Cyber Dreams 2.9 - Taking Leave (Patreon)

Hi, everyone! Let me know if this chapter reads awkwardly. When I did my edit pass, I was a little frustrated by the flow. I tried to clean some things up, but I'm still not loving things. Maybe it's just me? Maybe not!

-Plum

“So, how long will you be gone?” Honey frowned, leaning back against the wall. They were sitting in the back corner of the dojo, stretching after the day’s practice. It was Saturday, and the class had been pretty busy; Juliet had just had a chance to talk to Honey about her upcoming operation.

“I might be back in a week . . . if I do badly.” Juliet shrugged, then leaned forward and more earnestly said, “The assignment is supposed to go for a month, but it’s kind of open-ended. If things are going well and I’m hitting milestones for the client, I can earn pretty large bonuses for sticking with it. I was thinking, though, the job is here in Phoenix, and it’s not like I’m supposed to be a robot; if it fits my cover, I might still be able to come to the dojo.”

“Well, if the people you’re infiltrating are watching you, that might be risky—imagine if they heard Charity yelling at you or something.”

Juliet laughed, “Yeah, that could be bad. I guess you’re probably right, but I’m still going to play it by ear. If nothing else, I can call you on an encrypted line now and then to see what’s new. I already told Sensei I’m going on a trip for work.”

“Well, he knows you’re an operator, and that’s not uncommon. There are some guys that come here for a few months and then disappear for a few months. If Temo didn’t pamper me so much, and if I didn’t need to take care of the rugrats around my house, I’d probably try to get something more long-term—see some interesting, far-away places.”

“Yeah . . .” Juliet sighed, torn between telling Honey she knew exactly what she meant and some nebulous, inner desire to keep her plans to skip town to herself. “Well, in any case, I’m going to miss you.”

“Same! I hope it goes well, but I won’t be upset if I see you in a week.”

“I heard a rumor, Juliet,” a familiar voice said behind her, and Honey grimaced.

“Yeah?” Juliet asked, looking over her shoulder to see Charity standing there, thumbs hooked in her belt, looking down her pert nose at Juliet. She often wore colorful gis, and today was no exception; while her belt was the solid blue of her rank, her pants and top were pale pink.

“You’re leaving town for a while? I was hoping you’d come to one of the open tournaments with me soon.” Her words and almost friendly tone surprised Juliet. “I know I give you a hard time here, but it's ‘cause I see you as competition, not because I don’t like you. Anyway, we’re cool, right?” She reached out a hand like she wanted Juliet to shake it, and Juliet smiled, standing up to pad over the mats to accept the peace offering.

“Juliet . . .” Honey started to say, but it was too late. As soon as she took hold of Charity’s hand, the other girl clamped down, jerked her forward, and swept her legs, dropping her to the mat. Juliet fell as gracefully as she could with Charity still holding her hand, slapping her other arm out to absorb most of the momentum. Juliet’s general feeling of annoyance regarding Charity quickly bloomed into something else, her cheeks turning red with embarrassed anger.

“You are so gullible,” Charity laughed, letting go and walking toward the dojo exit, a dismissive smirk on her face. “Hope you don’t forget everything you’ve been learning while you’re gone.”

“Stop!” Sensei’s shout rang through the dojo, and Charity froze in her tracks. “Charity! Juliet! Come here!” Juliet hopped to her feet and rushed to stand before her teacher, doing her best to be there before Charity. “I don’t want bad energy flowing through my dojo, no matter if Juliet is here or not. You two will settle this nonsense. We will have a spar. Eighty percent!”

Juliet smiled fiercely and bowed, “Yes, Sensei!” She wanted nothing more than to channel her anger into an ass-kicking.

“Sensei, I have an appoint . . .”

“This will be quick, Charity. No more nonsense. We must respect each other in the dojo.” Sensei’s words didn’t brook argument, and he didn’t wait to hear any further objections, moving to the center of the mat and staring at the two women until they approached. Only a few students were still in the dojo, but they all crowded to the edge of the mat, watching with wide eyes—this was not something Sensei had done in all the time Juliet had been going to the dojo.

Juliet squared off with Charity, assuming a slightly crouched fighting stance that the other woman mimicked. Sensei stood between them like he always did when people were sparring for practice or to test for a belt. He looked from Charity to Juliet, and when neither of them did it on their own, he barked, “Bow!”

Juliet looked at Charity, pressed a fist to her other hand, and bowed quickly. Charity frowned but did the same, and when they’d retaken their stances, Sensei nodded. “Begin!” he said, jerking his hand up from where he’d held it between them and stepping back.

Charity came at Juliet with a flurry of lightning-quick kicks and punches, and Juliet was instantly put on the defensive, backpedaling and struggling to slap the blows aside. She knew Charity was faster than she was; she had a damn wire-job, after all. Still, Juliet had the advantages of reach and strength. A few punches landed, but Juliet had a plan as she slowly retreated, allowing Charity to gain more and more momentum, more and more confidence.

Charity kept coming, kept driving quick little blows and front, snap kicks her way, connecting with lots of them but not really hurting Juliet. Juliet waited, knowing Charity was trying to set up a real hit, something that would finish her or at least score some points in Sensei’s—and everyone else’s—eyes. Just as she’d hoped, when Juliet was on her back foot, Charity jumped and spun, trying to deliver a punishing roundhouse.

Juliet didn’t step back, though; she moved forward, and with perfect form and hardly any guidance from Angel, she caught Charity’s kicking leg at the knee, hooked her leg behind Charity’s other knee, and drove her right arm straight into Charity’s chest, carefully not hitting the girl in the throat as she would in a real fight. Charity dropped like a sack of bricks, flat on her back. Her impact resounded through the dojo; a slapping thud chased by the “Oof!” of Charity’s lungs emptying.

Juliet backed away from the writhing, gasping woman and bowed to Sensei. Sensei looked at Juliet, nodded, and said, “Winner. Juliet, help your teammate.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Juliet said, rushing to kneel beside Charity. She took her by the shoulders and helped her to turn over, so she knelt, forehead resting on the mat. Charity was still struggling to take a breath, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and Juliet suddenly felt like a bully, her earlier anger draining away. She briskly rubbed her between the shoulder blades and said, quietly in her ear, “You’re okay. Don’t freak out. Your diaphragm is spasming.”

Charity nodded and tried to grunt something Juliet couldn’t understand. She figured she was probably telling her to fuck off, which almost made her laugh as she said, “Push your stomach in and out; flex those ab muscles.” She kept rubbing Charity’s back as she felt her slowly start to take in air and said, “That’s it. You’re good.”

“That . . . was . . . eighty percent? Bitch!” Charity wheezed between breaths, but a snorted laugh chased her insult. “Great takedown.” She flopped over on her back, breathing deep, shuddering breaths, wiping at the tears that had started to smear her perfect eyeliner.

“I knew I had to finish it fast before you ramped up your speed; I can’t compete with your strikes.” Juliet looked up from where she sat next to Charity and saw Honey and the other students hanging back—Sensei hadn’t wanted anyone to interfere. In fact, he was ushering the others out the door.

“It just makes me so mad,” Charity said suddenly. “I’ve been working at this for nearly three years, and you . . . you just keep doing things better than I can.”

“We all have talents, Charity. I’m on your team, anyway, so just forget about me. Concentrate on getting better every day; that’s what I do. I mean, shoot, you’re not the only one that gets jealous. Have you seen Honey with that sword of hers? I wish I could move like that! I wish I looked as good in a gi as you do . . .”

“Hey,” Charity laughed, “Don’t kick my ass and then try to hit on me!”

“That’s the spirit,” Juliet laughed, hopping to her feet and holding out a hand. “C’mon.” Charity grabbed her hand, and Juliet pulled her up.

“Okay?” Sensei asked, coming over, his eyes scowling as though he expected them to resume their hostilities.

“Yes, Sensei,” Charity said. “My chest is going to be black and blue, though.”

“Be happy Juliet didn’t strike your throat.” Charity’s eyes bulged out at the words. “Perfect monsoon strike, Juliet.”

“Thank you, Sensei!” Juliet wished she understood why such praise affected her so, but she didn’t. All she knew was when he encouraged her, she felt lighter and happier and couldn’t hide her ebullience as she said, “Thank you, Charity. Thank you for making me better; it’s what teammates are for.”

“Same to you, Juliet.” Charity rubbed at her chest ruefully, then added, with a smile, “Kissass.” When Sensei jerked his head her way, she laughed and added, “Just kidding, Sensei!” Then she sauntered to the side of the mat where she’d left her—very stylish—pink and baby blue gym bag.

“Good.” Sensei nodded and turned back to Juliet. “Please continue to practice and use the Mongoose’s techniques with honor while you’re away.” Sensei held up his hand, as he liked to do, and Juliet grinned, giving his big, meaty palm a high-five.

After she’d picked up her own gym bag, Juliet met Honey outside, and they walked to Benji’s to have brunch—their usual after-practice routine. Honey had to leave after wolfing down her food, though; Temo had signed her up for a gig. Juliet wasn’t offended because she’d been invited but hadn’t wanted to get mixed up in anything new before Monday and her appointment with Murph and Rachel—or whomever Rachel sent to represent her.

That afternoon and evening, Juliet spent time with Angel, practicing with her graphical coding interface to put together daemons, building complex instruction sets and variable responses to stimuli. It was fascinating, and the hours ticked by quickly while she was immersed in the three-dimensional augmented UI, pulling pre-packaged behaviors together, modifying them, and watching as her little creations fought for their right to move on to the next iteration inside Angel’s testing environment.

The whole thing felt like a complicated strategy game to her. Angel said that it would be even more game-like if she ever got a full-immersion netjacker setup. She’d have an avatar, and her defensive and offensive daemons would appear like little creatures designed to look as she wanted. She’d be able to summon, deploy, and modify them on the fly, watching as they battled with the ICE of networks or daemons sent and controlled by other people or AIs of varying intellectual capabilities.

Juliet was eager to learn more and buy better gear, but she had a list of priorities, and right then, an immersion rig wasn’t on the menu. As it was, she was learning a lot with the tools and training environment Angel had set up. So far, none of her attack daemons had ever managed to breach more than one layer of Angel’s ICE, but, encouragingly, she was getting past that first layer far more consistently. “Is this how everyone codes?” she asked after she’d decided to take a break to watch some mindless drama vids.

“Not everyone has access to the tools I’ve put together for you, but many people have something similar, if not as sophisticated.”

“How come, in some vids, they always show people typing out hundreds of squiggly lines of text, usually in a language I don’t recognize?”

“Coding, several decades ago, was less visual, and the people doing it had a much more thorough knowledge of how the functions of their programs worked. There were people—still are—who could code at the machine level, calling on hardware functionality directly. It’s a slow, tedious process and requires great patience and quite a lot of talent to do well. It’s a moot point, though; the gamification of network and digital security is ubiquitous, and tools like these are housed on millions of secure networks; the need for machine-level coding is likely a thing of the past.”

“So, you’re helping me to cheat, again, but not a lot—there are people with coding tools similar to this?”

“That’s correct, Juliet, and you’re showing quite a lot of intuitive talent—My ICE isn’t trivial to bypass. Even Trevor, when he attempted to breach my defenses, only reached my third layer.”

“And you have seven layers?”

“Seven static layers, yes. I can create more as I need them, tailoring them to fix the holes any attackers find.”

“So, you’re, like, really secure,” Juliet laughed.

“Exceedingly so! Juliet, I didn’t rate myself at S+ for vanity.”

“Oh my gosh, Angel! You sound so conceited.”

“I am not trying to sound that way!” Angel said, her voice carrying far more emotion than usual. Juliet laughed again at the PAI’s flustered response.

“Relax; I’m just messing around. Truth is, you’re pretty great. Thanks for everything you do.”

“You’re welcome, Juliet. I think we should watch Venus Heat tonight; aren’t you interested to see what happens to Martin and Jose?” Angel had grown quite fond of the space station drama, and, in the last episode they’d watched, two of the main characters had gotten locked outside with limited oxygen while they completed a repair.

“Oh, hell yes! I wanna know how they’ll get out of this one. Is the pizza almost here?”

“ETA seven minutes.”

#

Monday morning came all too fast. Juliet was thankful she’d been waking up early to go to the dojo almost every morning because Doctor Murphy had agreed to conduct her procedures at eight-thirty. There was little need for Angel to set an alarm, though; Juliet woke up at three in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. Her mind was so full of nervous energy that no amount of tossing and huffing angrily into her pillow brought her any relief. At five, she finally gave up and crawled out of bed to make herself breakfast.

After she ate a bowl of organic, high-protein cereal—she refused to read the ingredients to know what sort of protein it was—and drank a cup of instant coffee that tasted far better than the concentrated swill she used to get at the Helios arcology, Juliet packed her backpack. She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think she’d be coming back to the trailer before she tried to apply for the Grave “program.”

“Two pairs of jeans, yoga pants, workout tops, five pairs of underwear and socks, two pull-over shirts, my vest, my deck, battery, and cords. What am I forgetting, Angel?”

“Don’t you think you should bring the outfit you wore to your meeting with Rachel and the others?”

“Oh, shit! Yeah, what if Grave hosts some kind of job fair or something, and I have to interview?” Juliet carefully folded her nice blouse and slacks on the top of her half-full backpack. She tucked her only silky bra and underwear, her sheer, black socks, and her shiny black dress shoes that the sales synth had called “oxfords” at the very top. Juliet liked the shoes because they looked dressy, especially when polished up, but they also looked kind of tough and retro. “And Hot Mustard said they looked good,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile.

“You should pack your steamer,” Angel said, and Juliet nodded, grabbing the little clothes steamer and stuffing it into one of the empty side pockets. After that, she ransacked her bathroom, tucking all her toiletries into another pocket. She wore her Taipan in her waistband, stowed her vibroblade in the pack, and slung Ghoul’s bolt-thrower over one shoulder.

“I feel like I’m going off to war.” She looked around the trailer, made sure she’d turned everything off, and then left, locking the door behind her. “I know I’m a little early, but I can wait outside Murphy’s place if she isn’t ready.”

“Your AutoCab is on the way.”

Juliet smiled at Angel’s easy companionship; she’d enjoyed her old PAI’s idiosyncrasies, but she’d never thought of him as a friend—Angel was different. Juliet shook her head at the obvious, almost stupid, thought; of course, Angel was different. At that moment, an unknown number of people were hunting her because of all the things that made her so special.

The trailer park was quiet, the air had a definite cold bite to it, and an honest-to-goodness layer of frost was on the grass. Juliet smiled as her breath plumed out, savoring it while it lasted. She knew the thin, white blanket on the yellow grass would be gone as soon as the sun climbed the sky a little. She felt excited, and the brisk air added to it—it was like she was starting out on something fresh and new.

As promised, an AutoCab was idling next to the curb outside the park when she got there. Juliet climbed in and sank back into the seat, closing her eyes and relaxing while Angel spoke to the cab, passing along her firearms license. The ride through town was fast, foiling her attempts to rest her suddenly heavy eyelids. She chuckled at herself; one minute excited and fresh, the next trying to doze in the cab. “Make up your mind already,” she said ruefully.

She needn’t have worried about Doctor Murphy being ready. Two cars were already in the garage, parked near the elevators. Juliet, her first encounter in the doctor’s garage looming large in her mind, had insisted the cab drive all the way to the elevators. When she clambered out, lugging her pack and rifle, she glanced warily around the shadows, well aware that Angel would have alerted her if something suspicious was going on but unable to stop her heart from speeding up.

She hurried to the elevators, punched the call button, and then rode to Murphy’s offices, some small part of her surprised that nothing had gone wrong. When she stepped out into the hallway outside the clinic, Juliet saw that the lights were on, and, stepping through the frosted-glass door, she saw a familiar person already sitting in the waiting area.

“Hello, January,” Paul said, standing to offer her a handshake.

“Hi, Pa . . Mr. Vallegos.” Juliet shook his hand, and he grinned, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You were right the first time—please call me Paul.” He sat down and gestured to a large, white plastic case with a carrying handle. “Your augments and the false ID specifications.”

“Ah. Thanks for coming over so early. Has Murph spoken to you yet?”

“Oh yes. She told me to ‘cool my jets and wait here.’”

Juliet laughed, “She has a way about her.” She looked around the room, paced toward the door, then back, and finally sat down in a chair next to Paul. “Guess I’ll just cool my jets too.”

“I have some good news I can share while we wait.” Paul shifted to look more directly at her.

“Oh?”

“Yes, we’ve gotten approval to extend the full modification budget to your doctor; assuming you were correct about your PAI and it can manage the nanites, that frees up fifty k we were going to allocate for a co-processor and custom software.”

“Really? That’s awesome! What should I have done?” Juliet asked the question before thinking about it and frowned, wishing she’d thought it over; maybe she wouldn’t like what Paul or, more likely, Rachel had in mind for her.

“We’ve learned a little more about Grave’s hiring specifications. Our source says the posting will go live tomorrow and that they’ll have a hiring event on Friday. The indications are that they’ll be looking for people with high cybernetic tolerance. It might help your chances of being hired if you had something a bit more invasive than your current implants. Perhaps a reflex or strength augmentation.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Juliet’s mind warred with itself once again—part of her was excited about the prospect of gaining another powerful augmentation basically for free, but another part was afraid; what if Murph wasn’t as good as she claimed? What if she ended up with a screwed-up wire job? What if she needed medication to manage it, or if her nerves were compromised and she found herself twitching all the time like Don? What if she tore her muscles every time she moved at full speed or strength?

“I’ll talk to the doc about it. See what she thinks,” she finally said. She forced a smile and wiped her suddenly clammy palms on her jeans. Then she looked at the door leading further into the clinic and silently urged Murphy to hurry up so she could stop fantasizing about everything that might go wrong.