Null/Void

Null/Void

Adrian Drake

P.D. Publishing, Inc.

Clayton, North Carolina
 Copyright © 2009 by Adrian Drake

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, trans-

mitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters herein
are fictional and any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-933720-62-3
ISBN-10: 1-933720-62-X

987654321

Cover art: Boulevard Photografica

Edited by: Georgia Beers / Danielle Boudreaux

Published by:

P.D. Publishing, Inc.

P.O. Box 70
Clayton, NC 27528

http://www.pdpublishing.com
 Acknowledgements

Go Here.
Dedication

Go here
 Chapter 1

Beret kissed Lucy’s throat where her neck met her collarbone. The
tenderness of his touch and the ferocity of his desire sent a charge
through her. She rested her elbows on his shoulders and ran her
fingers across the stubble of his shaved head. Normally he kept it
smooth, but the frenzied pace of the last few days had been
merciless. Practical or not, a couple of hours alone was a luxury
she was unwilling to sacrifice; she wasn’t about to have him waste
any of their brief respite shaving his head.
His hand trailed up her spine raising goose bumps; she arched
her back slightly, presenting an upturned breast. Beret wrapped
his arms around Lucy’s waist, pulling her tight to him, and his
kisses descended.
As his lips trailed across her skin, she allowed a low groan of
pleasure to escape from deep in her throat. She lowered her hands
to his shoulders and ground her hips. His attention changed from
sucking to a gentle flick of the tongue as she felt him grow harder
inside her. Her voice was a labored whisper. “Do we have enough
time to go another round?”
She watched his electric green eyes dart to the clock on the bed
stand and then back to her. “She’ll deal with it. If it’s a problem, I’ll
drop another five hundred.”
Lucy drew her arms tightly around Beret’s neck. Their gaze
met and the hunger in his new eyes threatened to consume her
whole. She’d liked the all gold ones. They contrasted with his dark
skin and the inhuman appearance made him seem even more
dangerous. She lifted his face and kissed him roughly, her gaze
never leaving his. There was something about his new eyes that
made him seem savage, even catlike.
Lucy sighed. Unwrapping her legs from around his waist, she
pushed Beret down onto the bed. “I don’t get to see you enough
through my own eyes, so I’m keeping you here for as long as I can.”
Her hands traced across his well-muscled chest, marveling at the
richness of his skin tone. Beret was the color where black meets
red — a dark, bittersweet chocolate she could taste with her eyes.
He smirked. “Sorry, babe. I know it’s been crazy.”
Beret closed his eyes, placed his hands on her hips, and started
moving her in rhythm with his breathing. She noticed the change
in sensation. Sneaky bastard. The light fingertips on his chest
turned to raking nails. She began to twist and turn, forcing him as
2 ™ Adrian Drake

deep within her as she could. His hands rose, coming to rest in a
firm grip around her waist. He suddenly arched his back and Lucy
cried out as she felt him shudder from deep within.
Beret’s body went slack and Lucy collapsed onto his chest. Her
breathing was still labored and her voice came out as a husky
whisper. “Why can’t we stay like this forever, lover?”
He sighed in disappointment. “’Cause I got work to do, and the
trancer charges us three hundred an hour.”
“Do you have to bring that up?” Lucy got up from the bed, her
voice choked with pain and frustration. “You think I don’t know?
You think I don’t hate the way things have to be?”
Beret rose from the bed. “Trust me, I know. I’m gonna grab a
shower.”

Lucy toweled off Beret’s shoulders as he finished buckling his

boots. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed yet, and was just
wrapped in the bedsheet. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to start a
fight.”
Beret shook his head. “You didn’t.” He got up, turned around,
and cradled the sides of her neck in his hands. He hated this part
of it. “The fantasy is a lot better than the reality.” He touched the
contact on the back of her neck, turning off the transmitter. The
image overlay of Lucy faded from his optics. Her figure melted
back into Xian, an Asian prostitute he and Lucy had been using for
nearly a year. He turned her head and opened the small panel that
had been surgically installed behind her right ear. Beret removed
the familiar data chip and closed the panel.
The prostitute blinked her eyes, took a deep, shuddering
breath, and shook her head as if clearing a fog. “Trancing” was
dangerous. When a PerSim was in control, the host mind was
forced back into a comatose, dreamlike state. If the john went agro,
the trancer would be helpless to defend herself. A good pimp or
madam supplied sims with defensive subroutines, but even those
were limited. A trick would need Grade A references to bring in
their own PerSim, and even then they could expect to pay extra.
Xian’s eyes danced wildly. Beret rubbed his lower lip, waiting
for her reaction. She was checking her internal clock and he could
see her face tighten in anger. “Beret, you’re a good customer, and
with you I can be forgiving of a couple minutes,” she wagged a
finger at him, “but you ran nearly forty-five minutes over.”
Beret dug in a pocket and then dropped a handful of certified
credchits on the bed. “Sam said you didn’t have another
appointment lined up. Three hundred for the scheduled hour, plus
 Null/Void ™ 3

another three for the second and another two for the
inconvenience.” His eyes narrowed. “We straight?”
Xian fingered through the chits before turning back to him.
“It’s all good this time. Next time you ask me, not him.”
Beret pulled on his charcoal gray, Lycra turtleneck and tucked
it into his khakis. He grabbed the leather waistcoat and shoulder
holster from the hook on the back of the door and slipped them
both on. The light patter of rain on the window would have given
him reason to zip the black coat up if he wasn’t already doing so to
conceal the pistol. “I’ll give ya a call in a couple of days.” Looking
in the mirror over the vanity, he adjusted his signature dark green
beret, then rotated the crossed lighting bolts he wore in his left ear
so they matched the insignia on his cap. “How much would it cost
me to take her out to dinner?”
Xian shook her head. “You know we don’t leave the rooms
tranced, Beret. Not even for a good customer like you. Too many
things could go wrong.”
Beret sighed as he fingered the small diamond stud in his right
ear. “Yeah, I know, but I had to ask.” He smoothed the lines of the
jacket and then tugged lightly on the waistband. “Like I said, I’ll
call you in a couple of days.” Beret exited the room and he heard
Xian close and lock the door behind him. “Damn.” Lucy would be
disappointed. As he walked down the grimy hallway, he watched a
saggy older suit knock on a door. The balding man held a cheap
bouquet of flowers behind his back. The caramel skinned girl who
answered the door greeted the old man exuberantly, eyeing Beret
with suspicion as he walked by.
At the end of the hall, he opened the grate of the ancient
elevator and entered. Closing it behind him, he pressed “L” and it
rumbled to life. Muttering, Beret reached up and lifted the flap in
synthflesh that covered the I/O jack and chip port in his head.
“Home again, home again, jiggidy jig.” He inserted the chip and
gritted his teeth. Using the interface built into his optics, he
initialized his tactical control module.
Lucy came back online. “Back to business again?”
The metallic tone of the internal audio interface was clear; but
synthesized, Lucy’s voice sounded like she was on a cheap cell
phone. Beret grimaced. “Nulls live and die by how well they react
and fight.”
The elevator came to a stop and he opened the grate.
Crosshairs appeared in the center of Beret’s visual field. Small blue
circles began identifying the people, weapons, and security
systems in the lobby. A trio of cameras covered the room from
4 ™ Adrian Drake

every possible angle. The man feigning sleep on the bench had a
sawed-off shotgun under his filthy coat. The trick coming in the
door had a small pistol in his coat pocket. The girl negotiating fees
with two sailors had a pair of knives concealed in the hip boots she
wore. Sammy, the guy who ran this place, sat behind the front
counter. He wore a pair of pistols openly, but also had another
longarm under the counter. Beret assumed it was another shotgun.
“You’re tied to my tailgunner,” he continued to Lucy. “It keeps me
safe, and you keep me happy.”
“What did Xian say about next week?” Lucy’s voice jumped a
half octave in excitement.
He stepped into the warm night air. The drizzle continued, but
it did nothing to break the heat. The air was oppressive. Therm
readers in his optics registered the ambient temperature as being
twenty-seven degrees. “She won’t leave the room with you loaded.”
Beret shrugged but kept his voice upbeat. “I know you wanted to go
to Maxie’s. Maybe I can get some take-out. Maxie would hook us
up.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like it’s a real anniversary or
anything.”
Beret huffed angrily, “Lucy, why you gotta be like that?” He
scowled at the passers-by, scaring them. A skinny kid jammed his
hands in his pockets and moved on quickly. Beret hated arguing
with Lucy, not so much for the sake of the argument but because he
was the only one that could hear her. To the average civilian, he’d
look like a lunatic if he responded.
“What? We didn’t get married. You can’t have a wedding
anniversary without a wedding.”
The woman was infuriating. “Lucy!”
“Hey, I’m not bitter about it; I’m just being a realist. I died.”
The AI’s voice softened and Beret felt a twinge of pain in his heart.
“I’m thankful for the time I do have with you, in your head and
out of it.”
Beret chuckled as he opened the door to his black Lincoln and
got in. “You telling me you don’t have a preference?” Lucy waited
while he plugged the car into his IO jack. He watched the HUD as
she quickly did a systems check and then caressed the ignition,
bringing the car to life.
“When I’m in your head, I may not be able to read your
thoughts but I can pick up every nuance in your body language. I
can feel your adrenaline. I can tell when you are angry or happy.
I can even get readings for certain chemicals in your
bloodstream, and tell when you’re ready for another ‘out of body
 Null/Void ™ 5

experience’.” Beret’s groin tightened. “Like now. If we didn’t have

to meet with Trevor, I’m betting we could turn around and go
right back. I know I’m still hungry.”
Beret adjusted his pants before he became too uncomfortable.
“Stop it, woman; I got work to do.”
Lucy giggled playfully. “Who’s driving, you or me?”
“You can, but use the car’s optics and internal controls. I don’t
like that detached feeling.”
“No problem, lover.” The car shifted into gear and pulled into
the evening traffic.

The sleek sedan turned left onto Lake Street and headed east
towards the river. Every few decades Chicago changed its identity,
but at its heart, Chicago would always be Chicago. Even in the mid
21st century, the city was not that much different. People debated
the comparable worth of the Sox and the Cubs. The Bears still
fought it out every year in the Black and Blue Division. Summer
heat waves still made you feel like you were breathing soap, and
people still slogged their way to work through winter blizzards.
Nightlife was hot, the blues were cool, and everyone still
complained about the El.
If the fire of 1871 had been the cause of the city having to
rebuild, the food riots of 2017 and 2018 were an apocalypse. The
Grain Blight destroyed the agricultural heart of the United States.
Food shortages worsened as winter became imminent. By October
of 2017, full-blown panic swept the nation.
Winter came hard and early in the Midwest that year. Record
snowfalls for November had been recorded in eleven states. When
stores ran out of food and government reserves couldn’t be
delivered, hysteria struck the country. Chicago had been one of the
worst hit.
The first violence erupted on the third of December. A large
group of demonstrators clashed with police on the steps of
Chicago’s City Hall, demanding the government do something.
Conflicting reports pointed diverse fingers of blame, but in the
end, the protest turned into a full scale riot, killing several
hundred and destroying tens of millions of dollars worth of
property and real estate. The riot was just the beginning.
Large scale violence ripped through the city. Students and the
lower class were hit the hardest as cheap housing and apartment
buildings were destroyed by fires. Small businesses were pulled
apart by looters. Larger corporations quickly pieced together
private security forces which, in many instances, took the law into
6 ™ Adrian Drake

their own hands. The police were virtually helpless against the
throngs of rioters. After three and a half months, the governor was
finally able to reestablish order with the use of the National Guard
and an infusion of a large supply of food and water.
The violence was over, but the damage was already done.
Similar violence had broken out in major population centers all
across the country. Chicago had lost nearly a third of its population
as a result of starvation, exposure, disease, and relocation. The
damage to the city was estimated to be in the billions, but no one
would ever be able to put an accurate price tag on it.
With the nation’s infrastructure disjointed and fractured,
many of the world’s largest corporations came to the rescue. Their
motivation was clear: as long as America’s economy was in
shambles, the world’s economy would be in shambles. Laws
benefiting corporate interests and signing away small pieces of
judiciary, civil, and administrative control facilitated the nation
rebounding and rebuilding within a decade.
Government costs plummeted as corporations competed to
handle everything from city planning, to public works, to
emergency services like police and fire. As more and more
government agencies reorganized under corporate control, little
things that Americans took for granted in the preceding fifty years
gradually slipped away.
After the huge population reduction, the company that took
over both the census bureau and the remnants of the social
security office determined it would be easier to create a new
identification system. The National Identity Act readily passed
through Congress. The fifteen digit national identification number,
and the ID card later tied to it, took the place of social security
cards as well as state IDs. Fake ID cards and identity theft became
so commonplace that laws were enacted to change the
identification from a card to a chip that was surgically inserted
into its owner. The national database kept everyone’s information
up to date and its security system was virtually impossible to crack.
As more and more corporations found this national database to be
useful, small addendums were passed to allow more types of data
to be stored on the ID chip. By 2045, every American’s birth date,
school record, work history, income history, tax information,
marital status, credit rating, criminal and military records, history
of listed residences, medical records including blood type, drivers
license, insurance record, bank information, purchase history,
marketing data, religious preferences, Nielsen habits, and a
 Null/Void ™ 7

current “within one year” photograph were contained in the

database.
Ninety-nine percent of the population went along with these
changes quietly. The corporations had brought the country back
from total ruin so it made little sense to question what they said
they needed to keep things improving. Not everyone fitted
themselves into this new America, though.
As corporation-subsidized law enforcement and judiciary
ground to a near halt, criminal elements flexed their muscles. The
corporate response was surprising. Organized crime was big
business and, rather than suppressing it, the corporations wanted
a slice of the proceeds. Many of the laws controlling illegal
substances and the sex trade were quietly repealed, most under the
claim that they were unconstitutional. Personal choice was a
freedom, and no one wanted to deprive anyone of freedom. New
laws were slipped in, instituting far harsher penalties for operating
any business without government approval.
A new class of criminal was created: men and women who
operated outside of the law; people who were paid in cash or
certified credchits; people who removed their identity chip and
became anonymous. In short, people who didn’t exist. Nulls.

As Beret crossed the river, he marveled at the Lake Street Bridge.

The bridge was a survivor, just like he was. It had survived the
Chicago fire, it had survived the riots, and it had even survived the
corporate rebuilding of Chicago. He chuckled as an El train
rumbled overhead going the other direction. Like him, it had been
modified to accommodate an ever-modernizing world. He
remembered what the old trains had sounded like. The modern
rails were quieter, but they didn’t have the same personality.
“Turn on Wells. We’re going to Shorty’s.” Beret fished in his
pocket and pulled out a small, clear box. Popping the lid, he tapped
out a pair of small mints and dropped them into his mouth. He
tossed the container into the bag that hung from his glove box.
“Remind me to get some more.”
“Damn, those things are strong,” Lucy’s voice sputtered as the
car pulled over.
“Would you rather I start smoking again?”
She chuckled. “Gosh, I love mints.”
Beret got out of the car and Lucy locked it with his internal
transmitter. A security alarm was useless — no cop was going to
respond to an auto theft — so auto security had been forced to
improve. Beret’s alarm was elegantly simple. Only the driver’s door
8 ™ Adrian Drake

could be opened from the vehicle’s exterior. If someone opened the

door, or attempted to start the vehicle without the proper
transmission key, the headrests contained small speakers that
would blare a monotone note for five seconds, at a head-rattling
loudness of 120 dB. If the windows were not armored, the blast
would shatter every one in the car. If the thief survived, the trail of
blood from his ears would be easily tracked.
“We’ve got targets.” Lucy quickly highlighted four gangers.
Beret zoomed in on them in time to see that one was trying to
discreetly identify Beret to the other three. “I’m seeing knives and
pistols. Something heavy under the jacket of the big guy in the
back. The guy to the left has a sub. Looks like a police issue
Ingram. Nothing spectacular.”
Beret continued across the street “Switch to EM for a sec. I
wanna see what they got for wetware.” His vision suddenly went
screwy. Colors flared and distorted. Power lines and call phones lit
up like torches. After a few seconds, his optics returned to normal.
“Nothing major, mostly cosmetic, except for the big guy in the
platforms. Looks like he’s a juicer.”
Beret muttered, “Shit.” To do their job better, most nulls used
wetware — cybernetic implants that either replaced organs or
improved a person’s performance. When Beret had gotten out of
the military, he had “neglected” to return his implants. Over the
years he had done jobs for people who had paid in upgrades rather
than cash. There were people who had better wetware than his, but
in his estimation, they probably worked for black ops groups like
the CIA. Gangers simply didn’t have the cash or the contacts to get
the good stuff. They relied on mega-steroids or cut-rate gene
therapy in back offices run by hacks and sadists.
Juicers were another matter entirely. The idea had originally
been developed for the military just before the Blight, but had been
dropped because of a variety of problems. Somewhere on or in
their body, usually a pocket in their abdominal wall, a small pump
was inserted that was tied into several organ systems. Vials of a
cocktail made with epinephrine, adrenaline, amphetamines, and a
few other choice drugs were placed into a feed line. A manual
contact injected the cocktail into the body as needed. Under the
effect of “juice”, a person felt no fear or pain, and reacted far faster
than a normal human being. They were stronger than their
musculature indicated, and could take inhuman amounts of
punishment before going down.
Unfortunately, there were two major side effects. If someone
took the drug and their heart didn’t instantly explode, they would
 Null/Void ™ 9

become addicted to it almost immediately. Secondly, the

combination of drugs brought out the worst in people. Sociopathic
tendencies and violent outbursts were the norm. Psychotic breaks
were common. Gangers were usually fringe lunatics to begin with.
Juicing made them monsters.
“Hey, Beret!”
The ganger stepped in front of Beret, causing him to pause. He
had matted, shoulder length blond hair tied back with a small
bundle of telephone wire. Knee high buckled boots and reinforced
gloves marked him as a motorboi — gangers that ran on
motorcycles and caused mayhem on unpatrolled stretches of the
interstate. His threadbare, filthy jeans and T-shirt reeked of sweat.
He hadn’t bathed or washed his clothes in weeks. The brand new
orange and yellow synth-leather jacket looked out of place. Beret
assumed it was stolen.
“You are Beret, right?”
“What do you want, scab?”
The ganger quickly looked away from Beret’s insult. Meth
users often scratched and picked at their skin, causing horrible
looking sores and scabs. Most professional nulls had little use for
junkies, especially as the media often used drug addicts and
gangers as examples of the typical null. “Word on the streets is you
pulled the WalCo job last month. Zat true?”
Beret sighed. Jerome was going to need to replace another
waitress. His veteran staff knew better than to talk about anything
they overheard in the club. The blonde with the fiber optic hair
implants was new. He wondered how much she had been paid.
“What’s it matter to you?”
The ganger grinned and started nodding uncontrollably.
“Dude! I knew that was you! Nobody else would have the balls to
walk in there and smoke an exec at his desk. Nobody!” He turned
to his crew. “This guy is the real deal. A certified one-percenter!”
“Watch it. The juicer just initialized his pump.”
At Lucy’s warning, Beret extended the two-centimeter blades
from under his fingernails. He couldn’t help smiling. The initial
rush from his adrenal kicker and his synaptic accelerator
initializing was almost better than climaxing. “What can I do for
you boys?”
“WalCo is offering two hundred and fifty grand for bringing
you in.” Two of the gangers pulled guns while the juicer cracked his
knuckles. “Two hundred if you’re dead. I figure fifty grand a guy is
good money, and you can’t take four of us.”
10 ™ Adrian Drake

Beret shook his head. “Wrong.” His hand shot forward, his
open palm connecting with the underside of the first ganger’s jaw.
Teeth and jawbone shattered like glass, and the kid went flying.
Along with speed and reaction enhancements, the military had
hyped Beret’s muscles with a biofiber mesh that nearly tripled his
strength. To support muscles that strong, his bones had been
reinforced with a honeycomb of surgical titanium. An open palm
from Beret was like getting hit with a sledgehammer in full swing.
“Do you know why real nulls like me hate you gangers?” As the
second ganger tried to swing a knife, Beret grabbed him by the
arm, sinking his finger-blades into the ganger’s arm, cutting him to
the bone. “Real nulls have a code.” He punched the ganger in the
ribs with his free hand and felt several give way. Releasing the
ganger’s arm, Beret crouched, ducking the fists of the juicer. Beret
swept the juicer’s legs as he punched his chest with both hands.
The ganger flipped and landed with a crash into pile of garbage
cans. “It’s us against them, nulls versus the corps.” A leaping
snapkick sent the ganger with the Ingram into the street. “They try
to control, and we live free.” He ran over to the ganger as he tried
to scramble to his fallen sub-machine gun. Beret stomped on his
hand as it reached the trigger assembly and there was a wet,
crunching sound before the gun broke. The ganger started to
scream and Beret retracted his claws and punched him in the back
of the head, knocking him out cold. Beret turned to the juicer, who
had gotten to his feet. “Nulls don’t take jobs on other nulls.”
The juicer’s sclerae were yellowed from use of the drugs, and
his pupils were dilated like black saucers. “We took this one, and
I’m getting paid.” He pulled a length of heavy chain from inside his
ratty denim jacket. “I’m gonna break you, gonna grind you up and
make you scream like a bitch.” He swung the chain in a high, wide
arc, aiming for Beret’s head.
Beret caught the chain in his right hand, twisting his wrist
once to get a better grip as he re-extended the blades on his left
hand. With a sharp jerk he snapped the chain towards himself,
pivoted, and thrust his left hand straight forward as hard as he
could. His fingers entered the juicer’s eye sockets, two fingers to
each eye. The bridge of the nose shattered and gave way. When the
tips of his claws struck the back of the juicer’s skull, Beret pulled
his hand back and snapped it towards the ground as hard and fast
as he could. The gore splattered the concrete as the ganger
collapsed soundlessly.
Beret strode over to the first ganger, squared his shoulders
and glared at the bikerboi. He dropped the chain and hefted the
 Null/Void ™ 11

blubbering man to his feet. When the ganger finally made eye
contact, Beret made a gentle “shushing” sound and silenced the
whimpers. “You took the job. You’re not a null. You’re a ganger.”
He motioned to the dead juicer. “I ever find you out of your
territory again, you’re gonna wish I did that to you. We straight?”
Chapter 2

Beret sauntered into the smoke filled bar. Shorty’s was an oddity
for the mid 21st century. There was no DJ, only a jukebox, and if
you wanted to play it or the antique pinball machine that sat next
to it, you had to buy tokens at the bar. A big downtown club could
pack in hundreds, but Shorty’s felt cramped if you got more than
two dozen people in it. The walls were decorated with faded
pennants and old photos of championship sports teams.
“Hey, Beret.” Shorty’s real name was Frank and on a generous
day he was five feet tall, but he was stout, gruff, and tough as a box
of nails. He had owned the bar for close to fifty years, but for a
large portion of that he also worked for the Chicago Public Works.
After thirty-five years of handling a jackhammer, Shorty had
retired, devoting all of his time to his bar. Shorty and his bar had
survived the riots, and if the tip jar was full, he would happily
reminisce about surviving the food shortages on nothing but
pretzels, peanuts, and Pabst Blue Ribbon. “You want the usual?”
Beret nodded and dropped a chit on the bar. As Shorty
scooped the credchit into his apron with one hand, he handed
Beret a large rum and Coke with the other. The Grain Blight would
have killed the alcohol industry, but no one had counted on man’s
ingenuity in the making of intoxicating drinks. Most of the cheap
stuff had a chemical aftertaste that people simply learned to live
with. Shorty always had a stock of the expensive stuff for his good
customers, like Beret.
Beret took his drink and wandered over to the corner booth
where he sat down across from a skeletally thin man with a mop of
dark, curly hair, a prominent hooked nose, and very little chin. A
feeble attempt at growing facial hair covered the man’s cheeks. His
eyes were bleary, as if he hadn’t slept in days, and the pallor of his
skin indicated the only light he got was from computer monitors.
“How ya doin, Trevor?”
Trevor smiled with a grunt that turned into a coughing fit.
When the coughing subsided, he removed an inhaler from his
jacket pocket and took two hits. He screwed up his face in a
disgusted grimace. “I’m doing alright but this shit is killing my
sense of taste.” Trevor lifted his bottle and took a long drink of his
electric pink alcopop.
“That’s not entirely true.” Blue circles overlaid on Trevor as
Lucy’s readings came back with results. “His breathing is ragged
 Null/Void ™ 13

and shallow. His blood pressure is up again, his pulse is way too
high, and his temperature is dipping again. He should lay off the
alcohol. He knows it interferes with his meds.”
“You sure it’s not that crap?” Beret tapped the bottle with his
glass. “How can you drink that stuff?”
Trevor smirked. “If you think the guava berry is nasty, you
should try the maple walnut.” Trevor stuck out his tongue and
shook his head. “I wouldn’t give that shit to gangers.” He lifted his
bottle and polished it off. “Anyhow, stop sweating me. Doc Mason
has been talking with some brains in Hong Kong. They’ve had
some success with less severe cases, but you know Doc, he’s got a
few ideas of his own.”
Trevor had suffered from Dixon-Gibbs since birth. As there
were no recorded cases of it before the Grain Blight, most medical
experts agreed the disease was caused by the same pathogen. Beret
had hooked up with Trevor when Trevor had still been in his mid-
teens. Nobody understood computers and electronics like he did.
Before his health had gotten really bad, he had run jobs with Beret
and Lucy. The past few years, his health had restricted him as to
the kind of work he could do. Data heists were big money, but
there was a lot more competition globally. Euro hackers were
always trying to muscle in on American turf and the Triads were
infamous for preemptive burns. Trevor had worked himself into a
niche market. He owned the Chicago Metroplex. If someone
wanted to buy or hack data in the plex, they went through Trevor
or one of his boys. Looking at Trevor, anyone would think he’d be
lucky to walk and talk under his own power. They would never
guess he ruled the data black market of Chicago with an iron fist.
Freelancing was out of the question. If the offender was lucky,
Trevor’s boys would just crash his rig. If he didn’t take the hint,
Trevor wasn’t afraid of dealing with him the old fashioned way.
Kneecapping still had some tradition to it.
“What you got for me, Tee?” Beret stared into his glass,
watching the bubbles dance in the drink. “You got another geek
you need me to give a stern talking to?”
Trevor cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nothing that
sexy. I got a drop I need made. Customer insists on a face-to-face
exchange.” He held up his bottle and shook it. Shorty nodded and
went into the cooler for another one. “You take this,” he held up a
black optical disk case that zippered shut, “they give you a duffle
bag and a sealed manila envelope. You bring me the bag, you keep
the envelope.” He held out the case for Beret. “I wouldn’t normally
14 ™ Adrian Drake

jump through hoops like this, but the payday is worth it. Trust
me.”
“Trevor, we go back,” Beret said as Shorty sidled up to the
table with a fresh round of drinks. “You don’t need to go there. You
need it done, and you want me to do it. Good enough.” Beret took
the case and tucked it into his jacket.

Beret crouched, his back to the dumpster. He hit the release

button dropping the empty magazine of his subgun on the ground.
He slapped in a fresh magazine and popped the catch,
chambering the first round. “I’m loaded but it’s my last mag.”
“It’s okay, lover, I grabbed a couple of extras off the second
set of juicers.” A burst of automatic fire struck the top of the metal
bin, ringing loudly. A second burst struck the masonry of the
building right behind them, showering them in dust. Lucy handed
Beret a pair of magazines and he stuffed them in a cargo pocket.
“How many of them do you figure there are?”
“AI counts six…” He paused and then muttered angrily,
“Make that eight. Subsonics picked up two coming from the
south.” The black man bit his lower lip in frustration. “I told Dex
this was a bad place to do a pick up. This far west, we might as
well be in the outlands.” He could hear the gangers laughing, and
another burst ricocheted off the dumpster. The gunfire was just
going to draw more attention.
Lucy adjusted the Velcro on the backs of her gloves. “We’re
running out of angles and ammo. How do you wanna play this,
lover?”
Beret’s tactical computer pulled up an overview map of the
area. “We’re about two hundred meters away from the bikes.
Sensors say there is no one else in the building and the bikes
haven’t been disturbed. If we can get to them, I figure we’re home
free.” Beret rolled to the left and gunned down two gangers who
had strayed too far to one side. He growled as his AI identified
four more gangers coming into range. “Problem is we’re going to
have to go through them.” For a simple job, this was rapidly
getting out of hand.
“Is that it?” Lucy pulled her pack off and undid the main
zipper. “Gimme some cover fire. I’m gonna need them bunched.”
She handed him her own subgun.
He turned and stood, firing with both weapons. Most of the
gangers headed for cover by the west wall. The few that didn’t
move quickly enough caught a full helping of 9mm. The bursts
were going to draw a lot more gangers to the scene, but he was
 Null/Void ™ 15

hoping Lucy’s plan would work. “Gotta go, Lucy! Gonna need to
reload real soon.”
“DOWN!” As Beret hit the deck, Lucy threw a satchel towards
the west wall. There was a pop followed by a blue white light that
filled the evening with more light than noon in a desert. Screams
and yelling were followed by a second pop and another flash.
“Hyperflash. Something I’ve been fiddling with. Should overload
their eyes and knock ’em for a loop. Think of it like a concussion
grenade for the eyes.” They grinned at each other and got up to
run.
That’s when it happened. That’s when it always happened.
As they stood up, another juicer turned the corner. He hadn’t
been there in time for the blast. All the other gangers scrambling,
moaning, and falling had covered him from Beret’s subsonic
hearing, and his tailgunner from picking up the newcomer.
It didn’t keep the ganger from unloading half a clip from a
Glock into Lucy’s face. It didn’t keep her from falling. It didn’t
keep her from dying.

Beret sat up with a choked scream, his heart pounding and his
sheets soaked. He looked over at the clock. Two a.m. “Fuck.” He
got up and headed for the shower.

Beret sat lounging on the futon in his living room. Hollywood

portrayed nulls as either homeless psychopaths that lived in
burned-out shanties on the fringe of urban blight, or super rich
criminal masterminds that lived only in the most extravagant of
mansions and downtown penthouses. There were some nulls at
both extremes, but for the most part that generalization was an
exaggeration. Beret was one of the best and was paid well for his
work. He had a nice three bedroom condo on the upper north side.
Nothing extravagant, but he liked it. The building and
underground parking were secure. As long as building
management got their money on time, they were happy. Nobody
asked questions and the neighbors kept to themselves.
As the first rays of dawn began to fill the room, Beret hit the
remote. The blinds shut out the harsh, golden morning. He hated
sunrises; each one was a reminder of his solitary existence.
“Lucy, bring everything up. I want a complete systems
diagnostic.” He finished the last of his unsweetened tea and got to
his feet. “We’ve got a job in less than six hours.”
16 ™ Adrian Drake

“I know. I know.” Beret noted the huffing sound, as if she still

had bangs to blow out of her face. “You might feel a slight tingle.
Diagnostics running.”
Beret gritted his teeth as all of the neural relays fired. The
more of a nervous system that was replaced by hyper-relays, the
better and faster the owner’s reaction time was. Unfortunately,
there was an upper limit. The human brain could only input data,
process it, allow the conscious mind to decide what to do about it,
process the decision, and respond at certain speeds. As fast as the
human mind was, technology pushed the limit. In the case of
someone like Beret, the tailgunner took over the decision-making
process when necessary. The AI had to be sophisticated enough to
understand the data as it was received, then respond with the
user’s desires in mind. An improperly tuned tailgunner could do
far more damage than a ganger having a psychotic break. Beret had
seen idiots with bad tailgunners shoot pigeons, rats, passing cars,
and in one case a handful of New Year’s confetti, all because it had
incorrectly identified threats to the user.
Each accelerator had a unique ID within the neural network.
By firing them all off at the same time, a tailgunner could run a
simulation to make sure everything was working within design
parameters. “Ninety-eight percent.”
Beret pursed his lips. “Where am I losing the two, Lucy?”
“Eighty is considered the standard for normal operations.
Ninety is considered optimal.”
“Where am I losing the two?”
Lucy had once compared him to something between a
perfectionist and an anal retentive accountant. He didn’t mind
hearing people’s opinions, but there were some arguments no one
would ever win with him. He tapped his foot and waited until Lucy
recognized that this was one of them.
Lucy let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re still having problems in
your right shoulder. I think the last time you took fire, one of the
relays was knocked out of alignment. Scar tissue’s a bitch.”
“So, you can compensate for it?”
“Beret, it’s just one relay. Nothing to worry about.”
“Fine.” Beret snorted. “What about everything else?”
“Everything I touch is running within ninety-nine percent of
optimal, and most systems are running at a hundred percent or
better.”
He clenched his teeth and drew in a sharp breath. Lucy always
had back up plans, but usually they didn’t consist of much more
 Null/Void ™ 17

than a “fuck it, this might work”. To Beret, the devil was in the
details. “Baby, I love you, but I ain’t got time for this shit.”
“Beret, your system is fully tweaked. Most guys would kill
their mother to get nineties on a regular basis. Your blood pressure
is a little up and you’re stressed. You had some wicked nightmares
and only got three hours of sleep. Chill out, we’re fine.”
Beret walked to what was billed in the building brochure as
the “child’s bedroom”. “Sweating the little shit is what gives me my
edge.”
As he reached the door, he turned to the framed photograph
hanging on the wall. Before everything went to hell, Beret and his
parents spent many of his childhood summers up north. His family
had a cabin on Lake Keesus. It wasn’t a big lake. It wasn’t famous
for great fishing. It wasn’t very secluded as the lake was
surrounded with summer homes. Beret still loved it. When his
family went to the lake, it was time just for them. His dad didn’t
talk about the case he was working on and his mom didn’t bring
papers to grade. Beret’s mom had taken the picture. He stood next
to his father, holding up the first fish he had ever caught in that
lake. It wasn’t that big, and he had been able to bring it in pretty
quickly, but his mother had treated them like conquering heroes
returning from the war. At the barbeque that night, Beret’s father
had talked about him with the neighbors like he was the sportsman
of the year.
He lifted the picture and punched in the pass code on the
keypad hidden underneath; magnetic locks on the door released
and it swung open. Beret retuned the photo to its designated place
and walked in.
Although this wasn’t the only place where Beret kept the tools
of his trade, it was his primary armory. Three inches of durafoam
on the walls made sure no thermal sensors, IR scopes, laser
microphones, or subsonic receivers would pick up anything in the
room. A half-inch of trimesh-reinforced polymer wallboard turned
the room into a bunker. Beret had done a job for the building
manager, so the room was on its own circuit and not connected to
the building’s breakers. You’d have to take down the entire block to
get in. If circumstances ever got bad, a case of MREs and a twenty-
gallon water filtration system ensured that Beret could hole up
there until things blew over.
Armor, weapons, and ammo were organized neatly and
everything had a clearly marked place. An old FN P90 sat on the
bench, disassembled. Beret was taken with the bulpup footprint,
but it would need to be modified to take modern upgrades and
18 ™ Adrian Drake

ammo. He was about half-finished with refitting the upper

receiver, and was just waiting on a few custom parts. Next to it laid
the remains of a Glock he had taken off of a corporate hitter. The
pistol itself was nothing special, but the integrated optic uplink
had been more accurate than anything he had ever seen before. He
wanted to explore what all it could be wired to.
“So what are we packing?” Lucy was trying to lighten the
mood, but when Beret was prepping for a job, a funeral would have
seemed cheerier. “I was thinking you could bring that new HK.”
“No.” Beret reached under the bench and lifted up an ammo
can. He opened the can and pulled out a round metal drum the size
of a cereal bowl.
“Madre de dios! It’s just an exchange. Why the hell are you
bringing the Israeli?”
Beret smiled and lifted the assault rifle from its place on the
wall. The CZ 2500 Israeli was one of the finest firearms on the
planet. It had been designed and made exclusively for the Israeli
army. The weapon was made of a lightweight composite material
that was stronger than steel. Being entirely made of plastic, the
rifle was immune to any effects of the elements. The bullets were
caseless, so a fifty round drum weighed half as much as brass, with
nothing to clean up afterwards. It used hard vents and a series of
tiny internal gyroscopes to counter recoil. The trigger was
electronic so there was no trigger pull to shift the sights off center
mass. With all the weight that had been saved, the Israelis decided
to pack as many “goodies” into the rifle as possible. The scope had
a built-in wetware optic interface. This allowed the soldiers to look
with the gun rather than their own eyes. The starlight laserscope
was only visible to the gun’s optics and was tied to a rangefinder
that registered on the HUD. When the custom 5.56 mm armor-
piercing ammo proved to be too small for big targets, the Israelis
mounted a 25 mm grenade launcher to the lower receiver.
Although the Israelis usually filled the six grenade magazine with
high explosive rounds, Beret found that too conspicuous for
Chicago. On the other hand, it was a great means of delivering riot
gas when you wanted to avoid killing people. “The exchange is
happening just south of Kenosha. You remember the last time we
were in that area?”
Beret didn’t commonly work that far north unless he was
going all the way to Milwaukee, so Lucy had to scan her memory
files. She found the file and quickly read it into active memory.
“Oh,crap.”
 Null/Void ™ 19

“Trevor says the guy he made the deal with paid them off, but
you know how bikerbois are. If they catch wind of this much
money, I wouldn’t expect them to keep away.” Beret slapped the
drum into the rifle and heard the weapon cock itself. “When was
the last time you heard of a ganger with honor?”
Beret put the Israeli in the hockey bag he kept by the door.
After securing the amory, he stepped out of the apartment and
waited for the metallic clink of the magnetic lock on his door
before getting into the elevator. “Time to go to work.”
Chapter 3

When he worked in the city, Beret used his Lincoln. When he was
headed for the fringe, he wanted something that could go overland
and handle tough terrain if needed. There was a reason the US
Army had used the Jeep for forty plus years. He had bought his
from a junk dealer for next to nothing, and then dropped nearly a
hundred grand to fix it up and bring it up to date without losing
the best attributes of the original vehicle.
There were no high-tech electronics in the Jeep that had
anything to do with the starting, driving, or operation of the
vehicle. The engine was still diesel, but had been fitted with some
of the best performance parts available. The suspension was raised
a bit, but modern materials were used. The drive train was all top
of the line, making sure the Jeep would drive over just about
anything. Armored runflat tires would keep it moving even over
spike strips or other road traps the bikerbois liked to use. Even the
steel outer panels had been replaced, using exact duplicates made
from the same trimesh-reinforced polymer with which his armory
was walled, except it was thinner. The Jeep had been little more
than rust and primer when he bought it, but Beret found out that
originally it had been a metallic green with gold trim. He liked the
look, and it went well with the beige interior.
As Beret drove he reflected on when state borders had
mattered, when you knew you were entering someplace different
because as you crossed into it, you passed a big wooden sign in the
shape of the state, with all kinds of colorful signs around it,
advertising the groups that helped pay for the sign because they
were proud of where they lived.
None of that mattered much anymore. People had torn down
the signs, probably to use them for firewood. People weren’t proud
of where they lived. The fact that they survived the last forty years
was enough to celebrate.
The asphalt quickly turned to concrete, then broken concrete.
The roads weren’t friendly, but neither were the locals. As he
trundled down the freeway, Beret’s gaze drifted to the off ramps.
Palisades of concrete, sheet metal, and razor wire circled
neighborhoods made up of a handful of families. They maintained
these small communes, shutting the gangers out. He had to admire
the tenacity of these “fringers”. They got along fine on their own.
Corporate suits would still come out with armed details for a few
 Null/Void ™ 21

weeks every year around census time, just making sure they got
accurate counts of citizens. The corps would scare off the gangers
and make a “gift” to the fringers of some harder to get supplies to
make sure they’d be welcome. The new American government was
corrupt, but it wasn’t stupid. The corps got paid for
administrating, but only for registered citizens. Nulls and gangers
didn’t count.
When Beret’s dad had been a cop, there had been a lot of
factories along the freeway. When the Blight hit, anything of value
had been stripped out. He didn’t particularly like working outside
of the plex. The tumbled down brick factories had become flop
houses for gangs.
Beret pulled up to a wrought iron and masonry fence. “Damn.”
No way in with the truck. The fence was mostly in one piece and
there was a trailer on its side blocking the gate. Someone had
barricaded themselves in there at some point. He checked the rifle
a second time and got out.
A few yards away, he was able to find a spot to squeeze
through the fence. He supposed this had been the employee
parking lot, but now it was little more than a half mile of open
concrete with patches of grass and weeds growing out of heavy
cracks. Here and there sat the burnt-out remains of stripped cars.
“Never even got out of the lot. What do you think happened here?”
“Same thing that happened everywhere, Lucy. People forgot
how to be human.” Beret crouched down behind a concrete
pedestal that had once supported a large light pole. A mental
image of his dad in his police uniform coalesced in his mind.
People became animals. He imagined his dad facing off against the
rioters that had killed him simply because he wore a badge.
He didn’t have time for daydreams. Shaking his head, Beret
brought himself back to the here and now. “You getting anything?”
“He’s here, but real paranoid.” A blue targeting circle
appeared on the building in front of them, centered on a battered
door. “He’s got several white noise generators running. He
doesn’t want anyone to know what’s going on in there.”
“Or he doesn’t want me to know what he’s got in there.” He
ground his teeth. “This stinks. Noon drop, middle of bikerboi
territory, loads of cash, and a building I can’t get intel on.”
“Now you’re being paranoid.”
“No, I’m being a realist. If I was paranoid, I woulda already
started firing grenades in there.” He switched off the safety of his
rifle and connected the optic port. “See if you can find out anything
22 ™ Adrian Drake

in another freq. Mix up the harmonics a bit. I want anything you

can give me.”
“You got it, lover.”
Beret got up and started walking towards the door, scanning
the windows and roof soffits. If someone was going to take pot
shots at him, they would have already. He still didn’t like the
situation, but he had little choice in the matter. A job was a job. He
reached the door and stepped inside. The area was mostly
shadowed, and the roof had held up well. A blue ring locked
around the weapon as Beret heard the unmistakable “clatch” of a
MAC-10 being cocked.
“Who sent you?”
Beret was a realist, but this guy was paranoid. Most hackers
were. Seemed like it was a prerequisite for the job. “Oruboros.” He
had to stifle a snigger. Trevor’s hacker handle was a private joke
involving Trevor chasing his own ass on one of his first jobs with
Beret. The reference was still a good reminder of not getting too
big for your own britches. “You Zeropatch?”
A second guy stepped out from behind a pile of oil barrels.
“No, I am.” He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and the
sunken look on his face said he spent far too much time under
fluorescent lights. “You got the data?”
Beret tapped his chest. “You got the money?” The kid held up
the case. “Who’s he?” Beret pointed at the other guy with the tip of
his Israeli.
“His insurance.” The man stepped out of the shadows. His
jeans were faded, but in good repair. The hiking boots looked new.
The blue synth-leather racing jacket was probably armored. The
sunglasses had an amber tint, marking them as shooter’s glasses.
His shaggy blond hair was a mess, but short enough to keep off of
the ears and forehead. “How’s it going, Beret?”
Beret breathed a little easier. “Heya, Fletch. Been a while.”
Dave Fletcher was as much of a pro as Beret was. They had even
worked a couple of jobs together. He was the reason security was
so tight, more for his own protection than the mark’s. Beret knew
of at least four larger corps that were actively hunting for Fletch.
He specialized in data theft, and had been fingered by an exec.
Now he had to be careful who he worked for. “Since when do you
work drops?”
The blond man nodded to the hacker. “No worries, he’s legit.”
He turned to Beret and sighed as a little of the tension in the air
eased. “Gotta pay the bills. Oruboros won’t use me while the heat’s
 Null/Void ™ 23

still on. Says he wants me to take a couple months off.” He smirked

and shrugged. “But you know me. A guy can’t just sit around.”
Beret nodded and unzipped his jacket. “So you have a duffel
bag and a manila envelope for me?” He turned to the mark. “Not
that I mind catching up with old friends, but I really don’t want to
be in this area any longer than I can avoid.”
Zeropatch slid the duffel bag across the concrete floor to
Beret, but it stopped about fifteen feet short. A manila envelope
was bungeed to the outside of the bag. “It’s all there. Where’s my
data?”
Beret pulled the case out of his breast pocket as he stepped
forward. “All yours.” He flipped it to the hacker as he picked up the
bag and slung it over a shoulder. “I’d like to thank you gentlemen
for doing business...”
Lucy cut him off. “We’ve got problems.” Beret hated the
sensation of targeting circles appearing in the back of his head. He
spun on his heel and the circles slid into normal vision. “I’m
picking up nearly a dozen of them on bikes.”
Berets lips pulled back in a snarl. “Shit. Bikerbois.”
“Hate to sound harsh, Beret, but it sucks to be you.” Fletch
shrugged. “Zero and I got a ride out of here.” Beret felt a sharp
rush of air and looked up to see a rope ladder fall from an open
chopper door.
“I’d offer you a ride,” Fletcher held the ladder tight and Zero
began to climb, “but you know how it is.”
Beret nodded. If a null could afford personal aircraft, they’d be
stupid not to use it. A chopper could move in and out of an area
with no worries of being followed. Zero had to be paying top dollar
and still be making out like a bandit if he could bring a chopper out
on a simple data drop. A twinge of curiosity hit Beret but he let it
pass. “No worries. Trouble has the habit of biting you in the ass
when you are not prepared for it.” He swung the rifle up so that it
was combat ready and switched his optics to the scope. “Luckily, I
came prepared.”
“Natch.” Fletcher gathered up his white noise generators after
he saw Zero in the chopper door. “I’ll talk to you in a couple weeks.
I got something cooking I could use a guy like you on.” Beret
nodded him off, and Fletch quickly climbed the ladder.
“Where the hell did the chopper come from?” Beret grumbled
as he peeked out the door. “If that had been a botched deal, I would
have been gunned down before I knew it.”
“It was the white noise generators. Multi-freq. The more I
tried to cycle through and filter, the more static I found.”
24 ™ Adrian Drake

“Remind me to ask him where he got those. I could use a

couple.” He cursed under his breath. “Gangers are checking out the
Jeep. Dammit. I was really starting to like it, too.”
“Don’t blow it yet. It’s the only guaranteed wheels we got out
of here.”
She was right. Damn. He hated it when she was right. She got
this tone in her voice, and then there was no living with her. “All
right. Start calculating me some angles.”
She chuckled, and Beret smiled. Before she died, Lucy was a
techie. Loved fiddling with junk. Math was simple and came easier
to her than words did. Ask her to explain why she liked grilled
cheese with grape jelly and she’d fumble with it for an hour. Ask
her to figure out how much plastique they’d need to blow a hole in
a three-inch-thick steel door without destroying the contents of the
safe, and she’d have the answer in less than a minute.
“Sweet.” Blue lines lay down across his vision, intersecting the
targeting circles. “Let’s rock.” He stepped out the door and began
jogging towards the Jeep.
“Razor implants. A couple pistols. Some vintage AKs. These
guys are strictly small timers.” The disdain in Lucy’s voice was
palpable. “The two by the back bumper are carrying sawed-offs.
I’m not even picking up any juice pumps.”
“Not every ganger is like the ones we see in town.” Beret
stopped as the gangers got off their bikes and started clambering
over the fence. “Head count?”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty?” Beret ground his teeth harder. “Shit, this is gonna
get messy.”
The lead ganger twirled an aluminum baseball bat in one hand
while the other hovered over a pistol in a hip holster. Beret was
pretty sure it was a police issue holster. Smith and Wesson .357.
Nice gun, but the kid wasn’t wired. Beret smiled. He’d always
wanted one of those for his collection.
“Take a wrong turn off the freeway?”
Beret nodded. “Yeah. Just checking if this place had a phone I
could use and get directions.” The gangers laughed at his joke. “No
luck, so I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh sure. Yeah, totally.” The ganger nodded along with the
joke. “Nice gun. We don’t got a lot of pros that make it down our
way.”
“This old thing?” Beret held up the rifle for a moment. “It gets
the job done.”
 Null/Void ™ 25

“I can see that.” The smile drained from the ganger’s face. “I
figure you hand it over, and we let you leave with the truck.” He
cracked his neck. “I’m a reasonable sort. The truck will get you
home, the rifle will get you out of here. The alternative is we take
you down, keep both, and see what we can pull out of you and sell.”
“Sounds fair.” Beret shrugged. All of his wetware fired up into
full combat mode and the Israeli fired. The gang leader and the two
men behind him were cut down before the gang even realized they
were in a fight. Beret fired a grenade into the face of a ganger,
point blank. The impact would put the kid down, and the gas would
give Beret an edge. The nictating shell slid over his eyes, his jaw
clamped shut and the filters in his nose expanded. It felt like a
really bad head cold, but it beat carrying a gas mask.
Penjak Silat was an explosive martial art that the government
had been all too happy to teach Beret. It hadn’t been designed for
use with a rifle, but he’d learned to adapt. Beret turned, and a low
sidekick shattered a ganger’s knee. Swarm tactics worked for rats,
but the gangers would quickly learn its weaknesses. Spinning the
rifle as he stepped forward, a hard butt-stroke destroyed another
ganger’s femur. Swarms were unplanned mayhem, but Beret was a
one-man army. With Lucy tailgunning, he’d be harder to hit than a
minnow in a murky pond.
Beret rolled out of the way as a sword whizzed by his ear. “A
sword? Who the fuck uses a sword?” Beret put three rounds into
the wanna-be Lancelot’s groin, and watched him drop.
Something caught Beret dead between the shoulder blades. If
not for the implanted reinforcements and the armor plates in the
jacket, the blow would have broken his back. He spun around but
the hammer swung again. He managed to block it, but not before it
destroyed the trigger assembly on the Israeli.
Beret dropped the now-useless weapon and popped the claws
that hid under his fingernails. His hands danced in a series of
figure-eights and the hammer-wielding ganger fell back, cut to the
bone with a hundred slashes.
A blast of buckshot caught him in the back, hitting him twice
as hard as the sledge. He tried to swing around with his right arm,
but the shoulder began to spasm. Ninety-eight percent. Dammit.
Only one choice left.
He reached in and drew the Colt M1911 from his shoulder
holster. It wasn’t a terribly impressive weapon. It had no scope, no
interface, and no laser pointer. It only carried eight rounds, plus
one in the chamber. There was no chrome, no bluing, and the
finish was pocked.
26 ™ Adrian Drake

What it did have was history. The relic of a pistol was nearly a
hundred years old. It had originally been issued to his great-
grandfather, a Tuskegee airman in WWII. It had served his
grandfather in Vietnam. It had served his father on the streets as a
Chicago police officer. It may have lacked the punch or the number
of rounds more modern pistols carried, but it had never let Beret
down. Maybe it was all in his mind. Maybe it was just coincidence.
It had never run out of bullets before everyone who needed to be
dead stopped breathing. It had never jammed. It had never failed
to put someone down. The Colt was magic.
The first round nailed the ganger with the shotgun and blew
his brains across the parking lot. The second shot perforated the
throat of the ganger next to him, dropping him like a stone. The
third hit center mass on a meth freak with ten feet of chain. The
ganger stumbled back a few feet and looked down at the wound in
the middle of his chest before slumping to the ground. Beret
slapped a fourth ganger with the pistol, breaking his jaw and
knocking him cold. The fourth shot destroyed a kneecap and left
the ganger screaming for her mother.
The remainder of the gang that hadn’t taken off after the gas
grenade scattered as their best fighters went down, many for the
last time in their short lives. He kissed the pistol and re-holstered
it. He lifted his battered rifle from the ground and slung it on his
back. Wordlessly he walked over to the fence and squeezed back
through.
“Beret? You okay?”
Beret’s hands trembled. A combination of anger and his
combat systems shutting down left him barely able to control
himself.
“Baby, your bio monitor is all over the place. What’s up?”
Beret got into the Jeep, tossed the rifle into the back seat and
the duffel onto the passenger seat. After he closed the door, his jaw
unclamped and the filter in his sinus cavity contracted. “Why
didn’t you tell me about the guy with the hammer? Or the guy with
the shotgun?”
“Baby, I...”
“We won’t discuss my shoulder. It’s still spasming. I thought
you could compensate.” He started the Jeep. “What the hell
happened back there? You went silent. I was almost fighting
blind!”
“Lover, I...”
He pounded the steering wheel with his right arm, hoping
futilely it would stop the shoulder from trembling. “I could have
 Null/Void ™ 27

died back there. Good thing these weren’t pros, or I would have!”
He growled and took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out
slowly from his mouth. “I count on you, and you got sloppy.”
“Baby, I’m sorry. I...” She paused as if realizing for the first
time what had happened. “I froze. I was stuck, just watching. I
don’t know what happened, but it was like I was paused.”
He cursed under his breath, pounding his arm against the
steering wheel several times. The twitching in his shoulder finally
stopped. “This is gonna get messy.”
“Baby?”
“We’re gonna haveta take ya to Trevor.”
“But...”
Beret snarled and pounded the steerling wheel again. “The last
thing I need right now is an argument.” Beret took a deep breath
and regained his composure. “We don’t know anyone else that we
can trust that will have the skills to figure out what’s wrong with
you.” He put the Jeep into gear and headed back to the freeway.
Chapter 4

Beret leaned back in the tub. Lucy massaged his shoulders,

working the knots from his right arm. Halfway back to Chicago, his
shoulder had begun to act up again. The heat from the water had
stopped the spasms, but the muscles still ached from the constant
exertion. The scent of jasmine and clover hung in the air from the
oils in the bath.
She bent down and kissed his neck. “Lover, I’m sorry about
freezing. I can’t get it out of my head. I wish I knew what
happened.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Beret splashed his fingertips in the
water dismissively. “We’ll let Trevor take a peek, and he’ll figure
out what’s wrong.”
“He doesn’t know about us.” She kissed him on the neck again.
“You never told him what you wanted the brain taping for.”
He lifted his arms and circled her neck. “He doesn’t need to
know.”
Lucy bent her head forward and their lips met, tentative at
first, then forcefully. Her hands caressed his chest, tracing the
muscles. “He’s a smart guy. If he gets a good look at the code...”
“Look!” He sat up in the tub. “We have two options. Either he
can look at you and figure out what went wrong, or I can get a new
AI as my tailgunner and only bring you out for trancing sessions.”
She stiffened at his words. “Neither of us wants that.”
He leaned back in the tub and rested his head on her chest
again. Her arms fell around him and began tracing the nearly
invisible surgical scars on his neck and shoulders. “I’m sorry,
lover. I just don’t want to be responsible for ruining your rep.”
“Don’t worry bout my rep; I’ve got that covered.” His hands
traced her calves in the water. “Just worry about us, here and now,
all right?” He rolled in the tub, turning to face her.
She took his face in her hands and drew him close to her. “I
want you.”
A low growl of agreement rumbled in his chest. As he pressed
closer, he kissed her neck, and her nails drew across his
shoulderblades. She tugged at his earlobe with her teeth, and an
animalistic surge of desire ran through him.
The harsh knock at the door jarred the moment. Beret shook,
ready to explode. The desire that had swelled up was quickly
turning to rage at whoever was at the door.
 Null/Void ™ 29

“Yo, brotha man!” The man knocked at the door again. “Xian
told me to come up at eight. She said she ain’t got time to run ovah
tonight, so youse need to finish up.”
Beret closed his eyes and shook his head. “I need ten more
minutes.”
“No way, man. Youse got three.”
Beret rose out of the tub with a roar of frustration. He grabbed
one of the large bath sheets and dried himself. “You heard the man,
baby. I’ll make it up to you.”
“No need to.”
Beret stiffened. It wasn’t Lucy’s voice. “Hey there, Xian.”
“Hey there yourself.” There was a splash and then a gurgle as
the tub began to empty. The Laotian trancer wrapped herself in a
very fluffy bathrobe and walked past Beret, her sleeve brushing
against the backs of his thighs. “She didn’t tell you she was
disengaging, did she?”
He took a hand towel and ran it over his cleanly shaven head.
“No.” He wiped the water and suds from his shoulders and tossed
the towel into a basket that sat next to the dresser.
Xian flopped onto the bed, reached over and took a gilded case
off of the nightstand. She opened it and withdrew a cigarette. She
took a long drag and let the bluish-white smoke curl from her
nostrils. “Make it up to her, eh? Not the average kink.”
“Let it go.”
She took another drag, pursed her lips, and sent a jet of smoke
high into the air. “It’s not a big deal. That’s what trancers do, we
fulfill kinks and fantasies.” She stretched and the robe opened, as
she hadn’t tied it. Running a hand down her flat stomach, she
made no attempt to cover herself. “You’re not fucking a celebrity or
a media star. You’re genuinely worried about her feelings. That’s a
damn shame.”
He turned towards her, eyebrows knit in a growing anger.
“And why is that?”
“I figure it’s a brain tape of either a girlfriend you lost, or one
you couldn’t have so you had the programming modified so you
could.” She took another drag on the cigarette and rubbed her taut,
muscular thigh, pushing the rest of the robe from her hips. She
smiled at the hungry way he looked at her. His towel did little to
hide him growing erect again. “It’s a shame, because a gorgeous
man like you could have any real woman he wanted.”
She sat up and leaned forward, letting the robe fall from her
shoulders. Taking a final drag from the smoke, she stabbed it out
in the ashtray and got up. Xian rose from the bed and pressed
30 ™ Adrian Drake

herself against him. She kissed his shoulder and his towel fell.
Backpedaling with her hands locked around his waist, she pulled
him to the bed. She fell to a sitting position and ran her hands and
nails up his thighs and across the perfectly cut six-pack of his
abdomen. She kissed him beside his navel, and he shuddered. “No
trance, no chip, no fee. I’d fuck you now, and you’d never think
about banging an AI again.”
He stepped back, pulling himself free of her touch. The rage
was back. “You’d still be nothing but a whore.” He turned to his
clothing and began dressing hurriedly. “I can’t believe I even
considered...”
“Considered what? Considered getting it on with a real woman
who wants you, instead of some digital fantasy?” She hastily
wrapped the robe around herself. “I provide a service; you’re the
one screwing a video game!”
He wheeled on her, and she flinched as he raised a hand. He
stopped himself, turned around, and went back to getting dressed.
His voice was dispassionate. “Yeah, I’m screwing a video game, but
you’re nothing more than the box I drop dollars in to play. She’s an
AI, but she’s my perfect woman.”
He turned and dropped a handful of credchits on the bed. “On
the other hand, you’re just a prostitute who happens to fit the same
clothing. I’m paying you so I can fuck her. You’re just a warm body,
because I’m not into using hardware. To me, you’re meat, nothing
more. And I’m no different from any of your other customers.” A
small angry part of him was happy when he noticed tears welling
up in her eyes. “Trancing may take your mind out of the equation,
but it doesn’t make you a better class of whore than a street walker.
You just provide a service to us real sickos.”
He threw another few chits on the bed. “For going over the
hour. See you in a couple of days. Make sure you have more of the
lavender oil. She likes it.”
Even though the door was closed, he could clearly hear the
crashing and cursing in Laotian until the elevator started up.

The bell for Jojo’s phone rang in the shop. She slid the creeper out
from under the car on which she was working, wiped the grease
from her hands, and tossed the rag into the industrial hamper.
“Jojo’s Fixit.”
“Joaquina, how are things?”
The voice on the other end of the line was deep and full. He
was used to people listening to his voice, hanging on his every
 Null/Void ™ 31

word. Jojo’s face lit with an excited smile. “Uncle Solly! I wasn’t
expecting to hear back from you so soon.”
“Joaquina, you’re my brother’s only daughter. How could I not
take care of you? Especially when my people told me the overhead
you’re working with.”
“You had your people look into me?”
“You won’t go to my brother, so he’s told all your aunts and
uncles to let him know if they hear from you.”
Jojo cut him off. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”
He tsked at her. “I’m your uncle, but I am also a professional.
You contacted me looking for work. I know what you are and are
not capable of, probably more than any other handler. I’m willing
to give you work. I just want you to be sure you understand what
you’re getting into.”
“Uncle Solly, I’m not a little kid.” She picked a screwdriver up
off the bench and hung it up where it belonged. “I’ve done wrench
work for nulls before.”
“We’re not talking about fitting nonstandard parts on stolen
cars. If you’re going to work for me, I’m going to send you a higher
class of people. People that do work for me are professionals. They
will expect me to be sending them to a professional. It’s not just
your reputation on the line; it’s mine, as well. I’m not going to send
you work I don’t think you can handle, but when I send you a guy,
you drop what you’re doing and you take care of business. You
understand me?”
Jojo nodded. “I got ya, Uncle Solly.”
“Now, because you’re my brother’s kid, you get a family
discount. When guys do work for me, I get the money; I take a cut
and I pay them the rest. When I got a wrench, they give me a little
money and I send them my boys. My boys will negotiate with you
directly for any work you do for them. If things go well and you
work out some regular business, you pay me a one-time finder’s fee
and we part ways until you decide you need another pro to wrench
for. I got wrenches that work with one guy; I got wrenches that
maintain a stable of five or six. You decide how much work you
want.” He paused and she thought it sounded like he was
dismissing somebody from his office. “In your case, I’ll set you up
with one or two of my best guys. I can think of one that’s been
working without a wrench for a while. You tell me how things go.
You don’t like him, I’ll set you up with someone different. Down
the road, I may have you do some work for me. You cut me a break
on labor, all right?”
32 ™ Adrian Drake

Jojo laughed. “That will be fine, Uncle Solly. I’m sure anyone
you send to me will be fine.”
His voice grew stern. “I’m telling you, Joaquina, if any of my
guys don’t treat you right, or you don’t want to work with them
anymore, you tell me right away. I have some pretty rough
customers that work for me. I don’t want any of them giving you
problems. You understand?”
“Uncle Solly, I’ll be fine.” She tucked a loose hair back under
her cap. “I’m a big girl now; I can take care of myself. I just knew
that sometimes you do work that needs to be off the books, and I
could use the extra cash.”
“Don’t you worry, baby girl.” He chuckled when he heard her
sigh. “Your Uncle Solly will take care of you. It’s the least I can do.
Your mother was asking about you the other day.”
Jojo rolled her eyes. “Now what?”
“Nothing bad. You know they love you.” He paused. “Your
mother was doing a show in Milan with Sergio and happened to
run into Renee. Apparently she still has a high opinion of your
work.”
“Putting on stupid-looking clothing that nobody can really
afford and walking up and down a runway for a couple hours is not
work.”
Solly groaned and then chuckled. “Anyhow, your mom says
that Renee told her if you were to come back, within a year she’d
have you back on the cover of Elle and have you as her number one
girl for next year’s line.” He paused and she could tell he was
hunting for the right words to say. “Joaquina, you can make a lot of
money working for me, but probably not much more than working
for Renee. Plus, working for Renee doesn’t have the potential to
get you sent to jail.”
“If I’m lucky, and Renee keeps me on top, she’d get four maybe
five years out of me before the public gets bored. Then what?
Models don’t get younger. If they’re lucky, an ex-model might get a
spot in a bad movie as the pretty but stupid girl. It doesn’t matter
who I am, how I feel, or what I do, as long as I look good and
companies can use me to sell their crap. I’m proud of what I do. I
do an honest day’s work and the people in my community see me
as someone they can trust. If I wasn’t allergic to soy, I wouldn’t
even be doing the side work.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. If you need money,
you just have to ask. I’d give it to you.”
“If it was just about the money, I’d still be working for
Richard. I pay my own way; I work for what I have.”
 Null/Void ™ 33

“I know you well enough.” He put his hand over the receiver
and she could hear the muffled tones of him speaking with
someone in his office. “Sweetheart, I have to go. I’ll talk to you in
the next day or so with some work. If there’s some parts you need
that you can’t get, you let me know.”
“You should come by the shop sometime. I’ll give ya the grand
tour.”

Beret slid into the booth and put the case on the table in front of
Trevor. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.” He smiled and his perfect
ivory teeth reflected in Trevor’s mirrored glasses. “Now I know
why you wanted me. I need to get a new lower receiver for the
Israeli. I had to use my spare to fix the damage done to my baby.
That meet was damned hinky.”
“Yeah. I kinda thought it might go like that. Zero’s a pain in
the ass.” Trevor raised a hand and caught Shorty’s attention,
motioning for a fresh round of drinks. “Rumor has it that Fletch
was working the other end of the deal.” Beret just shrugged. “I
know, professional courtesy. That’s what makes you leet.”
Beret took his drink off of Shorty’s tray. “I am too old to be
leet. Respectable maybe, a professional, certainly; I’m not leet.”
“It’s all about semantics with you, isn’t it?” Trevor took a sip of
the neon purple alcopop. “I mean, people confusing nulls and
gangers, jobbers and closers. You really care what people think of
you.”
“A null is only as good as his last job; his word is only as strong
as his last deal. My rep is everything to me. It’s the only thing I
have that is really mine that can’t be replaced.” Beret swirled the
ice cubes in his glass. “When you got a job for me, you’re willing to
pay extra ’cause you know I am the best. When people contact one
of my handlers and ask for me, they want the best. My price tag is
what it is because of the way people think of me. When it doesn’t
matter, and any dink will do, you go for value. It’s the difference
between soyburgers and steak. Both will fill you up, but which one
do you want?”
Trevor chuckled. “We don’t have an inflated ego, do we?”
“Nope. I really am that damn good.” Beret took a sip from his
drink. “Speaking of being the best, I gotta talk to ya.” He lifted his
right arm, put his hand on his shoulder, and tried to make a circle
with his elbow. Instead his arm jumped jerkily. “Something in the
motion controllers in this arm isn’t working properly. The AI is
compensating, but it’s still acting up. I’m not sure, but I think my
tailgunner got stuck in a logic loop.”
34 ™ Adrian Drake

“I’ll see what I can do. I got a doc. If it’s wetware, he’ll pull out
your whole nervous system and throw in a new one. If it’s software,
I’ll take a look at it myself. Let me see your tailgunner chip.”
Beret hesitated. “I’ve been tweaking this AI for a couple of
years. No second guessing of anything. If there is damage or actual
data corruption, go ahead and replace the offending subroutine.”
He reached back to the port on his neck and ejected the chip.
Looking at it longingly, he handed it to Trevor. “I’ve had a lot of
custom work already done on it. I don’t want anything pulled out.”
Trevor pulled the data reader out of the jacket that sat on the
seat next to him. Putting it on the table, he took the chip from
Beret and placed it into the data entry port on the face of the tool.
“You worry too much, Beret.” He handed the chip back to Beret.
“You act like I’m going to erase your original. If I need a job done,
you’re the pro; if you need some wares fixed, I’m the pro.” He
looked down at the data reader. “Holy crap, it’s huge. I thought you
said this was your tailgunner.”
“I told ya it was custom.” Beret reslotted the chip in his head.
“And don’t worry. The primary tailgunning functions you’ll find
under oscar delta niner niner three.”
“Beret, we’re not talking about standard tailgunning
functions. With an AI this big, I can’t imagine what other systems
it is interfering with. There could be basic wetware OS
compatibility issues. How many freakin’ logic subroutines are in
this thing?”
“Look, Trevor, don’t worry about it. The AI works fine. Just
check the data for any damage. If you don’t find anything broken,
then I’ll let you poke around in my head and take a look at my OS.”
Beret finished his drink. “It might not be the AI at all. I ran a
diagnostic earlier and it came back as a wetware issue.”
“If it came back as wetware, where did you get the idea it got
stuck in a logic loop?”
“I ran a system diagnostic, and it kept noting that one of my
relays was questionable. When I tried to use the arm, I must have
triggered that relay. My arm spasmed and the AI went offline.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “How many of your internal systems
is your AI tied into?”
Beret thought about it. He wasn’t sure. What was worse,
Trevor was taking the conversation down a path Beret wasn’t really
sure he wanted to go. He’d freak if he found out exactly what Beret
had done with the brain tape. “Look, it’s not that big a deal. I
probably just need to have my wetware OS upgraded and get my
 Null/Void ™ 35

shoulder looked at. Just check the AI for damage, okay? If

nothing’s broken, we’ll go the other route.”
Trevor shrugged and switched off the reader. “You got it,
buddy. I’ll let ya know what I find.”
“You think I’m damaged? Why didn’t you just ask me to run a
self diagnostic?”
Beret grimaced and clenched his teeth. Now was not the time
he wanted to pick a fight with the dead girlfriend he was keeping in
his head.
“You okay, Beret?”
“Just a headache. I think I might be coming down with
something.”
“Headache? I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t see anything. Let me
check.” There was a pause. “Biomonitor is coming up clean.”
“Tell ya what, Trevor, I’m gonna run. Let me know what you
find.” Beret made it out of the tavern and back to his Lincoln
wordlessly. He started the car and tinted the windows, sealing the
interior completely from anyone who could be looking. “Are you
nuts?”
“What? I was just worried.”
“Did you expect me to answer you? Let me just tell Trevor,
‘hang on a second ’cause Lucy has a question’. That’s a great idea.”
“You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”
Beret cradled his forehead in both hands and let out a
frustrated sigh. “You know, Lucy, I don’t need this right now. You
know I love you, but there is something wrong with the way you’re
interfacing with my wetware. Keeping you alive isn’t doing either
of us any good if I get killed.” He sighed again and turned on the
headlights. “Why don’t you go into standby mode and give me a
couple of hours to think.”
For a brief moment it sounded as if Lucy was going to say
something, then she shut down and his backup interface uploaded
onto his optics. He put the car in drive and left the curb. He needed
some time to figure everything out.
Chapter 5

Beret woke slowly. He was mentally tracing the swirls of pattern on

the ceiling tiles when he jumped at the squealing of the alarm. He
swatted it silent and sat up.
“Mornin’, lover.” Lucy’s voice was musical and light.
More out of habit than need, he rubbed the sleep from his
eyes. “Morning ,babe.” He yawned and stretched. “You’re in a good
mood this morning.”
“I took the time in standby to run a few deep scans, a full
diagnostic cycle, and do some logic error checking. Cross-checked
it with a backup and I think I found the error.”
Beret walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his
face. “I thought you did a systems check earlier and didn’t find
anything.”
“I wasn’t in standby mode. It’s a different process to do that
sort of diagnostic when you’re still feeding data into me. The
error was small, but it checked out. I got rid of it.” He opened the
cabinet and pulled out an electric razor. “It explains the freezing
problem. I’m now convinced the accelerator in your shoulder is
blown.”
He started running the razor over his head. “Great. I’ll let
Trevor know and set up something with a doc.” Once he finished
with his head, he brought the razor to bear on his face.
“Damn, you look good.”
Smirking, he wet a washcloth with warm water before running
it over his head, neck, and face. He sauntered into the kitchen,
stopping in the living room long enough to snap on the TV. As the
coffee brewed, he whipped up a pan of fried hash browns, soy
scrambles, onions, peppers, and mushrooms. The Blight may had
all but taken grain out of the human diet, but people found a way
to have the foods they loved.
“...marked the third night in a row of overnight gang violence
in Crestwood. The Hammon Corporation, who administers the
peace officers in the area, denies the incidents have anything to do
with the current contract negotiations.”
Beret chuckled. Fat chance. Hammon was known for sleazy
dealings if nulls were involved. They had lost a large portion of
their market share after a few industrial raids by nulls had gone
well. Beret figured they were looking for someone, and intel had
pointed at Crestwood.
 Null/Void ™ 37

“In other local news, police are looking for the identity of this
woman.” A computer generated image of Xian appeared in the
corner of the television. “She was found near Union Park, shot at
close range by what investigators are terming a ‘high-powered
assault rifle’.”
The screen changed to a camera shot on the street, and a
reporter interviewing a man in a badly-cut suit with a badge
flopped out of his breast pocket. “The victim appears to be in her
mid-twenties, and we have reason to believe she is of Laotian
descent. We were unable to find an identichip on her, but as of yet
we are unsure if it was evacuated by the shooting, or if she was a
null. She was found to be fitted with unregistered wetware, but at
this point in our investigation, we are still unsure whether this was
null-on-null violence, or she was killed and just dumped here.”
The program switched back to the studio. “At this point, the
police have no witnesses and no leads. The United Chicago Police
Corporation asks that if anyone has any information...” Beret
snapped off the TV.
“That sucks. She was a perfect body double for me.”
“Shush.” Beret picked up the phone and dialed.
The phone rang once and a woman answered. “United Chicago
Police. How may I direct your call?”
“The woman you found near Union Park… Her name is
Chansamorn Souvannarath, but she went by the nickname of Xian.
The yellow Toyota that was parked on the corner is hers. She only
worked in the area; I believe she lived in Libertyville.”
“Sir...I...”
“Did you get that all?
“Yes, sir, but...”
Beret hung up the phone. His line was pirated and scrambled
so there was no real way to trace it back to him, but there was no
sense taking chances.
“That was nice of you.”
Beret closed his eyes and laid back on the futon. “She deserved
better than that.”
“She was a trancer, Beret. Come on!”
Beret’s mouth grew tight. “She was someone’s daughter.
Someone we knew. Someone I had sex with on a pretty regular
basis.” He opened his eyes. “She was a person. You know, like you
used to be.”
“Beret...”
“She helped with the illusion that you were still alive. Now I
have to find a replacement, and that’s not easy, even for a guy with
38 ™ Adrian Drake

my connections.” Beret got up. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about
it.” Beret dialed the phone again. This time it was answered by a
single grunt. “Yeah, it’s Beret. Tell Solomon we need to meet.
Today. Same place and time as usual.” There was another grunt
and the line went dead.

Beret entered the private dining room of the small family

restaurant. The sign, Aegis, gave a quasi-Mediterranean feel to the
restaurant without actually naming an ethnicity to their food.
Beret had eaten everything from old-fashioned Italian pasta to
Grecian shish kebab and Moroccan tajine here. Solomon always
ordered for them; he liked to surprise Beret with the meal.
Solomon was a good handler. Beret knew a few of the better
nulls that he “handled” for, and had never heard any complaints.
Solomon took a fair cut, but as he was a master negotiator, none of
the nulls ever felt ripped off. If you worked for Solly and you
needed something, either he’d get it for you for a small handling
fee, or he’d simply put you in contact with the right people. Beret
could tell, from the connections Solomon had, he worked for a
corp, probably as an “alternate security manager”. Even so, he
treated and interacted with nulls as equals. Beret wasn’t an
employee; he was an associate. People didn’t do jobs for Solomon;
Solomon had things to be done and found capable people to do
them. It was a miniscule difference in view, but it gave Solly all the
cred in the world.
As Beret approached the table, a corp muscle goon stepped
forward as if he was going to frisk Beret. Instinctively, the black
man’s hand slid to his shoulder holster.
“Michael! Don’t be ridiculous.” The older, olive-skinned man
rose and offered a hand to Beret, who smiled. “Nathaniel!”
Solomon understood the need for nulls to have nicknames, but
of the people he handled, there was a core of six or seven nulls that
he respected deeply enough to meet in a social setting such as the
Aegis, and those few he met like this, he insisted on using real
names, if only the first name. Beret understood. Solomon was a
corporate creature. This was his way of humanizing nulls,
recognizing them as real people, equals and friends. He shook
Solomon’s firm grip. “How you been, Solly?”
“Good. Real good. Have a seat; lunch will be here in a moment.
I thought Tunisian eggplant salad would be a nice change.” He sat
back and unbuttoned his charcoal gray suit coat then turned to
Michael and made a flicking motion with his fingers, dismissing
 Null/Void ™ 39

the steroid abuser. “So, what’s the rush? I thought we were

meeting next week.”
Beret nodded as he hung his jacket on the post next to the
booth. He removed his hat, tucked it in the sleeve, and sat down.
“Yeah, but I got a mild wetware issue. I talked to Doc Wade, and he
thinks if he does the procedure, I’ll be out of action for a month.”
Solomon poured them both a glass of red wine as the waiter
placed soup bowls in front of them. Beret’s stomach grumbled as
he got a whiff of the lemon, pepper, and olives. “Are you able to
work right now?”
“Oh yeah. He replaced the faulty part this morning. Should
hold up fine.” He took a sip of his soup and smiled. Solly had great
taste. “Problem is, he needs to get in there and remove a bullet
fragment in my shoulder that broke the piece he replaced and is
interfering with the signal to the replacement.”
“Good. I have a ‘sneak and snatch’ I’d like you to handle for
me.”
Beret finished his soup, dabbed his mouth with his napkin and
set the spoon back down in his bowl. “You know I haven’t done
many of those since Lucy died. She was the break-in queen.”
“That is true.” Solomon motioned and the server cleared the
bowls. “I also know you keep a copy of her in your head. If it’s a full
brain taping, she should be able to help you out in any situation
you’re not feeing confident about.”
Beret almost cursed aloud. Solly was an expert at getting
around reservations, if he wanted you to do something. “I probably
don’t have everything I’ll need. A lot of my...our tech gear got lost
when she went down.”
Solly’s eyes narrowed. “You have her slotted now? Afternoon,
Lucy.”
“Like he could actually hear me.”
“She says hi, Solly.” Beret appraised the plate being put in
front of him. Like all Tunisian food, feta cheese and olive oil were
present. In this case it was as a dressing. Eggplant cubes were
mixed with peppers, tomato wedges, spinach greens, and grilled
tuna. For what was, in truth, a very simple dish, it smelled
exquisite.
“Good, then she can tell you that she can help.” He slid a
business card across the table. “As far as gear, you’ve been needing
a wrench for a while. I found you one.”
Beret picked up the card. “JoJo’s Fixit. If it’s broken, we can
make it work again.” There was a picture of a broken TV, a burnt
40 ™ Adrian Drake

out microwave, and a car engine in silhouette in the background.

“Real catchy.”
“She’s new, but she does good work. Treat her right.”
“She? What is it with him and female wrenches?” Lucy had
been a wrench for Solly when he introduced Beret to her. Over the
years, almost every techie Beret had ever hooked up with through
Solly had been female.
“You got it.” Beret took a bite of the salad.
“I’m serious, Nathaniel. She may be a newb, but I know what
she can do.” Solly set down his fork. “You do still trust my
judgment, don’t you?”
Beret cocked an eyebrow. “Of course I do.” Solly had become
stoic, which was out of character for the gregarious handler.
“What’s up, Solly?”
“Did you hear about Xian?”
He sighed. “Yeah. It’s been all over the news.”
“An Israeli is a bit of overkill for a hooker, isn’t it?”
Beret nearly choked on a tomato. “Excuse me?”
“Hmm.” Solly folded his hands in his lap. “I managed to get a
copy of the forensic reports. Whoever killed her shot her three
times in the face with a CZ 2500. The ammo for that gun is like
nothing else out there.”
Beret’s pulse began to pound in his ears. “You don’t think I did
it, do you?”
Solly shook his head and smiled. “Seeing your reaction, no, but
there aren’t many Israelis in the States. It’s a hard gun to come by.”
“That’s not a random gang killing then. Certainly not a
mugger.”
“If they can afford an Israeli, they aren’t mugging people for
pocket change. Someone wanted her dead.” Solomon popped an
eggplant cube into his mouth. “I’ll keep an ear out, see if anyone
new is in town.”
“Yeah. That would be good.” Beret nodded mechanically, his
thoughts elsewhere. “So...” He looked up. “Any chance of you
finding me a replacement?”
Solomon dropped his napkin on his empty plate. “If you really
want me to, I will.” He paused, choosing his words delicately. “No
offense to you, Lucy, but Beret, it’s not healthy.”
“Solly…”
“Nathaniel, Lucy is dead. Two years now. Trancing her isn’t
letting you put her to rest.” He paused, making sure what he said
had time to hit home. “You’ve been trancing her more and more
 Null/Void ™ 41

lately. You have her slotted, to keep her around twenty-four/

seven.”
Beret was finding it increasingly hard to contain his growing
outrage. “How do you know how often I trance her?”
“Nathaniel, I am a handler. I handle talent — both on and off
duty. You need guns; I get you guns. You need work; I get you
work. You need a clean prostitute that can be trusted; I get you a
hooker. But I also keep tabs on my people. You know I work with
some sensitive materials. The last thing I want or need is one of my
people compromised.” He leaned forward and met Beret’s eyes.
“You’re becoming a junkie. You’re addicted to a dead woman, and
it’s affecting your work.”
Solly pulled out a folder and dropped it on the table. “Your last
two jobs. You completed them within all specifications, but they
weren’t as clean as your normal work. A few un-needed KIAs.” He
sighed and shook his head. “Your temper is always ready to snap
lately. Xian called me after you left. Told me you almost hit her.”
“Solly, I...”
“It doesn’t matter, Nathaniel. She’s dead now. I was concerned
you had snapped. Your reaction here tells me otherwise.” The
server removed the platters and set down dessert plates with a
small wedge of baklava sprinkled with honey. “You need to get
control of your life. Take this job. The two hundred thousand will
give you the luxury of taking some time off. Get your shoulder
fixed. Relax. Disconnect for a while. If you want me to get you a
new girl after that, I will.”
“Who the fuck does he think he is! Screw this, Beret; let’s go!”
Beret took a long deep breath and sighed.
“Beret?”
Beret held out his hand, at which Solomon smiled. He
removed a small box from his breast pocket and handed it to Beret.
Beret flipped it open. Inside was a data chip, slottable. Probably
keyed to Beret’s specific biosignature. He closed the box and put it
in his front pants pocket.
“All the details are in there. As per usual, destroy the chip
when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Solly. I’ll talk to you when it’s done.”
“Of course you will, Nathaniel. That’s why I wanted you for the
job.”

The HUD in Trevor’s optics streamed data from a half-dozen

sources. He had been a genius to begin with, but his wetware set
him apart. Chemical therapy had increased the synaptic speed in
42 ™ Adrian Drake

the logic centers of his brain. The process had been experimental,
but it seemed to work well enough. If a tactical computer made
high speed combat even faster by taking some of the decision-
making out of the process, having one redesigned to handle
multilevel calculations, data sorting, and comparisons, as well as
fuzzy logic queries based on input data made Trevor able to sort
through computer problems as if he were a machine. With his
consciousness tapped directly into the net, there were no data
stores safe from him, no key he couldn’t fool, no system he couldn’t
hack. He was the technoczar of Chicagoland.
And he had a puzzle he couldn’t crack.
He had found the damaged subroutines fairly quickly. As
complex as the AI was, it should have found them itself and fixed
them easily. There was no way this was a simple tailgunner. In
actuality, he could tell the AI was doing far more. It had the ability
to take itself offline, but while it was active, the programming
suggested that it oversaw all major wetware systems.
It interfaced with the OS and took over logic control. All the
targeting, threat assessment, and counter response for tactical was
there, but it looked like far more. Optics could be running in a
secondary logic thread and dual feed. Beret could walk across a
room and his mind would only register him looking straight
forward, but the AI could be scanning everything in the area,
getting a full topographical layout and full multiband layout of the
room. Trevor bet it could do the same with his audio input as well.
Beret would completely see and hear the world in a normal view,
but the AI could overlay anything it needed him to see or hear.
The problem was, if Beret had this level of software in his
head, it had to be running the tactical computer constantly. It
wasn’t designed for that, nor was the human mind. Even if his
conscious mind wasn’t getting all the data, his subconscious had to
be registering it on some level.
The worst part about it, everything Trevor had was conjecture.
He couldn’t get the AI to initialize, so he couldn’t confirm his
suspicions. It had segmentally encoded itself and the encryption
key was like nothing he had ever seen. It was virtually as random
as human synaptic patterns. If he hadn’t known it was impossible,
he would have thought the AI was working against him.
He took a swig of cherry banana alcopop and munched a few
chips. He loved the challenge. He was running six of his best
encryption breakers simultaneously, filtering the data through his
own processor, allowing it to do the heavy lifting, leaving his mind
free to add chaos data, making his cracker tackle the data from
 Null/Void ™ 43

more and more random angles. Corporate bank accounts in

Switzerland weren’t encrypted this well. The more Beret’s AI
resisted, the more he wanted to open it.
“C’mon, Beret...don’t make me ask. What the hell are you
running?” He drummed his fingers nervously on the desk in front
of his keyboard.
Handler four suddenly registered a success. It had managed to
open a single segment. It wasn’t the full AI, but it was something.
Trevor looked at the data and began grinning. It was a
containment data node. If he could get it to initialize, it would
open the rest of the AI by default, like a stack of dominos. He
loaded the AI into his mainline buffer and opened the decrypted
segment, then moved into the system to face the AI up close and
personal. Depending on how sapient it was, it might react to the
personal interface better than through a keyboard. The data node
shimmered and shifted. Sparkles and stabbing shards of light
jutted from it as the AI cascaded open. It turned amorphous before
finally coalescing and taking shape.
“Well, shit. Heya, Trevor.” Lucy’s lips pursed and she stared at
her feet as they fidgeted nervously. “Surprised to see me?”
Chapter 6

Jojo appraised the kid dubiously. It was obvious he wasn’t taking

very good care of himself. It had been a little too long since his last
shower and far too long since the last time his clothing had been
washed. Telling a junkie was easier than one might think. His
hands shook and the skin had been scratched raw on his face in a
few places.
“So, the word is you buy good parts for cash.” The kid
twitched.
Jojo’s mouth went dry. “Sometimes, and only if I’m looking for
parts.”
“These are real first class parts.” The kid was beginning to
sound desperate.
“C’mon, let’s see what you got. If they’re that good, I might be
willing to pick them up.” Jojo reached under the counter and
flipped the switch that unlocked the garage bay door. “I’m telling
ya right now, if this shit don’t look right...”
“Don’t worry, it’s all good.” The kid turned and signaled his
partner who was outside, who quickly disappeared from sight.
She walked into the adjacent garage. Crossing all the way to
the third door, she pulled the metal bolt and grabbed the yellow
control box that hung from the ceiling. The electric winch hummed
to life and the door retracted slowly. The kid ducked underneath to
help his equally thin friend wheel a motorcycle into the bay.
“That’s not parts; that’s a bike.”
The second teenager piped up. “A bike’s made of parts, isn’t
it?” There was an angry edge to his voice that JoJo didn’t like. “Use
what you need and chop the rest.”
JoJo turned to the first kid. “I don’t mind moving a few parts
that I can use, but I’m no chop shop. A whole vehicle is a lot easier
to track.”
He looked at her pleadingly. “Please? We already got rid of the
really traceable stuff.”
She tucked a wisp of her snow-white hair back under her cap
and appraised the bike. The fairing around the front of it was
ruined. Something had been bolted into it and then hacked out
rudely. It was a Harley, so she had an outlet for the parts, but
something didn’t feel right. “Wheel it all the way inside so I can see
it with the light.” Her eyes widened when she saw the emblem.
“This was a cop bike!”
 Null/Void ™ 45

“We trashed the radio and the GPS where we dropped it.” The
second teen shrugged. “A Harley is a Harley. Engine is solid. It’s
gotta be worth something.”
Jojo crossed her arms and shook her head. “No freakin’ way!
You find some parts in the back of a van, or a box falls off a passing
truck, that’s a different matter. You guys jacked a cop and took his
ride. They’re goin’ to be looking for this bike.” Jojo pointed. “Get it
out of here.”
Her eyes turned to the street as the black Lincoln pulled up.
She allowed herself a moment to admire the sleek sedan. The
owner took good care of it, and given the sheen on the tires,
probably pampered it a little, too. Nobody exited the car
immediately, so she turned her full attention back to the gangers.
“You guys are gonna have to do business elsewhere.”
As the second kid got more squirrelly, Jojo kept her attention
on his hands. If the cop didn’t have a fingerprint lock on his
trigger, they could easily have a gun. Even strung out as he was,
she could tell that the first kid knew things were not going his way.
“Tell ya what, give us a fair price for the engine and we’ll throw
in the rest of the bike for free.”
Uncle Solly had informed her he was sending someone over,
but had neglected to mention anything other than a name. She was
hoping the green felt cap meant that the large, menacing, black
man that had gotten out of the Lincoln and was now walking up
was Beret.
“Look, I told ya, we’re done here. I don’t want the bike. You
guys killed a cop. That’s not the way I roll.”
The angry ganger was getting overly agitated. “You buy stuff;
we’re selling stuff. You need the parts; we need the cash.” His eyes
narrowed and a hint of malice entered his voice. “You can’t afford
to pass up this deal. The last thing you want to do is screw things
up for yourself.”
Jojo jumped at the sound of the receiver catch on Beret’s gun
going forward. She hadn’t even seen the gun and now both he and
the ganger had one out. “The last thing you want to do is threaten
me. I don’t like guns. And I really don’t like them pointed at me.”
“You heard the lady. Put the gun down, and your buddy won’t
have to wash your brains out of his shirt.”
Jojo glared. He might be a customer, he might even be cute,
but he was sticking his nose in her business. “I don’t remember
asking you for help and, like I said, I don’t like guns.”
“Lady, are you nuts? You got a meth fiend so hard up for a fix
he’s shaking like a wet dog. The scab aced a cop to steal his bike.
46 ™ Adrian Drake

That tells ya right there he is not even in the same time zone as
good judgment. I draw down on him when he points a pistol at you
and you tell me to back off?” He removed his aviators, exposing a
pair of electrifying green eyes. “You got problems.”
Jojo grimaced. She had never seen anything as intense as his
gaze. The man could have backed down a charging rhino with his
stare. “No, I just don’t like guns. I have everything under control
here.”
Beret rolled his eyes. “Junkie with a gun pointed at your head
asking for money and you say you got things under control?”
“Yes.” Jojo turned back to the ganger, her violet eyes locked on
him. The left eye dilated and a laser pointer painted his chest. “Sic
’im.”
Three tasers fired, one from under a nearby workbench,
another from under the rolling toolbox, and a third from a clump
of weeds near a trash bin that sat where the fenced lot met the
building. The junkie danced like a piece of bacon on a hot skillet
for nearly half a minute before the popping stopped. He collapsed
to the ground with a groan and she turned to the original ganger.
“Take your buddy, and the bike, and get the hell out of here. You’re
not welcome at my shop anymore. Show up again and I will tase
you on sight.” The kid quickly hoisted his friend over the seat and
wheeled the bike away.
“Nice trick.”
“Not a trick. A girl’s got to be cautious around here. This is not
the nicest of neighborhoods.”
“Security drones, eh?” Beret knelt down to get a better look at
where the shots had come from. Underneath the toolbox was a
small plastic wedge half the size of a cereal box. On it sat a clear
plastic dome that housed the sensors and sported a mounted
turret. “Pretty sweet security box you got here. I never even picked
them up.”
“Disconnect, return to patrol.” Each of the bots ejected a spent
taser cartridge and skittered out of sight. “They’re my own design.
The outside shell is the same heat masking material they use on
recon helicopters. They recharge on their own in various ports I
have stashed around the shop and the lot. All the internals are
made from graphite and coated in Teflon so they run virtually
silent.” She knelt down and began gathering the wires. “The treads
are a thick soft rubber, so if they need to, they can get anywhere.
They know to keep hidden and they’re programmed to recognize
me. I’ve got five, but there are never less than two active at any
 Null/Void ™ 47

given time. They patrol the yard, the vehicle bays, and storage,
basically the entire first floor, inside and out.”
Jojo balled up the spent wires and tossed them into a scrap
bin. “The AI is sharp enough to tell whether someone is forcing an
entry or not. The tasers are actually designed to disable vehicles,
but in the demo video they used one to drop a juicer. It’s cheaper
than putting grating on all the windows, and I hate how glass block
looks.” She flashed Beret a smile. “It’s supposed to be a friendly,
neighborhood business.”
She held out a hand. “You must be Beret. I’m Jojo. Sorry about
the attitude earlier, but I really don’t like guns. If you hadn’t put
yours down, the drones would have immediately shot you as soon
as that asshole hit the concrete. It’s part of their programming.”

Jojo and Beret sat at her kitchen table mulling over the job Solly
wanted Beret to do. She had made him wait outside while she took
a shower and changed, but made it up to him with a fresh pot of
Jamaican Blue coffee and a platter of homemade blueberry potato
fritters that one of her neighbors had made for her. “I’m really
sorry about that. I desperately needed a shower, and I have this
thing about having people I don’t know in the house when I’m
naked.”
Beret poured himself a second cup. “Don’t worry about it.
When you’re doing business, everyone has their own rules.” He
dumped a spoonful of sweetener into his mug. “Me, I never take
jobs against smaller businesses. Running a ma and pa shop in this
day and age is hard enough. The last thing you need to deal with is
nulls too. Hey, you got any creamer?”
Jojo shook her head. “No, sorry. I’m allergic to soy, so I don’t
keep any in the house.”
Beret raised an eyebrow in contemplation. “That’s got to be a
pain. Now I know why you got into the biz. It’s got to be a bitch
when you go out to eat.”
“I avoid eating out when I can, and I have to completely avoid
fast food. There is very little they don’t use soy as a filler in. I
pretty much stick to homemade stuff; that way I know what all the
ingredients are.” She smirked. “It’s a good thing I like fish.”
Beret chuckled. “You probably spend as much on groceries as I
do on ammo.” He met her eyes. “You mind if I shoot straight with
you?”
Jojo shrugged. “Sure.”
“I’m the first null you’ve ever done biz with, aren’t I?”
48 ™ Adrian Drake

“I’ve moved stolen parts before.” She fidgeted in her seat. “I

chopped a couple of Beemers for some guys that needed an
insurance write-off. I’ve cracked and resold cell phones. I’m no
newb.”
“Nickel and dime shit.” Beret shook his head. Time to find out
if the girl could understand what playing in the big leagues meant.
“What’d ya make on the phone, two hundred? What do ya get for a
chopped Beemer? Twenty-five grand?”
“More like fifteen.”
“Nickel and dime shit. If you’re gonna be wrenching for me, I
budget fifteen percent of a job for sundries. Figure five is ammo, so
that means you’ll be making ten percent of my take. Last year I
brought down around twenty million. You do the math.”
Her eyes went wide, but to her credit, Jojo managed not to
choke on her coffee. “That’s not half bad.”
“It looks like you do data work as well, but I got my own guy
for that. You help me out for a few jobs, I might even hook ya up
with him,” Beret said. She smirked but didn’t ask. “It’s a big
payday, but there’s a lot more risk. So far the stuff you do is pretty
safe. You could probably get a couple of tickets, maybe a
misdemeanor. If they can pin the Beemers on you, felony fraud.
Nothing they wouldn’t plead away.
“The Lincoln that’s sitting in your bay right now? I got enough
military grade tech to guarantee twenty years. Tack on the wetware
I’m packing, if I got busted, I’d be lucky to ever see the sun again.
That’s the world you’re stepping into.”
Jojo swallowed hard. “I can handle it. Solly gave me a little
warning. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting into.”
“Good. Let’s get down to business.”

Thumbing through a five-year-old car magazine, Beret lounged on

the old bench seat that sat at the back of Jojo’s garage. In truth he
was watching Jojo at work. He was going to need something to pop
the magnetic time locks, and he really didn’t see himself having
time for cutting and splicing wires, or patching into someone else’s
system. He had seen another null use a system that just attached
sensors to the outside of the lock. Jojo immediately had a good
idea of how it operated. He liked the way she worked.
She had flipped out a drafting board and immediately started
drawing. She was bent over so her elbows rested on the board, but
the low cut hip-huggers barely stayed on as she danced to the loud,
frenetic club pop. The silver bangle that hung from her bellybutton
bounced with every sway of her hips. He couldn’t get over how pale
 Null/Void ™ 49

her skin was. He had thought the white hair was just a bleach job,
but now he was pretty sure she was an honest to god albino. The
stretch half-shirt she wore covered her, but it didn’t want to. He
couldn’t repress a smile. A younger man got hot with nudity, but at
Beret’s age, he understood the attraction of under cleavage.
“What ya thinking about?” Lucy’s voice purred.
He dropped his chin and spoke very quietly. “Hmmm? What?”
“Your pulse jumped, and your temperature is rising.”
Beret paused. Oh shit. It was a little difficult to lie to someone
tied to your biomonitor. “Just watching the kid dance around and
picturing you dressed like that.”
“You know, we don’t have to wait for Solly. I’m sure if you
tipped Sam well, he could find someone for us to play with.”
She growled low in his audio receiver, and he could feel the
vibrations all the way down his spine. He realized he was not going
to be able to look at Jojo much longer and keep Lucy convinced he
was thinking about her. “Hey, Jojo!”
As if she had forgotten he was there, she stood up with a start
and turned around. “What’s up?”
“I just took a call. I gotta run.” He got up and walked over to
her. Picking up a pencil, he wrote his cell number on the corner of
the paper. “Give me a call when you need me.”
“Okay.” She turned back to her schematic and immediately
started dancing again.
Beret opened the bay door and drove out, watching Jojo
groove away as she worked. This was going to be problematic.

Beret placed his hands on the small of her back. The ebony of his
skin contrasted sharply as he took hold of her. The music’s tempo
changed, and he felt her press herself firmly against him as she
moved to match the beat.
He smiled and ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. A
sweet acrid smell clung to her. He couldn’t place it, but the taste of
it in the air drew him close to her. The scent was hers and hers
alone.
Beret’s fingertips traced her waspish waist. Her hands came
back and grasped the fronts of his thighs. She was excited. She
was as excited and hungry for him as he was for her.
His arms closed around her and she straightened, pressing
the full length of her body against him. She reached her arms up
and back, encircling his neck. The bass of the music pounded
harder and she continued the groove. The pretense that this was
still a dance was swiftly fading away.
50 ™ Adrian Drake

He tilted his head forward and turned in, using his chin and
cheek to push the stark white hair out of the way. The acrid taste
in his mouth faded, replaced by the salty tang of her sweat as he
nuzzled and kissed the tender marble skin of her bare neck. She
moaned softly. The music drowned it from his ears but he could
feel it through her back, which was pressed hard against his
chest.
Beret trailed his hands up her abdomen until they came to
rest, cupping her breasts. Her breath came out in a raspy
shudder. He squeezed and she gasped, as if surprised. He explored
her shoulder with his mouth. She unclasped her hands and slid
them lower, tickling at his ear, neck, and jaw. He slipped his
hands further up, freeing her breasts from the pale blue half-
shirt. Another moan escaped her as his long fingers stroked the
exposed skin.
The music grew in intensity and they began to explore one
another. There was an abandoned wantonness and desperation in
their passion. Nothing needed to be said; right now, there was
nothing in all the world that they wanted more than each other.
Her head lolled back and their mouths met eagerly. Beret grabbed
her shoulders and turned her to face him. His eyes locked with
Jojo’s intense violet gaze...

Beret woke, breathing hard, beads of sweat across his forehead

and chest. There was a twinge of guilt that followed the feeling of
disappointment. As he got up from the futon, his raging erection
was making walking to the bathroom a bit difficult.
“What’s the matter, lover? Didn’t get enough earlier?”
Beret felt another twinge of guilt. “It’s all good, baby. I was
just dreaming about dessert.”
 Chapter 7

The bell on the front door of Jojo’s Fixit tinkled merrily as Beret
walked in.
“Be with you in just a moment, sir.” Jojo turned back to the
elderly Hmong man. Beret didn’t speak the language, but he could
clearly tell from her tone that she was admonishing the man for the
misuse of his food processor. The old man left with a chuckle, and
the bell rang again.
“So, is she gonna keep us waiting all day?”
Beret dropped his chin and rubbed his eyes, masking his face.
“Look, I’m gonna get the stuff and get outta here. Just chill, would
ya?”
Lucy sighed, the aggravation clear in her tone. “Fine, but her
shit’d better work.”
“Hush.” Beret smiled, trying to keep the atmosphere light as
Jojo finished her paperwork. “Your message said you’d finished.”
“It’s not pretty, but it works, and it’s compact like you
wanted.” Jojo came out from behind the counter, flipped the sign
to “closed” and locked the door. “I had some time to work on a
couple of other things that I thought might come in handy. I don’t
know if you’ll actually need them, but it never hurts to be
prepared.”
She led him back into the garage to a workbench that was
covered with a dropcloth. Pulling it off, she balled it up and stuck it
underneath the bench before sitting down on the stool in front of
the new equipment she had designed.
Coveralls. She is wearing coveralls. There is nothing sexy
about coveralls. He kept the mantra going in his head. Just be
casual, she’s one of the guys. He stepped up behind her and put his
hand on her shoulder. “So, whatcha got for me?” Jojo smiled and
he wondered what she was thinking. She paused before she spoke,
as if putting deep contemplation into the words she chose.
“The lockcracker is ready. When you get to a magnetic door,
you just need to put the red probe into one end of the lock and the
yellow probe into the other. Flip the switch, and you should hear
the door pop.”
He placed his second hand on her other shoulder. “Great.” He
got a full whiff of the acrid sweet smell from his dream. It had to be
one of the various solvents she used. There’s nothing sexy about
overalls and chemicals. Nothing at all. “So, what else ya got there
52 ™ Adrian Drake

for me?” He leaned forward to pick up one of the other devices.

“What’s this?”
“It’s a localized scrambler. It will burn through its batteries in
an hour, but once it’s on, no standard band transmitter within
about a hundred feet will be able to get a clear signal. If there are
remote patrol bots, it will cut them off from central processing.
Human security with radios won’t be able to coordinate with each
other.” She pointed further down the bench. “I whipped you up a
camera splat. Solly’s had me make ’em before, so I figured you
could use one.”
Beret put down the scrambler and picked up the small
paintball gun. “So you’re where he got this. It’ll be good to have
another one. I was mad when the last one got broken.” He turned
and his eyes locked on her neck and jawline. A man could get lost
there. He set down the gun and patted her arm, his touch lingering
a moment longer than he had intended. “Anything else?”
She picked up a blocky looking pistol and handed it to Beret. “I
took one of the vehicle tasers that my bots use and put it in a
pistol. You’ll have two shots, and then you can just toss it.”
“That will be handy if I need to slag something.” His mind
wandered, trying to decide if her voice could make the sounds from
his dream. “You got a holster for that thing?”
“Not really, but I have cases for everything.” She leaned back a
little, directly into his chest, as she motioned at the green cases
under the bench. “There’s an old Army surplus store right down
the block.”
Beret looked the taser over before putting it down. Instead of
being gas fired, it was spring loaded. The range would suck, but it’d
be nearly silent. Another surge of guilt washed over him as he
realized how hard it was to move away from Jojo. He briefly
wondered how Lucy would react if he left her slotted and acted on
his feelings. He knew he wouldn’t, but there was a level of curiosity
that made it mildly appealing. Jojo had to be at least ten years
younger than Lucy would have been, and at least fifteen younger
than him. It would be cradle robbing. The memory of the hip-
huggers from the day before quickly drove that reservation away.
Now he was actually curious about what she wore under the
coveralls. Jeans and a t-shirt? Shorts and a half-shirt? Nothing?
Her body was so tight and lean, he had no way to tell. The coveralls
were just loose enough to hide any indications. Maybe there was
something sexy about coveralls after all. In a moment that took an
eternity, he stepped back. “So, what’s the damage? What do I owe
you?”
 Null/Void ™ 53

She spun on the stool to face him. “Yesterday you said ten
percent; let’s go with that.”
He reached into his jacket and handed her an envelope.
“Twenty K. Your cut.” He smirked, wondering how much it would
be for her to include the coveralls.
“Good doing business with you, Mister Beret.” She smiled
back. “I hope to see more of you soon.”
Lucy waited until Beret started up the Lincoln before she
laughed. “Well, you certainly had an effect. Poor kid doesn’t know
whether she was coming or going.”
“What are you talking about?” Beret cocked an eyebrow.
“C’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Beret did his best to sound perturbed. “There was nothing to
notice.”
“You kidding? You really didn’t notice?” Lucy laughed again,
but this time there was a hint of malice to it. “The temperature in
her cheeks increased when you started talking to her. When you
were going over the equipment, goosebumps raised on her neck.
You patted her on the arm and she stiffened. When she leaned
back into you, both her pulse and her respiratory rate jumped. It’s
the nice thing about having all of your advanced senses at my
disposal. I can keep tabs on people and tell you what they are
thinking, or at least make a really good guess.”
“And your guess is what?”
“That the niña has a crush on bad boy Beret. She was
creaming her jeans thinking about you. Not that I blame her.” She
chuckled. “Still, it was funny to watch.”
“No way.” Beret couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No
way. You have to be reading something into it. I’m so much older
than she is.”
“Maybe she likes older men. Or maybe she’s never been
around a real null before and you were exciting her.” She
chuckled. “Thought the poor thing was gonna burst.”
“You serious, or are you pulling my chain?”
“Serious as a heart attack, Beret. You could have torn the
chica’s clothing off and she would have begged you to do it
quicker.”
“Damn. I had no idea.” Beret’s grip on the steering wheel
tightened and the leather of his gloves made a squeaking sound.
Now he was going to have real problems. Finding out that Jojo was
attracted to him was only going to complicate things. Dreaming
about her and maintaining his own fantasies was one thing;
knowing she would reciprocate meant he would have to be very
54 ™ Adrian Drake

careful. The last thing he wanted to do was to ruin things between

him and Lucy. He chuckled. Now he was really curious to know
what was under those coveralls.
“Yeah, the poor kid. She has no way of knowing that you’re
taken.” Lucy laughed spitefully. “I wonder what wetware she’s
carrying. We could always offer her the thrill of trancing for us.
Shame she’s the wrong build. Skinny little twig like that couldn’t
handle a man with your skills. Certainly couldn’t keep your
interest.”
“Hey, Lucy, why don’t you drive? I’m gonna take a nap.”

Initially she had intended to take a cold shower, but the warm jets
of the Jacuzzi were more appealing. Beret wasn’t the rough, hard-
nosed killer Jojo had expected. She shifted position, changing
where the warm pulse of the jet struck her. Except for Olivia, her
last few lovers had been disappointing. Jojo hadn’t even bothered
with a man in a few years. Most of them got so hung up on her
looks, they’d forget that she had needs, too. Beret didn’t strike her
as the kind of guy that would leave her…unfinished.
Back in the shop, his cheek had brushed her ear. It was soft
and smooth, not at all what she’d expected. Apparently he was
fastidious about his grooming, but he didn’t use cologne or
aftershave. The faint scent of lavender and shea butter clung to his
skin.
She shifted her weight, and bit her lip as her breaths grew
faster. She had a hard time concentrating when he was close, but
didn’t mind it. The thought of that rich, dark skin against hers
made it difficult to think about anything else.
This was her first job. Jojo had to be professional for Uncle
Solly’s sake. She didn’t understand why, and in truth she didn’t
really care. Beret could have thrown her down onto the workbench,
and she wouldn’t have resisted him. If his arms were any
indication, she could only imagine how defined the rest of him was.
When she’d backed into him, he felt like stone.
Reaching down with two fingers, Jojo spread herself open,
exposing herself more fully to the jets’ torrent. She cried out. The
money was nice, but she found herself more concerned about
whether Beret was a kisser, a biter, or a licker.
Collapsing, she rolled away from the jet and stared up at the
fluorescent lights in the bathroom ceiling. Jojo never had been
comfortable with simple flings. Olivia had always teased her that it
was Jojo’s need for an emotional context that kept her from having
good sex. There was something electric between her and Beret.
 Null/Void ™ 55

She shook her head and let out a wry laugh. When her Uncle
Solly said he was sending over his guy, she was pretty sure he’d
only intended it as a business proposition.

“Dammit, Beret, I hate your machine. Look, just call me as soon as

you get this.” Trevor hung up the phone. He raised his arm as if to
throw his cell, but thought better of it and put it down on the desk
in front of him. He prayed the results he was getting back were
wrong, but simulations were hard to argue with. Beret was headed
for full neural failure. If someone crashed your brain while you
were jacked directly into the net, a brain tape could still restore the
pathways. That would be a papercut compared to what he saw
happening in the simulation. If Beret survived the failure, which
was doubtful, he’d be lower functioning than a vegetable. There
would be no restore; there would be no backup. Beret’s mind
would simply cease to function. If he wasn’t at home, hopefully
Beret would have his cell phone on him. Trevor prayed and hit the
speed dial.
Chapter 8

Beret slid in the back door. The lock popper had worked perfectly,
and not a single alarm had seemed to notice him. He had been able
to cross the grounds unmolested. When the patrol bots lost
connection with security central, they simply went to standard
patrol mode. When they reconnected as he passed out of their
range, Beret assumed they would note the dead air and check
transmitters in the morning. A simple mechanical glitch that
passed wouldn’t set off a security alert.
The office building was one of many in the plaza. The
architecture was far from inspired. It was big, nondescript, and
paneled with smoked glass. The inside was little better. Slate gray
and navy blue dominated the decor. Cramped cubicles with
uncomfortable plastic chairs and low end workstations filled the
first ten floors. The media vilified null society, but then offered
this as the alternative. How society managed to maintain wage
slaves, Beret couldn’t fathom. If this was the alternative to being a
null, Beret was all too happy to be a criminal.
On the eleventh floor, the sea of cubicles gave way to the first
block of management offices. These were department managers,
still the realm of nobody important. These offices were little more
than cubicles with doors. Modular, the walls didn’t even reach the
ceiling. Beret felt a little pity for the poor bastards that lost office
space to support beams. He knew where on the corporate totem
pole they sat.
The next few floors were upper management offices. Still
modular, the walls were closer to the ceiling and far better
arranged. He was getting closer to his goal. He stepped under the
landing for the fifteenth floor and immediately saw the cameras.
Nothing below here had been secure other than the magnetic locks
on the exterior doors. A sudden tightening in his gut told him he
was getting very close.
He switched to the splat gun and quickly tagged the cameras’
lenses. The paint was opaque enough to let light through, but
would obscure any movement or detail the cameras would
otherwise have picked up. If an actual person was monitoring the
cameras they would see a problem, but most camera systems were
computer driven. Motion sensors looking at the view would see
nothing. Computers could save corporations money by replacing
 Null/Void ™ 57

non-critical personnel, but even the most sophisticated AI still had

a logic core that the unpredictability of a human could exploit.
Jojo’s lock popper opened the door in no time. He crept next
to the wall, hanging in the shadows. He had reached the executive
offices. The people in these offices were the real moneymakers in
the new corporate America. Between payoffs, kickbacks, and
creative budgeting, stockholders received enough to be kept happy
but these were the people of wealth. They had managed to recreate
the feudal system of Europe without the masses ever catching on.
“Lucy, gimme floor schematics on heads-up.” His vision
shifted, and Lucy overlaid a map from the data Solly had given
him. “Where’s the target?”
“Right here.” A glowing dot appeared on his HUD. “Take this
hallway to the T. Take a left. Second right. Cross the open area,
and it’s the second office on the right.”
He watched the dotted line trace itself across the map. It
wasn’t that far. The patrol bot came around the corner, and Beret
instinctively raised up and splatted the bot’s optics. It trundled by,
oblivious to him. He smirked in satisfaction. Between the new tech
and the good luck he was having so far, the job was going far
smoother than he’d expected.
Beret slowly made his way down the hallway, Lucy sounding
off every couple of paces, letting him know how far he was from his
next turn. Her subsonics allowed her to put little moving dots on
the map that let him know where the patrol bots were at any given
time. “Shit! Lucy what can you tell me about the one staying in the
open area? It doesn’t look like it’s leaving to hit the hallways.”
“Subsonics aren’t telling me jack. This bot might not be the
same as the others they’re using in the hallways, but it doesn’t
sound any different.”
“Alrighty. Shit.” He unlimbered the vehicular taser.
“You know, I just had a thought. It might be patrolling that
room because that was the last order it got before you got close
enough with the scrambler. Turn off the radio scrambler and see if
it returns to regular patrol.”
Beret shut off the signal and within thirty seconds the bot
returned to patrolling the hallway. He turned the scrambler back
on. “Hot damn. The entirety of the security is computer run.”
“Nobody is even going to know you were here until tomorrow.
Even the logs are just going to show nothing other than the regular
radio outages.”
Beret jogged down the empty hallway, splatted the four
cameras in the executive reception area, and then quickly made his
58 ™ Adrian Drake

way to the office door. The lock popper was pressed into service a
third time and made short work of the lock on the exquisite oak
door. It swung open, exposing a palatial office.
An Oriental rug in various reds and gold covered the floor. The
furniture was made of a red lacquered wood and glossy black
metal. Faux art deco hung on walls painted in layers of textured
burgundies. A large crystal and gold statue sat on a credenza,
noting an award for corporate excellence. A large frame, colorfully
decorated with “#1 Dad” sat on the desk, containing a picture of a
perfectly manicured family.
Beret chuckled. He was not a superstitious man, but he also
believed there was no reason to tempt Fate. Several times he
stopped himself from verbalizing how much of a cakewalk the job
had been to this point. He had forgotten how much easier life was
when he had a good wrench. “Where does intel say the safe is?”
“Doesn’t say. It says it was installed after the office was
redecorated. It’s not part of the original design.”
“Well, there’s only so many places it could be. It’s not like they
could have stuck it in one of these prefabbed walls without half of
the building hearing the installation going in.”
“Let me see if I can pick up anything on thermal or UV.” Beret
gritted his teeth as the uncomfortable sensation briefly disoriented
him. “Clever boy. Lift up the desk mat.”
Beret neatly moved pens, paper, and other things that sat atop
the desk calendar. He lifted the mat and underneath was a
perfectly flat metal panel with a slightly recessed number pad.
“Shit. Not a magnetic lock. What the hell do I do now?”
“We could torch it, or just take the whole safe and cut it at
home.”
“I don’t know. If I peel the safe or just take the whole damn
thing, he’ll notice right away. I wanted it to be a few days before he
noticed anything missing.” He turned and looked at the desk
calendar and all the paper he had removed with it. He placed his
hand on the lock. “Scan it all, Lucy. See if there are any numbers
that come up, anything that looks out of place.”
His vision blurred slightly as she swiftly scanned everything.
“Nothing. Open the drawers.” Beret complied and his vision
blurred again. “Still nothing.”
“Hold on.” He reached into the bottom drawer and found the
user’s manual for the safe. It was still shrinkwrapped. “You
thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I don’t follow.”
 Null/Void ™ 59

Beret sniggered. “It’s still sealed.” Beret reached over to the

safe and punched the 9 key four times then touched the open key
on the pad. The catch released and the hydraulic arm slowly
opened the door. “Smart enough to put a safe in...”
“But not smart enough to know how to change the
combination.”
Beret lifted the handful of manila envelopes out of the
document safe and reviewed the titles. “Aspen... Cottonwood...
Maple... What is it with these people and trees? Ahh, Baobab.” He
opened the folder and checked the contents: some photos; a bunch
of documents; something that looked like a folded up set of
blueprints; a hard case with a pair of data cards in it. He closed the
envelope up and slipped it into the satchel he wore over his
shoulder. He put the other folders back, closed the safe, and
restored the desk to exactly the way it had been before he entered
the office. Locking the office door as he left, he retraced his route
and snuck out of the building.
As he got back into the Lincoln, Beret opened his phone and
called Solly’s answering service. “I have the package. I’ll make
delivery tomorrow, standard arrangements.” Beret closed the
phone and threw it into the passenger seat, not noticing the red
LED blinking, telling him he had a message waiting. “You got to
admit, Lucy, smoothest job we ever pulled. When was the last time
you saw me pull a job without firing a single round? Remind me to
buy Jojo a nice dinner. She earned it.”
He jacked into the car’s data port and leaned back in the seat,
allowing himself a silent chuckle at Lucy’s non-committal grunt.
She started up the car and pulled away from the curb as he drifted
off.
Chapter 9

The sleek black sedan pulled up in front of Jojo’s shop, and Beret
tapped the horn lightly.
“Yeah, that’s classy.”
“What is your problem?” Beret motioned as he saw Jojo peek
out. She waved and lights in the shop started turning off. “You
have been totally ragging on me since I called her.”
“Let’s see...maybe because I’m your woman and you’re taking
another woman out on a date?”
“It’s not a date!” Beret tapped the button on his armrest and
unlocked the passenger door. “I’m taking my wrench out because
her gear worked really well, and I want to say thank you.”
Lucy locked the door again using the interface cable with
which Beret was jacked into the car. “You paid her ten percent.
There’s your thank-you.”
Beret pulled the cable and hit the button again. “Then think of
it as a tip.”
“A tip is a bag of burgers and a six pack of beer.”
He leaned forward to look for Jojo. “Look. I’m taking her out
for a nice dinner. She’s allergic to soy, so I’m taking her someplace
uptown—”
“You’re taking her to Maxie’s.” Lucy’s tone was accusatory.
“Yes. I’m taking her to Maximillion’s.”
“That was our place.” Lucy sounded like she was about to cry.
Beret sighed. “The only time we went there was after a
particularly successful job. Admittedly, you and I ran a lot of really
good scores. She’s new to the biz, and I want to show her the perks
of working in the big time. Now relax. She’s just my wrench. It’s no
big deal. Really.”
Lucy sniffed. “Really?”
“Yes, really. If it still bugs you that much, just go into standby
mode until, like, nine. We should be done with dinner by then.”
Lucy took a quivering breath. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s just... You
were gonna try to get Xian to let us go out to dinner tonight and
now you’re taking her. It’s just, times like this I really...”
The realization struck Beret in the chest like a sledgehammer.
He was so excited about taking Jojo out, he had forgotten that is
was his and Lucy’s anniversary. “I know, babe. Right now I wish I
could hold ya and tell ya everything was gonna be alright. That’s
not the way things worked out.”
 Null/Void ™ 61

Beret saw Jojo step out and lock the front door of her shop.
“Look, she’s coming. Just relax and try to have a good time.”
“Fat chance, but I’ll try.”
“There’s my girl.”
Jojo’s forehead wrinkled as she opened the car door. “What’s
that?”
“Huh?” Beret shook his head. “No, not you. Just talking to
myself.”
Jojo sat down and buckled in. “Do that a lot?”
“Don’t you watch the news?” Beret grinned. “All us nulls are
psychopaths, deviants, or social outcasts. You’d have to be crazy to
do what I do for a living.”
Jojo covered her mouth and giggled.
“Oh, God.”

If the executive rich were the new lords of a modern feudal system,
then Maximillion’s was a palace of kings. Located at the
observation deck level of the one hundred and sixty story
Macmillan building, there was no finer place to eat in all of the
Chicago Megaplex, some people claimed in all of North America.
Beret loved it because there was no VIP section, no special
arrangements. Everyone who came through the door was treated
like a celebrity. At the prices one paid, they would have to be.
There were no prices on the wine list or menu; one simply ordered,
knowing it would be a four or five digit bill.
“Mr. Washington. How excellent to see you.” The maitre d’
shook Beret’s hand warmly. “When I saw the name Washington on
the reservation list, I was hoping it was you. It’s been a while.”
“Evening, Robert. Yeah, it has been.”
“I reserved your regular table, just in case. Please go on in.”
They stepped though the arch and were met by a girl with
shocking green hair. “May I take your coats?” As a heavy rain was
forecasted for the next few days, Jojo had worn a mid-calf length
trench coat. Beret had told her to dress up, but he had not expected
what he now saw.
Jojo looked like she had been poured into the aquamarine,
satin mini-dress. The high, stiff collar accentuated her long neck,
and the lack of sleeves or back showed how lean and taut she truly
was. The stiletto pumps and kid gloves matched the color and
material of the dress. Her long, white hair had been braided and
put up into a Japanese style bun where a pair of simple, silver hair
sticks held it in place.
“You wanna breathe, please?”
62 ™ Adrian Drake

Lucy’s voice snapped Beret back to reality. This was not a

wrench. “You look stunning.”
Jojo’s cheeks flushed. “The dress is a couple of years out of
date, but I always liked it. A girl doesn’t always have to show off
her chest. Sometimes I think a bare back is a lot sexier.”
“In this case, I’d have to agree.”
Jojo blushed a little deeper. “Thanks.”
“Just having dinner with a colleague, my ass. You realize you
can’t wear anything under a dress like that.”
Beret coughed and muttered under his breath as he took off
his jacket, “You’re not helping.”
The girl took their jackets and handed Beret the coat check,
and another man led them to Beret’s table, right on the northeast
corner.
“I’ll be taking care of your needs this evening. My name is
Henry, your chef this evening is Geoffrey, and if there is anything
you need, please let me know.” He turned to Jojo. “Mr. Washington
informed me of your allergy to soy and I have informed both the
chef and waitstaff. Geoffrey assures me he will be taking every
precaution. On a personal note, he wanted you to know it would be
the most enjoyable meal he has cooked in several months.” Henry
smiled. “Is there anything I can get for you now?”
“A rum and Coke,” Beret answered without hesitation.
“Excellent choice, sir. And you, ma’am?”
She looked at Beret with amazement. “Rum? Real rum?”
He nodded. “One of only two places I know in town to get the
non-synthetic version.”
She turned to the waiter. “A rum sour, please.” He nodded and
sped off. Jojo’s attention turned to the view. “This place is
amazing.”
Beret nodded. “Max doesn’t disappoint. The food here is
second to none. Max owns a few greenhouses, and grows
everything there. It’s sealed and all organic. Keeps the blight from
getting to the grain. Allows him to use real wheat flour, real corn,
real sugar from cane. Has a whole town that works for him there
growing the stuff year ’round.”
“You’ve been there.” It was a statement, not a question. “Must
be pretty cool.”
“Yeah. I do work for Max on a regular basis.” Beret nodded.
“Usually the place is pretty quiet, but every once in a while,
outlanders and gangers try to get some of the food. Max flies me
there, and I make attitude adjustments.”
“You actually know Maximillion?”
 Null/Void ™ 63

“Yeah, he’s a trip.” Beret chuckled. “The rumors aren’t true.

He’s a real guy. Funny as hell. I knew him when, back in the day.
He gave me my first job after I got out of the service. He needed a
second guy on a courier job in Gary, someone to ride gorilla. There
was a pretty nasty gang war going on at the time and he didn’t want
to ride alone.”
Jojo’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Waitaminute! You’re saying
he’s a null?”
Beret nodded. “That’s all he used to talk about. We’d be
walking an elevator shaft, doing a sneak and snatch, and he’d just
yammer on about all he was gonna do with this place. He retired
when he opened the restaurant.” He chuckled and took a sip of
water. “Once he went legal, he had to cut a lot of ties, but he still
keeps his hand in a bit. Hell, he takes about half of what I make,
notes it as income for this place, then pays it back to me as a
weekly salary that goes in the bank, completely laundered. He
wants to make sure I have something to retire on. All his idea. Max
always had a head for money.”
“We’re what, a hundred fifty stories up?” Her eyes scanned the
horizon, entranced by the meeting of lakefront and lights of the
skyline. “I bet the entire lakefront from Milwaukee to Gary is
visible from here. The view is breathtaking.”
His eyes ran the lines of her dress. “Absolutely breathtaking.”
“Hmmph.”
Beret jumped and his eyes turned towards the windows.
“I had forgotten how pretty the city can be at night.” A half-
smile crept across Jojo’s mouth. “It’s funny, as a kid I used to take
the skyline at night for granted. Now I never see it.”
“I know what you mean. I don’t think about it too much unless
I’m here.”
Jojo turned back to Beret. “Because of my skin, my parents
didn’t let me out at all during the day. I snuck out once when I was
eight, and within a few minutes my shoulders were burned so
badly, I had blisters. I was so miserable I started sleeping during
the day and staying up at night. I had private tutors that had to fit
into my schedule anyway, so it didn’t really matter.”
Henry returned with the drinks and menus. Beret took a sip of
his, and then absently swirled it with the stirrer. “Why the tutors?
Parents afraid of what the other kids would say or do because of
your hair and eyes? Kids can be cruel.”
Jojo laughed. Beret found it more refreshing than a splash of
ice water to the face on a summer day.
64 ™ Adrian Drake

“Oh no, nothing like that. I was a professional model from the
age of seven.”
“Puh-leeese. Come on already.”
“No kidding?” Beret reached up, making it look like he was
rubbing his head, and ejected Lucy’s chip. The standard tactical
readouts came up and he shut them down. She’d have a good
scream at him later about it, but he was sick of the commentary.
He slipped the chip into the breast pocket of his tux jacket. “I take
it you had some reason for giving that up to run a fixit shop in
South Chicago?”
“Yeah.” Her lips drew tight. “I hated it. I hated being a piece of
meat, a commodity, a brand label.” She took a drink from her sour.
“When my breasts came in, I went from product and advertisement
to fashion modeling, but that was even worse. A breathing
mannequin — it’s a brainless, soulless job.”
“It’s good money, though.”
“With my looks, so would turning tricks, but it’s not what my
heart wanted.” She looked down, a little embarrassed. “I know it
sounds stupid.”
“Not at all. My family fought for freedom for this country:
World War II, Vietnam. Hell, I was even in the Army.” He took
another drink. “But this country isn’t about freedom anymore.
That’s why I’m a null. It’s my own little civil disobedience.”
“You saying it’s not about the money?” Jojo smirked.
He touched his glass to hers with a light “tink”. She laughed
again, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her.
“Seriously, I admit that the money is good. I just have principles I
try to live by, and a lot of them come into conflict with the system.
It takes money to fight the power. Viva la revolution.”
“What sort of principles does an outlaw have?”
“No kids; no parents in front of kids; children are not a
bargaining chip or a negotiating tool. That’s just the way I am. Kids
are about the only good and uncorrupted thing these days. I don’t
do kidnappings.” He took a sip of his drink. “If you’re gonna snatch
someone with the intent of getting paid to give them back, then you
also have to be prepared to kill them if people aren’t willing to pay.
That is the threat, isn’t it? I try not to kill people if they don’t need
deadifying. I’ll take a hit job on a corporate exec, though. It’s not
like those soulless fuckers count as people anyhow.”
Jojo took a long sip from her drink and her brow knitted. “You
wouldn’t have a problem killing someone for money?”
Beret snorted. “For the right money and the right
circumstances, absolutely not. It’s part of the business. Hell, most
 Null/Void ™ 65

of the people I’ve been paid to kill, the person hiring was either
their boss — who was afraid they had too much personal
information and were a threat as a potential blackmailer — or was
the person’s direct subordinate who was looking for a career
opportunity.” Beret shook his head. “Joe Schmo on the street? He
hasn’t done anything wrong and I don’t think you could pay me
enough. But a suit and tie bigwig, I’ll make sure he’s wearing his
best tux; that way he’s ready for the funeral.”
“You’ve got a real problem with big business.”
Beret looked into his glass and watched the carbonated
bubbles dance over the ice. “My dad was a cop, and a damn good
one at that. He was a watch commander. He took care of a lot of
men, and they looked to him as their leader. When the Blight hit,
he saw things going bad so he got me and Mom out of town. He
could have come with; a lot of public servants deserted their posts.
He was killed by rioters who just wanted something to eat. They
needed someone to blame and the police became good targets.
Everything quieted when the food rolled back in. Everyone sort of
forgot what kind of animals their neighbors had turned into.”
He took a long drink and set down the empty glass. “I found
out later that the food could have gotten there earlier, but the
warehouse company, the trucking company, and the various food
processors wanted to make sure the contract they had with the
government was hammered out and clean before they’d deliver
anything. They held the government over a barrel and let people
starve to death, just to make sure they got their thirty pieces of
silver. So, yeah, I don’t like big business.”
“I’m sorry.” Jojo’s eyes teared up. “I had no idea.”
He shrugged. “Most people don’t. Hell, just watch action
movies. You ever notice how you’ll never find a null as a lead hero
in a movie?”
“What about the Stainless Steel Cop movies?”
“He’s an ex-null.” Beret chuckled. “Like there is such a thing.
It’s the tragic portion of his past that he learned his street smarts
from. He’s not proud of it and it’s constantly held over his head.
Naw, anytime you see a null as a good guy, you know he’s either
going to die, become a respectable citizen and get an ID chip
implanted, or just faking it and he’ll turn on the hero during the
big gun fight. That’s what America wants to see. They have no
interest in the truth; they just want to be entertained.”
Henry silently replaced Beret’s empty drink with a fresh one.
“She’s never been here before, Henry, so why don’t we go with the
European style appetizer and then for the meal, have the chef
66 ™ Adrian Drake

surprise us. Two of his best, as long as they’re different.” He

turned back to Jojo. “You don’t mind if we share, do you?”
Jojo blushed. Beret had the dim realization that something he
had said led to a naughty thought in her mind. Alabaster skin
didn’t work well with makeup, so she had no way to cover the
minute involuntary responses that most people hid from the
outside world. “I’m sure if the chef loves to make it, we’ll enjoy it
just fine.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Do you have a preference for red
or white wine?”
“Whatever’s appropriate,” Beret replied. Henry nodded again,
took the menus, and spirited away. Beret turned back to Jojo. “I
don’t come here that often. That way I don’t feel too bad about
splurging when I do. I imagine doing the fashion model thing, this
is nothing new to you.”
Jojo looked down, an embarrassed expression on her face.
“Actually, it is. If I wanted to stay marketable, I had to stay thin.
Food at a place like this would have been way too tempting. I could
pretty much eat what I want and not worry about stopping
breathing. My allergy to soy is a very effective diet aid. Besides,
models go to nightclubs not restaurants. Who needs to eat when we
can dance?”
Beret grinned. “I got the impression you liked dancing.” He
chuckled at her confused look. “When you were working at your
bench, drawing up your blueprints, your hands and head may have
been serious, but everything from the belly button down was
bopping.” She blushed again and he loved it. There was an
openness that he didn’t see much in his line of work.
“Music gets me going. It winds me up and sets me free. It
really doesn’t matter what kind it is; if you can sing along, or hum
along, or dance along, it’s all good.”
“Well, I hope you like jazz.” Almost on cue, a classic blues trio
opened, providing a real Chicago feel to the place. “Max is all about
authentic. You won’t hear these guys play anything that wasn’t
heard in jazz clubs before the turn of the century. Depending on
the mood they’re in, you’ll hear stuff that hasn’t been on the radio
in a hundred years.” Beret snorted and took a drink. “I’m just glad
Max got rid of Angel.”
“Angel?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “When Maxie first opened this place,
before it got real big, he used to have a little bit more of a show on
Sunday nights. Angel was his torch singer. Wasn’t that good, but
Angel was the love of Maxie’s life.”
 Null/Void ™ 67

“What happened?”
“They had a nasty fight when Max told Angel he was shutting
down the Sunday night show and letting the trio play alone every
night. Angel threw a nasty fit. Wanted the attention so badly, he
left Max. Heard he was doing a drag show not too far from your
shop, but I’m betting he’s paying the bills by selling his ass. It’s all
good, though. Max remarried. Paul’s a cool guy. The irony that he’s
an alderman isn’t lost on Maxie.”
Henry arrived with their hors d’oeuvres. Beret took a deep
breath and smiled. He picked up a slice of roasted eggplant, dipped
it in the creamy sauce, and offered it to Jojo. She took a bite and
her eyes grew wide in surprise. “Oh my, that’s unbelievable.”
“The dill’s a nice touch. The little square things are lemon
pepper chicken and feta cheese wrapped in an awesome flaky
dough.” He picked up his fork and stabbed a Swedish meatball,
popping it into his mouth.
Jojo’s eyes, normally very striking, became serene, as if an
ocean breeze had washed over her. “I want to thank you, Beret.
You’ve opened my eyes to a whole new world.”
He pretended not to notice that she was staring. After a few
moment’s silence, the corners of her mouth turned up in a gentle
smile. “It isn’t always this good, but it’s days like this that make the
bad days worth getting through.” He lifted his glass in a toast to
her. Smiling, she obliged.
Chapter 10

“I really want to thank you again, Beret. Tonight was really nice.”
Jojo removed the hair sticks and combed her hands through the
braids, loosening them.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend a night.” Beret felt a
passing pang of guilt, but he let it go. He meant what he said. “The
next time we go, I’ll let Max know so we can make sure Geoffrey is
on again.”
“Next time?”
Jojo smiled and he felt a surge go through him. “Oh yeah. You
keep making my life easy and you’re gonna get used to eating
there.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Wetware or not, her
violet eyes were magnificent. They stood out from the messy tangle
of white hair that tumbled onto her bare shoulders, giving her a
wild look. “You might even get used to me.”
“I don’t think that will ever happen.” She brushed the hair out
of her face and looked down demurely. “I’d ask you up for a drink,
but after Maximillion’s I’m afraid anything I’d have to give you
would be a letdown.”
“I’m sure not everything.” Their eyes met, and they each knew
for that instant what the other was thinking. Leaning toward each
other slowly, their faces drew close. “I bet we can find something
good.”
Jojo nibbled her lower lip. “I do have real coffee. I
could...OW!” Jojo sat bolt upright and dug behind her in the seat,
pulling out Beret’s cell phone. “Damn thing bit me!”
Beret took it to put it in a pocket when he noticed the message
light blinking. “One sec.” He quickly dialed up his voice mail.
Listening, it sounded as if Trevor had found out something, and his
tone was almost frantic. “Dammit. Jojo, I gotta go. One of my guys
needs me. Biz.”
“I understand.” The tone in her voice was a mixture of
disappointment and relief.
He smiled at her. “I’ll let Solly know I’ve got a good wrench
now, and he needs to give me more jobs needing gear.” He watched
her as she got out of the car, waved, and went into her shop.
“Damn.” Beret reached into his pocket, pulled out Lucy’s chip and
reslotted it.
“Jodete! You son of a bitch. You...”
 Null/Void ™ 69

“Chill. Trevor called and it sounds like bad news. We’ll deal
with the fight later.” He flipped the phone open and dialed.
“Beret! Dammit, man, where you been? I called you
yesterday!”
“Been busy. What did you find out?”
“Just get over here. Drop whatever you got going and get over
to my place. This can’t wait. I can’t say much on the phone.”
Trevor was prone to small conspiracy theories and had a mild
case of paranoia, but he had never steered Beret wrong. “You got it,
pal. Be there in fifteen.” He hung up and plugged the neural cable
into the interface in his skull. “Lucy, get us to Trevor’s. I gotta
change.” He pulled the release and the driver’s seat went all the
way back.
Lucy grumbled angrily, but the engine roared to life, the
windows tinted to nearly solid black, and the car tore down the
street. “Dick.”
“Lucy, I said not now.” He reached back and flipped up the
back seat. Underneath was a secure console containing a change of
clothes, an armored jacket, and a pair of tricked out subguns. He
had more hardware in the trunk, but this much was accessible
while moving. As he finished changing, he felt a jolt as the car
jumped lanes. “We okay?”
“Nothing to worry about, just a blue hair not letting me into
the lane for the off ramp. I got it.”
He could hear the anger and bitterness in her voice, but she
was still an all-business gal when the shit hit the fan. “Look,
baby...”
“Not talking about it right now. Like you said, later.”
Lucy was the epitome of racial stereotypes for Hispanic
women; Beret knew that when he started seeing her. Passionate,
explosive, possessive and headstrong —any and all of those words
accurately described her. He could only imagine what keeping her
cool was doing to her. When she popped, he’d suffer for hours. He
chuckled softly.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
“Just thinking about how nuts you make me and how much I
love you, babe.”
“Dick.”
The tone had softened, but he could tell she was still hurt.
He’d make it up to her somehow.
Beret stopped the car and got out. The damp asphalt made a
scraping sound as he crossed the street to Trevor’s modest
suburban home. This was about more than just Beret’s wetware;
70 ™ Adrian Drake

the tone in Trevor’s voice told him that. As Beret strode across the
Astroturf lawn, he reached into his jacket to make sure the safeties
were off on both subguns. The Uzis were reliable, for older
weapons, but their frame didn’t allow for too much in the way of
modern add-ons. He hoped he was overreacting.
He rang the doorbell twice, waiting a few minutes between
each ring. Trevor wasn’t answering. Beret knocked on the door and
when there was no answer, he turned the doorknob and walked in.
Both guns were immediately drawn. Trevor’s preoccupation with
security had made him paranoid — he wasn’t the type to leave his
front door unlocked. “Yo, Tee...you all right, man?”
“This place is a mess. Most of your sensory gear is worthless.
He’s got soundproof foam filling the walls. He’s got a thin layer of
reflective foil under all of the wallpaper. There’s at least one white
noise generator in every room. Most of the lamp fixtures seem to
have a UV strobe along with the regular bulb. If we need to find
anything or anyone here and it’s not in plain sight, it’s gonna be a
bitch.”
Beret stopped and closed his eyes. He had been here a couple
times in the past, but his memory of the layout was a little fuzzy.
“None of this shit matters. Find me a way to the basement. That’s
where he keeps his rig.”
A quick room-to-room search located the kitchen. A door
stood open and stairs led down. “That’s a lot of locks.”
Beret gritted his teeth, put his back to the wall, and started
down the stairs, one gun pointing down, and one gun pointing up.
“All of them open. Either Trevor had an aneurysm and forgot how
to be paranoid, or he opened the door and let somebody in. This
shit is way hinky.” He reached the landing halfway down and
caught a whiff of combat. Ozone, gunpowder, and blood.
Something bad had gone down. Beret turned the corner and
growled at the carnage he saw.
Trevor’s rig was as important to him as Beret’s guns. He had a
bank of around two dozen top-of-the-line computers that had been
tweaked, maxed, and pushed above and beyond their
specifications. Networked together and tied to the Web, Trevor
used them to rule his digital kingdom. When Trevor worked, a pair
of cables connected into the back of his head. He swam through the
Net, supreme ruler of all he could hack. He may have been
untouchable in the digital world, but in the real world he was just
another skinny guy with bad health. Someone had taken the cables
and strangled him with them. Apparently that was not good
enough for them, so his head hung from his neck at an unnatural
 Null/Void ™ 71

angle and a long screwdriver was buried in the middle of his

breastbone. Whoever killed Trevor had poured something on the
bank of computers, then unloaded a couple clips of ammo into the
entire system. A box of assorted data chips had also taken rounds.
Beret’s jaw jutted forward like a bulldog’s as he strained to
maintain his composure. “They were thorough, but they don’t
know who they’re fuckin’ with.” Beret pulled out his phone, flipped
it open, and dialed.
“H-hello?”
“Jojo, it’s Beret. How soon can you be in Highland Park?”
“Highland Park?” He could hear her rubbing her face in an
attempt to wake herself up. “Uh...let me get dressed...uh...twenty
minutes.”
He gave Jojo the address, hung up, and went back upstairs.
Beret did a more thorough room-to-room search, making sure
there was nobody else in the house.
“You really think the niña’s gonna be any help?”
Beret pushed a closet door open with the barrel of his gun.
“She’s gonna have to. I don’t have anyone else. I’d rather have you
do it, you worked with him longer, but it’s not like I’m gonna be
able to find a trancer to let you borrow her body for a couple of
days.” He grabbed a lockbox from the shelf in the top of the closet.
“Jojo’s sharp.”
“What’s that?”
“If I know Trevor, it’s walking around money.” He wrenched
the lock open and lifted the lid. Inside was a neatly bound stack of
data disks, a gold-stamped credchit, and a few bundles of bills with
the smiling face of President Reagan looking up. “Trevor told me if
anything happened to him, he always kept a fair amount of cash
handy.”
“What are the disks?”
Beret picked them up and saw they had names and numbers
printed on them. “The man ruled an empire. I suppose this is the
way he wants it divvied up.”
“A truck just pulled up.”
Beret bolted down the stairs and opened the door just as Jojo
reached to knock.
Disheveled, and apparently unsure of the situation, Jojo
jumped at the door opening on its own. “Beret, what’s going on? Is
this where you live?”
Beret ushered her into the house and scanned the street. “No.”
He closed the door. “You ever fixed computers?”
“All the time.”
72 ™ Adrian Drake

“Good.” He took her by the arm and led her to the basement.
When they got to the landing, he stopped. “It’s not pretty, but I
need you to keep it together. You’re in the pros now. Sometimes
you’re gonna have to deal with this type of shit.”
Jojo blinked, still slightly dazed. “You got it, Beret.”
They descended the few remaining stairs and Jojo had to cover
her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming. “Trevor was
probably my best friend, Jojo. Somebody went out of their way to
kill him and destroy his rig. I’m betting whatever they killed him
for was on his computers.”
Jojo turned her attention to the computers and shook her head
in resignation. “Beret, these have been shorted out and shot. I’m
not going to be able to do anything with them.”
“I told ya the kid couldn’t handle this.”
“Lucy, shut up!”
Jojo raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Lucy?
“Beret, what are you doing?”
“Jojo, don’t worry about it. Lucy, I said shut up.” Beret turned
to Jojo and held out a hand to catch her attention and give her
something to focus on. Nothing else mattered. She had to
understand what this meant to him. “Jojo, look... You need to fix
those computers. If you can’t fix them, you need to get any data
from them off and onto a working computer.”
“I can’t do that here.”
Beret shrugged. “Fine. Unhook them; take the lot back to your
shop. If you see anything else here that looks important, take it.
You’re the wrench here, I’m not. If you need money for parts, tools,
anything, you tell me and I’ll foot the bill. I don’t care about the
cost.” He made a fist and lightly tapped his forehead a couple of
times, forcing himself to focus on the details and leave his
emotions behind. Someone was going to die for this, but right now
he needed to keep his composure. “It may not look like it, but
Trevor was an important guy. Him getting killed is gonna cause a
massive upheaval. I need to know who killed him and why.
Trevor’s got cameras all over his house. I’m betting all of them fed
directly into his rig.”
“Okay.” Jojo got down next to the computers and started
unhooking the massive tangle of cables. “Good thing I brought the
pickup from the shop. Nobody will look at me twice.” Jojo finished
unhooking the first piece of the rig and slid it out of her way. “So,
who’s Lucy?”
“You don’t owe her any explanations.”
 Null/Void ™ 73

Beret rolled his eyes and growled, “You know what a

tailgunner is?” Jojo nodded. “I have a military grade one that I
never gave back when I left the Army. The AI is pretty complex, but
it lacked personality. After my girlfriend died, I used a brain taping
of her to add a personality and keep me company.”
Jojo swallowed and nodded her head. “That was the chip you
popped out at dinner.”
It was Beret’s turn to be surprised. “You noticed that?”
Jojo smiled and slid the second computer aside. “Because I’m
an albino, my eyes were very sensitive to light. During puberty, I
started suffering horrible vision loss. Corrective surgery couldn’t
do anything for me. My parents and I talked it over and I had my
eyes replaced.” The third computer, now free of its connections,
was moved aside.
“When I was modeling, I could adjust the color to suit the
photographers’ wishes. When I opened my shop, I had that module
pulled out and had an object and detail enhancement buffer put in.
I can drop a tiny screw onto a concrete floor and immediately find
it. I can find cracks on surfaces, imperfections in materials, any
fine detail. The first time I saw you, it pointed out to me you had a
flap of synthflesh behind your ear. When you popped the chip, it
pointed it out to me. I know electronics. That sort of chip holds a
lot of data.”
“Kind of hard to be sneaky around you.”
“Yeah. Not that I have much to steal, but shoplifting is
impossible. I take it your girlfriend doesn’t like me much.”
“She’s quick.”
“She can be a little possessive at times. Because of her current
state, she feels threatened even though you and I have a business
relationship.”
Jojo’s mouth tightened as she slid the next computer out of the
way. “She should know then, I’m no threat. She’s got you all to
herself. I’ll be done in a couple of minutes. Anything else I need to
see?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Fine, I’ll let you know when I’m done.” Jojo turned to her
work, squaring her back to Beret. Her posture was stiff,
mechanical. “I charge my normal customers two hundred dollars
an hour labor and then tack on a delivery charge if I have to do the
work on site. Since this is all technically illegal, I’ll double the
charges. Fair enough?”
Beret was taken back by the cold tone Jojo’s voice had
assumed. “Sure. Money’s not an object.”
74 ™ Adrian Drake

“Good, because there’s gonna be some hefty charges for this

one.” She jerked a thumb at Trevor. “Take care of the body and let
me work.”

Beret drummed his hands on the wheel as he watched Jojo pull

away. He had sanitized the basement, leaving no trace of Trevor’s
second life as Orobouros. Trevor’s body lay in his bed. None of his
neighbors would notice his disappearance. It could be weeks
before anyone noticed. It really didn’t matter. The people who
needed to know already did. The immediate problem resolved,
Beret allowed his attention to turn back to Jojo. “What the hell is
her problem?”
“I told you, the niña’s got it bad for you. Knows a good thing
when she sees it.” Lucy sighed. “Once she realized you were taken,
she sulked. I wouldn’t sweat it. She’ll get over it.”
Beret shook his head. “I need her head clear.”
“Then you should have gotten a wrench, not a lovesick little
girl.” Lucy paused. “Beret, pay the girl. She’ll do her job. Don’t
stress about it.”
Beret rubbed his temples. He jacked in the interface cable.
“Take me to Shorty’s. I need a drink.”
“You got it, lover.”
 Chapter 11

Jojo hurled the crescent wrench end over end into a rack of bolts,
screws, and other small parts, sending them cascading across the
workbench, shelf, and floor. “That sonofabitch!” she snarled,
flinging a screwdriver that stuck in the pegboard wall like a
throwing knife. “Who the fuck does he think I am?”
She paused and answered herself in a sardonic sing song voice.
“Actually, that should be pretty obvious, Jojo. You know how to
pick a winner. I should have known better. Dammit!” She swung at
the air as though she could punch it. “I can’t believe I thought I
meant something to him. What a fucking prick!”
She walked over to the offending wall and pulled the
screwdriver from it. Looking down, she saw that one of her
homemade maintenance bots was already cleaning up the mess she
had made. “If I hadn’t sat on his phone, I probably would have
slept with that asshole. Thank God technology takes care of me.”
She took a few steps away from the workbench, letting her
bucket-sized assistant do its job. A second fit of rage took hold and
she flung the screwdriver again, raining more parts down on the
poor bot.
“And the sick fuck is slotting a person, his dead girlfriend.
Well, that’s just great! C’mon, Jojo, work with some real nulls.
Make some real money. Hit the jackpot when it comes to sick
fucks! No amount of money is worth this aggravation.” She ran her
hands though her hair and balled them into fists as she reached the
top of her scalp. “I’ll figure this shit out for him, then I’m done. He
can find a new wrench. Uncle Solly’s got to have dozens of guys. I
can’t imagine them all being this messed up. Screw it. I’ll unload
everything in the morning.”
Jojo turned off the light in her shop and headed up the stairs.
She could still hear the maintenance bot whirring as it cleaned. If
she hadn’t known better, she’d have said the little shit almost
sounded happy. Closing the door to the downstairs, she took off
her jacket and hung it on the doorknob. Living over the shop was
convenient. It had originally been a pair of apartments, but the last
thing she needed to deal with was a tenant. So when she bought the
building, she took out a few walls to merge the two spaces.
She stepped from the kitchen at the top of the stairs into the
spa-styled bathroom. Buying and remodeling the building had
eaten up a large chunk of what she had saved from her modeling
76 ™ Adrian Drake

days, but as she owned the building, the investment cut a lot of her
overhead. Jojo hated to admit it, but she had grown very fond of
the luxurious lifestyle being a model had afforded for her. She
could live with eating second-rate food, but the bathroom was her
sanctuary.
The wall between the original bathroom and what had been
the kids’ bath hadn’t been load-bearing, so Jojo had happily taken
it out. Rich burgundy- and cream-colored tiles covered the floor
and lower half of the walls in elegant mosaic patterns. The
immense whirlpool bath was raised from the floor and started to
fill as she turned the golden faucets. She unbuttoned her flannel
shirt, dropped it on the floor, and turned to look at herself in the
wall-sized mirror.
If she compared herself to an average person, she’d be odd.
After working in the modeling industry for years and seeing how
others tortured themselves mentally and physically to be
something they were not, she’d grown comfortable with herself.
Supposedly, men were attracted to the exotic, and that’s how her
agent had always billed her. Flawless milk-white skin, long athletic
limbs, and a firm runner’s body were proof that she took care of
herself. Most models her age had already gotten one or two body
jobs done. She took off the A-shirt and turned sideways, observing
her profile. Still looking in the mirror, she cupped a breast, lifted it
a little, and released it. She’d been lucky. The only work she’d had
done was to replace her faulty eyes.
Jojo turned off the water and switched the jets to relaxing
massage. She kicked her sandals to a small rug under the sink and
then slipped out of her khakis. During years of modeling, she had
gotten used to not wearing underwear and often surprised herself
when she remembered to. She stripped off the pink and white pair
and threw them on top of her sandals, then turned back to the
mirror and framed her hips with her hands. All this, and he’d
rather have his digital bitch. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
She sighed and slipped into the warm water. She didn’t feel
loss at the lack of romance in her life, but after the way Beret had
made her feel at dinner, she needed more than a well-placed jet.

Beret stretched and rolled over, promptly falling off his futon. His
head throbbed and the bitter taste of bile still cloyed in his throat.
He only remembered having a couple drinks, virtually everything
after that was blurry.
 Null/Void ™ 77

“Morning, lover.” He grunted at the sound of Lucy’s cheerful

voice. “Feeling it now, aren’t you? C’mon. Up, up, up. You need a
shower. You smell like a distillery.”
He let the water beat down on him until it started turning cold.
A handful of painkillers was not going to do much for the sickened
knot in his stomach, but he hoped it would at least chase away the
throbbing in his head. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
Beret rubbed his temples with his palms. “Shit. I’m supposed
to meet with Solly at noon.”
“Well, we can’t miss that. We need to get you a decent wrench.
No kids next time.”
“Lay off of Jojo, Lucy. She’s not a bad wrench.”
“Beret, you tried to do something nice for her. You took her
out to dinner. Suddenly, she thinks she owns you. Remind her that
it’s just business between the two of you, and she pouts. Screw
that. You’re his best. He needs...no, he owes you a better wrench.”
Beret shook his head as he quickly dressed. “She’s fine, she’s
just green. A couple of months from now, we’ll all be laughing
about this shit.”
Beret made it to Aegis just as Solly was about to have the
server clear the table. “Sorry, Solly. Late night last night.”
“It’s not like you to miss a lunch date.” Solly resumed his seat.
“Our lunch may be a little cold.”
“That’s all right. I’m not sure my stomach can handle much
right now.”
“I’m sorry, Nathaniel. Are you not feeling well?”
Beret sighed. “Someone killed Trevor yesterday. Pretty
messy.” He removed his jacket and sat down. Looking at the
broiled fish on his plate, his stomach churned. “I went to Shorty’s
and had a few. I guess I had a few too many.”
“So, it wasn’t you hunting last night?” Solly opened his
cigarette case and tapped one out.
“What’s that?”
“Last night two hackers high up in Orouboros’ organization
were killed.” Solly paused and took a long drag from his smoke.
“Who’d he get?” Beret picked up a fork and picked at the three
bean salad.
“Firecracker and Zeropatch. Or at least that’s what I
understand their handles are.”
“Firecracker was a bitch. I can’t tell you the number of times I
had to separate her and Lucy. Bad blood between those two, and
Zeropatch doesn’t even work for Trevor anymore, but he did have
78 ™ Adrian Drake

dealings with him the other day.” Beret took a bite and rubbed his
head thoughtfully. “I wonder if this has anything to do with the
exchange.”
“It’s possible.” Solly took another drag from his cigarette. “Any
idea what the package was?”
“You know me. If it’s not my job to inspect the goods, I don’t
ask.” Beret set his fork down and took a drink of water. “This shit
don’t make no sense, Solly. People are getting dead and nobody’s
heard nothing. It’s bad for business, man.”
“You’re telling me.” Solly stubbed out his cigarette and took a
drink of his wine. “My source says it’s the same Israeli that killed
Xian. You think he could have gotten to Trevor himself?”
“It’s possible, but it wasn’t an Israeli he was killed with.
Sonofabitch strangled him.” Beret shook his head. “I swear, Solly, I
lay my hands on this motherfucker, I’m gonna entertain myself for
hours.”
“You know where your Israeli is?”
Beret chuckled. “Don’t even need to go there, man. I’ve got a
vault and can’t nobody but me get in there.” He paused
thoughtfully. “Should hook up with Fletch, see if he’s heard
anything.”
“Nathaniel.” Solly was always serious, but in this case the
sudden urgency in his voice caught Beret’s attention. “Keep the
Israeli under wraps for a while. If the cops find it, you’re as good as
guilty. They won’t bother running ballistics; they probably won’t
even bother taking you in. They’ll just gun you down and claim
another rogue null gone crazy.” He slid an envelope across the
table. “Think of it as a bonus for all the quality work you’ve done
for me in the past.”
“I don’t take handouts, Solly.” Beret looked pointedly at the
envelope. “You know me better than that.”
“It’s not a handout, Nathaniel. You need some time off. This
will tide you over.”
Beret nodded and grudgingly took the envelope. “Jojo’s
looking at Trevor’s rig right now. I imagine most of this will go to
her.”
Solly smiled. “How’s she working out for you?”
“She does good work. Solid stuff.” Beret took another bite of
the salad. “She’s a little emotional but she’ll get past that.”
“I suppose that is one way of describing it.”
“What do you mean ‘emotional’?”
Beret shrugged. “She did a great job, so as a way of saying
thank you I took her to Max’s for dinner.”
 Null/Void ™ 79

“Where she came on to you like a cheap hooker.”

Beret made a fist and rubbed his chin with it, trying to hide his
exasperation. “I dunno, maybe she read a little too much into it.”
Solly’s face grew dark. “So what happened?”
“Nothing, man. Chill.” Beret’s eyes narrowed and he took a
drink of water. “She just misunderstood things.”
“Nathaniel, Joaquina is my niece and is very dear to me. You
are certain nothing happened?”
“No wonder he sent you to her. And here you thought
nepotism only happened in the corporate world. Tell him to dump
the silly little girl and get you a real wrench.”
Beret hissed. “Lucy, hush.” He looked back at Solly. “It’s no
big deal, Solly. She’s working out fine. She just freaked out a little
when she found out about Lucy.”
Solly wiped his mouth and threw his napkin down on the table.
“Are you really so surprised? People that use trancers are
considered to be pretty messed up to begin with. The fact that
you’re fucking a PerSim of a real person that’s now dead instead of
a construct takes it from being kinky to being sick. I won’t even go
into how fucked up it is knowing that when she’s not in a
prostitute, you keep her in your own head. You know that well
enough without me saying it, or else you wouldn’t hide it from
most people.”
“We don’t have to take this shit from him.”
“Solly, I don’t need this right now. If you need me I’ll be at
Sam’s.” Beret started to stand.
“Sit your ass down.” Solly’s normally smooth tone had grown
menacing and dark. “I put up with it because you do good work,
and in the past it hasn’t interfered with you getting the job done.
Now I’m beginning to question your judgment. You had me hook
Lucy’s tape into the AI of a tailgunner because it would improve
your tailgunner’s reactions. Lucy knew how you thought and you
couldn’t ask for a better partner. Now you run your tailgunner all
the time. Again, you’ve done good work for me in the past so I
never let it bother me too much, but when a synthetic copy of a
dead woman starts talking shit about one of the best natural
wrenches I have ever seen simply because she feels threatened by
some live tail sniffing under her man’s nose, I draw the fucking
line. I know my niece. She’s a little sheltered, but she’s the best
mechanic I’ve ever had working for me. I also know how attractive
she is. Trust me, I arranged personal security for her while she was
still modeling.”
80 ™ Adrian Drake

Solly pulled out his case and tapped another cigarette. “Don’t
feed me bullshit, Nathaniel. You took a beautiful woman to the
finest restaurant in Chicago, you showed her a night on the town.
Joaquina didn’t get emotional; Lucy saw something she didn’t
like.”
“Fuck this! We don’t need him! Let’s just go.”
Beret gripped his napkin so hard his hands shook. “Make your
point, Solly.”
“You’re not taking a couple days off; I’m benching you. You
come back any sooner than a month, I’ll send you home. You come
back with Lucy slotted, I’m taking you out of my PDA.”
“Who the fuck does he think he is!”
Beret surged to his feet. “What I do in my personal life is none
of your goddamn business. You pay me to do work, I pay you to get
me things I need. We have a good arrangement. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Nathaniel, I live by the same rules you do. I don’t deal with
gangers or druggies.” Solly sighed and shook his head. “Right now,
you’re as bad as a juicer. You’re hooked on a dead woman. You
need to unslot her and put her to rest. I’m telling you, Nathaniel, if
you don’t, we’re done. You may still find work, but if I cut ties with
you, other handlers are going to want to know why I don’t do
business with you.”
Beret’s eyes flashed, his hands clenching and unclenching. If
he thought he could get out of the building alive, he would have
gutted Solly right there. “That’s blackmail.”
“Don’t be stupid, Nathaniel. I’m as much of a professional as
you are. Any business between the two of us stays between the two
of us. On the other hand, I’d be willing to tell them you’ve become
unstable and unsuitable for discreet work. I have great respect for
you, Nathaniel. There aren’t many nulls I’d make this sort of deal
with. I’m more of a ‘you’ll do it because I said so’ kind of guy.”
Solly sighed again, and a genuine look of concern crossed his face.
“Nate, I considered the both of you friends. I was hurt, too, when
Lucy died. You both knew the risks of doing this kind of work. Let
her go.”
Beret’s headache was returning with a vengeance. “Solly, look,
I’ll think about what you said.”
“What?”
“Just need some time to sort things out, okay?”
Solly stood and offered his hand. “Of course. I’ll talk to you in
a month.”
Beret shook his hand without much enthusiasm. “Yeah. See ya
around, Solly.”
 Null/Void ™ 81

“No problem, Mrs. Roarke. As soon as it’s fixed, I’ll give you a call.”
Jojo lifted the vintage television and DVD combo unit onto the cart
behind the counter. “I’ve got a great source for the parts, so once I
figure out what’s wrong, you should have it a day or two later.”
Jojo handed the middle-aged woman a work order and
watched her walk out of the shop. She sighed as she wiped her
hands on her apron. She didn’t mind the extra work — money was
always a good thing — but the brown-out the night before had
caused problems for a number of appliances in the neighborhood.
Jojo had been living in this area for a month before she realized
the circuit breakers in her house were inadequate. She put the
entire building on a UPS backup, and the money she had saved on
light bulbs in the past year alone had paid for it.
She lifted the last of the computers off of the truck and closed
the tonneau cover. She lugged it inside and placed it on her main
workbench. Although some of the hardware didn’t look as badly
damaged as others, this one showed the most promise. The bullet
damage looked superficial, at least from the exterior of the casing.
She wouldn’t know much of anything until she cracked them all
open. The added hole in the pegboard was the only hint of the fit
she had thrown the night before. Jojo picked up her cup of coffee
and took a drink as she appraised the carnage in front of her.
Twenty-six identical cases sat on the work table. The fluid that
had been spilled on the floor wasn’t something that had been
poured over them, but was from ruptured lines in the liquid
cooling system built into each case. She pulled the side panels off
the last computer, as she had with the rest, and threw them into
the large trash bin. Cases were cheap, and there was no sense in
keeping parts she didn’t need. She was right. The damage to this
one had been limited. It was the only one that had not taken a shot
to the motherboard. The bullet had grazed the hard drive, but it
was quite possible no damage had been done to the data itself. As
they were, most would never boot up again. Luckily, she didn’t
need them to. The killer had been sloppy. He must have figured a
couple sprays of gunfire would be enough. There was truth to that.
A lot of damage had been done. For the most part though, the hard
drives had survived. The data was there for her to take. Beret
would be pleased.
Jojo stared into her coffee. Part of her felt guilty for treating
Beret so badly. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve it. At the
same time, she felt insulted. She hadn’t intended to, but Jojo felt
that she had practically thrown herself at him. She had really
thought there was something between them. There was an animal
82 ™ Adrian Drake

magnetism to him that she couldn’t deny, but he had rejected her
in favor of a personality simulacrum. She was a living, breathing,
flesh-and-blood woman and had been dismissed for the braintape
of a dead woman. She wondered if he was having someone trance
Lucy.
Jojo shuddered. The idea of having sex with a prostitute was
already distasteful to her, but the idea that Beret might be paying a
hooker to put herself into a coma so he could pretend Lucy was still
alive made her want to retch.
Part of her felt sorry for him. She knew being a null was lonely
work. The talk with Beret over dinner had made that plain. It was
one thing to be lonely; she knew that from her own life. It was
another thing entirely to seek solace in a sim of a dead person. The
concept still disturbed her. How sad and lonely did a person have
to be to fall that far? What had driven him to even think of it?
Jojo liked Beret. In his heart, he was a good guy. All her life
she’d been forced to endure boys…immature, arrogant, egotistical
boys. The few with whom she had experimented had given her
glimmers of hope, but ultimately they were still boys.
Beret was a man. He could move freely from serious and
insightful to lighthearted and comical. He wasn’t afraid to talk
about things he really believed in. He gave the impression he
enjoyed listening. And, well, he was damn sexy. The contrast of his
dark skin and ivory teeth when he gave her that roguish smirk was
enough to make her melt. He looked good whether he was wearing
a leather jacket and a T-shirt, or a tuxedo. There was a subtle
confidence in the way he spoke and held himself that made you
want to believe in him, but at the same time he wasn’t an
egomaniac. He didn’t need a spotlight on him to make him feel
good about himself.
Just thinking about him made her warm. She hadn’t imagined
the attraction between them. Beret had wanted to kiss her as much
as she had wanted to kiss him. “Fucking cell phone.”
She adjusted her cap a little tighter on her head and tucked the
loose wisps of hair behind her ears. Then she flipped the first hard
drive on its side and began the task of disassembling it into the
recoverable parts. Hopefully she would find whatever it was Beret
was looking for.
The gentle jingling of the brass bells alerted her to a customer
in the shop. She grumbled, “I am never going to get to this.” She
stepped from the garage into the small storefront where an elderly
man stood holding an antique coffee maker. She put on the
 Null/Void ™ 83

warmest smile she could muster. “Mr. Musgrave, what can I do for
you?”

Jojo locked the door and flipped the sign to “closed”. The
computers had sat there all day, virtually untouched. She
grumbled again, knowing she was going to get very little sleep that
night. Flipping on the CD player, she closed her eyes and began to
soak in the heavy bass line. The alarm bell for the shop phone rang,
startling her. She picked up a pipe wrench and threatened the
phone with it before she answered the call. “Jojo’s Fixit. What do
you want?”
“That doesn’t sound like a proper phone greeting. How in the
world do you maintain customers with that level of service?”
“Uncle Solly!” Jojo smiled. He always had a way of making her
feel better. “What’s up?”
“I was actually calling to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m...great.” Jojo grimaced. “Everything’s fine.”
“How did things go with Beret?”
Jojo pinched her upper lip. Was he asking as her handler or
was he asking as her uncle. She groaned. “The job went well. He
paid a fair price.” She spoke haltingly. “He was very pleased with
the work and has me working on something else right now.”
She could hear Solly smirk as he spoke. “How was dinner at
Maximillion’s?”
How the...? He must have talked to Beret. Great. She
wondered how that conversation came up. “Max’s was an amazing
place to eat. It was a bit pricey for me, but since he was treating I
thought, what the hell.”
“Nice business dinner, then?”
Jojo sighed. “When did you talk to Beret? I take it he came to
you to get a replacement wrench?”
“We had lunch. He explained what all transpired last night. He
mentioned the Lucy thing bothered you some.”
“You knew?” Jojo was outraged. “If you’re gonna send me
freaks, you could at least warn me.”
“I’ve known Beret for a very long time. Although this is not a
new development, this obsession has been steadily growing. I had
not realized how much of his life it had consumed. Believe me
when I tell you, he is one of the finest men I have even known. I
consider myself lucky to call him a friend. He has saved my ass
more than once. If it bothers you that much, I will tell him not to
contact you again, and I will find you someone else to work with.”
84 ™ Adrian Drake

“That’s not necessary.” She took off her cap and scratched her
head. “I’m working on something for him right now. If I can get
five minutes free.”
He chuckled. “All right then, I’ll let you go. Just be careful.
Don’t get too...attached. If he doesn’t figure out this thing with
Lucy, I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Thanks.” Jojo blew him a kiss over the phone. “I love you,
Uncle Solly.”
She hung up the phone and turned to appraise the workload
lined up on her bench. This was going to call for a fresh pot of
coffee.
 Chapter 12

Beret shoved the stooped man into the alley by his collar. His
enhanced strength was nearly enough to send his target flying,
crashing into a stack of broken boxes. Sweating bullets, the snitch
tried to right himself. Before he had a chance to free the foot that
had become stuck between two slats in a pallet, Beret had lifted
him to his feet by his lapels. “Murray, talk to me. You gotta know
what’s going on.”
The round-shouldered man breathed heavily as he stared at
Beret. “I’m tellin ya, Beret, I don’t know anythin’.”
Beret grabbed a handful of Murray’s hair and walked him
further back into the alley. “Look, ya little sneak, you’re all the
news that’s not fit to print. A serious hitter doesn’t walk into this
town without one of your pack of spies hearing about it. With as
many people as you’ve doublecrossed, your intel is the only thing
that keeps someone like me from rubbing you out.” Beret brought
the man’s face to his and growled audibly. “Quit playing fuckin’
games with me.”
Murray brought up his hands to plead with the enraged null. “I
swear, Beret, no games. The only other guy in the plex that has an
Israeli has been in the hospital for the past month getting a new
pair of legs. If there were any out-of-towners doing biz in the plex,
I’d tell ya.” Beret wasn’t sure if Murray’s emphatic waving was to
emphasize his ignorance or a futile attempt to put distance
between them. “If there’s outside talent in town, they’re fully
contained and my people haven’t seen shit.”
Beret shoved Murray away and the untrustworthy informant
fell to the ground. “I swear, Murray, if I find out you’re playing me
I will use your face to shine my boots.” Beret rubbed his chin with
the back of his fist in a futile attempt to collect his thoughts. “You
know anybody in the plex with a serious mad-on for me?”
Murray gulped. “Nobody with any juice. Most gangers that
know you would just rather stay clear. You ain’t never flipped on
anybody, so I don’t know of any null that would have a beef.” He
paused in thought. “You been real busy lately. I’ve seen a couple
big jobs that have your signature on them. I imagine there’s a
couple of corps that would like to know who you are.”
“Any of them mad enough to bring in outside talent?”
Murray made a face. “I’ve heard Tomax maintains a special
security division in Europe, and they got some different ideas
86 ™ Adrian Drake

about corporate espionage than here in the States.” He paused. “I

was pretty sure you didn’t pull the big Tomax heist last month,
though. Too messy. Or at least too messy for your work.”
Beret couldn’t stand the little snitch, but he had to give him
credit. For a guy who made his living finding out stuff no one was
supposed to know, he did it well. Beret had been offered the Tomax
job, but had turned it down because he was already working on
something for Solly. The handler, who made the offer to Beret,
tipped him a grand to put him in contact with someone else able to
do the job. Viro was a skilled pro, but if things got hot, he tended to
shoot instead of running. Beret had owed him a favor for a tip he
got on some secondhand radio detonators.
“You’re right. Wasn’t me. Now, do I kick in your teeth for
digging instead of giving me some answers?”
Murray scrambled back as quickly as he could. “Look, Beret,
I’m telling you I don’t know nothing. Nobody I know of wants you
nailed. You’re clean, man. I’m telling you, if it’s anybody, it’s gotta
be a corp!”
Beret sighed. This was going nowhere. Time to change tactics.
“Zeropatch and Orobourus had a deal go down the other day. Data
for cash. What was Zeropatch shopping for?” He stretched out his
hand and popped the blades. “No fucking around. You play
straight, you make some cash. You try playing me, I’m gonna cut
your balls off. You feel that?”
Murray went white. “I gotta make a coupla calls.”

Prometheus Biotech made some of the most complex and highest

performance neural interface hardware. Most military grade
wetware used PromTech relays. It was considered by most to be
the best, but you paid for the name. Beret was all too familiar with
the overhead. Except for the few custom pieces, he was running
virtually a hundred percent PromTech wetware. The military
spared no expense in outfitting their strike teams. As he drove, he
went down his list of possible suspects. As the list got shorter and
shorter in his mind, PromTech kept coming back to the top of the
list.
Beret lifted his cell phone and began to dial. “Dammit.” Trevor
was dead. He couldn’t call him.
“Lover?”
Beret shook his head. “Nothing, babe. Just...nothing.”
“I miss him, too.” Her voice took on the calm, soothing tone
one would use with a wild animal. “We’re in this together, lover;
we’ll figure it out.”
 Null/Void ™ 87

“I know.” His head throbbed and he rubbed his temples. “I’m

just wondering who else has to get dead first.” He popped the
console, took out the white bottle, and poured out four aspirin.
Downing them without water, he grimaced at the aftertaste. “Find
a gas station, I need a drink.”
“You want a gas station or a bar?”
“Not the kind of drink I need.” He yawned and stretched, using
a knee to keep the car in its lane. “I need to keep my head clear.
Caffeine and sugar, that’s what I need right now.” He could go for a
smoke as well. The shit he went through for Lucy.
The Lincoln pulled into the station and parked. “We’re here.”
Beret looked around in surprise. He hadn’t realized Lucy had
taken control of the car. A little dazed, he got out. As he
approached the doors, a pair of kids came out. Whispering and
giggling as they walked by, it dawned on him a few steps into the
cold air conditioning of the Quick Stop that they were talking and
pointing at him. He grabbed two bottles and a handful of candy
bars out of the cooler.
“Just take them and go, man, I don’t want any trouble.” The
post teen goth attendant crouched so low behind the counter, only
his eyes and his mop of purple, blue, and black hair were visible.
“What the...?” Beret tossed a ten dollar chit on the counter.
“Keep it. Ganger wannabes...” He stepped out of the mart and
caught his reflection on the mirrored windows of his ride. He
looked like hell. He had several days’ worth of growth on his face.
His age showed in the gray intermingled with the black. His eyes
and cheeks looked sunken and hollow. His skin had an
unappealing pallor to it, reminiscent of a dead body. If he hadn’t
known better, he would have thought he was looking at a heroin
addict.
He got into the car and buckled in, connecting the jack to the
socket in his skull. “I can’t do this alone.” Waves of exhaustion
shook him. “Lucy, take me to Jojo’s.
“Beret, what do we need the kid for?” Lucy sounded
aggravated and Beret was really not in the mood to deal with it.
“We’ll go home, we’ll grab some sleep, maybe go to Sam’s
afterwards and have a little romp. Don’t worry, lover, I’ll fix you
up.”
“Lucy, I need you to focus for a minute. Right now I need a
techie that can break into Trevor’s shit and give me a better idea of
what I’m up against. If I’m going up against a corp, I gotta know
what the hell that data was.” He put the cold bottle of soda to his
forehead, hoping it would help relieve some of his headache.
88 ™ Adrian Drake

“There will be plenty of time to sleep once I’m dead. Baby, if you
love me, you’ll take me to Jojo’s. I’ll grab some winks in the car.”
“No worries, lover.” The Lincoln pulled out of the station and
headed south.

After three days of soaring temperatures, Jojo was frustrated and

pleased at the same time. Air conditioners, fans, refrigerators, and
an assortment of other electronic gear had been brought into her
fixit shop. Lower income families weren’t prone to paying their
exorbitant utility bills on time, so the power company wasn’t as
concerned about brown outs and poorly maintained current
regulators in impoverished areas. Slum lords and property
management companies wouldn’t put a dime more into the
buildings that had snuck past inspectors. Cheap wiring and low
quality breaker boxes wreaked havoc on older appliances.
Although the new tendency of consumerism was replace and
recycle, many of the families in Jojo’s neighborhood simply didn’t
have the funds. She had made quite a name for herself by being fair
in her pricing.
She had seen more business in the last three days than she had
in the previous six months. This was a good thing, as extra income
was always welcome, but it also meant that she hadn’t been able to
do anything with Trevor’s computers since she’d unloaded them.
Jojo had gotten very little sleep, but it was the only way she could
keep up with repairs.
It was raining, and the heat had finally broken. If she didn’t
have another rush of orders tomorrow, she’d be able to finish her
current workload by evening. She kept the store closed on
Sundays, so she could deal with Beret’s problem then. She hated
putting him on hold for another day, but if she wanted to be able to
see straight she’d have to get some sleep soon.
A fist pounded on the overhead garage doors. Jojo paused, her
hand slowly moving towards a large lug wrench. She jumped as the
fist pounded again. They were knocking!
“The garage is closed! Swipe your tower’s license in the reader
by the gate and put the car in the lot!” The hand pounded on the
door again. “We’re closed for the night! Go away!”
She gripped the wrench tightly and brought it to her chest
where she wrapped a second hand around the handle as the fist
pounded again. “The cops may not come out here, but I have
private security on retainer! The people I hired don’t have a
problem hurting people!”
 Null/Void ™ 89

The man’s voice was hoarse and ragged. She could barely hear
him over the hum of her five security robots that had all come to
investigate the noise. “C’mon, Jojo, open the fuckin’ door.” Beret’s
speech was labored and it seemed at every couple of words he had
to catch his breath. “I’m not leaving my wheels in the street
overnight.”
“Beret?” Jojo undid both bolts and the latch of the overhead
door. She hit the green button on the panel next to the door and it
retracted. “Holy shit. You’re a mess.”
Beret was soaked to the bone, unshaven and unkempt. He was
ill and his face showed it. He turned and tried to point.
“My...car...”
Jojo slung one of Beret’s arms over her shoulders and began
moving him forcibly up the stairs. “Screw your car, I’ll move it
later. Got to get you dried off and into bed.”
Jojo turned to her robots. “Directive 5, override, cease patrol.
Units one and two, maintain security on black sedan in front of
premises. Units three, four, and five, maintain security on open
door. Allow no entry by unapproved individuals. Confirm.” All five
robots flashed a small green LED in acknowledgment.
She led Beret to the bathroom and ushered him inside, then
slid him out of his jacket and hung it on the door. “I doubt I have
anything that is actually your size, but I’ve got a pair of very baggy
sweatpants that should be able to stretch to accommodate you.”
Jojo grabbed a bath sheet off the rack and began toweling off
his head. “C’mon, get out of your shirt and pants and start toweling
yourself off. I’ll go get those sweatpants for you.” By the time she
returned, his clothing was strewn on the floor and Beret sat on the
lip of the sink with the towel wrapped around his waist.
“Jojo...I...”
“Right now, I don’t care. Put these on.” Jojo handed him the
sweatpants. She touched his hand and was shocked at how warm it
was. She quickly opened the medicine cabinet, pulled out the
thermometer, put the sensor to his ear, and pressed the read
button. “A hundred and one. Not good.”
Beret didn’t argue as she gave him three Tylenol. Without
another word, she put him to bed. He gripped her hand and their
eyes met. The “thank you” was understood.

Beret opened his eyes. He felt weak, drained. The light that filtered
through the windows was orange and dim, but he wasn’t certain
whether it was dawn or dusk. What he was certain of was that the
inside of a moldy shoe would taste better than his mouth did at the
90 ™ Adrian Drake

moment. He blinked a few times and woke Lucy from standby

mode.
“Hey, lover, you’re awake.”
“Give me vitals”
There was a pause as Lucy tapped into his biomonitor.
“Temperature is back to normal, pulse and blood pressure are
both up a little, red count is low and white count is still high, but
all vitals seem to be coming back to within norms. Sleeping for
twenty hours will do that for you.”
“Twenty?”
“Yeah, baby. It’s nearly nine.”
Beret stretched and could feel pops along the length of his
spine. As he rose from the bed, the aches in his legs and back made
him feel far older than he had in years. His stomach grumbled and
he was gripped with a sudden gnawing hunger. Padding across the
darkening room, he opened the door into an unlit hallway and
heard faint strains of calm, orchestral music.
He walked down the hallway, following the sound of the music
to a room where light streamed from under a closed door, but
nobody answered his knock. The music must have been too loud.
He opened the door and poked his head in.
Jojo sat in the tub, bubbles and foam from the jets obscuring
her from the waist down. She was leaned back, arching herself in a
corner. Her head rested on a rolled towel on the edge of the tub,
eyes closed. Her firm breasts jutted at the ceiling, and her arms
spread wide on the lip of the tub.
“Beret!”
He quickly backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door. A
piercing, startled shriek was clearly audible over the music.
“Sorry!” Beret called through the door, hoping she heard him.
The music abruptly stopped and there was a bit of scuffling in
the room. When the bathroom door opened, Jojo was wrapped in a
thick terrycloth robe. “You’re up! You feeling better? Hungry?”
“I...” He fumbled for words, the image of her bare, wet,
alabaster body still fresh in his mind. “Um...yeah.”
“Good. I have some fishsticks I was going to heat up. I can
whip us up some peas and carrots to go with them. I think I have
some leftover potato fritters from breakfast we can have, too.” Jojo
raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response.
“Sorry about that...in your bath...I...I didn’t mean to startle
you.” He found his eyes wandering to where the bathrobe closed
over itself, oddly hoping it would open further. Beret shook his
 Null/Void ™ 91

head, still feeling cobwebs. “Sorry. I guess I’m up, but I’m still not
all here. I just barged into your bathroom. It was rude of me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She smirked, trying to make light of
the situation. “It’s not like you haven’t seen a naked woman before.
It’s not like you stood there staring at me.”
“Bitch would have liked it if you had. Her eyes dilated as she
said it.”
“Yeah...well.” He wondered if she would like it. Lucy had no
reason to lie. Troubled by guilt over his excitement, he shrugged
noncommittally. “I gotta wash up.” He thumbed at the bathroom
door.
Jojo nodded. “When you’re done, just follow the smell of food.
I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She left him and Beret padded over to the sink, filled his hands
with warm water and splashed it on his face, then ran his wet
hands over his scalp. Rivulets of water ran down his temples and
beaded on the growth covering his chin. He rubbed it,
uncomfortable with how long it had grown.
“You liked that, didn’t you? You think I can’t tell you were
totally into that? You know, it’s cruel...”
Beret sighed. “Lucy, stop it. I don’t want to argue.”
“Why don’t you just unslot me?” Her voice cracked. “You can
do and feel whatever you want and I won’t have to be tortured by
it. You already know it’s an easy way to shut me up.”
Beret winced. “That’s low. You know it’s not like that.”
“Then how is it, Beret?”
“Can we not do this now?” He rolled his head back and
stretched his neck. “Lucy, I love you. You know that. You’re the
only woman for me.”
“Really?” Lucy sniffed pitifully. “You mean it?”
“Of course I do, babe. You, my love, are the only woman for
me.” He took a deep calming breath. “I can’t help it that she’s
attractive. Think about it. If you had been here with me, you would
have tried to talk our way into the tub with her.”
Lucy gave a quiet, subdued laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”
“There’s my girl.” He smiled at the mirror, knowing she could
only see the world through his eyes. “I promise, as soon as this is
all blown over, I’ll get some major alone time for the two of us,
okay?”
The mirth returned to her voice. “I’m gonna hold you to that,
lover.”
92 ™ Adrian Drake

Beret smiled as he walked into the kitchen. “Hell of a place ya got

here. Real nice. I like what you did with the bathroom.”
“It’s nothing fancy but it adds a touch of civility. Trust me, this
neighborhood needs it.” Jojo lifted the platter out of the
microwave. “Grab a seat. Food will be done in a sec.” She looked at
him in surprise. “You shaved?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I got a good look at myself in the mirror and
realized how bad I looked.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, right. Even for this neighborhood I probably brought
the property values down a few bucks. If they saw me come in, your
neighbors will think you’re housing homeless people in here.
Sorry, I used up one of your razors.”
She shook her head. “No big deal.”
“My granddad always used to say no matter how dead ya felt,
shaving would make a new man out of ya. I think he was right. I
feel a million times better.”
“Good. I hope you’re hungry. I hate leftovers and I don’t want
this stuff to go to waste.” Jojo set the plate on the table in front of
him. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Actually, some water would be perfect. I figure it’s the safest.”
“If you want, I have some cranberry juice. I find that it does
wonders for me when I’m trying to clear out my system after being
sick, especially from exhaustion.”
“You sure it was exhaustion and not something contagious?”
Jojo sat down and started on her own plate of food. “It’s not
like I haven’t worked myself to that point about a dozen times.
Hell, it was par for the course when I was still modeling. I never
needed a diet, really. My schedule never gave me the time to be
healthy. It’s one of the big reasons I quit — I started falling apart at
the seams. Not a pretty sight, I tell you. One solid night of sleep
and a couple days of taking it easy, you’ll be back to your regular
cheery self.”
Beret looked up in surprise. “Is that a jab?”
Jojo smiled and popped a bite of fishstick in her mouth. “I
don’t know you well enough to take a real shot at you, besides,
you’re ill. It wouldn’t be very sporting of me.”
Beret shook his head with a grimace. “I see how it is. Pretty on
the outside but got a mean streak that goes bone deep.”
“You think that’s mean, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes
in the modeling world. Girls there would have eaten you alive and
left bits barely big enough for the crows. You want to talk about
ruthless, models are completely heartless. You show even a
 Null/Void ™ 93

glimmer of weakness and you’re done for. I’ve seen small children
disappear after straying too close. You raise a kid all their life
telling them how pretty, special, and unique they are, and then
stick them in a room of twenty clones of the same look, and the
claws come out.”
“Seems like you turned out all right.” He took a couple of bites
of his food. “I mean, you’re still wrong for messing with a large
black man in a foul mood ’cause he’s sick,” Beret shrugged
playfully, “but then again, being smart doesn’t mean ya got sense.”
Jojo scrunched up her nose and threw half a fishstick across
the table. They laughed for a few moments. Beret studied her face
and watched as her thoughts turned introspective. “I did all right
because I never let my looks define who I was. I modeled because it
made my family happy.”
She set down her fork and knife and her eyes met his. “As long
as I modeled, my parents let me pursue whatever else I wanted.
There was no passion in it for me; it was just something I did. I
think in a lot of ways, that’s what let me be so free when I did it.
Let’s be honest, that shows up in pictures.”
Jojo took a sip of her water. “Photographers used to love
working with me, mostly because I didn’t care.” She mimicked
posing. “You didn’t like the light in that one? Okay, take it again. A
little more to the left? Sure. Another one but a bit more playful?
Sure, whatever. I didn’t really care what ads I was doing or what
magazine cover I was on, or even whose new fashions I was
showing. I figured the photographer was just trying to do his job
and he was gonna make me look as good as he could. No need for
drama. That prima donna crap always got on my nerves. I suppose
that’s why there are still people in the industry who want me to
come back. I just can’t do it anymore. I love machines. I always
have.”
Jojo smiled as a memory bubbled to the surface. “I remember
my dad freaking out one time when he walked into my room. I
must have been eight or nine. I bugged my uncle for a whole year,
so for Hanukah he got me a set of jeweler’s tools. You know, the
kind they use on watches and clocks?” Beret nodded, and she
sighed as if the memory comforted her. “My father had a pocket
watch that had been in the family for generations. It had been a
gift from Jacob Schiff,” she explained and Beret shrugged. “He was
some big name in railroads like two hundred years ago, and
someone in my family was a close business associate. Anyway, the
watch has been in my family all this time and it’s more of an
heirloom than anything else at this point. Nobody knew when it
94 ™ Adrian Drake

had stopped working. Actually nobody ever remembered it

working. It was a real pretty gold conductor’s watch. Dad came
into my room and I had this towel laid out on my desk and the
watch completely disassembled. I downloaded this manual on
watch repair that was written in the 1950s and I was trying to put it
all together.”
Her laughter was light, happy. “I swear I thought the top of my
dad’s head was going to explode like a volcano. He just flipped out.
My mom came in and tried to usher him out of the room, all the
while threatening me with grounding and losing my allowance and
whatever else freaks out a little kid. The whole time they were
screaming at me, I remember the only thing running through my
head was me wanting them to leave so I could figure out how to
fabricate the gear that had been broken. I ended up taking apart
every windup toy I owned until I found the perfect match. I handed
it back to my dad the next day and told him to open it.” Her eyes
clouded. “He pushed the button and the tiny musical chimes
played for probably the first time in a hundred years. He and my
mom both nearly fainted and wanted to know where I had taken it
to be fixed. It took me almost an hour to get them to believe that I
had done it. Even after all of that, after everything, Dad still
wanted to know what had possessed me to do such a thing.”
Beret leaned forward, hanging on her every word. “What did
you tell him?”
A sad smile crept across Jojo’s face. “It was Father’s Day. I
couldn’t think of a better gift.” Jojo pursed her lips and sighed.
“They just looked at me like I was some kind of freak. We were
rich. I was already modeling. They didn’t get it. Skilled or not, to
them a laborer was still a second class citizen. Tools were
something servants used. They just never understood.
“Up to that point, like most kids, I idolized my parents.” She
shrugged and started eating her potato fritters. “How do you
explain to somebody that has had their entire life handed to them
on a gilded platter that you don’t want to be an international
fashion model anymore because you’d rather work as a grease
monkey? They never understood, they never will. As long as I did
my duty, though, as long as I kept up the façade, I was free to
pursue my ‘hobbies’, as long as they didn’t interfere. While other
models were reading Cosmo and Vogue, I was reading Popular
Mechanics and Wired. They would hire a masseuse and a stylist,
and I had my agent finding me local technical colleges and getting
me enrolled in six week crash courses. Once I was able to qualify
for multiple diplomas and certificates, I figured it was time to just
 Null/Void ™ 95

make as much money as I could as quickly as I could and then cut

ties. My dad figured if he cut me off from my family trust fund, I’d
have no choice but to come back home. I think he was hurt when he
realized that I never tried to access it. Until I started doing illegal
work, I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to make it.”
“Solly’s okay with all of this, even though your parents aren’t?”
Beret smiled knowingly. “I mean, I know Solly is shrewd, but
helping you out has got to put him on the outs with the family,
too.”
Jojo’s cheeks flushed pink for a moment. “Until I ran off,
Uncle Solly was the black sheep of the family. Nobody could ever
explain why, but Solly always had a way of pushing the boundaries.
In a family of lawyers, big business, and high finance, everyone
knew he was doing business with ‘shady characters’.” She held up
her hands and punctuated those words for Beret. “In a family of
clean haircuts, white shirts, and wingtips, he’d show up with his
hair slicked back in a ponytail wearing a black shirt, tie, and coat.
He had a corner office like the rest of them, but there was
something distinctly unwholesome with his work.”
She smiled. “He keeps an eye on me. If I asked him for a
handout he’d give it to me, but I think we understand each other.
He still meddles and I’m sure he cuts me a much better deal than
he would any other wrench. I can live with that. I may need to do
this on my own, but I still need to eat.”
Beret chuckled and flung the fishstick back at her.
“Remember, null work is not against the law, getting caught is. I
get why you do what you do. Really. Believe it or not, that need to
be what you are and who you are, if for no other reason than to be
true to yourself, makes you as much of a null as I am. You’re not as
much of a newb as I thought you were.”
Chapter 13

“So where are we at with this?” Beret peered over Jojo’s shoulder.
“What have ya got figured out so far?”
Jojo grimaced. “Actually, not a lot. I’ve been so swamped with
the shop, I really haven’t been able to dedicate the time to this I’d
like. Mostly, I’ve just been able to salvage components. With all the
brown-outs lately, I’ve been too busy taking care of my neighbors.”
He sighed. “Then you need to put aside the other stuff and
make this your top priority.”
“I can’t do that, Beret. This neighborhood counts on me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m countin’ on you right now.” He held up his
hands to emphasize his words. “And right now, I need you to focus
on this.”
“I’ve got to be honest: these people pay my day-to-day bills. I
can’t afford to ignore them. I get it. I understand this is important
to you, but these people are important to me.” Jojo watched Beret’s
face twist into an expression of anger and frustration.
“All right. You gotta take care of these people. Fine. How much
work do you have to do? I mean time wise, what are we talking?”
“Ten, maybe twelve hours.”
“You got ten,” Beret dropped a handful of cash on the
workbench, “then you’re off of their clock and onto mine.”
“This isn’t about money.”
“You wanted into the big leagues, sweetheart. It’s all about
money. That’s all this business is about. Sorry to break it to ya, but
that bleeding heart crap doesn’t pay the bills, doesn’t keep you fed,
and doesn’t get the job done. If you can’t get the job done, I’ll get
someone else. If you wanna be a pro, this is what it takes. Right
now you need to figure out what’s more important.”
“That’s not really a fair decision you’re asking me to make.”
Jojo bit her tongue against screaming, yelling, and raging at him,
at the sheer audacity that he just thought he could come in and tell
her how to run her life. Who the hell did he think he was?
“You want to be mad at me, fine, be mad at me. Not to be a
dick, but I really don’t give a shit. I don’t have time for it. If the guy
that killed Trevor was a real pro, he knows I’m looking for him. If
he knows I’m looking for him, then there is only so much time
before everything turns cold. Once that happens, we’ll never find
him. I’m not going to let that happen. I respect you and the work
 Null/Void ™ 97

you do, but if you can’t do this then I will get someone who can.
Your call.”
“Fine, but don’t ever ask me to make that decision again. Next
time, you’ll be out on your ass looking for a new wrench.”
“Solly told ya this wasn’t gonna be an easy life, didn’t he? He
told ya you’d have to make decisions that would make you question
your principles, didn’t he? Life’s not a black and white thing. Yeah,
it’d be nice if it was that easy all the time, but that’s not the way it
works.”
“I just don’t want you coming in here thinking your money can
buy you anything you want. I don’t give a damn if you think that’s
how the world works. You need to figure this out before whoever
did this skips town? Fine, I got that, but let me make this clear.
You don’t own me, you haven’t bought me, and I don’t drop my life
at your whim. This needs to get done and I’ll get it done, but don’t
even begin to think that you yell jump and drop a fat stack of cash,
and suddenly you’re in charge. That’s not the way this works in my
shop. If you can’t handle that, you have another option.” Jojo
pointed behind herself. “There’s the door. I certainly hope we
understand each other.”
Beret smiled. “Hard core, very nice. I was wondering how far
you’d let me push you. Glad we have that established. Now we can
get down to business.” He smirked at her. “I never have a problem
with someone speaking their mind. You don’t speak up, I don’t
know you got something to say. You’re right. I’ll call the shots
unless someone speaks up. If you’re not complaining, your
objections can’t be all that serious.”
He nudged the stack of money towards her. “Finish up your
people’s stuff and tell them you’re closing shop for a couple of
days. Then I want you dedicated to this. I know the computers are
fucked up; I want you to unfuck what you can. Get whatever data
you can salvage.”
Jojo eyed Beret with a bit of suspicion. “That’s an order?”
“No, it’s a request, but I was serious about what I said before.
If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”
Jojo nodded as she slid Trevor’s computer to the side. She
reached under the bench and grabbed a box marked “refrigeration
compressor” and started unpacking it. “I made some egg salad if
you’re hungry. If not, I suggest you keep out of my way or I’ll put
you to work.”
Beret stood up, straightened his hat, and put on his
sunglasses. “I got biz. You got my cell. Call me.”
98 ™ Adrian Drake

She wanted to yell at him as he walked out of the shop. She

wanted to throw something heavy at him. If this was the way pros
did things, she wasn’t sure the money was worth the hassle.

Beret half-opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. The room’s
tenant had tried to cover up the dingy sound tiles by hanging
swaths of gauzy fabric. He assumed she had been trying to capture
an ethereal feeling in the room to add to the fantasy, but the white
gauze had yellowed from the frequent smoking of marijuana. The
smell clung to everything in the room and the smoke-clogged
cobwebs gave the room a grimy feeling.
Lucy returned from the bathroom, still naked. She plopped
onto the bed and nestled into his right side, wrapping his arm
around her. She kissed his chest and then nipped, causing his chest
to rise, but the expression on his face never changed. “You’re
distracted, lover.”
He turned to Lucy. Up close and in his face, he didn’t see the
differences, but the trancer Sam had provided was the completely
wrong body type. The legs were too long, the waist too narrow, the
chest too petite. Even the hands were wrong. Lucy had the muscled
broad hands and long fingers of a piano player. These hands were
small and dainty. “Sorry, babe.” Beret turned back to the ceiling.
“Just tired, and things are getting to me.”
She snuggled tighter against his shoulder and raked her nails
lightly across his abdomen. “Lover, what are you thinking about?
Please tell me she is not still bugging you. Baby, she’s not worth
this hassle. Let’s just get a new wrench and be done with it.”
Beret’s stomach knotted. He had been thinking about Jojo, if
only subconsciously. Although her looks weren’t anything like Jojo
or Lucy’s, the trancer’s body type was far closer to Jojo’s. Luckily,
Lucy hadn’t noticed. “Baby, it’s not her. She’s a good wrench...no, a
great wrench. I think she and I are past the rough parts.” He kissed
Lucy’s shoulder and sighed.
“This is about what Solly said, isn’t it?”
He turned into Lucy and kissed her on the neck. Beret didn’t
want to get into this. “Baby—”
Lucy cut him off. “What? Are you buying what he said? I can’t
believe you’d let him shove you around.”
He pressed his mouth hard to hers and cupped his hand over a
breast. The tension left her voice and posture quickly, and she
began to emit low gasps of pleasure. Beret let her settle back in the
crook of his arm before he spoke again. “Maxie hooked me up with
Solly. If it wasn’t for Solly, I wouldn’t have done half the work I’ve
 Null/Void ™ 99

done, and I wouldn’t have the rep I do. He’s been my biggest
supporter and promoter. He keeps the big jobs for me.”
“And he’s taking your years of loyalty to him and using them
against you.” Lucy raised herself up on her hands, holding her face
directly above his. “Unless you’re agreeing with him.”
“Of course I don’t agree with him.” Except I know he’s right.
“Baby, I love you. I just want us to be happy together.” Even
though you’re dead. “I can’t imagine myself without you, whether
it’s like this or in my head.” Because somehow I’ve entered my
own private hell, Beret’s inner voice raged at him. He couldn’t
admit it out loud, not to Lucy. If he said it aloud, then Solly would
be right, and he’d be no better than the junkies he looked down on.
Lucy got up from the bed and stood in front of the mirror
hanging on the door of the bathroom. “She was smoking weed just
before we came in the room. I can still taste it on her tongue. She
hates this. You can tell. She gave the room atmosphere, but there’s
none of her personality here. I’m betting if she wasn’t afraid, she’d
just kill herself. It’s kind of sad.”
Lucy reached up and turned off the image transmitter. Beret
was taken aback. She had never broken the illusion before. The
girl’s hair was cut in uneven strands that were dyed a kaleidoscope
of neon colors. Dark makeup ringed her luminous blue eyes. Her
complexion was pale, not like Jojo’s pigmentless skin, but more
like a creature of the night that did her best not to see the sun.
“Let’s steal her. Nobody would miss her.” Lucy closed her eyes
and caressed her nipples until they got hard. “What do you say,
Beret? Think you could get used to fucking this?”
She ran a hand down her stomach until her fingertips teased at
her groin. Lucy touched herself and a low moan escaped her lips.
Her eyes opened again and she appraised Beret hungrily.
“C’mon, Beret. We’ll steal her, go back to your place, and fuck
until the sun comes up like we used to. You know, like people.” Her
jaw shuddered as she pleasured herself faster. “We’ll get the eyes
replaced so I’ll never be traced back to her. You’ll have me back as
your wrench and maybe we can even have that threesome in the
tub.” She turned around, leaned on the mirror, and bent forward,
the whole while bringing herself closer to ecstasy.
“C’mon, Beret. Come over here and make her me.” Lucy fell to
her knees, her face and chest on the floor, one hand rubbing and
tugging at a breast, the other furiously working between her legs.
“Come here, fuck me and we’ll leave.”
Lucy had masturbated for his viewing pleasure before. Usually
it was a test to see how long she could go before either she attacked
100 ™ Adrian Drake

him or he attacked her. But this wasn’t Lucy. She was talking about
stealing a body, stealing somebody’s life. While there was a level of
excitement to the idea, the reality that an innocent girl would be
trapped in an electronically-induced coma so that his dead
girlfriend could live again made him sick. It would be like
subjecting a person to a lifetime of slavery. It scared him that he
even considered it. Murdering somebody would be more merciful.
“Lucy.” He watched dispassionately as her hips ground in the
air and Lucy cried out at her own touch. “Lucy!”
Lucy cried out again in orgasm and rolled over onto her back
as she tried to catch her breath. “You know it would have been a lot
easier if you’d joined in.” She licked her lips “If you had gotten
involved, I’m sure I’d have been a lot louder, too.”
Beret got up and started getting dressed. “Get up and get her
dressed.”
Still out of breath, Lucy sucked on a finger, savoring it. “We’re
going? I wonder what she has for real clothes.”
Beret’s jaw set. “You and I are leaving. She’s staying.”
“But...” Lucy clambered to her feet and crossed the room to
him, “this is what we want.”
Beret grabbed a handful of hair at the back of Lucy’s head and
kissed her forcefully. He shoved her away roughly, turned, and
began dressing again. “I’d be a liar to say I hadn’t considered it,
but we can’t. That would prove Solly right. That’d make it sick.” He
buckled his belt and started lacing up his boots. “Get her dressed
and eject.” Lucy started to say something, but he raised a hand and
cut her off. “Not a fuckin’ word. Get dressed and eject. We’re
leaving.”
Beret threw a handful of credchits on the bed to cover his time,
and then threw in an extra five hundred. He watched Lucy enter
the bathroom and his thoughts turned inward. That girl doesn’t
know how lucky she is. He took a deep breath and shivered as if he
was cold. If Lucy had asked him another time, he didn’t know if he
would have had the strength to say no.

Jojo rubbed her eyes hard. She had never gotten a chance to meet
Trevor and now she was fairly certain if she had, she’d have beaten
him to within an inch of his life. The level of security he
maintained on his personal files went beyond anal and straight to
ridiculous. The redundant encryption codes brought the meaning
of paranoia to a whole new level. She grudgingly had to admit he
was something of a genius, as well…bug nuts insane, but a genius.
 Null/Void ™ 101

It also appeared that he was incredibly meticulous. Virtually

everything Trevor did, everything he figured out, everything he
knew, he imputed. It made for a lot to slog through, but also gave
Jojo a lot to work with when she started decrypting his data.
Apparently he did a lot of work with Beret, because he had a
tremendous amount of data on the null. Through the little she had
been able to decrypt so far, she had gathered that the two were
close. There was an ease in the manner in which he spoke about
Beret, often using terms one reserved for either the best of friends
or the worst of enemies.
There was a large portion of his database that contained
references to Lucy. According to what was there, Lucy had been
one hell of a wrench herself. Looking at different personal logs,
Jojo could see why Beret had loved Lucy. She was the perfect
match for his line of work — passionate and strong willed. The
picture of Lucy shocked her. Jojo didn’t know what she had been
expecting, but the dark eyed Hispanic beauty was certainly not it.
Jojo chuckled. Apparently she and Beret had the same taste in
women.
Jojo began cycling through the data files again. She wasn’t
sure what she was looking for, but she was hoping it would just
jump off the screen at her. “Bingo!”
There it was — wetware bioreadings with Beret’s name on
them, less than a week old. It looked as if the last time they had
been accessed was the day Trevor had been killed. That was a
coincidence she was uncomfortable with. On TV, the only time
people died after looking at medical records was when they saw
something they weren’t supposed to see.
Jojo grabbed herself another cup of coffee and began reading.
She wasn’t big on medical terminology, but Trevor had highlighted
the problems he saw. She smiled and nodded. She may’ve not been
the multifaceted genius Trevor was, but she knew people, and in
this case, she knew someone she could trust to translate the charts.

Solly turned off the interstate. Unlike typical corporate executives,

he didn’t consider driving an inconvenience. More often than not,
it was his last few minutes of private time for the day. He
appreciated the fact that his wife, Karen, was an intelligent
woman, certainly more than a showpiece wife, but there were times
that he simply wasn’t up for an intelligent conversation. Today had
not been exceptionally stressful, so a little banter before bed
wasn’t a bad thing. Karen’s job at the museum kept her in contact
with some pretty interesting people. He didn’t bother hiding the
102 ™ Adrian Drake

role he played for the company; that was part of the respect he had
for his wife. On the other hand, her mother had raised no fool and
he recognized that Karen’s desire to learn target shooting was a
way to protect her family.
He waved to the guard at the gate of the cul-de-sac as he
slowed the car. “Evening, Roger. How are things tonight?”
“Just fine, Mr. Fleischmann.” The guard tipped his hat. “Nice
and quiet. Just like you and your neighbors like it.” The heavily
muscled man smiled warmly.
Solly smiled back. He had run extensive checks on Roger when
the neighborhood organization decided to hire an around-the-
clock security detail. Most of the residents were upper middle
management and for them, an armed detail watching their homes
was the easiest form of job security. Solly didn’t need it, but it was
an effective way of hiding that he worked with nulls. “Keep up the
good work, and tell Peterson that if I find him asleep instead of
driving around again, he won’t need to file for a transfer; I’ll shoot
him myself.”
The guard flipped the switch and the wrought iron gates
opened. “No problem, Mr. Fleischmann. I’ll make sure to mention
it to the shift supervisor, as well.”
“You do that.” Solly smiled with a bit of grim satisfaction as he
drove through and the gate closed behind him. Peterson was far
too smart for his own good, asking way too many questions about
the people who lived on Bernadette Drive. He might just be a nosy
idiot, but it was far more likely he was working for a null or a corp,
trying to dig dirt. Solly didn’t have time for either in his
neighborhood. He cursed as he pulled into his driveway; Karen had
parked a little wide and he couldn’t get into the garage. He quickly
checked the weather forecast. Dammit. Heavy rain was expected
and he had just gotten the Beemer washed. Solly looked skyward as
he got out of the car. He hated the rain, always had. It was an
irrational, silly hatred, but nonetheless it was not one he could
deny. It always seemed like nothing good ever happened on a rainy
day.
Solly pulled the keys from his pocket and reached for the front
door, but it swung open at his touch. Every alarm in Solly’s mind
went off. Karen knew better. He turned back and looked at Karen’s
Mercedes. The trunk was slightly open. Maybe she was bringing in
groceries. Solly turned back to look into the house. He heard no
movement and the lights were all off. He pulled his Beretta and
eased into the house cautiously. “Karen, honey, I’m home. Did you
get the milk?”
 Null/Void ™ 103

His wife was a clever woman and had devised a code phrase for
them to use should they ever need it. If they had an intruder, it
would only look like Solly had noticed the groceries. Neither Solly
nor Karen cared for milk so it was a rather common thing that
never came into their house. If there wasn’t anything wrong, she
would know not to be worried or surprised by the sight of her
husband’s gun. For a woman who taught art, she could be terribly
ingenious.
Unfortunately, she didn’t answer. He released the safety on his
pistol as he made his way quietly through the living room and
headed for the kitchen. From the hall he could see the plastic bags
lying in the middle of the floor. She had bought groceries. Where
was she?
Solly stepped the rest of the way into the kitchen. In a
shootist’s crouch, he crept in step by step. He didn’t know if it was
a deal gone wrong or an unsatisfied customer, but things were not
going down to his approval. Solly tried to make his voice as
nonchalant as possible. “Karen, honey, where are you? Did we blow
a fuse?”
There was an immediate sound of thrashing on the other side
of the counter. Karen was face down, her wrists and ankles bound
behind her with an electrical cord. The attacker had mummified
her head in duct tape; her nostrils and the top of her head were the
only parts untouched. He immediately leapt to grab the kitchen
phone to alert the cul-de-sac security. There was a very quiet pop
and a rushing sound, and Solly’s outstretched hand exploded in a
mass of blood, twisted sinew, and broken bones as the laser dot on
his palm was followed by three bullets. He raised his other arm to
bring his pistol to bear into the darkened hallway and three more
rounds caught him in the shoulder. The impact sent Solly crashing
into the cabinets.
Solly groaned. The suitcoat had been armored, but against
military grade hardware it was no better than a t-shirt. He could
hear Karen whimpering on the other side of the counter. Peering
down the hallway, the last glimmer of sunset highlighted the
silhouette of a CZ Israeli. Solly barked a laugh. “If you’re here to
kill me, get it over with. Just leave her alone. She’s not part of
this.”
“I’m only here for you, Solomon.” The Israeli’s muzzle
exploded with a staccato burst of fire. The assassin walked over
and kicked over Solly’s lifeless corpse with a toe. He then walked
around the counter and grabbed the handful of hair exposed on the
top of Karen’s head. “As long as I got nothing better to do, why
104 ™ Adrian Drake

don’t you and I have a little fun?” Lifting her by the knotted cord,
he dragged her down into the basement where no one would hear
her scream.
 Chapter 14

Beret startled awake. It took him a moment to get his bearings. His
head pounded and the half-empty liter of vodka on the passenger
floorboard told him why. He always hated himself the morning
after a heavy bender, but as stressed as he was these days, it
seemed by the time he realized he was at his limit, he was already
past it. At least he’d had the sense to pull over before he went
crashing into anybody. Beret blinked a few times and brought Lucy
online.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Enough with the cutesy shit, where the hell am I?”
“Michigan, near the Loop. You were driving erratically and the
vodka was seriously impairing you.”
“Why didn’t you just switch on the car AI and have it take us
home?”
“You didn’t jack in, lover.”
“Then why didn’t ya just drive us home?”
Lucy sighed in exasperation. “You said before you didn’t like
the feeling of me taking over. The only reason I was able to nudge
your hands enough to pull us over was because there was an
honest threat of you crashing. I can’t let you get killed. It wasn’t
as easy as it sounds, either. You know what it’s like to convince a
tactical interface that I need you to move your hands in a non
combative way to fend off an attack none of its sensors can see?
It’s a goddamned pain in the ass, let me tell ya.”
Beret plugged the neurocable in and started the car. “I need a
shower. Lucy, get me back to my place.” His cellphone rang and his
head throbbed as if it was about to burst. “Beret. What?”
“Beret, it’s Jojo.” He could tell she was exhausted, but there
was a tone of victory to her voice. “It took all night, but I cracked
all four of his primary encryption keys. A friend of mine from
Europe is actually looking over the medical logs to figure out what
the heck it’s all about. I’m running some decryption protocols right
now. It’s hard to believe the amount of crap this guy had on his
drives. I don’t even want to try to guess how much of it is illegal.”
“Keep in mind, some of it may be volatile as well. He used to
throw the words ‘data bomb’ around a lot.”
“No worries. I wouldn’t put his hardware near anything of
mine that could be damaged. Thanks for the warning, though. So,
where’d you end up last night?”
106 ™ Adrian Drake

Lucy giggled. “You could always tell her the truth. I’d love to
hear how she reacts to that.”
“Lucy, hush!”
Jojo’s end went very quiet. “Oh, you two are back at it, I see.”
“Jojo, that’s not the way it is.”
“It’s not?”
“I mean...” Beret stammered. “I mean I did some work chasing
down some leads last night, too.”
“You put far more energy into chasing my tail.”
Beret growled, “Lucy, you’re not fucking helping.”
“Beret, it’s not that big a deal. It’s none of my business, right?”
Beret could hear the shrouded anger in her voice.
“Hey, she’s learning.”
Between Jojo’s anger and Lucy’s delight in exacerbating the
situation, Beret was beginning to wonder why he ever dealt with
women. Beret tried to shut Lucy out of his mind long enough to
think. “Look, I’ve got to grab a shower and then I’m coming over.”
“Whatever. Bring lunch, I’m hungry. No soy.” She abruptly
hung up the phone.
“Dammit, Lucy. What the hell is your problem?”
“Damn, she has it bad for you. I bet her just thinking about
you and me knocking it is making her hot. You probably shouldn’t
get over there too quickly or we’ll walk in on her rubbing one out.”
“Damn, woman, do you think of anything other than sex
lately?”
“It’s not my fault you’re so good at it you keep me begging for
more. If it were possible, you’d be giving it to me right now.” A sly
tang slid into Lucy’s voice. “You know, she’s probably not
expecting us for a while.”
Beret cleared his throat. “You need to stop. I’m not
complaining, but you’re not exactly a cheap date.”
“I’m telling ya, we should have just stolen her.”
Beret grabbed the wheel with both hands. “Disengage
autopilot!” He jerked the car to the curb and killed the engine.
“That shit’s not funny! I don’t mind some of the kinky shit you get
into, I mean it’s a big reason it’s still so good between us, but that
shit’s just wrong. I’m not kidding, Lucy, don’t joke about that shit
anymore. It’s sick.”
Lucy’s voice was very quiet. “Sorry, lover. I didn’t think—”
“Damn straight you didn’t.”
“Baby, I didn’t mean anything serious by it. I just love you and
I need you so bad sometimes. It’s like, I’m trapped here.
 Null/Void ™ 107

Sometimes it just kills me not to be there with you. I miss us being

us.”
“I miss us being us, too.” Beret sighed deeply. “There’s times I
got to wonder if keeping you around like this isn’t more cruel than
letting you go. Sometimes I wonder if Solly is right, if it would be
more humane to just unslot you.”
“Fuck Solly! Don’t you talk like that! You want to talk about
shit not being funny? I may miss being normal, I may miss us
being normal, but I’m not even close to ready to fade into oblivion.
Don’t you ever talk like that!”
Beret was taken aback by the panic in Lucy’s voice. “Babe, I’m
just trying to think of what’s best for you as well as for me.”
“You want what is best for me? Take me to Sam’s and make me
scream your name. Tell me you love me. Make me scream until the
neighbors complain. That’s what’s best for me. If you don’t have
time for that now, fine. We got work to do. You owe me. I know I’m
dead, but when I’m with you, you make me feel alive again.”
“If I could right now, babe, I would. I’ll make it up to you. We
got stuff to do, but I will make it up to you later tonight.” Beret
leaned back in his seat. “Autopilot engage. C’mon, babe, take us
home.”
The car pulled into traffic and beeped at a kid on a cycle,
warning him out of their lane. “You got it, lover.”

Jojo sat down in front of her terminal. The decryption matrix was
doing its job but it still needed prodding from time to time. She
had to credit Trevor. He made certain no one could figure him out
without a good logic program, but a hacker still needed skills of
their own.
All the most recent files that she had been able to decrypt
appeared to be medical in nature. Trevor had been running
simulations. She assumed they had been of Beret. She didn’t know
what half of it was, but Beret had a tremendous amount of
wetware. She understood that there was a system conflict between
a few of the pieces, but how that affected a human body, she could
not grasp. Luckily, Sergei still had a thing for her. He might be a
plastic surgeon, but that still made him a doctor.
She picked up one of the hard drives she had extracted and
looked at it mournfully. A bullet had entered it from the side and
tore through the platters before exiting the housing. Jojo was
pretty sure a data reader doing a direct surface scan of the platters
would get next to nothing, or at least nothing she could hope to
piece together. “If this was where it was, we’re screwed.” She
108 ™ Adrian Drake

chucked it into the dumpster and pulled the next drive out of the
pile.
Jojo connected the data and power cables, and the drive spun
up without a hitch. She pulled up the contents of the drive and
chuckled. Once again the drive was fully encrypted. Unlike many of
the other drives, which had been half full, this one didn’t have
enough space left to even note a phone number. Jojo initialized the
decryption matrix and it returned with an immediate error. He had
used a different code on the data in this drive. She swore under her
breath. Trevor was becoming a real pain. If he wasn’t already dead,
she would have given him a swift kick in the ass.
Although the data itself was encrypted, it didn’t look like the
directory structure was. There were only five files on the drive but
each one was immense. Jojo blinked. Unless somehow something
had gotten scrambled, the time date stamp on all five files was
identical and was from after she had arrived at Trevor’s house.
This had to be what they were looking for. She cued up a half dozen
of her best utilities and set them to work on the drive. Something
had to give.
She screamed and jumped as the shop bell for the phone rang.
“I swear to God, I’m gonna take a fucking hammer to that thing.”
She reached over and picked up the receiver. “Jojo’s Fixit.”
“Joaquina, darling, Kak dela?” The voice on the other end of
the line was as warm and smooth as melted butter.
Jojo smirked. Sergei knew she had an affection for foreign
accents. He had been graced with rugged good looks and a deep,
honey-like voice. If he hadn’t been such a blatant womanizer, she
was fairly certain their relationship would have lasted longer than
a single week in Vienna. “I’m fine. Maybe a bit surprised. I thought
you’d just reply in an e-mail.”
“And miss excuse to talk vith you?” Jojo heard him take a sip.
Given the time difference, she assumed it was the Turkish coffee
Sergei lavished upon himself virtually every afternoon. “So,
darling, vat is this you are sending me?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Sergei sighed. “The medical file is of very dangerous person.
Either he is government assassin or you are dealing vit very potent
criminal. Much of the vetvare he has installed, it is very illegal. I
could only guess vat black market value is.”
“Don’t worry about his wetware. He’s an okay guy. What’s
wrong with him?”
“Actually is his implants that are problem.” She heard Sergei
shuffle through a few papers and take another sip. “Your friend, he
 Null/Void ™ 109

has been having headaches, da? Not sleeping? Irritable?

Sometimes acting as if he had flu?”
Jojo mentally checked off the symptoms. It was hard to tell
when Beret was irritated because he acted annoyed most of the
time. “Yes, I think so.”
“Do you know vat ‘tailgunner’ is?”
Jojo’s mouth drew tight. “Yes. It’s a tactical computer that
runs a sophisticated AI.”
“Da, is computer inserted into back of head just above
brainstem. Very dangerous to have implanted, but vhen the patient
survives they become valking army.” He paused. “This person, he
is friend, da?”
She chewed her lower lip. Was he? At times it felt like he was,
but sometimes... “For now, he is my employer. We’ll just leave it at
that.”
“Vell if you are vanting to stay on payroll, suggest he turns off
computer vhen not using it. That is vhat is causing problems.”
“How is his tailgunner causing these problems? It’s a pretty
important piece of equipment to him. I think the only time he
doesn’t have it going is when he’s sleeping.”
“And that, Joaquina, is exactly problem.” Jojo knew Sergei
liked to take dramatic pauses when he was making a point, but in
this case he seemed to be taking them to carefully choose his
words. “Vhen tactical computer, or tailgunner, is running, it is
making all of body’s senses vork harder to obtain data. It filters so
person vith computer is seeing and hearing normal feed. In the
case of your friend, it is not just scanning everything in normal
range of vision. He has infrared and ultraviolet sensoring
capabilities built into eyes. He has high band and low band
frequency hearing as vell as amplification. He is seeing and
hearing as normal person, but tailgunner is cycling though all
modes as fast as vetvare vill allow. His mind is receiving all of this
input, even if he is only noticing it subconsciously. Is tremendous
amount of data. His mind is still receiving. Tremendous.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means his brain is vorking in overdrive.”
Jojo shrugged. “That’s a bad thing?”
“How to explain...” Sergei took a sip from his coffee and let out
another deep sigh. “Think of like this. Human brain is normally
fifteen to twenty percent used. Most of brain’s power is utilized for
storage. These devices vere designed to be put in normal human
being only one, by itself. Vould make soldier, super soldier. Make
brain run at near hundred percent. Your friend is not standard
110 ™ Adrian Drake

human. In their visdom, the American government, I am guessing,

saw that if you add more vays for data to be entered, tailgunner
becomes more powerful. It does vork, but unfortunately brain is
already vorking at full capacity. The human body and mind very
resilient. It can take punishment like this for short periods of time
as long as it has chance to relax and heal aftervards. May even
build up tolerance, allowing to be run for more extended periods of
time.”
Jojo shook her head. “Simply put, what’s it doing to him,
Sergei?”
“The brain can only process so much data so quickly. It is
taking rest of data and effectively putting in holding space because
it does not know vhat to do vith it. Eventually the brain vill stop
being able to focus on keeping this data, and much like your
computers, it vill crash.”
“What do you mean, crash?”
“The brain, it is a complex series of yes/no neurons. Every
memory, just like a computer, is a complex series of yeses and nos.
His brain vill suffer a cascade failure and everything other than
automatic functions like breathing and heart beating vill be
permanently shut down. Every neuron vill be burnt permanently to
the no position. The brain, it vill cease to vork as computer and
there is no hope for recovery. Simply put, if he survives the cascade
failure, he vill become absolute vegetable. You vould be doing him
favor by killing.”
“What do I need to do?”
“How often is he on tailgunner?”
“I think in the entire time I have known him, I have seen him
shut it down once.”
“Tell him to turn it off. Even in heavy combat conditions is not
healthy to run for more than two hours or so in a day.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“That it is unfortunate. Then tell him to have attractive coffin
picked out, as that is only other option.”
“That’s not funny, Sergei.”
Sergei let out a derisive snort. “Am not trying to be funny,
Joaquina. Sometimes vith stubborn people only absolute truth
vorks. He only has vone other option and that is to die. If that is
acceptable to him, then tell him by all means, enjoy. I vould
suggest if that is the attitude he takes, you may vant to start
looking for new employer, because according to the data I have
here, your employer is already in serious trouble. Have you seen
him develop fever and start having losses of time?” Jojo’s silence
 Null/Void ™ 111

spoke for her. “His body is at limit of vhat it can handle. He needs
to turn off device, perhaps even for few days or veeks, to allow
himself to heal. Maybe look into less dangerous line of vork.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I vould assume. But even so, it is imperative you understand:
if he continues using tailgunner in the vay he has been, it vill kill
him. That is no maybe. His body may survive, but his brain vill be
applesauce.”

Jojo hung up the phone with a deep, long sigh. Sergei had been
very convincing. He didn’t like the danger Jojo was putting herself
in and had all but begged her to come and see him. He was going to
his vacation home in Morocco and made it clear that all she had to
do was drop him a line and she’d have tickets the next day. He
meant well, but she wasn’t about to run out on Beret. If Sergei was
concerned, then it was very serious.
The first worry was how to tell Beret. Given the amount of
Lucy that Beret had let her hear, Jojo assumed Lucy would just
accuse her of trying to steal her man. How much credence would
he lend to what she had to say? She rubbed her forehead. The
whole idea made her sick — sick of the craziness she had gotten
herself into, sick of other people’s mental issues. If Lucy had been
a real person, the desire to belt her in her mouth would be
overwhelming at this point. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t
attracted to Beret, but she was well past the limit of her tolerance
level for the shit she would take from that bitch. She did not want
or need this aggravation right now. Jojo grinned and chuckled.
There was a small and angry part of her that wanted to convince
Beret that it was specifically Lucy’s AI that was causing the
problems. She sighed quietly and got up from the bench. He was a
pro, and she was a terrible liar.
Maybe after this whole Trevor mess was over, she’d take Sergei
up on his offer. His house was on the Mediterranean. The beach
was private and, bad habits aside, Sergei could be a lot of fun.
Fending off his advances was a bit tiresome, but it was part and
parcel of Sergei’s playboy personae. He did have the ability to be
very charming, even if he was a pain in the ass. Jojo sighed. No
sense worrying about it now. If nothing else, it’d be a great chance
to catch up with Olivia.
Jojo turned her attention back to the as-of-yet uncracked data.
It had resisted everything she threw at it. This had to be personal
data or highly valuable information; she couldn’t imagine anything
else being so important. It had a completely different encryption
112 ™ Adrian Drake

matrix than anything else she had found so far. She restarted a
couple of new decryption matrixes she had been able to obtain by
talking to friends of Trevor.
They had been shocked when she contacted them out of the
blue. They had been even more surprised when she had told them
that she had gotten their names and numbers from decrypting
Trevor’s rig. There was a grim satisfaction in their stunned awe
once they realized she wasn’t scamming them. Throwing Beret’s
name around had helped with her credibility, and the low-cut belly
shirt she wore assisted in motivating them to help. It didn’t matter
if they had money or power, geeks were more apt to help when they
could see skin. She was pretty sure the one named Neonthunder
had never been able to move his eyes from her cleavage, but he had
been far more helpful then Kraken had been. Once Jojo had
suggested Neon have lunch with her, he couldn’t seem to stop
answering her questions. If she ever had the desire to become a
hacker, he had provided her with several disks of utilities that he
impressed upon her were some of his finest work. Neon had even
offered his services to Beret. He was a sweet kid, and she told him
she’d pass on the offer, but she wasn’t sure how willing Beret
would be to work with a fourteen-year-old, even if he had been one
of Trevor’s lieutenants. Beret didn’t seem the kid-friendly type.
She left one workstation to do what it needed to do, and began
working at another with some of the other data. The more of
Trevor’s life she could understand, the more likely she could give
Beret some help in figuring out who had killed him. Jojo knew a
few cops that were trustworthy, but looking at the data she was
digging up, she was pretty sure she couldn’t get any of them
involved. Having access to their resources would certainly have
made the job a hell of a lot easier. She wondered if Neon would be
willing to hack into the police system. She giggled for a moment at
the concept. The idea was either really, really good or really, really
bad. Best not to find out. Bad idea or not, if she mentioned it to
Neon, she bet he would do it. She wasn’t prepared to live with that
on her conscience.
The new slaved-in drive booted right up and the matrix went
to work on it. This one was decoding very easily. Probably just
another of Trevor’s phone books. If nothing else, she could find
more members to add to her growing geek fan club. Jojo had a
hard time imagining people using the word “geek” in a derogatory
manner. Why anyone would ever want to make the smart people
mad at them was simply lost on her. What they could do to a
person’s credit rating, financial status, and general quality of life
 Null/Void ™ 113

was frightening. She’d rather be beaten. That, at least, could be

mended.
Jojo surveyed the bank of computers. The matrix had found
another snag on the first terminal. Prodding the logic handler, the
calculations scrolled by once again. This was going to make for a
long afternoon.
Chapter 15

The bells on the shop door tinkled as Beret entered. In one hand he
carried a large vintage thermos, in the other, a plastic bag holding
two Styrofoam take-out boxes. “Yo, Jojo. I got chow.”
Jojo leaned to her right so she could peek into the shop from
the garage. “I’m in here.”
She tried to smile but Beret noticed the grim look on her face.
The upper half of the Dutch door between the shop and the garage
had been removed long ago. It wasn’t so much of a door anymore
as it was a barrier to keep customers from going where Jojo didn’t
want them. The doorknob from the shop side had been removed.
“A little help. My hands are full,” he called out. She reached
over and hit the latch, and the door swung open. “Thanks. I
stopped by an old place I know of. I’m hoping you’ll approve.” He
put the thermos on the table. “You’re gonna need to grab yourself a
cup. You wanna just eat here, or what?”
“I need to wash up.” Jojo got up from her stool. “We can eat
upstairs.”
She crossed back into the shop, locked the front door, and
made sure the sign was still set to “closed”. She was still taking in
equipment from locals that called her in frantic need, but her main
focus was taking care of the job for Beret. She could keep the shop
closed for a couple more days. She had to talk to Beret about
turning off the tailgunner. He was being very pleasant, and she
didn’t want to spoil the mood. Maybe after lunch.

“You don’t have to stare at her ass.”

Beret growled low in his throat, hoping Jojo wouldn’t notice.
At the top of the stairs, Jojo turned to the right to head into the
bathroom, Beret turned left, directly into the kitchen. “You know,
you’re being a pain in the ass.”
“Why? Because I am offended that you’re looking at another
woman?”
“She’s wearing coveralls. I was walking behind her. How am I
checking out her ass? I was just walking up the damn stairs. You
need to relax with this jealousy shit. It’s getting old.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m getting sick of having to remind you I love you
every time I’m around another woman. You can’t be jealous of
every woman I come across.”
 Null/Void ™ 115

Lucy began to sob. “I’m not like this with every woman, just
the ones you can’t keep your eyes off of.”
Beret sighed and took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice
down so Jojo didn’t notice. “Look...” He paused and reeled his
temper back. “What do I need to do? I’m sorry. I’m a man; I like
pretty women. Problem is, you are seeing a woman from a man’s
perspective and men like to look. Have I touched her?”
“No.”
“Have I kissed her?”
“No.”
“Have I hit on her?”
“No.”
“Have I done anything unfaithful at all?”
“No.”
“Then...” Beret took another deep breath, lowering his voice
again. “Then please stop. She’s my wrench. I work with her. You’re
my woman. All right?”
Lucy’s voice was mournful. “I’m sorry, lover. It’s just
sometimes—”
Beret cut her off. “I know. I know, baby. You just got to give
me a little credit.”
“What’s that?” Jojo walked into the kitchen. She had taken off
the baseball cap and her hair was braided in long cornrows ending
in colorful beads. She had unzipped the coveralls to the waist and
tied the arms around her hips, keeping them up. Black and white
polka dots on the waistband of her bikini panties peeked out above
the rough tie. The lavender v-neck belly tee left little to Beret’s
imagination. “What were you saying?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Umm...nothing.” Beret walked over to the cabinet and pulled
out a couple of glasses. “I can deal with it later.”
Jojo bit her lower lip. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Need a
couple of minutes?”
“That would be nice.”
“Not necessary.” Beret put the glasses on the table and opened
the thermos. “She was just going into standby mode anyhow.”
He heard the short snort Lucy reserved for being pissed off
enough to spit fire, and the HUD for the baseline tailgunner came
on.

Beret poured them each a glass of lemonade and then held up the
bag. “I brought a peace offering.” He pulled out one of the
Styrofoam containers and handed it to Jojo.
116 ™ Adrian Drake

She sat down and opened the container. Inside were a pair of
Chicago style hot dogs with all the trimmings and a mound of chili
cheese fries. The smell made her stomach rumble loudly. She
sighed. “It looks and smells really great, Beret, but I’m allergic to
soy.”
Beret smirked. “I know. That’s why the hotdogs and the chili
are all beef.”
Jojo’s eyes widened like saucers. “Beef? Where in the hell...
Who the hell makes hotdogs out of beef these days? I mean, I could
understand the expensive ones being all turkey or pork, maybe
even ostrich, but ground beef for chili and hotdogs? Holy crap.
This had to cost a small fortune!”
Beret laughed. “Maxie’s been branching out. People want
comfort foods. He’s been working with some guys up in Wisconsin
on an alternate food source for cattle. They actually maintain a
pretty sizable herd. They mainly want the cattle for the dairy
production, but Maxie sees a bigger market for comfort foods.
Chicago’s famous for its hot dogs. I don’t think Maxie is allergic to
soy like you are, but at times he acts almost like it offends him. He
grew up before the Blight. Soy just wasn’t something most people
ate.”
Jojo lifted one of the hot dogs and took a bite. Maxie was
definitely onto something. She couldn’t put down the first hot dog
until it was gone. She savored every bite, but it was hard not to
wolf it down when it tasted that good. The lemonade was tart, and
had a hint of pulp. Freshly squeezed. She looked up at Beret who
was swirling a crinkle cut in the mixture of nacho cheese and chili.
“Better than flowers. You’re forgiven.” He smirked and nodded.
The hour Jojo had given herself for lunch went by far too
quickly. She was running out of topics that she could talk about
without it looking like she was avoiding the subject of Trevor.
“Beret, we need to talk.”
He took the last bite of his double chocolate brownie and
looked up at her mildly perplexed. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I got word back on that medical stuff.” Jojo looked down at
her lap. “I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”
Beret sat back in his chair. “I’ll deal.”
“You need to turn Lucy off.”
Beret waved a hand dismissively. “She’s in standby, so you and
I can talk without running commentary. What’s up?”
Jojo made a fist and touched the back of her knuckle to her
chin a couple times. “That’s the problem. Even in standby, you
keep your tailgunner system running.” She folded her hands on the
 Null/Void ™ 117

table in front of her. “My doctor friend in Europe broke it down for
me. The headaches, the fatigue, the on-edge feeling you probably
have most days — they’re all because you have that system running
all the time. I know you care about Lucy, but this is not about her;
it’s about you.”
“My relationship with her is complicated, but it’s my business,
not yours, and not your doctor friend’s. I’m not gonna have you
and your Euro friends judge me. I don’t have to take this.” Beret
got up. “I’m out of here.”
Jojo got up so quickly her chair tumbled behind her. “Don’t
you dare! I’m trying to save your life. You’re not walking out on
this. I’m your wrench, but I’m also your friend. Or at least I like to
think I am.”
“I don’t need to hear this. I’m not going to be lectured.”
“Sit the fuck down!” She crossed her arms. “This is not a
lecture, and like I said, this is not about Lucy or your relationship
with her, or you banging trancers.”
“What I do in my private life is none of your business, friend
or not!” Beret’s hands shook in rage. “So if this isn’t about how my
life offends your moral view, what is it about?”
Jojo shifted her position so Beret would have to physically
move her to get to the door. “It’s about a piece of equipment in
your head that is not supposed to be running more than two hours
a day that you’ve been running twenty-four hours a day for the past
year.”
Beret threw his hands wide. “So? What’s it matter? I like
having her around.”
“It matters because you’re only a half-step away from you
having an attack and your brain fucking melting. I wish I was being
figurative, but I mean it in the literal sense. If that doesn’t bother
you, fine. Gonna be a bit hard getting jobs when you’re a vegetable,
but hey, you’ll deal, right?”
Beret’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked
to one side as he contemplated her words. “Don’t fuck with me; I’m
not in the mood. Lay it out for me.”
“Put your cap on a head of lettuce; you get the picture?” She
shifted slightly, not sure if he would bolt or actually listen to her. “I
did some research after I got done talking to the doctor. Every time
you run your tailgunner for too long, you take a chance at having
what’s called cascade neuron failure. Simply put, your brain’s
getting too much data and it can’t handle it. It’s the same thing
that happens to trancers that overwork themselves. I really don’t
know if you’ve dealt with one, and honestly, I don’t want to know,
118 ™ Adrian Drake

but have you ever heard of a meat puppet?” Beret’s hand went to
his mouth and he took several long breaths through his nose.
Jojo’s brow furrowed. It was as if he was trying to keep himself
from vomiting.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them — trancers who burn out and never
come out of the coma. Pimps will plug PerSims into them so they
can still be used to trance.” He sat down in his chair. “I remember
me and Maxie on a trip back from Milwaukee. The corps is pretty
loose with law enforcement up there. At the time, the city
administrator was little more than a mob boss. We’d stopped to
grab a bite and on the corner there was a puppet running a Marilyn
Monroe PerSim. Real sad. A john had broken her arm playing
rough, and an infection had set in pretty badly. She was sunken
and sallow, too weak to stand, but she sat in a pile of her own filth,
propositioning passers-by using lines from Some Like It Hot. She
was a sex zombie, no better than a robot. Completely devoid of
everything that made her a human. It was the first time I ever
killed someone that wasn’t threatening me.”
“That was probably the most merciful thing you could’ve done.
They usually die pretty horribly because PerSims aren’t typically
programmed to take care of basic human needs.” Picking up her
chair, she sat down. “You have all the early warning signs.
Actually, pretty severely. If you hadn’t come to my house the other
day and gotten some rest, my friend is pretty sure you were on the
brink of cascade failure then.”
Beret’s eyes met hers and for the first time, Jojo saw a twinge
of fear in them. “You don’t have to give up your tailgunner, but you
need to turn it off, at least for a couple weeks. Your brain, your
body, and your mind all need time to heal.” She nodded. “I know a
great little place in Morocco we could go for a few weeks, just sea,
sand, fresh air. My friend has a villa there. He’d be more than
happy to let us use it.”
Beret’s mouth was tight, his eyes half-closed. His hands were
balled into fists and rested on his knees. “I can’t just turn her off. I
have to find out what happened to Trevor.”
Jojo got up from her chair, walked around the table, and put
her hands on Beret’s shoulders. She tried to give them a light
squeeze, but they were like stone. “I’ll help you. I talked to a couple
of Trevor’s guys and they are willing to help, too. I’m sure if we
explain things to Uncle Solly, he’ll find us somebody if we need
more help. I’m not telling you to let this go, Beret, but if you don’t
do this, you’ll be just as dead as Trevor is. Do you want me to give
you a couple of minutes so you can talk to her, explain things?”
 Null/Void ™ 119

Beret shook his head. “What am I gonna tell her? ‘I’m sorry,
baby. I got to turn you off for a couple weeks ’cause you’re killing
me, but after it’s all over I can visit with you for an hour or two a
day.’” He hung his head. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This
isn’t right.”
“There’s nothing else I can say to you, Beret. I don’t want you
to die.”
“Dammit!” Beret’s fist smashed down on the table. Jojo heard
the crack of wood, but didn’t flinch. “Dammit!” He brought both
fists down a second time. “Dammit!”
The Formica surface cracked and shattered as the particle
wood underneath exploded. The table buckled and collapsed,
utterly destroyed. He gritted his teeth so hard that Jojo could hear
an audible squeak. His breathing was rough and labored. “I love
her, Jojo. She’s my life. This will kill her.”
“Being with her is killing you.”
“It’s just not right. It’s not fucking fair.” He turned his head to
the right and raised a hand. Using a thumb, he lifted up the flap of
synthflesh that covered the panel behind his ear. Jojo was a little
shocked at seeing it directly. Although the neural jack was easily
accessible without disturbing the rest of the cover, there was a
complete control panel mounted onto his skull. He had three
separate ports for data chips, along with what looked like touch
controls for other systems he had implanted. Beret pressed the top
slot and Lucy’s chip ejected. It was no bigger than a thumbnail. He
removed the chip and fingered it for a moment. The animal deep
within, the primal instinct, the little voice that kept him going
when he had nothing left, raged and screamed deep down with fear
that it would never hear her voice or feel her touch again. A chill
ran down his spine, and he let his breath out slowly through gritted
teeth. He held out the chip to Jojo.
“Take that. Put it someplace where it won’t get damaged.” He
blinked a few times and shut the tactical system down completely.
“There’s a blue LED that should have just gone off. Put my finger
on the LED; I don’t remember which one it is.”
She gingerly moved his forefinger and placed it on the now
darkened button. “This one.”
With forefinger and thumb, he grasped the silver ring that
rimmed the LED. Beret gave it a ninety degree turn and a slot in
the panel opened. A heavy silicon wafer three millimeters thick
and two centimeters square slid out. He dislodged it and held it up.
“Take that, too. It’s the central processor. It will keep me from
120 ™ Adrian Drake

initializing the system. Be damn careful with it. Last time I

checked, it would be a good half million to replace it.”
Jojo took both gingerly. She reached into the hip pocket of her
coveralls and pulled out a black plastic case, put the chips inside
and clicked it shut. “I’ll keep them in my office up here. They’ll be
safe.”
Beret sighed and looked around as if seeing her kitchen for the
first time. “I hope I remember how to run the systems without a
tach. It’s been a while.”
Jojo leaned forward so her mouth was right next to his ear.
“You’ll figure it out. You’re the best, remember?”

“So what do you use this for?” Beret picked the odd looking tool off
the wall and twirled it around. “You could knock the hell out of
somebody with this thing.”
“Can you put it back? It is a very sensitive tool.” Jojo rubbed
her forehead. “It’s a torque wrench.”
“Oh, okay.” Beret hung the tool up. “What’s this?”
Jojo sighed and spun around on the stool. “Beret, why don’t
you go upstairs and watch some TV? I’ve got a big collection of vid
disks. I’m sure you can find something to entertain you. I’ve really
got to get this work done.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to bug you.”
She watched as he wandered out of the garage and went up the
stairs. The immediate shift in his personality was quite noticeable.
He was far less dark and brooding with the tactical system offline.
On the other hand, he now had a nearly obsessive need to be doing
something all the time. Sergei had mentioned that there was a
possibility of this. The tailgunner system pumped a tremendous
amount of extra adrenaline into the user’s bloodstream. The body
was simply trying to rid itself of the unneeded extra biochemicals.
If she managed to actually get Beret to calm down and relax a little,
Sergei projected that he would sleep for an extended period of
time.
Moments later, Beret wandered back into the shop. “There was
nothing on. You sure you don’t have anything I can do? I mean, I
can’t do any of this computer shit. You got something you need
moved. I can lift it. Like an engine block or something?”
Jojo put her hands to her temples and rubbed. This was
pointless. He was going to drive her insane, and she was going to
kill him herself. Maybe they really did need to get away. “Beret, I’m
assuming you have fake paperwork so if you actually wanted to get
on a plane and go someplace, you could, right?”
 Null/Void ™ 121

“Of course.”
“This stuff can run on its own for a couple of days. Why don’t
you go back to your apartment and pack a bag. I think I’m gonna
take Sergei up on his offer. You ever been to Morocco?”
“Can’t say that I have. I think the closest I’ve been was Egypt,
and that was when I was still in the military.”
“Make sure to pack a swimsuit. There’s a huge private beach
and the water’s always warm.” Jojo picked up her phone and
started dialing Sergei.
Chapter 16

“Vhen you said you vere bringing a friend, I vas thinking you vere
meaning vone of your model friends.”
“Sergei, he’s just a friend, and he really needed some time out
of Chicago. I thought the Mediterranean would be good for him.”
Jojo hugged Sergei and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “He just
needs some peace and quiet. You understand, right?”
Sergei raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You know I could never
say no to you, Joaquina.”
She looked down coyly. “You’re still as charming as ever.”
Sergei nodded and shrugged. “Any friend of my Joaquina is
velcome friend in my home.” He offered Beret a hand. “I am sorry,
I did not catch your name.”
Beret shook the deeply tanned Slavic man’s hand very briefly.
“Nate.” Beret noticed that Sergei’s eyes lingered on the few surgical
scars on Beret’s arm. Normally he wore long sleeves because in the
States they were a telltale sign of wetware implants. Jojo assured
him it would not be the same in Morocco.
“So, Joaquina, since your friend needs rest, I vill let the two of
you use the bungalow near the beach. If you need anything, there is
intercom to the servants in the main house. Mustafa speaks
English.” He turned to Jojo. “But you speak Spanish, so the rest of
the servants vill be able to understand you.”
Beret turned to Jojo. “You speak Spanish?”
Sergei opened the doors from the airport terminal and led
them out to the limousine waiting for them. “Certainly she does.
She is very talented young lady. As I recall, she speaks Spanish,
French, Italian, and German in addition to her native English.”
Jojo got into the car. “I wouldn’t classify what I do to German
as speaking it. I can find the bathroom and get fed.”
“And you, Nate?” Sergei got in last and the driver closed the
door. “Do you speak any foreign languages?”
“I grew up in a Spanish neighborhood, so I can muddle around
in it. I know a few phases in Bedouin, Cantonese, Hebrew, and
German. Mostly common phrases, stuff I picked up while I was
stationed at a few places in the military. Nothing very fluently.”
Sergei nodded in an approving way. “Speaks much of nature of
person you are, Nate. Most Americans, if you vill pardon
generalization, simply do not respect other cultures enough to
even try to learn language of vhere they are.” Sergei reached over
 Null/Void ™ 123

and pushed a button. A tinted window closed between their

compartment and the driver. “I suspect you are the null whose
medical records I saw?”
Beret’s jaw clenched as he turned briefly to look at Jojo, then
turned his gaze back to Sergei. “Is that a problem?”
“Of course not. As I said, a friend of Joaquina’s is velcome in
my home. The reason I asked is because I noticed scars from your
implants. They do not call them nulls in Europe, but ve have men
who do exact same sort of vork. Even though I am plastic surgeon
to models and the fabulously rich, I do vork for that element as
vell.”
It was Jojo’s turn to look surprised. “You what?”
“Joaquina, darling, money makes vorld move. I am talented
plastic surgeon. Sometimes these men need to be different than
they vere. Vhether it is giving them new face or installing vetvare,
as long as they have money it matters little to me.” He turned back
to Beret. “Yours vas installed professionally, but I am guessing it
vas military surgeon. If at some point you feel need to get rid of
scars, have Joaquina contact me. Couple of hours in my office and
couple veeks of recovery, and no vone vill suspect. I give you
special discount for being her friend.”
Beret smiled and nodded. “I may just take you up on that.”

The houseboy opened the doors, then handed the keys to Jojo
before taking the bags into the bungalow. The stucco of the brick
and plaster house had been painted a pale cream which offset the
terra cotta tile roof and the sandalwood window frames and door.
They entered the house to find it decorated in a light and airy
motif. A small entryway led into a huge living area with French
windows that dominated three of the four walls. Gauze curtains
fluttered in the cool early-evening breeze coming off of the sea. A
small kitchen could be seen at the back of the house. Jojo
remembered the hallway led to a large bathroom and four
bedrooms. There was no dining area inside the house, so Jojo had
used the table in the kitchen the last time she had stayed there.
Her albino skin was far too sensitive to be exposed to the Moroccan
sun for very long, but she did use the huge terrace for dinner a few
times. The bungalow sat right on the beach. At high tide, it was less
than two hundred yards from the water. Making sure the large
sunhat shaded her face, Jojo stepped out onto the terrace. The
outdoor shower stalls were a new addition since the last time she
was there, and Sergei had replaced the simple tiling that had been
on the terrace floor with an ornate mosaic of glazed tile in varying
124 ™ Adrian Drake

shades of ochre and eggshell. She took a deep breath of the sea air
and turned to walk back into the bungalow. With the many models
Sergei entertained who needed to treat their looks as delicately as
possible, he had gone to the expense of having the windows treated
with a military grade UV block. She could sit in front of the
windows all day if she wanted and not worry about burning.
“Pretty sweet.” Beret’s mood had mellowed significantly. The
adrenaline crash hit when they were at O’Hare, and he had slept
through the entire flight, waking only long enough to change
planes in Madrid. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the
door to the refrigerator. “The fridge is bare.”
Jojo flopped down on a taupe settee. “It will be filled by
tomorrow morning. If there’s anything specific you want, we
should probably let them know now.”
“Does Sergio know about your allergy?”
Jojo waved a dismissive hand in the air. “His name is Sergei
and, yes, he knows. It’s still probably a good idea to remind the
staff.” She got up and grabbed her suitcase. “Why don’t you call up
to the main house and tell them we are ready for dinner. Remind
them about the soy thing, and have them bring some supplies to
stock the fridge for the night.” She paused. “Bottled water. Tell
them to bring down a case of bottled water. I always thought the
stuff that comes out of the taps here tastes funny.”
“Where are you going?”
“Sun will be down soon. I’m going to change and go for a
swim.”

Beret sat on the terrace, kicked back, his bare feet up on the table.
He didn’t own any shorts other than the trunks Jojo had picked out
for him before they left Chicago, so he relaxed shirtless in a pair of
well-worn jeans, sipping a mixed drink. He was fairly certain the
soda was ginger ale and the alcohol had been clear, so he assumed
it was vodka. The flavor didn’t really matter; it was strong enough
to help him relax. Jojo had come out of the water and stretched out
on the warm sand in the moonlight. He zoomed in to see her
clearly and the low light compensators in his optics turned the
night into midday. He was thankful for once that Lucy wasn’t
plugged in. The simple aqua bikini Jojo wore showed off her taut
form. She was a goddess. Beret couldn’t tear his eyes away from
her. He watched her trace swirls in the sand as she laid there
soaking up the night air. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes,
and turned away.
 Null/Void ™ 125

Beret loved Lucy, but there was no way he could deny the
attraction he felt for Jojo. The idea of leaving Chicago may have
been necessary for his healing, but part of him was now regretting
it. He was going to spend an unspecified amount of time in close
proximity to a woman for whom he could hardly contain his desire.
Jojo put passion into everything she did. She had a zeal for life
he had long since lost. Beret knew she was a little naïve, but that
also meant she wasn’t hard and cold against the world. She
believed the best about people. That was a rare quality.
To go with that beautiful inner person, she had been gifted
physically, as well. It was hard not to appreciate that — long, toned
limbs, firm body, and the face of an angel. The white skin made her
look like a living porcelain doll. He was afraid to stare into her
eyes, afraid he would fall in and drown.
He loved Lucy. She was wild and aggressive, fiery and
outspoken. The two women were polar opposites. Lucy had to
borrow a trancer to be with him and Jojo was right here. Beret
started and opened his eyes in surprise as the nearby shower
turned on. He turned to see Jojo rinsing off the sand and saltwater.
“I didn’t see it until I was walking in from the surf. There’s a
hot tub around the corner here.”
Beret nodded and drained his drink. “The servants filled it
when they brought down the food.”
“Why don’t you grab dinner and let’s jump in?”
He pointed to his jeans. “I’m not wearing my trunks.”
“And? It’s a hot tub. Lose the jeans and get in.” Jojo turned
and then stopped. “Did they put towels in the cabinet out there?”
“Yeah. Looked like a couple of bathrobes, too.”
She smiled brightly. “Cool. Can you hand me a bottle of water,
too?”
Beret shrugged and got up. He quickly retuned to the tub with
a platter of cut vegetables, shrimp, and some cubes of what looked
like bread. A heavy foam was rolling from the jets. He had fixed
himself a fresh drink and set the bottle of water next to Jojo’s
hand. “Need anything else?”
She opened her eyes. “This vacation is for you.” Jojo reached
out with an arm and splashed the surface. “You, in the tub, now.”
He undid his jeans, adjusted his boxers, and slipped unto the
water. “Whoa, monkey hot.” He slowly worked himself into the
water.
Jojo laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Monkey hot?”
He nodded. “Yeah, ooo ooo aah.” He simulated the monkey
sounds as he bobbed in the water. “See, monkey hot.”
126 ™ Adrian Drake

“It’s good for you. It’ll help you loosen up.” She grabbed a
handful of shrimp and popped them in her mouth one at a time.
“Since the first time I got into a Jacuzzi, I haven’t been able to use
a normal tub. Seems like a waste of time.”
Beret grabbed an asparagus spear and dipped it into the
yellowish sauce before eating it. “I don’t know. There’s something
sexy about a large English tub.”
She smiled. “Only if you’re in there with someone else. And
then the tub really doesn’t matter.”
He leaned forward, letting the jets of water force foam up his
back. Beret lifted one arm and rotated a shoulder. He closed his
eyes and grimaced as the tightness in it pulled. “They aren’t bad
after being stuck on a long flight, I’ll tell ya.”
Beret heard a splash and then felt her slip back into the tub
behind him. “You still stiff?” There was an unmistakable scent of
mint as she began firmly rubbing something onto his skin,
massaging his neck and shoulders.
He leaned back into her touch, his back against her chest.
“That’s really great. Where’d you learn how to do that?”
“Photo shoots can be stressful. When a model is stressed, it
shows up on the camera. A couple of us would take turns working
out the knots.” Jojo picked up the bottle and put a bit more of the
mint oil on her hands, then began rubbing it into his chest and
upper arms. “I had a masseuse that used to swear by this stuff. It’s
not as harsh as menthol, but it still warms when rubbed in.”
Beret relaxed fully and his weight pressed against her. “Is that
okay? I’m not squashing you, am I?”
Jojo giggled and gave him a hug around the shoulders before
wrapping her legs around his waist. “No, you’re fine.”
He tilted his head back until it rested on her shoulder. “Good.”
He settled his hands on her knees and began to absently stroke
them. Beret turned his head to the right and noticed a hook on the
side of the towel cabinet. A bluish-green bikini hung from it,
dripping. If he had been beginning to doze, the sudden realization
woke him up. “You’re not wearing your bikini.”
She laughed as if that was something she expected him to
know already. “The really hot water is hell on the elastic. Besides,
the tub is deep enough that the foam completely covers me.” She
paused momentarily. “You don’t have an issue with nudity, do
you?”
He sat up. “No, not really.”
Jojo pulled him back to her and began rubbing his shoulders
again. “Then relax. It’s not that big a deal.”
 Null/Void ™ 127

Beret relaxed as her hands worked their magic across his

shoulders and arms. Jojo started to massage his scalp and he
emitted a low groan. “That’s real good.”
She rolled his head around as her thumbs worked the area just
above the base of his skull. “I’ll have to remember this for later.”
The heat of the tub aside, Beret felt his temperature rise.
“Later? What happens later?” Beret turned to look at her and their
eyes locked.
Jojo’s voice was nearly breathless. “Just about anything.”
Their mouths met, tentatively at first then more passionately.
Beret raised his arm and cupped the back of her head. As their
kissing became more intense, her arms held him fiercely. When
they paused for a moment and his eyes opened, he was overcome
with guilt and grief. He quickly pulled himself free from her and
stood up. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t.”
Jojo’s brow furrowed and her mouth twisted. “No. It’s okay.
I’m sorry.”
Beret picked up his drink and downed it in a single gulp. He
grabbed his jeans and towel out of the cabinet. “I think I’m feeling
the jet lag; I’m gonna go to bed.” He dried himself as he walked
back into the house.
Jojo waited until she saw him pass by the kitchen window and
enter the hallway to the bedroom before she got out of the tub. She
hadn’t intended for that to happen, but now that she could think,
she was surprised at how easily it had come. When they kissed, she
felt as if she was on fire. Wrapped up in the heavy robe, she still
shivered. She wasn’t cold, but the letdown made her body shake.
He had to have felt it as well. “Damn.”

Lying on the bed, Beret stared at the ceiling fan, watching the
blades slowly go around and around. Unlike the rest of the
bungalow, the bedrooms were fairly sparse, furnished only with a
dresser, an armoire, and a queen-sized bed. The curtains fluttered
in front of the open windows. All of Lucy’s worries were coming
true. He wanted Jojo, and badly.
Beret didn’t know if it was worse that he wanted Jojo, or that
she apparently wanted him. The thought of how eagerly and
hungrily she had accepted his kisses was not lost on his male
sensibilities. Then his thoughts went to Lucy, and he was wracked
with guilt. He had practically begged her and humiliated her to
invoke her trust, and he had already broken it.
Beret knew sleep was coming no time soon, but at least alone
he could trust himself. If he focused, he could keep the image of
128 ™ Adrian Drake

the sharp violet eyes out of his mind. As long as he kept from
thinking about Jojo, he would be safe.
 Chapter 17

They managed to get through breakfast without mentioning the

events of the night before. Beret was fairly hopeful that the worst
of it was past. If luck held out, he’d be back in the States by the end
of the week.
Jojo insisted on going to the marketplace. They had spent the
last hour making certain she was dressed lightly but with as much
of her skin as possible covered to avoid burning. A thin yet layered
skirt reached her ankles. The deep green fabric went well with the
burgundy poet shirt. A large floppy sunhat made of a synthetic
fiber designed to look like straw completed her look. Beret gauged
it to be somewhere between crazy bag lady and resale shop chic.
Sneakers, jeans, and a Bears jersey ensured that no one would
mistake Beret for a local. Jojo insisted he wear something other
than the beret, as it would do nothing to protect him from the sun.
One of the servants found him a plain blue ball cap that a previous
guest had forgotten. With a pair of wrap-around shades, it was
hard to tell whether Beret was on vacation or simply undercover.
Late spring and summer were the off-season for tourists in Al
Hociema. The marketplace and plaza were fairly empty. By noon
the vendors had all but abandoned the city, returning only once the
sun began to set. The city revolved around its nightlife. Jojo’s
shopping trip would be short, but given how quickly her skin
reacted to sun, she was all right with that. “Trust me, Beret, less
junk, less tourist crap, better deals.” He shrugged. He was only
going along because she insisted.
American money was readily accepted and soon Beret
understood why she wanted him with — it was easier for her to
shop if he carried the bags. He found that she was drawn to the
pushcarts, especially those selling food. Roasted almonds, figs,
dates, and pomegranates were bought by the bag. A few lemons
and limes were added to the growing selection of edibles. Smoked
shrimp and roasted fish were sold in small Styrofoam containers,
allowing her to snack as they went. He watched Jojo with great
amusement. She had the appetite of a teenage boy, yet maintained
an astonishing figure.
All thoughts of food were forgotten once they reached the
series of actual shops at the far end of the plaza. A handful of large
colorful scarves and exotically patterned skirts, and a pair of roan
high-heeled leather knee boots as soft and as supple as velvet
130 ™ Adrian Drake

joined the growing armload of packages. One of the shops that

specialized in leather goods had a few handmade bikinis in her
size. She modeled one that had been dyed black and accented with
fringe that sported small shells. When she bought three of them, he
realized that he had failed to hide his expression. After returning
to the car to store their load, Jojo insisted they do lunch at a café in
town she knew well.

“The Red Bull sounds ethnic.”

Jojo leaned to the window and looked up at the sign. “El Toro
Rojo has been run by the same family for generations. Hector, the
owner, still has recipes and things on the menu that were served
when this place was opened like a hundred and fifty years ago.”
The car stopped. Beret got out and offered a hand to Jojo,
assisting her out of the limo. “Old doesn’t always mean good.
People used to eat things that were never meant for human
consumption.”
Jojo giggled. “Trust me, the food here is amazing.”
They stepped into the small restaurant and were immediately
greeted by a tall, curvaceous woman with tanned, olive skin and a
mop of short, curly, auburn hair. “Jojo!”
Beret’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as the kiss between the two
women was more than he’d have expected from a pair of old
friends reuniting.
“It’s been ages. How have you been?”
“I’m doing great.” Jojo squeezed the woman’s hands and
looked around. “Where’s your dad, Olivia?”
Olivia grinned and Beret was shocked by the warmth. Maybe it
was just the job, or how messed up things were in Chicago, but he
could not recall seeing anyone so genuinely and openly happy in a
very long time.
“Barcelona. You remember my cousin Ramone?” Jojo nodded.
“He is getting married.”
“So why didn’t you go?”
Olivia ushered Jojo and her companion to a large table away
from the windows. “Someone has to run the restaurant, and I don’t
like his wife-to-be very much anyway.” She sat down with them
and lowered her voice. “Gretchen was here last winter; she said you
had quit modeling. Is this true?”
Jojo’s nose wrinkled as she squinted a smile. “I told you I’d
walk away.”
“I assume you’re living in the States now? What brings you out
here?” Olivia took a long look at Beret. “Honeymoon?”
 Null/Void ™ 131

Beret laughed as Jojo blushed. “No. No. Nothing like that.”

Jojo put a hand on Beret’s arm. “His...doctor...told him to get some
rest and take a vacation. Sergei offered to bring us out to the villa.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Sergei?” She reached over and
squeezed Beret’s biceps. “You sure he didn’t just invite you and you
brought a bodyguard, just in case?” The two women laughed, and
Olivia suddenly turned to Beret. “I’m sorry. We are being terribly
rude. I’m Olivia. I didn’t catch your name.”
Beret took her hand as if to shake it and kissed the back
delicately. “Nathaniel, but you can call me Nate.”
“Oh my! A gentleman.” Olivia smiled in surprise and turned to
Jojo. “Why isn’t this a honeymoon?”
Some of the mirth drained from Jojo’s smile. “It’s not like
that—”
“We’re business partners,” Beret interrupted.
Olivia shrugged. “A shame. Some couples look good together.”
There was a crash of plates in the kitchen, and she closed her eyes
and sighed. “Duty calls, but you two have some lunch. On the
house.” She turned to Beret. “I recommend the shark steak, but the
roasted halibut is excellent as well.”
Beret nodded. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
Olivia turned back to Jojo. “How long are you going to be
around?”
“A few days, maybe a week. We have a business deal going on
in Chicago, but Nate needed to get away from everything for a few
days.”
Olivia hugged Jojo and then patted Beret on the shoulder.
“There are few things as relaxing and romantic as a beach in
Morocco at night.” She winked at Beret. “We’ll have to talk Sergei
into having a beach party before you go.” She wiggled her fingers at
them. “Ciao!”
Jojo smiled and turned to Beret. “I think she likes you.” She
giggled as he shook his head.

“I don’t dance.”
Jojo rested her fists on her hips and screwed up her face in
feigned anger. “We are in a city that is famous for its nightlife. You
are not gonna sit home and be a fuddy-duddy. That’s not
happening. I won’t allow it. You are taking me out to a nightclub.
We are going dancing, and you will enjoy yourself. We are on
vacation; you will act like it.”
132 ™ Adrian Drake

Beret sighed mournfully. “But I don’t dance. It’s not that I

don’t enjoy it, it’s just... I don’t dance. It’s not something I do. I’m
not comfortable dancing.”
Jojo’s face softened. “That’s why you’re business all the time.”
She rubbed the back of her head, deep in thought. “And here I
thought you were just gruff to be gruff.”
Beret threw his arms wide and shrugged. “What in the hell are
you talking about?”
Jojo focused her attention back on Beret. “It’s easy to hide
how shy you actually are by being dark and brooding all the time.”
“I am not shy.”
“Good, then you’ll go dancing with me.” She smirked in
amusement as Beret struggled for words. “I got Sergei to lend me
some clothing that should fit you. You’ll look fabulous.”
“What’s wrong with my clothing? Jeans are casual.”
“Would you wear jeans to Maxie’s?”
Beret frowned in confusion. “No, but I’m not about to go
dancing in a tux, either.”
“Of course not.” Jojo laughed. “That’s why I had Sergei get you
a few things. Hopefully the shoes are the right size.” She watched
in amusement as Beret shook his head, fit to burst. “It’s going to
take me a little longer to get ready, so I call dibs on the bathroom.”
“Whatever.” Beret turned and walked into the kitchen,
muttering under his breath. “Just because a guy don’t like dancing,
suddenly he has a shyness problem. Relaxing vacation, my ass. I’ve
been in gunfights that were less stressful than this.”
Jojo turned and flounced back to her room. She was not about
to let his grumpy attitude ruin their evening. Once Beret got a
couple of drinks in him, she was pretty sure he’d loosen up. No one
could resist the joy of cutting loose, not even Mr. Crab-ass.
Eventually he’d have to give in and have some fun. She popped into
her room long enough to grab her makeup case, and then went into
the bathroom.

Beret heard the door to the bathroom close and sighed as he pulled
a beer from the fridge. He opened the beer, took a sip, and
grimaced. The bitter tang of synthetic alcohol was on Beret’s list of
“things to never intentionally consume”. Beret poured the contents
of the bottle into the sink and reopened the fridge with his toe. As
he tossed the empty into the trash bin, he lifted the pitcher from
the fridge and sniffed the contents. “Iced tea? Sweet.” He poured
some into a glass and then added a generous splash of the alcohol
he had found the night before.
 Null/Void ™ 133

Lounging on the terrace, he was forced to admit that the view

was nice. Maybe Sergei wasn’t so bad after all. He knew the type,
though, especially given the way he had looked at Jojo. The plastic
surgery comment had been such a blatant attempt to impress her,
Beret had almost laughed. He’d hold him to it, though. Discount
bodywork was always a good thing. It didn’t really bother him that
the guy was hitting on Jojo. It was more about the principle of the
matter; he was doing it as if to compete. Beret didn’t play like that.
Stretching his neck, Beret heard a pop as he rolled his head
around. He sighed and sank further into the chair. He couldn’t
actually remember the last time he had taken time off on purpose.
Maybe a vacation wasn’t such a bad idea, though at its core, the
idea was ludicrous. If a null didn’t work, he didn’t get paid. It
wasn’t like Beret could normally go take a vacation. Time off meant
one was either healing up, a newb, or didn’t know enough of the
right people to get work. The only benefits package a null had was
a trustworthy ammo dealer. Beret didn’t blow every dime he made
frivolously. Eventually he’d have to retire. He was glad he had guys
like Maxie looking out for him.
His heart suddenly went cold. Maxie. If the killer really was
trying to get to Beret, Maxie would be the next person to hit.
Luckily, even retired, Max was a bad sonofabitch. Maxie’s wetware
was almost identical to Beret’s, except instead of the razors under
the fingernails, Maxie had a series of spines that popped from the
forward edges of his forearms. They weren’t as easy to fight with,
but he could drive them through an armored jacket with far more
force. It was a fair trade by Beret’s estimation, especially given the
difference between Beret’s Penjak Silat and Maxie’s skill in Muai
Thai.
The idea still bugged him. If the attackers did their homework
and went after Maxie the right way, they’d be doing a lot more
damage than just killing a friend. Beret mixed himself another
drink. A vacation would be easier if he could just shut off his brain.
He sighed. Not him. He was the original worrywart. There was a
time he thought it was a good trait. It kept him thinking and that
kept him alive. If it wasn’t such a frighteningly real possibility, the
concept of being a vegetable wasn’t so terrible. It certainly would
make life simpler. There were worse career options. The mental
image of being a meat puppet sent an ice-cold jolt down his spine.
Beret’s thoughts turned to Lucy. Life could most definitely be
worse; he could be trapped in her hell, stuck somewhere between
life and death, aware of the world but only when someone else
loaned you their life.
134 ™ Adrian Drake

He drained his glass and thought briefly about making himself

another. If he was going to spend the entire evening out partying
with Jojo, it didn’t make much sense to drink himself into oblivion.
It he was going to look like an idiot, he might as well be sober
enough to know when to stop. Beret stripped down to his boxers
and jogged out to the surf. He was on vacation, might as well enjoy
it.

Jojo sat at the vanity, ruffling her hair with a heavy towel. She had
narrowed down her outfit for the night to six choices, but she was
still conflicted. It was a simple decision and yet she agonized over
it as if it were a life-defining problem.
Rifling though Sergei’s closet had been an interesting moral
dilemma. Did she dress Beret in the height of fashion, or did she
pick out something that would make him the most appetizing?
Even if he did behave like a stone most of the time, Beret was
dead sexy. Not with the polished and sleek manner of someone like
Sergei; Beret was the kind of sexy that would fuck you in an alley
doorway on a rainy night. He was the kind of sexy that drove a fast
car, not because he was compensating for something, but because
he loved the rush of speed. The kind of sexy that didn’t care who
was in the next room, he would make his lover scream his name.
A wicked look glimmered across her face. Eye candy had won.
Beret was going out with her, and she wasn’t going to be seen with
a suit. Skintight PVC stretch slacks, a fishnet shirt, and a vinyl
buckled collar — there wouldn’t be a woman in the place who could
keep her eyes off of him.
If she couldn’t get his mind off of Lucy with the help of a hot
tub, she’d up the ante. She pulled out the bottle of gel and started
slicking her hair back. He’d look good; she’d look irresistible.

Beret grunted in discomfort as he walked around the room trying

to get used to the feel of the pants. A shirt made of tight stretchable
fabric was one thing; it allowed for freedom of movement without
binding when fighting; pants like the ones Jojo had picked out for
him were another matter entirely. Although made of much lighter
material, the pants clung to him like a wetsuit. The cut was
designed to accentuate the wearer’s ass. He could now empathize
with women who complained about their bras.
The worst part was that for the first time since he’d left the
military, Beret was forced out of his boxers. He hated briefs. He
had always hated briefs; he found them confining. Because of this,
Beret had never owned a pair. Unfortunately the tightness of these
 Null/Void ™ 135

pants did not allow for his boxers. They either bunched
uncomfortably or rode in ways that made him walk as if his thighs
were chafed. That meant he was forced to wear another man’s
pants without the magical layer of protection that a pair of
underwear provided. At least the boots that Sergei had provided
were rugged enough to suit Beret. Al Hociema didn’t seem like the
sort of town where ass-kicking was called for often, but just in
case, the heavy boots gave him a less lethal alternative to his
talents.
He spun on his heel in response to Jojo’s wolf whistle, but was
struck dumb by her appearance. The beast in his chest wanted
nothing more then to burst free and just take her where she stood.
Accenting the luminous quality of her alabaster skin, flecks of
body glitter sparkled on exposed flesh. Her hair had been pulled
back severely, giving the dark makeup around her eyes a savage
look. The heavy leather posture collar exaggerated the length of
Jojo’s neck. The black, strapless bustier zippered up the back, but
the sides and front had cutaway panels covered with red lace
spiderwebs. Garter straps from the bustier held up matching red
stockings. Several layers of black ruffled lace held up by a thick
leather belt acted as a miniskirt. The vinyl Victorian ankle boots
rounded out Jojo’s outfit, the overall impression somewhere
between a professional dom and a career man-eater. Jojo smiled as
Beret drank her in. “You’re with me tonight, right?”
“Um...well, yeah,” Beret sputtered. “Of course.”
Jojo opened the small clutch and pulled out a long black cord
with a loop on one end and a quarter sized carabineer in the other.
She put the loop around Beret’s wrist. “Simple rules for tonight:
first rule, you’re not allowed to let the rope go.” Taking the
carabineer, Jojo locked it onto the D-ring attached to the back of
her collar. “Second rule, I’m not allowed to move out of reach.”
Beret chewed his lower lip contemplatively. “Won’t having you
on a leash give people the wrong impression about us?”
Putting her hands on her hips matter-of-factly, Jojo smirked.
“Not at all. I want to go out, dance, drink, and have fun. Normally
you just being you would be enough to keep most guys away.” Jojo
opened her clutch again and pulled out a small compact. She
checked the makeup around her eyes and reapplied black lipstick.
“You having me on a leash lets everyone know who I’m going home
with.”
Beret chuckled. “Who’s to say someone will not come looking
for me.”
136 ™ Adrian Drake

“The leash goes two ways.” Jojo cocked an eyebrow playfully.

“If you bring anyone home, we have to share.” She giggled at
Beret’s dumbstruck look. “We should go. The limo is waiting.”

To his credit, Sergei almost completely hid his reaction to Jojo’s

appearance as she got into the car. The leash held by Beret was
enough to make Sergei’s face go white. Jojo masked her
amusement by giggling into Beret’s shoulder. Jojo didn’t mind
Sergei inviting himself along. She only hoped he would take the
hint.
As the car hummed to life, Sergei opened the minibar and
began filling a glass with ice. “So, Nathaniel, are you enjoying your
vacation?” Sergei filled the glass with scotch, wordlessly toasted
Beret, and then took a drink. “If you’d like, you can pop into my
office tomorrow and I can do a quick EKG. I vould not vant you to
head home before you’ve had a chance to fully heal up.”
Beret nodded. “Much appreciated.”
“So, Jojo, I vill be flying back out Sunday afternoon. I vas
planning on having a beach party Saturday evening. Julius vill be
coming, and knowing him, vhen he flies in he vill be bringing
dozen friends at least. Henri is shooting in Tunisia. Vhen I invited
him, I assumed he vould be bringing some of his crew.”
Beret’s eyes narrowed. “How big of a crew do you need to take
pictures of half-naked women?”
Sergei snorted, but Jojo cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Henri isn’t a photographer; he’s a director.”
“A movie maker?”
Jojo grimaced and shook her head. “Not exactly. He makes
Sims.”
Beret laughed. “He’s a porno director?”
Incensed, Sergei slammed down his drink. “Henri is an artist.
Anyvone can put a recording chip in somevone vith a head jack and
have them rut like monkey.” Sergei took another sip from his glass.
“Henri is about ambience, sensation, and sensuality. He does his
best to coax real emotions out of his stars. Some of his most radical
vork led him to feed both recordings into the same input. Imagine
the sensation — to become both male and female engaged in
passion, to feel and be both all at vonce.” Sergei closed his eyes and
sat back. “His body of vork speaks for itself. Henri is a true master
of the simulated experience.”
Beret exchanged a glance with Jojo and shrugged. “Not saying
there is anything wrong with what he’s doing. Hell, I’m the last guy
 Null/Void ™ 137

that can be pointing fingers. I’m just surprised you guys know
anybody in the business.”
“Not so surprising, is it? There are many people who vould pay
outrageous sums to have an encounter vith somevone as beautiful
as, let’s say, somevone like Joaquina.”
Beret turned with a look of mixed surprise and amusement.
“So tell me, Jojo, how many Sims have you starred in?”
Jojo blushed. “Just one, and it didn’t involve me having sex.”
She gritted her teeth. “Henri had this concept piece about a river
spirit bathing in a mountain waterfall. After the editing, my hair
was blue-black and my skin, a seafoam green.” She pointed at her
cybernetic eyes. “He even had me put in a filter that gave
everything this hazy, ethereal look.”
“It is an amazing piece of art: the vay the spirit disrobes to
allow the currents to take her vorldly possessions; the chill of the
icy vater as she vashes avay the filth of the vorld.” Sergei sighed.
“It is a very moving piece.”
“Moving?” Beret rubbed his chin. “Tell me, Jojo. Did the spirit
grab a seat on the only vibrating rock in the pool?”
“Beret!” Jojo shrieked and smacked Beret on the arm as the
two of them shared a laugh.
Sergei grimaced at their laughter. “Joke all you vant, but a
vellmade Sim is not about the person playing the part, but about
the person who vill experience it later. By their nature, Sims are
anonymous. It is a simple matter, as I understand it, editing a Sim
to be anybody you vish it to be.” Sergei drained his glass. “Henri is
only making Sims. It is not like he is making PerSims.”
The humor drained from Beret’s eyes. “Not that big a
difference from my perspective.”
Sergei waved his hand. “It is all the difference in the vorld. A
Sim is created to share an experience, to express a notion, to allow
people to experience something they vould never othervise be able
to. I admit, many Sims involve sex, but just as many do not. There
are Sims of people flying fighter craft, people hurtling down side of
mountains on skis, or even jumping from airplanes. A PerSim is
not about experiences; it is about capturing a person for a split
second and then having somevone else become that person. If the
personality does not suit exactly vhat you vant, the code is altered
to make them more pliable. It is a sexual fantasy taken to an
extreme.
Beret folded his hands in his lap. “Not all PerSims are like
that.”
138 ™ Adrian Drake

“I know. Some are far vorse. Joaquina, you remember Tatiana

Roundtree, don’t you? Her publicist convinced her it vould be
easier to do remote interviews vithout disturbing her if they had a
brain taping made. Not a veek later, she’s in Amsterdam and vone
of the trancer shops is advertising that it has new PerSim of her
built from actual brain tapings. So she buys copy of the Sim from
the manager at an outrageous price and sends it back to her
people. Apparently vithin vone day of her making the tape, it had
been copied and modified. The poor girl is devastated. Her fan club
has doubled in size since the copy vas made, and she gets letters of
love and adoration from these fans that know very private things
she vould not normally tell anyvone. All and all, she is wreck.”
Sergei sighed sadly. “The vorst of it is that she has no recourse. You
can copyright name, image, or idea, but there are no laws
regarding ownership of personality.”
At a loss for words, Beret turned and looked out the window.
Lucy had not been modified in any way. She was the Lucy he had
lived and loved with, the Lucy he had fought with and fought
alongside of. She was every bit as much herself as she was the
moment the brain taping was made. He had asked her; Lucy didn’t
mind the jaunts in the trancers. Truth be told, she seemed to enjoy
the sex more than riding around as his tailgunner. What if she had
still been alive but they had just broken up, instead of her getting
killed? At the time the copy was made, she had wanted to be with
him. Would it have been wrong if she were still alive? Would it be
wrong to slot her as his tailgunner? If Lucy had left him under
circumstances other then being killed, would he still have done
what he did with her brain tape? Would he be sleeping with a
digital copy of Lucy if the real one was still around?
As he found different ways to ask himself the same question,
Beret realized it kept coming back to the same answer — he didn’t
know.
 Chapter 18

It took five shots of tequila, a rum and Coke, and a playful tug on
one of his earlobes with her teeth, but Jojo managed to get Beret
onto the dance floor and moving in a manner that approached
dancing. His fists were clenched and his elbows bent at a ninety-
degree angle at his sides as he shuffled back and forth in time to
the throb of the electronic dance music that filled the club.
When they entered the club, Beret had received a number of
looks. Many had been from men, envious because of the woman he
had on the leash. Just as many had come from women,
disappointed that they were not the one he had in tow. One
woman, unfazed by the leash, approached Beret. He did his best to
hide his laughter as Jojo scared her off with a hiss.
“Damn, Jo, was that really necessary?” Beret asked as he slid
into their booth.
Jojo slid into the booth after him and draped herself over his
chest. “Yes. The act is half the fun. I’m willing to make friends
clubbing, but I don’t go to hook up. You have to admit that the
stares and people staying the hell out of your way are a lot of fun.”
“Jojo, I’m a null.” She started playing with his ear and he
swatted her hand away. “Back in the plex, people know better than
to be in my way.”
Jojo signaled the waitress for another round of drinks. “Are
you ever not a crab-ass?”
Beret stretched and smiled. “Only when I’m getting paid or
getting laid.”
“I’ve only got a handful of change from the tip cup, but if Jojo
doesn’t mind I can probably work something out.” Olivia slid into
the booth from the other side, flanking Beret. “You think he could
handle both of us, Jo?”
“Probably not. He is American.” Jojo smiled and turned her
head and the two women kissed. “I was hoping you were going to
make it tonight.”
“I figured you’d hit the clubs tonight.” Olivia fingered the
leash. “I ran into Sergei at the bar. I was wondering why he was in
such a foul mood.”
Jojo shrugged. “He’s just mad that this time, instead of you
holding my leash, it’s someone with a penis.” She pointed at
Olivia’s smoking glass. “What the hell is that?”
140 ™ Adrian Drake

Olivia offered Jojo a sip, which she readily accepted. “Vodka,

lime, and something bright green, I think Midori, and then they
throw in a chunk of dry ice for the smoke. Philippe, the head
bartender here, started serving them after he visited his family in
New York a few months ago. He calls them a nuclear meltdown.
I’m not a fan of vodka, but the drink has one hell of a kick.”
Alcohol slowly steeping into his brain, Beret watched the two
women. From what Jojo had told him, they were old friends who
only saw each other once in a great while, but watching them laugh
and tease, one would get the impression that they were never
apart. Both women were vibrant, joyous, the sort of joy that came
from simply being part of the world.
Beret pretended to stare off into space, only watching Jojo and
Olivia from the corners of his visual field. It became obvious that
Olivia understood the game Jojo played. As the two women talked,
they both lounged on him as if he were part of the furniture. As
Beret wrapped his arms around them and pulled them both closer,
both women stole a look at him.
Olivia was not what the media would characterize as a
stunning beauty. Although she had perfect almond-shaped eyes,
most would consider her average. It wasn’t her looks that caught
Beret’s attention. The woman had spirit and fire. She might not be
the inferno that Lucy was, but there was no denying her
playfulness. Beret made it a point to study people. From what he
could see of Olivia, there was a hunger in her. Not a sensual hunger
like Lucy’s, but more of a hunger for experience. Whether talking
with Jojo, flirting with Beret, or even choosing her drink,
everything pointed to her wanting to be somewhere else. A reason
to leave here. She was in Morocco because duty dictated she had to
be, but it wasn’t what she wanted.
There was a hunger in Jojo’s eyes, as well, but for Jojo it was a
hunger for challenge. It was as if she dared the world to throw her
a curve ball just so she could knock it out of the park. Jojo looked
at the world with a level of hope and optimism he didn’t think the
world deserved. She also refused to let the world define her or who
she could be. If she had wanted to, she could have climbed to the
top of the corporate pyramid of fame and fortune. She didn’t only
see how the other half lived; she had been the other half. Yet at the
peak of her marketability, she had walked away, rejecting the
notion that a person’s station in life made them better or worse
than others. Jojo valued the people, the contacts she had made.
She valued the individuals. Jojo had friends, people she counted
 Null/Void ™ 141

on, but in the end, she would only be satisfied if she could prove to
herself that she could survive on her own grit and determination.
“C’mon then.” Fibermesh reinforced muscles provided a great
edge in a scrap, but they did come in handy at other times too. If
Jojo wanted to play her game, they might as well play it to the hilt.
Scooping up both women, Olivia over his shoulder, Jojo under his
arm, Beret sauntered back out on the dance floor as the DJ spun up
a thick bass riff.

Jojo and Beret burst through the front door of the bungalow. The
drinks at the club had Beret more relaxed than he was normally
comfortable with, but being able to cut loose a little with Jojo had
made the night far more enjoyable than he’d expected. He could
see Jojo was feeling it, too. A playful game of tug of war had
erupted with the leash, and a serious case of the giggles had set in
on them both. Jojo strode into the room, dragging Beret forward as
he pretended to struggle with her. “Fine, we’re home now. You can
let go.”
Beret abruptly jerked the leash to her left, sending Jojo
tumbling onto the sofa. “Nope, you said it stays on all night. Looks
like you’re stuck ’til tomorrow.”
Jojo sprang up with a shriek of laughter, swatting Beret with a
cushion from the sofa. He had not expected the attack and he
tripped backward over an ottoman. Jojo was yanked from her
standing position and landed on top of him unceremoniously,
knocking the wind out of both of them. As soon as they were both
able to breathe, they began to laugh, then, as the laughter
subsided, there was a moment of silence. Jojo lay on Beret’s chest,
her hands on his shoulders, and his arms around her waist.
“Y’know,” Jojo swallowed, “if this collar is going to stay on all
night, the sleeping arrangements could get complicated.”
Beret’s eyes narrowed. The here and now was in his arms. The
smell of sweat, perfume, and alcohol swirled in his nostrils.
Without thinking, his hands grew tighter around her waist, and she
did nothing to pull away. He suddenly realized the other problem
with the pants she had chosen for him: the way she was laying, she
would know exactly what he was feeling. “Not really.”
The hand that held the leash let go of her waist, reached up,
and cupped the back of her head, gently bringing her mouth to his.
As they kissed, Beret felt her shiver. With his other hand still on
her waist, he sat up, sliding her into a kneeling position on his lap.
Their arms wrapped around each other as the passion in their
kisses rose.
142 ™ Adrian Drake

Wherever he touched her, she trembled. Her breath coming

harder and faster, Beret could feel Jojo practically melting. As he
undid her lacings, she tugged his shirt free and ran her warm
hands across his belly and chest. There was a tender acceptance, an
unspoken submission to their desires. It was completely unlike
what he experienced with Lucy.
When Beret nuzzled Lucy’s neck, she would bite him back.
Jojo simply pressed her neck harder against his lips. When he ran
his hand up his lover’s spine, Lucy’s nails would rake his back and
shoulders; Jojo simply shuddered and her breathing deepened.
With Lucy, love making was raw and primal. With Jojo, it was...
He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t.
Before he could move on, before he could move forward with
anyone, he had to end things with Lucy. She deserved that much.
Beret opened his eyes, settled his hands on Jojo’s waist and
moved her away from him. “I can’t do this.” He pulled his hand
from the loop and dropped the leash.
Jojo’s eyes welled with tears. She snatched up her discarded
bustier and hastily covered herself. “Yes, you can.”
“No. She deserves better than just being shut off and
forgotten. I was going to marry her.” Beret stood and pulled his
mesh shirt down. “We were going to build a life together.” His chin
quivered. “And now Lucy lives in that chip.”
“That’s not Lucy.” Jojo’s voice cracked. “That’s not a person.
Lucy’s dead. You got me? Dead. Your girlfriend is a taped copy of a
dead woman.”
“Shut up.”
“No.” Jojo clambered to her feet. “Lucy is dead, Beret. You’re
not having a relationship with Lucy, you’re having a relationship
with a photocopy wrapped around a prostitute.”
“Shut up!”
“And you’re so fuckin’ addicted to this virtual girlfriend that
you can’t live your life. You’d rather get it on with a fantasy, a
video game hooker, than make something great happen with a
living, breathing woman right in front of your face. You’re in love
with a hot-wired AI with more glitches in it than a piece of
betaware.”
His eyes wild with anger, Beret roared, “Don’t you dare talk
about Lucy like that!”
“That’s not Lucy!” Jojo’s voice spat pure venom back at Beret.
“Lucy’s dead.” She balled up her fists and shook them angrily. “I
understand why you feel guilty for her death, but fucking trancers
 Null/Void ™ 143

wired with her PerSim is not going to bring her back! Until you
figure that out, you’re just as dead as she is.”
Beret’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words
came from his lips.
Jojo took a deep breath and tamped her boiling temper to a
simmer. “Sergei will give you an EKG tomorrow. It will give you a
good idea how you’re healing up. It would be rude and ungrateful if
you leave before the party on Saturday. I’ll leave with him on
Sunday, go back to Chicago, and finish up with Trevor’s rigs. After
that, you can go to hell for all I care. You don’t need a wrench, you
need a fuckin’ shrink.”
Jojo gritted her teeth and looked down at the floor, then
returned her eyes to Beret’s face. “Fuck you.” She turned and ran
down the hallway, slamming the door to her room behind her.
Beret stood in the darkness for several minutes, his mind
racing, but full of nothing. He opened the patio door and walked
down the beach to the surf, shedding pieces of clothing with each
step. He dove into the surf and let the Mediterranean wash over
him, swimming until his arms could no longer stroke and his legs
were tired of kicking. The waves pushed him back onto the sand,
where he crawled up the beach to the house. His attempt to cloud
his pain had failed.
Beret collapsed onto his bed. His heart and mind were still
conflicted, each blaming the other for the pain and loss he felt.

Beret stood in the shower, his forearms against the wall, the water
blasting down on his scalp and shoulders. The water had long since
gone cold. He didn’t really care. Leaving the shower meant he’d
have to go into the rest of the house. As small as the bungalow was,
there was no way he’d be able to avoid Jojo.
Sergei had said nothing outright, but his demeanor during
Beret’s check up made it clear the servants had told him something
was up. At least the EKG results had been encouraging. The
damage done to his heart was extensive, but he would recover.
He’d need a couple of months with minimal exposure to the
tailgunner, but the muscle was repairing itself.
Turning off the water, Beret stepped out of the shower onto
the thick bathmat. As he pulled out the gel and razors, his eyes
never left his reflection in the mirror. He wanted to be mad at Jojo,
scream and rage. She had no right to talk to him like that, no right
to tell him how to live his life. She knew he was involved and she
was the one who had made the decision to throw herself at him. If
anyone had a reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed, it was her.
144 ™ Adrian Drake

Beret snorted. Rather than freaking out and being a psycho about
the matter, she should be thankful that he stopped things before
they’d ended up in a regrettable situation.
A painful nick to his chin quickly deflated Beret’s self-
righteous anger. Jojo wasn’t to blame for anything. He had fucked
up real good this time. Lucy was all but lost to him, and now he had
lost the best damn wrench he could have hoped for, not to mention
whatever could have been between him and Jojo. Was he losing his
edge? Maybe Maxie had the right idea; maybe it was time to retire.
Taking a wet washcloth, he wiped his head and face. Now was
not the time to make life-altering decisions. It would be better to
just let the next few days pass, get back to Chicago, and find the
guy who whacked Trevor. He’d apologize to Solly and ask for a new
wrench, and business would be back to normal.
Jojo would survive. She had mad skills and now had a little
experience working with nulls. If she had sense, she’d go back to
just running a fix-it shop, but somehow he doubted returning to
that life held any appeal for her. He raised a hand to his ear and
twisted the crossed lightning bolt earring so it was straight. Maybe,
if she was really a pro, they’d be working together again in six
months.

Jojo lounged on a settee reading a magazine, enjoying the warmth

of the sunlight on her skin. Her lack of melanin generally
precluded any proximity to the sun, and that made the bungalow a
rare treat. The UV filters on the windows allowed her to soak up as
much sun as the leather fringe bikini exposed her to. Even if she
couldn’t tan, there was a feeling of relief as she was drenched by
the afternoon’s rays.
The magazine was drivel, mostly celebrity news and paparazzi
photo ops. The issue was two years old, but Sergei had kept it. A
Post-It note marked page sixteen. In the middle of the page was a
photo captioned “Maeve O’Toole, Joaquina Fleischmann, and
Sergei Rastoff yuck it up on the red carpet at the London premiere
of Fallen Empire”. Jojo laughed silently as she recollected the fun
they’d had that night.
Unlike other models at the highest echelon, Maeve and Jojo
had been honest-to-goodness friends. They had the same agent,
and, at their request, he kept them as evenly exposed in the market
as he could, often packaging them together for big deals. Why get
just one of the top models for your magazine cover when you could
have two for just a little more? The two women had chemistry
together; that no one could deny. Maeve’s dry wit played nicely
 Null/Void ™ 145

with Jojo’s wisecracking. Jojo was outrageous and wild, while

Maeve remained reserved and almost predatory. In many ways it
was because they were complete opposites that they worked so well
together. So well, in fact, that no one was surprised when the two
became an item.
One of the few people in the industry who knew Jojo planned
to leave, Maeve didn’t pretend to understand it. She loved the wild
nightlife, media attention, and hobnobbing with the rich and
famous. Maeve enjoyed her life in the fast lane and kept the pedal
to the floor as often as she could. As close as the two women had
been, there was one thing they always fought about. Maeve had
been an addict even before she had made it in the modeling world.
Legal or not, she and Jojo went around and around about her
staying clean.
On the very first day she opened her shop, Jojo was fixing a
television. The first clear picture on the newly repaired set was
footage of the wreckage of Maeve’s car. Jojo had helped her pick
out the vintage Jaguar; it was unmistakable. The coroner had
reported that cocaine and heroin had both factored in the driver’s
loss of control.
Jojo brushed a finger over Maeve’s figure in the photo. Barely
a month apart and Maeve had died. How different would it be with
Beret? He was an addict. His affliction was just as deadly. A virtual
woman held his heart. A digital ghost would lead him into a spiral
of self-destruction and eventual brain death. Beret made his
money gambling with his life, betting that he was better than
anyone or anything he might come up against. It wouldn’t be a
security officer or a ganger that would take Beret’s life; it would be
an electronic copy of a woman long dead.
Perhaps it was pride or pettiness or even an old-fashioned
competitive streak, but the idea of losing a man to a computerized
sex toy made her want to grab a baseball bat and club Beret over
the head with it. After Maeve’s death, Jojo promised herself to stay
away from lovers with more baggage than sense. So then, why
couldn’t she get him out of her head?
To hell with it and to hell with him. She had already agreed to
allow Sergei to escort her to the beach party. She’d be back in
Chicago by Monday. They’d get this Trevor mess sorted out and
things could go back to business as usual. Uncle Solly could get
Beret a new wrench and he could go back to fucking trancers. Part
of her almost pitied Beret. In a pathetic sort of way, she could see
how a brain tape of his ex-girlfriend could be more addictive than
meth, heroin, or crack. In the end, he would just be another dead
146 ™ Adrian Drake

null. Unlike Maeve’s, his death would be so insignificant that no

one would ever hear of it. He’d simply disappear.
 Chapter 19

Beret poked at the immense bonfire with a long stick, sending

embers high into the Moroccan night sky. Only a few people sat
around the fire, mostly locals they had met at the dance club.
Sergei’s circle of friends tended to stay closer to the bungalow,
where they could more easily enjoy the bar or slip into the hot tub.
A more adventurous group had slipped into the sea and was
enjoying the prevailing warm currents.
It was an unseasonably cool evening, but Sergei did not allow
that to dampen the spirit of the party. A pair of radiant heaters had
been placed inside the tent that had been set up in the center of the
beach. The DJ stayed away from slower grooves, keeping the
dancers moving at a frenzied pace. The few people that could not
stand the chill retreated to the bungalow’s parlor. Beret smiled
wryly. Even though they had not really spoken since Thursday,
when it became obvious that the bungalow would host some of the
party, Jojo gave Beret a key and politely told him to lock his room
unless the thought of other people having sex on his bed appealed
to him. Although in his mind she had every reason to hate him, she
still cared enough to be mindful of his feelings.
Beret scowled up at the patio and poked the fire viciously,
sending sparks flaring into the air. Sergei stood in the center, as if
holding court; the young rich, jetsetters of Europe enraptured by
his presence. Beret’s stomach turned into a snarled knot at seeing
Jojo on Sergei’s arm. The saffron-, mango-, and seafoam-flowered
sarong contrasted magnificently with her milk-white skin. The
crimson, long sleeve half-shirt matched it well without washing out
her face. Compared to the casual suit Sergei wore, she looked
utterly out of place.
“You know, if you keep stabbing at it like that you’ll cause the
pyre to cave in and the fire will die way down.” Olivia’s arms
wrapped around Beret’s waist, and she straddled the large
driftwood log beside him. “I have never seen anyone so dark and
brooding at one of Sergei’s parties.” She gave him a peck on the
cheek. “You need to lighten up, mate. You want a drink?” Her arms
left his waist and, as if by magic, she produced a pair of tall plastic
tumblers.
“I am not dark, nor am I brooding.” Beret took the cup, sniffed
it, took a sip, and then looked at the contents in surprise. “I didn’t
see any of the good stuff at the bar.”
148 ™ Adrian Drake

Olivia’s laugh was musical. “There isn’t any, but I’ve been to
enough of his parties to know what to expect.” She flashed a small
bottle in a pocket of her jean jacket. “I brought my own. I get the
worst hangovers from that synthetic garbage. When Jojo
mentioned your fondness for rum and Coke, I thought I’d bring
you a little surprise.” She watched Beret intently as he savored
another mouthful of his drink. “I’m guessing Chicago is as cold a
place as the media makes it look.”
Beret’s eyes darted to the patio then to Olivia. “What makes
you say that?”
“In my business, it’s important to have an eye for detail. It’s
equally important for the food to smell, taste, and look good.”
Olivia took a drink and then pressed closer to Beret. “Everyone
here that is not in the dance tent or inside is freezing their butt off.
You’re sitting here in a pair of jeans and a thin t-shirt and you
don’t even have goosebumps, ergo — you’re used to this.”
A lopsided smile forced its way onto Beret’s face. “When I’m
working, I pray for nights like this.”
“Working outside at night.” Olivia sat a little straighter.
“You’re far too cool to be a member of high society, and far too
casual to be a corporate businessman.” Olivia tsked at him
playfully, and her eyes narrowed as she looked Beret up and down.
“What has my innocent little Jo gotten herself into?”
Beret’s eyes returned to Jojo. “Nothing. I’m a professional
courier, and she keeps my ride humming.”
It was Olivia’s turn to glance up at Jojo and back to Beret. “So
your relationship is purely professional?”
“Absolutely.”
Olivia took a long drink from her cup and shuddered violently.
“A Latin woman has brought you alcohol, put herself so far into
your personal space that you could wear her, and all but crudely
propositioned you. If you were any other man, we’d already be in
your bedroom breathing heavy.”
Beret’s eyes went wide in surprise as all his attention was
suddenly focused on Olivia. There was playfulness in her voice, but
the look on her face let him know she was very serious.
“Like I said, I have an eye for detail. The two of you are crazy
about each other. What’s the problem?”
Beret shook his head. “It’s not like that. Jojo and I are
business associates. I’m involved with another woman back in
Chicago.” Olivia’s grip on Beret loosened. “It’s all very
complicated.”
 Null/Void ™ 149

“So, if you have a woman back home, does she know you’re
cheating on her with Jojo?”
Beret spluttered and nearly dropped his cup. “I...I’m not. I
mean, we...we haven’t...”
“Yes, you have.” Olivia patted Beret’s chest. “In here. It’s
killing you seeing Jojo with Sergei.”
Olivia drained her cup in a single swallow. “He’s a plastic
surgeon that backed into high society by having a gift for making
fading women feel young and beautiful again. He doesn’t respect
Jojo the way you do. He doesn’t see the depths in her that you do.
He doesn’t recognize her talents and skills the way you do.” Olivia
turned Beret’s face so that he was looking back at Jojo. “In your
mind, he doesn’t deserve her. Even if you don’t want to admit it,
you want to go up there and take her off his arm and sweep her off
her feet.” Olivia turned Beret’s face back to her. “But you can’t,
because you’re involved with someone else. Do you love the woman
you are with?”
Beret stood, pulling himself free from Olivia. “What kind of
question is that? Of course I do.”
“I asked because I see no ring on your finger.” Olivia looked
down into her empty cup. “Many people come to Al Hociema to
forget their lives. You’re so far away from home, and yet...” She
looked up and smiled. “Have you called home since you’ve been
here? Have you called her?”
“I can’t.” Beret waved off Olivia’s offered cell phone. “Like I
said. It’s complicated.”
Olivia extended the cell phone again. “How complicated could
it be? Call her. If you can’t talk to her, leave her a voicemail.”
“I can’t call her because she’s dead.” The impact of his words
struck Beret like a cannon shot. Even at the funeral, Beret had
never said the words. He could say she had fallen, or she had gone
down, or she wasn’t coming back, but he had never been able to
bring himself to admit aloud that Lucy was dead. “Lucy was
murdered by gangers.”
Olivia’s face went from playful to genuinely concerned. “That’s
terrible. How long?”
Beret closed his eyes, sat back down on the log, and rubbed his
forehead. “It’s been a little over two years.”
Olivia put an arm around Beret’s shoulders. “Given your taste
in women, I imagine your Lucy was amazing.”
“She was one in a million.” Beret drained his cup. “We’re both
empty. You got any more?” Olivia laughed and pulled the bottle
from her jacket, pouring a liberal splash into their cups before
150 ™ Adrian Drake

tossing the empty bottle into the bonfire. “She was my whole life;
she will always be a part of me.”
Olivia savored a mouthful of the dark spiced rum for a
moment before swallowing. “If she loved you as much as you loved
her, I can’t imagine she would want you to waste your life away
rather than moving on with another woman.”
Beret grimaced. “If only.” Seeing where the conversation was
headed, Beret decided to sidestep the entire issue rather then go
into detail or lie. “I’m not able to move on yet. I don’t know when,
or if, I will be.”
Olivia rose and kissed Beret on his forehead. “Then, my friend,
the weight of the problem lies squarely on your shoulders. On the
one hand, you have a woman that will be in your heart for as long
as you wish her to be. You will have peace, but you will never have
comfort. On the other hand, you have a woman that drives you
crazy in both good and bad ways. I imagine you want to choke Jojo
nearly as often as you wish to hold her in your arms. With her you
would have comfort, but I imagine peace would be rare.”
Olivia giggled. “Personally, I think peace is grossly overrated.
Nothing beats make-up sex after a good fight, especially with
Jojo.” She smiled knowingly and drained her tumbler for a second
time. “The dead woman will always be there for you. I can’t
imagine the living one will wait forever.”

Gloves simply didn’t go with what she was wearing. When Jojo
dealt with normal people, it didn’t matter, but the “beautiful
people” were anything but normal in Jojo’s mind. Even cleaned up
and manicured, there was no way to hide the beating her hands
took from her work as a mechanic. Every time she shook someone’s
hand, she saw their quick downward glance of surprise. To these
people, she was Joaquina Fleischmann, world famous model, not
Jojo the fix-it girl.
At first she was excited about seeing the old crowd, then it
slowly dawned on her how many of then were simply people she
knew, and how few of them were people she could call friends. For
all his shortcomings, Sergei was a friend. Aside from him, Olivia,
and Beret, most of these people didn’t give a damn about her
unless being in her company had something in it for them.
Jojo wasn’t even sure whether Beret counted on her list of
friends anymore. Ultimately, he just wanted something from her as
well. What he wanted was more personalized, but it was still just
business. If Beret wanted them to just be business associates, she
didn’t see a reason to void the arrangement. There was nobody else
 Null/Void ™ 151

she could make as much money with. That’s what it was all about,
right?
Sergei had been elated about the turn of events. He had
doubled the guest list as soon as she offered to be his escort for the
party. She knew he still hoped that she would recover from this
phase she was going through and return to the fashion world. She
could only begin to imagine what marketing and advertising
executives he had invited.
Beret had been on his best behavior, which had surprised Jojo.
She had to admit her expectation of Beret treating the staff and
party guests like crap would have been out of character for him. A
small hurt piece of her was simply looking for reasons to be upset
with him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Beret. He
and Olivia were getting quite cozy. Jojo felt her cheeks flush with
an anger that came out of nowhere. So she wasn’t good enough, but
Olivia was okay. The man was infuriating.
Her field of vision was suddenly obscured by a woman with a
generous figure wearing a daring periwinkle suit. “Jojo darling!
How are you?” Jojo found herself buried in the woman’s ample
frame.
Renee Quimby was an older, motherly woman that believed in
hugs rather than handshakes for the people she represented. She
and Jojo’s agent had brokered enough deals together that most in
the fashion industry assumed a merger wasn’t far off. Renee was
one of the few agents that were seen as a good person who could
nevertheless be tough when negotiating. She released the bearhug
and stood Jojo straight. “So, Marcus tells me when the contract
came up, you chose not to re-sign. You’re taking this retirement
pretty seriously, aren’t you?”
Jojo smiled and nodded, trying to get a glimpse of Beret
around the larger woman. “Yes, I’m pretty much done.” Jojo’s brow
furrowed. “Uncle Solly said you were trying to get hold of me.”
Renee put an arm around Jojo’s shoulders and determinedly
detached the young woman from her escort, turned her around,
and began walking them towards the hot tub. “I know tonight’s not
about business, and if you’re one hundred percent retired I’ll tell
them to sod off.” Renee paused, allowing the words to sink in. “On
the other hand, Calvin Klein has an ad campaign for a new line of
clothing and fragrances called Ethereal. The execs at CK want you
and only you for this product. There may be more beautiful women
in the world, but they don’t believe there is anyone as striking as
152 ™ Adrian Drake

you. They are willing to do anything to get you for this one
campaign.”
Jojo shook her head. “Renee, I’m retired. I don’t want to do
the big glamour thing anymore. I don’t want to do the shows; I
don’t want to do the premieres; I don’t want to be in the middle of
this scene anymore.” Jojo stopped walking and looked over at
Renee. “Honestly, the only reason I’m here is because I have a sick
friend who needed to get away from Chicago and Sergei was nice
enough to let us stay here.”
Renee smiled. “Good thing I do my homework.” Renee pulled a
folded contract from the inside pocket of her suit coat. “Sergei
mentioned all that when he and I talked yesterday. Like I said, CK
wants you and no one else.” She handed Jojo the contract. “The ad
campaign is supposed to run for two years, but there’s an extension
clause if both parties are amenable. You don’t have to go anywhere
— no appearances, no shows, no media blitz, nothing. Every three
months, a full camera crew comes to Chicago. You give them one
weekend. All shots will be in a studio. They shoot for two days,
then they leave. What they get is what they get. Eight photo shoots
spread over two years, and if you don’t want to do any more after
that you can just say no and they’ll recycle old photos if they have
to.”
Renee flipped through the few pages of the contract. “When
the camera crew leaves, they hand you a check,” Renee’s finger
hovered over a figure in the middle of the page, “minus my fifteen
percent, of course. Not bad for two days work, I’d say. Plus, one
more check as a signing bonus. Think of it as CK’s way of saying
thank-you.”
Jojo’s mouth hung open in shock. “That’s per shoot?” Renee
smiled and nodded. Jojo let out a low whistle. “That’s more than I
made in a year when I was doing this full time.”
Renee hugged Jojo with the arm around her shoulder and
produced a pen with the other hand. “Marcus knows all the right
people, but he’s nowhere near as persistent as I am.” Clicking the
pen, she handed it to Jojo. “If you sign, it means you are officially
in my stable of talent, but I understand this retirement thing.
Nobody else gets you, and unless you ask me for more work, I
won’t call you except on Christmas and your birthday.”
Jojo had wanted nothing more to do with the fashion world,
but if working with Beret had taught her anything, it was: never
turn away free money. Going through motions with which she was
far too familiar, Jojo signed and initialed the contract. “When’s the
first shoot?”
 Null/Void ™ 153

Renee returned the contract to the inner pocket of her suit

coat then produced a heavy manila envelope which she handed to
Jojo. “If next weekend is impossible, they’re going to want it the
following. You know ad people — ’til they get their first stack of
glossies, nothing makes them happy.”
Taking what she assumed was her signing bonus, Jojo did her
best to keep from trembling. “Yeah, next weekend is no good. The
next isn’t really good for me, either, but we’ll make it happen.” Jojo
opened the slim purse that hung over one shoulder and placed the
envelope inside. After brief consideration, she opened an ancient
coin purse and pulled out one of the business cards for the shop.
“This is for you and only you. I don’t care what you tell CK or the
media, hell, tell them you talk to me via Sherpa.” She handed
Renee the card. “I’m in Chicago. When they know when and where
the shoot’s gonna be, you call me and tell me. I’ll show up.”
“You got it, hon.” Renee gave Jojo another hug. “I’d love to
stick around for the rest of the party, but the guys at CK wanted
this yesterday.” Her voice low, she chuckled in Jojo’s ear. “Besides,
most of these people are assholes.”

By the looks of things, Sergei hadn’t missed Jojo’s presence. She

almost wanted to sneer at the sycophantic throng hanging on
Sergei’s every word. Among the list of annoying personality traits
he exhibited, Jojo found his open moral debates, where he would
take both sides of the argument and then pass the end result off as
philosophy, among his worst. Apparently the topic of the night was
human genetic engineering. As the rant portion of his debate grew
to a fever pitch, Jojo feigned a need to refresh her drink.
As the bartender poured Jojo a Coke, she glanced over to
where Beret and Olivia had been sitting. They were gone. “To hell
with him,” Jojo muttered as she stormed away from the bar. The
Calvin Klein job meant a huge payday. If she didn’t want to do null
work anymore, she didn’t need to. She sighed. Sugarcoat it any way
she wanted, it still meant she was back in the industry, back to
being a human mannequin, a piece of meat. She swore loudly,
startling several people nearby.
It wasn’t supposed to be about the money. Beret’s moral
constipation had wormed its way into her life. He was the one who
turned everything into a price tag. Money could solve any problem.
His devotion to his video girlfriend was maddening enough, but
between that, and him hooking up with Olivia, she’d had enough.
154 ™ Adrian Drake

Jojo stormed into the bungalow. Two couples were sitting on

the hallway floor, chatting. “Out.” Her crazy-woman stare was
enough to get them moving without objection.
She reached the end of the hall and paused, hearing a
commotion in the bathroom. She flung open the door and shot the
same look she had given the four in the hallway at the couple
having sex against the sink. “Out!” Dressing themselves hastily, the
two left quickly. No one dared provoke Jojo’s wrath.
Jojo turned and looked across the hall. Light shone from
under Beret’s door, and she could hear the unmistakable voice of
Ray Charles coming from the room. Her temper flared to a boil as
she imagined the small talk between Beret and Olivia. Unable to
restrain herself, Jojo threw open his door.
An open suitcase sat on Beret’s bed. Next to the suitcase was a
pile of clothing. Folding the shiny pants from the club over one
arm, Beret looked up in surprise. “Need something?”
Jojo put her hands on her hips. “I saw the light on and was
trying to do you a favor. I was making sure no one was using your
room to hook up.” Jojo nibbled at the inside of her lower lip. “Are
you leaving tomorrow, as well?”
Beret shrugged. “I figured with both you and Sergei gone, it’d
be rude of me to stay in the house.” Beret dropped the pants into
the suitcase and began folding the shirt. “I’m catching the same
flight to Madrid as you. He offered to give me a ride.”
Jojo’s mouth twisted. “Speaking of rude, those pants are his.”
Beret chuckled, tossed the shirt in and began folding another.
“No worries. Sergei told me to keep the pants, said that I looked
better in them than him.” He looked back at Jojo. “So, are you
going to tell me the real reason you burst in here?”
Jojo’s face turned bright red. “What makes you think there
was any other reason?”
“I dunno. I was talking with Olivia.”
“I noticed.” Jojo folded her arms tightly across her chest.
Beret balled up the shirt and turned to face Jojo. “Is that what
this is about?” He barked out a laugh. “You saw her making the
moves on me and thought we were in here.”
Jojo stepped into the room and slammed the door behind her.
“So what if I did? Olivia would have every right to know what kind
of headcase you were before making that mistake.”
Beret stood wordlessly, his jaw clenched. He took a deep
breath and turned back to his luggage. “Whatever. You can go back
to the party; it’s all good here. I wouldn’t want Sergei to miss you.”
“Sergei’s fine. He’s talking with some friends.”
 Null/Void ™ 155

“If you say so.” Beret gave up on folding and stuffed the rest of
his clothing into his suitcase then closed it. “He seems possessive
of you.”
Jojo raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“You made a big deal about wanting to be judged for who you
are rather than what you look like.” Beret shrugged and slid the
suitcase off the bed and down onto the floor. “He treats you like a
trophy, his little china doll.”
Jojo uncrossed her arms and closed the space between her and
Beret. “I’m not blind to Sergei’s flaws, but in his heart he is a good
and generous person.”
Beret shrugged again. “Sorry, but it’s in my nature to question
peoples motives. To me, it looks like he wants to get into your
pants.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s already been
there.” Jojo poked Beret’s chest with an extended finger. “Unlike
some people, he lives in the here and now.”
“So, is that the real price of a ‘free’ week in his bungalow?” He
didn’t flinch when Jojo slapped his face.
“You son of a bitch.” Jojo’s voice was barely a whisper. Her
eyes stung with tears. “I thought you were...I can’t believe I fell for
you. When I’m done with Trevor’s rigs, I never want to hear from
you again. I want you and your shit and your baggage and all the
fucked up drama you’ve brought into my life out. You can be Mister
Dark and Brooding Null somewhere else, inflict your bullshit on
somebody else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Ha!” Jojo threw her hands in the air. “Sorry for
what? Dragging my heart into quicksand? Being an asshole?
Finding the best and quickest way to make me feel like shit? Tell
me, Beret, with your screwed-up tough-guy world, what do you
possibly have to be sorry for? I wouldn’t think a real null would
know how to say sorry. There’s no payday in an apology.”
“What the fuck do you want from me, woman?” Beret’s green
eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. “I fucked up. I admit I fucked
up and I apologize, and you’re still being a bitch!” He pounded his
fists against the sides of his thighs and let out a growl of
frustration. “Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch, you make me
insane!”
“Make you insane?” Jojo wiped the tears from her eyes. “You
can’t blame me for your issues. You came to me with a head full of
bad wiring! You’re the one fucking with my head, leading me
around, making me nuts!”
156 ™ Adrian Drake

The two stood glaring at each other, Beret defiant and

breathing hard. She wanted to scream and yell, to hit him, knock
some sense into him. There was a part of Jojo that wanted to just
hate him; that would be easier. She stood staring into his eyes, and
could not find the strength to turn away.
Suddenly Beret cupped her face in his hands and drew her
mouth to his. Jojo hesitated stiffly for a moment before giving in to
her own heart. As their kisses became stronger and more
passionate, the argument was forgotten. The party, their
commitments, their troubles — all were discarded as quickly as
their clothing. All hesitation and inhibition was lost.
Beret sat on the bed, his feet still on the floor. She settled on
his right knee, her elbows on his shoulders. The kissing continued
as his arms enveloped her waist, pulling her tight to his hip. As his
kisses trailed down her neck, her head fell back. His mouth sizzled
on her upturned breasts. The tip of his tongue circled the erect
peak and he smiled at the sound of her sudden gasp. His hands
explored the taut muscles of her bare back and Jojo leaned
forward, kissing his shoulder. Her lips traced his collarbone into
his neck, where she began kissing him in earnest again.
Beret lifted Jojo and laid back, placing her on the bed next to
him. His eyes narrowed as he rolled over, half sliding off the bed to
a kneeling position, his head in her lap, and she sat up. Beret gave
the ring in her belly button a gentle tug with his teeth, then kissed
her side and hips. Jojo leaned back onto her elbows and arched
into his touch.
His left hand caressed her breasts while his right hand trailed
tantalizingly across the crease of her hip. His ebony finger parted
the small mound of snow-white curls and Jojo cried out as he
traced a gentle figure eight. He lowered his mouth and she
squirmed at the rough stubble of his chin tickling the tender skin
just below the belt line.
Her half-closed eyes went wide and her hands scrabbled
across the sheets as she felt a finger tease inside of her while his
tongue entered her slit and began a more firm random pattern
than the gentle eights. She could feel a scream building when he
changed his angle, wielding his tongue to strike like a viper. His
fingernails danced across the curve of her ass, raising goosebumps.
The built-up scream exploded as the hand tickling underneath
suddenly gripped firm and Beret’s thumb plunged deeply into the
moist folds.
Jojo’s hands flailed and clawed at the headboard and bedding.
She was not a novice in bed, had even been with a few expert
 Null/Void ™ 157

lovers, but Beret was like nothing she had ever experienced. She
could feel his cheeks pull back in a grin against her thighs. He
seemed to be trying different angles and amounts of pressure just
to get her to react. She cried out again and shuddered. He
withdrew his hand, and she felt her warm nectar running onto the
sheets.
Jojo clasped Beret’s head and he obliged her, their mouths
meeting again. This time, there was an unspoken need between
them. Tasting herself on his lips as their tongues explored, Jojo felt
herself growing wetter. She snaked a leg underneath him and
urged him between her thighs.
Beret grinned again and with a single swift motion hooked his
arms behind both of her knees and thrust himself deep into her.
Wet with desire and hungry for him, Jojo gritted her teeth and
growled with pleasure. Their eyes were open and locked on one
another. As each moment passed, she wanted more and more of
him. She reached forward and grabbed the backs of his biceps,
urging him faster, harder, deeper. Her breaths became gasps and
then cries. Her hands moved from his arms to the back of his neck,
pulling him to her. She felt a loosening then a rush of fire up her
spine. She let go, thrashing as she came. A small voice in her head
silently hoped Sergei could hear her screaming Beret’s name.
Beret drove himself into her one last time, long and hard, and
she collapsed. She felt an explosion of heat deep inside and he
released her legs, falling to his hands, still above her. She twisted
and squirmed on his still-hard penis. Watching the look of
pleasure on his face, she understood why he grinned as a smile of
her own crept across her face. With Beret still on his hands and
knees, she wrapped her legs around the back of his muscular
thighs and started rotating her pelvis up and down. The sensation
and movement was entirely different from the frenetic sex they had
just had, but both were immediately re-engaged. Beret lowered
himself to his elbows and began kissing Jojo’s neck and shoulders
as her arms wrapped around his chest.
To Jojo’s surprise, it was Beret who cried out. He extended his
arms, pushing himself into a seated position before arching his
back. He shook violently and she felt another white-hot surge of
heat deep inside her. His eyes fluttered open and he looked down
at her, and she took his hands, guiding him to a prone position
beside her.
Jojo curled against Beret, and he pulled the blanket over both
of them and wrapped an arm around her. He reached over and
switched off the light. Jojo took a deep breath and sighed, content
158 ™ Adrian Drake

and fulfilled, until a wave of panic and doubt hit her. The sex had
been amazing, but the basic problem hadn’t changed. Lucy was still
part of his life. They still had to go back to Chicago. How was he
going to react in the morning?
Beret must have felt the sudden tension in her because he gave
her a squeeze, kissed her, and murmured, “I’m here, and I’m not
going anywhere.” Jojo looked up into his eyes. “Time to start living
in the now.”
 Chapter 20

Jojo screeched as they entered the shop. Beret had a one-armed

deathgrip on her waist and was flopping her around like a rag doll.
“You are being an utter maniac!” As he closed the door behind
them, she locked her ankles around his calf and tried to arch her
back.
He effortlessly pulled her tight to his chest, and whispered
huskily in her ear. “Yeah, but you’re liking it.”
Jojo’s spine tingled as the stubble of his chin brushed her neck
as he roughly kissed her. His hand pushed under her belly-tee, and
she bit her lip as he cupped her breast, pinching the steel-hard
nipple.
“I figure we got at least an hour or two until the jet lag sets in.”
Even through two pairs of jeans, she could feel him growing
hard. Just the idea of having him again was making her wet.
“Fuck!”
The ringer for the phone was hooked to a large bell on the wall
in the shop. The idea was that it should be loud enough to be heard
over several running engines. In the dead silence of the empty
shop, the sudden jarring sound startled both of them. Suddenly
released by Beret, Jojo fell to her hands and knees on the hard tile
floor. “Sonofa...”
Beret hoisted her to her feet as the bell rang again. “Sorry,
babe.” He kissed her cheek then brushed off her knees. “I guess
unplugging for a week has me off my game. Can’t believe I was
scared by a fucking telephone.”
Jojo batted his hands away playfully. “Whatever. Pussy.”
She giggled at the look of surprise on his face and winked.
Walking to the counter, she looked over at the answering machine.
Full. “Dammit, I gotta grab this.” Beret nodded and walked out of
the storefront, into the main shop. She could hear one of the
overhead doors opening. She chuckled. The man certainly did love
his Lincoln. The phone rang again and she picked up the receiver.
“Jojo’s Fixit. We’re closed, but we’ll be open at eight tomorrow
morn...”
“Joaquina.”
Jojo felt every ounce of strength drain from her body and
nearly dropped the receiver. “D-dad? What?”
The cold, bitter voice on the other end of the phone continued.
“I am glad to hear you’ve come back to your senses. I’d think you
160 ™ Adrian Drake

would have come to the funeral. Too busy partying in Europe to

come home?”
“Dad, what the hell are you talking about? I was in Morocco
helping a sick friend recuperate.” She grabbed a hair band off of
the counter and pulled her hair into a rough ponytail while
cradling the phone on her shoulder. “Whose funeral? Who died?”
“Your Uncle Solomon and your Aunt Karen.”
This time Jojo did drop the phone as she stifled a scream with
both hands. Skittish, she looked over her shoulder into the shop.
Beret was pulling their bags out of the trunk of his car. She picked
up the receiver gingerly, as if it could hurt her. “Sorry, Dad.”
“So, you do care? When you didn’t show, or even call—”
Jojo’s vision went glassy as tears poured down her cheeks.
“Fuck you! Of course I care! He’s the only person in this damn
family who cared about what I want from life. He and Karen were
the only two who respected my decision to follow my passion. Of
course I fucking care!” Her knuckles went pink from her deathgrip
on the receiver. “What happened?” She could hear her father
covering the mouthpiece and speaking to someone. Jojo assumed it
was her mother.
“Your uncle’s corporate security found them a few days ago.
Someone shot your uncle several times. They said it looked like a
professional hit until they found Karen in the basement. She had
been raped and tortured for several hours before the bastard killed
her.” For the first time in her life, Jojo heard her father’s voice
choke with an emotion other than anger. “The bastard knew
enough to clean the place before leaving. Solomon’s company said
that if it was a professional, there was little chance of finding the
killer.” There was a huff as her father took a breath and the twinge
of raggedness left his voice. “Solomon had your contact
information in his things; he named you as his sole beneficiary—”
“Goodbye, Dad.” Hanging up the phone, she looked up into her
lover’s eyes. Beret entered the room and dropped their luggage,
enveloping Jojo in his arms as she wailed her anguish.

“I don’t want you to go.” Jojo caressed Beret’s taut abdomen and
kissed his chest as she curled tighter into the crook of his arm. “I
need you to stay with me tonight.”
Beret kissed her forehead. Her grief and an apparent need to
be close had led to frenzied lovemaking, which left her hair matted
and sweaty. She was a wreck, and the last thing he wanted to do
was leave her.
 Null/Void ™ 161

“Baby, this is business. Someone waited until we were out of

town and killed Solly. I’m betting it’s the same person who killed
Trevor and Xian.” He kissed her again and untangled himself from
her. “CorpSec may or may not have found everything his killer left
behind. Solly was just a handler. As long as they reacquired
anything that could have compromised the company, I doubt they
really give a damn who killed him. In a month they’ll have another
pro out there, using Solly’s contacts and intel. As soon as they have
another handler to replace him, it’ll be business as usual.”
Beret rose from the bed and scooped his jeans from the floor.
“I gotta hope they haven’t cleaned Solly’s place yet. It’s the only
chance we’ve got to find out who’s snuffing the people around me.”
He reached down and squeezed her hand gently. “Once I leave, set
the drones on high security. Nobody but you or me goes in or out. I
don’t want to chance them coming for you next.”
Jojo pulled the covers tightly around herself. “You think they
might?”
“All I got left is you and Max.” Beret reached into the interior
breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a pistol. “I’ll call
Maxie on the way to Solly’s. You want this?” He offered Jojo the
pistol but she shook her head. “I know, I know. You don’t like
guns.” He knelt down on the bed and kissed her. “Newb.”
“Asshole.” Jojo managed a smile through her welling eyes as
she slapped his chest. “You make sure you come back right away.”
He pulled the jeans on, hopping on one leg. “I’m gonna take a
shower and grab a few things from my place before hitting Solly’s. I
should be back before the sun comes up.” He paused,
uncomfortable about bringing the subject up. “I’m gonna need
Lucy for this.”
“Beret!”
He shook his head, making soft shushing noises as he placed a
pair of fingers on her lips. “If this son of a bitch got to Solly, he’s
good. Having her slotted from here to his place is the best way to
make sure I get back here.” He kissed Jojo. “I should have healed
enough over the last week to be able to slot her for just a couple of
hours. Once I’m in the door, she comes back out.”
“Promise?” Jojo’s lips were tight, and her jaw firmly clenched.
“I’m not putting up with this yo-yo shit anymore.”
Beret straightened up with a smile. “I’m in the here and now.
She’s a program, a digital ghost. The real Lucy is dead. I just need
my tailgunner to help me find Solly’s killer.” He kissed Jojo again.
“Here and now, you’re my woman.”
162 ™ Adrian Drake

Beret toweled the last of the dampness from his shoulders with one
hand as he used the other to pull the buckles on his boots tight.
After tossing the towel into the hamper in the corner, he pulled on
his favorite black Lycra turtleneck. The entire time he dressed, his
eyes never left the chipcase sitting in the middle of his bed. Maybe
it was just his imagination reflecting his mood, but the slim black
case looked remarkably like a coffin.
As he buckled each belt and adjusted every strap, his eyes
stayed trained on the case. It was very possible that tonight would
be the last time he would speak to Lucy, the last time he’d hear her
matter-of-fact Latino voice. The last time her ghost would haunt
his life.
Picking up the case, he went to the mirror. The fresh shave had
done wonders, but jet lag was starting to set in. He was going to
need coffee. He adjusted the crossed lightning bolts in the ear and
straightened his namesake beret, then opened the case. Both chips
sat in cradles, no more remarkable than any other piece of data.
Funny how the total of a person could be summed up on a piece of
silicon no bigger than a fingernail. Tilting his head to the side, he
lifted the flap of synthflesh and slotted the AI.
Closing the flap, he clenched his jaw, initializing the baseline
tailgunner. After being off of it for a week, he could acutely feel the
adrenaline rush of the system coming online. Blinking to the
internal HUD, he activated Lucy’s node. “Morning, Lucy. We got
work to do.”
“Well, aren’t you Mister Serious. Mmm-mmm. Damn, Beret,
you look good. How much time do we have?”
There was a playfulness in Lucy’s voice that tugged at his
heart, but at the same time, left him a sick feeling in the pit of his
stomach. “None. While you were off—”
“While I was off?” Beret gritted his teeth as she began
touching other systems, updating and initializing control nodes.
“Hijo de puta! I’ve been out a week? What have you and that little
puta been up to?”
Beret snarled, “Lucy, shut it. I don’t have time for this right
now. While you were off, Solly was murdered. We’re going to his
place to find out who did it.” Beret snatched his jacket off of the
hook on the back of his bedroom door and put it on. “We can talk
about you and me later. Right now, I need you to focus on
business.”

They rode the elevator down in silence, Beret mentally checking

and rechecking each of his weapons. As he entered the parking
 Null/Void ™ 163

garage, Lucy went into full scan mode. “Clear from here to the
Linc.”
“Thanks.” He checked the car for explosives a second time
before getting in, and as soon as the uplink cable was connected to
the port in his head, the engine roared to life.
“Biometrics says you’re out of sync. Where’d you go?”
“Morocco.” He could hear the pain in her voice. It was killing
him. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t Lucy, this
was a digital copy. Lucy was dead, and this was just a memory of
her.
“Biometrics says you’re running at seventy-two percent. You
need sleep.”
“I’m fine. I’ll grab some shut-eye when I get back to Jojo’s.” As
soon as the words left his mouth, he grimaced, wishing he could
take them back.
“Does she make you happy?”
There was a crack in Lucy’s voice. In life, Lucy was an
incredibly intuitive woman. Having access to bioreadings and
direct physical interfacing, the AI that she now inhabited might as
well have been a mindreader. Beret nodded slowly, licking his lips.
“Yeah. Like you did, like you would have.”
He could picture her face. Large round tears rolling down her
cheeks, tears clinging to her thick dark eyelashes. He could picture
her silently crying, not wanting to show any signs of weakness.
“What does that mean about us? About me?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Beret lied,
knowing full well that Lucy could tell it was a lie. He sighed and
looked down at the GPS on the dash. Solly’s place was about an
hour and a half drive; if there was no traffic, maybe a little less.
“Lucy, I’m still trying to figure things out.” He yawned and a warm
comfort washed over him. “Look, after we get a chance to figure
out what happened at Solly’s, we’ll sit down and talk things out.
Right now, I’ve got to do this.”
Beret stretched and his neck popped several times. “I’ve got a
bad case of jet lag and I need to be sharp. I’m gonna grab some
shut-eye. Get me to Solly’s”
“I got ya covered.”
He could hear the sting of resentment and the pain of loss in
her voice. Digital ghost or not, it killed him to hear her like this.

With Beret out of the house, and knowing she was the next most
likely target, Jojo could find no relief in sleep. An icy shower had
scattered the cobwebs and a pot of Jamaican Blue brought her back
164 ™ Adrian Drake

to a sharp edge. Attacking Trevor’s madcap pile of data would

distract her for a while.
The decryption scripts she had left running while she and
Beret were in Morocco had done what they could and now it was
just a matter of sorting through the crap. “You may have been a
nutcase, Trevor, but I’ve got to give ya credit — you were
thorough.”
Trevor had dissected Lucy’s AI into several hundred thousand
subroutines. She hadn’t overwritten the baseline tailgunner
program, but she did have incredible levels of control and
activation. As much of a control freak as Beret was, it spoke
volumes about how much he trusted Lucy and her judgment.
It was just as disturbing to see how much of Lucy’s AI Trevor
had noted as being corrupted. Brain taping was still an imperfect
technology, so some blemishes were expected here and there. In
Lucy’s case, there were entire cubes of data marked as “unusable”.
Trevor had matched up Beret’s working copy with what was
apparently the original and found a tremendous amount of
damage.
Jojo read over Trevor’s notes, sometimes scanning the same
paragraph two or three times, digesting what he was finding. To
operate at peak efficiency, tailgunner AIs were typically stripped of
any data that could confuse their decision making. Beret’s warning
of poorly designed AIs was mirrored in Trevor’s notes. In the end,
the tailgunner saw Lucy as nothing more than a program. Anytime
“Lucy” had a conflict with the tailgunner OS, it would have her
sever connections to the offending subroutine.
A tailgunner was designed to be efficient. It didn’t care about
childhood memories, the first person she made love to, or the
lyrics of a favorite song. Typically an AI could only make changes
in a controlled development environment. To maintain the illusion
of Lucy’s existence, she had access to full administrative
capabilities and was authorized to make changes on the fly. Beret
had an upper limit to how much storage his headwear could hold.
To make changes he requested, parts of Lucy had to be sacrificed.
The family life, memories of her first girlfriend in college, the
corporation she had been an engineer for were all lost to the
demands for combat efficiency. The problem with making her
better for combat was that it tore away portions of the personality
that defined who Lucy was.
Trevor’s conclusions were disturbing. Tailgunner AIs were
designed to survive. To make the controller better, it was shaping
Lucy into a more primal, perhaps even feral intelligence. The base
 Null/Void ™ 165

human animal was not a pretty thing...increased sexual drive, a

desire for more intense stimulation, an utter lack of ethics or
morality. In short, Lucy would do anything to stay alive. Jojo’s eyes
went wide and she scrambled, desperate to open up the security
videos.
“Please, God, no. Please, God, no. Please, God, no.” She
chanted her words like a mantra as she opened the viewer. The
decryption script had worked. Starting at the end of the feed, Jojo
watched the video in reverse. There was a sick feeling in the pit of
her stomach as she rewound past her arrival. Even at quadruple
speed, the scene was painfully long. Twenty-five minutes before
her arrival, Beret came into the room and discovered Trevor’s
death. Beret moved backwards out of the room and another half an
hour rewound. A sudden shape of a darkened person in the room
made Jojo’s hand dart out and pause the recording. Trevor’s killer.
Uncle Solly’s killer. Aunt Karen’s killer. She tapped the frame by
frame rewind until she could see Beret’s grinning face.
“Lucy,” she breathed.
There was a roar of gunfire and Jojo’s screen exploded in a
shower of sparks. “Hola, chica. Seems my secret is out.” Lucy stood
in the doorway, riding Beret’s body as if he were just another
trancer. The still smoking Colt dangled from a finger. Jojo’s blood
ran cold. It was Beret’s body, but all Jojo could see was a killer.
Chapter 21

Jojo stifled a scream as Lucy dragged her out of the chair by a

fistful of hair. “Why did you have to be so fuckin’ smart? If you’d
been a little dumber, puta, I might not have had to kill you. I
could’ve taken Beret and gotten out of your life. You’d never have
had to see him again. You could’ve just gone back to pretending
that you had the skills to work for a null.”
Jojo squealed in pain as Lucy lifted her until their faces met.
“Once Trevor figured it out, I knew he wasn’t going to let it go. It
sucks, too. If I’d decided to stay in the biz, he would’ve been
useful.”
“Stay in the biz?” Jojo hissed at Lucy between gritted teeth,
doing her best to maintain her composure. “You were gonna ride
on Beret’s rep?”
Lucy threw Jojo to the floor. “A little at least. It never hurts to
have some extra cash and I wasn’t sure how much Maxie was
holding for Beret. Retirement’s expensive.”
“Retirement?” Jojo’s eyes darted around, looking for the
quickest path of escape. “I’d think the money you’d make as Beret
would keep you interested in the game.”
Before she had a chance to bolt, a heavy boot caught Jojo in
the midsection and sent her skidding into the hallway. As she
caught her breath, Jojo looked up to see Lucy make a satisfied
sneer that she never could’ve imagined on Beret’s face. “Yeah, the
idea of all that money appealed to me at first, but I’m not really
interested in getting killed again. Once was enough.”
Jojo tried to scramble to her feet, but another kick from Lucy
sent her sprawling again. It felt as if the blow had broken a few
ribs. “What if Maxie sees through you, realizes you’re not Beret?
Beret said most of his money is tied up with Maxie. Think you can
take the guy who taught Beret everything he knows?”
Lucy hoisted Jojo to her feet only to backhand her to the floor
again. “How stupid do you think I am, puta? Maxie’s a bad
motherfucker. I may have Beret’s body, but I don’t have his skills.
If I did, that would’ve been your head, not the monitor.” A sadistic
smile crossed Lucy’s face. “On the other hand, Maxie’d pay through
the nose if I snatch up his husband and threaten to mail him back
one piece at a time. It might take two or three fingers, but I’m sure
Maxie will get the message.”
 Null/Void ™ 167

“That’s why you used the Israeli.” Jojo looked at the Colt
tucked in the front of Beret’s pants. “The gun does everything for
you. Anyone that has the money to buy one, and has a working
trigger finger, can shoot like a world class pro.”
“Clever girl.” Another kick from Lucy and Jojo skidded to a
halt in front of the kitchen doorway. “With Solly dead, it’s gonna
be hard to get ammo for the Israeli. Besides, if I kill you with the
same gun I used on your uncle, someone might figure out that
Beret killed him.”
Jojo groaned. “Not much sense in stealing someone’s life and
then spending it in prison.”
Lucy stepped over Jojo and walked into the kitchen. After a
quick look around, she began opening drawers. “Where do ya keep
the knives?”
“Fuck you.”
Lucy spun and quickly closed on Jojo. A gloved fist crashed
across the side of her skull, the resulting split in her scalp turning
her ivory hair crimson. Her head swimming as she fought to stay
conscious, Jojo found herself hoisted back to her feet by the back
of her collar. She clawed at her throat, gasping for air. Lucy leaned
in and whispered, “Trust me, before I kill you, that’s coming. If you
thought getting fucked by Beret was good, you have no idea how
good it feels to fuck someone as him.” Lucy released her and
laughed as Jojo crumpled to the floor. “I don’t know if your aunt
appreciated it as much as I did.”
Lucy stepped over Jojo and back into the hallway before
reaching down and grabbing another handful of the wrench’s hair.
“Last request time. Your bedroom, the bathroom, or the desk in
your office? I’m not real picky.”
“Fuck YOU!” Losing a chunk of her hair as she struggled free,
Jojo landed a fist solidly against Beret’s groin. Lucy howled as she
collapsed to the floor. She kicked wildly at Jojo and caught her in
the hip.
The force of the kick wasn’t enough to break anything, but Jojo
cried out as she spun and crashed into the frame of the door that
led to the stairs down to the shop. Beret’s .45 roared again. With
no alternative, Jojo flung herself down the stairs. She curled
herself up as best she could to minimize the damage, but she knew
there was no way to fall down a full flight of stairs without pain.
She heard Beret’s gun fire three more times. Following the last
shot, she heard a warm buzzing sensation zoom past her ear. Bad
shot or not, the tailgunner would eventually compensate. She had
to get away.
168 ™ Adrian Drake

She slammed the fire door to the garage and slid the bolt. She
didn’t know how strong Beret was, but she had to hope the door
would hold Lucy off for a few moments. She punched open the
overhead door controls, but they didn’t move. Jojo could feel the
wild animal of fear crawling from her chest into her throat as she
punched the button several more times. “Open goddammit! Open!”
Lucy’s laugh from the other side of the fire door rattled Jojo into a
near panic and silent tears began to fall.
“Beret doesn’t respect dummies.” The fire door shuddered as
Lucy punched it several times. “He was always big on having a back
up plan. I ripped out the conduit. Take you a couple of hours to
rewire that.”
Jojo threw the door of the tow truck open. She fished the keys
out of her pocket and tried to start it. Lucy laughed again. “You
forget, puta, I used to be a wrench too. That truck’s not gonna start
until you figure out what I ripped outta it. You think this door’s
gonna hold me that long?” Lucy’s voice turned savage. “I took a
bolt cutter to the drive chain in your cycle and unless you’ve got a
remote control for Beret’s Lincoln, you’re not getting that back
door open.”
Jojo looked over at the door as three more shots were fired. A
solid kick and the remains of the latch exploded as the door burst
open. Lucy had thought of everything. Being part of a tactical
computer made her think of things a normal person wouldn’t. Jojo
grinned as she was struck by a sudden inspiration. It also gave
Lucy a weakness that she’d never think of.
Jojo leapt out of the truck as a bullet shattered the windshield.
She ran for the control pad on the workbench. Beret’s Colt clicked
loudly several times and then clattered to the floor. Jojo punched
the emergency recall button on the wall. “Out of bullets, bitch?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Lucy reached into the back of the truck and
picked up a tire iron. “Truth be told, I could break your neck with
my bare hands. Caving in your face with this is just more fun.”
Jojo grabbed a small sledge from her workbench. Stall her.
Stall her. “You gonna do that before or after you rape me with your
boyfriend’s dick?”
Lucy cocked her head to one side. “If I kill ya first, it’s not
rape.” Lucy’s smile turned to a snarl. “When I did Xian, it was
kinda boring, and after I was done with your aunt she wouldn’t
stop crying and screaming. She never even saw me. To be honest, I
only killed her to get her to shut up.” Lucy tightened her grip on
the tire iron. “With you, I’ll probably wait until during. One last
surprise.”
 Null/Void ™ 169

Jojo smiled. “Actually, the last surprise is for you.” Jojo’s left
eye dilated and the targeting laser painted Lucy’s chest. “Sic ’im!”
Lucy screamed as all three drones fired their tasers into her.
Jojo kept the laser on Beret’s body as it thrashed on the floor. An
extra long jolt would make sure all of Beret’s wetware was shut
down.
She blinked and the spotter turned off. Her initial instinct was
to send the drones back on patrol, but thinking better of it she
decided to wait. She knelt next to Beret’s head and turned it
sideways. Lifting the flap of synthflesh, she quickly removed Lucy’s
chip and dropped it on the shop floor. “I only wish you were aware
of this, you bitch. Goodbye, Lucy.”
The sledge struck the concrete so hard, the head sparked.

Beret sat up. The last thing he remembered was closing his eyes for
a nap in the Lincoln. Now, all of his systems were down. Without
even baseline optics or audio, the world was black and silent. His
head pounded and his body felt like he was swimming in molten
lava. There was a sudden firm grip on his shoulder and then he felt
a finger tracing lines down the side of his arm. Military code. He
nodded in understanding.
The firm grip left his shoulder and he felt two light taps on the
side of his head. If they had been current military, they would have
pulled out his wetware while he was out, so Beret had no choice but
to hope for the best. Leaning his head forward, he pushed back the
flap behind his ear and exposed his data port. There was the
uncomfortable push of a jack being inserted. After thirty seconds
he heard the familiar beep of a system resetting and suddenly his
optics and audio came back online.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Beret tried to turn his head, but a firm hand pushed his cheek
forward again.
“Not yet. I’m still doing a diagnostic. Your system crashed
pretty hard. Looks like there aren’t any hardware problems,
though. Once the OS finishes loading, you should be good to go.”
Beret cocked an eyebrow. He could now see that he was sitting
on Jojo’s sofa, but that only added to his confusion. “Maxie? What
are you doing here, and what the hell is going on?”
Beret felt his head being pushed forward slightly and Maxie
removed the jack. “I’m here because your girlfriend didn’t know
who else to call. You don’t want to know what ghosts I had to rattle
to get this stuff. I ditched all my gear except for a couple of
170 ™ Adrian Drake

sidearms when I went legit.” The bald, elderly null walked into
Beret’s view as he packed up the small case.
“What the hell happened? Where’s Jojo?”
“Paul’s taking her to the hospital on the other side of town.”
Maxie sat down in an easy chair. “He’ll probably tell them that she
was attacked by a mugger or something.” Maxie laughed. “He’s
such an incredible liar.”
Beret sat in silence. Maxie’s suitcoat, dress shirt, and tie were
hanging from a hook on the door. Maxie’s pants and undershirt
showed signs of heavy work. “Maxie, what’s going on?”
“You know, when you and I were still running together we
caused a lot of hell,” Maxie’s expression turned dark, “but we never
brought the shit storm back on our own people. Solly came and saw
me for lunch the day he died. He wanted me to talk to you. He
figured if anybody could knock some sense into you, it’d be me.”
Maxie bit his lip and his chin quivered. “Me and Solly went back
twenty-five years, at least.”
Beret opened his mouth to say something, but Maxie held up a
hand. “You didn’t cry at Lucy’s funeral. I told you, being a null
doesn’t mean you can’t be human. You remember? Being a null
means you have to be more human than everyone else. People are
not just a commodity; they’re not something you can just buy,
trade, and sell. When you’re a null, you’re doing things for people
because there’s no one else who will. There’s a reason that guys
like you and me are known as the best. It’s because we have a code.
We have a code because we are human and we have a soul.”
Maxie closed his eyes and wiped the tears from his eyelashes.
“There’s only a few of the real nulls left. A couple even managed to
survive long enough to make it to retirement, like me. Most of the
good ones are ghosts. I can count the number of people left from
the old days on one hand, and that’s including you. I’ve talked to
all of them tonight.”
He stood and walked over to a window. “Jojo told me about
Lucy; I told her I already knew. Solly explained to me why he was
worried about you. Seems everyone’s fears were right.”
Beret stood up, using the sofa as a support. “Maxie, I’m done
with that. You’re right. I didn’t let her go. I couldn’t let her go. But
that’s all done. I’m not slotting her anymore. I let her go. I figured
shit out. Me and Jojo are—”
“Right now you’ve got to figure out how you’re going to deal
with your problems and how you’re going to make up for what
you’ve done. Some people aren’t going to see it as your fault, but
others are. I’m still on the fence.”
 Null/Void ™ 171

Beret threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Maxie, what

the fuck are you talking about?”
Maxie turned and closed on Beret in a fraction of a breath,
grabbing him by the jacket collar. Maxie may have been out of the
game, but Beret noted that he was just as fast as ever. “When your
copy of Lucy was done trancing whores, she was trancing you. She
rode you like a meat puppet. While you were in la-la land, she used
your body. She killed Trevor, she killed Solly, she killed and raped
Sollys wife, she killed and raped someone named Xian, and if your
girlfriend hadn’t taken you down, she would have raped and killed
her, too.” Maxie released Beret and turned away.
The words hit Beret like a hammer. This whole time, he’d been
hunting himself. He collapsed back onto the sofa. Xian, Solly,
Trevor. He bit his lip to keep himself from screaming. Lucy had
probably killed Firecraker and Zero as well. Beret shook his head.
There’d be no way to know who else she’d killed…he’d killed.
Anyone that had helped him, or could have helped him, she had
eliminated.
Beret wrapped his arms tightly around himself and began to
slowly rock. Solly had been right. His need for Lucy had made him
no better than a scab. He may not have had any control over what
she’d done, but that didn’t absolve him of responsibility.
“Apparently she was planning on taking you over
permanently, and if I’d figured her out and didn’t give her the
money of yours I’m holding, she planned to torture and kill Paul to
get it.” Beret flinched as Maxie’s arm spikes extended and
retracted several times. It was a nervous habit of Maxie’s when he
was very upset. It usually preceded Maxie beating the hell out of
someone by only a few moments.
Maxie took a few deep breaths and the spikes retracted one
last time. “This ain’t the old days, Beret. I haven’t done this shit in
a long time. I love you like family. If things had gone differently
tonight, one or both of us would’ve ended up dead. As it is, the plex
is never gonna be the same. Whether or not the truth gets out
there, there’s always gonna be whispers.”
Beret hung his head and covered his face with his hands. There
was a need to cry, a need to release grief, a need to let go that Beret
felt deep in his heart. Part of him ached for that release. It didn’t
come. Maybe Maxie was right. Maybe the soul was gone. Beret
looked up into Maxie’s steely gaze. “What do I do, Max?”
“It sounds like you’ve figured out what’s fucked up with your
life.” Maxie ran a hand across his scalp and stretched. “Now it’s
time to unfuck yourself.”
172 ™ Adrian Drake

“You have the mouth of a sailor.”

Maxie smiled and turned his gaze to the well-manicured and
tanned blond standing in the doorway. “You wouldn’t have me any
other way. How is she?”
Paul rolled his eyes and shook his head. “They wanted to keep
her for twenty-four hours, but she politely declined.”
“I told them to fuck off.” Jojo’s voice echoed in the staircase.
“I’m fine.”
Paul crossed his arms and huffed. “She has a mild concussion,
they had to put eight stitches in her scalp, she has two cracked ribs
on one side and a broken rib on the other. She also has a deep bone
bruise on her hip that they gave her antibiotics for.” Paul’s voice
lowered to a harsh whisper. “And if you ask me, she needs a new
haircut and a manicure. Other than that, she’s fabulous.”
Maxie took the hanger from the door and handed it to Paul.
“I’m filthy.”
Paul smirked. “Actually, you’re dirty.”
Maxie sighed in mock boredom. “I’m talking about my body,
not my mind. I’m filthy. Take this so I don’t get it filthy, too.”
Maxie turned to Jojo and gave her a gentle hug. “The bullet holes,
the rewiring, and the door are fixed. Consider it a thank-you for
keeping him out of harm’s way.” He hooked a thumb towards Paul.
Paul swatted Maxie on the arm. “Don’t touch her, you’re
filthy.”
Maxie sighed again. “Maybe next time, we let him get hurt.”
Maxie kissed Jojo on the forehead and then turned back to Beret.
“You think about what we talked about. You come back to the
restaurant when you two aren’t so banged up. We’ll split a bottle of
wine and mourn the fallen.”
Maxie and Paul left, leaving Jojo and Beret in silence. After
standing in the doorway a few minutes, Jojo walked into the room
and sat in the same chair that Maxie had vacated earlier.
Beret looked her over, appraising her injuries. He’d done that
to her. From the looks of it, he’d nearly beaten her to death. Guilt
flooded through him. “Jojo...I...”
“No, you didn’t. She did; it did.” There was a finality to the
way Jojo spoke, making it clear she would tolerate no argument.
“Where’s the chip?”
Jojo smiled. “You owe me a new sledgehammer. The one I
have is getting bronzed. I never felt so good about destroying a
piece of technology in my life.”
Beret nodded. “Maxie filled me in on the details. Smart move
calling him in.”
 Null/Void ™ 173

Jojo shrugged. “I didn’t have any other choice. It’s not like I
could call the police or an ambulance. I wasn’t about to drive
myself, and she pretty much killed everyone else I know in the
business. Except for a couple of teenage hackers who would’ve
been in bed ’cause it’s a school night.”
Beret continued his automatic nodding. “I’ll have Trevor’s
crap out of here by the time you get up. You won’t have to deal with
this shit anymore.”
Jojo’s eyes narrowed. “I just got his stuff decrypted. There’s
some pretty hot data there. If I’m gonna be wrenching for you, I’d
rather hang on to it. It might end up being useful.”
Beret opened his mouth so speak, but for a moment, his shock
could produce no words. He closed his mouth and eyes, and shook
his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I’m sorry, what did you just
say?”
Jojo started to yawn, but stopped short, flinching, in what
appeared to be, pain. “I said I’ll hang onto it. It could be useful.”
He felt his throat tighten.“After all I’ve done, all I’ve put you
through, you’re still willing to wrench for me?”
Jojo gave a long deep sigh, and some of the lines in her
forehead smoothed. He knew that look. The pain meds were
kicking in. “I knew what I was getting into when I got into the biz.
Crazy shit happens. It’s part of the job, right?”
Beret’s jaw clenched like a vice as he held back the tears. The
sorrow had started in his throat, but he was feeling it thrash
around, desperate for release. “How can you...?” His voice trailed
off as his mind’s eye saw the faces of the lost. “I killed Trev. I killed
Solly. I tried to kill you.”
“Like I said, no you didn’t. Lucy did.” Jojo closed her eyes and
rolled her head back. “That wasn’t even really Lucy, it was a broken
program. Some bad ones and zeros attached to two-hundred and
fifty pounds of military grade killing machine.You didn’t know she
was using you, and you didn’t know what she was planning. You’re
not blameless, but you’re not responsible, either.”
“What’s that mean?”
Jojo shifted and he grimaced as she flinched in pain. Meds or
not, Lucy had done a number on her. “It means we lay the dead to
rest. It means you have a proper funeral for Lucy and then delete
every copy of her you have. Once we fully heal, we go back to work
and do what we do. You do biz, and I wrench. You only use the
tailgunner when needed.”
Beret ran a hand across the stubble growing on his head.
“What about us? Where are we at?”
174 ™ Adrian Drake

Jojo smiled. “Same place we were when we came back from

Morocco, I’m just in too much pain to do anything about it.”
Beret got up and helped Jojo out of her chair. “We’ll get some
sleep, we’ll get cleaned up, and then I’ll take ya someplace
downtown.” He gestured to the area of her scalp where a handful of
hair had been torn out. “It still looks pretty raw. We’ll get you a
new hat for now. We can take you to a salon in a week or two.”
Beret looked down at Jojo’s hands. “Paul was right, though. You do
need a manicure.”
Jojo growled and punched Beret in the shoulder before
giggling. “You’re such an asshole.”
Cradling her shoulders in his arm as they went into the
bedroom, Beret felt an odd mixture of sadness and joy. He’d
messed up pretty badly and as a result, people he cared about were
gone. It was a guilt he knew he would carry the rest of his life. At
the same time, he had Jojo. For the first time in years he felt alive
again. With Trevor and Solly dead, the whole null underbelly of the
plex would be in an uproar for months.
But Chicago, no matter the changes, would always be Chicago.
Bio if you wish goes here