Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  “Are you at home?” Crowder asked.

  “The girls are. I’m flying to Tokyo later today. I’m in Sandnomore.”

  Ah, that was Alphacorp HQ, one of the new towns—though maybe not so new, now—in the Saharan rainforest.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “How much do you know about this retrofit jump drive that Crossways has developed?”

  “Only as much as my techs can tell me. It’s damned inconvenient for us, but apparently it eats platinum for breakfast, so it’s not much use commercially. They’ll never be able to sell it, not as it stands.”

  “Except Crossways has Olyanda’s platinum production to rely on.”

  She didn’t need to remind him of that. Crowder immediately felt on the defensive. “Sure, they can retrofit jump drive vessels for their own use, until the platinum runs out.”

  “Which it isn’t going to do for years.”

  Crowder bit back a snappy retort and forced himself to shrug as if it was no big deal. The muscles across his ribs pulled, so he relaxed his shoulders and shook his head instead.

  Yamada’s exquisitely shaped eyebrows drew close together. “We still have a third of the Alphacorp fleet locked into Amarelo space. Are you considering another strike force against Crossways?”

  “They’ve developed a planetary net to protect both Olyanda and Crossways. It would take another combined fleet to—”

  “My board has rejected the idea of joining another frontal attack. They believe we’ve wasted enough resources. We still haven’t buried the Ari van Blaiden scandal deep enough.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope you do. Your loyalty to the Trust is nothing short of monumental, Gabrius, but I think you’ve turned Crossways and Olyanda into a personal vendetta.”

  “Me? I’m the one who almost died if you recall.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, but my board members have authorized me to make Crossways an offer for their retrofit drive.”

  “You’re going to deal with criminals?”

  “There’s every indication they’re cleaning up their act.”

  He felt anger welling up. How could she? “Don’t trust them, Akiko.”

  “Any deal would be dependent upon them assisting our stranded ships out of Amarelo space. Arquavisa is assembling a temporary jump gate. We’re going to delay until we see whether they succeed. I wanted to give you some advance warning. I owe you that.”

  “Thanks. I think you’re making a huge mistake, but your warning is much appreciated.”

  As Akiko Yamada’s image faded, Crowder’s bland expression turned to a scowl. “Dammit all to hell.” His fists clenched so much that his knuckles turned white. “Stefan, you heard that.”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Get a message through to Arquavisa’s CEO. Offer our unreserved assistance with his jump gate project.”

  “The budget, sir?”

  “Contingency fund.”

  Stefan cleared his throat. “You might want to take a look at the state of that, sir.”

  “Get on to Finance; see what they can come up with.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stefan turned to leave the room, and then hesitated. “I don’t wish to interfere, sir, but I noticed there was a message from Swanson, prioritized at number nineteen. I thought you might want to look at it straightaway.”

  “Yes, thank you, Stefan.”

  Crowder waved his hand over the controller. “Play number nineteen.”

  It would be a recorded message, of course. Hope began to bubble up in his chest. If Swanson had taken care of Benjamin, he could relax. Yamada was right; he was treating this as a personal vendetta. The sooner it was over, the better for all concerned.

  Swanson’s instantly forgettable face appeared on the screen. “If you’re watching this, then I’m probably dead or in detention and not able to do my weekly check-in. I thought I should let you know and remind you that I don’t give refunds.”

  That was all. Crowder stared at the screen. Nothing on his lexicon of swear words would suffice on this occasion.

  “Well, damn.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

  Cara accepted a narrow glass from the uniformed waiter whom she recognized as being one of Syke’s militia officers. She sniffed it. The bubbles went up her nose and her eyes watered behind her carnival mask, a confection of gold and black which covered the top half of her face. The smell was almost entirely like champagne, though she suspected it had never seen a grape in its life.

  “To Crossways and all who fly in her.” Norton Garrick, his own mask in his hand, gave the toast from the podium.

  “Let’s hope her flying days are over,” Ben muttered at Cara’s side while raising his own glass in response. His own mask covered three-quarters of his face, but his mouth and firm chin were exposed.

  “That’s probably up to you.” Cara squeezed his hand.

  “I’ll settle for a nice stable orbit around Olyanda and no incoming missiles.”

  “No incoming missiles tonight.”

  “It would be a perfect time to attack, when we’re all partying like it’s 2547.”

  “It is—”

  “2547,” they said together, and laughed.

  “Friends,” Garrick commanded the room, looking relaxed, but Cara wasn’t a hundred percent convinced. Garrick always kept up a front, no matter how he felt. It was a good act, though. He didn’t need the formal suit or Mother Ramona on his arm to command the attention of the assembly. Garrick had earned their respect. He’d held the station together at Crossways’ darkest hour and cajoled, bullied, blackmailed, and sweet-talked the rival factions into contributing to the rebuilding program.

  Crossways was supposedly run by a loose coalition of crimelords, but both Indigo and Sharputra had abdicated responsibility in favor of consolidating their own resources after the attack. Once Garrick and Mother Ramona amalgamated their organizations, the smaller outfits were frozen out. That left only Roxburgh. Garrick had earned his place in the Mansion House. Roxburgh could go hang.

  “Friends, thank you for coming here this evening.” Garrick turned and smiled at Mother Ramona who looked particularly lovely in a flowing silver dress shot through with a titanium rainbow, echoing the colors of her fashionably spiked hair and white marbled skin. “It’s a double celebration: our wedding and Crossways’ own Independence Day. One hundred and twenty-five years ago today, by the Station Clock, Crossways fought for and won its independence from a succession of megacorporations who saw us as nothing more than a jump gate nexus, a refueling stop on the way from one profitable colony world to another. They denied the station resources, reassigned personnel regardless of family attachments, and considered it nothing more than an asset to be used and discarded. You all know your history. Crossways prevailed. Those in charge took control instead of decommissioning, and we became a successful free-trade port . . .”

  There was a gentle sweep of laughter around the room. Free trade was a euphemism for a variety of criminal activities from smuggling to outright piracy, and the best-connected fences had lined up to open a Crossways office.

  Garrick supported the laughter with his own grin, boyish despite the silver at his temples. “I know, I know. But it’s time we took our legitimate place in the economic system of the settled galaxy. We knew the megacorps had a long memory and that sooner or later they’d try and put us in our place.”

  There were low mutterings from the room.

  “Well, they tried and failed.”

  The room erupted into cheers.

  “I needn’t remind you of what we’ve overcome—you’ve all lived through it—but I would like to thank you for your support and hard work. Not much more than a year ago we were fighting five megacorporations. We had a station that was barely functioning, leaking air like an old sieve, and threatening to break
apart. Now we have a viable home in space, stronger and better than before.”

  Another round of applause.

  “I have two special people to thank—”

  “Oh, no, that had better not be—” Ben tried to step into the shadows, but Cara kept hold of his hand.

  “Ben Benjamin and Dido Kennedy.”

  Kennedy, with unerring instinct, was a no-show. People swiveled round to where Ben was standing. He wasn’t one for public accolades, but he offered a polite nod of acknowledgment.

  “We’re masked. How do they even know it’s me?”

  “You’re tall and brown.”

  “So’s Gwala . . . and Tengue’s not much lighter than me. . . .”

  Didn’t he realize what an imposing presence he was?

  “And you’re here at Garrick and Mother Ramona’s wedding with the great and the good. Or maybe the great and the bad because I can see quite a few heads of criminal organizations. Not hard to spot if you know who you’re looking for.”

  “Roxburgh?”

  “Not him—at least, not that I’ve spotted, but there’s Nathalie Beauvais of House Indigo. You can tell her by the coterie of young men, though I’m not sure how many are lovers and how many are bodyguards.”

  “I think the roles are interchangeable.” Ben raised one eyebrow.

  Cara slapped him lightly on the arm and tried not to laugh. “I’m pretty sure the one in red is Fynan Sharputra,” she said.

  “Yes, it looks like him.”

  “And that long streak of nothing is Civility Jamieson. I’m surprised to see him here. I didn’t think he took much notice of anything except the latest implant technology.”

  “He has to qualify as the doc with the worst bedside manner in the galaxy.”

  “Knows what he’s doing, though.”

  “He does, indeed.” Ben fingered his own tiny implant scar.

  Garrick was in full flow now. “Dido Kennedy modified the jump drive so it could be retrofitted to the station, and Ben Benjamin flew us safely through the Folds. Without them, we’d have been a shower of space junk orbiting Amarelo. Gentlefem and Gentlemen, a toast to Kennedy and Benjamin.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Cara winked at Ben over the rim of her glass.

  “Did you know about this?” Ben asked.

  “At least I talked Garrick out of giving you a medal. You can thank me later.”

  Ben pressed his lips together.

  “Relax, that’s it. He’s moving on.”

  Garrick thanked all those who’d given time and credits or contributed resources. He congratulated specific individuals for achievements: a maintenance engineer for rescuing twenty-three souls trapped when the Saturn Ring had separated; a medical orderly who had stayed with three high-dependency cribs to make sure their tiny occupants weren’t left behind in the panic of a mass evacuation; Jake Lowenbrun for putting himself and his ship between attacking forces and Crossways, and giving them time to get the new jump drive online.

  And then it was time to honor the dead. It was a role of honor too long to read in its entirety and acknowledging individual names would devalue the names not mentioned, so Garrick simply called a minute’s silence for all those who had lost their lives. The wall behind him coalesced into a patchwork of all known names, thousands of them, though they might never know the full extent of the losses, since a station like Crossways, operating outside of whatever laws could be enforced in the vastness of space, didn’t ask for details of the crews when vessels sought a landing pad. Cara still had hold of Ben’s hand and felt his fingers tighten on hers.

  “Gone but not forgotten,” Cara said along with everyone else as the minute ended.

  “And now a toast to the bride and groom,” Ben said, raising his glass once again. “Norton Garrick and Ramona Delgath, we wish you happy.”

  Happy echoed around the room.

  “Thank you, my friends.” Garrick pulled Mother Ramona to him. “Let’s party!”

  Cara gulped the rest of her champagne. “Happy couple toasted, duty done, do you want to stay and get blasted or shall we retreat in a semidignified manner?”

  “Retreat.” Ben hid his answer behind a smile as the band struck up a tune. “Before anyone asks me to dance and I lose whatever credibility I have. Quick. I can see the Magena twins heading in this direction. If I dance with one, I have to dance with both.”

  “Evasive action.” Cara turned into him and wrapped her arm around his neck. “Looks like we’re dancing.”

  They began to shuffle toward the exit in time to the music. Out of her peripheral vision Cara saw Chilaili and Tama Magena veer off in search of other victims.

  “Okay, it’s safe,” she said, but Ben continued to hold her close and she followed his steps. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

  “Mmm? Is this dancing? I can manage this much.”

  She relaxed into him as they twirled together.

  The Mansion House, Garrick’s Palladian-style residence in the very center of Crossways, glittered with light from extravagant chandeliers, simply because it could. If it hadn’t been for the faint buzz beneath her feet Cara might not have known she was on a station of three quarters of a million people in high orbit around Olyanda.

  “Not thinking of leaving us so soon, are you?” Mother Ramona’s deep voice startled her.

  “Too much fun is bad for my image,” Ben said, smiling. “Besides, you and Garrick are the stars of the show tonight.”

  “I bet Garrick you’d vanish before the speeches.”

  “If Cara had warned me, I would have.”

  She laughed. “We’re honored you’re still here. You need to relax more, Benjamin. Tell him, Cara. Oh, it’s no use telling you, you’re as bad as him. Both workaholics.” She looked over her shoulder to see who was close. “Well, come on, Benjamin, don’t you want to kiss the bride?”

  Cara relinquished her hold on Ben and he swept Mother Ramona into his arms. They’d known each other a long time, since he’d been a Monitor stationed on the Rim, and she a small-time crook involved in smuggling goods and people across the galaxy quietly and quickly. Mother Ramona whispered into Ben’s ear before their lips locked.

  *What was that all about?* Cara asked Ben mind-to-mind as he surfaced and released the bride to her duties.

  *We have to go right now. I’ll tell you on the way.*

  Chapter Fifteen

  ROXBURGH

  BEN AND CARA PICKED UP THEIR TWO BODYGUARDS, Lumb and Peckett, in the entrance hall where someone had supplied them with a plate of fancy cakes and a jug of juice. They all exited the building, down the flight of steps to Hub Square where a small crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of the happy couple. There were picnickers in Hub Park, and a general holiday mood, a far cry from the wreck the station had been. Many people sported masks. The idea of picking up the old Independence Day celebrations had caught on.

  Ben snagged a tub cab that ran in the shallow laneway to one side of the square. “Roxburgh Heights,” he told the cab and the little vehicle whirled out into the traffic. He pulled off his mask and wiped his forehead, then fixed it firmly in place.

  “Roxburgh’s casino?” Cara asked.

  “He should be at the reception, but he isn’t, and neither are any of his most trusted. Garrick thinks something’s going down. It’s been building for a while—Roxburgh pushing his luck. I don’t like it.” He looked at their two guards. “I presume you’re fully armed.”

  “Everything except a tactical warhead,” Peckett said.

  “Let’s hope we don’t need the one thing you’ve left at home.”

  Peckett’s lips twitched into a smile. Lumb either had no sense of humor, or she simply didn’t find it funny.

  “Can you pull in Tengue’s security team?” Ben asked Cara.

  Cara quickly connected with Morto
n Tengue, at Blue Seven, and brought Ben in on the communication.

  *Tengue,* Ben said, *Garrick thinks Roxburgh’s up to something. Is there any word on the street?*

  There was a slight pause as Tengue checked his sources.

  *Big party at Roxburgh’s casino tonight. It’s masked, but that’s no surprise. Tickets are expensive.*

  “So he’s chosen to make money instead of attend Garrick’s celebration,” Cara said. “He has managers, so his casinos could still be fleecing the public while Roxburgh did his civic duty.”

  “Then there has to be a better reason for not attending. Mother Ramona’s right. Roxburgh is at the center of whatever’s happening.” *Tengue, how much backup can you send to the casino? Cara and I are going straight there with Peckett and Lumb. Get your people into position and wait for further instructions.*

  *Will do. I’ll send ten with Gwala in charge.*

  *Have we got anyone at the docks?*

  *Fowler.*

  *Ask her to see if Roxburgh’s moving anything in or out. Tell her not to make it too obvious.*

  *This is Fowler we’re talking about. She doesn’t do subtle.*

  *Well, tell her not to get herself killed. That new skin she’s wearing cost too much to throw away. If you need backup at the docks contact Syke. Mother Ramona has the militia on standby.*

  “It looks like we’re going to gatecrash Roxburgh’s party,” Cara said.

  “You don’t have to come. You’re not dressed for it.”

  “I think I’m dressed perfectly for it.” She ran her hands down the close-fitting dress in a way entirely too distracting.

  “I mean you’re not wearing armor.”

  “I doubt they’d let us into the party if we turned up in buddysuits. Anyway, you’re not wearing armor either. I bet you’re not even armed.”

  “You’d lose that one.”

  “Derri?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You?”