Empire of Dust

by Jacey Bedford

  “It’s not like the real thing, is it?”

  They passed the entrance, but then Ben hovered by the elevator to the theater. Cara grabbed his arm to guide him past. As she did so, something prickled at the back of her neck.

  She glanced sideways. Shit! One of the businessmen—if that’s what they were—from Craike’s ship was walking down the concourse toward her. She didn’t think he’d seen her yet. She hurriedly double-checked her implant and imagined a blank wall of psi-tech nothing around herself. Blend in with the background. Blend. Blend. She pressed closer to Ben, turning her face into his shoulder, trying to slow her racing heart by willpower alone, imagining herself to be no different from anyone else in the plaza.

  The man moved like a dancer, free and light, almost as if he could walk on dust without leaving footprints. She turned her face completely away from him, excising him from her mind to sever any lingering mental connections, though she could almost taste his presence as he got closer.

  Closer.

  And finally past.

  Ben had stiffened and didn’t relax until she breathed out again. She wondered if he was going to ask any questions, but he didn’t. Once the man was safely out of sight, she tugged at Ben’s arm and dragged him in the opposite direction.

  “Snow slopes?” Ben asked, walking past without slowing.

  “Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t thinking. That’s not very date-like, is it?”

  Ben laughed. “Are we on a date? Well, in that case, maybe we could try a little home entertainment.”

  About time. She’d given him enough opportunities. It was such a cliché, but attempting to keep her voice smooth, she said, “My place or yours?”

  “Mine.”

  She’d hoped he’d say that. Hers was hardly big enough, and anyway, she wasn’t altogether sure it was safe anymore. She shivered involuntarily and pushed that thought away. Concentrate on one thing at a time.

  “Come on, then, back to the go-flow.”

  He took her cold hand in his warm, dry one and they headed back to the tunnels.

  • • •

  Ben swiped his handpad across the door lock and moved aside to let Cara enter first.

  “You keep your place tidier than I do.” She examined the room carefully before stepping over the threshold.

  “It’s easy when you live out of a mission pack. I could spread all my belongings over the floor, and it would still look tidy.”

  “Washroom?” she asked, and headed for the door he pointed to.

  Once the washroom door had closed behind her, Ben pulled a chair up to the station’s matrix terminal and swiped his clearance chip. “Access station staff files,” he said. “Cara Carlinni.”

  The files lined up neatly on his screen. A quick glance was enough to tell him her bio was a fake. He’d seen enough of them to know one when he saw one. Usually, second-raters fudged their employment history to get a better job, but in this case her résumé was bland and she was drawing minimum wage on an assembly line. There was no mention of her being a psi-tech at all, yet he was sure she was even though she hadn’t admitted it in so many words. Her reaction to his mention of Neural Readjustment had been pretty typical of any psi-tech. Neural was the end of the line for the rebels, the careless, the criminal, and the unlucky.

  They certainly weren’t paying her psi-tech rates. Maybe she’d been through Neural or—he thought with distaste—had had her implant decommissioned altogether. She was either mentally unstable, which she didn’t seem to be; socially inept, which she certainly wasn’t despite being a little awkward at times; or she was hiding from someone or something.

  Or she’d been sent by certain members of the Trust’s Board of Directors. All of the possibilities were bad news.

  He should kick her out and take himself straight to bed, but she looked stunning in that dress, and he had a mind to see what she looked like out of it. He was pretty sure that was what she had in mind, but not at all sure of the reason.

  • • •

  Cara flicked her fingers over her dress where the bloodstain had been. The last traces had gone. Good. She splashed water on her face, checked her breath after eating fish, and emerged from the washroom with a bright smile. Ben had ordered Muscat brandy from room service. It arrived within seconds, and he took it from the hatch along with a couple of glasses.

  In another life Cara might have found Ben Benjamin attractive, but she wasn’t ready to look at men again yet. He mustn’t know that.

  She couldn’t think of anyone but Ari.

  Why now?

  Maybe she could close her eyes and make believe Ben was Ari.

  No, Ben was unlikely to be anything like Ari in bed.

  Sometimes, especially toward the end, their bouts of sex had been gladiatorial, often fierce, always draining. Her feelings for Ari were unlike anything she’d ever had for anyone before. He was manipulative and devious, and—she felt a soft adrenaline bump in the pit of her stomach—she was still tied to him, even though he’d doubtless sent Craike after her. Was it love? Had it ever been love? Whatever it was, it was dangerous.

  Ben. Concentrate on Ben.

  She hoped she’d judged this right. She wondered whether she was that good an actress, but it was probably too late for doubts. She smiled and whirled around so that her skirt flared out. Ben watched her appreciatively.

  Who are you? What do you want?

  She wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken that aloud or whether she’d picked it up out of his head. A sudden rush of heat to her cheeks threatened to give her away. She didn’t answer.

  He poured her a generous drink and himself a small one. She downed hers in one, but didn’t touch the glass again when he refilled it. A shy teenager on her first date couldn’t have been more nervous. Her heart was pounding, but the drink scoured the back of her throat and steadied her. Get a grip, Carlinni.

  Ben invited her up close, and she didn’t resist. She had a vague sense of detachment, a brief moment of awkwardness, then she slid her arms around his neck and pressed against him, raising her face, finding his lips with hers. Ari never kissed her on the mouth, so this was different. It was a good first kiss, not too hard, not too wet, gentle but warm. He was testing to see whether she really meant it. She was grateful for that.

  The drink blunted the edge of her inhibitions. She opened her lips to his and the kiss deepened. She could feel the warmth of his hand against the small of her back pulling her close. A heady wave of anticipation combined with nervousness started somewhere in the pit of her belly and washed through her, leaving her dizzy and breathless. She let it take over, hoping she could use it to replace passion. Too late to turn back now.

  • • •

  Whore!

  The word formed a cold, stony knot in the center of her body, and she felt chilled, even lying in the shadow of Ben’s warm body. Ben had been skilled and generous and she’d been . . . uninvolved. Pliant, but disconnected. Whore wasn’t the right word. A whore would have given much better value. She closed her eyes tight to lock in the tears and took slow, even breaths.

  Ari was still in her head.

  She’d tried to leave him when she’d found out what he was up to, but he wasn’t ready to let her go. He’d threatened her, obliquely but undeniably, if she tried to back out. Craike handles severances, he’d said.

  She tried to block out the rest of that painful memory.

  She shivered.

  Ben pulled the sheet up over her, his hand brushing against her breast in the shroud-darkness of the room. It cut into her thoughts, and before she could stop herself, she flinched. Damn, she shouldn’t have done that.

  “Did I hurt you?” He hitched himself up on one elbow, voice full of concern.

  “No. You were wonderful.”

  “Cut the crap. I don’t need it.” He reached over and turned the lamp up to a dim glimmer. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. Truly.”

  She turned her head toward him, saw the look on his face, and
half-smiled what she hoped was reassurance. She couldn’t read his expression.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why what?”

  “The playacting, the sex. Why me? Did the Board send you? What do you want?”

  “Board? What board? Who says I want anything?” She rolled to get up. “This was a bad idea.”

  He didn’t try to stop her. Instead he followed her and draped the fallen sheet over her shoulders.

  “Sorry if I seem to be paranoid,” he said. “It’s been a strange day. I almost got bounced into infinity crossing the Folds and had to argue with a petty official to get a next-day systems check that’s costing me double rate. I was figuring on nothing more than eating some real food and sleeping in a real bed.” He breathed out sharply. “Then I hook up with a gorgeous woman!” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his pants. “A man doesn’t generally get that lucky without a good reason. I might not even score on the empathy scale, but I know you want something.”

  “Then why did you go along with me?” She twined the sheet around herself.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?”

  “Just sex?”

  “Were you offering anything else?”

  “Maybe.” She pulled the sheet a little closer.

  “You’re good. You make all the right moves, but your body’s too honest. You don’t do this very often, do you? What do you want?” he asked.

  There was an uncomfortable pause. “I need to get out of here,” she said.

  “There’s the door.” There was a new wariness in his voice.

  “I mean off Mirrimar-14. I need to get away quickly and quietly.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I came here, I made an enemy. I had to drop everything and run. This is as far as I got before my credits and my luck ran out. I hoped I’d be safe here. I’d heard about people who help people like me. I thought if I could make the right connection, I could stop for a while.”

  “Who are you running from?”

  Cara rubbed her temples to ease the incipient headache. “You’ll probably be safer if I don’t tell you. Let’s just say I didn’t realize what I was getting into. He’s a dangerous man to cross and he’s got a lot of connections. A ship arrived earlier today and, well, I’ve got to get out or I’m a sitting target.”

  “The man near the snow slopes?”

  “One of . . . his.” She closed her mouth on Ari’s name.

  “Are you saying he’d kill you?”

  “Yes, or hurt me a lot, or probably both, but not in that order. I told you. He’s got influence and he’s really pissed with me.”

  “Has he got a right to be?”

  “He thinks so. It’s complicated. Look, I haven’t done anything bad. In fact . . . Oh, please just take my word . . . It’s more than complicated.”

  She’d made a complete mess of that! She wondered whether to tell Ben everything. Her temples pounded and she wasn’t even sure she could face going through the whole story. Besides, knowing how dangerous Ari was might frighten Ben off, even though he didn’t look like he’d scare easily.

  Ben stared at her as if he was weighing her on some internal balance. “What do you know about Olyanda?”

  “It doesn’t ring any bells. Person or place?”

  “Planet in the Taloga System.”

  She shrugged. “Not one I’ve been to.”

  “No one has. It’s a new colony. My next assignment. Babysitting a fundamentalist sect setting up their utopia. I thought . . . oh, never mind.” Ben frowned. “Don’t you need an exit permit to get out of here?”

  “I can’t leave openly. You’re flying private. I can get on board without going through official channels.”

  “Too risky. First, you’ll never make it through the port, and second, I’ll be up to my armpits in shit when you don’t. It’s too much of a risk.”

  Earlier that evening she’d seen him step in range of a parrimer blade with a dithering enforcer pointing a shaky sidearm in his direction, and now he thought she was too much of a risk. “It’s not impossible,” she said. “Devantec, that’s the firm I work for, runs a courier service. I’ve been checking their schedules, waiting for the right opportunity.”

  “Is that all I am, an opportunity?”

  “You’re probably an expensive opportunity. I can pay—something—not much, but . . .”

  Or was he going to want payment in kind? She swallowed hard, activated her handpad and pulled up her credit rating.

  “I’ve saved every spare credit I’ve earned since I got here. That’s what I’ve got. I’ll pay—do—whatever it takes.”

  “I’m not for sale.”

  Cara suddenly saw Ari’s fair features overlaid on Ben’s dark ones and had a momentary panic. If Ben was Ari’s agent, she’d played right into his hands. There was no way she could tell unless he’d let her do a mind-scan. Without that, she’d have to trust to her instincts and—hell—they’d been wrong before. She was running out of options.

  “How about Olyanda? Every expedition needs more long-range Telepaths. I’m a Psi-1.”

  “And you’re on the packing line at Devantec on minimum wage? Right.”

  “I’ve . . . I’ve been powered down for . . . months. They can find me by . . .”

  “You’ve been completely powered down?” He cursed under his breath, and she could have sworn that was concern in his voice. “How long?”

  She swallowed and glanced at the timeline on her handpad. “Eleven months and thirteen days.”

  The look in his eyes said he didn’t believe her, so she pulled out a tranq, held it up for him to see, and popped it. “With a little help.” She swallowed the capsule and let her desperation show in her voice. “Look, I’m way out on a limb and someone’s sawing down my tree. Will you help or not?”

  She watched for Ben’s reaction. There was an undercurrent of something she didn’t quite follow, something he was preoccupied with. She was so full of her own troubles that she hadn’t stopped to think he might have some of his own.

  “You know, if you’re putting all that on just to spin me a line,” he said, “you’re very good at it. I think I believe you, but I don’t know if I’m thinking with my brain or my balls. I must be slipping.” He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, then shook his head. “It’s too risky. I’m on the emergency overhaul pad in the Aloha dock. It’s the busiest part of the whole port and I won’t be cleared to leave until 1500. You’ll never make it through the security checks. If I get one more black mark on my record, I lose my job, and I can’t risk that. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “There’s more at stake than just a job. Other things . . . going on.”

  “I get it. You can’t take me.” She bit down on her back teeth to stop herself from saying more.

  “I’m leaving.” She stood up.

  “You’re welcome to stay until morning.”

  “What’s the point?”

  As she dropped into the antigrav shaft, she realized that despite his refusal she now knew the location of his ship and his time of departure. Had he meant to tell her that?

  Oh . . .

  She began to grin.

  Chapter Three

  EGRESS

  Cara didn’t dare go back to her own apartment, but there was nothing there that she couldn’t walk away from. She’d lost all those little keepsakes of her childhood when she’d escaped from Sentier-4 with only her prison gown under a stolen buddysuit.

  Where to go until it was time to make her move?

  Jussaro’s.

  He’d always said if she needed a friend she could call, but she’d backed off as soon as she realized what he was—what he’d been.

  No time to get squeamish now.

  She hopped the go-flow and dismounted at Accommodation Section Four. Once away from the platform the corridors looked identical to her own neighborhood, numbered medonite doors set in gray
walls, most decorated with individual designs showing the personality of their owner. She’d never touched hers, but the previous resident had seared it with the orange hues of an Earth sunset, just a little off-kilter in its colors, as if he longed for something he’d heard about but never seen firsthand.

  Jussaro’s door, however, was resolutely gray like the walls, decorated only by an apartment number.

  It was late. She glanced at her handpad, hoping he was a light sleeper, and pressed the buzzer. He answered almost immediately, still fully dressed.

  “Carlinni!” His purple-black face creased along laugh lines, his eyes almost disappearing entirely behind his nictating inner eyelid and prominent brow ridges.

  “You know you said if I ever needed a friend . . . ?”

  Unquestioning, he stepped back to let her in. His slightly lopsided grin chilled her. She could have been like him if she hadn’t got out when she did. Half his memories had been destroyed, and he claimed the other half were unreliable. Neural Readjustment could do that to a person. Routine work was all he was considered fit for. It was a wonder he wasn’t insane—or maybe he was, but he hid it well.

  Squat and muscular, Jussaro was an exotic, genetically engineered to withstand the heavy gravity and high levels of radiation dousing the second planet of the Hollands System. Altered humans had settled there three hundred years ago to mine the rich deposits of platinum vital to the jump gates. Even though the mines had given up the best of their resources many years ago, seeing Hollanders off-world was rare.

  Jussaro kept very close-mouthed about what he’d done to earn his trip to Neural. Whatever it was, it didn’t necessarily make him a bad person. She didn’t consider herself a bad person. Yet for what she’d done, she’d end up in Neural, too, presuming Craike didn’t kill her first. She felt her jaw clench and the back of her neck prickle. Knowing Ari’s propensity for revenge, he’d have her implant decommissioned without an anesthetic, wait until she’d gone screaming nuts, and then let Craike kill her.

  Slowly.

  She shuddered.

  “What do you want, Carlinni? If it’s my body, you’re out of luck.” Jussaro pointed her to the single soft chair in his tiny apartment and dragged the blanket from the arm before she sat in it. The cushions were still warm. He must have been sleeping there.