“POM has protocols for asset handling,” he reminded me, switching the display to the building schematics. Conversation closed.
I shrugged. “Protocols get you protocol-level results.”
He grunted again. “Your unorthodox methods got Cheng killed last month.”
The comment landed hard—precisely as he'd intended. “Cheng killed Cheng. He didn't follow instructions.”
Maddox only let out a grunt in response.
I leaned forward, electromagnetic Flux crackling beneath my skin. “I improvise when necessary. Sometimes that means quick decisions in the field.”
“And sometimes your improvisation puts the mission at risk." He tapped the side of his Vysor, bringing up our missionparameters. "Alpha assets don't exist on record, Cy. That doesn't mean we're expendable.”
“Speak for yourself.” I pulled out my VaPurr, the end glowing green as I took a drag. “Besides, Tex handpicked both of us because we get results. He doesn't care how.”
“Tex handpicked us because we have complementary skill sets. You talk. I plan. We both execute.” Maddox scrolled through the target's file again. “And when this goes sideways—which it will if we follow your 'improvisation'—I'm the one who has to clean it up.”
I propped my feet up on the small desk running along one side of the car. “You love it. Admit it.”
Maddox didn't respond directly, but the slight shift in his posture told me everything. For all his complaints, our success rate was unmatched. With Cheng dead, we were currently POM's only alpha assets. Tex kept pairing us because it worked—my willingness to bend rules balanced by Maddox's precision.
“Besides, isn't she a…” Maddox trailed off.
“What? Shofu? Yeah, what does that matter?” There were worse ways to spend POM's operational budget than cultivating relationships with the city's most informed population, and no one heard more than a working girl.
“I just don't think I could get comfortable with someone like that.” He waved at the vid screen where I had zoomed in on the woman's flushed face, but then switched the display off.
“Aww, we were just getting to the good part.”
I liked pushing him—it kept him sharp.
“We're working, Cy.”
“That was work!” I retorted.
With my vid closed, the image of an older woman’s face popped up again. Professor Tanaka of Elysium University. Her personnel file showed a distinguished record spanning nearly four decades.
I propped my feet up on the small desk running one side of the car and leaned back, hands behind my head.
“Why are we even out here for some old lady, anyway?” I quipped, pulling out my VaPurr, the end glowing green as I took a drag.
“Didn’t you read the mission briefing?” Maddox asked, waving the smoke out of his face.
“Only the important parts,” I muttered.
“Surveillance found communications between her lab and known rebel-frequented nodes. The shield tech leak originated from her department,” he explained, fixing me with a displeased look.
“No shit, this old bird?”
The shield tech leak had been the biggest loss of corporate IP in recent memory. Now any yarou on the street could have the reverse-kinetic energy shield that had been POM’s biggest tactical advantage. I’d never seen the big bossman more pissed than the day Tex had delivered the news.
And when you committed crimes against POM, there was no trial or judge. Just us.
“She gonna survive the interrogation? She’s seventy-one years old.”
“Analysis concluded her history in rebellion has increased her endurance.”
“And bossman wants her talking, not cold.” I blew smoke toward the ceiling of the van. “Tough old bird.”
