Mute, Hwa nodded.
The coil around her neck squeezed softly. Right where the sole survivor of the Old Rig had squeezed. “You want to share our future with us, don’t you? With Joel? And Daniel?”
She shut her eyes. “Yes.”
Now the pressure was definite. She fought to take deep breaths. “We’ve invited you deep into our world. Deeper than we’ve allowed outsiders. This is a family business, Miss Go, and you are not family.”
“I know that.”
“But you are valuable, in your own way. Unique. Rare. I like rare things. I like having the best. Are you the best?”
He could squeeze the life out of her, right here and right now. “Goddamn right I am,” she choked out.
The tubing slipped away from her neck. Air rushed into her lungs. “Then I think you should go back to Joel’s room, don’t you?”
She was out of the room before she could agree. When she entered, Joel rolled over and his eyes blinked open. He sat up. “Where’s all the blood?” he asked.
“Eh?”
“He shot you. There should be blood.”
Hwa frowned. She waved a hand in front of Joel’s face. His eyes didn’t track the movement. They leaked sudden tears. Hwa wiped them away carefully. She felt something inside realign itself, like a joint popping back into place. “You’re still asleep,” she said gently. “Lie back down.”
Joel did so, but his body remained stiff and his eyes stayed open. Hwa tested his forehead with the backs of her fingers. No fever. She sat beside him on the bed. “Close your eyes.”
“He shot you. I saw it.”
“You’re dreaming, Joel. I’m right here. I’m fine.” She reached over and pushed a hand through his hair. Joel’s eyes closed. His body went slack. She scratched her fingers across his scalp. Under her nails, she felt the scars where his implants had gone in. “I’m alive. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”
12
Aviation/Metabolist
“So,” Hwa said. “You’ve done some succubus play, right?”
The Aviation was alive with jazz. Violet light streamed across the black-and-white chequered floor. In the centre of the room, the bar rotated slowly. One revolution an hour. Hwa had counted three revolutions. She had lost track of how many bourbons that meant. Or which of the very specialized types she’d been drinking. Probably all of them.
Layne sipped her drink. “Sure, like once or twice. It’s super rare, though. Like it’s a thing they try once and don’t really go back to, unless they some like it. What are you at?”
“Where did you get the suit?” Hwa gestured at herself. “For being invisible.”
“Oh, my God. You don’t need to be invisible, Hwa. Get over yourself.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Hwa said, for the second time in as many days. “I don’t…” I don’t want to be invisible, she should have said, but the words were harder to get out than she expected.
“Besides, it’s fucking tough to rent that shit,” Layne said. “Like, it’s super regulated. Like worse than guns. Which is kind of sad. Background checks and everything. They’re woven with smart sensors; if you rent one, the person you rented it from knows where the suit is every minute.”
“Could you buy one?”
“Yeah, a shitty one. Not the good stuff. The military stuff costs.”
“But if I wanted to buy the military stuff.”
Layne looked at Hwa as though she were extremely stupid. “Then go to the Lynches! They have a whole Security branch, right? Don’t you work for them?”
“I’m in another department,” Hwa said. “I file reports to Security, but I’m a…” She struggled to find the right phrase. “Discretionary hire.”
“Well, if anybody has that stuff, it’s them. I even heard them joking about it. Or Eileen did. I think she’s the one what told me about it.”
Hwa said nothing. She’d tried to ping Eileen, just to talk, and had even tried to explain why she’d gone back to working for the Lynches, but nothing came of it. Eileen had written her off. Completely. And Layne knew it. Everyone knew it. And it was awkward and awful as hell.
“What else is going on at work?”
Oh, not much, they just blew up this town so they could build a star in the ruins.
“They’re making me go to Homecoming,” Hwa said. “With Joel. They’re sponsoring it.”
“Don’t look so sad! You can handle it. It’s just a dance.”
Layne looked sleepy. It was late. Her flapper costume was fading. She’d rented the look for only a few hours, and now her pearls flickered in Hwa’s specs.
“It’s the whole principle of the thing,” Hwa said. “I don’t dance. Sunny dances. I don’t dance.”
“Who is Sunny?”
“Never mind.”
“Do you mean your mom? Wasn’t your mom a dancer?”