Spartan Resistance (8 page)

“If I’m back by tomorrow,” Mariana said and kept her face still.

Cybelia shrieked with laughter. It was the first time Mariana had heard her laugh.

The dress
did
fit. It was very stretchy, which was just as well. Mariana looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if the dress was casual enough to compete with jeans. The styling of it made her think of very old fashioned clothes—twentieth century costumes, just after the second phase of the World War. The stretchy material
looked
like highly polished sateen in a cheerful dark mulberry tartan print and hugged her figure from her shoulders to her waist. Then it flared out into a very full skirt that dropped to below her knees.

Cybelia hadn’t thrust shoes at Mariana along with the dress, which she sometimes did if the type of shoe was critical to finishing the outfit. But Mariana had some flats that were the same maroon as the tartan.

After swimming that afternoon, Mariana had showered and dressed with care, feeling pleasantly mellow from all the exercise. She took extra time with her makeup, instead of rushing through it as she did most mornings. She pinned up her hair in a messy up do that would look after itself. She didn’t want to have to worry about stray hairs and tangled ends. Not tonight.

She hurried to the security center when she was ready. There, she would hear as soon as anyone else when Laszlo Wolffe had been cleared through the front gate.

Brenden was in his office when she got there. Of course he was. He lived here, just about. No one could accuse him of not attending to his job. Although, to be fair, it was a very demanding role. Nayara was always consulting with him and if she wasn’t, Ryan was. Or Kieran. Or Rob, who was second in charge now and had taken some of the work away from Brenden.

Brenden scowled through the glass at her. He had unpolarized it so light passed through from both directions, which meant that the arrangement of ancient weapons on the wall behind him was on display. This morning, when Laszlo had been here, the glass had been opaque, but that was standard practice. When a client was touring the security center items like weapons and costumes were tucked out of sight.

Mariana smiled at Brenden, too mellow to let him bother her. She went over to the desk she used most often. With a few touches, she brought up the alert feed from the front gate. No sign of Wolffe yet.

“Why are you monitoring the gate?” Brenden said from behind her.

Mariana turned to face him. “I’m waiting for my date. The gate will tell me when he’s here, instead of standing around in the heat outside.”

His expression darkened. “You’re using Agency resources to coordinate your dating?” His black eyes were thundery.

Her heart beat harder, but Mariana lifted her chin. “You have a personal computer I’m not aware of, to keep all your widows and society wives from tripping over each other?”

The desk chimed softly behind her.

“My date,” Mariana told him and picked up her bag.

Brenden turned wordlessly and strode back to his office. He didn’t quite slam the door, but it was next to impossible to slam the doors in the center anyway, as they were controlled by the network.

She was halfway across the room, heading for the exit, when Brenden threw the door open again and shouted. “Someone find that Scottish bastard who is supposed to be my assistant! On the double!” The door closed again.

Mariana smiled to herself, remembering Kieran’s words. There was no possible way Brenden might think she worshipped him, now.

She hurried through the gallery and stepped out into the courtyard. It was hot and still and the fine mist that sprayed up off the fountains made her skin sigh as she stepped through it. That was another good reason not to wear jeans—they would have been stifling in this weather.

The limousine reached the steps leading up to the courtyard as Mariana did. She stared at it, astonished. It was a jump car, not a simple road car. It was a current model, too, with panels that slid over the wing compartments and polarized windows.

The driver’s door opened and Laszlo Wolffe got out. He was wearing jeans.

“You know how to pilot?” she asked.

He moved around the car and climbed the steps to where she stood at the top. He stopped on the step below her, which put his gaze just above hers. “You’re here. Thank you.” He seemed genuinely pleased. His eyes were an interesting green color.

“You thought I would simply fail to arrive?” Mariana asked.

The corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth turned up. “I know what they say about me. I didn’t know if you were aware of my reputation when you said yes to my invitation this morning but I’m quite sure that Justin, at least, would have filled you in since then.”

“You mean, your habit of throwing away perfectly good women?”

He grimaced. “It looks like a habit, but I assure you, it’s a curse I would like to break.”

“You could try dating men, instead. That would break it instantly.”

He laughed, showing his slightly crooked teeth. “Then I would miss out on the evening I have planned for us. Come and get in the car. It’s hot out here.”

She let him open the door for her, stepped up into the cab and settled into the seat. The four-way belt was similar to those in the limousines the agency owned, so she strapped herself in without problems.

Laszlo shook his head. “You are the first woman I haven’t had to teach how to use them.”

Mariana smiled at him. “I think you’ll find I’m not like anyone else you’ve known.” It was perfectly true, as far as she was concerned, but he would read it a different way and that was fine by her, too. A pleasant evening spent verbally parrying with one of the most eligible bachelors in the world was just what she needed.

Laszlo didn’t rise to the bait. He considered her frankly. “I already know you are unique.” He shut the door and moved around to his side of the car.

The inside of the limousine was as luxurious as any the agency owned. Mariana had only taken one semi-ballistic jump in the agency cars. It was completely different from the public jump buses she had used in the past. The buses were fun, but a private vehicle took it from fun all the way up to hold-your-breath amazing. The view at the top of the apex was nearly as good as the view had once been from the observation lounge of the satellite station the agency used to be located on.

Laszlo settled himself behind the controls and strapped himself in.

“Where are we going?” Mariana asked curiously.

“I’ve been pining for
Moqueca de Camarão
,” Laszlo said. “There’s only one place to get that.”

“I’m not even sure what it is,” Mariana confessed. “But the name sounds wonderful.”

“It’s a shrimp stew, Brazilian style.” He drove the car around the turning circle and back out to the gate. There was a jump strip along Lungotevere Tor di Nona, only thirty seconds away from the gate. That was probably the one he would use. Mariana thought about offering him the use of the strip behind the villa, but remained silent. This wasn’t agency business and she had already pushed Brenden’s good will as far as she should.

“So we’re going to Brazil?” she asked.

“Macapá,” he said in agreement.

Macapá, where the Worlds Assembly was located and the seat of government for Earth and the other eight inhabited worlds. Mariana had never been there, but she had heard Cáel Stelios speak about the city that had sprung up around the Assembly, the social life there that was barely disguised political maneuvering dressed up in evening clothes. The backstabbing and the gossip. Cáel made it sound like fun, like the endless intrigue was just a part of the lifestyle. But then, he was very good at his job.

Mariana pressed her hand against her knee. “I’m not nearly well dressed enough for Macapá.” She had seen the net reports on the glittering events that went on there.

“Relax,” Laszlo told her. “I’m not dressed for high society either. The Assembly is not in session and Macapá is as quiet as a grave in off-season. But they still have some of the best restaurants in the world there and they are open all year round.” He merged the car into the traffic on Lungotevere Tor di Nona and settled back, one hand on the wheel.

“The strip is just up ahead,” Mariana warned, pointing.

“Thank you.” He cut across lanes of traffic and veered into the waiting lane for the strip. The robot sentry was one of the simple green/go-red/stop controllers that could be found all over the world at public strips and private strips built with economy in mind.

There were two cars in front of them. It would take a few minutes to get their clearance. Laszlo punched in coordinates for their landing, setting up the parameters of the jump. That was one of the adrenaline producing effects of semi ballistic jumps. Once the car reached the top of the jump and began the descent, it couldn’t stop. If the strip at the other end wasn’t clear, well, that was unfortunate.

The installation of neural net-connected sentries on every landing strip had resolved that issue. The car’s navigator spoke to the sentry here, providing coordinates for the destination strip. Clearance to jump wasn’t given until the strip at the other end was clear. The simple robot sentries like these ones would hold the strip clear until the requesting car arrived. Sometimes, the higher jumps could take fifteen minutes from apex to landing, even at the supersonic speeds that the jumps created. But no one minded…or they were patient about their wait. The simple system saved lives.

The more sophisticated traffic controllers would monitor the arrival of a cleared car and allow more to take off right up until the arriving car landed. At the bigger public strips, Mariana had watched, fascinated, as a car took off barely thirty seconds in front of the arriving car—on the same strip.

She had read that when commercial jet travel had been at its peak in the early twenty-first century, the London strips had landed aircraft every forty-five seconds and just as many had taken off, too. She had seen pictures and footage of the huge craft that had been in vogue then—graceful domed and fixed-winged craft that carried hundreds of people.

The traffic those primitive strips had handled was almost the same volume as some of the bigger strips in use today, but the scary part was that all that traffic had been coordinated by humans.

She loved semi ballistic jumps, but she tended to hold her breath from apex to landing.

“This could take a few minutes if there’s an incoming,” Laszlo said. He glanced at her. “Sorry.”

“The car in front is taking off. I don’t think there are any arrivals due.” She smiled back. “Although that could change at any second.”

“You’ve jumped before,” Laszlo observed.

“Only once or twice, after I started working for the agency. They have their own jump cars, of course, but they rarely use them.”

He frowned, puzzled. Then his frown cleared. “Of course. They can jump all by themselves. I forgot.” He eased the car forward as the one in front of them, a dark green late model Mercedes, started to rumble as the particle accelerator wound up. “Your work for the agency must be interesting.”

“It is,” Mariana agreed. “I have one of the best jobs in the world.”

He leaned forward, frowning, and ran through the jump coordinates. “That’s odd,” he muttered and punched in the coordinates again. They drew level with the sentry and the computer gave a little chirp as it connected with the sentry and exchanged information.

Ahead of them, the Mercedes tore down the strip, its stubby wings extending. As the wings lifted the car, the main thrust kicked in. With a roar, the Mercedes climbed into the air on a steepening arc, growing smaller with a speed that always astonished Mariana.

“We’ll be into the upper atmosphere for this one,” Laszlo said. “I’m going to seal the cabin.”

There was a faint hiss of air and the muffled sensation that came from being enclosed in a vacuum bubble. The vacuum shielded them from nearly all external noise.

The sentry switched to green.

“Ready?” Laszlo asked.

She nodded and drew in a deep breath.

Laszlo initiated the jump and the car leapt forward, pressing them into their seats. It was just as well human control wasn’t needed for the jumps—they would have found it next to impossible to fight the g-force and lift their arms.

The limousine lifted its nose and climbed into the air. Mariana could feel the vibrations through her seat, created by the roaring exhaust that gave them their lift. The roar, the sense of power thrusting them up into the sky, clawing for altitude, was unique. Not even the cable cars that rose higher than the atmosphere—even higher than they were climbing—gave this sense of sheer energy and strength.

Slowly, the effort to climb diminished. The sky grew darker around them, shifting through some of the most beautiful indigos and blues that Mariana had ever seen. The atmosphere was thinning, letting the absolute black of space peer through. Her arms and feet shifted, as gravity diminished.

“How are you with weightlessness?” Laszlo asked. “Do you want artificial gravity?”

Mariana shook her head. “We’re strapped in and it’s only a few minutes.” Her hands weren’t quite lifting off the armrests yet, because they were still climbing. As they reached the apex, the roar faded to almost nothing and she could feel her body lift and push against the belts.

She drew in a breath, delight filling her. Earth laid under and ahead of them, a milky dark blue glow. The curvature of the globe was a foggy arc, thanks to the atmosphere, but that made it look powerful and mysterious. “It looks so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Evergreen is stunning,” Laszlo said, “but nothing compares to Earth.”

The dashboard lights flickered. Mariana’s heart, already working hard, gave an extra heavy beat. “Did you see that?”

Laszlo reached out to the computer screen but before his fingertips could touch it, it went blank. Every light in the dashboard went out, leaving them in darkness, relieved only by the dim glow of the world below them.

“
Du Hurensohn!
” Laszlo swore.

The screen flickered and all the indicators and courtesy lights came back on. Data streamed across the screen, too fast to read.