Wireless Brain Transmission

“No disrespect, Mr. Hosokawa, but she’s green, and I don’t just mean the outfit. Sure, give her a few years and she’ll be really somethin’, but—”

The CEO holds up a hand to silence me. “I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Tsuruta, but Ms. Saionji is essential for this operation. We need somebody on the inside—Someone who can work the levers of high society. Very few xyronin meet that requirement.”

I sigh. “You got me there. So what’s the plan?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Mr. Hosokawa sits back down, leans back in his chair, and crosses his legs. Saionji takes this as a cue to sit across from him, but I remain standing. A moment later, my implants pick up a request for wireless brain transmission.

I hope the dim light hides my grimace. Everyone seems to love wireless brain transmission except me. Maybe I’m just a perfectionist. Being able to view another’s imagination has its uses, but most people are just dull. There’s no other way to put it. Trying to make sense of the basic-ass images their minds put out is like trying to decipher a young kid’s drawing.

But it’s not like I’m going to deny the request. I need the money so bad that I’m willing to agree to partnering with Saionji. Forcing a smile to my lips, I accept.

It takes a second for my implants to deal with the deluge of images. This is like no brain transmission I’ve ever experienced. The confident smirk on Mr. Hosokawa’s face tells me everything I need to know. His brain transmission tech is cutting-edge—no doubt a prototype being developed by his company—and he’s enjoying seeing the shock on my face as I experience it for the first time.

Once my brain adjusts to them, the images are actually quite vivid. This isn’t just tech. Hosokawa’s got quite the vivid imagination. Or maybe he’s just spent so much idle time in this place that he can’t help but remember every detail. I recognize it: It’s a ballroom owned by some rich CEO and the backdrop of a million photos of politicians and celebrities living the high life.

“No, no, no,” Saionji says. I can see her shake her head in the real world. I’m used to being able to see two things at once, but never so vividly. It’s an odd experience. “I can’t wear that dress.”

Doesn’t make any sense to me. She’s wearing a slim red evening gown that shows off her… well, everything in a flattering light. Red was definitely more her color than green. “Why not? Already worn it once before?”

Saionji doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm. “Twice! You know what they’ll say if I wear it a third time.”

I don’t, and I’m not sure I want to. Luckily, Hosokawa waves his hand to dismiss her concern. “I’ll leave the wardrobe up to you. For now, bear with it. Mr. Tsuruta will accompany you, posing as your bodyguard.” I appear in the image behind her, wearing sunglasses and a pitch-black suit.

“Not with those gaudy implants, he won’t,” Saionji complains.

“Indeed,” Hosokawa said before I could object. My two straight Xyrite horns are replaced by smaller implants that curl behind my ears. “Mr. Tsuruta, you’ll be wearing implants I designed specially for this job. I know you xyronin feel safer using tech you’ve customized yourself, but that’s why I need the best for this job. I know you can handle it.”

He’s trying to butter me up so I won’t object. From the very start, it was obvious he thought he could manipulate my feelings to get what he wanted. That’s fine with me. Clients tend to trust you more when they think you won’t get any big ideas, so I just nod and let him continue.

He turns his attention to Saionji. “I’ve arranged a private meeting between you and Mr. Fujisaki. He’ll think you’re looking to diversify your investments beyond the trust fund your parents set up for you.”

The image in my mind shows us entering a small room in the same building with a man who looks like the epitome of smarm: slicked back-hair, expensive suit, and a pencil moustache. Nobody looks this perfectly like a rich guy movie villain. Must be a reflection of what Hosokawa really thinks of Fujisaki.

As soon as the door closes, I force a towel over Fujisaki’s mouth, and a moment later, he’s slumped in my arms. Saionji just sits there and watches while I do all the work of placing him under a desk, removing his implants, and hiding him with a stealth crystal.

Then, the darndest thing happens: The air shimmers next to me and a second Fujisaki appears at my side. I can actually recognize this one from the papers. He’s still a smarmy son of a bitch, but his eyes aren’t as shrewdly narrow, and the pencil moustache is fuller.

I let out a low whistle. “So this is why I need your custom implant? It’s a neat trick, but it won’t fool sonar.”

Hosokawa just chuckles. “I believe you’ll find that it will. Just watch.”

I open the door for them, and the fake Fujisaki leads Saionji out to his private limo. We all get in the car and drive off to Fujisaki Heavy Industries, where it walks us past the guards and into a very nondescript room, where I pocket a crystal the size of a baseball and leave.

“It’s that easy,” Hosokawa concludes, a large smile on his face.

It’s never that easy. Clients who say it’s gonna be easy are all either naive or lying. In Hosokawa’s case, I assume he’s lying.

“The inside of Fujisaki Heavy Industries seemed very… empty,” Saionji points out.

“I’ve never been inside, so I don’t know what it looks like, but my spies assure me the projection will get you past all the security measures.”

Saionji leans forward and looks him square in the eyes. “And if they don’t?”

“That’s why I’m hiring the best xyronin in the country.” He glances at me. “I need someone who can think on his feet and complete the mission no matter what.”

“And when all’s said and done,” I scoff, “someone who can take all the blame.”

Hosokawa raises an eyebrow. “You catch on quickly, but I’m glad. It makes things easier. Yes, you’ll take the fall, but I trust in your ability to elude capture. Otherwise, you’d be a liability. I can’t afford to hire someone who might testify against me.”

“Then you can afford to double my pay. Staying hidden ain’t cheap. I’ll need to pay for new digs, clothes, surgery, and bribes.”

“Done.” He nods without hesitation. Bastard. He either has so much money that it means nothing to him, or he’s not planning to pay me to begin with. Probably both. You don’t become rich by wasting money, and there’s no need to pay a dead man not to testify.

But would he kill Saionji? Offing me is one thing. I’m just a pleb; she’s an aristocrat. I look him in the eyes, and he returns a cold, hard, unemotional stare. Yeah, he’ll kill her too. In fact, if we don’t agree right here and now, we’re probably not walking out alive.

So I force the dumbest-looking grin I can manage onto my face and hold out my hand. “Mr. Hosokawa, you’ve got a deal.”