Runner's Companion.pdf - Free

Simon Wentworth (order #1132857) 9MA’FAN (Covert Ops Specialist)Inside her safehouse, Ma’fan sat, meditating, preparingherself for the night to come. Incense burned, a soft, smoky scentdesigned to clear her mind. When the clock chimed eleven, sheopened her eyes.It was time.She shed her silk robe and put on her form-fitting bodyarmor, a secure second skin. Over it, like urban camouflage, sheslid on the Synergist high-collared shirt and slacks, the hallmarkof the dedicated Shiawase corporate drone. She’d personally tailoredthe suit, creating pockets to hide the tools of her trade—theultra-flat maglock sequencer, the miniaturized microradar andbug scanner, the ceramic blade nestled against the inside of herthigh, and the slender Morrisey Élan with its capsule rounds ofDMSO/Narcojet.Once dressed, she sat at her vanity, opening a new containerof nanopaste. The paste was a pearly white cream, light as regularfoundation. Ma’fan smoothed it over her face, paying attention tothe eyes and lips. The Executive Assistant she’d planned on impersonatingwas Japanese, so Ma’fan needed the nanopaste to alter herdistinctly Chinese features. She wired the specs she’d painstakinglycooked up from her commlink to the microdisc that was the nanopasteprocessor, transforming Ma’fan into Emiko Narita. Custommade contacts would imitate Emiko’s retinas. Ma’fan slid on a pairof thin, skin-colored gloves—cellular glove sleeves, which wouldimitate the woman’s palm-print. Ma’fan slid on her jacket, pickedup her purse—which contained even more toys, such as her perfumespritzer with Laés and her hairbrush that concealed a varietyof old-school lockpicks. The last thing was clipping the neon-blueShiawase brand commlink to her jacket pocket and sliding onthe corporate approved AR glasses. Ma’fan toggled on the ‘link,checked that her “borrowed” ID was running, and smiled.She was ready.The cab was waiting for her, just as she’d ordered. A five minuteride dropped her off two blocks away from the Arcadia hotel.She walked the remaining distance. Peng had left the side dooropen as promised. Ma’fan strode down the side-corridors withpurpose, into the bustling lobby, and out the front. Peng was waitingfor her up front still dressed as a hotel waiter. He handed herEmiko’s Shiawase RFID tag and vanished back into the hotel.While she waited for an autocab, she brought up her AR display.The bug she’d planted two days earlier confirmed that Emikowas still in suite 413 on the fourth floor of the Arcadian, none thewiser. Ma’fan smiled at the omen. The Chinese would have knownbetter but the Arcadias were an American-chain. Miss Narita’stryst with her boss was about to hit a rocky patch.Twelve minutes later Ma’fan debarked from the autocab infront of Shiawase 211. She felt the rush of adrenaline as she exitedthe cab and approached the high-rise. The wide lobby of the buildingwas still busy with late-working wageslaves. Ma’fan slippedthrough the crowd, unnoticed in her executive camouflage, just anotheranonymous corporate drone. The double bank of elevatorswere humming with activity. Ma’fan picked elevator 6, entering italong with a half dozen other people. She pushed floor 46, thenstepped back. The elevator shot up, disgorging three people onfloor 21, two more on 29, and then the last person on floor 34.In the floors between 34 and 46, she patted her pocket holdingher Morrissey Élan. Just in case.Runner’s CompanionThe elevator slowed and paused at 46.Her ‘link relayed the automated message: This floor is accessibleto authorized personnel only. Your ID has been scanned.Please place your hand on the palm plate for verification. The ARvoice was soft and melodious. Ma’fan felt her heartbeat kick up;this would be the first test. She placed her palm on the plate,holding her breath.The elevator doors silently opened.She stepped out, letting the sensors in the office lobby scanher face. There were two security guards, dressed in Shiawaseuniforms, just a few meters away. Her nanopaste disguise wasgood enough to fool them; they nodded to her, assuming herto be another E.A. putting in extra hours to impress the boss.She gave them the cold smile they expected and walked brisklythrough the office, nodding to the few wage slaves putting inovertime. Every detail of the floorplan layout was already committedto her enhanced memory.The carpet was corporate-grey, thin but engineered tomuffle sounds. Pre-fab cubicles were a few shades lighter grey,each containing a workstation kept ruthlessly tidy. The AR insidethe office was just as bland, though the colors were brightand sunny; iconography designed for optimal meta-human efficiency.The executive’s office was in the northwest corner of thefloor. Ma’fan paused outside the door, as she offered an eye tothe scanner. It only took Ma’fan’s maglock passkey three secondsto open the door.life on the run . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .169