Free Dirty Ties by Pam Godwin

“The friction exerts a rightward force upon the leftward-moving bike and—”
    “Benny.” I scrubbed a palm over my face.
    “An analysis had to be done to determine if the forces acting upon—”
    “Benny!” I pointed at the broken wires twisted around the helmet and jacket beside her. “Get to the fucking point.”
    She fisted her hands on her hips. “Fine, grumpy jackasshole.” She cocked her head. “Since you’re so keen on standing on your bike at 167 miles per hour, I designed a balance system. With wireless sensors in the sleeves of your jacket, the helmet will beep when equilibrium is lost and calibrate the acceleration and velocity vectors of your body. The digital gauge will tell you when, where, and how far to lean. Happy?”
    “No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Just what I didn’t need, more alarms flashing in my face. At least, now I knew how she'd stayed balanced on her rigged contraption. “I know how to lean my damned bike.”
    She stared at her boots and mumbled, “Contentious, menstruating, fun killah.”
    “What was that?”
    She sniffed. “Nothing.”
    I held out the helmet in my hand. “I need a modification on this by Saturday’s race.”
    Her pale cheeks rose in color. “But I just gave you the Best. Mod. Evah.”
    I spun the helmet between my hands, flipping it upside down and revealing the rows of buttons along the inside panel. “What I need is”—for lack of a better term—“x-ray vision.”
    Her chin sawed side-to-side, scraping her teeth together and making my ears bleed. “Like radar detection? Through-the-wall imaging to map the layout of a building?”
    “No, more like the ability to selectively see through a smaller object”—like a silver helmet—“as if it were translucent.” Combined with the facial recognition software, I would be able to identify what I hoped was a fuckable face.
    For an exasperating moment, she regarded me with one of her bizarre expressions I didn’t have a chance in hell of interpreting. Then she bent over her knees and roared with laughter while slapping her thighs.
    I set my jaw. What the shit was so damned funny?
    Eventually, she sobered and snatched the helmet from my hands. “Don’t sell your soul to Big Brother, he’d said.” Sliding off the table, she tossed the helmet between her hands as she paced a circle around me. “Join me, and we’ll decimate evil and transcend conventional morality with technology, he’d crowed. You’ll have enough freedom and money to delight your little futurist heart, he’d promised.”
    Yeah, okay, she was paraphrasing the pitch I’d given her in grad school. When she was approached by a branch of the government—one that claimed some cloak-and-dagger crap about having no name or existence—I’d offered a sweeter deal. So what? I hadn’t over-promised.
    I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you saying? You want a raise?” Fuck, her salary already exceeded two million a year.
    She paused in front of me, the spikes of her hair several inches below my chin. Tilting her head back, she squinted up at me. “Did Superman use his x-ray vision to sneak peeks at Lois Lane’s undies?”
    I stiffened. No doubt my glare bulged my eyes out of my head.
    “No. He didn’t.” She shook her finger at my face. “He used his powers to honor ethical codes and social mores.” She tossed the helmet at my chest.
    I caught the costly piece of equipment before it hit the concrete floor and set it on the table. “What the hell are you going on about?”
    “Don’t play dumb with me, Logan Flynt. This x-ray business reeks of Eau de Miss Ducati.” She drew the plastic gun from her thigh and pressed the barrel against my forehead. “Who, like Lois Lane, is a scrotum fister. A flaunter of coy curves. A show stealer…”
    I stopped listening. Christ Almighty, why had I mentioned her to Benny? Huge lapse in judgment. I squared my shoulders, shoved my head against the gun, and gave her my most