The Rule of Luck, page 4
That’s when I felt eyes on me. On the cot above mine was my cellmate.
The woman smirked. “Nice floor act. Can’t wait for the encore.”
She looked older than me by several years, meaning for some reason she hadn’t kept up her basic Renew treatments. Dirty brown hair pulled into a messy topknot, thin to the point of unhealthy, dark skin turned sickly green under the harsh florescent lights—she had a hardness to her face that came from years of anger, drugs, and general neglect. I’d seen that look before—I’m a Tarot card reader; I’ve witnessed plenty of desperation.
“I’m not here for your entertainment.” I hovered in the center of the cell. I didn’t want to go back to my cot; it would put me too close to the woman. Then again, I didn’t want to spend any more time near the bowl. “You going to keep watching?”
“No point. Show’s over.” She cackled with laughter. “First time in the pit? You was out so long, I thought the guards’d tag you DNR.”
“DNR?”
“ ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ Then again, the dead don’t pee.” She laughed again before offering an appraising look. “They let you shim anyone yet? If not, better think long and hard, sweetie. Whoever you shim’s gonna need magic up his sleeve to get you outta the pit.”
I looked at my wrist. No c-tex bracelet. Fear gripped me as the woman’s words sank in. I was in prison gods only knew where, in a situation I might never escape. My shady, tech-adverse family could do nothing. Hell, half of them would be arrested themselves if they so much as sent helpful thoughts in my direction. I took a breath. I’d have to shim Roy. He had MPLE contacts he could use. Yet even if he bailed me out, how could I explain the magnitude of what I’d done? I’d been caught in the presence of an Arbiter with a foreign substance. Damn that Mr. Pennyworth. How could I have known others had tried the same gambit before and that sensors existed to scan for it? Never mind that I hadn’t even had a chance to do anything—One Gov’s justice system would automatically consider me guilty.
“Funny, you being in here,” the woman continued, oblivious to my dilemma. “You seem the type who could afford decent t-mods.”
That made me pause. “I don’t understand.”
She made a vague gesture with her thin arm. “Only regulars get the pit. One Gov doesn’t have to worry we’ll go all chain-breaker with some jumped up MH Factor for strength and smash our way out They got a special hate on for our particular kinda rat—spooks. Can’t read ’em. Can’t control ’em. And we all know One Gov loves control.”
“Except for spooks,” I echoed.
“Grifters outside the CN-net,” she clarified.
“I know what they are,” I snapped, then crossed to the other side of the cell away from the woman. She was right; I was a spook. Hell, I came from a long line of spooks. The Romani were a rare breed who patently refused to enroll in the free technological modifications and genetic enhancement birthing programs One Gov sponsored. Private sector adjustments were frowned on as well. My family was determined to remain pure human, whatever the hell that meant anymore. Still, that’s what made my card reading abilities so unique. No gimmicks or cheats; the talent I had to predict future events was real. My family had always been proud they hadn’t gone tech. Now I wondered if we were all suspected criminals on a watch list somewhere.
I looked up at her. “You’re a spook too?”
“Only one in the group.”
“What group is that?”
“At the clinic. Who you think arranged that mess? Every group needs a mix of tech and spook, depending on the job. Funny you’re in here though, given who I seen you with. Always thought he had more finesse.”
“Saw me with?”
“When you walked into the clinic, I seen you at the first checkpoint. You and your friend.”
That brought me up short. She knew Mr. Pennyworth? That seemed unlikely. Then again, what did I know about the world of organized crime? I knew enough to land my ass in jail and not much else. I wanted to curse my own stupidity. Yet my gut said something was going on and I needed to figure it out in a hurry.
“How exactly do you know my…friend?”
“Nairobi’s a small town. Your friend’s got lots of aliases. Not sure who he really is, but I know who he’s linked with and it goes way up the food chain. That’s a chain I’d like a piece of.”
I looked at the camera, then back to the woman. She returned the stare, unblinking yet somehow anxious. Her body language spoke nonchalance as she reclined on her cot, but the way her eyes darted to the cameras said something else.
“You’re a plant, aren’t you?” I guessed. “They want him, I’m the most obvious connection, and you’re here to figure out what I know. They’re probably feeding you enough information to draw me in and get me to confide in you, thinking I’ll be so concerned with protecting my own neck, I’ll give them anything they want.” I looked up at the camera, addressing my comments to the unseen viewer. “Considering how I’ve just been screwed over, I’d like to help, but I have no idea who he is. Until this morning, or yesterday, or whatever day this is, I’d never seen him before. I can’t even tell you the chain of connection between us because I don’t know how anyone got in touch with him either. Further, I’m guessing you’ve seized my client list, my business partner’s name, and are looking up my family members to decide who to arrest next. Have fun with that. It’ll be like beating your head against a brick wall. Now, do I get my shim or not?”
Even though I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, I sounded incredibly savvy to my own ears—like I breezed through these types of situations every day.
The woman’s head cocked to the side as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. Then she leaped up from her cot, padded barefoot across the cell, and pounded on the door.
“Spook don’t got the goods. Let me out!” she yelled as she pounded.
Nothing happened. She pounded harder, but the door didn’t open. She pounded a good five minutes to no avail. At first I thought it was a show for my benefit, designed to manipulate me. But as I watched, I revised my opinion. Her frustration grew and her pounding became more desperate. She tore out an earpiece and hurled it to the floor.
“Let me out!” she screeched until she was in tears, wild with rage. She whirled on me. “Tell ’em what they want! Tell ’em about the hopped-up t-mod git. I gotta get out! I can’t take more time in here! Do it, or…or I’ll hurt you real good!”
She looked like she could too, but what could I offer when I didn’t know anything? She advanced. I stood my ground and held up a hand as if that might stop her. “If you touch me, any confession I make will be suspect. No one will believe what I say if it’s under duress. Beating me up may make you feel better, but you won’t get out any quicker and you’ll have another charge against you. Besides—if you really were one of the protesters—we were at the clinic for the same reason.”
“What reason’s that?” she asked suspiciously, voice hoarse.
“We’re both women denied a basic right for reasons we don’t understand, and we want that to stop.” I wasn’t sure on that last part, but it couldn’t hurt to appeal to some sort of sisterhood if it kept her from punching my lights out. Besides, I felt sorry for her. “You picked your way to protest. I picked mine.”
“Give ’em the name,” she said, but sounded less certain. “I got people waiting on me. I can’t spend time in here again. The hooahs got no problem forgetting you’re here. Don’t care much about basic human rights either. No such thing as that in here.”
“I don’t have anything to tell,” I lied. Maybe I’d feel different if left in the pit a few more days, but right now, all I had were my convictions and I’d stand by them.
The woman went back to her cot. She looked defeated, but I still wondered if it was an act. I sat on one of the vacant cots, tucked my legs against my chest again, and rested my chin on my knees. The woman lay down and sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead, then her belly. The plastic mattress cover crinkled under her.
“My baby died,” she said softly. “Real good boy. Always did what he was told. Giving everybody kisses. So happy and smiling. Knew he’d grow up to be somebody. Just knew it. Then one day…there was an accident. He died. I held him, bleeding all over me…I wanted to die too.” She stopped and I heard a sniff followed by a rattling cough and the ever-present mattress crinkle. “I applied to have another baby, but they wouldn’t let me. Said I’d used my start-up allocation on my boy. Not enough resources left. Not enough calories. Shared Hope’s only one baby for every two people. Wasn’t allowed to have another. Then, they stopped my Renew treatments ’cuz they said I was becoming a problem. Figured I may as well give ’em what they expected.”
Another sniff and cough. No more words came after that. Nothing but the sound of her muffled cries. Maybe she was playing me, but no one could manufacture that kind of grief—the kind that wore a person right down to the bone until nothing remained.
“I’m blacklisted,” I said after she’d settled a little. “I’m not allowed to have a baby and I don’t know why. I’ve appealed a dozen times and haven’t gotten anywhere, so I thought I could get around the system, but…guess not.”
“Then I’m sorry I tried to make you give up a name.”
“And I’m sorry they tried to use your pain in this way.”
“You’re the Night Alley card reader, ain’t ya? Bet you didn’t see this coming.” She laughed humorlessly. “My name’s Bahati. Means ‘luck’ in Swahili. Guess I didn’t see it either.”
I thought of my last card reading and the identical reading I’d gotten for Petriv. I shivered. “I think I did. I just didn’t know it until it was too late.”
“If we ever get out of here, I’ll get you to tell my fortune. Maybe it’ll help me figure what to do next.”
“It’ll be on the house,” I agreed lavishly. To be honest, I doubted we’d see each other again, but to say those words and give voice to the implications would be too terrible.
I crept back to my original cot under hers and we each huddled on our mattresses in the chilly cell. I hated to be so callous, but I didn’t have time to dwell on Bahati’s plight. Her story was sad and I raged at the injustice, but I couldn’t help but circle back to my own problem.
At some point, I fell back asleep. It was a restless sleep, full of awful dreams I couldn’t remember. I woke up huddled in a fetal position, my arms tucked against my chest for warmth. It took me a moment to realize I was alone. While I slept, Bahati had been removed. I hated to think her story was a lie used to manipulate me, but I’d probably never know.
I sat up with slow, aching movements. There was no way to know how much time had passed, but I was dizzy, I had to pee again, and my stomach cramped with hunger. Worse, I was so thirsty, my tongue felt swollen in my mouth. I leaned forward and let my legs dangle over the cot’s edge, in no hurry to use that disgusting toilet a second time.
Then the cell door opened. My eyes burned at the sudden brightness. I flinched and covered my face.
“You are free to go,” said a heavily accented male voice I didn’t recognize. “The charges have been dropped.”
I paused, face still covered, thinking. Charges dropped? But I was guilty! I couldn’t imagine any court in the tri-system would find me otherwise and yet…Roy must have pulled off a miracle. It was the only logical explanation. Maybe when he realized I was missing he’d put out feelers and tracked me down. That didn’t quite make sense, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the hell out in case someone realized they’d made a clerical error and changed their mind.
I slipped from the cot, one hand shielding my eyes as I hobbled barefoot out the door. It closed behind me with the click of an electronic lock. We progressed down a long corridor. The harsh overhead light showed a collection of gray doors, identical to the one I’d just left. I heard faint shouts from behind each. It made me curious, but now wasn’t the time.
As my eyes adjusted, I glanced up at the One Gov officer, or “hooah,” was the derogatory term. Young male, dark skinned, dressed in the standard One Gov uniform of gray pants and shirt, insignia crest featuring a yellow sun and three white dots to represent the tri-system of Mars, Earth, and Venus over his left breast, a black beret on his head. Around his waist hung a regulation sidearm, a Sudanese mind spring that could stun the tech quiet in any t-mod, and a decorative dagger which was more for local custom than practical use.
We eventually reached the end of the hall and another door. Outside was probably a prisoner processing center I’d have to deal with before my release. Gods, I could only imagine the questions they’d ask, and I was fresh out of lies.
I heard another lock click and the door swung open. The hooah pushed me inside when I hesitated, and I found myself in a large white room filled with rows of desk terminals. Each was occupied by a waxy-skinned and glassy-eyed search jockey. Their desks were empty save for their gracefully folded hands. Their minds were wired into the AI queenmind, processing data. They spoke rapidly in gibberish, as if giving voice to the queenmind’s internal processes. This couldn’t be right. Why was I being paraded through such secretive, high-scale tech? Why not take me out front?
At the end of the room was a door that led into a tiny antechamber. Inside was a low table where my personal effects lay in a heap. With little fanfare, the hooah directed me to pick them up: my c-tex bracelet, a pair of sapphire earrings I’d bought when I first opened my shop on Night Alley, my suit-belt and velvet boots with their metal-clad heels, and a handbag whose contents seemed intact. I rushed to put myself back together, not even taking the time to check my bracelet. When I finished, the hooah opened another door and shoved me out into the waiting sunlight. The door thudded closed behind me.
I stood blinking owlishly in the warm, slightly muggy—I checked my c-tex for the timewatch—mid-morning haze. What the hell? I’d been thrust outside without being questioned, processed, or interrogated. The whole situation was so incongruous that I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself next. I’d expected to see Roy, or have a guard sit with me…or something. Instead, I found myself in a deserted back alley, surrounded by garbage bins and shanties with rusted metal roofs. Shit. I’d be rolled in no time.
Then I saw a flight-limo parked not far from where I stood. The windows were tinted, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. It wasn’t like Nairobi was overflowing with flight-limos.
I watched as a burly bodyguard climbed from the cockpit, stepped around the limo, and pushed the door release. He stood to the side in traditional guard pose—bulging arms folded across his chest, impassive face, wraparound shades. He was tall, fair-skinned with a blond crew cut, and his shoulders alone were so massive they appeared to be wrestling his black suit jacket for dominance. He probably had a boosted MH Factor for strength and could have smashed out of the pit without a moment’s hesitation. In Bahati’s words: a true chain-breaker.
In a seamless gliding motion, the limo door folded back into itself. Although it seemed the stupidest thing in the world, I stepped forward to get a better look inside.
Alexei Petriv. Surprise, surprise.
“Please get in, Ms. Sevigny. I suspect you’ve had a trying day and we have much to discuss.” He gestured to the seat beside him.
“You arranged for my release?”
“I’m also your ride. You were very expensive. A planet’s ransom in bribes.”
He’d bribed the prison hooahs? Was that even possible? Now was clearly not the best time to ask, and to be honest, my mind was refusing to process any more information, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Not that I’m ungrateful, but why are you here? How did you even know?”
“I’ve had my eye on a few dodgy connections. I believe you were entangled with one of them. I felt I owed you a bit of help.”
Mr. Pennyworth! It made an odd kind of sense. Bad guys all know each other, right? Petriv must have learned what had happened and bailed me out because of the Tarot card reading. It was the only thing connecting us.
“You were lucky you weren’t killed during the bomb blast. Others were. It made the tri-system news. One Gov wants someone to pin this on,” he continued, blue eyes meeting mine.
I blanched and felt the world swim around me. I had to reach out and grab the side of the flight-limo to keep from fainting.
“I convinced them you weren’t the party they were looking for.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” I whispered.
“I know, although it took some persuasive negotiation to convince them to overlook the smart-matter.”
Again I cursed Pennyworth. Had he known it would give us away? I filed the thought to puzzle over later.
“I appreciate that,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster. “I’ll pay you back somehow. I…I can return your payment for the card reading. It was too much anyway.”
“Keep it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Your services were worth every gold note. I’d be willing to pay that and more for future readings. But if you would kindly step inside, I’d like to get out of here and discuss another arrangement with you.”
My gut twisted. I’m surprised I didn’t throw up. The feelings I’d had at my shop were nothing compared to this. My gut wanted me to jump into the limo, his lap, whatever he wanted.
“What kind of arrangement?”
“I have a business proposition concerning someone in whom we share a mutual interest.”
I swore under my breath, though I’m sure he heard. Was this the slippery slope to organized crime? I owed him now.
“Who is it?”
“Monique Vaillancourt.”
I blinked first, thrown. “She’s dead.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“I have documentation proving it.”
“All forgeries. Ms. Vaillancourt is very much alive. Get in. We’ll discuss it over lunch.”
The way he said it made me shiver, and not in a good way. “But she can’t be alive. If she was, she would never…You’re lying.”
