Chapter Thirty - Bypass

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?

Don’t antagonize the nutjobs with literal aliens in their heads and very large guns!

It’s like you people want to die!”

-Former CFO of Nimbletainment after the July 2044 incident.

***

Our trek across the city was uneventful. Unexpectedly so.

Maybe it was the way Gomorrah was dressed. In full, high-tech gear, her flamethrower hanging close by her side. Maybe it was the way she was walking, as if she owned the damn place. Or maybe anyone that would cause trouble knew something was going on and they all just collectively decided to mind their own damned business for the morning.

It was still super damned early. I didn’t think I’d ever gone out at this hour to cause trouble. I guessed that troublemakers weren’t the sort to wake up at the crack of dawn.

From the ground, it was hard to tell which tower housed the rich and affluent, and which was built to make them richer and more affluent. They were all the same lifeless grey, with the occasional splash of colour—graffiti and painted rebellion that hadn’t been wiped out by the automated sweepers yet.

“The nearest entrance to the sewers might be off-limits,” Gomorrah said.

I shook myself out of my daydreams. “Why’s that?” I asked. A glance at my own map indicated we were getting closer to the building where we could get to the sewers from the basement. It didn’t seem different to any of the others around it.

“The entire bottom half of the building is owned by a pharmaceutical. They make drugs there, and the security is pretty tight.”

“So we ask them nicely to let us into the sewers. It’s not like we’re there to steal their overpriced insulin or whatever,” I said.

“They might not be so understanding,” Gomorrah said.

I blinked. “The fucking cops were willing to play nice with us. Why wouldn’t some legal pill-pushers do the same?”

Gomorrah gestured vaguely ahead. “They’re hardasses. I think I’ve heard other samurai complain about them before. The thing is, it’s the one industry that’s well backed by samurai. Easy money, and all the company needs to do is produce some drugs for cheap.”

“Yeah, I don’t get it.”

“A lot of samurai sold the recipes for meds to these big companies. They expect the companies to sell them, almost at cost. That means curing people of a lot of things relatively cheaply. It’s why we’re not going through the twelfth iteration of some plague. Those same companies use that backing to sell their own drugs on the side. It’s a big industry, with plenty of cash to be made.”

“And because they’re basically helped by samurai, they think they can just do whatever?”

“Not whatever,” Gomorrah said. “But they might try to flex a little if we don’t approach things the right way.”

“Sound like a bunch of dicks,” Rac interjected. I’d almost forgotten she was there. Then there was a loud slurping sound followed by a smack and a whine. “Fuck, my brain.”

“I warned you,” Franny said.

“Uh, what’s going on?” I asked. I knew that Franny and Rac had left to visit the bathrooms, but that was it.

Rac moaned, and I was a little worried before she replied. “Aunt Franny got me a slushie, and now my brain hurts.”

“She drank it too fast, and please, please don’t call me that.”

“Alright,” I said. At least the kid was having fun.

“Man, it’s been an hour since you’ve shot at anyone,” Rac complained.

Maybe too much fun, even. “Calm your tits, we’re going to go see the boss in a bit. I bet there’ll be plenty of people to shoot at.”

We came around the corner and Gomorrah pointed to a building across the street. Our destination. It looked the same as all the rest, with a few doors at street level and an opening that had a ramp where self-driven trucks could slip into the building.

There were spikes all around the base of the building, little ones, no longer than a finger, and with a blunted edge. Probably to keep out the homeless, I figured.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

We looked both ways before crossing, especially since I was invisible and didn’t particularly feel like getting splattered by anything going a hundred kilometres an hour.

We crossed at a jog, then Gomorrah bee-lined for the ramp. There was a garage door at the top, and Gomorrah paused next to it. “Are you certain you don’t mind?” she asked.

“I don’t mind what? Telling these people that we’re using their sewer access? The worst that happens is they say no, then we threaten them, then we get in anyway.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” she said. There was a small door next to the larger one, maintenance access, I guessed. Or maybe a way for people to walk to work? Though I doubted that anyone living so close to the ground worked in a place like this. Gomorrah stared at the door for a moment, then stepped back. “I sent a message to the building’s security.”

“I’m not going to spend forever waiting,” I said.

“I’ll let them know we’re in something of a hurry. I’m sure...” The door clicked and we both turned towards it as it opened.

It remained open, the room within lit by bright fluorescent lights.

Gomorrah gestured with her head, and, catching the drift, I moved in first.

It looked like the security here was pretty fast. They’d gotten a stooge out to stand a dozen paces from the door, armed and armoured in some high-tech shit that probably cost a year’s wages in credits.

The area was a simple parking garage, broken up by large pillars supporting a ceiling that felt heavy, if only because I knew how much mass was hanging above me. A few trucks were waiting at the end of the facility, and there was a parking space with some rather ordinary cars along one wall.

I started looking for more threatening things, and that’s how I noticed the ceiling-mounted turret emplacements, and, with some help from Myalis, the dozen guards in full armour rushing to get ready behind what looked like a security booth.

“Looks safe enough,” I said.

Gomorrah stepped in, head tilted back as she looked around the place, then she focused on the guard.

“Welcome, we wish to know wh--”

“I need access to your maintenance sub-levels,” Gomorrah said. “Specifically, sub-level three.”

“Ah,” the security stooge said. “Ma’am, do you have the right building?”

“Obviously,” Gomorrah said.

“We can’t just let anyone into our sub-basements, you understand,” he said. His tone had shifted, turning from confused corpo spokesidiot to male Karen with some perceived reason to be offended.

“Good, you can lead me there, then,” Gomorrah said.

Of course, that was when the idiot’s idiot friends ran out of the security room at the back and lined up behind him. A full dozen guards, in heavy armour with obvious servos and pistons and artificial muscles keeping everything working. They had guns that looked like they were torn off the side of helicopters and their helmets glowed from within. The fuckers meant business.

“I don’t need twelve escorts,” Gomorrah said. To me, she added, “I don’t know if I can take all of these guards, you know.”

“”Ma’am, I will have to ask that you leave our property.”

I walked up to the Karen, my new pal, and turned off my invisibility with my face an inch from his. His eyes went wide. “My samurai friend over there said we needed to get to your basement,” I replied in a calm, even tone. As if he’d just asked for the manager, and I was the manager.

“Ah,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Stray Cat,” I replied. “Pleasure to meet you, buddy. I’m a stealth-specialized samurai. I mostly use explosives. Nice building you have.”

“Was that a, ah, threat?”

“I could be more obvious, if you want.”

“Cat, please don’t blow up the building,” Gomorrah said. “People live around here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. I stepped back from the Karen. “I’ll be on my way down then.” I flicked my invisibility back on, then, just to be sure, walked past the row of guards while they glanced around and tried to spot me.

“Hmm, I can make my way down by myself then,” Gomorrah said. “I appreciate the greeting.”

“Wait, uh, I mean...”

***