The armory was pretty well stocked for a place of worship. I was coming around to the fact that the Refuge was more of a corporate enclave than a church or temple, so the racks of body armor and lockers full of firearms actually made sense.

"I have to admit, these robes are comfortable." I said to Cassandra while adjusting a bolt of orange fabric over my shoulder.

She smiled and nodded in agreement with a SevenArms automatic in each hand.

Eyes on the weapons, I cleared my throat and slapped my chest. "Beats the hell out of a suit. And this concealable vest is better than anything they gave us in GreySec."

The monk walked to me, yellow hair swaying, and passed me one of the handguns. I checked the chamber before sliding it into the hidden holster in the vest's side panel.

"Ah, oui," Cassandra said. "And how did mon beau mec find himself in the military? It is so…prolitaire for the son of a corpo scientist."

I chuckled. She and my father would have gotten along. Being a developer for TaoCom with a Golden Gate penthouse gave him expectations. They didn't include his only son signing a Greysen Security contract to fix engines and sleep in the mud.

"I wanted to get out of here," I said, watching her pull an odd bandoleer out of the wall locker. "To see something other than these buildings, you know?"

Cassandra draped the bandoleer over her shoulder. Rather than holding ammunition, the strap was covered with small devices, all wired in series. One of the protrusions looked like a miniaturized LIDAR array not much different than Edison used on their cars.

"And what did you see?" she asked.

I shook my head. "A thousand miles of abandoned wilderness. And the border." Hoping to change the subject, I pointed to her bandoleer. "What's this all about? Looks newtech."

"My…extra eyes," she said, smirking. "For when I go outside."

I smiled. "So, they are sensors. I called it!"

"Oui."

"If you don't mind me asking…" I began, but Cassandra held up her hand.

"T’inquiète. I have been fully blind for sixteen years."

I let out something between a scoff and a stammer. "Fully? Not a chance, Cass. I just walked this whole place with you, and you move more confidently than most of the gonks on the street."

"Merci," she giggled. "I am a Parser. I use the networks as my eyes."

"I've never heard of that."

Cassandra closed the locker door and leaned against it. "That is because I made it up." She beamed a smile from beneath her curtain of hair. "There is no word before me, because there is only me."

"Only one you?" I grinned, taking a step closer to her. "I buy that."

"Draguer!" she said, laughing before putting her hand squarely over my face and pushing me back.

I blinked a few times and adjusted my new robe. "Seriously, though. How does it work?"

"You see because your eyes tell you what is around," she said, shrugging. "I see because of the data feeds. Cameras, devices, the neurocoms of others. These are my eyes."

"Shiny. It's like the user interfaces I designed for Edison." I shook my head and chuckled. "I mean, a hell of a lot more impressive, but I get it. Collating dozens of data feeds into…perception."

Cassandra nodded.

"How weird is it that we ended up partners?" I asked.

"MiniMax does not do coincidences, Jakob. Coincidences are for wanderers."

She had to know that I was a wanderer up until a few hours ago — and that MiniMax had me on a completely out-of-scope assignment. But Cassandra didn't look worried. Smiling at me from under her curtain of hair, she didn't even look mildly concerned.

"Is it weird that I trust your judgement on this?" I asked.

Cassandra tilted her head. An inquisitive look regardless of my inability to see any features above her nose.

"Meaning that I think your setup there makes you more perceptive than anyone. Tapped into all the resources of the mega. You don't have to trust your eyes."

Another lilting chuckled escaped her lips. "You and I, we do not see disability the way most others do."

"I spent years working with data feeds," I said, shrugging. "Maybe it has something to do with my job."

She reached up, placing her hand on my chest. "Maybe it has something to do with your heart, Jakob."

I laughed at that, but since my cheeks heated up a few degrees, I knew it was a nervous response. A cover up. And I would have bet ten Edison coins that she could see right through it.

For whatever crazy reason, I liked the idea of compulsory honesty. A brand of truth that I couldn't deflect. Having someone look into my soul took away the burden of hiding what was in there.

"We should go," she said, cutting through my blushing introspections. "Edgerun is waiting."

***

"Stop that," Cassandra said, grabbing my wrist.

I guess spinning your mala beads like a cartoon wolf spins a watch chain was some kind of break in Order decorum.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"Sorry," I said, wrapping the security-coded beads around my arm. "Is that taboo for monks?"

She chuckled. "No. Just annoying."

I couldn't argue with that, so I turned my focus toward the changing scenery as we walked. The outer downtown vibes of Amber Street slowly gave way to the sparse parks and common areas that marked the transition to the Golden Gate district. Stepping into my childhood neighborhood gave me chills, especially with the lockdown painting the entire mega a terrifyingly quiet shade of gray.

Just as before, there was no foot traffic apart from HMPD badgers in three-man roving patrols. They largely ignored us, not even sparing a glance to the monks in orange robes. The only break in the oppressive silence was the occasional roar of an OGRE passing by on the street.

"This is gonna be a long walk," I said, turning to my partner. "Here to Edgerun would be a half-hour metro ride on a good day."

Cassandra nodded without missing a step.

"My point being that I have a car. A real sick car…to be perfectly clear."

She stopped, placing her fingers against her chin. "There are many police checkpoints on the streets."

"So? If our passes work on foot, I don't see why they wouldn't work behind the wheel."

Cassandra only stood silently, tapping her finger on her lip. Did I break her?

"I'll advance my argument by reminding you that we're out to save the world. Not sure that kind of task should be approached at the pace of a leisurely stroll." I grinned, flashing damn near all of my teeth. "What would MiniMax do?"

"Embrace the Game State," she said without an iota of hesitation.

That wasn't much of an answer — unless it needed decoding. I figured it was a good time to mentally address my newly-embedded companion and get some details.

Koan.

> Yes, bud?

What does 'Embrace the Game State' actually mean?

> 'Embrace the Game State' is a key aphorism of the Order's relationship with the Grand Construct. It reminds one to accept the current conditions and variables — the 'game state' — of the Construct rather than to fight against them. Analogous or similar historical sayings include: 'Keep calm and carry on'; 'Be mindful of the now'; 'Trust in God's plan'; 'Suck it up, buttercup'…

That's good, Koan. You can stop.

"I don't get how this applies," I said, turning my full attention back to Cassandra. "The game state is that we don't have a car, but it's also that we can get a car."

She smiled, and I knew it was supposed to contain some kind of lesson. Coming from anyone else, that small shift in her expression might have triggered my knack for rebelling against frustrating, cryptic bullshit.

But it didn't come from anyone else, and it didn't feel like I was being led around on some esoteric leash.

I frowned, nonetheless. "So, I'm guessing the meaning is that there are choices."

"Oui. And those choices have outcomes. And those outcomes, they become the new game state."

Seemed logical.

I thought about how to sum it up in my own words. "If you're always embracing the game state — which is fluid — then you're both accepting the reality and welcoming the changes."

Cassandra nodded, her curtain of hair bobbing over a satisfied grin.

"Any changes, mind you," she added. "It is easy to embrace that which we love. But to embrace the painful, the challenging?" She clucked her tongue a few times to illustrate the difficulty involved.

In truth, these concepts were so diametrically opposed to corporate thinking my head should have split down the middle upon hearing them. Working in a Skypillar, you pretty much exist in a state of dissatisfaction. That's how you get the drive to push harder, work longer, and give more to the corporation. You don't welcome any change unless it pushes you up the ladder — and even that's fleeting, because you immediately have to focus on climbing the next rung.

"I'm catching on," I said, smirking, "but it doesn't really answer my question about the car."

"Doesn't it?" Cassandra asked, feigning concern. "You want the car, so we get the car. And then we take what comes, no?"

I chuckled. "Okay, maybe I'm seeing it."

Some part of me worried that Sister Cass was being cavalier about our fairly high-priority mission. Then I remembered what a metrowreck Bum had been, and we'd managed to get through that.

Almost. My mind drifted.

"What is going on in that head, mon beau mec?" Cassandra asked, shaking me from the memory.

Realizing that my face had melted into a sad mass of regret, I knew why she'd asked the question.

"Just remembering someone," I said. "Someone who helped me. But I couldn't help him."

She placed her hand on my shoulder. "Sometimes this is how things work."

I gave a half nod, half shrug, but the dismissal wasn't real. I couldn't help Bum because I didn't bother trying. Shit, I didn't even find out his real name. Then and there, standing next to some park in Golden Gate, feeling Cassandra's touch through my robe, the selfishness of it struck me like a bullet.

Koan.

> Yeah, buddy?

You said I've lived a selfish, ego-driven life, right?

> Not in those words. But…yes.

And you think there's hope for me to turn that around? Get some kind of redemption?

> Change is not only possible, but inevitable. Can I ask you something, Jakob? Your neurological rhythms appear distressed. Are you okay?

Just figuring some things out, Koan. Thanks.

I cleared my throat, rolling my shoulders back. Whether Cassandra saw that as a retreat from her touch, I wouldn't know — but her hand fell back to her side, and I wasn't quite ready for it to go.

"My car. It's a few blocks back the way we came, then west into Sylvia." I turned, pointing out the route. "Not close, but a hell of a lot closer than Edgerun."

Cassandra smiled, and I led the way.

***

The walk could have been a tour of Hope Megacity's built-in diversity. From the small parks and posh apartments on the outskirts of Golden Gate, we strode into the dense commercialism of Downtown North. A turn to the right — passing in front of a GreySec checkpoint and two well-armed OGREs — took us into Sylvia District.

Small, as far as the mega's districts go, Sylvia sat in the shadow of the GreySec Skypillar — my former place of employ. Over the years, it had developed into Hope's automotive industry hub.

I pointed out interesting landmarks to Cassandra as we walked, and she didn't seem to have any problem seeing them. A huge, verticalized factory owned by Akira-Bishi on our left. A transmission plant owned by Edison on our right.

Mixed with the industrial buildings, the mega's dealerships shone like diamonds. Massive, multilevel showrooms, like jewelry cases for shine you can drive. In the smaller commercial units along the street, there was no shortage of garages and aftermarket shops selling performance parts and bolt-on accessories.

What I was looking for was the storage complex on Jetta Avenue. A full block of stacked and racked garage units for rent to corpos with too much money and not enough shelf space in their apartments.

That wasn't my case, even when I was an Edison employ. I needed the unit to hold my fireball ride, mainly because there was no way I was parking it in my HEMA's garage.

"There we go," I said, spotting the NuFoods billboard that sat outside the storage complex. Normally, you'd have to pay me to eat a NuBurrito, but the giant image of processed lab meat and printed vegetables reminded me how long it had been since I'd eaten a decent meal.

Putting aside my revving stomach, I steered us through the outer gate and into the rows of street-level garages. Thankfully, all of the locks between the street and my Suprema were old-school biometric. No MiFi or physical keys needed. The armed guards posted at various junctions — employs of the landlord, not GreySec triggerfiends — gave us a couple of double takes, but otherwise left us alone.

The adrenaline started pumping as soon as we stepped up to Unit 236. I pressed three fingers to the lock, popping the latch with my digital capillary map. The door slowly rolled into the ceiling, a grinding motor providing the soundtrack to the big reveal.

"There she is," I said, grinning first at Cassandra, then at my ride.

Did Sister Cass have enough data flowing in to see even a fraction of what was in front of her? I hoped she wasn't missing any of the details. Graphene wheels. Bespoke body panels. A paint job so black it actually absorbed ambient light.

Cassandra stepped into the garage, gently running her fingers over the front quarter panel. I didn't need data feeds to see the look of appreciation peeking out from under her curtain of hair.

"Sister Cass," I said with a flourish, "I'd like you to meet Charity."