Page 39 of Spark Transform

Did his cred with Soleil extend far enough to even ask? And how much would they cost?

He mulled over the problem while he worked. Running interference for the balky cleaning bot got him a few insults, but mostly people ignored him as if he were just a bigger bot in a rain cloak.

Times like this made him wish he were smarter. The best he could do was ask Soleil and go from there.

Near the wide side entrance installed in a badly repaired wall, a flicker from a holo display caught his attention. A replay of the day’s most spectacular explosion and the rain-defying flames at an industrial lab. Thanks to his time with Charrascos, he knew that whoever had first published that feed was making a tidy profit from all the repeated viewings.

“I heard the chems blew the roof into low orbit,” said a woman holding a triggered but unopened mealpack against her chest. Maybe she valued the heat more than the contents.

Her companion waved a spoon through the image. “Heard it true-owned by Gezi Wutala. High-profit reverse drug. Mega-cashflow while it lasted.”

Renner slowed and ducked his head. Of all the major Ridderth crews’ names he’d recently researched, he’d only recognized Wutala’s. Last he knew from twenty years ago, she’d just worked her way into an exclusive gig satisfying the crew chief’s pleasure-pain addiction. She’d moved up in the world.

“Wutala kottindi snaked many.”

“Sharp. Odamon negesi flatline.”

Meaning they admired Wutala for diversifying her lines of business. Crews that hadn’t done so were dead and gone.

She had her tentacles in construction protection rackets, rigged fights, paid violence, and kidnap for hire, and most recently, blackmarket drugs. In an alternate existence, he might have been working for her. Presuming he’d survived his own youthful arrogance. Flashy enforcers often met fatal ends.

It was a deeply disturbing thought that being enslaved by Davidro might have saved his life.

The cleaning bot found the trailing hem of someone’s coat. Renner bent over to pull it free.

A thunk reverberated inside his head. The world tilted in pain. He stumbled sideways, half onto the bot.

A scarred, red-faced man clawed at Renner’s cloak, snarling about murdering thieves. Two people grabbed the man’s arms and pulled him back.

Renner grounded the beeping bot, then found his feet and stood. His ears rang like a bell, and his vision doubled.

Kooga arrived a moment later.

“Aksal.” Her voice dripped with disapproval and disappointment as she eyed the attacker’s flushed face and excessive drool. “Zeroed, starting now. Prove you no high-glide pinzai for one hundred days, maybe open doors.” She repeated it in pidgin Mandarin for good measure.

Aksal wilted until he caught sight of Renner. “Feí!” Aksal tried to free himself. “Murderer!”

Kooga roared into his face. “I told you last time!” She picked up the struggling, squealing man and carried him over her head to the wide entrance. “He the frellin’ janitor!”

She kicked the release to open the doors, then threw the man into the street with enough force to send him sliding for twenty meters down the rain-slick glass roadway.

“You’re bleeding.” One of the men who’d intervened pointed to Renner’s head. “You must have high pain tolerance.”

Sudden pressure broke in his mind. A memory flooded him, as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

Charrascos, looking down at him, only centimeters from his face. Freckles dusted across her pale skin. Her astonishingly blue eyes held a mix of compassion and anger. Light from above created a halo around her.

She pushed red hair behind her ear. The other hand held a butcher knife.

“Hope you have high pain tolerance.”

She sliced his neck muscles and pulled the motherfucking ever-tightening collar forward into the wounds.

Pain ratcheted high, but pressure eased. He gasped for precious air.

The collar didn’t kill either of them.

“Take it soft, amigo.” The man put a steadying hand on Renner’s shoulder. “Maybe sit a minute.”