by Cathy Pegau
“Double your fee if you get me there in less than five minutes.” I’d have to use my very traceable cred-ID for that, but it didn’t matter now.
He cleared his throat as we rose into the crisp morning air. “Restrictions maintain—”
“Triple.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He punched the controls, and the sudden increase of force pressed me against the seat. The extra creds would cover an excessive speed fine.
I commed Zia, but an error notice flashed across the screen. Smacking my comm on the seat, I tried again. Same result. Damn, damn, damn. What did I expect from a cheap unit?
Tonio’s number flashed on the screen. I ignored it.
I found my regular comm in the satchel, and my finger hovered over the power button. If Willem had managed to put a tracer on it, turning it on would alert him to my whereabouts. I slipped the comm back into the bag.
I closed my eyes, my stomach rippling. Air travel didn’t usually make me nauseous. Perhaps it was this whole business coming to a roiling head. Either way, if the ride lasted longer than the requested five minutes, the driver would be washing out the inside of his taxi.
“Which platform?” he asked.
I opened my eyes to find the Hub Station complex growing larger in the front window. Car and shuttle lights winked and streamed. Beyond the main building, landing pads were bathed in white brilliance, some waiting for arrivals while others prepped shuttles for departure. Zia would be on one of those soon, if she hadn’t left already. “Exeter’s charters. Hurry, please.”
“I have to pull in here.” Banking away from the controlled chaos of the public platform, he dropped into the lighter traffic of the charter platform and into the queue of other cars waiting to offload passengers. “Breaking air regs at the Station will get my license yanked. The Exeter gate is a bit further up.”
“I’ll get off here.” I swiped my cred-ID card across the box adhered to the back of his seat and punched in three times the amount shown. When it accepted my account, the door locks disengaged. “Thanks.”
Clutching my satchel to my body, I shouldered past travelers, dodged Skycap Autocarts and ran into the building. A quick glance at the directory pointed me toward Exeter’s gates.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I was amazed I could stay upright on the eight-centi heels as I ran. People either heard me coming or sensed my desperation and got out of my way. They probably thought I was late for a flight. I hoped not.
At Exeter’s security, a large steel door emblazoned with the giant Exeter E, I waved my ID over the raised panel on the wall.
“Baines, Olivia,” the unit said. It had a more mechanical twang than Exeter’s elevators. “You are not scheduled for any flights departing today. Access denied.”
Shit.
“Please, I have to talk to Miss Talbot. I’m her assistant. It’s important.” I doubted the computer could hear the strain in my voice, but I felt the quiver from my throat to my gut.
“Talbot, R.J., is scheduled to board EX-2 to Hudson in twelve minutes.” The unit’s lack of inflection, lack of feeling, made me want to rip it out of the wall.
“I know.” I ground my teeth together and took a deep breath. “I know. I need to see her before she boards. It’s an emergency.”
“If there is an emergency, Station security will be contacted for you.”
“No, it’s not that kind of emergency. I have to see Miss Talbot now.”
“Comming R. J. Talbot with your request.” After a second or two, the unit said, “R. J. Talbot’s communicator is not functioning.”
Not functioning? So it was her comm, not mine.
“Then let me through, damn it.”
“Override authorization code?”
I slapped the wall beside the box. The sting vibrated up my arm. “I don’t have a fucking code. I need to see her before she gets on that shuttle.”
“Excuse me,” said a masculine voice behind me.
I whipped around, expecting Station security. What was the fine for assaulting and cursing a computer for merely doing what it was designed to do? Instead of a uniform, a middle-aged man in a neat, dark suit gave me a cautious once-over.
“Are you going through?” he asked.
I stepped aside. “Sorry, go ahead.”
He came forward and swiped his card over the box.
“Markum, Stuart. EX-3 is being held for your arrival. Please step through.”
The door mechanism clicked and slid open. Markum, Stuart started forward, but even in my eight-centi heels, I beat him through the doorway.
“Hey,” he shouted as I ran, “you can’t go in there!”
The hum and glow of the red security scan beam passed over me. I hoped the coating on my pulser was still adequate; bringing an unauthorized weapon through Hub security would guarantee a ten-year sentence.
Through overhead speakers, the security unit agreed with Markum. “Unauthorized access. Security alert. Unauthorized access.”
It only acknowledged me, not my weapon. That was something, anyway.
The Exeter concourse was less populated than the public areas so I didn’t have to dodge many people. No one tried to stop me as I sprinted past, though I did get some startled looks. Beneath a lit sign that read “EX-2 HUDSON,” I recognized the back of Zia’s upswept ‘do and her heather-grey overcoat.
Relief made my legs wobble, and I had to slow down.
“Zia!”
She turned, surprise and then confusion on her face. “Liv? What are you doing here?”
I didn’t get the chance to answer as my legs were jerked out from under me and the ground rushed toward my face.
Chapter Eighteen
My knees slammed into the floor, sending a teeth-rattling tremor through my body. Instinct brought my arms forward to break the fall, but not fast enough.
“Son of a—”
The rest of the expletive was cut off by a rainbow of starbursts as my head struck the thinly carpeted floor. Pain crackled along my skull.
What felt like a Bidarki gorilla dropped on top of me, pinning my satchel beneath my body, his weight concentrated above my hips. The pulser in my satchel dug into my chest, and my lungs struggled to inflate.
He wrestled my arms behind my back, my shoulders protesting with the strain. “Gotcha.”
Like I didn’t know that. But breathing took precedence over smart-ass remarks; I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to.
“Get off her.” Zia’s voice carried over the roar in my head. She didn’t yell, but her tone was as commanding as I’d ever heard. Only a fool would disobey.
“Breaching security is a Class B felony, miss,” he growled.
Okay, only a fool and a gorilla of a security guard would disobey. I wanted to see Zia tear this slag mucker to pieces, but my eyes watered from the pain and I was light-headed. Better that I concentrate on oxygen intake.
“She’s with me. I take full responsibility for any misunderstanding.”
The guard rose, relieving some of my breathing difficulty, and the roar subsided. When I tried to bring my arms and legs under me to stand, I couldn’t. Trussed like a hog on slaughter day, I turned my head toward them.
From the floor, the guard’s large, squarish head and flattened nose completed the simian image, except for the uniform and the shiny pulser holstered on his hip. He wore the grey and black of an Exeter guard, not the gold and blue of Hub Station security. Exeter’s charters, their security.
Despite being more than a head taller, the man flinched under Zia’s steel-green gaze. She held up her ID, and though her voice softened it was as precise as a laser scalpel. “Get those things off her, or I’ll have you picking in a mine so deep you’ll never be seen again.”
The warm, fuzzy feeling of having someone care enough to threaten another person washed over me, but a smaller part of me winced. Hers was no idle threat. If sent down to the mines, he could be as good as dead.
What I was about to do to
her was far worse than defying her authority. What would she think of me? I shuddered at the thought.
The guard raised his hand as if to snatch the ID card from her then hesitated when her words penetrated his brain pan. He took the card between his thumb and forefinger and swiped it over the portable reader attached to his belt. His dark eyes widened. Handing the card back as gingerly as he’d taken it, he swallowed hard. Maybe he knew what the mines were really like.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but she did violate security.”
Zia’s eyes narrowed. “And?”
The guard lost a few centis of height under her glare. His gaze flicked to the side, down to me, back to her. “And I’m sure the whole thing is a misunderstanding.”
He knelt beside me to fiddle with the bindings on my wrists and ankles. With a metallic click my arms sprang away from each other, back to a more natural position. I started to push myself up from the floor, but my legs were still bound. He’d shot tanglers to bring me down. The thin, flexible strands had to be cut individually.
While he worked, I checked to see what kind of spectacle I’d created. Another rule in the felon’s handbook that I’d violated: Keep a low profile. We hadn’t attracted a crowd, but there were more than a few curious stares from well-dressed business travelers as they passed. Move along, people—nothing to see here.
Reluctantly I turned to Zia, knowing she’d be mad as hell. She kept her glare on the guard, as if daring him to slip and cut into my leg. With her focus on him I took a minute to collect myself, but my time under that withering gaze would come soon. Going with the guard could be safer.
The last tangler strand popped loose, and the guard slipped the cutter and the wires into his pocket. He offered me his hand. “Sorry about the confusion, miss,” he said with false sincerity. “If you have trouble accessing the gate in the future, please call for assistance rather than taking things into your own hands.”
I let him help me up. “I’ll do that.”
What else was I supposed to say? Thanks for giving me a concussion instead of zapping me with your pulser? An apology would have been appropriate, but all my remorse was spoken for.
With a curt nod to me and another to Zia, he strode off with as much dignity as a whipped gorilla could muster.
Zia faced me.
There was anger in her eyes, but also concern and confusion. She grasped my hands, and I enjoyed the warmth of her skin on mine for the moment. She skimmed her thumbs over the pink welts the wrist bindings had caused. They stung a little, but her touch was gentle, soothing.
The anger in her eyes waned. “Are you okay?”
I licked my lips and eased my hands from hers. “I’ll be fine. We need to talk.”
“About what, Liv? Why didn’t you just comm me?”
“I tried. Your comm isn’t working. The security unit tried too.” Besides, this discussion was not to be done over hackable, recordable comms.
Fine lines marred the space between her eyes when she frowned. “It worked earlier this morning. What did you need to see me about that required breaking security?”
I glanced around the gate area. The curious stares were gone, but there were too many people within earshot to have the conversation we were about to have, not to mention surveillance cams. I’d had enough with electronic ears and eyes.
“Not here, Zia. In private.”
Impatient, she gestured toward the sign behind her. “My flight boards in five minutes.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, dreading what I was about to put into motion, having no choice if I wanted to give her the slightest chance to escape imprisonment. Knowing that what I said would make her hate me, despite any deal she might cut with Sterling and the CMA. Better that she hated me and received a lighter sentence than have the CMA toss her into a correctional facility.
The K-73 filter program had gone wrong. She knew it, but maybe she didn’t know all of it. I had to find out.
I opened my eyes and stepped closer to her. She leaned in, her cheek almost touching my lips, ready to listen, trusting I had good reason to jump security. Jasmine perfume wafted from her skin. I swallowed down the boulder of guilt in my throat and said quietly, “I know about the K-73s.”
Zia jerked away as if I’d shot her, and our eyes locked. “I have no idea—”
I frowned; her mouth compressed into a thin line as she realized I knew she was lying. She grabbed my upper arm and steered me toward the wall, away from the main flow of commuters. “What the hell did you do, Liv?”
Fury tightened her jaw, but it was the feeling of betrayal on her face and in her voice that made my heart twist. And it was about to get worse.
“I have copies of the files. The ones about the company’s ‘acceptable margin of loss.’” Recalling the words I’d read on the reports, the conversations between Pritchard and Clemens, made my own anger and disappointment flare. I understood her reaction to my activities, but she wasn’t completely innocent. “The question is, Zia, what the hell did you do? The filters aren’t working. Your reports claim a twenty percent loss of volunteers. Is that the truth?”
Her face paled, and she stared at me for several thundering heartbeats. “Who do you work for? A-O? Blue Mountain? The CMA?” Her voice quivered as my true deception sank in. “You slept with me so you could get to my computer.”
The pain in her words diluted my own. She may have done something terrible, but mine was a personal betrayal in her eyes. How could I tell her I’d slept with her not just for the files but for so much more?
I responded in a rushed whisper. “I don’t work for any of them. I was involved with a plan to extort Exeter over the K-73. My job was to copy the files. I’d collect my share after the deal went down. I wasn’t supposed to—” The words lodged in my throat like a spiny rock.
“Wasn’t supposed to what, Liv? Ruin my life?”
There it was, the look I’d so feared. The hate-filled sneer was like an iron claw ripping open my chest. I winced but forced myself to keep my eyes on her. Seeing what I’d done to her was the punishment I deserved. My legs wobbled, and if she hadn’t been holding my arm I’d have collapsed onto the floor.
“I need to know the truth, Zia.”
Someone stepped up behind her. “Miss Talbot? Your flight is ready to board.”
She turned to talk to the man but didn’t release my arm. “I have an emergency to take care of here. Book me on a later shuttle.”
The reprieve from her burning gaze gave me a chance to rally. I lifted my chin and stood straighter, my legs not as watery.
When she finished rescheduling her flight she resumed her glare, but something made her waver. Tears shimmered in her eyes. She jerked me forward, and we began a stiff-legged walk to the security gate.
“How could you do this to me?” she whispered.
She wasn’t talking about industrial blackmail. She was talking about us. What resolve I’d mustered almost evaporated, and I bit the inside of my lip. “Did you know the death rates were more than the twenty percent reported to you?”
Zia’s jaw muscles bunched. “I knew six months ago.”
My heart twisted. She knew. Damn it. She knew.
“I told Clemens we’d have to scrap the project if we couldn’t fix the filters. The numbers were dropping. Not as quickly as I wanted to see, but coming down.”
“They weren’t,” I said. “James recorded a comm call between Pritchard and Clemens. I’ve got a copy with me and buried the original file on my office unit.” I swallowed, licked my lips. “All your volunteers may not have been legitimate. I don’t know where Pritchard got them, but they’re still dying in greater numbers than you’ve been told.”
Her fingers dug into my arm. “No. You’re wrong. Or lying.”
“Why would I lie? What would I gain?”
Zia shook her head. “They told me…”
Her voice trailed off, and she looked at me with such desperation it almost hurt. I’d been with her long enough to read her
expressions, to judge when she was sincere and when she wasn’t. She may have guessed about the disparity between the reports she’d received, but she didn’t know everything that was happening in the mines. She didn’t know Pritchard and Clemens were using unwitting volunteers.
At least she hadn’t been part of that aspect of the cover-up. Relief washed through me, and the knot in my chest loosened a little.
Zia winced as if punched in the gut. “Those sons of bitches.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
She gave a scornful snort. “What wasn’t? Your stealing files, or my colleagues fucking me over?”
I was just another person who’d betrayed her as far as she was concerned. Which was true, but I had to tell her I was different from Pritchard and Clemens in one significant way. The words tearing at my throat and heart, I said, “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”
Zia pulled me to a dead stop, her eyes wide as scorn became surprise. She released my arm and searched my face for deception. But she found none. For the first time in as long as I could remember I let my true feelings show. It felt wonderful, and terrifying, given our circumstances.
“I have to go to the CMA,” I said when she didn’t respond. Not that I expected her to. What could she say? That we’d just forget my betrayal, forget the cover-up and live happily ever after? “They cornered me, and I have no choice. But I want you to come with me and make a deal with them.”
That snapped her out of her daze. “Come with you?”
“If you turn in the files, work with them, the CMA might go easy on you.” I licked my parched lips. “Please.”
“You don’t understand, Liv. I’m in too deep.” Her green eyes were hard, angry. Not at me in particular this time. “I can’t claim ignorance. I knew about the death rates months ago. Even with the information you have it would be Clemens’s and Pritchard’s words against mine that I wasn’t complicit in the entire cover-up. There are going to be serious repercussions.”
I took her hands in mine, surprised she’d let me, and traced her knuckles with my thumbs. “I know,” I said quietly. “You’re involved up to your neck. I’m no angel either.” I gave her a crooked smile, my heart fluttering when she returned it. But the gravity of our situation wiped them from our faces. “We can fix this. Make up for what’s been done. We’ll talk to the CMA, give them anything they want. We’ll get new identities then…” I dropped my gaze to our hands, feeling like a lovesick heroine on a drama vid.
