Welcome Home, Wayward Soul

[Aideen Byrnes]

The *ka-plod ka-plod* of tac boots on steel deck plates. The smell of sea air mixed with notes of nautical engine oil, fresh fish, and cheap ramen. The mixed sounds of shouted voices in a dozen languages, all competing for auditory real estate over each other, and the hums of engines and pneumatic pistons. Digital eyes drank in the glare of neon in the side alleys of the lower decks and the holo adverts trying to seduce credits from their temporary custodians with commodities of consumption, pleasure, and vice. Above it all, the precariously narrow, impossibly tall trunk of Yggdrasil, tying it all to the gateway to the cosmos above.

Aideen’s grin flashed like a beacon on the shore of this floating artificial island. *This* was home. Not the anachronistic visual cacophony of RhyDin, nor the treacherous industrial streets of Star’s End. She’d never been to Cadentia, but she didn’t like sand, so fuck that.

Mimisportr was everything she missed about Earth, and a little more, from its luxurious opulence attracting visitors from any number of universes, to the vice-like grip of the corporate stratocracy running the entire show.

And, of course, the beautiful mesh of cables, fibers, conduits, and radio waves that made up the sea of cyberspace. The neon and adamantine was merely a shell for this growing tide of informatics and data, begging for Aideen to dive in and intoxicate herself in its richness.

This was home. This was where her true calling lie. And now, after weeks and weeks of staying clear and letting the dominos fall, she was here, standing among the washed masses to take her place at the nexus of the digital underworld once again.

Her first stop was her apartment. She was relieved to see the only a single Tidal Security agent on the entire journey, and he never even gave her a second glance. That alone convinced her the Old Man held up his end of the bargain. She was equally relieved to find the absence of any kind of guard outside her building. The guy at the front desk was new (*elf or fae? She never really could tell*), but that didn’t stop her.

What did stop Aideen was when her door didn’t open for her. Weird. She dug through her pocket for her rarely used keycard. It clicked in the card reader, but no green light. No clock from the lock disengaging. No soft purr of actuators sliding open the portal to her sanctuary.

“What the shit?” She keyed into her private security system. The patches of invisible nanite colonies on the walls came to life and broadcast their vantage points throughout the quarters. The furniture was all gone, except the kitchen appliances generously provided with the lease. She cycled through the cameras. A sigh of relief came when she saw her more private suite of storage and workspaces was untouched. Not that anyone could have gotten down there, but there was always a chance. No security is flawless, or she’d be out of a job.

That concern alleviated, she marched back to the sleepy guy at the desk. “Hey, my lock was changed. What the hell?”

“What? Oh, what unit?” The ageless man gave the same bored disinterest that infected every administrative salaryman eventually. Like herpes, she mused.

“113. Byrnes. My apartment’s locked. What gives?”

Fingers came to life in a flurry of keystrokes, a level of activity and attention the rest of the man seemed incapable of. “113. Three weeks delinquent on rent payment, and failure to respond to calls from management. Plus a notice of illegal residency from… Pacific Electric Corporation. You were evicted with immediate effect following the required two attempts at contact by phone and one by…”

“Horse shit!” She bloated her eyes and counted to ten. And again. In binary, this time. “There’s money in the account. I’m paid up. I’m on auto-pay. What happened to the payment.”

He looked closer. “Payment declined due to insufficient funds.”

“The fuck?” While he talked, she logged into her legitimate bank account to check the balance. *Closed and assets frozen by court order. Contact the…* She logged out, mumbling a few more curses in a few languages.

She counted again. “How much?”

More typing. “Two months' rent, along with eviction fees, court costs, minus auction proceeds on the abandoned property…”

“The fuck it was…” She almost said it aloud.

“…brings you to three thousand, two hundred and sixty-four credits. Payment will restore access to your unit, though the next rent payment will still be due on the first, and your lease renewal…”

“I get the picture…” She fished out the credit account she held on to for emergencies like this. It *technically* wasn’t in her name, but a bored office manager wouldn’t know the difference. “Take it off this.”

The efficient paragon of paperwork swiped the chit through the reader. A beep announced the approval notice. “Thank you. Your access card and PAN access will be active within ten minutes. Welcome home.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Aideen took back the chit and pocketed it. She picked up the backpack she’d been carrying and walked out into the street. The crowds were picking up for the second lunch rush. Not too back in this alley, since it was mostly residences near the Far Court, but enough for her to get intentionally lost in. No tunnel diving today. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible today. She knew the Old Man would be watching down there, if he wasn’t already. No sense in letting him believe she’d be careless in her return to civilization.

Well, now she needed to open a new account. The Exchange was nearby, so they could unfreeze her with her new patron’s help. Then she’d need a new cover job.

She thought of a particular bartender on Vanaheim Alley that had offered her a job months ago. Maybe that would be her next stop.