Summon (46 page)

“Isn’t the A.I. synchronized into house functions?”
Max asked. “Ask it to read it out to us.”

“The A.I. has been programmed to speak in
emergencies. Papa doesn’t like the intrusion into daily life.”

Insults were mumbled.

Kali shot him an evil look and nudged him with the
heel of her foot.

“Standard, listen to this.” Max cleared his throat.
“There are others like me. I pass them in the street. We gather knowledge and
store it away for some unknown purpose. I don’t think we’re all information
hoarders. Some of us are fighters gifted with intelligence and superior
physical ability. Combine unprecedented skills of reasoning you are left with a
warrior more deadly than humankind could create. These clandestine soldiers are
more deluded than the ones who seek information. At least we recognise what
we’re doing is strange. They are being trained, conditioned, and regimented in
ways I cannot begin to–”

“Max,” Kali groaned. “What space crap is this?”

“Some doomsday feed that’s getting millions of
hits. This citizen believes a massive world event is going to happen. He says
certain people around the planets feel it too, and are preparing without
realising it.”

“Stars, it’s just some moon mad conspiracy theory.”

“It’s connected to you, to what you can do.”

From the corner of her eye, she slanted a
considering look at him. He sounded sincere. “Gut feelings?”

He nodded, solemn. “Big gut feelings.”

“Cosmic,” she grumbled. “I’ll tap the feed when I
get up.”

She was genuinely tired, and staying up until the
wee hours logged on was taking its toll. Kali had played the night before until
dawn peaked the horizon. Games no longer had such intricate and detailed
storylines as they did in the twentieth, but VirtuaGames were still impressive.
Submerged in the full experience of HoloSphere technology you were able to see,
hear, feel and smell hooked into a game, but the storylines were bland in comparison
to the way they used to be. The designers sacrificed quality scripts for
complex action sequences.

She complained, yet Kali had no desire for
technology to regress. Old Generation tech was disconnected and fractured.
There used to be hundreds of companies that produced the same products, and
nothing was compatible or could communicate. With the introduction of globally
interconnected networks things improved, but only optical devices with the
capability to connect to the wireless network were of any use. With the
introduction of genetic locking and BlueAtom8 the world’s technology began to
function efficiently, and managed to remain within the development limitations
of Treaty10.

Kali was fascinated with how tech had evolved, and
she’d researched why Blue Matter had been necessary. The BeepMe network, the
fundamental structure that linked citizens of the Alliance together in a
gigantic web of route pathways, was originally a social network used solely for
recreation. They used ComUnis to log on that came in lots of chunky pieces sat
on tables instead of hovering screen as thick as her baby finger. Baffling.
Communications were done in live time with sound waves picked up by an audio
device with a microphone called a telephone. How did one message more than one
person at once, and why in live time, why no visual element in the
transmission? The telephones weren’t even genetically locked to their owners.
What if that person was busy and could not pick up the message?

“Busy later?” Max asked.

She cracked an eyelid. “Who wants to know?”

“Come to Quad6’s range with me?”

Shooting ranges were one of the venues protected
under Treaty10 and offered to citizens free of charge. Falling under the
physical activity section, it contributed to the general wellbeing of the
population alongside construction, composing, performance art, and invention.
Standard forms of recreation came from online gaming, but physical activity
outside the virtual environment was considered fundamental to maintaining a
healthy Human Condition. These pastimes were law, and were believed to keep the
people of the Alliance from becoming dependent on technology and emotionally
barren.

“You’re coming right? Christabella finally agreed
to go on a date. She’s got an amazing body, natural too, but I want you there
to help stimulate conversation. You’re a girl.” He added that last part as if
it explained everything.

Kali grabbed his hair and yanked hard. “Stimulate
conversation?”

“Arrrh. You’ll have lots of stuff to talk about to
keep the evening entertaining. Ow. Kal, that hurts.”

Her suspicion was replaced by chagrin. With one
last tug, she released his hair. “You want me to play third wheel in case your
date is crap. Stars, aren’t we past this?”

Max grinned wickedly. “You know you want to.”

Kali rubbed her nose to hide a smile and ended up
sneezing. Lethargy made it difficult to concentrate. “Go alone and function
like a normal adult.” She snuggled down and gave him her back. “I’ll be here.
Sleeping.”

“Move it.” He flipped the covers off and spanked
her ass. “You shouldn’t lie here depressed because you’re undesirable.”

“And look who’s talking.” She shoved back and
pushed him out of the bed, immensely satisfied at the loud thump. Kali kicked
out a leg and got comfortable. Bending the other at the knee, she curled her
hands under her chin, the covers gripped in her fists.

“Get up.”

Kali put a pillow on her head and flipped him off.

Max grabbed her ankle and heaved. Startled, Kali
grabbed the headboard and held on for dear life. Her stomach lifted off the
bed, and the rest of her body followed until she was taut, body swaying
dangerously as they battled. Max grunted. Kali squealed when her nails
scratched the bed frame leaving faint white marks. He yanked in bursts to jar
her arms.

Teeth clamped together, Kali held on, not entirely
sure why she had not conceded defeat.

“Bella is annoying. There is no brain to mouth
filter. Having to suffer a prolonged period in her presence will be torture.
She’s an embarrassment to my gender, a stereotypical HiCaste Flush. What’s with
all that hair tossing and eyelash fluttering? Ugh. I am not going.”

Max snorted. Going for the kill, he tickled the
skin behind her knees. Kali screeched and let go of the headboard to protect
the sensitive area.

Her shrill laughter had him in convulsions. “That’s
a seriously ugly laugh, Kal.” He dragged her off the bed, taking the blanket
with her, which softened her fall some.

“Go away.
That
hurt
.”

“What?” Rolling her over, he sat, and pinned her to
the floor. He grabbed her foot and tickled. “Your ass really isn’t that skinny.
You bounced right back.”

She tried to push him off, and it might have worked
if she wasn’t in hysterics.

“Oi, where’s your scar?”

The innocent question cut her laughter. She froze.
“What?”

“Your inoculation scar. I always thought you would
have it on your ankle since it’s easier to hide. Did you get a graft?”

Kali shoved him off her and sat up, crossing her
legs. “Papa doesn’t like enhancements.”

“Well yeah, but inoculation is basic. It’s not an
enhancement, it’s just done.” He frowned. “You’ve been inoculated right?”

No, she had not had her genes mutated, but she was
under strict orders not to tell anybody that piece of information.

Max had gotten his mother to agree to sense
modifications though she had drawn the line at physical mutation. He already
had enhanced eyesight, night vision, and was planning to get improvements to
his hearing as soon as he had enough credit saved.

Kali hadn’t had any genetic manipulation, including
those considered standard practice. That was rare for a HiCaste. Her parents
wanted no one messing with her DNA. Cosmetically was out of the question too.
Kali understood their point, unlike a tattoo or piercing once your genetic
markers were altered, there was no laser to erase the change. Kali was aware
her adoption wasn’t normal and exactly legal. A number of prominent Alliance
employees had been paid off by Rikard’s family to ensure her origins were kept
a secret. It would also be shameful to admit you had adopted from poverty, but
Kali was likely born an orphan from a dead tree LoCaste unit. For a while, she
had wondered if Rikard suspected she was a pureblooded Delphi. Crazy to
consider, but his near obsessive determination to keep her way from the shots
had made her nervous. He swore she had a mixed heritage, but that the
inoculation would not be compatible. His fears were not groundless. A small
percentage of those who were given the shot did die; StarChildren had the highest
failure rate, and her colouring was similar. Their bodies rejected the mutated
strings and their immune systems went haywire and attacked their red blood
cells.

“Sure, I’m inoculated,” she lied.

Max fought a grin by sucking in his lips when she
rubbed the tender area he’d bruised. “You’re coming with me. Get dressed fast.
I ordered from Pluto’s, and the food will be delivered at the range. We need to
pick up Christabella at the shuttle point.”

“Cosmic.” She pointed to the door. “Out.”

He waved his TalkMe at her. “I’m going to bounce
this feed to the FloVe. We need to speak to this citizen about what you do. He
has answers.”

7.

Blue
killed the purring engine on his FloBi. Booted feet hit oily concrete with a
solid thump as the hover bike set down. He sighed and swung a leg off the bike.
Swiping a thumb over the underside of the handlebar brushed his OmniLock
against the scanner to genetically lock the ignition and stop another rider
boosting his property.

Blue strode into Pluto’s with a heavy footfall that
only those with real distracting shit to worry about understood.

The spicy tang of cooking dumplings sat heavy in
the air, a smell that would be delicious had he been in his right frame of
mind. Golden baked dough around bubbling cheese and succulent meat fillings
wasn’t the sweet fragrance his nostrils flared to. It wasn’t why his tongue
swelled and stuck to the roof of his parched mouth.

He should have replenished before he left for work,
but he’d forgotten, a stupid and irresponsible thing to do.

Dangerous.

His stomach clenched in panic, and saliva slicked
the walls of his cheeks until he had to swallow repeatedly. He breathed heavily
in the confines of the helmet. His leathers seemed to shrink on his body until
the fabric sucked at his skin in parody of what he imagined doing to the next
available throat.

“You’re late,” Dod noted. “Next time I’ll dock your
pay.”

His meaty fists pounded the creamy dough used to
make his legendary dumplings, rattling the work surface and the pots
underneath.

Pluto’s was unique. It was the only restaurant on
ContinentOne that made dumplings from scratch with real cheese instead of the
substitute. It took longer, cost more, but customers raved about the taste.

Blue walked straight to the order board to pick up
the next delivery. He grabbed the boxes and turned on his heel, grabbing a
CredMac to read the receipt for the address.

He needed fresh air to clear his head. That helped
when he was breathless and sick.

Nodding jerkily to the people he passed, Blue
sighed in relief when the door slid open, and he stumbled out into the night.

Minors loitered around his FloBi. They edged closer
to the vehicle, drumming up the courage to boost it. They scattered when he
strode over with an expression he’d been told was ‘freaky’.

He inhaled deeply and regained his calm.

The delivery was easy, the addresses minutes away.
Too soon, he was back at Pluto’s not knowing if he was calm enough to go back
inside. Blue pushed through another three orders before he was sweating, and
gritting his teeth each time he came within three feet of a warm body. When his
shift break came up, he dashed outside and rounded the corner, seeking a place
to take the stifling helmet off, too shaken to check nobody was within his
immediate vicinity.

He was lightheaded, panting hard as his body fought
to drag in enough oxygen to breathe.

He was suffocating.

A minor turned into the alleyway. He paused when he
saw Blue leaning up against the dirty wall. There was a rustling of clothes and
a tinny click before the minor was moving again. His walk canted to one side,
and one hand sunk deep in his trouser pocket. Stopping in front of Blue, the
minor hovered a laser knife at his damp neck. “Take out your TalkMe and
transfer eight hundred credits to username Jak113,” he hissed. His low voice
trembled only once. When Blue didn’t react, he hardened. “Do it now.”

Blue shook his head weakly, dragging in another
rasping breath. He made a shooing motion with his hand, giving the boy a chance
to flee.

The minor hesitated before stepping closer. The
knife burned a strip of Blue’s top. “Are you dumb. I’ll cut you.”

Blue groaned. He moved and in a blur of bodies, the
minor was pressed against the wall, the knife falling from lax fingertips.
Blue’s hand darted into his pocket and pulled out his emergency syringe. He
stabbed the needle into the minor’s jugular vein before pulling the plunger.