Chapter 20

Her red cab descended into the busy depot and Kayla stepped out. She tugged the hem of her shorts further down her thigh uncomfortably. Per Crokex’ advice, she had changed her immediattire during transit to better fit her destination. The clothing was supposed to make her less conspicuous here, but she felt anything but. The immediattire had very little in the way of affordable options, and she very much doubted any of the selections would offer her inscrutability.

Her shorts were so tight and revealing that she had needed to specify to her immediattire that she would also require a gaffe, which she hadn’t often used even in her own time outside of the gym. Her top hung off her right shoulder and left her midriff exposed. As she reached up to tug it back into a more comfortable position her thumb snagged on a tear in the sleeve and she internally scoffed at the idea that even clothing that generated from seemingly nothing could be pre-torn for the sake of fashion. Her commando-style boots clomped along the paved street, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a mosh pit in her own time. Despite the unfamiliarity of the fashion choices, she struggled to hide the euphoria she felt wearing it.

She took in the atmosphere of Sydney, Australia. It didn’t feel like it was in the same world she had experienced over the last week. It was the first place she had visited where the air didn’t smell clean, instead there was a dinginess to it that seemed to leave a lingering taste in her mouth.

She willed her neural band to create a map leading to the address Crokex had given her. It was several blocks beyond the station, a considerable walk. As she pulled her purse closer to her and made to follow the path, she barely cleared the boundary of the depot when she was approached by a young man in dirty clothes. His shaggy, matted hair grew thick around his entire face, and she realized with a start that what she had originally mistaken for sleeves was actually red fur, in which his entire body seemed to be covered in.

“Please, anything will help,” he begged, holding out his hand. He was gaunt, and the fur on his arms looked patchy like a sick dog. Sympathy gripped her heart and she nodded, willing a transfer of tender. The young man thanked her and immediately turned to someone else. Kayla pressed on.

The buildings in this area appeared much older than she had seen elsewhere. Their foundations all bore cracks and patches. Many were shuttered with boarded-up windows. The businesses all seemed much more analog than other places she’d visited. There was no plethora of holographic advertisements jumping out of the windows everywhere she looked. Most of the bejinkind vessels floating along were boxier, older models with scrap patched into damaged areas. She passed by a condemned building covered in graffiti that reminded her of a similar mural she passed every day on her way to work. She paused and fought the lump in her throat as a pang of homesickness rocked her. A billboard for the latest PTICA neural band sat atop the building, and was defaced with graffiti that made it read, “FUCK PTICA Industries.”

The street was similarly laid out as other places she’d visited. The traffic streams hummed along endlessly above the commerce spaces below. As Kayla pressed on, a passaro resembling a penguin with a gruff voice grabbed her attention. He stood in a small booth in front of a wall of neural bands.

“Neural bands!” the rooster called out, “Neural bands here! Refurbished and restored, pay-as-you-go plans! You won’t find cheaper than Greep’s!” Just past this was a wet market housing some live animals that resembled blood-red pigs with antlers like deer; but mostly tanks of fish all stacked on each other next to refrigeration units housing different cuts of meat, some of which were a deep navy blue like the steaks Craig had taken to in the last week. She glanced closer at these and saw them labeled as, “Sea Stag.”

As Kayla made her way through the market, she remained hyper-vigilant. Crokex had implied in his own slimy way that Die Vielen’s chop shop was in a seedy area, and his directions made her feel like she was being told how to find a drug dealer. Feeling eyes on her from every direction, she walked quickly as she could, avoiding eye contact at all costs. She had enabled a sensory protocol that should warn her if anyone was approaching her too closely, but Glyph had advised them that this could be circumvented by a skilled hacker and that they shouldn’t become complacent.

Her destination led into a narrow alley between two dilapidated buildings, one of which appeared to have been a school at some point. She glanced around herself anxiously for any sign that she was being followed, but nothing immediately seemed off. The alley had no exit from the other side, and a lump formed in her throat as she realized this was exactly the kind of place people get mugged. Fidgeting with her shorts, she hesitated before realizing her visible anxiety might just make her a bigger target. Gritting her teeth she pushed in.

She was looking for a door of some kind. Crokex had been vague on this element of finding Die Vielen, but according to them all she would really need to do is approach the entrance and someone would greet her, so long as she had the right signal emitting from her neural band. They had given her this signal, which also doubled as the finder’s fee tag that would ensure they got paid. But as she approached the end of the alley, she found only a concrete wall between the two buildings and a large broken trash incinerator overflowing with refuse. Her mind raced to the worst conclusion, and her common sense began scolding her internally. Had she been taken advantage of?