The atomic ballerina old.., p.1
The Atomic Ballerina (Old Chrome Book 2), page 1
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
A Haunt of Jackals
The Atomic Ballerina
by
I.O. Adler
Old Chrome Book Two
Copyright © 2022 I.O. Adler
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording, or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Published by Lucas Ross Publishing.
Edited by Dave Pasquantonio, www.davepasquantonio.com
Author website: ioadler.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Chapter One
iles Kim took a polite sip of the bitter oolong tea from the demitasse, his metal fingers carefully gripping the fishbone-M
thin handle of the cup. He sat on the edge of the butterscotch loveseat, not wanting to lean further back to disturb the nest of embroidered pillows or allow his dusty pants to further soil the velvet.
The woman seated on the winged sofa across from him was Beatrix Fish, a fellow Seraph Express passenger and survivor of the bandit and robot attack which had almost cost them their lives.
Her creased face was grave with concern. She ignored her own teacup, which had been placed before her by the well-manicured maid wearing an apron. Not to be confused with the maid in the long tunic who had greeted Miles at the front door. Both servants had discreetly departed the lounge. Or was it a sitting room? Miles had never been inside a house quite like the Fish mansion.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Kim,” Beatrix said. “It’s my daughter.
She’s missing. And I thought a person like you...”
“You can say cyborg. It’s not a bad word. At least not with everyone.”
“A person who is a former police officer with Meridian’s armed services. After our recent misfortunes, I see I can count on you.”
“Seraph has its own law enforcement,” Miles said.
Beatrix waved the comment aside. “The militias can’t be trusted.
And the marshal service will cry about jurisdictional issues. What fop.
Plus, they’re incompetent when it comes to dealing with a matter with discretion.”
“A kidnapping isn’t something to drag your feet on, Mrs. Fish. I worked with Marshal Barma when we pursued the people who attacked our train. He may be a stick in the mud, but he’s not incompetent.”
“The good marshal may be able, but it’s the rest of his office I don’t trust. Rumors. Grift. They answer to the mayor’s office and the sheriff. Not much better than the militia. I’d prefer to work with you.”
Miles set the cup on the saucer. “If your daughter was taken, I don’t get you shopping around. This is straightforward police work.
I’m new in town, don’t know the place, don’t have resources. You’ve got the wrong man.”
“It’s for those reasons I have precisely the right one. This wasn’t some smash and grab of a child, Mr. Kim. My Agatha was taken by my husband.”
“Is Mr. Fish not around?”
“Not since our separation. He’s taken up in our New Springs estate on the north side of Seraph.”
Miles waited for more, but she was looking at him expectantly. “I don’t know you or your husband. What are we even talking about here? Did he strong-arm his way into your home last night?”
“Nothing so brutish. He lured her away and had one of his...henchmen pick her up and bring her to him. He doesn’t love her, won’t care for her, he just wants her because she and our oldest daughter stayed with me after our separation.”
“All the more reason to involve Seraph law. If I show up at his front door asking for Agatha, he calls the cops. The real ones, whoever they might be.”
“But that’s precisely what he won’t do. He doesn’t trust the militias or the marshals either. That’s why he hires the best bodyguards. Allowing Seraph law into his business means an avalanche of itching palms to keep tongues from wagging.”
Miles ran his left hand along the seam of the cushion. “So, he’s into some shady dealings.”
She let out a laugh. “You really aren’t from here, are you? Shady dealings, indeed. He has a chokehold on machine imports from Meridian and is now actively cornering the market in New Pacific.
Seraph lies in the middle. Every sale, every purchase means more credits in his coffer. But we’re not here to discuss commerce. Can I count on you?”
“I’m one man.”
“And you’ll be rewarded.” She mentioned an amount. “That’s for agreeing to help. Twice that upon bringing Agatha home.”
He picked up the cup and drained it. It was a lot of credits. Way more than what he would have received by selling his cybernetics.
Enough to make his son Dillan comfortable for years.
“I’ll think about it.”
She scowled. “What do you mean?”
“It means I’ll think about it. Agatha wasn’t swiped by some Metal Head. It sounds like she’ll be safe for a day or two. Let me get my bearings and call you this afternoon.”
“This is pressing. My girl needs to be rescued.”
“If it can’t wait a few hours, then find someone else. If it can and I decide to help, then I’ll get Agatha back. Those are the options. Is there a way to reach you?”
Beatrix leaned back and appeared winded. “Talk to Celia on the way out. She’ll provide a contact number. And Mr. Kim? Don’t make a mother beg. It’s unbecoming.”
Chapter Two
ne of Beatrix Fish’s maids waited at the front door to the mansion with a physical contact card ready. She had also O
offered to send Miles back to the center of town with Mrs. Fish’s driver, who had picked him up at his hotel.
Miles declined. He wanted to walk. Time to think. Time to see more of Seraph to understand the town, which was a world of difference from Meridian.
Ten minutes into his walk and he was second guessing his choice. Sweat trickled down his face and back. The pre-noon sun weighed like a thick blanket. His hips ached with every step on the unyielding concrete and hard dirt roads.
The larger homes gave way to row after row of sealed greenhouses. A damp soil smell permeated the air. Electric trucks and wheeled or walking delivery drones roamed the alleyways.
Workers loaded pallets with boxed goods. A radio from a nearby greenhouse played the yammer of a dramatic reading or religious program.
A refrigerator van rolled past, marked with a logo boasting a literal cornucopia of strawberries, honeydew, tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers, the engine a high whine that drowned out the broadcast.
“Help!”
The cry carried from a narrow lane between a block of warehouses and a plastic-windowed farm where a large sliding door stood halfway open. Miles looked around. Saw no one. And then came a muffled scream, which cut off.
Miles ran. He ducked to get under the raised door and found himself in an overgrown greenhouse where bushy lettuce grew in rows on a raised bed. He heard splashing, so he climbed a metal ladder to get a better look. Below the troughs of lettuce was a pool of dark water, and someone was thrashing. Ripples grew, and a head of hair was the last thing Miles saw as the person sank.
He was about to dive in when he spotted a pole and hook. He grabbed it and lanced it downward. A hand grabbed the end, then Miles pulled, yanking a small man wearing baggy shorts and a tank top to the surface. The man sputtered, hacked, and was dead weight as Miles snagged him by the collar and hauled him to the edge of the pool. With a last heave, he got the man flopped over the side. Water sprayed every time the man coughed.
“I got you,” Miles said. “You’re okay.”
The man nodded, then shook his head as he pulled himself from the water. His arms were trembling, and he needed help standing.
But he was pushing at Miles, leading him towards the exit.
“Take it easy,” Miles said. “Sit. Breathe.”
“Can’t,” the man rasped. “They’re coming.”
Voices from the opposite end of the greenhouse shouted. A half-dozen men were hurrying towards them. Miles only had seconds to dec ide what to do. He shoved the man along with him as they passed beneath the door and raced out of the alley.
The long avenue and alleyways ran in every direction. Hardly a place to easily evade a group of determined pursuers. But the sopping wet man tugged on Miles and brought him to a parked three-wheel motor wagon with no doors. Miles joined the man in the cab. The man thumbed a control panel and started the engine, putting the vehicle into gear and racing forward as the gang of workers erupted onto the street.
They sped past the men to a chorus of jeers and shaking fists.
The man coughed again, spat, then laughed.
Miles hung onto the lip of the cab’s roof as they took a corner.
“What’s so funny?”
“Didn’t expect I’d almost drown in the middle of the desert.”
“Was it worth it, trying to steal lettuce?”
“Lettuce? Blech. Can’t stand the stuff. But the fish they keep in the pond below? That’s good eating. Shame about my line and hook.”
“You were stealing fish.” It wasn’t a question.
“A man’s gotta eat. And they’ve got some fat tilapia swimming in those ponds. Thank you, by the way.” The man glanced at Miles a
few times before finally inspecting him more thoroughly. “Say, you’re a—”
“A guy who was in the right place at the right time,” Miles finished for him. “You’d better think twice about coming back and pilfering lunch from that farm.”
“Yeah. I’ve got plenty of other spots, though. Seraph provides when you know where to look. Name’s Tristan.”
“Miles.”
They took another corner. A stepladder, buckets of rags, hoses, and a compressor shifted about in the three-wheeler’s bed. Tristan slowed down as he wended around a large container being unloaded.
“You’re a painter?” Miles asked.
“Painting, sealing, patch work, even a little plumbing. No job too small.”
“Then why don’t you build your own fishpond so you don’t have to steal them?”
Tristan flashed a mouthful of yellow teeth. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, then I’d be the one fending off the filching anglers.
You don’t appear like you work in the Green district, Miles.”
“Passing through. Taking in the sights.”
Tristan wiped his thin, wet hair from his eyes. Premature pattern hair loss, soft around the middle, with ink up and down both arms.
Younger than Miles had first guessed, perhaps early thirties.
“Taking in the sights,” Tristan said. “That’s rich. But minding your own is good sense. There’s a towel behind the seats. Wouldn’t want you to rust. So, then, Mister Tourist, where can I drop you off?”
Chapter Three
ristan pulled up to a corner. “Marshal’s office is that white building there. That’s as far as I get you.”
TMiles climbed out and gave a goodbye wave before straightening his hat. He still had the damp towel in his hand, but Tristan’s three-wheeler was already pulling away.
Seraph Marshal Office, the plaque read. The tinted glass doors made it impossible to tell if the office was open. Miles pushed the door in and entered.
A black drone with an illuminated red eye sat atop a metal screen at the end of a short hallway. A heavy door with a view slot stood closed.
“Halt. Present identification,” a canned woman’s voice said.
Miles didn’t have any. “I want to speak with Marshal Barma. Tell him it’s Miles Kim.”
“Identification.”
He tried to assess if the drone perched atop the shelf was armed, but without a close inspection, it proved impossible. “I’m not carrying an ID. Tell the Marshal I was by.”
When he turned to leave, the exit door was locked.
“Remain where you are. Hands at your sides.”
Miles tugged and pushed at either door for good measure. Had word gotten out that he was alive and well in Seraph? Had Marshal Barma changed his mind about him and learned of the bounty on Miles’ head?
The drone’s light winked out. The heavy interior door buzzed and clicked open.
A stern woman in a white button-down shirt and a badge on her chest swung the door wide. She wore a compact burner in a holster high on her right hip. “Please come with me.”
“Barma’s in?”
“Yes, Mr. Kim. And he agrees to see you despite your lack of any identification. Are you armed?”
“Just my charming smile.”
She scowled as she conducted him inside. The office appeared small, considering the size of the building, but beyond several desks and cubicles was an inside atrium with large ferns and a tulip-shaped fountain that trickled water.
Barma rose from a cubicle. A large man, he wore suspenders, and his shirt front dangled over his belt. But like the receptionist, he was also packing. A stubby hand cannon dangled from a shoulder holster.
“The robot lives,” the marshal said. “And you made it past Glenda. Congratulations. I thought you’d be plugged in somewhere recharging your batteries.”
“My hotel didn’t have an adapter.”
“What do you want?”
Miles rounded the cubicle. There was no guest chair. “You check on Hill?”
Hill was the young girl from the desert village whose father Zoon had ambushed Miles and the Marshal. Zoon had tried to hand them over to an insane man-machine overlord living in an abandoned mine. Zoon had then been gunned down by Dawn Moriti, the vanished Meridian agent who held a warrant for bringing the AWOL
Miles Kim back to River City. But Dawn had let him go for what Miles guessed was the short-term gain of a valuable haul of mystery tech from the aftermath of the train robbery.
“I haven’t checked again since early this morning. Been busy.
And this is no longer your concern. If you have a police matter, go to the sheriff’s office and he’ll assign a militia rep. Even better, the nearest information kiosk will summon a militia patrol. There’s one right outside.”
Miles waited. The marshal sighed and continued.
“All right, she’s fine. I had a chat with the psychologist at the home. Hill had a rough first few hours and then she was sleeping. He guesses she’s never been anywhere but that stupid village, has never been around other adults or children, and she’s going to have a battle on her hands acclimating. But she’s young, so there’s that.
Resilience and all. So are we doing twice-a-day updates now? You could have just called. Because I really do have work.”
“What do you know about the Fishes?”
The Marshal grunted. “I’m guessing you got in contact with Beatrix.”
“I just wrapped up a visit with her at her home. Says her daughter Agatha is missing and was taken by her husband.”
The marshal scowled before leading Miles to the atrium. He slid the door shut, then they sat at the curved stone benches around the fountain. The receptionist gave them a hard look through the glass before returning to her own work. Miles had spotted no one else in the office.
“So what do you want to know?” Barma asked.
“I didn’t agree to the job and told her I’d get back to her.”
“Huh. That’s bold. I’m sure she offered you a pretty good payday.”
“I want to know what I’m stepping into.”
“Pretty wise for a robot. You’re tip-toeing into something deep and nasty, if you go to work for her.”
“And is that why she wouldn’t go to any of the local law?”
“Partly,” Barma said. “Anyone who’s been around Seraph for long knows about Beatrix and Gennady Fish. They’re the top of the heap as far as money goes. Old-school Seraph, before the town was a town. And they did things differently back then. Since she asked for you, I’m guessing the sheriff wouldn’t touch this, and I doubt either of the militias would, either. Who’d want to wind up on the nasty side of either of them?”
“So, both Mr. and Mrs. Fish are rich and influential. But what about the kid?”
“Agatha? Younger of the daughters. Doubt either mother or father cares much about her, except they’d rather die than let the other parent have custody. Both girls are with the mother, from what I’ve heard. So Gennady made some kind of play. Bad news.”
“How?” Miles asked.
“If a Fish decides to shake things up, the town feels the vibrations.”
“Is that why we’re taking this sidebar in your little grotto?”
Barma let out a humorless chuckle. “I trust Glenda with my life.
