LEGACY BETRAYED by Rachel Eastwood Read Free Book Online Page B

they wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t know how much, or who. But it must be somewhere, planned. It would be put down so we see it. It would be under a light. You need light to see, right?”
    “Right,” Coal 106 replied. “It must be under lights.”
     
                  For the past day and a half, Legacy had done nothing but lounge in the moldering upstairs rental at Glitch’s and listen to CIN-3 for nonexistent updates, kicking back and forth what-if scenarios with Dax and, occasionally, with Rain. Legacy was too scared to go home for her own little pile of money, but Dax had left her forty pieces – and she’d spent it all in the House of Oil.
                  “Let me get another Calm,” Legacy commanded the turnkey barkeep, whose name, she now knew, was Bart-12. She just called him Bart, as if to divert the automaton from thoughts of his own ephemeral nature.
                  “ This is your fourth Calm the Nerves, ” Bart informed her, delivering the beverage. Legacy tossed the last of the coins in her hand onto the bar.
    “I know,” she said. She didn’t drink it yet; she held the glass and contemplated its murky, comforting shade, which reminded her of Old Earth. Bart kept informing her of how many drinks it’d been. She supposed it was to avoid any discrepancies, but she found it quite annoying. At least, she’d found it quite annoying three Calms ago.
    Now, she couldn’t quite summon the shit to give.
    She’d started drinking at sundown, when she’d waited and waited for Dax to show up. The room had gotten steadily darker, and she’d realized that he wasn’t going to show up. Maybe he’d been too tired and needed a real sleep on a good bed. After all, Dax still had to work, didn’t he? Or maybe he’d come down from the high of their escapades, and was starting to realize that he didn’t want this life. Drifting. Shacking up. Maybe Rain had invited him over and they’d lost track of the time.
    It was just such a lonely thing, laying low. Lonely thing. So she’d wandered down to the bar for some company. Even if it was only semi-conscious.
    Legacy took a sip.
    No work – if Cook would even want her back.
    Another sip.
    No family. Could endanger them, returning home. Probably end up in jail, herself.
    Another sip.
    No friends. Most people didn’t even know where she was.
    A gulp.
    No word on Kaizen, no word on Vector, no word on Trimpot.
    Gulp.
    Just the hole in the floor and the automaton against the wall, registered to Dax’s name.
    She drained the dregs of the drink and set the empty glass down with a resounding clank.
    This had all seemed so much more insurmountable before the second Calm. But after the fourth? It hardly registered as problematic.
    So what if they do hang me? What would I have died of instead? An aneurysm? Cancer? Who cares? Dying is dying and living is living and it’s really all the same. What’s the point of being sad, or afraid, ever? Might as well just do what you want. Life’s too short for little things like legality or convention to come into question. In the end, what are all the little invisible leads we follow even worth? It’s just something somebody said once, otherwise known as “Blah, blah, blah.” Maybe you won’t even get caught. It’s dark out.
    Legacy stood with a sway.
    She threaded through the haze of sprawled patrons, only stumbling over one errant foot before correcting herself, spinning, and muttering an apology.
    Drifting out the door, she pushed herself in the vague direction of her parents’ complex in the domestic district.
    Because fuck it.
    She was going home.
     
    Legacy thundered drunkenly onto the first porch of the seven-story building, and a familiar, tinny Rrrah! Rrrah! emitted from within the unit. This was the robot dog belonging to its tenant, which stirred at the vibration of the floorboards. Gray shutters on the tiny window to Legacy’s right popped open and a pair of shrewd old eyes