She took the stairs two at a time and hurried through the crowd to the exit. The damp chill outside was, for the briefest moment, a welcome change from the stifling underground atmosphere. Then it was simply cold and wet.
She rubbed her hands over her arms and hurried up the hill toward the levtram station. She could catch half an hour of sleep on the transport to Seattle. Maybe an hour nap at the loft, but no more. She’d need the rest of the intervening hours to get ready—for the Board meeting, followed by a small jailbreak.
54 Earth
Vancouver, EASC Headquarters
Alex finished explaining what the data in the report meant in terms so simple even a non-cyberized five year old could understand it, then gazed down the horrifically gaudy conference table at the collected leadership of Earth Alliance Strategic Command expectantly.
The meeting had started late, on account of she had no idea what. Then she had been kept waiting for an hour while they discussed classified war concerns. Her patience hung by a brittle thread by the time she had finally been shown in…but seeing as the matter was of the utmost importance she refrained from showing it.
Now that it was over, she thought on balance she hadn’t done badly at all. Her mother had given her a tiny nod of approval at the end, which from her was high praise indeed.
General Alamatto pretended to study the visuals still displayed above the table—well it was possible he was legitimately studying them, but unlikely—while she fielded nitpicky questions from the others.
No, she didn’t believe the ships in the visuals represented the entire force. No, she didn’t have any idea how many more there might be. No, she didn’t know where the portal originated. No, she didn’t possess hard evidence the aliens were using the terahertz signal as a form of communication; that’s why she had called it ‘speculation.’ No, she didn’t see their weapons in action, for shockingly she had not taunted the armada into shooting at her.
Perhaps tired of waiting for Alamatto to take the lead, one of the Regional Commanders on holo—the one with the fiery orange hair, O’Connell?—leaned forward. The stance on his stout frame was so assertive he appeared as if he were about to bull rush the table. “Based on Metis’ location, these ‘aliens’ will traverse Federation space long before reaching our territory. We can use this to our advantage. A Seneca under attack from two fronts will be far weaker and easier to defeat.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
O’Connell made a laughable attempt to virtually stare her down. “I will not be talked to in such a manner. I am—”
Her mother was staring her down, but she ignored her to meet O’Connell’s gaze icily. “Of course. Pardon my manners. Are you fucking kidding me, sir?”
The man practically came out of his chair and through the holo, but Alamatto cleared his throat loudly over O’Connell’s protestations.
“Ms. Solovy, please. Surely you understand—the goal of war is to defeat the enemy. The General may have put the matter somewhat indelicately, but he raises a valid consideration. If these aliens attack the Federation, it will almost certainly bring a more rapid conclusion to the war and prevent the loss of a great many Alliance soldiers’ and citizens’ lives.”
“Almost certainly—until they get here.”
“We will be on our guard, and study them when they attack Senecan worlds—if they attack Senecan worlds. By the time they arrive here we can be ready for them.”
“You’ll study them while they slaughter millions—billions—of innocent people?” She gestured at the images hovering above the conference table. “Do you see the size of those ships? They can destroy entire colonies with those monstrosities!”
Alamatto raised an over-trimmed eyebrow. “I must admit I am surprised at your reaction, Ms. Solovy. I would expect you to harbor no love for Seneca, given what happened to your father.”
“Do not bring my father into this.”
He withered under the force of her glare, shrinking into his chair. “I’m merely saying—”
She laughed darkly. “You know, I don’t particularly care for war personally—it did, as you so delicately noted, kill my father—but for the most part I don’t give a shit what you do in your free time. But this…these aliens aren’t going to distinguish between Alliance, Senecan and Independent. Why should they care? I’m pretty sure we all look the same from space—and even up close. Admirals, Generals, whoever else is here, you ignore this threat and you are signing all of our death warrants.”
Alamatto seemed to locate a piece of his backbone and straightened up. “We’ll be the judge of that. Thank you, Ms. Solovy, for bringing the matter to our attention. We can take it from here.”
“Right.” She stood, the picture of calm, and gave the table a final once-over. “Thank you all for the privilege of wasting my time.” She didn’t wait for the offended expressions and exclamations before walking out.
She was actually surprised when her mother caught up to her at the lift; she’d have thought it too unseemly for her to excuse herself from the meeting so quickly.
“Alexis, wait. You need to understand—”
She whipped around and came so close to shoving a pointed finger in her mother’s face. “No. I understand fine. You work with a bunch of power-drunk, narcissistic pizdy with the collective intelligence of one of your teacups.”
“Alexis!”
“What? Dad would be disgusted by this. Why aren’t you?”
“Your father died fighting Seneca—”
“My father died serving his government and his superior officers—who I’m starting to think were probably no better than those Neanderthals in there. He died fighting a stupid, pointless war which never should have been fought. Don’t you dare brandish his death as a totem to justify sanctioning the slaughter of billions.”
“That is not fair. I would never debase his memory in such a way.” Miriam blinked and took a deep breath. “I fear your petulant little temper-tantrum did far more to hurt rather than help your cause—but it may surprise you to learn I happen to agree with you, at least as to the seriousness of the threat. I will do everything within my power to draw continued attention to it and advise—”
Alex snorted in derision. “You want to do something, Mom? Then goddamn do something.”
She pivoted and hopped onto the lift as it descended past the floor. After tamping down the urge to hit the closest available hard surface, she checked the time.
Excellent. The Board had wasted her afternoon and now she had precious few hours to prepare.
Thirty hours later, Caleb still chose to believe her…but the possibility did occur to him that she might not be able to pull it off.
Electronic shielding blocked all communications within the facility. He couldn’t send or receive messages or pulses, much less livecomms. The sense of isolation was far greater than it had been in Metis. There diversions had abounded, so to speak. One diversion in particular. Here though….
The trip over had been brief; he had every reason to think he was still on EASC grounds. He sat in a 5x4 cell, bounded on three sides by walls thick with sound-proofing materials. The fourth wall consisted of translucent glass and a small door, allowing any who walked by to see inside while preventing him from seeing out. Not that they needed to stand on the other side of the glass to observe him, for every corner of the ceiling held a surveillance cam.
The cell contained a cot—far less comfortable than the one on Alex’s ship—a toilet, a tiny sink and nothing else. Near as he’d determined when they’d brought him in, he was about a third of the way down a long hall of identical cells. He presumed some of the other cells held prisoners, but thanks to the sound-absorbing walls he heard no rumblings in the vicinity.
Other than food delivery through a slot in the glass wall, he hadn’t had contact with another person since being dumped unceremoniously in the cell the previous afternoon. No interrogation—pharmaceutically or cybernetically aided or otherwise—and no inquiries as to his mission or
intentions. Given they knew his identity, they presumably knew when he had arrived on Earth and assumed whatever his mission was, he’d found little opportunity to pursue it.
The one thing he couldn’t figure was how in the bloody hell they knew who he was.
He’d had an ID busted twice in seventeen years, and in neither instance had the culprits uncovered his true identity, just that he’d used a false one. And the Roark ID was strong; it included fingerprint and iris overlays courtesy of his cybernetics as well as a well-documented and verifiable personal history, complete with face scan. Granted, security measures would be heightened given the war, but he’d seen no hint of a DNA scan on entry to the premises. And he’d made a point not to touch any surfaces once they were inside.
The only possibility he was able to come up with was the ID had been flagged as both false and attached to him by Alliance Intelligence. He hadn’t used it in…two years? Conceivably at some point over the period it had been compromised. Unlikely, but conceivable.
He assumed they intended to eventually do something with him. If he were to guess, they would transfer him to wherever they would be keeping the inevitable prisoners of war. He felt certain the Alliance had moved beyond 20th century internment camps to a more refined form of confinement. Nonetheless, he hoped like hell Alex got here before that happened.
As his thoughts drifted back to her yet again, he thudded the back of his head slowly, deliberately against the wall. He hated being dependent on someone else. For his life, safety, finances, freedom—but most of all, for his happiness.
It both pleasantly surprised and unpleasantly disturbed him to find he rather missed her. Part of it was the isolation, the real and virtual silence. But part of it was he genuinely missed her. He’d known her for all of eight, nine days now? And for at least half of the hours of those days she had alternately annoyed, exasperated and infuriated him. The other half, though….
Already he couldn’t imagine not knowing her.
But he wasn’t dependent on her. Not technically. If need be he could break himself out of here. Escaping wouldn’t be easy—he’d probably be required to hurt or even kill at least several people who didn’t deserve it, which he really tried to avoid doing whenever possible. But if it came down to them or rotting in a cell…it may be an unpleasant choice but it wasn’t a difficult one.
He understood quite well how military security facilities operated. Hell, he had even broken into one a few years back. He chuckled a little to himself…that was a good time. He’d broken in to break out an insurgent leader on Andromeda so the man would then lead him to the ringleader of a group disrupting commercial shipments out of Elathan. Of course everything had gone sideways five minutes in, as it always seemed to. But it had worked out in the end.
He’d prefer a few upstart insurgents disrupting shipping routes about now. Certainly beat a war with the Alliance—for reasons he continued to be highly suspicious of—being held captive in a secure facility at the literal heart of the enemy’s nerve center, and most of all facing the prospect of staggeringly powerful aliens gathering to wreak destruction upon them all.
Well, at least he also had the benefit of a brilliant, resourceful, gorgeous, clever, determined woman on his side. He definitely hadn’t had that before.
No, he reassured himself, he wasn’t dependent on her. Technically. But he was playing a long bet. And even now, thirty-plus hours into his captivity, he remained fairly confident in the rightness of his bet.
So he chose to continue believing her.
55 Pandora
Independent Colony
Beep
Beep
Beeeeeeep
Beee—
“For fuck’s sake….” Noah groaned and rolled over, squinting one eye open. It wasn’t even 0700 yet. He set nanocyanobots working to cleanse his bloodstream of the alcohol and ease the hangover, then stumbled out of the bed and to the kitchen for some water.
Only after he had gulped down half a glass did he run a hand through unkempt hair and activate the holocomm. “What you need, Brian?”
“Boss has got a job for you.”
He leaned against the counter and tried to blink away the grogginess. It had been a late night…course, it usually was. “I don’t have a boss.”
“My boss. Sorry. Tight timetable, but it’s a simple fly and drop, and the credits are sweet.”
He grimaced. Brian worked for Nguyen, who worked for Kigin, who, though it wasn’t common knowledge, worked for the Zelones cartel. He made a point to stay clear of the cartels whenever possible; he knew more than one colleague who had found themselves beholden to a cartel for not merely their livelihood, but their life, before they realized what had happened.
On the other hand, it was a rather tenuous connection. “What’s the job?”
“Package drop to Earth, Vancouver. Needs to be there by Saturday night Galactic.”
“That’s fast. Where’s the package?”
“Locker at the spaceport. You say yes and I’ve got a code for you.”
“Ah, hell, Brian. I’m trying to get away from the smuggling gigs. Too much risk for too little reward.”
“Well this reward is good.”
He did a double-take at the number Brian sent. The reward was good. Damn good. He blew out a breath and took another swig of water. His schedule looked light for the next few days…he could squeeze it in.
“Okay. Just this once though. Don’t let Nguyen start thinking I work for him.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Sending the code now. Oh and one last thing—boss said not to inspect the package.”
“Right….”
Noah strolled through the spaceport with practiced nonchalance. The usual excess of tourists rich in credits and poor in sense meandered around in search of direction. Merchants and holo-babes hocked all manner of maps, temporary cyber-enhancements, pharmaceuticals—mostly amps and boosters that would extend the party—and recreational chimerals.
He rounded the corner and stepped into the long storage room. It was used primarily by those visitors who didn’t even intend on acquiring a hotel room for their stay, and for transactions such as this one. So voluminous was the selection of illegal goods in here, anywhere other than Pandora it would get raided by the cops every other day.
The locker in question was located on the second row about halfway down. He pressed his fingertips to the panel and input the code. Inside he found a large pack; it was heavier than he had been expecting, but not so heavy he couldn’t carry it.
He hefted the pack over his shoulder and headed for the restrooms. Once ensconced in a stall, he set it on the floor and unlatched it.
Inside lay at least forty kilos of HHNC blocks.
Shit. He dropped his elbows to his knees and groaned into his hands. He knew the job was paying too well. Reason number forty-seven why he was trying to get away from smuggling gigs? Every so often someone wanted you to smuggle enough damn explosives to bring down a moderate-size skyscraper.
With a heavy sigh he closed the pack up and carried it back to the locker. He stuffed the pack inside, wiped his prints off the door and walked out.
He waited until he was on the street and a fair distance from the spaceport before livecomming Brian.
It took a solid twenty seconds for the response to come. “Yo, dude. Problem?”
“Deal’s off. Get somebody else to do your dirty work. And do me a favor? Don’t come to me with any more jobs for a while.”
“What the hell, man?”
“The package is fucking explosives. You know I don’t traffic in explosives. Nothing comes of them but trouble.”
“You weren’t supposed to look in the package, man! I told you that!”
“You seriously think I’m going to smuggle a payload through Earth customs in the middle of a damn war without knowing what it is? How stupid do you think I am?”
“Shit, man. Boss is not going to be happy.”
“Good thing he’s not my b
oss, then. Adios.”
He killed the connection and sank against the façade of whatever building bordered the sidewalk. What the crap was someone planning to do with that much HHNC?
Presumably blow something up, dumbass.
For the briefest second he actually considered notifying the authorities…but it would be asking for the kind of trouble he so did not need.
Not your problem. Leave it behind. Move on.
He headed for the nearest pub. Lunch was still hours away, but he found he wanted a drink something fierce.
56 Earth
Vancouver, EASC Headquarters Detention Facility
Caleb sat on the edge of a plain cot, legs swinging leisurely in the air, when the door slid open and she stepped in. At the sight of her his face lit up, his mouth curling up in a quite pleased smirk that sent her stomach straight into flip-flops.
She spun and placed her palm on the panel in the wall by the door; it glowed and pulsed as she fed it new instructions. “I know, it’s been a day and a half. Sorry, but I had a lot to do—you have no idea—and they’ve got a field on the building blocking all comms, so I wasn’t able to get a message to you.”
She felt him approaching and held up a finger. “One sec.” The panel shifted to green, and she turned around. “Okay, we—”
—his lips were pressed against hers before she could blink. His left hand was caressing the curve of her neck, while the right grasped her waist in a firm hold. Of their own volition her lips—hell, her entire body—responded enthusiastically. For three-point-two seconds she found herself overwhelmed by visceral sensation and heated desire, while her brain desperately tried to catch up. Dear god he tasted good. Felt good. Perfect, even. Right.
She pulled back abruptly, a hand pressing on his chest for added effect. Her eyes were wide in semi-mock indignation. “What was that?”
He shrugged, grinning impishly with the rise of his shoulders. “A hello…?”
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