For all of the insistence and pestering that had been bombarding my personal devices, once I sent the message to Tak things moved slower than I expected. Much slower.
Like three days of feed-silence, slower.
Tak’s initial response had been quick fire: letting me know they appreciated my cooperation, that I wouldn’t regret it, that I should sit tight while they worked things out on their end, etc. etc. But then, after that flourish… Nothing.
Messages from clients still came through my feed and while I did appreciate not having someone threatening me, I didn’t appreciate the dread that spread through me as my anticipation grew with each passing day.
I was distracted enough during morning feedings that Magnus made a go for my finger rather than the squirming worm, mostly on account that I hadn’t realized he’d already gobbled it from the feeding forceps and I’d left my hand behind as additional tribute. As I lifted my hand out of the tank, Magnus held himself suspended by sheer bite force alone.
Until he realized what he had in his mouth was too large for him to consume and he let go, smacking his mouth, dissatisfied. He shifted his gaze as I slid closed the doors to his enclosure. “You’ve had enough,” I told him, taking note of his healthy belly bulk that spooled out around him as he hunkered down into the moist peat moss.
I shared my working space with my living space, and my living space I shared with an assortment of Tak’s rescues. Projects that Tak had either bequeathed to me without formal arrangement, showing up on my doorstep at 3 a.m. some odd Thursday morning, arms full of an opaque tank swarming with teeth, claws, and scales as Tak pouted at me around the container.
As a result, one whole bedroom wall was dedicated to housing these rescues. And of course I’d named several of them, because you could only refer to something so many times by its lab ID before you considered Magnus was the perfect name for a toad designed to secrete numbing agents from its skin or Prickles for a cactus that bloomed beautiful coin-sized flowers with pollen that just so happened to produce vivid hallucinations when inhaled or distilled into a liquid.
Prickles was secured behind a double-walled tank and a triple tiered filtration system. For her protection, of course.
Behind me, the blinds auto-adjusted to allow in more light as the sun climbed past the skyline. I could observe from my desk in the adjoining room the plants shift and curl toward the sunlight as the day went on, leaves trembling as they soaked in as much life as possible before the sun was overhead and then lost to the other side of the building.
With every new addition I had to work a feeding and watering schedule into the daily routine. To help with this, I’d set up a hydroponic system that piped water into each tank habitat. The living wall was mostly self-sustaining, requiring manual intervention maybe twice a month to reinforce with nutrients and replace filters throughout.
Portions of the water system snaked through the only ant colony Tak had dared to lift from whatever lab they were getting all of these from. The colony was still healthy four years later, with its alates contained behind layers of mesh and glass, and its designed sister queens thriving.
The misting system kicked in as I lowered the divider. Within this tuned, controlled environment, it was easy to forget that a city of dysfunction dwelled outside. Until, that is, I sidled up to my work station and dove into my feed with an intake that held a city’s worth of problems.
As soon as my status came online, Tak’s ping was flashing in my periphery. I sighed, three days’ worth of tension coiling within me all for the big reveal of: ‘hey’.
I tested the connection: ‘What do you want?’
‘Funny. This afternoon. You free?’
I made a show of not responding as if I was looking through the rest of my feed for any messages that I would rather take priority over following through with this one. Instead, what I was actually doing was glaring at the input command field.
I decided to test again: ‘And if I’m not?’
‘You’re free,’ Tak responded back immediately. ‘Should be good to meet. You know King’s. Meet there.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m thinking of having lunch at Sullivan’s. You can meet me there.’
‘Not Sully’s. Ash, come on—’
I closed the connection on them.
Sully’s was a corner street diner that was within walking distance to King’s. It was also Tak’s least favorite location, and at some point I might have bothered to remember why. But given that I was craving a shitty cup of coffee to pair with the bitter uneasiness I’d been harboring the past several days, I didn’t try too hard to recall Tak’s exact reasoning.
I’d taken up position at a corner booth facing the door and exterior window, half a mug down with some potato special on its way when Tak knocked on the window with an intense expression.
I toasted them and took a sip of acrid coffee. They made some motion that I should join them outside, but to that, I angled my back partly to the street and made as if whatever was on my p-comm was far more interesting than the prospect of getting strangled on the sidewalk. I watched from the screen’s reflection as they tossed their hands into the air, paced back and forth a few times, then knocked on the glass again.
I scrolled, aimless.
The door bells clamored and the syntech by the counter, Darla, offered a cheerful greeting. “Tacky! He’s there by the usual corner for you. Good, good to see you by the way, been too long, should I bring a menu or get started on today’s special?”
Tak huffed at the end of the table, looming over me. “Oh, you’re here,” I said, feigning surprise. “You should go for the special. It sounds pretty appetizing today.”
“Darla, another special for ten,” Sully called through the kitchen window. There was a clash of dishes that followed as a plate with my food slid into view.
I watched behind Tak as Darla sidled up to the window and leaned through. A moment later, Sully’s bright mechanical face popped up, looking directly at us. The faceplace brightened with a smile and then Sully was gone. Darla left my food in the window as she maneuvered back to the hostess stand.
“We have somewhere to be,” Tak responded without much appetite or emotion.
I responded by gesturing to the other seat in the booth.
Tak was wearing loose-fitting street clothes, but I would bet on them sporting a tactical layer beneath that. Their face was mostly obscured by a rebreather, but not due to any air quality alerts. Rather it served as a facial scrambler, which I thought would be all the more suspicious and out of place. They’d somewhat contained their mess of curls back with a bandanna, but most of the façade was peeking through like burst seams.
A throat cleared behind them with a soft “Pardon me,” and a steaming plate of Sullivan’s Special clinked down before me. Sully beamed behind Tak a moment, expectant, before they growled and threw themself into the booth opposite me. “Yours will be out shortly—”
“Just water, Suls,” Tak said, short and heated. They directed the next bit at me, each syllable pointed. “We have somewhere to be.”
“Whatever the rush, you can enjoy a quick bite,” I said between mouthfuls. There were chunks of potato that melded just deliciously into the spiced sauce. “Just package it to go and charge it to me, Sully.”
“Do you get a kick out of this?” Tak asked once Sully had bustled back. “I forgot who I was dealing with, of course you do.”
“Kick out of what, exactly? Being threatened into arrangements I know next to nothing about?”
“Who threatened you, Ash?” Tak lowered their voice and ducked their head. “No one coerced you. I swear, you’re such a…”
“You can say fucking asshole,” I finished for them. With Sully out of our privacy envelop, my mood had eased back into a tense sourness that the savory dish couldn’t pull me out of.
“I was going to say big baby,” Tak muttered.
“Even worse, threatening children.”
“I didn’t threaten you,” Tak said, voice rising again. Then, they hesitated. “You didn’t answer me. Who threatened you?”
There it was. I jabbed a fork at them, then at a potato. “You need to shore up your security. Now, tell me who we’re meeting at King’s.”
Tak pried off their mask as Sully brought a takeaway pouch and glass of ice water, depositing these next to Tak with a flourish and cheerful smile. “Really been much too long, Tacky,” he cajoled. “Ashley had to assure me you hadn’t been spirited from us like so many others. You two back working a case?”
Tak’s responding smile was guarded. “Aw, Suls, I wouldn’t leave without sayin’ somethin’.”
“Too many have,” Sully confided, sullen. He caught himself after a moment and perked up. “But good, good. You enjoy when you can, and come back even just for water, yes. I leave you to the casework!”
“Thank you, Suls,” I said softly. I could feel my patience strained out before me as we waited for Sully to leave the booth’s privacy field once more. The moment he was clear, I spoke over Tak who was a moment too slow in waiting for the same thing. “Whoever you’re working with sent me dozens of pings, Tak. Told me to head over to the docks. Did you know some gang started a fire in one of the cargo containers? And one of Masterson’s boys is AWOL after being admitted to a medical center. But I’m sure he’s fine like every other missing person in this city.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tak said in warning. “Hell’s below, if I hadn’t already told them you were on, I would tell you to fuck off right now.”
“How is that not a red flag, Tak?” I put my fork down and leaned back, putting my arm to rest on the back of the booth. The seat’s filling was poking out from out of the seams, the red fake leather stretched and worn from years of use.
With a sour challenge, Tak picked up my fork and began stabbing at lumps of my food. “It’s not. You’re the red flag. I dunno who messaged you. But I’ll ask, or poke around, all right? I am, obviously, not giving you details at Sullivan’s of all places.”
I remained quiet. Let them stew and mess with my food. I knew how to work Tak.
So reliably so that I could count down from ten before they let the utensil clatter down onto the plate, splashing oily brown sauce onto the table. “So, you’re not in? I can’t believe you, I swear—”
“I said I’m in,” I interrupted. “The food’s good, isn’t it?”
Tak made to strangle the air between us.
“And I told you, that leak didn’t come from Sully’s,” I continued, addressing the elephant that had come in to roost with Tak. They froze up, then made a noise of frustration before burying their face in their hands. Button successfully pressed. But, like a coward, I didn’t follow through. I told myself there were more important matters, that we would talk about the past later when the present wasn’t so oppressive and nearby.
I finished up my plate and pushed it to the edge for Sully to come clear. “You can at least tell me what I’ve resigned myself to, Tak.”
They lifted their face, and I realized with a twist in my gut that they’d been pressing tears back. “Why can’t you just accept that it’s a big deal and let the others explain when we get there?”
“Because I don’t appreciate threats.”
“I don’t know who threatened you,” they shouted. A warning popped up immediately informing us that we had neared the threshold of the privacy envelop.
“You don’t know,” I repeated, keeping my own voice level and conversational.
“Hell’s below—”
“We’re circling,” I said. I took a sip from their water. “Fine. Shall I be the charitable one, then?” Tak made a hand motion that commonly didn’t indicate to go on, so I prevailed. “You ever had a one on one with the city’s AI before?”
Tak frowned in confusion. “Like, through an interface or something?”
I shook my head. “On the way back from the docks,” I hesitated. I leaned on my forearms, closing the distance between myself and Tak. So maybe I didn’t fully trust Sullivan’s privacy booths either. “I think the city was pestering me to move out.”
Tak rolled their eyes and didn’t seem to quite grasp the severity of what I was getting at. “Those ads run on every street from Times Square all the way up to Yonkers. You’re not a shut-in, Ash, how’d you miss those?”
“Tak, the AI came out from one of the ads. It stood on the sidewalk before me. Asked me what I wanted, got upset when I told it to function like a normal city.” I’d been sitting on that for three days, with the details of the interaction tumbling out of me in the rush. The more I went on, about how the street lamps burnt themselves out from the power surge in the immediate area, to the way the AI was made out of light that seemed to come from the surrounding ads themselves, the less and less smug Tak appeared.
Until I was finished and they were fumbling to pull the straps back on their mask, not meeting my gaze. “Unless you want to tell me holographic cabbies are driving our cabbies and I’ve been fortunate enough to miss that…”
Tak glanced out into the street and once around the shop before they leaned in, mirroring me. “You think the threats came from the city?”
Satisfied with my charity—and honestly a bit relieved to have gotten it all out—I leaned back with a shrug. “Different MO.” I recalled how angry I’d gotten while I was recounting the details to Tak. Anger was distinctly different to the dread and terror I’d felt when interacting with the caller.
Tak didn’t need to know about that. I’d pushed their paranoia to its limits already.
“If it’s the city threatening you, then you absolutely need to meet with us.”
I sighed. “Fine. On to King’s?”
Tak shook their head. Their voice was filtered through the mask again, and I felt irritation prickle across my back. “That was just for food and secure privacy. Follow me.”
I rose after Tak and gave Sully a wave where he was finishing up an order at the counter. Exiting pleasantries called out and exchanged, we were out in the cool afternoon where the conversation became more superficial and light.
What had Tak been up to lately? Oh, you know, a bit here and there, odd jobs taken.
What had I been up to, recently? Oh, just a bit here and there, odd jobs coming through my feed, you know how it goes.
New media consumed? Tak was caught up in a new audio show that had launched from San Fran the other week. It featured a plucky protag who worked corpo field research. Each episode involved a new problem for the main character to wander into while she was out in the “field” undergoing “research” (air quotes provided by Tak).
“A bit washed for the public?” I asked by way of engaging commentary.
“Oh, just a bit,” Tak drawled sarcastically, filter clicking in pace with their breaths.
But despite the premise, Tak seemed to be enjoying it. They were almost through the first season and the stakes were rising.
Did I have anything I was into? No, nothing like that. Yup, just the pets. How was Prickles? I’d been keeping her blooms recessed, so all good there. Yup, even the ants were in good health. “You know, you’re free to swing by to check on them yourself,” I offered.
Tak clicked twice before declining. I almost felt bad about my earlier pushing.
The city around us was turning from bustling bodegas and delis to something more residential, with tidy little row homes and rising co-ops. I wasn’t quite sure which neighborhood we were heading to, as Tak kept taking twists and turns along the way that eventually doubled back on each other, but I didn’t mind that so much as who awaited us at the final destination.
Which turned out to be a short flight of concrete steps tucked within an alleyway between apartments, adjacent to a flanking pair of over-used recyclers. At the top of these stairs, Tak made a signal for me to wait, and I walked past them to a bus stop as they descended into the sublevel. I made as if I was checking the stop’s schedule while I waited, an eye out for Tak to pop back up. People were out and about, milling passed me or taking a seat at the bench.
A bus was pulling up on time with some murmurs of surprise but remembering my last run-in with the city I put my back to it, just as Tak popped up over the stair railing, giving me a hurried motion to join them.
“Always so extra,” they muttered as I took the stairs one careful step at a time, eyes locked on the waiting doorway. The door had exterior bars Tak had left propped and beyond that was a person expecting us. Tak had to pull me across the threshold at the last bit, as I was capturing every detail from the spiderwebs stretched languid across the lights to the cracking of paint on the address nameplate.
The interior was tight and cozy, a narrow entryway that opened into a basement apartment. A man was holding the door open for us, halfway leaned into the entryway and taking up more than a third of its available through space. He was groggy and a bit sluggish, with a trimmed beard that nestled around a square jawline, and straight auburn hair tied back away from his face.
Tak ducked under his arm without greeting, tossed their bag and Sully’s takeout on the kitchen counter to their left, and then disappeared into a room to our immediate right. They kicked the door shut.
We stood facing each other, both of us apparently waiting for Tak to either emerge from the room or at least throw us a proper introduction. When they didn’t, the man stiltedly let me come inside, though I noticed the way his confusion pulled down every corner of his face, offsetting his otherwise handsome features. He didn’t seem the type to frown frequently, which I would come to realize later was a completely accurate assessment.
The lighting throughout the apartment was so dim that I had to resist pulling out my p-comm for a light. The kitchen was to the left, the room Tak had disappeared into emitted a soft shuffling, and then there was a den area with limited seating and a visual display setup. I chose to stand at the shorter side of the kitchen counter, resting a foot on a rung of one of its three stools.
“What’s that?” the man poked at the takeaway near Tak’s bag.
“Lunch,” I said. “You want?”
“I’m good,” he replied, eyeing me up as he locked up his front door. “You’re Ashley Slater?”
“Greetings and salutations,” I murmured politely. “You’ve caught me at a disadvantage, however…?”
“Paul. Paul Newcomb. But if you’re coming on with us, you can call me Lucky. Or Logan. Or Lucky Logan.”
I resisted snorting. “You’re using code names?”
“If you’re smart, you’d come up with some better than Slater,” Paul said with a hint of a grin just behind his beard. He leaned into the shut door. “Tak, why’d you bring him here first?”
Tak’s muffled shout drifted out to us. “I dunno, to do your job maybe? Vet him.”
“Doesn’t he come with your stamp of approval already?” Paul asked the door.
“He took me to Sully’s,” Tak replied.
That must have meant something significant as Paul sighed and made a quick hand motion to follow him. I did not, at least for a full five second count.
The living space was orderly and neat, the areas of disruption already familiar to me. I stood by a pile of wires and a halfway set up display to anchor myself as Paul brought out a small scanner. He held it up to my eye-level, then frowned over the results. “Sullivan’s, really?”
“Do you have something against Sully’s cooking?” I asked.
The device dinged and Paul nodded at my right side. “P-comm. Out.”
I removed it from my pocket and held it out from my person. Paul didn’t seem pleased by this, and I wondered what it would take to see a genuine smile. But without further instruction or comment, he ran the scan again, with another result ding concluding our transaction in full. Seemingly satisfied, Paul returned the scanner amongst the pile of devices and gestured for me to take a seat.
I remained standing, p-comm at my side.
“Tak fill you in on what we’re trying to do here?”
“Fix the city.”
That got a twitch from him. “Sure. If it can be done. But you should have gone over it in full beforehand, not at my residence,” he said this loudly toward the room Tak was in, then set about putting their takeout away and moving about his kitchen.
“Tell Paul about the tunneled messages and living ads, Ash-hole,” Tak’s voice called out again.
Paul raised an eyebrow at me. “Coffee?”
“…no. Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Messages?”
“…piggy-backed off Tak’s messages to me,” I replied.
“And the living ad?”
“Dysfunctional city tech continues to be dysfunctional.”
“He doesn’t like sharing information,” Tak said, emerging from the room mask-less and changed into more casual street clothes, swaths of gray and bright teals that swirled and flowed about them as they took the offered coffee mug from Paul.
“I couldn’t tell,” Paul said, and there was a faint smile as he looked me over.
The joints of my fingers ached around the grip of my p-comm. I flexed them and tried to ease my shoulders down my back. “And why am I sharing this with you again?”
“Because I’m the security specialist in our little group. I’ve compiled dossiers on every person recruited and am responsible for vetting anyone else we bring in,” Paul explained, cordially. “And if you’re getting anonymous pings, I think that falls within my purview to know who in our group is going above-and-beyond the call of duty.”
The logic tracked. The deciding factor was less that I didn’t trust Paul, whoever he was, and more that I trusted Tak. If not for veracity, then to at least shoot straight with me. I still need someone to go through Masterson’s data packet too; I’d barely made a dent these past few days by manually going through the files. I pulled a compilation of the messages up and sent them off to Paul’s nearby device. “Fine. See what you can make of that.”
“I’m not going to be able to do that now,” Paul laughed. “Easy. It’s because we’re heading out soon. You’re cleared, so we should take you to meet the others.”
My mouth was dry as I watched the two of them shift around each other in the small kitchenette, quickly finishing their coffee. “How many people?”
“Five? Six total?” Paul replied, instilling me with so much confidence I was likely to become a tree, rooted within his apartment.
Tak was by the door, stomping their shoes back on. “Ash, you’ve never met them before. Wear a fader and scrambler, and if you’re spooked, fuck off and never come back. Yeah?”
I swayed in place.
The final push came as Paul indicated he was ready to leave as well, pulling on a light jacket. “Has Tak even told you what we’re trying to do yet?”
“I thought his damned curiosity would get the better of him by now,” Tak muttered, beyond the door and on the stairs.
“It’s a big job,” I repeated from their message, not taking the bait Tak lobbed my way. “Involves the city.”
Paul spoke over his shoulder. “You can really sell an idea, yeah? Should pivot from cyber research into marketing.” Tak responded with a variety of curses and name calling. Paul ignored them, leaned over his counter and smiled right through me. “What if I told you we’re going to fix New York City,” he shared, all conspiratorial.
“I gathered that much already,” I replied quickly.
Tak snorted, then disappeared up the concrete steps where their laughter drifted back down into Paul’s front hallway. Paul was less amused. “So, what’s holding you back?”
“It’s exactly why my guard is up,” I admitted. I didn’t go so far to say I’d been singled out on the street by the AI itself, and that maybe Paul should keep his voice low. “You have dossiers on this team…?” I hinted.
Paul took it with a nod and made way for me to clear the door. “Sure sure, feet to pavement, I’ll give you the run on the way over.”
“And where are we taking me?”
Paul laughed as he locked up. Tak was above us, hanging over the railing, hissing at me to get over myself. “We have a meeting to discuss our nefarious dealings. Just keep your eye on your emotional support Tak leading the way.”