by Cara Bristol
Was Illumina singing in Faria?
Dale bolted out of his seat and flung open the door. The passage was vacant.
Chapter Seven
Hold for the monthly reports, Charlie said.
One by one, status updates pinged into Dale’s head: the financials, shop safety stats, the production rotation, the spacecraft-delivery schedule, and personnel reports.
Got ’em. He opened and scanned the delivery document. Yep, Baby was on it, slated for Xenia in nine Terran solar days. Rather than send a pilot to deliver her, he would fly her himself so he could negotiate with the emperor for more ZX7Ms. Now that the bugs had been worked out, the manufacture of future ships ought to be smooth sailing.
I know you’ll go through the reports on your own, but I’ll highlight a few items.
His assistant was so efficient. Dale’s cyberbrain processed data quickly, but he relied on the human part to make judgments about that information. Charlie saved him time by handling a lot of the minor details himself.
Charlie continued, You’ll be pleased to note we have a delivery date for the ZX7M.
Saw that. I’m thrilled. I assume my schedule is open?
I cleared it.
Good job. Thank you. Once he’d feared Baby would never be ready to leave the nest. If not for Illumina, she likely wouldn’t have.
Forget her.
Come again? Charlie asked.
Crap. He’d transmitted the thought to Charlie’s computer. Nothing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Anyway, I also wanted to bring to your attention the employee leave report. The next staff shuttle departs next week.
Okay… His focus more on high level matters, he didn’t concern himself with R&R requests. He scanned the monthly summaries, but supervisors coordinated staffing in their respective areas. The only employees he had to manage were his direct reports: the supervisors and Charlie.
I put myself on the shuttle, pending your approval.
Already? He frowned. He didn’t begrudge Moonbeam workers time off, but routines had only returned to normal since Charlie’s last R&R. You just came back from leave, didn’t you? Three weeks and two days ago, his cyberbrain noted. The same day he’d interviewed Illumina, his human mind recalled. Dammit. He had to stop associating everything with her. Had to cease watching for a glimpse of her through the window. Quit letting her invade his thoughts. They’d slept together once. Done. Finished.
So why did he keep hoping she’d revisit the observatory? In granting her access, he’d also programmed the computer to notify him if she used the descender. She hadn’t been back since that night. They hadn’t spoken in the week since she’d slammed the lid on any future intimate encounters. Either she was avoiding him or she was damn lucky.
I think I mentioned my meemaw isn’t doing well. She’s been on my mind, and, well, I need to visit her. Just in case.
He remembered Charlie mentioning his grandmother had been ill. With Baby’s delivery coming up, the timing was bad, but what could he do? Of course you have to go. Crap.
Thank you.
I assume Andrew will fill in again?
Not this time. He’s on the shuttle, too. Regular R&R.
Andrew was no Charlie, but at least he was familiar with the routines.
I’ll find you a good temp. Don’t worry, Charlie said.
Charlie. Andrew. Dale opened the shuttle report to see who else was on the list he should know about. Giorgio. His chief test pilot. Jokester and hell-raiser. He crossed his fingers the pilot had learned his lesson after his last R&R when he’d spent most of his vacation in an alien jail after an altercation at a space casino. He continued perusing the list. Besides names, the report included the reason for the leave, such as a family emergency like Charlie’s, employee illness, R&R like Giorgio’s or—
Final separation. One name listed. Illumina Smith. He reeled like he’d been punched. She was quitting?
Why? Because they’d slept together and she found it uncomfortable to work for him? Or because he’d cranked up the awkwardness by downgrading her security clearance and ordering March to remove her from sensitive projects? He didn’t think she’d vandalize anything, but he couldn’t risk it. Her background was a tangled web of mystery and lies complicated by their indiscretion, and, until he could determine her trustworthiness, she had no business working on top secret projects. He’d been negligent to allow it.
So she was sneaking away. She hadn’t had the balls to tell him to his face.
He’d never see her again.
Man, he was fucked up. She was an employee, nothing more. They’d had the proverbial one-night stand. No ties. No commitments. No promises. No morning afters. It was better for both of them that she left. He should be relieved. He wouldn’t have to worry about possible sabotage or wonder what he would say if he ran into her. And he could stop hoping he would.
Boss! Are you there?
I’m here, he replied. Sorry. What did you say?
I said, I may not need to be gone long. If things get harried, and you can send a special charter for me, I might be able to return sooner.
Without another word, any warning, she had quit! Where would she go? Did she have another job lined up? He didn’t even know her real name. He clenched his fists.
Boss?
Uh, set up whatever you want. I’ll approve it.
All right. I’ll keep you posted.
The second the transmission disconnected, he shot out the door. Halfway down the stairs, common sense righted itself. What the hell was he doing? He would confront her and do what? Demand an explanation? Ask her to stay? Let her tell him to his face again that sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of her life? Because hearing it was so pleasant the first time.
Let her go. The departure was best for both of them. He was too obsessed with her, and she was uninterested in him. He stomped to his office.
* * * *
Sweat stung his eyes as Dale pummeled the punching bag, striking hard and fast. Gloves diffused the impact, but each blow registered as a satisfying thud against his knuckles. In the wee morning hours, the employee gym was deserted. He could work out frustrations without an audience.
He’d landed another powerful blow that caused the bag to sway when his cyberbrain signaled him he had an incoming hail from Brock Mann, a former Cy-Ops teammate. He delivered another punch before tugging off his gloves and opening a channel.
Hey, he greeted his buddy.
I hope I didn’t wake you. I was going to leave you a message.
Nah. I’m awake all hours these days. What did you find out? He wiped his face with a towel and tried to pretend his heart thudded from exertion and not because of what Brock might tell him.
As you suspected, Illumina Smith is a complete fiction. There is no record of anyone with that name being born on any planet. The Terran Cyberscience Institute and Infinity Corporation were hacked, the records of her enrollment and employment planted.
Of all the cyborgs, his former teammate had the most advanced computer brain. If Brock couldn’t crack a code or hack into a computer, it couldn’t be done. You’re sure? He had to ask anyway.
I even searched by first name alone. Turns out it’s unique. There isn’t a single female in the entire galaxy with that name.
Not even Illumina herself since the name was an alias. His gut knotted. It was stupid to feel betrayed. He’d needed to cover all bases, but he’d had a good idea of the outcome when he’d asked Brock to investigate. Well, thanks anyway. Anything on the music?
He had converted the melody from the stairwell to light impulses and transmitted the data to Brock.
I have something for you there. It’s not music. It’s a Farian name.
His heart thudded against his ribs. And?
Faria isn’t translatable into Terran or any language, but luminous spirit would be kind of close.
Nanocytes buzzed. Illumina kind of means light.
Sounds about right.
T
he relief…elation…that pumped through him was irrational. So, she kind of told the truth one time. Big deal. Everything out of her mouth couldn’t be false. The question was what to do with the information?
Nothing. She had tendered her resignation. She still wasn’t interested in him. Was leaving him.
Thanks. I owe you one.
I have more info for you. Your Illumina—
She’s not my Illumina. He had to keep his head straight. Knowing her name didn’t change anything.
All right. This person with the musical name is divorced from her lifemate. According to Farian records, an intruder broke into their residence and attacked her while her husband was away.
So her ex hadn’t assaulted her at all. There you go. Another lie. When she told the truth, it was purely by accident.
However, Brock continued, I found an anomaly, some trace data that didn’t fit with the official record, so I dug deeper and managed to recover a good portion of deleted code. The official record had been altered. In the early reports, her husband was implicated in the attack.
Jesus, Buddha, Lao-Tzu. She hadn’t lied. So he got an official to falsify records?
I’m thinking he did it himself. Her ex is a moderately talented computer sensate.
What’s that?
Basically, he has the computer capabilities of a cyborg, but without the hardwiring.
Holy shit. Ramifications rushed through his head. No wonder she had fled. If her ex had tried to kill her then expunged the records to exonerate himself, he was probably still looking for her.
A discordant static blast shot through his head, and he flinched. What the fuck is that?
That is the ex-husband’s Farian name. I can’t come up with a translation for that one, but the AOP knows him as Alonio. You can thank Pia for that tidbit. She recognized his stillvid.
Brock’s wife, Penelope Isabella Aaron—Pia—served as Terran’s ambassador to the Association of Planets. The alliance worked toward the betterment of the galaxy, and, since the common enemy Lamis-Odg had become more powerful, had accepted the role of interplanetary police. He’s on the AOP’s most wanted list?
Uh, no. He’s Faria’s AOP ambassador.
Chapter Eight
What next?
Illumina raised her face to the glass dome and studied the glittering sky. So many planets…so few options. Alonio could track her to all of them; Dale would be on none of them. Deceptio had been the safest haven, but she couldn’t stay any longer.
After she’d rejected him, he’d demoted her the very next day. She still held the title and salary of Cyber Tech IV, but the work she’d been given wouldn’t have challenged a Tech Assistant I. March had reassigned her, but Dale obviously had ordered it, making his feelings plain. How stupid to hope he’d approach her. Why should he? She’d only reject him again. She’d made her feelings clear, too.
Or what she needed him to think.
Until tonight she’d avoided the observatory. After all that had happened, it seemed like a violation to sneak back here, and she had assumed he had rescinded her access anyway. But as time ticked, with only a week remaining before she departed Deceptio, she wanted to see Naran one last time. The memories captured in the observatory had nothing to do with returning. To her surprise, the transporter had obeyed her command. She could have hacked in, but wouldn’t have. She’d broken too many rules already.
Illumina rubbed her hands down her arms and shifted her gaze from the orange and purple planet to the bench where the beginning of the end had played out. Perhaps she’d overreacted. How could she expect to engage in sexual intercourse and not have him touch the scars? She hadn’t expected any intimacy, physical or otherwise, so she’d been unprepared for the flood of emotion. Unable to revisit her painful loss or bear his pity, she’d pushed him away. What if she hadn’t run? Would they have had sex again? Would it have become a regular occurrence?
Whooooosh. The descender whirred. The remnants of her wings twitched with an urge to take flight, but she clung to courage with resolve. The remainder of her predictably short existence would be spent on the run, but tonight she would stand her ground.
She closed the dome and switched on the lights. There would be no hiding in the dark either.
No seduction under starlight.
Yeah, like that would happen.
The transport doors slid open, and Dale stepped out. Hair endings quivered. Stomach tumbled.
He stood there silently, but the muscle twitching in his jaw said volumes. So did his clenched fists. Tension stretched like a band that could snap at any second. Say something! She wiped damp palms on her trousers. Any discussion would be pointless and wouldn’t resolve anything. So much for the confrontation. Coward! Head down, she fled for the transporter. How quickly resolutions crumbled in his presence.
“You don’t need to leave.” His voice grated.
She stared at the doors, not at him. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“I meant Deceptio, not the observatory, but that, too.”
“It’s for the best.”
“Where will you go? Do you have another job?”
“How could I? Your rules prohibit employees from accessing communication channels.” She could have circumvented the block and contacted prospective employers, but the last thing she wanted was to cause a breach in Deceptio’s security. And she didn’t care about another job. “I’ll find something.”
He barred the escape route. “I spoke to March. I had your duties reinstated.”
How big of him! The force of her fury spun her around. “You felt rejected so you demoted me. Now, I’m supposed to what—be grateful you developed a conscience and opted not to abuse your authority—or is your magnanimous gesture your attempt at seduction?”
“No! That’s not it. You’re a damn good programmer.”
“So you say.”
“I know so.”
“So I’m a good programmer, and you weren’t seeking revenge. So why demote me?” The answer wouldn’t change her decision, but it would be nice to know.
He looked uncomfortable. “Moonbeam’s projects are sensitive. You had falsified your CV, and after what happened between us, I couldn’t risk the possibility of sabotage.”
She flinched. Her skin heated, and she feared that guilt glowed in her face like the luminosity suppressor had failed. She had tinkered with programs without authorization—had tweaked Deceptio’s software to shore up security—but not out of malice. Would he understand? How could he unless she explained—and that she couldn’t do.
Even if he believed her, staying posed too much of a risk. It would be only a matter of time before she succumbed to further intimacies, and that would lead to disaster.
She dropped her gaze. “I would never sabotage your shop.” She moved to go around him.
“I know your ex-husband is an AOP ambassador.”
His words knocked the wind from her lungs.
“That he expunged the records after he attacked you.”
Her feet froze to the ground. Dale touched her arm. “He’s searching for you, isn’t he?”
Lies would not serve her now. “Yes,” she admitted in a whisper, and then said more strongly, “That’s why I must leave.”
“That’s why you need to stay. I can protect you.”
He had no idea of the danger. Alonio was no ordinary Faria. Her chest ached. “My presence will draw him here. He always finds me.”
“Because he’s a computer sensate?”
“You know that, too?” She clutched at her throat. If Dale had learned so much, she hadn’t covered her tracks very well, and it would be a cinch for Alonio to find her. He could be orbiting Deceptio right now, watching for an opportunity to enter. Tears welled in her eyes. It would never end, never! She stumbled to a bench and slumped onto it.
Dale sat beside her. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t. He has more power than you know.”
“Because he’s politically connected?�
� He snorted. “I have friends, too. Inside and outside of the Association of Planets. If you’re thinking the alliance will take his side, I promise you that’s not the case.”
Illumina took a deep breath, and, in Faria, spoke Alonio’s sacred autonym. To a non-Farian ear, it probably sounded like a staticky metal-on-metal warble.
He grimaced and rubbed his temple as if suffering a headache. “Why don’t we avoid mentioning him by proper name.”
No one but Faria knew sacred names. Maybe Dale did have powerful connections. “Do you understand what it means?”
“Asshole?” he guessed.
She couldn’t help it, she giggled. Such mockery would infuriate Alonio. Amusement evaporated. Once, she’d laughed at a small faux pas he’d made and paid the price many times over. “It means”—she scrambled for a Terran translation that came closest—“thunder saber.”
“Thunder saber?”
“He can absorb and harness energy.” She held up her wrists then rubbed the right with the left.
“He shoots lasers out of his wrist?”
“He can transform his forearm into a sword.”
Dale’s expression turned grim. “That’s how he cut off your wings, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have the ability to transform yourself?”
“No. Very, very few Faria do. It’s a rare gene, and one that doesn’t express itself until adulthood. I didn’t learn Alonio had that ability until after we were bonded. If I stay here, he’ll attack. My presence endangers you and your employees.”
He regarded her with an assessing gaze. “You and he share one thing in common. You’re a computer sensate, too, aren’t you?”
Her jaw dropped.
“That’s how you fixed Baby,” he said.
She swallowed. “Yes. My gift is…um…quite advanced. It was the only reason I could stay a step ahead of him, but with his moderate ability and political connections, he’s been able to find me.”
Dale slapped his knees. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First, to put your mind at rest, let me assure you that Alonio is no threat to me. I’m a cyborg. Keeping people safe is what I do. He might succeed in drawing a little blood, but I’ll wipe up the mess with his ass. Second, while I doubt he can gain access to Deceptio, as a precaution, I’ll amp up security.”
