Выбрать главу

He almost didn't recognize Agent Ronnie Banks in civilian clothes. Soft leather jacket, tweed pants over ankle boots. Even her face looked softer, a sheen to her mocha skin. Her mass of curly hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail.

She smiled. "Sorry to startle you. Didn't peg you for being froggy. You were so cool in the station."

"Agent Banks. Are you following me?"

"Nope. Just paying my respects to a fallen soldier. Funny to find you here, though. Especially since you never met the man before."

He sighed. "I… was there when he died. The guy saved my life, okay?"

"So you did have an encounter."

"He was the one they shot at. Missed him, but managed to hit the building."

"Yeah, I figured that out already."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Really."

"Crime scene spoke to me. Your position made it impossible for the toughs to be shooting at you. The blast struck right next to Mr. Thomas' body. Not hard to figure out he was the target."

"The shooter got away. Any chance you can trace them like you did me?"

She shook her head. "First thing criminals do is lose their holobands. Half the ones you see on the streets are fake. Some of them are pretty good, too. The only bands that showed up in that alley were yours and Mr. Thomas'."

"Not even the girl?"

"Negative on that. Whoever your mystery girl is, she's streetwise."

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"Depends. You got something for me? A name, some identifying mark?"

Thick arms encircled by glimmering dragon tattoos. C'mon, Slick. We ghost.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Come on. You didn't even try."

"I want to help. Just can't remember anything."

"Well, if you get a sudden memory jolt, call me." She gave the gravestone a final glance before turning back the way she came.

He waved her down. "How do I call you?"

"I added the station number to your holoband when I checked you in. You need some friends, by the way. There's not a single other number in there."

He watched her until she entered her black-and-white RCE floater. The doors slid shut with a hiss, and the gleaming, streamlined vehicle propelled upward, joining the sporadic lines of air traffic.

Jett turned back to Wayne Thomas' grave. "You saved my life. I owe you for that. So I'll get the guy that got you. I'll take him down. For you. I can right that wrong, at least. I can do that."

Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he turned and strode away. Every step seemed lighter, despite the long walk to the tram station. Powdery flakes floated down like dirty feathers, melting as they touched the ground, like tears for an unknown soldier.

Arthur Milton leaned back against the padded support of his hoverchair, hating the comfort of the ergonomic cushions. A prison shouldn't be comfortable. Shouldn't be constructed to make the life of an invalid easy. The lights in the small room were off, but the blush of multiple backlit screens provided more than enough illumination.

He glanced at the screen, where a paused recording of Jett Wolfe was displayed. Hacking into the cemetery's surveillance had been easy. He had a hunch someone else might show up. Someone who might know something about Wayne's last moments.

"Play."

The recording resumed.

The man saved my life, okay? I… was there when he died.

So you did have an encounter.

He was the one they shot at. Missed him, but managed to hit the building.

"Pause."

Arthur poured himself a finger of scotch from a nearby decanter. "Mr. Wolfe."

A Defrost. It was an incredible notion. A man frozen in time, transplanted from one era to another. Lost, alone. So terribly alone.

"Rewind two seconds, then play."

The man saved my life, okay? I… was there when he died.

"Pause. Repeat command."

The man saved my life, okay? I… was there when he died.

"Pause."

Arthur placed his chin on his fist, staring at Jett. It took a bizarre set of circumstances for that to happen. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. Downing his scotch, he tapped a button on his holoband. It buzzed for several seconds before Qhawa's face appeared on the screen. He flicked the holographic display onto the larger screen in front of him.

"I found him."

"What are you talking about?"

"None of Wayne's Vigil gear was found when they discovered his body. I ran an inventory check. One of the helmets, a protective trench and a pair of gauntlets were missing from one of Wayne's substations. There was a major brawl in the alley where Wayne was found. He was fighting some street gang when he died, so he had the equipment then. Must have been removed afterward. At first, I thought it might have been one of the gang members who got away. But another man was in the alley." He sent the image to her console.

She glanced at it. "Who is he?"

"Nobody special. Name is Jett Wolfe. Scab worker at a city plumbing company."

"Then he'll try to sell the gear. He has to know it's valuable. We can't have anything traced back to us. Give me his address, and I'll get it back."

Arthur took another sip of scotch. "Maybe we should hold off for a minute. Monitor the situation."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Just have a feeling. Maybe he didn't steal it. Maybe Wayne gave it to him."

Her eyes narrowed. "Arthur."

"What?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

He sighed. "The guy is a Defrost. Ex-military. Kept in great shape while in stasis. Better than great shape. Physically he's about as perfect as it gets."

"Don't even think about it."

He assumed his best innocent expression. "Think about what?"

"You know what. We've been down this road before. You know how it ended. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

"Look, I'm just saying let's see what Jett does. Wayne might have had his reasons for giving the gear to him."

"You're assuming Wayne gave it to him. You don't know that. For all we know, this Jett person looted Wayne's body and made off with the equipment."

"Regardless, I think we should take a hands-off approach for now."

She was silent for a moment, studying him. "It's your call. Your responsibility."

"Fine. I take full accountability."

"I'm not getting pulled into that life again, Arthur."

"You won't have to."

"You got out. You made that very clear to Wayne after the… incident."

"I know that, Qhawa."

"Vigil died with Wayne. Let them both rest in peace."

"I intend to."

"Fine. I'll leave it in your hands. But if you don't take care of it, I will."

"Agreed."

Qhawa's face softened. "How are you? I know it was tough today."

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"I'll… be fine. It's okay, Qhawa."

"I'll check back with you in a few days."

"Okay. Talk to you soon."

The call winked out, leaving the cemetery recording on the screen. Arthur stared at it for a long time.

"Fast forward."

"Stop and play."

You saved my life. I owe you for that. So I'll get the guy that got you. I'll take him down. For you. I can right that wrong, at least. I can do that.

"Pause."

Arthur smiled.

Chapter 5

"I don't get this at all." Jett rotated his forearms, examining the gauntlets. Deep in the gloomy bowels of the sewers, he was free to get a closer look at them without fear of detection. They were composed of segmented alloy plates bonded to metallic mesh. The gloves were of the same material, reinforced with powdered lead sewn over the backs and knuckles for added protection and offensive impact.