Wanderlust

Vel heads toward a terminal, and I trudge after him. The AI warns him that’s for official docking personnel only, but it doesn’t deter him. After watching him mess with it for a few minutes, I’m surprised that none of his high-tech gear can convince it to let him into their system.



“Maybe I can help.”



“How?” Jael asks at my elbow.



I ignore him and dig through my pack looking for 245. She’s a closed interface, but she might know of a backdoor in the security or a fail-safe included in the design. Mair provided her with an astonishingly eclectic database. Plus, 245 is the only Lachion native among us. That can’t hurt.



I power her up, input my access codes, and she greets me with, “Good morning, Sirantha Jax. It has been eight days since your last entry.”



How can the modulated female voice I chose from her option files sound so accusatory? I ignore the small surge of guilt over leaving her out of the loop.



But I try to placate her nonetheless. “You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had. I’ll tell you all about it in a bit, but first, we need your help.”



She won’t be able to resist that appeal, as it would constitute going against her programming. “How can I be of assistance?”



“I need to know everything you do about the Lachion hangar systems.”



“Accessing,” she responds.



“Good idea.” Vel sets aside the code scrambler and waits.



“The system was designed and installed by Jens Donner, a systems specialist formerly employed by Generation Technologies. After ten years with the company, Donner founded his own enterprise, ZapTech. He is credited with revolutionizing the AI matrix that permits droids to maintain a facility without human direction.”



“He must’ve included a fail-safe,” I say thoughtfully. “How do techs get into the system to performance maintenance?”



After a moment, 245 responds, “I have found the answer to your inquiry in Mair Dahlgren’s partitioned files.”



Partitioned files? What does that mean?



I frown as if she’ll respond to nonverbal cues. “I thought I had access to all data. Why didn’t you mention this before?”



“You did not ask.” Such a reasonable reply. “Shall I override Mair Dahlgren’s directive, Sirantha Jax?”



“Please.”



“Mair Dahlgren reports that entering this numerical sequence, interspersed with gaps of precisely 6.4 seconds, will gain you access to a maintenance submenu from which you may attempt to gain access to primary systems.”



Jael seems impatient, but if he has any better ideas, he’s free to pursue them. The merc shifts on the balls of his feet and casts a longing glance toward the lounge, as if imagining what the two women might be doing in there without him. Or maybe, like me, he’s fucking starving.



“Go,” Vel says without looking at him. “I will watch over her.”



“For Mary’s sake. We’re in a secure hangar. What exactly do you think is going to happen to me?”



And then the boarding ramp on the ship begins to unfold.



* * *



CHAPTER 40



Jael flicks me a wry look. “You were saying?”



I have no fight left in me. No idea what I expect, but I’m braced for the worst when three men come strolling down the ramp. Even though they don’t look alike, the conformity of their garb gives the impression of a resemblance. They’re tall and slim, well coiffed, and their suits look like they cost a year’s pay.



Not government guys then.



One of them strides toward us, and the others fall in behind him. That makes him the boss, I guess. On closer inspection, he’s older than his fellows, but he’s had good antiaging treatments. I can see the years in his eyes rather than around them. His gaze roves over me like a shark, and I decide I don’t want to see his teeth. His men tuck their arms behind their backs and wait, as if for orders.



“Our employer sent us to collect you,” the leader says, as if this is a routine aircab pickup. “He requires a face-to-face.”



I can’t think of anything more eloquent than, “Huh?” so I go with it.



“What employer?” Jael demands. “Do you realize you’re attempting to detain the ambassador of New Terra?”



“Of course I do,” Boss Man replies.



I glance down at myself. Even my own mother wouldn’t recognize me, covered in Thermud. “How?”



“What?” The leader glances away from Jael to regard me with puzzlement.



“How do you know who I am?”



He ignores that for the moment. “I believe you’ve already made Mr. Jewel’s acquaintance, Ms. Jax.”



That doesn’t ring any bells until I notice his intent look, a calm demeanor concealing killer intent. They’re Syndicate, of course. I remember the jeweled brooch my mother wore, what seems like ages ago now.



Mr. Jewel. Very clever.



“What the hell have you done to my mother?”



I should’ve wondered about that long before now; I’m just not a dutiful daughter, I guess. I take a deep breath, steadying myself as best I can, though fatigue and hunger make it difficult to focus.



“That is, in fact, why we were sent to this backwater burg.”



“You’ve been waiting for me?”



That doesn’t track. How could anyone know we’d turn up here? Hell, I didn’t even know if we’d make it out of those tunnels intact.



The older one inclines his head. “In a manner of speaking. We’ve been tracking you since you surfaced.”



“Tracking?” I hate parroting everything he says, as it makes me sound brain damaged. Then again, it may be better if he underestimates me.



Behind us, Vel continues his attempts to get into the terminal until one of the goons steps up behind him and shakes his head. Vel sighs and puts away his tools slowly, as if wanting them to see his hands at all times. While they’re watching him, I slip 245 into my pack. It’s just a hunch, but I don’t want them taking her away.



Given that we’ve disarmed ourselves, there isn’t a lot we can do at the moment. Droids will intervene at the first sign of trouble, but it might be too late if these guys are good enough. And they have that air about them.



“Your mother was kind enough to slip an isotope into your drink at your last meeting,” the thug explains with a smile. “Perfectly stable and harmless, but it does permit us to monitor your movements.”



“Like Fugitive scientists once used to track native populations?” I sputter in pure outrage.



To these assholes, I’m just a blip on a display panel somewhere. Oh, there’s Jax; let’s go scoop her up. If I had a blade in my hand, I’d sink it in his eye right now and fuck the consequences.



“It’s perfectly harmless,” he repeats, like it’s a health risk I’m worried about. I guess he’s never had his privacy stolen like this. “I suggest you come aboard, so we can get under way at once. We will convey you safely to your meeting.”



“You actually believe I’m going with you? Are you out of your mind, or do you think I’m out of mine?”



One of his thugs takes a step forward as if he doesn’t like my tone, but Boss Man waves him off. “No, I think you lack viable alternatives, Ms. Jax. You don’t have a vessel. I do. And if you harbored any hope of commandeering it, know this crucial fact. I alone possess the ignition codes, and if they are not entered correctly within three tries, the whole ship goes up.”



I glance at Jael and Vel, who looks impassive. They offer no suggestions, though I can feel the merc thrumming with tension at my side. He’d like nothing more than to waste these fools, but that might strand us here indefinitely. I suspect he’s no keener than I am to rely on Tarn for our salvation.



But I’m not sure the Syndicate constitutes a wise substitute.



Fuck it. When have I ever been sensible? Even if the decision takes us to Mr. Jewel’s private playground, at least we’re off Lachion, right?



They must have a jumper on board, which means I can rest. I’ll eat choclaste, shoot myself full of the chemical cocktail that’s supposed to mend my bones, and try to ignore the junkie in my head. That voice tells me to jack into grimspace and frag the consequences. I have to ignore junkie Jax if I want to live.



I’m not entirely sure I do.



Before, I had March to pull me out of such thinking. I could rely on his warmth, even when I didn’t realize I was doing so. Now it’s just me, falling into the darkness in my own head. That’s a scary place to be.



This hard man wannabe isn’t as good as he thinks he is. Neither are his boys. Because while I’m thinking things over, Hit slips up behind the boss man and sets a long, filed nail against his throat.



“Don’t move,” she whispers against his ear, and her crooning tone raises goose bumps on the back of my neck.



“Suraya,” Boss Man says without shifting a millimeter. “The poison pilot. Still doing Madame Kang’s dirty work?”



I feel like I should know that name, but my mind’s too fuzzy. It slips away like a sleek little fish, back into a jumbled mass of half-formed thoughts and memories.



“Keller,” she returns. “Still barking on behalf of bigger dogs?”



He can’t shrug, but it’s implicit in his tone. “It’s a living. I’d say it’s good to see you, but . . .” His enforcers make an abortive movement, as if to end the impasse, and Keller apparently catches it in his peripheral vision. “No,” he adds, as Hit strokes her nail down his neck. “Don’t give her a reason.”



Call me thick, but I don’t entirely understand why he’s so afraid. By the sweat streaking down his now-pasty brow, Keller thinks Hit is the angel of death, standing by his shoulder. Makes me wonder what we don’t know about her.



“Hypo-implant,” Jael whispers. He sounds admiring. “Black-market ware, costs mad loot. Only the most dedicated killers go for them, ones who prefer quiet jobs, no blood, no mess. The right toxin can even make it look natural, assuming no postmortem lab work.”



Ah. No wonder Keller’s pissing his pants. Maybe we all should be.



“What do you say?” Hit asks me conversationally. “Should I end him?”



The goon’s eyes flicker wildly. I can tell he wants to appeal to my better nature, but at this point, I’m not sure I have one.



Not so smug now, are you, asshole?



“Probably not,” I say, after a judicious pause. “He’s our ride off this rock. I wouldn’t mind an apology, though. They’ve been tracking me like a rogue wildebeest. I think that was pretty damn rude.”



Hit smiles, slow and feral. “They never did. Why, I’d call that a violation of basic human rights. How can they possibly make that up to you?”



Somehow I manage to choke back hysterical laughter. Maybe we’ll regret this, but I’m having too much fun to stop. “I’m open to suggestions.”



To my astonishment, Vel joins the game in dry, scholarly tones. “If given full access to their ship’s data, I could search for similar infractions and recommend suitable recompense.”