Strong Enough 4.6

Shot Caller 4.6

Bravado covers a multitude of fears, especially those a man can’t even speak to himself.

Aaron Lombard isn’t afraid.

He watches the ‘Saka bitch who hacked his car—his car—for any sign that she’s afraid, and she must be, overstepping like this. The pause, noticeable, the twitch when Aaron calls out Yorinobu Arasaka by name proves it. The emperor’s little brat doesn’t deserve respect if he gets so upset over a little whore that Aaron isn’t even on the way to see.

Aaron opens his mouth again, corners pulling into a lazy smirk. The thrill running down his back is adrenalin, not fear, not as his car’s steering wheel continues to spin. Lesser men feel fear.

Then before he can speak, the face on his screen interrupts him. “Would you like a meeting, Mr. Lombard?” She raises an eyebrow, like she has the right to look down on him. A joke. “That can be arranged, with your cooperation.”

That only further confirms that this is about Parker. He laughs. “Imagine being so desperate for a whore. Listen, girl, if your boss wants my cooperation, you can start by getting your runner out of my car and sending me a gift basket, with a nice side of Arasaka runway models to keep me company.”

 Aaron stops looking at the holo display. He starts composing an email to his law firm to slap Arasaka with half a dozen lawsuits for intimidation, false imprisonment, and on. It will probably net a cool half mil when the settle.

Then the ContIntel spook laughs in his face.

Aaron pauses, looking back at the screen. She smirks, red eyes glinting, and once again Aaron feels a tremble of not fear run down his back. Anger, with surprise along with it. Intelligence types don’t laugh. The company surgically removes the sense of humor to make space for the rod up their asses.

For a moment he begins to doubt. It percolates in the back of his mind, threatening to rise to the surface. He abandons his half-drafted email, going back to the woman in the holo display. Her hair and makeup are professional, implants, tastefully minimal, heavy use of regenerative treatments to appear like a young girl. His eyebrows furrow.

But—

Then she says. “You think this is about your little doll?” She asks. “Truly, the dossier didn’t do you justice.”

Aaron pauses, eyes narrowing, but she gives away nothing. Waiting passively.

Meanwhile, the car continues to drive.

Aaron huffs. “Enough stupid games. Of course this is about—”

“Would you prefer a meeting with her instead?” The woman waves a hand. “What was her name? I don’t keep track of much used prostitutes.”

“Your insistence isn’t doing any favors.” He glares at the hologram. “I’m feeling less cooperative already.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” She turns to the side. “Send a request through a neutral third party. That old woman, in Westbrook.”

Someone off-camera murmurs an assent, so quiet he barely hears it.

Aaron has only hired mercenaries a time or two but even he knows who that is. His surprise slips into a quiet unease when Wakako Okada joins the call immediately.

“You have inquiries about a doll from Clouds?” Her voice is unmistakable, though that doesn’t eliminate the chance that this is a fake.

“Go ahead and describe the girl, one of the more popular ones, wasn’t it?” The red-eyed woman says. “Of course, for the expense…”

Aaron snorts in disbelief. They hired a team to crack his car’s ICE suite, but shelling out an extra twenty k is too much. Arasaka at its finest. “…That won’t be necessary.”

Wakako’s response puts the last of his doubts to rest. “I do not appreciate having my time wasted.” Only the Lady of Westbrook would be so bold with Arasaka.

“A courtesy fee will be transferred,” the red eyed woman says. A beep sounds from Wakako being dropped from the call. At once, all of the congeniality vanishes from the agent’s face. That’s the counter intel that Lombard has seen before.

“Now then, Mr. Lombard,” she continues. “If you are willing to dispense with your pretense, perhaps we can come to an equitable agreement for both parties.”

He shifts, leaning back in his chair as he digests the fact that this isn’t about Evelyn Parker. Or rather, not only about her. That rat bastard Yorinobu probably made sure their little spat was in his file. It eats at him, having to bow his head to a man he’s never even met. Disgusting. Still, that’s a problem for tomorrow, right now, he’s still in the middle of his car that’s been illegally hijacked by Arasaka because they want to talk to him.

“Sure.” He says. “Return control of my vehicle and send a request to my law firm. Oh, and an inconvenience fee, since they’re on sale.”

“Oh, Mr. Lombard. You’re aware that isn’t an option at this juncture.”

His grip tightens on the arm rest. What have they dug up on him and why? Arasaka doesn’t even have a fuel division, so perhaps he’s been a little less discrete in their city, but surely they wouldn’t go to these lengths over illegal sales to the Raffen. Good business, he’d been in such a good mood he’d almost considered paying taxes on the sale.

But if it’s not that then? There are a few projects in his purview, but nothing that should have drawn this level of response, unless.

“Let me guess, this is about Tanaka.”

“Your penchant of referring to board members of The Company by their first names is noted,” she replies.

“Ha!” He leans back in the car. “So, what, this is a sting? You can’t keep your own board members under control so you need corroborating evidence from outside the company? I’m afraid you’ve overplayed your hand, little girl.”

She raises an eyebrow, red eyes flashing. “Have I?”

“You need my cooperation, girl, you should have come here with credit chips in hand and got down on your knees. Maybe, maybe I would have played along with your little op. Instead, you made me angry, and so it’s going to cost you.”

“Is it?”

“Oh it is. First off it’s going to cost you.”

“How much?”

Aaron grins. “Five million, plus expenses.”

She scoffs. “That’s all? How magnanimous.”

“Don’t get me started.” He leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “I’ll also need a new car, Caliburn of course. One of the most recent models. Oh, and a personal apology from Arasaka, so I can frame it.”

“Of course.” Her face remains placid. “And for all of that you’d be available to meet? No wonder your calendar is so full.”

“For that, we can meet later. Just drop me off at Clouds.” He waves a hand. “I don’t answer to you, and since my calendar is so full, I won’t have time until next month, if the gift basket lives up to my expectations.”

“An amusing set of terms.” She tilts her head, company logo flashing on her hairpiece. “Allow me to make a counter offer.”

Aaron laughs. “You don’t get a counter offer.”

“I assure you, we do not see it that way.”

“You do and you will,” he replies. “If you don’t agree to my ask, I’ll call up five different security companies and three different law firms, and you’ll be in front of a firing squad faster than you can let your hair down.”

“Why don’t you do that,” she says.

“Please. I don’t know how you cracked my car, but there are no cameras. I’m not some idiot off the street who leaves all my ports open.”

“I insist.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “My price just went up.” He sends the call. It connects. “This is Aaron, get a team here, you have my location.”

The woman’s voice comes through his ears. “Rest assured, Mr. Lombard, we do.”

He sits up. “What?”

“Please allow me to state my counter offer.” The call cuts out. So do his eyes. He jerks in utter darkness, hands smacking against the window and the dashboard.

The car accelerates.

“What!”

The woman doesn’t reply, he can’t even see if she’s still on the call. His hands grab desperately for the steering wheel, while one dress shoe gets caught beneath the brake before he can jam it to the floor.

The car accelerates. The wheel doesn’t move, but his head smacks against the window as the Caliburn weaves around traffic that he can’t see. It darts left and right, autonomous systems overriding the manual controls in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

“Wait!” Aaron slams his foot against the brake again and again. “You need me!”

“We are open to other avenues of conflict resolution.”

The car accelerates.

The wheel starts to jiggle back and forth in his grip, like it’s laughing at him. Aaron’s heart pounds in his chest. He can’t breathe.

He’s not—

The car accelerates. The tires hit a pothole but all Aaron can feel is a moment of utter weightlessness, and he almost bites through his lip.

Aaron swears. “Okay, okay! Fucking—Today then, we can meet today, if you want it so bad!”

The car slows. His optics flicker back on a few moments later. He slumps back in the seat as his Caliburn takes an exit; he doesn’t even check which road.

“You’ll find we want this quite badly,” the woman says. She still flickers in the holo display, face still placid and unamused. “How kind of you to agree to our requests. I’m sure we can come to a reasonable middle ground for your cooperation. One million.”

“Fine.” He clenches his teeth. His bargaining position weakens after they have him where they want him, anyway.

The woman smiles, expressive lips pulling into a killing smirk that seems to stretch all the way to her ear. “How excellent. We’ll see you soon, Mr. Lombard.” The hologram winks out, but his car continues to drive.

Aaron sighs, slumping back. One hand comes up to rub at his chest.

The attack galls, it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. To distract himself from it, he starts planning how he’ll get revenge for the indignity. Counter Intel itself will be a hard target, but maybe they’ll expose certain assets to him. He can use his connections with the nomad clans. The Raffen Shiv are dangerous partners but they’re eager enough to sow carnage, especially if someone else foots the bill.

His thoughts haven’t moved past half filled out revenge fantasies, most of which involve that red-eyed bitch on her knees in front of him. He’s still not sure whether it will be more satisfying to feed her his cock or the head of a Militech brand revolver, but right now he’s leaning towards both.

The car pulls into an abandoned lot next to a small warehouse, so far into the industrial sector that it avoided Arasaka’s retribution on Maelstrom. The red eyed bitch stands in the open garage of a warehouse, hands folded behind her back alongside another woman. No security personnel. Aaron almost goes for his gun, before thinking better of it.

There will be time for that after, from a more advantageous position.  

His car pulls into the garage, which slides soundlessly shut behind him. Darkness fills the warehouse, only the Caliburn’s high beams providing illumination. In the dark, the woman’s red eyes glow

The other spook, with red hair and a matching blazer, steps forward and opens the door for him. Aaron fucking hates Arasaka. He barely gives the woman a second glance. A bad cop and a honey pot? He spits on the floor.

“Out of conference rooms?” He asked.

Red-eyed bitch waves a hand, and a modded up joytoy flounces over. “I took the liberty of ordering refreshments, if you need a moment, Mr. Lombard.”

He sneers. An overmodded little brat-looking sexroid? Her presence alone is an insult to his sensibilities. “I think—”

The joytoy pulls out a gun and shoots him in the chest.

Aaron gasps, eyes snapping down to a chemical dart lodged in the middle of his chest. He slumps, strength abandoning his limbs. The red-eyed bitch catches him before he hits the floor.

“Careful,” she’s not talking to him. “Wire.”

She holds up a hand, and the second spook gives her a pair of cables.

She leans down over him as his vision fades, plugging the cables into his ports.

The last thing Aaron Lombard feels is fear.

*

[Select Messages To/From Taylor Hebert]

[To All]: He knows Yorinobu Arasaka? Someone tell me this guy hasn’t actually met with anyone that important. Get me the dossier now.

[To All]: Lucy, be ready to crash him on my word. Where are cameras? We need to stop him from calling.

[From Sasha]: Nothing on Yorinobu. Scanning.

[To All]:    Then what is he talking about? Today pls!

[From Lucy]:  Love to put this guy through a wall.

[From Becca]: It’s the girl, Scar. That one he was beefing with Yorinobu about.

[To All]: What?

[To All]: Real?

[To All]: Sasha confirm he’s never met Yorinobu.

[From Sasha]: Not that I can find

[From Emma]: How are you texting so fast on conference call

[To Emma]: Forget that, Call Wakako. Tell her we need to borrow a girl from clouds

[To Emma]: Short Notice, private showing.

[To Emma]: Patch her into the conference call.

[From Lucy]: There’s a spot with cameras coming up. Marked

[To Lucy]: Take his optics and block his calls

[From Lucy]: Sure that’s all?

[To Lucy]: I’ll handle the rest

. .

[To Wakako Okada]: Apologies for leaning on your reputation. The client didn’t believe we had the ability to get the things he needed.

..

[From Lucy]: Cameras up

[To Lucy]: Scramble Him

[To Becca]: Be ready with the gun, we’re bringing him home.

[From Lucy]: Took him out

[To All]: We have him.

[To All]: job is go. Get ready for extraction

[From Becca]: Ready to go, Boss!

[To All]: We’re pulling in now. Lombard will be here in five.

. .

[From Wakako Okada]: I do not appreciate being made a prop for the business of others.

[From Wakako Okada]: You will come and make restitution in person. Ensure your calendar is clear.

*

Emma stares worriedly at her once-and-future best friend.

Taylor stands over Aaron Lombard’s drugged out form, arms crossed. It took some work to get an anesthetic that wouldn’t trigger Aaron’s Biomon, but David came through on that again. He’s not a chemist, but he knows a little about a lot, and makes connections fast enough to keep up. Sometimes, that’s all the crew needs.

Emma isn’t thinking about that, except perhaps distantly. Instead, her worries turn back to Taylor. She doesn’t say anything. Emma also knows how to read her friend, and Taylor isn’t listening.

Lucy sits in a tub filled with water, a build your own cooling suit. Her head lolls forward, chin just above the water line. The girl has a deep dive port, high bandwidth cable allowing her to project her entire consciousness into Lombard’s cyberware. With Sasha on overwatch and their target in dreamland, all that remains is the waiting.

Lucy’s eyes snap open a minute later. “Got it.”

Taylor lets out a breath. “All of it?”

The runner nods, groaning as she climbs out of the water. For a second, it looks like she’ll bat away Taylor’s waiting hand, only to take it a second later. Becca rolls up with a towel.

“Thanks.” Lucy drapes the fabric over her shoulders. “Transferring the files now. He had a cranial archive; idiot couldn’t be bothered to remember his own passwords.”

Emma jolts as a short-range data dump pings her optics. She takes it all: passwords, clearances, everything she needs to transfer the ownership of Lombard’s apartment complex and drain his private accounts besides.

“Emma, Sasha, finish up.” Taylor shakes out her arms. “Everyone else, cleanup. Like we’ve never been.”

The crew springs into action. Emma pulls out a small data pad, connects it to her ports, and with the data they just acquired, begins to fill out the transfer forms they had prepped since the third day. With Sasha’s help, they route the authorizations and files and transfers and all the other digital paperwork through a laundry list of proxies, all of which just happen to brush against Arasaka’s netspace just a little bit more often that truly random.

A little intrusive thought comes to her, during it all, that even with Sasha looking over her shoulder, Emma could expose this job. To be fair, any one of them could expose the job. Emma worries about that more.

She pushes both thoughts aside.

The rest of the crew has proved themselves more than she has, they all have a deep and personal interest in success. Emma is the only one with options, the only one with a way out. She doesn’t take it.

She can’t.

Not out of fear, though this crew has enough grit that one of them would surely track her down and shoot her like a dog. Not out of self-interest either, though the old Emma would have crowed at having swiped her own apartment block during the largest rent increase in living memory.

No.

She stays because when she looks up, she can see Taylor idly spinning a gun over her fingers.

The pistol is new, scavenged from some dead man just for this job. A shitty piece of plastic and metal that’s only been stolen and never sold. It flies across Taylor’s fingers in a blur, like a living thing, deadly in her hands.

Taylor has never worried about how dangerous something is. How a loaded gun might go off in her fingers. Instead, she dives in, with finesse and alacrity that leave the outside world spinning in her grip. Even Emma couldn’t stand in her way, in the end. This time Emma will stand at her back and wait for Taylor to get in over her head.

Someone must.