FicWad

Chapter One

day four

The next day, Yuni Oshiri sat in a very unlikely place—the nose-bleed seating in an underground coliseum, underground meaning both figurative and literal, where illegal fighting matches were fought to decide many different things, such as city gang dominance. But like any organized event, loosely or otherwise, the main reason for having a combat competition was to determine who was the strongest, most agile, and otherwise best combatant. And Professor Antimon, the reason she was in such an unsavory place, was fairly certain that he knew who would be today’s real champion. She watched as he wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his dark chestnut skin, careful not to smudge much more of the grime onto his face. Both of them were dressed in disguises—tattered and smelly beggar’s clothes that belied their hygienic practices or personal grooming preferences, complete with a dirty old winter hat covering Yuni’s naturally distinctive purple hair. Yuni itched just from wearing the filthy things; she couldn’t wait to get back to headquarters and strip off the offensive layers, then soaking away the fetid muck away in a steaming hot shower...

“Professor,” a rather irritated Yuni inquired, “why are we here today? I mean, we need to figure out a way to rescue Charles. We’re running out of time, and these fights regularly get busted by greensleeves. Attending unauthorized tournaments is just asking to get caught.”

“Yuni, Yuni,” the Professor jokingly admonished, "rarely do I ask you to do anything you have not already agreed to. And yet, the few times that I have, it has always worked out for the best, has it not?”

“Yes, Professor,” she replied by rote; his insistence that she accompany him on his various outings and fact-finding missions was certainly more frequent than he implied. But she did admit, if only to herself, that he usually had a flair for accomplishing his intentions with little to no difficulty.“So why are we here, then?”

“Well, young Yuni,” he began in his most accomplished professorial lecturing tone, which she detested, “we are here because we are in a quandary. We need to rescue our lamented Captain Linzia. To do that, we need information. We need to find someone who has that information, and we need someone who can help us act on that information. And I just happen to know someone who can not only supply us with that information, but would be more than happy to assist us in rescuing our dear captain—as long as he is well reimbursed, that is,” he chuckled. “Mercenaries are a difficult lot to deal with, but this one has something of a reputation for honesty...among other things.”

‘A /mercenary?!/” Yuni nearly attracted undue attention; she lowered her voice significantly. “You mean to tell me we’re here to hire a blitzing mercenary? We don’t need his kind of scum! We are, if you have forgotten, a criminal insurgency, at least insofar as MarUban is concerned. We don’t need one, I dislike the idea, and you’ll have a good time convincing me otherwise!”

“Very well, young Yuni,” said the Professor soothingly. “I understand that I won’t change your mind. Why don’t we sit through this last match, and then we’ll leave with the rest of the crowd. No need to look suspicious, after all.”

Yuni agreed, though privately she wondered what the Professor was planning; he never gave up his games this early on. As she watched the various contestants prepare for the next fight, she noticed that most of the roughly half-dozen fighters had large, developed muscles or seemed to be experts in some sort of combat style. And a lean young man, off to the side, who seemed to simply blend into the background. Whether it was his loose, drab colored clothes, blending into the surroundings, or some air of indifference, he just appeared to disappear.

The commentator / referee came to the center of the ring. “Gentlemen, ladies, and high-rollers of all persuasions!” he announced. “The final match of the evening has been arranged not just for your pleasure, but for your wallets!” A thunderous cheer arose, especially from the high-rollers. “Tonight, we have seven of the most violent, most vicious and most brutal of competitors! Each one has repeatedly ranked in the top three or higher rankings here in the Combat Coliseum! These foul-tempered beasts of men are here to claim the one true title of Coliseum Champion! Tonight, watch them smash each other to pulp as they try to gain the highest-ranking title in the city...”

“Professor, do we really need to watch this? This just seems to be a bunch of disgusting jerks trying to prove they’re animals. I’m not really sure that—”

“Yuni.” The Professor’s voice took on a very unusual edge. “We are here, because we need help to find Charles, remove him from captivity, make sure he’s not permanently affected by our enemy, and get him home safely. We also, while doing this, must retrieve the very secretive package he was sent to confiscate. We must do this, because that package is currently considered to be atop government research project, which makes it a weapon, and was stolen by the Corporation, which makes it dangerous. If we don’t recover that item and Charles, we could potentially be looking at the means to our insurgency’s end. To avoid that, and work to bring MarUban down, I will do whatever it takes, associate with whomever I must, to accomplish my goal. I would think that with your unique background in our group, Yuni, you would appreciate that more than most.” Yuni lapsed into silence. “Also,” his tone lightened appreciably, “I have a sizable wager on tonight’s championship match.” Yuni scowled at that.

“...and let the fight begin!” A loud gong sounded, and the fighters all rushed forward. Each seemed to have a certain meaning or style to their running, but all were nearly identical in their adrenaline-fueled need to get to the center of the ring...except for the lanky one. He seemed to run as if calculating exactly how to match his timing to personal benefit in the ensuing brawl.

Yuni tried to keep her emotions and memories from getting the better of her; she didn’t even comment on the bet. Professor Antimon was one of the few people who knew enough about her to know exactly why she’d joined the insurrection against MarUban, though he rarely if ever even gave voice her reasons. The “Urban Development” projects, an excuse to raze buildings and homes to the ground for building barracks for security members or new laboratories, had included her family’s apartment, now five years ago. Many of those laboratories used the now-homeless former residents as human research subjects...

She brushed the newly forming tears from her eyes. Frag it, I’m not going to cry now, she ordered herself. Not here, during this—this festival of thuggery.

She looked up to see the fight. It was a fair spectacle, her professional side had to admit. These seven contestants certainly knew what they were about—brawlers and combat experts alike, they all seemed to be holding their own quite well. Then she noticed the lean man in drab clothing...

He seemed to flow effortlessly through the fight. Having studied several disciplines herself, she had the training to notice his almost casual style of combat—snaking his arm around another's, a few carefully placed blows on pressure points, using leverage to hurl him bodily away, all with the most minimal of movements. It seemed so effortless, so perfunctory, that he was hardly noticed at all by the cheering spectators. Three of the belligerents were conservatively removed from the fight in this manner; the other three, crowd favorites to be sure, still roared and struck blow after stupendous blow upon each other. It seemed like a good match between the three, but even as she watched, one contestant began to falter under the constant battering. Suddenly, Drab surged forward, catching the spotlight as he drove a devastating blow into the stumbling man’s face. The stumbling man went down hard, as his former opponents now squared off against each other. Her man Drab seemed a flurry of motion as he fought off the two larger aggressors. When did I start rooting for this guy? Yuni wondered to herself, deciding it was his proficiency at dealing with the two larger men—an underdog, he might be called. Suddenly, a hard blow to Drab’s chest connected; he nearly flew out of the close-combat circle as the brutish fighter turned to the leaner ruffian and began to beat him senseless. Drab casually lifted his body from the ground with a worm-like twist and flipped to his feet, slowly making his way back into the fray just as Brute seemed to knock Ruffian out cold. Drab launched himself at Brute, perhaps hoping to surprise him. Brute took no seeming surprise; he merely swatted Drab down to the ground with a single blow and, foot on Drab’s chest, raised his arms in victory.

“And tonight’s winner is none other than Snarl McTaggot, the Disemboweling King! Second place goes to Glen Thurl, and third goes...”

The crowd cheered and screamed, either congratulating their bellowing champion or cursing the failed combatants. As Yuni quietly followed Professor Antimon out of the arena, the mediocre thrill of the fight already dying down inside her, she began to wonder again exactly what the Professor had in mind for the evening. Maybe he wanted to hire one of those barbarians to work for us... she wondered. I hope he doesn’t choose the winner; he seemed so...so...vulgar.

After the Professor had collected his winnings, they started away from the area...to deeper into the coliseum. As Yuni began speculating anew about his intentions, she realized they had reached the locker room areas near the base of the arena. And exiting the rooms just then...was her man Drab.

“Greetings, Glen Thurl. I must congratulate you on your performance tonight. Second place prize will leave you with a few notes,” the Professor addressed the drab, lanky young man. “I’m happy to say that you made me quite a few notes tonight as well.”

Glen Thurl’s bland and irregular face seemed to twitch slightly; this close, Yuni could see his disconcertingly green eyes. “Glad I hepped you owt by not winnin’. I guesh you bet yer cash on the Dishembowling Queen instead?” he asked in an uneducated, slurred voice. Maybe a speech impediment?

“Actually, I placed my wager on you...to last all the way through the match, but come in second place at the end.”

“Well, good fer you.” The bland face might have sneered. “You made a big heavy bet, huh? You mus’ be a big gambler to make all yer money bets like dat. You wanna medal or something?”

“Actually, it seem to be an informed decision,” the Professor began his lecturing tone again. “Especially when it seems that Glen Thurl always comes in a close second. As does Samuel Glens, and Walt Grimmons, and Harry Armirov...” Yuni looked suddenly at the Professor with confusion. This vocally impaired man was who they sought? “...and who all seem lanky and nondescript, as you yourself are. A man of such indistinction deserves to be recognized for his ability to enter as many fights as you do, with no one noticing that you always finish in the same place.”

Yuni abruptly noticed “Glen” in a way she hadn’t before. While he still kept his face bland and unremarkable, she noticed a tightening around his emerald eyes. His body language, without seeming to change one bit, suddenly reminded her more of a stalking, waiting predator than just a man. She could sense an almost feral danger lurking inside him now.

“And how wood you ‘reconize me’, Misteh Big Spender? You givin’ me a medal inshtead?I wan’ nuttin’ from you, so lemme alone.”

“Well, then, I suppose Glen isn’t interested in our offer, Yuni,” Professor Antimon remarked as he began to turn away. “Maybe we should try asking Mikal Scott—“

In between that moment and the next, which Yuni didn’t follow visually, the man called “Glen” suddenly had a pistol leveled at the Professor’s temple. “Now listen to me very carefully,” the former Drab now intimated in a well-modulated, serious voice. All pretense of Glen’s blandness, non-description, and vocal slur were gone; in their place stood Mikal Scott, the most dangerous-looking man Yuni had ever encountered. His irregular face became rugged if not handsome, his lanky body became corded muscle, his emerald eyes now piercing Yuni’s mind and drinking in every detail. He stood there like a statue, unwavering; a man confident of his ability to kill whoever threatened him in the slightest and escape with the greatest of ease.

“I admit, I’ve never been tracked this well before. You must want something very badly to risk me killing you the moment you let go the least of your information. Well, I’ll tell you what. You get thirty seconds to convince me that I shouldn’t leave you here for the janitorial crew to find later tonight.”

“I assure you, I mean you no harm, nor am I uneducated enough to believe that I could. I am here strictly on a business matter, incidentally concerning yourself, so if I may—“

“No harm? Your ‘companion’ here looks like she’s scared of the floor, but I can see she’s combat trained. Maybe you’d like to try your story again, Professor.”

“—If I may explain myself, as I was saying. The young lady is, among other things, my lab assistant. We are part of the Ninth Sector Resistance, Cell Fourteen, Team Eight. We are currently planning...” Yuni couldn’t understand why the Professor was being so free with this information. She certainly didn’t trust this Mikal; what if he turned them in for a small profit...or worse, maybe—a large profit? “...and now we need to retrieve our captain. We would need your expertise in planning the extraction, as well as any help you are willing to give on the actual incursion; your help would be especially appreciated in devising any counters to security mobilization. There will be, of course, renum—“

“Allow me, if you will, to paraphrase,” Mikal interrupted. “You want me to help you plan a quiet intrusion into a Corporate stronghold. Help you rescue your captain friend, who’s tanked on anti-interrogatories for the next few days. Liberate this merchandise that got him seized in the first place. And, if possible, get out quietly or slow down their pursuit. I think you must be willing to pay me quite a bit, because my asking price for this just—“

“I hear that Donavan Walker is now in charge of public security in that sector now,” Professor Antimon interjected smoothly, no mean feat considering Mikal’s forceful speaking.

Mikal gave a sudden pause; he pronounced his next words slowly. “Red Walker is working Arx security?” Yuni thought she could now etch steel with the edge in his voice. “None of my information sources have even mentioned Red Walker in the city recently, let alone being put in charge of Sector Four Security. And if they’re doing anything in that lab, he’ll be concentrating resources, allotting weapons, possible stripping defenses from other areas...” He trailed off, muttering what sounded like a string of logistical numbers and the beginnings of several strategies. Yuni began to seriously wonder if he had all of his logic gates in the proper sequence...

“Very well,” he said suddenly, causing Yuni to startle. “We’ll meet in two days to discuss this turn of events, at fifteen hundred. If you’re right about Red, I may just be willing to accompany you on this little ‘mission’ of yours. If he’s nowhere near here...” he trailed off with nothing but a hard glance at the Professor. “Well, I have my reasons to want him.”

He turned to leave. “And by the way—Yuni Akida Oshiri, with black belts in crane, tiger, jujitsu and tae kwon do. Master’s training but no certification in mechanical engineering, advanced computer engineering, advanced cybernetic systems, advanced intelligence and logic theory. Your professor friend told me the truth, because I already know the truth. I know more about this city than half of Corporate. I would recommend that you remember that in the future.” He turned and disappeared down the hallway.

“Professor, I really don’t think I trust him,” Yuni tried hard to control her wavering voice; Mikal Scott’s apparent mind-reading left her shaken.“I’m afraid to put our futures in his hands.”

“So am I,” the Professor said sadly. He never showed that kind of emotion to others.“But we have to rescue Charles before they break him in interrogation, and I don’t know how. We have no choice.”

==+==

Charles awoke groggily, his first realization being how much he stank. It had been four days since his capture, and the hygienic facilities he’d been given ranked slightly lower than the rudimentary medical plan they offered. He rolled off the deluxe metal cot he’d been given and stretched as far as the two meter cathedral ceiling would allow. He began alight exercise regimen, staying close to the ground to avoid any more head injuries, and wincing in pain from the numerous bruises and minor wounds he’d sustained during his interrogations. He needed to stay loose and flexible to take advantage of any chance to escape this pit. The meals they fed him weren’t much, and seemed to be the burned or cast-off leftovers from whatever meals they served in the local barracks cafeteria. In fact, that explanation was so obvious he immediately rejected it. If they were serving him burned eggs and rubbery sausage, he doubted they were giving him breakfast meals. Anyone with a primitive refrigerator / microwave set could duplicate the freshly-cooked quality of his food, so he assumed he was receiving “breakfast” at twenty-one-hundred hours or so today, to keep his time sense thrown off. On the other hand, he always seemed to get hungry long before the meals arrived, not really a surprise, so they could even be stretching his meals further apart to keep his time sense confused. Or compressing them closer together. Or giving him fewer meals per day. Or more per day.

He shook his head. He’d had plenty of time to explore the various ways they could be feeding him. As well as the scheduling for his interrogation / torture sessions, and whether he always had the same interrogator, or different ones who sounded similar... It had become pointless, in its way. Too many variables, and not enough proof to solidify any of the theories.

He stopped exercising. Even for a veteran of such distinguished service as he, it just hurt too much. The beatings, and the shock therapy, the hot / cold treatment were all getting to him. They had threatened to start removing things to make him talk. With almost a week’s worth of antidotes left in his system for resisting chemical interrogations, it was the only option left if they wanted information quickly. However, the horror and pain of digit removal also tended to cause the captive to say whatever he thought the interrogators wanted to hear, leaving them with the chore of strenuously checking any information they did receive. As well as the chore of making sure he didn’t bleed to death or die from shock.

He heard the cellblock door at the end of the cramped hallway hiss open, and the measured tread of soldiers marching in lockstep toward his cell. He thought almost nostalgically back to the days when the sound of boots marching in cadence were reminders of a proud organization, trained to fight and protect for a country’s pride and honor. Then MarUban, and other corporations like it, decided that they shouldn’t have to worry about national militaries, and exerted pressure on their paid-off bureaucrats to urge for military disbanding—which allowed the conglomerates to snap up the best, brightest, and most amenable to cash...

The steps halted, the jangle of keys and the heavy clank of his door lock, primitive beyond all reason, signaled his fate as much as the guard’s rifle jerking towards the hallway. He accepted their silence and the roughly applied restraints as they led him to another session with pain.

==+==

day six

Two days later and twenty minutes before the meeting with Mikal, Yuni was pacing furiously back and forth across the floor of the security center, her amethyst tresses flowing behind her. The room lay nearly half a block from the actual street outside, located well behind mazes of walls and maintenance corridors, some leading to dead ends, all constantly monitered.

“Professor, he hasn’t even been anywhere near here!” she exclaimed for at least the fifth time. “Falhurst and Crue have been scanning everyone who’s come within a block of the place today, and none of them even resembles Mikal Scott! What if he’s not showing up? What if he’s betraying us? What if he—”

“That will be enough, Yuni,” interrupted the Professor calmly; however, the strain of his irritation was showing through his otherwise schooled features.“Let us review some things, shall we? What did Dulves teach you about the art of disguise? Do you remember Rule One?”

“‘The eye is deceived by what it expects to see.’ But I don’t see how that applies, Professor. We expect him. How can that deceive us?”

“Ah, but by expecting us to see him, he has undoubtedly chosen something that we would never expect to see. A worker in coveralls, or a pregnant woman. Perhaps even a multitude of costumes as he observes us hourly, a variety of deceptions that we wouldn’t expect, as he watches us to make sure we intend to hold up our end. A man like him doesn’t live nearly this long without taking precautions. He’ll be here, and how we would least expect it.” He turned his head to the side.“Hello, Mikal. I hope I don’t presume too much to call you by your first name?”

Yuni’s head spun around, reflexively reached for her sidearm, as she heard that unexpected modulated voice again. “Hello Professor. I suppose for one who managed to figure this much out, I can extend the courtesy.”

Yuni stood frozen, hand on her thigh holster, staring at the well-spoken intruder who seemed to have materialized from thin air. “And Miss Yuni, I’d appreciate if you’d remove your hand from your firearm.”

With a sniff and a look of contempt, Yuni moved her hands behind her back. Mikal had come, but dressed as she never would have expected; indeed, she wondered how anyone could have missed him. Thick lenses, almost like welder’s goggles, adorned his eyes below a disordered nest of dark chestnut hair; The rest that she could see seemed to be ragged layers of heavy trenchcoats and cloaks, and a pair of thick boots which appeared to need repair. He looked, for all purposes, like a vagrant.

Then, as he uncinched the front of the coat and turned to toss it over the chair behind him in a practiced gesture, she realized what the Professor had meant about disguise. Underneath the vagrant’s coat was an small arsenal of weaponry and armor. His shirt and collar were ribbed with Traumpact, a high-density plastic padding that offered protection from falls or blunt attacks, as well as being some protection against bullets; the deltoid, pectoral, shoulder-blade, abdominal and spinal areas were additionally covered with Artravan, an expensive antiartillery armor. The same protections extended to his lower body; he also had a pair of midrange pistols belted to his hips with throwing knives tucked behind the leather. His boots, she could now see, were armored and covered with a second, gutted pair of shoes to disguise them—obvious with the coat gone. As a matter of fact, she realized as he removed the thick goggles hiding his distinctive eyes, everything which had resided underneath his cloak had remained invisible to her. She felt like she would be constantly one-upped by this new intruder, except that she was certain she wasn’t even in his league.

Jackson Crue, the taller of the two specialists manning the monitors, was immediately on his feet and in no good humor. “Where did he come from? How did he get in?” His arms twitched violently, as if he felt the need to do something physical to relieve his shock. “We’ve monitored all entrances for hours!”

Calen Falhurst, shorter and thinner than his colleague, was furiously typing away at his console, seemingly desirous to avoid the confrontation his partner so actively pursued.

“The only way you could’ve gotten in here was from Barber Street—”

“If I may?” Mikal interjected, holding up a small, crudely-assembled control with a slender antenna. “You have your camera system based around the Archer 540 series, right? I’m assuming stolen from the recalls?” Crue merely looked flustered in response; Mikal continued over Falhurst’s frantic keystrokes. “There’s a hardware design flaw in the camera itself; the company claimed it was a software glitch and even designed a patch that got rid of the problem for most users; it was cheaper. However, the flaw allows for someone with the right know-how to improvise a “pause button” that freezes the output signal to a single frame for several seconds. If you play the videos back, you’ll notice that the cameras all have about a four-second window where the counter stays the same. Fortunately, the counter reverts back afterwards, so even fairly attentive guards can miss the change.”

Falhurst stopped typing suddenly.“Um, he’s right,” he said quietly. “The cameras have a sequential counter failure from the Barber Street entrance starting at, uh, fourteen-hundred-fifty hours. But the biometric sensors didn’t pick up any kinda readings.”

“Trade secret.” Mikal asserted; Yuni thought she’d seen the slightest hint of a smirk form. “But that sort of thing is why you’ve hired me, isn’t it?”

“May we proceed to business, Mikal?” the Professor asked, forestalling any remark Crue might make. “I do wish to see to our matter together, as we are dealing with an accelerated timeline. We truly have few moments to waste.”

“You’re correct, professor,” Mikal replied. “I’ve worked up several strategies I’d like you to consider, but the main course of action is to retrieve your captain. Any technology concerns must be relegated to a secondary—”

“I’m afraid not,” the Professor interjected. “Unfortunately, the technical item has been identified and must be dealt with as well. Utilizing several new breakthroughs in biofeedback chassis, as well as new experiments in AI assists, a lab under the control of the remains of the American government has created a new weapon. Worn like a human-sized Exo-Amplification suit, this combination allows for impressive flexibility and range of motion, very unlike the standard military—ahem, security ExAmpl suit. While not as physically strong, armed or protected as an ExAmpl, it does provide a dangerous increase in each category for a standard ground trooper.”

Mikal, nonplussed as usual, still appeared to Yuni to be carefully considering the implications of the Professor’s speech. “What kind of specifications are we looking at, Professor?”

Professor Antimon continued. “I have no current information concerning specifications. However, I have managed to secure some of the material pertaining to tests performed in various stages of development. The AI component might be interpreting and extrapolating from previous interactions, allowing for increased reflexive actions and quicker mobility. The armor itself was being tested against a variety of attacks, including artillery. The composite metals they were using during the testing phases showed resistance to antipersonnel weaponry such as flechette missiles, then graduated upwards to ExAmpl combat firings and even aerial bombardment. While such blasts would most likely kill the occupant, much of the equipment would be salvageable—at least according to the tests I’ve had access to. Now, there is an additional concern. The notes also mention the use of Endusor, a material being developed as a surgical-prosthetic replacement for people with certain degenerative disorders; it’s also generically referred to as insoductor. It mimics the actions of nerves when properly attached to nerve endings, and flexes almost exactly as muscles would. The nerve conduction velocity is, from the journals that spoke of it years ago, around eighty percent of normal healthy nerves, more than enough for normal people to lead fairly productive lives, especially considering the alternative of, say, a muscular-wasting disorder. However, I find myself in a position to disbelieve these statements now, both because of the age of the articles as well as the reports I’ve received. The notes for the AI’s efficiency, if you know the material well enough, indicate Endusor ratings of over one hundred ten percent. If this is true, they could be creating a mobile weapon with faster reactions than any human on earth.”

Yuni spoke up. “But Professor Antimon, this doesn’t make sense. Even if they were able to produce this weapon, it would be hideously expensive. They already have smaller ExAmpl-type suits for high-ranking security, which are pretty pricey. Outfitting an army of security people with these devices would be a threat, certainly, but how could they justify it financially? Not to mention the time and effort of retraining them.”

Mikal spoke up before Professor Antimon could object. “You’re not seeing this from a tactical perspective, Ms. Oshiri. This device doesn’t need to be produced in the hundreds of thousands, let alone hundreds. Imagine if they chose ten of their elite-—hardest, cruelest, most efficient, armed with a weapon the size of a human. They could go places no ExAmpl could go, fit through any regular openings to chase targets, mow them down with whatever weapons they’re carrying. Even worse if they’re using any sensory enhancement—-UV, IR, even sonar tracking.”

Professor Antimon broke in.“Mikal is right about these tactics, and I wouldn’t think MarUban would hesitate. But, Yuni, these are not like the armor you’re referring to. Those suits amplify a user’s strength, but without dramatically increasing speed or endurance; nor can they support the range of technological features this new design would. These computerized armored suits are built to accommodate a human in a human-sized environment. Their structure is humaniform, and from what I can ascertain, they are even gyroscopically balanced to a humaniform approximation. Retraining a competent soldier to this technology would take a matter of days, perhaps hours. We cannot allow them to produce any of these monstrosities. If we do, they could very well hunt us down before the year is out.”

Mikal nodded emphatically. “I agree. And these would certainly put a crimp in my profession, as well. Professor, I hadn’t heard a thing about this project before this, and I think my information sources have been well proven already. I don’t want these things in Arx or anywhere else. I’m giving you a hefty discount for bringing this to my attention, and I’ll personally lead your team on this mission. Besides, I’ve also confirmed Red Walker’s presence. He’s a cunning bastard, with plenty of tricks; you’ll need someone who knows him.” Almost as an afterthought, he murmured, “And I have a score to settle.”

Yuni’s mind drifted away somewhat as the others began discussing possible team members and deployment strategies. She thought about what Mikal had said. He’s just using us to get what he wants, she thought. He doesn’t care about what we’re trying to do. This just plays right into what he needs, to keep making a living for himself. She remembered, after the coliseum encounter, Professor Antimon mentioning to her that Mikal Scott regularly commanded upwards of ten thousand notes for his expert services. Even with a discount, he’s bleeding us dry, and we get to play expendable shields for him to make his life easier. And take care of whatever score he has with Donavan Walker. They’d also reviewed information on the infamous “Red” Walker before Mikal’s arrival, anotorious security agent capable of bloody atrocities to accomplish whatever errand his Corporate sponsors sent him on. Her heart softened just a bit as she wondered what kind of grudge Mikal really had against Donavan Walker, what Walker must have done to him. But she closed up quickly. He’s a mercenary. We’re his liquid capital, and as long as we stay that way, he’ll be real friendly. But I’m keeping my eye on him anyway...