Kismet

by Watts Martin

  “Just long enough to get worried about what you’re plotting.”

  “I’m not plotting anything, I’m just on an errand.” She starts walking. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Ansel isn’t buying what she’s selling. He starts walking with her. “Errand? You’re going to Kingsolver to pick up your ship.”

  “That’s an errand, isn’t it?”

  “You said ‘rescue mission.’”

  Her ears lower. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on your friends.”

  “My friends shouldn’t fly off to do something suicidal.”

  She groans. “Please don’t make this complicated.” She starts walking faster.

  Ansel starts jogging to keep up with her. “I don’t think I could make it any more complicated than it already is, and do not leap into super rat mode to avoid this conversation.”

  She sighs and slows down, so she can look at him. “Ansel. You’ve gone way beyond the call of duty for me already. I’ve kind of destroyed your life over the last two weeks. People have tried to break into your computers and your apartment, you’ve been dragged to your least favorite place on the River, missed God knows how much consulting revenue, and it’s just dumb luck that you’re not dying in that hospital, too. And frankly, I’m not a good enough friend to be worth the risk.”

  He smiles crookedly. “That’s not your call to make.”

  “Letting you in on this is, though.”

  The fox’s smile disappears. “And you were just planning to disappear without saying anything, even though I think you think you might not be coming back from this.”

  She starts walking a little faster again. “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s in your eyes.”

  “I assure you I’m going to do everything I can think of to come back from this.”

  “That doesn’t change the ‘disappear without saying anything’ part.”

  “I’ve never been good with goodbyes.”

  His ears go back. “That is such a bullshit line.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “What about Nevada? Travis? What about Sky?”

  She clenches her jaw. She pictures turning around and stopping at her bedside for a moment, whispering the plan, knowing that if Sky so much as shook her head that her heart would crumple like foil. “I think I’ve said goodbye to her a little too often.”

  Ansel falls silent, but keeps walking beside her.

  Gail increases her pace. He increases his pace. They keep walking together for another minute, until she finally turns and gives him a glare. “Okay, look, stop. Don’t even think about telling me you’re coming with me.”

  “Come with you? Hell, no. I’m trying to think of a way to stop you that doesn’t involve knocking you out. Please don’t make me try and knock you out, because you’re a lot stronger than I am and that makes that plan just awful.”

  “Ansel, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I do. But I don’t have any more time. I gotta try to get in touch with my bank to make sure I can even pick up Kismet without stealing her.”

  “And you’re determined enough to steal her if you have to, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I am.” She stops and abruptly pulls him into a hug. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

  He hugs her back, tight. She feels his tail droop. “You’d better.”

  “I will.”

  “No goodbye, then.” He pulls back just a muzzle length, the fur under his eyes moist.

  She kisses his cheek. “No goodbye.”

  Gail waits for a good ten seconds to make sure Ansel’s heading the other direction, like he’s supposed to be, then hurries across the street. She sees a scooter rack there, so she won’t have to waste time summoning one, and it’ll be easier to talk and move at the same time—without being followed—on wheels.

  She hops on a single-person standing model, identical to the one she took from Panorica’s port to Acceleration, and sets it for Kingsolver Repair. Then she has Kis call her bank. “See if you can route it to Kimberly in the dispute resolution department.”

  “Yes, Gail.”

  It takes a full minute before someone gets on the line, someone who is, of course, not Kimberly. “This is Royce. How may I help you?” She can tell by the burr in his voice that Royce is a canine totemic of some kind.

  “Hi. Uh, I was speaking with Kimberly about my case a couple days ago and everything with my account was supposed to be cleared up by close of business yesterday. I just need to make sure that it’s all good now.”

  “All right, Ms. Simmons. Let me check.” Silence for a few seconds. “There’s still a hold on your account. I’m not sure why it hasn’t cleared, but I can—”

  “Lift it.”

  “I can’t do that, but I’m sure by close of—”

  “No. Listen, Royce. This has been going on for a week and every time I talk to someone at the bank they tell me it’s going to be cleared up in a day or two. I can’t wait another day or two. I am going to be at the repair shop my spacecraft is at in two minutes and I need to fly that spacecraft tonight. Not after close of business tomorrow, or after close of business the next day or whenever someone finally presses the damn button that says ‘yes, it’s okay for Ms. Simmons to spend her own money again.’ Tonight.”

  Royce’s voice gets strained. “I understand how frustrating this can be. I can check on extending a line of credit to you in the meantime, if you’d like.”

  She’s reached the port entrance building; the scooter wheels past it and down the more utilitarian ramp leading “underground” to the repair shops, which sit at the outer edge of the ring. Time’s just about out. “Royce. You’re a totemic, right? Fox? Wolf?”

  “Ah.” He’s clearly caught off guard. “Wolf.”

  “Like my sister. Well, adopted sister. Uh, do you know who I am besides just your bank customer?”

  He sounds even more uncertain. “Should I?”

  “Ever heard of the RTEA?”

  “Of course. I—uh…” His voice lowers. “There was a news story yesterday about an attack on a judiciary in New Coyoacán that sent Judith Simmons’s adopted daughter to the hospital. She’s, uh, your sister? I mean, you’re that Gail Simmons?”

  “Yeah.” The scooter pulls up in front of Kingsolver, letting her hop off, then drives itself away to wherever its nearest rental rack is. “And I know it’s horrible to lean on you like this, but I’m trying to save her life here. I may be trying to save a lot of lives.”

  His voice gets even lower in volume, almost a whisper, but higher in pitch. “You think there’s going to be more attacks?”

  “I—yeah, Royce, I think there could be. And I think I might be able to stop them, but only if I get my ship back.” It’s easy to sound sincere when you’re not lying. “I’m not asking you to steal money for me or go around your own investigation. I’m not asking you to do anything shady. I’m just asking you to be the one who finally fixes this. Please.”

  She sees another scooter approaching. Jack.

  When Royce speaks again he sounds more subdued, even though he’s back to using happy customer service words. “The restriction on your account has been lifted, Ms. Simmons. This change will be reflected immediately across the TransactPanorica system, but it may take several hours to propagate across partner networks. That’s not under our control.”

  She nods, not that he can see it. “Got it.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?”

  “No, but you’ve been the first genuinely helpful person I’ve spoken to at your entire fucking bank.”

  “Thank you. And…good luck.”

  “Thanks.” She disconnects.

  Jack’s gone back to his formal agent look, the neatly creased dark pants and smooth white shirt under a jacket that match the slacks. His holster’s back on, too; she hasn’t seen him carrying since they all left Panorica. She gives him a faint grin. “You know, up until yesterday I’d h
ave guessed these are the only kinds of clothes you own.”

  “I’m still not comfortable dressing down.” He looks up at the repair shop’s sign, then heads toward the door. “Although it’s taken me about forty-eight hours of being out of this suit for me to wonder how much I still want to wear it.”

  “No matter what, they can’t stop you from looking dashing.”

  That earns her a small smile, but he still looks haunted. “So.” He steps past the threshold.

  “So.” She follows, stepping into the office. From here it’s hard to get a view of just how big the hangar behind—and over—this building is, even if you look out the dirty panoramic window by the door into the repair bay.

  They’ve arrived less than a half-hour before closing; nobody’s at the reception desk, but an acknowledgement chime sounds when she steps up to the counter. “Thank you for choosing Kingsolver Repair.” The voice of the automated receptionist is tinny, male, flatter than Kismet’s beautiful alto. “What can we help you with today?”

  “I’m here to pick up my ship.”

  “Let me look up your records, Ms. Simmons.” Pause. “Your craft, the Kismet, is ready for immediate pickup. You have an outstanding balance of three hundred twenty-five thousand five hundred dollars, payable in four installments of eighty-one thousand four hundred twenty-five dollars inclusive of service fees. We could not execute an automatic transfer from your bank as of close of business yesterday. Would you like to try again?”

  “Yes.”

  The voice pauses for a few seconds. “We could not execute that transfer. Do you have another account?”

  Jack lifts a brow. She grits her teeth. “Is Dani working now?”

  “Yes. Would you like to speak with Dani?”

  “Please.”

  “Just a moment.”

  As they wait, Jack clears his throat. “I don’t know if I have enough to cover this.”

  “I have the money, I just can’t get to it. No, they just can’t get to it. If they were on Panorica’s financial network this would have gone through.” Assuming Royce wasn’t yanking her tail.

  “Gail!” Dani steps in from the repair bay. “It’s such a relief to see you.” The coyote looks like they’ve had a long day, but their smile is bright. They smell like machine oil. “I heard about the attack on the Judicial Cooperative, on your sister—it’s awful. Is she going to be all right?” Their gaze hits Jack, and the expression shifts to slight wariness. “Hi.”

  He holds out his hand. “Jack Thomas. Interpol.”

  Dani takes his hand as gingerly as if it were an explosive. “There’s not a problem I should know about, is there?”

  Gail shakes her head. “No. I mean—not with you. I’m helping Agent Thomas with an investigation.”

  “That’s the official line. Really I’m helping her.”

  “It’s about the attack, isn’t it?”

  Gail nods. “Yes. And about saving Sky, and maybe saving a lot of other people. I need your help.”

  Dani’s head tilts, tan fur rippling over the red undercoat.

  “I’ve got everything straightened out with my bank now, but the release on the hold hasn’t made its way from Panorica’s network to here yet. Normally I’d just grit my teeth and wait until morning when you open again, but we can’t wait. We have a really short launch window. We need to leave in the next hour or two.”

  “You make it sound like you’re on some kind of dangerous secret mission.”

  Jack folds his arms. “That’s not inaccurate.”

  Dani glances over at him, eyes widening, then looks back at Gail. “So…you want me to let you take your ship without paying.”

  “The money’s there. I can show you—hell, it’s probably already in your system. I just want you to let me pay with a delayed transfer order. Instead of starting the transaction on your side, we’ll start it on mine, and it’ll go through as soon as the network clears.”

  Dani bites their lip. The fangs come across as extraordinarily cute. “Let me check on a few things, okay?” The coyote heads behind the counter, pulling up an information window, and pokes at various spots on it with a claw tip. “Can you send that order?” They slide a pad of smartpaper across the counter, and a form fades in on it with Gail’s bank routing information.

  “Sure.” Gail checks off the right boxes, signs the form and hands it back.

  Dani keeps watching the display for about ten seconds, then nods, putting the pad away. “All right, it’s all in place.” The coyote looks across the counter at Gail. “We’re not supposed to do this for customers we don’t have an established relationship with. I could get in a lot of trouble if this payment doesn’t complete.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to go out on a limb for me like this if I had a choice. But I don’t. Everything should go through within the hour.”

  “I’m going to show up at your door if it doesn’t.”

  Her door is Kismet’s hatch, which makes that threat pretty difficult to carry out, but Gail smiles.

  The three of them walk together to the ramp leading to Kingsolver’s docks, stopping at the doors. “Your ship should be as good as new. She’s in marvelous shape.”

  “Thanks.” She takes Dani’s hands in hers. “For everything.”

  “You’re welcome.” The coyote’s tail wags, then stills. “I hope to see you soon. After this mission.” The voice remains casual but the expression gets serious. Is Dani flirting with her, or just picking up on we may not be coming back vibes? “Be careful.”

  “I’ll try. And I’d like that.” That sounds like she’s flirting. Gail smiles awkwardly, and steps through the door, Jack following.

  The hallway’s long, but Kismet is moored at the closest of the three docks; it’s less than a ten-second walk. “You got in touch with Nelson—or whoever—yet to let them know it’s cleared?”

  “I’m still trying to think of how to say ‘I’m letting my prisoner fly me there in her own spacecraft’ in a way that won’t result in them either calling it off or shooting us on approach.”

  The dock’s first door takes a moment to recognize her, then slides open. After they step through, the next door is her ship’s. The air temperature drops about a degree with a rush of air from Kismet’s cabin. “Hello, Gail.”

  “Kis!” Gail runs inside. If she could hug a bulkhead, she would. “It’s so good to be back.”

  Jack sounds amused. “It’s been less than a week since the last time we were on her.”

  The ship, though, shows no cynicism. “It is good to have you back.”

  Gail sticks out her tongue at Jack. “Look, it’s always good to get home, right? Especially if home can tell you that she misses you, too. Kis, start the preflight check.”

  “Yes, Gail.”

  He takes a seat in the cabin rather than heading to the cockpit. “In the past year I’ve lived in two hotels on the River, three hotels on Earth and a long-haul passenger cruiser between the two. My notion of ‘home’ is in flux.” He pulls out his viewcard and looks around. “You have a terminal I can call up, don’t you?”

  “The slot’s by your left hand.”

  “Oh. One of those.” He slips the card into it and calls up a keyboard setup of the sort Ansel inexplicably loves.

  After another look around the cabin, she gets herself a ginger apple drink—not carbonated—from the dispenser and heads to the cockpit. As she straps in, Kis fades the star view in around her without prompting, and chimes. “We are ready for departure.”

  “Okay, we’re just waiting on Jack’s, uh, new friends to get us a course.”

  “It might be a while,” Jack calls.

  She unstraps enough to twist to the side and peer back at him around the seat. “What do you mean ‘a while?’ I thought they gave you a tight deadline.”

  “They did. And I’ve sent my message. That doesn’t mean they’re on the same deadline to respond.”

  She groans, throwing herself back in the seat and staring up at the ce
iling. No, staring up at the underside of the Ring from a half-meter away, trying to guess whether that little discoloration came from a leaking ship or something else. A micro-meteor strike. A tiny repair on the ring’s surface. Gremlin spit.

  Something in the ship’s different, too. She looks around. No, it’s not visual. She sniffs. “Kis, did they give you a different air freshener?”

  “Yes. This scent pack is lavender-rosemary.”

  “Oh. It’s nice.” She sniffs again. That’s what Dani smelled like under the machine oil, wasn’t it? Lavender and an herb she couldn’t identify then. Changing the ship’s air circulation system to remind her of the coyote whenever she breathes in deeply—okay, that’s pretty bold. It’s a shame she’s too stressed to appreciate it.

  She turns around. “When we get to wherever we’re going, what’s the plan going to be?”

  “I’m going to bind your wrists, and we’re going to walk out—or float out, depending on the docking situation—with me holding you at gunpoint. If Nelson is with them, they may know you’ve got strength biomods, so it has to be convincing.”

  “How do we keep them from just shooting me right then?”

  “We can’t. But I’m assuming they want you for something.”

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “Chuck Emerson tried to put me on mock trial for—calling him out on his bullshit, basically. Maybe they want a repeat. How many of them are there?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Of course not. Okay, she hasn’t given herself time to think about what happens in the end game here. Jack hands her to the crazies, hopefully they hand him the databox, and…

  And then what? Then he flies off, leaving her and Kismet behind. So she just has to get back to her ship.

  Unless they make him take Kismet. But she won’t fly without Gail, so that’s out. They could force her to authorize Jack as a pilot, but maybe she can get around that. Maybe they won’t think of it.

  Either way, they’re not going to trust Jack enough to send him out alone. Someone’s going to be traveling with him. Jack’ll have to take care of them on his own, and he can do that, right? But if she escapes before he can get control, they’ll radio their watcher, and Jack will be in deep shit.