1.
Resisting the temptation to look at his watch, Theogene Guidry leaned against his chosen wall and keyed on the enhancements he had recently done to his eyes. He knew, or at least believed, that the look on his face would give off a stalwart and patient atmosphere, though he knew a dwarf in an expensive suit would stand out regardless. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he was a little nervous. The plane had been delayed and he had been standing in this one spot for twenty minutes.
A soft whirring sound echoed in his head, and his sight changed from a normal vision to a green overlay with markers appearing over every object he focused on. As he gave the item more attention, range and possible identifiers came into his field of vision. It was a new feature for the cybernetic enhancements; syncing his eyes with the databank he had installed in his head to give him a constant upload of data. It made great work for identifying possible suspects or targets of interest.
It’ll also help you spot Wallace, Theogene thought to himself. He knew why he had been sent out to the Louis Armstrong Airport: he was the newest agent for the local office. The new guys always got the grunt work, and sometimes that meant pickup guy. At least the assignment was going to be interesting: Andrew Wallace was famous within the Department of Domestic Investigations. Theogene could not think of anybody else within the Confederated American States government with a file as substantial as this guy. He wanted to make a good impression for Wallace, so he stood there, eyeing the terminal, waiting.
The plane had landed during his musing, and Theogene could see the people disembarking. His keyed his eyes to zoom and focus on each face, pulling up data as he did. As most people within CAS were upstanding citizens, he did not have data on them, though he spotted one that had an upcoming court date in New Orleans, which Theogene suspected was the reason for the flight.
Out of the milling crowds of travelers walked a human man who, upon focusing, Theogene noticed something interesting. When he looked at the face, his display came up with the CAS DDI logo and the disclaimer ‘Classified’. Theogene paused at that; he did not know that could happen.
“Trying to identify me?” the man asked. Theogene realized that he had approached the dwarf and was smiling down at him. His suit was rumpled, his stubble was growing in, and there were bags under his eyes. He pushed a hand through unkempt hair and blew out a breath in what sounded like exhaustion, for all that he had moved maybe fifty feet.
“Cyber-eyes, right?” the man asked. “You’ve got the tell-tale scarring around the temple, though it’s top-notch work. Don’t worry about the missing data; we’re routinely scrubbed from the network; in case someone ever gets the idea to return the favor. Agent Wallace, at your service.” He held out his hand, which Theogene shook.
“Agent Guidry, at yours,” Theogene said. He gestured to the exit. “Shall we go, then, Agent?”
“Yeah, sure,” Wallace said flippantly, falling into step with Theogene. “I take it you’re the new guy.”
Theogene raised an eyebrow at the man. “How’d you guess that?”
“Because when I was a new agent,” Wallace said, “I was the one sent out to pick up,” and here he made quotation marks with his fingers, “important people. It’s one the things that the new guy is always put through. I actually learned a lot from the old-timers I gave a lift to, so maybe there’s something more smart than snob to it. Wanna know how else I spotted your lack of seniority?”
“Eh, yeah, sure,” Theogene said. They had walked over to the baggage claim area.
“Two things,” Wallace said. “One, you’re walking around like you’ve a pole shoved up your ass. Though I will admit, you might just have better posture than me, so who am I to be a judge of that? For two, your suit.”
Theogene felt himself reflexively drop his shoulders at the first remark, but the second made him raise his eyebrow again. “My suit?” he asked.
“Yup,” Wallace said. Without even glancing, he reached down and plucked a small suitcase off the conveyer belt, hoisting it over his shoulder and continuing his walk without losing a stride. “That’s a Blue Line, right?”
Theogene felt self-conscious before he realized that Wallace might actually be complimenting him. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Great company for suits,” Wallace said. “They make a good fit for just about any occasion. But they’re easy to recognize, and if you know what to look for, you can spot it and compare the cost against the salary. That’s your best suit, I bet. Wanna know where I got this one?” He grabbed the lining of his blazer as if to present it to a crowd of admirers. “Found it at a thrift store in Atlanta. It cost me less than a hundred dollars, and I can look like a regular shmuck, or maybe somebody hopeful about an upcoming job interview, when I’m out in the field. Respectable, but forgettable. That, and I don’t worry about scuffing it up if I have to chase a perp.”
“Huh,” Theogene said, mulling it over. People were making sure to make room for them as they exited the airport and headed for the parking lot. “You’re saying everyone here knows that I might be important.”
“That,” Wallace said, holding up an admonishing finger, “or that you might be escorting someone important. Don’t worry,” he said when he saw Theogene purse his lips through his beard, “nobody over here knows I’m on the move, especially not our targets. I put in a lot of work to make it look like, on paper at least, that I was heading into UCAS territory for a joint operation in Seattle.”
Theogene tried to take this for what it was, a statement to relax a colleague, but he only felt the iron bar in his shoulders leave when he put the car in ‘drive’ and programmed it to take them to headquarters. The car, pulling data from the city grid, pulled into traffic smoothly, and they were cruising on Interstate 10 within minutes.
“We’ll be at headquarters within twenty minutes, Agent Wallace,” Theogene said, eyeing the data over his display link. “Unless you’d like to check in at your hotel. The information here says you were already checked in this morning under your alias.”
“Neither, actually,” Wallace said. “I want to hear about this case from you.”
Theogene looked into the back of the vehicle to see Wallace smiling at him. “Me, sir?” he asked.
“Dam straight,” Wallace said, nodding. “You’re the new guy, but you’re also a local. I’m betting you’d have a pretty good take on the case.”
Theogene nodded, accepting the compliment, and keyed the car to ‘autopilot’ to head to the station. Just in case.
“Y’all’ve been looking into Illfort for what, three years?” Wallace asked.
“About that, yeah,” Theogene said, pulling up a keyboard and punching in a command to weave through the traffic. “He’s been on our radar, but we’ve never been able to pin him down.”
“Because he’s both one of the best,” Wallace said, sighing through the comment, “and he’s one of the easiest demons for you.”
“Eh, sir,” Theogene said, feeling his metaphorical hackles rise. “We’ve taken one our fair share over the years. You wouldn’t believe what we’ve faced in the Crescent City.”
“I had heard about that nosferatu, Lestrade,” Wallace said. “It took you four times to actually kill him. That’s nothing to sneeze at, and neither is Illfort, but he’s a lower rung than what I’ve dealt with. He hasn’t made the mistake we’d hope for, so we can’t just go in and bag him. He actually does pay his taxes and keeps up with his licenses. But he’s getting people together soon, and that warrants some special attention, for all that he’s hiding it behind some big publicity stunt.”
“That ‘Grand Ball’ he talked about in the Feeds?” Theogene asked. “I know that the higher-ups are trying to plan around it, but it’s become too hot for them to approach.”
“Let me guess,” Wallace said, and Theogene could hear the strained patience. “The last agent that had approached this case in the field had died mysteriously, right?”
“Oh,” Theogene stammered out. “Well, yeah. Agent Nuri had gone in a few weeks ago, when the Grand Ball was announced. We were hoping to find enough preliminary evidence to start digging, but she died three days after she went into the field.”
“Let me guess,” Wallace said, sighing. “Traffic accident?”
“Yes, sir,” Theogene said. “She was one of those folks with a rig set up…”
“Rigger, Theo,” Wallace said dismissively. “Rigger. Learn the lingo if you want to get far in the field.”
“Right, rigger,” Theogene said. “Well, she was hooked into her vehicle and got blind-sided by a semi on the interstate. Careless driving, from what we could see. The guy fell asleep at the wheel. She died instantly.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t think to check the semi driver for tranquilizers,” Wallace said.
Theogene turned around in his seat to look at Wallace. “Tranquilizers?”
“Yup,” Wallace said. He tapped at a side of his neck. “Micro-dart, fired at range. Feels like a bug sting but isn’t painful enough to call attention. A delayed-release sedative in his blood, take about five minutes to hit, suddenly the driver is sleepy. It’s a favored tactic of Illfort’s to make good accidents, but it works only if no one actively looks for that sort of thing.”
“Son of a bitch,” Theogene said. The car had taken the exit for the station, pulling down into the town proper. “No, we didn’t look for that. We did test his corpse for drug use but found nothing.”
“TenNap-12,” Wallace said, nodding with a chagrined grin on his face. “It works its magic and burns out in the blood stream, causing some damage against the vessel walls. Looks like your normal blood vessel damage from things like smoking or stress.”
Theogene shook his head, feeling some shame for his forensic partners, by proxy. “So, what do we do?” he asked.
“Turn for the hotel,” Wallace said, pointing at an upcoming intersection. “It’s not far from the office, and there’s a little diner I want to check out. You’ve a jack, yeah?”
“Of course,” Theogene said, tapping at the spot on his skull that had been given the cybernetic upgrade: a tiny hole ringed with metal.
“We’ll get the data from the case downloaded and go over the notes,” Wallace said, “and we’ll do it over some pancakes. Until then, we wait for an opportunity to arise. Illfort is bound to have something going on that we can use for a window. New Orleans is a big city: somebody’s gotta have something that’ll make him want it so bad he makes a mistake.”
Theogene nodded at this and signaled for a right turn, heading towards the hotel and this possible diner, noting the rain drops hitting the windshield. There was a storm coming.
Justin Charmouth clutched at his bleeding shoulder and took a moment to catch his breath. The rain had started falling more heavily in the past hour, but maybe the rain would help him, somehow. The men chasing him were not using scent hounds, but he didn’t know if they had something back there that could track him astrally.
Can rain stop an astral scent? The thought went through his mind with the speed of adrenaline. Justin always thought of crazy things when he was under stress, and this moment was a perfect example of the stupidity. Pulling up the hood of his jacket, he crouched down into the brush and continued his ‘escape’.
“Was that everyone?” a melodic voice asked into the air. Justin stopped, hoping the brambles would hide him long enough for him to get a look at whoever was talking.
“I think so, sir,” another voice sounded, gruff and rougher than the first. Justin recognized it as the voice of the guy who gave the order. With a wince of pain, he pushed further into the brambles. There was a vacant lot nearby that was a spot of wild magic, encouraging growth of the weeds and vines to an epic level; he’d be able to hide in there, maybe. Hopefully.
“There was the boy,” the melodic voice said. “He’s not with the rest. Have you accounted for him yet?”
“No, sir,” the gruff voice answered. “I know he was wounded in the attack, but he jumped out of a window before he could be grabbed. He’s probably on the grounds right now.”
“Search the grounds, then,” said the melodic voice, somewhat annoyed. “You four, go inside and secure the objective. If you can’t crack it here, haul it up. We’ll get it open in the vault. We have better folks for that than out here.”
There were grunts of affirmation, but they were muffled by the rain. Justin pushed further into the brambles, trusting the wild magic spot to hide his astral signature, or at least he hoped it would do so. He was no magician and did not know the oddities of power that had afflicted New Orleans since the Awakening. But it was also his only option for survival, so he took what he could get.
Much later, while Justin sat in the rain and overgrowth, he could hear the sounds of a heavy object being dragged over concrete. There were grunts of exertion along with each movement, and a loud chuckle from the melodic voice.
The pain in his shoulder flared into his awareness again, and Justin knew: he could not stay here. He checked his pockets and his surroundings. The pressure of his cell phone against his hand gave his reassurance, but it was short-lived when he pulled it from his pocket. A bullet had grazed it, and the multiple falls onto his side had not helped his situation. He felt his other pocket and smiled: he still had his pager. Pulling it from his pocket, he keyed the voice-recognition software to track his movements and to send a message.
Junker, the message read. I need your help. Track this pager and call the nearest payphone.
That message sent, Justin ambled through the twisting brambles of the wild magic zone, feeling comfort only when his feet struck upon pavement again. The rain had lowered the walking population, but it had also helped him hide from his killers. They only got one bullet into him today; he;s work to make sure it was the last.
An open convenience store came into view. Justin knew he was staggering as he pushed against the door and nodded at the counter worker. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed, thinking about the gang documentaries he had watched. The man, an Ork as Justin realized, nodded and moved his arm away from the counter, or possibly the shotgun under the counter. It was a few minutes before a ringing sound resonated through the air, from a payphone just outside the store.
“I’ll buy something,” Justin said to the counter worker, “but let me take this call.”
The Ork nodded, and Justin shambled outside. Picking up the receiver, he grunted.
“Junker.”
“Whatcha got for me?” said the voice on the other line.
“They took everything, man,” Justin said. “They shot my folks and family, tried to kill me. I got lucky and fell down the chute. But they took everything.”
“Woah, slow down,” Junker said. “Tell me what happened, and tell me what you need.”
“I’ll explain what happened,” Justin said. “But that’ll take a while. Call in a team. I want my safe back.”
“I know just the guy,’ was the response.
Swift's Corner 