Bright holo-portals placed tastefully in recessed portions of wall displayed vacation destinations ranging from Valor’s Squall, the nicest set of beaches on Ceto, to the gorgeous hot springs outside Trifold City on Phorcys. Automated and entirely too-clean food kiosks called out gently as Jan strode past, offering delicacies such as clemenapple tarts, sugared aprilopes, and Rafe’s favorite, frosted cinnamon sticks.
Jan passed a few citizens dressed far better than he was, all completely oblivious to his presence. Most wealthy enough to shop in the Luxury District used their PBAs to project augmented reality maps of buildings and shops, but Jan, being old-school, had only holographic signs and his innate sense of direction. He also, unlike them, had the good sense to watch the alleys.
He found what appeared to be a central street — Comet, a decidedly unexciting name — and followed it until he found a sign for Library pointing down another street. He strolled along, hands in the pockets of his surprisingly comfortable vest, and encountered not a single police officer.
The last time he’d been here, before the armistice, the Supremacy had a Vindicator — a soldier in powered armor — stationed at the end of every block, as well as officers in uniform. It was a credit to their discipline that the Patriots of Ceto had only managed to blow up two shops in the Luxury District through over ten years of guerilla warfare, though the body count had, in both cases, been unfortunate ... and not just Advanced. Today, there wasn’t a Vindicator in sight.
A lot could change in five years, Jan reflected. Governments. Presidents. Your trust in people. And, of course, one’s approach to securing valuable areas of one’s city.
Jan glanced up and spotted a faint shimmer. Of course. The CSD had figured out how to mimetically camouflage security drones, just like the drones the Supremacy used during their occupation. Technology had advanced as well.
A drone fleet explained the lack of visible police officers, the presence of which might unnerve wealthy people while they shopped. Cloaked drones patrolled the Luxury District, likely armed with weapons that would fire upon anyone engaged in unsavory activity. One such drone was following him now.
There was nothing Jan could do about that. There was nothing he could do until he found Rafe and Bharat. Yet when he finally arrived at the Luxury District’s impressive library, they weren’t there. This was getting really annoying.
The library was all of three stories, each wall made of glass that revealed the packed shelves within. In addition to the encyclopedic virtual library brought from old Earth, this library held actual paper books. Few bothered with those these days, but that was part of the charm.
Paper books were so unnecessary that almost no one read them, which made reading them the perfect pastime for rich assholes with too much money and time. You hadn’t truly read it, the saying went among rich assholes, until you’d read it in print. Unlike the library where Jan had grown up, this one had dozens of shelves filled with high-quality paper books.
Also, Jan noticed, as he approached unresponsive doors and a glowing red Closed notice, this library was no longer open. Which made it even more unlikely that Rafe and Bharat were still inside. Where the devil had they gotten off to?
“Hello, Jan,” a posh, lovely voice said from behind him.
Jan spun and chucked a throwing knife at her.
The blade, aimed straight for thigh, passed through thigh instead. It bounced eagerly across the street behind the woman he’d chucked it at. Fatima Blaize stood in what looked to be the flesh, but was, Jan now understood, actually a highly realistic hologram, one wearing a thick jacket, dark shirt, and dark pants. Holograms had come a long way as well.
Everything looked so real on her: Fatima’s tawny brown skin and rounded chin, the perfectly plucked eyebrows above her dark and haunting eyes, and her glossy lips. Fatima had always been the classiest of their small crew, and whenever they’d run a scam that called for an Advanced, Fatima could pose as an absolutely lovely Advanced. Her platinum blond curls dangled like crystal on an expensive chandelier.
Fatima’s disapproving frown scarcely dampened her charm. “A knife, Jan, really?”
“You sent me to orbit,” Jan growled.
“About that,” Fatima said. “I didn’t act-a--y.” Her perfect image flickered. “J-n?” Static split her face, then ripped through her chest and hips. “Wha- t-- -el-?”
Fatima’s incredibly realistic hologram vanished.
Jan stood poised, waiting, prepared. Fatima did not rematerialize. She did not shoot him from the shadows, or kick him from behind, or drop out of a goddamn helicopter. She was simply ... gone. That seemed an odd way to conclude what appeared to have been a rather complicated-to-arrange meeting.
There was no projection equipment in the biocrete, so Jan searched the skies for a shimmer. Fatima must have projected her hologram from a cloaked drone. Yet none seemed evident, and he couldn’t hear any rotors humming over the gentle wind.
A ghost. He’d just seen the modern-day equivalent of a ghost, and that was the reason he all but stuck his next knife in the man who tapped his shoulder from behind. He stopped just short of cold-blooded murder.
“Ahhh!” Rafe shouted. “It’s me, mate! Ease off!”
Jan pulled his knife back from Rafe’s throat and released a fistful of leather vest. “Unwise.”
“Yeah, well, fuck me, mate, I thought you were expecting me.”
“Hours ago,” Jan added. He glanced at the street while keeping his peripheral vision on Rafe. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Fatima.”
“No shit, she’s
