Diversions

"Let's recover it first."

Enoch, who until recently had made his living cleaning up the living, also handled the dead. Even without pay. He hoped that when someone in a family died, at least their body would remain to be placed in a columbarium. Having experienced the death of his own family, Enoch knew this well. He figured other families felt the same. Sure, some might not, but most probably did.

It was the same now. If there was family, deliver it to them; if no family, to comrades; if no comrades, burn it at Eden's outskirts and scatter the ashes. He did it without compensation. He'd nearly died once after getting badly burned for it, but Enoch's habits never changed.

He still couldn't forget the anguish of shedding bloody tears over the blood pooling with chunks of his family's flesh floating in it.

"Soo, you should at least leave a message for the person who introduced you to the helper."

"No. They'll trace it. Makes body disposal tricky too."

"...Trace?"

Netwatchers who could access the net could search communications for keywords. No telling which ones, but if a specific keyword popped up in a convo with Miko, it'd lead to instant tracking.

Soo pointed at the corpse's forehead.

"Entry wound from front to back, right?"

"Yeah... pretty much."

"But the door was locked."

"We grabbed the key on the way out..."

Enoch trailed off, recalling their path. No footprints. No gunpowder smell. Not in the hallway, not here. Computers everywhere, scattered shards. Piles of delivery food trash, thick food odors. Windows covered in heavy bulletproof plating, entrance door... Soo had pried it open easy, but it could've stopped even anti-materiel sniper rounds. Air barely circulated, no ventilation possible.

Yet no gunpowder scent.

"Hmm..."

Shot dead in a sealed room. Bullet from the entrance pierced the forehead. Blood flowed down without spreading back. Even if casings were recovered, the wound didn't match standard ballistics. A forehead hit usually leaves a larger exit hole in the back of the skull. But this corpse? No. Like a slender awl had pierced it—the hole tapered slightly smaller toward the rear.

"...Tech gear, huh."

"Yeah."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"The structure-penetrating smart type too."

"Probably."

Tech gear differed from standard. Some used electromagnetic force to propel bullets, others compressed air in unfathomable ways. The former, infamous mercs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could buy with cash. The latter? Unobtainable, unseen even.

This was the latter.

"A megacorp exec's involved."

Enoch yanked his hand back from the body and retreated. Not that the exec pulled the trigger personally— one of their people did. Still, best not to touch if avoidable. Corp eyes and ears were everywhere. Hauling this corpse somewhere would mean Enoch could never sleep soundly again.

"This is a headache. First, we should—hack, phlegm—?"

Rubbing his brow, Enoch eyed Soo creeping to a computer.

"...Soo? What're you doing?"

"Yeah."

Soo's short fingers hammered the keyboard, then her eyes lit up as she looked at Enoch.

"Got an email."

"Spam comes ten times a day."

"Not spam. From Salvador Ortega."

Enoch's eyes widened like they might tear.

"Th-that connector Salvador Ortega?"

"Yeah."

The moment Soo replied, the phone rang. Analog landline. Kids wouldn't know how to use it—practically obsolete these days. Yet it jangled noisily.

Phones ringing wasn't odd. But now? Very, very odd.

Pale as a ghost, Enoch stared at Soo.

"...You didn't just send an email, did you?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Requesting work."

Soo answered calmly and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picked up the receiver.

"You—"

"Hello."

Soo's ear filled with the gravelly old man's voice. Her eyes crinkled in a smile. It was a welcome sound.

Connector Salvador Ortega. One of Eden's seven rank-1 connectors—and Soo's favorite.

"This is Soo."

"You didn't... kill him, right? If you had, you wouldn't dare email this old man."

"Yeah."

"Hmmm..."

No panic in the old voice. Kay, was it? He'd known the guy might die soon.

After a pause, Salvador spoke lower.

Enoch barreled over, silently screaming with his whole body for her to stop. Soo didn't.

"A beauty's age is a secret."

"You cheeky brat—do you even know how old this old man is?"

"Seventy-nine?"

"You know and keep at it."

"Feels friendlier this way."

Enoch choked on air at Soo's brazen reply. Fair enough. Salvador was the connector's connector. Mercs risked lives for a single intro. Soo's antics? Beyond insane.

Boisterous laughter erupted from the receiver, long and hearty. At his age, might he keel over?

Enoch went slack-jawed. A rude kid climbing all over him—yet the old man laughed delightedly? Unforeseen.

"Grandpa got no paper or pen?"

"Grandpa? Uhahaha, right. None these days. Unlike 70 years ago, we memo direct now."

"Can sell old paper stuff?"

"Still paper, so sure."

"No recording, right?"

"Think this old man pulls pranks?"

"Deal."

Analog landlines couldn't be traced. No recording meant no info leak. Asking for paper and pen? He'd disable nano-computer recording for info worth it.

In Eden—not Earth-sized—even rank-1 connectors might not know everything. Most said no. Connectors lived on trust and info. Rank-1? Near omniscient. Even big-three corp intel in their grasp.

Selling to that Salvador? Enoch looked queasy already. Piss him off, and his mercs would hunt you.

But Soo beamed, like selling shards to Irina. She scribbled round letters on stray paper.

"Fought five Zailek test subjects. Ryo Cheon-nyuh's specimen wrecked 'em, they say—but lie."

Silence on the line. Soo continued.

"Proof: analog camcorder footage I recorded."

A creak. Old chair pulled.

Soo's smile deepened.

"Address: Southpeak Block 4, Ironworks Street, C-19, lot 887. Old Makel Heavy Industries factory interior, seventh container left."

Enoch checked his retinal map, doubting. Real spot. Westtown—Eden's west city—bordering Southpeak, abandoned factory.

"Half-month later, go there. Sell paper with camcorder locker and password."

Soo tilted her head. Paper and pen, right? But only paper sold. Should've recited password for him to note?

"Yeah..."

Blinking in thought, Soo brazened on.

"Pen's a set."

Hearty laugh boomed back.

"Lotsa bangs goin' off."

"Definitely more than usual."

Scrape-scrape-scraaaape.

Unlike his usual precise park, Enoch wobbled in crooked, trembling as he unbuckled.

"Whew... Soo."

"Yeah."

"This... ain't a dream, right?"

"Actually, Enoch died to Kalthas before. This is the afterlife."

"Reality. Real... haa..."

The call with Salvador ended well. Half-month later, if info checked out, he'd get the old man's personal contact. Rank-1 connector Salvador Ortega acknowledging and assigning work— including Enoch. Industry rule: vouch for one, covers the crew. Botch jobs? Dropped fast. But no worries there. Soo trusted herself and Enoch. They wouldn't fail.

"All good but... the body's a snag."

"No family, no comrades."

"Wasn't from your intro?"

"Miko's in the wasteland now."

They'd leave the body. Touching it risked megacorp heat. Cameras en route unavoidable, but no cams inside Wilson Apartments—slipping out sufficed. Telling Miko? Later. Wasteland trip pending, and traces fade with time.

"Enoch, no need to fret."

"I did nothing."

"It's fine. Comrades move as one."

Soo smiled lazily, popping the door. Enoch followed.

"Thanks, even if empty words. But Soo."

"Yeah."

"Why here?"

Enoch eyed the Zailek subsidiary warehouse ahead, popping a candy. Normally synth cig, but with Soo? Nah.

"Another meet?"

"Yeah. To smash."

Candy dropped from Enoch's mouth.

"Comrades move as one."

Soo grinned wide and stepped forward.