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[...and if you’re not making the trip into City Center to catch the tree lighting, be sure to tune into the live coverage right here on N54.
In related news, in an effort to thwart dangerous acid rain conditions closing in on tonight’s Winter Holiday Festival, Night City has announced an exciting new partnership with Militech, trialing their brand-new—]
Meredith groans. One concise blip and the television screen goes black, dousing the only source of light in the expansive apartment. Everything around her is rendered into a sudden stillness. It’s futile to hope it will calm her nerves. It doesn’t. But if she holds her breath (and she does), it’s like no one is home. Just a minute like this is all she needs.
The newsflash is on every channel, chopped up into compelling soundbites to play on every radio station across the western seaboard: Militech’s big win. Biotechnica’s jarring failure. What they don’t mention is the leak that almost flipped the tables.
It’s always the same story: someone let something slip somewhere. And for as small-time as they like to play, Biotechnica has eyes and ears everywhere. All it took was one little slip-up from a suit in a Tijuana bar. Layer enough stupid mistakes and incompetencies onto each other like a mille-feuille, and throw a bottle of mezcal into the mix. It always ends the same, and she’s always the one cleaning up the fallout.
And cleaned up, it was. The tech was launched ahead of schedule, and a director and his whole downline were severed. A clean amputation, in record time.
Meredith takes a long, crucial sip of bourbon. Fucking Biotechnica. Just the name is enough to threaten another migraine.
It’s a fragile kind of silence, sitting there in the dark. It teeters on the edge of intrusion at a moment’s notice. More unnerving than it is relaxing. She swirls the ice cube in her glass, and it clinks musically around the sides.
Three rapt knocks at the door punctuate the silence. There she is– she’ll never use the damned call button like Meredith asks her to.
Meredith doesn’t move from her spot on the chaise, doesn’t open her eyes when she remotely triggers the ‘open door’ function. Keeps her thumb pressed against that crucial space between her eyebrows, massaging the word ‘Biotechnica’ away like an ailment.
There’s a rush of so many things that aren’t silence. It’s a cacophony of life– swift slides of metal, whooshing fabric, sharp spikes of heels clacking heavily against marble flooring, the crinkle of thick paper. An amused snort finally makes Meredith’s eyes snap open.
The lights are on above her, a bright shock to the senses. V is across the room in the kitchen, pointing to a Christmas card tacked onto the refrigerator. “They’re not being serious with that, are they?”
Meredith drains the rest of her bourbon and stands, replenished. She brushes a spot of lint from her skirt. “Don’t start. I’m all but contractually obligated to keep that damn thing tacked up there until tomorrow.”
“Wishing you the happiest of holidays,” V reads. “Enjoy your four hours off.”
“This is the first slice of a holiday I’ve had off in years. I’ll take it.” Even if Biotechnica is still lingering there, gnawing at the back of her skull. She still doesn’t know how Militech had gotten news of the leak so quickly. It stank of… something. She just can’t figure out what.
“You look nice,” V says, and her smile is far too kind for the kind of day Meredith has just had. Too honest. Like she means what she’s saying. Something neither appraising nor appreciative, but… genuine, on the basest level. That isn’t how this goes.
“And I see you made a special shopping trip just for the occasion,” Meredith crosses her arms. “Look at you, getting all dressed up.”
V’s look sours. Far more preferable. She does a slow circle around the kitchen island and crosses over into the great open space of the dining area. Tugs at her dress to straighten the seams against her hips.
“It’s not new,” she says, which is a lie. She’s confident in the heels but she’s not adjusted to them. Just the tiniest bit of wobble in the ankles. “Really think you’re that special? Had a few client meetings earlier.” Another lie. “And maybe a date or two in between.” Probably a lie. But this is part of the game, and it works.
“You maybe had a date?”
“It all blends together,” V shrugs. “Hard to say.”
She walks the length of the dining table, a finger dragging across the glass top. It budges the tidy row of napkins and placemats as she walks. Meredith’s nerves fray one by one, with each tick against the glass, as she knocks them all slightly askew.
“They must not have been all that memorable, then.”
V sighs with just enough exasperation that Meredith considers it a point in her favor. “Did you ask me to come all this way just to discuss the status of my closet? Could’ve met at the restaurant and gotten that all out of the way before the appetizer.”
“We could have. But I thought you might want to take the AV.”
V pauses. Looks up at Meredith cautiously. Those bits of excitement lurking in the depths of those dark eyes are tantalizing. Gold flashes in deep brown. It matches the shine on her earrings. “You for real?”
“I needed it earlier. Thought I might keep it for the night.” Meredith nods toward the great planes of windows behind V, a black backdrop gleaming with bits of downtown’s neon shine. “But, if you’d rather walk, I can always meet you—”
Before Meredith can finish, V is pressed up against the window, peering through the glass like it’s a display case, palms pressed flat and, Meredith is sure, getting fingerprint smudges everywhere. Meredith clenches her jaw and closes her eyes. One slow breath in. The cleaners would be coming in the morning anyways. And for that reaction, it’s more than worth it.
“Have you ever been in one?”
“An AV? You kidding? Feels expensive to even look at that thing. That’s a Manticore, right? Has to be a Manticore.”
“It is, indeed, a Manticore.”
A dull thud of an alert sounds in Meredith’s HUD, and she winces preemptively. Primes herself for a good berating from her superior. Wouldn’t be a Christmas Day without it. But it’s not that. It’s the reminder for the dinner reservation.
“If you’re ready to go, we can–”
“One step ahead of you.” V’s arm is delicate when it wraps around Meredith’s, the tailored silk of her sleeve warm from her own body heat. It’s too close and too fast. Meredith fights a jolt at the contact.
Sure, you can fuck someone on a weekly basis, but to have their palm sliding down your arm, to have their fingers seeking to intertwine with yours, that’s…
That’s different.
But just as quickly as the hand is there, it’s gone. V strolls ahead on sure feet, a smirk peeking from the corner of her lips when she glances back. The gaps between Meredith’s fingers are aware of the cold void left behind.
The outside terrace is frigid, and Meredith bites back a full-body shiver. It never gets this cold, not even in the dead of winter. Whatever they’re doing up there, it’s working. Electric rods in the sky or pumping artificial gasses into the atmosphere or however Militech has cooked it up. She never bothered to dive too deeply into the details, she just knows that it’s supposed to work. The worst of the acid rain will get washed down south. All of Night City rejoices. More at nine.
“Feels like a real Christmas, huh?” V hugs her coat tight around her, the gold in those eyes sparkling again. “Heard Militech is trying to–”
“Uh-uh,” Meredith manages. Her mouth presses into a thin line. “No business talk. Not tonight. Please,” she adds belatedly.
“Sure, Mer.” (“Meredith,” she has told her, again and again.)
The door on the Manticore folds down into a neat set of steps.
“Just two people, enjoying a nice dinner,” Meredith says, and this time, when she takes V’s hand to help her in, it’s purposeful. Utilitarian. Almost chivalrous. Her hand only lingers briefly onto the warmth.
When the door swings up to close behind them, they’re enveloped in a cushy, warm kind of soundlessness. It’s Militech’s finest model in its formidable fleet, and it spares no expense. Hand-stitched interior, integrated holo system, and a full bar at the push of a button. The hum of the jet fans barely registers through the soundproofing when it takes off, weightless in the sky to join the rest of the air traffic zipping past them like flies.
The AV can take the shortcuts too— automatic clearance through some of the city’s most restricted airspace, no questions asked. Job has its perks sometimes. Meredith sits back into the plush leather seat across from V and rolls the strain from her neck.
V has a flute of prosecco in her hand before Meredith can even broach the idea of a toast, and she knocks it back in a swift gulp. One of the most sought-after bottles this side of the continent, a vintage straight from the heart of the Veneto region. Crisp, clean, complex. Down V’s throat like a scopdog at a bloodball game. Meredith grips the armrest.
“Got you somethin’, by the way,” V hiccups, and damn it, if it isn’t just a little bit endearing.
She’s handing Meredith something– a small, nondescript box. There’s no candy-cane wrapping paper, no obscenely large ribbon. It’s brown paper. Folded neatly and carefully. It’s heavy in her hands.
“I don’t accept gifts from informants.” Meredith places the box onto the seat next to her.
“Informant?” V’s lip curls in quiet delight. “Have I been promoted? Thought I was just a barebones little merc. Must be doing something right.”
Before Meredith can react, V is reaching for the other flute of Prosecco, and that one goes down just as quickly as the first.
“Ah-ah,” V holds up a hand, and Meredith can’t believe that she actually pauses. V exhales and straightens in her seat. Her expression blanks like she’s reading from a shopping list. “Fresh pear. White peaches.” She inhales. “Pastry dough on the finish.”
“Do you expect me to be impressed?”
“I got it right, didn’t I?”
“Cinnamon. Pastry dough and cinnamon on the finish.”
V licks her lips and ponders it. “You know, it’s barely there.” She places the empty flute next to its twin. “Where are we going anyways? You never said.”
“Bleu.”
V snorts. “Yeah right. You got a reservation there, on Christmas?”
“I have connections. Called in a few favors.”
“A few favors,” V repeats. “Would need a whole city of favors to get a table there. At prime dinner time, too. What’d you do?”
“Put out a few fires.”
V leans forward to catch a view of the skyline rushing by the window. “Mer– if we’re going towards City Center, then that means…”
“Mmhmm. Front and center showing–”
“Of the tree?”
“Of the tree.”
The AV banks around one last skyscraper and slows just over the airspace of Militech’s headquarters. “No way.” V slides out of her seat and onto her knees to get a better look at the scene below. “No fuckin’ way.”
Christmas. Always a meaningless word to Meredith. It’s any other day, just with the irritation of cheerful music and endless masses of shoppers. Tacky imagery and red and green painted onto every viable surface in Night City. A blight on the senses. Winter wonderlands don’t belong in the concrete ruins of this city.
Meredith barely leans forward, just enough to get a glimpse of the Winter Holiday Festival in all of its glory. It spans blocks in each direction. Cascades of holographic themed banners flicker in the simulated wind as they roll by the AV, each one gaudier and more over the top than the last, a flurry of advertisements and last-minute deals ‘for all you last-minute shoppers’.
There in the center of the mass, is the wire framework of the Christmas tree. The monstrosity towers so high it nearly reaches their parking space in the air. Meredith sinks back into her seat, satisfied enough. She timed it perfectly.
And she doesn’t need to look out the window to know when the tree lights up. It beams through the window– a multicolored blast, glowing all across V’s grinning face. “No fuckin’ way,” she repeats. “Could always see the glow of it from afar, you know. Out there in the badlands. Just a big haze of light. Never got to see it in person.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“Mmhmm.” V watches, a serene smile playing across her lips. “So is this it? This your big plan?”
“My plan?”
“Are the windows tinted?”
Right. That. That’s what it’s always been about. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the No-Tell Motel, or in her apartment. Or, apparently now, in the company AV. That’s how this goes. And it’s startling that, briefly, that had been the last thing on Meredith’s mind. She was too busy looking at the play of lights on V’s cheekbone.
Meredith snorts. “I was planning on waiting until the ride back.”
“Why not now?”
“Oh? Are you calling the shots tonight?”
“You really wanna miss this kind of backdrop?”
The inside of the AV is dead silent, except for the rush of warm air through the aircon unit. The festival below– all the music, and celebration, and over-the-top indulgence, is filtered out. Might as well be a holo show on mute in the background.
V looks out the window again, so closely that the tip of her nose brushes the glass. “They said it might snow tonight. That Militech is gonna use their–”
Meredith is on her knees behind V before she can finish her sentence, weaving a hand through thick strands of hair and pulling them taught. V’s head tips back willingly, grinning. “What did I say,” Meredith seethes, mouth brushing V’s ear, “about business talk?”
V breathes out a chuckle, low and dark. “Cloud seeding, that’s fascinating technology. Gonna cozy Militech up with Night City really nicely, won’t it?”
“And you knew all about it, didn’t you?”
“‘Course, baby. You aren’t my only client.”
Meredith groans into her neck, torn between a bite and a kiss across that inviting stretch of skin. It’s all pants and hot air between them, and they’ve barely touched. V’s hand works its way up Meredith’s knee where it caresses her thigh. Urging her on.
“That might knock you down a couple of levels,” Meredith murmurs, and she rucks up the back of V’s dress so suddenly that V pitches forward and braces her hands against the window. Two perfect palm prints against the glass, fingers spread wide. Not Meredith’s ride, not her problem.
“It worked out in the end, didn’t it?” V sighs. “Surely there’s a way I can make it up to you. Got plenty of other intel.”
“Don’t need to hear anything else from you.” Meredith takes in the scene before her, far more inviting than the Christmas tree in the background. She touches, just barely, at that flimsy excuse for underwear between V’s thighs. V bites her bottom lip over a moan. “Except that.”
“If you’re gonna do it, then do it. Stop messing around.”
“Do you really think you’re in charge here?”
“Mer–”
But it’s been two weeks. Two weeks since she’s felt that soft hair and touched that warm skin, and it beckons her like a moth to a flame. Smooth silk and cashmere untouched by anyone else. There’s a nagging little flashing reminder in her HUD that’s telling her they have five minutes until their dinner reservation, and Bleu waits for no one.
Meredith’s not a big fan of expediency, but for this, she can make an exception.
She wraps a firm arm around V’s middle and tugs the woman’s underwear out of the way and sinks two of her fingers deep into slick heat.
V gasps, and her forehead smacks against the glass.
Meredith pauses. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” V winces. She looks back, red and gold glinting across bright white teeth. “Fine. Titanium plate, you know.” She raps her own knuckles against her forehead, all pingy and bright where bone should be thuddy and hollow. “Should be worryin’ more about your ride.”
Meredith wonders, briefly, how she’s never noticed. How much of the rest of V, under the soft skin and warm eyes, is a calculated, tactical upgrade? The notion of that should put her on edge, but it doesn’t. V could probably kill her right here, right in Militech’s airspace, if she so desired. All those parts of her that are so soft turning lethal, bundles of nanofibers springing to action at her command. Meredith wouldn’t stand a chance.
Her arm leaves V’s waist, and before she can stop herself she’s running her fingers across V’s forehead– all warm and not-warm, soft and not-soft. Natural, and synthetic. She’s never felt it before.
A pathetic, appallingly sentimental move. And when V’s eyes meet hers, they don’t have that same lick of fire behind them. They aren’t daring, aren’t teasing. Meredith isn’t sure what they are.
And she is certainly not about to linger on it.
“Where were we?” Meredith swallows. Those lips are just inches from hers, and they’ve never had a magnetic pull quite like this. And that’s not how this goes. It’s a line that can’t be crossed. But she can imagine how they’d taste– fresh pear, white peaches. Tinged with that blood-red lipstick.
Meredith’s hand moves down and she takes V by the chin and gently turns her head forward. V grips the bottom edge of the window and it’s there again– that smirk that dimples the sides of her cheeks. Taunting her in the reflection of the window. She pushes back against Meredith’s lap.
She grips V’s chin harder, fingers pressing those dimples flat, and she doesn’t let go. When she crooks her fingers inside V, there’s no give for V to look away. It’s only their eyes, ice meeting fire, in the reflection. V’s gasps come out hot and heavy, fogging against the glass. And Meredith holds her in place, firmly, so when she comes, she barely has room to squirm.
When she’s released, V collapses onto the floor of the AV, still gasping and breathing out half-laughs. She sits against the door and all her finely-tuned muscles go slack. Her skirt is still pushed up over her thighs, and she makes no move to fix it. She only moves to weasel a hand into her coat that’s draped across one of the seats and brings a pink cigarette to her lips. It’s going to stink up the whole interior, really seep into the upholstery. Not Meredith’s AV, not her problem.
“Want one?”
“No.”
Two minutes. Record time. The AV is already speeding toward Bleu’s landing pad.
The gift, that heavy little square wrapped in paper, is in Meredith’s hands again. Somehow. She wipes her hand on the seat (not her ride), and undoes the wrapping with clinical care, sliding a fingernail under the tape and slowly unfolding the neat presses of paper.
It’s a snowglobe. Inside the glass bubble is a beach scene, molded plastic shaped and painted into figures. Santa at the beach, lying on a lounge chair.
“It’s a souvenir,” V says quietly, in between savoring the lungfuls of smoke. “Bought it from a guy at a roadside stand.”
Meredith turns it over. Etched onto the base, in cartoonish lettering are the words: ‘Greetings From Tijuana.’
“Cute, isn’t it?”
Meredith raises an eyebrow.
Draw out a leak from some idiot suit and pass it to Biotechnic, and get paid. Pass an anonymous tip of the leak to Militech and remain in good standing. It had stunk from the start, and now it all makes sense. But those are words that’ll go unsaid between them.
“I dunno, could put it on your desk. Or even kill someone with it, if you really need to.” V closes her eyes, in a state of smoke-induced repose. “Merry Christmas.”
Meredith shakes it and tiny white snowflakes scatter and dance around the orb. A silly little trinket. A technicolor eyesore. She places it, carefully, on her armrest and watches the fake snow swirl and settle onto the Santa.
She’s never gotten anything like this before. Something so utterly…pointless. Gifts from her parents went the way of lump-sum deposits in her bank account with no note attached. There was never wrapping paper to tear through. No pleasant surprise.
“Think it’s gonna snow tonight?” V asks.
Meredith turns toward the window, to the cold creeping in like a force, and peers through. A blanket of darkness and streaks of neon greet her. Somewhere up there, in the atmosphere, clouds are churning. Working overtime. Moving, expanding, separating to siphon the excess acid over to Pacifica. Where the clean water goes is anyone’s guess.
She sits back in her seat.
“Maybe.”