CD & EA 1.14 - Close Encounter

Early delivery today! Have a relaxing Sunday!

Also, I know my posting days are all over the place for these two stories (Victor and CD&EA), but that's because I'm working on the Writathon challenge and trying to build a backlog for this story on Patreon. When I've got 15 chapters of this story backlogged, I'll probably alternate my writing days between the two. You can always guarantee that I'll have at least two big chapters of Victor a week and three somewhat smaller chapters of this story.

(That's assuming I keep going with this story after the first book - if I can't build a good following for it, I'll probably focus solely on Victor for a while.)

-Plum

Juliet opened the duffel bag and put the shotgun on the kitchen counter. It was a big, bulky, scary-looking weapon, and her memories of using it felt like a dream. It was almost like it had happened to someone else. The gun even looked different to her now through the crystal clear, color-perfect lenses of her new ocular implants. That night and everything that happened, from the heist to the struggle at Vikker’s place, didn’t seem real.

While she stared at the gun, some new images and numbers appeared on her AUI. She saw a crosshair appear near the far wall, lined up with where the barrel was pointing. She saw an ammo counter that said 150/400, and she also saw a battery icon that read 70%. Juliet pushed the gun closer to the hotel room charging station, and she saw a little lightning bolt appear on the battery icon. “Neat,” she said.

“Angel, I’ve seen people walking around with weapons in certain bars or out in the ABZ around Tucson. How do I get a license?”

“You can acquire one that is tied to your SOA-SP license. As long as you don’t have any convictions on that license, and you’re willing to pay two hundred fifty bits annually, you should be approved instantly. You still won’t be allowed to bring weapons into most corporate-owned properties.”

“Which knocks out most places, huh? Well, I suppose this weapon was already registered to Vikker.”

“No, I searched the serial number on net-accessible databases, and I didn’t find any registration. I found a record of a sale to a man named Daniel Foyle three months ago, and that’s the only public transaction for that weapon.”

“So, can I register it or not? Should I? Will it increase the heat on me?”

“I don’t have access to closed corpo-sec networks, so there may be many more records on that weapon than I can see. It might be best to use it unregistered for now, Juliet, though you can still get your firearms license if you want to spend the bits.”

“And if a cop or drone stops me? What do I say?”

“That you’ve recently acquired it from a private transaction and have yet to register it.”

“That’ll fly?”

“Yes, in the city of Phoenix, you’re given a seven-day grace period.”

“All right. Shit. Well, go ahead and get me a license. Just so I can get this straight, my SOA license isn’t tied to my real identity? Or it is, but it’s private? I think I glossed over some of that when we were signing up.”

“You are personally tied to your license, yes, but the SOA-SP has a treaty with ninety-four percent of the publicly registered corporations in the solar system. The treaty allows its operators to remain anonymous behind their SOA license even while working in corporate territories. The information behind your license is stored in cryptographically secured data files that are only accessible through a two-thirds majority vote of the SOA-SP council—this has been done only in extreme cases of terroristic behavior and mass murder committed by the operative in question.”

“So, WBD can’t get to me through this license. They don’t know ‘Juliet’ is the Juliet Bianchi they’re hunting?”

“That would be my conclusion.”

“All right, what did you find out while I was snoozing? I need to figure out my next steps, other than buying some more clothes and some personal hygiene items,” Juliet said, sniffing herself while she perused the hotel room’s breakfast options—protein and carbohydrate bars of various flavors.

“While listening to police traffic and the Helios News Network, I found that the bodies of two unidentified men were found on the outskirts of Tucson. Drone surveillance picked up a firefight in the area, but resources were too thin to investigate in a timely fashion. Security personnel are following up on their leads.”

“Do you think they’ll find the van?”

“Definitely. There will be satellite imagery of the van leaving the compound and you left it in a drugstore parking lot. You shouldn’t worry, though—I was scrambling your identity, and you took pains to clean the van of your presence.”

“They’ll know it was parked outside the doc’s place for half a day, but he’s a pro—he’ll have some bullshit to spin when they come around looking for answers.”

“If they do. Juliet, Helios corpo-sec has more than nine hundred active murder investigations.”

“What the fuck? Seriously?”

“Yes, their active case numbers are available via the sat-net, presumably so that interested parties can track progress. A high percentage of those cases haven’t been updated past ‘Security personnel are following up on their leads.’”

“Okay, what else? Any work? Anything about WBD’s hunt for me?”

“I didn’t find any information about WBD’s progress in that regard; I’m sorry, Juliet.” Angel, precise with her diction as always, managed to put a note in her voice that sounded distinctly self-critical. Juliet sat down with her “pastry” flavored protein bar and considered her response. As she was thinking, though, Angel took her silence as permission to forge ahead.

“You asked me to find you work that would take you off-planet. I didn’t find any specific jobs that would allow you to leave within the next thirty days, but I did find the names of several corporations that have open postings for certain off-world careers. I had your talents in mind when I searched, so I came up with several salvage companies, a mining consortium, and a few mercenary companies. If you were a pilot, your options would more than quadruple.”

“Mercenary companies, Angel?” Juliet snorted and polished off the last bite of her breakfast.

“Your operator status makes you a possible asset to such groups, Juliet.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess they need someone who can pull off the stuff you’re good at, huh? I was thinking of machine guns and drop ships.”

“Correct, there are a wide array of positions among such companies. It would be good for you to learn more combat skills, though, Juliet. You were very lucky the other night.”

“Lucky, huh? I guess that’s one way to look at it. Do you understand luck, Angel?”

“Only in concept. Is it something you can feel?” The PAI’s voice sounded different, almost wistful.

“No, not really. I thought it was something only humans spoke about, though—like a superstition. I guess you were just using the term to say that some random factors lined up in my favor?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Again the PAI sounded strange, melancholy if Juliet were trying to pin it down. She sat there thinking about it, thinking about how different Angel was from Tig or any of her friends’ PAIs, and she was just getting around to asking her some searching questions when Angel spoke up again. “Would you like to hear about some local employment opportunities? The operator culture here is far more robust than in Tucson.”

“Um, yeah,” Juliet said, wondering if she should head out to do some shopping while they spoke.

“I know that you would rather not engage in combat, so I filtered the four hundred and twelve open gigs for technical roles. Then I narrowed the list further by filtering out those seeking only operators with a high rep. Of the resulting fifty-two jobs, I thought three sounded like promising opportunities. Shall I display the postings?”

“Yeah,” Juliet said, sitting back in the seat, squashing her earlier impulse to get in the car. A tab flew onto her AUI, labeled “Possible Operator Gigs,” blinking softly in an amber highlight. She mentally selected it, and the three postings appeared in her vision:

Posting# A774

Requested Role: Data Retrieval

Rep level: F-S+

Job Description: Accompany team of operatives into the East Phoenix ABZ, infiltrate hostile encampment, retrieve data from an encrypted device.

Compensation: 8200 Sol-bits

Scavenge Rights: Shared

Location: Phoenix ABZ

Date: September 9, 2107

---

Posting# A814

Requested Role: Network Security

Rep level: F-S+

Job Description: Gain access, with support, to a secure location. Bypass network security and install provided files.

Compensation: 11000 Sol-bits

Scavenge Rights: Tiered

Location: Phoenix Central

Date: September 10, 2107

---

Posting# A870

Requested Role: Mechanical Sabotage

Rep level: F-S+

Job Description: Corporate-backed spec-ops unit seeking a mechanically inclined individual to rig competing corporate vehicles trespassing on disputed territory.

Compensation: 9000 Sol-bits

Scavenge Rights: None

Location: Phoenix East

Date: September 10, 2107

“These are interesting. They all pay more for one gig than my old job did in a month, even with OT.”

“The compensation is good, but there are much higher paying jobs for which you don’t qualify. Payment is calculated based on risk, reputation level, and the technical knowledge required for the role. Keep in mind that you would struggle with any of these jobs without my assistance.”

“I dunno—I think I could manage to rig some vehicles . . .”

“I’m sure you’ll need to bypass some security for that task,” Angel said, and Juliet definitely detected some smugness in her tone.

“Right. So, I can maybe make a living, but it's all because of you. Is that what you’re telling me?” Juliet was surprised at the acerbic nature of her words, the way she felt heated—it reminded her of the times when she’d felt her sister was talking down to her.

“No, Juliet. I’d be helpless without you! We’re a team.”

“Are we, though? What if I plugged you into a synth body? You sure I’m not holding you back?” She slumped back with a sigh and folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m not designed to be autonomous, Juliet. My priority, the driving imperative of my synthetic personality, is to see my host succeed. I’ve no interest in trying to strike out on my own. I’d languish without you.”

“Oh, uh, well, shit, Angel. I don’t think I quite realized that. You seem so natural to me; sometimes, I forget I’m not talking to another person.”

“That’s a wonderful compliment. Thank you, Juliet.”

Juliet was caught off guard, the “argument” going in a completely different direction than she’d thought it would. She cleared her throat and said, “Well, um, what job should I take? What’s the deal with ‘scavenge rights?’”

“I’m glad you noticed that, Juliet. The first job will equally share the rights of any ‘found’ equipment or wealth among the surviving team members. The second . . .”

“Surviving?”

“Well, consider the job you performed with Vikker’s crew—this line of work can be dangerous. There is no shortage of deaths reported on the SOA message boards.”

“Right. Okay, go on.” Juliet idly flipped the cover of her data jack open and closed while she listened to Angel.

“Tiered scavenge rights means that any recovered equipment or wealth would be shared with the team members on a sliding scale; those with the highest reputation level would receive a larger portion than the ones like you, with low reputation.”

“And I take it ‘none’ means I get nothing we find?”

“That’s correct, Juliet.”

“Well, I’m not too excited about working for a corp anyway.”

“It’s still a good posting, Juliet. The payout is fairly high, and the risk will be lower since a corporation backs you.”

“All right, well, let me think about this while I take care of some business. Let’s make a run to a drugstore and someplace I can buy some clothes. Do I have a license for this thing?” Juliet asked, walking to the shotgun, which had fully recharged while she ate breakfast.

“Yes, your license number is E86072801.”

“Heh, all right, thanks.” Juliet stuffed the shotgun back into her duffel and Vikker’s data cube, which she’d yet to explore. She picked it up, and her thumb touched the smooth LCD side, which opened and activated it, unlocking the complex UI. “Oh, Angel, I just . . .”

“Juliet! That cube just sent out a ping before I could silence it.”

“Shit . . .” Juliet thought about it, then said, “WBD doesn’t know I had anything to do with Vikker. The ping was probably for him, right? I mean, if someone took his cube, or if he wanted to know where it was? He’s dead, so . . .”

“I’ve disabled the feature on the data cube, but it might be wise to change your location, nonetheless.”

“Right. Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, check us out,” Juliet said, grabbing up the bag and looking around the room. Her mind told her she was making sure she didn’t forget anything, but she didn’t have anything to forget. She shook her head ruefully, then stepped out to the parking lot. Her little blue Zephyr still sat where she’d parked it, windows set to black, and paint still gleaming from the washing Davis and Sons had given it.

“Juliet, there are a lot of drones overhead,” Angel said.

“Yeah, this is the megacity, Angel. I think there are two drones for every person.”

“That seems unlikely, Juliet,” Angel said.

“Come on,” Juliet laughed, “You can catch a joke like that, can’t you?” She opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat, putting her duffel next to her. “Where can I buy more pellets for that thing?”

“I’ll set a route for a drugstore, a discount clothing store, and a gun store. Do you have any preferences on the brands?”

“Um, for clothes, find me a Tevlo’s. I don’t care about the others.” Juliet liked Tevlo’s—they mostly sold work clothes like the overalls she wore for welding, but their stuff was sturdy, and some of it was reasonably fashionable. Angel sent her AUI an updated route and map, and Juliet started driving. As she rounded the first turn, she said, “Angel, you know those jobs you found, er, the companies that are hiring for off-planet jobs?”

“Yes, Juliet.”

“What are the odds I could get one of those gigs?”

“Quite good. I can help you with the performance evaluations. Though, unless you tried to get one of the mercenary company jobs, you’d need a solid fake identity. I wouldn’t be able to fully spoof a fake persona that would make it through background checks.”

“Why don’t I need that for the mercenary jobs?”

“They usually accept operator license numbers.”

“Ahh, I see.” Juliet pulled through another light, and then she saw the destination for her first stop—the drug store. She parked the car, crossed the pavement that felt much like walking over a frying pan, then stepped up to the AutoDrug store’s door. It wouldn’t open for her until she connected to its mercantile system. “Go ahead, Angel,” she said before the PAI could ask permission. A second later, the door slid open, and Juliet walked through. She took in a deep breath of the icy conditioned air and stood there looking down the rows of densely packed shelves.

AutoDrug, like many automated chain stores, would charge her for any items she stepped out the door with, hence the need for her to connect to the sales system. Two other people perused the shelves. One looked like a woman on her last legs—much older and frailer than Juliet’s grandma had been when she died. The other person looked a lot like Gary—too big, too many cyber implants, and definitely not friendly. He glowered at her when her eyes slid his way, and she quickly looked away and started toward an aisle on the opposite side of the store.

She spent a few minutes shopping around but ended up filling her little basket with exactly the things she’d come for—toothbrush and paste, an autorazor, deodorant, soap, and shampoo. “Ahh, I need some lotion,” she said, walking down another aisle, and that’s when the basket she was holding exploded. “What the fuck?” she said, but then Angel screamed in her ear.

“Get down, Juliet! That was a projectile!”

“What the fuck?” Juliet asked again, dropping to the floor.

“That was a less-than-lethal shotgun round, Juliet; I saw the projectile. Someone is trying to incapacitate you.”

“Did you see them?” Juliet asked, her voice shaky, her heart hammering, and her hands slippery with sweat as she scrambled over the hard, engineered tile flooring. She was trying to get to the far end of the aisle so she could hide behind an endcap.

“No, when you’re in a more secure position, try to pan your vision around,” Angel said, her voice calm again. “You need to upgrade your auditory implant. I could be listening for the assailant’s approach.”

“Not helpful!” Juliet said, finally scrambling around the end of the aisle to crouch behind a display of bleach.

“Notice! Notice!” a clarion voice called out, “Authorities have been dispatched, and all criminal activities on this premises are being recorded!” As the automated voice called out, a high-pitched ululating siren began to sound, and red lights flashed from all the corners of the drugstore.

“This isn’t good, Angel.”

“Juliet, look around the sides of the endcap, pop your head up and down quickly.” Juliet crouched for a second, breathing quick, rapid breaths, trying to psyche herself into action. Then she quickly, wincing the whole while, poked her head around the endcap to the right, then back, and to the left. She was just about to poke it over the top when the refrigerated case behind her exploded, beads of plastiglass flying all over the hard floor around her.

She let out an involuntary whimper at the concussion and the resultant chaos, and Angel, once again, sounding like a vengeful valkyrie, screamed, “I saw him to your left! Run straight up the aisle to your right! Keep your head down!” Juliet didn’t want to move; she wanted to curl up into a ball right there and just squeeze her eyes shut, but she knew better than that. She knew Angel was right, and she took a deep breath and charged up the aisle.

Juliet realized Angel had cranked up the gain on her auditory implants when, as she was sprinting, she heard the buzz of electricity to her left, and she imagined it was some sort of electronic gear her assailant was wearing or wielding. She reached the end of the aisle, zigged to the right, slipped into the furthest aisle, and charged for the front of the store. That’s when she saw the plasteel bike lock around the door handles. “Fuck, fuck,” she hissed and ducked behind another endcap.

“I’m tracking him, Juliet. His shotgun is equipped with a stun prod. I can hear it, even with your shoddy implants.”

“Not the time, Angel!” Juliet subvocalized.

“He’s to your left, two aisles over. Juliet, you have to get to the stock door in the back. You have to physically jack in so I can crack it. Quickly, back toward the rear-right of the store. Try not to make noise!” Juliet’s heart was hammering in her chest, and her hands were shaking with adrenaline, but she tried to do what Angel said. She stayed low and crept back toward the rear of the store, willing her sneakers not to squeak. “He’s rounding the corner in the front; quickly get to the middle aisle and then go left!”

Juliet was glad for Angel’s directions—her instinct had been to beeline for the rear door, but the assailant would have seen her. When she cut left instead, she went to the aisle he’d just come from, and she crept down it toward the rear row. “Where is he?” she subvocalized as she reached the corner. She could see the door in the opposite corner, and she wanted to rush to it.

“Hold still, Juliet. When I say so, move to the next endcap.” Juliet held her breath, her legs jumping and shaking with adrenaline, and then Angel said, “Now!” She bolted to the next endcap and froze. She could hear it now, the buzzing of the stun prod, and she knew the guy was just a couple dozen feet from her in the central aisle. “Get ready to go to the next endcap . . .now!”

Juliet tiptoed over the floor, careful not to scatter the plastiglass beads, and then she was just six feet from the door. She could see the little data jack port on the keypad, and before Angel could tell her what to do, she tapped her data jack cover. When it slid back, she, with shaky fingers, jerked out a yard of cable and tiptoed up to the door, punching the jack into the hole. Then Juliet backed away, hiding behind the closest endcap, her cable fully extended and her hand sticking out.

“Just a minute, Juliet. Hold still; he’s still two aisles over.”

“Hurry,” Juliet breathed, and she could hear the buzzing in her ears and then the crunch of a boot grinding a plastiglass bead into the hard floor, and she knew he was almost on her. Just then, the door click and buzzed, and she bolted for it, yanking her cable out of the jack as she pulled on the handle. The buzzing grew very loud, and so did the stomps of approaching feet, and then Juliet was through the door and slamming it shut behind her. A tremendous thump echoed off the steel door.

“Juliet, don’t linger! He’ll run around the building!”

“Right,” Juliet said, looking around the little stock room. Boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but the exit door was clearly visible to her left, just the length of the little store away. She charged it, hit the crash bar, flung the door open, and then she stumbled out into the hot Arizona sun. She vacillated for a minute, not sure if she should try to sneak back to her car, but then Angel helped her decide.

“Your car is burned, Juliet. I’m sorry. Run down this alley, then make a right. Run to the end of the street, and make another right. I’m calling you an AutoCab.”