Chapter Fifty-Nine - Popularity

“This cask behind me contains thirty-seven point four litres of fermented fruit wine. None of the fruits used in the fermenting process are available on Earth. The cask has been aged six thousand years in a sealed vacuum.

We will begin the bidding at 1,000,000,000 credits.”

--Excerpt from the 2050 Rarest Goods Auction

***

“Hey,” I said as I approached the table. The main hall was, surprisingly, still full of people. Some waiters were going around and filling people’s cups with champagne. Some people had left, but they’d been replaced by an equal number of additional guards hanging out by the edges of the room.

Lucy was sitting between Gomorrah and Frannie, looking rather relaxed with a long champagne flute pinched between her fingers. “Hi Cat,” she said.

“How’s Burringham?” Gomorrah asked.

“Alive,” I said. “Why’re there still people here? They stopping folk from leaving?”

“Oh no,” Lucy said. She shook her head. “This event went from a cool event to like, the most talked about one. Come on, the host almost got assassinated, the assassin was shot by a samurai, another samurai’s sitting here, as if she doesn’t care about it all. Not that Gomorrah doesn’t care, I’m just saying.”

“So... what? It’s become a sort of bigger event because Burringham almost died?”

Lucy nodded. “You know how we used to run out to the nearest corner store? Which times do you remember best, when nothing went wrong, or when we had to run away from some angry muggers?”

“Alright, fair,” I said. “Still fucky.”

“Some people left,” Lucy said with a shrug. “I bet a few of the people here are spamming their media feeds with news about what’s happening. Drama chasers. Others are just happy that they’re here. You know they’re showing up in a lot of camera shots, that’s food for any celeb.”

“And I bet the media are swarming this place,” I said.

Lucy nodded. “Oh yeah. I bet this will have more airtime than the next ten school shootings combined.”

“I don’t much care for the media stuff,” Gomorrah said. “But having a small amount of renown can help with some things, or so I’ve been told. So, did the gunman survive?”

“Yeah,” I said. “His injuries weren’t all that bad. Not good, mind, but he’ll live. The mercs keeping this place safe have some medics, they’re keeping him healthy. Got him to spill.”

Gomorrah raised a hand in a ‘one moment’ gesture. The next thing I knew I was receiving a call from her.

I answered. “Let’s keep this quiet,” she said.

“Not a bad idea,” I said as I sat across from Lucy. I muted the speakers on my helmet, no one could hear us chatting. “So, want to take a guess at who’s responsible for all of this?”

“The mayor?” Gomorrah asked.

I laughed. “Well, alright, so I can’t actually confirm it. But our assassin buddy was hired on short notice from some gun-for-hire contractor company. Like Uber, but for hitmen, you know? Anyway, he had a lot of details about the place, and about who would show up, and plans for the building. Myalis was the one who figured it out, actually.”

“That it was the mayor?” Gomorrah asked.

“We don’t have outright proof,” I said. “But the blueprints for the building are city blueprints. They have the city of New Montreal watermark all over them. DRM and everything.”

“So, if it’s the mayor, he was lazy enough to give his hired killer some information that he had access to,” Gomorrah surmised.

I wiggled my hand over the table. “Eh, maybe? It could be someone else being clever, trying to pin it on the mayor, but, well, Dupont’s a twat and he has plenty of motive. Far as I can tell Burringham’s shaking things up, and is a whole lot more charismatic. He might actually have a good chance.”

“We’ll have to investigate that assassin organization,” Gomorrah said.

“I’ll pop by for a visit tomorrow morning, see if they feel like telling me anything. Worst case, I drop a few points on better cyberwarfare stuff and Myalis helps me figure it out. Or I could ask Longbow.”

“The samurai? You think he’d know?”

“I think his whole ‘big brother’ persona is a bit more 1984 than you’d guess at first glance. He has this whole surveillance network thing. Or access to one. Bet he could figure it out in a couple of seconds, if he’s not too busy LARPing or something.”

“Alright,” Gomorrah said. “So what do you intend to do about all of this?”

I leaned my elbows down onto the table. “Don’t know, actually,” I said. “Feels like I should do something about Dupont, but that’s straying away from samurai business and closer to just... political bullshittery. I don’t mind showing up to places like this if it means helping the city, but chasing down assassins feels like a whole different thing, you know?”

Gomorrah nodded. “I know what you mean. We might not have too much of a choice.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all nun-like and say that non-violence is always a choice?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Non-violence is always a choice. Violence is also always a choice. We could just blackmail Dupont, if you actually learn that he’s responsible.”

“Think he’d listen to blackmail at all?” I asked.

“I never interacted with him. But the way you spoke of him made him sound mostly reasonable. If in a less than civil way.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Fine, I’ll find out if he really did call out the hit on Burringham, then if it’s Dupont, maybe I’ll pay him another visit.” I shifted so that I was sitting straighter. “That all?”

“I think so,” Gomorrah said. She ended the call before speaking to the others. “Sorry about that.”

Lucy grinned. “You know, if you insist on having alone-time with Cat so much, I might insist on the same with Frannie here.”

“Down girl,” I said.

I was about to comment a little more when I heard a shuffling across the room. People were still whispering and talking to each other, but the pitch and tone changed, like a wave across the entire hall.

Glancing around, I saw a lot of heads turning towards the stage, so I followed the collective gaze and found a familiar face walking up onto the stage. Burringham, looking a pinch pale, and in an entirely new suit, hair obviously still wet and freshly brushed.

My augs told me he still had the nano-regenerative suite on him, tucked under his partially-open jacket. He walked up to the podium and cleared his throat. “So, where was I?” he asked.

There were some nervous chuckles and genuine laughs from the people in the room.

“I’m truly sorry about the interruption. I assure you we’ve heightened security quite substantially. It should prevent anything like that from happening again. At least, I hope so, the last lesson was on the painful side, so I hope it sticks.”

He grinned at everyone, as if he was talking about stubbing his toe on stage instead of being shot.

“Ah, I really have forgotten where I left off. I think I was thanking our guests of honour for tonight? The valiant samurai, Gomorrah, and especially Stray Cat, to whom I now owe my life, I suspect.” He started clapping, and soon everyone else was clapping along too.

It felt at once hollow--these people, with maybe three exceptions, didn’t give a flying shit about me--at the same time, I felt an unfamiliar warmth rising to my cheeks.

The clapping died down soon enough and Burringham took to talking again. “Now, tonight’s hero isn’t the only one I want to thank. All of you deserve a round of applause for not panicking. I’ve been informed that you were all quite restrained and empathetic, and I appreciate that. As this city moves forward,especially so soon after a disaster like the incursion that we just survived, it’s important that we all try to come together and especially work together to fix our home.”

I sat back and half-listened to Burringham as he worked the crowd. His miraculous return was working in his favour, I suspected.

You might be interested to know that your ranking in the popularity charts has changed quite substantially. Welcome to the under thirty-thousand bracket. Though you are still behind Gomorrah.

I blinked. I’d become more popular? For the stunt we pulled?

But that begged the question; how had Gomorrah stayed ahead?

***