Chapter Sixty-Seven – Things get Better

Chapter Sixty-Seven – Things get Better

“One of the best fields for the able-bodied, regardless of nationality or gender, is security. The training is usually covered by the corporation, and the work pays quite handsomely. Only a fool would underpay the people in charge of keeping them alive and safe.

Also, sometimes you get to beat up reporters and hobos.”

–The Coach’s Playbook, a guide to becoming corporate security, 2032

***

I stormed through the lobby, a woman on a mission. It was hard not to notice the additional security they’d put up. More guards by the doors, more personnel behind the counters so that clients coming in were treated faster. They even brought out a few of those dog-drones with the spinal-mounted guns. Ugly, but it made the point.

“Ma’am?” one of the hotel employees asked as he jogged to catch up.

“Yeah?” I asked without slowing down.

“We’ve, ah, heightened security. We’re working with some private investigators to track the origin of the package. The hotel apologizes for what happened. That box shouldn’t have gotten past security.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” I said. “I did. And now I’m going to go pay the bitch responsible a visit.”

The employee’s head bobbed up and down. “Thank you. Eleanor didn’t deserve that.”

“She didn’t,” I agreed. We stepped out into the parking tunnel, and I saw a pair of valets scurrying to push my hovercycle closer. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Do me a favour and keep the security on alert until then?”

“Certainly, ma’am,” he said.

I nodded and moved over to my bike, a leg swinging up and over before I fixed my jacket behind me. I leaned forwards, turned the bike on with a twitch of my augs, then gave it gas.

Setting destination now. Just follow the lines. I’ll keep an eye on the hotel while you’re out. Their added security is simple, but it should assist to some degree.

“Going to be expensive for them,” I said as I flew up and merged into a high-speed traffic lane filled with nicer corpo rides.

Possibly. But the hotel’s PR staff is already disseminating information about the attack.

“They’re spreading news about it?” I asked.

Oh yes. A Vanguard was unsuccessfully attacked in their hotel. An employee died, and now their security measures are increasing to such a degree that the entire establishment will be much harder to enter. They’re playing up their part of the narrative. I think the idea is to create the impression that the hotel is a place where incredibly dramatic things happen and one where the management are quick to react to such threats.

I sniffed. It sounded stupid to me. But then… I could imagine Lucy gleefully telling me about how such-and-such a place had someone try to assassinate a samurai. It would get their name out there a lot more than usual and in channels they couldn’t normally advertise in. Sickeningly clever.

I didn’t have the energy in me to really give a shit.

The traffic ahead of me slowed down enough to start grating on my nerves, so I dipped under the cars ahead and shot past them in complete disregard to a whole heap of laws. It was a good thing I didn’t have a license, or it would have been revoked on account of my driving already.

“Where’s this leading to?” I asked.

A restaurant called the Yawning Eve. It’s one of the highest ranked eating places in New Montreal. Rather exclusive.

“Fancy as all hell, I’ll bet,” I growled.

I caught sight of the place as I curved around a few skyscrapers. A slim tower, with a large doughnut about three quarters of the way up, all glass walls with a few landing pads just below it. I’d probably seen the building a thousand times before in media pics and while taking busses across the city, but I’d never paid it any attention.

Diving down a little, I rode over to one of the cleared landing pads and slowed down. The bike’s computer flicked on an auto-assist that helped me come to a smoother landing than I’d ever have been able to manage myself.

I climbed off the bike, then started walking towards the one entrance near the pad.

A valet ran over to me. “Greetings, and welcome to the Yawning Eve, do you have a reservation?”

“No,” I said.

“Ah, in that case, do you wish to make one?” he asked.

We reached the doors, and I tried them once before realizing we were locked out. There was a keypad next to the door. It took my augs a split second to unlock them. “I’m going to go visit someone that’s here,” I said.

“You, ah, can’t do that, ma’am,” the boy said.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I paused then stared at him. “Do you really think you can stop me? Save yourself… yourself, and run over to someone who can do more than hook himself onto my ankle and get dragged along, alright?”

“Uh,” he said.

A car landed on the pad behind us, some sleek luxury thing. “Look, an actual client.”

I stepped in while the valet hesitated. The entrance was a little tight, with a spiral staircase leading up to the floor above where the tables for patrons were all laid out with spectacular views of the city.