by Astrid Amara
That set Tover’s timeline.
Three weeks after his failed attempt to quit, Tover earned the right to have dinner with Alexey Jade. That the dinner had to be in his suite confirmed Tover’s suspicions that his rooms were monitored, but at least he got that much out of begging with the negotiators.
Jade seemed pleased to see him, but puzzled.
“Care to tell me why my access to you has been restricted?” he asked, looking over the menu. Tover had requested the night’s meal to come from a barbeque joint. He’d taken to eating as much protein and fat as he could, hoping to bulk up.
“I’m being punished,” Tover said. At Jade’s look of concern, Tover flashed him one of his most charming smiles. “I’ve been a disobedient employee, and they want to make sure I don’t go blabbing to the press about the errors of my ways.”
Jade’s eyebrows came together. “Is that legal?”
Tover shrugged. “Probably.” He turned to the waiter, who had to stand next to Tover’s bed in a tux as though he were in a fine dining environment. “I’ll have your fattiest piece of pork, a side of potatoes, a salad, the garlic bread, the pasta salad and a milkshake.”
Jade snorted. “Not worrying about your figure anymore, are you?” He handed the menu to the waiter. “I’ll have the fish with the side salad. Some of us actually do have to watch what we eat.”
As soon as the waiter departed, Tover dropped his voice. “Any chance you can set up an interview with me and Jemma Rose?”
“Because your last one went so well?” Jade smirked. “I’ll see what I can do. You are on a restricted access card at present, and that means I may not get the execs to approve of any media outlets, let alone someone as controversial as her.”
“Try, please,” Tover urged. “It’s important.”
Jade nodded. He looked as if he would ask something, but changed his mind. He instead filled Tover in on some of the repercussions of the Samantha Show interview until their food arrived. As soon as the waiter had finished serving their meals, he rushed off, and Jade lowered his voice.
“Hey, Tover?”
“Yeah.” Tover cut large pieces of meat and chewed them methodically. Eating had lost all of its pleasure. He counted the number of chews it took to swallow each precious piece of meat down.
“Seriously. You okay?”
Tover glanced up at Jade. “Why?”
“There’s something fishy going on.” Jade leaned forward again, voice getting even quieter. “I’ve never had my press releases regarding you censored. It’s like Harmony has tightened its control of everything that is said about you. Any idea why?”
As Tover chewed, he studied Jade’s curious expression. How much was pure speculation, and how much was Jade’s concern? Were they friends? Tover didn’t trust him. But he didn’t have any allies if he couldn’t trust the people he’d worked closest with for so long.
“I’m not at liberty to go into details,” Tover said softly. “I might get…in trouble.”
Jade scowled. “From who?”
“Who do you think?”
Jade sat back in his chair, staring at Tover in disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”
“You should ask. See what kind of answers you get. As for me, I’m going to tell you I’m perfectly fine. I love going back to work. I love Harmony and I’m so very glad to be home.”
Tover looked down at his plate and started seriously shoveling the food in. It was gross, and he could detect Jade’s distaste without having to see it. It didn’t take long for Jade to politely excuse himself.
“Ask about permission to do the interview,” Tover insisted, looking up from his plate as Jade made his way to the door. “I won’t talk about me. I want to talk about the bastards who did this to me. Make sure Harmony knows that.”
Jade nodded once, and departed.
The following day, Jade gave him a response via text.
Tover’s request had been denied. Harmony corpexecs insisted the navigator was not to participate in any media events until he fully recuperated from his ordeal.
It was expected but still disappointing. His time was running out. Once Cruz was incarcerated in the capital of Arland, the levels of security would make it impossible to get him out. It would sap all of Tover’s energy to make an unprotected jump to Arland, let alone leave the security compound.
Tover’s break came in the unexpected form of his therapist, Delia Yu. One evening, after he’d returned from a particularly long day in the chair, there was a knock on his hotel suite door.
He assumed it was one of the negotiators, or the hotel footmen bringing one of the dozens of complimentary meals and fruit baskets various sycophants around the station had sent to him on a regular basis.
Instead, little Delia Yu stood there, looking surprised that he opened the door.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a rush.
Tover opened the door for her, saying nothing in his own shock. He locked the door behind her, then realized that probably seemed creepy. Yet for his own safety he couldn’t bring himself to unlock it.
Delia glanced around his hotel suite, taking it in as if it offered a side of Tover’s psyche that she had previously not entertained. She sat down at his table uninvited.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” she stated. She looked nervous.
“Oh?” Tover went to his fridge and took out a beer. He held up the bottle. “Want one?”
“Do you have any wine?” Delia asked.
Tover found one of the gift baskets along his counter and pulled out an expensive red that had been sitting there, unwanted, for weeks. He dug out a corkscrew and a wine glass, all the while watching Delia fuss with the floral centerpiece of the table, fidgety and restless.
Tover handed her the wine, and he held up his bottle of beer for a toast. “To Harmony,” he offered.
Delia frowned but clinked her glass against his beer bottle.
Tover took a deep swig and sat down. “Why are you here if you’re not supposed to be?”
“Because you’re my patient, and I promised your interests are more important to me than those of my employer.”
Tover narrowed his eyes.
“The thing is, I haven’t been allowed to call you, make follow-up appointments, anything. Access to you has been cut off. And yesterday a goon of a man came into my office and reassured me that you no longer need treatment, you are fully capable of doing your job now. He thanked me for my service.” Delia looked disgusted. “Like I did him a favor.”
“Well he’s right in one sense,” Tover told her. “I am back to work.”
“How is it going?” Delia asked, and she genuinely meant it.
Tover felt something fragile tremble in his chest. No, he had to hold it together, just a little longer. “You mean how many jumps can I make before I puke all over the place? It’s getting better each day.”
“Oh, Tover.”
“You wanted exposure therapy? I guess I got it.”
“Not like this. God, no.” Delia looked a little queasy. “Therapy like that is controlled, under specific circumstances with a trained psychologist. That’s not what this is.”
“No,” Tover agreed. He drank more beer, trying to quelch the tremulous thing inside his breast that threatened to burst out and ask her for help.
“I told the goon that you were months, if not years away from a full recovery after your experience, and he laughed at me.” Delia pursed her lips. “So I came here to check on you myself.”
A flood of caged emotions threatened to overspill, so Tover took a deep breath to hold them in. “Thank you.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It’s nice to know I have a few people around who genuinely care.”
“Are you in fear for your life?” she whispered, her voice beginning to tremble. “Because I don’t think I can keep working
for Harmony if they are threatening you in any way—”
“No, nothing like that,” Tover assured her, thinking of Peter Owens. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get Delia fired, or sent to a frozen outpost lacking her beloved Harmony parties to unwind at. “But I am frustrated that my access has been so restricted, for security reasons.”
“Is that why they are doing all this?” She shook her head. “They should have thought of this before you got kidnapped.”
“There’s a gift I have for a friend of mine, and I haven’t been able to give it to her,” Tover said. “It’s very important to me, and they don’t care about that. My personal needs are not as important as my security.” He leaned closer. “Would you give it to her for me?”
Delia raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming it’s not a live bird.”
Tover laughed at that. “No. I keep those.” He got up and found the data drive with Cruz’s report on it. He handed it to Delia. “It’s for Jemma Rose, in the Republicast offices. You know where they are?”
“No.”
“They are located in the Gemini Business Center.”
“Right.” Delia put the data drive in her purse. “Jemma Rose? She’s your friend?”
Tover nodded. “I took some holocasts of the last time we partied together. Tell her it’s from me and is a belated birthday present.”
“Okay.” Delia smiled at him. She lowered her voice. “I take it this isn’t officially allowed.”
Tover leaned in close to whisper. “Like you said, my access has been cut off, but this is really important.”
“Then I’ll do it.” Delia took out a recorder. “So, do you want to go over the last week of work with me?”
Tover was surprised. “Really?”
“Why not?” Delia shrugged. “I went through all the trouble of sneaking into your hotel room, I might as well give you a full session. So let’s talk about this throwing-up business and see if we can’t come up with some strategies for lessening your nausea.”
“I think I love you, Delia Yu,” Tover said.
She laughed and got to work.
The problem with Tover’s casual way of getting Cruz’s newscast to Jemma Rose was that there were a million ways it could go wrong, and he wouldn’t know about it.
Delia could forget to give it to Jemma, or be intercepted by Harmony security. Jemma could be confused by the message, remember her dislike of Tover, and toss it outright. Or she could watch it and decide it was too hot, or too dull, or too unsubstantiated to cover.
Nevertheless, Tover watched Jemma’s newscast every night, hoping the story of Carida’s future would be displayed.
Days went by, and nothing came of his efforts. He grew disheartened. Cruz would be on the base in another day or two. Tover was out of time.
At last, on the station newscast, a full six weeks after his return to the station, reporters broke the news that the Caridan terrorist who had captured and tortured the station navigator had been brought to DK Station for transfer to Great Arland. Holocam footage showed the PK cruiser docking at the station and the transfer of a man, face hooded for privacy, as he was marched into the detention cells.
Tover knew Cruz’s bare arms by heart.
Tover’s desire to create an orbifold and jump into the detention cells was so overpowering he had to engage Delia’s breathing exercises to calm himself. Even the peace of his aviary couldn’t calm his restlessness and desperation. Why the hell was Jemma taking so long?
In the morning, Wert and Wilson greeted Tover without McIntire. He wasn’t sure if this was out of trust or because McIntire had to go intimidate some other Harmony employee.
On his way to the cargo control deck, a small crowd of reporters and tourists had gathered as usual.
“Navigator?”
Tover turned at the quiet female voice. Jemma Rose stood amongst the throng of lower-level reporters and tourists.
“Hello, Jemma,” he said, keeping the enthusiasm in his voice to a minimum.
“Keep moving,” Wert whispered in Tover’s ear.
“She’s a friend, it will look odd,” Tover hissed back. Wert backed away slightly, but his hand clamped onto Tover’s biceps.
“How are you?” Tover asked, smiling at Jemma as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd.
“Good! I got your present.” She narrowed her eyes. She was a stern-looking woman with a shaved head and large earrings. “It’s a lot bigger than I expected from you.”
“Well, if anyone can use something of that size it would be you,” he said with a wink.
“I’ll try it tonight,” Jemma said.
“Let’s go,” Wilson said, pushing Tover from behind.
“Nice to see you!” Tover shouted, waving as he walked forward. He didn’t bother turning around.
“Giving presents, are we?” Wilson asked.
“Jealous, Wilson? I have a few sex toys left if you want one yourself.”
Wilson grimaced, yanking Tover’s arm and jerking him into the control-deck entrance.
Tover’s jumps that day went relatively smoothly. Partly knowing something big was about to happen helped. Or maybe it was only that this would no longer continue. One way or another it would end.
Back in his rooms, Tover spent the hours between the end of his shift and twenty in his aviary, taking in the joyous sounds of birdcalls and water trickling into the soil.
He adored these birds. He wished he could take them with him, but he couldn’t. It would be dangerous for them, and unfair. Their lives had been reduced to ornaments in this cage, but it was better than anything else that awaited them elsewhere. He hoped his substantial transfer of funds to Jason McGory’s account and lengthy notes about their care would leave them in caring hands.
Close to twenty, Tover showered, shaved and changed into loose, comfortable clothing. He packed a small bag of essentials.
The Republicast started at twenty with a loud introduction.
“The Fate of Carida: Harmony’s Ten Year Internment Plan,” Jemma announced over the rising chords of her theme music.
Tover watched the show as he ate a heaping bowl of fettuccine alfredo, a twenty-ounce steak, and followed it with a fried banana split. The amount of food made him sick, but that was okay. It wouldn’t be in him for long.
“Fuck!”
Cruz exploded backward from his bunk. He lost his balance and collapsed into a heap on the grated floor of his detention cell.
Tover stood there, breathing deeply from the jump. His stomach churned emptily. The orbifold only needed to take him twenty stories down on the station into the detention center, but it was enough of a distance to make him ravenous with hunger.
He looked Cruz over in the dim light of the cell. Cruz’s treatment at the hands of the PK secret service was far better than his own incarceration had been, but he’d still clearly been beaten.
His nose was broken and dried blood crusted the left side of his face. His respirator made an uneven sucking sound, as if busted.
The rest of Cruz looked filthy but whole, and he seemed to be in a bit of shock at Tover’s sudden appearance.
Tover didn’t waste time. He swiveled the pack on his back around and unzipped it. He grabbed his respirator clip, to hold at the ready. With his other hand he ripped open an energy bar and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Tover?” Cruz whispered. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Tover didn’t answer. He polished off the energy bar and hastily crammed in another. He wouldn’t be able to undo Cruz’s restraints right now, but that was all right, as long as he could jump them somewhere where help would be on hand.
“Is your house safe?” Tover asked, mouth full.
Cruz blinked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Where is it safe for you?” Tover asked again. He tossed the wrapper.
Cruz swallowed. “Yes, it should be. Ana is still there, no one came back after I was arrested.” He frowned. “I don’t want you to do this. You’ll get sick again. Emaciated.”
“Tell Ana to feed me high calories,” Tover said between mouthfuls. “And none of that low-fat yogurt shit she’s so fond of.”
A tentative smile broke over Cruz’s face. “Are you sure? You’ll never be able to come back.”
“I know.” Tover hesitated, but he had to ask. “Your mom. Is she…?”
Tears instantly filled Cruz’s eyes. “She’s dead.”
Tover’s grief swelled inside of him, but there was no time to break down now. They could cry later.
“We’ve got to go.” Tover repositioned his pack and climbed on top of Cruz, clutching him in a desperate embrace. “Hold on tight. Don’t let go.”
“Tover.” Cruz’s respirator wheezed loudly. “Listen. I love you.”
Tover smiled. Then he opened his mouth and jumped them across the galaxy.
Chapter Twenty
The unsettling stretch of subatomic manipulation filled Tover’s senses with acute nausea, only to be replaced immediately with heavy air and a gasping desperation to breathe.
He rolled off Cruz and stared up at the ceiling of Lourdes’s living room, body weak and useless. Panic flared as he tried to inhale a breath and couldn’t. He fumbled to lift his hands and put the respirator on his face, but he dropped it. His hands could barely function. He couldn’t close his fingers.
He gasped loudly for air, suffocating and unable to call for help. His head dropped to the side. He saw Cruz rub his face against the wood floor, dislodging his own respirator before shuffling over to Tover. His hands were still cuffed behind him.
“Ana! Ana!” Cruz cried out, writhing as he tried to pick up Tover’s breath clip. “Ayúdame! Ayuda, Ana!” he bellowed.
“Ay, Dios mío!” Ana rushed from her bedroom and darted into Tover’s field of vision, but he was losing consciousness. He felt fingers on his face, heard something in Spanish. Everything felt weak, and heavy. He was so thirsty, and so tired. He closed his eyes.
