Categories > Original > Sci-Fi > Walker
Prologue
Saoirse Devdas examined the tableau before her with an undercurrent of dismay.
Drunk.
Drooling.
Potentially violent.
Such was the target demographic that Shadih's catered to. The demographic in question was also heavily male, which explained the dazed stares that Devdas was receiving from some of the patrons whose blood alcohol did not render them unconscious yet.
Behind the DMZ-styled counter, underneath the innumerable by-products of organic fermentation, were two trash cans with the words do not disturb spray-painted on them in prison orange, which was disturbing enough by itself.
Devdas was not here, however, to disparage the decorating sensibilities of the pub proprietor-she was here for a job. Strictly speaking, it was more a meeting than a job, but the financial potential was there.
She had learnt little from the instructions faxed to her on the holo this morning. The instruction were so vague that one may have written them that way-as if the writer wanted to protect whoever sent the orders.
"You're supposed to be a good shot with a .45, Fra Devdas," a voice behind her said. She didn't jump--much. In her line of work showing surprise could get one killed. Instead she slowly turned around to face whoever owned the voice.
Observing him, Devdas noted that he wore a long coat-even though it was 23 degrees Celsius out-and dark colors, the standard uniform for a city dweller.
"Who are you?" It was the only question Devdas felt relatively safe asking.
"My name isn't important, hasn't been for eleven years, but most call me Doctor. Why, I don't know, and I don't care. I don't care why my employer would want to hire you-there you go." All this was reeled off in an Islington accent, further marking him as a city boy and a stranger to the sparsely populated outpost of Wadi.
"Very well, Fra Doctor. Shall we..." Devdas looked around the seedy establishment, "discuss our objectives somewhere else?"
The Doctor nodded. They both waltzed out of the pub, walking until the drunken shouts of the patrons were inaudible. The Doctor, who apparently didn't get his name for being overly solicitous about his health, lit up a pitiful-looking cigarette. Devdas elected not to say anything about the man's health, or lack thereof-money was at stake. She would worry about the death sticks later.
"I see you know how to keep your mouth shut, Devdas. You can't believe how many people bitch at me," the Doctor said, waving the burning butt in her direction, "for this. That's an asset that'll keep you alive."
"Your...ah, organization, offered me a job, /verdad/?" Devdas asked, not willing to let the ill-named Doctor elaborate on his vices.
" 'Kay, you're a woman of business, I respect that." The offending cigarette butt was ground underneath the Doctor's combat boot, "My employer wants you to run an internal audit."
Devdas raised her eyebrow. "Doctor, you want an accountant for that, not me."
He smiled coldly.
"It's not the typical audit, no? I want-rather my employer wants-you to investigate..." he took out a picture from his coat pocket, "him."
The subject in question was a male in his late twenties, early thirties, cursed with one of the worst and strangest haircut that Devdas had the misfortune of seeing and a ruddiness that would have made a lobster appear pale.
"I believe the cut's called a mullet," the Doctor said in response to Devdas' unspoken question.
She smothered her smirk.
"Who's the probie?"
The Doctor looked at her oddly.
"The probie...as you put it, is John Armuli des HaMai. I typically would be doing this audit myself, but he's got 'HaMai' after his name. Family's close to the inner circle. Need an outsider."
"Which would be me," enlightenment exploding in Devdas's mind like a rocket shell landing on a munitions pile. This Armuli must have the HaMais by the short ones if they had to bring her in--the HaMai clan was rumored to be the hardest to get into, out of all the Tridad, and was generally distrustful of outsiders. Or so she heard--she just was a Walker.
"Yeah, and well, you're a Walker--one who also comes from the middle of nowhere," the Doctor observed.
"You know, there are still more people than dogs in Gami Prefecture."
The Doctor clicked his tongue, "Riiight. Your job starts now. According to our membership rolls, Armuli des HaMai lives in Adyoll."
Saoirse Devdas examined the tableau before her with an undercurrent of dismay.
Drunk.
Drooling.
Potentially violent.
Such was the target demographic that Shadih's catered to. The demographic in question was also heavily male, which explained the dazed stares that Devdas was receiving from some of the patrons whose blood alcohol did not render them unconscious yet.
Behind the DMZ-styled counter, underneath the innumerable by-products of organic fermentation, were two trash cans with the words do not disturb spray-painted on them in prison orange, which was disturbing enough by itself.
Devdas was not here, however, to disparage the decorating sensibilities of the pub proprietor-she was here for a job. Strictly speaking, it was more a meeting than a job, but the financial potential was there.
She had learnt little from the instructions faxed to her on the holo this morning. The instruction were so vague that one may have written them that way-as if the writer wanted to protect whoever sent the orders.
"You're supposed to be a good shot with a .45, Fra Devdas," a voice behind her said. She didn't jump--much. In her line of work showing surprise could get one killed. Instead she slowly turned around to face whoever owned the voice.
Observing him, Devdas noted that he wore a long coat-even though it was 23 degrees Celsius out-and dark colors, the standard uniform for a city dweller.
"Who are you?" It was the only question Devdas felt relatively safe asking.
"My name isn't important, hasn't been for eleven years, but most call me Doctor. Why, I don't know, and I don't care. I don't care why my employer would want to hire you-there you go." All this was reeled off in an Islington accent, further marking him as a city boy and a stranger to the sparsely populated outpost of Wadi.
"Very well, Fra Doctor. Shall we..." Devdas looked around the seedy establishment, "discuss our objectives somewhere else?"
The Doctor nodded. They both waltzed out of the pub, walking until the drunken shouts of the patrons were inaudible. The Doctor, who apparently didn't get his name for being overly solicitous about his health, lit up a pitiful-looking cigarette. Devdas elected not to say anything about the man's health, or lack thereof-money was at stake. She would worry about the death sticks later.
"I see you know how to keep your mouth shut, Devdas. You can't believe how many people bitch at me," the Doctor said, waving the burning butt in her direction, "for this. That's an asset that'll keep you alive."
"Your...ah, organization, offered me a job, /verdad/?" Devdas asked, not willing to let the ill-named Doctor elaborate on his vices.
" 'Kay, you're a woman of business, I respect that." The offending cigarette butt was ground underneath the Doctor's combat boot, "My employer wants you to run an internal audit."
Devdas raised her eyebrow. "Doctor, you want an accountant for that, not me."
He smiled coldly.
"It's not the typical audit, no? I want-rather my employer wants-you to investigate..." he took out a picture from his coat pocket, "him."
The subject in question was a male in his late twenties, early thirties, cursed with one of the worst and strangest haircut that Devdas had the misfortune of seeing and a ruddiness that would have made a lobster appear pale.
"I believe the cut's called a mullet," the Doctor said in response to Devdas' unspoken question.
She smothered her smirk.
"Who's the probie?"
The Doctor looked at her oddly.
"The probie...as you put it, is John Armuli des HaMai. I typically would be doing this audit myself, but he's got 'HaMai' after his name. Family's close to the inner circle. Need an outsider."
"Which would be me," enlightenment exploding in Devdas's mind like a rocket shell landing on a munitions pile. This Armuli must have the HaMais by the short ones if they had to bring her in--the HaMai clan was rumored to be the hardest to get into, out of all the Tridad, and was generally distrustful of outsiders. Or so she heard--she just was a Walker.
"Yeah, and well, you're a Walker--one who also comes from the middle of nowhere," the Doctor observed.
"You know, there are still more people than dogs in Gami Prefecture."
The Doctor clicked his tongue, "Riiight. Your job starts now. According to our membership rolls, Armuli des HaMai lives in Adyoll."
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