Fox Hunt (Fox Meridian Book 1) (8 page)

‘You have one of the most advanced personal agents there is, and you don’t actually talk to her. What’s with that?’

The door opened and Fox walked in. Her apartment was one of the few areas of the world where she always allowed virtual reality to override real reality. It was cheaper and a whole lot easier than actually decorating. In contrast to the bland, rather sterile, corridor which she knew the building owners had tagged with virtual planters and a few scenic views, Fox’s apartment was, she thought, tastefully decorated in warm earth tones. Off to the left as you walked in was a huge window, currently blacked out, but it was actually a window. Sam’s apartment only had the virtual kind, but Fox was unusual in thinking that the construction site for the North Hudson Barrier was worth looking at. Property prices along the Esplanade had taken something of a dip after the announcement of the New York Flood Defences project, which was why she could afford to live in a location so convenient to the precinct HQ on Governor’s Island.

Aside from the window and the large, curved sofa, the kitchenette and dining area on the right, and the bulky form of Fox’s crime scene kit waiting beside the door, the lounge had an additional feature which was watching them enter from where it appeared to stand in front of the window. ‘I must admit I would like to know that myself,’ Kit said. ‘Barely any contact for a month. Most people wish to at least check in with their agent, even when off-world.’

Fox sagged a little more and had her VA set coffee brewing. ‘Well… I’m just not used to having a proper agent.’ She brightened a little. ‘Terri said you were really capable, so I figured you could manage without–’

‘Even the most capable agent needs some training,’ Sam said, dropping onto the couch. ‘You’ve barely got to know Kit. I’m assuming you can see her, by the way, because she’s invisible to me.’

Fox glowered. ‘Make yourself visible to our guest so I don’t look like an idiot.’

‘You told me to remain unseen to anyone but yourself unless specifically ordered to appear,’ Kit replied, and then gave a nod to Sam.

Sam glanced up and nodded back, not bothering to hide a smirk. ‘Nice to see you again, Kit.’ He glanced over at Fox, the smirk widening. ‘I still think it’s really cute, but I also can’t believe Terri did it.’

‘She’s evil,’ Fox replied, pouring coffee. ‘You want some of this?’

‘Coffee makes me hyper and we
are
going out tonight. You’re not getting out of it.’

Fox grumbled and turned to the sofa. Kit watched her, quite calmly, saying nothing. Kit was Teresa Martins’ latest project, expected to hit the market in the summer. Teresa, who was Terri to her close friends, had presented Fox with the computer and software ‘for consumer testing.’ Officially, Kitsune-592.23 was a class 4 artificial intelligence, software with a full capacity for rational thought and creativity, but constrained to operate under the direction of an owner. The constraint was there because society regarded AIs as potentially dangerous, if very useful, tools. The fact that Terri had given Kit the ‘Kitsune’ designation and the appearance of the AI’s avatar suggested that Terri was having a little joke.

Kit’s avatar was a cute little anime-style figure, a Japanese girl with her features blended toward occidental and then exaggerated. She had a rounded face with a small, pointed chin, a pert nose, huge green eyes surrounded by clearly artificial, very black lashes, and a small mouth which still managed to have quite full, red lips. Her skin was pale and her hair was an ash-blonde mass which formed fox-like ears at the top. She was always dressed in an anime heroine’s style: a short, strapless, white dress cupped her small, but very pert, breasts and had a puffed out, pleated skirt. There was a bolero top with lace epaulets, white collar and cuffs, white knee-high, high-heeled boots, and then there was the thick, white brush which extended from her back. She was a kitsune, a fox spirit, and Terri had been grinning the entire time during the ‘product demonstration.’

‘We’ll go out. I’ll grab a shower and change. Give me a chance.’

‘I’ve had suitable clothes laid out in your bedroom, Inspector Meridian,’ Kit said.

‘Thanks… You see, this is what I mean. I’m not used to this kind of efficiency. I mean, you have to have had the house robot do that before I got here, so you anticipated me needing it and… I’m not used to servants.’

‘I’m not your servant,’ Kit replied. ‘I’m your personal agent and, if you work with me, I can be an exceptionally good one.’

‘Yeah… I know this. Sorry. The lunar trip came at a bad time. And transit flights make me cranky. Give me local news, please. If there are no urgent messages waiting, I’ll go through them tomorrow.’

The window sprang to life as Kit walked out of Fox’s view of it, displaying not the outside view but a wall full of her preferred local news channel, IB-62. ‘There are no urgent messages,’ Kit said. ‘I would have ensured such were forwarded to you.’

‘Right…’ Fox sank onto the couch beside Sam, took a drink, sighed, and leaned back, closing her eyes. ‘Okay, so I am happy for you to be visible to Sam and Terri. Uh… and I’ll designate others as needed. Can’t think of many…’

‘It isn’t like your address book is overflowing,’ Sam commented.

‘I’ve only been in this metro for two years–’

‘And you know me, Terri, her father… Is there actually anyone else?’ Fox opened her mouth to respond but Sam added, ‘That you actually talk to rather than the ones you dumped.’

Fox frowned. ‘I don’t make friends easily, or lightly. Where are we going anyway?’

‘New club opened in Lexington Tower while you were bouncing around on Luna. “Two Seven Lex” they’ve called it.’

‘Weird name.’

‘Something to do with Chinese lucky numbers.’

‘Seven is traditionally a number considered auspicious for relationships,’ Kit supplied without prompting. ‘Two may represent a doubling or something like “bright.” Two and seven together suggest a multiplication of good relationships or a bright relationship.’

Fox opened an eye and peered at her friend. ‘You’re not trying to drag me to a sex club, are you?’

‘If I am, they fooled me too. Drink, dancing, probability of attempted pick-ups is high, but that’s normal.’

‘I can provide individual or aggregate reviews, if you wish, Inspector,’ Kit said, smiling.

‘No… I said I’d go out with him and it’s probably better if I don’t know what I’m getting into until I get there.’ She turned, closing her open eye and opening the other to peer at Kit. ‘If we’re going to be getting to know each other, you’d better start calling me Fox. Nothing that looks as… cute as you do should speak so formally.’

‘Thank you, Fox,’ Kit replied, beaming and clutching her hands in front of her breast. ‘I think we will make an excellent team.’

Fox closed her eyes again. ‘I’m sure Terri’s just trying to wind me up.’

~~~

Clubs were another place Fox let the virtual tagging work pretty much as the designers had set them. If you were going to go to a club, there was no point in worrying over reality, and the result of
not
accepting what others wanted you to see was usually less pleasant.

For example, Fox had dressed herself in a slightly oversized T-shirt with a wide, scooped neck and a chaotic sort of pattern in black over a purple base, short shorts, and over-the-knee, high-heeled boots. What you saw was what you got. Sam was in jet-black plazkin jeans and a white T-shirt, but his shirt was v-tagged to run scrolling, dancing geometric video patterns with colour streams wound through them indicating his mood.

If Fox were honest, Sam in a tight, white T-shirt was better than the enhanced version, but she had the distinct impression that 27Lex would have been considerably more boring without its virtual imagery. There was likely chrome and glass, and it probably didn’t look too bad, but…

You entered straight from the level the maglev station was on, and the club went up and down. The dance floor was straight ahead, and apparently transparent: people were dancing in thin air with the bars and tables of the floor below quite visible beneath their feet. Looking up you could see a balcony with additional bars and people standing, looking down at the dancers. That was probably a real balcony. Everything was dark: black or smoked glass structural work, red and purple neon shone out, marking the railings. There was not a whole lot of light, and the music was throbbing, synthesised dubmetal that got into your chest and hummed. Now she was inside and looking around, she noticed the throb of the music was reflected in the red lighting. And there was something else…

‘Drink?’ Sam suggested, pointing upward.

Fox’s gaze swept the dance floor, taking in a lot of people who seemed to be dancing closer than she might have expected. The air had an odd, hot, musky scent to it. ‘I think a drink might be good.’ Her throat felt dry. As she followed her friend up the steps to the upper floor, she began to notice other things, like the number of people who seemed to have dilated pupils. As Sam ordered two drinks at the nearest bar, Fox leaned closer. ‘Are they using subliminals in the viron?’

‘Yeah,’ Sam replied, blandly. ‘I think it’s a little unsubtle. Their memetic engineer needs kicking in the ass. It’s just something to make the place live up to its name. They’ve got private rooms off the bottom floor if you can’t wait.’

‘Fuck, Sam! I’m not in the mood for picking up some random dick in a club.’

Sam looked at her, his lips curling. ‘Any urge to try to get me in the sack?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not affecting you.’ He picked up a wine glass and handed it to her.

Fox sipped it and glowered at him. ‘You’re not
that
irresistible, Mister Clarion.’

‘As a matter of fact, I am. I spend a lot of time making sure I am. It’s my livelihood.’ His gaze flicked around the people on the balcony as he took a drink. ‘You, on the other hand, are just going to have to fend off horny drunks because you’re genetically lucky.’

‘I would submit that you are too. You haven’t had much work done. Nothing structural, no muscle enhancement. I’m the one with the military-grade tendons and the enhanced muscle fibres.’

‘No cosmetic work though.’

‘All you do is cleansing and smoothing.’

He laughed. ‘Okay, so we’re both beautiful. People are going to wonder what’s wrong with us.’

Fox shrugged. ‘I’m a cop and you’re an escort.’ Sam was, indeed, a licensed prostitute, but more than that, he was a bodyguard. He frequently made more money providing companionship for bored, rich women, but he had male clients, and he did ‘special jobs’ where the sex was essentially a cover for guarding the life of his temporary partners. And despite the fact that his reputation suggested he was fantastic in bed, Fox had never slept with him.

‘Well, someone’s going to have to show a lot of promise before I take them home with me,’ he said. Making his living from sex disinclined him to consider it recreationally, which was why Fox had never suggested it.

Fox settled her back against the bar, curved her spine, pushed out her chest, and watched several men and a couple of women lick their lips. ‘Yeah. On the plus side, it could be amusing to fuck with the dopies for a while.’

‘You’re an evil woman, Fox Meridian.’ He turned and stretched so that his arm muscles flexed… Fox was sure she heard someone whimper even over the music.

‘I bow to your superior evil,’ Fox replied.

Part Three: Murder Is My Business

New York Metro, 18
^th
January 2060.

The hangover had almost been worth it, the messages Kit had carefully prioritised and stored had been dealt with over breakfast, and then she had got the report through from the forensic techs saying that the mysterious data stick contained even more mysterious data. It was a single, encrypted data file;
very
high-end, military encryption had been used to conceal the contents. Most of the rest of the day had been spent trying to get authorisation to have it decrypted.

So on Sunday morning, Fox was really hoping for a lie-in and the buzz for attention from her VA resulted in a groan which became a bitten off scream of exasperation when she noticed the time. ‘Oh-eight-hundred! Fuck, this better be… All right, answer it, no visual.’

‘Identity verified against personal implant,’ a dull, impersonal voice said into her head. ‘Inspector Meridian, attend potential crime scene at apartment sixty dash ninety-two, your location. Possible unattended termination; patrol and EMT dispatched but not arrived. Please confirm.’

Fox let the statement from the dispatch agent at HQ sink in for a second before replying. ‘Inspector Meridian confirming assignment. ETA… five minutes. Inform the patrol to wait before gaining entry.’

‘Confirmed.’

The connection broke and Fox pushed herself up from the bed. ‘Damn. Kit, run the shower, cold.’ Gathering herself, she pushed and rolled and then dragged herself over to the shower which was built into a glassed-in cubicle at the side of the bedroom. Cold water hit her as soon as she stepped in, flushing away most of the rest of the fuzz in her head.

‘I should have a cup of coffee ready for you to gulp down by the time you are dressed,’ Kit informed her.

‘Off,’ Fox said, unable to take any more. She turned and found the fox-girl standing behind her, dry despite the shower jets since she was not really there. ‘Air jets, please. And thanks for getting the coffee ready, but you standing in the shower with me is creepy.’

Kit opened her mouth, and then closed it and vanished. ‘Perhaps that was not entirely advisable, no. I shall employ audio only in future.’

Fox grinned, letting the hot air jets dry her skin for almost long enough before she left the shower and grabbed for a fresh suit. Jeans, jacket, socks and trainers went over that, and then she was out of the bedroom and taking a half-mug of coffee from the small robot which handled her household chores. Kit was right: half a mug she could bolt before leaving.

‘Hopefully this is going to be a simple unattended death,’ Fox said as Kit waited for her beside the door. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so to grab some food. We might even save them.’ She put her empty mug down and headed for the door, grabbing her kit as she went and pushing it ahead of her. Luggable was the best description of the portable kits; they were near enough fourteen kilos of equipment, and they came with a telescopic handle and wheels for when there was flat ground to move them over.