The Fountain Pen of Youth

The Shoddy Shack was the only bar in Chinatown that still lit its signage. Pops of neon greens and pinks and yellows from cracked screens, all advertising the latest SemTech body modification that nobody could afford. Rey sat at her usual stool, trying not to notice the pain in her metallic knee or the first strands of grey hair staring at her in the dirty mirror behind the bar.

Clint was two hours late for their rendezvous. Her tungsten trigger finger twitched against her leg. It was her second long wait of the day; the line at the gunsmith had stretched out the door, and she’d been stuck waiting in the rain. She had wiped out her chits restocking, so she had to nurse a few drinks instead of getting herself plastered. Logically, she knew this was a blessing in disguise. But a part of her craved oblivion.

Three separate men approached her while she waited, but lifting her shirt up to reveal her semi-automatic was enough to change their minds. It helped that she was angry. Every neuron in her brain told her to get up, shatter her glass, and leave Clint behind. She forced herself to stay put.

“What took you so long?” Rey asked as Clint settled on the barstool. The seat groaned under his bulk.

“Chasing a lead. You get everything we need from the gunsmith?”

“Hours ago. I don’t like waiting around, Clint. If you’d rather not work together, I can leave.”

“Be my guest. You can drink yourself to death whenever you want,” Clint said. He met Rey’s steely eyes. “But I’d rather you stayed. You’ve got a good trigger finger.”

She snorted. “Wow, thanks. What’s this lead?”

“Have you heard of SemTech’s new Ink?”

“The nanobots that make you live forever? Everyone agreed that was vaporware.”

“Apparently not. The CEO held a demo three days back. Tatted himself and got twenty years younger.”

“Even if that was true, what does it have to do with us?”

“He vanished near SoHo yesterday. SemTech is offering a substantial reward for his recovery.”

“So, they’ll pay a ransom. Let me guess. The Ink’s missing too?”

“Exactly.”

“Now every Joe in town fancies Inking himself with the fountain pen of youth. That explains the line at the gunsmith.”

“Don’t worry about other crews. We have a head start. Hit me with the mod-oil,” Clint said.

Rey removed a bottle from her pack and slid it down the bar top. Clint touched his cybernetick’s release point underneath the elbow joint, and the matte-black titanium machine-arm hissed open. Rey had seen the arm move fast enough to smash through bricks, metals, and heads. She averted her eyes from the mottled fleshy stump that rested within the cybernetick. His body’s integration with the machine-arm made the veins on his stump protrude and glow a faint neon blue.

“This isn’t our usual brand,” Clint said, eying the bottle suspiciously.

“Gunsmith convinced me to try his new stuff. Said your titanium will like it.”

“This better not muck up my hydraulics.”

“If it does, talk to the gunsmith. We could use something extra. There’s a lot of heat on this one.”

“You want out?”

“Did I say I wanted out? I said there’s heat. We need to be smart.”

“In that case, let’s find a place with fewer ears. I’ll fill you in on our lead.”

* * *

Clint’s lead was a bugged SemTech security car. He’d bought the tracker from his cousin, who was connected to the Manhacking community. Manhackers were usually a sure thing when it came to tracking people down. Usually.

“They’ve been doing this SoHo loop for three hours. Sunlight’s about gone. Car’s going to run out of juice soon,” Rey said.

“Fifteen more minutes,” Clint said.

Rey didn’t respond. The security car remained a few blocks ahead, a red blip on the car’s center console. Clint drove. She watched the rearview mirror. A van with tinted windows appeared, and not for the first time.

“Van’s back behind us. It’s definitely not SemTech. We’re being followed,” Rey said. “You want me to take them out?”

“I swapped our plates before we left, but people around here know us. Warn ‘em first,” Clint said.

Rey rolled down the window, unholstered her semi-automatic, and leaned out of the car. She took a steadying breath and let her trigger finger do the work.

Ping ping ping ping. The van’s sideview mirrors blasted away. Their pursuer slammed his brakes.

“They’re stopping.”

“Nice shooting,” Clint said. His eyes remained forward.

Rey holstered her gun and crossed her arms.

“I’ll need to do more than warn if we don’t catch a real lead soon. Half the town will try to follow us and pick up scraps.”

“Look. Tracker stopped moving in Cortland Alley,” Clint said, nodding at the center console.

“This better be something,” Rey responded.

* * *

They moved towards the stopped car on foot. The last vestiges of light disappeared quicker than a traveling salesman with the last of a town’s hard-earned money. A few streetlights sputtered on and off. The rain continued.

Rey saw only one shadow as they moved. Another tail. The vultures were ready and waiting.

“I wouldn’t try anything,” she called. “I’m packing plenty of iron.” The form slinked away.

When they reached the alley, they saw the SemTech car idling. Clint took out a scope and attached it to his arm, then lifted it to his eye.

“One heat signature in the car. One colder spot, recently vacated. Let’s go route one,” Clint said.

Rey nodded and took up a spot at the alley’s corner. Clint zipped up a big hoodie to hide his cybernetick and shambled forward, right arm held low. He knocked on the window.

“Hey. You got any stims?” he slurred. Rey held her hand ready on her hip. She heard the muffled voice of the driver cursing.

“Just give me some stims, man, come on. Or some chits.” Another pause.

“No? Come on, man, please, I need a little hit,” Clint said, and that did the trick. The driver opened the bulletproof door and stepped outside, likely to point a gun in Clint’s face, but he never got the chance. Clint brought up his cybernetick from down low and unleashed. It sprang forward like a cannon, knocking the man against the car door hard enough to dent. The man crumpled. Rey jogged forward.

“I thought route one was to pound the details out of him? He doesn’t look like talking.”

“Couldn’t tell what he was holding.”

“If SemTech has a biomarker in him, we’re in trouble.”

“Are you kidding? For one of these goons? He’d be lucky if they pay for a dentist, let alone a biomarker. Let’s stash him before his partner gets back. We’ll get the same details with the backseat play.”

* * *

Rey held herself low in the backseat, waiting for Clint’s word. The minutes stretched on. After an eternity, Clint spoke.

“Two coming. They’ll go for the back,” he warned.

“Shit.” Rey dove over the backseat headrest and into the trunk. The car door opened and the two men piled in. They were breathing hard. One held a small black bag.

“Get me the hell out of here before they realize we gave them fake Ink,” the man said. Rey immediately recognized the face from the ads. A younger version of SemTech CEO Ryan Trust.

“Sure thing,” Clint said. At that moment, Rey popped up from the trunk and placed her semi-automatic against the CEO’s head.

“Do exactly what we say and you come out of this alive.”

“Again? Fuck me,” Trust groaned.

“Sir!” the goon yelled, but it was too late for him. Clint leaned over the headrest and fired his cybernetick. Trust began to blubber.

“Don’t kill me. Please. We’ll pay another ransom. Whatever you want. You’ll be rich!”

“Relax, pretty boy. Give us the Ink and the schematics for the nanobots and we’ll get you back to SemTech faster than you can bribe a bodymod safety officer,” Rey said.

“The Ink’s here. And I can get you the schematics.” Trust reached into the black bag and pulled out a tattoo gun.

“How do we know it’s real?” Clint asked.

“You can test it,” Trust said. Clint and Rey looked at each other.

“Use her arm,” Clint said. Rey’s eyes narrowed. She held out her left wrist.

“Any funny business and I unload,” she said.

“It’s legit,” Trust said. “I swear.” His hands shook as he started up the tattoo gun and brought the needle down. It hit her wrist once, twice, three times. The change was instantaneous. Rey felt a dull pressure grow into an immense pain as every bone in her body reknit itself. Muscles tensed and grew. Her spine straightened. She yelped and groaned, gritting her teeth to keep hold of her consciousness and her gun.

After thirty seconds, it was over. Clint eyed her with interest.

“Look,” he said. He pointed to the rearview mirror. Rey held herself up and saw a face she hadn’t seen in ages. No more wrinkles or grey hairs. She felt good. Really good.

“It worked,” Rey gasped.

“Trouble,” Clint said. Several SemTech vehicles appeared on the car’s center console as blue blips. They were two blocks out. Clint grabbed the tattoo gun from Trust’s hand.

“I told you they’d have a biomarker,” Rey snapped.

“Let’s bail. Drag him with you,” Clint said. He hopped out of the front seat as the blue blips barreled forward. Rey tried to push Trust, but the man refused to move.

“You already have the Ink,” he said. “If you shoot me, you’re done for. But if you run now, I’ll forget your face.”

Rey didn’t believe him, but she also didn’t have time. She hopped out and slammed the door. Clint was already halfway down the street, donning his big hoodie and jogging away. She ran to catch up, feeling the spryness of her younger body. The SemTech cars arrived. Armed men began to rush towards the alley.

She had to look inconspicuous. Her gun went under her shirt. She snaked her arm through Clint’s. Another young woman with an older man. Nothing to see here.

“Where’s the CEO?” Clint asked.

“Couldn’t move him. You didn’t wait,” Rey said. She held him close.

“Figured you had it handled,” Clint said. But Rey could hear the lie. She glanced at his cocked and angled cybernetick, pointing right at her.

“After all this time?” Rey asked.

“Sorry, Rey. This Ink is going to change everything. I’m not sharing.” Clint shifted his weight, preparing to launch his arm into Rey’s gut.

The cybernetick’s hydraulics stuttered. Rey moved her trigger finger to Clint’s elbow, pressing down on the release. The arm hissed open, preventing redeployment. With reflexes twenty years faster than a minute before, Rey grabbed the tattoo gun from Clint’s inside pocket, pushed him back off of her, and whipped out her semi-automatic. Clint held up his hands.

“Don’t. They know we work together. Everyone will look for you.”

“Nobody knows what I look like anymore.” Rey’s tungsten trigger finger twitched.