Chapter 47: Chapter 47

I sit there in shock, blinking at what just happened, as Yaya barrels over, dropping to her knees and grabbing my hands.

“Kylie, I’m so, SO sorry about all this. I didn’t expect her to be so malicious as to override the priority assignment I put on your case! I don’t know HOW she got access to my account, but I’ll get to the root of this, right now.”

 Raising her wrist to her mouth, she speaks into a little black device. “Daisy, could you come here for a minute, I need your help with an urgent matter!”

The device beeps back, before a girl’s voice responds.

“Sure thing, Ya, we’ll be there in a tick!”

I let out a shuddering breath as my dad has a stern word with the Director and the young man.  “Who… who’s Daisy?”

“That would be me! Hi there!”

I turn, and a guy is standing there, wearing the same black wrist device as Yaya. The box chimes, “Here! I’m in this interface module. I’m Data And Integral Systems YMODEM. Daisy for short!”

The guy wearing the device waves. “I’m her handler. She’s an Unbound A.I we caught snooping around our system a while back. However, when we checked, she’d actually patched a couple of security issues we’d been having a doozy of a problem with. So, we offered her a job! She’s the best person for it, after all. Who better to deal with black ICE, hackers, malware, and the like than a girl who can fight it on its own terms and win?”

 “Aww, Kev, you’re a sweetie!” Daisy’s voice chimes in, and her handler grins, rubbing the back of his head bashfully.  “Anyway, Ya, I took a look at the Foster login, and that account shouldn’t have access to anything more than the base system that all employees are privy to. It shouldn’t… but it DOES. It’ll take me a little longer to find out how she got it, there’s some pretty hefty encryption around it, but… it’s hard to pin down…. I… sorry, what were we talking about?”

Yaya looks concerned. “Daisy, we were talking about Janet Foster’s account. She somehow bypassed my security and assigned herself to my case! I doubt that this was the first time, either.”

Daisy goes silent. “Wait, really? How did she… SON OF A BITCH, SHE PUT A MNEMONIC BARRIER AROUND HER ACCOUNT AND I- OOH, I’M SO MAD RIGHT NOW!”

Various obscenities and strings of what sounds like technical jargon, or possibly an impression of a digital cascade, blare out into the room, before silence falls for about ten minutes. I pull my knees into my chest and hug them, breathing shakily as I try to stop reliving those words.  Finally, Daisy speaks up, letting out what can only be described as a sigh.

“Whew… well, whoever concocted that little trap was pretty good at their work, but not good enough. I hate devious little bits of code! Don’t worry; before I tore it to shreds, I managed to figure out where it came from and how she got it onto the system!”

The Director leans in. “Hello, Daisy. I’d like to hear this too, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, Director Sullivan! So, the code came from an IP address, now defunct, that was last used by a site owned by the Church of One. They were using an older, almost obsolete closed-system branch of the Worldwide Data Transference Network, so that’s why our up-to-date stuff didn’t catch it. I feel partly responsible… it’s MY job to catch this sort of crap before it can cause problems…”

Director Sullivan shakes his head. “Not your fault, Daisy. If even you didn’t suspect anything, than none of us would have either. You’re an invaluable member of the family, after all. So, what did this code do, other than camouflage itself from you?”

Daisy’s voice grows angry again. “It was designed to log every name and address that was entered into our system, backing them up, before sending them somewhere. Luckily, I stopped THAT from happening. That kind of information in the hands of a bunch of religious fruitcakes with way too much self-importance…. No thank you! And, the other side of the program was an ICEpick. A Daemon program designed to worm its way through layer after layer until it can uplink directly into the network and break any account wide open. She chose Yaya’s and used it to swap around cases every once in a blue moon. Just enough that Yaya’s performance would seem a little scatter-brained, not enough to be too suspicious. Changing the times by half an hour, or a day forward or back, that sort of thing.”

 

Director Sullivan glowers. “I see. Good work, Daisy. Can you send me a detailed incident report? It might be useful as evidence in the case against Mrs Foster.”

“Father, I think we should focus on the rest of the issue, if I may say?” the younger man chimes in, brushing his hair out of his face.

 “Ah, yes, my apologies. As Director, the fault is mine. Would you be amenable to accepting compensation for the trouble? I can offer you all your sessions gratis, as well as a guaranteed slot of your choice.”

Yaya pats my hands. “I can take your session now, if you feel up to it? Or we can reschedule, if you want to take some time to recover?”

My dad rubs my shoulder, still looking pretty irascible, but with the cause of his ire removed from her position, he’s deferring to my judgement. I take a deep breath, and then sit properly, releasing my knees and lowering my feet to the carpet. “I… I can do this.”

Yaya smiles. “Alright.”

Taking a few steps across the room, she grabs a chair and brings it nearer. “So, I am Yaya Kirichenko, and I will be taking your case on a permanent basis. Now, Dr Francois explained your situation to me, Kylie, and I can promise you that, by the end of our final session, you WILL receive a recommendation for transition, if you decide that you want that. Okay?”

I stare at her. She grins.

“I like to get that on the table, since neither of us will get anywhere if you feel that you need to ‘convince’ me. This way, I’ll get answers I can use to help you as much as I can, and you don’t have to try and tell me what you think I want to hear. So, tell me. WHO are you, Kylie? Tell me… about yourself!”

 

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An hour and a half later, I step out into the late afternoon sunlight, breathing deep. An Enforcer van is rocked up to the side of the building, and four armoured and armed Rapid-Response officers are busy escorting a very irate woman out of a side entrance. I duck back in so I don’t get spotted, and a shadow looms over me, my dad nudging my side.

“Kylie, let the nice officer pass,” he murmurs, but the Enforcer pauses. “Kylie? Tell me, do you know a young man named Jared Wallace?”

Before my brain turns on, I blurt, “oh, the guy who asked my friend Jeffrey on a date?”

With a stifled chuckle, the Enforcer reaches up and removes his helmet. “My son did WHAT?! Oh, he’s quite the man’s man, hahahaha! Oh, my apologies, I’m Captain Zaire Wallace, a pleasure.”

I smile and my dad shakes his hand.

“I take it your son being gay isn’t a surprise to you?”

The Captain chuckles warmly. “Not at all! I mean, I’ve had three failed marriages, so maybe he’ll have better luck where his old man botched it.” He strides out, tucking a digital pad into a pouch on his belt. I watch him go, before my cell chimes. Dana’s number flickers on, a message appearing on the screen, asking if I’m going to be streaming tonight. I shoot back an affirmative, before checking my bank account.

 “Hey, dad, do we have plans for dinner?” I ask, pursing my lips, and he looks at me. “Not that I know of, sweetie. What do you have in mind?”

I grin. “How about we order in? My treat!”

The ride home is spent debating the pros and cons of various bistros and restaurants, before settling on Caribbean. I enquire about everyone’s orders, and then send the list to a delivery drone service, paying for a portion of brown stew chicken with rice and red kidney beans, two orders of jerk chicken with extra sauce, a helping of red snapper escovitch, a double portion of run-down, and three sides of plantain chips. Drinks, too. Two Bob Marley cocktails and a double of Plantation Xaymaca special dry Jamaican rum.

After dinner, I shower quickly to get the smell of TERF out of my hair, before donning my podwear and slipping into my capsule, loading up my Aegis Online profile and logging in.

I appear in the central plaza of Vassim, where I’d logged out the last time I’d played. I set up my streaming orb and wave.

“Hey, hi, what’s up! Sky-Queen Kettrin, back with another live stream! How’s everyone doing? I know, I know, it’s been a week since my last one, but real life has been mega-busy! It’s settled down a little, so it’s back to your regularly scheduled nonsense! Today, I’m going to look around and see if there are any fun-looking quests, maybe we’ll hang with Asteria or some of my friends, it’ll be great! Anyway, where’s the best spot for quest-related stuff?”

I pull up my HUD and open a map of the city, perusing it thoroughly, before pausing on an icon. “Huh, this looks promising. The Claymore’s Grave tavern!” I spread my wings and rise into the air, through the throngs of other flying Argonauts, Lizzara, other Skyborne, Alvs with the same flight spell Astie uses, until I’m high enough to see most of the city, spread out below, rotating myself until the map orients with the direction of the tavern. Once I’ve set my sights on the right spot, I begin actively powering towards it, my feathers rustling in the gentle breeze.

About fifteen minutes of solid, steady flight, I descend, alighting in a spot without too many people, furling my wings about five feet from the ground so I don’t clout anyone with them, dropping noisily to the cobblestones as my armour clanks and dings.

I straighten up as a few people shoot me curious looks, pushing my way into the tavern, nodding and smiling at the woman standing at the bar, polishing a tankard. Heading over, I lean on the bar.

“What’s good here?” I ask, tucking a strand of my long white hair behind my ear, relishing the feeling of this body, the rightness of it, as the bartender gives me an appraising look.

“Everything. Depends on your tastes. Whaddaya want?”

I shrug and produce a few coins. “Something sweet. Fruity.”

The bartender’s long, gloomy face brightens, and she turns to the wall behind her, lined with bottles, casks, and barrels, chewing on her bottom lip as she selects a dark greenglass decanter, pouring a good measure into the freshly-polished tankard.

“There, apple brandy. Three gold.”

I hand over three heavy, butter-coloured coins, taking a sip from the stein in my hand, savouring the rich, syrupy liquor as I approach a large wooden board against one wall, scraps of paper covering it. Each fragment of parchment bears a scrawl of writing, varying handwritings confirming that each notice was written by someone else. They’re quest notices, and I start scrutinizing each in turn, pausing with one in my hand.

“The Sleeping Manor.”

There’s a mansion in the Old District that’s stood empty for almost a century, ever since the last incursion by dark forces. The records are spotty, but we do know that a noble family lived there. However, they were unfortunate victims of the assault on the city. The estate has no-one to claim ownership due to the family line having been cut short, so the city has decreed it as an abandoned property. However, no-one who’s ever gone in has stayed for long. There are rumours that it’s haunted. Anyone willing to investigate will be compensated handsomely upon the resolution of this request.”

 

 

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