Mae’s ruminations were interrupted when she reached her stop in the theater district. Here, the night was brilliant and alive, a far cry from sedated suburbia. Streetlamps and bright screens painted everything with flickering, colored light outside, chasing away the evening’s darkness. Even on a weeknight, this area stayed busy with theatergoers and those seeking nightlife in the many restaurants and clubs. Mae navigated through the crowds and crossed the street on a sky bridge a few blocks away, which led her to a bar whose window screen proclaimed that lavender martinis were on special tonight.
She had tried to act like she was conducting important business on her ego earlier, but really, she’d been arranging a bar meet-up. Her eyes easily adjusted as she entered the dark establishment, which had no overhead lights. All the illumination came from purple neon underneath the tables and bar’s edge. It cast a ghostly glow on the trendy customers as they sat at high glass-topped tables, chatting among themselves while also scoping out newcomers. It was one of those see-and-be-seen places. Watching the bartenders scurry and make drinks reminded her of Panama and the antiquated drink machine. They’d been popular in the RUNA once, but “real people” were in vogue now.
Val and Dag were already there, having taken over a table by the front window. They were in casual mode, jeans and T-shirts, which earned them a couple of disapproving looks from the more elegantly dressed patrons. At least they hadn’t worn their uniforms—which they did on occasion, simply to create a scene and disconcert those around them. The last time they’d done it, their waitress had been so intimidated that she’d dropped a tray of drinks—twice. Mae had felt obligated to leave a generous tip by way of apology.
Dag whistled when he saw her. “Look at you,” he said. “Going to the country club?”
“They wear dresses to country clubs,” chastised Val, as though she were some kind of expert. “Our girl looks more like she’s been giving boardroom presentations.”
“You’re both wrong.” Mae sat down and immediately brought up the table’s touch-screen menu and ordered a mojito without even checking out anything else.
“Well?” asked Val. Both she and Dag were watching Mae expectantly. They hadn’t seen her since the funeral. “Where have you been? Not in detainment, obviously. We thought maybe they’d lent you out to the police. Or had you giving tours of the military museum.”
“Well, that may be yet to come,” Mae said. “But this week I’ve been in the provinces.”
Her friends looked impressed. “You were in action already?” asked Dag.
Mae decided beating up those backwoods thugs didn’t really count as action. “I was, uh, running an errand in Panama.”
A waiter came by with her mojito, as well as another round for Val and Dag. They were only social drinking tonight, or else they would’ve had at least ten drinks in front of them. If you could take down several drinks within a couple of minutes, you could briefly keep ahead of the implant’s quick ability to metabolize alcohol. It achieved a very, very short-lived buzz that was usually over in ten minutes. Pr?torians called it “slamming the implant.”
Justin and Tessa’s presence in the RUNA wasn’t something that could be kept secret, so Mae gave them a quick—and extremely edited—rundown of her Panamanian adventures and glossed over the murders, simply saying she was working as Justin’s bodyguard. Judging from her friends’ faces, Mae wasn’t the only one who found those events bizarre.
“What the fuck did he do that was bad enough to get exiled?” asked Dag.
Val traced the rim of her glass, dark eyes lost in thought. “And yet apparently wasn’t bad enough to keep him from coming back.”
“They don’t tell me stuff like that,” Mae said, trying to act like it didn’t bother her. “I’m just the messenger.”
Dag brightened. “Still, a lot more exciting than monument duty. Not as honorable, of course.”
That caught Mae by surprise. “Monument duty? What are you watching?”
“The National Gardens,” Val said. She knocked back half her drink. Maybe she wasn’t slamming the implant, but she wasn’t really holding back either. Mae was tempted herself, after drinking that Panamanian swill.
“Both of you are in the gardens?” she asked. Her friends nodded together.
“There are a bunch of Scarlets there right now.” Val ticked them off on her fingers. “Whitetree, Mason, Chow, Makarova…”
“Lucky,” muttered Mae, not voicing what the others were thinking.