Chapter 22
James
James’s stare tracks Kate, who’s changed from her daywear into a pair of high-cut shorts and a slinky oversize top, as she saunters over to the smartwaiter to collect a package.
She flips it in her hand, cocking her head, which makes the knot of hair on top of her head tilt precariously as she studies it.
She looks so fucking sexy he has to bite his knuckle so as not to groan.
He isn’t egotistical enough to think she chose the outfit as a punishment to him, but it serves as one all the same.
She doesn’t seem to notice his anguish as she walks over and hands him the box.
Their fingers brush as he takes it, and his heartbeat stumbles.
“It’s for you,” she says, glancing at his hand, which now feels as if it’s on fire. She doesn’t seem remotely affected as she goes back to her computers and back to ignoring him.
That’s the worst part since he decided to be a good guy a week ago.
Kate is pleasant to him. Detached. Platonic.
James hates it. Hates how warm she is to Jett and Lessa.
And especially to Aurone. It’s like she’s created an impenetrable wall against him.
It grates on him, getting worse by the day.
Like an itch under his skin that he can’t scratch.
And James is dying to scratch this particular itch.
He’s about to get up and head to his room to scratch it solo when the box in his hand vibrates.
James excitedly opens the package. Aurone came through! Inside is a clear device like Kate’s. Its screen is lit up. It responds to his face by opening to display a message that reads: Tell our girl this one’s on me. —Oro1
Of course, that’s how you spell it. Stupid futuristic names.
He types out Fuck off, hovering his thumb right over the send symbol before deleting it.
Instead, he sends: Thanks, buddy. No one, future, past, or present, likes to be called “buddy” unless they’re seven, they just hit a home run, and it’s preceded by “good job.” Or they’re an Irish Setter.
James grins as he imagines Oro1 grimacing as he reads it.
A second later he gets another message: Sure thing, champ.
James laughs, earning a glance from Kate. Maybe he and Oro1 can be friends after all.
A third message quickly follows: Thought you might find this useful.
A link to something called BLACKOUT follows, along with a series of codes.
Intrigued, James clicks. The link takes him to a portal that seems to be an access point to the dark web of the future. The platform requires each user to create an ID, which he does using the codes Oro1 sent. Fortunately, the platform doesn’t ask for Kate’s NHOS identification number.
James’ skin prickles with anticipation. Despite the man’s excessive familiarity with Kate, they were definitely going to be friends. He replies: Very useful. Thank you.
The first index he comes across seems rather harmless: an odd jobs auction that lists non-NHOS positions.
One ad requests an individual who excels at “texture sampling.” A discerning tactile feel, along with very long fingers, are the main requirements.
“Strange,” he says, which earns him an interested glance from Kate.
Since she’s been shunning him, he’s a bit of a glutton for her attention. “Listen to this ad,” he says. “ ‘Looking for two individuals, preferably twins, able to hold perfectly still for long periods of time. Candidates must provide their own body paint and be ready to start immediately.’”
Kate is now eyeing him with a wry grin on her face.
Maybe amusing her is a way back into her good graces.
It’s worth a shot. None of the listings appear to be illegal, but he can see why none of them are advertised through the Jobs Exchange on the NHOS government website and paid with unicoin.
Most of the classifieds that aren’t strange seem more highly specialized and advanced than anything he’s qualified for, momentarily making him question how far out of reach his ambitions are.
No, he can do this. Even if he has to take on a menial role at first. He’ll find something he’s capable of, then start there. He skims through a few more listings.
“What about this one? ‘The Holiday committee of tower A10 is looking for a group of petite persons to present as ‘water fish’—as if there’s a different kind of fish—to splash holiday joy around the atrium tower pond during this year’s annual celebration.
Costumes will be provided.’” James squints as he scrolls down to see a picture of several people in shiny orange and white, bright blue, and brown spotted fish costumes lying on a particle pane floor set to a pond scene.
Is that a lily pad? “What on earth type of holiday is this?”
Kate covers her mouth, suppressing a giggle.
“It’s the only one we have called Holiday.
” She’s glowing with mirth, and the feeling James had earlier surges forward.
It’s a fine line to walk. Already, he’s beginning to question if he’s even capable of enduring her presence without trying to seduce her.
“From what I gather, several holidays merged over the centuries into one. The fish costumes have pouches you can reach inside and fish out sweet treats. The sticky ones that taste like sweet mint are my favorite.”
“I’ll pass.” James’s nose wrinkles at the thought of eating something sticky from someone’s pouch.
It only takes a second, but he watches her mask of indifference slip back into place.
Damn it. As her focus returns to her work, he retreats to his research.
He needs to find something he can do to earn a little capital.
At least enough to cover his lease in the interim until he can build something more substantial.
It’s just like when he was ten—except he doesn’t have a Rolex to sell.
The thought causes a swell of pride. If he can build something big this time, it’ll really count.
James uses the tablet to lay out a calendar, creating a rough timeline and a task list, putting Solve Identification at the top.
Then he creates a tally labeled Blackmarks, the digital currency used to trade in illegal or off-market wares, like the various digital currencies during his time.
In the first cell, labeled Balance, he types a sinister zero.
He goes back to BLACKOUT, determined to find some task he is capable of completing.
After searching for an hour, he comes across an underground sports site where he guesses most of MSP’s illegal betting takes place.
While he’s not generally a fan of gambling, one group catches his attention: Off-the-Books Boxing.
The notice on BLACKOUT calls for “experienced fighters only” for a “discerning crowd.” The figure representing prize money seems significant enough.
Especially considering the other available and ridiculous jobs that there isn’t enough money in the world for him to take—every man has his limits.
But he knows how to box. If he could win a few matches, build up a reserve of Blackmarks that could later be converted to unicoin, that would be a start.
Especially if he could accumulate a small surplus this soon in the timeline he created.
The thought of his options opening up makes the tightness he didn’t realize he’d been carrying ease a little.
He shoots a quick message, including a link, to Oro1: What do you know about this place?
Oro1 responds immediately. Perfect way to spend a Fifthday night. Busy?
An hour later, Kate is still working on task orders when the door chimes to alert him to Oro1’s arrival. He steps out of his room, dressed in athletic clothing, to find Kate staring quizzically at the door.
“Were you expecting someone?” she asks.
Interested to gauge her reaction, he says, “Oro1 and I are going to watch some illegal boxing.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Guys’ night,” he says.
She shrugs, turning her attention to the screen. “Have fun.”
She doesn’t seem angry or disapproving. Excitement trickles over him as he slips out the door.
A SAT takes James and Oro1 to a small arena built out in a warehouse in Y Quadrant, which is home to unregulated gaming.
It’s on the same floor as the fitness center in Kate’s tower in C Quadrant, making him think it used to host a fully legal fitness facility before it became a fighting ring.
They take a seat in the stands to watch as two gloved women enter the center ring. The two rings that flank it are empty.
Oro1 leans over. “As the night goes on and more people sign up, those two will have fights too. All the betting is in Blackmarks that can be washed into unicoin. I have an account.”
James watches with interest as Oro1 opens a betting session, wagering on a woman with stark white spiky hair. God, that is a lot of zeros. “How is that possible if NHOS monitors the financial systems so closely?”
Oro1 grins. “Government officials still take bribes to look the other way. Sometimes a coin washer has to shut down and wipe out all their records, but they just open up again under a new name with a different BLACKOUT address.”
“So I guess a fake identity is similarly easy to manage?” James asks, thinking this might be a good time to broach the next item on his list.
“Oh no. They monitor IDs much more stringently. Blackmarks turning to uncoin just means people can spend more. Fictitious identities can be used for far more nefarious purposes.”
James is about to ask him how he might get around the identification issue when the ringmaster steps onto the floor, drawing their attention back to the center ring. The crowd is electric as the bell sounds. Then the white-haired woman throws the first punch. The red-haired woman narrowly dodges.
“Once you’ve registered an initial bet, you can just start calling them out. The organizers do it for the frenzy it creates,” Oro1 explains, before getting to his feet along with the crowd.