by Robyn Bachar
“Place your palm on the scanner, then look into the optical scanner for retinal identification.”
This was the tricky part. Jiang would match her forged ID, but her biometric data was stored somewhere in the Soviet system. Sveta was supposed to have released a computer worm that would devour any preexisting data about Jiang that might be on file, but if the worm hadn’t made its way through the Soviet network yet...
The agent frowned and Jiang’s pulse leaped. Cold sweat trickled down Jiang’s spine as the intake agent tapped commands into her terminal.
“Is something wrong?” Jiang asked.
The agent shushed her as she continued to fiddle with the computer. Jiang’s mouth went dry—her cover was blown, their mission was fucked—but then the woman smacked the side of her terminal.
“Stupid computer,” she muttered. The agent looked up and returned Jiang’s data stick. “Welcome to New Leningrad, Comrade Borodin. Enjoy your stay.”
* * *
Ryder paused at the base of a statue outside of the main spaceport and surveyed the surroundings. So far he was less than impressed by the colony’s scenery. A bit of greenery, but no flowers—he assumed because flowers didn’t serve a purpose, but it could be a climate problem. Nearly all colonies started as barren rocks devoid of water, soil or atmosphere. Terraforming took years, and some planets adapted better than others. But there was a lack of artistry to the local architecture that bothered him. Every Alliance colony he’d visited attempted to incorporate architecture from their earthen origins, and the core colonies were proud of the ways they’d innovated their own styles. New Leningrad was...beige.
“Korolev,” Jiang said.
Ryder frowned at her, and she motioned toward the statue. “That’s Korolev. In case you were wondering.”
He searched for the right words from his limited Russian vocabulary. “Like the station?”
“Yes. A lot of things are named after him. He was the father of the Soviet space program. See how he looks sort of sickly?”
Ryder nodded. Poor bastard looked a little like a bronze zombie, but he kept that observation to himself.
“He spent time in one of Stalin’s political prisons, one populated by scientists.” Jiang shook her head. “Ruined his health. His laboratory wasn’t as nice as the research facility we just visited, but under the same sort of control. The Party is always watching, and you are always expendable.”
Ryder’s jaw clenched as he thought of the vid they’d found on Arzamas-16 and the sight of Jiang splayed out like a mad science project. Commie bastards. They probably considered her expendable, too, and he’d be damned before he let them get their hands on her again.
Not that she would appreciate that sentiment. A few days of sulking in the shuttle had brought him to the realization that Jiang was right about their relationship—she was right that he was trying to save her. He couldn’t help it. The urge to protect was as ingrained into his DNA as the color of his eyes. He’d screwed up, lost his focus. He’d let his missing prosthetic get to him—a shrink would have the right words for it, but the bottom line was he tried to compensate for the hit to his self-esteem by proving his manhood was unaffected. Stupid caveman shit. He would apologize to her after the mission, assuming they survived. And assuming she’d even talk to him. If he was lucky he might be able to salvage their friendship. A future without Jiang’s smile was bleak as hell.
She shivered and turned up the collar of her jacket. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Da.”
He followed a step behind Jiang as she embraced her tourist persona and began calling attention to local points of interest as they made their way to their hotel. Ryder nodded and smiled where appropriate, playing along. Damn, this spy shit was tedious. Though Jiang smiled and giggled—giggled! Jiang!—he recognized signs of tension. She smiled a bit too wide, and there was a tightness around her eyes.
He let her do the talking as they checked in to their hotel. Apparently they’d been assigned the honeymoon suite, though the small room didn’t really fit Ryder’s idea of a suite. The bed was comfy enough when he flopped down on it.
Jiang pressed a finger to her lips and silenced him before he could ask any questions. She pulled a small audio jammer from the depths of her bag and activated it.
“There,” she said. “We’re safe to talk now.”
“Never thought I’d be so glad to speak the King’s English again. Do they seriously spy on the honeymoon suite? Perverts.”
Jiang snorted and took a chair at the tiny dining table. “They spy on everything and everyone. They’ve got surveillance drones that patrol the area from the air, listening in for dissent below.”
“Good to know. So we’re good to go?”
“Should be. I thought I was cooked back there. The agent’s computer glitched when she read my biodata, but it looked like the worm worked. We’re in the clear for now.”
“What now?”
“First we get a feeling for the area. As honeymooners we’ve got a good cover for that. We’ll see the sights, and take note of any weaknesses we can exploit. We need a way into the local KGB data network to search for more information on our target.”
“Oh, sure. Simple,” Ryder said.
“That is the simple part. Breaking in to wherever Koslov is, grabbing him and getting out with him again is the hard part.”
“Sure would be easier if we had some grenades.”
“Improvise, Chief.” Jiang rose and opened her bag. “I’m going to shower, then we can find something to eat.”
Ryder bit his tongue to avoid voicing the many inappropriate remarks that came to mind—everything from offering to join her in the shower to suggesting that he have her for dinner. Focus, Kalani. He nodded and sat up, reaching for his own travel bag.
“I can sleep on the floor later,” he said.
She paused, but then shook her head. “No. The cleaning crew will know. We can share the bed.”
Right. Because sleeping next to Jiang when she was pissed at him and he was still hard for her was going to be a piece of cake. Shit, he hated this mission.
Chapter Ten
“Are you hungry?” Jiang asked Ryder.
Her stomach growled at the tempting sights and smells wafting from the grocery stalls of the barter’s market. Meals had been lean on the Mombasa for the past few months, and though the ship’s food was decent, it wasn’t nearly as mouthwatering as the local fare. The selection was a motley mix of dishes from the Soviet nations—Cuban tostones served next to Russian pirozhki and a dazzling array of Chinese street food.
Ryder’s nose wrinkled as he tilted his head and studied the display of a butcher’s stall. “What is?” he asked Jiang in Russian. His Russian had improved over the past few days, though sadly their situation had not. They had no luck in locating a data access point to exploit. Not that they had much information to search for. They had a name and an image, combined with a bit of background info gleaned from the journal articles that Tomas had found. Maybe their luck would turn and they would stumble upon him looking for a snack in the market. They were overdue for some good fortune.
Ryder nudged her elbow and nodded toward the trio of skinned animals swaying in the light breeze. “Chicken?” he guessed.
Jiang shook her head. “Rabbit.”
Ryder’s eyes widened in horror.
“You’ve never had rabbit?” she asked. He shook his head. “It’s not bad.”
“But...ears!” He mimed a pair of bunny ears, and Jiang laughed.
“All right. Come on. We’ll find you something without ears.”
Jiang took his hand and led him away. They’d brought a few things to barter—trinkets and gadgets that they’d packed for this purpose. She had explained the concept of a barter’s market to Ryder, but he still ey
ed the chaos around him with a slightly bewildered expression. She considered giving him a sharp jab to the ribs to remind him to stick to their cover, but a bit of confusion wasn’t too out of character. New Leningrad’s barter’s market was a sight to behold.
Soviet colonies took the ideals of the communist party to the next level—because resources were scarce, everything was Party property. Homes, clothes, food and labor all belonged to the collective, so selling things for personal profit was out of the question. But trading items was allowed, so markets like this thrived on Soviet colonies.
Ryder’s grip tightened and Jiang turned to note the object of his irritation. A pair of uniformed police slowly strolled through the marketplace, but the real danger came from the pair of plainclothes agents trailing them.
“Two,” Jiang muttered.
Ryder grunted and shook his head. “Three.”
Jiang scanned for the third agent, and then she spotted a man in a second-story window surveying the crowd. At a glance he would have seemed like a bored neighbor watching the market day crowd, but he was too focused, too observant.
Jiang inclined her head in a slight nod. “Ah. Three.”
Ryder grinned and bent to brush an affectionate kiss against her forehead—the gesture might just have been part of their newlywed couple cover, but her blush was completely honest. A simple kiss meant for show still spawned butterflies in her stomach, and it frustrated her. She shouldn’t want Ryder. Her head understood that, but her heart was another matter. And it hadn’t helped that for the rest of the journey to New Leningrad the amazing sex they’d had left her pleasantly sore in areas that had continually reminded her of said amazingness every time she moved.
She looked away, eager for a distraction from that line of thought, and Jiang was tempted by the bright red jackets displayed by a tailor. She hadn’t bought something pretty for herself in...never?
Ryder paused in front of the table and eyed a tight-fitting red-and-gold dress. He grinned at her. “This.”
Jiang nodded. “It would look lovely on you.”
Ryder threw his head back and laughed. Jiang smiled at the tailor to ask what he wanted in trade for it, but she froze at the voice behind them.
“Mama?”
She almost missed it—a piece of ambient noise from the boisterous crowd—but something clicked inside her, and the world seemed to tilt beneath her boots.
That voice.
Jiang wobbled as she went weak in the knees, and Ryder caught her arm and steadied her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Jiang turned to face the speaker. The girl had a slight build and long, light brown hair, but it was her eyes that stole Jiang’s breath. She knew those eyes. They’d haunted her dreams—quick glimpses of a sweet face that smiled adoringly at her. This girl was older. Eight years older? Impossible.
“Sasha?” Jiang whispered.
The girl beamed that same smile and squealed in delight. “Mama! I knew it was you.” She threw her arms around Jiang and hugged her tightly. “They said you died but I knew that wasn’t true. You promised you’d come home to me, and now you’re here!”
She had? Jiang had no memory of that promise. She had so few memories of Sasha at all—what sort of mother forgets her only child? A terrible mother. The blood drained from Jiang’s body and left her lightheaded and awash with guilt for all the things she couldn’t remember. All the milestones she had missed in eight years—birthdays, holidays, mother-daughter talks like the kind they showed in vids. She gently touched Sasha’s face as though afraid she would flicker into nothing like she did in her dreams. Her daughter was real, flesh and blood—not a ghost, or a figment of her imagination. Not a fractured memory from her damaged brain, played on a loop like an old vid file. Real.
“How is this possible? I couldn’t find a trace of you,” Jiang said. “I thought you died.”
But she had died, hadn’t she? Sasha was listed among the casualties of New Hong Kong. The records were spotty though—many of the dead were never positively identified, and others were assumed dead without finding any remains. Questions about how this could be bombarded her mind like a meteor shower. Why hadn’t she searched harder? She should’ve fought like hell until she had solid proof instead of accepting that Sasha was gone. Searched the refugee camps, checked the hospitals—
Ryder tapped Jiang’s shoulder, and she turned to him. His limited Russian wouldn’t allow him to voice the queries she saw in his eyes, and her racing thoughts could barely stop long enough to answer. Not that she really had answers—did her family know that she was a spy? Who was the real Jiang—the hardworking pilot with a husband and child, or the mysterious Agent Kwan?
“This is Sasha,” Jiang said. “She’s my daughter.”
“Oh.”
Sasha took Jiang’s hand. “You must see Papa. He’ll be so surprised. Come on!”
“Papa?” Ryder repeated.
Her stomach twisted and lurched as Sasha pulled her into the flow of the crowd. Valentin. Her husband was alive, too. Son of a—she’d finally moved on from mourning her family, and now her family was alive and well. Was this some sort of cosmic joke? She stumbled along on numb legs as she worried about how to tell Valentin about her relationship with Ryder. She wasn’t even sure how to define their relationship, though this would certainly mean it was over. What could she tell Valentin about their current situation? All of her paperwork was forged.
Guilt settled in her stomach like a lump of lead at the realization that she’d have to lie to her husband’s face after seeing him for the first time in eight years.
Ryder stuck with her, steadfast as always, as Sasha led Jiang away from the market and into the heart of the residential district. Giant housing blocks rose ten floors high and cast ominous shadows over the street below. They followed Sasha into one of the buildings—no security, not even a coded door. An overhead light flickered in the lobby as though refusing to go quietly. A Soviet anthem crackled over the speakers as they started for the stairs.
“Lifts are broken,” she said. “Always broken. But Papa says stairs are good exercise.”
“Papa is right,” Jiang agreed. She glanced back at Ryder, who studied everything with narrow eyes.
“Two,” he said.
Shit. Were they being followed? Or were the agents assigned to the building to keep the peace? Either was possible, but for now Jiang wanted to err on the side of local paranoia and assume that the agents weren’t there for her. She managed a grim smile—they were probably stationed here to arrest people who complained about the lifts.
They emerged on the eighth floor and were assaulted by the pounding bassline of a dance beat, though Jiang doubted that the place housed a nightclub. Sasha sighed and shrugged apologetically, and she led them past an open door which revealed flashing lights and a pungent combination of sweat, vomit and cheap alcohol. Jiang frowned—her daughter lived here? This was no place for children. The building agents should clean this up, but they were probably taking bribes. A never-ending party like that could only exist if the authorities were paid to look away. To not care. Disgusting. How could someone not care about the welfare of the children and families who lived here?
Something cracked inside Jiang’s skull with a sharp pain that staggered her. This wasn’t the click of finding a missing piece like hearing Sasha’s voice had been, but a violent splintering of the mind. Jiang reached out to steady herself against the wall but Ryder caught her first.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Dunno.” The word was thick like cotton in her mouth. She blinked to clear her vision, and shook her head as someone spoke to her, like a comm piece inside her ear.
Get out! Get out! You have to get out!
She frowned up at Ryder. “Did you say something?”
“Mama? Are you ill?”
Sasha placed a comforting hand on Jiang’s shoulder, and Jiang was overwhelmed as one desire to lean in conflicted with a strange need to recoil.
“I don’t know,” Jiang said. Two impulses warred for supremacy within her—a mother’s trust in her child, and a nauseous fear that something was horribly wrong. Why? She had no reason to distrust her daughter, and this was Sasha. The years had aged her from a child to a teenager, but this was no impostor. She knew it in her bones.
Sasha smiled. “Here, you’ll feel better once you’re home.”
Lies. Take your man and leave now!
Sasha started down the hallway, and Ryder bent to whisper to Jiang. “Boss?”
“Something’s off,” she said.
“There’s a lot off about this. I don’t like it.”
“It’s...” Jiang trailed off. What was this reunion? A strange twist of fate? Or something sinister? It was obvious that this seemed too good to be true, but the hope that it wasn’t kept her hooked. She had to see how this played out. If she bailed now and found out later that this was real...
“Keep your eyes open,” Jiang said.
“Always.”
Sasha finally arrived at a door and keyed in the lock code—finally, some semblance of security. In theory none of the doors should be locked—everything was Party property—but there was always the risk of criminal behavior to guard against. The door opened and Jiang was greeted with the mouthwatering smell of bread baking. She blinked—how long had it been since she’d had fresh-baked bread? Probably the same amount of time since she bought herself something pretty.
“Papa! You must come see!” Sasha called out.
The tiny apartment was almost as claustrophobic as crew quarters on a spaceship. Jiang frowned—space was a luxury on a ship, but there was no need for that here. The planet had plenty of room left to colonize. Why cram its residents into concrete shoeboxes? But the room did seem comfortable as she noted details of the décor. The warm colors were a little faded and frayed, but they brought life to the room. Jiang’s gaze lighted on a small table that was crowded with pictures and candles, and she made a beeline to it.
