by Stina Leicht
“I took care of it,” Rosie said. They leaned over, motioning to the hairless cat perched on a nearby cabinet. The tips of its rounded ears twitched Rosie’s direction before it jumped down and padded to them. “I don’t need to say this. You are not to act in kind.”
“She was one of mine—”
“She was one of mine.”
Angel nodded. If Rosie was taking a personal interest, the matter was settled. They weren’t someone anyone crossed, not lightly. “Something else happened last night. It might mean more than I thought. Given what happened to Marcy,” she said. “I had an uninvited visitor at my place.”
The line between Rosie’s dark brows pulled tighter. “Who?”
“He didn’t leave a calling card,” Angel said. “But he was wearing a Thorns of Saint Francis jacket.”
Rosie slammed a fist on the desk’s glass surface. “I thought I told those fucks to find somewhere else to be.” They paused. “Everyone knows you work for me. The Thorns are small time. They wouldn’t initiate an action like that without strong encouragement. What did he look like?”
Angel shrugged. “Like a white man with a beard who likes curry.”
Rosie raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently, he didn’t brush his teeth or wash his hands after dinner.”
“Ah.” Rosie turned their attention to the desktop and touched a number of keys that appeared there. Images flashed on the surface of the glass. Then with the wave of a hand, Rosie projected the picture in the air between them. “Did he look like this?”
“Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”
“Interesting.” Reading the accompanying text file that appeared near their fingers, Rosie folded their arms across their chest and leaned back. The cat leapt into Rosie’s lap. “Did you happen to kill him?”
“He was alive when he… left my apartment.”
Rosie asked, “And how exactly did he—significant pause—leave?”
Angel looked away. “The same way he arrived. Through my bedroom window.”
“And did he take anything extra with him? Say, a bullet in the brain?”
“I used hand to hand. I know the rules,” Angel said. “He may have gone headfirst through the window, mind you. But his partner caught him on the hood of their lift-car. The asshole was breathing when I saw him last.”
Rosie sat up, shut the projection off, and drummed their fingers on the top of their desk.
“I take it that’s no longer the case?” Angel asked, feeling uneasy.
“Julian Gau appears to have accelerated his expansion plan. It was going to come down to this eventually,” Rosie muttered, frowning. Then their expression smoothed out as if nothing had been wrong. “Everything is ready for tomorrow?”
“Just about.” Angel got up from the sofa.
“Then you have a green light. Be careful out there.”
“I will.”
By the time Angel got back to the table, Enid had joined Sukyi and Lou. All three were drinking and laughing—well, everyone but Enid. Angel didn’t think Enid knew how to laugh.
Lou glanced up. Her face changed from amusement to confusion. “I can’t find Marcy, Captain. Kurosawa says she hasn’t answered any messages since 01:00 last night. You think she jumped planet?”
“Marcy won’t be joining us,” Angel said.
“She broke contract?” Lou asked. “Why? That’s not—”
“She’s dead,” Angel said. “It was a hit.”
“Oh.” Lou swallowed.
“All right. Let’s get out of here,” Angel said. “Lou’s hungry, and we’ve got some problems to manage before tomorrow night.”
5
TIME: 20:30
DAY: SATURDAY
BRYNNER
EAST OF THE DEAD LINE
Angel gazed up at the Archady Mansion and dreaded the next two hours.
Constructed with blocky gold-veined black marble, the building’s architect had implemented a combination of influences from the ancient Bradbury Building in Los Angeles, Earth, to a master architect named Frank Lloyd Wright—this Enid had explained the night before. The house, if such a plebeian word could be used to describe it, made Angel uncomfortable. It seemed the kind of place that would be haunted by restless spirits.
Lightning flashed in the strips of sullen sky visible between buildings and elevated streets. It wasn’t raining. Not yet. But the humidity saturating the sulfur-tainted air indicated it would, and soon.
She shivered even though she wasn’t cold. You don’t believe in ghosts.
Do you?
She hadn’t been raised to believe in any case. It didn’t change what she’d seen.
Space travel was dangerous and the distances vast. A mechanical, human, or electronic failure, even a minor one, could strand a ship years from assistance. That was why even military ships rarely ventured outside of established trade routes. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending upon one’s point of view, there were always humans who believed they were the exception. In space, those exceptions were picked apart by pirates and, much later, salvage crews.
By the time Angel’s squad had boarded her, Mãe do Ouro had drifted for a decade. Yet, all the valuables—the engines, energy storage units, oxygen tanks, even the crew’s gear—remained intact. The crew, on the other hand, had vanished without a trace. Angel had tried to shake her unease from the moment she’d set foot on the derelict ship. Thirty minutes into the search for survivors, the first squad disappeared. The squad leader had time to shout half of a garbled, terrified warning. Everyone on the com heard it, including Angel.
The captain ordered an immediate retreat. Once the survivors were safe, she put as much space between their ship and Mãe do Ouro as humanly possible. No explanation was provided, and as far as Angel knew, there’d been no consequences for the captain. Unofficially, there was a code word for what they’d found: Dutchman.
Given the vastness of unexplored space, there was a great deal of debate on the topic of the spooks that might inhabit the void. Artificial General Intelligences had found no evidence of hauntings, thus far. Humanity had encountered a handful of alien species, but much remained unknown no matter how technically advanced humans and human-spawned AGI became.
Why would anyone live here? On purpose?
Theodella Archady is famous for lavish Halloween parties. She’s even hosted seances. It’s kind of her hobby. Didn’t you know? The reply came from Lou over Angel’s internal com channel. But she’s not the one you need to concern yourself with. That would be Julian Gau.
How many times have I told you not to monitor my private channel when the red flag is up? Angel thought back.
This would be the sixth. But who is counting? Lou returned. Now that I know your battle coms are active, how can I help myself?
You’re going to make me sorry for telling you, aren’t you?
Not that there’d been a choice. Lou was the only person Angel knew who could hook her Combat Assistant into the dropship computer, and a dropship connection was vital for a CA. By law, a decommissioned marine’s CA was supposed to be scrambled. In fact, if anyone official found out that it hadn’t been, heads would roll—and not just hers.
Nah, Lou sent. I’ll be good. No chatter. Scout’s honor.
You were never a scout, Angel thought.
An amused huff came through the earpiece in her left ear.
“Is something funny?” Enid asked over the audio channel.
Careful, Angel thought to Lou.
Lou answered as if she hadn’t gotten Angel’s message. “Enid, you’ve got company. Two guards. On your four o’clock.”
“I see them.” Enid’s voice was low, almost a growl.
Lou continued on the private channel, Enid Crowe would never turn on you. Stop being so paranoid.
It’s paranoia that keeps us alive, Angel countered.
I thought it was my speed, your brains, and the fact that Enid is a fucking killing machine with very little patience for bullshit,
Lou sent back.
Well, there is that, Angel thought.
As she got closer, the song pouring out of the building vacillated between loud electronics and a dull throb with every swing of the ornate brass double doors. Stylish partygoers pressed in all around as they made their way into the mansion. The scent of perfume and damp synth-fabric wafted from the crowd. Angel hoped she wasn’t sweating through the designer dress that Enid had printed for her. Enid had excellent taste. It wasn’t something one expected in an ex-military sniper.
Glancing down at herself, Angel couldn’t help liking the outfit. With her dark complexion, wavy brown hair, and brown—almost black—eyes, black was one of her best colors. Wearing the color made her feel powerful.
She nervously brushed her fingertips against her hips. “Why aren’t there any pockets in this damned skirt?” she muttered from between clenched teeth. She’d had a subdermal bone induction microphone surgically installed several months ago for occasions such as this one. It’d cost more than she cared to think about. Rosie was happy to extend credit. It meant Angel was less likely to dissolve their partnership.
Enid’s steady voice came over the comm. Angel could swear there was a hint of humor in her tone. “You don’t need them. Not tonight.”
Angel said, “Enid—”
“Can we talk about this later?” Enid asked. “I need to focus, Captain.”
Turning her attention and nervous energy back to her outfit, Angel tested her ability to move in it yet again. The synth-fabric that comprised the jacket and skirt was polysilk. The bolero jacket had long close-fitting sleeves from shoulder to elbow which flared out into huge bell-shaped drapes. The black rubber corset top underneath hugged her modest curves. And while rubber didn’t breathe, it felt strangely comfortable in the cool night air. The full-length skirt repeated the form of the sleeves: tight-fitting from hip to knee and then much wider at the hem. The hemline was longer in the back than in the front, forming a modest train. Unfortunately, the length was proving to be problematic in the close crowd. It was all she could do to keep people from stepping on it and tugging the skirt off her hips. Her stomach fluttered.
This was supposed to be Marcy’s job. She did charming. I don’t do charming.
“Don’t worry, boss,” Lou said over the audio channel. “You probably won’t have to talk to anyone. I’m right here if you need me.”
“I’m not afraid,” Angel spoke under her breath.
Per usual, Enid’s growl cut straight to the point. “Do you want to crawl around in the ductwork and shoot the nice killer? I’m happy to let you.”
Angel had a good idea what might be lurking inside those air ducts if Theodella Archady had decided to conserve on expenses this month. “You’re the sharpshooter, not me.”
“Then get your ass in there,” Enid said. “Or do I take the shot and hope I get the right target?”
“All right. All right,” Angel whispered. “Here I go.”
Invitation in hand, she shifted through the crowd and assumed a place in line with the other guests. There were two obvious security guards stationed at the oversized brass-embellished steel double doors. The security guard on the left scanned the electronic invitation Angel displayed via her stolen hand terminal with a flick of his wrist. When his terminal chimed acceptance, he waved her through. The expression on his face was one of pure boredom.
You’d think Theodella Archady would invest in a more alert pair of security guards, Angel thought.
Hmmph. Lou sent. Why? What does she have to worry about? Someone wearing last year’s formal?
The difference in air quality from outdoors to indoors was significant enough to inspire a deep breath. The building’s filtering system was robust.
“I’m in,” Angel muttered.
What are they serving? Lou asked privately.
Why do I care? Angel thought.
Please, Lou sent. Bring me something to eat. Anything. Theodella Archady always imports food from Earth and—
I don’t have any pockets, remember? Angel thought. This fancy clutch is barely big enough to fit my hand terminal inside. It’d been difficult to talk Enid out of the four-inch heels. Angel had had to pick her battles.
Okay.
Angel could hear Lou’s pout. I’ll do what I can.
Yes!
The interior of the mansion was laid out in a rectangle. The first room she came to consisted of an open space whose polished floors were of imported oak stained a rich mahogany. All of the furniture, save a grand piano, had been removed. Two of the room’s walls were constructed of limestone and trimmed in pale pinchwood. The wall opposite the entrance consisted entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass. Sliding glass doors with steel handles provided access to a heated swimming pool and a large garden. Serene blue light from the bottom of the pool swam across nearby foliage, casting an unreal glow. At a glance, Angel understood much of the greenery had been imported from Earth. With few exceptions, native trees in the area tended to be swamp cypress or conifers. Gazing to her left, she spied another stone wall containing a fireplace and the entrance to a hallway.
“Are you going downstairs now?” Lou asked.
Angel scanned the crowd and kept her tone low. “Not yet. I feel the need to visit the food table first.”
“Yay!” Lou said.
“If you spot Gau,” Enid said, “let me know. It’s a sea of black tuxes and dark hair down there.”
“You were expecting him to wear a target to a formal occasion?” Angel asked.
Enid let out a harrumph.
Approaching the food area, Angel picked up various snips of inane conversation mostly pertaining to minor corporate politics and the escapades of several popular entertainment stars. There were no security guards within the room. She selected a glass of champagne from one of the wandering servers and sniffed it before taking a sip. A subtle hint of honeysuckle wafted up her nose. The effervescent wine fizzed on her tongue, tasting sharp with a hint of pear.
“Mmmm,” Angel murmured. She briefly closed her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth tug upward.
Lou’s questions buzzed in her ear. “What is it? Is it cake? Please tell me there’s chocolate cake!”
“Wine, actually,” Angel whispered. She scanned the table for anything remotely resembling chocolate that might fit into her tiny handbag. She found a delicate crystal bowl filled with wrapped candy and took a small handful—waiting to slip them into her purse until she’d moved on. She sampled a number of other dainties and did the same, only stopping when she was sure she couldn’t fit anything else inside the clutch.
She made a check for Gau in the crowd. It took a moment, but she spotted him chatting with a tall, slender woman of Asian descent wearing an inappropriate cotton dress, flats, and an unbuttoned man’s tuxedo jacket. Angel would’ve assumed the woman’s fashion choices were a deliberate display of contempt but for her demeanor of intense curiosity. Gau appeared to be amused by something she said. Her expression transformed into one of awkward unease. There was no fear in her face, however. Just an off-putting sense of unbelonging. It was as if she were an entomologist studying a dangerous insect in its own environment by assuming camouflage she didn’t know how to wear.
“Does she know who she’s talking to?” Angel asked. The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. She’d made a point of familiarizing herself with every one of Gau’s associates. She didn’t like unknown risks.
“What is it now?” Enid asked.
“The woman with Julian Gau,” Angel muttered. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Where?” Enid asked.
“She’s wearing a casual peacock blue dress and a tux jacket. Plain face. No makeup. She’s standing next to the piano. Gau is to her right.”
“Target acquired,” Enid said.
Find out who she is, Lou. Angel sent an image to Kurosawa via her CA. I want everything you can find. I need to know if we should abort.
On it, Lou sent back.
Angel swallowed the last of the wine and deposited the empty glass on a server’s tray. With that, she turned to the left and headed for the limestone wall with the fireplace. The restrooms were through the hallway and down the stairs. At the sight of what was ahead, she was glad she’d stood her ground about the heels. The stairway was made of limestone slabs set on top of two wooden rails. She could see the floor below between each riser, and as she progressed, she fought a wave of dizziness.
“Something wrong?” Lou asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” Angel whispered. Who ever heard of a URW Marine with vertigo? The symptoms were new, having set in some time after she’d arrived on Persephone. She assumed it was yet another postmortality symptom to be added to the migraines, infrequent seizures, and memory loss. The acrophobia wasn’t consistent. That made it difficult to manage. “Got anything on that woman?”
“Had to use facial recognition. She’s not one of Gau’s friends. She’s not on the list of licensed freelancers,” Lou said. “She’s new to Persephone. Going by the matches, she arrived a couple of weeks ago. Haven’t got a name yet. So anything more thorough is going to take longer.”
“All right. That’ll have to do,” Angel said.
Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the bannister and continued her descent. When she reached the restroom, she checked the stall to see if anyone else was there. It was empty. She locked the door to the hallway, whirled, and knelt in front of the bathroom sink. There, she reached underneath and inside the half cabinet designed to hide the plumbing. It took a few moments of blind searching, but her fingertips finally located the smoke bomb that Marcy had placed there several days before in the event that Gau’s assassination would be deemed necessary. A moment longer, and Angel had flipped the switch.
“The package is activated,” Angel said.
“Starting the countdown,” Enid said.
Getting to her feet, Angel dusted off her knees, checked her makeup, and then flushed the toilet before she exited. The trip up the stairs was far easier than going down. She didn’t have to watch her step—the length of her skirt was less trouble to manage. She returned to the main party room and accepted a second glass of wine. The plan was to remain long enough to confirm the kill before meeting Lou and Kurosawa at the rendezvous site.
