Free Necrotech by K C Alexander

didn’t. I was too tired for this. Too wired.
    Finally, he breathed out a long sigh. It twitched twice and his avatar flickered, but the connection held. “Okay, fine, I knew you’d crash out. You were in pretty rough shape. I thought the best thing to do was wait a few hours and then initiate a call.”
    Because I’d be guaranteed to pick it up, assuming I survived the nano burnout. I pulled a face. “I don’t have time to fuck around with you.”
    â€œYou’re sleeping,” he pointed out.
    Yeah, like I needed the reminder. He was right, of course. If I wasn’t here, I’d still be sound asleep. No loss of time.
    Just of patience.
    My girlfriend had gone necro right in front of me, and I was stuck playing footsie with a cop. Again .
    He winced when I didn’t so much as blink at him. “I wanted to say sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand that wasn’t as callused as the ones he’d used to open my protein boost.
    Vain, vain, vain.
    â€œAnd to tell you that Fagan’s been assigned to desk duty, pending investigation.” His mouth pursed, eyebrows drawing together. “I pulled his report, so you don’t need to worry.”
    â€œYou keeping it safe personally?”
    â€œYeah.” His tone would have made me laugh, all confused cop and eager to please, but I didn’t have it in me. Moron. He should have left it on the system.
    Bone-deep tired scrapped for space beside resentment. “Apology accepted,” I replied, slapping both hands on the table and standing.
    He raised his hand. “Riko, wait, I–”
    â€œNo.”
    He looked taken aback. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say?”
    â€œSue me.” I ran my hand through my hair, but it wasn’t quite the same as if I would have done it in the real world. It felt different; smoother, finer. I knew it was hair beneath my fingers, managed to tuck it behind my ear so it wouldn’t fall over an eye, but it wasn’t quite right.
    A body paid for perfection. Corporation credo. If I wanted better sensory data, I could fork over the creds. Not worth.
    â€œBut I–”
    Ugh. “You’re a government official, detective.” I stressed the title. He scowled. “I’m a saint. I’m not interested in whatever you’ve got. Either throw me something you need, one-and-done, or dick out.”
    Since he didn’t bat an eyelash at the street euphemism for SINless, I assumed he’d already heard it. Would have been surprised if not. A good detective kept his ear open. “I’m not asking you to marry me,” he said, his jaw tightening.
    That didn’t even warrant a response. Very carefully, I scooted the chair under the table. You don’t want to break things in a projected room. The maintenance systems get real spiky about it. “Leave a message at the Mecca when you need that favor.”
    His perfect hands clenched on the tabletop. His gaze dropped to them, that deliberate charm cracking some. “What if I said I’d give you the file in exchange for this?”
    â€œIs it one thing?” I asked. “Or a string of them?”
    He didn’t have to answer. I read it in his face.
    I would have smacked the back of his head – mostly to irritate him – but you can’t do that in a projection room. Most basic servers, which I had, aren’t designed to mimic reality. I could touch my hair and feel the strands because I knew without a doubt what my hair was. I had my whole life of knowing. I couldn’t touch Greg because I didn’t know if his hair was smooth today or laden with product, if his jacket was synthetic or real. If it was cold or warm, rough or soft. I didn’t know what he thought of his jacket, or how he felt his own hair. Without smoother integration, I could overload the system and fry my communication receptors. Or his.
    While the possibility of