20 March 2077, Vandiver Enterprises Corporate Headquarters, Burkina Faso
“Sir, there is a courier here.”
Blais looked up from his work. He preferred doing things strictly AR, but he found that having a large mahogany desk and stacks of papers in his office lent him an air of gravitas that often helped in social situations. “Why are you coming to me with this?” Three years he'd been operating out here, and he still had to sometimes remind his staff that not everything demanded his direct attention. It's my own fault for being so hands-on with so much of the work, I suppose, he thought to himself.
“He brings a package for you, sir. He says that he is under strictest instructions to put it directly into your hands.”
That was different. Intriguing, even. Was someone gunning for him? Well, it was foregone that someone was gunning for him, the real question was whether this was a ploy or legit. Blais briefly considered having his men knock the courier out and take the package, but that might offend the sender if it was legit, and it might not stop it if it was an assassination attempt. “Scan him thoroughly. MAD, chemsniffer, millimeter-wave, the works... the package too. If it comes up clean, have him wait in the conference room. If not, let me know.”
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Karavan Mobile Community, Currently located in northern Mongolia
“The yassa forbids us from direct hostilities against other Karavanli, so we must go to the yabanci for this.” The linguasoft Slide had purchased for this run insisted the man was speaking English, but his thick Turkish accent and the local dialect threaded through the conversation sometimes made it hard to follow. “The job is simple. The Pjelykosts sold us trash instead of the talismans we paid them for, so you must go to their camp, take back our water, take the talismans we paid for, and then flatten the tires on several of their vehicles so they will have to trade for new ones. We will give you a bar of gold when the job is done.”
A bar of gold represented a lot of money. Thousands of nuyen, even on a bad day with a crooked buyer. Either this guy was really pissed at the Pelk... the P... those other guys, or something about this job was more complicated than it looked. “How much water did you say it was?”
“Not so much, yabanci. Only 500 litres.” Oh, that was all. It wouldn't be easy to move that without being noticed.
His commlink chirped in his ear. “We can handle it.” Turning and activating his subvocal microphone, Slide responded to the signal from his men. “Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, there's someone here with a package for you. Won't say who sent it and won't give it to anyone but you. He's armed, but no more than anyone else out here. By his accent, I'd say he's from the UCAS.”
“Keep him there, and jam his signals, just in case. I'll be there in ten.” The big orc merc climbed into his Citymaster. Something screwy was going on and he was going to find out what it was.
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Akihabara, Kanda, Greater Tokyo Metropolitan Area, Japan
The elf was being pursued through the streets by some thug with a machine pistol and an attitude. She laughed to herself at the amateurish attempts he made to get close enough for a clear shot. His first approach was a wide spray from too far away like he had thought he was firing an assault rifle. At that range, each round was spaced so far from the next that he would have been lucky to hit a small truck. He had given himself away, and now she was leading him on a merry chase.
She could have just turned and dropped him except he seemed to have a bottomless magazine and was firing indiscriminately as he ran. He may have been a young punk who didn't know what he was doing, but if she didn't keep moving and keep cover between them, she could catch a stray round and end the chase prematurely.
She knew what she had to do, though. She knew the perfect spot. She just had to keep moving and get there. She wasn't too worried, though. Miyori was a pro, and she knew it. She glanced at the area map in her HUD as she slipped into an alley and noted that the door she needed was open. Hacking the doors on every shop in the area had been a time-consuming task, but it was paying off now.
She had to time this perfectly. Too early, and she'd be in front of him, full of holes before he even realized he'd finally caught her. Too late, and he'd already be around the corner he would think she had rounded herself. She knew what she was doing, though. She knew how fast he was moving and exactly how long it would take him to get there. She snapped the door open and stuck her arm through. She had a split second between the moment the barrel of her weapon touched his temple and the moment her finger compressed the trigger. One tiny moment to make this fool understand his mistake. She'd been doing this a long time, though. She didn't even think about it. In that one tiny moment when time would seem to stand still and his universe compressed to only the two of them for a second that felt like a year, her lips formed the words that would destroy his spirit as surely as her bullet would destroy his life.
“L2P n00b”
The young man bowed deeply, his AR display showing that he had logged off of Miracle Shooter. “Miyori-O-sensei, it is an honor to be bested by such a master. I bring a letter.” The courier held out an envelope.
Miyori barely noticed him turning to walk away as she opened the package. It had no markings on the outside, no address, nothing. Inside was only a small piece with a paper with a dozen words hand written upon it.
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Mongolia
“Who are you? Who sent you?” Slide's men had disarmed the courier before he arrived and zip-tied him to the bumper of one of the old two and a half ton trucks they used to get around the desert. He had brought a sealed envelope with no markings on the outside. Inside was a note with a single line of text. A line of text that raised so many questions, he didn't even know how to ask them all.
“I am a courier, nothing more. I work for Lemann, and we specialize in speed and discretion. I do not know anything about the package except to whom I am to deliver it. My credentials are in my right breast pocket.”
The man's identification said the same thing he did, but that didn't mean much, really. Out here, there was no Matrix to double check the claim. Well, for most people, anyway. “Simmons, set up the satlink and check out his story. Contact Lemann directly.” He turned to the courier, “you'd better hope your story checks out, chummer.”
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Burkina Faso
The courier seemed clean, but Blais hadn't lived this long by taking things at face value. From another building, he watched as the military-grade holoprojector created an image of him in the room talking to the stranger. “Well, what is it?”
“Sir, I am to give this directly to you and no other.” He held out a small, unmarked envelope.
“Anything else?”
“No, sir. Just this package. Directly into your hand.”
Blais had checked out the company the man worked for. Lemann had a good reputation in the upper levels of business and in the shadows. Whoever sent this message had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get this to him discreetly and reliably. It wasn't the fastest way to send a message, but it was one of the most secure. For example, if the man had left the package on the table and left, then that would have meant he was an imposter. A good enough Physical Mask might be enough to intercept the package, but a hologram that couldn't actually hold the letter wasn't. Blais had heard that the couriers even had CC cameras in their glasses so many illusions would be given away because they wouldn't show up on the feed. Hardwired so they couldn't be hacked. It was clever and relatively inexpensive, so it was probably true.
“Good. I'll be right in.” The holo shut down.
An hour later, Blais was still sitting at his desk, looking at the message. It was a single line, two sentences, but those twelve words held so much information and withheld so much more that it almost had to be legitimate.
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“I'm getting the band back together. The Black Lady. April 1st. -Station”
