Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection (55 page)

He began pacing behind the couch. “But I can guarantee its safety and security on Romane.”

An eyebrow arched in question.

“I know, it’s not quite perfect. But it’s convenient enough, not too far from here and a quick trip to Seneca. We’ll take a transport from there, or we can rent a ship if you want more control. However long we need to be on Seneca, the
Siyane
will be safe on Romane. And when our—” he paused, and his voice dropped in tenor “—or your business on Seneca is concluded it will be waiting on you. I promise you.” He frowned a little. “Unless Romane gets blown up by the invading aliens. I can’t do a thing about them, and I hope like hell you don’t expect me to.”

Her gaze roved across the loft…out the windows, where the night sky had barely begun to lighten, and back to the wall in front of her, finally coming to rest on the visual hanging at eye level: she and her dad standing atop Mammoth Mountain. They had hiked it for her thirteenth birthday. He was killed in action two months later.

Caleb was right, it wasn’t perfect. But it was a surprisingly decent alternative. Off Earth, on an independent world—which arguably was
better
than Seneca and the safest place to be given the war. Romane enjoyed the solidest reputation of any independent colony, and the location would give them at least some degree of flexibility.

He had leaned against the couch to await her decision. She nodded. “Okay…
okay
. You can tell me why you can guarantee its safety on Romane on the way to the spaceport.”

His expression blossomed into a relieved smile. “It’s a deal.”

She couldn’t help but return the smile as she picked up her pack and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

PART
IV
:

ACCELERANDO

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned.”

— William Butler Yeats

49

ROMANE

I
NDEPENDENT
C
OLONY

W
HITE GOLD SWIRLED AROUND
hammered chrome, weaving again and again until it formed an intricate knot. Red dollops of plasma appeared to emerge from the chrome and glide through the gaps in the knot to orbit it, though it was an illusion. In reality the plasma merely hovered in a deceptive shimmer so as to imply motion.

“In my opinion, this is one of the artist’s most powerful pieces. It speaks on multiple levels: how we are prisoners to our own weaknesses, how we inflict far greater damage and pain upon ourselves than anyone else is capable of, how we cannot escape who we are or a prison of our own creation. Some believe it also asserts that emotions themselves—our metaphorical heart—are a flaw dooming us to failure and despair. I myself tend to view it with a bit more optimism.”

The woman placed a delicate hand to her mouth. “It’s magnificent. I simply must have it.”

Mia Requelme smiled with practiced ease. “Certainly. We will want to retain it for the remainder of the exhibit, but I’ll be happy to make all the arrangements for you now. If you’ll follow me?”

She slipped gracefully amongst the patrons milling in the gallery’s exhibit space as the woman trailed behind her. It was a good crowd. Thus far the showcase was a smashing success. A third of the pieces had sold in the first two days, and it would run for another week. Antonio Castile Ledesma created art which was simultaneously garish and elegant, which represented everything or nothing depending on what the observer desired to see. It would soon make him ridiculously wealthy, Mia was quite certain.

She reached the small alcove tucked into the rear corner of the room, activated the screen and turned to her customer. “You can input your information here—”

The priority pulse asserted itself into her vision.

Mia, I need your help.

“Why should I help you?” she snarled.

“Because I can get you out. I’ll even get you off-planet, to somewhere you can start a new life.”

“I already started a new life once. Didn’t help.”

The man smiled in the dim light of the alley; it made her feel safe, which was something she could not afford to feel. “But I bet you have a list a kilometer long of the mistakes you made and how you would get it right the next time. Help me, and let me help you find your next time.”

Mia’s eyes narrowed warily. He had intercepted her on a run through The Boulevard, grasping her wrist from behind as she was preparing to palm a set of disks off the adventure illusoire merchant stand. She had thought he was a cop—though there weren’t many cops on Pandora—until she whirled around and saw the faded flannel shirt and scruffy beard. Then she had thought he was an undercover cop. His eyes were a cop’s eyes—sharp, observant, calculating.

And she had been mostly correct. He
was
a cop, of sorts. Now he wanted her to give him the access codes to Eli’s inner compound.

He continued to watch her and she him…but at her prolonged silence, his gaze softened. “I tell you what. Why don’t you let me buy you some dinner, and you can think it over while we’re eating.”

That was low. How did he know she was near to starving? Eli’s lieutenant Paul had caught her skimming weeks ago and threatened to rat her out unless she gave him half of everything she made. She’d barely been scraping by before; now she survived on one meal a day and what she managed to steal. It was humiliating.

She scowled and ran a hand through tangled, dirty hair. “Fine. It’s your money.”

A few minutes later she eyed him over her burrito. “What are you planning to do to Eli’s operation?”

The guy—he had said his name was Josh, not as if she believed him—shrugged. “I’m going to explosively dismantle his chimeral production line and bring the cops down on the remains.”

“There aren’t any cops here.”

He laughed. It bore a hint of mystery, as if to imply he knew more about Pandora than she did. “Yes, there are.”

“Well, could’ve fooled me.” She took another bite, stuffing her mouth full of rice and beans and olives. She loved olives.

She regarded him a moment. He was quite handsome, with startlingly blue eyes and black hair which fell in soft, lazy curls along his forehead. And he seemed only a few years older than her. She might prefer him without the beard, but she suspected it was temporary anyway. “Why would you help me?”

“Because you’re a better person than they are. You’re intelligent and quick and you clearly have skills. I can see the potential beneath the grime. Besides, you don’t like what you’re doing. You don’t like being a criminal, and you definitely don’t like being beholden to a scumbag like Eli.”

“How could you possibly tell all that about me? You just met me.”

A corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’ve been watching you for a few days and—”

“Impossible. I pay very close attention—I’d realize if I were being followed.”

“Yes, you do. But I’m better than you.”

She snorted and finished off the burrito.

“As I was saying. I’ve been watching you, along with several other of Eli’s lackeys. I need someone on the inside, and it was simply a matter of deciding who. I chose you. Did I make the wrong choice?”

She finished off the chips next and sank back in her chair. He was right of course. Shockingly, annoyingly so. She had run away from her dad and brother four years ago in search of a better life. But lacking credits, contacts or credentials, she had soon become trapped yet again.

She knew there must be another way, a
better
way of living. Glimpses of it teased her in the spaceport and on the exanet. She had educated herself over the last few years, far beyond what an official primary education would have taught her. Now an adult, she was able to legally speak and act for herself. She just needed a chance. One real chance.

“How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small translucent film. He laid it on the table but kept two fingers securely atop it. “Here’s a ticket to Romane. Give me the access codes, I give you the ticket and transfer two thousand credits to you. You can leave right away.”

Two thousand credits was more than she had earned in six months. Her pulse began to quicken. “How do you know I won’t double-cross
you
and give you the wrong codes?”

His shoulders rose a fraction. “I guess I’ll have to trust you. Are you worthy of my trust, Mia?”

She stared at him a moment…and nodded.

Mia motioned Jonathan over to her. “Ma’am, if you’ll excuse me a moment. My assistant can walk you through the purchase process. You’re in good hands, and thank you again.”

She forced herself not to rush down the hall to her private office at the gallery, even pausing to procure a gin-marinated olive off the tray of a passing waiter. The office was one of several located around the city, and as immaculate and refined as each of the others. Like everything in her life now.

The guy had showed up on Romane to check on her four months after she fled Pandora. She repaid the two thousand credits, plus interest—she had made excellent use of the time—then asked him to dinner. That had been twelve years ago.

Once the door closed behind her she sent a livecomm request. “Caleb. What do you need?”

There was a brief pause before the response came.
“Mia, how are you?”

“I’m splendid, but you don’t have to small-talk me. Are you okay? It sounded urgent.”

“I’m fine. But I need a favor. Any chance I can borrow a Class I bay at your spaceport?”

“Of course, it’s no trouble.”

“I’m also going to need the records of its rental and the ship it holds falsified. And once we arrive, I’ll need the highest-grade security you can provide for the bay.”

“We?”

“I’ll explain when we get there—which should be mid-morning tomorrow local. I’m afraid I’m not sure how long we’ll be using it.”

“It’s not a problem, Caleb. You know that. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, but we can talk about it when I see you. Thank you, Mia. I owe you.”

She smiled to herself. “No, you don’t.”

50

SENECA

C
AVARE,
I
NTELLIGENCE
D
IVISION
H
EADQUARTERS

M
ICHAEL REGARDED THE SERIES OF
financial transactions on the screen with painfully narrowed eyes.

Now that the initial panic of the onset of war had faded a bit, he managed to find an hour here and there to return to the Atlantis investigation. Oh, the politicians were still panicking to be certain, at least when they weren’t prematurely gloating about Seneca’s inevitable and sure-to-be-swift victory.

There was less panicking over the potential alien invasion, but only because very few people knew about it and most of them weren’t the panicking type. The continued silence from the special forces team sent to Metis to investigate worried him, but given the communication difficulties perhaps he was being impatient.

Agent Marano was at last on his way home, and with his prize of a companion no less; when they arrived he would turn his attention more directly to the matter. Until then….

He frowned at the screen. In fairness he had probably been frowning at it for some time now, in which case the frown deepened. As Assistant Trade Director and a
friend
of many corporations, Jaron Nythal maintained a healthy bank account nearly equal to his healthy expenditures. But if one mapped the patterns in his transactions over a long enough period—and it had taken considerable persuasion for him to get a warrant to review the man’s accounts for said long enough period—recent unusual activity could be discerned. Barely.

Five deposits, three in the two weeks prior to the Summit and two in the four days following the assassination, totaled almost three hundred percent more than any previous deposit in the last five years. True, they were all for different amounts and from different payers. But it felt like they belonged together.

Two days after being released from questioning Nythal had purchased a fancy townhome in Pinciana. Prior to being pulled, surveillance had reported he toured four downtown condos on the market
after
purchasing the townhome.

As evidence went it was far from sufficient to prove anything, but his gut and years of experience told him the man had been paid off. The question was, for what?

He had studied Nythal’s history, and one thing the man excelled at was
access
. Smoothing the way, greasing the wheels. But Candela didn’t need help getting access to Minister Santiagar.