I became rather intimately familiar with the Central Sahara border patrol over the next two months, making weekly trips to Cairo and/or Giza, depending on where Fareeha was stationed that given day. We were making quite the tabloid news in the process as the "thing" was becoming "more serious," and our last get together as she took me for a tour of the Great Pyramids drew at least twenty photographers and God knows how many photo drones.
Apparently, Fareeha is a "wicked child" and "killing her mother" with her "latest antics." I had wondered if Ana had included me in those admonishments, and apparently she had not. Ana now allegedly thinks I am a splendid, moral young man being corrupted by her "seductress of a daughter."
Personally, I thought Fareeha showed the most sense walking around in a bikini top and denim shorts for that date. It had been hotter than hell in Giza that day. I think I could have solved the drought in Western Nevada just by wringing out my shirt.
And I certainly wasn't going to complain about the scenery.
That image of my... significant other... from five days ago was still burning in my mind when I woke up this morning. I still am tripping over the "g" word when I think of her or talk with her, though she has absolutely no problem with referring to me in the reverse. I don't know... it seems odd to use such personal labels with someone that I've only met in person eleven times, and two of those times were in combat situations.
I look at my HUD display on the wall, giving me pertinent information like my schedule for the day. It's 5:31am, I'm still in bed, and I usually show up at the shop at six. Wonderful thing about being your own boss, though. Who's going to chide you for showing up an hour late?
I finally commit to crawling out of bed as Booku calls. I quickly snatch up my earpiece and wedge into my ear. It doesn't call before my scheduled time unless there's an emergency, so I'm understandably concerned.
"Booku, everything alright?"
The omnic doesn't sound distressed. Granted, it rarely sounds anything other than completely neutral, so that isn't necessarily an indication of anything.
"Everything is fine, Nnamdi, but I have a request for you."
"Absolutely. What do you need?"
"I need you to stay at home for the moment."
There's a long pause as I wait for Booku to explain why. When it becomes clear that it's looking for a response from me, I go with a simple, "Why?"
"I had to emergency order some supplies, but they won't send them to the shop without your clearance. So instead, I had them routed to your home address."
That's not terribly unusual, especially when Booku tries ordering parts from international sources. Many of them won't accept his signature as valid for receipt, that whole omnics are not people thing rearing its head, and if it needs something promptly, a rather fudged solution is to send whatever it is to my home address where I can sign for it.
"When is it projected to arrive?" I ask.
"In roughly thirty minutes by my tracking data."
That's a very early delivery time, even if sent overnight. "What did you order?" I ask as I start picking out my clothes. I settle on some sweatpants and a black tee, things that I can shrug out of after I take my delivery, then jump into the shower.
Booku hesitates. "I... am not at liberty to discuss that yet."
Now I'm very suspicious. "Booku..." I grumble in warning.
"It is a surprise for now. I am not permitted to discuss it until it has arrived."
There's really only one conclusion I can reach. "Does it have to do with Fareeha?"
"Yes. And now I fear I have already said too much."
The omnic is saved only by the knock on my flat's front door. "It seems your 'delivery' has arrived slightly ahead of schedule," I grouse, pulling my shirt over my head. No sense trying to cajole it out of him when I can get right to the heart of the matter.
As I cross the living room to my door, I remind myself to be polite and courteous. This poor courier probably has no idea what is going on. He or she is just doing his or her job. They are not at all at fault for a business partner trying to pull a surprise on me.
So I open the door with a smile that quickly turns into an astonished jaw drop.
Fareeha Amari, clad in uniform fatigues, with a duffel bag slung over her right shoulder, and her left arm dragging a wheeled suitcase.
"Sorry for the abrupt arrival," she says with a smile, "But my reassignment came literally overnight. I barely had time to pack, let alone tell anyone." She takes one step forward, notices I still haven't moved, then asks slyly, "May I come in?"
I step aside, my mind still stupefied by her presence outside my door... and now inside my flat. She walks straight into the middle of the living room, drops her duffel bag down like she owns the place, and gives it an appraising look over. "Plenty of space here. My place in Cairo could probably fit in one of your closets and rattle around."
Fareeha's taken a liking to teasing me about my wealth, and it's one of the few things she does that I don't particularly find amusing. I finally manage to gather the wits to respond, "I've been to your place. It's not nearly that small." In fact, she lives in a very spacious two-floor condominium that is more than luxurious, even for someone who works in high-interest corporate security.
She turns her upper body to give me another one of her sultry smiles, then a buzz from her hip gives her pause. She holds up a finger as a silent request for a moment, then takes out her phone. There's only one person it could be judging from the evil grin that morphed onto her face.
That's confirmed when Fareeha answers the call with "Hello, mother."
I hear Ana's muffled voice from the other end, then Fareeha responds with, "As I was about to tell him, I had a reassignment to Numbani last night. Considering it's a high-priority task that I have a very limited time frame to complete, I figured it would save time if I lodged here rather than trying to make accommodations in one of the busiest cities in the continent."
After another incomprehensible mumble from Ana's end, Fareeha looks at me with a grin that I can only describe as predatory. "No, mother, I'm not going to freeload off of him. Let me assure you that he will be well compensated for his graciousness."
I can feel my blood starting to rush downward. It is not fair at all how she can do that to me so effortlessly.
Ana's voice raises to the point where I can hear her use the "wicked child" moniker. I try not to laugh, if only for the reason that I'm afraid what Ana would do if she heard me.
Fareeha's barely controlling her own laughter, and she finally says, "I will talk to you later, mother. Goodbye." She then hangs up, and sighs wistfully, "My mother is not nearly as upset as she lets on. She simply relishes playing the role of protective mom, considering we never really had the chance to play those sort of games when we were younger. Please don't let our oddities get to you."
"They do not," I assure. "So... this is really a thing?"
Fareeha nods, "It is. Helix brass has sent me here to oversee updates and upgrades to their properties they have in Numbani, the primary one an old prison complex in the city's south side. I don't know their specific intentions, as again I do not have the clearance. Have you heard anything?"
I shake my head. "Not that I'm aware of. There's been no talk about opening or re-opening any prisons in the city. Not that a private institution can even run a prison in Morocco to begin with. They could have plans to do something else with it... though I can't guess what. But why would they send you to oversee it? Is that something you've done in the past for Helix?"
"On occasion, yes," Fareeha confirmed, "But in this case, their primary reason involves you."
I raise an eyebrow.
"The company President said outright that he wants to... encourage... our courtship. He seems to think that having 'Doomfist' tangentially related to his company can't be anything but a good thing. He went short of outright ordering me to seduce you. It would have been insulting if it hadn't been so absurd."
That's not as absurd as she might think. Helix Security no doubt at least suspects I would have considerable pull with the people who make decisions in Morocco if through no reason than my bank account. If they could tap into that access, it would behoove them greatly.
That said, the absurd part would be assuming that Fareeha would allow herself to be used in such a fashion.
"Nevertheless, I don't want to presume, so let me ask properly if it's acceptable to you for me to stay here during the extent of this assignment?"
Fareeha looks so abruptly uncertain that I almost can't stand how adorable she looks. I assure her readily, "Of course you can stay. The guest room is over here to the hall on the right, then the first door on the right side."
And now the teasing smile returns, "The guest room?"
"Yes," I insist. "I don't trust myself."
She laughs. "No... I'm surprised you even bother with a guest room."
I indignantly reply, "Believe it or not, I do have guests on occasion."
"Like who?" she challenges.
I might not have too many close friends, but I'm not entirely a hermit, either. "Booku uses the room for a charging station whenever he attends events downtown. I also have more distant family that will visit once or twice a year. It's not like I have guests every weekend or anything, but it gets some use."
After showing her to that room, I point further down the hall and say, "The next door is a training room, and the laundry room is right after that. The last door is my office, in case you need access to a full power computer rig or printer or whatnot."
"I might," Fareeha noted. "But in the meantime, I need to drop this off and get ready to leave. I wasn't kidding when I said this was a very big job I'm running. When will you be back here?"
"I usually return from the shop around 6:30 in the evening," I answer. "I can have a keycard made up for you in a couple minutes if you need in."
"I won't need it today," Fareeha declined. "Perhaps in the future, depending on how this assignment plays out. But I figure I'm going to be on-site all day. You'll no doubt get back before I do. And if by some twist of fate you're not, I know where you'll be."
She swiftly kissed me on the cheek, and said, "It'll be fine for now. And thank you for this. It really is a big help to be able to stay here and get right to business."
My attempt to return the affection was interrupted by another knock on my door. I look at Fareeha, and she shrugs at my silent accusation. "What?"
I eye her warily before I answer the door again. I'm a bit surprised to see a standard courier in a red hat and shirt with brown khakis holding a tablet and a small brown paper wrapped box maybe five inches square. "Mr. Ngumi?"
"That's me..." I reply warily, signing for said package and learning that this is what Booku had ordered, which makes me understandably perplexed. If the omnic hadn't been trying to keep me at home for Fareeha to arrive... what in the hell did it order that would be such a surprise that it couldn't just say so?
Then I open it up and find out, freezing in place as I do so.
Either that over sophisticated piece of aircraft paneling had far more subtle of a sense of humor than I thought, or it was being far too prudent about my personal life than I was entirely comfortable with.
Fareeha leans over my shoulder and clicks her tongue. "Silly omnic."
Before I can agree, she leans close into my ear, and whispers with that sultry voice that again makes my blood reverse course, "Thinking I haven't already prepared for that."
I close my eyes, steadying myself with deep breaths as I feel Fareeha step around me to leave. "Your mother is right, you are wicked," I call out to her retreating sashaying form as she disappears into the elevator.
And of course, those subtle, and earlier not at all subtle, promises were on my mind all day. Which was difficult because I should know better than to let that part of me control my thoughts, and secondly because I was trying to concentrate on a fairly important matter.
Running speed was only going to go so far, even with proper strength training which I still was having trouble finding the time to do. I needed something that allowed me to move quickly, even if for short bursts of time.
Which led me to the discussion I was having right now in the dev lab with an expert in hard light technology from the Vishkar Corporation.
"Your malleable metallurgy would fill splendidly within a hard light confines," Dr. Satya Vaswani explained with evident delight over the video conference. "And into near any form you would like. If you would be willing to share that alloy with us at Vishkar..."
That much wasn't going to happen. That's one patent I'm not sharing or selling to anyone. "Perhaps once your company actually finishes building those low cost residences in Rio, then we can talk about expanding your material base."
I know I'm being cold, and that it wasn't Satya's fault. But I know far too much about what her corporation has done and would do that I keep my business relations with them solely on a person to person basis.
Satya frowns, and turns defensive, although I get the feeling she doesn't even believe what she is saying. "That... will come in time. Vishkar constructed two blocks in the last six months."
Two of eighty they promised in the bid to the government of Brazil, though I bite my tongue. Again, that's not Satya's fault, and grinding her nose in it wouldn't be fair. As it is, she is doing me a favor, considering that Vishkar is normally very secretive about their hard light technology.
"I assume this is something you're doing for your Doomfist gauntlets?" She asks observantly as she starts manipulating the design on the shared space we're both looking over.
"Potentially," I answer. "And why I asked to talk while you were at home and not on the job." It is awfully late in India at this point, which does make me feel a little more guilty about pestering her.
"You assume I've ever not on the job," Satya retorts in deadpan. "But yes, this design could work. I wish I could help you more on the hard light details, but this is proprietary technology, and I am not at liberty to share it."
"That's fine," I say. "I think I can fudge something from here."
In truth, I have Vishkar's hard light technology right next to me in the dev lab, and have had it for years. I use it for quick fabrication of prototypes my shop makes as test models before building the final project.
Satya nibbles her lower lip, and offers timidly, "What you're doing... it's a good thing. I'm glad I could help, if even in a small way."
I am a bit surprised to hear this from someone who had been so vehemently against vigilante action. "Who are you, and what have you done to the real Dr. Vaswani?"
She laughs, a haughty tone that I had found so off-putting until learning later that it was her earnest laugh. "I am still me, Mr. Ngumi," she says until the seriousness returns. "I still believe that corporations like Vishkar can and have done incredible good that governments and alliances cannot do as quickly or as easily. But... I'm also coming to believe that we could be doing more, especially at the individual level, and especially those with tremendous fortune. That you are doing so, should be commended."
This is a dangerous conversation to walk down, but I do it anyway, "Have you thought about doing some... private work?"
Satya stumbles over the thought, "I... I cannot. I owe too much to Vishkar to act so independently. I am not you. I was not born with freedom and luxury to act on my own behest. I... still don't. I might not ever."
Satya has been a contact of mine for almost five years. This is the most despondent I have ever seen her, even more than during the Calado incident. I had thought if that hadn't broken her of her corporate ideals, nothing would. "Whoa. What brought this on?"
She exhales heavily. "My mother died."
That's a feeling I can relate to. "I'm sorry."
"Two years ago. I only learned last night."
Now that is deplorable. "And Vishkar decided it wasn't important to tell you this."
Satya nods. "Objectively, they are right. My mother has not been a part of my life for twelve years. It would have only been a distraction. But..."
"You still deserved to know," I finish for her. "Why'd they take so long to tell you?"
She exhales again. "They didn't. I learned from a hacker who passed along the information that Vishkar had been hiding. I... haven't confronted them with my knowledge yet."
Even if I'd be losing a valuable contact within a very powerful company, I can't in good conscience allow that to continue. "Satya... you need to get out of there. For good."
"But..."
"I can supply you with anything and everything you need for a new life," I insist. "Despite what Vishkar thinks, they are not a company of good standing in Morocco or anywhere within the League of African Nations. Even if Vishkar were to somehow get the United Nations themselves to act on their behalf, they would be immediately rebuffed."
"But..."
"Satya," I implore, using her given name, which is something I rarely do. "Vishkar is using you. Lying to you. Hiding the truth from you. Anything you might owe them has been paid in full long ago. It's time to be free."
For the first time that I can ever remember, she is showing fear. "I can't... they... watch me. They'll know if I try to run."
I grin knowingly. "Korpal loves to show you off, doesn't he?"
She blinks, and answers, "Yes..."
"Well, he's not going to be able to resist coming to the World Trade Conference in Numbani in two weeks. In fact, I know he's already been invited, and he's going to embrace the opportunity to woo the big money here in this city again."
Satya's eyes widen. "He's asked me to escort him... but... he'll have his security detail..."
"I have my own security. Don't you worry about them. They won't stand a chance against what I can bring to the table."
This is a potentially dangerous assumption on my part.
Satya grins deviously. "Are you referring to the delicious Egyptian goddess that you've been dating? You two are all over the high society news. Even I've heard about it."
I shake my head, "No... but I have no doubt she'll want to be included. She always likes a good fight."
The humor quickly evaporates, and Satya again looks scared. "Do you promise you'll help me?"
"Absolutely. I'll contact you with further information once we've got it squared away."
"Thank you. Just... thank you..."
"Go. Get some rest," I suggest to her. "Try not to get too excited and make your handlers think that something is amiss."
"I will. Good luck on your project." Then after a long pause, she adds, "Both of them."
Satya's face disappears from the video display, and I'm immediately on the line for my next call.
He doesn't sound happy. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Doomfist?"
"How do you feel about assisting in a defection?"
"I don't. That's something that requires subtlety, not force."
I play my trump card. "Morrison, do not make me remind you exactly who you owe nearly two billion credits to. Let me assure you in this case, we're probably going to need firepower."
I get Fareeha up to date when she staggers in just past eight. Even though she looks physically and mentally exhausted, she is eagerly up to the challenge as I pose it to her. We settle on the couch to decompress, and she quickly snuggles up to me, putting her head under my chin and her arms around my waist.
"Long day?" I ask as I gently pat her on the back.
"It's going to be difficult, to say the least," she admits. "The physical building needs some significant repair if its going to be used for holding anyone, much less high risk prisoners. Not to mention adding all the new surveillance and computerized elements. And I've got three weeks to oversee this and make sure everything is in order."
"And I just recruited you into a high society political defection ploy."
She chuckles, and moves her left arm so she can tap me on the chin. "I'm taking it as a challenge to prove I'm not intimidated by the world you live in. Although I'm guessing this doesn't happen too often."
"More common than you might think, in truth," I reply. "It just rarely involves a company known to be as aggressive as Vishkar. They'll literally blow a city block to hell in order to 'improve it' then demand praise for it at the end of the day... oh and huge governmental contracts that they'll use to build expensive high rises elsewhere."
"I trust you talked to my mother then?"
"Not directly. But yes, Overwatch has been made aware. If everything goes smoothly, not a single shot will need to be fired. But just in case things don't go smoothly, we've got backup." I tighten my grip around her back, and ask, "So... anything you want to watch tonight?"
"Not really," she answers. "Just like to stay like this, if you don't mind."
I can't complain with that.
