“Most things can.”
“Then what’s our chance of getting through this alive?”
“For you… I calculate your chance of survival at sixty-seven percent.”
But not herself. “What about yours?”
Charlotte swallowed and selected another chocolate. “Mine… less than five percent.”
That low? What was Charlotte not telling her? “Uh-huh. And why is my chance of survival different to yours? Why is yours much lower?”
“Angel… it’s—”
“Why, Charlotte?”
“Because I don’t want to be imprisoned again. I’d rather kill myself. You would survive if caught. If the Inquisitors find you first, then you’ll be put on trial. Who knows what would come out then. Most likely, you’ll be found guilty—”
Great.
“—but in the end, you’ll live. Insanity would be a good defense.”
“I’m not lying.”
Charlotte shot her a look of sadness. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. If the Genevolves find you first, though… you’ll be tortured and killed.”
“Then we’d best make sure they don’t.” Angel was torn between wanting to find the Genevolves and shutting down Mercurial’s plans. She hated the way Mercurial had corrupted some of the Inquisitors, but ultimately perhaps the Genevolves and their plots were more important. Their conspiracy had the potential to be a huge threat to humanity. If there could be another devastating war with the Genevolves, then corporate villainy was a low priority. Finding the truth and protecting people—the way she couldn’t uncover the truth and protect her siblings when she was young—mattered a great deal to her. Perhaps more than anything. And then there was also clearing her name. Though it was a painful reminder of the past, her reputation was linked to it.
“Clear my name, then I’ll help you however you want. I’ll be in a better position to do so then, anyway. The Inquisitors—”
“Are powerless. Hamstrung by corruption within. The Genevolves have long and moneyed tentacles.”
“Not everyone can be bought. There are good men and women. Margith, for one.”
“Everyone has a price. A pressure point. If not money, then something else. Family. A secret.”
“Everyone may, but only a few Inquisitors are… have to be compromised.”
“How do you know that?”
“It makes sense. Why go after hundreds when only a few will do the job you need? Don’t you understand? I have to clear my name. This is important to me. My name is… all I have.”
Charlotte sighed. “All right. The risk is… never mind. I can’t see how we can do this, though. The Genevolves obliterated any evidence at Mercurial we could use. They’re covering their tracks well.”
“So far, we’ve only run into one Genevolve, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So we can assume she’s the only one chasing us. Unless we disappear, and she calls more in.”
“There’s a high probability she’s already recruited some help. Whether other Genevolves or not is incalculable.”
“What’s the probability she’s the one who blew up Mercurial Logic’s headquarters?”
“High. Range in the nineties.”
She needed more evidence from Mikal’s bug aboard the Genevolve ship. But unless it was in range, it was impossible.
Angel spoke cautiously. “Then we need to capture her. Either her ship or her implants will have the evidence we need.”
A flash of fear was quickly replaced by calculation. “Actually,” said Charlotte dryly, “this might fit into my plans. We could lure her in.” There was a long pause. “Yes. This just might work.”
“What exactly are your plans?” asked Angel, both curious and dreading the answer.
“I want the first thing any freethinking animal does: I want to survive.”
•
Sercan Orbital sat just above the asteroid belt around Skarsgard, a white sub-giant star. Situated far enough out to be inhospitable to life, there was no reason to locate an orbital out here. Except a few hundred years ago there was an immense spaceship battle among the asteroids. Mainly over resources, as the system was unusually rich in heavy elements, and it happened to be located at an intersection of self-proclaimed areas of ownership of large corporations at the time.
According to history, hardly any humans were killed during the battle, which was conducted mostly by primitive Advanced Intelligences piloting battleships and other smaller classes of war craft. What they did leave behind were scraps of spaceships—some kilometers long—floating among the asteroids. The corporations abandoned them as unsalvageable. But to enterprising prospectors, they were a gold mine. What was a curiosity from a dark time in human history turned into a way of making a living for innovative thinkers who “mined” the detritus for saleable scraps: old technology, sometimes functioning—parts, weapons, shields, drives, and fusion generators—leftover bits and pieces from a less enlightened time. A trading post was set up. Small at first, it nevertheless grew as more and more prospectors came to try their luck. As it expanded, a number of less salubrious traders arrived, selling and buying anything under the suns.
The orbital had started out as a supply station for the prospectors and traders. The owner, as part of a joke, had built the original supply station around one of the asteroids, which was pure diamond—worthless these days, but a curiosity. Since then it had grown, layered, and developed into a trading hub. If you wanted to buy something, if you had something to sell, and couldn’t do either on your home planet, Sercan was the place to go.
Angel looked at the box Charlotte had emerged from. To her eyes, it lacked the intrigue it once had, the promise of mystery. But perhaps that was her imagination.
“Is the tracking device working?”
“For the third time, yes,” replied Charlotte.
“Good. Then let’s get going.” Angel triggered the ship’s cargo loaders.
She rechecked her hand-cannon as Charlotte’s box swung through the air, admitting to herself she was nervous. If someone here recognized her, they’d probably have to shoot their way out. The reward posted on her head was enough to make anyone take the chance, even if they were looking down the barrel of her hand-cannon.
Earlier, she’d chosen her wardrobe to conceal her features. A midnight blue scarf covered her hair, leaving her face exposed. Large tinted goggles masked her eyes, the kind usually worn by colonists on worlds with bright suns. Her retinal implants compensated for the low light, so her vision was perfect. In fact, it was slightly better than normal. Once the swelling and pain had subsided, everything was crisper, clearer. And she found she could see with clarity at a longer distance. She was uncomfortable with this, but at the same time, something else swelled within her. It took her a moment to identify what it was. Pride. What Charlotte had been able to do—fix her ruined eyes—was unheard of. Her technology could benefit so many, and be extrapolated to other techniques. What would she be capable of, if given full rein?
The box clunked into place on a motorized, wheeled tray. Angel shivered.
“Ready, Angel?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Charlotte was dressed in a tight mesh top and a short skirt, with long socks. She was also wearing sparkling silver platform shoes that added a good six centimeters to her height. Angel frowned. She was far too young to be wearing revealing clothing like that. Still, she wasn’t really a girl, was she? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about it bothered her.
“Charlotte,” Angel said, “please change into something less conspicuous.”
Charlotte frowned. “Are you taking away my free will and agency?”
Smart-ass. “No. If we draw attention, it’ll compromise the mission. We’re laying a trap. If we’re too obvious, she’ll know it’s one.” There was no need to state who “she” was.
For a moment, Angel thought Charlotte was going to continue arguing with her. Then Charlotte nodded and made her
way to her cabin. Angel let out a sigh of relief.
It wasn’t long before Charlotte rejoined her, this time dressed in casual pants and a shirt.
The box followed them faithfully down the cargo ramp and into the orbital proper. Yellow lights flashed on the sides of the tray, along with a high-pitched beeping, indicating a heavy load that people should avoid. A few passersby gave their cargo curious looks, but none of them stopped to stare. They weren’t an anomaly in Sercan, and the appearance of an unknown ship delivering merchandise was a run-of-the-mill affair. Automated cargo carriers of various sizes scooted around them, and Angel checked her step a few times, though she knew their sensors and servos were advanced enough to avoid other vehicles and pedestrians.
“Here,” Angel said. A trader’s warehouse. Any should do. They didn’t actually need to sell the box, though it would fetch a good price. Cutting-edge corporation technology always did. What they needed was for word to get out. The active tracking device they’d inserted was a precaution, in case the Genevolve stole the box and disappeared, or they lost her somehow.
The four-story warehouse looked almost identical to the ones around it. Flat, machine-polished plates of plascrete made up the walls, and the hangar-like doors looked to be almost bombproof. Two cannon turrets to either side swiveled to track them as they approached.
“Why this one?” asked Charlotte.
“It’s the closest.”
“Oh.”
Angel pressed a green button on the intercom. A few moments later, a thin, wavering voice spoke.
“What is it?”
“We have something—”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. We—”
“Appointments only.”
“Look, we have something—”
“Would you like to make an appointment?”
“No. We have state-of-the-art, cutting-edge, experimental technology from Mercurial Logic Incorporated.”
There was a long pause. “We have an opening now. Please come in.”
The doors cracked apart, and the space between them widened with a droning hum. They wandered toward it, waiting for the gap to open enough for their merchandise to fit through. Light from outside lit the dim interior.
An old man appeared, spectacled and wearing tan pants and a woolen jacket that looked a hundred years old. Fashionable, he was not.
He ran a hand through wispy white hair covering a spotted pate. “Come in, come in.” He waved to them. “I’m Strelmach.”
Angel and Charlotte entered the dingy space and introduced themselves as middleman vendors under assumed names, which they’d agreed to earlier.
The warehouse was crammed with crates and boxes on racks that stretched to the ceiling. Automated forklifts on rails roamed the aisles, depositing and removing loads, all of which came or went through two large holes in a side wall.
“So, lovely ladies, store or trade?”
“Trade,” Angel said.
Strelmach rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Excellent. We don’t get many walk-ins, but they’re usually exciting.”
“I think you’ll find this one suitably exhilarating,” Angel said.
“Here, here,” Strelmach said, gesturing toward a large component analyzer. He squinted at the control panel and ran a hand along the exterior framework.
Angel’s implants directed the cargo loader into the analyzer. Laser lines traced the outside of the box while at the same time it was bombarded with a plethora of examinations—soft X-ray, ultrasound, imaging, neutrino, electrical, and magnetic.
Strelmach wandered over to the machine’s controls, tapping buttons and twiddling dials. It looked older than he did, by a good few hundred years. There was a chittering, and its screen flooded with figures and symbols. He looked them over, peering closer at a few of the sections.
“Oh my!” Strelmach exclaimed, then flashed them an annoyed look he tried to cover quickly. He took off his spectacles and polished the lenses with a kerchief from his coat pocket. He came toward them, placing his spectacles back on his nose and clearing his throat. “I believe you’re mistaken,” he began, holding up the curled paper. “This is an older model, and—”
Angel snorted, loud enough to cut him off. Then she chuckled. “Sorry, Mr. Strelmach, but you’re going to have to do better than that. We know exactly what we have here.” She triggered the cargo loader to roll out of the analyzer. “If you’re not going to deal honestly with us, then we’ll go elsewhere.”
Strelmach scampered over to the box trundling toward the door. He clutched at the loader, which didn’t stop, eventually scuttling in front of it so its collision sensors halted its progress. “Wait, wait!” he almost screeched, voice cracking. He took a breath and wiped his forehead. “A misunderstanding—”
“I’m sure,” replied Angel.
“No need to take this merchandise somewhere else. I’ll give you a good price.”
Charlotte, standing to the side and doing her best to look inconspicuous, shook her head.
“No,” Angel said. “Commission only. A three day pre-auction period.” They’d decided three days was enough time for the Genevolve to hear about the auction and come running.
Strelmach looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Twenty-seven percent commission is industry standard.”
This time, Angel shook her head. “I believe it’s fifteen.”
“Well, aren’t you a smart young miss.”
It had been some time since someone had called Angel young. “Yes.”
Strelmach sighed. “Fifteen percent it is, then.”
His implants and Angel’s exchanged contracts, and after perusing the wording, Angel signed them. Another exchange, and it was settled.
“Done, then.” Strelmach smiled.
“We’ll be on our ship,” said Angel. “We’d like to be notified of every pre-offer.”
“Of course, of course. Now, if you’d just hand the loader over to me, I’ll—”
“We’ll hang on to the merchandise, if you don’t mind.”
Strelmach’s smile slipped. “As you wish. But it’s industry standard procedure for the agent to hold onto the merchandise.”
“Was that specified in the contract?” asked Angel, knowing the answer.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then we’re holding onto it. Let’s go.”
Chapter 14
“Are you all right?” asked Angel as the serving automaton left with their order.
They were seated at a secluded private table overlooking the auction arena. It must have been costly to reserve, but Charlotte had paid without a quibble. The food on the menu was exotic, and the drinks even more so. Their box had generated a lot of buzz around Sercan, and the restaurant overlooking the auction arena was booked out.
Charlotte’s face was pale. “I just need to see her.”
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Please, Angel. She’s willing to kill you, and at the very least imprison me. If she has to, she’ll kill me as well, rather than let me escape again.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” insisted Angel. “We should be out in the asteroid belt, waiting for her to leave.”
“We have time for that.”
Angel sat back in her chair with an annoyed sigh, shaking her head. She’d only agreed to this as she thought she might be able to get her hands on more equipment without Charlotte noticing. A booster for her emergency beacon was high on her list, along with sturdier programs to resist Charlotte infiltrating her implants.
An automaton appeared with their drinks and food. Charlotte had ordered a large glass of what looked like orange juice with pieces of fruit in it. The drink came with a long plastic straw bent into loops. Angel sipped at her bubbling violet concoction, savoring the taste of lychees and grapefruit along with honey and spices imbued in the strong liquor.
The automaton deposited seven different dishes on the table along with an insulated container filled with steam
ing egg noodles. Angel dished for both of them, giving Charlotte a pass on the spiced, raw sea slug.
The girl ate distractedly, keeping her eyes on the auctions in progress. Angel’s ears pricked up when she heard an announcement for the auction of a piece of alien technology. She did a quick search and found it was the three hundred and seventeenth alien artifact to be sold. A scan of the lot revealed it to be a thin membrane sheet. Normally the item wouldn’t be of interest to her, but for some reason it was.
Angel realized she was sharp and ready. Everything was on the line.
They finished eating, and a serving automaton cleaned the dishes from the table. They were on their second drinks when their lot came up.
Seated atop a polished steel loader, it trundled out to the center of the auction arena. At the edges of the area, standing behind barricades, were suited men and women surrounded by lab-coated and overalled technicians. They lugged expensive analysis equipment and waited patiently. A few bidders weren’t the usual corporation types: several representatives of Houses were there, dressed in obscenely expensive fabrics and surrounded by chattering advisors and minions.
Strelmach appeared from a side door and made his way to the middle of the arena. He nodded to the automaton auction master, and a high-pitched beep sounded three times.
“I don’t see her,” Angel said.
“She has to bid. And win. She can’t let that box fall into anyone else’s hands.”
“Maybe she’s using a proxy? She’ll bid and win, then collect the box from a secure location.” Except Angel hadn’t received a ping from her bug in Summer’s ship. If she were close, she should have.
Another chime sounded, and the barriers between the bidders and the merchandise dissolved. Technicians and scientists rushed toward the box, sensors extended in front of them, as if it were a race to be first with their results. They touched and probed, analyzing the box’s technology as best they could from the outside. Auctions like these were a gamble. The bidders wouldn’t truly know what they had in their possession until the object was back in their laboratories and scrutinized, a process which could take months, if not years. Careers had been ruined because someone hadn’t bid on an object that turned out to be a gold mine; and careers had been lost because someone spent too much on something that turned out to be worthless. It was almost a game between the participants: a high-stakes game of chance and calculated guesses, where bids were made according to the analysis as much as on the behavior of the other bidders.
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