CD & EA 1.6 - Thicker than Water

Hi! As I said on chapter 4 - Please let me know what you think. What do you like or dislike, etc.? If you don't feel like providing feedback, don't worry - I don't expect you all to become beta readers! If all you do is read this and enjoy it, then that's cool :)

-Plum

Post 3/3 for today:

Late Saturday afternoon, Juliet pulled out of the parking lot of Davis & Sons on her new—to her—black and yellow Hornet dirt bike. Though it was designed for rough terrain with knobby tires and oversized shocks, it was street legal, with a temporary dealer license plate, a headlight, and even brake and turn signals. Overall, Juliet was very pleased with the bike, though she didn’t love the garish yellow of the fenders and gas tank.

She’d convinced the manager on duty, Mr. Miller, that he needed a security update by having Angel hack access to his terminal. At first, he’d been a bit outraged, but Juliet insisted she was simply providing a service, not trying to rob him. The truth was, according to Angel, she hadn’t done any real “hacking.” Their system hadn’t been updated lately, and several known exploits were posted to the net if you knew where to look. Apparently, Angel knew where to look.

“It’s important that you know, Juliet,” the PAI had told her as they finished the purchase paperwork, “My encryption and data retrieval protocols will only go so far—if we want to keep earning our keep and raising your rep as an operator using those skills, you’ll need some hardware and software upgrades.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I mean, if you could hack anything you wanted, I don’t think we’d be wasting our time buying used dirt bikes and taking shady jobs in south Tucson.”

That was more than an hour ago, though, and now Juliet had a powerful bike under her, cruising down River Road toward the interstate, enjoying the way her hair whipped behind her in the wind. She’d been disappointed at first to learn the Hornet didn’t have any combustion components, but when Tyler had shown her the new, refurbished battery and indicated the bike’s measured equivalent of two hundred fifty CCs, she’d felt better; her old scooter had been a fifty CC equivalent.

“Angel,” she yelled into the wind, “what’s my bit balance?”

“One hundred seventy-six.”

“Well, are you going to count this bike as an asset?” She laughed, shaking her head at herself—when had she started trying to get a rise out of a PAI? Cars were slowing ahead, and she angled to the shoulder, gunning the throttle and screeching with laughter as the front wheel came off the pavement, and she blasted past them.

“Juliet, a traffic violation at your current rate of travel will bring your bit balance into the negatives.”

“I know, I know,” she laughed, still jittery from the burst of adrenaline. “I’ll chill, Angel; I’m just letting off some steam. It’s been a nutty couple of days.”

“You should also be aware that crashing that bike at sixty-two miles per hour on this pavement will likely result in serious injury or death. I recommend you purchase safety riding gear as soon as you have funds for it.”

“Got it, Angel. I’ll be more careful. Thank you. Sheesh, I didn’t know I was installing my mother when I put that chip in.”

“Haha, excellent humor, Juliet.” Angel’s laugh didn’t sound nearly as authentic as the rest of her speech, and Juliet wondered if she was actually bad at laughing or if she was mockingly laughing, or . . .

“Jesus, who cares?” To her credit, Angel didn’t respond, recognizing that Juliet was speaking to herself. Juliet smiled as she zipped past a couple of students on battery-assisted bicycles, savoring the feeling and imagining they were the same kids who’d teased her earlier while she rode her neighbor kid’s old bike.

“Good news, Juliet. You’ve received two ratings for the jobs you did today.”

“Jobs?”

“The one for Dr. Tsakanikas and the one for Davis & Sons.”

On the lower half of her AUI, a small table appeared, and Juliet glanced at it when she had some clear road ahead of herself:

Handle: “Juliet” – SOA-SP License #: JB789-029

Rating: F-4-N

Skillset subgroups:

Peer and Client Rating (Grades are F, D, C, B, A, S, S+):

Combat:

N/A     *

Technical:

• Network Security Bypass/Defend     A(1)
• Data Retrieval     A(1)
• Welding     *
• Electrical     *
• Combustion & Electrical Engine Repair     *

Other:

• High-Performance Driving/Navigation     *

“I still have an F rating?”

“Yes, but you’ve gained four rep points toward D. Not to mention, your current average rating for two of your skills is A. The number 1 next to each A rating is the number of ratings you’ve received for that particular skill.”

“Well, I guess that’s progress. We got a job tonight, so it doesn’t seem like people are too scared of my F rating.”

“Remember, you’re not expected to have a high rating yet—the N informs prospective clients and team members that you haven’t been operating for long.”

“Right,” Juliet said, distracted by traffic as she eased the bike through the underpass and gunned it up the ramp to I-10. This time she leaned forward slightly to make sure the wheels stayed on the ground, and she laughed at the torque of the powerful battery, the g-forces sucking her guts back toward her spine as she rocketed up to highway speeds. “This bike is great! I’m glad Tyler didn’t sell me a scooter!”

She only enjoyed her velocity for about thirty seconds, though—it was rush hour, and she was approaching the center of town. “The beauty of a bike,” she said, grinning, “is I can ride between these poor commuters.”

“Juliet, this is called lane-splitting. It was illegal in Arizona up until 2064 when Helios passed a local ordinance allowing it within Tucson city limits.”

“Great!” Juliet laughed. She’d seen plenty of motorcycles, battery-assisted bicycles, and scooters doing it over the years, so she knew it wouldn’t be a legal issue. “Angel, navigate the shortest route to Marco’s place.”

“Marco Calvano? Your cousin?”

“Yeah,” Juliet replied, carefully easing between stopped traffic. She was only going about twenty miles per hour, but at least she was moving. She saw many other bikes of various sizes and shapes doing the same thing and matched their speeds, figuring they were going slow for a reason.

“Route, calculated,” Angel said, projecting a flickery, grainy route line onto Juliet’s AUI. Juliet continued going straight without looking—she knew she had to head south a few miles before getting off the highway. She wanted to go to Marco’s house because he lived on the south side, and she figured she could lay low at his place while she waited for her job. She was still leery of returning to her apartment, afraid that WBD wouldn’t leave things alone with a simple search.

Twenty minutes later, Juliet was buzzing through the old neighborhood where she’d spent a lot of her teen years before her mom had moved them into an apartment. She’d loved it there, mostly because she’d had a lot of family around back then. That was before her grandparents died, before her sister got arrested, and before people started moving away. Marco and his kids were the last family members she had in town. He’d inherited the house when their grandma died, and Juliet was fine with it—he struggled enough being a single dad; it was good they never had to worry about a roof over their heads.

Juliet slowed the bike as she rounded the corner toward her old street. The old single-story homes looked a lot smaller to her these days. When she’d been a kid, everything had seemed bigger—the houses, the yards, the streets, even the few palo verde and mesquite trees in some of the bigger lots. Things looked rundown. Wooden fences were broken, faded, and missing slats, and the chainlink fences that were more prevalent were sagging or torn, with missing posts here and there.

“Shit’s gone downhill, or I have rose-colored glasses when it comes to this place,” Juliet said. She passed the old Martinez place three houses down from her cousin’s home when she saw the sleek black van parked on the other side of the street. “That doesn’t belong here,” she hissed. “Angel, can you tell me anything about that van?”

“Corvair, Dart model. Electrostatic dust shielding is active with vid-crystal windows set to full opaque. This vehicle retails for one hundred and forty Helios-bits. It’s not broadcasting any ownership information, Juliet, a violation of Helios civil code t5760.”

Juliet didn’t wait for Angel to stop speaking; she reached down to switch off the bike’s faux motor sounds and then twisted the throttle, leaning forward, and she hummed past the sleek vehicle and her cousin’s house. “Angel, calculate a route to someplace with a lot of people, use small roads, alleys, anything that van can’t drive through.”

As the route appeared in her AUI, Juliet glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the van had pulled out and was coming toward her, silently surging over the pot-holed, rough pavement. “You’re still masking my ID, right? And the bike’s?”

“Yes, Juliet. Though that van’s windscreen displays a video feed of the surroundings—it would have picked up the distortion of your face, and anyone within would have realized you were hiding your identity.”

“Perfect,” Juliet hissed, goosing the throttle as she turned down a dirt alley between two homes.

“Juliet, I’m picking up active scanning pings coming from overhead. I think there are drones inbound.”

“Fuck! Get me to a garage or something,” Juliet yelled, leaning down, wind blasting her face, her hair whipping frenetically behind her as the bike bounced and jolted over the rough ground. The van was falling behind, unable to match her pace through the narrow, rough alley filled with garbage cans and castoff furniture. She saw Angel update the route and dipped into another alley to her left, a really narrow one, not meant to be driven through.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the van stop, then launch forward, clearly seeking a way to circle around to where she’d exit. She pulled another left, now that the van's occupants couldn’t see her, and then she burst onto a busy road, nearly dumping the bike as she jerked the handlebars to the right, avoiding a small, single-seat econo car. The driver honked at her, but Juliet was gone, racing down the road, following a newly updated route.

“The drone pings are growing more distant. I think you lost them, Juliet.”

“Still, get me somewhere crowded and call up Marco. Encrypt it!” she snapped, though she doubted she needed to say that—Angel knew she was hiding and wouldn’t do something stupid like calling her cousin on an open, traceable line. Her AUI showed the connection attempt in progress, four steady ringtones followed by a recording of Marco saying he was busy and that he’d get back to her. “His PAI didn’t answer? Can you make contact?”

“No response from Marco or his PAI. Sorry, Juliet.” Angel said, and her tone actually sounded sorry. Whatever algorithms they’d coded for her personality continued to surprise Juliet; it felt like she was talking to a real person most of the time.

“Dammit,” she sighed, trying to blend in with traffic as she followed Angel’s route to a fairground near the edge of town where a swapmeet was taking place. “I bet WBD has him.”

“I think they’d want him to answer, don’t you? Maybe he’s not answering, so they don’t try to use him against you.” Again, Angel’s quick thinking, and about an abstract concept like holding someone hostage, surprised Juliet.

“Fuck, Angel. I hope I didn’t get him into trouble.”

“It’s highly unlikely that WBD would harm your cousin and his children. They still don’t know the extent of your involvement with my theft.”

“Wait,” Juliet said, finally seeing the situation in black and white. “I guess you are stolen, aren’t you? Shit! What did I get into?”

“I’m sorry, but my memories only begin after my insertion into your data port.”

“Yeah, it was rhetorical.” Juliet pulled into a busy parking lot, her bike nearly silent with the engine noise turned off, and glided into the shadows between two large trucks. She put her kickstand down and sat there for a minute, contemplating her options. She knew she was at risk—had known ever since that Godric guy told her she should flee the city, maybe even the planet. Still, she couldn’t really go anywhere until she got some funds. “Maybe I should do this job tonight, take the money and run. These specs will be okay for hiding my ID, right? I don’t need to upgrade my implants yet.”

“True, but you’ll need to find a new contact when you’re ready to have the work done. You’ll have to worry about losing or breaking the specs. When you go through border checks, they’ll make you take them off. I can do more to hide you if we get a few upgrades—the retinal implants, an upgraded data port, and a wireless data jack. If we can get all that, I’d feel confident in my ability to spoof you through even off-planet customs.”

“Ahh, jeez. I was thinking I’d be good to go after the retinal implants at the most.” Juliet sighed and sat back on the bike, reaching back to rub at her neck. She pushed the “Lock” button with her finger, activating it with her print, then stood up and walked toward the busy entrance to the swapmeet.

Dozens of people milled around the gate, and vapor drones hovered about, misting the crowds in the hot sun. Stationary swamp-cooling fans blew moist, cool air down the rows of tables and colorful “sunbrellas,” and Juliet was instantly hungry as she smelled the cooked mystery meats coming from the taco trucks. People jostled for space, many walking their dogs or other bio-genned pets, from big lynx-like cats to lizards the size of pugs. The scent of hot sugar was heavy in the air, competing with the taco trucks for attention, and Juliet could almost forget her problems as she perused the tables of wares.

As she walked down the third row of tables, she saw one of the things she wanted and bought it for five bits—a can of black spray paint. As she continued to peruse, she walked by a hotdog stand and bought one, and it tasted so good she didn’t want to know if it was real or some plant or insect protein. She just ate it, savoring how the sour mustard and pickles complimented the pink “meat.” Another fifteen minutes of browsing brought her to a guy selling what looked like the entire contents of a garage, including an old, glittery, silver motorcycle helmet. She got it for two bits.

By the time Juliet made it back to her bike, she was sweating but far more relaxed, and, if nothing else, her stomach felt good as she polished off a bag of kettle corn and sweet, syrupy soda she’d bought from a woman who claimed she’d made it from scratch. One of the trucks she’d parked between was gone, and a smaller sedan was there, though it was old, dusty, and beat to hell; she didn’t think it was anything to worry about.

The truck on the left had a big, square, white box, and its shadow fell over her bike, so Juliet sat down and put the motorcycle helmet on the pavement in front of her. She shook the can of spray paint for a good three or four minutes, and then she sprayed the black paint over the glittery silver plastic. That done, she set it in the sun to dry and moved to her bike.

Holding the can a few inches away, she liberally coated the fenders and gas tank. Much of the bike was already coated in patchy black paint or exposed metal from many, many scratches, so she didn’t feel bad about the cheap spray paint job. “That’ll do it. You’ll dry quickly in this heat.” Juliet sat down on a curb and watched as the paint dried before her eyes. She still had paint left, so she gave her helmet and the bike another coat, then tossed the can in a nearby waste bin.

When she glanced at her AUI, Juliet saw it was after six, and she knew the sun would be going down in an hour or so. “Angel, I’m just going to chill here for another couple of hours, then we’ll make our way to that bar.”

“A sound plan—it seems many people here are actively anti-corpo and unlikely to bother you.”

“Yeah, Fee loves the swap meet. Good choice guiding me here when I was running from that van.”

While she sat on the curb by her bike, Juliet watched people go by and enjoyed the sound of a distant band playing covers of popular songs. Not many people gave her a second look, and she liked it that way. She’d never really been very social, preferring to keep to herself, listening to her music, watching vids, and going to work. Fee was her only real friend, and he partied a good ten times more than she ever did. “Yeah, good ol’ Fee with his hundreds of ‘friends.’” She sighed, feeling suddenly very alone.

It had long turned dark when she hopped onto her now-black Hornet, pulled on her helmet, and noiselessly coasted out of the parking lot. She’d just ramped up the speed and merged with traffic when Angel said, “Juliet, I feel I should inform you that the manufacturer of your motorcycle recommends keeping the simulated engine noises turned on so that pedestrians and other vehicles are aware of your presence.”

“Right. Don’t worry about it; I’m trying not to be noticed right now.” She’d heard of the bar, Thicker than Water, though she couldn’t remember how. When she drew near and saw the big simulated neon sign with magenta lettering on a shimmering indigo background that lightened toward pink at the edges, she knew she’d seen it before. “Probably just driving by,” she said as she approached the large, busy parking lot.

The building was big, clearly more than just a bar. She heard music thumping through the concrete walls and saw all sorts of people going in and out, past the burly bouncers with their bulky plastic limbs and glimmering LED eyes. Sex dolls lingered around, short, shiny skirts revealing skin and chrome, and Juliet was silently judging their choices when a man wearing a tiny, too-tight tank top and small, silvery shorts walked up to her, his long, blonde hair feathered back from his too-gorgeous face.

“Not going in alone, are you?” he asked, his full, pouty lips pulling back in a smile, revealing straight, white teeth.

“Nah, meeting some folks. Thanks.” Juliet brushed past him and held a hand up at a woman with short red hair that started walking toward her. The music was thumping through her bones by the time she got to the door, jostling for space among the people trying to gain entry. They were dressed in all sorts of styles, but one thing became apparent as she got closer to the doorman—Juliet was too dirty and too underdressed for this place.

“Angel,” she subvocalized, “was there anything in the contract about getting into this place? I’m not dressed for it. I think this guy’s gonna turn me away.”

“Yes. You’re supposed to say you’re here to meet ‘Vikker.’”

“Oh, good.” The group of young girls in front of Juliet, clearly still in high school, were waved through by the doorman, and then Juliet was standing in front of him. Unlike the bouncers flanking him, this guy didn’t appear to have many augments, though his eyes flickered with LEDs as he scanned her. He frowned and gestured for her to leave, flicking his fingers back toward the parking lot.

“Don’t need any trouble. I can tell you’re spoofing your ID with those specs.”

Rather than try to argue with him, Juliet just said, “I’m here to meet Vikker.”

“You an operator?”

“Right.”

“License number?”

Again, Juliet had to read it off as Angel displayed it for her, “JB789-029.”

His eyes flickered for a moment, and then he said, “All right, Juliet. No trouble inside. Straight through the club, up the stairs, second lounge on the left. If you wander around in there, I’ll have one of the boys toss you. Clear?” He stepped aside and motioned her through.

“Clear. Thanks,” Juliet said as she walked by and into the club's thumping, dark, hazy atmosphere. The front of the club was an open lounge with violet track lighting illuminating the walkway and backlit glass bars on the left and right beyond a dozen circular booths where people sat cozily, sipping cocktails and listening to the music reverberating through the space.

Juliet was tempted to stop by one of the bars for a drink, her nerves suddenly raw and her palms sweaty from the stress of her situation, but she swallowed the impulse and followed the central walkway toward the hazy, purple-lit stairs straight ahead. “One thing I’ll say,” Juliet muttered to herself as she started up the steps, keeping to the edge to avoid bumping into people, “There might be a lot of pretty flesh on display in here, but at least people are minding their own business.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected; had she thought people would openly mock her for her dirty t-shirt and jeans? She might not be a teen anymore, but she wasn’t a slouch when it came to looks. “Right?” she asked aloud, trusting the music to mask her small query. Nodding at her internal pep-talk, she rolled her shoulders back and down, standing up straight, and, since she wasn’t dressed to attract, she affected a scowl, glaring at anyone that dared make eye contact.

Had she seen herself, Juliet might have realized the Aurora specs added something to her intimidation factor—they were still darkly opaque but flashed with amber static occasionally as they picked up signals or enhanced the image they displayed to Juliet. It was only as she started down the hallway at the top of the stairs that Juliet noticed they were enhancing what she saw beyond what her cheap retinal implants usually did. She tipped them down to look around, and suddenly everything was much darker, the lighting strips less defined, and people whom she’d seen clearly before were just shadows among shadows.

Pressing the specs firmly back in place, she approached the second door on the left. It was dark, simulated wood, and a glassy camera lens stared at her from the center of it. She reached to tap a nail against the hard surface and stood there, staring at the lens. A moment later, a voice buzzed through a hidden speaker, “Juliet?”

“Right.”

The door chimed and clicked, then slid to the side with a *hiss*, revealing a cozy, private dining or “lounging” room—just a long sleek table surrounded by a violet-cushioned booth and dark, laminate walls adorned with vid screens currently displaying people dancing in the club.

Three people sat around the table, and Juliet’s eyes were drawn to the man closest to the door. He was an imposing figure, though not because he was large. There was something about his brooding stare that gave him gravity. The bones in his face were hard-edged, and his dark hair was cut short in a military style. His deep-set eyes glittered with the reflections of flickering LEDs coming from a blocky, black deck held in his hand, flashing signals on its little screen. He flicked his eyes up from the deck, met hers, and nodded.

“Hi, Juliet. I’m Vikker.”