FORTY-TWO MONTHS PREVIOUSLY
I knocked down the last shot of my shooter, chosen by name—PS I love you—of the list the bartender had rattled off when I’d told Paul that I wanted something different. This was my last one, and it conveyed the message I wanted to convey quickly. I was supposed to be here on a job, but by coming here to not get turned out into the prison systems, made me have to break all ties with someone close. Usually, I’m the one alone in a corner booth, moody with a cosmopolitan dangled entrancingly in one hand, in a dress and stilettos. This time, it’s skinny back cargo pants, black military boots, a tank top and a leather jacket with armor inserts, fitted, and the boots writing me off as a trainee at the mp academy.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away, across the de-militarized zone between the blocs, is the person who I had to abandon. PS-I love you. Paul, my new friend and guide, didn’t have an fml. I checked. But since I wanted a shooter, that I could just keep slamming back until I was a bit more than the usual buzz, was necessary. I reported in tomorrow, replacing a cadet that had volunteered her identity after her parents were murdered in cold blood because she’d crossed a line in her hacking course. All I know is that my boss told me to go to a bar and get drunk off my ass instead of reporting in, and let her friends find us. Ilona Ziedzic, whose grandfather still lived in the Eastern bloc (on her father’s side, and her father had been estranged with him), had asked for asylum, under the condition that someone use her position to get back at the bastards. She’d asked to personally train the agent, and so the past six weeks had been spent hurriedly learning how to walk, talk, and think like Ilona Ziedzic. Usually every other time I’ve been inserted here, it’s been with a diplomatic team, so everything’s a new business for me.
As Cadet Ziedzic, I’m in deep shit with the mp academy. I’ve been ordered to, and have, burned all ties with the Eastern bloc. I’m operating alone, with no backup. Preferably though, they want me to get a diplomatic position so I can leave, letting the real Ilona emerge from hiding. Unfortunately, the real Ilona told me she’s going to take her life as soon as I’ve been inserted beyond extraction. Basically, the moment I enter her dorm room, and I’m not hung over, I’m to send her a ping on a closed circuit signal.
“Ilona? Another of the same?” Paul’s voice cuts through my reverie, and a take a deep breath and rap my fingers energetically on the counter.
“Nope. I’m not near drunk enough Paul baby,” I slur. “Let’s change this up. Vampire.” I have an extensive list of cocktails in my head from diplomatic shit-fests I’ve been to. I could go more crazy, but Ilona only started developing her alcoholic tendencies in the month before her personal leave was authorized based on a bad psych evaluation she claimed she faked. I wanted a Moscow Mule, but a Vampire was less dramatic of a come-back for a girl who’d really just come and ordered a pint or two.
He nods. “Anything for the hottest woman in the bar,” he says, as he takes the empty PS-I love you glass and gets to work mixing my Vampire. The bar is busy, but not many people are in the shadowy corner Paul tends, and many just use the auto-machine on the dance floor.
I take the glass when he hands it to me, and sip it with a drunken flirt. Maybe I’m more than just a bit buzzed.
“Ilona…Ilona! It’s been two months!” A nasal voice cries as a hand pries the Vampire from me and replaces it with a seltzer. “Come on girl. Get up, drink the seltzer. I knew you were gonna be in bad shape, but darling! Not this awful!”
This must be Ilona’s roommate and former best-friend now turned protector and spy. Monique Wayan. “Hey Mon.” I wrinkle my nose at the seltzer. I’ve never liked seltzer. “What’s new?”
“You’re about to get in more trouble.” She forcefully drags me off the stool and towards the door. “I have five minutes. FIVE minutes, to get you back. I have my pass that Doc Martin issued when I told him you weren’t back. We’re still operating on your old psych-eval here girl.”
I discreetly drop the seltzer’s contents into a receptacle and wave the empty glass. “I’m working on it here. Just needed a vote of confidence.”
“Dziedzic—you have my vote. You’re a fucking genius when you feel like it.” She hailed a transit cube and shoved me into it. “Now come on.”
*begin AN*
I promise. I won't write AN's that often. I just want to say--if anyone is actually liking this, it'll be a while until I can post more. I refuse to take the time to post, what with all the stuff I've got going on, unless I can post multiple segments, all coplete scenes. Sorry if anyone is actually caring. Interest does generate the impulse to work harder.
*end AN*
