David had asked me if he could sleep in my bed that night, and so I found myself lying in bed, holding the boy while my mind was still wide awake. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I hardly ever used my bed in the first place, so I was just laying there, silent, still and waiting for the morning while considering the previous day. Every now and then, I would check Kiwi's vitals and a visual feed of my biobed, as well as plan out her upcoming surgery. Although I made sure all of my medical equipment, especially Kumo-kun, was disconnected from the net itself, I could still make direct wireless connections to the devices so long as I was close enough.
Explaining to David that his Mom wasn't dead was hard when I couldn't show her to him. To me, his eyes had the look of someone desperately trying to convince themselves the lies he was hearing were the truth.
My EQ wasn't low enough that I had the idea to show him my hatbox, either. As far as he knew, she was in a specialised hospital, which wasn't, by some definitions, a lie. He understood that she was hurt very badly, and he was intelligent enough to realise that there was no way she could afford treatment at a traditional hospital for an injury this severe, so he wasn't asking questions. That he was so aware of money at his age was kind of sad, but Gloria was so frugal that she must have talked to David a lot about money, even when he was just in kindergarten.
For now, he accepted what I had told him, that I would be able to fix his Mom up as good as new, although I intended for her to be better in the end. I hadn't quite told him about possibly leaving town with me because I didn't know for sure that Gloria would want to. I was setting up the options for both Kiwi and Gloria to do so if they wanted, though. I think it would be the safest thing they could do, but Gloria wasn't in as much ongoing danger as Kiwi would be and might want to stay in Night City.
However, the current state of the art in cloning technology required about a half-year to fast-grow a complete adult human body to full maturation, so it wasn't often done. Merely growing a specific organ, or in the case of the food industry, one "cut" of meat, was a lot quicker as they used more specialised machinery, but it still took days to a week, depending on the mass and complexity involved.
I was certain that I could increase the speed in the cloning vat I intended to build by a lot, but unless Wakako managed to steal two biosculpt setups, I would need to have priority use of one to begin transitioning to my disguise.
Adding or removing a little over ten centimetres of height could be done, but it was the most time-intensive, and therefore expensive, thing that biosculpt treatments could do. I would need over sixty hours in the tank to take that much height off myself safely. If you considered my current non-organic augmentations, especially my stealth system, that I would have to adjust at the same time, it would probably take half again as much time in the tank, plus however much time it took the traditional surgeries on myself to adjust these non-organic parts.
In other words, even after I got the biosculpt tank and even after I converted it into a dual-use cloning vat and upgraded it, not only would I need to monopolise it for at least a week, perhaps more, but I would need three weeks minimum to grow Gloria a new organic body. That meant she wouldn't be back for two months after the physical therapy, depending on how things went. It's likely closer to three when you considered that I was fleeing the city simultaneously and wouldn't be able to start growing a clone until I was somewhere where we wouldn't be moving the equipment around.
I felt it was too long for David to be without his Mom; by that point, he would start to think I was just lying to him and Gloria was really dead. That wouldn't be good for his psyche, even if he learned it wasn't true later. Attachment and co-dependence and a number of other psychiatric issues could easily develop that way. Not to mention my own guilt meant I wanted her back as soon as possible.
After tonight, David and I would be staying in a safe house with all of my belongings until I was able to leave the city. I would have Kiwi repaired by this morning, I felt. I was waiting on the delivery of some components that I bought from the ripperdoc I used in Japantown.
I had an eclectic collection of implants in my stocks, but as they tended to come from people like Scavs and those Wraiths, they were mostly the expensive kind that I couldn't immediately liquidate by selling to other nearby doctors. I didn't have any plain neural tissue replacements that I could use to fix Kiwi, and I didn't want to take her to this doctor to do the work either. Although he was somewhat under the Tyger Claws and, therefore, by extension, Wakako's thumb, I wouldn't trust him entirely to be discreet.
It was better to do the work myself, anyway. I had been holding myself back because, in some ways, I wanted to fit in with what I felt was a civilised society, but I had been drifting away from that for some time. A civilised nine-to-five doctor didn't annihilate a group of Wraiths in the Badlands, for example. When it came down to one of my only friends, I didn't give one whit what credentials I had. It might be hubris, but I didn't think there was anyone on the planet who could do a better job than I could.
As for Gloria... Fundamentally, replacing Gloria's organic body would take way too much time when I could have a brand new Gemini delivered to me on the grey market three to four days after my wire transfer cleared. That made it clear to me that a full-body replacement, even if it was temporary, should be the first step in her treatment plan.
I couldn't buy a new Gemini myself on the up and up, even using the credentials from my new identity, because Raven Microcybernetics required doctors that bought its full-body replacements to attend certain Gemini-specific training that they offered, but I could easily get a new model on the black or grey markets for a suitable markup.
I should have Gloria out of the hatbox before I left town. That would give her a chance to decide whether or not she wanted to come with me, but it meant I would be delaying my physical transformation to my new identity until she decided. Although I trusted her more than most people, she couldn't be forced to tell people things she didn't know.
I noticed my doorbell ring, and it looked like it was the courier from the doctor's office. Instead of answering it myself, though, a couple of Tyger Claws that were unobtrusively guarding my door intercepted the courier and took the package from him, and I got a text message asking me if I wanted the package delivered unopened. It wasn't anything sensitive, so I told them they could go ahead and examine it for bombs, neurotoxins and tiny elves with switchblades.
I was surprised at the level of security a mere street gang had, as Johnny Leung had mentioned that he would have my two cars moved somewhere temporarily once they examined them for bombs and tracking devices. I felt a bit bad for making them go out of their way, and he had just looked at me oddly and finally told me that it was just their standard sweep that they performed before they drove any vehicle. I supposed it wasn't paranoia when you really had people out to get you.
Apparently, Clouds had even stricter security, with every package addressed to them being delivered to an off-site location and inspected for all manners of deadly things.
I glanced at David, who had fallen asleep cuddling into my chest and was using my arm as a pillow. I moved slowly and eventually, over a period of about ten minutes, was able to extricate myself from him, transitioning his head onto one of my pillows. As I tucked him into the blanket, I felt that the feat of keeping him asleep should have resulted in a Stealth skill level up from how difficult it was, too.
In my clinic, I carefully prepared for the upcoming surgery. I double-checked my plan, carefully examining the medical images I was able to take of her injury and closed my eyes, mentally simulating every aspect of it, along with contingencies for if things wildly went wrong. Although this was a relatively simple surgery, and I wasn't expecting anything to go wrong, it didn't do to make assumptions.
Kiwi was in an induced coma, and I would keep her in one for probably the rest of the day. After the surgery to repair her spine, I planned on using nanomedicine to repair her tracheotomy and performing normal endotracheal intubation on her for the rest of the day. If things went well, I would be able to extubate and wake her about the time I was going to leave for the temporary safe house.
In the middle of the surgery on Kiwi, David pitter-pattered out of my apartment in his pyjamas and got wide-eyed. Although, he wasn't as frightened of the blood in the operating theatre as I would have thought from a kid that had just had an extremely traumatic experience.
"Aunt Taylor, can I watch?" he asked, kind of interested. I let him after I secured a promise that he wouldn't interfere, along with making him put on a surgical mask. It wouldn't do for him to breathe all his little boy germs directly into the Kiwi's exposed spine; I also made him wash his hands very thoroughly, even though I explicitly told him to keep his hands firmly at his sides.
I glanced at him as he peered down as Kumo-kun and I worked on repairing the fractures and finalising the installation of the neural tissue replacement. I asked him in a lull, "Are you interested in medicine?" I asked him, curious. Perhaps he would follow in his Mom's footsteps into medicine!
"Uh, n-not really, it looks kind of gross," the boy replied, looking at the process of me repairing two shattered vertebrae. I had already installed the cybernetic neural prosthesis and was in the clean-up stage. Back in Brockton Bay, orthopaedics was kind of a barbaric part of medicine, according to my power, with one of the prerequisites being physical strength.
As such, nine out of ten orthopaedic surgeons were males. However, repairing bones was a lot easier in the world I found myself in now. Although Trauma Team wasn't primarily a pharmaceutical company, one of the products they sold was a series of different trauma-based nanomeds under the brand name MaxDoc. I was using the ones intended to temporarily fix and repair broken and even shattered bones right now.
Kiwi's spine would be a bit weaker than usual for about forty-eight hours, but after that, it would be stronger than it was before it shattered. David asked, "You never did say how Miss Kiwi got hurt."
I hummed behind my surgical mask and said, "We were in a car accident. There were some bad men after us, and she did a very brave thing and intentionally crashed our car, which caused them to be injured and us to escape." I didn't want to tell him that the bad men were my friends whom he had seen a couple of times.
His eyes sparkled, although I couldn't see what expression he had behind the mask he wore, "Maybe if I was as brave as Miss Kiwi, I could have done something to help Mom. Are you sure she will be okay?"
I nodded, "Her brain was without oxygen for almost twenty minutes; that isn't good, but it isn't that bad either, as these things go. I've already begun treatments to repair the damage this hypoxia caused." Hypoxia-related brain injuries were quite predictable in the way they damaged neural tissue and, therefore, reasonably easy to repair with nanomachines, which I had running in the hatbox. I looked at the incomprehension in his eyes and mentally berated myself. David was an intelligent kid, but he was still just five—or rather, five and a half, as he repeatedly claimed.
I spent a few moments rephrasing what I said and dumbing it down to his level, eventually getting an excited nod. "And you shouldn't blame yourself; Johnny told me that you were very brave. You just have some growing to do before you can handle bad guys." Although I hoped very much his ambitions went beyond smiting bad guys, especially since there were so many in this world.
"Oh, he was so cool! Wham-blam! The bad guy was all over the wall!" the somewhat excited boy said, raising his hands in a finger gun until my glare at him reminded him he was supposed to keep them to his side. His voice had a hint of grim satisfaction at his kidnapper's fate too, which I found slightly problematic in a child his age. Not to mention anyone thinking Johnny was cool was ipso facto evidence of mental illness by itself.
Still, I couldn't help feeling some of that satisfaction too. I didn't have many friends left, so anyone who hurt the ones I did have, I would want to see smeared over a nearby wall, too. I had to think of some way to repay the obnoxious Samurai, but I didn't have any real ideas yet. So I just nodded and said, "This is the last part; then I'll use this special glue to heal the incision site. It won't even leave a scar."
"Glue?! Sick!" said the boy, looking pretty interested for someone who said they weren't interested at all.
I extubated and woke Kiwi as the Tyger Claws were moving most of my stuff out of the building. I shooed them out of my apartment temporarily so I could have a frank discussion with her after she demanded a shower first. At first, she was a little weak, like a newborn deer, but she gained her strength and her balance back quickly.
I had already told her about the money she was owed, and Wakako had already delivered a series of bags with my share of the exchanged physical notes. I wasn't sure how she laundered the currency, but there were a number of options. Since Biotechnica knew she was involved in the gig anyway, perhaps she just directly deposited them all in her bank account, as in that case, they wouldn't learn anything new.
Beyond the sixty thousand dollars, I owed Kiwi a lot more than that. That sixty thousand was just what the venture owed her. I personally owed her more than money could ever buy, so I was hesitant to even put a price on what I owed her, as it seemed like it would cheapen it.
"Of course, I'll come with you wherever you're going," Kiwi said, her voice still a little scratchy-sounding from being on a ventilator for almost twenty-four hours, "I don't really have much keeping me here, and I agree it might be best for us to lay low for a while. It won't be the first time I've had a new name, either." She shrugged and then asked, curious, "You sound like you intend to come back to Night City as Taylor Hebert, though. Why? Returning back to a burned identity is not what I'd call a pro move."
I frowned, "Because it is who I am? I like being Taylor. It is the precious name my mother and father gave me, and I'm attached to it." I sighed and shrugged, "I'm not so proud that I would insist on it if I were pretty sure it would get me killed or worse, but I think there is a fair chance that all of this is unnecessary. Although people like to say that Corps have long memories, that is really less true than you'd believe. We might have stubbed a few people's toes, but realistically in the grand scheme of things, we probably only have to outlast the memory of a few director-level suits." Despite how well and how professionally the men who attacked us performed, I doubted more than a few of them were actually Biotechnica Spec Ops. They were likely the ones with the Trauma Team memberships, while the rest were contractors.
That caused Kiwi to scrunch up her face, "I wouldn't bet my life on that fair chance, but I suppose that we're not since we're leaving ASAP. You're thinking that if they're looking for you, it is just going to be perfunctory. They'd grab or kill you if they can find you, but they're not going to expend many resources to do so." She frowned and looked thoughtful, "Maybe, but it leaves the option that, sure, you've outlasted the memories of the current guy, but maybe your name is still on a database, and when you come back as Taylor, they make a token, but effective, attempt to get you again."
That was true. It all kind of depended on whether or not they thought Taylor Hebert was a mercenary or inventor, I supposed. If they thought the latter, they'd be fairly obvious about looking for me, and Wakako assured me that she would be able to detect it. In fact, Kiwi could probably help me a lot with that herself, as information was much more in her wheelhouse than mine. I shrugged, "I'll wait as long as it takes to ensure my safety, but I am pretty sure I'll only need to be super-incognito for a year, maybe two."
I then stared at Kiwi and said simply, telling her something that I hadn't put into words with anyone else, "I intend to live hundreds of years, maybe longer, so I'm taking a long view here. And it isn't like I intend for this to be a waste of time, either." I thought I might try to start a business in Los Angeles, and if so, after I reclaimed the mantle of my true name, there were numerous ways for me to receive the fruits of these labours.
Perhaps I could keep the Hasumi identity active somehow, even if I wasn't using it. Alternately, "she" might sell the business to me for a pittance. There were many options. Depending on what type of company I started, if I found a niche, then I might get successful enough to be noticed by a Corp. If that happened, I would still make a profit even if they screwed me on the valuation during a hostile takeover, and it would have the benefit of severing all relationships with the enterprise instantly as they took over my operations. Most small companies dreaded getting noticed like that, but I took a more pragmatic opinion that getting screwed was inevitable, and I wouldn't get too attached to anything I started in LA.
All of that assumed I saw some opportunity that I could exploit that went beyond merely me using my medical skills, as Corps generally didn't perform hostile takeovers of a doctors practice because all the value was tied up in the skills of the clinician and you couldn't easily force them to continue on. They would generally bribe really good clinicians to join up when they discovered them, though.
Kiwi grinned, "Oh? That sounds nice; make sure to remember your good friend Kiwi when you have figured out immortality. Even the best life extension tech hasn't gotten to that stage yet." I wasn't so sure about that, actually. I couldn't be the only one that had thought of cloning bodies and performing a brain transplant, nor the only one who had the surgical skills to pull it off, and that was ignoring the fact that I was pretty sure full borgs could live for hundreds of years if properly maintained.
However, she was correct that it was the popular belief that LET could only gain you sixty to eighty years, but I kind of suspected that this belief was propagated intentionally. It was one thing to kind of suspect your overlords were Methesulean oligarchs but knowing for a fact it was true was something a lot more demoralising.
Perhaps that would be a good way to repay her. There were very few people who didn't want to live longer, after all. Plus, I wouldn't want to watch my friends grow old. David interrupted my commiserating by running up to us both and saying to Kiwi, "I saw your cervix!"
Kiwi glanced at me with a shocked expression, her eyes asking, 'What the hell did you do to me when I was asleep?' Snorting, I quickly corrected David quickly, "You saw her cervical spine." My correction caused Kiwi to snicker, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
"Cervix spinal!" he declared and then ran off to talk to Johnny in the clinic. The Tyger Claw then proceeded to show David his wakizashi, including several rather dangerous-looking slashes through the air, causing me to narrow my eyes at the display. I didn't want David to get used to playing with sharp objects, but it gave me an idea. Perhaps I could get Mr Johnny a customised Sandevistan or something. It'd be nice if he didn't get himself killed before I managed to pay him back for saving Gloria and David.
Glancing at David and Johnny talking, I sighed. Well, it was good that David wasn't lost to despair, at least. I suppose he trusted me to make things better, which was a heavy thing to consider and try to live up to.
I could bare that weight, though.
The safe house was more like a warehouse, and it was boring. Wakako had settled with me for all the money I was owed, and in between my fat stacks of dosh and my digital wallet, I had just under three million Eurodollars. It was kind of crazy how much money I had. As soon as I got the digital money, I gave two hundred and eighty-five thousand back to Wakako. She had a contact that could get a brand new female Gemini of the right approximate size and body, and fairly quickly too.
It was close to the same height, but it was two centimetres shorter than Gloria was, but she would just have to get used to it for now. I would be able to use the included OEM equipment to customise the face and rough body shape. The Gemini had larger breasts but smaller hips, and the skin tone didn't precisely match either, but all of that could be altered by the tools that came with a new Gemini.
I hummed, considering. Perhaps Gloria would like an upgrade in the bust department? I'd leave them as they were and then ask her once she was conscious. It was a simple matter to make adjustments if she wanted them smaller, like her natural size.
I'd have something that was almost indistinguishable from Gloria, absent the height discrepancy, fairly rapidly. It was partly like configuring a new implant and partly like painting a portrait. Half technical and half artistry. I didn't have a good skill for art and never have, but since getting my power, I've discovered I was preternaturally skilled at drawings, so long as they were of living creatures and especially if they were drawings about anatomy, so I felt I could easily accomplish these tasks despite not actually being trained in how to initially setup a Gemini.
Not only that, but Geminis were one of the few full-body replacements that my power deigned to sink its teeth into as I was reading about them online. I think it was because the Gemini was partly organic, and it tried its best to mimic the human form so well. I was very confident I could work with it when it arrived. Perhaps I could make some upgrades? She was already going to be superhumanly strong, which would take some getting used to, but perhaps I could build a Taser or concealed hypodermic injectors into her fingers.
Something she could use to give her non-lethal options so she wouldn't feel the need to try to grab a gun and shoot someone, which is what David said happened after the bad man had threatened him to get her to come quietly. Was I responsible for that since I had gotten her proficient and comfortable in using firearms? I thought about it and decided I wasn't. She would have grabbed something else. She wasn't entirely rational when it came to David's safety and well-being were concerned.
My plan for her appearance was one that let David instantly recognise her as his Mom while still being different enough to thwart facial recognition. Neither of their fake identities needed to be as ironclad as mine. I didn't honestly think anyone was looking for them, even if they considered them a possible acquaintance of mine. Also, nobody really cared if you made a fake identity and then used that to get a real credential. I figured they, especially David, would have the same first name if they came with me to make it easier to adapt.
It was easy to even merge two identities if your appearance, particulars and name were similar, but it was very difficult to fake a credential like a degree and add it to your real identity. For example, if Gloria got admitted to a nursing program at UCLA, she could, with a few bribes, get the names changed to her real identity if and when she came back to Night City. It would just be a matter of changing the name on her degree and the school records from Ramirez or whatever her last name ended up being back to Martinez.
Her peers, teachers and administration would still remember Gloria going to classes, so it wasn't anywhere near like getting Taylor Hebert a degree in medicine without her actually going to any classes. That was much more difficult and much more expensive. But it was theoretically possible, according to what I've asked Wakako about, but it would still take time, especially considering my age. It would be impossible if I wanted a degree today because nobody would believe I entered medical school at the tender age of thirteen or fourteen.
I didn't particularly mind waiting, though. The world wasn't circling the drain like it was in Brockton Bay. I wouldn't be surprised if the world was pretty much exactly as it is now in fifty years. Rather than an apocalypse like back home, the world's biggest threat was stagnation. Everyone in power liked the status quo. Sure, there were some minor quibbles, including some possibly genocidal AI in the Old Net if you believed the conspiracy theories, but coming from me, a girl that wondered if the Hopekiller would show up and brainwash me or if Leviathan would flood the entire city that was much less scary to me for some reason.
In the best case, I would feel safe to return back to Night City in a year or so. If that happened, I could use Dr Hasumi's medical degree as a puppet, work in "her clinic", and the like. There would be options.
I frowned at that idea suddenly because it seemed as though if I did that, I would have to pay taxes twice. How horrible.
Glancing over at David, who was playing a VR game in the large open area of the warehouse floor. I had decided on a strict isolation policy. None of us was leaving the safe house until the time came to leave the city. Most of my stuff, except some of the medical equipment, was packed, and we were waiting on some contacts to smuggle all of us both out of Night City and as well as into Los Angeles. I had discussed transportation options with Wakako, and we had both decided it was best if I just appeared in LA without any real history of how I got there, so that meant I was dealing with one of the Nomad clans. That meant that there would be a period of waiting before they got into the neighbourhood, but there was no better choice if you wanted something or someone transported through the wasteland.
David was getting bored, though, and starting to ask questions about when his Mom would be back, but I felt that he would likely be fine for a few more days. I had already gotten confirmation that the order comprising Gloria's new body was going to be shipped imminently, although given the value, it was being commingled amongst other high-value shipments and transferred over ground in a highly militarised convoy, so I wasn't precisely sure when it would arrive.
Only a few of the Tyger Claws knew who was in this warehouse, and one of them was Johnny, who was acting as a sort of temporary concierge. We were getting full service; if we wanted something, he'd either get it or have it delivered. Now, I heard the distinct beeping of a truck backing up, and I got an excited look on my face. It was too soon for the Gemini, but this was a heavy delivery, so that left only one other thing. The stolen biosculpt equipment.
After the trucks were unloaded, there were several large wooden crates in the warehouse, and I went to perform an inventory, getting followed by both Kiwi and David, who had set aside his game in order to see what the fuss was about.
"Uhh... Doc Taylor, if you could look over everything here? I'm told that you'd know who to send the money to if everything is in order," Johnny said, looking around for a while before he returned with a crowbar.
"Oh, this is last year's model. Kiwi, I'll need your help to re-flash and hack the firmware; we won't want it to be bricked after they report it was stolen," I said amiably. Plus, I didn't like my medical equipment to have phone home capability in it anyway. I didn't want or need that, especially when I knew how untrustworthy everyone was.
Kiwi looked at the large machine and shrugged, "It shouldn't be that much of a problem." I believed her, as she had done the same on a lot of my more modern medical equipment that I had acquired over the past year.
Opening the next box, I hissed, "Wow, they--" I was about to say stole, but I glanced sideways at David before saying, "sent me a lot."
"What is all this, Aunt Taylor?" asked David excitedly. I quite liked being Auntie Taylor, so I grinned. "Replacement nanomachines--uhh, I guess you'd call it the food for the big machine." They had brought at least two hundred thousand dollars worth if you went by MSRP, likely stealing all of the unopened containers from whatever clinic this came from. That would keep me in nanomachines for a long time. The rest was a series of somewhat specialised laboratory equipment that would let me modify a cold virus to alter my genome.
I included an extra ten thousand eddies as a bonus to whatever team Wakako hired and forwarded her the money, along with a brief note.
It took some work getting the machine out of the crates, even using the old electric forklift that had been gathering dust in the main room. I nervously asked Kiwi as she sat the biosculpt vat on a carefully cleaned area of the warehouse, "Are you forklift certified?!"
"Uhh... yes," she said after the briefest pause. I wasn't sure I believed her given that pause, but she managed to use the equipment and not damage anything.
I thought it would take longer to hack the firmware than to set it up, but Kiwi had the former done before I had everything connected and the machine going through its long self-test and warm-up cycles.
"Nice, it has all of the pre-programmed routines this clinic had been selling, including some higher-end bio mods. Have you decided if you'd like me to make any adjustments to your appearance, Kiwi? I definitely want you to get a similar muscle and bone lace treatment that I have. That would have stopped your spine from fracturing in twelve places," I told her primly.
"Uhh... what kind of changes can you do?" she asked, a little curious and nervous. Did she not trust me?
I spread my hands, "Pretty much anything you'd expect a biosculpt clinic to be able to do. Let's sit down and have a consult."
She agreed with the muscle and bone lace, even asking for both the additional ballistic skin weave and the same nanosurgeons I had. I frowned at that, "Although nanosurgeons are styled as a biosculpt treatment, we just refer to them as that because they use entirely organic biotechnology. It's a specialised organ installed in your body, and the installation process is more similar to traditional cybernetics. Although I can perform the surgery with no problem, I don't have those organs right now, but I should be able to get some in a few months once we get settled. That's a good idea, and you should also go for the similar enhanced immune system as well, but we'll have to table it for the moment."
As for any cosmetic modifications, I sat there with a tablet in graphics mode, sketching out any changes. She liked being blonde and pale, but after a few stops and starts, I sketched out minor changes that would allow her to look fairly similar while seeming to be more Slavic than Western European, and she also had me remove all of her existing scars and tattoos and a seemingly mostly cosmetic Midnight Lady accessory on her chest. I'd have to do that with a traditional cybernetics surgery, then put her in the tank afterwards.
She made me promise to keep it for her, though, because it was apparently a special limited edition. But honestly, who wanted nipples that doubled as a cybernetic spinneret? Even I thought that was a bit out there. Was it a sex thing? Was I just a prude? I didn't think the silk was strong enough to be practically useful for any real purpose, so it had to be some kind of sex thing, but I didn't really want to know.
The same day the Gemini arrived, Kiwi and I had gotten word that the Nomads I was paying to take us all to Los Angeles would be arriving in about a week, which didn't give me a lot of time to get all of my ducks in a row.
David was upset I wouldn't let him see the Gemini, but it was shipped naked, and it was going to be his Mom, so it would be weird, I thought. I had begun explaining to him a little more about how serious his Mom's injuries were, and at first, he was terrified, but surprisingly, he was okay with it once he realised Gloria was going to be receiving what I called a "mostly full body replacement." Cybernetics was indelibly imprinted on the entire world's zeitgeist, such that a five-year-old kid suddenly understood what I was saying and even thought it was "supernova, totally bright." How could a kid that could barely talk be more hip to the slang than I was? I was in the prime of my life.
I didn't start on my own cosmetic changes at all until I knew David and Gloria were or were not coming with me, but I'd be able to make most of them pretty quickly. The height change, however, would take some time, as would fashioning the virus to adjust my genome.
Kiwi walked around the tarps I had set up as a dividing line into where I was working on the Gemini and frowned, "Wow, it is starting to look like Gloria already." I glanced at her and nodded. The Gemini was still in its OEM adjustment cradle, which allowed me to upload an appearance file which it was very slowly morphing into.
The cradle used company-specific and proprietary consumables, so you could only set the appearance of a new model "one and a half times." That meant, once for real, and then if you had some minor changes or mistakes, you could make some adjustments, but I was getting it right the first time so that I could disassemble and examine the unused consumables. I expected they were nanomachines, just like my biosculpt vat, but what type of composition? I didn't know, but I hoped to learn enough to make changes like this in the future without needing to return the unit back to the factory, as that would help a lot if Gloria decided not to keep it.
"What's this?" Kiwi asked, looking at a table I had set the rest of the Gemini equipment on.
"Biopod, that is where her brain will be installed, and unit charging station. Although almost indistinguishable from a bio-human, the Gemini does need to charge, but it's just a regular high-voltage charger you'd find on any robot, so it isn't special," I said with a smile. I had the biopod in bits already, as I was adding extra functionality which would allow me to more easily continue to treat her for the brain damage she suffered while she was dead for almost half an hour. Also, it was my first time seeing a biopod in person; before I knew it, my power and I had disassembled it in a light fugue. It was very, very interesting but had lots of room for improvement.
I then glanced where Kiwi was looking on the table, at my hatbox, "Oh, and that's Gloria." That caused her hand, which had been reaching out to touch it curiously, to jump back as if she had touched a hot stove, which I found kind of amusing. She spun around and asked me, in tense whispers, "You're just keeping her in a box next to your wrenches?!"
I blinked. Box? I sniffed delicately, offended at her making aspersions onto my hatbox, "It's a hermetically sealed, hazardous environment life support pod. She's perfectly safe in there," I made that up on the spot, as I mentally called it a hatbox, but she didn't need to know that. Mrs Pegpig cooed in agreement from her perch on my shoulder, and I nodded at the pigeon and reached into my pocket to pull out some minced carrots I carried in a ziplock bag and offered the treat to the pigeon, who greedily tore into it.
"You're getting a little more mad sciencey, and I'm not sure that's a good thing, but I guess I am all for it," Kiwi remarked. "I'll find some clothes for Gloria after I work on some of the designs I want for my new tattoos."
I frowned at her. I had removed all of her old ones, which were spiderweb-based and all over her body, and she was talking about getting what seemed to me very similar spider-themed tattoos when we got to Los Angeles. Didn't that defeat the purpose of removing such identifying marks? She said I didn't understand anything, and not only were they not similar, but the act of building up a body of art through multiple tattoos and tattoo artists was an important part of her starting a new identity.
I didn't understand at all, but to be honest, she was a lot more of an expert on the subject than I was, as I still didn't even know what her real name was, and she refused to enlighten me. While I was really attached to my identity as Taylor Hebert, she was the exact opposite. In fact, she never even gave her new identities names until she absolutely had to when she needed to sign up for some governmental service. It wasn't like she worked nine-to-five jobs, after all. Apparently, Kiwi was just what people had started calling her around her scene in Night City after she showed up one day.
Perhaps I could prank her by telling everyone that her name was some other fruit or vegetable in advance, 'Hello, this is my friend Avocado. Friends call her 'Cado.' Mandarin? Ooh, mango? Mangos were delicious!
Mrs Pegpig cooed aggressively, demanding more carrots from my shoulder. She came with us alone, and I thought she would be more upset with me for just grabbing her and absconding, but I had learned that what I had thought was Mr Pegpig was actually like three different birds, and she didn't seem that upset at leaving her royal harem behind. If anything, she seemed to coo some orders to them before we left. She was the weirdest pet.
She had already raised one clutch of little Pegpigs, with them all leaving the nest months ago, so I guess she wasn't that attached to any specific place anymore.
David just cried when I was finally able to show him Gloria's body, which I had shifted over to my biobed after I had finalised the appearance and placed the clothes Kiwi scrounged up on her. "I know you said she'd be okay, but I was so scared," he blubbered, and I patted him on the head as he clung to my leg.
Although I hadn't had time to really Tinker much with the body, I did install my custom paralysation nails on their hands. I had carefully removed the custom-designed implants from my own hands and regenerated my fingernails as I was going to some lengths to make my cybernetics load out divergent from what people, mostly Trauma Team, had records of, and my handy fingernails were one of the more unique implants I had.
There were similar implants on the market, of course, there were dozens of different kinds of slasher and razorclaw type implants, but mine had the appearance of a bespoke item, which they were.
I also totally replaced my slightly damaged customised liver and second heart with two commercial models that served the same purpose. Kiwi called me insane for Kumo-kun and me performing minor surgery on myself, but it wasn't like she didn't watch and find it riveting.
I tabled my custom liver not only for the same reason that it was identifiable but because it was just customised and not something completely novel. I based it on a liver I had taken from Scavs, and I wanted to build something from the ground up. Filtering toxins was an important biological activity, and I felt that most solutions were suboptimal. The human liver was terrible, which meant that while cybernetic options remained highly superior in comparison, they were still objectively sub-par.
"Okay, stand back. I'm going to bring her online, but I'm going to try to bring her back to awareness slowly," I told Kiwi and David. I was concerned she might react violently, considering her last memories, and I had my mental fingers around the override controls to her body.
I was right to be concerned because despite how slowly I tried to bring her back to awareness, she went from motionless to thrashing about, attempting to attack someone that wasn't there, which caused David to grip my pants some more. However, the reaction quickly quieted, and she looked around, shock on her face and tears quickly welling in her eyes. Good, both the tear duct system and facial micro-musculature seemed to be working without even needing to be configured.
As soon as she saw David, she held her hands out for a hug and probably would have jumped out of bed if I hadn't disabled her legs via software. David yelled, "Mom!" and attempted to leap into her arms, but I frowned and caught him as he was flying mid-air, easily plucking the brat out of the air in slow motion, then spinning him around and setting him down well away from her grasp, saying, "Nope, nope, nope. What did I say?"
He sullenly glared up at me, "No hugs until Mom gets used to her new body; otherwise, she might squish me like a ripe tomato." Wow, he read back that verbatim. The kid really is sharp and has a good memory, even if he ignored it completely.
Her indignation at me denying them their reunion turned to just shock as she blinked and looked at her arms and hands, apparently checking herself over as much as she could. She opened her mouth and asked, stutteringly, "N-n-new b-body?" Then she frowned at the stutter she had developed.
I noted it as well and wasn't surprised at all. I expected her to still have a number of neural deficiencies and problems with her speech centre, recollection and hand-eye coordination were all things I was expecting, at least for a little while. Her voice was working correctly, though. She probably didn't notice it, but she didn't make her vocalisations with her larynx, but a digital system was installed in the same location. Once she learned how, she'd be able to talk without exhaling if she wanted to, although, by default, the Gemini's systems were designed to mimic the exhalation process when vocalising.
David had helped me get enough recordings of Gloria speaking to feed into the Gemini, and it used a pretty standard but effective artificial intelligence system to create a digital voice equivalent. Although vids and BDs had Geminis, even if they weren't always named as such, always featured as some sort of spy or impersonator, the truth was their bread and butter business were people exactly like Gloria, who needed a full-body prosthesis due to Trauma.
And anything that reduced the feeling of body dysmorphia when you were jacked into a total body replacement would vastly decrease cybernetic-linked mental instability and cyberpsychosis, so duplicating a previous user's voice was a small but very important feature. I coughed into my hand, "Alright, she's alive. I need to speak to her in private now. Kiwi, please take David into the other room." The warehouse we were staying at had an attached office, which we were using for bedrooms.
"Awww..." David complained but didn't even complain when Kiwi lifted him over her shoulder and carried him off like a sack of potatoes. He waved excitedly at his Mom while being carted off.
I pulled up a chair and sat next to her, and asked, "So, what's the last thing you remember?"
"W-where are we?" she glanced around for a moment before shaking her head and answering me, "A sk... ske.." She frowned, looking angry and slowly and methodologically enunciated each phoneme, "SKETCHY man came into the clinic."
I nodded and said, "Okay, let me explain what happened. This might take a while..."
I told her pretty much everything, even how a misunderstanding in my business caused the "sketchy man" to come and try to kidnap her since I did feel pretty guilty about her situation. Although the only thing she shrieked about was the cost of the body she was currently inhabiting, and she even tried to comfort me by patting me on the shoulder when I told her about Ruslan and Jean's betrayal, it was less of a pat and more of several hard slaps.
We had an in-depth technical discussion about exactly the nature of her injuries, and she was a bit shocked. She shook her head and said, still stuttering every few words, "Don't try to feel guilty for not taking me to the hospital; they would have just called me DoA. You know that NC Med's medical insurance doesn't cover extraordinary measures like this." She made a motion at her body, and I frowned.
It could be I had gotten too used to the extraordinary default measures that were commonplace at work at Trauma Team. Trauma Team even had similar "vampire cuff" technology built into the biobed of the AV-4, although that one depended on the two clinicians installing the bypass on the carotid and jugular manually.
I thought back to what would have happened if Gloria and I had brought a patient back to the hospital that was in the same shape as Gloria had been and frowned. She was right. We would have been written up for not declaring them dead and for wasting the Emergency Department's time. I could see my former boss yelling exasperatedly, "You bring dead bodies to the morgue, not to the ER!"
"Do you have a mirror? I want to see what I look like," Gloria asked quietly. I frowned. Was she expecting I just threw her in a random body?
I looked around and finally found a makeup compact in a box of my toiletries and handed it to her. She snapped the top of the plastic compact off instantly, which caused me to chuckle. She eyed me warily and said, "Thank you for grabbing David before I squeezed him like a tube of toothpaste." That was a pretty gross image, but possibly accurate.
She glanced down at the mirror now and looked shocked, "I look exactly the same!"
Well, not exactly. But quite close. I didn't duplicate the two fashionware vents she had previously installed on her cheek because they seemed not only pointless but a possible avenue of infection.
Finally, after everything, she said, "I think me and David should go with you. Not only am I not exactly firing on all cylinders yet, but the offer to get me admitted to a critical care nursing program is too good to pass up." She was performing some simple neuro self-tests on herself, like touching her thumb rapidly to each fingertip.
This was a pretty common cognitive and coordination test, and she was having some issues with the timing. This might indicate a TBI to her cerebellum, but it just as well might simply be that she hasn't gotten used to the body yet. I told her as much, and she shrugged, "It doesn't really matter either way. I'm either going to need whatever treatments you're doing to continue repairing the hypoxia-related brain damage or, alternately, physical therapy from a total body prosthesis specialist. You say you can provide both."
I winced, "I don't want you to think you're trapped in a decision just because of your medical situation. The hypoxia treatments are going to basically be automatic, and I can find a specialist physiotherapist and pay for it." I didn't say it out loud, but I very much didn't want her to feel forced into abandoning everything she had and then later resent me for it.
"Don't worry about that. Honestly, there isn't a whole lot keeping me in Night City. My mom, I suppose, but she isn't helpless despite her attempts to portray herself like she is." She winced and continued shaking her head, "So long as I can get word to her that I am not dead, I would actually relish a chance to escape from her. She does help me a lot with David, but..." She pursed her lips in distaste, "Mi madre es una loca... She also survives solely on government assistance, stealing and me, which isn't really the example I want David to see at all. Can you really get me into a good nursing program? You haven't said where you planned to go."
"Nothing is certain, but I am pretty confident. We'd have a few months before your packet would need to be in, so you'd have to take the entry tests. But they won't be that hard for you, especially if I help you study for six weeks. Plus, we'd be paying in cash, and that is probably the most important factor for the university, despite their protestations to the contrary," I told her confidently and nodded, "I wasn't going to mention where we were headed if you didn't want to come with me. It isn't that I don't trust you, but..."
She waved a hand, "I know. My entire priority is David, and I am a bit angry that you were a gonk and indirectly put him in danger, but it wasn't your fault, really. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't tried to grab the gold coin you saw flying through the air, but I can't blame anyone for trying to catch it." She flounced back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling, "No, this is just irrational. It sounds like it was mainly my fault, anyway. I can't remember what I did, but it was probably something stupid. If I had just cooperated, there would have been no way that guy could have forced us both through the whole Megabuilding without the Tyger Claws noticing him and turning him into sashimi. I could have texted someone. Oh, god, I can't believe David saw me get shot like that. Is he okay?"
I very specifically never said that, despite sharing the same opinion. I nodded, "I think he'll be okay now that you're back in the land of the living." I then grinned, "You said that whole spiel without stuttering!"
"G-g-good!" she replied, then scowled.
It had been three months since the gig at Konpeki Plaza and about seven weeks since we had arrived in Los Angeles. The Nomads that had agreed to smuggle us into Los Angeles was a family called the Bakkers, led by a stern matriarch by the name of Selita.
The Bakkars were something of experts at smuggling, although they just considered it logistics. They had a rotating convoy that would proceed apace throughout what I would have called California and Oregon, touring the cities of the Free States before returning down south. They would get us to Los Angeles, but not directly.
We spent almost a month on a circuit with them, with all of my stuff packed into a truck. I didn't particularly mind because Selita was also being paid to tell all and sundry that she and the Bakkars had saved me, Dr Hasumi Sakura, from a group of Raffen Shiv that had been using me as a medic slave in the wasteland.
It was really the Maelstrom gang in the badlands right next to Night City, but the story was close enough to the truth that it would likely ring true to anyone who heard it.
I thought living on the road as the Nomads did was kind of nice, especially when everyone around you was a family member. It was a vastly different life, though. The matriarch, Selita, chuckled when I mentioned that and said, "By the third generation, us so-called Nomad's almost a different species than the rest of ya'll. Every one of those kids got a toy gun as their first toy when they were five and a real twenty-two when they were eight, even if it was just a break-action single shot." She shrugged, "Everyone out here knows you can only count on yourself and, of course, family."
It was no wonder the Corporations denigrated them; they lived almost entirely outside of normal social and thought control. Perhaps calling it thought control was a bit of an exaggeration, but not completely. It was definitely true that self-sufficiency was seen as more of a sin than a virtue in the Corpo-controlled media. At the very best, Nomads were considered delusional conspiracy theorists, but they were more often all considered highway bandits.
Still, I thought we all enjoyed our brief time with them, even if I doubted I would ever want to live that lifestyle. I found that sand and dust got everywhere. It also made me jaded and somewhat disillusioned about the "romance on the beach" braindances that I occasionally indulged in. If my PG-13 braindances were taken to the logical x-rated conclusion, wouldn't sand literally get everywhere?
After we got into Los Angeles, we didn't all become roommates or anything. We didn't even live in the same building, but we all did live on the same block as we felt that mutual support would be an advantage. I bought Kiwi and Gloria the same language skillchip I bought for myself, when we settled in the middle of Chinatown.
David was incensed, wanting his own, but you had to be at least eleven or twelve before surgery for even a child's operating system could be considered, so he would just have to learn the language the old-fashioned way, but he was at the right age for it.
It took another month for me to both get down to the correct height as well as to devise and reinfect myself with the genome-altering virus enough times that any sample of my body, with the exception of a biopsy of my brain or sample of my spinal fluid, would pass muster. Once I was sure, then "Dr Hasumi" reported her kidnapping and stint of forced servitude to the police and even the Japanese consulate.
The consular staff at least pretended to be sympathetic, but the police very nearly threw me out of the precinct once they learned it happened in the desert outside of the city. "Lucky to be alive, lady, but that ain't our problem," one of them said, shaking his head, "That's a state... or federal matter, or well, something. Not us, though. Have a good day!"
Well, fuck you too, I thought.
Now that I had settled down enough that I was looking for hospitals to apply to as a resident after my "traumatic event", I got a notice from the Japanese consulate that the US federal government, specifically the Immigration Department, wanted to speak with me, and they offered their consulate for the meeting.
They didn't say what it was about, but I had sent a request to this department at the Japanese consulate to replace all of "my" physical identification documents. As a non-resident alien on a work visa in the New United States of America, not only was I required to let the Immigration Department know where I slept every night, but I was required by law to carry upon my person, at all times, a special alien identification card and I must present upon request to anyone in government, but specifically police officers.
It kind of felt a little dehumanising and vaguely disconcerting, and it was weird to feel like an outsider in the country. It was a weird feeling. I didn't have much respect for the government or authority figures in either set of memories, but that was a different feeling from feeling like an outsider around everyone.
I dressed in some of the nicer clothes I had bought to replace Dr Hasumi's wardrobe. I had installed her data storage implant on myself and had been perusing its large trove of data and one of the first things I noticed was her tastes in most things were way different than my own. I liked dark, drab colours. Black and navy blue were my favourite colours for outfits, while Dr Hasumi liked pastels and bright colours. She also wore dresses and skirts a lot more than me, and I had been finding it a little grating to follow the pattern, but I felt it was important. One could expect a little bit of a personality shift after such a traumatic experience, but anything large would create a datum for later inspection.
She also didn't carry firearms, which was the biggest thing I had to get used to. Technically, I didn't have the right to own any as the second amendment only applies to citizens and resident aliens, but realistically nobody cared.
I absolutely would not remove my monowire, though, so I sat patiently at the security office as they affixed a small bracelet to my arm before I could enter the consulate.
"Hasumi-sensei, ah, you are early," said Mr Tanaka, one of the many assistants to the Consular General here. He was the same one who had helped me the last time and seemed like a nice guy.
I nodded and politely followed him into the back area and into a conference room, "Tanaka-san, do you know what this is about?"
He frowned and shrugged, "Some sort of paperwork issues with your visa. It obviously isn't a big deal; otherwise, they would have arrested you... Well, maybe not. You're a class A, educated and professional worker." Even before the Data Krash, the US had become somewhat less hospitable to foreigners, which wasn't too surprising. The poorer a country became, the less likely it would be inviting to foreign immigrants or workers, so they created a category system. Dr Hasumi was considered a "desirable" class A—someone who was highly educated, highly compensated and therefore highly taxed.
Great. I knew it was too much to hope that the Immigration people were just doing an in-person delivery of my identity documents. I sighed and nodded. Surprisingly, the Immigration people were right on time. It was a man and a woman, and they sat across from me after Mr Tanaka was polite enough to introduce us to each other.
"Dr Hasumi, thank you for agreeing to meet with us. It prevented this situation from deteriorating such that we would have had to pick you up," the man said politely, but I could see that he was about as interested in me as the average DMV clerk was in who was getting a driver's license next.
I blinked, "Ano... Is something the matter, Agent Wilkes?" The language skill chip I had really was high-end. Not only could it provide me the language, but it could also make my English slightly accented, to the point where it would insert Japanese-specific disfluencies instead of the usual Anglo 'umm'.
His partner was silent, and he sighed and nodded, "It isn't a huge issue, but you neglected to renew your authorisation to stay in the country with an endorsement on your visa by the anniversary of your entry into the New United States of America. That means, technically, you are not even authorised to be in the country."
I blinked several times, using my high speed to review everything in Dr Hasumi's files that might enlighten me about this, and finally found a reminder in her calendar from several months ago. Really? I tried to sound as reasonable as I could, but I still sounded clipped, "I was kidnapped by criminal elements in your country and held incommunicado, so I wasn't able to file the renewal as I planned."
He smiled regretfully, "That's why we're not immediately taking you into custody and are delaying filing deportation proceedings, Dr Hasumi."
I stared at him, "Do you know how we can resolve this matter?"
He shrugged, "Your visa remains valid, but as far as this..."
His partner spoke up, this time, and her voice was cold, and I immediately internally labelled her as Agent Bitch, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but Agent Wilkes, nor I, are authorised to advise aliens on methods of compliance, and Agent Wilkes has already gone much farther than he should have. I recommend that you retain an immigration attorney to advise you of your options if the consular staff here cannot assist you."
With that, they left. What assholes. I looked at Mr Tanaka, and held my hands up in a prayer-gesture, "Tanaka-san, please tell me you know what I have to do?"
That caused the man to chuckle, and he sat back down, "Yes, I do. They are rather terse, aren't they?" He was being a lot more polite than I. I would have used a different word myself. He smiled, no doubt noticing that in my eyes, and said, "As the man said, your visa is and remains valid. The simplest way you could solve this issue is to leave the country and re-enter it; the problem is solved, and a new one-year clock starts. This time you'd be able to reauthorise your stay before the time expired."
I frowned, "That's it? This isn't some kind of trick to get me out of the country, and then they'd be like: 'Haha, trick! You can't come back!' right, Tanaka-san?" It would be deeply, deeply ironic if I somehow got deported from my own fucking country.
He shook his head, "No, it isn't. We deal with this issue fairly often. They're really being more bark than a bite here; they hardly have the resources to deport law-abiding people like you, anyway."
I rubbed my head into my hands, "That means I have to fly back home? Airline tickets to Tokyo are so expensive." I complained, not even pretending anymore. It'd cost me five thousand Eurodollars for this lunacy.
"Oh, you misunderstood. You don't have to go back home. You just have to leave the country. I recommend a weekend trip up to Vancouver; it's pretty cheap from here, and it is quite pretty compared to this shit-hole of a country. But you could go to Mexico too," he said, breaking the character of the consummate Japanese diplomat by openly disparaging the country he was a diplomat to with a grin.
Seriously? This just became stupider and stupider. I should be, as a Japanese citizen, sharing in the ridiculousness of the situation, but as an actual putative citizen of this country, I just felt embarrassed. It was like with the crash, all the corporate wars and the Data Krash, the country died, but the bureaucracy survived.
"I guess I'll need to request an emergency passport after all," I said morosely as I had decided not to bother with one the last time I came here since I was just staying in the NUSA, which caused Mr Tanaka to chuckle. Now that it was shown to just be an inconvenience to me and not something more serious, he found the situation I found myself in completely ridiculous and, therefore, amusing.
"That, I think, I can help you with. You don't need to go back and stand in the line; come with me to my office," he said affably.
In his office, he pulled up my file and hummed, "Your passport photo looks recent enough, so we'll just keep the one on file." He pulled out a small device and sat it on his desk, and motioned towards it, "If you don't mind, Hasumi-sensei."
If I hadn't been able to change my genome, this would have been where I was discovered and arrested. Instead, I peered at the genome taster and thought. Hasumi was a bit more fastidious than Taylor Hebert. I, as Taylor, wasn't scared of germs at all, so I elected to carefully press the button for the device to run through its cleaning cycle, noticing a flash as an internal laser sterilised the surface of the testing plate. Then I sighed and licked my index finger, and casually pressed it on the plate for a moment.
The machine briefly paused before making a gentle ding sound and lighting up in green, and as soon as I lifted my finger, the cleaning cycle repeated. I glanced left and right, and Mr Tanaka noticed what I was looking for and offered me some hand sanitiser from his desk drawer, which I accepted and rubbed on my hands. He smiled at me and said, "Well, everything seems to be in order. If you're going to Canada, you'll have to apply for a visa online at least twenty-four hours in advance. Mexico, seven days in advance, so if you intend to go there, I would do that today. I'll print your new passport, and you can pick it up probably tomorrow, or if not, then Monday at the latest."
I smiled gratefully at the man as we both stood up, "Thank you, Mr Tanaka. You've been a great help."
As I left the consulate, I had already decided on Canada. Canada was a richer country than NUSA and much nicer to visit. Global climate change has turned it into an even more verdant and pleasant place to live and visit. It was the bread basket of America these days now and produced three times as much food as the continental United States did, trading most of the excess to the NUSA.
Vancouver? Maybe. It was true that I could use a relaxing weekend of vacation. Maybe even more. I had gotten more than one request to interview for a residency, and when I accepted, it would be very, very busy at least for the first six months.
Darryl Corban was a busy man, busy just staying alive, especially for the last few months. He was the acting Regional Vice President of Biotechnica Night City and tried very hard to make that promotion permanent, despite being sabotaged along the way by his "peers."
He took the gloves off with these idiots after they blatantly tried to get him murdered by proxy. Samantha had attempted to queer the deal he negotiated with the local Yakuza enough for the old bat to murder him, but not so much that Biotechnica didn't at least secure the merchandise.
It was this latter overriding loyalty to the Corporation that prevented him from just having her murdered. Instead, he just had her flown to Central America with nothing in her pockets and then shot in the kneecaps. In her personnel file, it was listed as a leave of absence to deal with personal matters. But if she made it back to Night City alive, he would make her his right-hand woman.
But not before he sat down with her and explained exactly how much her attempt cost the company. He didn't so much mind her attempts to murder him, as that was somewhat to be expected, and it kept him sharp. But her actions caused that old Japanese bat to release what otherwise would have been a Biotechnica exclusive to one of their competitors, Trauma Team.
At least, Trauma was barely a competitor. They produced a few drugs, and they researched a few drugs, but it was all small potatoes compared to them, so it could have been much worse. They already had begun discussions with Trauma Team to market the drug as a joint venture, as their legal team was pretty sure that the EC courts would decline to step in and what Trauma Team lacked in biotechnology they made up for in lots of guns. They were basically a military that ran some hospitals.
Now he would have to go into the quarterly meeting with his boss, which had been his boss' boss up until recently and explain how much they stood to make. It was a lot, but it was still fractions of a per cent when you counted the total enterprise's bottom line.
He wouldn't even mention Sam's perfidy; it was something that would just make him look weak, and besides, he didn't actually have any hard feelings so long as she didn't.
Looking over the files he seized from the woman's corporate account before he had approved her leave of absence, he frowned. Did she really think that this eighteen-year-old girl was some kind of chemistry savant? They had identified her from the genetic material left in a car accident, but it had to be a false trail or bullshit, right? He could see the daughter of a spook acting as a Merc as she did. Papa spook makes baby spook, right? But anything else? It seemed implausible.
That was Sam's claim that the girl was special, but he knew for sure she would have been just as satisfied if he had been kidnapped by the Japanese and forced to commit hara-kari for his supposed betrayal.
Baby spook was probably dead, anyway, in some ambiguous spook-related misadventure, the kind that left no body or trace, very much unlike the guy without the head their SecTeams had found in front of the car accident. Who cared?
He used his cybernetics to mentally stamp the file closed for now.
