Page 10 of Scion

“A couple of years.”

So nothing to do with the attempts on her life. Or not a direct reaction to them, anyway. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me why?” I’ve never heard of even a lifer going this far—and the fluorescent lights in here are really reminding me that she’s not one.

“I like my privacy, dear.” Explanation and reminder, all rolled into one.

Damn, but I hate not having Atti in my ear. Every protection job is legally meant to be anonymous—if the client’s also a Ten-O-Ten, there’s nothing stopping the Keres from shopping their services to whoever’s trying to do the killing, once the contract’s up—but Atti would take all of three seconds to tell me who Old Woman is anyway. A few words for a voiceprint and she’d have a name, history, probably exactly who wants her dead and why.

Not that it would usually matter. In fact, both from professional courtesy and disinterest, I usually wouldn’t bother. But this entire job is off. Old Woman knows about me, requested me personally. And she knows something about my past. Something not even the Keres have been able to find.

Old Woman’s pressing more buttons on the panel, starting some tangential anecdote about why having her own private Loop system is so useful. There’s movement behind the security glass as the hidden compartment slides opens again, and the pod begins its return to storage.

My cognitive revs prickle.

I filter out whatever Old Woman’s blathering on about. Focus on the other sounds, which are what my cogs are screaming for me to pay attention to. There’s the hollow rush of air meeting vacuum behind the glass. The blinking buzz of the lights. Magnetic locks shifting into place as the pod retreats.

And a dissonant whine. Building. Barely audible, even to me.

No time to shout a warning.

I activate my somatics; as strength courses through me I grab Old Woman and pivot, throwing her five metres through the still-open doorway to the house. She doesn’t do more than let out a shriek of disbelief—and pain, probably pain, given how she lands on the concrete and slides—as I dive after her, bad leg protesting.

An orange bloom. The splintering of glass. Heat, and the sensation of being jerked backward as the vac seal shatters.

The door seals just before I’m sucked back through.

The klaxons start.

WELL THEY’RE NOT BEING SUBTLE.” I inspect the charred remains of the tunnel, resisting the urge to scratch at the medi-gel on my shoulder and back. The anaesthetising effects aren’t ideal—I’d prefer to manage the pain myself, maintain the feeling there if need be—but even with my somatic revs activated, the burns would have taken days to heal.

Days which, evidently, I don’t have.

Three hours since the explosion, and twisted pieces of the Loop pod still radiate warmth. The tunnel itself seems to have withstood the blast well enough, but the glass tube is completely shattered, and for now this section is pressurised. Not as if there’s a pod to run along it anyway.

“You sound disappointed.” Old Woman flicks at a smouldering piece of seat as she picks her way through the debris. Less shaken than I expected from the close call. Scraped and bruised, but she escaped the cooking I received. Not that she seems very grateful for it. Every time she catches sight of her bandaged right arm or puts weight on a mildly twisted leg, she pauses to give me a glare that indicates in no uncertain terms whose fault it is.

“Puzzled. Hacked volos and incursion teams are one thing, but a bomb… there’s no way they got this far, found this way in, only to rig your Loop pod. Which means they must have attached the explosives on the city end.” I examine the crater that seems to be the point of origin. The charge was placed under the pod; other than that, I’m not really sure what there is to glean here. Bomb scene analysis isn’t exactly my area of expertise. “So why not have it blow up as soon as you got on board to come back to the house?”

“The last few trips have been supply runs, unpacked by bots. I haven’t been down here in person for months.”

“Must have been triggered by your scan. So there’s no telling how long the bomb was waiting there.” Since at least before her biosecurity caught the incursion team, I imagine. I rub my face. “You’re sure we can’t just get my AI in to—”

“No.”

Stubborn old mule. I have my suspicions, but a tech analysis would make me a lot more comfortable. “I don’t think this was meant to kill you.”

Old Woman surveys the smoking wreckage. “I’m going to respectfully disagree.”

“They were probably hoping,” I concede. “But unless they’re manually triggered, explosions are messy. They take some luck to hit a target. What they do well, on the other hand, is destroy things.”

Old Woman brushes her hand against what I think was part of the door, then rubs her fingers together as it crumbles to soot beneath her touch. “You think they were making sure I don’t have a way out.”

“These secure properties are hard to breach, but they’re also isolated. If you think you can get in, next step is to make sure they can’t get out. It’s what I would do.”

“Very comforting.” She winces as she limps to the side. Then glares at me again.

I shrug, continuing my inspection. The charge was carefully measured. Just small enough to avoid blowing a hole in the surrounding concrete, which could potentially have revealed signs of the explosion above ground. No chance of it summoning help from some eagle-eyed external source. And the response team from the alarm was entirely robotic. No one else knows this happened, yet.

Clever. Annoyingly clever. I have a long two weeks ahead.