CHAPTER SIX
Moscow, Ural Territory, December 4, 2308 13:18:19 (T-Minus 00:21:52:52)
Hotaru piloted her hover through the pedestrian-filled streets of Moscow. Snow was piled high along both sides of the street, and people struggled to clear the way for her, recognizing her status as a government official. The snow was forecast to continue all week, but Hotaru was only planning on being here for two days. Her latest target, a doctor, had been sighted at one of the medical dispensaries in downtown Moscow. She had arrived mid-morning, and her stomach let her know it was unpleased with her extended absence from food.
Grabbing a protein pouch from her backpack, Hotaru looked out the window for a landmark. Checking the building beside her, she saw a boarded up studio at 3-ya ulitsa Yamskogo Polya, 2 kopnyc 4. She was close, only two more blocks to the hostel she was to stay at. She planned to use her first day in the city to do recon - gather information and intel she would use to capture and deliver a Letter to Doctor Husain Abujamal. His work was needed elsewhere. The second day would be entirely for the implementation of her plan to, and ultimately the delivery of The Letter.
The windshield wipers swiped rhythmically at the window, clearing her line of sight through the market. She deftly steered around a couple who had just exited a bakery, unaware of her presence. All around her, the earth colored bricks of the houses and the deep slate of the roof tiles showed Hotaru a vista of buildings built by people who worked hard for their earnings.
She stopped her hover at the hostel's address. Getting out of the hover, she scanned the street, looking for any sign of danger. When she was satisfied there was none, she pulled her backpack out of the car, slung it over her shoulder, and entered the building. It smelled of unwashed people, and years of poor maintenance. The floorboards creaked under her feet as she approached the check-in desk, which itself looked like it needed a coat of paint several decades ago.
Approaching the desk, she could see a man with wild, unkempt white hair looking up at her. He was in an undershirt, and she could see signs that his last meal involved lots of gravy. When he spoke, his voice was like gravel rubbing on sandpaper.
" Good afternoon. Welcome to the hostel. How long will you need a room?”
" Three days please.”
"Will you require food and drink?”
"Yes, please. Are you able to give me directions?”
The innkeeper leered up at Hotaru, who was much younger than he was. She could only guess what was on his mind. It wouldn't matter, though. If he made a move toward her, she'd snap his wrist before he got within thirty centimeters of any part of her body.
"I can. Where are you looking to go?”
"I need to find a doctor.”
His expression changed imperceptibly, but Hotaru caught the look: fear. Fear of disease and sickness. She quickly added:
“I'm not sick, he's a friend of mine.
At this, the innkeeper relaxed, and asked for his name. Hotaru handed him her Tablet with Abujamal's name on it. The innkeeper brightened, laughing, and gesticulated wildly, pointing down the street.
“This doctor friend of yours, he has an office down the street two blocks. You picked a good hostel, yes?”
Hotaru nodded, smiling herself. This time she had gotten really lucky.
The innkeeper handed her a key.
“Room number 6. Top of the stairs, last room on the right down the hall. Enjoy your stay, Emissary.”
Hotaru froze, looking at the innkeeper, who just raised a single finger to his lips in the universal sign for I won't tell anyone, your secret is safe with me. She nodded her thanks, and then took off upstairs to get settled for reconnaissance.
It took a few seconds to get the key to work in the lock, but as she opened the door, Hotaru Kogame was surprised. Behind the scratched, faded door was a room that rivaled a palatial dwelling. A huge four-poster bed dominated the west wall. A pristine white canopy adorned the top of the bed, and a bedspread of gold, scarlet and black covered the mattress. There was at least a dozen pillows near the headboard, and the bed had been turned down, as if expecting a guest.
Two large brown fabric chairs flanked the bay window which looked out onto an impressive street scene, showing factories, retail shops, and residential dwellings alike. Though only on the second floor, the view left Hotaru with the impression of being much higher up. She plopped her backpack on the bed, sending pillows bouncing to the ground around the bed, and headed into the washroom. She had travelled a whole day. It was time to get clean.
A large tub took up the left hand side of the expansive washroom, which was appointed in ivory and gold. A glass enclosed shower stood beside the toilet and bidet. Scarlet towels and cloths that matched the linens on the bed were arranged neatly on the white marble counter. She began to undress, setting the shower's digital temperature gauge to forty-one degrees, just like her shower back at The College.
She set a towel on the floor, then grabbed a bath sheet, and hung it on a hook beside the shower. Opening the glass door, she stepped into the steaming water with a sigh. Quickly washing her hair, she applied conditioner, and reached up to grab a rose-shaped shower poof from an alcove just above above her sight line. There was a selection of soaps in glass bottles on a shelf at waist height, each decorated with a picture of the main scent contained within the cleaner. She chose one with a bundle of brown pods and a pale yellow-orange flower: vanilla.
As she lathered up, she kept mental score of the various scars and injuries earned in her career as an Emissary - a five centimeter scar near her left ankle from a bad fall during a chase where her Target had jumped off a second story roof, and her after him. She saw the near-imperceptible mark on her right knee from reconstructive surgery. A crazed man had shot her while trying to escape. The bullet had shattered her patella instantly, and caused major damage to the cartilage behind it. It hadn't stopped her from Delivering.
Despite all the medical attention she received at The College, she still walked with a slight limp when tired or injured. She hated it, but if The College couldn't fix it, no one could. Next came the memory of a broken pelvis from when a woman had hit her with her hover while trying to protect her husband. Again, the unstoppable Hotaru Delivered, but at a huge cost. She had missed her quota that year by three Letters. There was no punishment, but only because she had spent nearly three months in The College's medical bay.
From the waist up, she was nearly perfect, as far as injuries went, anyway. For some reason, people figured if they could stop her moving, they were safe. They were wrong. Hotaru Delivered, no matter the personal cost. Washing her left arm, she was careful to avoid the chronometer interface chip implanted into her forearm, just above the wrist. The actual device hooked into this chip using nano technology to allow her access to communication, scheduling, and mapping interfaces that mirrored the abilities of her Tablet.
Rinsing her arm in the soft stream of hot water, she transferred the poof to her other hand, and washed her right arm. As she came to her elbow, she paused, looking at the soft tissue of the crook of her elbow, and the small six-pointed scar from the implantation of her BESE Chip.