There was a chuckle in the reply. “Joshua. It is you. That’s lovely. Come closer.”
Fixx relaxed-but only a little-and did as Lucy asked. He had the distinct and slightly unnerving sensation of walking into the centre of a web. Cables as thin as hair and as thick as his arm snaked along every surface, disappearing into holes laser-bored through the walls. They terminated in banks of glittering LEDs, arranged in a ring around a single object. Roughly the height of a small child, it was a khaki green cylinder made from heavy impact plastics. The glow from the machinery revealed hooded boxes holding numerous litter trays and pop-top cans of cat food. Fixx became aware of lazy slitted eyes studying him, maybe a half-dozen felines lounging on the warm spots atop the processor stacks.
“Spider to the fly…” The words came from a vocoder welded to the cylinder’s outer casing.
Visible along the surface of the object were a string of letters: USAMRID and then Mod. # LU(c). Panels had been removed since the last time Fixx laid eyes on the unit, and components removed.
“You lost weight?”
“Charmer. Just some modifications.”
Fixx found a folding chair and sat himself in front of the screens. He fingered a low-hanging wire. “Nice place you got here.”
“Better than where I grew up.”
Fixx nodded. Lucy’s origins had been in a blasted wasteland in the Dakota NoGo, assembled by government techs with a budget too large and a shortfall of morals. They’d made her software self-aware in order to create better and more horrifying bio-toxins, but Lucy had other ideas.
She sent invites for her coming-out party to some sanctioned operatives who could help with her “confinement issues”. Fixx scratched his thigh absendtly, in the place where a bullet from that night’s work had raked him as they exfiltrated. Poor Haley Joel had died out there to liberate Lucy’s mainframe core. “You’re keepin’ busy?”
“Yes. This part of the world is data-rich. The Chinese have a thing about numbers. It’s a good fit for me, small beer for the most part but then I like the low profile. I’m trading information for wattage and bandwidth, plus my special projects.”
“Like the cats?” He gestured at a ginger tom that ambled past him with an air of regal disdain.
“I’m doing some research, collating data. I hope to Uplift them in a couple of years. In the meantime, I use local talent for any legwork.”
“Right.” Fixx noticed a replay on one of the screens: Juno Qwan stepping off a bus and into a glare of publicity. His eyes narrowed.
“Joshua,” Lucy began, “You didn’t come halfway around the world to reminisce. What are you doing out here?”
“Following an inklin’,” he said, still watching the screen. “I need to call in a marker.”
“Okay.”
“I need a vehicle and some walkin’ around money.”
A couple of lights blinked on the khaki box. “I can do that for you. Give me a second, I’ll talk to the boys in the Wo Shing Wo.” She paused. “This have something to do with that planeload of women who landed in Zhuhai?”
He flicked a glance at the machine. “You know about that?”
“Male-to-female ratios on the mainland are off the gauge, Fixx. Fem-smugglers are coining it in up country, so naturally folks will talk about it when a C-5 full of girlflesh goes rogue.”
“They deserved better. This way, they get to pick and choose when they have kids, not get locked in a breeder farm.”
Lucy chuckled. “Same old Joshua. Fighter for the underdog.”
Fixx looked away. “It ain’t about the women. That was just what you might call an ellipsis. I’m lookin’ for something different.” His eyes strayed back to the screen.
“I pay my debts,” said Lucy. “Car’s outside now.”
“Merci, mademoiselle.” He gave the cylinder a pat.
“Hey, you like her?” Lucy brought the images of Juno on to all her screens. “I’m running hacks of her new album for the Temple Market pirates. You want a copy?”
Fixx shook his head. “I prefer to listen to the real thing.” He tickled the ginger cat and wandered away toward the door. “Stay well, cheri.”
“Watch your step, Joshua,” called Lucy. “This place, they do things differently here.”
“You know,” said Frankie, “I think every man in the room hates me.”
Juno smiled, watching as his face wrinkled a little as he spoke, watching the look in his eyes that reminded her of a playful child. “Oh really? Are you such a bad guy? Should I not be dancing with you?” She let him lead her around the room, orbiting the musicians on their dais.
He returned the smile. She liked it. He had an easy way about him that came through when he stopped being nervous. “No, it’s just that every one of them wishes they were me, and they’d love to see me trip or impale myself on some potted plant.”
Juno laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, every woman in the room hates me too.”
“Maybe. But that’s because you’re the most gorgeous person here, not because you’re dancing with me.”
She gave him a mischievous look. “Are you sure?” It was strange. She’d met him tonight and yet she felt like they had been friends for years, that she knew all about him. The moment she stepped from the elevator, she’d wanted to be with him.
He laughed back at her, and it made her feel good to share that. “Aren’t I supposed to be nattering you?”
Juno shrugged. “I hear it every day. It’s nice to be nice to someone else for a change.”
Frankie swallowed hard. “You, uh, you can do that any time you want.”
And she was smiling again. There was something about this man, something that hovered at the edge of her thoughts, ephemeral and ghostly. He drew her, and Juno couldn’t be sure why. She tried to probe the impulse but it fell away, down into dark places where she didn’t want to follow.
He saw the shadow pass across her face. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “A little tired. It’s been a busy few days.”
“I’ll say. I’m surprised to see you here, straight off the plane and up for a party. I thought you’d rest a while first, get over your jet lag.”
“There are pills for that,” she said with an airy wave. “And I wanted to celebrate coming home.” They swung past one of the windows and she took in the city beyond the tower with a sweep of her hand. “I love Hong Kong so much. I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time.”
Frankie followed her gaze. “Yeah. I… I know how you feel.”
“I’m just so glad to be back.” She felt it like an ache in her chest. “I don’t ever want to leave again.”
He frowned, and it spoiled his face. “I heard at your last concert… There were problems.”
“Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it?” she replied automatically. “I don’t want to dwell on… on dark things.” The gloom at the corners of her mind shifted and she blinked it away. Remnants of memory, faint and fading like afterimages, glistened in her thoughts. The droning murmur of the jetliner engines. A grey numbness. Water on her lips and face. Juno shuttered the pieces of recall, turning away from them. Back here. Back to Francis.
She let herself fall into his gaze. He had kind eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“You’re not happy,” she said. “Tell me why.”
And he did; he spoke about Alan, about the way he’d been torn from the comfortable-but-mundane life he knew in America and spirited back to his homeland, about his fears and uncertainties. It spilled out of him in a rush, and Juno listened to it all. Frankie needed someone to confide in, and she found herself touched that he chose her. On an impulse, she leant in and stole a kiss from him.
“Wah,” he managed. “Uh. Thanks.”
“You seemed to need it.”
He smiled again. “You’re not what I expected. In Los Angeles, I dealt with people from the entertainment sector sometimes, stars. They were always so hostile, so anxious. But you… You’re alight. It’s like you’re radiating warmth.”
“There’s that flattery,” She blushed. “Those people? I feel sorry for them. They’re afraid-of losing, of falling out of favour, of wearing the wrong clothes. But not me. I have exactly what I want. I get to do what I love.” Of its own accord, her hand traced his cheek. “Make people happy.”