Astra: Synchronicity (12 page)

"Just what I said, pal," the guard said as
the two of them rounded a corner toward the cargo area. "VIPs are
in the spare rooms. You weren't on the list so you'll have to take
what you get. Tough luck is all I can tell you."

His heart throbbed anxiously at the loss of
his privacy. How was he to know they stuck extra people in the
hold? At least he'd be there alone to consider his options. Making
it to Northampton wasn't enough. He needed a plan once he got
there. Tiyuri might not be the brightest assassin, but his
fanatical drive set him well above the rest. He may never be able
to stop running.

The guard swung back the airtight door and
gestured Magnius inside. "The bathroom's down the corridor on the
left. Mess hall's further down. Help yourself and get some sleep.
We don't reach Chara for another thirty hours. Take it easy."

After the door closed, Magnius refused to
budge. He'd slept in worse places before but not many. At least the
area was dark enough for him to fall asleep in. An odd cocktail of
odors consumed him—hot lubricant, stale hashish, and the fish he'd
loaded on board. A series of faint clicks reverberated throughout
the hold with mechanical regularity. The coldness of the room
penetrated his clothing with ease so he buttoned up his jacket to
retain heat.

Two armored hovercars took up the majority of
the cargo bay. Their navy coloration indicated they belonged to the
Chara government, not the military. The Q3 Summit on Kashtivone had
been in the news for the past several days, and by all indications
the meeting between the PAU and UE had been a success. He rested
his hand on the hood of a transport, honored to share a ride with
the political diplomats. Perhaps humanity would finally be united
this time.

He spotted some cots staggered along the port
bulkhead between sections of engine coils and conduits. The blanket
on the second cot hung over the side onto the floor. As he made his
way over to them, he heard a light humming sound. An older
gentleman propped himself against a crate, reading a comtab aloud
in a mumbling tone of voice.

The man struck him with an odd sense of
acquaintance, but he could not place where he'd seen him before. He
didn't look old enough to have been a client, nor did he seem
familiar enough to be a politician. His dirty coat hung off his
shoulders like a cloak, and the soles of his untied boots had been
worn through to the leather beneath. The way he restlessly swung
his foot and drummed the comtab made Magnius think he had a
compulsive motion disorder.

Since he was not in the mood for
conversation, he headed toward the nearest cot. The only thing in
Astra he wanted right now was sleep, and yet sharing this place
with a person he'd never met made that wish elusive. The thirty
hours to Chara could not pass by quick enough; then he'd confront a
host of new problems.

When the man stopped reading and watched him,
Magnius tried to ignore him. The hunch of his gaunt frame
intensified the severity of his stone-cold eyes. He resembled a man
who'd seen the halls of hell and lived to tell the tale. Magnius
hadn't been unsettled by someone's façade for many years, and he
wondered if this person before him was more man or ghoul.

"Bollocks…it's bad enough to be sent to the
grotty, but now I have to share it with this lout," the man said.
Judging by the level of his voice, he intended the comment to be
heard. "You'll have to excuse me if I'm not in a jolly mood. I did
have a room until we landed on Fantasti. Now I'm here, for all the
good that does me."

Magnius took off his satchel and set it on
the cot next to him. "I came aboard on Fantasti."

"Obviously not you, idiot. Otherwise we'd be
sharing it and that bint would be in here."

Who the hell is this self-righteous
jerk
, he thought.

The man nodded toward the hoverbike in the
corner. "What kind of tosser rides one of those lethal
contraptions? A chav, that's who. They should be sterilized so they
can't pollute the gene pool with their stupidity."

Having lived in the UE for twenty-one years,
Magnius was familiar with the vernacular. "You're entitled to your
opinion. You sound like one of those guys who always wanted to ride
one, but it was too much for you to handle. Jaded much?"

"Then you'd be wrong. I've never wanted to
join the legions of you who ride them around to make up for having
a small tonker."

"At least I'm not the kind of weird you can't
fix."

"You seem to have mistaken me for someone who
cares."

The words slapped Magnius across the face,
but he heard pain hidden behind them. Years ago, they could've
danced a verbal tango for hours, and he'd have uncovered the truth
in the end. But his cross-examination skills rusted from neglect.
"Owning a hoverbike is a personal choice and none of your business.
All the whiners need to shut up and find a real hobby."

"More riders die in accidents every year than
are sold anymore. Coincidentally, the IQ of humanity is steadily
increasing. Quite apropos, wouldn't you say?"

He hadn't heard that term used in
conversational speech since he stood in the courtroom. "Not fitting
in the slightest. Not even ironic."

"I could whack you over the head a few times
with a hammer if you'd like. With the odds being what they are,
you'll be dead in a few years anyhow."

Magnius crossed his arms. "You go right ahead
if you think you can."

The man ignored his act of defiance and went
back to his reading. Like before, he read the words aloud to
himself as he poured over it, complete with his own commentary on
the shoddy state of AC politics. He chuntered just loud enough to
grate on Magnius' nerves and drive him mad.

After several minutes of hearing how much of
a wanker Chairman Dodd was, he sighed audibly enough for the man to
hear it. "I've had a long day. All I want to do is get some sleep.
Do you think you could quiet down for a while?"

A brief pause followed, after which the man
continued like Magnius said nothing. He buried his head under his
blanket and pulled the comtab out of his satchel. A handful of
books had been stored in its memory, but he connected to the
ship-wide network and downloaded the latest news stories. He didn't
read more than a few words before the man's voice distracted
him.

To avoid a confrontation he grabbed his
satchel and strode out of the cargo hold. He had nowhere to go,
save the mess hall, so he headed there and sunk into a seat in the
far corner. He didn't want to deal with anyone. Being invisible
would be a blessing right now.

It took some time to unwind from his
adrenaline-induced irritation, but other pressing concerns replaced
his frustration. He tried to put the chaos that surrounded him the
past several days out of his mind. But it wasn't easy. He worried
about his business, hopeful that his secretary could manage things
until he got back. And then it hit him: he never could. The hulking
image of Tiyuri and the words he'd spoken played over in his mind
as clear as the moment they happened. Sooner or later, they'd meet
again.

He wished he hadn't been so careless using
his powers of late. There had been a time when he rarely used them
at all, but with the pressure and stress of expansion, there wasn't
a more efficient means getting things done. He could have workers
fiddle over crates with the magnetolifts all day, or he could do it
himself in less than an hour. He didn't do it often enough to
arouse suspicion, but someone besides Lyneea must've seen him. That
had to be how word found its way back to Aliane.

From his corner of the mess hall, he gazed
out at the rest of the room behind his amber glasses. The VIPs
dined in the wardroom, and Rashad had chosen not to grant him the
same privileges. A dozen or so other people communed over
dinner—enlisted crewmen who'd been late getting off shift and
wanted to grab a quick bite to eat before bed. No one appeared to
notice him.

He dropped his head into his hand and closed
his eyes, furrowing his brow a bit from the dull headache
scattering his thoughts. He hated starships and spaceflight. For
some reason, he'd always been plagued by headaches during space
travel and doubted he'd ever understand why. For the most part he
avoided traveling the stars. Of course, having his head bruised up
from his encounter with Tiyuri didn't help matters either.

He picked up his comtab and scanned through
the news stories of the day, keeping a safe distance from
Viva
Vega's
gossip. An accident at the mining facility on Avaritia
halted platinum production. Gang violence on Pisa had increased
dramatically over the past two weeks following the assassination of
two prominent members of the planet's main factions. Citizens of
DeSoto, the only planet in Astra with a direct democracy, legalized
stims with a fifty-nine percent majority. Federalists and
progressives in the Allied Council continued to butt heads over the
embargo against the PAU with neither side showing signs of
compromise.

Politics these days…what a mess. When he was
a boy, he dreamt that he was elected President—a fantasy so
extraordinarily vivid he could recall it to this day. As alluring
as the notion seemed, the responsibility of such a position was not
worth the effort to achieve it. Elections were little more than
glorified popularity contests where the good of humanity came in
last. Perhaps therein laid the problem with politics: the
power-hungry led them while the system disenchanted anyone who
wanted to make Astra better.

While reading, an intense migraine suddenly
overwhelmed him like he'd been electrocuted. With his mind reeling
from the mental shock, he stole a glance toward the door. The
annoying man from the cargo hold and a woman with blond hair
entered and headed toward the ration dispenser for their meal. The
woman emitted an opalescent aura of energy and left a trail of
radiance in her wake. The current surrounding her dissipated, and a
moment later, the effect subsided.

For an instant he wondered if she was a
psion, but he'd never encountered such an ability before. Nor was
the sensation consistent with a telepathic assault. It felt more
like a spark had been struck in a room full of charged particles,
setting his mind ablaze as a result. The pain at the onset had
vanished at the same rate it hit him; only a flashbulb memory
remained in his mind.

After retrieving their rations, the two
headed over to a table in the center of the room. She claimed a
seat in his direct line of sight. Magnius tried to detect any
subliminal signs that would mark her a psion, but there was no
apparent difference between her and any of the other humans in the
room. If anything, she struck him as being a bit more childlike
than the rest of them. The way the window captured her attention,
he wondered if she'd ever been in space before. In contrast to her
companion, she exuded a calm sense of awe.

With the exception of her bold hair, she
looked quite ordinary. And yet he didn't want to take his eyes off
her. He rubbed his brow to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks
on him. It was too soon to start lusting after someone new. But
here she was, dredging up a teeming well of emotions without
speaking a single word.

Astra, I'm not even divorced yet
, he
thought.
I've never been that guy who stares across a room
wanting a woman I can't have. Out of the million places to meet
someone, why here…

But he couldn't stop staring. He continued to
watch her from across the room as she ate and talked to her
companion. After some time, her gaze met his. He forced a weak
smile before returning his attention to the comtab in front of him
just long enough for her to look away. His eyes felt glued to her,
out of both curiosity and fascination. A minute later, her eyes
once again met his and again, he cast them down to the news.

From his periphery he noticed her stand and
walk toward him. The anticipation jerked his heart into a frenzy,
one intensifying at her every step. After his brush with death, the
secret thrill bore him no shame. Fighting it contradicted his
natural impulses. What were the chances anything would come out of
it anyways?

The tall woman stooped over his table, and
with his nose buried in his comtab, he could see her racehorse
legs. Her figure-hugging clothing sexualized her body. "Do you know
me?" she asked.

He inhaled sharply. "No, I don't think
so."

She sat down next to him. "Then why are you
staring at me?"

Against his better judgment, he glanced at
her. There was something curious about her that he couldn't put his
finger on. She looked maybe in her thirties. A fresh face enhanced
her high cheekbones and a strong jaw line. Her bluish-gray eyes
appeared marbled by light, concentric rings. Up close, her flaxen
hair resembled gossamer silk, cut in a flattering modern style.
Caught in a room full of people, she'd stand out on that basis
alone.

"The hair is a bit pretentious, don't you
think?"

She seemed perplexed by his observation. "How
so?"

Magnius refused to believe anyone would be so
ignorant or sheltered to not know that having blond hair was
extremely rare. Over the course of a hundred years, he himself had
not encountered many blonds, and most of them had been rather
conceited about that fact. "Are you one of the VIPs?"

"No. I'm with Dr. Xander Adams. I'm his
assistant."

That had been the reason he recognized the
bitter man…the fraud. He cast a long glance across the hall at the
scientist's back. "That asshole? I had no idea—I'm sorry. There
must be a hundred other things a woman like you could be doing than
chasing that maniac across Astra to create the perfect
android."

"Why would you feel sorry for me? You don't
even know me." Her tone possessed a strange sense of
detachment.