A sequel to the Gun Princess Royale series. Yanked off the streets of New Angeles by the tenebrous Pantheon organisation, and gifted with a deadly avatar known as a Diva, Nikola 'Sola' Raynar is a Lanfear - a huntress of Bloodliners and Wolvren. When she isn't hunting down the denizens of the night, she's busy finding ways to build up her nest egg for the day of her retirement from Pantheon. But when her rampant greed carries her a little too far, she finds herself in a mess that wasn't entirely of her own making. And things only get worse when the one who recruited her, the Goddess Aphrodite, decides to use Nikola to draw an enemy of Pantheon's out of the darkness and into the light.
I’ve seen her cut through a dozen Vamps in as many seconds.
But that’s not what’s scary about her.
Nor is it the fact that she looks just like the Girl Next Door.
To clarify, Anthea has that All-American cheerleader vibe from yesteryear before the country and the world swirled down the gurgling drain. She’s a tall, pretty, hot brunette with a sunny though cynical disposition, and at times she’s a little scatterbrained. Dress her up nicely in casual wear, you’d never think she was an inhuman, merciless monster.
She’s a perfect example of how looks can be deceiving.
But having said that, Anthea is little different from the rest of the Furies that we use to kill for Pantheon. As for her Meister, Nicola, she’s just as broken in the head as most of us Aventis. After all, to be able to kill without mercy or remorse can’t be a healthy mental sign for us.
That brings me to what frightens me the most – that killing doesn’t bother us.
Whatever Pantheon did to us when it turned us into Aventis may have removed any semblance of conscious, regret, or guilt associated with the act of taking a life.
And there’s nothing I can do about it other than to follow my own strict rules of engagement.
But I can’t help feeling hypocritical of my self-righteous code of conduct.
If there was any part of the city that screamed dystopia then this was it.
Rising high and wide, the greyish, megalithic buildings of downtown New Angeles blocked the morning sun and surrounding cityscape, standing like immense tombstones over the graveyard of old downtown L.A. Wider and larger at the base than they were at the top, each of them had a footprint the size of a city block, and they stood several thousand feet high, with tens of thousands of windows lining their exterior at almost every floor.
However, while they were austere and bleak on the outside, their insides were another story which made for a dichotomy of sorts.
For example, I ran through a floor of the building beside the station that was crowded with shoppers, retailers, workers, and outlets. The building happened to occupy most of the old fashion district which probably explained why its lowest floors resembled a factory outlet, and its lively, colorful ambience reminded me of the marketplace I frequented with Zenovia.
However, despite being indoors, the air was cleaner and far less foul.
I didn’t have time to admire the view.
With my awareness on hyperalert and running on a razor’s edge, I dashed between people, sidestepping and side-slipping past them on occasion, while avoiding a crash with every second or third step. At one point, to avoid a throng of shoppers, I took a shortcut through a store, and ran through a hologram of a pretty girl modelling something that I glimpsed as swimwear. I could have sworn she looked at me in terror as I cut a beeline through her body. I almost doubled-back just to see if I was wrong, but I knew better than to waste time I didn’t have.
I had to traverse to the opposite side of the building, then hurry over to the next one in twenty minutes if I was to arrive at Pops Hunter’s techno shop in time to pick up Speedy’s new part.
After dashing across a bridgeway connecting the two buildings, I continued my headlong run through the second megascraper, eventually rushing down several flights of escalators to the building’s lowest levels.
While the previous building was the reborn fashion district, this one was a haven of technology. But, I wasn’t headed upwards to where the reputable companies had their offices. I was headed down to where things were a little less savory.
For a few moments, I questioned whether I’d left the building because it seemed as though I’d plunged into a crowded street shrouded by night, and the only light around me came from a myriad collection of hologram banners, street signs, shop signs, and brightly lit sandwich boards planted outside a plethora of shop entrances. Music wafted out of the shop fronts, overlapping with announcements of special offers blasted out of speakers wirelessly hooked up to hand mikes and headsets worn by resellers plying their wares, competing with trundling advert-bots.
Truth be told, I was indeed outside the megascraper.
To be more accurate, I was under it.
The building didn’t have a solid foundation that rested on the ground like the vast majority high rises that filled in the New Angeles skyline. Instead, it stood over the street and city block on massive legs that formed numerous colonnades. Nestled in between them and beneath the belly of the building were dozens of smaller commercial dwellings, densely packed, two or three stories tall, most of them brightly lit in multicolored neon and holographic signage.
Having paused for a moment to get my bearings, I resumed running.
Weaving between the throng of people out on the street, I was careful not to push through them. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with an angry pedestrian. I’d already had several near collisions earlier and succeeded in fleeing from them. But now I was close to the finish line, and Pops Hunter’s shop was only a few hundred feet away.
I put the pedal-to-the-metal and floored it.
This was it – the final sprint to the finish line.
Hunter’s shop was located at an alley corner inside a stout, three storey building with cracked cladding and a water-stained façade. The ground floor was a tech shop, while the second floor housed a 24-hour CyWeb café, and the topmost floor had a photography studio.
Quickly changing direction for the entrance, my hiking boots skidded at first, then found purchase on the uneven sidewalk, helping me forward and through the doors that I pushed open with outstretched arms.
I crossed the threshold of Pops’ store just as the alarm on my phone rang out.
Muffled in a back pocket, it announced the countdown had reached zero.
Stumbling from exhaustion, I lost my footing, and landed on my chest on the hard, faded linoleum floor. A loud, pained grunt escaped my lips, and I lay gasping for air for a few seconds, before finding the strength to prop myself up on my elbows.
Peering up, I saw a number of male customers of various ages looking down at me.
Some expressed surprise, but most were not impressed with my dramatic entrance, and that included one dude that I was familiar with.
He was a young man in his mid-twenties, tall and lanky, dressed in black sportswear that included a sleeveless hoodie that exposed the dragoon tattoos blemishing his arms. With closely cropped hair and wearing swept back photochromatic sunglasses that turned clear indoors, he projected the air of a gangster or a low-ranking Triad thug.
Kneeling on the floor, I gave the gangster dude a thumbs up. “Safe.”
Pops Hunter stepped up to me, his white, faded Converse sneakers squeaking on the floor when he stopped sharply.
“Just barely,” he replied in a gruff, gravelly voice, before helping me up to my feet.
Rumor had it someone had poured something unpleasant down his throat a few years back, giving him his old man’s voice. Whether true or not, it hardly mattered to me, I just happened to think about it from time to time when we exchanged words.
“What do you mean, ‘barely’?” I protested. “I had a full minute to spare.”
He gave me a disappointed look, before turning around and striding down an aisle toward the rear of the shop.
“Come on,” he beckoned me with a curt wave.
After straightening my clothes, I followed in his wake, glancing at the aisle shelves brimming with a variety of electronic and photronic goods, before stepping into a back office.
Pops had left the door open, so I closed it behind me to afford us some extra privacy.
Folding my arms, I complained in a low voice. “You have a funny way of treating your VIP customers.”
“It’s because you’re a VIP customer that I gave you the extra thirty minutes.”
“Do you know how hard it is to get here in the morning crush?”
He waved a hand between us. “Come on—I know how fast you girls can move across the city. You’ve done it before.”
I pointed down at Nikola’s body. “Not like this. Nikki has to travel like the other city rats. Besides jumping between buildings during the day is not a good idea. It’s hard enough at night, which is why I need a better Canceller.”
Pops slumped down in a worn-out chair behind a cheap, plastic desk made to resemble mahogany wood. It was chipped and cracked, and quite possibly salvaged from a dumpster like most things in his office like the misshapen shelves and dented filing cabinets. I suspected he’d deliberately cultivated the room’s rundown appearance. By demonstrating a distinct lack of value, perhaps he was hoping to dissuade would-be thieves. There wasn’t anything remotely resembling a safe or even a footlocker to be seen.
In short, it was a dump.
I shook my head. “So it’s true what they say. You can take a man out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of a man.”
“Very funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was making a very obvious point about this place.”
Pops pointed in the direction of the store beyond his office. “I keep the good stuff out there.”
I stepped up to his dilapidated desk. “What about the good stuff you have for me?”
“Like what?”
I scowled at him. “My Canceller—remember?”
He nodded, then seemed thoughtful. “Getting that Canceller wasn’t easy.”
“You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“You’re not supposed to ask where I got it.”
I sighed. “You’re my best supplier, that’s why I’m asking.”
“Don’t make me sound like a dealer.”
“I’m just saying, if something happens to you, I lose my best source of high-tech gear.”
“You’re worried about me?”
I shrugged. “Who is else going to replace Speedy for me when I lose it?” I held up four fingers. “I almost lost Speedy the Fourth last night.”
“Almost?”
I rocked my head on my shoulders. “Well…it found its way back to me.” Then I chuckled morbidly. “Actually, it arrived before I did.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Huh?”
“I gave that bot a smart AI. It’s probably smarter than you.”
“That hurts!”
“It should hurt!” He pointed harshly at me. “Replacing a bot of Speedy’s caliber isn’t cheap.”
I raised a fist at him. “I should know! You charged me a fortune for that bot.”
He waved my fist aside. “As long as it knows where you’re going, it’ll meet up with you somehow.”
I folded my arms under Nicola’s breasts. “Well, last night it beat me to the finish line.”
“Maybe I should hang a basket underneath it.”
I started to think of alternatives to a basket, then quickly shook my head. “Can we discuss that later? For now, I just need my Canceller.”
Pops leaned back in his chair. “You have the cash?”
“How much are you charging me?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five bucks?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
I swallowed. “Twenty-five K’s?”
He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Do you have it?”
“Is that a VIP price?”
“Nope. No discount this time.”
I frowned at him. “Why not?”
With arms still folded, he tapped his chest. “Because I couldn’t get a discount.”
“And why not?”
“Because this thing was hard to source. Came up the Asia route. It’s replicated tech from the counterfeit fabricators down in Malaysia.”
“Replicated from what?”
“Military tech. Master Grade. This stuff is used by black ops when they need to lurk about the urban jungle. You can’t get the real deal here in the States unless you’re a legit outfit, but you can get the replicated stuff.”
“So it’s illegal here?”
Briefly unfolding his arms, Pops gave me an open-handed gesture. “Depends on who you ask.”
“How about the Attorney General of the USA?”
“Then that would be a Yes.” He leaned toward me. “But you’re not planning on getting caught, right?”
“What about you? Can it be traced back to you?”
He sat back and shrugged. “Everything can be traced back to somebody. Even if I use proxies—so don’t get caught or Speedy goes boom.”
I stared at him aghast. “You put a self-destruct into Speedy the Fourth?”
Pops grinned lopsided up at me. “Obviously.”
“You bastard. That bot was expensive.”
“Then take good care of it. Didn’t you just admit you almost lost it again. Why do you think I made this one smarter than you? So that it couldn’t get lost!”
I flinched guiltily, then inhaled loudly and dramatically. “Fine. My bad. I was having a bad night. It was hard to see out there. And then I kind of forgot about Speedy.”
“You forgot about your expensive bot?”
“I told you—I was having a bad night.”
Pops gave me a reproachful look, but then unexpectedly said, “I don’t get how Pantheon works.”
Wondering where he was going with that remark, I blithely muttered, “Yeah, me neither.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What was that?”
I smiled innocently back at him. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that Pantheon has that uber tech that creates those killer chicks out of nothing but smoke. Why can’t they give you an uber bot to go along with her?”
“Well, I’ve wondered that too. But so far, nobody’s stepped up to the plate to volunteer an explanation.” I shrugged lightly. “Maybe this is all the uber tech they have.”
Pops’ expression darkened. “That’s a scary thought.”
I closed my mouth and chose not to say anything while wholeheartedly agreeing with him.
However, Pops had more on his mind. “If that’s all they have, then they’ve been pulling the wool on the Juicers and Pups for a long time.” He wagged a finger between us. “But things have changed out there.”
“You mean how humans aren’t just throwing sticks and stones at each other anymore?”
“Your killer chicks are facing some serious competition out on the streets. The Juicers and Pups are outfitting themselves with some grade-A shit. Military skin-suits and skin-frames. Thermoptic capable. They can run through a brick wall and it won’t slow them down.”
That wasn’t true but I didn’t feel like correcting him.
Instead, I quipped, “Wow, you’re really well informed.”
Pops huffed loudly, the chair creaking under him as he rocked back on it. “It doesn’t bother you?”
I mulled the question over for a short while, then lied. “Anthea isn’t like the other Furies. If I get serious with her, they don’t stand a chance.”
“So you’re not worried?”
I lied again. “Not for now.” Then I leaned toward him. “But I gotta ask, how do you know so much about what’s going on out there?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I hear things.”
I snorted softly. “Good news travels fast, huh?”
“I wouldn’t call it good news.”
I frowned. “Are you worried because you do business with me and the other girls like me?”
He swallowed noisily and his gaze darted about behind his sunglasses. “A little.”
“You know that all you need to do is call and I’ll come running over.”
Pops squirmed a bit in his chair. “That worries me too.”
“What? Why?”
He squirmed again. “I got customers, Sister. Humans, Juicers, Pups. I hear it from them—the trouble in the streets. Me being associated with you means that trouble can affect my business.”
“So you are worried about that.”
Pops sat forward. Leaning over the table, he planted his elbows on it. “My customers aren’t big shots. They’re regular Joes. Just people trying to make it in this city. They keep their heads down. They don’t want trouble and they don’t go looking for it.”
“I get that.”
“But regulars always get caught in the crossfire.”
I planted my hands on my hips, a mite annoyed with him. “We’re not looking to turn the streets into a blood bath. And why do you care so much?”
He sat back in his creaky chair. “I care about my livelihood.”
I purposefully gave him a doubtful look. “Is that really it?”
“I care about my ass, too.”
“Your ass is safe.”
“Is it really?”
I started to retort but then stopped to consider the question that sounded more like an accusation.
Was Pops really safe?
No, he wasn’t. For that matter, none of us were, but it was important to address the question in the right context. In other words, was he safe from getting caught up in the troubles between the Bloodliners, Wolvren, and Pantheon?
“No,” I answered him.
“And there you have it, Sister.”
I closed my mouth with a soft click, then swallowed quietly.
I didn’t know what it was, but I felt that something was up with him, and by that I meant aside from worrying about his business and his skin. Everyone had secrets, and that obviously included Pops, and though our conversations were always a little strange, this time I felt something else was afoot. But I couldn’t put my finger on it, and he wasn’t giving me time to do so.
Rocking back on his chair, Pops asked, “Do you have it?”
The abrupt question confused me. “Do I have what?”
“The twenty-five K’s.”
“Oh….”
I pursed my lips for a short while, debating a choice that was likely to be fruitless, though it might also prove interesting.
Dare I say, illuminating?
So, I told him, “I’ve got something worth a little more.”
Reaching out to my left, I waited for the Cradle to deliver a precious item to my waiting hand. Pops didn’t even bat an eyelid when the air wavered, then rippled as a slender, metallic tentacle emerged from Pocket Space, carrying a package wrapped in a thick blanket that it delivered onto my hand, before quickly retreating out of sight. Despite Nikola’s enhanced strength, I still struggled with the package’s considerable weight, so I was happy to drop it onto the dilapidated desk.
Pops stared at it in suspicion. “What’s this?”
“Payment, obviously.”
“Doesn’t look that obvious to me.” He waved at it. “Unwrap it.”
I held back a heavy sigh, then unwrapped the blanket to reveal a gold bar in all its gleaming glory.
Pops’ eyes bulged in their sockets.
“What the fuck…,” he cursed in a strangled whisper.
“What? Not enough?”
“Are you shitting me?” He was still having trouble breaking out of a whisper. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
“Do you have to be so foul mouthed?”
“Where the fuck did you get this?”
I slipped my hands into my bomber jacket’s pockets. “Does it matter?”
“Of course, it matters.”
I wondered if he really wanted to know or perhaps he was just reflexively asking – a sort of knee jerk reaction to something way out of the left field.
Either way, I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “We picked it up a couple of months ago after some girls and I hit a Wolvren den that Pantheon had flagged as a threat.” I slashed the air horizontally with the back of a hand. “We levelled the place. Left no witnesses. Left no working electronic or photronic equipment. Total black out. Then we split up the spoils after we cut open their safe.”
Pops grew ashen, then seconds later he pushed back from the desk, putting distance between him and the gold bullion. “Oh, my God….”
“That’s exactly what we said when we opened the safe.”
“Can’t you take this seriously?”
“I am taking it seriously. Do you know how much that stuff weighs? Our Cradles are loaded with it. For sure we can store a lot of stuff inside them, but there’s still a limit to their capacity.”
“A limit?” He hesitated before asking, “Just how much gold do you have in there?”
“Well, we split it three ways. But after that, we haven’t been able to figure out how to sell it.”
He swallowed audibly. “That’s not surprising.”
“So for now we’re stuck with it.”
Pops pointed a trembling finger at the air to my left. “You haven’t told me how much you have in there.”
“Fifteen bars.”
Now, he turned white. “Fifteen…fifteen bars...?”
“Yeah. So how much is it worth?”
His gaze darted about for a while. “I guess…at today’s market value…probably 18 million dollars….”
That was the same value the other girls and I had calculated.
It was a hefty fortune in gold that we couldn’t move, turning it into dead weight that we were lugging around in our Cradles.
Pops was hyperventilating.
I decided to wait a short while for him to recover, but the seconds kept on ticking by and he didn’t seem to be getting better.
Eventually, I asked, “Well, can I pay with this?”
He stared at me in horror. “Are you shitting me?”
“Of course not. This has to put me in credit, right?”
“I’m not touching that thing.” He waved at the gold bar as though it was emitting toxic fumes. “Get it out of here.”
“What about a small piece? I can slice off a corner. Would that be better?”
“Like Hell it would.”
I was growing frustrated with him. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t touch that. I don’t have the connections to trade in illegal gold. I deal in hardware, Sister. Electronics, Photronics, Quantronics. Not rare minerals.”
He was still shying away from the gold bar on his desk, having retreated in his chair to the back wall of the office.
Truthfully, though it had been worth a shot, I hadn’t harbored any allusions that I could pay for Speedy’s upgrade with gold bullion worth more than a million dollars. But watching Pops react like I’d just dropped the fabled Necronomicon on his desk was growing old and tiresome.
“Fine,” I told him. “I’ll pay you in cash.”
I started wrapping up my gold bar when Pops suddenly cried out, “Wait!”
Startled, I froze, then blurted out, “What? What?”
He scooted forward in his chair, then peered intently at the gold bar. “Let me look at it one more time.”
“But you spent most of the time trying to run away from it.”
He shooed away my remark. “I’ve never seen one before with my own eyes.”
“Then take off your glasses. You’ll see it better.”
He tapped his rims with a fingertip. “Light sensitive, Sister. Light sensitive. These babies let me see better than a cat in the dark. And they have binocular features.”
“What about X-ray vision?”
“No, but they do have thermographics.”
“Really? You mean you’ve got heat vision.” I started to grin madly. “That’s totally awesome. Can you get me a pair?”
He’d been ogling the gold but spared me a peek. “What’s wrong with the pair you bought from me last month?”
“They don’t have heat vision.”
“I’m sure you can live without that.”
I grew quiet for a second while wondering if he knew about my ability to see the lifeforce surrounding people. “What makes you say that?”
He appeared thoughtful for a while before innocently shrugging. “Well, do you really need it?”
I kept a poker face, hiding a faint uneasiness that was creeping along under my skin. “Never mind.” Then I pointed at the gold bar. “Are you done drooling over it?”
He exhaled loudly and then sat back. “Yeah, yeah. Take it away.”
I watched him shake all over in his chair as though trying to rid himself of a bad curse.
After I’d returned the blanketed bundle back to my Cradle, I sent the device a request for my wallet that it soon delivered by tentacle. Fishing inside, I retrieved a cash card that I promptly dropped onto Pops’ desk. “There’s about thirty-five K inside. Don’t take all of it. Just deduct the cost of Speedy’s upgrade.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m not that unscrupulous.” He picked up the cash card, then regarded it pensively for a moment. “Is this clean?”
I grew irritated and snapped, “Of course, it’s clean. I’m not that unscrupulous, either.”
He sounded doubtful. “I’m just saying, that’s a lot of cash you got here.”
“I work hard for the money.”
He sounded even more uncertain. “Do you now…?”
That made me flip my lid. “Take it or leave it. Your choice. What’s it going to be?”
From a desk drawer, he collected a scanner that he used to check the card’s balance. Afterwards, he looked glum. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
“Great. How soon can you have Speedy upgraded?”
Pops sighed. “I can have him ready by tonight.”
My shoulders slumped a little. “Then I’ll pay you when it’s done.”
Pops hurriedly operated the scanner that had swallowed my card. “Pay now.”
“Pops!”
He deducted the amount in a flash, then tossed the card back at me. “Done. A pleasure doing business with you. Now, give me the bot.”
I slipped the card back into my slim wallet, pocketed it, then directed a thought command to the Cradle to send out Speedy. My bot emerged from a sphere of distorted air, circled once inside the small office, then stopped to hover over the desk.
“Land,” I instructed it and Speedy descended smoothly before touching down. Then I faced Pops. “So what now?”
“Now, I go back to work. I’ve got customers to take care of. I need to make a living.”
“What about Speedy?”
Pops glanced up at the ceiling. “Come back for it tonight…say around 10 pm.”
“I have work tonight. I need my bot.”
“10 pm. And not a minute sooner.”
“But I’m a VIP customer.”
“Which is why you get same day service.” He pointed at the door. “Scoot.”
I felt like flipping his desk over and pinning him to a wall, but in the end, all I did was snort loudly like a bull, then stab a menacing finger at hm.
“If Speedy isn’t ready by the time I come back, you’re history.” I then rapped his desk with my knuckles. “And if you’re not here, you’d better relocate to the moon, because I’ll hunt you down and get my pound of flesh.”
“I know you will. And if Speedy isn’t ready by 10 pm, I’ll give you ten percent off your next purchase.”
“Twenty.”
“Fifteen.”
“No, twenty,” I demanded.
“Fifteen,” he insisted.
I kicked his desk with the strength of a Lanfear, sending it back a foot while rocking Speedy that was sitting on top. “Fine. Fifteen.”
Pops stared incredulously at me. “If you were going to agree, why’d you kick my desk?”
“Because I felt like it. It’s a perk of being a VIP. I kick things.”
He stood up from his chair. “Break my desk, you pay for it.”
“Better still, I’ll replace it with a new one.”
Turning on my heels, I walked to the front door, and then yanked it open. However, I hesitated by the doorway, quickly closed the door, then strode back to the desk.
Pops looked down at me with a wary face. “What now?”
“If you don’t have the connections, then who does?”
He swallowed hard before shaking his head. “No idea. I don’t get involved in that stuff.”
“Then who does?”
“I don’t know.” He jerked his chin at the office door behind me. “Now scoot. I’ve got a business to run.”
And I had a mouthful to say to him.
For example, I could remind him that he had a business because I’d done away with his creditors. But it didn’t feel like the right time, so I swallowed it down though it tasted acrid and unpleasant.
Clenching my jaw and nearly grinding my teeth together, I turned around and headed for the office door. Yanking it open a second time, I stormed out of the office, not bothering to shut the door behind me. I left the shop moments later, but then found myself outside wondering what the Hell to do next.
Fiori had told me to return to the Century Tower once I was done here, but I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.
Belting out a heavy, disgruntled sigh, I shoved my hands into my jacket’s pockets, then looked up at the bright underbelly of the megascraper standing over the city block.
The reason I described it as bright was because of the hundreds of powerful spotlights shining down on the streets and buildings below it.
Whose genius idea was it to construct the building over the block rather than on it?
It made no sense to me, but what did it matter?
At the least, it was something different to look at.
Suddenly overwhelmed by frustration – most of it stemming from my tête-à-tête with Pops – I ran my fingers through Nikola’s long hair, ruffling it up into a wild mess. Then I huffed and puffed for a short while, before striding off into the depths of the district with no destination in mind.
To those of you following this story, thank you.
Author's Note: See my Twitter account (@HartSimkin) for posts on how the various novels are progressing, along with other bits and pieces.
