Daughter of Zeus ✔

13.6

A job. Having his shit together—Shylar never had any of those things. Suddenly, having them seemed important. The importance of self-reliance momentarily outshone the importance of his mission. He had to talk to Kressick. He would understand.

The red beep was on the move again. No hurry. Yet, there was a blue mass following the red one, and it had been since Ada left the bistro. Shylar jogged to catch up and get a visual of her stalker. Second stalker to be precise.

The second stalker was a woman in a dark suit and sunglasses. Shylar had seen her before. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail. Everything about her fit the downtown Atlanta atmosphere, except for her walk. Her stride wasn't confident, as was the norm. She took short steps, always watching Ada as she moved forward. If she was a Sammie, then she was severely undertrained in the art of trailing. At the next street corner, Ada whirled to confront the woman four feet from her.

Shylar couldn't hear Ada's exact words from his vantage point. Once again, he turned up the speaker just in time to hear the stranger's denial: No, she hadn't been following Ada, of course not.

The woman stopped talking mid-sentence, and an intense shudder shook her body.

Then, she spoke in a small voice: "Yes, I was following you."

Damn. Ada must've changed the woman's neural pathways to wrestle the truth from her. He noted the override on his arm, and continued watching.

"Who do you work for?" Ada demanded.

"A faction of the Prominents."

Prominents shadowed citizens all the time. Shylar wasn't surprised at the woman's admission. However, he was worried. Following Ada was his job. Had Kressick or Moretz called in for a second opinion?

"Why were you following me?"

The woman's face betrayed little emotion, and her voice was a monotone drone.

"You've been to Congressman Moretz's home on several occasions. That makes you a POI."

"Person of interest." Ada clapped her hands together and smiled.

Realizing fully what the Sammie meant by POI, Shylar was un-entertained. His mission parameters had been preparing him for a government encounter. Instinct screamed for him to haul the Sammie away, but he beat his instinct down. Instinct held no weight with who Shylar had been re-wired to become.

Fortunately, the longer he listened, the more he realized forcibly removing the Sammie had become a non-issue. Ada asked the woman if she was working for or against Moretz. The question drove another shudder through her.

She answered, "Neither".

After that, Ada told her to report back to her superiors: "Ada is not a POI. She is merely the latest girlfriend of Phennell Moretz."

Much like a robot would, the Sammie turned and marched away. She passed Shylar in his shadowy alcove a block down. Her head turned to him, and her mouth formed the word "Hello", but her eyes remained blank. He imagined she would be on auto-pilot until she delivered Ada's message. He remembered the after effects of her ability—the feeling of a foreign invader in his mind. And yet, the invader had tricked him, telling him it belonged. The experience was perverse and calming. He pitied the Sammie somewhat.

"Impressive," he murmured.

When she returned to Kressick's, she neglected to mention her State-encounter. In her place, Shylar would not have mentioned it either. She had to be deciding if Kressick could still be trusted, given his relationship to her and her father. Shylar knew better on both counts.

He sent Kressick video of the Sammie meeting. Kressick messaged him back with:

-I hoped against this, but it was anticipated. Now we know.

The virtual conversation could have ended there, but Shylar added a personal question.

-What is it exactly that I'm doing for you? Is this a job?

Of course, was Kressick's next message.

-Am I getting paid?

My dear boy, along with your expense account that you dip into daily, you have a separate account that has accrued your salary from day one. If you have not yet accessed that account, I am sure the funds have stacked up to gross amounts.

He could almost hear the bemused British tone in his head as he read the text.

A job. A salary. Shylar had some of his shit together. He needed time to secure the rest of his shit, like a permanent residence—no more hotel rooms—and a car of his own, not one of Kressick's. All of those things were necessary.

For what?

A deep reservoir within him whispered back, to be worthy.

For whom?

For yourself.

And...

For her.