Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Connor poked his head into the Lucky Sevens’s lounge. The cabin was empty and dark except for the dim glow of sleeping electronics, the subtle aroma of a spicy noodles meal the only sign of recent occupation. His stolen shoes whispered across the cushioned deck plating until he came to a VR booth.

He rapped a knuckle against the glossy black surface. “Hey. Anyone in there?”

Silver lights slowly pulsed on the exterior panel. The system was in power save mode. If someone was inside, they weren’t actually using the system. Maybe they were napping?

After another knock didn’t draw a response, he hit the button to open the front, which unfolded in four segments, revealing a black recliner and helmet.

Connor slid into the recliner, then wiped down the helmet with a sterilization pad while the gel padding adapted to his body. The booth managed sterilization on its own, misting the interior with a cleanser that left a bright, pleasant beach fragrance.

The helmet? Well, it always smelled like alcohol when he was done cleaning it. That was better than any hint of someone else remaining.

With a tap of the power button, the front panel sealed.

Fans whirred, and cool, fresh air filled the interior.

He slid the helmet on, roamed through the interface, and finally selected the most comforting reality he could think of.

Crystal blue water glided beneath his canoe. Birds chirped, the sounds lost when he stroked with his paddle. At the front of the small boat, Toshiko drove her own paddle into the water.

She looked over her shoulder, her black hair spilling over soft shoulders. Her pale skin was already turning red beneath the morning sun.

He brushed a finger over her shoulder. “You’ll burn.”

“I paid for this bathing suit. I’m not putting a shirt on just yet.”

Who was he to argue with that? Her gentle curves looked delightful against the cerulean sky and sapphire waters.

How many times had he come to this river to spend the waking hours after graduation and to talk about impossible dreams? How many hours had he spent creating the almost perfect simulation of her, feeding in images, movies, and raw data until even the tiny discoloration between her dimples of Venus.

She hated that, but he found it charming and humanizing. When he’d met her in school, she’d seemed too perfect to be real. The discoloration was his first hint she was mortal.

It was inconsequential compared to the childhood illnesses that had nearly killed her and crippled her immune system.

But here, on the river—

The water broke into static plates, and Toshiko shattered into glowing polygonal limbs before coming undone—first bathing suit, then flesh, then skeleton.

Connor flinched as the reality came undone.

Something lifted the VR helmet off of him, jolting him back to the real world.

Bending over the front of the VR booth was a man several centimeters taller than Connor and dozens of kilograms more massive. Dense muscles rippled beneath the bright red sleeveless T-shirt the young man favored, a T-shirt emblazoned with a yellow star, after the ancient flag of his Vietnamese father’s people. The glossy black helmet rested in the crook of a thickly muscled arm that was tattooed with vertical green, white, and red bars—the ancient Mexican flag of his mother’s people.

But like most people of the Coil and Talon Sectors, Vicente was his own man rather than a mere product of his heritage.

“Hey, hey!” The coppery skin of the huge man’s face split into a bright, crooked-toothed smile that creased his flat nose. “You didn’t tell me you were back, Boss!”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut against the jag of disorientation.

A massive hand shook him by the shoulder. “You crying? Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying, Vicente.”

“You out on that lake with your pretty girl again?”

“River, not lake. You want me to call Mamacita a rifle instead of a machine gun?”

“Hey! Leave her out of this.” Vicente looked into the helmet, as if he thought he could see the VR session. “What’s your pretty girl’s name again?”

“None of your business.”

“Toshi? Tushy? Yoshi?” The muscular man started to put the helmet over his thick, black mohawk, then stopped and handed the head cover to Connor with a wink. “Self pity ain’t a good look, Boss.”

Connor pushed up from the seat and wiped the helmet down with a sanitizer cloth before returning the device to the VR booth and sealing that. “I wasn’t pitying myself, thanks.”

“Okay. Usually, you get all sad after you go out with her.”

“I enjoy the memories, thanks.”

“Strange way to enjoy memories. Me, I go to a brothel and—”

“That’s enough.” Connor headed for the exit.

Vicente followed. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t be sour. I needed to check on the job.”

“Job?”

“Not funny, Boss. I’m running low on goodies for Mamacita. She’s hungry.”

Connor scuffed to a stop with a groan. “Seriously?”

“I told Selen. What, she didn’t say nothing?”

“She’s a little preoccupied—trying to hold everything together and all that.”

The muscular man screwed his face up. “Is that why she’s bent out of shape?”

“Having two people quit without giving notice can do that to you.”

“Oh, definitely. I told Mikael that wasn’t cool. I said, ‘Hey, hey, wait for the job.’ But he wouldn’t.”

“And that’s why she’s mad. Are you really low on ammunition? Just for the machine gun?” Connor opened the lounge hatch and hurried out.

“Grenades for the grenade launcher. Rockets for the rocket launcher. All of it. Heavy weapons are always hungry.” Vicente followed close behind. “So, that job—”

“We don’t have another job—not yet.”

“What? You two went out to get one.” The muscular man sprinted ahead of Connor and held up beefy hands to block his way. “Boss, I need some money.”

“We all do.”

“But I can’t even buy bullets. I’m your heavy weapons guy. I need ammo.”

Connor rubbed his brow. “I think that’s true for everyone, isn’t it?”

“You gonna start carrying a gun?”

“No.”

“See? You don’t understand!”

“I understand.” Except, of course, there were things Connor didn’t understand, starting with coming to Mara. If he accepted that, he still couldn’t understand why he’d been sent down to Winter to connect with their Net interface.

Most of all, he didn’t understand turning down this Mosiah guy. Selen should’ve at least given the guy a chance to make an offer.

But none of that could be passed along to Vicente. The big guy was—

A sharp squeal boomed in the passageway: the ship’s intercom. Static followed a second later.

Then whoever had activated the intercom made a sound like clearing their throat. “All hands, I’m looking for Connor.” It was Selen. “If you’ve seen him, please direct him—”

Connor punched the transmit button on the intercom. “I’m here, Selen.”

“Where are you?”

“Between the lounge and the ramp down to the cargo hold.”

There was a pause—the sort Selen might take to piece together Connor’s location and what he’d likely been doing. She hated him wallowing in self-pity and lamenting the missed opportunities in his life.

And she was adamant that was what he was doing.

She took a breath over the open connection. “We need you up here in the communications room.”

Something broke already? He wasn’t good enough to fix delicate systems like comms. He pushed the button to talk. “I can give it a look if it’s broken—”

“Connor, just get up here. Now.”

Her voice, the way she scolded him over the intercom for everyone to hear…it must be something bad.

As if things weren’t already terrible.