Chapter Fifty-Four - Moments

“There are between a hundred and fifty and two hundred galas of importance every year. Half of these are directly in service to something. Modelling shows, auctions, art trades, art exhibits, fund-raisers, political plays, and a few other niche events make up the majority of the social events for the well-to-do.

Being invited to all of them is next to impossible. Still, a proper socialite should try to attend at least two such galas a month, not including the more seasonal Christmas and mid-summer events.

This, of course, means a certain level of preparedness...”

--Excerpt from Socializing for the Nouveau-Riche, a Primer, 2046

***

Gomorrah drove us around the top of the skyscraper, the car angling to the side just enough that we could really take it in.

I had a certain set of expectations for what the gala would look like. Lots of fancy folk, some champaign and maybe some dancing?

It looked as though Burringham’s gala took up the entire topmost floor of a skyscraper, a whole section had glass walls and a glass ceiling, all that right next to the landing pads where a couple of cars were already idling away.

We weren’t the only people snooping around. There were drones with flickering safety lights buzzing around the building like circling vultures, and a pack of paparazzi were stalking by the entrance, only held back by some red velvet and mounted guns.

Gomorrah swooped in and landed us with a faint lurch right next to the end of the red carpet. The Fury probably looked strange next to all the Italian sports cars with its more muscle-car like aesthetics.

“I’ll set the auto-pilot to fly circles around the area,” Gomorrah said. “We’ll have close air support if we need it.”

“Ah, right, it’s always better to have close air support and not need it, than to need it and not have it,” I said wisely.

Lucy giggled in the back, and I grinned as I shoved the door open.

A few lights flashed and I couldn’t help but overhear the dozens of paparazzi asking themselves who the hell we were. They sounded like seagulls arguing over fries.

I stepped to the back and opened the door for Lucy. She made a show of stepping out one long leg at a time and of delicately taking my hand to help herself out. Frannie opened her own door and stomped out with a glare for anyone who cared to look.

With Lucy hanging off my arm, a huge grin on, we walked across the carpet with Gomorrah and Frannie trailing behind us and dutifully ignored the calls and questions and occasional camera flashes.

This is amusing.

“What’s amusing?” I asked after making sure my helmet was blocking any sound from exiting.

Some of these people are attempting to break into your equipment’s software. Others are purposefully using filters that depict yourself or Lucy in unflattering ways.

I frowned. Trying to hack into a celebrity's shit was fine. I’d probably do the same in their place. But fucking with pictures of Lucy? Why would they do that? To plaster the images on some of those shitty media feeds that got off on making people look like shit? “Can you fuck up those messing with the pictures?”

Oh, certainly.

“Uh, would doing that be like, beyond your mandate or whatever?”

Technically, but it’s also amusing.

“Well, as long as you’re terrifying while on my side,” I said.

The entrance into the--was it a hall? A showroom? A ballroom, maybe?--gala-place, was being blocked by a team of guards and combat androids, as well as the same woman that I’d seen with Burringham, his secretary lady. She was armed with a digital clipboard and a scowl, though it relaxed when we came closer.

“Stray Cat,” she said. “And your plus one?”

“This is Lucy,” I said.

She nodded. “Can you decrypt this file please, as proof of your identity?” My augs were pinged, and I received a decently hefty file from her.

Oh, it’s a puzzle! And solved! Very ingenious though.

“Uh,” I said. The file transformed, it’s name changing to “Solved.😸” I sent it back, and other than a raised eyebrow, the secretary didn’t make a fuss about the new filetype. “The Samurai behind me is Gomorrah, and that’s her plus one.”

“Two samurai,” she said. “We’ll take that into account. I’m certain Mister Burringham will be overjoyed. You are still quite early. The music will be starting in approximately twenty minutes, and the main event isn’t for another two hours. Still, you should find some entertainment available.”

“Cool, thanks,” I said. I nodded to her and, with a hand over Lucy’s on my arm, I walked into the entrance lobby.

The room was grand, with big pots on pedestals and oil paintings hanging off the walls in gold-leafed frames. It was all very fancy, and yet it was also obviously a kill box. A long narrow space, with guards at the end and planter boxes placed so that they’d provide cover for the same guards.

My cyberwarfare augs helpfully pointed out all the hidden weapon emplacements in the ceilings and the explosives hidden in the Ming vases.

Burringham really wasn’t fucking around with the security here. Was it because he knew Gomorrah and I were here, or was it just normal paranoia?

It had me a bit on edge as we walked across the room and through a set of double doors that lead into a grand ballroom.

“Oooo,” Lucy cooed as her head tilted back and she took in the room. It was rather large, with a cleared dance floor in the centre illuminated by a crystal chandelier that had to outweigh the average hovercar just in crystal shards. A wedge-shaped stage took up a corner of the hexagonal room, currently empty except for a grand piano.

All around the circumference of the room were tables with holographic QR codes floating above them. They already had ice buckets with wine bottles on them, next to freshly clipped flowers.

A bit of classical music was playing quietly in the background, more than enough to make it hard to overhear the few conversations going on. So far, there didn’t seem to be that many people present. A dozen or so in all, mostly grouped up in little bunches across the room and chatting to each other. Sometimes a hearty laugh would echo out across the hall, but otherwise it seemed perfectly quiet.

There was staff, of course, and I saw some discretely adding a few chairs to some of the tables while others did some last minute prep work.

“Looks like we’re early,” I said.

“That’s fine,” Gomorrah replied. “We can sit down and just do nothing. It’ll be a nice change of pace.”

“We could dance,” Lucy said. “There’s music playing.” She turned to me, stars in her eyes and an easy smile on her lips.

“Do you know how to dance?” I teased.

She pouted, but that soon faded in favour of a dangerous grin. “No, but you know how enthusiastic I can be about learning new... physical activities.”

“Urgh,” Frannie said. I glanced her way only to find her looking away, her cheeks matching her hair.

Jeff Burringham has been notified of your presence and is on his way.

“Ah,” I said. “Burringham is coming.” I could see the guy walking with one of the serving staff next to one of the discrete doors hidden next to some elaborate statue thing. “Let’s say hi to him, you can show off your pretty dress, and then we can see about that dance?”

“That does sound nice,” Lucy said.

Our little group idled over to the side, towards a table whose QR code labelled it as the one reserved for us. We were more or less right across from the stage and right next to the table where Burringham himself was sitting. A place of pride? Or just somewhere that Burringham could show us off?

“Stray Cat!” the man in question said as he approached, his arms raised in a happy greeting. “And Miss Gomorrah. I’m afraid we haven’t met yet, but I have heard of your exploits. You’re one of the city’s shining jewels.”

“Thank you, Mister Burringham,” Gomorrah said rather coldly. “I’m merely doing what I can to help. I hope that you’re someone who takes your responsibilities just as seriously as I do.”

“I think you’ll find that I am,” he said. “I’ve already begun contacting a few friends to get things moving along in the sewers, since the two of you brought it to the city’s attention. We have inspectors down there right now, and a few journalists have started to investigate the entire matter. I’m making it a big part of my campaign. But enough about that, I want to make sure you’re all quite comfortable. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“I think we’re fine,” I said. “Though, maybe bring the volume up a notch? Lucy wants to test out your dance floor.

Burringham looked surprised for a moment before he grinned. “I’ll do you one better, just give me two whole minutes. And Miss Lucy, your dress is stunning.”

“Thank you!” Lucy chirped.

The guy had his moments.

***