by Cara Bristol
Carter sprang forward. “Beth O’Shea?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“Is she related to Elizabeth Ann O’Shea?”
“That’s her name. Beth is a shortened version of Elizabeth.”
What had seemed merely odd, now became fishy. “If you were a parent, would you give your twins identical names?”
Brock’s mouth took on a wry twist. “Well, I wouldn’t, but people have done far stupider things in naming their kids.”
What were the odds the sister of a woman he’d once dated would seek employment at his firm? Or that he’d run into her at the spaceport? Was Beth Liza’s twin? Or was she Liza? He drummed his fingers on the console. The coincidences were adding up to trouble. “In my Terran Technical Institute days, I dated an Elizabeth Ann O’Shea who went by Liza. I haven’t seen her since she dropped out of the university fifteen years ago. Then, yesterday, I met her twin sister, aka Beth, at the spaceport. According to the sister, Liza died on a galactic safari. I don’t suppose you ran across a death record for Liza in your investigation?”
“No. I had no idea a twin existed. All records reported Elizabeth is the only child of Reuben and Georgetta O’Shea.”
Just as he’d thought. The college girl he’d known had been a law-abiding person, but anything could have happened in fifteen years. Who might she have encountered on the star safari? She could have been recruited by some subversive cell. They already knew Beth had gone so far as to plant false records.
The “chance” encounter at the spaceport seemed suspicious now. While he’d approached her, probably she had finessed the meeting, putting herself in front of him so he’d recognize her. If he hadn’t been so quick to call out, maybe she would have initiated the contact.
It chilled him at how close they’d had come to being infiltrated. Aym-Sec’s official public security assignments weren’t as critical as Cyber Operations missions, but they were still sensitive, and a logistics coordinator would eventually be apprised of the connection between Aym-Sec and Cy-Ops. If that person turned out to be a spy, the results could be disastrous to the safety of civilian and cyborg agents and the galaxy they sought to protect.
“What can you tell me about Reuben and Georgetta?” he asked.
“Two of the wealthiest people in the galaxy. They have more money than the emperor of Xenia. Their residential satellite orbiting Terra is only one of their homes. They own a couple of private planets, a half-dozen moons, and have investments in Darius 4.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“One would assume with wealthy, famous parents, Beth’s bio would include a greater mention of Georgetta and Reuben, but the opposite is true. In databases where parents’ names were optional, they were omitted, and when required, only the bare minimum of information was provided.”
“The connection was downplayed.” Carter frowned. Liza hadn’t boasted about her pedigree, but she hadn’t hidden it, either. Like many young adults, she’d complained about “controlling” parents, but it had been obvious she’d loved them. They had been close and had spoken often via vid-con.
“In one of our initial conversations, I had asked Beth about it, and she said that she meant to succeed on her own merits and not through nepotism. It sounded plausible. And, before you ask—I followed standard operating procedure by interviewing close associates and family. Georgetta verified Beth’s explanation of desiring to be independent.”
Liza had talked of making her mark on the galaxy without assistance from her wealthy parents. She’d sounded convincing until she dumped him to accept the invitation to go off on an all-expense-paid star safari. What had happened between then and now? Why would Liza fake her death and assume a new identity as a twin? “No mention of a sister, though?”
“None.”
“When Illumina discovered the falsified credentials, I assume you canceled the interview?”
Brock nodded. “I messaged her PerComm this morning.”
Chapter Three
“Canceled?” Clutching her PerComm, Beth stared at the device and sank onto the bed. “No, it can’t be canceled.”
Dear Ms. O’Shea:
Your interview with Aym-Sec this afternoon has been canceled for cause.
Sincerely,
Brock Mann
Senior Vice President, Operations
Aym-Sec
Cause? What cause? It would be one thing if she had failed to pass the interview, but she hadn’t had it yet. Unless…unless…Carter Aymes had learned who she was and wondered why she hadn’t said anything, or disapproved of hiring a family member of someone he’d been involved with. Could they have discovered her credentials were bogus? There were ample potential “causes.”
She reread the short message. There wasn’t even a “we regret to inform you” line. Just, bam! You’re out.
She’d counted on this job! It wasn’t wise to put all your eggs in one basket, but she only had one egg. Even after her CV had been doctored, it had still taken several months of job hunting to get this far.
But it had gone so well.
Her application and redacted curriculum vitae had caught the hiring director’s attention, she’d been given and completed a detailed online questionnaire, and, after a vidcomm with Mann, she’d been offered a face-to-face interview. She’d thought she’d had this.
What am I going to do?
The credits in her account wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. For all their wealth, the O’Sheas had been rather stingy with the money they’d given her. They had figured she’d get the job, too—they’d hired the best hacker, after all.
She couldn’t stay here. Aym-Sec had paid the hotel for only one night. She half expected a hail demanding she vacate the premises. A sharp spike of discomfort jabbed inside her skull. She took deep breaths, coasting through the pain until it muted enough to focus.
Even if she stayed in the cheapest lodging and limited meals to one a day, her credits would run out before she could secure a position. How would she live? Where would she go? She didn’t know anybody. Though Terran by race, she’d never lived on Earth. Beth gripped her PerComm. I can’t go crawling back to the satellite. I can’t.
What other choice did she have? The cold terror of an uncertain future outweighed the dread of begging the O’Sheas for more help. Swallowing her pride, she opened a link to the satellite. She waited and waited. According to the readout, the connection had gone through, but they weren’t answering. Her shoulders slumped, and she moved her finger over the disconnect button.
Ping! The vidcomm activated.
She sat up straight.
Georgetta’s image solidified on the screen. “Did you get the job?” Her voice held little interest. Once Georgette and Reuben had asked her to call them Mom and Dad. Then they’d ordered her never to call them that again.
“Um...no. I didn’t,” Beth replied. “Aym-Sec canceled the interview.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Please. Please. She cleared her throat. “I have to check out of the hotel soon.”
Georgetta said nothing.
“I’m sure the setback is temporary, but—”
“No.” Georgetta’s expression tightened. “Before you ask, the answer is no. You can’t return here. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it work, but we did everything we could to help you. You’re on your own.”
The unfairness ignited anger. “Is that what you would have told Liza?”
“Liza was our daughter!”
She was their flesh and blood, too.
“This is what you requested—you begged us to release you,” Georgetta said.
After the couple’s growing resentment had made life unbearable. Not abusive in the traditional sense, they had exhibited little concern for her sensibilities, acting as if she didn’t have feelings, treating her with less respect and care than they did their androids. Of course, by their estimation, the service robos performed t
o expectations. Unlike her. She’d failed in her designated purpose from the onset.
“Our obligation has been fulfilled. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the consequences should you violate your part of the agreement.”
Beth shivered and rubbed the back of her neck. “I won’t say anything.”
“Good. I’m confident everything will work out in time, and you’ll find another position.”
The screen blanked out.
So, this is it. I’m on my own. Her throat ached, but she refused to cry. One of the first things she’d learned about human nature was how quickly guilt melted into resentment. The O’Sheas had created “the problem,” but they’d acted as if she’d caused it.
She shoved off from the bed and gathered her meager possessions. I’d better check out before Aym-Sec voids the reservation, and the hotel charges me for the room.
Tapping into her PerComm she searched for a Public Information Retrieval Center. Her PerComm service plan wasn’t that expensive, but limiting usage would save money. She could tap into public services provided by PIRC to search for a job.
Looked like there was a PIRC eight kilometers away from her location. Close enough to skip public transport and hoof it, although schlepping her big suitcase and her smaller, but still heavy, travel purse wouldn’t make it any fun. However, every credit saved on something she could do without could be spent on necessities like food or shelter.
After checking that she hadn’t left anything behind, Beth tucked her PerComm into her small travel bag and slung it over one shoulder. Grabbing the suitcase, she let herself out of the room.
The vertical transport at the end of hall opened, and two men in dark suits and eye-shading visors exited. “Could you hold the door please?” She hurried as fast as she could with her heavy luggage. On the fifth level of the forty-seven floor hotel, she would hate to miss the transport and wait while it went all the way up to the penthouse and then back down again.
The men glanced at each other and let the doors shut behind them.
“Thanks for nothing,” she muttered.
They headed her way, and she had prepared to scowl at them when they halted and blocked her passage.
The hair on her nape prickled. Why had they stopped? What did they want? She scanned the ceiling for the surveillance orbs. Were the feeds monitored by androids or viewed after a hotel guest had been attacked?
“Ms. O’Shea?” one of the men asked.
Her heart rate rocketed. How did they know her name? “That depends,” she said, wishing she could see their eyes so she could better read their expressions. “Who are you?”
“I’m Morhain, and this is Butler. We’re with Aym-Sec.”
Aym-Sec? The firm had promised to send a vehicle for her, but that was before. The men must not have gotten the message. “The interview has been canceled.”
“We don’t know anything about an interview,” Morhain said. “You’re to come with us.”
Then, why were they here? And why were there two of them? PeeVees didn’t have drivers; the computer operated the vehicle. Why dispatch two people when even one was superfluous?
Her gaze returned to the surveillance orbs. Was anybody watching? What would it take to get their attention? If she screamed her head off, would somebody investigate?
Beth let her heavy suitcase sink to the floor. The bag contained everything she owned, but she couldn’t run with it. Not that the odds of escape appeared in her favor. The two men looked as lethal as the bulges beneath their jackets. Photon blasters, she’d bet.
“Do you have identification?” she asked, buying time. ID didn’t mean squat. She knew better than anybody ID could be faked. Money could buy whatever you wanted—even a human being. The O’Sheas had taught her that.
“Come with us.” Morhain reached for the bag she’d dropped.
She bolted down the corridor. “Help! Help!”
A hand as hard as steel seized her arm.
She swung her travel bag at Morhain’s temple. He grunted and tore the case out of her grasp, tossing it to his partner. She struck at him with her fists, but he captured her wrists and bound her hands with electrocuffs.
Each man grabbed an elbow and hustled her away from the main vertical transport and down a side corridor. Morhain carried her little bag, Butler the larger one. “I’m being kidnapped! Help!” she screamed at the orbs.
“Surveillance of this corridor has been disabled,” Morhain said. “No one can hear or see you. You’re the only occupant on this floor, so you may as well stop screaming.”
“Like I’m going to take a kidnapper’s word for it!” she said but realized he was probably telling the truth. While the hotel lobby and restaurant had been bustling, she hadn’t seen anyone enter or leave the floor since she’d arrived. On the chance he was lying, she continued to scream. “Help! Help me!”
“You’re not being kidnapped,” Butler spoke for the first time.
Then what? Why were they taking her? “Am I being arrested?” They’d said they were with Aym-Sec, but maybe they were police. Had she gotten into trouble with the authorities? Police would have identified themselves—unless they were secret police. She’d heard some planetary governments employed clandestine paramilitary organizations to keep the populace in line. But Terra?
Other than falsify a few documents, she hadn’t committed any crime—and she wasn’t the one who’d arranged for the forging. Could the O’Sheas have turned her in? That would be one way of getting rid of “the problem.” Her fingers went icy as fear spread.
“Aym-Sec doesn’t have arresting authority,” Morhain said.
Employees of a reputable security firm didn’t cuff and kidnap people. They would show their ID first. She went limp and slumped to her knees, refusing to participate in her abduction.
With little break in stride, they shifted her bags, and then Butler grabbed her arms and Morhain her ankles, and they hauled her writhing body onto a housekeeping and freight transport.
In the subterranean garage, they shoved her into the passenger compartment of a nondescript personal vehicle and boxed her in, Morhain on one side, Butler on the other.
“Return to base,” Morhain ordered the PeeVee. Tinted windows darkened to black, and the vehicle accelerated out of the garage.
Chapter Four
Aym-Sec officers Morhain and Butler led Beth into the interrogation room. Her hands were cuffed with electronic restraints, and a security visor had been snapped over her eyes to prevent her from seeing anything she wasn’t supposed to. Her helplessness tugged at him, but Carter hardened his heart. He couldn’t afford sympathy or leniency until he settled the matter of her identity and intent.
She’d changed from the transparent flight suit into black slacks that hugged her legs and ass in a way almost as distracting. A mauve tunic stretched over her chest and nipped at her waist. Gleaming brunette curls framed her delicate face. Lips, bare of cosmetic augmentation, appeared rosy, as if she’d been biting them.
He motioned, and his men deposited her into a chair before leaving. Accessing the processing unit in his brain, he signaled the restraints to release. The instant they relaxed, she tore off the visor. She blinked. “You! Where am I? What’s going on?” She darted her gaze around the naked white room.
“You’re at Aym-Sec.”
“Those men really were with the security firm?” Anger lit up her face, turning pretty to stunning, which his male hormones responded to immediately. Annoyed with himself, he ordered his nanos to halt and reverse his autonomic sexual reaction.
“They scared me to death! This is how you treat job candidates?” She tossed the visor onto the table and rubbed her wrists. “You blindfold and cuff them?”
“You’re no longer a job candidate.” He sat across from her and folded his hands. His facial recognition program conducted another analysis of her features and produced the same conclusion: Liza. Except, Carter the man wasn’t convi
nced. Her expressions weren’t the same; she moved her body more fluidly, her gestures more graceful. If she was Liza, her personality had changed.
Accessing his wireless, he contacted medical.
“Why am I here, then?” she demanded.
“You tell me,” he countered. “Why are you here?” Who are you? Who sent you? Who do you work for?
She scowled. “What game are you playing? If you’re the Aym-Sec director, you know I had an interview with Brock Mann for the logistics coordinator position.”
“Why didn’t you mention at the spaceport you knew who I was?”
“You surprised me! I didn’t make the connection, at first. You approached me, asking about my…my…sister.” The faintest bloom of color tinted her cheeks, so subtle an ordinary human wouldn’t have noticed, but cybervision caught it right away. Interesting. She’d been telling the truth until she mentioned the sister.
He focused on her face. “Who is Liza to you?”
“I told you.” Beth pursed her lips. “She was my twin sister.”
“Try again.”
“I’m done.” She shoved away from the table. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Sit down,” he ordered with the steely edge he reserved for enemy combatants, criminals, and suspects.
“I’m leaving.” She tried to fake courage, but his acute hearing caught the quaver in her voice. She was frightened.
“I said, Sit. Down.” He rose to his feet, adding his superior height and massive bulk to the threat in his tone. She couldn’t leave; the door wouldn’t open for her. The first lesson involved learning he was in charge.
She met his gaze with a glare, holding it for a long moment then dropped back into the chair. “Why are you doing this?”
“Tell me who you are.”
“I’m Beth O’Shea!”
“Beth is short for…”
“Elizabeth!”
“Liza was your sister, you say.” He scrutinized her, watching for tells indicative of falsehood: fidgeting, brushing her clothing, licking or biting those plump pink lips, shrugging as if she disbelieved her own words.
