'Smoke and Mirrors' Pt. 14

The action from the Ebisu continues...

The surface of the water seemed to ripple with brilliant, polychromatic flames as it reflected the hues of the skyline along the bay. A pretty image to hide the filth below, Borislav mused. His body submerged in the heavily polluted waters, only the very top of his head breaking the surface, he waited.

A cyborg-grade covert-ops dive rig encapsulated his body, shielding him against not only the intense chill but also the murky by-products of the city's fast-forward consumption.

A cramp twinged just beneath his shoulder, prompting the realisation that he had been carrying considerable tension in his muscles. He didn't like the apparent recklessness of Domino's plan and liked even less the idea that he had so little control over the situation.

It was odd that he should care at all; after all, the two girls were essentially strangers to him. Yes, they were paying him, or rather they had already deposited a ridiculous sum of money previously 'acquired' from the late Capricia's accounts. He knew they intended for him to use those funds to pay for his daughter's operation. Borislav still could not fathom their generosity; his best guess was that maybe the Domino girl empathised somehow. He had the feeling that perhaps she had lived with extensive prosthetics and cybernetics since an early age. At least by helping them now, he would feel a little more like he had earned that much-needed money.

He glanced at the chronograph on his heads-up display. Domino had been in for twenty seven minutes now. Had she been overwhelmed? Perhaps she had underestimated their forces.

Suddenly there came a muted 'wumph', followed a split-second later by the distant sound of shattering glass. Borislav instantly shifted his focus up to the high corner of the Ebisu, where he saw tendrils of fire licking the edge of a ragged breach in the imposing façade of the hotel. His eyes desperately scanned for signs of Domino, with no success.

Damn that stealth suit! Crazy girl! he cursed.

He dropped his gaze to the surface of the water, seeking any sign of her impact. Almost instantly, he was rewarded with a violent splash. He dipped his head and commenced his dive towards her, immediately engaging the dive rig's propulsion units. He could waste no time in reaching her. Without proper equipment, she would not survive long.

Angel hurriedly locked the door and started changing out of the gyrau disguise. Within a few heartbeats, she was down to her underwear and boots. She pulled on the heated raincoat she had stowed in the squat and ducked back into the dilapidated main room. Grabbing the large canvas bag offered by the skinny boy waiting there, she tossed him a roll of cash and a hurried smile.

“Thanks, Chubb. Gotta go.”

She hit the stairwell at breakneck pace, trying not to focus on her live feed of Domino's gunfight. By the time she barrelled into the bustling street, her hair and skin tone were back to normal; no one would associate her with the group from the Ebisu now. She hoped. Her hand dipped into the coat's pocket, finding some sense of security in the hard-edges of her snub-nosed flechette pistol.

Traffic leading to the docks was in full blown gridlock, raised voices and honking horns warning her away from hailing a groundcab. Her eyes found a row of pedal cycles in a nearby alley, each secured with a rudimentary passkey wrap-lock. A simple workaround later, and she was flying along the edges of the nose-to-tail vehicles filling the street.

As she arced around the bay towards the rendezvous point, she struggled to suppress the urge to scream as the feed from Domino blinked to nothingness in her peripheral vision. Her rational brain told her Domino would be okay but her emotions were tugging insistently, inviting panic.

Lactic acid traced pathways of pain through her muscles and her heart was thrumming violently against the inside of her ribcage by the time she skidded to a halt at the water's edge. She glanced across the bay and saw the smouldering hole Domino had left in Yamada's hotel and shuddered. Borislav's comms channel crackled into life in her ear.

“I have her. She is safe,” he said in that steady, matter-of-fact way of his.

Angel felt relief, joy and anxiety rush over her and she crouched to stave off the sudden light-headedness she felt.

“Thank you, Borislav. Thank you. So much...” she trailed off.

“You are welcome.”

Why did she still feel so worried?

“Borislav... I still don't have anything on her feed. And I can't get her on neural link comms.”

“That is because she is unconscious. You are at meeting point?”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Good. ETA for me is three minutes.”

Angel heard Borislav close the channel. She stared momentarily at the water in a futile attempt to find some sign of them before turning to unlock the storage unit behind her. Only as she stepped into the comparative warmth of the lock-up did she realise she was soaked through and shivering uncontrollably. She dropped the kit-bag on the floor and returned to the water's edge to wait for Domino to arrive.

Yamada stared up at the lavender irises of his custom maid-unit, perfect in form and poise as she lit his cigar for him. He inhaled deeply and smoothed a hand over his carefully groomed silver hair as he savoured the rich, rarefied smoke. The maid unit stood back to attention, awaiting his next command. He regarded her momentarily, considering her fully revealed doll-like proportions, before waving her away.

The commotion from the floor below had died down some time ago now. He wondered if perhaps this had been the attack anticipated by his security or some other, unrelated matter. After all, he was not without his enemies. No, he decided, this had to be the same people who had targeted his subordinates. He leant back in his antique calf-skin recliner and awaited the report which would no doubt come at any moment.

He absently called up the haptic interface for his desk console and, with a flick of his fingertips, the picture window to his left transformed into a high resolution display. The tremor in his hand was still evident as he browsed a selection of financial reports. He frowned slightly at this; his station did not allow him to display weakness or fear and his pride demanded his denial of such things.

The door chimed softly and the automated security scanners announced the arrival of Ito, his head of security. The maid unit hurried over to the door, her delicate hand hovering over the release switch.

“Master?” she intoned cheerfully, seeking his approval.

Yamada pulled up a visual feed which confirmed that it was, in fact, Ito at the door. The rigid posture, the slight favouring of the left leg, the barely perceptible misalignment of his left scapula, caused by its support of his cybernetic arm. All these things reassured Yamada that this was no imposter.

“Yes. Open the door,” he nodded.

Ito stepped into the refined hush of Yamada's suite, the images from the massive vid-screen reflected, convex, in the visor of his helmet. He offered a deep bow, extending the proper respect, before removing his boots and proceeding to Yamada's side.

“The threat has been removed?” Yamada asked curtly.

“Of course, Yamada-sama. We faced only one operative. We suspect she had a computer systems expert aiding her remotely but-”

“Wait. She?” Yamada had not expected this.

“As far as I can tell sir, yes. She was using a stealth suit.”

“I see. And you are sure she is dead?”

“She triggered an explosive device at the foot of the stairs to your level. We suspect it was a... a kamikaze run, if you will. What remained of her body was blown through the window and into the bay. It would seem she grossly underestimated the structural integrity of your building. That, or she experienced a malfunction in her equipment.”

Yamada pondered this new information. He had thought for a moment that perhaps... but no, she would not have made such a blunder. He would already be dead.

“Dredge the bay.”

“I have already taken the liberty of giving that order, Yamada-sama. It seems unlikely we will find anything. The nearby filtration units will have no doubt already pulled the remains away and disposed of them. We search, nonetheless.”

“Excellent work, Ito.”

Ito bowed low again. “Thank you, sir.”

Yamada closed his eyes and slowly massaged his temples, bursts of vague colour flashing and fading behind his eyelids. Stood close-by, his head of security had the good sense not to comment and simply waited in silence. At length, Yamada sat upright and dismissed the reports overlaid on his vast window.

“I have been at work in this room for too long, Ito. I think perhaps it would be a welcome diversion if I were to take a walk, survey the damage done.”

“Yes, of course, Yamada-sama,” Ito said, bowing once more.

Yamada could not have cared less about the damage, the sole purpose of the tour was to keep face with his employees. It would not do to appear as a timid thing, cowering behind the armoured walls of his private sanctuary. No, he would stride out in the wake of this threat, demonstrate beyond doubt that they had not shaken him. That done, he would return here and enjoy the full range of the maid unit's massage programming.

Her fingertips brushed the nape of his neck, barely a touch, as she helped him on with his moleskin overcoat. He suppressed a shudder of pleasure, not wanting Ito to notice his growing anticipation of her attentions. Yamada smiled contentedly. This was turning out to be a fine night, after all.

Copyright © A. Flood 2010