I look back at the little robot on the table, watch as that dead light pops on.
A bright lime green.
“Hello, Beximo.”
I lower my head in relief as she plays me the default welcome in that sweet, almost sexy, pre-programmed voice.
“Hello, I’m happy to be here. How can I help you?”
I HAND ROSE A GIMLET and set down my scotch (neat) on the table as I sit. It took a lot of work to finally convince her to come for a drink, but the way she looks tonight is worth the price of admission. Hell, I’d buy out the theater.
“So, you have to fill me in,” she says, eyes narrowed. “What’s the latest?”
I make a show of hurt feelings. “So that’s what this is? An information grab? And here I thought my charming demeanor had finally won you over.”
“It can be both, Dixie.”
“Hey, you used my first name again. And a moniker at that.”
“Well, this is social. But…” she leans in, “don’t spare the details.”
I laugh and tell her what she wants, which isn’t as much as we both might hope.
We brought the Feds in but kept our promise to Hernandez to keep the rogue A.I. bit out of the papers. The Feds, of course, shut Maytime down. Their stock plummeted, and rumors went wild. But they must have known that would happen and I think they’ll rebound just fine. Big company like that can bide their time, grease some political palms, and be right as rain in a few months.
Not so much for Officer Hannah Shepard or a certain Mr. Jonathan Lee. There was no coming back from what ailed them, and I feel like hell about getting that officer killed. Every damn day.
Vanguard is the wild card, obviously, but once the deck was handed over to the Feds and went national we were cut out of the deal. Captain says an inside man at the Bureau tells her it’s a military outfit, some sort of dark division that even the Feds don’t have access to.
I keep this tidbit out of Rose’s ear. It’s dangerous information, and the last thing I want to do is put this woman in danger.
I watch her sip her gimlet and we order another round, a couple of steaks, potatoes, and greens. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such pleasant—and if I may say—attractive company. Something an old guy like me could certainly get used to.
Later that night we step out into the rain, giddy and just the right amount of drunk. I yell for a cab, and he does one of those daring maneuvers cabbies sometimes do, crossing a couple lanes before pushing a puddle up and over the curb, splashing my shoes. I laugh at myself like a schoolkid and open the door for her.
Neither of us want to go home, but the idea of us going to one place or the other seems forward. She watches me, waiting, and I look to the cabbie.
An old guy in a beaten-to-hell flat cap turns around, face grizzled with white whiskers, eyes a bright, dancing blue. “Where to, Romeo?”
I glance through the windshield, happen to see a red car go by. I point at it.
“Follow that car, will ya?”
He clocks the one I’m talking about, then nods. “Sure mac, whatever you say.”
I lean back as we pull into the street, overhead lights smearing across the rain-swept windows, bright neon signs prancing beside us on the sidewalks as we pass by.
I lean into Rose, her eyes pulling me like magnets. Or strings.
I kiss her and she laughs. “Dixie, who are we following? Where are we going?”
I smile and put my arms around her, pull her close.
“I got no idea, baby,” I say. “Ain’t it grand?”
THE REJECTS
1
BLAKE HATED THE DARK. A minor phobia that NASA turned a blind eye to in order to keep him in the fold of their “specialized employee” pool. He thought himself a scientist first, an astronaut second. A distant second. But there were moments, jobs like this one, that required, well, extensive travel. Required him to enter the darkest void known by god or man. Space. The endless nothing.
He considered the contrast between one dark and the other. The one out there and the one he found himself in right now, hurtling downward at a speed most humans without his unique training would have likely found nauseating.
The elevator was large, a service lift for techs and mech. A twenty by twenty, black pressurized inch-thick carbon box speeding into the depths of the moon. They’d been traveling nearly three hours, belted into galvanized chairs. A lot of seats were empty. A VIP trip. Regardless of his status, Blake was getting fidgety.
“Heard it was hollow,” he said.
