Cort grimaced as watery pale light fell across his shoulders. Just his luck. Along for the ride on a simple grab--at least that’s what Frost promised him--and it happens to take place on the sliver of time each day when the shields became opaque, allowing the sun to brighten everyone’s day.
“Good planning, Frost,” Cort said disdainfully.
“Hey, C, It’s not like I set the dude’s schedule, or something.” She hawked, spat. “I was lucky Stone let me in on this guy. Should be a good one.”
“You don’t even know what he’s carrying,” he said, annoyed he’d been talked into this excursion.
“It’s something good, I can feel it.”
Cort glanced at Frost, her spiky hair silvery in the pool of light. A brace of drug-tipped darts lined the left side of her synthetic leather jacket; her hair writhed like dueling cobras from the holo-games, their dance of death hypnotically addictive. Small nose, flat, broken more than once and never reset; eyes dark pinpoints of light, so hard to read. A friend. Maybe something more--maybe not.
There. The courier. In an expensive, bright white Militech jumpsuit, guaranteed to deflect the majority of harmful radiation from the depleted ozone layer. Good luck. He cruised down the alley, booted feet kicking up thin layers of dust, eyes ahead, not a care in the world. Graffiti, laser-stenciled, near impossible to remove without sandblasting--and the city wasn’t about to pay for that, in this part of town-- blanketed both sides, obscure messages and ravings in half-a-dozen languages.
The courier was supposed to pass through this alley, turn left on Diamont street, and stroll into Smith’s pawn shop--just the man Stone happened to work for--departing a few minutes later lighter in content, much heavier in electronic currency. Frost had other plans.
“Wait here,” she whispered. It happened so fast it took Cort’s breath away. Frost leapt to her feet, darts suddenly clenched in both skin-roughened hands. Jumpsuit must’ve been wearing sensory enhancers, detection programs; he twisted his head toward them and reached inside his suit. Frost flung her darts, rolled, tossed another duo magically in her hands at where she thought he’d be. The first darts thunked into the wall over the courier’s head as he raised his weapon; the next two were good...too good.
“Shit!” Frost muttered softly. Amazingly the darts found both eye sockets, the neuro-inducers taking effect immediately. The man moaned once as his stinger dropped from suddenly limp fingers. His chest gave one spatic lurch, then stopped. Cort darted forward, hunched, scanning for traffic, on an adrenaline high, head spinning like a particularly vivid Lucidrine boost--without the drug.
He stared at the dead man. Must’ve been the shock, he thought. He’d seen it before. A wound serious but not critical--and suddenly you have a flatline. He shuddered, steeled himself. Hands danced across the surface of the Militech: Nothing. Frantic, he reached inside the multi-layered clothing, fumbling. Yes! There it was. A clear-plastic case containing two disks; shaded red and black.
“This is it?” he whispered to Frost, kneeling beside him. She nodded, chest heaving rapidly.
“Take ’em. You know about this stuff better than me. Find out what it is and I’ll be in contact with you.” She grinned. “Who knows. Maybe this’ll be a killer program, corp-shredder, and we’ll both be cruising high on Moonside before the year’s out.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Don’t bother trying to contact me, C. I think I’ll lay low for a while. I got a feeling there’s gonna be some heat about this.” Damned if Frost wasn’t right. But Cort had no way of knowing that. She grinned, teeth stained from too many cigarettes, smile pleasant nonetheless.
“Oh, by the way--happy birthday!” He pocketed the plastic.
“You’re a few hours early, but thanks.”