I tell him everything. Every moment, every word, every detail I can remember. With pain cutting like razors into my brain, I still concentrate enough to paint a vivid picture of precisely what happened.
But true to his word, he isn't convinced. Not for a long time.
I'm in an autocab, light and shadow flickering across my face. Eyes blank to the shimmer of grandiose buildings, the stylish fashion of the picture-perfect residents who stroll the sidewalks for the sole purpose of being seen. I'm in no shape to ride my rumble bike, no shape to do much of anything except lay on the cushioned seats while the computer-operated vehicle shuttles me to my destination. I still have to meet Zen, and I use the transit time to pull myself together. I know she'll just get worked up if she learns what happened, and I can't deal with the shame of her knowing. That would be worse than the mortification I felt while cleaning myself up after Kage finished with me. After sobbing until my chest burned.
I hate the weakness in myself. The begging, the tears. Dabria trained me better than that. If she were here, she would tell me that as long as I'm alive, then I can figure things out. Find a way to survive. But Dabria isn't here. She's somewhere else, waging her eternal war while her soldiers fall by the wayside. We're just the collateral damage she leaves behind.
I don't even know the time when I arrive at Zen's hotel across town. The door syncs to my holoband and automatically opens when I approach. A seven-foot teddy bear looks my direction when I enter. He's dressed in his usual outfit: padded vest and cargo shorts. A harness crisscrosses his stout chest, centered by an orb that activates protective nano-plate armor in battle-mode. Far from cuddly, he looks like an abandoned toy out for revenge, complete with matted fur, dull marble eyes, and a grizzled face.
"Hi, Brutus."
"Hello, Enigma," he rumbles.
"Enigma, is that you?" Zen wears an oversized VR helmet and goggles, cyber-dreads hanging from the headgear like Medusa's serpents. Her fingers slide across the air, interacting with invisible interfaces.
"Yeah. Take your time." I crash on the sofa, feeling completely exhausted.
Brutus stomps over, leans forward and thrusts his enormous furry head in my face. "Zen, look. Enigma is hurt."
"What?" Zen removes the helmet and glances over at me.
"Nothing. Move, you big, dumb bear." I try to shove him away, but he's immovable, fortified by a heavy alloy skeleton under all the fur and fluff.
"You are in pain, Enigma. Tell Brutus who hurt you and Brutus will crush him."
"Outta the way, Brutus." Zen shoves past and places both hands on my face, checking for injuries like I'm her child. "I don't see anything. You smell clean, though. Did you use soap? That's always a bad sign."
"Yeah, thanks. Look — I'm fine, okay?"
She crouches on her haunches, glaring. "No, you're not. Brutus has empathy sensors off the charts. If he says you're hurt, you're hurt. What did Robo-bastard do to you this time?"
"Brutus will crush him," Brutus growls from behind her.
I shake my head. "Neither one of you are gonna do anything. They're listening to every word and see everything I see. So forget the threats and let's concentrate on the mission, all right?"
Frustrated tears slide down Zen's cheeks. "Damn it, Enigma. I hate this so much. I don’t see how you can take it."
I take her hand and squeeze it. "I can take it. And you shouldn't even be here. I told you to cut me loose when you had a chance."
"You mean when I thought you died with everyone else? No chance. Me and Brutus don't leave people behind."
"Doesn't mean you had to turn yourself in. They're controlling you the same as me, using my situation to keep you in line. You're lucky they didn't plant a minder in your skull. You should let me talk to the Ministry. Maybe I can convince them to cut you free."
Zen's face regains its normal stubborn look. "We're in this together — the last of the team. We're not leaving until you do. Right, Brutus?"
"Damn right," he growls.
"That means you've been outvoted, Enigma. We're not going anywhere."
I laugh despite myself. "Not fair. Brutus does everything you say."
"Of course. I built him like that." She gives Brutus a big hug, arms reaching only halfway across his massive girth.
"Yeah, you're a genius. Since you're so smart, why don't you share what you found on Specter?"
She smirks triumphantly. "You're gonna love this."
"You found him?"
"I found his Deep Sleep location."
She opens her holoband and flicks the screen into the air, where it widens into a much larger version. On it is an identification file for a Deep Sleep resident, including a picture of a young man's hollow-eyed profile displayed along with his pertinent information. He looks nothing like the square-jawed, perfectly handsome synoid I spoke to last night. It's almost a relief to see that the infamous Specter is just a normal human being. Dean. I have to remember that. It's hard to believe anyone could think he's essential to anything. He's so… average.
I look at the name on the file. "John Smith? Wow, he couldn't have been more original?"
"Yeah, I know. An obvious alias. But this guy fits the bill. The synoid he made into street pizza was stolen in transit to Palm Springs, which is only fifty-four miles from this Deep Sleep complex in San Bernardino. The real kicker is the clue you gave to me yesterday."
"They've had some synoid malfunctions."
"Right. The synthetic staff kept granting bonuses to different sectors of residents. Our guy was smart. Kept it scattered, but his sector benefited more often than any others. It kept on until management finally staffed human supervisors in that wing."
"Which is unheard of."
"Right."
"How did you narrow it down to our boy here?"
"Other than the alias red flag? Of all the residents in that sector, he's the only untraceable one. Fake ID, last known residence is a condemned building, all financial records are quick deposits and withdrawals using only v-notes. He's a ghost in the system."
I stare at the digital photo. "You mean a Specter."
"Exactly."
"Looks like we're taking a trip to San Bernardino."
Her eyes roll. "Yeah, can't wait. Goodbye Haven, hello flaming garbage dump."
"C'mon. It's not that bad."
"Wrong. It's even worse."
It's a fifteen-minute ride to San Bernardino via the jet chopper, too fast to see the swaths of abandoned and crumbling buildings we flew over on the way. But I'm more than familiar with the wasted stretch of badlands that encircle Haven Angeles. My earliest memories are of pock-marked tenements, yellow-eyed squatters, and sudden violence. I can't remember my mother's face, but I remember holding on to her, crying uncontrollably after a gang of kids beat a puppy to death with stones outside our building. It was the first of many experiences with the vicious nature of people at the lowest spectrum of existence.
And here I am, nearly in the same position as the puppy.
Zen glances back at the chopper. "Brutus, stay there."
His large button eyes manage to look wounded somehow. "Brutus wants to come with Zen."
"You'll be in the way. Just chill in the chopper. I'll call you if I need you."
He stays in the chopper with the HSSC squad, staring at us like a lonely dog watching his family leave on vacation. Zen walks on beside me, looking at our surroundings in disgust. I can't tell if it's the environment or the suit she's forced to wear when on official business: pleated black slacks, white shirt, black tie, black blazer. A lot less conspicuous than the cyber-goth getup she loves so much. The faux-dreads are gone too, leaving her natural mid-length hair, which is dyed purple now. With bio-dye so popular, she can change her hair color at the touch of a button on her holoband, so she never keeps the same shade for long.