Page 112 of Coldwire
The night sweeps another cold gust in, spreads its tendrils to join our clasp. I shiver, tightening my grip, keeping its intrusion out. Despite the heat emanating from Nik’s skin, his palm is smooth and dry—not at all what I’m expecting.
“You’re safe,” I assure him plainly.
I try to stay at arm’s length, as though that’ll make this less strange. When that tires my wrist, I scoot closer, folding my legs tightly in front of me, my boots pressing flat on the floorboards. The tracker in there continues to emit a signal, and I sit here, saving the life of someone I’ll inevitably turn in.
I don’t know how I ended up debating the matter, but I am. I undeniably am. I thought my task was straightforward: capture an anarchist, clear my name, regain my standing among my employers. It’s only the most reasonable course of action. Anarchists cannot go running around killing people as they please. NileCorp is the only place where I belong.
My thumb moves, grazing along his hand. Nik Grant has killed people,hurt people. But it would be delusional to take the moral high ground from where I stand, because NileCorp is a thousand times worse. At least Nik pulls the trigger himself. NileCorp ensconces itself within so many layers as an entity that it’s impossible to trace which of its suit-clad executives are responsible for the directives passed to its security forces. I’ve read the forums raising awareness for its crimes, the translated interviews from victims in other nations tortured by private soldiers sent into their civil wars. NileCorp holds no sanctity for human life. The desire to capture Nik isn’t out of justice for his victims—it is solely because of the insurgency he’s promoting. The company needs to regain control.
Nik fires his gun in the hope that he can begin a fight. NileCorp fires to keep profits high, warehouses stocked, soldiers employed. NileCorp makes the world go round.
So what am I exchanging to be a part of that?
“Don’t go,” Nik whispers. He’s almost inaudible above the whistling wind. I hear it, all the same. It’s not for me. I know he’s not speaking to me, but I stay put. A loudspeaker starts broadcasting from the street, telling Threto to remain inside, that lockdown is in place until the city has made a count of the outbreak and the hospitals have determined their capacity. The helicopters circle once more, their scrutiny beaming onto the taller skyscrapers, and we hide tucked out of view in this abandoned nook.
The night lengthens. A gentle rain starts to fall at some point, splattering through the window onto the wooden floorboards, staining the color darker. I sit unmoving, watching the city’s lights bleed through the water, waiting, waiting.
I sit, holding Nik’s hand, tight as a lifeline.
32LIA
“It would be really, really nice if we had helmets!”
The upcoming turn for the expressway comes out of nowhere. I apply the throttle so that we don’t miss it, then push hard on the right. Kieren screams out loud.
“Hey, no time for being a wuss,” I yell back, straightening the motorbike.
A car veers too close as it tries to change lanes on the expressway, almost slamming into our front wheel when I shoot past. The driver lays on their horn. I don’t ease up on the throttle. Behind me, Kieren is hanging on for dear life, his hands clutching my shoulders.
I’ve never driven a motorbike before. I downloaded an augmented guide in my display, and I’m entirely trusting its alerts. So far, so good. I put the guide on “Police Pursuit” mode so that it’ll direct me into any opening that appears in the traffic. It’s nice that that sort of feature exists.
“If we crash—”
“We’re not going to crash,” I interrupt. A pop-up tells me that I can go faster if I want. I take my left hand off the handlebar quickly, maneuvering Kieren’s arm down around my waist. “If you actually lean properly with me when we turn, you wouldn’t feel like you were falling off—”
I smack my hand back onto the front grip, braking suddenly to avoidslamming into a car that has stopped with no warning. Kieren can’t even scream this time because I’ve moved so fast that it has robbed the air from him—I hear his half-choked wheeze, cut off with a gulp. I swerve and apply speed again, following the sequence in my display to ensure the motorbike engine won’t cut out. The other cars behind the scene come to a standstill. We proceed forward, gliding smoothly back into the flow.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s following instructions.
Kieren has finally relinquished his sense of pride and wrapped his arms around me, clinging like a scared koala. I’m glad he can’t see my face, or else my puffed-up grin would earn me a decade’s worth of taunts to even the terrain again. I push left to change to the farthest lane, getting us close to the barrier and bypassing the slowing cars. Threto to our side shimmers golden with the sunset, the reflections glancing off the glass windows of the skyscrapers, the billboards changing their color settings for the night. The stolen motorbike rumbles assuredly, roaring with each twist of the throttle when I speed up.
“I’ve prepared the ID exploit,” Kieren yells when I weave back into a center lane. “You need to connect with me.”
“We’re pretty connected right now.”
I don’t have to look back at Kieren to know he’s turning red. “Yourdisplay.”
I flip ahead to view directions, ensuring there won’t be any sudden turns to make. Then I navigate away from the guide screen to pull open the main controls in my display, allowing remote access requests.
“Still pretty intimate.”
“Lia, I can talk you through it instead if you want to do it yourself.”
He’s giving me way too much to work with.
“Okay, okay. Send your request.”
Kieren breathes in sharply when the motorbike teeters. Uneven ground. I lean forward and swipe back to the guide, ready to veer at a moment’s notice if we hit a bad bump. At the upper corner of my vision, the requestenters, and I accept the pairing. It’s strange to watch my tabs move around of their own accord when Kieren enters and goes digging, pulling open pages that I’ve never had a proper look through.
