It was enough recognizing the face of Ninetynine to persuade the two eyes behind the peephole of the armored door.
Two robust arms opened it, and a fat black-dressed belly mumbled.
«Zachary waits upstairs.»
«Zachary?» whispered Terry.
«He's the best dealer of informations in Dream Streets, as well as one of the best crime brokers and owner of this club. From slums to the tops they all know him as the "Broker Zen".»
«Who is it? A monk who grows money out of trees?» He grinned, amused by the idea.
«No. He helps equally the underworld and the police. As long as you pay, or you have something to give, he has no preferences.»
She noticed his eyes lost into the exalted people playing cards and making gambles.
«He waited for me only», she tapped his arm to draw his attention, «so, the less you talk, the more we make a good impression».
«I can promise, but only with words.»
She turned her eyes and looked away. Fake emotions or not, that surely cheered up Terry.
Psychedelic white lines in the suffused lights were going crazy everywhere, involving waving movements from wacky and dancing people. The hubbub and jumble forced Ninetynine to turn off the sonar headphones.
They proceeded shunning the people standing and talking, and the ones who walked from the opposite direction with frenzy walks. They reached a spiral staircase, trafficked by amused women who were making drunk customers follow them.
The sensors perceived also some guys, expecially who was aside from the fun, who watched the two cyborgs with eagle eyes.
Arrived upstairs, they saw a man sitting alone at one of the squared tables next to the banister made of mosaic glass, that reflected opaquely the rays of the party.
In front of him, two men padded in black smokings were standing, letting no one pass.
«That's him», said Ninetynine.
Terry zoomed the optical lenses: he was just another afro-american human, with an ancient Bob Marley cut. He dressed a white tuxedo, with beneath a black frac, illuminated by a yellow tie. He wore Ultra-sunglasses with golden lenses, and at his feet some ordinary black and yellow trekking shoes.
He seemed just another wealthy man, very well camouflaged with the people having fun downstairs, but the sensors were suggesting the presence of ultra-tecnologies hidden in the suit.
One of the guards pushed Ninetynine – as a warning – but the man behind intervened with his hand raised.
«No, no. They can.»
The gorilla moved away without changing his snout.
«You brought a friend?» Asked the afro-american, while the other two were sitting.
«He is like a brother to me. My ancestor adopted him.»
«You mean your grandfather», he lighted a cigarette, «or is it better to say the man of the memories transplanted in you?»
«It is the same.»
The rise of his eyebrow disagreed, but he continued to peacefully smoke.
«Don't worry. You know I don't want to disrespect and deny you the identity you were assigned.»
Snorted some smoke and looked down, where people were having fun.
«Do you know why the city is called Dream Streets?»
«It's the slogan», answered Terry.
The man nodded: «That's right. "A dream behind every corner".»
He bent and put his elbows on the table, uniting his hands: «I know for sure the motive for Ninetynine to escape, but I can't clearly see the reason why you did it. Why betraying your own homeland and abandon the safeguard of this dream?» then opened the hands, «it has to do with your human memories?»
Terry hesitated for a second.
Indeed what remained of his humanity told him that the Government was doing everything wrong, by telling half-truths to citizens.
With the help of the Psychics, they could scientifically know the exact time of people's deaths, illness and similar painful things. With that power, they could anticipate their time left alive, and ask them if they wanted to join the Military Cyborg Protocol to keep their consciousness after passing out.
The main problem with that: Psychics and bureaucrats also worked with the underworld and were telling to people lies and half-truths about their personal future events, just to get more healthy bodies – which meant more energy – and keep the cyborgs full charged every day.
While thinking about this, in the yellow lenses of the afro-american Terry caught a glimpse of an analizing gaze.
«I have the same opinion as Ninetynine. In that place, we were like puppets.»
«Guinea-pigs», she corrected.
«Ah...» the man sat comfortable again and chuckled, tapping the cigarette on the ashtray «it's for freedom. I see.»
«There is a problem with that?»
Ninetynine showed him a bothered glare. As if to say: "Careful. I told you before!"
«Not at all», answered the man, «it's likely a common desire. Even from a cyborg. Nevertheless, true liberty is given only to those whom God chooses to make free. Since it has a very high price to pay. Even if you're a machine», snorted smoke, «and you two, what will you make out of this freedom, once you'll have escaped the autorities?»
He then looked at Ninetynine: «Neither you talked about this».
She smiled: «And I don't see why I should have to».
«If you remember, I wanted to help you because the human in you is a relative of your grandfather. I have a lot of respect for his generation. And if we want to talk about business, it is better to be transparent.»
«For the moment, we only need a small job to gather something and...» she eyed Terry, «well, I just want to leave the city. I don't know about him.»
«Me too. Same thing.»
«I understand. So, a temporary little task. Nothing long term.»
Terry tried to see him behind those yellow lenses: «Will it be really temporary?»
Zachary smiled and lowered his chin.
He pushed his sunglasses and these discoloured digitally, showing penetrating almond yellow eyes.
«I like you. You have guts and determination to spare. Or at least, that is the personality transplanted in you. A rare and strong sense of justice I really admire... but Ninetynine never told you about me, right?»
«Never had the occasion», she specified, «during government missions was not permitted to distract ourselves in any way.»
«Yes, I know», snorted again smoke, «at this point, I'll introduce myself properly for the newbie. I am Zachary Pendleton, owner of this night club.»
«You can call me Seventyfour.»
«Ninetynine, Seventyfour... it's like a countdown.»
«Indeed we're on a hurry», said the woman, «we moved half Cyberpol.»
Zachary laughed: «I see, I see. However, you're lucky today. One of my clients needs a temporary hand. "Hit and run" quest, right for you. But better discuss about it elsewhere, in private. Shall we?»
They both nodded, and followed him up to a door, farther from the party.
YOU ARE READING
3099 - Vital Lies
Fiksi IlmiahThe year is 3099, a parallel universe The Earth finally reunited in one whole nation: the "dream of Einstein", as philanthropists and current politicians want to praise it. The most rich and wealthy citizens of the cities have access to all the most...
