Victor smiled, his seamless cheeks wrinkling like plastic sheets. “I keep myself informed of the politics of the Starways,” he said, voice smooth and slick. “I like to know who’s on my side... and who’s not. I believe you’re on my side. I believe you want what’s best for the Sentients.”
His voice, she thought, clenching her teeth. She could feel his oily words passing through her, sliding into her thoughts. He’s more than just a silver-tongued speaker.
(Is he like me?)
“Tell me about yourself, Victor,” she asked, trying to regain control. “Where are you from? How did you end up on Jue Hexron negotiating peace between the humans and the Creos?”
“I have always had the human interest in mind.”
“You’re certainly part of the minority. Why such an interest?”
Victor leaned back in his chair, sipping from his martini. One of the rings on his right hand caught her eye—a signet ring of black gold adorned with a red seal depicting a bird of prey. “I am from Earth, but I’m not a Scabber, and I’m not a refugee descendent. Oh, what do they call them these days—Deadskins? No, I’m from Earth.”
“From Earth?” Jaeia was confused. He couldn’t be that old.
“Yes. And so are you.”
His icy words sent shivers up her spine and brought goose bumps to her skin. That’s impossible, she told herself, closing the front flaps of her jacket against the sudden chill.
(Then why do I feel like he’s telling the truth?)
No, I can’t let him get in my head. Jaeia forced a smile. “Why do you say that?”
Victor set his drink down again and folded his bony fingers across his lap. “That, my dear, was the easiest thing for me to know, but I’m afraid I’m one of the few who does. But if I tell you how I know, then you must do right by me and share information that would help me and my cause.”
“Your cause?” Jaeia asked, wishing she had run the risk of the recording device now. I’ve never felt so exposed. How is he doing this?
“Yes. I wish to found a permanent home for humans. Being from Earth, I’m sure you wish this, too.”
Jaeia didn’t know where to begin or how to reply. Gods, I need something on him. If I could glean even his direction or intent—something—I wouldn’t be this disadvantaged.
Victor brought his hands together to form a steeple. “This struggle between humans and Sentients has gone on long enough. The human race is slowly being eradicated through flesh farms, Labor Locks, fighting rings, and surrogate breeding. I want a new Earth for humans. I want a fresh start, away from the Starways.”
“How do you see me helping you with that?” Jaeia asked, now more confused than ever. This was supposed to be about how he forged peace between the Creos and the human colonies—how did this become about my origins and the future of humankind?
Victor leaned forward, his black eyes seeming to suck her into their endless depths. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about your tattoo. How you got it—and when.”
Something in Victor’s voice, or perhaps the way he looked at her, assaulted her with fresh fear. I have to get out of here—
Jaeia scrunched her fingers together, cracking the knuckles on her left hand before realizing her actions. Exhaling slowly, she brought her heartrate down and steadied her nerves.
This is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, in my lifetime or any of the experiences I’ve gleaned from others. He’s holding more cards than I can see, and he’s certainly no ordinary human.
Still, she thought, glancing at the elevator doors. This may be my only opportunity to talk to him like this. I can’t waste this chance; I have to find out more.
The tattoo was supposed to have been kept a secret, but like most of the information about her and her sister deemed classified, someone with high security clearance had leaked the information. The military council and General Assembly suspected Li or one of his sympathizers, which made Jaeia question something else about Victor: Who is pulling his strings? Is Li behind him?
“Victor, all these personal questions and I don’t even know your full name,” Jaeia asked shakily, trying to redirect the conversation.
Victor smiled. “I’m too old for a last name. Besides, nobody who knew me back then is here now. I am just Victor.”
Fear, ripe and hot in her belly, kept her from pursuing the issue further. Instead, she tried something different. “I don’t know if I can believe that you’re human—or that I am, for that matter. I’m a telepath, and humans are not telepathic. And you—you don’t read like a human being.”
Victor nodded, his calculated smile returning. “Yes, it is curious, isn’t it? But I speak the truth.”
He bent forward, swirling his drink in his glass. “There is a history in this room that stretches back farther than you can imagine. And what transpires between you and I will determine more than you could ever conceive. Not to be too dramatic.”
He’s crazy—and full of himself, flashed through her head, but her gut reaction to keep listening kept her grounded. Maybe I should just press harder; maybe I should chance a real peek behind his eyes.
Victor seemed to anticipate this consideration, holding up two fingers and wagging them at her. “Don’t get any foolish ideas about me, Warchild. You’ve tampered with enough minds in your day, but you have no experience with someone like me. If you try to force information from me, unspeakable things will happen.”
She believed him. Gods, Jetta, I wish you were here, or at least looking through my eyes, she called out silently to her twin. I need your advice, your perspective on this. I can’t seem to keep myself together.
A robotic butler whirred to life, rising from the floor behind the wet bar. Its metal arms held up trays full of meats, vegetables, fruits, and other strange foods she had never seen before. Even on edge, the intoxicating smell caused her to lick her lips as the butler heaped food onto the plates at the table.
“Delicacies from Earth,” Victor said. “I had hoped you might remember them.”
Keeping her eye and mind on him, Jaeia crossed the room, slowly approaching the dinner table. The butler clicked and hummed, waiting for her command. When she neared one of the two chairs, the butler wheeled around and pulled it out for her.
“No, thank you,” Jaeia said, refusing to sit. Still, she looked over the food with hungry eyes.
“Stuffed turkey, mint lamb, sausage and gravy, mashed potatoes, figs, oranges, black pineapples, ambrosia salad, mushrooms and rice, fruit tarts, apple pie—foods that are forgotten to most of us,” Victor said, coming up behind her, his cane tapping softly on the tiled floor.
Standing so close, Jaeia caught the aroma of medical preservatives rising above the hint of his aftershave.
“Can’t you remember?” he whispered in her ear.
Jaeia turned around, facing him. Although she only stood a few centimeters shorter than him, he felt massively larger.
“I must return to my ship,” she said, voice wavering. “I will be meeting with Mashen and Xerod tomorrow to see how the negotiations went. I appreciate your hospitality, but duty calls.”
Victor leaned with both hands on his cane, coming close enough that she could see the interlocking fibers of the synthetic skins on his face and the dead black of his eyes behind the prescription lenses.
“Your tattoo. Think about it. I will tell you where you are from, how you got here—and how you’re almost as old as I am.”
Nonplussed, Jaeia turned and walked toward the guards waiting for her on the elevator. Victor lingered in her mind, his words cold and heavy, weighing down her thoughts. Nothing he said was logical, but on some level, well beyond her immediate access, it all made sense to her.
(Victor is dangerous. More so than I can even appreciate.)
The elevator chime let her know she had reached the ground floor of the skyscraper. When the doors parted, she came face-to-face with her first officer and two Alliance escort guards.
“Sir, there is
a priority message waiting for you back on the Heliron.”
When she picked up on his thoughts, her stomach dropped. Did they find Jetta? She searched her shared connection; nothing. Jetta was still too far away or continuing to cut herself off. Or worse.
Then she saw the panic in her first officer’s eyes and knew that something was wrong on a much larger scale.
“How bad?” she whispered so that Victor’s men couldn’t overhear as they headed to the double-pane doors.
Her first officer eyes, frantic with fear, connected briefly with hers as he held open the door. “The Deadwalkers are back.”
JETTA COULD BARELY stand, much less walk. Her legs, pillars of fire and broken glass, screamed in agony with even the slightest movement. Dirt and debris whipped about her, penetrating the holes in the gear bag that she’d wrapped around her head and body, pummeling her exposed legs.
Can’t think about it, she told herself, not wanting to acknowledge the severe burns on her left leg, or the raw and ragged wounds on her right suffering in the stinging winds.
The two who had pulled her from the wreck poked her and tugged her along, but they progressed slowly, hindered by the weather and her condition, especially since she couldn’t see through the gear bag to make out the path. Unable to hear her captors’ conversations happening over their private two-way on their helmets, Jetta could at least feel the residual worry in their thoughts.
They’re getting more and more concerned the longer we’re out here, Jetta sensed. A peal of thunder shook the ground. Wincing, Jetta struggled to stay on her feet in the chaos. But it’s not just the weather. There are others out here, gaining ground on us every minute.
Feverish, exhausted, and in pain, Jetta let her guard down. Jaeia... she called, reaching out to her sister across the stars. As far as she could, she stretched back, bridging the millions of light-years between them, searching for Jaeia’s familiar tune. And when she found it, she stopped in her tracks.
“Jaeia,” she whispered, filling with her sister’s primal fear.
I haven’t felt anything like this since the final fight with the Deadwalkers, Jetta said, breath catching in her chest. Something must have happened. I should never have left!
“Hey!” she screamed, trying to get the other girls’ attention. “We need to get to a com station right away!”
But her screams were in vain. Howling winds drowned out her cries, and the booming thunder deafened any ears. Even from behind the thin protection of the gear bag she could see the flashes of lightning cracking open the skies and smell the burning smoke. It’s getting worse.
Something exploded in the distance, and the ground quaked beneath her. One of the girls grabbed onto her arm through the gear bag and yanked her hard and fast to the right. Jetta couldn’t coordinate her feet fast enough, and she fell, the impact knocking the wind out of her.
“Stop!” Jetta cried, but another pair of hands helped to shove and roll her crumpled body along, wedging her into a tight space. After a brief struggle to orient herself, the floor seemed to give way. She fell, head over heels, down a hole.
“Yeah!” one of the girls cheered.
With a loud crack she hit some kind of bottom, but the aftershock of the impact left her unsure if she had stopped moving.
“Sycha, that was close!” the other one said.
It took Jetta a moment to collect herself. Realizing she was still stuck in the bag, she fought her way out. Once freed, overhead lights stung her eyes, and she let her arm lie over her face until the place stopped spinning.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Finally taking off their helmets, the two girls looked at her, their eyes narrowing in unison.
“You ever been to Earth?” the older one asked. She was maybe in her late teens, about Jetta’s height with the wiry build of a drug addict. Stringy black hair, streaked with magenta and pulled back in a ratty updo, framed a desultory face. Her eyes, lined with layers of mascara, projected similar disinterest. From the smell, Jetta surmised that hygiene was not her foremost priority.
As the older girl set her helmet down on the grated catwalk, she pulled out a retro pair of black headphones from her satchel and placed them over her pierced ears. “Well? I asked you a question, assino.”
“No,” Jetta said, taking in the rest of her surroundings. It reminded her of the parasitic areas on Fiorah, where illegal thoroughfares and businesses tapped into the city’s air ducts, except this was more haphazardly constructed than anything she had ever seen. Anything and everything had been used to mold, shape, and decorate the entrance and the passageway—old posters, tin cans, decaying composite wood, a string of broken lights, coat hangers, a pot shard, a rusted pipe, chicken wire. Some of the materials were so decomposed that she couldn’t tell what they were.
Looking up, Jetta spotted where they had fallen from. Constructed like an old chimney stack, but slanted to save them from a direct fall, was some kind of passageway.
The other Scabber, considerably smaller and younger than the first, sucked on her lollipop while giving Jetta the once-over. After fixing her pigtails, she donned a ragged engineer’s cap. An air of rabid sexual energy pervaded her psionic space, making Jetta uncomfortable.
Her mind doesn’t read like a kid in her early teens, Jetta thought. But her appearance sure holds up that illusion.
“We gotta get lower, Grace,” the younger one said. “This still isn’t safe.”
“My suit’s out of juice. We’re gonna have to get treated. Sycha.”
Even after a brief exchange, Jetta felt an unusual dynamic between the two girls. They could be related, she guessed, sensing a deeper bond between the two. Or perhaps they’ve adopted each other over time. She had encountered enough pairs like that on Fiorah to know the type. They’re survivors.
“Look,” the older one said, turning to Jetta. “We need to get about another quarter-mile down before we’re safe from the radiation. There’s a lift about fifty feet that way. You gon’ make it?”
Jetta looked down the dark tunnel and then down at her legs. Normally resistant to medical treatment, Jetta found herself longing for even the basics. She swallowed hard and looked away before the sight of her injuries made her ill.
“Yeah,” she said. “Hey, are we safe from those people following us?”
The older one shrugged. “Dunno. A firestorm started up when we found this route. They probably got baked. Either way, doubt they could find this hole anyway; it ain’t in the guidebook.”
Neither of them were too eager to help her up, not that she would have taken their assistance. From what she could sense, neither of them saw her as an enemy, but the younger one saw Jetta as a means to an end while the older one guarded her conflictions.
Pulling herself up with the aid of the chicken wire and her good arm, Jetta balanced herself on unsteady legs. Her head, already in a dizzy swim, felt sluggish. I can’t fight these injuries much longer, she realized, fighting to control her breathing. And this talk of radiation—
No, she stopped herself. Don’t give into pain or fear.
“I don’t know much about Earth,” Jetta said, attempting to generate a conversation that could give her a clue about the dangers she’d be facing. “I know worldwide fallout changed the weather patterns. Is it true that there are only brief windows for landings and takeoffs?”
The older one swayed to the industrial music playing on her headphones and let out a laugh. “Yeah, this dump is a regular commercial transportation hotspot. Real good for tourism.”
The younger one rolled her eyes at her friend’s sarcasm and slurped loudly on her lollipop. “Why’d ya come here?”
Jetta shuffled along the piping, now dragging her right foot. Pain hammered at her skull, wearing her down, making it hard to concentrate. Gods, I can’t do this—
(Jaeia!)
Stop—think. Give them a partial truth. Maybe they’ll let their guard down a bit. “Something went wrong with my navigational systems
and I jumped to the wrong site,” Jetta said through gritted teeth.
The older one snorted. “You were hit. We ain’t dumb. Who you runnin’ from?”
Jetta bit her lip to keep from fainting. I would give anything for even a first-aid kit right now. “I jumped too close to a city. The city patrol fired at me to keep me from punching out. It fried my navigations systems. I was lucky I ended up here.”
The older one’s accusation came across with a snarky bite. “So you really ain’t that smart then, huh?”
Exhausted and furious with herself, Jetta relented. “No. I’m not.”
“Look,” the older one said, stopping in her tracks and turning around. “My name is Agracia, and this here is Bossy. Saving your assino is costing us a fortune, and you’re probably wondering if we’re going to sell you or dump you off.”
“Are you?” Jetta asked.
Agracia shrugged her shoulders, disinterest still in her eyes. “Depends. You’re Jetta Kyron, right? That’s shaky business, and all I want is off this godich rock.”
“You don’t have to sell me to get off this rock. I owe you for rescuing me from the wreck; I’ll help you however I can.”
Bossy turned around and smirked. “That ain’t your reputation.”
A flash of anger turned her hands into fists, but Jetta bit back her instinct to strike. She knew better than to challenge them in a hostile environment, especially when severely injured. Besides, pain crowded her thoughts, making it harder and harder to access even the most superficial aspects of her talents.
“I’m not the monster those godich liberalist mediaheads makes me out to be,” she said. “And I stay true to my word. Help me get back to the Alliance and I will get you off Earth. Hell, I’ll even get you a star-class vessel so you never have to worry about transit again.”
“Don’t mind Bossy—she ain’t never had no manners,” Agracia said. “Just spent too much time around Scabbers. ‘Sides, if you wanted to kill us, you would have already, right? With all that leech talent you have?”
Offensive words meant to test her. Agracia is no idiot. If Jetta didn’t play it cool now, she would lose any edge she might gain in the future. “I’m not a killer.”
Triorion Omnibus Page 54
