Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  Her heart dipped. They didn’t need her then, and it would be jail after all.

  “However,” the director said, “work on the device is going rather slowly. Until it’s functional, I don’t see why you couldn’t join us here in the spaceport. Under proper supervision, of course.”

  “Then you’ll do it?” She tried not to let her hope show in her eyes. “You’ll hire me on?”

  He frowned. “It wouldn’t do to have a streetrat in our employ. Would you be willing to live in a flat provided by the spaceport, in addition to your salary?”

  “I don’t live in the West Quay slums because I love it,” she said, perhaps a bit too tartly.

  Director Quinn simply laughed, however. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Miss Smythe, on behalf of Spaceport Authority, I would like to offer you employment. Help us achieve the stars to the best of our ability, and put your rare skills in the service of the greater cause of humanity.”

  It was a pompous speech, but it stirred her all the same. There was a glint of truth in the director’s eye that touched her, even more than his grand words. Who didn’t dream of the freedom of the galaxy, after all?

  “Tipper comes with me,” she said. After what they’d been through, she couldn’t just abandon him to his fate. “What’s the pay?”

  “Ever practical, aren’t you?” He named a sum that stilled her heart for a moment.

  But only a moment.

  “A week?” she asked, half in jest.

  This time it was Director Quinn’s turn to blink. Then he laughed again.

  “And why not? Do we have an agreement?”

  She pulled in a breath and glanced once more at the spinning arcs and cosines weaving outside the window. The sum she’d named would keep her in grand style. Even better, it would give Tipper, and any other streetrat who wanted out, a ticket to the stars. And herself as well, when she was ready to go.

  Slowly, she gazed up, past the blue, to where the galaxy gleamed and shone. That was her ultimate dream. But working at the spaceport was a long sight better than sleeping in the West Quay gutters, with no way out.

  She extended a grimy hand to the director, and smiled when he again took it without hesitation.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “We surely do.”

  11

  The next hour was spent rather unglamorously in filling out paperwork. The director’s secretary raised one slender eyebrow when Diana signed her name, and she wondered if he was impressed with her penmanship or thought it rather childish.

  Not that she cared what he—or anyone—thought of her. Director Quinn approved, and that was all that mattered.

  Nails took Tipper along with her to fetch them all something to eat and returned with several packets of fish and chips. The oily smell permeated the luxurious suite, but somehow didn’t seem out of place. Diana and Tipper were permitted a few quiet moments alone at a table tucked into a back alcove.

  “What’s next?” Tipper asked, devouring his chips at an alarming rate. “Are they giving you a place to live? When do you start work? What—”

  “Just don’t choke on your food, and I’ll answer everything,” she said. “Yes, I’m getting a flat in one of the buildings the spaceport owns, though I have to pay rent. Don’t look so unhappy, Tip. I can afford it.”

  It was an astonishing phrase, and she repeated it silently in her head a few times, savoring the words. I can afford it.

  Of course, she wasn’t planning on spending her money like it was water. But still, what a glorious feeling.

  “Also,” she continued, “there’s room for you. If you like.”

  He paused, a piece of fish halfway to his mouth. “For true, Di? You’d take me in?”

  “Of course. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t found that tunnel.” Which was probably already filled in, barricaded against any more riffraff finding their way in. “But I do have one condition.” She gave him a stern look. “Regular baths.”

  He blinked at her, then popped the fish in his mouth and chewed noisily.

  “I s’pose I could do that,” he said.

  She leaned forward. “And no more stealing—for either of us. We’re off the streets for good, Tip.”

  “What’ll I do, then?”

  “School?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I know plenty, already.”

  “Then an apprenticeship, maybe. And a tutor, so that you can polish up your reading and writing.” I can afford it. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of that phrase.

  “Maybe I can get work,” he said. “At a fish and chips stand. That’d be fine, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would, indeed.”

  “Miss Smythe,” the director called. “If you’re finished with your supper, we have a few more details to go over.”

  “Here.” She pushed the last of her chips to Tipper. “Stay here. I should be done soon with all this. And then they’ll take us over to our new flat.”

  It was a dizzying thought. Indeed, it had been a dizzying day altogether—and a bit frightening how quickly everything was happening.

  “Here’s your temporary ID badge,” the director said when she rejoined him. He slid a card across the desk to her. “We’ll take a more permanent holo-photo when you’re ready.”

  It was a polite way of saying “when you’ve gotten yourself cleaned up,” but she couldn’t begrudge him. She could do with a clean face and combed hair, and clothing that wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

  “In addition,” he continued, laying a thick envelope on the desk before her, “this contains two keys to your new flat, and an advance on your salary. Perhaps you’d like to do some clothes shopping.”

  Despite the mildness of his tone, it was a clear order. Not that she disagreed. She was no longer Diver, the streetrat, but Miss Diana Smythe. Not quite the young lady of Quality she barely remembered from her past, but there was no denying she’d come up in the world. A much-mended shirt and boy’s trousers simply wouldn’t do.

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the blue-uniformed guard standing at the door. “Is there a certain dress code, sir?”

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “Professional, I’d think. Skirts, but not too wide. No nano-lifters, of course. Long sleeves.”

  “Hair up,” the secretary said from his desk at the front of the room. “No ankles showing.”

  The secretary’s name, she’d learned over the course of the afternoon, was Le. She wasn’t sure if it was his first or last name, however, and was a little afraid to ask. The man clearly disapproved of her.

  “You may have the morning off tomorrow,” Director Quinn said. “Do some shopping, get settled in. Report at one pm to the downstairs lift. Nails will meet you and escort you up.”

  Clearly Diana wasn’t going to be trusted with the codes to the top of the spaceport. Just as well—if anything ever happened, she couldn’t be blamed.

  He beckoned the security guard over. “Speaking of escorts, Nails will take you through the back gate now, and up to Queensway—the neighborhood where your flat is located. It’s furnished. Apartment 54, I believe, in the Queensway Tower.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, picking up the envelope. It was thick with bills, the metal lumps of the keys bumpy beneath her fingers.

  Tipper jumped up from the table and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

  “Right then,” he said, his eyes bright. He made a low, extravagant bow to the director.

  Nails let out a snort, either of disapproval or laughter. Maybe both. It was clear to Diana that the guard was trying hard not to be taken with Tipper, but for all his flaws, he was a sweet boy.

  “Come on, you two,” Nails said, jerking her head toward the silver doors of the lift.

  Tip scampered ahead, but Diana turned to the director and gave him the best curtsy she could manage, considering her trousers and generally disheveled state.

  “I’m indebted to you,” she said.

  “Oh, we’ll work you hard, never fe
ar.” He gave her a genial smile. “Until tomorrow, Miss Smythe.”

  She turned and followed Nails, keeping her chin high and her stride confident as they went past Le’s station. Diana imagined she could feel a chilly circle surrounding his desk, but she didn’t glance his way. He’d realize soon enough that she was no threat to him and his work.

  Once inside the lift, Tipper gave her a greasy-chinned grin.

  “Can you believe it, Di? A flat of our own, and spending money!”

  She weighed the envelope in her hands, heavy with promise. No, she couldn’t quite fathom it, even as she tucked the bills and keys safely out of sight under her shirt.

  As Nails escorted them out of the spaceport and onto the train packed with commuters, Diana held her breath. Surely she was dreaming. At any moment she’d wake, wrapped in her hole-filled blanket, the last of the night’s fog hazing the streets and hunger clamping her belly.

  At the third stop up the line, they disembarked. The station was busy; people flowing back and forth from the train platforms while a large clock ticked away the minutes above the arched entrance. Tipper craned his neck and flexed his fingers, no doubt ready to dip into some of the rich pockets passing by.

  “Tip,” Diana said warningly and grabbed his hand for good measure.

  His fingers were warm and oily, and he shot her a wounded look. “I wasn’t.”

  She raised a brow at him. Habits died hard. She couldn’t deny that she was calculating the crowd, fixing the location of the likeliest marks in her mind, plotting a course to intersect. But that was a certain path to ruin.

  “We can’t spoil this,” she said. “Everything on the up and up from here on out.”

  “Aye,” Nails said, giving them both a narrow-eyed look. “And don’t you forget it. We’ll be watching you.”

  Tipper let out a sigh, but kept holding Diana’s hand as they followed the guard out of the station. Two-story red brick town houses lined the street, interspersed with small shops and pubs. Trees stretched overhead, sending dappled shade onto the cobblestones, where steam-powered vehicles and horse-drawn carts passed.

  She dimly remembered walking like this, one arm stretched out, clasping hands with her older sister and feeling… safe.

  Of course, life wasn’t safe. Everything could change in a heartbeat—and did. But for now, the sun had come out and the taste of freedom was like strong ale, bubbling through her and making her giddy.

  “Queensway Tower,” Nails said, indicating the tall structure ahead.

  It was aptly named, rising six stories above the surrounding buildings, windows catching the lowering sun and reflecting it back a hundredfold, until it seemed the whole tower was filled with light.

  Beside her, Tipper pulled in an awed breath as they strode up to the entryway. The fan window above the door and gilded plaster archway resonated faintly with Diana, a dim echo of the grandeur of her past.

  “Keys?” Nails asked, folding her arms.

  Belatedly, Diana pulled the envelope out of her shirt and fished out the two keys: heavy brass, with long stems and notched teeth at the far end. Ceremoniously, she handed one to Tipper.

  “Don’t lose it,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “I could pick this lock in under a minute.”

  “Actually, you couldn’t.” Nails gave him an arch look. “There are signature nanos embedded in the metal. Anything lacking that signature that’s inserted into the keyhole will set off alarms.”

  “Oh.” Tipper looked down at the key in his grubby palm, and then folded his fingers over it.

  Feeling like she was opening the door to a treasure room, Diana put her key into the lock. It turned, smooth as butter, and with a click, the door unlatched. A waft of flower-scented air escaped as Nails pulled the door open.

  A vase of striped lilies sat on a table in the center of the marble-floored foyer. A tiled pattern marched around the edge, and Diana was glad to see that all the pieces lined up uniformly. She wouldn’t have to set her teeth and ignore the pattern whenever she entered or left the building.

  “The lift’s over here.” Nails led them around the table to the far corner. “I’m authorized to set the keypad to you.”

  She tinkered with the pad, then beckoned Diana to place her thumb on the surface. A light swept across the keypad, followed by a single chime.

  “Right. You’re done.” The guard nodded to Tipper. “Your turn.”

  Tipper complied, then glanced around the foyer. “Bet there’s all kinda monitoring devices in here.”

  “You’d be right on that score.” Nails shot him a look. “And don’t forget it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tipper saluted, and Diana dipped her head to hide her smile.

  “Streetrats.” Nails shook her head, but her lips twitched ever so slightly with amusement. “Up we go. Fifth floor.”

  “All the way up?” Tipper’s eyes widened. “That’s posh.”

  Diana had the feeling that the apartment would dumbfound him entirely. And probably her too, for that matter. She did the honors, setting her thumb on the keypad to summon the lift. In a matter of moments they were whooshing up to the top story.

  The lift dinged open to reveal yet another foyer, this one floored in warm parquet wood. Two doors led off to the right, two to the left.

  “There are four apartments on each level,” Nails said. “Don’t be troublesome neighbors, understand?”

  “”Course we won’t,” Tipper said, with his most innocent expression.

  Diana nodded, catching the warning look in the guard’s eye. It was up to her to keep Tipper out of trouble. She’d need to find something for him to do as soon as possible, or he’d get up to mischief before she could even turn around.

  She let out a quiet sigh. Already the expectations of her new life were folding around her, pushing her in directions she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to go. Caring for another person was dangerous. And despite her brave words, she’d just taken on a job she wasn’t sure she could perform to the director’s satisfaction.

  Still better than the streets, she reminded herself. A thousand times better.

  “You can use the same key as downstairs,” Nails said, gesturing to the door in the right hand corner, marked 54. “Each apartment’s key opens the building, but is warded to only work for their own unit.”

  Diana glanced down, seeing a little star cutout centered on the key’s teeth. Her hand trembling slightly, she turned the key in the lock of her new home.

  12

  The door swung open to reveal a brightly lit sitting room with large windows looking out over the city. A Turkish carpet in rich red and gold covered the floor and, as promised, there was furniture: a sofa richly upholstered in velvet and brocade, the wooden arms of the chairs polished to a satin shine, plump cushions decorating the settee.

  There was artwork, too—landscapes in gold frames, and a jade urn filled with more lilies.

  Blinking, Diana stepped inside.

  “Criminy,” Tipper said under his breath as he followed.

  “There’s a water closet to the left, there, and a bathing room,” Nails said. “The kitchen’s just beyond. Two bedrooms across the hall.”

  Although Diana knew the flat was small by the standards of the gentry, it felt like a palace. Like a soap bubble illusion that could pop at any time. Cautiously, she went over to the tall windows, careful not to touch the white curtains with her grubby hands.

  Southampton looked so orderly from above, the River Itchen sparkling along one edge. Church spires poked up into the air, and tidy green squares were scattered among the neighborhoods, edged with trees. It bore almost no resemblance to the city she knew.

  To the far left, barely in view, lay the spaceport. Ships sparkled in the duskening air, handfuls of silver and gold flung out into the sky. Beyond the port was the smudge of the slums. She wondered if there was anything Tipper wanted to fetch from there.

  For her part, she was happy to leave her broken comb a
nd ragged blanket behind. There was nothing she wanted from the bowels of the port.

  “The maids come in weekly, to do the laundry and cleaning,” Nails said. “You’re on your own for meals, though. Most residents here hire a cook, dine out, or eat takeaway.”

  Tipper went forward, eyes fixed on the kitchen. “I’d like to do some cooking.”

  “Don’t burn the place down,” Nails said. “Should I show you how to run the bath?”

  It was an unsubtle reference to how grimy they were, but Diana didn’t blame the guard. It was true that she and Tipper were downright filthy. So much so that it felt like the very act of their breathing was soiling the pristine flat.

  “Come on, Tip,” she said. “We’ll clean up, then explore the rest.”

  “Excellent choice,” Nails said. “I believe there are spare dressing gowns in the linen closet.”

  “How do you know so much about this place?” Tipper asked, retreating from the bright lure of the kitchen. “Do you stay here?”

  “Me?” Nails gave a short laugh. “No, I’ve my own place closer to the river. Truth is, I used to be in service here, before I took the training to become a security guard. Spaceport Security patrols this building, too, so I’m back from time to time.”

  “Grand, then we’ll see you about,” Tipper said, genuine gladness in his voice.

  Nails scowled at him. “You’ll see me more than that, if you don’t behave.”

  Tipper only winked in reply and led the way to the bathing room.

  The room held a good sized tub, Diana was happy to see. No more trips to the Turkish baths across the river. Nails showed them where the soap and towels were kept, and how to regulate the water temperature, then took her leave.

  “I’ll check on you in a few days,” she said as Diana went with her to the sitting room, leaving Tip to run the water in the bath. “Make sure you’re keeping out of trouble.”

  And not ruining the flat, Diana assumed.

  “Won’t I see you at the spaceport?” she asked.

  “Here and there.” Nails shrugged and pulled open the front door. “Keep that boy busy, as best you can.”