first been hired by Grave. Even so, she could hear the lie in Rose’s voice as she said, “Sure I do. How are you, Lydia?”

“I’m good, Rose. Do you mind looking up my purchase? I need another of the same kind of outfit, maybe just a shade darker gray this time, with black platforms. I guess while you’re at it, could you please send me a couple of pairs of undergarments? Your choice, Rose—I trust your judgment. I’m going to hire a courier to pick it up. Is that all right?”

“Oh, sure. I have your info here. I’ll send the bill to your PAI. Is that okay? We close in an hour, though.”

“I’ll have the courier pick it up tomorrow at nine. You’ll be open?”

“We will! I’ll set it aside.”

“Thank you, Rose.” Juliet ended the call then said, “Angel, contact Corpo Secure now.”

When the vid call tone had sounded twice, a man with a wispy gray mustache and thick, bushy eyebrows answered the call, “Corpo Secure.”

“Hello, sir. I’d like to place an order to be picked up via courier.”

“One moment,” he said, and then she was facing a hold screen picturing a mountain valley blanketed in pristine white snow. Thirty seconds later, the image flashed away, and the same man reappeared, “Sorry for the delay, ma’am. What can I set aside for you?”

“I need a briefcase that will resist scanner attempts—black. I need a vibroblade sheath that can be worn on the wrist under a blazer sleeve. Finally, I need an underarm holster to fit a Finch Executive four-millimeter needler.”

“Sounds like you’re on a mission, ma’am. I can get those things together for you. When can I expect your courier.”

“Thank you for your professionalism; I am on a mission, sir. My courier will be there a little after nine tomorrow morning. Please provide a code for my PAI, and I’ll collect your invoice and submit payment.”

Note from Plum:

Juliet's streak of abandoned vehicles continues. :D