The Paradox Initiative (12 page)

Kestrel woke up in the chair. She sat up, groaning and rubbing her neck, and squinted around to the rest of the room.

All the lights were on.
Wolfe’s book no longer lay on the table. His bathroom door was shut, and she could hear water running inside. Reflexively, she glanced out the window…

To see stars. She smirked.

“Remember where you are, Kes.” She got up, her legs stiff, and headed back to her bedroom. She took a hot shower, which woke her up, and as she dried off and dressed she realized that she felt a lot better than she had since getting on this ship. She tied her hair up, put on some makeup, then re-entered the sitting room.

Wolfe stood waiting for her, in a shirt, jeans, boots and leather jacket, as always. But today, instead of just walking out the door, he met her eyes.

“Good morning.”

She blinked.

“Good morning.” She stepped down the stair.

“Hungry?” he asked. She nodded,
watching him curiously.

“Yes.”

He nodded, then started to the door—but didn’t charge out ahead of her. As they walked down the hall toward the lift, he shortened his strides to match hers. Then, right before the lift door, he stopped, and sighed.

“I’m tired of bacon and eggs,” he said. “Is there someplace else we could try?”

“Um,” Kestrel said, startled, then thought. “There’s a little coffee and pastry place on this level.”

“Coffee’s good,” Wolfe nodded. “Lead the way.”

“Okay.” Kestrel nearly smiled, then turned and strode the other direction, toward the bright commerce hall.

“I don’t understand why you would want to put all
of that in your coffee,” Wolfe said, taking a bite out of his pastry and pointing at her cup. “All that cream and sugar and chocolate and everything just ruins the taste. It’s not even coffee anymore. It’s dessert.”

“Exactly,” Kestrel
sighed, and took a sip of her hot mocha. He just shook his head and chewed, looking out the front window.

They sat at a
white, two-person table up against the front window of the café. Outside, passengers of all ages headed to and from breakfast, and inside they crowded, chatted, played on their devices, or ordered loudly. The staff and stainless-steel androids behind the counters barked and beeped commands back and forth, the dispensers steamed and hummed, and the air flooded with the scents of coffee and sweets.

Kestrel
set her cup down and studied Wolfe as he took a drink of his own coffee—black—and folded her hands in her lap.

“So…” she said quietly. “Are you going to tell me what the plan is?”

“I told you, that’s none of your business,” he answered, wiping his fingers off on a napkin. He leveled a look at her. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Stop worrying.”

“Stop worrying,” she repeated indignantly, but keeping her voice down.
“How can I
stop
worrying?”

He sighed again, and glanced at her.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She just looked at him.

He crumpled up his napkin and stuck it in his empty coffee cup.

“Look, I
will
tell you,” he said. “Just not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said pointedly. “Just trust me.”

Kestrel gritted her teeth and turned away. Wolfe scooted his chair back and stood up.

“Now,” He pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Let’s go find something to do.”

“What?” Kestrel’s head came up.

“I’m going stir-crazy in that room,” he admitted. “Any ideas?”

“How about…” Kestrel started, then hesitated. “Well, you might not…”

“What?” he waited.

“The arcade?” she ventured.

“What, that ridiculous ad?” he growled. “Do we have to go to the main level where all those flashing walls are? Because if that’s the case, then I don’t—”

“Actually,” Kestrel said, putting her hand into her pocket. “I got you this.” She pulled out the other yellow Ad-Link.

“What is it?” he asked, taking it from her.

“If you wear it, it eliminates about seventy-five percent of the wall ads,” Kestrel told him, getting up too.

“Not all of them?” he asked, turning it in his fingers.

“That option is really expensive,” Kestrel shrugged. “I
decided we could put up with a few ads if it meant we still had enough money for things like, oh, food.”

He laughed softly.

“Right. Priorities.” He opened the bracelet and snapped it onto his left wrist. “It doesn’t have to be showing, does it?”

“No,” Kestrel shook her head. “It’s wireless and remote.”

“Good,” he said, tugging his jacket cuff over it. “Because it looks silly.”

“
Wha—It does not,” Kestrel protested.

“Yes, it does,”
he countered, heading to the door. “Especially on you.”

The door
ahead of them gaped. A wide archway stood at the end of the hall, and above it in striking, glowing green letters stretched a sign:

Galactic Arcade

Inside, the huge room looked mostly dark, interrupted by neon space designs on the floor, and pinging simulated lasers dancing off the walls. Music rolled out—fast-paced and energetic. Wolfe winced.

“Loud,” he commented. Kestrel lifted one shoulder.

“That’s so that when you miss the target or crash your fighter, you can curse and the little kids won’t hear you.”

Wolfe grinned again, kicking his head back. Kestrel, more eager than she ever had been to enter an arcade, strode right up to the front counter.

“How many?” the black-clad girl asked.

“Two,” Kestrel said, laying down her gold credit line card.

“Would you like the complete package? It includes the obstacle courses, virtual battle courses, target shooting and piloting. Or, you can just cut that in half—do the obstacle and battle courses, or the shooting and piloting.”

“Hm,” Kestrel thought for a moment. “Just the shooting and piloting
for now, thanks.”

“Okay,” the woman took the card and Kestrel paid, and the girl gave them each another bracelet to wear
—neon purple this time.

“Great,” Wolfe said as he strapped his on. “
This
one glows in the dark.”

Kestrel chuckled, then sensed
him follow her as they moved further in.

All around them, shrieking kids darted between blinking, beeping machines, their bracelets waving like beacons to their parents, who hurriedly trailed after. Glowing pictures of colorful planets, comets and stars moved slowly across the black floor, giving Kestrel the odd feeling that she was walking on air. Overhead hung
dozens of life-size star-fighters, their edges flashing with lights. She glimpsed several wide-eyed people in each cockpit, working the controls and howling their way through the simulations. Six-armed androids trundled about on their large, single wheels, maintaining the games and keeping the waiting lines in order. Moving ads occasionally blipped to life on the walls, happily suggesting that they take a break to go get a Fizzy-Wizzy drink at the nearby snack counter.

“So, where do we go?” Wolfe asked, stepping closer to her and
frowning all around them.

“Looks like…over there,” Kestrel po
inted. “If you want to practice marksmanship.”

“Is it quieter in there?”

“Probably,” Kestrel said, starting toward that door. It opened for them, and shut behind.

It
was
quieter, and the music pulsed with cool focus. To their left stood a whole wall virtually covered in firearms. To their right stood the range, divided up into stalls and long corridors. Four other sets of people were already there, taking up the furthest four rows. Wolfe paused, staring at the firepower.

“Wow,” he muttered. Then he pointed at them. “These aren’t—”

“No, they’ve been programmed to be non-lethal,” Kestrel said, still considering. Then she raised her voice. “K95 to ground level.”

The topmost gun lowered down to her on a mechanical arm. She plucked
the handgun off and turned it over.

“Hm,” she said. “Pretty good
shape. Somebody broke off the safety, though…” She turned to Wolfe. “Which one do you want?”

“U
m…” He thought a moment. “Something longer than that.”

“Something you
set against your shoulder?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, um…” she thought again. “C14 to ground level.”

A long gun descended, stopping in front of him.

“Pull it off,” she instructed. “That’s a hunting rifle, long range. Very precise.”

He clicked it loose, then hefted its long barrel and graceful, slender stock.

“Interesting…”

“Come over here,” she said, turned and entered one of the empty stalls. She approached the counter and looked down at the screen
there. She felt Wolfe come in behind her.

“How abo
ut stationary targets first?” she suggested, touching the screen and selecting that option.

“How do
you
know so much about guns?” Wolfe asked. She smirked.

“I used to sell them, remember? Before you blew them all up.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she admitted, still smiling. “I didn’t like that job, anyway.”

The target tunnel ahead of them darkened, and then at the far end about forty meters away, a single red circle with a center dot appeared. Kestrel raised her gun in her right hand, sighted and fired.

A green bolt, thin as a needle and tipped in
neon yellow, broke from her gun with an efficient
tang
. It split the center dot. The target splattered and disappeared.

“I…I didn’t even see that,” Wolfe stammered.

The target reappeared. Kestrel took a short breath, aimed and fired.

The target splattered again.

Again. And again.

Ten more times, she shattered the center
s of the virtual targets—and the lights blinked a multi-colored 1000 POINTS! at her before flashing: PLAYER TWO.

“That’s you,” she said, stepping aside to make room for
Wolfe. But he just stood there, considering her. She met his eyes—then blushed.

“What?” she wondered. He looked at her sideways.

“Who taught you to shoot like that?”

“I did,” she answered. “When I knew I’d have to be selling them, I wanted to be able to
actually help people shop. I learned to shoot all the guns on the wall of the store. Which was actually…” she looked at the ones nearby. “More than there are here.”

He
paused for a moment, then turned to the corridor.

“
All right, what do I have to do?”

“Just hit the target,” she told him. “Like I did.”

“Do I have to reload this thing?” he asked, lifting it up to look at it.

“No. Just pull the trigger.”

“I can do that,” he muttered, raised it and set it against his right shoulder—like it fit there. Like he had done this a thousand times. A million.

The target appeared.

He shot it.

Right in the center. Even better than Kestrel’s aim.

Thirteen times, he shot the middle out of the target—and his gun kicked, uttering a snapping growl each time it fired.

100
0 POINTS! the system declared. ROUND TWO!

“Where did
you
learn so much about guns?” she asked, studying him.

“Here and there,” he answered, his attention on his lowered rifle. “
From my father first.”

He didn’t offer any more, so reluctantly,
Kestrel stepped up again, readying her gun.

“Moving targets, now,” she said under her breath. “These are a little harder…”

A shape coalesced at the end of the tunnel. Glowing. Man-shaped. Wearing armor, holding a handgun. And he bared his teeth and ran right at her. She took a breath, aimed—

“No.”

Wolfe’s hand suddenly landed on her arm. She jerked, then twisted to face him. The hologram man roared and charged right up to them, then dissolved.

“What?” Kestrel cried. “What’s—”

“No targets that look like people,” Wolfe said, keeping his hand on her arm even as another hologram man charged up and dissolved. She just stared straight up into Wolfe’s serious gray gaze.

“Why not?” Kestrel wondered, her voice quiet. He
considered her face a moment.

“Have you ever really done that, Brown Eyes?” he asked
, low and fervent. “Looked down the barrel of a gun and shot a man?”

She
shook her head once, seeing nothing but him.

“No.”

His hand relaxed on her arm.

“Good,” he whispered. “Don’t start.”

Kestrel swallowed, watching as he turned away, his brow furrowing.

“How…How about…” she fumbled, turning
back to the controls. “Zigg-bots?”

“
What
are Zigg-bots?” Wolfe demanded, incredulous.

“Half alien, half robot
green flying…things,” Kestrel supplied. “They’re not real.”

The hardness faded from his features. He glanced down, on the verge of smiling, then nodded.

“Okay,” he allowed. “Guess I can shoot up some Zigg-bots.”