Into the Violet Gardens Read online

  First time I’ve come across them. She DID save my life.

  The two motion forward, charging slowly within the sphere. However, they witness a VTOL aircraft hover upward, taking in a figure clutching to a ladder. Troy’s heart sinks as the kingpin glides away. Another enemy pilot looms, dropping a set of objects from afar. Virtuals fire missiles at the aircraft, but the pilot’s ship gleams, deflecting the rockets.

  With Paolo lost at sight, Soriana’s left with no option but to strive through the foes. Reloading a magazine, she fires directly. The barrier releases openings to the travel of her bullets. The fiery eruptions obscure her shots. Vibrations ring within her bubble. Her grasp over Troy wavers. With each step, debris careens her directions endlessly. The last impact rams, jamming the barrier’s surface, and Soriana tumbles in Troy’s hands.

  Goddamn!

  Vulnerable, Troy kneels and grits to a sharp ringing to his wrist as he slaps aside a rocket. He catches one of the grenades, throwing it in a heartbeat. The detonation’s radius consumes the enforcers, but this act alone could only exacerbate their rage.

  Engines rumble imminently. Troy covers his head to a swarm of large unicycles rolling ludicrously, tearing past the vehicles. Concrete splashes at him. Agents scurry, but the drone’s bladed wheels bypass through them, tearing the cyborgs in half. Troy’s legs freeze as one of the drones circulates over him and Soriana. Dust and sparks cyclone over the two like a tornado.

  Soriana’s hair blows wildly. Troy attempts to open his mouth, but his voice muffles to the blade’s screech. His ears twist to the jarring sound, and he clutches to it. He looks down at Soriana, still kneeling. Her crestfallen expression meets his, and the two remain in quiescence in their inevitable position.

  Suddenly the wind ceases, and a flare blinds him halfway. Troy steps back upon the ground drones shattering at once, leaving nothing but scrap arching above. The cyborg winces.

  What’s happening?

  Multiple enforcers scurry, crying out to each other only for a bright red beam to slice through their torsos. The perpetrator tumbles, losing grip over his grenade launcher. He gestures entreatingly, but the plasma pierces his face in a flash. Blood boils from the puncture carved in his nostril, and his skin disintegrates. The tension ceases.

  Soriana sighs, wiping her forehead, and utters “Puneta” coldly to the decayed corpse.

  Coughing to the smoke, Troy glances anxiously at a squad of gargantuan Gorillax mechs posed vigilantly. Steam belches from their thick cannons, and their dense angular feet trudge smoothly. Numerous vehicles park behind the FBI’s already ruined trucks. Virtual agents rush from behind the car’s rear door and the golden emblem of the leaping jaguar emblazons at the side of their gray armor vest. Troy’s blood pressure alleviates.

  JOA. Good riddance.

  “Thank God,” Soriana murmurs.

  Troy gazes at Soriana, clasping her hand and raising the operatives. The two nod to each other.

  The PMCs rush to the scene, scanning the bodies of FBI cyborgs and civilians in the street. Many of the other pedestrians peep from behind their cars, murmuring among themselves tentatively. Troy’s nose twists to the air of kerosene lingering.

  One of the JOA agents races to pursue them. A golden spark glimmers inside the space of his bionic triceps. He gazes squarely at all of them.

  “Apologies,” he informs. “Everything okay?”

  Troy gives a thumb up in reassurance, despite the situation being far from well. He arches his shoulder to a brief pain piercing his back.

  The mood shifts when Soriana adds, “We’ve just lost the kingpin.”

  She beckons to the sky above, and the PMC follows as if expecting to find a feather to glide from the clouds. He frowns.

  “Any air support?” Soriana supplicates. “Will be appreciated.”

  “No worries. Our troops will secure the streets. Unless any volunteers.”

  “Agents!” Troy calls aloud.

  The surviving agents gather in unison, and one of them lifts an ear. Troy grimaces to seeing Jin and another comrade carrying over a crippled agent at hand. Fluid leaks from where a prosthetic limb of hers once resided. Blood oozes from the scratches on her face. Her hair alone sparks an alarm to Troy’s head.

  Rebecca?

  “She’s in bad condition,” Jin admonishes. His gaze locks conspicuously on Soriana as if hypnotized to such an anomaly.

  Troy swallows. The words fell moot. In spite of the weather, his chest turns cold. This was the veteran whose years in the Division extended way ahead of his and welcomed him into the Division as a tyro. He would’ve never imagined Rebecca succumbing to the inevitable.

  Rebecca lifts her head, meeting Troy’s gaze.

  “I’ll recover,” she says weakly within his NI.

  Rivers steps in. He rests a hand over the wounded agent’s shoulder.

  “I’ll be in watch of her, brother,” Rivers advises.

  “We’ll be deploying airships to assist in ETA, three minutes,” the JOA agent states. “Question. Are you comfortable with sending these two alone on this? Or anyone else?”

  “Permission granted,” Rivers says. “He has my trust.”

  Ironically none of the FBI says a word, in contrast, presumably approbating in silence. Troy and Soriana glance at each other, and a sense of urgency meets them. No other option. After all, so much needed to be said between themselves.

  Chapter 5

  Eva sits patiently behind the desk, eyeing the desk lady trail to a restroom from across. The employee blends with the throng of travelers motioning back and forth in haste. Tourists trail their gaze solicitously over the baggage carousel as it motions, rushing over the other and picking up their package. The Virtual turns her head to two passersby calling each other’s names, rushing at each other rapturously with their suitcases.

  “Daniel!” a young woman calls out.

  “Sofia!” a traveler cries out as he embraces his partner. The two seal their eyes and their lips meet.

  An anomalous buzz crawls behind Eva’s back. Despite the sportive aura surrounding the International Airport, the chatter rattling in the airport could only exacerbate the cold feeling. She rubs her head as the nerves in her brain sting.

  No word from Soriana. Where is she?

  It’s been an hour since Soriana sent Eva and the team off to this airport. Her personal UAV was expected to give feedback. There’s no plausible chance in surmising where Dante Guzman could be without this update. No call. As much as she wanted to reach out, her heart trembled immensely as if a harbinger was imminent in her direction. Soriana wasn’t the officer to fall back on her follow-ups; that’s the officer Eva knew then. Something about this situation, it seemed like an anomaly. Nevertheless, there was still a chance of hope she and her comrades held.

  Eva glances downward, analyzing the bracelet laced over her wrist. The star remains pinned toward the collar of her white dressing shirt, proudly emulating the white and twin cobalt bands that shaped this country, though her identity is one to be questioned. The Virtual purses her lips nonplussed to her freshly fair skin. She couldn’t put a word to it. The breeze brushes her shoulders, and she realizes how it’s been so many years. She finds herself a Hoya, walking on the headquarters marble floor, gazing quietly among fellow recruiters passing by. The Director stood, and the stern air imposed over him as he opened his mouth.

  It’s been so many years. Years since, she used to shower her hands into the bucket of paint, dazzling the board fastidiously. Her mother’s eyes sealed as she stood behind her daughter, mirroring the texture of her face, until she opened her eyes, bewildered, upon completion. So long before the blast imploded beneath the electric pole. The pole tumbled over her, choking her body in a voltaic wave. Her bones and skin flared, and her world went crimson. The only scene she could remember was opening her eyes to bright light, and she sighed at the dark bionic craft structured on her palms. How could a device so superficial bear such semblance to her past? Rain wa
s something.

  Hope this idea work, Rain?

  “Count on me, Moreci,” Rain states arbitrarily. The sound of his voice cracks within the hardware sealed inside her brain. “Our Camo Dissemblers will buy us a chance to blend. As long as we follow the script and beat time. We only got up to ten to make it happen.”

  Her heart taps a single beat. Eva sets a finger to what was plastered at the center of her breast.

  “How are you from afar?”

  “I’m still at the field’s tower. Get your tablet ready too. Sharing footage—”

  “Hold on there.”

  Eva lifts her head to someone presumably calling her name faintly. However, she only sees a couple of men dressed in green jerseys emblazoned with the flag of Brazil exchange high fives to each other. The operative draws her head cautiously for the tablet inside the desk’s draw until her legs jerk to a vibration.

  “Such a vibrant place,” she hears Hax say wistfully. “I can feel it.”

  The Prowler’s form remains trapped in a sphere, encased in her black skirt’s pocket. Eva just happened to locate him solo as she was making her way inside this place. It amazed her that a drone, witness and survivor of the Bautista assault, could bring forth such reminiscence. The onus is high on her to keep him safe and fill in the role for the Virtual he lost.

  “Stay firm, Hax,” she says gently. “Let’s not repeat the tragedy.”

  “Esperanza!”

  Eva’s ears alarm instantly. She widens her eyes to the desk lady approaching her once. The employee straightens her watch.

  The Virtual rises and reaches for the tablet. Eva signals with her fingers, gesturing a finger upwards before crossing her arms together. The desk lady smiles with a wave, but once Eva turns her face, the paleness subsides immediately.

  At last.

  Maintaining distance from the desk and advancing left of the terminal’s hall, Eva whips out the tablet. The ID tag of her pseudonym slings around her neck. An airplane’s shadow looms over the terminal’s window stand, obfuscating the light briefly. Her voice reverberates.

  “Okay. Ready when you are—”

  The screen activates before she can continue. Eva winces to a tunnel emerging toward an airplane’s entrance. Then, from within the tunnel’s window, peep three men stalking casually. Two guards in armored vests trudge, but the one that sparked her attention is the suited passengers trailing coolly.

  Guzman?

  “That’s him,” Rain confirms, “He’s just got off his flight. They’re making their way to your floor in two minutes.”

  Eva looks over to her right. Her shoulders shift, preparing for what’s about to occur.

  “Everything okay, Rip?” Eva asks the Martial. “Guzman’s on his way.”

  His whistle echoes in her neural interface. “Interesting. Van’s still waiting. Still clear on your Spanish yet?”

  She shakes her head indefinitely. Soriana, in fact, did lecture her on the Latin tongue on a daily basis as Eva adapted to the conditions surrounding Latin America. Notwithstanding, the ability slipped from her from time, leaving her with lingual remnants. If it wasn’t Portuguese, her voice had little to offer. What mattered to her is obliterating any possibility of this meeting between the target and Mendoza to initiate.

  “No,” she says curtly. “I do remember, though. Okay…long as we trap him inside that car, no turning back. Clear?”

  “Guess I got to be your robo-translator then, commander. I’m going to let the Apt in my head sync in with your hardware, and you repeat as follow. Permission?”

  “Yes.”

  She had to adulate SMART’s development for this type of augmentation. One of the many ways Virtuals and Martials are alike in many ways. No human can get a hold of this. Imagine the conundrum she would be in if she were forced to walk on this operation alone.

  It didn’t take long for the three to rise from an escalator and approach her direction. Eva observes the target clearly as she turns off the tablet and places it behind her. Guzman rubs his shaved brown hair. His red necktie swings as he motions. Slim, about five feet tall, and the lens on his spectacles glint. One of his guards gazes over the place sharply like a vulture, and beads of rings lock at his left eyebrow. His frame’s tantamount to a sturdy boar.

  Oh no. They’re coming.

  “No worries. Synced in.”

  The Salvadoran politician’s voice gains as he nears, and Eva bows gauchely. Upon laying eyes on the operative and her tag, Guzman smiles. Judging from his face, it was best to assume the politician was somewhere in his early forties.

  “That man,” Hax mutters grimly.

  “¿Hola?” Eva greets. Her cheeks flush. “Su uh…Dante Guzman.”

  “Pick up the pace,” Rain admonishes suddenly in a whisper. She complies. “Double manage.”

  “Si si,” Guzman approbates. His unstinting voice held her back, but in a way that impeded resistance boiling inside her. The blood in her veins slows. “Y eres Esperanza Garcia. Muy bien. Veo que tenemos otra adición a la seguridad.” [“And you are Esperanza Garcia. Very well. I see we have another addition to security.”]

  His words spill rapidly over her, and her head gyrates. The politician’s smile offered a sense of amicability that seemed genuine. The same couldn’t be said about his guards, who gazed icily at her. She felt the energy in their eyes breathe chillingly at her, lowering her temperature. If it weren’t for the guards, any pedestrian wouldn’t even think of associating a figure such as Guzman with such a devious syndicate.

  Her trepidation is cut when Rip utters generically, “Si. Me asignaron para ser su asistente. Le estan esperando recogerle. Sigame.” [“Yes. I was assigned to be your assistant. They are waiting to pick you up. Follow me.”]

  “Uh…si,” Eva repeats as she strolls in front of the three. The bead at her chest ticks. “Me asignaron para ser su asistente. Le estan esperando afuera. Seguir." [“I was assigned to be your assistant. They are waiting for you outside. Follow.”]

  No English. No English.

  Those were the thoughts that played in her mind as the words spilled from her mouth. Her tongue twists.

  The pierced guard steps close. “¿Te he visto alguna vez?”

  The cold asperity in his tone punctured her chest like a bear’s claw digging the soil for its food. Her tongue twists.

  “No seas ridiculo, Jose,” Guzman abdicates jokingly. He chortles. “Ridículo. La gente tiene demasiadas caras para basar suposiciones. No te preocupes por mis guardias, Esperanza. No es tan indulgente. Estoy seguro de que harás todo lo posible para ayudar.” [“Ridiculous. People have too many faces to base assumptions. Don't worry about my guards, Esperanza. It's not that forgiving. I'm sure you will do everything you can to help.”]

  Eva looks over and gestures with a hand. She heaves as she advances. Her heels click on the floor’s surface. A quad drone glides pass the four, and she looks away from the lighting flashing from its eye.

  “Ok, Moreci,” Rip states, “Caminemos hacia arriba.”

  “¿Qué pasa, bonita?”

  “Caminemos hacia arriba,” Eva regurgitates, turning a blind eye to the arbitrary compliment. She signals to one of the escalators on the right and steps in hastily. “Vamos.”

  “Oh, se está adelantando demasiado a mí, señora,” Guzman says. [“Oh, you're getting too ahead of me, ma'am.”]

  Nevertheless, he tags along, cuing his guards to race up the steps. Eva finally makes landing, blinking to the gamut of cafes surrounding her. The sapid aroma hardens her nose, and the laughter in the room inundates her nerves. Her optics endure a slight scratch. Despite this, she persists in leading the politician. The bead ticks again. Her pace continues, and for what seems to be minutes passing, Guzman opens his mouth.

  “Necesito ver a Mendoza brevemente,” he says. Guzman reaches for the cell phone in his pocket. “No he tenido noticias de él en un tiempo. Espera brevemente.” [“I haven't heard from him in a while. He waits briefly.”]

&nbs
p; “Todavía podemos seguir adelante como usted,” Rip states. [“We can still carry on like you.”]

  “Todavía podemos…seguir adelante como usted,” Eva repeats.

  “Mejor conexión, Esperanza.”

  “¿No hay problema?” Jose questions almost critically to her.

  “Let’s see,” Rip comments.

  Guzman dials on the phone screen, and he places it quickly to his ear. The silent guard juggles the suitcase around his arms, gazing at the staffers serving tamales to the throng of customers. Jose, watching over his superior, takes the chance to glower at the operative. Those eyes, they are itching to tear at her veneer, and if they met once, as he claimed, how much does he know about her? How much? Eva wasn’t too eager to discover. If she had a way to put an end to his misery, then now would be the best option once she nears Rip.

  “¡Mendoza!” he acknowledges. “Salgo del aeropuerto para esta reunión. Estás bien tú y tus hombres—”

  Suddenly his expression turns quizzical as a jarring sound echoes in the background. Soon it’s dominated by a whistle that becomes tortuous. The three of the men jerk to the sound, unnerved by such a cacophony. Eva strokes her ear deeply, all too aware of the instigator behind this machination.

  Rip?

  “Keep urging them,” Rain remarks. As soon as he says this, Eva freezes to a rapid snap on her Dissembler. “That’s your chance. Time’s racing.”

  Guzman turns off the connection before he can fluster to Rip’s whistling. He places it in his pocket immediately. He gazes at everyone, lowering his spectacles and rubbing his eyes.

  “¿Qué fue eso de?” the second guard questions. This was perhaps the first time Eva ever heard him say anything contrary to his eerie counterpart. [“What was that for?”]

  “Estoy seguro de que otros están en el mismo barco que yo,” Guzman says. “Ese podría ser yo.”

  “Podría ser un percance a distancia. Es mejor que continuemos el ritmo antes de que sea demasiado tarde,” Rip says. [“It could be a mishap from a distance. We better pick up the pace before it's too late."]