A blunder!

  “Wait! Don’t—” I tried.

  Too late. The Maiden swore as she cleared the wound to reveal my partner’s fateful tattoo. She immediately backtracked. “Monsutā Corp? You have a Dark Sun genomark. What does it mean?”

  “Uh?” Ali reacted, turning her fainting gaze to the holographic symbols shining through the plasma. “Oh, fuck me…”

  “Well, here’s your explanation for the half-chewed gummy bear’s sudden inactivity, you traitor! That thing wouldn’t attack you! You’re part of the house.”

  “Maiden, we can explain!” I tried again, a paw on her knee.

  The cyber-thief leaped into the air, backflipping over my partner. The somnolent behemoth tumbled rearward and struggled in vain to slap back our ally. She dodged, holding on to the monster’s wrist. Then, with a pendulum effect, she projected herself beyond its guard to land astride its broad shoulders of floating flesh. “Don’t waste your breath, hunters. Betrayal is my daily life!” Without waiting for the giant to react, the cyborg embedded her temporal cable into an outlet at the back of its cybernetic crown. The creature hiccupped to her gimmick. And its optics rolled back in its organic sockets. “Lao—for instance—who had no intention of unmasking the Party’s murky elements… His disk contained a pyro-virus! The Emporium board just got their brains fried, from here to Venus. Half of them are dead!”

  “What?” I glanced at the skull walls. Both the console screen and the Organ’s hundreds of eyes broadcast nothing but static.

  Unlike the golem’s, whose pixelated pupils were tinged with violet. The Monsutā creature had fallen under the data-thief’s control. “Did Lao send you in case I wouldn’t take the bait and refused to play a part in his purge? I don’t even know who the virus killed. Maybe the Monsutā trade was Lao’s and I just helped an unlawful putsch!”

  My feverish partner defended herself, tightening the tourniquet she’d made around her thigh. “You crazy?”

  “I saw your mark!” the cyborg roared, positioning the golem in a fighting stance, like a Kazakh wrestler would with his exoskeleton. “What’s the story here? Once paralyzed in the subweb, was a bullet dedicated to me, Ali? In case, the virus didn’t medium-rare’d me too!”

  “As if!” Ali boasted.

  “Your attitude isn’t helping to de-escalate the situation, dear!” I scolded my associate. “What an absurd misunderstanding, Maiden! We—”

  A giant fist brushed my partner, sending half the wooden railing into the Blue’s flames. Taking me in her arms, Ali dodged the second attack by rolling forward between the legs of the bio-machine which smashed the Organ. From the shelves, a dozen skulls cascaded into the blue furnace.

  Gasping, Ali cocked her weapon. “Cut the crap, Zéphyr!”

  Her ‘date’ scoffed. “I’ve got a much bigger piece than you, Monsutā-chan!” She then slammed her elbow into one of the screws sealing the golem’s jaw.

  A long black tongue unfurled, spilling a slick, fetid liquid onto the ground—something between engine oil and formaldehyde. From its throat, a corroded but still functional Gatling gun emerged. Our old acquaintance was gearing up to turn us into Swiss cheese.

  Summoning the last of my courage, I stepped forward, positioning myself between the two agitated figures. “Enough, Maiden! Ali took a bullet for you on the Danaë. Together, we saved her from Braun’s clutches, made a mockery of the whole Techno-Police in the process. And today? I’m the one who pulled you out of the pyro-virus mess.” I showed her the blackened, still-smoking end of my tail. “If, as you suggested, we’re really Commi-sutā agents, we’d be the worst operatives in history. Your conspiracy theory regarding us doesn’t hold water! Outright illogical!”

  “Damn right,” Ali outbid, breathing heavily.

  “Furthermore, you are well acquainted with Ali by now. If you honestly believe she possesses the ability to carry out such a convoluted scheme, I have a bridge to sell you! I mean, she can’t even stick to meal schedules!”

  The Maiden pointed at Ali. “What about her tattoo?”

  “What about it? Don’t you have a past too, uh? Except for the two tired girls and the exhausted Maine Coon in this room, the only people who know about this tattoo are supposedly long cold…” I started.

  “Any theory on Lao?” the Maiden asked.

  “He’s already a dead man.” I turned to my partner. “And we don’t talk about the dead.”

  She smiled. “We just collect their rewards.”

  Much like Cicero addressing the Roman Senate, I observed with a certain satisfaction that my rhetorical skills had found their mark. A subtle shift in the Maiden’s gaze confirmed it—doubt had begun to seep through the veil of her ire. I had, it seemed, succeeded in piercing the artificial barrier that encased her cybernetic optics, once the soulless mirrors of the machine.

  Or so I deluded myself.

  For no sooner had I taken a step forward towards her docile monstrosity—emboldened by my perceived victory—than a Gatling bullet struck the ground directly between my legs. The impact of the reinforced concrete paving stone it sent airborne promptly collided with my nose. The great Cicero, it seemed, lost consciousness.

  “You sure about this? I don’t want him to end up like the cat in National Lampoon again.”

  “Mouth-to-mouth, then?”

  Disgust brought me back from the green catnip meadows of Cat Paradise. “May I ask what you two scamps are up to?”

  A broad smile spread across my lifelong partner’s face. “We’re trying to resurrect you, stupid!”

  “We stopped killing each other. Nice. What an improvement!” I sat up. “I take it you’ve come to your senses, Maiden.”

  The data thief looked up at the concrete canopy and the first morning lights. “After the Ginboy accidentally shot you—”

  “Accidentally,” I noted.

  She paused, visibly sorry. And for good reason. “Ali gave me her explanation. Keep it under my hat. I choose to trust you guys.”

  “I deserve a Purple Heart for frying my tail and you choose to trust us…” I breathed. “Stupid sapiens. Always gets me in trouble.”

  “Why is he constantly ranting like an old man?” the Maiden asked.

  “Worse. He rants like our old man.”

  I clawed my partner’s nose. “How’s your leg?”

  “Fine.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Somewhere near the river that runs through the city,” the Maiden replied, looking at the dirty stream full of trash behind. “The mutant pulled us out of the tunnels just as everything was collapsing.”

  “What collapsed?” In the distance, a column of dust and smoke rose among the megastructures of downtown Las Pallas. The red pagoda of the embassy had crumbled like a Jenga. From the Dodger Stadium to Union Station. In the early days of Pallas, the original consulate was a pirate fortress built by King Xiao, and it housed the Lost Triads organization. We had just destroyed a historic monument. “By the 79 moons of Jupiter… We’ll end up in jail!”

  Ali thrust her wrist-mounted computer under my nose. “Take a chill pill. The info-ads are talking about an overload, saying it’s from a grid malfunction. Like, ain’t no way anyone’s gonna trace it back to us!”

  “You underestimate insurance policy investigators—uh?”

  A vehicle stopped above our heads, along the streetcar line overlooking the river. I immediately recognized that screech of tires on asphalt, and the heave of brake disks. But also, the obvious little Emporium flags of the hood.

  “Linus Lao…” I sighed. Here came back the headache.

  Running short on ammunition, Ali cracked her knuckles. “A self-delivering payback time!”

  When you are done. Su Song will pick you up in the limousine. We can meet at the old observatory. I will personally grant you your rewards, and we can all withdraw as good friends.

  “Good friends, my butt!” shouted Ali, limping towards Observatory Park. The Chinese Commissar was about to take a beating the likes of which only the Vietnamese children from the Nike factories over Phobos still received.

  Linus Lao was sitting on a bench at the foot of a tree. Alone with his pug, and apart from the few tourists and strollers who had gathered near the promontory or on the dome’s observer deck to cast a look at the chaos of downtown.

  With a wave of his hand, Lao invited us aside, towards the monument dedicated to the glory of ancient astronomers. “My informers in the Military Police did warn me. I saw fit to ignore their warnings about your maverick tendency to annihilate anything that stands in your way. You two are all whiskers and gunpowder…”

  “You jacket-flippin’ son of a bitch!” Ali swore. She had my full consent to put diplomacy second to personal vengeance. “It was your bullshit virus that caused this fuckin’ mess!”

  Lao raised an eyebrow. “The pyro-virus.” He turned to the Maiden. “I see…”

  Busted. She pouted. “Partly, yes. But mostly, the embassy housed an old Orugu-M. The malware imploded it and set fire to its cooling pool.” Not far from the truth.

  “An Orugu-M? What is that?”

  He seemed genuine. The Maiden noticed it. “A datacore composed of human brains. And further proof that your Communist friends dealt with ancient demons.”

  Lao glanced at the column of smoke dissipating through the dome’s vents. “If the devastation of the embassy led to the destruction of an occult datacore, then the collateral damage you engendered will be excused.”

  I hopped onto my partner’s shoulders to level with the conversation. “So, you told us the truth. But should a few corrupt politicians and dusting hellish circuits be worth the lives of hundreds of innocent people? That’s Manichean.”

  “Yes. But mostly tragic. Tragic and necessary. What would have become of the solar system, with an Emporium in the hands of greedy lunatics ready to use Monsutā weapons again? Mars’s response would have been the outright annihilation of Venus.”

  The Maiden crossed her arms. “So that was your goal, Lao? To preserve the status quo with the Technos?”

  The Commissar closed off like an oyster. “Never mind the purpose of my task.”

  “What about our rewards?” growled Ali.

  Linus Lao grabbed his pug. The latter’s mouth opened, to drop a magnetic blue and yellow card into his hand. Our new premium subscription to Blockbuster! “See? No more debt. I keep my word.” He then turned to the Maiden. “As for us. Well, I think you’ve already helped yourself, Zéphyr.”

  She huffed. “You bet.”

  He smiled, heading down the road towards his limousine. “If you are looking for the tech-dealers the cabal worked with, Zéphyr, use the data you stole. Meanwhile, I will keep a close eye on you. Believe me, that’s what I always do. That is why I’m here today. And not under the rumbles of downtown Las Pallas.” As the android with jade ears opened the rear door for him, he waved. “Maiden. Miss Ali. Mr. Lee. May we see each other again in better circumstances.”

  Ali gestured back. “Bài bài, Lao.”

  And he disappeared, hoping forever.

  “Well. What about now?” I asked.

  Turning off her holosuit, the Maiden dusted her mirror-coated shoulder. “We enjoy a break. You guys want to jump to the rental store? My brain’s so off I wouldn’t mind binging the entire Police Academy series.”

  Ali raised her head from her wrist computer wired to the Observatory network thanks to public outlets at every lamp pole. “Say no more. Pizzas are on their way to the Kitty. Extra-large. Extra-cheese. Extra-toppings.”

  Music to my ears. What a team, the Maiden, Ali and I made, after all. A team for now cemented by corn syrup. Hoping no further marvels from Big Bad M would darken the LED horizon.

  Back to business!

  仕事に戻ろう！

  Interlude: THE MAIDEN OF SECRETS

  インタールード: 秘密の乙女

  Enthusiastic navigators called it “Mirage City”. Other embittered space folks branded it the “Floating Dump”. It all depended on what twisted reality you were referring to, for Sheba possessed two faces for one big lie.

  In the physical plane and the infinite vacuum, the hellish station looked like a conglomerate of rusted metal and whitened plastic clumsily oscillating on Metis’s orbit on the fringe of the Jovian Commonwealth; an amalgam of old TMC warships’ carcasses, abandoned pirate cruisers and stranded GTC cargos, held together by blistered welds similar to infected wounds to form a foul grim sphere covered with a thick deposit of irradiated cosmic dust spluttered by Jupiter’s magnetosphere.

  The inhabitants of this nearly invisible orbital barge as old as Solaris’s conquest didn’t crash there for the comfort of Sheba’s public dump-gardens and bankrupted glow-peras. Mirage City had a much better asset: its distinctive intraweb nodes out of reach from Mars and the shady megacorporations. Over the years, such an island of silicon freedom attracted Solaris’s top hackers as Sheba was the Tortuga of the webrunners; the El Dorado of rogue AIs; the artificial paradise of the infamous Data Brokers Guild and data thieves.

  “This is the Swift-0 Kisugi,” I announced. “I require a private shed near Joel’s Garage. My coating needs a brush stroke. Over.”

  In response, the radio sizzled. I had to readjust my helmet on my silver hair to hear the control AI’s computer-generated female voice: “Copy that, Kisugi. Could you rekey the verification code, please?”

  The red telltale above the round radar screen blinked twice. I was being target-locked by the closest orbiting drones. These dark octahedra with glowing blue eyes on each face have been following me since I entered Sheba’s AO. “Is there a problem?” I asked, glancing at one of them as it flew over my cockpit.

  “Negative. Just a random double-check, Kisugi.”

  The computer’s keyboard slid from my right. With the twenty-six characters quickly typed again, I waited for the space traffic controller to come back to me while adjusting the seat’s safety straps. Worn down to the metal reinforcements, they too had to be repaired once on the station.

  “Thank you, Kisugi. Please, proceed to Dock #15. Cell 143-c, Joel’s Kingston Garage. We apologize for the inconvenience. Out.”

  Laser-guided, my Swift slowly approached Sheba’s equator under the warm gaze of Jupiter. Hot steam came out of the thrusters. The Kisugi positioned herself between the automatic clamps. A minute later, the cockpit’s lights turned green as the artificial gravity grabbed me. I opened the glass canopy. My holosuit activated to copy the features of any runner that would roam Sheba’s ominous walkways, I gave some instructions to an on-duty mechanic with a greasy mullet and a cigarette over the ear. Then I left the hangar.

  Joël’s Garage had the advantage of being on the same lift line as my destination: the Laser Roller Palace on Deck #4. I was the only one in the elevator that picked me up, except for an old Rastafarian from Marley’s cyber-gang and his ZX Spectrum foldable computer. “Sup, man,” he mumbled with a smile while casually ‘redirecting’ millions of dollar-credits from a Cronian bank.

  “How are you doing, man?” I responded. We could barely see each other because of the smoke emanating from his wide pungent reefer. Despite the glowing Ge’ez script, I pressed the right button by pure luck.

  Once on Deck #4, after a short but jolting ride, I took the scenic route through an abandoned mall before arriving in front of carved brass gates. They secured the entry to the establishment I was looking for. I thought I had the wrong address in mind as a loose rusted board supplanted the bluish neon sign of the rink. The lobby’s lockers have been awkwardly replaced with legal methamphetamine vending machines surrounded by piles of yellow trash bags. At last, the abandoned track had become nothing more than a maze of dark, dusty booths filled with pimply-faced teenagers, old diving helmets clamped onto their heads.

  Even the music had changed. The usual disco hits had left room to some creaky Johnny Cash. I’ll remember you came from the iconic Wurlitzer jukebox near the toilets, only remnants of the place’s former glory.

  “Almost a billion over your scalp yet always seem very confident roaming around a pirates’ den like Sheba!” someone uttered with a raspy voice.

  Beyond hanging cables and sizzling screens stood a makeshift bar built with stacked beer drums and the sheet metal wing of a robodrone. Leaning between two empty moonshine’s bricks, back to a mirror covered with flamboyant graffiti, a Freak-fennec had dived her glowing gray eyes into mine. Yasmine “Shame” Payette. A mutant with a sand-colored fur decorated with as many cybernetic implants as the entire Marley gang brought together. The old owner of the rink had improved herself with elegance. The rainbow hues of her metallic additions were structured to follow the lines of her skeleton like a Dia de Muertos costume. In the darkness that reigned, all shone between small impulses.

  “Sheba’s probably the only station in the whole system where I could use my real name,” I joked as I got closer, pushing aside the pudding cups and Totino’s wrappings pile-up on the ground. “Still unwise to do so.”

  I sat at the bar. The cobbled stool nearly collapsed under my weight. In front of me, the odd mirror reflected my black steel face and my silver hair. Did the holosuit no longer work? Yet a quick glance at the digi-coating on my arms taught me otherwise.

  “Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Who is the most beautiful one of all? Take the suit off!” she ordered me, visibly enraptured by her gadget. “It’s hot enough in there. You’ll curdle the wax on my floor.”

  I proceeded after a brief look back. All the teenagers were far too absorbed in their cubicles playing or diving into the web to pay attention to us. “What happened to the Laser Roller Palace?” I asked. “You’re back into the data business?”

  Shame let out a laugh before turning to the glass rack next to the peanuts 3D printer right in front of the mirror. “You crazy? Skates and disco ain’t trending on Sheba anymore so I came up with this wretched nursery instead.”

  “What are these runners in short pants up to?” I asked, glancing at the stations behind me.