A Perfect Day, With Explosions, page 7
“I was married. I don’t need to have a camera to know she’s having a good cry, and is embarrassed and mad as hell about it. Iris is a Critical Incident Stress Counselor; she’s trained to handle unexploded ordnance of that sort.” Crane nodded to an older lady with a no-nonsense attitude briskly striding down the hall. She nodded back, and headed straight into the bathroom. “That’s handled. Come with me.”
11
Boxing Clever
Jenna had moved through shaken and upset and well on to spitting mad after being stashed in an empty conference room with nothing but a holoscreen she couldn’t access, an empty coffee and tea service that taunted her dry mouth, and a small stack of note paper she’d carefully torn into squares and folded into origami cranes. Her handbrain couldn’t reach the comnet, and she had to put it on standby to save the battery, instead of reading or playing games. Not that she could concentrate on it anyway, not after the first time she learned the consequences of staying still too long. When the light over the door clicked from red to green, and the locks unchunked, she looked up from folding the last scraps into tiny cranes to find Iris standing there.
The older lady looked at the flock of paper birds spread in a spiraling stream around the table. “What in the world?”
“Finally! Bathroom!” Jenna stood up fast enough the chair skidded back and fell over with a crash, and bodily shoved her way out into the hall. It was full of near-identical doors, but the two without lights at the top also had the little universal male and female symbols next to them. The door gave a satisfying smack when she hit it hard enough to rebound off the stops, and the stalls were empty.
When she came out and washed her trembling hands, Iris was standing there. “I’m sorry, Jenna, I got delayed. I understand you’re frustrated…”
“I’ll say you got fucking delayed. Oh, let me step out a minute and lock you in a box like a doll you’re tired of playing with for two hours and forty-seven minutes. Couldn’t even bother to let me know, could you? All the people in this pile and you couldn’t ask one to poke their head in and see if maybe I could at least get something to fucking drink while I wait to dance upon your attendance, milady?” She snarled the last as she walked out the door. “Exit. Where’s the damned exit?” The fire exit signs were hanging up to guide her way.
“Why don’t we get something to eat, first, and talk about it?” Iris watched matching her steps, still projecting as calm and unruffled as a ward nurse when parents were watching.
“I don’t want another damn thing to do with you, lady.” The fire signs led her to an elevator and set of stairs, both of which had the palm-locks on them. Neither of which responded to her hand print, trapping her in just like the room. She turned and glared at Iris, who was standing there. “So what happens if I pull the fire alarm, to release the interlocks?” She put her hand on the alarm.
That got a wide-eyed look. “Don’t do that. You’ll pull a building-wide evacuation!”
“Why not? I was just in one of those yesterday. Good practice.” She bared her teeth. “Let me the fuck out.”
The steel finally showed under the irritating calm, even as Iris was moving to the elevator and putting her palm on the lock. “If you don’t cooperate, you will be arrested. And then we’ll have the exact same conversation we’re about to have over lunch, but you’ll be in restraints and don’t get to leave at the end.”
“Oh, just like I got to leave at the end of our last conversation? You are the world’s shittiest counselor.” Jenna folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back against the lift. “Let me get some resources for you. And lock you in a room where the lights go out and the air stops moving every ten minutes. Tells me all I need to know about how your resources are going to treat me, too.” Her voice was rising, chest tight and lungs hurting at the tiny space they were in now, much less the one she had escaped. If the air and power died here, it would be an even smaller grave.
“I’m sorry it took this long to get back to you. I understand why you’d feel upset. It’s perfectly normal to lash out, after an incident. These emotions are a part of the grieving process. You’ll be able to find a counselor that you get along with better…” Iris said soothingly, until drowned out with language learned on the docks that best described her genetic ancestry, present worth, future prospects, and relations with barnyard animals.
Once Iris stopped talking, Jenna finally wound down with, “Save it for someone who believes your lies.” The rest of the lift ride was in blessed silence.
They came out on a floor without palmlock lights - it had wider corridors, well-trafficked and warmer, smelling of food and decorated with and institutional art’s attempts to cheer up the walls. Iris led her through another set of double doors, but this one opened onto a large cafeteria, full of light a bright, natural sunpaint and actual windows, with a buzz of conversation. Up on two walls, holos were showing the official imperial news channel, showing the wreckage of the parking garage with emergency workers digging away at the rubble.
Standing in line for food, she could see the exhausted, tired people in rumpled uniforms who looked like they’d been working all night, and were getting food at the end of a double shift. They were clumped quietly to one side, while most of the cafeteria was taken up with more relaxed men in starched and pressed uniforms, and a healthy dose of normal-looking office workers, all bright and perky and dressed for moving up the corporate ladder. She turned back, and found Iris watching her watch the crowd. “Shouldn’t you be pestering them instead?”
“I’ll be doing a lot of group debriefings as soon as the incident is over.” Her voice was back to faking friendly, calm, and professional. “It’s not over, yet.”
A familiar voice spoke up just behind her. “Getting closer. We found the truck bombs.” AJ had joined them, and Crane close behind him.
Jenna noted the way Iris let out a little sigh of relief, and stepped back to give herself a little space from the group. “What truck bombs?” She glanced at the lunchroom holos, but the running news scroll and newsies hadn’t said anything about more bombs in the last ten minutes.
“The ones that didn’t go off, so they didn’t make the news.” Crane gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Best kind.”
Crane and Iris were clearly talking to each other on a private comnet channel via inskin, by the way they looked at each other, and their bodies reflected a conversation. Jenna could well imagine just how well that was going to work out for her. She should have played along; it never paid to piss off the arbitrary authorities until you can escape them. Or not: as she watched them, she realized Iris was somewhere between uncomfortable to scared of Crane’s displeasure. AJ was not; he simply existed, and the world flowed around him.
They got their lunches, and Iris walked away without another word. Jenna found that even more irritating, and glared at her back. “Fucking manipulative bitch.” She turned back, and found Crane watching her. “If she’s decided the all-important conversation I absolutely must have isn’t worth sticking around for, again, am I free to go or am I being detained?”
Crane gave her a considering look, but it was AJ who pulled out a chair for her, and gently maneuvered her into sitting whether she wanted to be or not. Once they’d taken their seats, AJ took a sip of his tea, and opened the conversation with “Have you been briefed on our movements this weekend?”
She gave AJ a perfectly polite smile with no warmth. “No. I’ve been treated like a mushroom. Kept in the dark and fed bullshit. When people do condescend to talk to me, they treat me like I’m five. Or retarded.”
“Dear…” Crane started to protest, and she cut him off.
“I am not your dear. I am not your catspaw, and if you don’t cut the crap, I’m not going to be anything but your enemy!” She felt more than saw AJ go utterly still at the naked threat.
Crane’s eyes had lit up with laughter. He cut a slice of the breaded steak, and waggled it at her. “You are definitely one of my subordinates.”
“Really? When was on-boarding? Do I get to know what I can expect from my employer, or has a morning full of dead bodies and getting locked in dark rooms with stale air been how you normally treat your people? I quit! I’m not getting hung out to be shot at and blown up, and oh, well, it was just some blonde bubblehead, who cares what happens to her?” Rage made her voice drop to an icy hiss.
“What is a bubblehead?” AJ asked, and she stopped, looking at him in mutual confusion. He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know the term. I am blond, and I’m going to be staying close as breath to you, even if I get shot or blown up, to keep you safe. Does that count?”
If he was trying to make her laugh, it was a lousy attempt. She dismissed the joke with a flick of her hand. “That’s your job. You trained for it, and they tell you what’s going on and what to expect. They don’t just lie to your face and lock you in a box when you’re not convenient.”
AJ got… still wasn’t the right word. He was always still. This was more like the strain on a welding coupon in a tensile pull test right before it snapped. His eyes were narrowed down, focused on her with a laser intensity. “Explain the locked in a box part.”
“That bitch told me we were going to do a trauma debrief, and then some training. And you were gone, so I thought she must be right. Instead, she took me to a room, made all these noises about self-care and grieving the therapists always do, and told me she had to step out for a minute. And locked me in. For hours.” Her voice was getting short and choppy as she fought not to cry. Jenna took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way the world was swimming through unshed tears. “And there’s nothing to do but if you stop moving the lights go out and the air cuts off and the walls start closing in, and…”
AJ’s head snapped around, seeking Iris in the crowd. His voice vibrated with rage. “I will kill her.”
Crane’s voice was just as hard, and deadly. “No, you will not.” AJ looked back, and for a moment Jenna felt very small and scared as they stared each other down. Crane’s voice was quieter, but no less sharp with cutting authority. “You will take care of Jenna. I will deal with the security failure. Sit. Down.”
AJ sat without taking his eyes off Crane for a moment. “She will not survive this… failure in the victim selection process.”
Crane’s grin was full of teeth and malice. “Not for long, she won’t.”
Jenna was almost afraid to breathe. She stared at the congealing gravy on her meat patty, and away at the cafeteria line. The cheerful busyness there seemed like another world from her table, bright and full of colors, including one she knew all too well… She shoved up, and said breathlessly, “I’m getting dessert. Anyone want some?” Without waiting for a response, she headed for the dessert cart that had just come out to refresh the buffet table.
A woman dressed beautifully in fashion classics instead of current trends was debating between the fruit cup that would keep her in her current size, or the chocolate cheesecake with cherry topping tempting her. Jenna got one of each, and then faked a double-take. “Oh my stars, I love your shoes!”
“Thank you!” The object of her scrutiny showed off the red pumps with a smile. Behind her, Jenna saw the men staring at her, and ignored them.
“They go so well with your outfit! I could never get away with that shade of red outside of clubbing!” Jenna gave a little bounce and threw cheery enthusiasm into her voice. “Are those Yvngis or Coriolis? Those look worth a week’s pay.”
“You’d think, but I got a smoking deal on them. You know the Folsom Street Fair?” At Jenna’s nod, the other lady grinned. “There’s a shoe vendor on the west side of the fountain that you have just got to see to believe!”
“Oh, wow, I definitely will. Because those are amazing! And they go so well with your earrings! I’ll have to see if I can find anything that makes me look half as good.”
“Oh, you look darling! I wish I had your hair, as that color is stunning!” Her outfit wasn’t, but they both ignored that.
“I’m afraid I can’t take the credit; it’s my natural color.” Jenna sighed. “I want to dye it, but I’m afraid it would wash out wrong.”
“Oh, no, don’t mess with perfection!” They chatted until they’d both paid, and split their separate ways.
When she got back to the table, the men had settled back into seeming normal. AJ was still coiled like a spring under the bland exterior, and twitched when she leaned against him to put the fruit cup in front of him. She sat down, and took a bite of cheesecake in the silence, savoring the taste. Whoever made the dessert here knew their trade; it had nothing in common with the icy, gummy tragedy some restaurants tried to fob off on the well fed up and agreeably drunk. Finally, she spoke without looking up from the cherry topping she was smoothing out to coat the whole slice. “She’s wearing knock-off Yvngi’s from the same dye lot as the terrorists. Too much yellow in the red. And now we know exactly where they came from, so we know where to start.” They needed to know, and she figured it would help reduce the chances of a side of death with her chocolate.
12
Driving Distracted
AJ’s head hurt from a day of absorbing all available information on the Sons of Native Earth, on top of the crushing headache of upgrading and interlocking his tacnet and comnet to work with a completely different branch of the military. His muscles were twitching from the fresh boosters to his nanosuites, exhausted, and battered from running through all the re-qualifications in a single day. On the one hand, it was extreme amounts of overkill for a single mission. On the other, he was well aware other Strykers had come off hitches before and gotten folded into the black box of Intelligence work and emerged with various odd assignments, so they were running him down a checklist… and getting him ready to be in tapped for other missions later.
If it kept Jenna and Lizzes safe, he wasn’t going to complain. So he rolled hot off the range, limping slightly and looking forward to a hot shower before he stiffened up. Last mission of the day was taking his favorite blonde out to dinner and figuring out which secure safe house they were going to be stashing her in now.
Crane wasn’t in his office; he was standing in the otherwise empty lobby, talking to a woman in a suit. AJ approached softly, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. At least, not until he heard the woman speak, and recognized the counselor who’d locked his little claustrophobe in an airless room. “I don’t have time for this! She’s not one of ours; she’s expendable!”
AJ stopped before he throttled the woman. He was expendable; he’d already been expended once, and would be again when Intelligence no longer had a use for him. Jenna, though, didn’t deserve the same treatment. Crane didn’t acknowledge AJ’s existence. Instead, he focused on the woman, and she instinctively retreated from the icy anger. The rebuke, when it came, was forceful enough to make AJ stiffen at attention. “Yes, they are expendable assets. But you must not treat them like they are!”
The woman fled as soon as she was dismissed, and AJ waited until she was gone to speak. “Sir?”
Crane didn’t so much calm down as lock the anger away. When he spoke, there was an imitation of humor in it. “AJ. Come with me.” They entered the lift, and as it began to move, Crane said softly, “I won’t waste your lives.”
AJ gave him a bleak smile. “Didn’t think you would, sir. We’re all expendable, in the service. Even her.”
“Even me.” Crane agreed, and a look of old pain crossed his face and was gone again.
They found Jenna in an office arguing with an Intelligence officer who looked barely old enough to shave. Looks could be deceiving, though, and the way he was calmly waiting her out indicated his baby face was likely the result of regen instead of youth.
She was doing that furiously polite and quiet arguing thing women could master, looking so beautiful with all that blonde hair down and loose past her ass that AJ was suddenly aware he stank of burnt powder, simunitions smoke, and drying sweat. They drew close, and Crane raised his eyebrows at the pair in polite inquiry.
She spoke first, every syllable crisp and furious as a wet kitten. “I want to go home.”
Crane shook his head and said patiently, “Your apartment is not secure.”
AJ grimaced, and nodded. He didn’t even have to ask Crane, not when he thought of Christy’s perfectly fake smile, and manipulative ways. Instead, he turned to her. “Jenna. Is it staying here? Or is it anywhere not home?” The way her eyes flinched at the first confirmed she’d had a few too many memories already associated with HQ, and none of them pleasant. Before she could object, he cast around for alternatives she could trust. “Lizzes and Twitch’s place is secure, and they’re used to the odd guest passing through. So is mine.”
Crane was clearly not happy with the alternatives. “I want her to have overwatch.”
“I want her to get a decent night’s sleep. And the O’Bannon’s place comes with Gunny Halvorsen. It has overwatch.” The sooner he introduced Jenna to the Gunny, the better. “And Lizzes can translate military to civilian for Jenna. She says that’s half her job these days.”
“You’re both going to argue with me, aren’t you? I want you both back here first thing in the morning, and no unnecessary excursions!”
Jenna, thankfully, took the grumbling protest from Crane as a sign that this was a good thing to do, and held her peace at least until they got to the parking lot. AJ got her in his truck, the air conditioning started, and looked over as she went limp and boneless while he negotiated their way out of the parking lot. “They’ve been hitting me with medical and running me through the shoot house. What have you been up to?”
“I got a new employee badge and escorted across the whole building on a sham orientation tour, looking for anyone else wearing something a little too familiar, if you know what I mean. I think I’ve seen every single room, except the utility closets, and my feet are killing me.” She groaned.
