Chapter Thirty-One - Obsolete Worries

“Never question a Samurai about what they might think are personal things.

This means that you should avoid the following topics:

-Religion

-Abortion

-Politics

-Economics

-Sexuality

These are subjects that tend to spark debates with our clients, and that can worsen their mood and generally make them uncomfortable.

In the very worst cases, they might decide that they ought to do something about a perceived issue. We at Welcome Inn International do not want to be held responsible for the destruction of any religious organizations or the toppling of local governments.

Remember your three Cs:

Courtesy,

Care,

Common Sense.”

--Part of a training manual for Welcome Inn International staff, 2046

***

It felt a bit strange just walking out of the Hour Men headquarters. We just went up one floor and left out the main entrance. I even waved to the old lady at the nail salon on the way out. There was a squad of Police-Tech enforcers rushing over to the scene, but when they saw us they averted their eyes and rushed to cordon off the area without so much as trying to stop us.

Gomorrah stretched her arms up until her back popped audibly. “That was interesting,” she said.

“It was, I guess,” I said. I shifted a bit to get the grapple pack I was carrying to sit better over my shoulder. “I wasn’t sure we’d get anything out of it, but... yeah. A name and all that.”

“You were told to find the girl by someone, right?” Gomorrah asked.

I nodded. “Deus Ex. It was her job, but she dropped it on my head because she’s a little shit.”

“In that case you should probably inform her of our progress so far. Make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Shouldn’t I call her after we save the girl?” I asked.

Gomorrah shook her head. “No, this way if something goes wrong, you get to share the blame around a bit more. Haven’t you ever had a job before?”

I chuckled. “No. At least, nothing more than doing odds-and-ends. That’s a weird way of looking at things. They teach you that at the covent?”

“It’s a lesson you learn from experience rather than from a book.”

We left the building, took an elevator up a few floors, then continued on our way back to Gomorrah’s car. The area had cleared up of people. Maybe they’d gotten the warning about Samurai mucking about. I certainly would have pissed off if I knew there was a Samurai fight going down. At least, I would have before becoming one.

“You ever find it weird that you’re a Samurai?” I asked.

Gomorrah glanced my way for a bit. “I don’t know? I suppose it is a little strange, but I can’t say I’ve given it that much thought. I just am now.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda rolling with it too. But then sometimes I’ll forget and all those worries I had come back, you know?”

“Worries?”

I reached up to scratch the side of my nose, then remembered my helmet. “Yeah, you know. I have all these kids to take care of. I mean, they’re not mine, but they’re kinda my responsibility? And... I guess I was planning to kind of run away from all that, try to make a life for myself. Didn’t have much going for me though.”

“Uneducated orphans aren’t in high demand?”

I snorted. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, there are some jobs available for anyone, but they don’t pay all that well. I’d be in debt over my head just trying to get an apartment or something. Could become a joytoy, but that’s not something I’d want to do.”

Gomorrah shook her head. “No, I think I understand. You had all those worries, and now they’re moot.”

“Moot? Uh, yeah, I guess. I have... less than a hundred credits to my name. I couldn’t buy a soda right now. But it’s not a problem anymore. It’s just--I don’t know--weird. Same with the kittens. That’s the brats Lucy and I watch over. They were on a fast track to getting fucked over, but now we just don’t need to worry anymore? Lucy was talking about getting them to school. That’s just so weird.”

The nun patted me on the shoulder. “It’s fine. I think this is probably what people that won the lottery feel like.”

To be entirely too pedantic, the likelihood of becoming a Samurai isn’t as random-based as the likelihood of winning a lottery. There are characteristics and experiences that make some candidates more likely to become Samurai.

I hummed. “So you’re saying I was chosen for my good looks?”

No. Nor did your awful sense of humour factor into it much.

“You wound me,” I said.

Of all the billions of items I have that you could purchase, none are able to fix your inability to be funny.

Gomorrah giggled next to me, she even turned away when I shot her a glare. Was Myalis transmitting to her too? Not that I was actually angry, Myalis could be a bit of a pain, but she was kinda funny. “You should try using some self-deprecating humour, Myalis,” I said.

I would. But even doing so would still leave me leagues above your petty human-ness.

“Your AI has quite the attitude,” Gomorrah said.

“Atyacus isn’t like that?” I asked.

“Not even remotely. He’s quite polite.”

I grinned. “Wanna trade?” My shoulder mounted railgun deployed, then spun around and smacked me behind the head. “Okay, okay, I get it! Sheesh!” I said between laughs.

We arrived in the parking garage only to find that there were a lot more people here than before. That was fine. The problem was they were gathered around Gomorrah’s car. One of them was on his back, with a buddy smacking his face and one of those plus-shaped wrenches in hand. It looked like they were trying to undo something on the Fury.

“Someone tried to jack your wheels,” I said.

Gomorrah’s fists tightened.

I recognized some of the punks as we got closer. They were the same lot that we’d run into on the way down, plus maybe half a dozen members. “Yo!” I called out. “Did you never watch one of those kids shows that teach you about not touching other people’s shit?” I asked.

We got quite a few glares. One of them, one that hadn’t been there earlier, stepped up. He was a mountain of a man, covered in glowing tattoos and equipped with a pair of cybernetic arms that looked like they’d been torn off a cargo-lift bot. “You killed one of ours,” he grumbled. “We can’t let that kind of shit fly.”

I reached over my shoulder and unslung Whisper. Without actually raising the weapon I turned off the safety with my augs and pulled the trigger.

A bolt smacked into the ground, then bounced off the cement floor with a clatter.

A few of the punks giggled.

“If you knock them out, I won’t feel good burning them,” Gomorrah said.

“You mean you wouldn’t feel bad burning them otherwise?”

She shrugged. “If they put up a fight. They tried to steal Righteous Fury.”

The big guy at the front grunted as he crashed to the floor. Some of his buddies went down quietly, but a few of them tried to run. They didn’t make it far before whatever amount of knock-out gas was in them took them out.

“That’s a bit much. It’s just a car. A very nice car, but still.”

“I don’t think you understand the relationship a woman can have with a vehicle this gorgeous,” Gomorrah said.

I shook my head and stepped over a few bodies on my way to the passenger side. “You make it sound like you want to marry this thing.... Please tell me you don’t actually get off to a car. I mean, there’s kinky, then there’s just weird. And you already have that pyromania fetish.”

“I don’t have a pyromania fetish. And I don’t get off to my car. That’s just weird.”

“Do the seats have a massage feature?” I asked as I ducked in. I tossed my gear to the back then looked at Gomorrah who was grabbing the wheel.

“I mean, technically.”

“Damn Gomorrah,” I said with a laugh. “Are you that repressed?”

“I’m not repressed,” she said a little too fast.

“Sure, sure. You get your lover moving, I’ll call up Deus Ex.”

“Fury isn’t my lover.”

“Fine, your mobile sex toy then.”

“It’s unchristian-like to hate someone, but I might make an exception for you.”

***