“Then I hope it’s the first thing you teach me how to cook.” The house’s kitchen looked significantly less intimidating than the one in the residence hotel’s restaurant.
Derrit grinned. “You got it.” He brought a pitcher of red fizz from the cold box, then slid into his chair. He picked up his fork, then put it down again and looked to his mother. “Can I ask him now?”
Imara nodded.
Derrit turned to Lièrén. “We’re going to be a family, right?”
Warmth flooded from the center of Lièrén’s heart as he looked at Imara’s shining face, then Derrit’s. “It’s what I want more than anything.”
“So I can’t call you Tatay, because that was my dad, but could I call you Shúfù Lièrén?” Doubt crossed his face. “Did I say ‘Uncle’ right? I’m trying to learn Mandarin, but I’m always messing up the accent.”
Lièrén nodded. “You said it exactly right, and I would be deeply honored.”
“Good, then let’s eat before it gets cold.” Derrit cut a slice of sausage and popped it into his mouth.
Imara laughed. “We’d better do as the chef says. I’ve heard he’s very temperamental.”
Lièrén smiled at Derrit. “Quite right. It always pays to be on the chef’s good side.”
Derrit nodded happily.
Lièrén took a deep, steadying breath. “I hope I say this often enough in the future, but in case I don’t, please know that I love you both very much.” He caught and held Imara’s gaze. Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears, and he felt answering tears of his own.
“Hey, no kissing until after lunch,” said Derrit.
Lièrén took Imara’s hand in his and stood, pulling her up and into his arms. “In this case, I must respectfully ignore the chef’s wishes.”
He kissed her lightly and lowered his containment to share all the promise and hope that was in his heart. She wrapped her talents around his, and he was home.
At long last, he was home.
EPILOGUE
*Interstellar: “Nakṣatra” * GDAT 3239.089 *
Jane Pennington-Smythe glanced at the control panel of the officer’s quarters that had been loaned to her for the trip to New Kulam. The display said the next meal period would begin in twenty minutes, which would be long enough for her to finish the last of today’s administrative tasks and still give her time to dress for dinner. It wasn’t strictly necessary, as neither the Space Div ship’s commodore nor captain would be present, but standards were important.
The latest communication packet had brought three new memos. The first was from the CPS External Relations Division, reporting the routine transfer of the CPS diplomatic legation on Abasarran from Wazner to former agent Sòng. She fired off a quick response, thanking them for the notice and reminding them that Sòng would not be eligible to return to the Covert Operations Division. It was too bad he'd been permanently disabled, because he’d had useful minder talents and an exemplary record before his accident, but his diminished capacity and his involvement, however blameless, with the corrupt field unit had sealed his fate. She was still receiving media requests for information. Parking him off the net and isolated on an out-of-the-way frontier planet would be best for everyone.
The second memo was one she’d been expecting, since it had been her idea. She was gratified that CPS High Command was commending the employees for their hard work and dedication to the Service, considering the number of days that less-than-complimentary stories about the CPS had dominated the galactic newstrends. Morale was almost as important as procedure in effective operations.
She was equally gratified that Command had adopted her recommendation to direct all CPS field offices and units to report on the presence, activities, and membership of Minder Corps veterans and support organizations. It was better to work with the organizations, not make enemies of them, if the CPS hoped to monitor what potentially powerful minders were doing after leaving the CPS. For example, the routine reports from the minder clinics on the activities of their Minder Corps patients hadn’t been at all useful in predicting the unexpectedly high participation in the recent TSAC marches on Concordance Prime.
The last memo, multi-factor encrypted and with a one-view self-destruct, wasn’t at all what she was expecting. The CPS Statistics Division had detected indicators of the resurgence of a dangerous urban meme after an eight-year absence. Trusted staff members, such as herself, were ordered to covertly report the appearance of the name “Ayorinn,” especially if connected to the root concepts “forecast” or “legacy.” The CPS hoped to intervene earlier than last time, and stop it before the contagion spread.
She entered the sequence to destroy the memo and its virtual trail, then allowed herself a minute to contemplate the bad news. She’d started out in the Statistics Division before moving into Covert Operations, and she hadn’t needed a minder talent to love data and analysis. Some people were more susceptible to memes than others, of course, but the Ayorinn Legacy meme seemed to have wider demographic appeal than most. The first occurrence twenty-five years before had resulted in significant unrest and turmoil, but only on one planet, and had been easy to eradicate. Or so the CPS had thought.
Instead, it had gone underground and spread, like a hidden cancer, to hundreds of civilized planets. Twice since, the pernicious meme had resurged and had required mobilization of Jumpers and Minder Corps teke platoons to quell the resulting troubles on multiple planets. It was good that the CPS was learning from its past mistakes of dismissing the meme as inconsequential.
CPS upper echelons had a tendancy toward complacency, which she knew all too well, since her job for the last ten years had been to clean up messes that could have easily been averted had the managers been paying attention. It was frustrating to have to fix the same mistakes over and over again.
An insistent chime from the control panel reminded her of the time, and that dinner would be served soon. The military was fond of its regimented schedule, and while she understood the need for it, it was irritating. While the CPS was considered military, they weren’t bound by all military rules. The CPS’s mission was keeping galactic security and peace, by whatever means necessary. The Covert Operations Division preferred discretion and timing, subtleties that often escaped regular military personnel. Fortunately, she would soon be moving to a new assignment to manage special projects.
Nothng like a good challenge to keep the career interesting. If she did well, she'd be well positioned for a step up into CPS upper echelons herself. If so, she'd make it her personal goal to shake some of the complacency out of the CPS. If they didn't wake up, she didn't need a forecaster to tell her that they'd all soon be living in interesting times.
###
ABOUT THE BOOK
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. This is the second in the Central Galactic Concordance series, and more are coming. If you haven’t already, you might want to read Overload Flux, the first book, and Zero Flux, the sequel novella, because some of those characters will make an appearance in the upcoming Book 3, Pico’s Crush.
I have a favor to ask: Please post a review of this book at your favorite ebook retailer. Even if it’s short and sweet, it really helps. For authors like me, reviews are what get our books noticed and read by others.
For news of upcoming releases, please sign up for my occasional newsletter at http://bit.ly/CVN-news. I promise not to send photos of my cats or vacations (unless it’s somewhere off-planet).
I’d love to know what you think about the story, and what you’d like to see in the future books. You can visit my website and blog at the cleverly named Author.CarolVanNatta.com and comment or drop me a line, or connect with me on Facebook at CarolVanNattaAuthor.
I owe thanks to my friends and brave beta readers T3, Jill, Meredith, Ann, and Roger, who kindly pointed out ways to improve the story I wanted to tell. I am also grateful for the professional editing services provided by Shelley Holloway of Holloway House, and a brilliant cover by
illustrator Stephen Bryant of SRB Productions.
In case you want to know something about me... I share my home in Fort Collins, Colorado with a sometime-mad scientist and various cats. Any violations of the laws of physics in my books are the fault of the cats, not the mad scientist.
OTHER WORKS – Available from your favorite ebook retailer
Overload Flux (A Central Galactic Concordance Novel) – Book 1
Minder Rising (Central Galactic Concordance Book 2) – This book
Zero Flux (A Central Galactic Concordance Novella) – Sequel to Book 1
Pico’s Crush (Central Galactic Concordance Book 3) – coming Winter 2015
If you’d like to read something completely different, look for Hooray for Holopticon, a retro science-fiction comedy, co-written with Ann Harbour. Trust me, it’s nothing like Overload Flux or Minder Rising, but it’s a fine, silly romp. Hooray for Holopticon is available in e-book and print.
BONUS: Keep reading for an excerpt from Overload Flux, the first in the Central Galactic Concordance series.
EXCERPT FROM OVERLOAD FLUX
* * * * *
DESCRIPTION
Stability has reigned throughout the Central Galactic Concordance for two hundred years, but trouble is brewing. A new pandemic is affecting hundreds of civilized planets, and someone is stealing the vaccine...
Brilliant crime scene investigator Luka Foxe has a problem. His hidden mental talent is out of control, making him barely able to function in the aftermath of violence, and the body count is rising. The convoluted trail leads to a corrupt pharma industry and the possibility of an illegal planet-sized laboratory. Faced with increasing threats, Luka must rely on an enigmatic, lethal woman he just met, but she has enough secrets to drag a ship down from orbit.
Mairwen Morganthur hides extraordinary skills under the guise of a dull night-shift guard. The last thing she wants is to provide personal security for a hot-shot investigator, or to be plunged into a murky case involving deaths, murderous mercenaries, sabotage, treachery, and the military covert operations division that would love to discover she’s still alive.
Two more lives in a rising death count won’t bother their enemies one bit. Their only hope for survival is revealing their dark secrets and, much harder, learning to trust one another.
* * * * *
* Planet: Rekoria * GDAT 3237.026 *
Their footsteps echoed in an empty corridor of Rekoria’s planetary spaceport. Mairwen caught herself touching the outside of her coat pocket that held the wirekey, and ruthlessly controlled herself to keep her uneasiness at bay. Though neither man she accompanied down the tall, wide corridor had said so, she had the feeling they didn’t want to be discovered doing whatever it was they were about to do.
Motion-sensor lighting triggered as they approached each segment. At ninety-four minutes before midnight, the noisy passenger area of the spaceport had been as busy as ever, but the commercial shipping section where they now walked was deserted. Trending galactic headlines and bright vids flashed silently on the continuous overhead displays along the corridors, creating constantly changing lights and shadows. It could have been worse; in the passenger section, the animated displays took up entire walls.
She walked two paces behind the two men, like any average, incurious security guard, and kept her expression blank. Her company uniform and long topcoat passed as conservative corporate wear at a casual glance. As long as no one noticed her heavy boots, she wasn’t likely to draw unwanted attention to their group.
Personal security detail wasn’t her usual assignment. While she did usually work nights, it was mostly as a solo guard or security systems monitor at large industrial complexes in marginal sections of town. This was supposed to be her night off.
She hoped the only reason she’d been chosen for tonight’s activities was because she was a name on a La Plata Security Division “night-shift available” list of dozens, and not because she’d stood out in some way. She’d been careful to stay unremarkable. This was the first time in months she’d allowed herself to open her extraordinary senses even a little, noting and cataloging the distant sounds of automation and the stale scents of people. She shouldn’t be doing it now, but the increasing tension of the two men she was accompanying was contagious.
The older man, Velasco, about her height, was entertained by the flashy wall displays in a variety of languages, and softly repeated the words that caught his attention. He again switched the padded strap of the large forensic kit he was carrying to his other shoulder. Lukasz Foxe, taller than Velasco by a dozen centimeters, stood straighter and carried two bags slung over his right shoulder, a smaller hardcase and a larger curved bag, and had a winter greatcoat over his left arm. He was leaner and clearly in better shape than Velasco. So far, Foxe hadn’t said much.
When she’d received her orders from dispatch to check out a company vehicle, pick up the wirekey and a forensic kit for Foxe from the office, then pick up Velasco from a restaurant and take him to the spaceport—she had assumed she would then remain with the company vehicle while Velasco did… whatever it was he was here to do. Instead, for reasons unknown to her, Velasco had told her to come with him to collect Foxe from the gate of an incoming interstellar ship. The need for her presence certainly wasn’t for her company or conversation, because once they’d entered the brightly lit spaceport, Velasco had all but ignored her. She was relieved. From what she remembered from meeting him once at a company event, he had nothing worth saying.
She’d never met Foxe before tonight. Dispatch’s orders had included his company photo, which didn’t do him justice. Even though he was obviously tired, he was handsome, with light brown skin and wide, angular cheekbones, and wore his casual business clothes with more style than Velasco’s ultra-trendy but unflattering suit.
She was already familiar with Lukasz Foxe’s name. She’d memorized most of the Investigation Division’s investigator names and titles so she’d know whom to avoid. She didn’t want the possible attention that came from being in the orbit of a blue-hot company star. She didn’t know what a High Court-certified forensic reconstruction specialist did, but she had the feeling she was about to find out.
She hadn’t quite figured out what Velasco’s role was. From something he’d said in the first burst of jabbering he’d subjected her to as she drove him to the spaceport, he was with the Security Division of La Plata, but assigned to Investigation. She’d mostly tuned him out for the rest of the trip, choosing instead to focus on traffic, which wasn’t well automated, especially at night. Etonver city drivers were allowed to disable vehicle autopilots, and mostly did, making for bad ground traffic, twenty-five hours a day.
The spaceport corridor split, and they turned toward the section with commercial interior warehouses. When they rounded a corner to the left, Velasco pointed halfway down the hall to a large cargo bay door of opaque flexglass. The logo said “Centaurus Transport” in huge letters. A smaller, human-sized door farther down to the left had the same logo. The two men stopped in front of the bay entryway, and Foxe looked to Velasco.
“Anything from the Port Police?”
One of the benefits of working for a security company was official access codes for police bands. Foxe’s first order after arriving had been to tell Velasco to monitor the frequency from his percomp. It had been Mairwen’s first clue they were expecting trouble.
Velasco activated the company-issued percomp he wore strapped to his wrist. It was a more recent model than hers; night shift tended to get refurbished leftovers. Tech Division had been nagging her to surrender her clunky hardware for an update.
“Nothing,” Velasco said after a moment. Mairwen got the impression he hadn’t been paying attention to it until asked. Fortunately, his assessment was accurate. Even though she hadn’t been ordered to do so, she’d been monitoring the same frequency via live audio sent to the earwire adhered to her jawline, and had heard only two routine communications in the last eleven minutes.
>
Mairwen was becoming increasingly resentful at being kept off the net as far as what she was being dragged into. She had no idea why investigators from her company were going to the warehouse office or what they expected to find, other than something that would need a forensic kit. Meaning it was more than a simple slice by interstellar jackers or some ground-based theft crew. But she couldn’t ask without drawing unwanted attention to herself, so she stayed quiet. It was one of the few times she’d ever wished she was a telepath. Most telepaths she’d ever met were under the thumb of the Citizen Protection Service, and she knew the steep price of that all too well.
The door frames of the transport company entryways had visible security monitoring devices in the form of flat camera eyes that looked glossy and new. She angled herself away from them, not knowing their peripheral range. If they were like the industrial versions she was familiar with, they’d only be triggered when the doors opened, but better safe than sorry. She considered whether or not a simple security guard would notice the cameras or think to point them out. Probably not, she decided.
Foxe checked the elegant, transparent percomp he wore on the back of his hand. “Still no pings.”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, making it look even more unruly than it already did.
“Let’s go in.” He didn’t look happy to be there. Mairwen sympathized.
Velasco held out his hand toward her expectantly, and Mairwen slipped the wirekey from her pocket and gave it to him. As he fumbled with the lock on the smaller door, she took a couple of steps back from both men and the camera eyes, toward the center of the corridor. She opened her senses wider to check that they were still alone.
Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2 Page 24
