Absolute Zero - Chapter 20
"I think we're dealing with a lone wolf."
Wyatt took his glass to a pair of high-back velvet chairs, facing floor-to-ceiling windows. Sitting back, he sipped his drink, enjoying how the bubbles provided a slight burn against the back of his throat. Not the same as vodka, but it would do just fine. He closed his eyes, beginning to nod off again.
The back of his chair was suddenly thumped. Wyatt jolted awake and saw Abbi taking the seat next to him. Dressed in regular clothes, her head was bandaged but mostly covered by a skull cap.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he said.
"Probably. Just wanted to see if you'd be at the bar. And here you are."
"This," he said, holding up his drink. "Is lemon water."
She raised her hand to flag down a server, and a robot noiselessly approached. "Whiskey. Neat. With a side of water. And make it a double."
Wyatt assumed she was just testing him. Which was fine, he deserved it. He would continue to smile through it all. Because here he was, finally talking with his daughter again.
"Not much of a speakeasy if everyone knows about it," she said. He nodded and took a sip. They both stared forward at the scrolling view of space. Earth came into frame, the African continent partially obscured by swirls of clouds. Then the refulgent planet passed out of sight.
The automaton delivered the drink. She drained half, chased it with water, then said, "why did you start?"
He turned to look at her as she concentrated on her glass.
"Being a medic?"
"No. The drugs."
It was a conversation he had thought about (and dreaded) for years. The topic was never discussed while they shared a roof. Now that she was an adult, he could try to explain, though the answer was not clear to himself.
"I started when I was nine," he said. "I had an older sister who thought it would be funny to see her younger brother get stoned with her and her friends. Meanwhile, my dad drank a lot, and my mom was never around. She worked two jobs to support us. Then they got divorced. So, my sister raised me."
"Aunt Polly?" Abbi asked. "You never talked about her."
"Well, she disappeared when I was eighteen. I think she died from an overdose. She was really bad off before she left. Got kicked out of the house for pawning my mother's jewelry. Never did find out what happened to her."
He saw that the information was making an impact. In a more normal relationship, one of them would have reached out to the other to offer comfort.
"As for myself," he continued. "I'm not saying I'm a victim. While my environment was messed up, at the same time I did make some bad choices. Picked up some bad habits and never took the effort to shake them. When I met your mom and we had you, I tried— I really did—to get clean. And I was for those first few years. But it's tough, and frankly I was weak. So, I relapsed. And I kept kicking and relapsing, again and again. Until you finally left."
"You got clean once I left?"
"Not exactly. It was tough, but I'm glad you got out of there. Glad that my habits didn't rub off on you. But I hit bottom shortly after you were gone. Lived on the streets. O.D.'d a few times. I should have died. But I'm glad I didn't. The clinic that had been helping me took me in, so I started volunteering. Then a few years later I started running the place with Orla."
"Your girlfriend."
He said nothing, not ready to talk about her yet.
She took another sip of her drink. "So that's why you're out here," she said.
"Yeah," he sighed, feeling emotionally drained. "Paying it forward."
"Paying it forward," she repeated quietly. There was a long moment of silence between them. Abbi finished both the whiskey and water before continuing. "Ever hear of frosting?"
"Like, cake frosting?"
She ignored him. "Another medic introduced me to it. Another one of those bad influences, I guess. On the ship, she had cut a small gap in the hull with a laser scalpel. A tiny opening into space. Kept it plugged up with a wad of gum."
"That's not safe at all," Wyatt said, sitting up. He assumed that she liked to live dangerously, but this was an unsettling example.
"When she's down and feeling things," Abbi continued. "She removes the gum and puts her skin against the hole. Instant frostbite. The space version of cutting. And…I used it a few times too." She turned toward him, facing him with a hard stare. "It helps me deal."
He looked down at her exposed forearms and could see faint pink scars.
A defiant tear slid down her cheek as he held the gaze. Finally, she turned away to wipe her eyes.
Wyatt had never hated himself more.
"I'll be back," she said, getting up. She stumbled a little bit before heading to the bar. He smiled with some relief, relieved that she wasn't the hard drinker she pretended to be.
She slammed her glass on the bar top loudly enough to get the attention of the bartender and nearby patrons.
"I'm all yours," said the barkeep.
"I'll have another."
"Anything else interest you?"
"You mean like you?"
He shrugged confidently.
Abbi smirked. "I'll stick with a drink for now, thanks." She slid the glass and he caught it just in time.
"Worst-kept secret," said a stranger near her. Abbi turned towards a tall man. Eastern European accent, wearing a dark suit. He stood out by the confident yet unctuous way he carried himself, and it caught her off guard.
"I was just saying that," she said.
"That's quite a gash," he said, reaching out to touch her bandaged forehead but stopping short. She suddenly felt self-conscious.
"I, uh, had a run-in with another ship."
There was something in how he reacted. Something clicked behind his eyes. She casually looked down, searching for more clues and found a mark on one of his hands. A tattoo of a shield and sword.
"That's hard to do," he said, prompting her to look up again. "Crashing into another ship."
"Yeah," she said, coming up with a story on the spot. "It happened when I was parking. I just wasn't paying attention."
The bartender brought her drink.
"Thanks," Abbi said. She raised the glass to the stranger. "Good to meet you."
"Nostrovia."
She turned, and as casually as she could headed to the exit. She left the untouched drink on the corner of the bar on her way out.
Wondering what was taking Abbi so long—Wyatt turned but didn't see her at the bar. He suddenly felt his datapad vibrate, causing him to jump. It was an incoming call.
Her face filled a panel, looking scared.
"Abbi?"
"Listen, meet me at, uh, the Gucci store. By spoke 9. But act casual. I don't want him to notice you."
"Him? Him who?"
"Him. The asshole who crashed my ship."
Without knowing anything about him, Wyatt felt a sudden instinct to confront, damn the risk. Abbi must have seen it in his reaction.
"Do not cause any trouble. I have an idea, but you can't let him see you."
He nodded and the call ended. Swallowing anger and pride, he stood and put the datapad in a pocket. Focusing his attention on the rows of bottles behind the bar, he headed out. Deliberately not meeting anyone's gaze, not that anyone noticed him leaving.
At the exit, the bartender called, "Have a good night!" He took the opportunity to pause and turn slightly. Just enough to catch a glimpse of who else was at the bar. A slender man with dark features wearing a dark suit. Instinct told him that that was the guy.
Still trying to act casually, he raised a hand and called back "thanks." Then was outside in the brightly lit hall.
Outside the shop, he found Abbi hugging herself and pacing.
He hurried up to her. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah. Did he see you?"
"Guy in the suit? I don't think so."
She nodded.
"Do you think he followed us here?" he asked.
"Dunno. After the crash I saw his ship leave but I don’t know where he went. Has some sort of stealth tech so I couldn’t track him."
"Stealth tech. Like, government-funded?"
"Yeah, just not our government."
"What do you mean?"
"Part of our training is to identify tattoos. In case we run across anyone affiliated or wanted. He had a mark."
"A mark of what?"
"A sword and shield with a sickle. An old Soviet militsiya symbol." She shook her head. "We just need to be careful with this one, is all I'm saying."
Wyatt shivered at the possibility that it was more than just an individual they were tangling with.
The two started walking the marble floor. Every thirty meters were marked by a pair of jade columns that rose several stories to a curved ceiling crowded with Abrahamic murals. Surfaces everywhere were decorated with arabesque patterns of inlaid gold interwoven with Islamic characters. Shoppers dressed to impress vacationed happily, ogling over expensive wares, carrying shopping bags bearing the logos of expensive brands. Meanwhile, Wyatt thought of the nomads, their savings spent on a doomed effort to restart their meager lives.
"So, what's the plan," Abbi finally asked.
He stopped and turned to her. "I say we call it."
"And do nothing?"
"Can you call your Space Force friends?"
"'Space Force friends?'" She smiled. "I'm not sure this rises to the military level."
"Local authorities then?"
She laughed. "Not with this one."
"So, what are we talking about?"
She continued walking ahead, deep in thought, tapping her chin. After a bit she returned to Wyatt. "I think we're dealing with a lone wolf."
"A well-resourced wolf," he added. His thoughts shifted to the tattoo. It sounded like the same one Babs saw before she was hooked into the 'net against her will. She later died as a result.
"True," Abbi agreed. "But if we take him on, two to one, and are smart about it…"
"He's a professional, Abs."
"So are we."
"We're medics!"
"Yes. Which means we have tools. Like sedatives. And a brain disrupter."
"You have one of those?"
A defensive weapon that emitted beta waves, it rendered the target confused, drooling and soon malodorous.
"For crowd control."
He opened his mouth to say something else discouraging, but nothing came to mind. Because a plan was actually starting to form.
"We also have access if we need it," he offered.
"How's that?"
"Someone owes me a favor."
Abbi gave Wyatt a stunned look. Maybe mixed with some respect.
"What about your head," he asked. "You sure you're up for this?" He still wasn't sure what "this" was, but it was something they could work together on. The importance of them having a shared goal eclipsed the risk. How many more chances would he get? She seemed determined to exact some sort of revenge, so it would be better if he was there to help. And to protect her if possible.
"Go get some sleep," he said. "If he's here tomorrow, we'll come up with a way to ambush the sonofabitch."
"We just need to make it count," she warned. "Else we're dead."
Thank you for reading! Another chapter coming soon. If you enjoyed reading this, please support the author by purchasing a copy of the book at Amazon.com.