AMBASADORA

BY

HEIDI RUBY MILLER

For Jason—Even after all
these years I still have an emotional fallacy for you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Because Ambasadora: Marked by Light
(originally just Ambasadora) was my thesis for Seton Hill University's
Writing Popular Fiction Graduate Program, I have more people to thank for the
completion of this novel than I have room for, but here are some of the
highlights:

Thank you first to my critique partners, Mary
SanGiovanni and Christopher Paul Carey. I made lifelong friends in you both.

Thank you to Michael A. Arnzen. You are a dear
friend and confidant.

Thank you to my mentors and final readers,
Thomas F. Monteleone, Tobias Buckell, and Lawrence C. Connolly.

Thank you to Mike Resnick, who has always
offered me a helping hand in this crazy business.

Thank you to Patrick Picciarelli and Timons
Esaias for taking time to be unofficial mentors.

Thank you to all the people who workshopped parts
of this book over two years for read-throughs of drafts that should have never
been read. I know this isn't all of you, but here are some whose comments
helped to transform this story: Becca Baker, Diana Dru Botsford, Mike Brendan,
Kristina Buchanan, Penny Dawn, Ron Edison, Elaine Ervin, Hanna Gribble, Lee
Allen Howard, KJ Howe, Russ Howe, Adrienne Kapp, Steven LaTullipe, Chun Lee,
Jared Maraio, Mike Mehalek, W. D. Prescott, Rachael Pruitt, Erica Satifka,
Bruce Siskawicz, Maria V. Snyder, Tom Steckert, Shara Saunsaucie White, and K.
Ceres Wright.

Thank you to Liz Coley. You were there with me
to the very end of this one!

Thank you to Jennifer Barnes and John Edward
Lawson for putting the entire Dog Star imprint in my hands and believing in
this book.

Thank you to Jenna Bennett for not only writing
this wonderful foreword, but for being a positive force in the SFR Brigade,
Pennwriters, and as my friend.

Thank you to my brother Tom Ruby, my
brother-in-law Mike Miller, and my cousin Michael Ruby, who will forever have
their old gamer tags immortalized in the V-side.

Thank you to my parents Albert and Sharon Ruby
and my grandparents John and Wanda Hawk for supporting me and for passing down
the creativity gene accompanied by an insane work ethic. I couldn't have done
this without both. And, special thoughts for my Grandparents Ruby, Albert and
Anna, who never got to see this project come to completion.

Finally, thank you to my husband, Jason Jack Miller.
J, you read, you listened, you encouraged, and most of all you loved. How did I
get so lucky? Oh, wait, that's right, I picked you. You didn't really have a
say in it all.

1

"It's
not real. None of it's real." For most of Sara's imprisonment, she tried
to convince herself of just that.

She
dragged herself across the entryway by her elbows. Blood oozed from hundreds of
cuts on her legs, a miasma of red streaks on the geometric design of the olive
tiles. She would rest here at the Sovereign's apartment within the Palomin
Canyon Reserve until he decided it was time to return her to Faya’s dank cell.

This
guest suite was like a gilded cage. Only here the torture wasn’t needles or
shockers, but knowing that even if she escaped the windowless room, she'd never
make it out of Palomin alive. Not that she had the strength to even try it.
Maybe when the Sovereign first imprisoned her here—twenty, forty days ago? She
had lost track.

Lost
track of how long ago Chen Starrie had set her up and abandoned her to save his
own rogue skin.

Abandonment
seemed to be a theme in this society, going all the way back to those citizens
on the worldships millennia ago. They must have felt as she did now—trapped and
hopeless, sick and dying. She couldn't help but think about them during these
hateful days spent in the remnants of one of their old ships, creatively
converted into this repository for the system's Archives and desert home to
Sovereign Simon Prollixer.

She
never cared about those ancient days, never understood, but her present
circumstances mirrored those of the Lowers back then. The Lower Caste had been
shut away from the rest of society for being unclean, damaged.

Thinking
that even those people managed to survive through their horrors sometimes gave
Sara resolve. Sometimes.

The
cold tiles stuck to her skin as she crawled the short distance to the bathroom.
Her tears blurred her vision, morphing the intricate white archway at its
entrance into a hazy apparition. The normally straight and regal columns bent
at irregular angles as though melting.

She
stopped to wipe her nose on her arm. A pair of disembodied silver eyes appeared
in the archway.

It’s
just the dosing. Another
hallucination.

The
eyes flew at her. She ducked her head and screamed. They hovered there, within
touching distance. Just like the fragger v-mitter lenses, but they had wide
black pupils in their centers. She buried her face to hide her tears from them.

"Get
away from me."

She
should have expected to see some residual images. Faya had finished her latest
modification session only an hour ago. And this time she had stepped up the
hallucinogenic dosers.

The
eyes aren’t real. There aren’t any fraggers here.

Sara
never told Faya about her fear of the techno-militants or what really happened
before she was captured here at Palomin. She never would, no matter how many
torture sessions she had to endure. But Faya didn’t need to know what inspired
Sara's terror, only which drugs would make it manifest.

Her
hatred of Faya gave Sara a moment’s courage. She clawed at the fresh cuts on
her legs, begging that the horrendous sensation of splitting skin destroy the
horrid images. Pain had become her only tether to reality these past weeks.
Another secret she had kept from Faya. The more intense the pain, the less the
dosers worked, the more Sara retained her clarity.

She
looked up to stare at one silver v-mitter, now featureless and dead, its mate,
the bloodied eye of the fragger she had fought outside these walls.

"You're
not real." Sara slammed a fist against the tiles. The pain wasn't working
this time. Had Faya finally dosed Sara so much that the visions would never go
away?

Angry
and frightened, she continued her crawl toward the bathroom. The raw eye stayed
just ahead of her, rolling around as though still in a socket. She ignored it
and counted tiles, anything to force her focus elsewhere, until the eyeball
plopped onto the back of her hand.

It
stared at her.

She
screamed and flung it off.

The
stench of charred flesh wafted from where the eye had rested on her hand. There
were no signs of burns, but the acrid smell overwhelmed her. She heaved and
pulled herself up to the toilet. Bluish mucus and bile burned her esophagus and
mouth as it came back up from her stomach. The taste reminded her of cleaning
chemicals. The throat-searing pain overloaded her senses. The eyeball rolled
around on the tiles a few times, as if to get her attention, then vanished.

Now
that her mind cleared, the pain in her legs grew in proportion. She smiled weakly
at the trade-off.

With
mustered strength, she propped herself up and grabbed a thick towel from the
washstand. The towel caught on the rim of an empty water glass and sent it
tumbling to the floor, shattering it into tiny pieces. Dark red streaks soaked
through the towel's pale green fabric as she pressed it against her legs. The
contact of even the softest fibers sent needles of reassuring pain through her.

Blade
cuffs. What sick mind came up with that idea?

Faya
favored the devices over the shockers, which had stopped Sara's heart once, and
dental torture, though there weren't many molars on her right side left to
pull. Faya was at least kind enough to rub anti-microbial salts into the cuts
and empty sockets and rinse them with chlorate, to keep down the infection.

Can’t
have you dying on me yet,
Faya had whispered against her cheek.

Sara
could still smell the pungent chlorate here in the sterile bathroom, mixed with
Faya’s strawberry scent.

But,
the worst part was the nightmares—they stayed after the split skin and
contusions healed.

Trying
not to move her lacerated legs, she grasped the side of the huge bathing tub
and dragged herself into a sitting position. Her naked back absorbed the
coolness of the tub’s side. She closed her eyes and panted.

"I
see Faya went for the blade cuffs again."

Her
eyes flew open and her heart jumped. He was here. Rainer was finally here.

Glass
crunched under his boots as he approached. "At least she stayed away from
your face this time." He nudged her head up to look at her scars.

His
skin had tanned since a few days ago, or was it yesterday? Or last week? The
bronzing complemented his sculpted face and dark hair. She was deathly pale and
her face now bore no resemblance to the woman she used to be. Faya had
succeeded in her humiliation.

Rainer
reached past Sara and turned on the water for the tub. Its rushing noise
brought comfort, static to fill her mind. When he bent down beside her, she
smelled the subtle woodiness of his scentbots. Breathing deeply, she allowed
his scent to calm her.

"I’m
giving you the stims first because it’s going to be painful when you hit that
water." Rainer pressed a doser patch into Sara’s neck before she could
protest.

She
barely noticed the pinch of the tiny needle or the endorphin stimulants pumping
into her bloodstream.

"Let
me see what damage she did." He lifted the towel and set it aside. A brief
sadness crossed his face. After a careful inspection of her cuts, he grabbed a
crystal atomizer from the wash stand and sprayed her legs with an analgesic.

"You’ll
still feel some pain, but that should help until the stims flood your
system."

Rainer
was always gentle when ministering to her wounds, but very clinical. When his
actions became too tender, his touch too caressing, he detached himself from
the work and became methodical. Nevertheless, she craved his touch, any touch
besides that of her tormentor.

"Thanks,"
she whispered.

"Hold
onto my neck." He lowered her into the tub.

As
the warm water inundated the shallow cuts, bright red clouded the bath. The
shock sent her head spinning. Her fingers dug into Rainer’s neck, and he waited
for her to relax before pulling away.

"I
take it you haven't told Faya what she wants to know yet." Rainer moved
toward the tall cabinet to the right of the tub.

Suspicion
crept into Sara’s ailing mind. Was this part of Prollixer’s ploy?  Faya
roughed her up, then Rainer came in as trusted healer.

"I've
told her everything I know about Chen. And I don't know anything about Simon’s
curse." Her voice broke when saying the Sovereign's given name, but the
endostims kicked in enough to make the insult sound strong. "I just hope
he dies from it."

"He
might." Rainer left the room.

Maybe
Simon figured the male contractor could seduce information from her that Faya
couldn’t procure through behavior modification. Only, Rainer had never tried to
seduce Sara. In fact, he always turned down her physical advances.

How
could she blame him? She'd bashed every mirror in this suite just so she
wouldn't catch a glimpse of herself. With a sick little look, she spotted a
brand new shiny mirror above the sink. Simon always made sure to replace them
just before she returned from another torture session.

Rainer
stood over the tub with a crystal shaker and poured a silvery powder into the
water. Sara held her breath in anticipation of the burn from the metallic
antiseptic, but its pinch was subtle compared to the chlorate. When Rainer
turned off the water, the silence was stark and unnerving.

"I
believe you don't know anything more," he said.

His
words almost stopped her heart.

"Otherwise,
why put yourself through all this? To cover for a man who left you to die? A
man who led you to believe he'd have a child with you." Rainer swirled the
powdery solution around her legs.

The
burn in Sara’s heart matched the sensation on her sliced skin. She couldn’t
even think of Chen without wanting to wrap her hands around his throat and
crush the life from him. The sudden surge of emotion brought with it a panic,
and panic often brought on—

She
looked to Rainer, then past him into the bedroom. It was there.

Her
body shook as she stared at a hovering orb of light, no larger than a pebble.
The expanding sphere drifted toward them. Rainer scanned the room, even drawing
one of his cenders.

He
couldn’t see it.

On
some level she understood it was just another deranged image in her mind, but
that didn’t make her reaction any less real.

The
fragger energy orb augmented, its speed increasing, until it hurled its
room-sized mass directly at her. She threw her hands in front of her face,
afraid its energy would char her body as it had those contractors on Palomin's
rim.

"Sara."
Rainer’s voice sounded distant, like he still fought to be heard over running
water. "Sara, there’s nothing there."

He
pulled her dripping arms from her face and tilted her head up. "Look at
me. Sara, look at me."

Ashamed
of her scarred visage, she twisted out of his grasp. Scraping at her legs drew
fresh blood and calming pain.

Rainer
grabbed her hand to stop her. "What did you see?"

She
shook her head and closed her eyes.

"Tell
me what you saw."

"A
fragger orb." The absurdity of it disgusted her.

"Do
you still see it?"

"No,"
she said, then defiantly, "Do you?"

Rainer
ignored the question and took a fresh towel from the cabinet. With careful
hands, he helped her out of the tub. Her legs still screamed with pain, but she
could at least stand if she leaned up against him. That physical contact felt
better than the stims, than the pain. He wrapped her legs in silky gauze then
guided her around the broken glass and into the bedroom. She rested her head on
his shoulder.

He
held her with one arm while he turned down the bed with the other. When he laid
her down, she held onto his forearm and rubbed her thumb over the fine dark
hairs.

"Can’t
you stay with me a little longer? Just hold my hand, until I fall asleep?"
She craved affection, gentleness, someone to hold her and say it would be okay.

Rainer
stared at her, his expression unreadable. "This is business, Sara. The
healthier you are, the stronger you'll be to defy Faya."

"I'm
not defying her." The thought was more absurd than a fragger orb
detonating inside the room. "I don't know anything, including why Faya's
failure is so important to you."

"That's
business, too. Mine."

"Would
it be different if I didn't look like this?" She placed a shaking hand on
his, trying to hold onto its warmth. "I just need someone to be near
me." She wanted her mother, her father, one of her cousins, even her
sister to hold onto right now. Most of all, she wanted Rainer because he was
here and he was always the one to take her pain away, to listen to her ravings.

A
commotion in the hallway put them both on alert.

Rainer
tugged his hand away and looked at her. Not quite a look of pity, but it still
stung. "I’ve been here too long already," he said. "If the
Sovereign knew about this, we’d both be dead. You won’t need me soon. He has
other plans for you, ones that don’t involve torture...or at least not like
this."

Watching
him leave, Sara couldn't even muster the strength to care what the Sovereign
would do to her next.

2

A
faint blue ellipse decorated a large circle of pavement outside the Embassy's
expansive halfmoon-shaped complex. Rainer caught glimpses of the faded symbol
within a mix of drably dressed Embassy staff, flamboyant Socialites, and
black-clad contractors. Bodies crisscrossed in kaleidoscopic regularity to and
from the ferries and ship berths at Shiraz Dock here within the Hub.

Tampa
Quad's largest urban center used to be a different kind of hub. Rainer formed a
vague image from stories his family told of archivist ships constantly arriving
and departing from the system's six planets, before Sovereign Archivist Simon
Prollixer dropped the archivist part of his title and managed to gain control
from a council too willing to give up its power. Now there was only the
Sovereign.

Like
Sara, Rainer didn't believe Prollixer deserved his manufactured title.

Thinking
of her brought mixed feelings, ones he pushed aside as he passed the defunct
landing pads and avoided the commonways used by most pedestrian traffic to the
Hub.  He never entered via the grand main entrance with its sparkling
chalcedony wall, preferring to maneuver through the Hub's underground tunnels.
Head Contractor had its privileges, including access to places most citizens
couldn't imagine.

Though
Prollixer originally commissioned the tunnels' construction for quick getaways
at the onset of his take-over, he now preferred to be as high profile as
possible in order to bask in the appreciation of his citizens. Maybe he forgot
that not everyone celebrated the regime change like he did.

Contractors
and fraggers protested the loudest; Prollixer made sure to turn one against the
other very early. Those contractors who found working for the Embassy too
restrictive left the guild to become rogues for hire. At first, Prollixer
denied marriage rights to the rogues, but quickly changed policy after the
guilders threatened to mutiny as well. Once any group of Uppers was denied
rights, others could easily follow.

The
Sovereign might pay Embassy contractors to be loyal, but no price was worth
losing their family privileges. It was too much like what had happened on the
worldships when the diseases ran unchecked and the quarantines were first
enforced. A negative growth in population left the citizenry in serious jeopardy
of extinction.

Without
the archivists' History lessons, the Sovereign might have thrown the population
into decline, or worse, allowed the purer lines to become tainted. Reinforcing
the need to marry within one's caste and with multiple partners ensured a thriving
populace among the six planets. Of course interpretation of caste
varied. Most took it to mean any from the Upper Caste, but family circles
consisting mostly of contractors took the mandate to a new level, nearly
becoming a sub-class themselves. Most of them formed their family circles with
other contractors exclusively.  Rainer's family subscribed to this
tradition, as was evidenced by the lineages of his amours.

Three
figures rounded the corner ahead. Few traveled the featureless white corridors with
their overly bright ceiling lights, so Rainer often used his transit time down
here to disconnect from everything, allow his mind to rest and wander. It
annoyed him to have this meditation interrupted, especially today.

The
approaching forms became recognizable as Archivist Phoebe Lewellyn and her
contractor bodyguards.

The
woman's blue-streaked blonde hair almost glowed in the harsh lighting.

"Hello,
Contractor Varden." Phoebe motioned her escort ahead. "May we
speak?"

The
mayfly holo-broach securing her pink wrap fluttered its wings.

"I
have a few moments before the Sovereign expects me." Rainer kept the
movement of Phoebe's bodyguards in sight at all times.

"The
Sovereign dismissed the quorum today without even making an appearance. I hope
he's not still ill. He hasn't been himself since our foray onto Tampa One last
month." The gaze of her dark green eyes watched Rainer closely, but he was
too disciplined to display any tells.

"He
was fine when I saw him yesterday. He's a busy man."

"Too
busy to meet with his own advisors?"

"Maybe
he no longer needed your advice." Rainer and Phoebe both knew the Quorum
of Archivists served only as figureheads to make Prollixer's rule fall more
into line with the History teachings. There had always been archivists, would
always be. Even the Sovereign couldn't change History, but he could decide how
History was interpreted, like giving the other archivists no real political
responsibilities.

"Anything
else?" Rainer asked.

"No,
just my concern for our dear Sovereign. Good day."

Rainer
had regarded the woman with suspicion for some time. Normally his instincts
were dead on. He imagined it wouldn't be long before Archivist Lewellyn met
with misfortune.

Within
the medical suite, Rainer followed a white beam of horizontal light as it
passed over Sara’s naked form and projected its readings into the air above
her. A doctor studied the scan silently.

Sara’s
will to survive continued to impress Rainer. An urge surfaced to touch her
hand, but he quelled it immediately. Each time he had left her at Prollixer's
mercy he took with him the memory of her touch—the pressure, the swish of her
thumb, the signaling of need.  The power he held to elevate her mood, take
away her pain, and give her hope fed his emotions almost as much as his ego.

A
hint of roses enveloped her, thanks to new scentbots. Breathing a little
deeper, he couldn't remember how she smelled before. It didn't matter. This
smell was as fresh and new as her body. He stared at every detail of her.

The
changes to her appearance played with him. Her lips were fuller, her nose a
little wider. And the scars were all gone.

Sara's
reconstruction didn't technically constitute a breach in law. Allowances were
made for little fixes all the time, but her alterations took away any natural
attributes she had once had, at least so far as Rainer was concerned. Mores and
tradition still held more sway with him than laws.

Seeing
her lying there both excited and disturbed him.

"How
is my newest ambasadora?" the Sovereign asked from the doorway.

The
doctor stood straighter.

Rainer
stepped back from the post-op table and avoided Prollixer's stare.

"I
didn’t expect you to personally check on…" the doctor said, "I mean,
you didn’t visit any of the other ambasadoras."

The
Sovereign made no response.

The
doctor cleared his throat and continued. "She’ll be coming out of the
anesthesia soon."

"The
implantation was successful?" Prollixer walked over to the bed where Sara
lay, exposed and vulnerable in her drug-induced sleep.

The
doctor peeled back the single bandage covering her right arm. "Yes, all
the cells grafted well. And, as you can see, the intra-tattoo’s design is
flawless."

"How
can you tell with all the bruising?"

Hundreds
of puncture wounds in varying shades of purple and black covered her entire arm
from the back of her hand to her shoulder. The site of more marks marring
Sara's new skin agitated Rainer.

"It
looked much better when the light matrix covered her skin during
insertion," the doctor said. "But, not to worry, the contusions
should heal quickly."

"Fine.
Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us."

"Yes,
Sovereign."

Prollixer
waited until the doctor left the room. "Contractor Varden, what do you
think of my modifications?"

Rainer
stared at Sara's hand to avoid looking at the rest of her. He had more
discipline than to let his physical desire show, but involuntary responses like
pupil dilation were more difficult to control. Few citizens ever overcame that
genetically hardwired reaction to sexual stimuli.

Except
for the Sovereign.

Had
he lived so long that coupling was no longer important to him? Perhaps that
would explain why he hadn't produced any offspring for nearly sixty years.
Speculation about a true genetic link to his previous children still surfaced
occasionally, mostly due to their early deaths, but most citizens shied away
from gossiping about the Sovereign for fear of repercussions.  Of course,
most wouldn't have guessed that his longevity bots were more than a myth, that
his scientists had actually found a way to lengthen his life, and that this
technology wouldn't be shared with anyone who couldn't pay the exorbitant
price.

Rainer
wondered if, now that Prollixer's supposed immortality was threatened, the
panic of being heirless gnawed at his guts.

The
Sovereign dissolved a sedative strip on his tongue as if in answer.

Rainer's
gaze drifted to Sara's breasts, which were larger now, but he quickly pulled it
back to her face. Considering the circumstances, any type of arousal displayed
by Rainer would be expected, but he feared Prollixer knew of the unauthorized
visits to Sara during her modification.

"I
don’t see much difference except for the longer hair. Good color choice, by the
way. I’m kind of partial to dark-haired women." But, changing her hair
color still wouldn't make her a contractor, and that disappointed Rainer more
than he cared to admit.

"I’m
glad it pleases you. I chose a similar hue for her eyes."

"Quite
a change from the honey color they were," Rainer said.

"You
remember the color of her eyes? Surprising. I believe it was quite dark and
dusty the only time you saw them."

Rainer
gave Simon a guarded look, but his response was even. "Eyes are just my
thing. Some guys focus on a woman’s mouth or her ass. I always go for the
eyes."

"Precisely
why I didn’t hire you for the modification."

Rainer's
mouth folded at the corners. "You didn’t even know about the eye thing
until just now."

"I
knew there was something you liked about her. You took great care of her…"

Rainer
didn't blink.

"…before
Contractor Renault took over that night."

"I
took care that she didn't die before we got any information from her. Then you
cut me out of the modification process. I would have charged less than
Faya."

"Really?
Contractor Renault wouldn't accept any payment to break the woman."

Rainer's
breathing paused for just a moment, but the Sovereign had caught it. His smile
said so. "Not to worry. I have more important jobs for you."

He
looked back at Sara. "And you, Ambasadora Mendoza, have the most important
job of all. You get to lift my curse."

"Why
her?"

"Bait.
The rogue who left her at Palomin will be very interested to know she is still
alive, and now serving as one of my ambasadoras. He will either come back to
save her or to kill her. But, either way, he will come back."

Prollixer's
rising tone hinted at desperation, a trait emerging more frequently in the
ailing Sovereign. Rainer supposed curses would do that to a man.

3

The
deafening hum of the engine room aboard the Bard drowned out the sound
of Sean Cryer's fist slamming repeatedly against the bulkhead. It wasn't a
technical problem like he often faced here on the luxury cruiser turned science
vessel that vexed him, but rather one of a more personal and illegal nature.

"How
could my prints not smear?" He threw an electric wrench into the shining
metal framework just to the right of the open console. If someone monitoring
his last exit from the V-side traced his digital prints back to this ship, they
could also find out which virtual worlds he'd visited. He'd be swept away by a
contractor patrol and imprisoned as an Embassy agitator. Until they found out
he was a node in the fragger organization, then he'd just be tortured and
executed and forgotten.

Sean
suspected someone had been shadowing him during his last couple of ventures
into the V-side. Possibility leaned toward probability now that he found the
door to the comm chamber slightly ajar.

Inside,
snuggled into a protected wall, lay the secret port he had installed six years
ago after initially purchasing a suite aboard the Bard and becoming the
ship's engineer, or mech tech as the others referred to him. This port allowed
him access to the V-side without detection, without shadows tracking him,
without suspicious Embassy officials lifting his digital prints from this
source. Or at least he thought. He probed the port and watched the readings
scroll over his palm from a wrist reporter implanted under his skin. Everything
checked out. Maybe there hadn't been a shadow, just his paranoia.

David
would enjoy hearing that.

The
new nav leader on board already hinted at Sean's stim abuse and his consequent
bouts of paranoia. But what did he know? David Anlow was little more than a
hired pilot who flew a bunch of independent scientists to appointments
throughout the system. Problem was that David, being a former Armadan captain,
fancied himself still in charge of a ship.

Sean
had caught him looking around the engine room on one other occasion. The
ensuing argument had turned physical on Sean's part. Risky since Armadans were bred
to be warriors, how their caste came to be named after the military in which
most of them served. As a result, their bone and muscle structure was stronger
than that of Socialites, the other Upper Caste. Of course Sean's real father
passed along some of that Armadan strength to him, even if no one but his
immediate family circle knew Sean's true genetic history.

That
wasn't the biggest secret, though. Sean's mother had been from the Lower Caste.

His
father took care of them anyway, even helped to buy them into Socialite society
before he died. But Sean and his brother always knew they were different, not
as deserving as other members of their father's family circle, including their
siblings by other mothers.

Heading
to the Bard's bridge, Sean reminded himself to be calm when confronting
David, to keep his head. He didn't want to tip his hand if David didn't already
know what was happening.

As
soon as Sean burst through the open bridge door, he flew into David. "What
the fuck were you doing in the engine room again? Thought I told you to stay
away from there."

David
swiveled his nav chair around inside the orb of holo-controls.

"How
you doing, Sean? Coming down from a binge?"

Sean
resisted the impulse to leap across the shining black floor of the bridge and
grab the bigger man by his throat. Truth was Sean had just taken several
restors to bring him back to equilibrium.

"Just
asking if you visited the engine room recently."

"It
sounded to me like you were accusing me of something." David manipulated
an airscreen in one side of the orb.

His
nonchalance and cheery disposition grated on Sean’s nerves. "Just tell me
if you were there." Sean scratched at his chin and neck. An perpetual
itching sensation rose with his blood pressure—a restor side effect. He forced
himself to stop before David noticed.

"Like
you said, I'm not welcome in there." David closed the holo-controls.
"Besides, it's too bright. All those glowing white walls give me a
headache."

David's
lack of eye contact proved he told the truth. After two months, Sean could read
the man well, especially considering they had pulled together to help Mari,
another passenger from the Bard, just a few weeks ago. A tenuous trust
had begun, but just as quickly deteriorated. It was probably Sean's fault since
he'd upped his dosing recently. And he had issues with getting too close to
people, especially ones which reminded him of his dead brother and father.

Like
most Armadans, David was open and content, the latter most likely a result of
certain aggressor genes being turned off at birth. Sean envied that. He
secretly suspected some of his problems fitting into society stemmed from being
an intercaste hybrid, a halfcaste. His mother had him classified as a Socialite
so he wouldn't have to spend his life in the military, but as a result, he
never underwent the appropriate procedures that would have helped him to
adjust, that would have calmed him.

He
certainly wasn't calm now. Maybe he was overreacting. He could have left the
door ajar during his last visit to the chamber. That seemed unlikely. He was
seldom careless. He was about to hurl another accusation at David when a whir
in the back of his brain clipped off his response. The fragger bosses had just
summoned Sean to another meeting in a specified world in the V-side. Second one
today. Something big was breaking out.

"Just…stay
the fuck out of there," he managed, making a less than graceful exit.

The
only time Sean lay on his bed was to enter the V-side. It was more comfortable
to sprawl out on the puffy mattress than to fold himself up on the couch in the
sitting room where he normally slept. Plus he could get the bedroom dark enough
that his pupils opened to their fullest. The bigger his pupils, the faster the
neural stimulator would kick in.

With
the tips of his fingers, he slipped the silver v-mitters onto his corneas. The
tinny smell of the conductor fluids was unpleasant, but would allow his brain
waves to hitch a ride on an electro-magnetic stream emanating from the engine
room's secret port.

Ninety-nine
percent of those citizens who entered the V-side were gamers looking to escape
from a bad day into a fantastical landscape or flex their muscles through
neural stimulation. Some users sought out stimulation of another type, which
was why sex worlds proved so lucrative.

To
fraggers, it was a medium for discreet training and communication without need
of a physical headquarters. Compliments of the Embassy, the virtual submersion
worlds and plethora of drugs associated with them were meant to serve as an
outlet for aggression amongst the more unruly Uppers and mindless entertainment
for the Lowers.

The
original V-side source was the now defunct comm system from one of Palomin's
worldships. But once new, unregulated technologies sprouted up all over the
V-side, the Embassy attempted to shut down the virtual arena in order to
control the latest advances. The Sovereign withheld the tech from the normal
population until such a time as he and his corrupt quorum could profit from it.

A
group of tech savvy individuals staged a protest by taking over the Media for
exactly nineteen minutes and thirty-three seconds to broadcast anti-Embassy
sentiments and to expose Simon Prollixer's illegal takeover of the Embassy.

The
first fraggers were born, and abruptly died by the hands of the Sovereign’s
contractors.

Fortunately,
others listened and managed to create a secret array with the remaining comm
systems scattered around the six planets. No matter what the Embassy did, they
couldn't bring down the V-side. For years no protests arose, but all that time
the fraggers were regrouping, Uppers and Lowers, Armadans and Socialites, even
a scarce few rogue contractors, coming together for the same purpose—policing
the Embassy and its oppressive policies.

That
was only one of the reasons Sean had joined.

He
relaxed as the sensation of a cool liquid flowed behind his eyes, preceding the
insertion of his avatar, Zak, into the virtual lobby.

Okay,
Zak, time to go to work.

It
was like a very lucid dream. Sean was completely immersed as though he were
physically there, not just lying motionless on his bed aboard the Bard.

His
ears buzzed and popped. The space around him transformed from dark nothingness
into a purple sea and silver-grey sky.

Inside
the V-side lobby Zak stood on a floating platform that was barely a meter
square. Sean’s stomach on the Bard detected the rise and fall of the
softly undulating virtual sea as Zak kept his balance on the slate-colored
raft. The popping in his ears gave way to a gentle lapping. His brain reacted
with the phantom smell of the Archenzon Shore on Tampa One, but the salty scent
faded immediately. In the V-side, nothing had a scent. This little detail kept
the immersive world from ever becoming truly real.

Six
fist-sized globules rose out of the sea in greeting and encircled him. Each was
a different shade of blue, indicating the type of invitation being extended.
The darkest came from a group of regular gamers Zak and Topper had befriended
during a slasher session. Zak had joined them once, but he didn’t get into
gaming like many fraggers did, just the training.

With
a wave of his hand, Zak sent the globules into a slow orbit around him until
the palest one whirled front and center. It was almost transparent and took on
the purple sheen of the surrounding sea on bottom and the silver of the sky on
top. He reached his hand out and made contact with the slippery surface.

A
quick pulse began in his fingertips and rushed through his body, probing for
his identi-markers. His av was recognized immediately through the idents. The
globule opened at the top and fanned out, enlarging enough to allow Zak to step
through to a training world.

On
the other side, grassy plains welcomed him. Half a dozen dragons with purple
heads and green and silver iridescent bodies eclipsed the dwindling light of a
late day sky. Zak observed three of his virtual companions figure the
trajectories and energy expenditures needed to bring down one of the iridescent
beasts. Six others practiced hand to hand techniques in a field nearby.

Topper,
sporting his reptilian av, stepped aside as Ariel took aim with a rocket
launcher and fired a round into the lead dragon. Silvery scales disintegrated.
The animal flapped its great wings once before falling to its death behind a
distant white mountain. The other timid dragons hesitated, but when Ariel fired
a second rocket their way, another beast took point and led their formation
away, into the darkening horizon of this virtual world.

"Zak,
did you hear me?" Topper sent a hot plasma blast into Zak’s shoulder from
a crafter, a modified cender. The nickname came about because the originator
said it was craftier than anything the obtuse contractors could come up with.

Zak's
vision blurred as the shot triggered a neural stimulation of his pain center.
His virtual arm dangled uselessly at his side. Blood splattered his grey
armored vest and soaked the sleeve of his blue shirt.

"Can't
hear anything above Ariel's rockets." Zak called up the healing program in
his mind. Catching Zak off-guard was one of Topper's favorite games.

"So,
what’s your take on the ambasadora thing?" Topper’s voice took on a
reptilian hiss to match his present lizard form.

"Just
one of Prollixer’s pet projects. Most likely to draw attention away from
current Embassy mis-dealings."

"But
how's this new element going to affect our plans?" Topper asked.

"Won't.
Ambasadoras are just another Embassy show, as impotent as Armadans." Zak
thought of his earlier run in with David back on the Bard. Thinking of
David as impotent made him feel better.

The
system might have a highly trained military, but the Armada was all show. With
no intra-system conflicts brewing, they never used their skills, weren’t even allowed
to carry arms outside of their Armada ships. The Embassy wanted it that way.
Yet the Sovereign’s pet contractors were given free reign of the system after
they put down those first fragger protesters.

"The
ambasadoras are just another Embassy spectacle of shallow grandiosity."
The pain subsided as Zak's arm healed. He looked down to confirm the blood was
fading, then checked to see the sleeve had been properly repaired.

"The
Media have been calling them the Faces of the Embassy. Rumor has it
they’re all women." Bullseye's marmoset-like mouth morphed into a
lascivious grin as his furry, prehensile tail flicked back and forth.

"Of
course they’re all women." Ariel's brown braids swished against her
almost bare backside as she sidled up to the meter-high Bullseye. When she
scratched under his furry chin, he snaked his tail up her booted leg.

Just
as he was about to reach the skin at the top of her thigh, she clasped a hand
around his throat and threw him to the ground. "Women make better
distractions than men." She gave him a kick to his mid-section.

Everyone
laughed, except Zak. He hated to waste time socializing with a bunch of
dosed-up fraggers, especially in the V-side. The anonymity it afforded allowed
egos to run high with avatude and behavior to go unchecked. Of course the
entire fragger organization was set up that way, and with good reason. Even if
the Embassy found out the identities of a few fragger operatives, the loss
would be minimal. Only select bosses knew all their members.

Zak
looked around at the dozen members of his contingency and wondered if, as a
fragger node, he should secretly learn a little more about the people he led.
He trusted them because they hated the Embassy. Aside from opposing the
Embassy's suppression of technology, his fraggers also rebelled against the
society's millennia-old caste system. All this reflected Sean's own ideology.
Putting their lives at stake to make a difference made them honorable in his
eyes.

There
were still flaws in the system, though…like when someone's ideology changed.

Zak
looked from av to av. It was more to show authority than to get a read on any
of their faces. The expressions weren’t real anyway, just the result of each
fragger's preferred programming. Nothing in this world was real. Of course,
most of society was fake, too—the Uppers cosseted existence, Sovereign
Prollixer with his claque of Socialites, the Lowers wasting away in menial
jobs, unseen and unheard.

"The
bosses confirmed a leak." Zak kept his tone even.

"They
sending us in to take care of it?" Ariel loomed a head taller than any of
them.

Take
care of it, as big a
euphemism as the word fragger, both just a nicer way to say kill.

"Yep.
That’s why the invites went out for today."

Even
the fraggers who weren’t already plugged into a gaming world were summoned.

"Is
it because of the Palomin siphon?" Bullseye used his tail to swing up onto
Ariel’s shoulder. "That was a month ago."

"I
thought one of the other contingencies took responsibility for that."
Ariel shoved the marmoset back to the ground.

"They
were there, but not responsible for the extraction," Zak said. "A
group of rogue contractors pulled the siphon from inside."

"Rumor
has it we lost three fraggers during that siphon. That true, Zak?" Ariel
trailed a finger down his gun arm. He felt the sensation through his neural
transmitter, and though it registered in his pleasure center, he casually
twisted his arm out of her reach.

"That's
true. The rogues caused complications, but the virus we gave Prollixer is back
to doing its job. Sources say once the quarantine was siphoned, his cell
sweepers ceased functioning. He's now aging normally. Calls it his
'curse.'" Zak dropped a hand to his side and secretly unlocked the safety
on his weapon.

"Can't
think of someone who deserves to be cursed more," Topper said. "Guess
he can’t have the rest of us knowing about his longevity bots. Might have a
societal mutiny on his hands."

"He
already does," Zak said.

"Those
rogues did us a favor then," Bullseye said.

"Except…."
Zak wrapped both hands around his weapon, ready to level it. "Someone
slipped in a data miner to a fragger hub world."

"If
that’s true, then a streamer either breached some pretty elaborate security
or—"

"Streamers
are average citizens coming to V-side worlds to get laid or watch the sun set
somewhere they'll never get to see in person. They barely have the knowledge it
takes for insertion," Zak interrupted.

Someone
accidentally stumbling into the wrong part of the V-side was almost impossible.
The random combination of idents implanted during fragger initiation were not
only scanned upon entering the hidden V-side fragger worlds, but also monitored
during any session, preventing a mainstream user, dubbed streamers, from
entering fragger territory by accident or otherwise. Zak often wondered where
all of his idents were—in his arm, his thigh bone, his tongue? Only the doctor
who performed the operation knew.

"What
we have is another informer problem," he said. Someone who found a new
ideology.

"Do
the bosses know who?" Ariel gripped her rocket launcher in both hands.

"Yep."
Zak leveled his weapon at Bullseye. "Confirmed just before I called you
in."

The
marmoset’s large eyes bulged. "Not me." He morphed into a human av,
green spikes of hair rocketing upward from a youthful visage. He had called up
his own crafter with the morph and wielded it in trembling hands.

"Come
on. You know me better than that."

Zak
was the first to fire, a point-blank shot to the forehead. In the real world
Bullseye would have been obliterated, but in this virtual existence, it just
blew off the top of his head without killing him.

He
managed to choke out a plea. "Zak, please. Don’t do this. I wouldn’t
betray the fraggers."

The
little guy stalled, trying to call up better weapons, activate his healing
programs, or just unplug from his V-side host. But Zak had lockout codes for
every fragger in his contingency. Bullseye no longer had control of his fate.

"Please."
Bullseye screamed when he realized he’d never be able to unplug. "No. Help
me." He crawled toward Zak's feet.

Zak
fired into Bullseye’s newly healed face. The others fired their weapons until
Bullseye could no longer call up his healing programs. Then Ariel aimed her
rocket launcher at his spasming chest and finished the job.

Whoever
Bullseye was in the real world was now experiencing a neural overload. The
result would be either a cerebral hemorrhage or a heart attack. Then the idents
would break down with the cessation of cell activity. All traces of fragger
involvement would be erased, making it look like another gamer who dialed up
his neural stimulator too far or a streamer who couldn't handle insertion. That
was if anyone even found the body. Most fraggers were anti-social and chose a
life of solitude, except in the V-side.

Probably
did him a favor, ending his lonely existence.

Zak
looked at his contingency and knew one day that favor would probably be
returned.

4

"I
really hate your sister." Sara uppercut Dahlia's jaw. Her head snapped back,
her ponytail slapping her face. Dahlia lacked Faya's spirit. That must have
come from Faya's father's side since she and Dahlia shared the same mother.
Dahlia had quite the horrible shadow to live in, but that wouldn't win her any
sympathy from Sara. As soon as she found out four weeks ago that Faya Renault's
little sister was training here as well, Sara focused all her energy for this
one fight. Masked as a simple scrimmage, she meant to exact revenge on Faya
today, through her sister.

A
small group of Simon's private contractors cheered from the edges of the grass
sparring ring. The bare-footed females traded blows on the aqua-colored sod of
the training garden, which was fenced in on three sides by tall hedges.

A
mid-morning grey sky hung close above the clouds in the Prollixer Territory, a
thousand miles from the Palomin Reserve and Sara's hateful modification cell.
Her silver top and form-fitting black shorts, which exposed her navel and the
bottoms of her cheeks, remained cool and comfortable in the temperate climate,
even though she worked up a sweat. Much better than the desert heat.

Sara
leaned backward at the waist, denying Dahlia any contact from a side kick. In
one motion, she twisted upright and pushed her open palm into the other woman’s
chest. The force landed the contractor on the ground. Only a month ago Sara was
recovering from major reconstructive surgery, and weeks before that from Faya’s
torment. Sara kneeled on Dahlia’s chest, a small part of her pretending it was
Faya, and pressed her knee into the woman’s throat. She grabbed a handful of
pink hair and ripped it from her head. Out of desperation, Dahlia punched at
Sara. Only one of the three jabs found a mark, on the side of her jaw, but Sara
didn’t flinch.

The
crowd whipped into a frenzy as Dahlia struggled beneath Sara. The contractor’s
fist unballed and her arm fell to the grass. Her magenta streaked hair splayed
in the grass around her.

Strong
hands lifted Sara up and dragged her aside. She struggled against them until
she saw it was Rainer holding her back.

"Make
sure she's still breathing," he said.

A
couple of the contractors surrounding the ring jumped to help Dahlia. Some
meandered away now that the show was over, but a few just stood and watched
Rainer. Being Simon's Head Contractor, Rainer probably battled those killer
looks constantly, and most likely the actual attempts that sometimes
accompanied them.

Dahlia
sputtered to life. Rainer used his reporter to call for a medical team and
ushered Sara to the cool-down area outside the hedge ring.

"Hello,
Rainer." Sara smiled at him, a little knowing smile that spoke of the
secret they shared.

She
overheard one of the remaining male contractors tell his companion,
"Should have figured she'd be with him." Because Sara was an
ambasadora, training in contractor techniques, she was a novelty here, which
afforded her a fair share of nightly proposals, none of which she ever
accepted.

Seeing
Rainer again after so many weeks reminded her why. She stole a glance at him
while they walked together and was surprised to find his gaze on her, as well.

"Nice
to see you have your strength back," he said. "I'm not sure Dahlia
deserved that, though."

Those
were his first words to her? Nothing had changed. Disappointment flooded
through her, then a slow simmering rage. Sara had more than just her old
strength back—she was stronger than ever, both physically and emotionally.
Months of torture were bound to kill her or force her to adapt. She was
thankful it was the latter.

"Dahlia
was an unfortunate victim of her lineage," Sara said.

"She's
no more her sister than you are yours."

Sara
stiffened at the mention of her family. Until a week ago, she had had no
contact with them since Palomin. Then, just before the announcement that Sara
would become one of the honored ambasadoras, Simon allowed her to speak with
her mother. He stood beside her during the video call, seeming like the proud
leader, when really he wanted to monitor what she said. The threats he had made
against her family should she reveal her true circumstances kept her tone light
and a smile on her face for those few moments. Her mother expressed her pride,
but Sara could see confusion and worry behind her expression, especially as she
took in Sara's enhanced appearance. Thankfully, Simon hadn't noticed.

Rainer
lifted a towel from the table and handed it to her. The shade was the same
light green found in Simon's apartment back at Palomin. Rather than pulling
away from the memories of torture it evoked, Sara accepted it graciously. The
swirl of her purple intra-tat glowed a bit brighter on her right hand.

Rainer
watched the glowing speckles beneath her skin. "Do you ever find it
unsettling that your new body art owes its beauty to a tree crustacean?"

"Actually,
I didn't know where all these lights came from." She'd simply been told
the bio-lights were an exclusive mark of the ambasadoras and that they would be
a part of her for the rest of her life.

"I
asked the doctor in your recovery room," Rainer said. "They're
protein cells from proto-crustaceans living in canopy pools in the Archenzon
Cloud Forest on Tampa One."

"That’s
unnerving. To think I have another species living comfortably inside my
body." She patted her forehead dry then ran the towel over her neck.

"Harvesting
them must have been no simple task. Those forests were the first in the system
to be terraformed. The trees are enormous because they were never touched once
Tampa Deux opened for settlement."

"I've
never been there." Traveling to the system's farthest planet had never
appealed to her, but she would hop on a freight ship headed to the mines of
Deleine or the corrupted continents on Tampa Three this second if she could get
away from Simon.

"Most
people haven't since the Embassy imposed the trade embargo on Tampa One,"
Rainer said. "And after the quorum made their little visit and decided to
make the entire planet off limits, your little glowing friends are probably
worth more than this entire territory."

"Expensive
livestock brand," she muttered.

"You
haven't embraced your new role as a Face of the Embassy, I take it?"

She
hoped Rainer didn't suspect she just played Simon’s game until she had an
advantage of her own.

"It’s
better than the alternative." She squeezed his forearm in an attempt to
change his focus.

She
was a little surprised to see it had worked when he traced his finger along her
jaw to her neck and down to her cleavage.

"You
missed a spot." He rubbed the moisture from her body between his thumb and
forefinger.

A
mix of desire and anger welled within her. She slid her hand up his arm.
"You like the new me, don’t you?" she asked.

"It’s
different," he said.

"Better?
More like a contractor?" Sara caressed his neck with the back of her hand.

"Better,
but you'll never be a contractor, even with the hair and the training. It's not
in your genes."

"That's
right," she said as though just recollecting some odd fact. "Unlike
normal Socialites and Armadans, contractors only mix with other contractors.
You even take your profession based on your heritage, or is it the other way
around?" She leaned a little closer. "But, doesn't that lead to a lot
of inbreeding?"

Sara
thrust her fingers into Rainer’s neck, pinching the nerves. Before he could
react, she kicked his feet out from under him and held him at bay with one of
his own cenders.

"But
you'd be willing to overlook that for a tumble," she said. "It’s
still me. Just with a prettier shell. Apparently the shell is all that matters
to you." She looked up at a newly gathering crowd. "To anyone."

Rainer
made it to one knee before Sara pressed the cender into his temple.

A
few chuckles and a smattering of applause drifted her way from the crowd.

"Don’t
worry. I’ll dial down the energy before I shoot you, like you did for me that night
you brought me in for questioning."

Rainer
grabbed Sara's wrist. With his thumb jammed in between her tendons, she lost
her grip on his cender.

She
punched him in the jaw with her other hand.

"Enough."
Simon's tinny voice stopped the escalating fray. "Your training is paying
off, Ambasadora Mendoza. Now I suggest we try it out on someone other than
Contractor Varden."

Rainer’s
look was as hard as Simon's.

Sara
picked up the cender and offered the silver grip to Rainer. He grabbed her hand
with it, crushing her fingers into the metal. The action matched the threat in
his eyes. They both knew he wouldn’t do anything in front of Simon, but he had
just warned her about any future encounters.

She'd
be waiting.

"Leave
us," Simon said to the crowd of contractors.

"I
found you a ship, ambasadora. The Bard. It’s registered as a science
vessel, but was originally a pleasure cruiser, so the accommodations should be
reasonable. You will need a suitable transport to shuttle you from engagement
to engagement."

"Found
me a ship? Like you found me a new body and a new title? Don't expect me to be
honored by any of it."

Simon
whirled on her. "Never speak to me like that again or I'll send you back
to Contractor Renault, and this time I won't hold her back."

Sara's
face flushed and she avoided Rainer's gaze. "I apologize," she said
carefully. "Maybe it was the shock that you’re sending me out on social
engagements."

"I
am sending you to get information on a suspected fragger operative who lives
aboard the Bard," Simon said. "To keep up appearances, you
will be expected to attend certain social functions of my choosing."

Sara
forced her mouth to stay closed.

"Don’t
forget this new title and new body are gifts," he said. "I have personally
chosen each ambasadora based on exceptional breeding lineage, beauty, and
social skills. I chose you because you have a connection to my curse.
The training I've given you should have been reserved for a contractor. And, my
doctors had no choice but to improve your assets. How else could you charm the
fragger operative and bring him into your confidence?"

Sara’s
fists balled up when Simon mentioned her improved assets. Before Faya sliced
Sara's face to bits, she had been pretty, if not striking or beautiful. More
importantly, Sara's face had been hers. As the tears threatened, she
warned herself to quit mourning who she used to be and embrace this chance at a
more powerful life. Beat Simon with his own tools.

"How
do you know it’s a him?" Sara asked.

"Because
my sources suspect someone in particular."

"Who?"
Rainer spoke up.

Sara
wondered why Rainer wasn't privy to this information ahead of time. Perhaps the
Sovereign and his Head Contractor weren't as close these days. The implications
of how that could benefit her raced through her mind.

"The
Bard’s Armadan pilot, a David Anlow," Simon said.

Rainer
sniffed. "That doesn’t surprise me. Armadans are only three steps away
from being Lowers, and since fraggers are anti-caste, well…." He shrugged.

"How
old is this guy?" Sara asked. "I thought Armadans stayed with the
military until their century mark, then lived their last sixty or so years in
retirement on Yurai."

"Are
you afraid you won’t like the shell?" Rainer asked.

Sara
ignored the jibe.

"This
particular Armadan captain," Simon said, "left service of his own
volition halfway through his commission. His record at the time was superb. He
was even due for a promotion, one of the reasons my sources suspect him. Why
abandon your professional life in its prime?" Simon looked at Sara.
"He’s still in his prime sexually, as well, so I don’t think you’ll find
what I’m asking to be too unpleasant."

Simon
didn't know what unpleasant meant. But he would.

5

She
should be close.

David
watched Mari’s red-tipped blonde hair bounce over her eyes as he pressed her
back against the grey wall of his suite. With her legs wrapped around him, she
slid up and down the smooth surface quite easily. It was the only wall that
would work since it was the only one without wooden screens attached to it.

With
a forty year age difference, Boston Maribu and David Anlow had nothing in
common. Well, almost nothing.

Mari's
jaw slackened. Her breathing came in shallow gasps. When she seized his
shoulders in a death grip and clamped her mouth over his, he knew he had her.
And none too soon—he’d been close for a while and his legs were ready to give
out.

Their
bodies both tensed. David kept Mari pressed to the wall as he pumped inside her
one last time. And, he kept his mouth on hers in a tight kiss because she had a
tendency to be loud when she climaxed. It was hard to be discreet on a ship
with thin inner walls, especially with Mari's vigor for sex. David found it
more and more difficult to keep their couplings secret, and he knew Mari liked
the thrill of clandestine meetings in the beginning, but was ready to announce
to everyone that she and David were officially together.

He
wasn't.

David
feared the revelation about he and Mari would cause problems with the others,
but he also worried that the magic of their relationship would somehow end if
it were exposed to the world.

He
suspected Sean knew, but thankfully the younger man had never brought it up.
That would be more for Mari's sake than David's, though. Sean still had issues
with David, even after they had to put their petty differences aside when Mari
was abducted last month.

David
almost lost her to Dale Zapona. That human trafficking piece of shit tried to
sell her to a psycho named Liu Stavros whose sport was torturing and raping
young women from Deleine. Mari may have saved herself, but David's the one who
personally took care of Dale. David's brother, Ben, was still hunting down
Stavros. Hopefully David would hear good news soon.

The
trauma of the event was easing for Mari. Days like today almost seemed normal,
although she had become a bit clinging.

David
tossed her playfully onto the mattress on the floor. As soon as he collapsed
beside her, Mari wrapped herself up in half of the royal blue duvet and
snuggled against him. The citrus notes of her scentbots played in his nose once
again.

"How
could you possibly be cold after all of that?" He curled an arm around her
under the blanket.

"Because
you keep this place like a cave." She shivered. "It's not very homey.
You barely have any furniture. And what you do have is ugly."

David
scanned his bedroom. Three of the walls had large black screens adhered to
their surfaces. These were inset with an occasional white square over the grey
backing that covered the other walls and the ceiling. On the wall opposite the
entrance was a large framed line drawing of the Koley Mountains on Yurai,
David’s home planet. Besides the low bed and the freestanding lamps, the only
other piece of furniture was a light blue wooden chair that was more
comfortable than it looked...and apparently ugly.

The
spartan interior housed everything he needed, but more importantly, it looked
like his quarters on the Argo Protector just before he left his
commission there.

"It’s
better than the neon world where you live." He smiled and closed his eyes,
knowing the tease would get her riled up.

"What’s
wrong with a little color?" she asked.

"A
little color? It looks like the bottom part of the light spectrum
exploded all over your suite in green and blue globules." He peeked out of
one eye to see her reaction.

"Well,
when you become my prime, maybe I’ll let you have a say in the redecorating.
Unless we stayed in your suite, then I'd have a say in the redecorating.
Whose suite is bigger? I think mine is, but yours is closer to the bridge, so
that's something to consider."

Mari
prattled on.

David
stared at the ceiling.

Sometimes
she talked so fast and about so many different topics all at once that David
had a hard time following the conversation. Not that it ever really was much of
a conversation because Mari didn't often give him a chance to get a word in,
except when she was mad at him and during sex. The latter had to become a rule,
though, after the first couple of times that he and Mari were in the throes of
coupling and she talked through half of it. He managed to smother her mouth
with kisses during the other half, but as soon as he would come up for air,
she'd find something new to tell him. So they had agreed that unless it was
dirty, encouraging, or telling him that he was doing something wrong, it could
wait until afterward.

Still,
he liked to hear her voice. That's why the sudden quiet jarred him out of his
thoughts. Since they had just finished docking, it meant Mari's silence was
born of irritation, not coital bliss.

"Nothing
to say?" she asked.

"I
was just enjoying the moment." David tried to play innocent. He knew she
was referring to the marriage subject again, but he hoped to avoid a fight.

"David."

"I
thought we agreed not to talk about this for a while."

"It’s
been almost two weeks since I mentioned it." She propped herself up by an
elbow.

"That’s
only two weeks, not a while." He knew that wouldn’t pacify her. They would
end up in the same argument they always did recently.

"Do
you think you can do better than me?" she asked. Her tone implied she
didn't quite believe it, but she'd lost a bit of her confidence since her
abduction.

How
could I do better?

Mari's
insecurities about her coral-colored eyes were unfounded in David's opinion.
She couldn't help that she had a reaction to a vaccine while living on Deleine.
Besides, it gave her individuality in a society of tired copies. Of course,
that's why Dale could fetch such a high price for her from Stavros.

David's
real concern was Mari's age and inexperience. Not only was he her first real
relationship, but the first and only man she had ever been intimate with. That
worried him. She was too young to be thinking about marriage and children.
There was too much life for her yet to live. Armadans often started families
much later, after their service to the fleet came to an end, but Socialites
always jumped right in, practically after puberty. Just the cultural
variations, he supposed. Still, a guilty little part of him felt as though he
were taking advantage of her. He needed to be sure of his feelings and hers
before they took another step.

He
realized she was still talking when she asked, "Or are you just holding
out for a battle maiden?"

"I’ve
had lots and lots of battle maidens," he said. He meant it as a joke, but
she didn't need to know it was true.

She
flicked him in between the eyes, the purse of her lips daring him to continue.

"All
I meant was if I had wanted a military woman as my prime, then I had lots—a
couple of—opportunities to do so." He stroked her cheek, enjoying the
feel of her soft skin. "We'll talk about this another time, I
promise." He leaned over and kissed her until he could think of something
else to talk about, wondering at the morality of how many times he'd used his
kiss as a distractor.

"Are
you coming with me to the Hub to pick up our ambasadora today?" he asked.
Mari was always ready to venture off the ship.

When
her mouth became very small, he knew this morning would end in a fight no matter
what.

"Our
ambasadora?" she asked. "So, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re waiting for
a chance to snag a Face of the Embassy." She sat up and folded her arms
over her bare breasts.

David
caressed her thigh under the duvet, hoping to soothe her a bit. "Mari, you’re
making me crazy with your jealousy."

"So,
you aren’t going to deny it?"

She
hadn't heard a thing he said. He rested his head against her leg in defeat.
"There's nothing to deny, Mari."

This
just reinforced his earlier opinion that she was too young for him. Dealing
with a nineteen year-old's insecurities frustrated him, but it also made him
feel alive in a way even combat hadn't. Each day he stayed with Mari, he came
closer to reconciling those opposites. Even with today's fight, he favored
feeling alive.

"I
need to go," she said. "I promised Geir I'd help him with the mid-day
meal." She rolled out of the duvet and away from David, a little pout on
her thin lips. It was petulant, but arousing.

"Mari."

She
walked over to the chair where her clothes lay. David forgot their fight as he
watched her slip on her little mauve top and shorts while she hummed some song
he had never heard before.

"Mari."

When
she pulled on matching thigh-high boots, he considered taking her back to bed, boots
and all. She might be a little short, but her legs were long, and those boots
made them even longer.

"Mari."

She
studied the line drawing on the wall, trying to ignore him as he pulled on
pants and a shirt, but he caught her peeking at his body anyway. It was one of
the things she liked best about him. He walked over to her and hugged her from
behind. She liked it when he chased her after a fight, and he was usually happy
to oblige her. He figured if they parted on bad terms they might never find their
way back to one another.

"So,
we'll talk about this again in a while?" she asked.

"I
promised we would, and I will always keep my promises to you," he said
against the softness of her hair. It smelled like a combination of her citrusy
scentbots and the gentle floral shampoo she favored.

She
spun around in his arms, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a little peck on
the lips. "You better," she said, and with that announcement, she was
out the door.

David
spoke into the empty room. "I'd marry you tomorrow and start making babies
if I thought it was the best thing for you." He was already sure it was
the best thing for him.

This
was why civilians irritated David Anlow—especially scientists. You couldn't
just order them around. They had opinions and wanted to debate every
decision.

"So,
it’s true." Sean Cryer spoke from across the jadeite dining table.
"The Embassy is forcing this woman on us even after our petitions to them
state we don't have room for her?"

He
and David were the only ones standing, as if squaring off against one another.
Though larger than average, Sean's frame couldn't match David's, but the light
from the curving sculpture lamp behind Sean made him look bigger. And, the
younger man had the presence and aggressive confidence of an Armadan, which
served to reaffirm a certain suspicion David had about Sean Cryer's ancestry.
Of course, it was hard to tell how much of the attitude and bravado came
naturally and how much he garnered from the mind and mood-altering poisons he
swallowed, injected, or sniffed. Plus, Armadans could control their
confrontational impulses—Sean could not.

Everyone
else watched intently while enjoying their meal.

"I'm
sure those petitions you sent out were read by a sub-official, then filed away
forever," David said. "Let's try and make the most of this."

"If
the Bard keeps gaining passengers, you might have enough for a squadron
soon," Geir Shang said in jest. "Then it would be like you were
navigating one of those big Armada cruisers again, instead of piloting around a
handful of scientists, though I imagine we're better looking and more
fun."

Odd
that Geir would make a military joke when he was an Armadan who had chosen a
life of science over joining the fleet. David had mixed feelings about Armadans
like Geir, mainly because one of David's brothers and his sister had taken the
civilian route upon graduation. Though not unique among Armadans, his siblings
were the first in the Anlow family circle to break tradition, and David, even
though he left service early, seemed to be the only one who had difficulty
accepting their choices.

Still,
Geir had become a good friend. The dark man would see things David’s way. He
always did. David shoved Geir’s booted foot out of his chair. It landed with a
thud on the lilac and blue swirl of the floor. "I’m not exactly thrilled
with the idea of a new body myself," he admitted. "I’m still trying
to get used to some of you after three months." He looked pointedly at
Sean whose expression dared him to say more.

If
Sean hadn’t performed technological miracles several times on this antiquated
pleasure craft, David would have petitioned to have him jettisoned into the
deep dark weeks ago.

"Look,"
David reasoned. "We all knew this was coming. We’ve been preparing for it
for almost a month. There’s nothing we can do about it now."

"Scientists
need room for their research," Mari said. "We're already sharing the
public space among the six of us. Her room was going to be a laboratory
for Kenon and Geir."

David
wanted to punch Sean in the mouth for getting Mari worked up about this issue
again. "Then why haven't they gotten around to using it all these years?
Or even within the months since I got here?"

Sean
jumped in again. "What about all the rerouting? We're expected to change
all our schedules to accommodate her shopping trips and parties."

"That's
not true."

"So,
we're not rerouting?" Sean asked.

Sean
was shrewd. He knew the answer already because he had confronted David about
that very issue yesterday. Now, he wanted the rest of the passengers to hear
it.

"We're
tweaking the schedule like we would for any of the rest of you, and not for
shopping trips. She's new. We can be a little accommodating."

Sean
was relentless. "And what about the next passenger they saddle us with?
Because you know this is just the beginning unless we show the Embassy we can't
accommodate any more bodies on board. Why does Prollixer want the Bard
to carry a diplomat anyway? Doesn’t make sense." Sean’s features softened
when Solimar Robbins came through the door next to him and placed her palm
against his chest in greeting.

The
mocha-skinned woman looked every centimeter an Upper female in her navy,
shape-hugging dress. She paused in front of Sean, while he returned her
greeting with a kiss to her forehead. For someone who was supposedly so
anti-establishment, the mech tech still followed the dictates of polite
society, even in the heat of an argument.

An
argument that was a waste of time.
David ran his hand over his face.

Sean,
paranoid doser that he was, acted as though the ambasadora's presence was a
personal affront to him. Now he wanted one more open forum.

To
keep that from happening, David said the same thing he had before.
"It doesn’t matter why. The Embassy owns the Bard. They say
so, we do so."

"Then
Sean's right?" Geir asked, before taking a forkful of the casserole he and
Mari had whipped up for lunch.

"About
what?" David asked.

"That
the Embassy can force anyone or anything on us at any time and we have no say
about it," Sean said. "How can that be okay with you?"

David
looked around for support. Nothing. Just a bunch of metal utensils dinging
against finely crafted dinnerware.

It’s
a simple concept, yet I’m the only one getting it.

Apparently
not caring about why was blasphemy to a group of scientists. He would be
glad to get off this frigid ship and visit the Hub today.

"I’d
like to think of this as an opportunity." Kenon Brudger spoke up.

David
was pleasantly surprised. The foppish geological observer disagreed with David
almost as often as Sean did.

"Finally
a man of reason," David said.

Mari
sniffed.

"Opportunity
for you to snag a new amour, you mean," Sean said.

"If
she finds me appealing, I would welcome her," Kenon said.

"Right
into your bed." Geir slapped Kenon on the back, nearly sending the
slight-framed man sliding out of his chair.

As
Kenon complained of a bruised shoulder and indigestion, Sean slammed his palms
on the table. Dishes jumped up and landed with a crash.

David's
hands balled into fists.

"Easy,
Sean. I feel like you do," Mari said. She reached a hand out and touched
his arm. David didn't like it, but he kept his calm. He believed Sean when he
said he and Mari were only friends, but they had a history together that
needled at David.

"Can't
the rest of you see it’s just a way for the Embassy to control our independent
operations here?" Sean asked.

Geir
laughed and wrapped a dark arm around Sean’s shoulders. "That's our Sean.
Always thinking too much."

"Always
paranoid," David said.

"Some
of you aren’t thinking enough." Sean pushed off the dining table.
"Kenon, transport leaves in three minutes, with or without you."

Part
of David wanted to follow Sean out of the room and settle this once and for
all, but mostly he was just glad to be rid of him for a while.

"We
should call him Sunshine. What do you think?" Geir laughed.

"That’s
nicer than what I call him," David said.

"And
nicer than what he calls you." Kenon stood up from the jadeite table.

"Really?
What's he call me?"

The
others looked at each other and laughed, even Mari.

A
beep sounded from David's reporter. "Now I'm late."

"You
better go." Mari cleared the dishes without looking up at him.
"Wouldn’t want to make our guest wait. She’s too important." She
walked over to give a departing kiss on the cheek to Geir.

If
that’s how Mari wanted to play it, David could certainly hold out longer.
"You're right. She is pretty important."

Mari's
head whipped around, but David wasn't letting her off the hook for siding with
Sean.

"Ready,
Soli?" David made for their own planet side transport. He waited until he
and Soli were out of earshot of the others, then leaned over and asked,
"So, what’s Sean call me?"

6

Sean
heard Giselle moaning as soon as he and Kenon entered the rounded foyer.

Kenon
slipped off his shoes and moved quietly over the smoky-colored tiles toward the
sitting room. "So that’s why we had to let ourselves in," he said.
"Obviously, Giselle didn’t want any intrusions today, including from her
own servants."

Sean
contemplated undoing the series of snaps and fasteners holding his boots in
place and decided the servants would be back after Giselle's tryst to clean up
anyway. Still, he walked stealthily after Kenon, who had paused in the foyer’s
gallery to smile at the latest vid of his daughter, Hailey. The six year-old
spun around in a circle, her long blonde curls bouncing on the sleeves of her
baby blue dress. He held out a hand as if to touch her face.

"This
sweet child carries my genes, my heart," Kenon whispered.

"Yet,
like every other Upper Caste parent I know, you send your children off to
nurseries, only to see them a few times a year."

Kenon
didn't seem to hear. "Watch."

The
little girl twirled in her holoscape again. She looked just like Giselle with
her heart-shaped face and upturned nose. Only her blue eyes were unmistakably
Kenon's.

"You
could have probably done with a more proper education." Kenon sniffed.

If
only Kenon knew. Sean's childhood had all the proper education and etiquette,
even having a Lower Caste mother, but he saw no reason to practice good
behavior when few Uppers around him ever did. The system's motto seemed to be
that so long as the whole system was aware that one knew better,
one never really had to do better. He hated the hypocrisy. That's why he
left school at thirteen to learn as much as he could about the V-side and join
the fragger organization. He wasn't sure what would appall Kenon more, the fact
that Sean was a halfcaste or a fragger.

They
followed the curve of the white-walled gallery into Giselle’s sitting room.
Tall-backed couches in lush mauve patterns and dark wooden tables of assorted
sizes separated them from the large windows covering the far wall.

In
the center of the tiled floor lay a silver rug. On top of it Giselle straddled
a man. She wore nothing but the onyx necklace Kenon had given her for Hailey's
conception. He told Sean he'd take him to the same jeweler for a good deal when
the need to finally marry stirred within him.

So
far it hadn't, and Sean didn't anticipate it stirring any time soon.

The
heavy, black pendant seemed large for Giselle's delicate frame. It smacked
roughly between her small breasts as she moved up and down on the male under
her.

"That's
Mikail," Kenon said. "The amour she took after me."

Sean
probably met the auburn-headed man at Hailey's naming ceremony, and then again
when Soli had talked Sean into attending Hailey’s induction into the Tampian
nursery a few years back. The induction was Sean's last formal function. He
even adopted a scruffy appearance to detract anyone from inviting him anywhere
again.

Giselle
and Mikail were so involved with their coupling that Kenon and Sean went
unnoticed. Sean said he'd wait in the other room, but Kenon placed delicate
fingers on his forearm.

He
mouthed, "He has bad form. Schooled in Witho."

The
schools from Mikail's home territory on Tampa Deux were known more for their
attention to the Media than their attention to sex education. Mikail wasn't
helping their cause. His rhythm was already slowing just as Giselle picked up
her pace. Sean had his doubts Mikail would be able to match her as she moved
faster and pushed down harder. It wouldn’t be long now, judging by Giselle’s
heavy breathing.

Kenon
smiled and elbowed Sean when Mikail finally lost the rhythm completely, then
let his hips rest and waited for Giselle to finish them both.

"At
least she got something out of it," Kenon whispered, then loudly,
"Hello, Giselle. Mikail."

Giselle’s
big, grey eyes looked up at them from under mussy locks of blonde hair. She
flashed a sly smile to say she knew they were there all along.

Mikail
obviously did not, as his annoyed tone implied. "Do you mind, Kenon? We’re
in the middle of something."

"It
would seem you’re at the end of something, Mikail."

Sean
coughed to cover a laugh. Posturing among Socialites always amused him.

They
all knew Kenon had privilege as Giselle’s prime. Mikail would have to defer if
asked.

"We’ll
come by later, Giselle," Kenon said.

Tricky
bastard.

Kenon
knew they'd find Giselle and Mikail here alone. That's why he suddenly needed
Sean to reprogram his wrist reporter for access to the systems in Giselle's
manor.

"Wait,
Kenon," she called. "He was just leaving."

Ouch.
A dismissal. Not Mikail's day.

Sean
half-expected a fight to ensue. Domestic incidents between competing amours
were few, or at least few were reported. Kenon probably respected Giselle too
much to push the issue, and more importantly was fearful of bodily injury from
the larger Mikail. Another reason Kenon had brought Sean along.

"Fine,"
Kenon said. "We’ll be in the viewing room. Sean needs to make some
adjustments to my reporter anyway. Nice to see you again, Mikail," he said
over his shoulder.

No
response issued forth.

"He’s
always hated me." Kenon led Sean through a back hallway to the more
comfortable viewing room with its casual furnishings and fully stocked bar.

"Imagine
that. Jealousy among amours."

"Jealousy?" Kenon said the word as though it were
the most ridiculous he'd ever heard. "Giselle is just one of three. I
enjoy them all the same. And they enjoy each of their other amours in turn.
Just one perk of a large family circle. You should try it."

"Keep
telling yourself that." Sean decided long ago that many Lowers had the
right idea—one partner, less headaches.

Kenon
switched on the Media with his faulty reporter. A large viewscreen
materialized in the air opposite the bar and dominated the room. Two round
sienna faces with short platinum hair flashed to life in mid-commentary.

"...Socialite
Mariam Datwal chose the Passing Ritual this morning after a medical exam
concluded her ova were not viable. Her lineage remains intact due to her
sacrifice. She died honorably and comfortably after requesting her doctor to
administer...."

Kenon
muted the sound.

"Thought
your reporter was non-responsive to these systems," Sean said.

"Hmmm?
Oh, it seems to be working fine right now. Zionian gin?" He held up a blue
tumbler.

"Fuck
you, Kenon. What a waste of my time. Just an excuse to spy on Giselle."

"I
think she's planning to take a third amour." Kenon became serious and
downed his glass.

"Thought
you wanted to expand your circle."

Kenon's
voice remained pleasant. "Of course. I figured she would want another
child soon. She and Mikail had Sasha three years ago. Hailey is now six. I just
thought we’d be planning for another of our own by now."

Sean
almost felt sorry for Kenon. Trapped in the tenets of a society and trying to
make the best of it because it was the right thing to do. He couldn't
blame him for that. Misery was always the side-effect of any ideology. Sean
sniffed at the gin and gave it a swirl.

On
the screen, the image of gossip-mongering hosts gave way to the sharp features
and pale skin of the most recognizable man in the system, Sovereign Simon
Prollixer.

Sean's
mood darkened further. He put the glass to his lips, but thought better of it.
Mixing alcohol with double dosers could produce debilitating side effects. Too
bad he'd taken that last batch of stims before they left.

Bubbles
with video clips from the day’s headliners bounced along the screen’s edge,
expanding and contracting. A clip of a particularly beautiful, redheaded woman
bounced by, the word AMBASADORAS rotating within it. Sean used his
implanted reporter to expand the window. It manipulated all the systems in
Giselle’s residence just like Kenon's did, though the couple didn’t know this.

When
the redhead began to speak, Sean turned up the volume. She proved more
interesting than Mikail’s whining from the other room.

"…can’t
tell you what an honor it is to be a Face of the Embassy. I’m sure you’ll be
hearing good things about the ambasadoras. The Sovereign was wonderful to give
us this opportunity. I think all the women will agree he has been like a father
to us. He is a very generous man with a wonderful heart."

Sean
wanted to hurl his untouched drink through the screen. Naïve bitch. All the
ambasadoras were being used to redirect attention away from the true intentions
of the Embassy.

The
woman’s light green eyes were almost as shiny as her glossed lips. She played
up to her audience by angling her head and smiling, techniques that wooed only
the weakest of men.

"Isn't
she incredible?" Kenon stared transfixed at the screen as the ambasadora
sang another round of praises for the Sovereign. "So much beauty, so much
poise."

The
camera pulled back to a half-body shot to show a glimpse of violet lights
pulsing up one of her shapely biceps, then the angle returned to her laughing
face.

"This
whole ambasadora business is nothing more than a publicity stunt by the
Embassy," Giselle said from behind them. She slid past Sean in an
orchid-colored silk robe. "I don’t know how the Sovereign found sixty
Socialite women willing to demean themselves that way."

Giselle
attempted to hide the jealousy in her voice with a nonchalant posture. Sean
knew better. Anything that placed one Upper above another in societal standing
was always a cause for envy.

"I
agree," Sean said under his breath, but Giselle had picked up on it.

"Hello,
Scientist Cryer." Giselle winked.

Kenon
pretended not to notice her flirting and poured another gin.

"You
can skip the title. It means nothing." Sean finally swallowed the smooth
liquid, no longer caring about the consequences.

"Then
how about mech tech? Isn't that what you all call him aboard ship,
Kenon?" The term was meant as an insult, but Sean had found many more mech
techs he liked than Socialites.

"Just
Sean. If you have to talk to me at all."

She
had already lost interest in him anyway, nuzzling up to Kenon and telling him
she had something to discuss.

Sean
made to leave, but Sovereign Prollixer's reappearance on the Media pulled his
attention back.

"The
ambasadoras will fill the roles of our once cherished archivists, sharing
information about our projects and bringing back wonderful news of success
within the system."

All
of which could be accomplished faster and with less expense via the Media or
virtually. That tingling feeling inside Sean that said he was right made him
angry because the situation was actually worse than he thought. Rather than
acting as passive distractions, the ambasadoras would be actively spying for
the Sovereign and few citizens would question it in order to be a part of the
fanfare. Now one of those women would be living with Sean on the Bard,
watching him, maybe reporting on his activities.

"I'm
heading back, Kenon. Have fun."

Sean
needed to make another stop in the V-side to find out more about Ambasadora Sara
Mendoza's history before she insinuated herself into his life. What he found
out just might determine the length of hers.

Shots
ricocheted off metal. A huge hand grabbed the top of Zak's armor, pulling him
to the floor. Three projectile rounds sparked in the darkness against a steel
railing just centimeters from where he had stood. The soft echoing of the shots
told him he was inside a cavernous room. The swaying floor and the aerated
metal slicing into his cheek where he fell hinted at a catwalk of some sort.

"Haven’t
seen you around in a while," Topper said, the scarred face of his human av
scarier than his normal reptilian form.

"I’ve
been keeping a low profile, but thanks for the welcome back." Zak wiped
the blood on the back of his hand.

No
healing programs in a true combat world.

It
had been almost three weeks since his last session—when he had pulled
Bullseye's plug.

"I
think Zak’s got a new woman." Cuzco chuckled from somewhere behind them.
Zak’s sight adjusted to see the big man crouched at the end of the catwalk
taking aim at a rival contingency among the industrial machinery down below.
Cuzco had been away on some special op for months. He had even missed
Bullseye's elimination.

"Been
finding better ways to work out, haven’t you?" Cuzco asked.

"Hmmm.
I always thought Zak was a woman." Ariel opened up on an enemy
trying to sneak up a nearby ladder. Her crafters weren’t as powerful as the
rocket launcher she used on the dragons, but in this training scenario rockets
weren't allowed.

Ariel
probably wasn’t joking about him being female. It was common for fraggers and
gamers to switch genders in a virtual world. Sometimes it was an extra
concealment technique. Sometimes it was just for the arousal. Considering Zak
had always shrugged off Ariel's invitations for v-sex, she must have figured he
was either a woman or into same gender.

Sean
wasn't SG. He just made it a rule never to have v-sex with anyone. It creeped
him out to think who might be on the other end of all that stimulation.

"Who’s
down below?" Zak asked.

"Eclipse’s
contingency," Cuzco said. "She’s been waiting for you to show. Wanted
to convey her condolences about Bullseye." He handed off a new clip to
Vishneu as he belly-crawled past the smaller man.

"It
took everyone by surprise, I’m sure, Zak said." Bullseye had a lot of
friends in the organization." He half-stood to let Vishneu squirm by and
almost took a round to the head.

"Yeah,
the whole incident caused quite an uproar," Cuzco said. "At least
thirty fraggers have come forward with overthrow strategies."

"Overthrow
strategies?"

"This
is the third case of faulty intel resulting in wrongful elimination." The
coldness in Ariel’s voice didn’t match the chill running down Zak’s spine.
"Next time it could be one of us."

Faulty
intel. Wrongful elimination.

"What
are you talking about?" Zak grabbed Ariel’s bare arm and yanked her down
beside him.

"Easy,
Zak, if you want a little, all you have to do is ask. I’m always willing."
She grabbed his crotch.

He
knocked her hand away. "No, I mean it, what's this about faulty
intel?" Why hadn't the bosses contacted him? Hearing it from his whole
contingency after the fact made him look like a fool. But maybe that was the
point someone higher up was trying to make.

"You
have been out of the loop, haven’t you? Bullseye had nothing to do with the
data dump. It came from an orbital source." Ariel shrugged. "Sorry. I
thought you knew."

Zak
slumped against the perforated railing.

"The
head idiots had us take out one of our own guys based on bad info,"
Vishneu finally spoke up.

He
turned away when Zak make eye contact, then Vishneu stood up and screamed,
unleashing a torrent of strafing fire upon the contingency on the floor. His
upper body jerked as he took several rounds in the chest. He fell against the
handrail. The entire catwalk shook violently and threw Ariel backward over the
railing.

Zak
stood up to grab her arm. An explosive round impacted on his back before he
could catch her. He steadied himself against the handrail only to take another
hit to his shoulder. It was enough to throw him off balance and pitch him
forward, over the railing.

Sean’s
heart thudded and his stomach tightened as Zak’s body went into free-fall.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he heard the crunch of Ariel's body hit the
concrete. Zak’s body hit seconds later.

Sean’s
connection was automatically severed with Zak’s demise, but his physical body
back on the Bard responded to the impact. He fought to catch his breath
as he frantically pulled the lenses from his eyes.

Quivering
from the pain of a hundred virtual broken bones, Sean screamed in the darkness
of his own bedroom. He rolled off the bed and fell to his knees, then he balled
his hands into fists and smashed them into the floor until the pain he felt
turned into a numb afterthought. He concentrated on his breathing, the scent of
conductor fluid, blood, and sweat pushing into his nose.

Today
marked the first time in a decade he had been killed in virtual combat,
but that wasn't what hurt most. His mind crept back to one thought: wrongful
elimination.

His
breathing became more labored. Resting his forehead on the cold floor, Sean
rocked back and forth in an attempt to push out the grief…and with it, the
guilt.

7

I
wish I had brought some shades.

By
the time David and Soli stepped off the magno-ramp inside the Embassy, they had
to squint against the sunlight filtering through the six-story chalcedony
atrium. A translucent wall of pale blue light buffeted the huge reception area.

David
searched the spacious lobby for somewhere to sit. Several intimate groupings of
cushy white couches and chairs clustered around immense green pillars that
spiraled toward the thirty meter high ceiling. He found an empty couch and
motioned for Soli to join him.

He
sat down heavily and put a fist to his chest. After stifling a painful belch,
he said, "Solimar, don’t ever let me eat maznee again.  I don’t care
if I’m starving."

"Serves
you right for going to that filthy diner. If you were too late for the Embassy
dinner, why didn’t you just go to Oso Negro’s or Yama’s? They’re both right
across the street." She looked at him with her coffee-colored eyes from
under a baby blue braid. Her blue hair contrasted with her tawny skin in a very
fetching manner.

"They're
out of my pay range," David said, sorry now that he had settled for the
special at—

what was the name of that place? He couldn’t remember, though he did
remember the special. A fermented
bowl of maznee-spiced chowder he had forced down in three swallows.

"Do
you see a medmarket anywhere?" He pounded on his chest.

Soli
laughed.

"Are
you enjoying my misery?"

"No,
it’s just typical you," she said. "You get an Embassy stipend for
piloting one of their science cruisers, and you’re afraid to spend even
that."

"I’m
not afraid of anything. Armadan, remember?" He gave her a wink.

"Who
left the military for life as a civilian pilot."

"Don't
remind me," David muttered. "By the way, there’s nothing wrong with
being frugal."

"We
only get one hundred sixty cycles if we’re lucky, so I say there’s no need to
be frugal." She playfully squeezed his forearm.

He
wasn’t going to argue with her. Soli was used to being pampered and taken care
of, like most of the other Socialites on the Bard. Warriors, or even
ex-warriors, were self-sufficient as a point of pride. It separated them from
other Upper Caste citizens. And, no doubt, put them a step closer to acting
like Lowers through a Socialite's coddled eyes.

"So,
you never mentioned how you felt about our new passenger," he said.

Soli
had always been affable, but David only recently developed a good rapport with
the woman. Her job as a social archivist made her one of the biggest busybodies
in the system and that made David uncomfortable. Soli’s constant recording of
daily activities aboard ship was disconcerting and still took some getting used
to. Was this why the original archivists were revered, because they knew
everything about everyone?

"I’m
anxious to meet her," Soli said. "The Media has shown interviews with
some of the ambasadoras, and they are quite beautiful, even by Socialite
standards."

"Hey,
you and your prime are ready to have your first child."

Or
her brother’s child, to be exact.
SG amours relied on siblings as donors and carriers.

"You’re
not allowed to look at another woman for a while," David said.

"No
one really follows those mores anymore, David."

"Kenon
does."

She
pondered the statement, watching a young mother parade her toddler proudly
around the atrium.  "I suppose you're right. It's endearing how he's
so ingrained in tradition. Shows his upbringing. Good circles."

"Like
Trala?" David asked, liking the way Soli's eyes lit up with the mention of
her prime's name.

"Exactly
like Trala. She's very refined and more gracious than I deserve, perhaps. I
would never stray from her during the carrying. Besides, I don’t believe any of
the ambasadoras are into SG. This one is all yours."

"No
thanks," David said.

"You
don’t think you’ll find her attractive?" Soli asked. "Or have you
been seeing someone else?" Her tone sounded playful and insinuating.

"It
doesn’t matter," David said too quickly, remembering Soli was there when
David worked frantically to get Mari back from Dale Zapona and Liu Stavros.
"You know my philosophy about tumbles between crew members."

"I
never mentioned crew, and technically, we’re not crew, only passengers."

"It's
all the same."

"Do
you really think your philosophy would stop, oh, say Mari and Kenon from having
a tryst? Or, more likely Mari and Sean?"

David's
eyes narrowed at the mention of an assumed attraction between Mari and anyone.
“What do you mean? Have you heard something?”

Soli
laughed. "It was a hypothetical thought, though a conceivable one. I could
even imagine Mari with you."

David
wasn't taking the bait, though he shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat.
"Shipboard romances make things awkward. If something goes awry, you have
to see the person every day. That’s why Kenon lives in space, far away from all
his trysts, and especially his amours. I wonder if he even likes the women he
has children with. Wouldn’t he want to be by their sides as much as
possible?" David paused. "Why do you live in space,
Soli?"

Her
full lips shrunk up a bit before she said, "You’re interesting, David Anlow.
I don’t know if your views are a product of your Armadan upbringing or just a
way to hear yourself talk."

"It’ll
take you another three months to figure that out."

A
sudden rise in the conversations around them drew David’s attention to the
shimmering magnos on the next tier. Their elegantly curving surfaces
transported society's political elite to and from the Embassy offices. Standing
at the top was the head man himself, Sovereign Simon Prollixer, flanked by a
pair of Embassy contractors and a woman.

David
had only known the Sovereign from clips on the Media so was surprised to see
that, in the flesh, the man looked to be only ten years older than he. Probably
had seen the reconstructive surgeon a few times to achieve that.

Sovereign
Prollixer’s real age seemed to be the biggest mystery in this arm of the
galaxy. David guessed about one ninety, but some sources postulated it was
twice that.

He
felt underdressed even in his brown uniform pants and light blue button up
shirt. The Sovereign stood rigid in a formal suit. David knew just how
uncomfortable the starched fabric could be, having sported the side-zipped
tunic and front-zipped pants on more than one occasion. The tunic proved too
hard to get on—the pants too hard to get off. The Socialite ladies went crazy
for the look, which led him back to the part about the pants being too hard to
get off…which led him to the woman who stood next to Sovereign Prollixer.

She
wore a black full-length gown suspended from her neck by one thick strap. He
followed a V of sheer black netting past a swell of breasts. Slits ran down
both sides of the gown, beginning at her thighs and reaching the floor. The
focus, though, was a six-inch wide purple corset cinched at her waist.

Her
hair sat atop her head in a crown of black and purple ringlets. The only
adornment David could see was the most obvious and the most captivating, a
swirling pattern of purple lights pulsing slowly under the skin of her bare
right arm.

The
bioluminescence mesmerized him. Though the Media were all abuzz about these
ambasadora-exclusive intra-tats, this was the first time he had seen one in
person.

"She
is beautiful," Soli said in David’s ear.

He
nodded, thinking of a particular nineteen year-old blonde back on the Bard
who was not going to like this one bit.

They
waited at the bottom of the magno to receive their newest passenger. The
ambasadora leaned forward, as if to whisper in the closest contractor's ear.
Instead, she chopped him in the back of the neck, then pushed the other into
the Sovereign. The men tumbled partway down the ramp.

She
kicked off her shoes and slid over the handrail to an ascending magno,
disappearing onto the office level.

David
looked at Soli. "I didn’t see that coming."

8

"Move!"

Sara
flew past a startled Embassy staffer, her bare feet slapping the onyx floor. As
she raced through flanking planters of giant wax ferns, their iridescent leaves
strobed green then lavender. When she broke into the office hub proper, she
slowed her pace and stayed close to the obsidian fountain wall on her left. It
would be best to avoid the outer offices which lay to the far right, inset
behind the grey corbelled arches.

She
needed to be on the other side of the fountain anyway. That’s where the
elevators were. Upon approaching the end of the fountain barrier, which
separated the descending and ascending walkways to the magnos, Sara noticed a
pair of contractors heading toward her from under an arch. One had his long,
black hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of his neck, the other had his
short hair combed into the more common center ridge style.

Just
how Rainer always wears his.

But
even with the similar bone structure, she could tell from this distance it
wasn't him. She waited until the contractors split up, walking in opposite
directions. Their casual black pants and jackets made them dark spots among a
spectrum of green and grey-suited staffers. Even if the men hadn’t been donning
the unofficial uniform, the twin side arms strapped to their upper thighs still
advertised their profession. No one besides Embassy contractors could carry a
weapon here.

When
both men were out of sight, Sara headed for one of the large cylindrical
communications ports. There were three of the silver kiosks on this side of the
hub. Each one could provide cover to the emergency elevator at the far end of
the lobby.

She
circled the first cylinder and saw most of the doors scrolled a pink
holographic message: OCCUPIED…OCCUPIED.

Without
stopping, she moved onto the next kiosk and then pretended to wait for it to
open as several people walked past and chatted about the upcoming Tertian
Verdant Gala. She was about to head to the third kiosk when she saw the
ponytailed contractor reappear beside it.

He
stayed between her and the lift, but luckily hadn't seen her. Circling the
cylinder, she kept her right arm close to the port doors in an attempt to hide
her bio-lights. Too many passers-by liked to gawk at the purple pulses that
were now glowing wildly with her increased heart rate. It was hard not to be
noticed with those dots advertising her location like a skyway v-board.

She
peeked around to see the contractor still hovering in between the kiosks. She
could have thought this out a bit better, but there hadn’t been time. The
impulse to escape had only come to her as she was escorted through here
on her way to the magnos. She should have waited until she was on her way to
her new ship. Impatience had gotten the best of her. Ironic, considering she
had bided her time for two months while Simon kept her under lock and key. She
couldn’t have waited a few more minutes?

The
contractor circled the far kiosk. Sara ducked around the side of the
communications port. She looked around and saw the short-haired contractor
turning the corner at the fountain wall. Her only recourse would be to hide out
for a while. Of the six ports on this side, all scrolled pink.

One
of them had to empty soon.

One
did…all the way down at the far end. She headed straight toward the man
vacating it and smiled. He nodded, then looked down at her arm. Before he could
comment about the lights flashing under her skin, she touched the controls to
open the door and ducked inside.

A
viewer attached to the narrow wedge wall directly in front of her glowed bright
azure and the white overhead lights began to dim as the door slid shut. It had
almost closed completely when the overhead lights came back on. She turned to
see if the long gown had impeded the door, but something from behind pushed her
roughly and threw her face first against the communications viewer.

Quick
reflexes allowed her to jab an elbow backward into some kind of soft flesh.
Strong hands wrapped around her wrists and pushed her back into the viewer, its
blue glow washing into her vision as the door finally closed all the way.

She
attempted to struggle, but the small space, meant for only one occupant at a
time, left her no room to move, not that she could have anyway as the intruder
pressed his body against hers from the back. When she smelled a familiar woody
scent, she relaxed.

"Rainer?"

"What
are you doing, Sara?" he asked near her left ear.

"Trying
to take back my life. You could help me, you know." She pushed her
backside against his crotch.

He
loosened his grip on her wrists. "I’ve already helped you too much. And,
you don't seem to appreciate all the gestures."

She
threw her head back and made contact with his temple. He slammed her back into
the viewer.

"You
know, Simon’s going to be pretty upset if you muss up one of his pets,"
she said. "And, by the way, you were helping yourself when you slipped me
those stims. You always came conveniently after my modification sessions
with Faya."

"I
did what I could for you, yet you assume the worst of me."

"Rainer,
I don’t believe that you, or any other contractor, has ever done a good deed
without getting something in return. You wanted Faya to breech her contract.
What better way to prove to Simon that he’d hired the wrong woman for
the job? You're petty and pathetic."

She
didn't believe those words entirely, but she couldn't trust anyone after the
nightmare of these past months. She wanted to trust Rainer, and that was reason
to push him as far away as possible. She would never be caught with her guard
down again.

"Such
a mighty little darling you’ve become. Not at all like the bloody, weeping mess
I used to find curled up on the floor of the Sovereign’s guest quarters. What
was it Faya used to rub into those shallow little cuts? Chlorate?"

Sara
stiffened. She wouldn’t let him into her head with memories of torture.
"Bet you wouldn’t have thought of that. Guess she was the better
choice."

"The
stims helped, didn’t they? That’s why you offered yourself to me all those times,
out of gratitude." He leaned closer until she could feel his breath on her
ear, his whole body pressed against hers. "But, whatever made you think
I’d want to touch you? Let’s face it, you weren’t exactly at your best."

If
she could have turned around, she would have spit in Rainer’s face. Her stomach
churned with the memories of her obsession with him. It had nothing to do with
him—it was all about relieving her misery, if only for a short while. She was
right not to trust him.

"Don’t
flatter yourself, Rainer. I was so desperate for the comfort of a warm body
even a fragger would’ve done."

"You’re
a liar."

"Piss
off."

The
overhead light blinked on.

"Contractor
Varden, do you need any help?"

Rainer
pulled Sara out and flung her into the awaiting guards.

"No,
I think our ambasadora is willing to go quietly. You still have a little
dignity left, don’t you, Sara?"

"Have
a seat, Ambasadora Mendoza." Simon’s back was to her as the contractors
pulled her into his office. He watched a large viewer that covered almost half
of the dark green wall. It showed a man and a woman sitting in the waiting area
just outside. That’s why they brought Sara in through the back, so she wouldn't
be seen.

She
slid into a metal-framed blue chair. The dimly lit office unnerved her. Maybe
he just didn’t want her to see his many shelved trinkets. He branded her a
thief, after all. That was the reason he kept her alive, to catch another
thief, a fragger who had stolen Simon's most prized possession, his longevity.
He also probably hoped to flush out Chen in the process.

During
those first few weeks of the hallucinogens and Faya’s cuts, Sara believed Chen
would come back. Now she knew better. She was on her own.

"Do
you see the man and woman waiting out there?" Simon stepped aside to offer
her a better view of the airscreen. "The woman is Solimar Robbins. She
would have been a fellow passenger, perhaps even a friend."

"And
that means what to me?" Anger welled in Sara.

"It
means she is no longer unknown to you. You’ve seen her face. You know her
name." Finally he looked at Sara. "When she dies because of your
actions, you’ll remember her."

"A
lot of people knew my name when Faya was hurting me." She glared at
Rainer. "And no one cared."

To
her surprise Rainer looked away.

"I
wouldn’t just hurt Solimar Robbins. I would kill her." The blunt statement
was more for clarity than dramatics.

If
Simon had wanted either of the people in that room dead, he would have ordered it
done, especially after they witnessed her escape attempt.  Sara wanted to
call his bluff. "I don’t care."

"You
should at least care about Navigational Leader Anlow." Simon walked closer
and leaned in discreetly.

She
avoided looking into Simon's eerie grey eyes, but couldn’t avoid his scent. It
was woody like Rainer’s, but with a hint of spice. Though not unpleasant, it
made her want to gag because the scent was specific to Simon…and she hated him,
more than anyone she’d ever known, except maybe Faya. She should have taken the
time to snap his neck on the magno.

He
whispered to her then. "David Anlow is the fragger operative."

"Then
why not have Rainer just cut the information out of him?" she asked.

"Because
fraggers have an exceptionally high tolerance to pain," Simon said as if
it were a fact every citizen knew. "It’s all that dosing and training, you
see, mixed with some absurd code of loyalty. We’re finding that our
modification sessions with many of their operatives produce no useful information.
But one thing fraggers can't ignore is their biology. They are still ruled by
their physical desires. It’s interesting to see what even the most disciplined
will do if the attraction is great enough."

Simon
glanced in Rainer’s direction. Rainer stared at the viewer.

"This
society’s need to preserve its genes has been its greatest weakness,"
Simon continued. "You might say it’s like a curse. Not so different
from my infected cell sweepers." He stood straight again, but Sara didn’t
miss the worried shadow that crossed his eyes.

"I
think it's time you understood what it's like to have your future
threatened."

"What
more could you possibly do to me?"

"I
had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but your antics on the magno-ramp today
show me your disobedience is inevitable, so I'm taking your immortality
by hijacking your lineage."

"How?
Would you really stoop to raping me?" An iciness crept down her spine.

"Don't
be crass. While you were still unconscious from the grafting, I had the doctor
implant dormant irradicae cells on your ovaries."

The
revelation was a cender blast to her psyche. Irradicae had been used to fight
the most virulent diseases back on the worldships. It was used on citizens
today only in extreme circumstances and after they had conceived at least one
child because the supercharge to one's immune system had many side effects, the
most devastating of which was sterility.

The
scent of spiced wood drifted on Simon's breath. "You lift my curse,
ambasadora, I lift yours."

Sara's
cheeks felt cold as the blood drained from her face. Anxiety flooded her
system. Then near panic. Then….

No
hallucinations. Not now.

She
kept the semblance of calm, not even blinking as she jammed her thumbnail under
the seat's metal lip. The sudden rise in respiration and her accelerated
heartbeat provided quite a show as her bio-lights pulsed and twinkled.

She
pushed her thumbnail against the metal edge until it started to pull away from
the skin. The sharp pain stayed with her.

On
the viewer Solimar Robbins paced and rubbed her mocha-colored arms as though
she were cold. Sara would gladly exchange places with her. David, the fragger
in hiding, said something to Solimar that prompted her to sit once again, then
he put an arm around her as if to ward off her chill, or her fear.

The
endearment, the protective gesture made Sara's throat dry and her eyes threaten
to well up. In a society where affection was openly shared, she had no one. For
months, all she wanted was the caring touch of another person, a reassurance
that she hadn't been forgotten. She ventured a glance at Rainer’s unreadable
visage. Maybe if she had looked like Solimar Robbins, or like Dahlia, he would
have protected her, consoled her.

She
sat up straighter and lifted her head a little higher. The hardened experiences
of her modification made it quite clear that the only person who could save
Sara Mendoza was Sara Mendoza. She was truly alone. And, she needed to
take back some control.

"You
were right," she said with a calm she didn't feel. "Charming him
definitely won't be unpleasant. Nice body, thick hair, great profile."

She
received the surprised look from Rainer that she had hoped for.

"Glad
to see you've changed your mind," Simon said. "Isn't that a good
thing, Contractor Varden?"

Rainer
took a moment before answering. "Just so she doesn't get too distracted
from her task."

What
a terrible task it was. Sara contemplated David Anlow's image on the viewer.
Could she manipulate someone, kill someone, to save her lineage? If he were
guilty, yes.

And
if he were innocent? She
feared it might still be the same answer. If David were a fragger, he was just
as bad as Simon in her eyes.

9

"How
far is it, Navigational Leader Anlow?" Sara couldn’t take the lonely whir
of the roadway transport any longer.

"That's
a long title. Let's stick to David." His pleasant demeanor helped her to
relax, but made her job here more difficult. She didn't want to like him.

"The
Bard's berth is only a kilometer out," he said. "We should be
there soon."

Given
an opening, David prattled on conversationally, as though he didn't get to talk
much, but Sara barely listened. She followed the lead of Solimar Robbins, who
sat in silence and stared out the rain-streaked window.

Shiraz
Dock's nightscape slid by. A fog rolling in from Carrey Bay muted the signature
glow of Shiraz's myriad blue and green lights. The nightly water show would be
in full swing by now, but they’d not get a glimpse of the synth spiders weaving
their webs of colorful light with long mechanical arms in time to the music
they generated. As a child she had spent many evenings entranced by the
floating musical artists. Maybe she’d hear some of the spiders’ music once they
made it to the berth.

Sara
shifted uncomfortably, crossing and uncrossing her legs too many times as she
willed the transport to move faster. Solimar kept an arm curled around David's,
but the lines on her face said he was of little comfort right now. Being taken
into Embassy care had shaken her.

Things
like this don’t happen to Socialites,
she had complained tearfully to Rainer and the other contractors upon release.

Sara
thought her a tad melodramatic, but then Solimar hadn't spent a month under
Faya's modification at Palomin so had no idea what true discomfort was.

"You
hate space travel, huh?" David asked.

"Excuse
me?" Sara couldn't tell if David were being serious or trying to feel her
out. His cheery Armadan tone surprised her. She'd not met many Armadans during
her childhood. They were as foreign to her as contractors had been, probably
why Chen Starrie's promise of rogue adventure pulled her into his criminal
world.

Life
with Chen seemed so long ago, another lifetime, when Sara was still Sara, not
Ambasadora Mendoza.

"I
mean, there had to be some reason you shoved those contractors down the magno,
then took off running."

David's
implication startled Sara, about as much as Solimar's eager attention to hear
the response. Was the archivist recording this interaction? Sara would have to
get used to having a snoop around.

"By
the way." He cocked his head to look down at the skirt hem covering her
feet. "Did you get your shoes back okay?"

Sara
wiggled her toes in the black pumps. "Yes. Thanks for picking them up for
me."

"No
problem. I had to do something while waiting to be detained by Embassy
officials," David said.

Solimar
nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, but kept her wide-eyed focus on Sara.

The
transport stopped. Solimar waited for David to help her out. When he turned back
to do the same for Sara, she touched his hand long enough to be polite, but
pushed out of the transport all on her own.

Before
her rested the sexiest craft she'd ever seen. The silvery ship reminded her of
a woman lying on her side, all pregnant curves, dips and mounds of opalescent
metal. Purples, greens, and blues shimmered from the hull in the berthing
lights of Shiraz Dock. The sheen of her new home certainly fit the ideal of a
pleasure cruiser, even one acting as its own kind of prison.

"Good
night, David." Solimar leaned up to kiss his cheek and whisper,
"Thanks for coddling me today."

"My
pleasure."

"Forgive
me, ambasadora." She took Sara’s hands in her own. The gesture of
friendship, though expected in polite society, still softened Sara's mood a bit.
"It’s just been…an unusual day."

"I
understand, and please call me Sara."

Solimar
smiled, then headed for the Bard’s covered gangway.

"I
don’t make a very good first impression, do I?" Sara watched the archivist
disappear under the soft chartreuse light of the gangway. "Not like the Bard."

"You
were just nervous about the flight. Who could blame you?"

Sara
found a real smile creeping onto her face for the first time since that night at
Palomin. She wondered who was charming who. Surely David realized something was
off about her behavior, yet he didn't push the issue. Was he being polite or
biding his time?

"She's
a pretty shell, isn't she? The Bard, I mean."

Sara's
smile evaporated. Pretty shells, that's all they wanted.

"I
promise to be more considerate of the other passengers," she said.

"Don’t
bother. Some of them aren’t too considerate themselves."

He
offered his elbow. With the tips of her fingers lightly on his oversized bicep,
she allowed him to lead her into the glow of the gangway.

"I
doubt you'll even see the others much, except at dinner. They’re independent
scientists, so they stick to their labs or their suites and do what they want.
Not a very social group while on the ship."

David
stopped at the entryway. "Unless there’s something astir, then apparently
they're more than happy to make an appearance."

Sara
counted three faces, besides that of the supposedly exhausted archivist,
waiting for them inside. No doubt Solimar apprised the other passengers of the
magno incident before she even left the Hub. The sweeping glances at Sara’s
concealing hemline confirmed the call ahead. The breech of privacy unnerved
Sara, but she knew it was just the woman’s social nature. She was an archivist—it
was her job to record and inform.

Maybe
it was Simon's inference that Solimar could have been a friend, or maybe it was
the fake sentiment in the greeting gesture which made Solimar's actions
disappointing. More likely, it was Sara's own need to reach out to someone.
When would she learn?

David
put his hand on the small of Sara’s back in presentation. The action drew a
sharp glare from a young woman about Sara's age with red-tipped golden hair and
amazing irises the color of the sunrise. The woman offered nothing but
clinically dissecting looks in greeting.

The
two men were all smiles. The larger, darker skinned man's was good-natured, but
the smaller man seemed calculating.  His appearance screamed Socialite,
from his delicate stature to his high cheek bones and full lips. He was the
first to come forward.

"Ambasadora
Mendoza, I am privileged to make your acquaintance." The man's
shoulder-length black hair was tipped in deep blue and brushed her arm as he
pulled the inner part of her wrist to his lips for a kiss.

To
her dismay the lavender dots involuntarily stirred. She gave no other
indication of interest, however.

"This
is Scientist Kenon Brudger," David said.

"Hello,
Scientist Brudger. What type of science do you study?" Not that she really
cared.

"I'm
a geological observer. I make sure these terraformed worlds don't break apart
at the core."

"Huh.
I didn't realize your job was that important," David said, drawing an
irritated look from the other man.

"And
Kenon will do.  I always thought making scientist a title
was a little pretentious anyway. Everyone on board goes by their first name.
May we include you in this little custom, Sara?" Then as smooth as
Deleinean silk, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

This
time the bio-lights barely flickered.

"Of
course. It's odd how all Socialites claim titles are so gauche, yet we continue
to invent new ones. I think we should just drop them entirely."

She
gently pulled her hand away.

"You
can call me Geir." The jovial dark-skinned man surprised Sara with a big
hug. Judging by his mass, she guessed he was Armadan as well.

"That’s
some pretty intense body art. It complements your hair," he said with a
wink.

Sara
smiled at the genuine affinity she already felt for Geir. Her bio-lights
seconded the feeling.

"And,
this is Boston Maribu, our medic and Biological Observer." David's tone
lightened at her introduction. "Mari to her friends."

A
tight smile showed on Mari's lips, but it didn't extend to those unusual eyes,
proving that Sara hadn't made it into that friend circle just yet.

"Your
eyes are beautiful," Sara said sincerely.

It
was like a dam broke. Mari leapt to grab Sara's hands like they had been long
lost cousins and started talking at light speed. "Thank you. A guy on Sinder
Isle, Liu Stavros, wanted to cut them out not too long ago, but I crashed the
ship before we got there—"

"Mari,"
David interrupted. "I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Okay.
We'll chat later, Sara, and I'll tell you all about the Thrall and Dale Zapona
and Carlos and David's brother, Ben—"

David
ushered Mari away in mid-sentence and gave Sara a nod of his head in departure.

Kenon
moved in immediately, this time feigning interest in her purpose aboard their
ship.

Her
gaze drifted past him to the interior of the ship’s rotunda lobby as she
recited practiced responses; "…using the Bard as a transport and
temporary home…honor of being a Face of the Embassy…spreading
cheer…liaisons…."

It
was Solimar who saved her. "Would you like to see our crystal trees?"
Without waiting for a reply, she took Sara by the arm and led her away from the
others.

"Thank
you," Sara whispered.

A
light melody played upon their approach to the rotunda. Meandering past the
rounded grey chaises which circled the intimate three-story space, Sara stopped
just before reaching the rotunda’s center. Here the circle of clear Celestite
floor reflected powder blue puddles from the overhead chandeliers. The
fixtures’ stained-glass surfaces bore butterflies, dragonflies, and blooming
flowers, all in varying shades of blue.

The
three crystal trees branched up from the floor, not quite reaching the swirled,
white ceiling, but passing over the third-floor balcony. A thin line of
cerulean glowed within each trunk and naked branch, giving them the appearance
of iced-over electrical arcs. They even gave off a distinctive scent that
reminded her of the half-frozen lake which flowed through her family's estate
on Tampa Deux.

She
missed her family, but the burden of lying to her mother and pretending how
happy she was with her new honor had Sara finding excuses not to contact her
home. Plus, Simon's warnings remained fresh in her mind.

Sara
breathed deeply. Everything would be okay now. She was away from Simon and she
had time to plan. Without his grating voice in her ear, she would find a way
out of this mess. She clung to that thought in reassurance.

"I
actually wanted to tell you privately that an important message is waiting for
you," Solimar said. "You can take it in your suite. It's from the
Embassy. I guess the excitement is just beginning now that we have an
ambasadora aboard our little ship."

You
have no idea.

10

"Is
everything in here white?" Sara looked around her new sitting room. The marbled
floors, the fabric-coated walls, the bulging lines of the furnishings were all
bright and shining and completely devoid of color. What wasn’t white, like the
table lamps and a row of empty vases lining three tiers of shelves on one wall,
was made of crystal or clear glass. She had been given a lifetime's worth of
white from her incarceration at Palomin.

She
stared at the controls which would activate the viewer. So long as she didn't
answer the call she could pretend it was her envious cousins or her mother
sending her congratulations on becoming a Face of the Embassy.

Mother. A title Sara might never attain. The
constricting feel of her corset amplified her anger and shock.

She
worked another fastener free as she sought out the bedrooms. Bearing left and
rounding the short curving hallway brought her to another door, also white. Her
irritation grew and she fumbled with another hook.

Upon
releasing the last of them, she ripped the piece off and exhaled. She willed
herself not to take another breath, just let it all slip away with the tears
rolling down her face. But she wasn't ready to go out gently just yet, so she
took a deep breath and tapped the door controls.

The
bedroom lights illuminated to reveal an alabaster twin of her sitting room.
Only an addition of a large canopied bed covered in shiny white linens set this
room apart from the other. She dropped onto the bed and closed her eyes.

Her
mind fired with shifting thoughts and images.  Thankfully there were no
hallucinations in the mix at the moment. With a clear head, Sara focused on
strategy. She had been working out several plans, some to carry out Simon’s
orders, some to muck them up. She devoted great care deciding which of the
paths to follow.

A
tone sounded from the sitting room’s viewer. She tried ignoring it. She already
knew who it was, but walked out to answer it anyway. A tap to the manual
control prompted the screen to illuminate.

She
needed one of those wrist reporters. David had mentioned she should see the
ship’s mech tech for one. Maybe she could even gather some information about
the irradicae if she was discreet about it.

Simon’s
visage peered at her from the viewer's airscreen.

"How
are things progressing with the pilot?" he asked.

"What,
no 'how are you settling in?' or 'do the other passengers like you?'"

"Your
social standing on board the Bard
is irrelevant. Retrieving my data from the fragger should be your only focus.
Your escape attempt may have worked in our favor. He will trust you if he sees
you also loathe the Embassy."

"I
just got here. I need some time to finesse the information from him."

"I
warn you not to take too much time. I've sent your itinerary ahead and will be
monitoring it closely, just in case you had plans of escaping again. One
unscheduled stop, and everyone on that ship will pay for your betrayal."

Sara
remained silent.

"If
you can't get results, I will be forced to intervene. I’m giving you the
opportunity to repay your life debt, Ambasadora Mendoza. Isn’t that what you
want? To please me?"

She’d
like to cut off Simon's testicles and make him choke on them. That would please
her. Instead she said, "Of course that’s what I want. You’ll have your
information."

"And
once you obtain what I need, be sure to kill the fragger. It will be one less
to worry about."

Simon’s
image and the screen blinked out.

For
once, she and the Sovereign agreed. After what happened at Palomin, she would
have no problem killing every fragger who crossed her path.

11

The
head-splitting sound of fast drums and shouted lyrics filled Sean's suite.

He
unfastened his pants. Brushing his fingers along his left hip bone, he felt for
the doser patch. It took a few passes to distinguish between his real skin and
the piece of synth-flesh. He removed the fingernail-sized doser and its
tri-needle backing. The prick of each millimeter-long tip comforted him with
its time-released concentration of stims.

Sean
threw the old one into the toilet and picked up the one he had just prepared,
ready to apply it on his right side this time. He alternated just to keep track
of how many times a week he was dosing. Usually he limited it to three, but
this was already number six in half as many days.

Bullseye’s
death weighed on him. It was more than guilt over killing an anonymous
operative—the bosses had passed him bad intel. Now distrust ran rampant among
the organization, and the fraggers were splintering. That could be
catastrophic.

The
surprise in all this tossing of blame was that the only one who blamed Sean was
Sean. The rest of the fraggers, including those within his own contingency,
knew he was just carrying out orders.

Blindly
carrying out orders, putting his faith in unseen entities.

The
music muted, a wispy tone sounding in its place. Someone was at his door. The
music blared on again. Whenever his door chimed, which wasn’t often, he made a
note to change it or deactivate it completely. Just another left-over from the Bard’s
time as a pleasure cruiser, as was his suite’s décor. The others had theirs
customized, but Sean was too apathetic to change anything. Heavy swags and worn
drapery still covered some of the walls, while decorative cornices sprouted
from each corner of the dulled white ceiling.

He
applied the doser and zipped up his pants before answering the repeated tone
with a shout of impatience. "Yeah. I’m coming."

It
was probably David with a tech problem or Soli to tell him all he missed with
the arrival of the ambasadora.

Sean
called up the music control, the blue prompt glowing across his palm. With a
tap from his middle finger, he turned down the cacophony and followed with the
entry code for his lock.

He
came out of the bathroom and stopped.

The
first thing he noticed about the woman who stood inside his messy sitting area
was her face. Pouty lips. High cheekbones. Big, sad eyes. Or maybe he mistook
weariness for sadness. Either way, she carried a burden that her rigid posture
and elegant clothes couldn't quite hide. Sean knew about burdens. He also knew
about weariness and sadness.

The
next thing he noticed about her was an armful of swirling purple lights. They
may have been one of the most beautiful things he had seen in this world or a
virtual one. But maybe not as beautiful as her face.

"Scientist
Cryer?"

He
snapped his focus away from the little dots. "Sorry. They're
distracting."

She
looked down at the tops of her breasts which were piled high behind some black
netting.

"Your
tat," he said, though now that his attention had been drawn to the rest of
her body, he liked what he saw there as well.

"The
bio-lights certainly get me noticed."

That's
not what he noticed first, but admitted her intra-tat was more
mesmerizing in person than the ones he'd seen on the Media. "I'm Sean, by
the way. No need for a title." His responses sounded clipped and rude,
even to him.

"I've
been hearing that a lot. Nice to meet you, Sean. I'd like to be one of your
clients." Her gaze moved subtly from his eyes to the rest of him as she
spoke.

He
resisted the urge to scratch at the dark blonde stubble on his neck and pat
down his disheveled hair or smooth the wrinkled shirt he wore, maybe even rub
the dark circles from under his eyes. Unlike the rest of his colleagues, he
hadn’t cared about his appearance for a long time. It bothered him that she
made him care now.

"Why
would you need to hire me?" He made his tone less severe, but still
businesslike.

"David
said you could reprogram my scentbots."

"You
don’t like roses?" He enjoyed her soft scent, or maybe the pheromones
attached to it.

"Not
so much," she said.

When
her gaze lingered on his face, Sean felt a twinge in his chest. Just the new
doser kicking in.

"Oh,
and a reporter," she added with a small smile.

He
relaxed a little. "Have a seat."

"Thank
you." She dropped down on his couch near a pile of shirts that had
recently come back from the cleaners. Like everything else, he had just never
bothered to put them away.

Sean
scanned the rest of the room. Empty alcohol and drop bottles rested on the
glass and stainless tables. Clothes hung from every available piece of
furniture. A blanket and pillows splayed from the other couch onto the floor. A
little embarrassed, he walked into the extra bedroom, the one he had converted
into a tech lab. He grabbed a reporter and tried not to worry about her
impression of him. She came uninvited. What did she expect?

Sean
never brought clients here, no women at all for that matter—aside from Soli and
Mari, who were strictly colleagues. There were plenty of clubs and hotels when
he got the urge for a tumble. His body tingled like he was getting that urge
now, either from the stims running through his veins or because he was
experiencing an emotional fallacy. Instant attractions often resulted in false
feelings for another. That’s why when he felt this way, he usually ran in the
other direction. It was the best way to avoid using bad judgment.

When
he returned to the sitting room, he watched with a mix of interest and
annoyance as she unfolded a couple of his shirts from the pile.

"Are
all your shirts grey?" She studied the designs on each one before casually
refolding them.

"Mostly.
Might find a couple of blue ones in the closet."

"No
black?" She looked up.

"I
wouldn't want to be mistaken for a contractor," he said, only half-joking.

She
stiffened at the comment. His gaze took in her black hair, making him wonder.

"You
don’t like contractors?" she asked.

"Don’t
know any personally," he lied.

"Neither
do I."

The
graphic on the shirt she held showed a blindfolded woman diving naked into a
volcano, a logo for the group whose song played through his suite.

"Are
you a fan?" he asked.

"Not
really. The artwork just spoke to me."

Watching
her carefully handle his shirts, he felt calm return, almost a warm feeling in his
fingers. Usually he only found this peace by taking restor drops. Though,
recently even their narcotic bliss proved evasive. It was why he had withdrawn
from the others completely. Not that they would have noticed. He wasn’t exactly
social to begin with. The remoteness of his personality sometimes made it tough
to live in a society built upon social connections. His height of socialness
was drinking enough to start a fight or two at whatever bar he found himself
in.

Sean’s
head felt a little fuzzy, and he fell into a trance watching the slow pulse of
the intra-tat on her arm. He followed the lights from the spiral on the back of
her hand, onto her wrist, where it disappeared briefly as it encircled her arm
in an upward vortex, then fell over her shoulder in a swirl. His gaze continued
up her slender neck and past her strong jawline to return to her lips.
Maybe he crossed the line from respectful admiration to blatant ogling, but he
didn’t believe in boundaries.

She,
on the other hand, was a slave to boundaries because she worked for the
Sovereign.

The
thought reeled him in and reminded him why he didn't want her on board to begin
with. She was part of the Embassy, an enemy. The ambasadora project put
friendly faces to the government’s hidden politics while it manipulated its
citizens. This woman represented everything he despised about the system.

Maybe
she knew how much he hated the Embassy, knew of his attachment to the fragger
organization. That could be why she conveniently needed her bots reprogrammed
as soon as she arrived. Was there a Writ of Execution out on him, and she was
thinking of cashing in?

"Do
you mind?" He snatched the shirt from her hands. His tone was harsh, but
didn’t contain the acid he felt in his stomach.

"I’m
sorry." She lowered her gaze, and he thought he detected a slight flush on
her olive cheeks.

That
threw him…unless she had receptors implanted just under her skin to call the
blush reflex at will. It could be very endearing, very arousing to the right
man. Well, she could forget it—he wasn't the right man.

A
pinch at his hip reminded him the doser was doing its job. Was it also making
him paranoid? David accused him of stim-induced paranoia all the time, though
Sean had never admitted his dosing to anyone. He may have done too many stims
this week, but the feeling he had about her motives was more than the drugs.

"I
also had another question," she said, "after watching something
earlier on the Media. A woman had her lineage hijacked—"

"Hijacked?
Was she raped?"

Rapes
were few in the system because of the societal stigma attached to having to
force your advances onto another, but laws were ignored on occasion, even when
the penalty was death.

"Not
from the report. It sounded more like she had an adverse reaction to…irradicae
that were injected to rid her body of an unwanted cyst, but they attached
themselves to her ovaries as well." She fingered his shirts again.

"Why
would that bother you?" he asked.

She
paused. "Just imagining how she must feel, facing something like that.
They said she never even found out until months later when she was going
through a security scanner at the Hub." She was almost whispering now.

Something
was off and it had nothing to do with the drugs in his system. "That
story's a fake."

She
nearly jumped out of her seat. "What?"

"Treatment
with irradicae is illegal, plus you would need specialized equipment for
implantation, or even detection. Only Embassy med facilities have that kind of
tech. The Media airs fake stories all the time, just to get a reaction like
yours, get people talking and scared."

"You're
probably right," she said, though her expression said otherwise.

She
seemed genuinely afraid. That sent him into a protective mode. After Bullseye,
Sean became drawn to human suffering in a way only the penitent man ever can
be. It messed with him, made him want to curl into himself and pretend the rest
of the world didn't exist. Hard to do when it came knocking at his door.

"You
have good taste in shirts." She spoke loudly, bringing them both out of
their thoughts.

Did
the silence bother her? Sean hated it, too. Maybe if he had a quiet mind…but
his thoughts were just too loud.

He
took a deep breath. "Here’s your reporter. Already programmed for the
ship. Won’t take me long to program your suite codes." He pushed aside the
shirts and sat down next to her. She smelled liked the garden at his childhood
home.

"Are
you sure you want to change your scentbots?" Gently taking her hand, he
slipped the reporter on her wrist. She could have done it herself, but in spite
of all his concerns, Sean wanted an excuse to touch her. He didn’t want David
to be right, about the paranoia, about brooding alone, about a lot of things.
That would mean Sean had lost his perspective, and he couldn’t afford that.

"Actually,
I was hoping you could get rid of them altogether," she said. "I
never had any before…I became an ambasadora."

She
caught him looking at her, and he caught her involuntary pupil response. It
made him lean in a little closer.

That
could be faked too.

It
shouldn’t matter if it were real. Sean refused to be ruled by those DNA sharing
impulses. Yet, here he was holding her hand and close enough to kiss her, all
because she seemed a little upset and looked at him a certain way.

He
cleared his throat. "Ever use one of these before?"

"No."

"Easy
to master." He turned her hand over palm-side up and rested the bracelet's
silver node just at her pulse point. Her heart rate was a little elevated. He
pressed the node to activate her reporter, but kept hold of her hand. A blue
light zipped across the olive skin of her hand, a menu scrolling along it.

"Touch
a finger to your palm to activate the menu." He dragged his middle finger
down her palm and noticed the flurry of violet erupting on her other arm.

Damn.
That was a lot better than a blush.
And he was only touching her hand.

Sean’s
stomach tightened as he imagined what would happen if he kissed her neck or ran
his hands down her back or over her breasts. And what would it be like if he
were docking her? Actually, he'd been wondering about that since he first saw
her.

"What's
this mean?" she asked, her voice a little breathy.

Sean
realized she had leaned a little closer, too, so their heads were almost
touching. He forced his gaze to a message blinking on her palm, but was acutely
aware that she still looked at his face.

"There's
a message waiting for you, welcoming you to the system. From someone named
Rainer Varden."

"Oh."
The spell was broken. She pulled her hand away. "Embassy business. I
should probably get back to my room and respond. Maybe we can take care of my
scentbots another time?"

"Sure."
He walked her to the door, telling himself it was because he wanted a final
read on her.

After
she left, the scent of roses remained, as did his heightened emotions.

12

"Rainer?"
Sara suddenly regretted responding to his earlier transmission, but she would
need her nerve to coerce him.

"That
was faster than expected. Actually, I'm surprised you responded at all." His expression said he was pleased. That
was fortuitous, but somehow uncomfortable.

"I
was going to contact you anyway. I need...your help." Just asking humbled
her.

"With
what? You need some tips on charming the Armadan?"

She
ignored his taunt. Now that the time had arrived to present her plan, she felt
sick in her stomach. If Rainer refused and went to Simon with her betrayal, she
was finished. Sterilized and as good as dead.

"Is
it with the irradicae?"

Tears
filled her eyes and she hoped he couldn't see them through the transmission.
"Yes."

"I
didn't know he would break our mores for his own gain. Behavior modification
was one thing, even if he would have killed you outright, but hijacking your
lineage went too far, even for the Sovereign."

Rainer
shocked her. He was openly criticizing the most powerful man in the system.
Still, her words came out tinged in anger. "You have an odd value system.
No problem with murder and torture, but let someone mess with this society's
breeding traditions and you're suddenly a crusader."

That
rant may have cost her his help. She waited for the retort.

"It's
not the people in the society that matter as much as their traditions. History
tells us how to live, what works and what doesn't."

"Now
you sound like an archivist." She evened her tone.

"Sometimes
even archivists don't follow the History."

He
was obviously referring to Simon's former title.

"Does
that mean you'll help me?"

"Tell
me what you need first."

Sara
passed through the crystal trees on her way to the gangway. Thankfully, the passengers
of the Bard didn't seem bothered to be staying at Shiraz for an extra
half-day, and only David questioned why. Sara's vague response about an Embassy
meeting hadn't quite placated him, but he didn't force the issue. He was
obviously just as suspicious of her as she was of him.

"Heading
out?"

Sean's
voice. Sara would recognize that low pitch and soft timbre anywhere.

"Embassy
meeting," she said, remembering the instant attraction she had for him
earlier. Seeing him again reinforced her first impression. There was absolutely
no polish to him, but that meant he had nothing to hide. She found that to be a
very attractive quality. It helped that she found the rest of him attractive as
well.

"Share
a transport? I have a client to see near the Hub."

Sean's
offer threw her because she had hoped to sneak away. He motioned her down the
glowing green gangway. Excuses ran through her brain, then she spotted the
voyeur waiting for her outside. Of course the Media would want any chance to
report on the ambasadoras, especially the one they knew little about. She was
sure Simon was watching her, too.

Being
with Sean Cryer might provide a distraction until she could slip the cameras
and get to the tunnels for her meeting with Rainer. If asked, she'd convince
Simon that this was part of her plan. She had yet to decide what to do about
David. If this trip went as anticipated, she wouldn't have to worry about it.

Upon
exiting the gangway canopy, a pair of voyeurs flew into orbit around them,
casting short shadows in the midday sun.

"Parasites,"
Sean said.

Several
airscreens along the platform echoed, "Parasites," and showed
Sean's face on a split screen next to Sara's. Then the image cut to them
standing beside each other, only the forced angle implied more of an intimacy.

Sean's
irritation made her self-conscious, like her life was spilling over and
affecting his.

"Still
want to ride with me?" she asked.

"Gotta
get there somehow."

Media
commentary followed their walk to the transport station. Sara caught snatches
of it among the dock's perpetual airship and boat traffic, live musical groups,
and chattering citizens either passing through or spending the day among
Shiraz's amusements:

"...Scientist
Sean Cryer, a fellow passenger aboard her ship."

And,

"It
didn't take this most secretive of ambasadoras long to find a potential amour,
though we expected her sights to be set a little higher, like maybe her Armadan
pilot. He's a retired fleet captain…."

If
Sean were insulted by the Media banter, he didn't show it. In fact, he placed
his hand at the small of her back to guide her through several passersby that
gathered near them. Three young girls hurried up to Sara just as the transport
pulled in.

"Excuse
me, ambasadora, can we get your print?" The bravest one asked, while the other
two watched the pulsing of Sara's bio-lights.

Sean
pushed his palm against the transport door to keep it open. A man looked out of
the front train car, but didn't say anything, most likely because of Sean's
challenging stare.

Sara
pressed her index finger against the girls' reporters, allowing them to capture
the time, place, and a holo of their encounter. Her digi print would verify it
all for bragging rights later.

The
girls moved along, and the transport finally went on its way.

"That
ever bother you?" Sean asked.

In
the enclosed space she could smell the more earthy notes of his scentbots,
mixed in with a little melon, maybe. It was very pleasing.

"Actually,
that was the first time it ever happened. I guess the ambasadoras are becoming
popular." She didn't smile when she said that last bit.

And,
he didn't smile when he said, "I don't doubt it."

"So,
what's your client need?" She hoped to change the subject.

"Huh?"

"Your
client? The one you're going to meet now?"

"Reporter
implantation."

Sara
didn't miss the jerky eye movements just before his answer.

As
if sensing her suspicion, he said, "That's something you should think
about." He held up his naked wrist. Blue pictures and words swirled across
his palm. "You could get an implant like this. It's almost universal
because the reprogramming is fast and easy."

"I
don't like the thought of any more foreign objects being implanted into my
body."

"Yeah,
I bet those were difficult to get used to."

Heat
ran up her neck. Had he guessed from her questions at their last encounter that
she was the one with the irradicae?

She
fumbled for a response, but saw him looking at the purple lights deepening on
her arm. Of course. Everyone wondered about the intra-tat.

"Yes,
the bio-lights were...are…a strange adjustment." She needed to get
away from him. Her emotions could only be kept at bay so long and this idle
chit chat was starting to feel invasive. Reaching a hand to the console by her
side, she pressed the destination button, alerting the automated train to drop
her at the next stop.

"Not
going all the way to the Embassy?" Sean asked.

"It's
better for me to use a back entrance. Less attention, you know."

"I
can see that being a problem."

The
train stopped.

"Thanks
for the company. See you back aboard." Her heart sank a little realizing
that if she could be free of Simon, she'd have to run pretty far, and probably
wouldn't ever see Sean again. She squeezed his hand on the way out. He held
onto hers a little longer, then pulled away as if taken with shyness.

She
hoped to recall the genuineness of his reaction someday, preferably on a
secluded beach away from Simon and his threats. That comforting feeling waned
as she boarded the next transport and continued on to her meeting with Rainer.

13

"You
look well, considering," Rainer said.

"Is
that a compliment?" Her anxiety heightened in the glaring tunnel lights.

"It
is."

Silence
followed until Sara's thoughts got the best of her. "You're taking a lot
of risks to do this."

"You
want to know why, is that it?" He touched her shoulder to guide her
through a doorway on the left. The sensation brought back memories of Palomin,
aftermath of torture, his care, his rejection.

"No,
you made your feelings about what Simon did to me very clear. I guess I was
trying to say thank you." Her heels echoed off the concrete stairs.

"There's
nothing to thank me for. I'm not even sure what will come of this visit."

"Still...."

Rainer
motioned for Sara to wait while he opened the door at the top of the landing.

"Is
it secure?" he asked someone she couldn't see.

"Yes,"
a nervous voice answered.

"Ambasadora
Mendoza?" Rainer tended to use her title when others were around. He
gestured her inside the med facility.

Shining
silver and white surfaces greeted her, putting her on edge.

The
doctor who had attended to her bio-light implantation stepped forward.
"Ambasadora Mendoza, it's wonderful to see you again. You look beautiful.
The black dress complements your intra-tattoo."

Sara
glanced down at the short sari she wore and realized she had been wearing black
almost every day since becoming an ambasadora. Was it her subconscious
fascination with contractors or an attempt to battle the constant white
surrounding her?

"Thank
you. Did Contractor Varden explain why we came here?"

The
doctor licked his lips. "Yes, and I have to be up front. I'm not
comfortable with all the secrecy."

"Trust
me," she said. "It's better for all of us that way."

"You
haven't mentioned this to anyone, have you?" Rainer had been walking around
the bright, sterile room, noting the colored glass bottles lining the shelves,
inspecting the medical equipment attached to the walls, and feeling under the
exam table with the tips of his fingers. Now, he stood toe to toe with the
doctor.

The
other man pulled his shoulders in and tried to shrink away without actually
taking a step backward. "I told no one, as you instructed."

"Then
let's get this over with," Sara said.

"The
scanner is back this way."

Sara
slipped off her sari, catching Rainer's scrutiny of her naked body. She stepped
into the scanning cylinder. There was a possibility that Simon had bluffed,
that even he couldn't resort to such measures.

A
few minutes later, the man's voice carried through a speaker inside the
cylinder. "You can step out now while I read the scan."

So
fast? As much as she wanted this all to be over quickly, the rapidity
heightened her anxiety.

She
emerged from the cylinder to see Rainer and the doctor watching readings and
impressions of her body scroll over an airscreen. Sara dressed with automatic
movements, her mind occupied by what the scan would reveal.

The
doctor said something low to Rainer.

"Speak
to me. This is about me." She yelled because she sensed the
truth.

"I'm
sorry, ambasadora. I've confirmed that the irradicae are attached to your
ovaries. It had to have happened after the insertion of the intra-tattoo
because my scans would have picked them up before your surgery."

"I
guess Simon's desperation outweighed his sense of society." Bitterness
laced Sara's words. "Get rid of them. I don't care how much it
costs."

The
doctor looked from Sara to Rainer, then quickly back again. "I
can't."

Acid
burned in Sara's stomach. "Can't or won't?"

"They're
set to trigger should anyone try to tamper with them. Most likely there's also
a remote trigger, could be through a sort of wave, probably transmitted via a
large network like the Media."

"Those
signals are everywhere. They blanket the entire system," Rainer said.

There
it was, the truth. Numbness crept into her limbs. Her vision funneled into a
narrow dot of brightness as she stared into the empty scanning cylinder. She
wasn't getting out of this. For the first time since Palomin she felt like
ending it all. Maybe she should just let the doctor give her the suicide drugs
now, bypass the humiliation, stave off any more pain. Just end it.

Rainer
folded her in his arms, and she wept.

14

The
doleful electronic screeching of the street player echoed Sean's mood. It
reeked of uneasiness and deceit. Waiting in the shade of a metal awning, he
kept out of the scurrying Hub activity. As the Embassy staff finished their
day, they loaded into transports or sat and chatted in one of the many
perimeter cafés.

The
whole corporate scene bugged the shit out of him.

The
tracing program he put on Sara's reporter just before he gave it to her showed
she was still inside the Embassy. Maybe she really did have a meeting. He
imagined her sitting around sipping neons or another fruity drink with her
sister ambasadoras, discussing what they should all wear at their next
appearance.

He
hoped that were the case, but something about the way she acted at their first
meeting said otherwise, said she was into something more sinister.

A
buzzing in his palm alerted him to her movement. She was coming this way, out a
side entrance. He ducked in among a crowd of female staffers.

"Hi,"
a brunette in a dark suit said. "Come to join us?"

He
looked around at the handful of women and knew by their expressions it was an
invitation for more than casual conversation and a drink.

"Just
passing through." He maneuvered to a spot concealed by a giant planter
overflowing with clematis stakes. From this vantage he could see and hear Sara
without being noticed. A contractor escorted her.

They
emerged from around the corner of the marble building. Sara had a scarf
covering her shoulders, perhaps to keep her bio-lights hidden and keep the
voyeurs at bay.

The
contractor led her by the elbow. Sara stared at her feet as she walked. They
remained silent until moving several meters past Sean's position.

"Will
you be all right returning to your ship?" the contractor asked.

Sara
never looked at him. "Yes. The sooner, the better."

From
different vantage points, Sean and the contractor watched Sara board a
transport heading back to Shiraz. Her entire being showed her emotional state
at the moment. The contractor, on the other hand, was a blank slate.

Those
times when Sean became a blank slate to the outside world were when he had the
most to hide. So, even though his first impulse was to follow Sara, he chose to
shadow the contractor.

Waltzing
into the Embassy wasn't the best idea Sean had, but no one knew him from any
other citizen. No one would guess he was a fragger node, in charge of a few
dozen commandos who would rather blow this building up than take a stroll
inside it. Moving among the lobby crowd, he kept an adequate distance behind
the contractor.  Sean thought about the lost details of this place when it
was mapped and placed into a training world. The programmers had forgotten the
green floor lamps and didn't have the lighting quite right on the chalcedony
wall. The planters were a few meters too short, as well. Not even V-side
architects paid attention to details any more, and that was always a good way
to mess up as far as Sean was concerned.

They'd
gotten the magnos perfect, though. Probably a different team working on that
lay-out than the lobby planners. Consistency was sometimes difficult to manage
with so many anonymous contributors.

The
contractor moved steadily toward the corbelled arches of the office area and
medical facilities. He stopped to speak to a female contractor who approached
him from an office. They both glanced in Sean's direction. Though his pulse
pounded, he maintained his pace, but altered his path slightly so it would seem
he was heading toward the elevator bank. He kept them in his periphery,
however, ready to bolt if they looked his way again.

But
they weren't interested in Sean any more—they looked to be arguing. Sean was
almost to the elevator when the woman stormed off, her pink and black ponytail
flipping after her. The male contractor continued through the medical arch.

Sean
changed course again, but slowed his gait. He hesitated to keep on the
contractor, wondering if perhaps he'd misread the man, if he really had nothing
to hide. Moving farther into enemy territory chilled Sean, yet he couldn't
ignore his instinct.

They
meandered through mostly deserted dark green hallways, Sean hanging a hundred
paces back. The contractor rounded another corner. Sean could see the man's
reflection in the smoky colored glass of a nearby office door where he stood
waiting. Sean tensed. If the man attacked, Sean had the advantage of being able
to see the contractor coming, but he couldn't outrun cender fire. The only
weapons he had on him were a half dozen razor discs plated with a special
nickel alloy undetectable to Embassy scanners. When used properly, the bottle
cap-sized discs could be lethal, but he wouldn't get more than one or two off
before the contractor fried him.

When
the contractor looked back toward the corner he'd just rounded, Sean backed up a
couple of steps and grabbed a disc from a sheath sewn into his belt. The
contractor keyed in an entry code on the door in front of him, then entered.
Sean siphoned the code with his reporter.

When
he reached the door, he keyed in the code, but didn't open the door. The
contractor could be standing just on the other side, or a whole room full of
people who would know Sean didn't belong there. Judging by other rooms he'd
passed on this floor and whose doors were opened wide, there should be a foyer
and a hallway leading to either side.

He
was this far—he had to take that last step.

With
quick movements, which he hoped mimicked someone who was accustomed to entering
this area, Sean pushed into the room. A darkened foyer with small lights along
the floor met him. No sign of anyone.

He
stealthed to the inner hallway and listened for signs of the contractor.
Footsteps on a tile floor reached him from the left.

"Contractor
Varden?" A doctor stood at a metal terminal inside the marginally lit
office.

Varden. The name on the message waiting for Sara
earlier was Rainer Varden. It made sense.

"I
noticed you recorded the results of Ambasadora Mendoza's scan today,"
Rainer said.

Not
a meeting. A doctor's appointment.

"That's
just an automatic—"

"Is
it also automatic," Rainer interrupted, "to send those results
elsewhere without the patient being told?"

Surprise
registered on the doctor's pale face. "I would never...."

"That's
what you're doing right now. I put in a security measure to alert me if you
accessed this system within thirty-six hours of the ambasadora's scan. If it's
not her results you're sending out, then there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm
sending them to the Sovereign."

"Why
would you do that?" Rainer moved closer to the doctor.

"So
he knows I had nothing to do with this." The doctor sounded nervous.
"I'm sorry if the ambasadora is your amour—"

"She
is not."

"Then
would have been your amour had you not discovered the truth of her
condition."

Rainer
shouldered next to the doctor and grabbed his wrist. A finger-sized portable
transmitter slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a clang of metal
on tile.

"How
are you going to explain this?" the doctor asked.

"One
of my duties as Head Contractor is to apprehend those who might want to
blackmail the Sovereign and further their own interests."

Shock
washed over Sean. He'd been tailing Prollixer's Head Contractor. Suspicion
trickled through his mind as he wondered just how involved Sara was with this
man. He should have expected a woman like her would have a powerful man
somewhere in her background.

"Blackmail?"
The doctor looked confused, then paled.

Before
Sean could blink, Rainer fired his cender into the doctor's head. The body
slumped to the ground. Rainer stooped down to grab the transmitter.

Sean
had just enough time to set up a siphon. As the data was erased, he collected
it. Rainer called for a clean-up team from his reporter. Soon the place would
be swarming with contractors. Sean headed out the way he came and made for the
nearest descending magno. He never looked back until he boarded a transport for
the Bard.

In
transit, he scrolled through the siphoned data. His heart almost stopped when
he read the contents streaming across his palm.

Prollixer
had given Sara a slow death sentence.

It
was a tragedy in Upper Caste society to be naturally sterile. Like Lowers,
fraggers didn't share this attitude. Sean never cared about his own breeding
capabilities precisely because his society thought he should. And maybe because
he had the option to father a child any time he chose. What if that option were
taken away, like it was with Sara? Anger boiled inside him. If the Sovereign
would do this to one of his ambasadoras, who else could be or had been a
victim? Just another reason to hate and fear the Embassy. And another reason to
bring them down.

15

"Not
now," Sara muttered.

Solimar
practically pounced when Sara emerged from her room. Back only a few hours and
already someone wanted a piece of her. Without stopping, Sara moved down the hallway
toward the grand staircase.

"Have
a nice meeting?" the archivist asked. Her short tunic revealed the bottoms
of her mocha cheeks and opened to more than a little cleavage.

"Nothing
special," Sara scurried down the stairs, her shorter heels giving her more
leverage than Solimar's platformed monstrosities. At the bottom of the grand
atrium, she hesitated, not wanting to head into the dining room, but needing to
escape Solimar.

Too
late. The woman was quite adept in her crazy footwear. Sara moved to get past,
but Solimar clasped her hands and stopped her.

"I
saw that you and Sean were getting on well."

"Sean?
When?"

"On
the Docks."

That's
right. As an archivist, Solimar Robbins probably watched the Media non-stop,
had several feeds transmitted directly into her brain, if they could really do
that.

"How
can you know what you saw is what's real?" Sara pulled her hands away.

"I'm
sorry, ambasadora. Did I do something to offend you?" Solimar's voice held
true dismay.

Sean
walked in just then. Sara felt foolish thinking she'd never see him again after
her appointment at the doctor's. But, she was truly a fool to believe Simon
upheld the society's mores and to think Rainer could help her this time. As far
as she was concerned, Rainer had never really helped her, even on
Palomin. Her survival was her own. It still would be. Somehow.

Solimar
greeted Sean, and Sara took the opportunity to meander farther into the circle
of glass trees. Without their thin arc of blue electricity spreading through
their branches, the trees would be empty shells, beautiful, but without
function and purpose. She understood that sentiment.

Sean's
smell drifted through the airy foyer. It was clean and masculine and probably
loaded with pheromones, judging by how she always felt that little flutter
around him. "Solimar assumes everyone enjoys time on the Media, even if
the stories about them are false," he said.

"I
know she didn't mean anything. I'll apologize later." Sara followed one
azure branch, stopping when she reached the spot where it split into two
because she couldn't decide which to choose. So many choices had been made for
her since Palomin that she no longer trusted herself to decide anything.

"You
hurting?" Sean asked.

She
looked at him and noticed his gaze rested on her belly. She had unconsciously
placed her hands over her womb. She immediately dropped them.

"Something
I ate."

"I
had food poisoning once when I was six." He sat down on one of the white
benches and patted the empty space beside him.

She
stayed where she was.

He
continued anyway. "My family took us on a holiday to a beach on Archenzon,
way before the embargo. I remember seeing lights like yours in the trees at
night."

She
wandered over next to him and sat down, but pointed her knees away from him and
didn't make direct eye contact.

"I
decided I should try some of the local seafood, straight from the surf. Puked
for the rest of the trip. Ended up in a med facility while my brother played
around in the sand. Worst holiday I can remember."

She
faced him. "Sorry. I just can't imagine why you thought that story would
make me feel better right now."

"I
don’t know either." He smiled, and it was just like she thought it would
be, shy and true.

A
shrill alarm startled her out of the moment.

Sean
consulted the messages scrolling across his palm.

"Some
spacer's going to ram us. I have to get to the engine room. You should go to
the bridge, just in case."

"Ram
us?"

He
pulled her to her feet. "That way."

Sara
ran down the commonway and burst onto the bridge. It was empty.

David
squeezed past behind her. He was bare-chested and muttering over the alarm,
"…could have interfaced immediately on the Protector. Told Sean I
needed an updated cerebro implant."

He
called up a nav chair from the middle of the black floor. An orb of
holo-controls immediately sphered around his large frame.

"You'll
want to strap in. Mari should be here soon if you need help."

Sara
looked behind her to find a crash couch. The harnesses were the same type as on
Chen's ship. And in his line of work, she'd had plenty of practice using them.

"Sean
was heading to the engine room," Sara said.

"Did
someone just get out of the shower?" Mari's tone implied she knew the
answer firsthand. She swept in and called up a nav chair of her own.

David
killed the alarm without acknowledging Mari's comment, then opened a visual
feed to the engine room. Sean and Geir stood before several airscreens,
manipulating data on the holographic panel with their fingertips, much in the
same way David and Mari controlled the manual flight of the ship. Only, Sean’s
and Geir’s screens were stationary while the nav chairs and orbed controls of
the bridge were gyroscopic.

"Sean,
who's in our lane?"

"Some
ship called Aracenzo."

"Opening
com on all lines," David said. "Attention Aracenzo. Change
your heading. Repeat, change your heading. We have right of way in this docking
lane."

David
stared at the readings on his screen. The alarm blared anew.

"Aracenzo,
change your heading!"

"They
won’t move off," Geir
said.

"I'm
going to pull us out and punch through the atmosphere."

"Not
enough juice for that kind of maneuvering," Sean said.

"There'll
be enough," David said. "Add another fuel cylinder to the
engine."

Sara
didn't know anything about the Bard's propulsion system, but suspected
adding a cylinder wasn't normally recommended, nor was zipping into the air on
a vertical trajectory. A rash of curses from Sean confirmed her thoughts.

"Loading
sixth cylinder now. And strapping in," Sean said.

No
protests. Were they that desperate?

Sara
was accustomed to jostling and pulling soft gees in the many small craft
necessary for Chen's work, but hadn't felt a truly strong g-force during space
travel since a trip years ago when the private transport she and some
girlfriends were on lost partial power to its gravity suppressors. The current
force pushing her chest through her back and into the soft couch behind her was
infinitely worse.

Seconds
passed slowly. Ringing in her ears overcame the alarm's shriek. She could no
longer suck in air. Her heart pounded and her vision tunneled. Small purple
explosions dotted her right arm. She wanted to tear at her restraints, but her
hands remained pinned to the armrests.

The
alarm's pitch reached a crescendo, accompanied by the squeal of the metal hull.

The
pressure released.

Silence.

Sara
gasped for breath and closed her eyes to the dizziness.

"Clear
of the atmosphere," David said. "How are things in the engine
room?"

Bellicose
laughter erupted from Geir, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

Sean
was less celebratory. "Blew a couple of cylinders. Easy to fix, but
time consuming."

"Well,
you have about three minutes until we land at Nanga Ki, so I guess you better
get started." David flicked off the feed from the engine room, but not
before Sean got out a few choice words.

David
pivoted in his eggshell of holo-controls to face Sara. "You okay?"

"Never
better," she said. Her arms twitched a little, and she had to focus on not
bouncing her knees, but otherwise she was intact. "You're a good pilot,
but I suppose that goes without saying considering you were a captain in the
fleet."

"The
best," Mari said. The way she looked at David spoke volumes. Sara
recognized that same look returned.

If
these two were in a relationship, that could complicate Sara's plans. It
shouldn't. She should just use her improved assets and make David forget
about his co-pilot/biological observer, at least until Sara could get some
information from him. The thought sickened her. Mari had a wonderful trusting
innocence that Sara would never get back. Mari saw only the best of her life
ahead of her—Sara saw nothing. Could she really take that from another person?

"So,
how are you liking the Bard?" Mari's question startled Sara out of
her thoughts. It was the first time the other woman had spoken to her since
their original meeting. Then Sara noticed David giving Mari an encouraging
look, as though he had prompted her to talk to Sara. Still, the effort was
sweet on both their parts.

"It's
been fun so far," Sara said.

Before
she knew it, Mari launched into a one-way conversation about a concert she
wanted to see next month on Tampa Deux and segued into a gossip session about
three different Socialites that Sara didn’t even know. David seemed pleased as
he flew the ship, occasionally glancing at Mari to nod or laugh at something
she said. His obvious affection toward the young botanist was not exactly the
kind of behavior Sara expected from a fragger.

"Incoming
transmission from Nanga Ki," Mari said in between dueling lectures on the
variety of begonias on Tampa One and the quality of silk from her home world of
Deleine. Sara was sorry for their discussion to end. She knew Mari was
just feeling her out, but enjoyed having the distraction of system gossip and
another woman to talk to, one who wasn't training to be a killer. That's why
Sara had stayed on the bridge after their scare. In another life she and Mari
would have been best friends.

"Already?"
David asked. "They must be excited about your visit. Let's hear it."

"Welcome
Navigational Leader Anlow, Ambasadora Mendoza, and those aboard the Bard. Supervisor Bakkin Venture would
like to welcome you to Nanga Ki and extend your and the ambasadora's dinner
invitations to all the passengers this evening. An escort will meet your transport
at the hangar."

The
com clicked off.

"Hmm,
free dinner," David said.

Sara
couldn't muster his enthusiasm. Was this what she could expect as a Face of the
Embassy? Many inconveniently cordial get-togethers where she could chat about
nothing and pretend to be fascinated by everything. Refusal came to mind, but
Simon needed to believe she was more biddable than ever. Otherwise, her next
escape attempt would end like the first. Or much worse. No matter how desperate
Simon might be to lift his curse, he wouldn’t give her another chance. So,
instead of steaming in a bath and going to bed early, she would have dinner
with a local nobody. Before she changed her mind, she asked, "So, who’s up
for some Nanga Ki fare?"

"I
can always eat," David said. "And, it sounded like they expected me.
I guess civvy pilots do get a little respect sometimes."

"Mari?
You coming with us?" Sara asked.

"I
can't. Thanks." Mari stood to leave.

Sara
felt a little dismayed that perhaps Mari's earlier niceties were false, or maybe
Sara was nervous that she would finally be alone with David and have to put
into action what Simon had asked.

"You're
always wanting to get off the ship," he said.

"I
have extra work to do since my schedule was set back a few weeks due to so many
unexpected stops. I'll just see you later." She leaned toward David as
though she were going to kiss him, but thought better of it. David looked like
he wanted her to change her mind—both about joining them and the kiss.

She
gave him a little smile and said, "I'll be up late."

That
made David smile. He walked her to the door, and they shared a few hushed words
and a couple of intimate touches that Sara was likely not meant to see.

"See
you later, Sara," Mari said before popping out the door.

"What
about everyone else?" Sara asked David.

"Kenon
never misses a chance to scout out new territory." David's tone told her
what he meant. "But, Soli's probably lying down, trying to recover from
all the latest excitement."

"Geir?"
She didn't want to be too obvious and ask about Sean specifically.

"He
might join us after he helps Sean with that cylinder. It’s not like Sean would
go anyway."

A
surprising disappointment trickled through her, but she pushed it aside. She
didn't need the distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity.

"I'll
prep the transport for three then," he said.

"David?"
Sara walked past him.

"Yeah?"

"I
think they’re going to expect you to wear a shirt."

He
looked down at his bare chest. "So, it's that kind of place."

16

"Why
build on Nanga Ki, the highest, steepest mountain range on Tampa Quad?"
Sara asked from the back seat of the ship's transport.

The
whole mountain came into view, snow streaming from its tri peaks like steam.
Somewhere in that swirling white mess was Nanga Ki's diminutive hangar that was
too small for even a mid-range ship like the Bard.

"I
don't know," David said. "But, that's why it's easier to come in from
such a high altitude than trying to climb all the way up here."

"Nanga
Ki's location was chosen by Tertians," Kenon said, referring to the
citizens of Tampa Three, the most inhospitable of the four Tampa planets and
Tampa Quad's closest neighbor in the system. He leaned in close enough for Sara
to smell his amber scent and feel his breath on her cheek. "They aren’t
exactly known for their logistics, considering their ancestors originally chose
that rock for their settlements. Some of them wanted to incorporate part
of Tampa Quad, too, but this was the only piece of land left." He squeezed
her hand. His proximity and tone left no doubt of his invitation.

After
spending so much time around contractors, Sara had forgotten how forward
Socialite males could be. For them, it was easier to be forthcoming than to
waste their efforts on an unrequited attraction. But, the fawning and innuendo
irritated, rather than flattered, her. Maybe she had just gotten used to
Rainer's reserved demeanor. Or, maybe she preferred the shy respect Sean had
given her.

"Nanga
Ki, this is Navigational Leader David Anlow of the Bard's transport. Are
we a go for landing?"

The
hangar replied with an all-go signal.

"Understood.
All-go."

A
blinding wall of white cut in front of them as the descending sun reflected
harshly off snow and metal. Sara discerned green landing lights flashing around
three metal doors.

"Nanga
Ki, this is the Bard transport.  Why are the hangar doors not
open?"

Without
their own ear buds, Sara and Kenon couldn't hear Nanga Ki's response.

"Should
we abort?" Kenon asked, his focus now more on the sealed hangar doors
filling their view than on Sara's attentions.

"Nope.
Everything's fine," David said, slightly amused.

The
seconds ticked by without a hint of movement near the huge metal accesses
encased within solid rock.

"David!"
Kenon's face drained of color. "What are you doing?"

"Ever
buzz a scarecrow?" David asked.

The
doors rushed at them. Kenon threw his arms up to protect his face. Sara
remained frozen in her seat. No crash, no impact, just a pass through a
holo-screen that looked for all the planet like solid hangar doors.

David
decelerated and came to a complete stop at the end of the landing tunnel. No
one spoke. Kenon laughed nervously, then smoothed his hair, the navy blue tips
shining in the transport’s soft light.

"You
could have told the rest of us it was just a holo-screen," Sara said.

"I
figured you knew what a scarecrow was." David's nonchalance annoyed her.

Sara
liked to know what to expect from the people around her, and David had just
proven he could be unpredictable. Simon's fragger theory gained ground.

"I
should have worn a coat." The freezing air assaulted Sara as soon as she
entered the hangar’s atmosphere. Her bio-lights danced up and down the goose
flesh on her arm, and she shivered in the brilliant light as it reflected off the
glossy white walls.

Six
people approached the trio from the Bard. All but one woman were clad in
black coats with cenders strapped to their thighs. Every one of them stared at
Sara's intra-tattoo like streamers at a v-game screen. Those dots would forever
define her as an Embassy project. The other ambasadoras relished such favor.
Sara viewed it as a permanent reminder of her slavery.

She
felt gentle hands wrap a jacket around her shoulders. Her appreciative gaze met
Kenon’s smiling face.  Ever the society gentleman.

Once
the purple lights disappeared, the spell was broken, and the weaponless female
stepped forward in a form-fitting silver coat that practically dragged the
floor. Its color contrasted beautifully with her mocha skin.

"Ambasadora
Mendoza, I am Liloch Ramon, deputy supervisor of Nanga Ki."  She
bowed deeply.

The
action made Sara uncomfortable, as did seeing each contractor with their hands
at the ready over the silver handles of their weapons. She instantly ran
through defensive scenarios in her mind and within seconds had one that would
allow her to take out the three closest contractors in about that many moves.
Rainer would be proud.

"It
is a pleasure to meet you, Deputy Supervisor Ramon," Sara said.
"May I introduce the handsome and charming men of the Bard,
Navigational Leader David Anlow and Terra Observer Kenon Brudger."

Liloch
nodded her pony-tailed head at both men, though her coffee-colored eyes
lingered on Kenon’s soft features much longer.  She was rewarded with a
propositioning smile.

Worried
more about their armed escort than amused by the woman’s obvious infatuation,
Sara prodded, "May we proceed inside?"

"Forgive
me. This way."

"Good
to know you still got the touch." David chided Kenon as they followed
Liloch and her security entourage through a pair of double doors and into an
antechamber.

"Once
the doors behind us close, we’ll be able to proceed into the main hall,"
Liloch said.

Good
way to keep out the cold and unwanted guests.

The
party of nine squeezed into the small antechamber. Given the choice of pressing
against a male contractor or David, Sara chose David. She caught a whiff of
that green tea smell she had come to associate with Armadans, well at least
David and Geir, the only two she really knew. Rather than coming from bots, the
scent seemed to be natural to their caste.

A
whisper of conversation from the female contractors drifted her way. Her heart
skipped a beat when she realized they were talking about Rainer. Without
looking directly at them, Sara tried to concentrate on their words. All she
heard was "reassigned" before the male standing beside them spoke
loudly to his companion.

"Don’t
often see a birth Armadan pulling civvy duty. Unless his own kind doesn’t even
want him."

"What
makes you think I’m an Armadan?" David lowered his head past the
contractor’s bright green and black ridge of hair in order to look into the
man’s eyes.

Sara
chuckled, drawing an angry stare from Green Hair.

David's
expression was an amused calm. Still, she imagined him with v-mitters. Her
first impulse was to pull away, but that would have been too obvious. Better to
let him play at protector and not bruise his ego.

The
swooshing seal of the front door brought their chatter to an end. Even
the slight change in temperature made her cheeks and lips loosen their grip on
her capillaries. She gave into a small shiver and hugged Kenon’s jacket closer,
loving its warmth and subtle smell.

The
white inner doors of the antechamber opened within seconds onto a bustling
atrium of dark stone and fuchsia light. It was a pleasant surprise after the
spartan hangar.

David
elbowed out first, guiding Sara by the shoulders. Green Hair exited close
behind them.

"This
is the Great Hall," Liloch announced. "As you can see, we took our
inspiration for the interior from digitals of several ancient Yurian cultures
found among the first worldships."

"I
thought this looked a little familiar," David said.

"So,
you are an Armadan," Green Hair said.

"Not
all of Yurai's citizens are Armadans," David said. "Only the best
ones."

Trying
to diffuse the situation, Kenon asked Liloch about the wall coverings.

Sixteen
tapestries cascaded down from the ceiling along the dark stone walls. Fuchsia
birds of prey, perhaps indigenous to Yurai, raced down the black, silky wall
coverings, wings folded behind them, claws at the ready. The beasts
flew, self-contained in a world of perpetual flight. The brilliant pink tone of
the holo-birds mirrored the flame erupting from flanking wall sconces. Each
tapestry canopied its own seating nook. The cozy alcove benches were carved
into the chamber itself.

The
Great Hall’s centerpiece, however, was the floor to ceiling fireplace. It
stretched nine meters above them and was half as wide, a natural pillar of the
mountain. Kenon moved toward the fiery tower and its small platform of
dark steps which encircled the fireplace on all sides. Circumnavigating the
stone benches of staring occupants, he climbed the stone staircase.

Sara
almost wanted to join him as he neared the mesmerizing pink fire. An inferno of
fuchsia burned within large openings at its bottom. Smaller holes pocked its
remaining length to expose the traveling pink glow.

The
firelight lit upon Kenon’s face as he climbed closer and tilted his head back
to view the ceiling.

"I’m
surprised Kenon’s playing the role of a terra observer so well," David
said. "I assumed he just wanted a scientific title to feel more important
than other Socialites. You know, without actually doing any real work for
it."

"Like
Mari?" Sara was surprised to see him frown at her joke.

"Mari
devotes a lot of time to her work, and though I don't quite understand what it
is she does, I know it's important, at least to her, and many within the
greenshift movement."

"I
was teasing, but best not to tell her I said that."

"I
won't. Not that we talk that much anyway. I mean, we don't see each other that
often. Or at all." He mumbled something else, then changed the subject
quickly. "By the way, I should have gone over emergency procedures with
you as soon as you boarded. I always did for new crew on the Protector.
I guess I'm slipping too far into civvy life already."

Green
Hair sauntered past, his knuckles white from a tight grip on his cenders. He
watched Kenon, but Sara knew his attention was really on David and her. Was the
contractor edgy because he had been told of her escape attempt?

Kenon
rejoined them. "It’s basalt."

Sara
looked at David in faux amazement.

"Nanga
Ki is volcanic," Kenon said to none of them in particular.

"Extinct,
I assure you," Liloch said.

"Maybe."
Kenon stopped beside her.

"Truly,
Scientist Brudger—"

"Please."
He took her hand, and said, "Call me Kenon," before going into the same
speech about the pretension of titles he gave upon meeting Sara.

"Kenon,"
Liloch said.  "I was just about to explain to the ambasadora that our
beautiful and functional fireplace is what remains of an original lava tube.
Five million years ago, this chamber would have been flooded with magma.
Now it’s our Great Hall. And, I’m sure you already know why there is heat
produced, but no smoke."

"I
wondered about that," Sara said.

Liloch
waited for Kenon to respond.

"It’s
because of what feeds your fire, here in the chimney and the flames in the wall
sconces. Vulcan gas in the vernacular, but I prefer the poetic term Hephestos’s
breath, though I'm not certain where the term originated."

"Exactly."
Liloch pushed closer to Kenon.

Sara
and David exchanged bemused glances. She avoided looking too deeply into his
eyes. David’s smoky irises were earnest and pleasing, and nothing at all like a
fragger’s heartless orbs. On second consideration, the scarecrow prank earlier
wasn't enough to convince her that David was an anti-government operative. She
had first-hand experience with fraggers. David wasn’t acting like one of them.

She
heard Liloch laugh and looked at the darker woman’s response to Kenon. It was
as though they were the only people in the room. Sara couldn't imagine being
that carefree again.  She was acutely aware of everyone surrounding her at
all times, and had even learned from Rainer how to assess the level of each
individual's threat to her. If this was what her life would be from now
on—assessing threats and planning escapes—she would gladly go back to being a
bored Socialite and watching the Media with her cousins.

How
odd to think that they might be snuggled in at home watching snippets of her on
the Media. Sara should be proud, flattered, but it was all a lie, and she hated
liars.

"The
major supervisor is waiting for us in the dining hall. If you’ll follow
me." Liloch took Kenon's offered arm.

When
they walked past Green Hair and his companions, David gave them a taunting wave
good-bye.

Sara
smiled a little, then thought, I hope I'm right about you, David Anlow.
Otherwise I'll have to kill you to save myself.

17

Heavy
drums and whining guitars pounded through the V-side, energizing the
combatants. Zak kicked Cuzco’s legs out from under him and sent the bigger guy
tumbling down an ascending magno. When Vishneu rammed his head into Zak’s
stomach, Sean gasped for breath back in his dark suite in the real world. Pain
registered in his head, his left shoulder, and finally his knees as Zak and
Vishneu rolled after Cuzco.

At
the bottom of the ramp, Zak jumped up and right into Cuzco’s fist. The jab to
his mouth drove his teeth into his upper lip and left him reeling backward.
Before Cuzco could get a second jab in, Zak ducked around behind him and
chopped the back of the man’s neck with the edge of his hand. Then he shifted
his weight onto his front foot and kicked sideways at a newly charging Vishneu.

Cuzco
spun around. Zak circled the big guy and spit a mouthful of blood onto the onyx
floor. He hoped to turn Cuzco full into the sunlight that filtered through the
chalcedony atrium. The only difference between this virtual world and the real
Embassy was the lack of people rushing through.

And
no green floor lamps and a dozen other details no one cared about but him.

In
a training ground, Sean felt every detail should have significance because
strategies could be infinitely altered by one green lamp. He'd mentioned the
slip to the bosses again. No one was concerned.

Out
of the corner of his eye, Zak saw Vishneu coming up on his right. Cuzco would
wait until the two of them could attack Zak from both fronts. Zak knew what to
expect because their partner strategies were always the same. It was time for
some new moves.

Waiting
until the last possible moment, Zak spun away from Cuzco and took Vishneu head
on with a combination of punches to the jaw. He threw the dazed man into Cuzco
so hard they both tumbled to the ground. The pair rolled back to their feet,
ready to lunge at Zak.

A
portal opened in front of them.

Ariel
stepped through and looked at them. "Why didn’t anyone invite me? I would
have dropped this background search and come running, ready to rumble…or
tumble."

She
wiped some blood from Zak’s lip, then sucked it off her finger.

"What
did you find out?" Zak wiped the rest of the blood onto his sleeve.

"That
Ambasadora Sara Mendoza didn’t exist for the past two months. I mean she
doesn’t show up anywhere in the system again until very recently."

"Where
was she prior to working for Prollixer?" Zak asked.

"Officially,
she was a Socialite living on Tampa Deux with her family," Ariel said.

"Unofficially?"

"Enamoured
to a rogue contractor. Guy named Chen Starrie."

"Sounds
like an Embassy snitch to me," Vishneu said.

"Do
you know where she is now, Zak?" Ariel asked.

"No,"
he lied. "But I’ll find out and take care of it. Such a high profile
position will need to be dealt with delicately."

Without
waiting for any objections, Sean pulled Zak out of the V-side.

He
wiped the lenses from his eyes and stared into the darkness of his bedroom. He
hated to be right about Sara. It left him empty.

The
fraggers would expect him to eliminate her before she did any damage. But he
would make that decision for himself. Fragger intel had failed him once
already. Never again would he act on another’s word. Waiting could be risky,
but the rational part of him wasn’t convinced of her guilt yet. His first
instincts were usually right on. That’s why their initial encounter had meant
so much; it told him there was something more to her. He was determined to find
out how much more.

He
kicked his legs off the bed and tapped his palm to activate his bedroom lights.
If he started now, he could search her suite long before she returned from the
social on Nanga Ki.

Deciding
not to bother with shirt or shoes, he strode through his sitting area and
tapped open his door.

He
jerked his head back when he met Soli’s smiling face in the commonway.

"Isn't
this a nice look for you. Are you going out?" She placed her hand on his
bare chest and gently backed him up into the room. "I was just coming to
visit."

"Now’s
not a good time, Soli. I kind of have something I need to do."

Her
eyebrows raised in interest. "Oh, you have somewhere to be? Someone to
see?" She moved past him without waiting for his answer and walked to one
of the couches and stood.

Resigned,
he followed her. With one swipe of his arm, he cleared a space for her to sit
on the couch's blue fabric surface. On top of the pile lay the shirt Sara had fondled
earlier, its blindfolded occupant still paused in mid-dive. He picked up the
shirt and held it, as though it would bring back the memory of that day. Then
he tugged it on, catching just a slight whiff of roses, or so his mind
imagined.

"Don't
get dressed on my account," Soli said. She tucked the graceful lines of
her tailed tunic under her before gliding onto the couch. The low-cut white
front drew Sean’s eyes to the matching curves of her amber breasts.

"You
like this?" she asked. A sly smile peeked from the corner of her
cornflower blue lips.

"If
only you were interested in men, Soli."

"Then
you’d want nothing to do with me." Her smile faded, and a stray braid fell
over her forehead.

"What
do you mean?" he asked.

"Because
you would think I was only after your DNA. You assume that’s what all women
want from you."

"I’d
be right. It’s a tenet of our society. Don’t you remember your studies? 'Sex is
life. Value your drive. Choose your couplings well.'"

"Is
that why you haven’t taken a prime yet…at your age?" she asked.

"My
age?" He knit his brows. "I’m 30. I have a good 120 years left in my
projected lifecycle." When she didn't look convinced he added,
"David’s almost twice as old as me and still hasn’t taken a prime."

"David’s
an Armadan," Soli said. "They normally don’t have children until
their late sixties. You’re a Socialite."

Not
even by half, Sean
thought.

"Kenon’s
the Socialite. He started at sixteen and has had three children over the past
six years. And, he’s looking for a new amour already."

"Yes,
I know," Soli said with an innocent smile. "He has his sights set on
our ambasadora."

"Sara?
I should have guessed." Irritation worked into Sean's jaw. Though Kenon
was probably more her type and certainly closer in age if Sean had guessed
right.

Soli
perked up. "On a first name basis already? You didn’t even come to greet
her."

"She
came to me for a reporter and asked if I could reprogram her scentbots."

"Did
you?"

"I
gave her a reporter," Sean said. And a very thorough lesson on how to
use it.

"But
no new scentbots?"

"Not
yet."

"So
you’d have an excuse to see her again." Soli didn’t mean this as a
question.

"What?
No. She had a message waiting for her." Sean crossed his arms.

"Maybe
she wanted an excuse to see you again."

She
probably did want to see him again, but not in the way Soli suggested. If
anything, Sara Mendoza might be plotting to capture or kill him at their next
meeting.

"Quit
trying to matchmake, Soli." He kept his tone light, though he was annoyed
because she hit a little too close to the truth. It amazed him how she seemed
to know what they all were thinking on board.

"You
know, an amour would do you a world of good. Make you more social, less
brooding."

"I
may spend a lot of time in my head, but I don't brood."

"You’re
one of the loneliest people I know, Sean. Perhaps you really prefer it that
way. Or are you just afraid of intimacy?"

"I
get all the intimacy I need, thanks." Though there hadn't been any of that
recently, either.

"There’s
a difference between sex and intimacy, otherwise no one would bother to take an
amour."

"For
me there's no distinction. And, you’d be surprised how many Uppers think that
way. They just won’t admit it. I don’t need someone permanent in my life."

And
no one needs me.

The
truth caused an ache that traveled from his throat to his stomach, but he never
let the reaction show on his face. He knew it was time for Soli to leave,
before he said anything he’d regret.

She
must have sensed his irritation because she stood and walked the few paces to
him.

"You’re
one of my favorite people. That’s why I care about you." She brushed the
back of her hand along his jaw and gave him a sad, little smile.

He
took her hand and looked down at it. "Thanks, Soli. Nice to know."

"Now,
I’m off to council Mari."

"More
David issues?" Sean asked.

"What
else?"

Sean
worried about Mari's very obvious emotional fallacy for David. During the year
she had been on board, Sean had gotten to know her and care for her. When she
first arrived, he'd been interested, then she immediately opened her mouth and
he couldn't take the constant chatter, even for a man who hated the silence.
Still, he liked Mari because she was genuine and kind.

He
hoped David had only the best intentions toward her. So far, that seemed to be
the case. He put up with her immaturity and basically taught her about intimacy
in a safe and gentle way, at least according to all the graphic details she had
shared with Sean and Geir when they were trying to work on the engine core one
morning. David would blow a circuit if he knew Mari talked about their
relationship and their sexual habits so openly.

But
the former Armadan captain had shown how much he cared about Mari when he did
everything, legal or not, to get her back after Dale Zapona abducted her. Maybe
Sean should have tried a little harder to foster the friendship he and David
had begun to forge while helping Mari.

Probably
too late now.

"Does
he still think he’s keeping their tryst a secret?" Sean walked Soli to the
door.

"Of
course he does, dear. He’s an Armadan." Soli headed out with a wave.

Sean
waited until he saw her round the bend for the stairs before heading out
himself. Sara’s suite was only three doors down from his on this side, but he
didn’t want to take any chances being seen. If he did have to eliminate her, he
didn’t want anyone drawing a connection between the two of them.

18

"I
hope that's not dinner." Sara put her hand to her nose and kept it there,
for once relishing in her scentbots' rosy bouquet. Kenon coughed several times.
An odd smell of burnt hair and flowers detracted from the room’s elegance.

Several
nicely dressed guests were already enjoying their meals at a long stone banquet
table. In a strip down the middle glowed a fuchsia fire, its flames not
reaching higher than a few centimeters. More sconces lined the walls, though
without the tapestries that had accompanied them in the main chamber.

"The
major supervisor likes to do his own introductions." Liloch motioned
toward the head of the polished basalt table. "So, if you’ll excuse me…."

"You’re
not joining us?"  Sara held out hope for an alternate dining
facility.

Liloch
threw a quick glance at Kenon. "I usually dine in my quarters."

As
the pony-tailed blonde turned to go, Kenon strode up to David and said,
"See you in the morning. Enjoy your social."

A
whirring drew their attention to the shadows at the far end of the table, where
the major supervisor floated toward them on a hover chair. He had a girth not
unlike a small moon, and apparently no table manners to speak of. His light grey
tunic displayed a preview of each course that had been prepared for the
evening.  When he licked his food-encrusted lips and adjusted himself,
Sara wrinkled her nose.

"Is
that a floating throne?" David asked.

"Maybe
that’s what smells," Sara whispered back.

The
stench worsened when the major supervisor stopped in front of them.  He
looked her over, his gaze never quite made it to her face. Speaking to her
cleavage, he said, "Ambasadora Sara Mendoza, you are everything I had
imagined."

The
man’s soprano voice made her think there wasn’t much there to adjust after all.

"I
am Major Supervisor Bakkin Venture." He took her hand, his greasy fingers
massaging her palm.

She
pulled her hand back and easily slid free of his grasp. "It’s nice to make
your acquaintance.  May I introduce Navigational Leader David Anlow."

"Hello,"
Venture muttered.

Neither
man was punctilious enough to offer his hand.

"You
don’t know how happy I was to hear that an ambasadora would be staying with
me."

"We'll
actually be returning to our ship after dinner," Sara said.

"Immediately
after dinner," David added, then muttered something about this being worse
than some dive at the Hub.

Venture's
look said he liked David better when he was silent. "You must be hungry. I
do hope you don't mind, but when we were informed of your tardiness this
evening, we started without you. But, I have seats reserved for you at my
side."

"I
thought we were right on schedule," David said. "I'm usually on
time."

"I
don't think it really matters at this point," Sara said, but David
remained irritated by their supposed tardiness. No doubt he was regimented
about such things from his time in the fleet.

None
of the diners offered more than a nod of acknowledgment, and most of them were
almost finished eating. She and David had been given the honorable seats to
either side of Venture. Attendants loaded both of their plates and filled their
glasses with a clovered alcohol. She wondered how the six people seated at the
other end of the table could be eating with such gusto when the odor in here
had killed her appetite completely. Already tired of playing at the good
Embassy diplomat, she would've happily returned to her horrible white room on
the Bard.

After
several minutes of pushing gravied meat and some mushy vegetables around on her
plate without taking a single bite, she realized David had simply shoved his
meal away without touching it. He had, however, downed several glasses of the
honeyed mead, including Sara's when she offered it to him.

Venture
tried to peek under Kenon’s jacket at her bio-lights. She snagged his thumb and
bent it in on itself, not enough to break, just enough to make a point.

He
retracted his hand and glared at her. "Best be careful, ambasadora, or
you’ll ruin the Sovereign’s little set-up."

The
whispered words struck her in the stomach. "I guess I was moving too slow
for him?" She kept her voice low, trying to coax out what he knew.

"The
Sovereign is not a man to be kept waiting. But, he is gracious, so he arranged
tonight for you."

"What
happens tonight?" Her voice sounded tight, and not just because she was
whispering.

"Ambasadora,
if you need a demonstration, I'll be happy to oblige." He grinned, a huge
piece of blackened meat caught between two of his upper teeth.

"This
was not part of the plan. The timing isn't right. By rushing this, Simon is
only hurting himself."

"On
a first name basis with the Sovereign? You must be something special,"
Venture chided.

"I'm
not playing this game. I do this on my terms or not at all." She threw her
napkin down and pushed away from the table.

Speaking
loudly, she turned to David. "Ready to go?"

"Yep."

"How
regrettable." Venture spoke up. "I was informed shortly before you
joined me of an impending storm moving toward Nanga Ki."

"I've
flown in severe weather before." David started to walk away.

"You
don’t seem to understand.  We operate on a mandated lock-down during
storms. Barring an emergency or Embassy directive, those doors open for no one.
Not even the Sovereign, if he were here."

Sara
stiffened.

Before
David could mouth another protest, Venture continued, "Not to worry. I’ve
secured one of our best guestrooms for you. Though, I regret that it is the only
one available. Lucky your terra observer already found a bunk mate…."

"What
about the crew on the Bard?" David asked.

With
another burst of irritation, Venture raised his voice in finality. "Your
passengers have already been notified that any traffic into or out of the
hangar is strictly prohibited for now. The message was received by your
archivist."

The
doors to the dining hall opened, allowing Green Hair and his contractor
associates access. The other diners fell silent.

"I
could offer you a holding cell for the evening if you’d prefer."

Squeezing
David’s arm, Sara said, "No, that won’t be necessary. The guest room
sounds very cozy." If Simon were part of this ruse, it was best to be
careful until they knew more about the real situation.

"I
figured as much. If you’ve finished, I’ll have you escorted there now."

Green
Hair motioned them out the doors and through a stone passageway. David
encircled Sara with his arm and pulled her close. It would appear as an
intimate gesture to unknowing eyes.

Instead, he used it as a way to
communicate through a whisper. "This whole thing doesn’t make sense. Do
you think keeping us here is some type of political move?  Maybe Venture
is buying time to work our rescue to his advantage."

"I’m
not sure he’s smart enough to have plotted something so fast." But Simon
certainly had plans for them.

"I
can take the two guys on the right, and that would give you a chance to make a
break for it, like on the magnos that day."

Sara
felt confident she could take the guys on the right and the woman directly in
front of her before David made a move, but now was not the time to stir up a
group of edgy contractors. "Neither of us would get very far. I think we
should play it cautious."

They
rounded the corner.

"Maybe
you're right. There's no way any of these idiots would touch an
ambasadora."

"Of
course not." She hoped she kept the sarcasm out of her tone.

"Here's
your room." Green Hair stopped in front of the first door in this annex.
He flung open the thick oak door and waited for David and Sara to step inside.
As she passed, the contractor leaned in to say, "Have fun."

"You
can't break down the door no matter how hard you pound," Sara said.

David
smashed his fist against the solid wood again. "Someone is bound to hear
us. I've been pounding on it for twenty minutes. I can't understand why they
locked us in."

She
was sure someone did hear them. Without being obvious, she had scanned
the room for cameras or listening devices. They could be anywhere–camouflaged
in the stone walls, built into the canopy bed, sewn into the pillows, or molded
into the tray of cooling drinks and pastries that waited for them on the table.

Simon
hadn't missed a detail. The cozy quarters were meant to be an interrogation
room of sorts, to aid Sara in retrieving information by a particular means. The
thought tore at her. Flirting with a potential partner and consensual couplings
were one thing, using her sexuality to extract information was quite another.
It reminded her too much of contractor behavior, selfish, deceptive. She
thought about the stakes, the permanent loss of her breeding right, maybe even
death. Then she thought about the fraggers who had attacked at Palomin and
their brutality. She thought especially about the fragger who would have
squeezed the life from her if not for Rainer.

Rainer.

Where
there were memories of him, memories of Faya and her torture followed. Better
this than a modification cell. David should consider himself so lucky.

"They
have to let us go eventually. I'm an ambasadora, remember? The Media follows my
every move. Didn't you see the voyeurs in the dining hall? The whole system
knows we're here."

In
truth, she hadn't seen a voyeur in the entire place, an oddity which had
needled her. There was no public arena void of Media spies, not even somewhere
as remote as Nanga Ki. It all made an eerie sense now and put her on edge—Simon
didn't want any more witnesses than necessary. She realized how much comfort
she had taken in their transparent society, a false safety that someone was
always watching out for you, not just watching you.

"Then
how is Venture going to explain holding us here?" David asked.

"He'll
say you were a security risk." She sat down on the bed, as there was no
place else to sit. "That you refused to obey the storm lock-down, putting
the entire complex in jeopardy. That he had no other choice. Or something along
those lines." She patted the bed beside her and tried not to think of the
way David had looked at Mari earlier. Sara felt guilty enough.

David
sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not sure I believe that."

"Venture
won't do anything to upset Sim—the Sovereign. His post and title would be
forfeit." This same threat may have been how Simon managed to secure
Venture's cooperation in the first place, or maybe it was a promise of a better
position. Too bad for Venture, Simon wasn't the type to keep his promises.

David
grabbed a dainty pastry from the tray and popped the whole thing in his mouth,
then offered her one. "They're good."

After
a bite, she agreed. "Yes, they are." Her appetite was back.
"What do we have to drink?"

David
took a sip. "Chai, with a little something extra. Bourbon, maybe. My
father added Bourbon to everything he drank. Come to think of it, so did my
mother." David took a larger swallow.

Sara
followed suit. The spice of the chai definitely hid the underlying notes of
some type of alcohol. Some of the anxiety eased. She had a little time to think
now. So far, she had been a half-step ahead of Simon. There was no reason to
believe she couldn't keep that lead. She pulled her feet under her and leaned
against one of the large tasseled pillows, some of her inhibitions fading as
she let her knees rest against David's hip.

He
noticed and looked decidedly uncomfortable. When he handed her another pastry,
she made sure their fingers touched in the pass, her own comfort level rising
as the alcohol dulled the edges of her conscience.

"So,
how did you become an ambasadora anyway?" David's hand rested on her knee.

"I
have Sovereign Prollixer to thank for it." She sipped at the chai and lay
back on the pillows.

David's
hand had started a slow move up her leg, pushing the bottom of her dress with
it. "Were you chosen because of your lineage or did you apply to the
position?" His speech sounded a little off. He had a slight accent anyway,
tending to draw out certain vowels. It suited him, just another of his
attractive qualities.

"It’s
a long story," she said.

"According
to Bakkin Venture, we’ve got all night." His hand was almost to her thigh.

Something
about the way David said Bakkin made Sara laugh. She knew exactly what
Mari saw in the older man. He was big and safe and the type to handle any situation
that came his way, probably how he had worked through the fleet ranks to become
a captain. A man like David Anlow would have gotten her out of Palomin.

Sara
wondered how those thoughts floated into her head. Like on a cloud. She felt
cloudy, as though she were floating a little and couldn’t see through
her blurry peripheral vision. Taking another swallow of chai, she wondered if
that was what caused the dreamy feeling. It certainly warmed her throat and
belly and several other parts of her that were responding to David's hand on
her leg.

He
chugged down his drink. In this light his facial features vaguely resembled
Sean Cryer's. Maybe they shared some type of common ancestry. She took another
sip, wishing the scruffy blonde were sitting next to her. Stretching her legs
out, she allowed that white cloud to build around her.

David
leaned over her, his face just centimeters from hers.

She
smoothed one of his eyebrows with her thumb.

"Are
you tired, Mari?" he asked.

"Not
really," Sara said, though her lids felt heavy.

Wait.

He'd
just called her Mari. Hadn't he? Sara tried to shake the cloudy feeling, but
her inner voice was garbled like static.

"Me
neither." David, or was it Sean, traced the swirls of purple on her
hand, stirring them into a quickening pulse. Then he slid his hands up her
arms, all the way to her shoulders, sending the satiny blue straps of her dress
falling away. She giggled and wondered where the sound had come from.

He
whispered something in her ear. It was a far-away whisper, though, and the
words were incomprehensible, as though he spoke another language. She wanted to
respond, but couldn't form her own words. The white clouds threatened from all
around her now. Understanding poured through her. She was sliding. The chai
fell from her hands. This time David laughed, a deep throaty rumble that
reverberated through her body.

"Drugged,"
was all she managed to whisper.

Her
hand reached for him, but he now had three faces. She couldn’t find the real
one, though she swore she had tried to touch each of them at least once. When
he brushed his lips against hers, she knew she'd found the right one, but the
clouds interfered with her movements. Confused, she kissed him back. He tasted
like chai. She parted the clouds for just a moment and tried to warn him again.

"Drugged,"
she said against his mouth.

He
kissed her harder.

She
said in a lazy voice, "I'm not Mari."

David
pulled away from Sara and sat up. She heard him say something in that other
language, but couldn't respond. She froze when she saw Rainer in David's place.
Her conscious mind battled her sliding subconscious. Rainer wasn't here. Just
her and David. Right?

The
feeling of helplessness and disorientation bloomed into panic. Her skin felt
too hot and her breath wouldn't come easily. Dizziness struck. She crawled past
David and grabbed at the canopy's silky curtains, but they tore under her
weight and sent her spilling onto the cold stone floor.

David
stumbled to help her. Was his balance affected by the drugs or was it her
perception? The thud of his body hitting the floor at the other end of the bed
brought her answer.

"David,"
she choked out.

There
was a distant groaning, which slowly formed into whispered words, just not
David's. "Can't have you dying on me yet."

Faya.

Sara
looked around the room. No Faya, only a pinpoint of light caught in Sara's
peripheral vision. She looked at the area straight on, the light jumped to the
other corner. It bounced around, appearing to her left then her right. Now it
swam directly in front of her, reminding her of the way light reflected off a
razor disc when it was thrown just right. She was sure she'd seen one of its
silvery blades.

Faya's
voice morphed into Simon's. "You’ve seen their faces, you know their
names. So, when they die because of your actions, you’ll remember them."

The
disc spun directly above her. As its rotation slowed she could discern
individual specks instead one large mass. They weren't blades—they looked like
her bio-lights.

She
glanced at her arm. One by one the lavender dots popped out of her skin and
rose into the air, swarming together. She stifled a scream and crawled to a
wall. Using its nooks and crevices like handholds, she climbed to her feet.

Rainer's
voice was at her ear. "You're a liar."

"Stop!"
She punched at the stone wall. The pain of smashed knuckles brought momentary
clarity.

The
door opened. Green Hair and a female contractor pushed inside.

Sara
rushed the woman, knocking her to the ground. Struggling against her opponent and
the half-dream state, Sara missed a block and a punch connected with her side.
The pain did as she'd hoped and parted the clouds long enough for her to shove
the contractor's head against the stone. The woman went limp.

Sara
snapped her attention to Green Hair. But, David was up from the floor and
charging the male contractor. She'd heard that Armadans could produce excess
adrenaline at will, but didn't think it was true, until David picked Green Hair
up by his shirt and flung him three meters into two more contractors guarding
the doorway.

"Head
for the hangar," David said.

Sara
skirted the contractors sprawled in the doorway, but one grabbed her ankle. She
yanked it from his grasp and kicked him in the face, then took off. Scuffling
sounded behind her. She considered going back to help David, but lost her
balance as the floor shimmered in front of her. She barely felt the turn of her
ankle or the rock slamming into her knee. She crawled to the wall, but it kept
bending away from her at irregular angles. Pulling herself to her unsteady
feet, Sara closed her eyes in an attempt to thwart the dizziness. Heavy
footfalls raced up behind her.

"Come
on." David grabbed her arm, dragging her along beside him.

She
looked back to see if the contractors followed, but saw no one. If a retired
captain could dispatch a handful of combatants by himself, contractors would be
in trouble if they ever had to face Armadans in a real fight.

When
she and David rounded the corner back toward the Great Hall, he gave into his
disorientation, tripping and slamming his shoulder into the stone wall,
dislodging one of the giant tapestries. The birds continued to fly as the black
sheet of fabric folded to the ground with a snap.

"Can
you make it to the hangar?" David asked. "I have to get someone to
open those doors." His voice seemed normal now, yet she could barely get
out a "Yes." She wondered if he was stable enough to fly them out of
the hangar.

Sara
continued navigating the hallway, trailing a hand against the stone wall to
steady her wobbling form. The fuchsia light from the Great Hall sconces warped
into long flames then retracted to compact orbs. When she passed the massive
stone fireplace, several people still milled around. A scan near the high
ceiling confirmed her earlier suspicions—no voyeurs.

No
real witnesses.

A
woman up ahead caught Sara's attention.

Magenta-streaked
dark hair. Faya.

So
she was here.

Sara
staggered up to her, rage pulsing through her thoughts. She spun the woman
around and grabbed her by the throat. A startled whimper escaped lips that were
too small, and green-flecked eyes stared back at her, not Faya's grey irises.

Sara
released the stranger.

David
stood yelling at a guard to open the airlock doors. Then she saw a voyeur
floating just above him. Relief surged through Sara—the live feed to the Media
would ensure their safe passage out of Nanga Ki. Venture wouldn't dare allow
her to be hurt in front of the Media, and neither would Simon.

If
I can believe my eyes and there really is a voyeur.

The
inner chamber doors suddenly opened. David stood in the doorway and ushered
Sara inside. He no longer seemed to be under the influence of the drugs. Maybe
his size could handle more than her small frame, or did he take something to
counteract them?

She needed something, something to stop her
slide, and she knew exactly where she would get it.

19

"Open
the door, Sean." Sara slapped at the entry sensor.

Its
half-moon of bluegreen light made her uneasy. She watched it collapse into a
small orb and jerked her hand away before the energy could burn the flesh from
her bones.

"Stop!"
Her voice echoed in the empty commonway.

She
slid further into a hallucinogenic reality. She might be able to minimize the
effects, at least keep part of herself ground in the real. She beat the sensor
with her skinned knuckles.

No
respite came this time. She barely even felt the pain.

Please
answer the door.

It
was obvious after meeting Sean, and seeing the mess of bottles and paraphernalia
in his suite, that he was a doser. She’d pay triple for whatever he had on hand
or just break down the damn door and take it. She needed a distractor to keep
Faya’s horrors at bay.

The
metallic smell of chlorate burned through Sara's nasal passages. She bit her
lip against the onslaught of a thousand pins pricking the lining of her
sinuses, and pushed her palms against her closed eyes. Holding her breath
helped.

Sweat
dampened her hands and crept down her wrists. Only it felt gummy and too sticky.
She wrenched her hands away from her face and stared at the blue mucus that
covered her palms. Her breathing came in shallow bursts. In a panic she wiped
the mucus onto her gown. The fluorescent ooze ate through the shiny fabric and
dripped onto her legs like acid. She grabbed handfuls of the gown to keep it
off her skin.

It’s
not real.

She
didn’t care. Most of her believed it was real. Carbonizing flesh overpowered
the ammonia-stench as her fingernails blackened. She watched each finger curl
up and burn like leaves.

"Sara,
what are you doing?"

She
spun at the voice. Her gaze settled on a pair of silver v-mitters. She screamed
and backhanded the fragger before falling against the closed door. With one
shoulder pressed into the wall for support, she stumbled forward. Hands grabbed
her shoulders. She whipped forward and smashed her forehead into the fragger's
chin.

She
heard a grunt in response, but the hands only tightened.

"What
is your problem?"

The
voice sounded familiar. Rainer? The hope gave her pause.

"Sara,
what's wrong with you?"

She
saw a square jawline and a thin upper lip. Her gaze moved past the trail of
blood coming from the man's mouth up to his eyes—Sean Cryer’s brown eyes, not
colorless v-mitters.

She
fell against his chest in relief, then remembered her burnt fingers. "My
hands." She inspected them to find healthy olive skin, except the bloody,
swollen knuckles on her right hand.

Sean
loosened his grasp on her wrists and turned her hands over in his, inspecting
them. "What did you hit? Besides me?"

She
looked at him, but saw Simon’s face. Her hands balled into fists. "Let go
of me."

"You're
sliding, aren’t you?" It was Sean’s face again.

"Yes."

"Judging
by your pupils and breathing, you’re headed into a full slide. I didn’t take
you for a doser."

"I
need something. Please."

Sean
helped her into his suite. She saw him take a step into Faya’s modification
cell and pulled away from him. "I won’t let her touch me again. I’ll kill
her and you and Simon. He put you up to this, didn't he? How could you?"

She
grabbed an empty bottle from the table in front of her and hurled it at Sean’s
head before running down a corridor. She had imagined escaping down this
corridor before every session with Faya, but never had the chance to until now.
She ran into a sitting room and stopped.

This
wasn’t part of the modification area, not part of Simon’s complex. It lacked
his cold luxury. But this place was familiar. She lost her panic to confusion.
A quick survey took in all the bottles and pillows scattered about and the
piles of clothes covering the couches. She bypassed all of these and stumbled
over to a chair and picked up a crumpled grey shirt.

She
held it to her chest. Instead of the comforting woody scent she expected, she
thought she smelled clay mixed with freshly raked leaves. Her mind flashed to
fingertips brushing across her open palm and a face full of dark blonde
stubble.

"Sean?"

"Yeah."
His voice carried from across the room.

She
glanced in his direction, then quickly away. "Do you work for Simon?"

"Prollixer?
No."

Her
peripheral vision caught his slow movement toward her. She'd forgotten what
she’d asked. This was how her games with Faya always began—volleying questions
at one another until Faya became bored and either started to break Sara’s toes or
hooked her up to the blade cuffs.

Sara
squeezed the shirt like it was a lifeline to sanity. "Sean?"

"I'm
here."

She
couldn't find him.

"Why
don’t you tell Faya what she wants to know?"

Not
Sean’s voice. Rainer's. She shook her head.

"David
Anlow isn’t a fragger," she said.

"I
could have told you that." Sean’s voice, right next to her.

He
slipped an arm around her and pressed something into her neck. Images of blade
cuffs slicing her face and neck played through her mind as she twisted and
fought against Sean’s grasp. He held her tight to his chest. Her breath came in
shallow spurts, and her mouth moved in unvoiced words.

"It's
okay. Calm down." His voice was soothing as he rubbed her back.
"This'll stop the slide and take care of all that stuff in your head.
You'll work it out of your subconscious through a few bad dreams."

The
dreams were worse than the reality. Sara was already drifting into
unconsciousness. Her knees buckled. Sean lifted her and carried her to his
room. She didn't want to be alone to battle her way back to the real through
endless nightmares. Her mind separated from her physical form, but she thought
she clung to him, burying her face in his neck. If Sean left her alone, she'd
never know. It would be okay. They always left.

And
she still survived.

Several
bottles clinked to the floor as Sean hurried to grab one of his clean shirts
from the stack on the couch. He doused a corner of the soft cotton shirt with
cold water from the bathroom faucet. Cries from the connecting bedroom sent him
straight back to Sara. She thrashed against the mattress as though fighting an
invisible opponent. His throbbing lip reminded him to approach her cautiously.
She'd also caught him above his right eye during her last episode.

"Sara,
it's Sean. I'm the only one here. You're safe." He placed a tentative hand
on her shoulder.

She
stilled. Only her chest moved, rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her eyes
never opened. He didn't know if she could actually understand him or if she was
just responding to the tone of his voice. He sat beside her. Sweat beaded on
her forehead, and the scent of roses suffocated the room as it dripped out of
her pores. He was beginning to hate the heady smell as much as she did because
he associated it with her torment.

He
pressed the cool cotton of the shirt against her forehead. He could feel the
heat radiating from her skin. That worried him. Having survived a couple of
full slides in his teens, he always relied on restors to put him out so he
could sleep it off. He'd given Sara a double dose already, yet that hadn't
calmed her much. He was afraid she'd overdose if he gave her any more. She
either had a tolerance that surpassed his own or someone had used some powerful
shit to fuck with her mind.

At
least she slept, though it was more like a nightmarish trance. She murmured
constantly, sometimes shouted. He could make out a small amount, pleas for help
mostly, which made his chest tight.

And
names.

Some
he recognized like Rainer, Chen, and Simon. He was pretty sure that last one
was in reference to Simon Prollixer. Though there weren’t many familiar enough
with the Sovereign to throw his first name around, except in secret and adding
a punchline to follow it up.

One
name that he didn't recognize always brought about the most violent episodes.
If this Faya had been around tonight, he believed Sara would have torn the
woman apart with her bare hands. At this point, Sean could have done that
himself.

The
lights of her intra-tat bounced around in erratic pulses in a frightening way—not
alluring like when he first touched her hand. Tonight those angry flashes were
a physical sign of whatever horror she was experiencing.

He
brushed her damp hair back with his fingers and whispered words of reassurance,
knowing this could be the biggest mistake of his life. She had been sent here
to flush out a fragger operative. Right now she and the Embassy thought David
was their man. Sean didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity or be
insulted. If that’s what her Embassy intel was saying, then it might be easier
to bring down this government than he thought.

"Sean."
She reached out to the empty space beside her.

He
put his hand over hers. "I'm here."

When
she whimpered and shook, he lay down next to her because he knew what it was
like to go through this alone. He knew what it was like to go through everything
alone. Folding Sara in his arms, he pulled her tight against his chest until
her body relaxed against him. He kissed the top of her head to soothe her.

If
she betrayed him later, he'd deal with that when it happened. It's not like he
hadn't thought of offing himself, and not the pleasant way with passing drugs
and a bedside full of family crying for him. Maybe she'd be doing him a favor.
Sean's older brother had killed himself. He told Sean before he did it that
Sean wouldn't understand because he had never known their father, so couldn't
really miss him. But Sean did miss having a father…and an older brother.

Sara's
breathing deepened with exhaustion. So did Sean's. He rested his cheek against
the top of her head and fell asleep.

20

Rainer
looked out the curved window of the Embassy council's chamber. The noon sun
glinted off the water at Shiraz Dock far below, and small shadows followed the
bustling pedestrians scurrying along the elliptoid pattern of the Hub's blue
pavement.

The
interior here was cold and gloomy today, and not just from the dark filters on
the massive skylights or the room's climate controls. Lately, it was always
dismal whenever the Sovereign met with his council.

"Does
this have anything to do with the recent fragger uprisings?" Archivist
Harlo Andravo asked.

This
was the argument Rainer had been waiting for after ten minutes of strained pleasantries
and mundane business discussions. He shifted his attention to Prollixer's
diminutive frame draped gracefully over a leather armchair at the head of the
long snaking table.

"Yes,
I have evidence to prove that fragger operatives plotted the attempt on
Ambasadora Mendoza's life."

The
lie never showed on the Sovereign's gaunt face.

"Why
would fraggers go after an ambasadora?" Phoebe Llewellyn's tone was more
critical than questioning.

Rainer
hadn't seen Phoebe since that day in the underground corridors, on his way to
see Sara's new body. The archivist avoided his gaze now.

"They
did it as an affront to the Embassy," the Sovereign said.

"There
are more worthy adversaries in this system than a newly entitled Socialite and
her pilot," Llewellyn said.

Rainer
silently agreed. The three other council members also remained quiet.

"Do
you suppose they did it to humiliate me, then?" Prollixer asked.

"It
would seem from their previous protests that humiliating you would only be a
bonus to fulfilling some higher ideology." Llewellyn's pitch raised enough
on that last word to strengthen Rainer's suspicion that she was sympathetic to
the fraggers. Yet, the Sovereign had never seen the signs.

Rainer
attributed the man's distraction to his failing health. Or perhaps he just
hadn't shared his thoughts with Rainer. Prollixer had kept quite a bit from his
head contractor ever since Sara's time at Palomin, not that the Sovereign was
ever really open with Rainer or anyone else. As the years went by, there was
coincidentally less and less history available concerning Simon Prollixer.

"Let's
ask Contractor Varden," the Sovereign said.

He
had never asked for Rainer's opinion before during a council meeting.

"Do
you believe the attack on Ambasadora Mendoza is the result of fragger
dissidence?" Andravo asked.

"I
don't think we have enough intel to say for certain," Rainer said.

The
warning in Prollixer's stare reminded Rainer of the power the man still
wielded, making him rethink his assumption of the man's frailty. Rather than
subduing Prollixer, desperation energized his deviousness. Rainer would need to
take more care in the future if he was to outlive his Sovereign.

"The
most intelligent comment I've heard thus far," Andravo said.

Before
either Prollixer or Llewellyn could respond, a contractor with lime and black
hair ridging down the middle of his head strolled into the chamber. A
synth-flesh bandage covered his forehead above his right eye.

"I'm
afraid the meeting is adjourned," the Sovereign said.

Phoebe
balked. "But, we've not—"

"Contractor
Varden, perhaps you should escort the council out as they seem to have
forgotten where the door is."

Retaining
all the dignity they could, the archivists filed out of the chamber in silence…and
without escort. They all understood that Sovereign Prollixer kept the council
alive as a faux check to his unmitigated governing. He'd never made the point
so blatantly until now.

Prollixer
waved a hand and the windows tinted further, throwing the room into complete
darkness. Airscreens popped on in front of each of the empty council chairs.

"Since
you don't believe we have enough intel on the matter," he said to Rainer,
"I would like your perspective on this." The Sovereign motioned to
his own viewer. "This is a feed from several cameras secreted in one of
the Nanga Ki guest suites."

Magenta
flame sconces accented grey stone walls. In the middle stood an elevated square
bed with an open canopy, curtained at the posts in gauzy silver sheets.

The
pilot from Sara's ship pounded on the suite's door. Rainer's chest tightened
each time David Anlow’s fist made contact with the metal. He was certain the
door would eventually give under the Armadan's blows.

"Just
think if we hadn't switched off their aggressor genes," the Sovereign
said. "We'd likely be governed by our own military."

Since
when did Simon Prollixer worry about losing power? His unnatural longevity and
lack of interest in breeding separated him from the other citizens.

Of
course, now he was cursed with mortality. That brought him just a little closer
to his own kind and made him much more dangerous—he finally had something to
lose.

The
shot switched to Sara. Rainer forced his fists not to ball as Sara touched the
Armadan. He held his composure, knowing the Sovereign's gaze was as much on him
as the people on the screen. It was an exercise in self-control for Rainer as
Sara smoothed one of David’s eyebrows while they chatted. He rested his hand on
her knee, then moved it the entire way up her body. When they kissed, Rainer
wanted to smash the viewing console.

His
six amours engaged in this type of intimacy with other men on a regular basis,
but Sara wasn't his amour and could never be if he wanted to maintain a pure
line.  She was never to be had by him. Yet he couldn't stop others from
being with her. He had no control over her, nor his emotions concerning her,
and that enraged him.

The
screen showed Sara pull away from the kiss and look around wildly. Her behavior
changed to that of a crazed person, stumbling to the floor, crawling around.
The Armadan struggled as well.

"You
drugged them," Rainer said.

Sara
punched at the stone wall, and Rainer flinched, feeling her pain.

"She
obviously had a bad reaction. The drug affects every person differently."
Prollixer's matter-of-fact tone almost pushed Rainer too far. He gripped a
handle on his cender, then forced his fingers away from the pistol.

On
the screen, David Anlow sprung at the green-haired contractor standing in the
room with them now. The Armadan lifted him off his feet, then hurled him at two
other contractors. Rainer was unnerved by the larger man's strength, but not as
much as seeing Sara fight off her attacker.

Prollixer
had hoped to get his information, then dispose of them both. Drugged out of
their minds, they would make easy prey, only the Sovereign hadn't counted on
Sara's resistance to the dosing. Rainer knew how Faya had used more drugs than
she had license to and what that did to Sara. He tried to forget he never
stepped in to stop it.

The
image switched to a voyeur view of a large hall decorated in the same grey
stone and hot pink flames. Sara grabbed a woman who resembled Faya, but even at
this distance, Rainer could tell it wasn't her.

From
another angle, David argued with a guard until he opened the airlock doors,
allowing Sara and the pilot to escape.

The
viewer went blank and a dim light returned to the chamber.

"Why
not finish it, even with a voyeur present?" Rainer asked. "You've
already suppressed this from the Media with your delay protocol." No one
else in the entire system could stop a live feed to the Media.

And,
no one knows the Sovereign can either.

"Because
the ambasadoras represent the smiling, gentle aspect of the Embassy. I gave
them to the masses so they could ignore the ugly resentments the fraggers have
stirred up about my government. I can’t take that away right now." He
coughed, a rattling from down deep in his chest.

Recovering,
he continued, "I need to release edited bits of this recording when it is
most advantageous. It'll accompany an official response saying that fraggers
attempted an assault while the ambasadora was coupling with her new pilot.
David Anlow's fragger colleagues will see him compromised by an agent of the
Embassy, putting his own carnal entertainment above the security of his
organization. His loyalty will be questioned. Some of his constituents may even
turn on him. That will make him reactive, prone to mistakes."

Even
with the intel suggesting that an Armadan aboard the Bard was the fragger
operative, Rainer could see that David Anlow was not the man Prollixer wanted.
Nothing about his personality, his actions, his background pointed to
involvement. Rainer knew it because he didn't have a hunch about the Armadan
like he did about Phoebe Llewellyn.

"Don't
you think it will make good viewing for the citizenry? This drama will get
massive air time; such predictable Upper Caste behavior. Physical cues are so
deeply ingrained in this society that actions and reactions are automatic, like
androids programmed for coupling."

Rainer
disagreed. Prollixer was the one becoming an automaton, single-minded in his
obsession for a longer life.

"It’s
all those classes to make them aware of every signal, every gesture, both
conscious and subconscious. But isn’t that what everyone wanted, better gene
stock?"

He
noted how the Sovereign spoke of them, separating himself from society
and its tenets. Maybe he needed to brush up on his History, remember what
happened on the worldships and why all citizens, both Uppers and Lowers upheld
the tradition of selective marriage. Or, maybe once the fragger threat was
quelled, the Sovereign just needed to be dethroned.

21

The
small stream of water whooshing from the faucet thundered into the drain
like a flash flood through Palomin Canyon. Somehow in last night's confusion,
Sean had left the bathroom faucet on. He hadn't noticed it until about an hour
ago when his full bladder forced him in and out of sleep.

He
should have just gotten up, but Sara was lying on his arm.

Her
shallow breath brushed against his hand. He barely felt it as his arm's
circulation dwindled, but he couldn't bear to disturb her. Most of the night
she’d slid in and out of the real, until he lay down with her. She whimpered a
few times after that, but settled with a few coaxing words.

For
Sean, it was the best sleep he had had in years. He hated for it to end.

Sara
shifted. He tried to slide his arm out, dreading the inevitable discomfort of
blood flowing back into his limb. The action woke her. She rolled over and
looked at him, her sleepy gaze not quite focusing as she touched hesitant
fingers to his cheek.

He
eased his arm from under her, feeling a bit awkward. She looked confused, as
though searching her memory to find out how she ended up here. He held up a
finger for her to wait a minute and sprinted to the bathroom. Once again he
scanned her vitals with his reporter as he had done several times last night.
Her heart rate and respiration were normal, but large amounts of chemical
dosers still lingered in her system. He wanted to study the compounds to see if
it was an Embassy brew or something designer.

Catching
a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink made him self-conscious. Dark
blonde tufts of his short hair stuck out at odd angles, and he hadn't shaved in
weeks. A bruise hid near his lip, but the one blossoming above his right eye
had nowhere to hide. He splashed water over his face and hair, but it did
little good. He told himself it didn't matter anyway, that he'd let an
emotional fallacy get the best of him last night. It was time he really woke
up. She was here to spy on him, maybe kill him, whether she knew it yet or not.

He
returned, a healthy chip on his shoulder.

Sara
sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her wrinkled dress and fingered the
strap that had broken during one of her fits. She looked at him, her pupils
still a little too large. Sean kept a safe distance.

So
she couldn't launch another attack, he told himself.

She
ran her fingers through her hair. He could still feel the softness of it on his
own fingertips. He shook off the memory. "How are you feeling?" he
asked.

She
didn't respond, just stared. It was taking her a while to come out of this.

"Sara?"

"I
don't know," she finally said.

"Fair
enough." What did he expect her to say?

"I'm
going to make some tea. It will help." The stronger, the better. "The
bathroom's right there if you need it." He looked around for a minute,
wondering if there was anything else he should say, decided there wasn't and
left.

As
he rounded the hallway toward the kitchen, a fragger transmission whirred into
his mind—mandatory briefing in three minutes. Standard invite was at least
thirty. Something was up.

He
grabbed a glass container of tea and added boiling water from the spigot. He'd
have to get rid of Sara if he were going to respond to the invite. She would
probably need a little time to recover this morning, though, so he shouldn't
push her out if she wasn't ready to leave yet. He'd just tell the fragger boss
who called the meeting that he hadn't been near an insertion point.

Dangerous
thinking. It wasn't so
much that he was skipping out on the fragger invite—it was that he'd never done
it before.

Sara
walked into the kitchen, her hair falling over her shoulder in a long ponytail
and her arms wrapped around her. She looked lucid, but her skin tone was a
little paler, closer to Sean's.

He
poured the tea into his last two clean mugs and handed her one.

She
took a sip without looking at him. "Thank you for helping me last
night…though I'm not sure I wanted anyone to see me like that."

"It
was no problem. No one else needs to know." He took a drink and hit the
mug against his busted lip. He pulled his head back in reflex.

Sara
caught the movement. She studied his face for the first time. Self-conscious,
he stepped away, but her hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Did
I do that to you?" she asked.

"Don't
worry about it. I've had worse, though you are surprisingly strong." He
attempted a smile, but aborted it as his lip split open a little further.

She
brushed her thumb over it as though she could heal it with her touch. Sean
almost swore she could. Her hand caressed his cheek, moving to his brow line.
He closed his eyes as she traced the bruise there and trailed her light touch
to the little cut near his hairline. He would have let her beat him senseless
last night just to have her touch him like this a little longer.

"I'm
so sorry." Her voice broke. "After everything you did for me."

Another
whirring reminder entered Sean's mind. He ignored it.

"It's
nothing. Really. An hour or two wearing mender patches and it'll be fine."
Sean had never used menders because he couldn't see the need. Stuff healed
eventually. Until then, it kept everyone wondering. But if seeing him like this
reminded her of last night, he'd consider plastering a couple on.

"What
else did I do?"

She
didn't need him to replay the terrible night for her, especially if she was
lucky enough to have forgotten most of it. "You had some bad dreams."

"I
have those even when I'm awake."

He
had suspected as much, considering the intensity of her hallucinations when she
showed up at his door.

"We
could try to overwrite those visions." He had debated mentioning this to
her.

"I
didn't know that was possible." She held the mug between both hands and
drank the tea.

"It
can be done. It's risky. Takes some serious dosing. Nothing I have on
hand."

He
should just let her go. It was her problem, not his.

"I
could take you to a place if you want," he said. "I'd make sure you
were safe."

What
the hell am I doing?

A
spark of hope lit her eyes. "I'll go."

He
hadn't expected her eagerness. It made him feel good that he could help her.
"I'll set it up and let you know." Then, "Do you want something
to eat? I don't really have anything here, but there's probably something left
in the main kitchen."

"I
think tea's all I'll have for a while. Can I take the mug with me?"

"Sure.
It came with the suite."

Sara
put the tea down and wrapped her arms around him in a weary hug and kissed his
cheek. "Thank you, Sean," she whispered against his shirt.
"Thank you for not leaving me."

He
squeezed her a little tighter. She didn't know how easy it had been for him to
stay.

Sean's
ears popped as he slipped into the V-side. While Zak stood upon the metallic
raft, three deep blue, watery spheres rose to greet him. All were of fragger
source and all were pulsing with immediacy. He checked the hosts for each. An
all-call and one from Ariel—why wasn't she at the all-call? And a closed invite
from Ephemerata, one of the bosses.

He
reached for that one.

Better
to get the chewing out over with first.

The
portal delivered him to an oceanside cliff. He looked over the edge into the rolling
surf hundreds of meters below.

"Don't
stare too long. You really will jump."

He
turned around to see Ephemerata floating above him. Her violet wings changed
from opaque to translucent with each contraction. The black skin of her bare
body had a blinding sheen and contrasted with the silver strands of hair that
fell over her shoulders. Not a bad av for a boss.

"Zak,
you know about the intel dump." Her voice sounded like the higher octaves
of a synth spider.

"Yes."

"Do
you know that the source of the dump has been located?"

"No."
Maybe that was the reason for the urgent all-call.

"It
was brought in on a carrier wave from a ship. The Bard."

Zak
showed no expression and remained silent as he called up the disconnect. He
could make it look like a lost signal or a bad lag.

"You're
locked in, Sean Cryer."

Acid
churned in Zak's virtual stomach, but Sean felt its effects back in his suite.

She
knew his real name.

Thoughts
of Bullseye writhing in his lonely death panicked him.

"You
can eliminate me, but that won't help you with the dump. I didn't put it
there." He needed to stall until he could access a safety disconnect he
had programmed for himself after Bullseye's wrongful elimination.

"I
know. That's why I called you here privately. Don't go to the all-call. It's
your trial and execution. Even with your blind safeguards, you'll never be able
to pull out in time."

He
was in it worse than he thought.

"Do
the other bosses know who I really am?"

"You
know the answer to that, Sean. We may be a loose confederacy of anarchists, but
leadership still has its privileges. How else do you think I could bring you
here without the others knowing?"

Sean
stared at the roundness of her dark breasts without really seeing them.
"I'll be marked now, have to go through an ident-change, reconstruction,
the works. Not sure it's worth it."

Jumping
into that turbulent, white sea was more appealing than ever. On his terms.
That's how he'd go out.

"No.
I can help—" Ephemerata's body jerked and her wings beat out of sync.
"I've been summoned to the all-call. I will give you what you need
tomorrow on Tampa Three. Your ambasadora is scheduled to attend the Tertian
Verdant Gala at the Tredificio. Everyone on your ship will be invited. Accept
that invitation."

In
plain sight. He didn't know how much he liked that. This could still be some
kind of a set up.

"Be
safe, Sean Cryer. Right now you are my biggest asset."

With
a flutter of wings, she zipped into the air and was gone.

22

I
hate these things.

David
tried not to squirm in the bone mender encircling his ankle. He hadn't even
realized his ankle had snapped during the scuffle with the contractors until
the stims wore off. Sean would go into a tirade about David's hypocrisy if he
ever found out David resorted to a dosing patch. It was an old habit from his
military days—carrying an emergency patch, not dosing, though many troopers
fell prey to the latter. The tickle/burn of the mender was irritating, but he
lived with it often during his military training and once during a combat
mission. By tomorrow he should be rid of the contraption.

He
wondered if Sara had sustained any injuries. And what she remembered about
their time in that room together. He needed her to understand it was the drugs and
not him, that half of the time he thought she was Mari. It was the other half
of the time when he knew exactly whose leg he was touching that made him feel
like shit. But, no one, specifically Mari, would have to know otherwise.

He'd
tried Sara's door several times that night and got no reply. Soli said he
should check Sean's room, but David wasn't in the mood for jokes. Sara was
definitely more than she seemed, and he was getting tired of being polite just
because she was an Embassy diplomat. He suspected some of his anger came from
his own behavior, but not all of it.

The
comm chimed. "There's a response coming in from your rant," Geir told
David from the co-pilot chair. He was trying to learn as many of the ship's
systems as he could, whether out of true interest or sheer boredom, David
didn't know, but he appreciated him taking the initiative.

"It's
from the Sovereign's office."  Geir called up the transmission to
display on the bridge's large air screen.

Finally.
All night David sent messages to Nanga Ki. When Venture pawned off the complication
on the Embassy, claiming no jurisdiction over ambasadora affairs, David sent an
alert directly to the Sovereign's office. He'd received the bureaucratic
piss-off several times, but persistence had resulted in the current response.
And it had only taken six hours.

The
lights automatically dimmed when the air screen animated.  A woman with
chestnut hair pulled into a tight bun appeared. "Please hold for the
Sovereign."

Geir
looked at David. "Did she just say the Sovereign?"

David
stared at the screen, trying to recall the exact words in his messages. He
regretted a few of his more creative threats.

The
screen blinked, revealing Sovereign Prollixer. At this resolution, David took
back his earlier opinion that the man looked only ten years older than he. It
was more like twenty or thirty. Forgetting his injury, David attempted to stand
at attention. A shrill alarm sounded from the bone mender until he shifted the
weight to his other leg.

"Sovereign,
I didn’t expect a personal reply."

"This
is a sensitive matter, Navigational Leader Anlow. Your behavior at Nanga Ki was
appalling. Becoming intoxicated, brawling with contractors, seducing a woman I
entrusted to your care. To commit such disgraceful acts, I wonder if you have a
personal vendetta against the Embassy. Or is it against me?"

David
felt like he had stepped into an interrogation.  Shock made him stumble
over his words. "That's…not what happened. We were drugged and held
against our will by Bakkin Venture. That's why I contacted the
authorities."

"Those
are some serious accusations, completely counter to the ones Major Supervisor
Venture leveled against you. Perhaps I should speak with Ambasadora Mendoza to
find the truth. She is safe, isn't she? I've attempted communication with her
several times since the incident, but have received no responses."

"I
imagine she's a little shaken up—"

"You
don't know?"

David’s
jaw set. "She was fine when we boarded so I felt it my first priority to
notify the authorities about the attempt on our lives."

"So
the accusations are getting worse? Filing false testimony against another Upper
Caste citizen is a punishable offense. It could shorten your life span
significantly."

The
acid in the Sovereign's last words loosened David's tongue. "Tell that to
Venture. As a former Armadan captain, I stand by my word. I believe Venture
planned the entire incident on Nanga Ki to gain favor, trying to put us in
jeopardy so he could take credit for our rescue. But the voyeurs tell a
different story. If you want to see the truth, it should be splashed all over
the Media."

Though
David had yet to see a snippet of it this morning.

The
Sovereign’s tone hardened. "Unfortunately, I've had to blacklist the
event. It will never be reported in order to spare Ambasadora Mendoza the
shame."

David
fell silent. He'd always heard even the Embassy couldn't inhibit the free flow
of the Media. It was illegal. Obviously Sovereign Prollixer ruled above
legality.

"Perhaps
there was a misunderstanding on both sides." The Sovereign eased into a diplomatic
tone. "I believe it best that we all just put the incident behind us.
You and those aboard your ship should go about your normal affairs and speak to
no one about Nanga Ki. We don't want any unfortunate consequences as a result
of gossip, wouldn't you agree?"

The
threat landed hard. "Yes, sir. I would agree."

The
Sovereign's expression was unreadable while he considered the sincerity of
David's response.

"Very
well.  As a gesture of good will and to allay any rumors that may have
crept out about last night, you will all be expected to attend tomorrow's
Tertian Verdant Gala at the Tredificio. You understand this is not a
request."

"Understood."

"Please
give Ambasadora Mendoza my regards and ask her to contact me as soon as she's
feeling better."

The
airscreen went dormant.

"What
was all of that about?" Geir asked.

"I'm
not even sure, but it definitely has something to do with Sara."

"I
guess that makes Sean right."

"I
guess so," David said. He hated to admit it, but Sean had been the smart
one by staying away from Sara.

23

"You're
an idiot." Sara said the words once the airscreen blinked off and she was
sure Simon couldn't hear her.

Nanga
Ki had been a debacle. Sara knew for certain now that David Anlow wasn't the
man Simon was looking for, but he was too blind to see it. She considered
offering the possibility that Geir might be a fragger, based solely on the fact
that he was the only other Armadan aboard. But, she couldn't imagine the gentle
scientist as an anti-government agitator, capable of killing.

Simon
was running out of options. She was running out of options.

The
door's chime broke into Sara's lamenting thoughts. She checked the time. Soli was
early. She promised to help Sara with the eyehooks on her bodice. Tapping her
door lock on her palm, Sara moved through the living room to meet Soli in the
foyer.

"Come
in." She tripped over the short emerald green train on the back of her
gown and heard a little tear. "Figures. I am not in the mood for
this."

She
pulled the train around front as best she could and searched for the rip with
one hand while she held the unfastened bustier against her breasts with the
other. "Soli, I think I'm going to change."

"I
think that would be a mistake because you look really good."

Sara's
head snapped up. Sean stood in the room wearing a formal blue shirt with its
first two buttons open and dark charcoal pants. The clothes weren't the biggest
surprise. She couldn't help staring at his face. Clean-shaven, his defined jaw
no longer hid behind stubble. The bruises from last night had disappeared. His
short hair was even combed and parted to the side so a couple of dark blonde
locks settled onto his forehead. And those eyes—she thought about looking into
those eyes more often than she should.

Having
him stare back at her now brought a flush to her skin, partially because of her
half-dressed state, but more because of how he had seen her last night.

"You
look good, too," she said, straightening up and pressing the gown's
sparkly top tighter to her chest. "I guess you take your verdant galas
pretty seriously."

"I'm
not even sure what one is. Has something to do with botanical gardens and
plants, doesn't it?"

"Something
like that. Is everyone waiting for me? I'm ready. Just need Soli to help button
me up."

"There's
time. I came by early to take care of those scentbots before we go, but I think
I can handle a few fasteners."

She
studied his frame in the formal clothing, enjoying how the shirt hugged his
shoulders and chest just the right amount and how the pants laid flat against
his narrow hips.

He
caught her stare, but didn't show a response.

She
hesitated before turning her bared back to him. "Thanks. I got as many as
I could reach."

His
fingers brushed her skin as he gathered her hair to the side. Her breathing
quickened. She liked his large hands and had since their first meeting when he
slipped that reporter on her wrist and ran his finger over her palm. Just like
then, she was now hyper-aware of each time his fingers made contact with her
skin. He fastened the small hooks one by one with a nimbleness probably honed
from working with small pieces of tech and engine parts. No doubt his work left
some of those scrapes and scratches on his knuckles. As he worked his way up
her back, the bodice tightened against her breasts. She fantasized about him
unfastening each one of the hooks he had just fastened, but a little more
slowly, then peeling the gown away from her body.

"I
think I got them all."

She
felt the lightness of his breath on the back of her neck and shivered, tattling
on herself. His fingers lingered on her shoulders, like he wasn't ready to step
away from her yet. He moved around to face her, standing so close, his jaw
nearly brushed her forehead. He ran his middle finger over the skin just below
her right ear. Her breathing nearly stopped.

"Is
your port on this side?" he asked. The low timbre of his voice in her ear
sent more chills down her spine.

"Yes."
She tried to sound casual, but her bio-lights said otherwise, and he noticed.
She caught him watching their quickening pulse.

"Nervous?"
he asked.

"Yes.
I don't like public appearances." What she did like was when the fabric of
his shirt pressed against her dress.

"I
avoid them myself." He removed the small patch with a metal pin. "But
isn't that all part of being an ambasadora?"

"I
suppose so." She breathed in his clean, earthy scent and had to stop
herself from reaching out to touch him.

He
stepped back to pull a small case from his pocket and showed her three tiny
patches inside. "I wasn't sure what you wanted."

"Do
you have a favorite?" she asked.

"There's
one I thought you might like." He pulled the middle patch out and snapped
the case shut, then put it back in his pocket. "It's not
flower-based," he said. "Comes from the Lalido tree."

"What
made you choose this one?" She was flattered he had put some thought into
a scent for her.

"My
brother and I climbed the Lalido trees in front of our house when I was a kid.
He showed me once how its clear sap turns deep violet when the tree is
agitated. It reminded me of someone." He smiled like he wasn't used to the
gesture coming so spontaneously.

"I
guess you probably had quite a light show last night." She couldn't avoid
talking about what happened.

"At
times." He nudged her head to the side. "How are you feeling
now?"

"Tired,
but slides will do that, I guess."

He
murmured in agreement as he inserted the new patch. "If you ever want to
talk about anything, including your torture—"

She
almost twisted away, but he held a finger to her neck. "Not done
yet."

"Why
would you mention torture?" She worked hard to sound like the idea was
absurd.

"Because
it's what happened to you." His words sounded pained.

Sara
stared at the mosaic of white tiles on the floor and fought the urge to just
collapse. Who knew what she had said last night in her delirium? After all of
Sean's kindness, she may have put him in jeopardy. And this was different than
charming David for information. David was a trained warrior who more than
handled himself when she led him straight into danger. But, Sean…he was an
innocent, a Socialite mech tech whose biggest fault was dosing.

A
sweet, heady smell drifted in on the silence.

"There,"
he said. "What do you think?"

She
couldn't look at him. "It's a good choice."

"Maybe
I shouldn't have brought up all of that. What happened to you is your
business." He touched her arm as he spoke. "I just want you to know
I'll help you if I can."

She
forced herself to face him. He deserved that much. The sincerity of his
expression broke her. She leaned into him and brushed her lips against his.
Just a hesitant little kiss, in the hopes that he wouldn't pull away. He
wrapped his arms around her waist and returned the kiss just as gently. She
swept her fingers up the back of his neck into his hair line. He hugged her
closer and his mouth responded with more pressure. When she felt the tip of his
tongue trace her bottom lip, she opened her mouth a little wider. He took the
invitation. For once, she forgot her rage, forgot her fear. There was nothing
in this system but their kiss.

She
heard tapping on the open doorframe. Her illusion evaporated and she pulled
away.

"My
apologies." Soli stood in the commonway, a silver and turquoise dress
strapless dress hugging her curves. "I would have waited, but you didn't
look like you were coming out of that kiss any time soon."

Sean
ran a hand over the back of his neck where her fingers had been and cleared his
throat.

"I
take it you don't need my help now," Soli said.

"No.
Sean took care of it," Sara said.

"I
noticed." Soli was enjoying their discomfort. "You both look
wonderful." She gave Sean an extra long appraisal. "The transport's
waiting."

Sean
ushered Sara through the door after Soli, then slid his hand into hers until
they reached the top of the stairs. This innocent gesture felt more intimate
than their kiss. After all, what they shared last night meant more to Sara than
any tumble ever could…or did.

When
the three of them entered the grey interior of the transport, all conversation
stopped and everyone's gaze was riveted on Sean.

"Who's
this guy?" Geir asked.

"Funny."
Sean didn't look amused.

"I
always said he would clean up well," Soli said. "He just needed the
proper motivation." She looked at Sara.

"Still
a little more cleaning to do, if you ask me, and you're missing half your
suit," Kenon said.

"I
think Kenon's jealous that he might not be the prettiest guy on board
anymore," Mari said.

David's
head snapped around from the pilot's seat. Mari put her hand on his knee and
gave him a knowing smile. The others pretended not to notice.

"Those
jackets look stupid," Sean said.

"You
just have to know how to wear them," Kenon said.

Geir
laughed. "I may take mine off before we reach the monorail station. But,
seriously, Sean, in the three years I've known you, I've never seen you so
shiny and polished. It's because of a woman, isn't it?"

Sean
ignored them all and took a seat between Sara and Soli.

"Someone
you're meeting tonight, I'm betting," Geir persisted.

Sara's
stomach twisted. She hadn't considered Sean might be involved with someone.
Their kiss suddenly made her feel foolish. She should be beyond these kinds of
emotional fallacies. They had her imagining a future with a man she barely
knew. Worse, they had her imagining a future at all.

As
the group continued teasing Sean and making predictions about the woman who
waited for him at the Tredificio, Sara regained sight of why she was there in
the first place and what she needed to do in order to save herself.

She
couldn't be upset with Sean. He was just a kind person who helped her when she
needed it. Shame on her for reading too much into his gesture.

24

The
tinkling melody filtering through the monorail made Sean want to scream. It had
taken forever to transfer from the Bard's transport to the monorail
station and even longer to wait for an available train. He should have brought
an extra doser with him. Maybe it would have helped to stave off his sudden
irritability.

When
Kenon started to hum to the saccharine tune, Sean couldn't take it. "Why
do they even make music like this? Nobody listens to it except when they're
trapped in one of these things."

"I
think it's pretty catchy." Kenon hummed louder, now that he knew it
bothered Sean.

Sara's
kiss was to blame for Sean's current mood, or rather, how that small gesture
had made him feel.

He
had to remind himself that she felt nothing for him, despite the
kiss, which he kept replaying in his head until he thought he would go crazy.
When he wasn't thinking about the kiss, he thought about her breasts nearly
spilling out of the dress when he walked in and the control he exerted
fastening each one of those little hooks. Thoughts of where that kiss could
have led bombarded him until he could think of nothing else. That's why he
chose a seat as far from her as possible during this ride, not that she had
spoken to him while in the transport. In fact, she hadn't looked at him, even
with their shoulders and thighs brushing against each other during the trip.
Had he done something to upset her?

I
shouldn't care.

He
never thought this much about a woman. It worried him.

Paranoia
was setting in, but Sean welcomed it this time—it helped him to remember his
earlier meeting with Ephemerata in the V-side and focus on who or what might be
waiting for him at the Tredificio.

"That
is absolutely beautiful." Mari drew Sean's attention to the opposite side
of the transport. The polarized window showed the pink setting sun falling
behind three glass pyramids suspended above a waterfall.

"The
Tredificio is the only reason to come to Tampa Three," Kenon said.
"They should just move it to Tampa Quad."

"Tampa
Quad isn't so great," Mari said.

"You
tell yourself that because you didn't grow up there," Kenon said.

"At
least I grew up." Mari huffed.

Sean
tuned out the snarky comments they volleyed back and forth and watched the
three buildings draw closer. He wondered why no one had ever thought to map
this place and go virtual. The waterfall would cause some challenges, but techs
liked challenges. Maybe some architect had already done a mock up, and Sean
just hadn't run into it yet.

The
three ziggurat-type buildings which made up the Tredificio cascaded down nine
levels that were connected by covered walkways. With the sun dipping behind the
horizon, the illuminated walkways glowed brightly. Magenta and purple hues at
the top descended the spectrum into blues and greens at the base.

"Now
those are viewers!" Geir said. "They must have a different Media
channel showing on every cantilever."

All
Sean could see were blurry images flickering on the cantilever faces. Less than
perfect eyesight was a deficit inherited from his Lower Caste mother, but in
the V-side he could compensate.

"What
is that?" Mari asked, as they neared the transport monorail station. Then
her voice became a cold whisper. "David?"

Sean
could see it now. Splashed nineteen meters high across the third cantilever
face was a vid of David and Sara in a lavish bedroom. They all watched as David
slid her dress up her thigh. It cut to a different angle, showing him pulling
her straps off her shoulders, then nuzzling her neck.

Sean's
irritability reached the teeth-crunching point. He stole a glance at Sara, but
she stared at the viewer. Shock registered on her face first, then anger.

"That
never happened," David protested.

"So
you were never in that room together?" Mari looked like she might cry.

Sean
never wanted to hit David more than he did right now.

"That's
the room they kept us in, but there wasn't time for any of…that before
they drugged us," David said.

"You
were taking drugs, too?" Kenon asked.

"We
were drugged. By someone else. And attacked by contractors," David
said.

This
bit of information gave Sean pause. Sara never mentioned it to him. Of course
she was sliding out of her mind the whole night, so why would she? Especially
if this was part of a set up by the Embassy. It was still hard for Sean to
watch, though not as hard as it was for Mari.

"David's
telling the truth, Mari." Sara's voice was calm, almost detached, even
under Mari's accusing stare.

The
transport zipped by, but the passengers picked up the Media action on the next
building, sixth level up this time. David's shirt was gone, so was Sara's
dress. Her bare back faced the camera as David lowered her to the bed.

"Is
this where the contractors come in?" Kenon asked.

David
stared him down, but spoke to Mari. "None of this happened."

Another
image showed a tight shot of Sara's head on a pillow, then David leaning in and
kissing her.

"Well,
most of it didn't happen," David muttered.

Sean
didn't like the sound of that. His imagination got the best of him, especially
as the scene continued with flashes of skin. Mari looked away. Sean couldn't,
so he was thankful when the monorail passed under the viewer as the vid started
to get more graphic.

"It
figures," Kenon said. "Right as we were getting to the good
part." He scanned the next grouping of cantilevers. "Maybe it's on
one of these."

"The
whole thing is a lie," Sara said.

"Pretty
hard to fool a voyeur," Soli said.

Sean
tried to keep quiet, but never did have much control over his mouth. "She's
right."

"Soli?"
Geir asked.

"No.
Sara's right." Sean glanced at her. "Those shots have been mixed and
painted, probably reshot in sections with stand-ins or a compilation of digital
images."

"How
do you know?" Mari asked, a little hope entering her voice.

The
real answer was because after spending the night taking care of Sara, watching
her, and holding her in his arms, he knew her body. Instead, he gave them the
technical version.

"For
one thing, her dress is wrong. Sara's had deeper cleavage." Or, maybe it
was Sara who had the deeper cleavage.

"They
botched the bio-lights on her right shoulder blade—the pattern's not even
close." He had stared at that particular swirl of lights so much he could
map every little purple dot by memory.

"Her
hair is the wrong texture." He wanted to say softer, but how he
could know that from just a vid?

"And,
the arch of her body is all wrong." He remembered the feel of her curled
up next to him, every slope and angle. "Sara's curves outward slightly
from her waist to her hips, and her waist is a lot smaller than that. Plus, she
has matching dimples just above her...." He should probably stop there.
"On her lower back."

The
train car was silent, except for the cheery music. The surprised stares said
that he had revealed too much, implying more of an intimacy than he intended.

"You
have to be kidding me." Kenon nearly sputtered in outrage. "Of all
the people…."

Geir
slapped a stunned David in the chest and said, "I guess Sunshine won't be
filing anymore petitions with the Embassy."

Sean
had definitely said too much and was worried he had betrayed Sara's confidence
or painted a picture as false as the vid playing over the Media. He chanced a
look at her, expecting to see disappointment or anger. He noticed his words
brought a blush to her cheeks where even the vid hadn't.

Kenon
was beside himself. He asked, "Why, Sara? Why him?"

The
others waited for her to respond. Sean tried to think of a way to explain how
he knew such personal details without compromising more of Sara's trust. He
could say he had been watching her without her knowing it. He'd look like a
pervert, but at least they wouldn't think Sara docked him right after meeting
him. He could bare their judgment to protect her image. It's not like he cared
much about his reputation anyway.

He
was about to bite the bullet when Sara simply shrugged and said, "He's
sexy."

Sean
couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maybe that kiss did
mean something to her, too.

As
the train decelerated into the station, Geir said, "I told you he cleaned
himself up for a woman."

Festive
trills announced the group's arrival among a mob of extravagantly dressed
Uppers, all clamoring to talk with Sara up ahead. Sean moved against the throng
with David and Mari, who were in a full blown argument.

"Mari,
that wasn't real," David said. "You know that, right? Sean proved
it."

"Maybe
it just proves Sara's working her way through every man on the ship," Mari
said.

"She's
not like that," Sean snapped out. He wanted to explain how innocent her
time with him had been, but Mari pressed on.

"You're
delusional, Sean," she said. "If a voyeur records it, the Media will
air it. That's why they're so effective. They capture it all. Just look
around."

He
had counted six voyeurs since they disembarked and was trying to avoid direct
eye contact with all the flying spies. It was the Embassy's way of saying once
you entered public domain, you forfeited your privacy. He also suspected they
could manipulate and suppress the live feeds for their own purposes—the
incident with Sara and David proved it.

Kenon
and Geir eddied out of the crowd in front of them.

"How
do they expect us to be seen in a crowd this large?" Kenon asked.

Though
Sean didn't like being smashed against so many people, he did welcome its
temporary anonymity.

"There's
a Media kiosk," David said. "I'm going to talk to somebody about that
broadcast." He hesitated and looked at Mari, then pushed toward the kiosk
a few meters away.

Geir
put an arm around Mari and gave her a quick kiss to the side of her head.
"Don't worry. David's crazy about you. We all see it."

Kenon
leaned in. "Though everyone likes to sample something new now and
then."

"Leave
it alone, Kenon," Sean said. He still tended to be a bit protective of
Mari. "You're just pissed because Giselle's taking an Armadan amour."

"An
Armadan in your family circle?" Geir started into one of his loud,
bellowing laughs.

Kenon
balked. "Nothing's official yet."

Geir
took Mari's arm and guided her toward the welcoming center. "You got
nothing to worry about with David. Trust me."

Trust. One virtue Sean had a hard time finding
in this system.

Several
attendants from the welcoming center rushed at the new arrivals to upload
v-maps of the Tredificio into the guests' wrist reporters. Sean could barely
hear the brunette woman spieling to him about the Tredificio's amenities as she
competed with a barrage of synth spiders playing around them. He walked away
from the attendant mid-sentence, scanning the mass of people for Sara.

She
was surrounded by clinging Socialites, and Soli was right in the middle of it
all, acting as Sara's personal liaison and smiling pretty for the voyeurs
hovering overhead. She looked more comfortable with the attention than Sara
did.

A
woman strolled up beside him and took his arm. "It's been a long
time."

Sean
looked the woman over, seeking recognition. Deep blue bangs framed her jawline
but the rest of her shoulder-length hair was blonde. Her face was a homogenized
combination of the usual Socialite features. He breathed in her verbena scent,
but still no memories came.

"Don't
tell me you forgot about me already," she said. "Our friend, Zak,
would be so disappointed."

It
was then he noticed the mayfly hologram pin at the bottom of her cleavage. The
wings fluttered.

"Our
last meeting was kind of ephemeral," he said, testing his theory.

She
put her hand over his ear and kissed him on the cheek. A puff of air blasted
into his ear. He flinched.

"We
have a subvocal connection now through this cocom." He heard her voice inside his head, but
her lips never moved. The cocom devices were gaining popularity among the
fraggers, but Sean thought using one was a good way to mark yourself as a
criminal. Guess he no longer had a choice.

"Call
me Phoebe and act like you're happy to be catching up on old times." What she vocalized for everyone else
was, "I bet I could find a way to help you remember."

That's
when he finally recognized her behind the makeup and outlandish
hairstyle—Archivist Phoebe Llewelyn.

"I
don't think we've met." Sara stood at Sean's elbow with Soli.

He
looked only at Sara as he introduced the women. It felt awkward using her full
title. Distancing. He didn't like it.

"Nice
to meet you." Sara gave Phoebe's hand a pulse, then slipped her hand into
Sean's. The subtle show of possessiveness sent little electric sparks through
his fingertips.

"You're
quite friendly with the ambasadora."

"She's
just a passenger on my ship."
The subvocal conversing was giving him a headache, or maybe it was just the new
implant.

"Your
body language tells me otherwise. You're worried about how she's responding to
our implied intimacy."

Sean
didn't say anything.

"Sara,
there's someone you have to meet." Soli called to a friend.

Sara
looked from Sean to Phoebe once more. "I'll see you at dinner, Sean?"
She kissed his cheek.

"Sure."
He squeezed her hand before letting go.

Phoebe
said her farewell pleasantries to Sara as she reproached Sean. "She's
dangerous. I received the same background check on her that you did. She was
trained as a contractor and most likely sent to eliminate you."

"I
considered that. I have it under control."

Sean
watched Sara walk away.

"I'd
say she has you under control."

"I
said I—"

Phoebe
cut him off. "Do you have a dance for an old tumble?" She took Sean
by the arm and led him through an entryway to a large elevated platform.

Numerous
couples held each other close and softly swayed around a darkened dance floor.
Sean hesitated when he spotted the turquoise beams of mind minstrels scanning
the dancers. It was bad enough citizens fell over themselves to have a voyeur
record their actions and opinions for Media broadcast, but now the Embassy had
taken transparency a step further by stealing a fragger interrogation
technology and repurposing it to read a person's thoughts and emotions for
entertainment.

Not
actual thoughts, not even the tech geniuses among the fragger
organization could do that…yet. Rather, these thin floating parallelograms
scanned a target to read their brain waves. Depending on what center of the
brain was most active, they could interpret emotion, mood, and bits of memory,
occasionally a word or two if the person saw words spelled out in his head. The
odd result had been a tonal feedback that resulted in almost musical patterns.
As a joke, someone worked up a randomizing program which assigned notes to
certain data as it came in, then played the results back as musical
entertainment, sometimes with lyrics snatched from bits of dialog.

One
of the small devices hovered above a kissing couple to their right. Its beat
became sultry and loud as the couple groped one another. The mind minstrel drew
on their energy. Its rhythm followed the sway of their hips and the pounding of
their hearts. A low female voice sang out of the energy amps, "I'm
waiting for you…to touch me." A voyeur broadcast the dance and music
across the Media, much to the couple's delight.

Sean
steered clear of the area. He didn’t need his thoughts and conversation put to
music. His emotions were charged and a minstrel would detect the agitation
through his respiration and heart rate. It was similar to the tech he had used
to monitor Sara last night, only without the musical accompaniment, though part
of him admitted he would like to have a read on her emotions.

Phoebe
put her arms around his neck, and they fell into a rhythm with the music. "If
docking her is your idea of controlling her then you're not as smart as I
thought."

Sean
narrowed his eyes and said out loud, "Don't assume anything."

"And,
don't speak out loud!"
Her grip on his shoulder tightened, and he felt the bite of her nails through
his shirt.

"I'm
not docking her."

"That's
even worse. I could accept your sexual attraction to her, but from the way
you're acting, I believe you're heading into an emotional fallacy. This
behavior isn't like you. I've studied all of your training, your anti-social
and anti-Embassy attitudes, and I vouched for you personally. You had no
interest in the Socialite scene, but now you'd let some Embassy bitch play you
for a fool because she makes your pants a little tighter? Eliminate her. Make
it look like an accident."

Sean
crushed Phoebe's hand and grabbed the back of her neck to force her ear to his
mouth. "You may have watched some vids and read some reports about me, but
you have no idea who I am. And, I don't know you. There are very few people in
this system I trust. You're not one of them."

She
put her head on his shoulder to force an illusion of intimacy. "You
don't have a choice, Sean. The fragger bosses have splintered and that will
soon trickle down the ranks. I have a way to hold the organization
together."

"How
do I know any of this is true?"

"I
know what the intel dump is and where it's hidden."

Sean
stood still. "You know?"

She
shot him a warning look about speaking out loud.

"You're
involved?" Rage
welled inside of him. "I killed one of my own men because the bosses
told me he was responsible. That's what trust got me."

"It
wasn't me who gave those orders. There are some of us who still want to bring
down the Sovereign, end his illegal take-over. I believe your ideology matches
ours, otherwise I wouldn't waste my time."

"Then
tell me what's in the dump."

"The
cure for Prollixer's curse. Patch codes for his cell sweepers."

Sean's
mind raced with the implications. The idea of a doubled or tripled life span or
the myth of eternal life sounded like society's ultimate dream, but the
insanity that accompanied those with such an unnatural longevity would become a
nightmare of world proportions. "Who figured out the patches?"

"An
Embassy tech team, one of whom was a fragger operative. They needed test
subjects, so injected cell sweepers into volunteer Armadan troopers."

"Not
contractors?"

"Contractors
aren't as loyal as they pretend to be. Armadans are bound by a higher sense of
duty to the Embassy, no matter who's in charge."

"What
happened to them?"

"Our
man smuggled the patches into the V-side and destroyed the originals before
they could be treated. The risks of repairing their bots were too high. The
Embassy could use their DNA to reconstruct the patch codes."

So
the Armadan volunteers were dying like Prollixer, and experiencing the same
type of dementia.

"Where
is the dump?" Sean
asked.

"Later.
We've been together too long and starting to draw attention. Meet back here
tonight after dinner." Phoebe
pulled away from him as a turquoise beam of light approached.

25

"I
hope no one gets motion sick." Sara looked at the floating tables. The
slightly scooped hot pink and green platforms were reminiscent of giant water
lilies—the pedestal table standing at the center like an azure stamen. Hundreds
of real lily pads floated around them in the huge inset pool, their blooms
matching those of the dining platforms. The air was awash in flowery notes.

"Welcome
to the Aqua Biome, Ambasadora Mendoza," said their male host. He wore
white flowing pants cinched with the gala’s official dark green sash, but no
shirt over his shapely torso. He led them to a gangplank. After a few tentative
steps Sara realized there was no sway.

"Stabilizers,"
the host said. "They'll keep your table steady as well."

The
ethereal silver glow radiating from deep in the dark pool rivaled the twilight
of the blue domed ceiling.

"We
have already reserved a seat for each of you at the Sovereign’s
request."  He gestured to the leaf-shaped place settings. At the
center burned three flame flowers. The flowers' pale green glow didn’t travel
far from the botanical source before fading into the blue twilight.

Sara's
name was engraved on a large, waxy leaf resting just above the metal plate.
Immediately to her right was David. "Looks like we’re dining partners
again," she said.

"I
knew you’d be pleased." The host beamed.

"I'm
sure she is." Mari took her place on David’s other side, even though
Soli's name was written on the placeholder. The couple seemed to have worked
out their issues after the vid fiasco, no doubt thanks to Sean's intervention,
though it might be some time before Sara won back the blonde's trust.

Sara
recalled the way Sean had described her body, not just the words he used but
the almost dreamy way he recollected every detail. She knew he hadn't meant to
imply they'd been intimate, but what he had done for her that night was as intimate
as it got. Secretly, she didn't mind the others thinking their time together
had a more carnal bent, and she'd meant it when she said he was sexy. He was by
far the sexiest man she had ever met, mainly because he didn't try to be.

"What's
for dinner?" Geir asked.

"Probably
plants," Kenon said. "This is a gala celebrating
foliage."

"Just
so it’s not Maznee," David said.

"Maznee's
a spice made from ground up insects, not plants," Mari said.

"I
had no idea." Soli pulled a face.

Geir
played on her repulsion. "Now, are they still alive when they get
squished?"

"Are
what alive?" Sean asked. He spoke to Geir, but looked only at Sara.

"About
time you showed up," Geir said. "Some of us were worried. We're talking
about the process of making Maznee."

"Exciting."
Sean took his seat across the table from Sara. Though he gave her a quick
smile, he looked unsettled from his reunion with the blue-haired blonde.

"You
should have asked your attractive friend to join us," Kenon said. "Or
do you like to keep your tumbles separate?"

Uncomfortable
looks darted around the table. Sean knocked Kenon's water glass over into his
lap. Kenon stammered in indignation while Geir laughed. Their host appeared
with extra cloth napkins, defusing the situation. A couple of scantily-clad
females maneuvered hovering trays of food and beverages. Their labor roles said
all three were Lowers whose looks put them on the fringe of Upper Caste
society. Some Lowers were lucky enough to become absorbed into Socialite or
Armadan family circles. Ironically, it wasn't until becoming an ambasadora, a
top position among Uppers, that Sara felt more of a kinship to the Lower Caste.
It was the feeling of not quite understanding your place in the world, or maybe
not accepting that place.

"Once
your food is served," the male server said, "we'll set you adrift.
Should you need anything or just wish to return to the staging area, press this
sensor pad." He placed a green, fist-sized object near Geir.

"Is
this because I'm closest or because I look like I'll need the refresher
first?" he asked.

The
table floated free. Sara held her breath, but the stabilizers compensated for
even the slightest tilt.

"This
smells wonderful." Soli uncovered her main course. "Curried cod with
a yogurt drizzle and long-grained rice."

"I
hate fish," Mari said.

It
became darker the closer they floated to the center of the pool. Mind minstrels
and voyeurs zipped around like dragonflies above the water, waiting to prey on
unsuspecting diners. Several of them immediately zipped into orbit a few meters
above their party's table. From that height it would be easy to zoom in on
images and amplify even subtle sounds. It left Sara feeling exposed. Sean
mirrored her unease.

"The
Sovereign was quite kind to set us up in this biome, rather than the
desert or tundra." Soli nudged Kenon into agreement.

Kind? That wasn't a word Sara associated with
Simon.

She
and Sean shared a knowing look and she was suddenly unnerved that she had
revealed so much to him during her slide. His behavior tonight with the other
woman caused prickles of suspicion to worry at the back of her mind. It
reminded her too much of Chen and his old business habits.

The
others continued to eat while Soli went on to describe each biome in
detail.  Mid-way through forkfuls of cod and sips of neons, a mind
minstrel descended upon the table. Sara held her breath, willing the minstrel
to move on. She noticed Sean's posture tense, as well. The turquoise beam
settled over Mari. A slow rhythm undulated from the light green parallelogram
overhead. David smiled at Mari and the beat stuttered into triplets.

Geir
bobbed his head in approval and said, "Not bad."

A
burst of "not bad" sang out in a throaty male voice in time to
the beat’s bounce and was repeated over and over, drawing appraising glances
from other tables. Then, the voice faded out for a few bars while a synthesized
guitar played a series of high, fast chords accompanied by a low-pitched female
singing ominously, "Waiting."

Mari
blushed. Only Sara could see David slip his arm around Mari as he made a small
distracting joke about the food. Sara felt for Mari. She was obviously smitten
with David and couldn't see how much he cared about her.

The
fem voice sang out again, this time in a haunting whisper, "Waiting."

The
lights went out.

The
crowd hushed until Geir asked, "Is this what she was waiting
for?"

Something
crashed onto the table and several more somethings splashed into the pool
around them. More crashes, splashes, and screams came from the other floating
dinner tables.

Emergency
lights blinked on and dusted the aqua biome in an eerie grey light. A quick
look around showed the source of the chaos, every voyeur and mind minstrel had
fallen out of the air and landed in the water, or on top of dining tables, or
even on the head of one unlucky guest.

As
the stars would have it, David had taken a mind minstrel in the main course, as
evidenced by the corner of a rectangle peeking out from curried fish and yogurt
dressing, the same yogurt dressing that dripped from most everyone at the
table.

"We’re
going to smell like fish all night." Mari pulled the gelatinous concoction
from her golden-hair. "You’ve got a little something right there."
She made a circular motion to encompass David’s whole face.

"Yeah,
thanks." He grabbed the napkin from her lap.

"What
happened?" Soli's voice trembled.

Surprise
and irritation registered on the faces of nearby diners. The rest of the biome
remained muted in darkness.

Metal
dishes fluttered on the table and clanged against each other. Their table
pitched slightly and water lapped against the padded benches.

While
the others conjectured over the situation and Soli held onto Kenon for dear
life, Sara saw Sean stare into the far darkness. He glanced absently around as
though listening for something. His hand shot to his ear, but he pulled it away
when he caught her look.

Her
stomach tightened, and it wasn't from the gentle rocking of the table. She had the
same bad feeling about him that she did about Chen all those months ago at
Palomin. Those suspicions at the back of her mind moved front and center.

"We
need to get back to the Bard as soon as possible." Kenon’s visage
was stone.  "Do you remember my concern about Nanga Ki being
volcanic?"

"A
dormant volcano.  Liloch reassured us it was dormant." David sounded
accusatory. "And, what does that have to do with our present
situation?"

"Who’s
Liloch?" Mari asked.

A
distant rumble filled the air around them.

Sara
knew what Kenon was going to say even before he said it.

"Because
the Tredificio is built upon another dormant volcano."

The
rumble roared over them, rattling the dome above and rippling through the pool
below.

The
guests' screams overpowered the rumbling quakes, localizing the chaos for the
first time. Sean held onto the table's round edges with both hands.

"It’s
tipping," Mari yelled. "The table is tipping!"

Neons
spilled. Pointy leaf plates slid. Yogurt-covered scraps of fish tumbled. The
lily pad table capsized.

The
cool water sucked Sean down. He kicked for the surface and emerged into a world
of panicked screams from the other sixty tables. Most floated on their sides,
the long stabilizers protruding from the pool in all directions like huge green
knives. Geir and Mari hung onto the table and helped Kenon get a handhold.
David popped up beside Sean with a struggling Soli under his arm.

"Where's
Sara?" Sean asked, ignoring the oily spills of yogurt and curry sauce
sliding across the surface near his face.

"I
don't know," David said. "She has to be in the water still. Soli,
calm down. I'll be back to help you look." David swam toward the pool's
side.

"Forget
about her, Sean. That e-pulse has knocked out the pruithium cell pressure
regulators on the Tredificio,"
Ephemerata said in Sean's ear.

He
couldn't believe the Tertians' stupidity, using regulators to keep their
volcano dormant when any tech with half a brain could rig an e-pulse strong
enough to shake the whole planet. The hard part was finding an orbital craft
with enough energy to prime the pulse and not leave an energy footprint.

Chaos
reigned in the aqua biome. He scanned the diners splashing around in the
food-filled water.

"Was
it fragger origin?"
he asked.

"Yes.
And it was from your contingency. You'll be blamed so you have to get that data
out of the V-side fa—"

"Ephemerata?" Maybe the water in his ear had
short-circuited the cocom.  He took the chance to call for her out loud.
"Ephemerata? Phoebe?"

"They
found me."

"Who?
What's happening?"

"The
dump is in this part of the V-side." She sent a data burst through his cocom. Sean grabbed his
ear against the shrill pitch, hoping his recorder was getting it all.

"The
dump has to be moved as soon as possible." Then she screamed into his mind. A
terrible scream, full of fear and helplessness. He felt her ebb away, and his
sense of her fell cold.

"Phoebe?"
Sean yelled above the panicked din.

He
spun around to a hand on his shoulder. Sara stared back at him, her dark hair
plastered to her cheeks. "Everyone else make it?"

No.

Another
tremor hit, longer and stronger than the others. Amidst the usual mayhem came a
distinctive popping. One or two random pops at first, followed by a deafening crack.
All other sounds faded, and the motion of the quake seemed to still as every
eye in the aqua biome watched the great twilight dome and the splintering crack
that streaked along its glassy surface.

Sean
and Sara were in the middle of the pool when a quarter of the dome plowed into
the water just a few meters from them. The impact sundered the dome piece, and
a large portion heaved to, breaching the pool’s side.

Water
tugged at Sean's feet and pulled at his calves.

"It's
draining," Sara said. "The bottom of the pool must have
ruptured."

They
fought to stay on the surface, but the whirlpool’s force strengthened. Sean
locked a forearm with Sara before the water sucked them down. The darkness
deepened. His only light now was the faint glow of her bio-lights, and they
were just dizzying specks in the swirling water. The bottom of Sara’s dress
wrapped around his legs in a clockwise motion.

She
kicked him. He tried to see her face, but the purple sheen showed her kicking
at a stabilizer just below them that was plugging half of the breach. He kicked
at the support, but it was futile. The water's resistance ate at his strength.
He hoped the pool emptied into the next terrace rather than the waterfall a
thousand meters below. But the suction was strong, and they didn't have much
air left.

Part
of the support caught at the breach’s edge and broke open even further.
An incredible volume of water whirled to evacuate the pool, pulling the tables
with it. Sean lost his hold of Sara. He clawed at the rushing water to find
her, but had to close his eyes against the water’s force and the swirling
debris.

Several
objects sliced at his skin and pummeled his legs before he was flushed through
the opening and fell.

26

Hopefully
the Armadan rescue protocol is still in effect.

David
no sooner reached the side of the pool when debris from the fallen dome
showered those already out of the water. He watched a fist-sized chunk of the
thick glass strike Soli's shoulder. She tumbled over the edge and back into the
chaos of the pool.

He
dove down after her. With a tight arm around her waist, he made for the
surface. She didn't struggle this time, which made him nervous. They surfaced
at the pool's side. Mari and Geir grabbed Soli from him. Blood seeped from a
gash on her shoulder.

"It's
okay, Soli," Mari whispered to her inert form.

David
rubbed Mari's back. "Are you okay? Nothing hit you?"

She
hugged him and said, "No, I'm fine. That was very brave going back for
Soli."

He
wanted to remember her looking at him like that forever.

"That's
a lot of blood," Kenon whispered. "Is she going to be all
right?" He barely got the words out before he stumbled to the side and
brought up his dinner.

David
ignored him and watched Mari assess Soli's condition with her wrist reporter.
Part of Mari's biological studies had been medicinal, though she seldom had to
use her training aboard the Bard. When Mari ripped off a piece of her
own dress to wrap around Soli's wound, David's heart swelled a little.

"She
needs a med facility," Mari said.

A
bare-chested host ran by, his sash hanging loose and dragging on the puddled
floor. David grabbed his arm. "Show us the quickest way to the monorail
station."

"Are
you crazy? Half the people in here are bleeding or dead. Find your own way
out."

David
tightened his grip. "You're leaving, aren't you? We'll just follow
you out." He let go and grabbed one end of a stretcher Geir had fashioned
from some table linens and a piece of a pedestal.

"Are
you planning to push us all the way back to the ship?" Kenon asked.

"What?"
David snapped.

"The
monorail will be out, too. No power, no trip back to the berths."

"I
have the situation under control, Kenon. I don't need any
insubordination."

"Insubordination?"
Kenon clucked. "I don't see either of us wearing a military uniform."

"I'm
trying to get us out of here," David said.

Geir
spoke up. "Kenon, do me a favor and shift Soli's leg back onto the board
here. Don't want that pretty skin of hers to get scratched."

Kenon
moved to Soli's side, keeping his eyes averted from the bloodied tourniquet
around her shoulder. "What about Sean and Sara?" He looked back at
the water.

David
didn't look. He wouldn’t see them anyway. Sara was quite capable of taking care
of herself. And, Sean was a survivor.

"They'll
meet us back at the Bard's transport," David said, a quiver in his
stomach making him doubt the statement.  Maybe he should send Soli with
Kenon and Geir while he searched for the others. Looking at Mari made him
abandon the thought. His responsibilities lay here...with her.

A
rumble shook the Tredificio and threw David into a wall. He managed to take the
brunt with his shoulder and save Soli any unnecessary jostling.

Kenon
helped Mari up from the floor. The gala host pushed himself to his feet.
"You'll never get out of here in time carrying her." He took off down
the commonway ahead of them.

"Wait!"
Mari called.

"Forget
him," David said. "We'll take the magno to the station."

"It
won't have power either," Kenon said.

"That
won't be a problem."

"It'll
be tricky in the dark." Mari looked at Soli's small, unconscious
form.  "I guess we don't have much choice."

The
group made a careful descent down the inert magno.  Mari moved ahead while
David and Geir carried Soli. Kenon clung close behind them.

"I've
made it to the next level," Mari yelled from the descending curve of
darkness. "And we're in luck because it's the Temperate Biome."

David
looked to Geir and Kenon before asking, "Does that sound lucky to
you?"

A
cerulean glow appeared from below and illuminated Mari as she ascended the
curve. In her hands she held six objects that looked like balloons.

"It's
lucky," she said, "because these grow in the biome. Luminosa ampules.
Now we can see." Mari handed over three ampules to Kenon, but his shaking
hands dropped one.

David
watched it blink out and fall dark to the magno's smooth surface.

"Sorry,"
Kenon said.

"It's
not broken." Mari stooped for the ampule. When she grabbed its stem, the
globule began to glow again. "Static electricity excites the gas
inside."

"Good
thinking. It should be easier going with some light," David said. He
admired Mari's poise. Many women would have been paralyzed with fear, but she
kept calm, used her brain. Just like during her abduction on the Thrall.

They
wound their way down the magno. Geir slipped but managed to keep Soli's
stretcher in the air.

Kenon
called from ahead, "We have an uprooted tree blocking the way. We'll never
make it over this with the stretcher."

"We'll
have to clear it," David said. "Geir, let's set her down."

They
all pushed repeatedly, but only managed to break off a few of the weaker
branches.

"This
could take some time," Geir said.

"Maybe
we can go over the side." Mari held an ampule out over the magno's
railing. "The station is just one tier down. It looks pretty
deserted."

"Because
it's worthless without power," Kenon said. "This is ridiculous! We're
going to die down here."

"Calm
down, Kenon." David glared at him until he turned away. "Geir, we'll
need to tear apart this stretcher to make a rope."

The
building shook again. A loud rumble thundered through the monorail tube below.
Metal screeched and concrete groaned. David, Mari, and Geir worked through it
all to tie the cloth into a viable rope.

When
the tremor subsided, David asked Geir to give the rope a test.

"Kenon.
You're next."

With
a less than graceful attempt, Kenon slid over the side. David waited until Geir
had hands on Kenon, then pulled Mari into a deep kiss. "You're everything
to me, Mari. Don't ever doubt it."

"Ready
up there?" Geir called.

"On
my way," Mari said. She squeezed David's hand before scampering down to
Geir. David lifted Soli onto his shoulder and hoped the expensive cloth would
hold both their weights.

"Easy
does it." Geir took Soli from David when he neared the station landing.
David dropped the last meter.

The
area was still. Damaged pillars surrounded them. Rows of track showed signs of
buckling and warping. A faint smell of fire filtered through the station.

"Now
what?" Kenon asked.

"They'll
be here soon." David scanned the station. The light from the emergency
ceiling units didn't quite reach the monorail tracks a meter below him.

"Who?
Everyone else from the gala?" Kenon asked. "Do they know to bring
their own table cloths or did everyone but us remember to pack climbing
equipment for this evening?"

Sick
of Kenon's mouth, David rounded on him, but let it go when he saw the smaller
man could barely hide his fear.

A
low hum floated through the concrete and vibrated in David's chest. The
sensation entered his blood and flowed to the tips of his fingers, into his
groin, and out the bottoms of his feet. The sound lowered an octave as it
rolled through the station and shook the floor.

"Another
tremor?" Geir asked.

David
stared down the monorail launch tube at the backside of Tampa Quad in the
northern sky. Ash fell from the sky like dark snowflakes against the starry
night. A huge shadow snuffed out each sparkling dot one by one, then completely
eclipsed the moon. The intense vibrations consumed his body.

"It's
the Argo Protector." David wanted to cry at the sight of his old
ship. It was like meeting an amour after a long separation.

27

"Ouch."

Sara
landed on her wrist, but at least this new surface was spongy, not the
bone-crunching concrete she expected. Her hands sank into wet springy foliage
as she pushed herself upright. She could see by the scant emergency lighting
how the plant material darkened wherever her skin made contact. There was only
one plant which turned from snow white to space black at a touch—

corpselia. The pungent smell of sulfur should have
given it away.

A
few meters from her on top of the immense corpse hedge Sean lay face down and
motionless.

"Sean?"
She gave his shoulder a quick shake, the wet fabric of his shirt clinging to
her fingers.

No
response. She shook him harder. "Sean!"

His
reactive groan put her mind at ease. "What the…?" He struggled to
push himself up from the softly latticed leaves.

"You
okay?" she asked, noting several bloody scratches on his neck and face.

"Yeah.
What did we land on?"

"I
think it's the top of a corpselia maze."

"Lucky
landing," he said.

She
followed his gaze to the pool above. "Most of the debris…and people
plugged up the breach. We happened to get sucked through first."

Sara
shivered at the sight of bodies smashed among lily pad tables and stabilizers.
A few faces were pressed against the pool's glass bottom and stared
wide-mouthed with vacant eyes—

their expensive clothing swirling about
them.

"I've
never been lucky before," Sean said. "Maybe it's you."

"I'm
not sure I believe in luck."

Something
zipped between them and stuck into the spongy surface. Sean plucked the small
metal cylinder from the corpselia, then dropped it like it was poison.
He grabbed Sara and rolled them off the top of the hedge. Her left hip hit
hard, but she knew Sean had taken most of the impact.

"What
was that?" she whispered.

"A
dart. They carry a quick-acting poison that's difficult to trace. Used to be a
contractor weapon."

Sara
scanned the muted darkness above.

A
tremor rumbled through. Her grip tightened on Sean as they lay together next to
the spongy hedge wall. The seismic vibration lasted longer than the previous
quaking.

"We
should be able to follow this thing to an exit," Sean said.

"Some
of these mazes cover an area the size of a sports fie—."  She heard a
squish from above and held her breath. Someone was walking along the top of the
maze. She looked down at her glowing arm. Tracking them would be pretty easy.

"Come
on." Sean helped her up, and they took off into the darkness.

Sara
slid her fingertips along the corpselia wall to her right in order to
navigate the maze and to hide her intra-tat as best she could. The massive
three meter tall hedge towered over them. Moving quickly, they curved around
corner after corner. They should be nearing an exit soon. A hedge wall blocked
their path.

Sean
swore. "Was there another turn off on that last left hand curve?"

"I
don't remember. Maybe."

She
hated to backtrack. The assassin following them could be anywhere. With every
step back the way they came, Sara prepared to take a dart to the neck or an
eye.

Sean
put a hand on her arm to stop her, then pulled her to the left. She curved into
another extension of the maze. Her bio-lights provided just enough light to
discern an intersection. She prodded Sean to go left.

Something
slammed into the sopping hair piled on the back of her head.

"Hold
still." Sean untangled another projectile from her hair and threw it to
the floor. They ran through the darkened corpse maze, bouncing off the squishy
walls until finally reaching another confluence. Sara grabbed Sean's shirt and
pulled him left again.

Once
they rounded the bend, he pressed her against the hedge wall and covered her
glowing arm with his. Then he covered her ear and whispered, "Gotta get
back on top. I saw a damaged section on the right."

The
already scant emergency lighting dimmed further. Someone blocked the light
coming from the confluence.

An
explosion shook the building—more violent than the preceding tremors. A
deafening blast shattered the windows on every cantilever around them.
Sara looked at Sean, and he nodded in understanding.

They
waited for the figure to pass through the confluence and disappear around a
curve to the right. Sean slid out of the passageway and went left. Sara moved
on his heels, willing herself not to look back. As she followed him around the
curving maze, she lost her sense of direction. Sean grabbed her hand and pulled
her around a sharp right turn. The damaged section waited in front of them.

After
a quick glance behind him, Sean steadied Sara as she climbed. The extra weight
of her wet gown strained her muscles. Sean pulled himself up next to her. Their
feet padded along the spongy surface awkwardly. Sean was having a worse time of
it because he still wore his waterlogged shoes. Sara had left hers in the
whirlpool. Though they could see the way out from this vantage, getting there
would prove time consuming.

"There."
Sean gestured ahead where the corpse maze came within a meter of a blown out
window and a skywalk connecting this pyramid to another. She thought it was
raining until she realized ash fell from the night sky. Screwing up her
courage, Sara hopped across the expanse to the walkway. When she hit the
synthstone flooring, it shifted under her weight, spilling her forward.

She
got up to warn Sean of the damaged bridge, but he had already landed next to
her.

A
series of booms staccatoed around them from the walkway's buckling supports. It
dropped down three meters, cutting off their way back into the aqua biome. They
had no choice now but to continue to the other pyramid.

They
started across before several more pops sounded. Scrambling along the
collapsing walkway, they made it little more than halfway when the railing on
the left gave out and threw the whole skyway off-balance. As she pitched over
the side, Sara grabbed for the dislodged railing. A section of it pulled away
from the bridge with the addition of her sudden weight. Sean dove for her,
landing on the dangling railing just below her. Hundreds of meters below them,
the waterfall rushed in the darkness.

Their
wet clothes made the ashy build up on the metal slippery. Sean stopped Sara's
sliding foot with his shoulder. She intertwined her arms within the railing as
though it were rungs on a ladder. Sean kept a tight grasp on her ankle.

"You
okay to climb?" he asked.

"Yes."

He
released her leg.

Sara
ignored the railing's groaning protest and climbed. It took effort to drag her
body back onto the twisted walkway. Once she made it, she crawled to a section
where the supports still anchored it to the other pyramid. Sean moved more
slowly. The creaks from his heavier frame made him more cautious about his foot
and hand holds. She helped pull him up to the stable part of the walkway with
her. They still had a few meters to go. Moving as quickly as they dared, they
finally made it to the other end.

The
glass door remained intact on this side. Sean tried to pull it open. "It's
sealed."

Sara
shivered from the chilly night air and the adrenaline pumping through her
veins. She studied Sean's face for signs of hope, seeing only smudges of ash
mixed with dried blood. "What do we do now?"

"I
can get us inside. I think." He pulled a razor disc from the inner lining
of his belt.

She
should be surprised a simple mech tech would carry such a lethal weapon. She
wasn't. There was no more doubt in her mind who or what Sean Cryer really was.

A
loud hum filled the air. Sara looked to the sky and saw a huge ship in the
upper atmosphere. The glass rattled in the windows beside them.

"Get
down. They're gonna blow out like the others." Sean threw her to the
walkway and covered her body with his.

28

"The
Armadans sent a rescue ship?" Kenon's face relaxed. "I'm surprised
they even made it into the atmosphere."

"Their
entry was one of the big booms we heard earlier," David said, "not
that we would have noticed with all the tremors. Alerting the fleet is standard
protocol for an accident on the Tredificio. And this monorail station is their
drop off spot."

"It's
good to have insider knowledge," Geir said. "Knew you'd come in handy
for something."

David's
gaze remained fixed on the blue lights pulsing around the ship's immense door
frame. Even from thousands of meters away, he would know that pulse anywhere.

"They
can't land that big of a ship here," Kenon said.

"They
won't need to land," David said.

The
electronic crackle of an energy well danced in his ears. Deployment.

He
beamed at the massive field of circular green energy. At that moment, more than
anything he wanted to be slowly falling through that well. The suppressors made
even the heft of an Armadan's body light and graceful as a bird.

But,
when the first round of troopers dropped, so did David's elation…and his
stomach. They were armored. There was nothing standard about that.

Flashes
of indigo breast plates and helmets disrupted the lime-colored walls inside the
energy well as Armadan troopers dropped to the monorail platform as gently as
if settling on the ocean floor. But once clear of the well, the pounding foot
falls of armored boots roared through the station. Mari and Kenon covered their
ears. The cadence of a thousand troopers rushing toward them was deafening. The
others must be terrified. David's heart was pumping, too.

"What
in the world?" Kenon's breath came in gasps as he moved to run.

"Stand
still," David snapped. He motioned to Geir, who grabbed Kenon firmly by
the arm to keep the younger man from bolting.

Only
one thing brought out an armored force. Threat containment.

So
much for a rescue.

The
lead personnel were on them in seconds, energy rifles raised. David stared at
the figures, standing a few centimeters taller than he in their heavy boots.

The
grey organic-alloy blend of their armor shifted subtly from indigo to green
without aid of outside light. It was almost form-fitting and extremely heavy,
but Armadan bone structure was twice as dense as that of other citizens. The
look of a fully armored Armadan was intimidating, even to an ex-captain.

A
group of six troopers diverged from the group and headed for David and the
others. Geir and Kenon moved back to where Mari kneeled over Soli. David didn't
flinch.

"Retired
Captain David Anlow." The voice coming through the helmet was clear and
distinctly feminine.

Lovely
Lyra. He wasn't sure if
this made things easier or much worse.

"Captain
Simpra, it's good to see you." David pictured Lyra Simpra's blonde hair
curling just above her shoulders behind the opaque face shield and boxy helmet.
It was the only soft part about her.

"I
expected to find you, but not so soon." Lyra's tone remained void of
emotion or any further recognition.

That
stoicism was only one of the reasons why their relationship hadn't worked, and
why Mari's tempestuous moods delighted him more than annoyed him. She knew how
to feel, and her responses were honest, not filtered with practiced
restraint. When Mari was happy, she was giddy. When she was pissed, she was
adorable.

"How
did you know I was here?" David asked.

"Word
came down from the Embassy that your ambasadora would be attending this
event," Lyra said. "We have your new ship docked within the Protector."

"That's
service," Geir said with a little laugh and edged closer to David. He seemed
to be curious about a lifestyle he could have had.

"Where
is Ambasadora Mendoza?" Lyra asked.

So
much for reminiscing.

"The
ambasadora became separated from our party."

Lyra
cocked her head to the side. David knew she was giving subvocal orders to her
deployment. He'd tried many times to break her of the tell.

"Sara
will be fine with Sean." Mari's voice quavered. "But Soli could be
dying. She needs attention right now."

"My
troopers will take care of her."

While
three of the Armadans prepared an expandable stretcher for Soli under Mari's
watchful eye, Lyra leaned toward David. "Just so you know, the contractor
waiting on board your ship is not going to be happy about the loss of the
ambasadora. You better have a good reason why you're coming back without
her."

"The
military is answering to contractors now?" David asked.

"We
answer to the Embassy, nav leader." Lyra stumbled over the title like it
embarrassed her to use it. "And any direct representatives of Sovereign
Prollixer."

"With
all these troopers running around," David said, "surely you'll be
able to find one woman for him."

It
wasn't the news of a contractor suddenly being assigned to the Bard that
made David's eyes narrow—it was Lyra's insinuation that he had left Sara
behind. Of course, Lyra assumed he always left people behind. And, at that
moment, thinking about all the horrors that could have befallen Sean and Sara,
he was beginning to think Lyra was right.

29

Rainer
stared at the small sparkles in the floor of the Bard's bridge. Even the
utilitarian parts of this former pleasure cruiser had beauty. The viewer near
him came to life as the passengers returned with their military escort. He knew
each of them by sight. Checking their personal histories had registered as high
priority even before he assigned himself as Sara's new bodyguard.

Prollixer
let her walk on here blind, and she never protested. Rainer suspected the drugs
Faya had pumped into Sara had impaired her rationality. Or perhaps Sara just
had a death wish. Sometimes, when she consumed his thoughts, he feared he could
grant that wish for her.

Kenon
Brudger was the first of the passengers to wind his way through the forest of
crystal trees in the Bard's foyer. His animated face and sharp hand
gestures hinted at a disagreement in the ranks. Glancing over the young man's
slight build and delicate bone structure Rainer decided the Brudger family
circle specialized in looks and nothing else.

The
solid stature of the darker man directly behind Brudger spoke of a balanced
lineage. Geir Shang had Armadan blood in his veins, but the twinkling eyes and
easy smile exuded an overload of Socialite charm, though his file kept any
mention of his Socialite ancestors a secret.

Rainer
barely looked at Boston Maribu. True Socialite women bored him. And the orange
eyes meant she had had a reaction to the Deleinean vaccine when she was a
child. A sure sign of faulty genes.

His
gaze moved past the Socialites playing at scientists and settled on the
navigational leader. David Anlow's large presence probably intimidated the
other males aboard, though they would never let him know that. Rainer saw
Armadan bulk as a disadvantage. It made them slower, less agile.

Nothing
in David's past suggested fragger involvement, and even Prollixer conceded this
former captain was no fragger. Yet, the informer Rainer had tortured earlier
insisted an Armadan aboard this ship held a high position within the
techno-militant ranks. Geir Shang was the only one left. He didn't fit the
profile either, but that wouldn't keep Rainer from interrogating him.

Maybe
Prollixer's thoughts on fragger resistance to torture were truer than expected,
though Rainer couldn't see how anyone would hold back after that many rounds of
blade cuffs. It was how he had known Sara was telling the truth to Faya.

Thoughts
of Sara pushed through that barrier in his mind where he kept her tucked away.
Back on Palomin, when she was vulnerable and had begged for his attention, he
had formed an attraction for her and her obvious expression of need. He even
entertained thoughts of taking her on as an amour once her contractor training
went so well. Then Prollixer shattered Rainer's illusion by hijacking her
lineage. Though he never told Sara, there was no doubt in Rainer's mind that
once she was of no more use to Prollixer, he would use the hijacking to be rid
of her.

No
matter how deep the attraction, Rainer would never associate himself with a
sterile woman—it could be grounds for estrangement from his family circle.
Still, nightly dreams of docking with Sara, her once honey-colored eyes
sparkling as brightly as her intra-tat, became false memories, tricks of his
psyche. Sometimes he could feel her wrapped around him, but when he opened his
eyes, it was Dahlia or one of his other amours under him instead.

Memories
of seeing David Anlow so intimate with Sara made Rainer want to draw his
cenders as soon as the Armadan burst onto the bridge and started shouting
orders.

"Get
off my bridge."

"Pilots
and their territorial nature." Rainer remained comfortably seated in the
nav chair. "Stand down, nav leader. This isn't a battle cruiser. It's a
pleasure craft." Then he addressed Captain Simpra. "What's the
situation, captain?"

"Contractor
Varden." Captain Simpra stepped forward. "One of the passengers,
Solimar Robbins, sustained critical injuries. My doctors are doing what they
can for her in the Bard's med facility."

"Where
is the ambasadora?" Rainer could care less about a Socialite archivist.

No
one spoke. Geir Shang lowered his gaze, and Kenon looked at David. The
Armadan's visage was stone.

"She
and another passenger are still in the Tredificio," Simpra said.

"You
left the most important passenger you have—"

"I
didn't leave anyone." David whirled on Rainer, but the contractor drew his
cender and leveled it at David's head.

"Your
aggressor genes not all the way turned off?" Rainer asked.

"That's
a myth. Hadn't you heard?" David wasn't backing down.

"I
think we need to clarify the new hierarchy on this ship," Rainer said.
"I don't know who was the social director before, but I'm the Embassy's
voice here now."

The
words had their intended effect. David's jaw set. Rainer liked to test the
tolerance levels of new adversaries. Little tells while a person was angry or afraid
hinted at bigger things to come later. It offered a view into someone's mind.
That set jaw and memories of David pounding on the metal door at Nanga Ki told
Rainer to keep a close watch.

"I
was sent from the Embassy to act as Ambasadora Mendoza's bodyguard." It
was a half-truth. "She is my only concern. The rest of you simply don't
matter." His gaze never left David's. For effect, Rainer lowered his
cender. The bigger man would never reach Rainer before he drew again any way.
"Captain Simpra, do you still have personnel searching for her?"

"Yes."

"She
was in good hands when…we all got separated." David's response reminded
Rainer of the typical military drone. No inflection, no emotion, just the
facts. Apparently Rainer had really gotten to him. David was drawing on all of
his training and every drop of restraint to keep from lunging at Rainer.

"And
whose hands would those be?"

"Sean
Cryer, another passenger," David said.

"The
mech tech?" Rainer's brows narrowed. "What help could he possibly
be?"

Cryer's
personal history read of extensive academics and Socialite functions, nothing
to indicate usefulness in such a situation. "Most Socialites I know,
especially techs, would be pissing themselves in this situation."

"Sean's
not just some Socialite. He's half Armadan," David said, crossing his arms
in front of him.

Rainer's
stomach tightened. Nothing about that showed in his personal history.
But, the more Rainer thought about it, he realized that history was probably
fabricated. Too shiny, too normal—exactly the type of cover an anti-government
agitator would use. David's arrogant revelation had just signed Sean Cryer's
Writ of Execution.

"Captain,"
Rainer snapped. "I'll need access to your voyeurs. Transfer a copy of the
feed to the Bard."

"Contractor
Varden, we don't have—"

Rainer
walked up to the tall woman. "What don't you have, captain? The
unsanctioned ability to take control of every voyeur and mind minstrel within
the system for the Embassy's purposes or your own? You forget that I'm the
Sovereign's Head Contractor."

She
took a breath and said, "You'll have your feed. Now, if you'll excuse me,
I need to get back to my search and rescue." She didn't wait for a
dismissal.

The
part of Rainer that liked life simple and neat, controllable and predictable,
hoped Sara and the fragger killed one another. But the part of him that saw
beauty in complication and chaos, that part needed Sara to live.

30

"Armadans,"
Sara said.

"Yeah,
here to rescue us." Sean's tone said otherwise.

Green
energy wells dropped from the immense blue ship. Electric arcs leaped through
the cylinder as the Armadans' armor brushed against the well's side on their
way to the Tredificio cantilevers that remained standing. Huge thuds peppered
the area just above Sean and Sara. The fully armored Armadans were almost as
disquieting as lensed fraggers. Almost.

"At
least our assassin won't try anything with them around." Avoiding
the Armadans and finding an alternate way off the island could be her best
escape. Simon would assume she perished in the eruption. She could start over,
get another identity, get rid of the irradicae. The small hope filled her with
vigor.

"They
won't be able to rescue everyone," Sara said. "Probably won't even be
able to account for all the bodies."

"Probably
not," Sean agreed.

"A
person could just disappear among all this chaos and no one would ever
know."

"They
sure could." Sean stared at her.

She
watched the troopers coming closer, her chances of fleeing dying by the second.

"Do
you want to disappear with me?" Sean took her hand.

She
knew he wasn't running just for her, even if he guessed her torture had been
Embassy-sanctioned. He had his ghosts, but he was asking her to go with him. To
trust him. He had nothing else to lose. Neither did she, and that's what he
understood.

"Yes,"
she said. "How?"

He
pointed to a fleet of smaller auxiliary craft. "That's where they're
loading the labor force separately. We catch a ride back to the Hub, then I can
get us far away from here, somewhere they'll never find us."

"Then,
let's disappear."

He
smiled from the corner of his mouth and led her inside the glass pyramid and
away from their military rescue.

After
maneuvering around debris and backtracking to be sure no one, including the
contractor with the darts, could follow them, they came to a utility ladder
which led down to the next cantilever. Sara grasped the rungs and descended the
narrow ladder quickly, its meager stability welcome after her experience on the
damaged walkway.

"We
don't exactly look like staff," Sara said as they surveyed the scene from
behind a support.

"Other
Uppers are boarding." Sean grabbed a guest's discarded wrap and handed it
to Sara. "Might be better if they don't know you're an ambasadora."
He wrapped the long, silky cloth over Sara's shoulder and around her waist,
then tied it at her side.

She
tucked her hand in the crook of his arm to hide its faint glow. Linked
together, they made their way to the craft farthest from the troopers.

A
mishmash of Lower Caste staff and Socialite guests crowded for position at
every craft's metal doorway. Uppers were always given preferred consideration,
then Lowers with more prominent positions in the labor force.

Sara
heard voices raised in dispute as she and Sean waited to board crafts near the
middle. She eyed a man dressed in a plain tunic and dirty pants moving toward
three hosts. His arms waved madly to keep them away from the craft.

"We're
in for trouble," Sean said. "Not everyone's going to fit."

A
plump man in a filthy maintenance jumper pushed his way between Sara and Sean
to the commotion at the far launch. He smelled of grease and fire.

"This
is our ship! Get your own," the man roared as he moved through each set of
waiting boarders.

"He's
drawing too much attention," Sean said.

Sara
glanced at the Armadans who watched from the main ship's boarding ramp.

"Wait
here." Sean washed through the crowd in the man's wake.

A
trooper stepped away from his post. Or hers. They may as well have been
asexual in that armor.

Sara
cut into the next line, aware of penetrating looks from those behind her. She
didn't stay among them long before mingling with another group of boarders,
slowly making her way to Sean at the far launch. As he talked with the Lowers,
they were actually calming down. Then the man in the tunic started screaming
again. The maintenance man lunged at him. Sean stepped between them. The
maintenance man pulled back an elbow and struck at Sean's face. Sean blocked
him, sending him falling into the line of people just in front of him.

Sara
stood on the outskirts of the fight, ready to jump in. Sean made a pacifying
gesture with his upraised hands to the crowd. A host grabbed Sean around the
neck from behind. Before Sara could break through the circle of people, Sean
had thrown the man off him, just in time to exchange blows with the maintenance
man again.

Three
Socialite couples next to Sara took advantage of the commotion to shove to the
front of the line. The craft's pilot allowed the group to board even among the
uproarious shouts from the agitated crowd. Several men and women from the crowd
closed in around Sean—society's hierarchy slid through the fist of panic as it
tightened its grip.

A
host shoved Sean from behind. The crowd sprung at him. Sean deftly threw the
closest man to the concrete with an evasive twist of his body and a well-placed
shove to the lower back. Sean used the mob's clumsy aggression against them
with well-timed blocks and practiced feints, his moves almost contractor-like,
not as polished, but maybe a little more effective.

Sara
plowed through the on-lookers. The maintenance man grabbed a bent piece of
rebar and charged Sean. Sara shoulder-checked the man, throwing him
off-balance. When he tumbled to the ground, she stomped on his wrist to
dislodge the weapon. He reached for her foot, but she shoved her heel into his
nose.

"Armadans!"
A yell from the far end of the dock sent many scurrying from the fray.

Three
troopers clomped a path through the Tredificio refugees.

The
pilot stuck his head out of the shuttle's grey metal door. "Last call to
board."

Sara
grabbed Sean's arm and pulled him aboard. Six Lower Caste workers stared at
them from the launch. On their faces she read a mixture of hatred,
disappointment, and resignation.

"I
don't know what they're looking at," a Socialite male next to Sara said.
"Like we did something wrong."

"We
did," Sean said, his stare remained on their accusing faces until the door
hissed shut.

"You're
a Socialite. You acted quite within the confines of the law." The man
patted Sean on the back.

Sean
shoved the man's hand away. "It's an antiquated law."

The
few Lowers who made it aboard flicked a look at Sean, but still gave him a wide
berth. Sara's heart softened at the shame she saw on his face.

31

Rainer
passed through the transparent door of the Bard's medical suite, noting
the shelves and cabinets of pastel green glass, the soft blue floors and
ceiling. Comfortable and relaxing. The Embassy could take some style notes from
this place.

He
crossed into a waiting area for the private rooms. Only one of the three doors
was shut. He headed for its shimmering metal surface. With the reporter he had
lifted from David's chair on the bridge, Rainer keyed the door open.

Solimar
Robbins sat up in her temporary bed, light blue braids falling across one mocha
shoulder and one wrapped in a silver bandage. Just a curve of her bare breasts
peeked out.

She
hugged a pillow to her chest.

"Trala,
I have to go. Talk with you soon," she said to a viewer on the wall in
front of her bed.

The
very pregnant woman on the receiving end looked like she wanted to cry. The
tight skin around her eyes and mouth suggested she was younger than her amour.
"Soon, Soli. I mean you'll come here soon, right?"

"Yes.
Now rest. Our daughter needs all your attention," Solimar said in a tight
voice.

Before
Trala could respond, Solimar ended the transmission.

Her
blue eyes, which were much darker than her hair, gave a glimpse into her
sensual nature, even as they regarded Rainer with fear.

"Congratulations.
Trala looks to be due any day." Rainer enjoyed the way her rounded mouth
gaped slightly at the casual mention of her family.

"Sorry.
I should have introduced myself." He sat in the dark green chair across
from her. Its back attached to the wall by a metal post, much like the matching
bed, giving them the appearance of hovering in space.

"I
know who you are, Contractor Varden." Solimar's voice sounded small, but
didn't quaver.

"Ah,
as an archivist you would know all the Sovereign's closest staff."

"I've
also seen numerous clips of you on the Media. A woman doesn't forget a face
like yours."

She
was playing on his conceit, but he couldn't keep his arousal for females into
SG. If they weren't going to respond to him, he couldn't be bothered with them.
He thought of Sara's responses—even her anger aroused him. "And, you've
been monitoring me ever since you could sit up in that bed, haven't you?"

She
answered quickly. "I'm sanctioned through Embassy law—"

"You
don't have to quote law to me. I enforce it." And ignore it when
necessary. "Do the other passengers aboard the Bard know you
have monitors all over the ship?" he asked.

"Of
course."

"Even
in their private suites?"

Her
blue eyes greyed.

"You
see, Solimar, I know more about everyone on the Bard than even you do. And,
I know you sell private vids of the passengers to pay for your grand lifestyle.
I hear the ones of your pilot teaching his young Socialite how to dock fetch
the best prices."

Tears
flowed freely from the dull lakes of her eyes. "I don't know what you're
talking about."

"Yes,
you do, and that's why I'm willing to help you. I'll keep your illegal sales to
myself if you provide me with all the raw data from your monitors."

"I
didn't keep any of the data."

They
both sat very still, quietly regarding one another.

Rainer
pushed up from the chair and walked toward the trembling woman. He drew a
mini-viewer from his side pants pocket and tossed it onto her lap. It showed
Trala back at their estate sitting with a pink-haired contractor. Soli squeezed
the pillow closer to her chest and her quiet crying turned to sobs.

"This
woman's name is Faya Renault. She's not someone you want around the mother of
your child."

"My
data cache is at the estate."

"Where?"

"Only
I have access to it."

He
considered the truth in her revelation. He didn't believe she'd put her family
in jeopardy to hide some video footage. "Then I suggest you get dressed.
You'll be visiting Trala sooner than either of you expected."

32

"They're
dropping us at the Hub," Sara said, her voice bouncing as the shuttle
lurched in for a landing. Restraints dug into her bared shoulder and tugged at
the wrap hiding the other one. Sean held the smothering nylon straps away from
his chest with his thumbs.

"We
can't stay here long." They were the first words he'd said since they
boarded. Several workers looked up at the sound of his voice. He avoided their
scrutiny.

"Let's
catch a transport out. Any ideas?" she asked.

The
bouncing evened out as they descended toward the bustling Hub.

"Latulip,"
he said.

"That's
a high end entertainment district. Not very low profile."

"Its
Underground is as low as you can get."

Sara
had never visited the Underground and wasn't crazy about the idea now. But it
made sense if they were trying to disappear.

A
series of bumps signaled their landing.

Sean
unfastened his harness and activated the exterior door controls without waiting
for the pilot. He and Sara scrambled out ahead of the other passengers. The wrap
slid from her shoulder. She thought she caught it in time, but mutters of
"Ambasadora" followed them outside.

She
and Sean maneuvered through thousands of disembarking passengers. They came
from all parts of the system, Upper and Lower Caste alike. Small military
transports swarmed from the immense battle cruiser above while dozens of
service shuttles joined them in a queue for docking space. They were lucky to
have been in the first group.

Sara's
apprehension rose as she contemplated danger in each face they passed. A hand
snagged her arm. She twisted out of the grip and nearly struck Sean in the
face.

"Sorry."

"It's
okay. I'm pretty jumpy, too. This way," he said.

She
followed him to the transportation schedules nearest them. Magenta text swirled
through updates on huge kiosk viewers.

Sean
pointed to the one for Latulip. "It's six kilometers to Latulip on the far
side of Carrey Bay."

"I
think the boats will be faster than the monorail."

Sean
looked toward the boat launch. "There's a more direct way."

"Than
straight across the bay?"

"Yeah,"
Sean said. "Under it." Then he asked, "Have you ever ridden a
hover bike?"

"A
man's headed this way, Sean." Hover bike racers, donning helmets and
padded clothing, and fans drinking beer and spirits from bottles roamed around
the garage amid the smell of soldered circuits and fuel spills. Up until now no
one had paid Sean and her notice, maybe because they looked like poor laborers
in their ruined garments. She'd cut off the emerald green train and the bottom
part of her gown to be less conspicuous. They had managed to clean off enough
ash and blood not to look like evacuees any more. Sean had even found
Sara a pair of shoes that were only a little too small for her feet.

"Sean."

"Almost
there." He tapped a set of controls scrolling across his palm. The heavy
bike hummed to life and lifted off the ground.

The
man shouted and ran toward them. Sean straddled the bike. Sara climbed on
behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He engaged the booster and
shot past the man and the other racers' berths. When he hit the racing tube, he
increased the throttle. Bikes flew through ahead of them, but Sean was gaining
fast. Sara hugged his waist tighter and watched the faint royal blue lights
that marked the three hundred sixty degree lanes strobe by.

Metal
screeched on metal, and sparks filled the dim tube as two bikes clipped each
other. A rider flew in the opposite direction as his bike spun out of control
on its side. Sean jerked to the left to avoid the collision, sending their bike
up one side of the racing tunnel. Sara buried her head in his back to shelter
her eyes from the intense wind. She also didn't want to see if they crashed.

Sean
kept to the wall lane, but a racer from behind jockeyed for position, trying to
force them down. Boosting the throttle again, Sean curved further up the wall.
They were almost inverted before he rocketed past the racer and crossed all
three ground lanes to reach the wall on the other side. His momentum was so
great they almost ran onto the ceiling. She hoped he remembered they weren't
actually in this race.

Excitement
stirred inside her, bordering on pure delight. The feeling was so foreign after
all this time that she wanted to laugh and cry out so loud that she might even
be heard above the whir of the engines. Instead, she slid her hand up Sean's
chest.  She liked the feel of him. His heartbeat was only slightly
elevated. Maybe all those restors he took robbed him of any true excitement. It
was then she realized her dull heartbeat matched his, even without the aid of
drugs.

Much
too soon she felt him decelerate. Racers zipped under and around them until
they were alone and coming to the end of the tunnel. She peeked around his
shoulder to watch their emergence into the Underground.

Sean
made a quick right and exited the track up a small grade.  He stopped the
bike at the top, giving her an incredible view of the cavernous world under
Latulip. Above ground, fancy boutiques and expensive restaurants stood in
perfect rows along pristine pedestrian streets with manicured fronts.
Down here a glowing network of mismatched buildings abutted crooked streets
stuffed with bikes, transports, and every type of citizen imaginable. It was a
world of perpetual nightlife covered by a ceiling of steel and concrete that
was as vast and far away as the sky to her.

Sean
reached back and squeezed her leg. "I know a place we can go. Disappear
for a while, then decide what to do next."

"I
hope it has food and a shower," she said.

"It
will, I promise."

They
coasted down to street level. Betting salons, bars, v-game parlors, and flesh
clubs shouldered around places advertising INTRA-TATS - just like the
ambasadoras and Change your genes! The desperation of Lowers
impacted her more and more as she moved among them. To the Upper Caste,
manually manipulating your genes was not only illegal, but more shameful than
marrying below your status or even being sterile, yet honorable suicide ranked
low among these people.

Smells
wafted from several unmarked eateries. Sometimes nauseating, sometimes
arousing, depending on what notes got stirred about by the passing traffic.

The
Underground's decadence was beautiful. Sean had mentioned how no monitoring
signals, including those from voyeurs and mind minstrels, could move in or out
of the Underground thanks to comm shielding built right into the ceiling.
Exactly what they needed in order to get lost.

She
wanted to lay her head against his back as fatigue set in, but the possibility
that he might be a fragger made images from Palomin trickle through her mind.
From the moment she had met Sean, she thought of him as shy and harmless. Now
she imagined him with v-mitters, fighting alongside the fraggers at the canyon
rim. He showed he had a fighter's skill when he took on the mob back at the
Tredificio.

But
what bothered her most was wondering if he was the one Simon believed could
lift his curse. If so, Sean became the best bargaining chip she had. She hated
herself for the thought. To push it away, she hugged him tightly and rested
against his back. It was better when she thought he was just shy Sean.

33

Chen
Starrie slumped down in the soft white armchair, glad that the Kelahem Hotel
had finally changed out the rigid formal furniture for something a little more inviting.
A tall, lanky man stripped parts from a cender on the coffee table. Chen was
disgusted by Tennor's too-small nose and lack of muscle tone, but the man's
pupils grew within their dull green irises when he caught Chen staring at him.

"How
can you be sure the fraggers believe Sean Cryer is responsible for the intel
dump?" Chen asked.

"His
idents are all over it, just like that e-pulse at the Tredificio." Tennor
walked over to a mess of glowing wires on the bed.

"And,
how do I know you're not going to get remorseful the next time you see Cryer in
the V-side?"

"He's
not Sean Cryer in the V-side. He's Zak."

"Not
interested in the man behind the av?" Chen asked.

"No,
just Zak. Zak is powerful. Cryer's nothing, just another Socialite living
on a pleasure cruiser and pretending to be more important than he is. That's
why he doses so much. To keep the real world out and his delusional world
intact."

"Maybe
he'd prefer you as Ariel, too," Chen said. "I'm sure I would."

Tennor
shot Chen an acidy look. "The price just went up for your decrypter. You
want more—"

Chen
stopped listening to Tennor's rant when one of the vidclips bouncing around on
the viewer in front of him caught his attention. All showed some headline about
the Tredificio disaster, but Chen enlarged the one which read, Ambasadora
Sara Mendoza Feared Dead in Biome Collapse.

Finally.

Chen
had assumed Sara died at Palomin.  When she debuted as a Face of the
Embassy Chen couldn't believe her good luck. Or his bad luck. Thoughts of what
she may have told them about him, or promised to give them for that kind of
status upgrade, made his head throb.  At least now she was no longer a
threat.

"So
you can finally relax," Tennor said. "The amour is dead. I just hope
Zak made it out alive. Maybe he killed her for you."

"We
were never married," Chen said absently as a message came through on his
reporter. The transmission signature was from one of the rogues he sent to the
Tredificio.  Chen scrolled through the message: Mendoza at Embassy Hub.
With Cryer. Off the grid. Underground.

"Looks
like your lucky day," Chen said.

"Zak's
alive?"

"And
apparently helping Sara."

The
darts were as ineffective as the eruption. They should have gone with force
over subtlety. No matter, Chen welcomed the opportunity to kill Sara himself.

34

Sean
pulled the bike into a narrow alleyway which served as a street. They wove
their way through spills of luminescent fluid and broken down transports.
Several dosed citizens staggered along the side and occasionally out in front
of traffic. Sean and Sara had to stop and wait several times while pedestrians
crammed into the street after v-games let out.

Too
many times Sara was touched by passers-by.  The contact with so many
people in such a confined, dirty area made her angry and guarded. She pretended
it wasn't because most of the citizens here were Lowers. She had never had
strong opinions about the caste system before, simply ignored it because she
was on the better end of everything. Not anymore. She still had her privilege,
more so because of her appointment as an ambasadora, but just like the Lowers,
she was a prisoner of her status.

Sean
stopped again, but Sara couldn't see any obstacles in front of them, just an
illuminated green sign with nude bodies forming letters which spelled out
Carnal Escape.

"We
need to stash the bike for later." He pulled it up to a stumpy parking
attendant. "Can you put this some place safe and out of the way?"

"Safety
costs these days," the bearded man said.

Sean
pulled a razor disc from his belt and handed it to him.

"I
got plenty of these."

"You
don't have plenty of what's inside."

The
attendant inspected the disc further and slid the top off. His eyes lit up at
what Sara couldn't see inside.

"You'll
get the other half when I come back for the bike." Sean slid off the seat,
but kept the bike idling so it still hovered. He helped Sara down.

As
they walked away, she asked, "What was in the disc?"

He
hesitated. "Half of an electronic siphon that can pull data from any
reporter within a ten meter distance."

"Oh,
is that all?"

He
took her hand. "It's best if we look like a couple, otherwise you'll get
some nasty proposals."

"I
can handle myself," she said, though she intertwined her fingers with
Sean's, not planning to let go any time soon.

"I've
seen that first hand. It's just that I don't want to have to pound some poor
drunk in the face because he made a crude remark toward you."

Sara
was flattered by his protective gesture, but she wouldn't let him know that.

The
monstrous bouncer at the door reminded Sara of David. Same jaw line, same
physique, no doubt same Armadan bloodline. He waved Sean and Sara through, but
stopped an inebriated woman with small hips and a pot belly waiting behind
them.

"They
know you here?" Sara asked.

Sean
didn't respond.  He let her step through the open door first.

They
entered on the top floor. Below them on varying levels lay dance floors, stim
dens, v-game and coiting parlors. Bright green lasers zigzagged from one floor
to the next.  Bluish vapors wafting up from the lowest level formed a
turquoise cloud one level down.

"Ever
been to a flesh club before?" Sean asked.

"Not
one like this." She and Chen had gone with their rogue companions for
post-mission indulgences on many occasions, but those were elite parlors and
almost antiseptic compared to the rawness here.

"I'll
get us a sky box." Sean gestured her toward a bank of elevators.

When
one opened, a mixture of guests poured out along with some of the blue mist.
She and Sean pressed in with a large group of men and women, all dressed in
black leather with various body parts exposed. They ignored the newcomers, too
busy touching each other. Now Sara was the one who felt a little shy. She
stared through the glass elevator doors.

The
smell of the mist reminded her of blue star lilies. She took a deep breath and
the floor of the elevator dissolved into transparency until it disappeared from
under her. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see a white capped
building at the bottom of a hazy energy well just like that day at Palomin. She
stumbled forward with vertigo.

A
hand steadied her elbow. "You okay?" The voice sounded muffled.

"She's
just having a good slide." This high-pitched voice came from a fragger
balancing on a board over Palomin Canyon just in front of her.

"Sara,
look at me." She felt a hand nudge her chin.

"Rainer?"
She didn't know if she said his name out loud because all exterior sounds died
away. All she could hear was the thumping of her heart and the blood rushing through
her ears. The world darkened into night, then the blackness became blacker. She
thought she felt arms picking her up. Either that or she was floating.

Time
passed like a dream. At one point she thought she heard two heartbeats, not
quite in sync. Then the blood washed through her ears again and onto her face.
She woke gulping air and took in a mouthful of water. Adrenaline shot through
her. She struggled against hands holding her and blinked through droplets to
see the water's source, a large showerhead raining down on her. Sean held her
up from behind. His shirt sleeves were soaked, as were the ruined threads of
her gown.

"Thought
that might wake you up," he said.

The
spattering of the shower on their clothing sounded muffled compared to the drops
hitting the tile floor of the huge walk-in shower. Sean released Sara and said,
"Take your time. I'll get us some food."

"Do
you know why I came to the Bard?" she suddenly asked.

Sean
stopped at the glass doorway of the shower. He didn't want to have this
conversation. Not after they'd made it this far. It had loomed at the back of
his mind since he met her, and he knew it was inevitable. Still, he tried to be
coy, hoping he could stop it from playing out, stop either of them from having
to say the truth.

"The
Embassy sent you," was all he said.

"It
wasn't my choice. Neither was becoming an ambasadora." Sara backed against
the shower wall and slid to the floor.

Sean
didn't say anything, just sat against the wall across from her and waited. The
water kept running, as though they spoke from opposite sides of a small,
delicate waterfall.

"I
never told anyone what happened to me at Palomin," she said. "But I
need to tell someone. I need to tell you." She didn't wait for his
response.

"I
was there celebrating. Chen and I had just become enamoured. He gave me a black
bracelet that night, and I should have realized something was wrong, that it
was too sudden, that contractors always have ulterior motives. He used me to
bit siphon data from the archives."

She
was there that night, the night of the uprising. Now Sean knew who siphoned the data. It
was probably Chen, or someone working with him, who slipped the data mine into
the V-side, framing Bullseye. Separate parts of the same story came together as
Sara told her side.

"I
got caught in some kind of battle between fraggers and contractors on the rim.
Chen saved the bracelet and its data, but left me to die by a fragger's
hand."

Sean's
muscles tightened at the thought of someone from his organization hurting her.
Then again, the same group, his group, killed Ephemerata and set him up
for mass murder. They wouldn't care about some Socialite who happened to be in
the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Rainer
saved me, shot the fragger."

Sean
recalled watching Rainer kill the Embassy doctor. It seemed the contractor had
made himself Sara's protector on more than one occasion.

"Then
he shot me and delivered me to Simon."

This
revelation was shocking. Apparently Sean had misjudged their relationship.
Maybe Rainer had been protecting himself.

"Simon
was panicked because he thought I, or someone with me, had introduced the virus
attacking his longevity bots. He had one of his contractors interrogate
me."

"Faya?"
Sean asked.

"Yes.
How did you know?"

"You
mentioned her during your slide."

The
water splashed rhythmically in Sara's sudden silence.

He
knew she needed prompting. "What did she do to you?" He didn't want
to know, didn't want to ask her because he was a coward on the inside, but he'd
listen to every horrific word because she needed him to.

"Do
you know what blade cuffs are?" Sara asked.

"I've
heard of them." He'd actually seen them in action on an Embassy
surveillance vid of a fragger interrogation. The Embassy had leaked the vid
into the V-side to deter anti-government activity.  He hoped the footage
had been mixed and painted, for Sara's sake.

"There's
no way to describe that kind of pain. Feeling your skin slowly sliced open in a
dozen different places, seeing it roll up in shreds." Her voice caught in
a sob. "You never expect to experience something like that and live
through it. It should be impossible, should be. In a merciful world.
But, in my world, it happened every day for over a month. The only thing
impossible in my world was escape."

Sean
felt physically ill. Acid boiled in his stomach. His chest tightened so he
could barely breathe.

"The
physical abuse wasn't the worst part, though. The slides multiplied the horror
ten-fold. I got lost in my fears some days. The hallucinations were so real. I
nearly went insane. That's when Rainer would come to me, clean me up, but he
never got me out of there."

"Why?"
Sean's voice was harsh, his angry incredulity spilling into his tone. He would
have died trying to save her, would give his life for hers right now if he had to.

"He
said he couldn't. Maybe he was telling the truth," Sara said. "Or
maybe he thought helping me was the easier way to get information from
me."

"What
information?"

"I
don't know. I didn't know anything, Sean. I never did." Sara doubled over
sobbing.

Sean
moved beside her and held her head against his shoulder, hating that he
couldn't take this hurt away from her, hating the Embassy and Prollixer, hating
Rainer, hating this whole society.

After
a long while, she pulled her head away from him so she could look him in the
eyes. "That's why I'm here. Because Simon finally believed I didn’t know
anything, so he made me a deal, gave me a new life with a new title to go along
with my new face and body, which I barely recognize in the mirror. To be sure I
wouldn't turn on him, he hijacked my lineage."

"That's
why you asked me about the irradicae the first time we met," Sean said.

"I
thought you would know how I could find out if Simon was bluffing. I thought a
lot of things about you during that first meeting."

"Including
that I was a fragger?"

"No."

Sean
couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "You really didn't know?"

"Not
until the Tredificio," she said. "That's when I was certain you were
the one I was supposed to kill."

"Then
why did you disappear with me?"

She
leaned her head against his. "Because by that time it was already too
late. I cared more about you than the deal."

Sean
closed his eyes and hugged her close. He'd take this hurt from her somehow,
then he'd make sure someone paid dearly for it.

35

David
ran through the crystal trees in the foyer to catch Soli before she left with
Rainer. So much about him didn't make sense, like why such a high-ranking
contractor would be assigned to guard one of sixty ambasadoras. Even more
absurd was Soli taking him to her estate so that he might meet Trala before
recommending their child to Tampa Quad's best nursery. Then there was Rainer's
reaction to Sean being part Armadan. It was as if the contractor had just been
given the answer to the world's greatest mystery.

David
felt as if he had somehow betrayed a confidence by stating the obvious. Granted
Sean never mentioned his ancestry, but surely everyone else had noticed the
signs too. His enhanced skeletal structure, evidenced from the hundreds of
times he flew into a rage and smashed his hand against some solid object
without fracturing anything, his height.

And,
his penchant for dosing.

Maybe
that final tell wouldn't have been a tip off to the others, but David had
witnessed his share of stim abuse at home and aboard the Protector.
Maybe that's why he was so hard on Sean—they shared a kinship whether either of
them would admit it or not.

David
reached the gangway as Soli and Rainer disappeared down its glowing throat.

"Soli!"

David
didn't miss Rainer's left hand slip to his cender.

"Why
don't I go with you?" David asked, as if he and the archivist were best
friends. "I haven't seen Trala in a few weeks."

"Not
right now, David. Trala's not feeling up for too many visitors. I'll tell her
how much you miss chatting with her, though."

Rainer
tucked an arm around Soli and walked her off the gangway.

Geir
sauntered up beside David. "None of us has met Trala."

Exactly.

"I'm
going for a walk," David said.

"Mind
if I join you?" Geir pulled a cender from behind his back.

"That
yours?"

"Yeah.
Had need of it on my last outing." He passed it over to David. "But I
could only get one, and you know more about using this than I do."

David
heard a pair of footsteps track across the foyer floor. He concealed the cender
in his waistband and covered it with his shirt.

Kenon
clasped a hand on David's shoulder from behind. "Everyone heading
out?"

Mari
ran a hand up David's back. "Let's go to Orlando's. I'm starving."

Things
just became more complicated. "Actually, Geir and I have an appointment
with some potential clients," David said.

"What
kind of clients? Not more passengers, I hope," Kenon said.  "All
kidding aside, I don't think we can accommodate any more people on here."

"No,
they're just my regular…clients," Geir said.

"Why
do you need David at your meeting?" Mari asked. "He's not big into
physics." Suspicion accented her statement.

"It's
a group of Armadans." David spoke before he thought. Geir shot him a look
that said, What the hell?

"But,
Geir is Armadan." Kenon wasn't helping.

"They're
troopers," David said. "Geir's never been a military man, so—"

"Troopers
like Captain Simpra?" Mari pulled her hand from David's back.

"No,"
David said. "Retired, like me."

"Which
means they don't have a lot of time left, so we better get going." Geir
tugged at David's jacket.

David
ignored the jab and focused on the disappointment in Mari's eyes. "You and
Kenon go ahead. We'll meet up later." He rubbed her shoulder briefly, even
in front of the others. "Sorry." Every time he shut her out, she
slipped a little further away. One day she wouldn't be around for him to
disappoint. Maybe that would be best, at least for her.

The
smell of a million gardenias draping the green filigree fence along this part
of Carrey Bay masked the water's fresh scent. For as far as Rainer could see,
white flowers speckled their verdant trellises. Peeking from a hillside across
the roadway were various roofs and towers from this area's mega-estates.

Solimar's
private gate stood open, allowing the open-aired transport to continue up the
winding drive flanked by blooming plum trees. She must have been selling data
for years to afford such luxury.

He
followed Solimar to the door. She stopped to enter a pass code on her reporter,
but Rainer pushed the double doors open, knowing Faya would have disengaged all
the locks and security systems.

Sobbing
came from a sun room just off the foyer. Solimar ran toward it.

"Soli!"
Trala croaked out between sobs. The blonde pregnant woman pushed up awkwardly
from the plush green and lavender sofa. Her large belly impeded her enough
without Faya's warning hand pulling her back down.

The
passive expression on the contractor as she twisted Trala's wrist made Rainer wonder
what she had done to Sara when they were alone in that modification cell.

"Don't
touch her," Solimar yelled.

"Faya."
Rainer said her name in warning. Then to the women, "This won't end badly
if you cooperate."

"The
cache is over there on the mantle." Solimar gestured to the room's far
corner.

The
marble fireplace curved away from the white wall in a half-circle. One artifact
adorned its rounded mantle, a tall fish bowl cylinder alive with three small
fish, their blue fluorescence splashing the back wall with bits of turquoise.

Rainer
led Solimar across the tile floor by the elbow.

"There's
a false bottom under the cylinder," she said.

A
cheerful melody sang through the sitting room, alerting the arrival of a guest.
Rainer glanced toward the entryway. "Where are the servants?"

"Locked
in a room upstairs, unconscious," Faya said.

Or
perhaps dead.

"Then
we'll just wait for your guests to leave," Rainer said.

Everyone
remained still. When the door chime remained quiet after an indeterminable
time, Rainer used both hands to pull the large cylinder from the mantel.

"Take
off the bottom," he told Solimar.

With
shaking hands, she gave the thick glass bottom a twist and pulled it free of
the vase's real bottom.

Water
sloshed onto the toe of Rainer's boot, but his focus trained on the mix of
surprise and horror in Solimar's eyes.  He spun to look for Faya, but her
cender already pressed against his temple.  "Hand it over,
Rainer."

"Faya,
you're an idiot. That's not the data Prollixer wants. It's what I need,
to prove Sean Cryer is a fragger node." He intended to offer it in
exchange for Sara's lineage.

"Still
not much of a liar, are you? You couldn't even keep your fallacy for her
a secret."

Rainer
ignored the comment about Sara. "This isn't the Sovereign's data."

Faya
took the glass disc from him anyway. He noticed movement out the glass patio
doors in his periphery. David quietly pushed open one of the doors with his
cender. Faya hadn't bothered to lock it behind her.

The
melody of the door chime swept through the room again. Rainer let the vase fall
and snapped his head back to the left. With the edge of his right hand he
struck the bundle of nerves inside Faya's elbow. Her cender slipped from her
numb fingers as the vase smashed on the marble floor. Rainer's hands locked on
her wrist and twisted her arm straight over his right shoulder. He pulled down
and splintered her ulna.

David
fired two shots between Rainer and Faya. Geir followed on his heels, circling
around toward Trala.

"Get
back!" David yelled, as Kenon Brudger and Boston Maribu ran in from the
front entrance. He lunged for the young Socialite as a cender blast zipped past
her, destroying the plaster wall behind them.

"Geir!"
Kenon yelled a warning that allowed him to dive behind a metal screen.

Faya
turned her weapon on Kenon and fired. It caught him in the side and dropped
him. His head bounced off the marble floor with a dull thud. Faya fired once
more as she leapt through the open patio door.

Trala
doubled over, then slumped to the floor. Soli shrieked and rushed to her fallen
amour.

David
and Rainer squared off, each pointing a cender at the other's face.

Solimar
cradled Trala's blood-soaked body in her arms. "No, no, no! Trala."

"Out
of the way," Rainer said to David. "Let me call for help."

"Geir's
already sent out a call. Why did your partner doublecross you?"

"You
know there's more to it or you would have fired already. Ask Solimar why I'm
here." Rainer's words stilled Solimar's hand as it smoothed back Trala's
blood-slick hair. "She asked me to help her with Faya," Rainer said.

The
archivist would surely see this as a way out for both of them—the others would
never know of his coercion, or her deceit. She only needed to agree with him.

"Soli?"
David asked.

She
cried quietly. "It's true."

"Now,
stand down." Rainer kept the relief out of his voice.

Solimar
placed Trala's bloodied head on the marble floor. "He was trying to save
me." Her voice cracked. "To save us from that woman."

David
lowered the cender and rushed to her side.

Rainer
chanced a look around for the glass disc. He saw it shattered with the rest of
the cylinder among the flopping fish, gasping with their wide mouths.

Solimar
gasped for air, too, and thrashed on the floor, pummeling David as he tried to
console her.

Rainer
regretted the loss of Solimar's child almost as much as the loss of the
incriminating data. The fallout from this violent episode would be
far-reaching, especially if Faya gained the Sovereign's ear first. He had
allowed his hope of saving Sara and her lineage to dictate his actions. Now he
could pay for that decision with his life. He opened his palm to make a call.

How
did all this happen?

To
David's right the doctors worked on Kenon, to his left they covered Trala's
body.

He
eyeballed Rainer. The contractor spoke in hushed tones to the Embassy
investigators. David knew Soli would never go to Rainer for help. Contractors
wielded manipulation better than they did cenders.

David
stopped the doctors wheeling Soli out to the transport to ask where they were
taking her.

"The
Embassy hospital," the one closest to David said.

Rainer
stepped in front of David and motioned the doctors out the door. "She'll
be treated for her trauma and distress at the psychiatric facility. I'm taking
care of the arrangements myself."

David
didn't like the sound of that.

Rainer
slipped past Mari as she paced in the entryway. She hadn't spoken to David
since the Embassy investigators had arrived. He still didn't know what she and
Kenon were doing here in the first place. She was either avoiding him because
he lied or because she lied.

She
strode past David without making eye contact and went to Kenon's side.

"Can
you get the bandages any tighter?" Kenon asked the doctor.
"I already can't breathe very well."

"Are
you okay?" Mari asked him.

Kenon
pulled in a labored breath as the doctor adjusted his bandage once more.
"A little dizzy. Can't really catch my breath."

He
held up his white jacket, a bloody hole in its side showed where the cender
shot had brushed him. "And a little queasy. You just can't get workmanship
like this anymore."

Mari
laughed between tears and gave Kenon a kiss on his cheek. "I'm so sorry I
convinced you to come with me." She looked at David, shame showing on her
face.

"Don't
give it a thought. I wanted to see Soli's home anyway." Kenon leaned in
close and whispered, "For comparisons, you know?" He pulled a face
and rubbed his left arm.

"What
is it?" Mari asked.

"My
arm keeps going numb."

David
squatted beside Kenon and Mari. "Maybe from the electrical discharge of
the cender. I've known it to happen."

Rainer
reappeared in the room. "We can head back to the ship."

"What
about me?" Kenon asked. "Shouldn't I be going to the hospital,
too?" His tone sounded panicked. "I was just shot."

The
doctor next to him said, "Your vitals show elevated blood pressure and a
slightly irregular heartbeat, but that's consistent with this sort of trauma.
I've applied menders under your bandages, so the small second degree burn from
the cender flash should heal in a few hours.  You're welcome to visit the
medical center, though." The doctor looked to Rainer for confirmation on
this last suggestion.

Rainer
didn't hide his disdain for Kenon's whining. "Do we need to carry you
there on a stretcher?"

"I'm
not that fragile." Kenon smiled, then his face went pale. "But
heading to the hospital seems like the cautious thing to do."

"We'll
go with you," David said. He and Geir helped Kenon to his feet.

Kenon's
body began to convulse and his eyes rolled back in his head.

David
and Geir lowered him to the floor.

Kenon
clutched at his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.  His breathing became
ragged. A foul smell permeated the air. The doctors jostled David and Geir out
of the way.

"Cardiac
arrest," one of them yelled.

The
other tore Kenon's shirt open and attached a defibrillator to his bare chest,
then positioned an automatic breather over his nose and mouth. The
defibrillator shrieked. Kenon's body convulsed with the pulse of electricity
forced through his heart. Then the breather inflated and deflated his lungs,
causing his chest to rise and fall, but in an abnormal rhythm. The doctors
worked frantically and shouted vitals to each other after each pulse and
breath.

Mari
buried her face in David's jacket and sobbed. Geir watched in shock.

Minutes
rolled by. Instead of hopeful anticipation, the shriek from the defibrillator
became horrifying and maddening, like a threnody played over and over.

The
doctors called out Kenon's vitals one last time and confirmed what David
already knew, Kenon was dead.

"I'm
sorry," the doctor closest to David said. "He's gone."

Rainer
called for another bag.

Mari
pulled away from David in hysterics. "What do you mean he's gone?
He's dead?" She looked into Kenon's staring eyes, searching for proof the
doctors were wrong.

Geir
turned away, his shoulders quivering.

"Mari."
David reached for her hand. She pulled away. "He was just fine! What
happened? What did you do to him?"

"He
had a weak heart," the doctor said. "It was a genetic defect."

"How?"
Mari looked to David for answers he didn't have.

"The
heart defect stays off the report," David said.

"Impossible."
The other doctor said, snapping his attention to Rainer.

David
snatched the doctor off his feet and pushed him into the wall behind him.

"Don't!"
Mari yelled. "Please don't." She pulled at David's arm.

He
let the doctor go and stepped away.

"I
want him brought up on charges for assault," the doctor said to Rainer.

"Genetic
tradition meant everything to Kenon," David said. "He was one of the
few citizens I knew who believed in the system enough to make it work for him
and his family. Don't let his lineage be tarnished."

Rainer
considered for a moment. "Make the report read that Kenon Brudger died of
wounds sustained while protecting a fellow citizen."

Then
to David, "It will add bravery and altruism to his line. I don't know how
well his amours and heirs will appreciate it, though. Some Socialites still
think altruism is a defect."

David
balked, though Rainer might be right. "They'll know he died a good man.
Not all of us will be able to say that."

The
doctor looked nervous, but showed Rainer the report before he sent it off from
his reporter. "What about the assault charges?"

"No
charges. Everyone's just a little tense given the situation." Rainer put a
hand to his cender to squelch any arguments.

David
almost told him he didn't need any more favors, but realized what did it matter
when the first one surely came with a hefty price. In his experience,
contractors only helped others for their own substantial gain. He hoped he
could afford being in debt to Rainer Varden.

36

"How
big is this place?" From Sara's vantage in the sky box she counted at
least six levels. Beyond that, the dizzying darkness stole her vision.

She
didn't expect a response. Sean was in the shower finally getting to clean up
after listening to her babble, then bringing back clothes and something to eat.
He'd apologized for the little blue slip dress she now wore, saying it was the
most modest piece he could find. She liked it. The skinny straps and little
slits up the side made it less binding than the gowns she'd been wearing since
becoming an ambasadora.

"I
can breathe, for once." Sara often talked to herself, a habit she picked
up at Palomin as a way to ground her to reality. Hearing her own voice reminded
her that she was still Sara Mendoza, no matter how much of her identity they
tried to strip from her. But, thanks to Faya's drugs, Sara took more out of
that modification cell than herself.

She
glanced at the small black vial sitting on the table by the suite's entryway.
Sean had brought the drug back with him, too. She recognized the shimmering
liquid as dew drops, a recreational aphrodisiac, but Sean said in this
concentration they became powerful neuro-stims, strong enough to help her
separate emotion from her terrible memories.

All
she had to do was fabricate new memories to layer over the bad ones. The
possibilities were endless, any experience she wanted—a cruise on the Kimberly
River, walking the gardens at Wright's Landing, dancing under a living,
breathing volcano. Sean said he would guide her through it. She picked up the
vial, wondering if it were that simple, and worrying that she wouldn't be able
to pretend hard enough to make it work.

She
needed a real experience to make her forget the horror of Palomin. She picked
up Sean's new shirt lying on the table, wanting to smell it, but knowing she'd
be disappointed that it didn't have his scent yet. Thinking of how its softness
would soon lay against his skin sent little shivers through her fingertips.
Just that small sensation felt better than a fake holiday.

She
removed the vial's lid. A few drops of the black fluid remained on its flat crystal
surface. Touching it against her lip, she tested its taste with a brush of her
tongue. Its pleasing sweetness reminded her more of flowers than fruit. She
tipped her head back and let the rest slide down her throat.

Sean
came around the corner from the bathroom. "Have you seen my shirt?"

His
short hair looked darker from being wet, and rumpled, like he'd just taken a
towel to it. He stood there in only a pair of pants and looked around the
suite. His torso and arms were muscled, but not bulky like David's nor sculpted
to detail like Chen's. The natural leanness of Sean's body aroused her.

"You
left it here." She walked toward him, his shirt in one hand, the empty
vial in her other. "I decided on a new memory," she said.

"Good.
I'll talk you through it." He reached for his shirt.

She
tossed it on the bed and let the vial drop to the tile floor with a clink. His
gaze never left hers. She eased her arms around his neck to whisper in his ear,
"I'm tired of talking."

With
barely a brush of her lips, she traced a trail along his jaw to his neck. When
she found a spot that smelled strongly of him, she ran the tip of her tongue
over it. She could feel his pulse quickening under her mouth. Up until now, she
had only guessed at his attraction for her.

He
slid his hands down the silky slip, then cupped her thighs and lifted her so
she could wrap her legs around him. She could feel his arousal, even through
the heavy fabric of his pants.

Wanting
to relive that feeling from their first kiss, she moved slowly. He followed her
lead, but coaxed her lips apart with his. She played the tip of her tongue
across his bottom lip, then drew away slightly, teasing him. He pulled her back
into the kiss, but she kept up their game. Each time their lips met, heat and
pressure pooled between her legs, and her bio-lights pulsed a little brighter.
Sean noticed their glow and became more aggressive, pressing her into a deep
kiss and swirling his tongue into her mouth. When her tongue met his, he
squeezed her thighs in impatience.

By
the time he carried her to the bed, her every nerve sizzled in awareness of
where he touched her, with his hands, his mouth, his skin, the small swath of
stubble coming back to his jaw and chin. The softness of the bed contrasted
with his body. She reached for the button on his pants, then unzipped them.
When she tried to push them down his hips, he nudged her hands away and pushed
her slip up past her belly. Some of the rough spots on his fingertips caught at
the silk.

He
bent over to kiss the softness above her belly button. She shivered, and not
just from the sensation. A nervous excitement rose up inside her, as though it
were her first time.

In
a way that sentiment was true.

No
one had caressed this body, this reconstructed shell that she didn't
recognize at times. Sean's touch made Sara feel comfortable in her own skin.
Whether he knew it or not, he helped her to reclaim ownership of herself
because this moment was only for them to share. Not Simon nor Faya nor Rainer
could take that from her.

She
reached for his pants again, but he pushed the slip up over her breasts and
slid it up her arms until it reached her wrists. Instead of pulling it the rest
of the way off, he trapped both of her wrists in the tangled silk and held them
there with one of his hands, showing he could play his own games.

His
free hand stroked one of her breasts with a feather touch as his stare roved
over her nude body, then came to rest on the brightening swirl of purple lights
on her arm. Drawing his fingers down her arm made the bio-lights pulse into a
different pattern. A swipe of his thumb across her nipple sent them flashing
brighter. Sean gave a little growl and swept each fingertip slowly against her
stiff nipple to make the lights pulse faster.

The
raw yearning in his eyes excited her. A breathy sigh escaped her lips, drawing
his attention back to her mouth. He kissed her, but only briefly before his
lips danced down her neck and continued between her breasts. He had turned the
tables on her seduction of him. She liked that he challenged her for control,
especially the way he commanded a response from her. When he looked up into her
eyes as his lips tugged at her nipple, a quick flush warmed her skin. He was
winning this round, but, as soon as he let go of her wrists, she let him know
it wouldn't be so easy. When he came in for another kiss, she held him back
with a hand on his chest while the other tugged at his pants.

Sean
gave her his shy smile, and it warmed her like the sun shining down into her
heart. He stood up and slid his pants off, but kept his shorts on. She enjoyed
this playful side to him. He headed for the bed again, but she placed her foot
against his chest to stop him and nodded toward his shorts. He slid those off,
too, then kissed the arch of her foot, sending tremors through her limbs. She
stared at his naked form, a little timid in anticipation.

His
lips continued down the inside of her leg. He kept eye contact with her through
each painfully slow kiss, making her body tense and squirm. When he reached her
inner thigh, the thought of where his line of kisses would end nearly brought
her to climax. It had been a long time since a man had tasted her. The pressure
of his tongue on her stole her breath and made her arch her back in response.
His lips and tongue moved over her in a circular pattern, working her until she
lifted her hips completely off the bed. She grabbed handfuls of his short hair
as the pressure built between her legs. Her bio-lights glowed brighter than
she'd ever seen them—the erotic visual putting her over the edge. She whimpered
as she came, but Sean was just getting started.

He
found her mouth again and kissed her with an urgency spurred on by her
quivering body and the brilliance of the dots lighting her arm. She was tight
when he first pushed into her and she wasn't used to a man his size. Her
fingers pressed into his shoulders, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs.
He took the hint and eased himself the rest of the way in. After a few slow
strokes, she relaxed and called his name because she liked the sound of it. The
encouragement urged him on, as though he had been waiting for her permission to
give into his instinct and passion without restraint.

This
was not at all like the techniques they acquired at school. He excited her with
his unpredictability and daring. She was surprised and delighted to find his
shyness went only as far as his smile. The feel of him thrusting deep and
steady into her was matched only by the words of adoration he whispered against
her neck and her lips. He spoke of her beauty, of how much he needed her and
wanted her, how much he cared about her.

She
felt an intimacy with Sean that she had never known with any other coupling. He
helped her to remember what it meant to be Sara. To physically feel Sean's desire
and share his pleasure empowered her. Opening herself to him, meeting the
rhythm of his hips, she was more alive than she had ever been in her entire
life. She was happy he could see her arousal, exposed and naked, as it burned
bright and furious in every dot pulsing up her arm. His intensity increased
with the bio-lights' brilliance until Sara panted, trying to catch her breath.

When
she couldn't hold back any longer, she gave into rolling waves of ecstasy. The
sensation came from deeper inside her than before and was exponentially a
greater sensation. Nothing could better erase the horrors she had known than
memories of this moment, spread open to Sean's pleasure, the feel of him on top
of her, inside her, wanting her and needing her as much as she needed him.

37

"You
may have to wait another year before going rogue," Chen told Faya as she
adjusted the bone mender on her arm. "To keep the Sovereign's suspicion
down and avoid retaliation."

Chen
linked Tennor's decrypter to the hotel's small black viewer unit on the night
stand. If it couldn't bypass the Sovereign's codes on his personal
transmissions, Chen would break all of Tennor's fingers before shooting him.

"I
might not want to go rogue if I can have Rainer's job," Faya said. The
bone mender emitted several beeps as she adjusted the cast's pressure again.

A
viewscreen pixilated and stuttered to life in the air in front of them,
accompanied by Rainer's irritated voice.

"I'll
have to fix that glitching for next time," Tennor said.

Never
count on a next time.

Although,
Chen was loathe to admit that Tennor proved his brilliance time and again. Not
that all the brilliance in the system would let him jump castes.

There
seemed to be quite a few bright Lowers surfacing recently. If the Uppers
allowed exceptions for all of them, then soon the beautiful among the Lower
Caste would want exceptions made for them as well. This type of caste jumping
became more common with each generation, an affront to the History and a threat
to the Uppers' superiority.

Dahlia,
Faya's sister by a different father, walked in from the hotel balcony with
three of the rogues from Chen's original group, leaving the remnants of their
room service dinner on the outside table. A jade-colored bird had already taken
the opportunity to swoop in for a bite.

"Are
you sure they won't know we're eavesdropping on them?" Chen asked.

"They
don't have a clue," Tennor said.

Rainer's
face looked strained as he explained what happened at the Robbins' estate,
including Faya's role.

"I
need a cure, Contractor Varden, not excuses."

"Then
blame Faya Renault."

Faya
snickered. "Our Head Contractor is scrambling now."

"I've
already spoken to Contractor Renault, and the details of her story are quite
different from yours. She knew that searching Archivist Robbins' private tapes
was a ridiculous idea. You wasted time and gained nothing."

"You
would take her word over mine?"

Chen
glanced at Faya, who looked a bit nervous to hear the answer.

"Her
mind is on the mission at hand, not some emotional fallacy. I'm giving
Contractor Renault the task of lifting my curse."

Rainer's
jaw set and his voice had an angry tone. "That's a mistake."

"The
mistake was not doing it earlier. Your new assignment is to bring Ambasadora
Mendoza back to me. You can stand beside me while she takes her own life in
shame. Or put her out of her misery when the irradicae eat away her
insides."

So
the rumor was true. It surprised Chen that the Sovereign would be so bold and
irreverent as to hijack Sara's lineage. The part of him who had foolishly asked
her to travel the system with him after a night of too many neons and too much
coupling felt a modicum of compassion for her, but losing her family rights was
her problem.

"Sara's
dead. Killed at the Tredificio."
Rainer's tone betrayed him, but the Sovereign never noticed.

"Then
you are useless to me."

The
transmission ended.

Chen
swiveled his chair around. "Rainer's not quite the liar he believes he is.
Must be letting his emotions get the better of him."

"Rainer
having an emotional fallacy for anyone is absurd." Dahlia laughed, but her
eyes were hard as forged metal.

"You
didn’t see the footage from the surveillance monitors back on Palomin,"
Faya said.

Dahlia's
breathing deepened, baited by Faya's lie. Chen scrutinized the interplay
between the sisters, his cousins on both sides of their family circle. The
women's dislike of one another would be useful later.

"They
showed it all," Faya said. "How he went to Sara after every
modification session, coddling her back to health, docking her every chance he
got."

"Data
can be manipulated—" Dahlia started.

"Not
on the Sovereign's personal surveillance monitors," Faya said. "When
are you going to wake up, little sister? Rainer is a grand deceiver, one of the
reasons Prollixer hired him as Head Contractor, but he's slipping. He just lied
to the Sovereign's face to protect Sara again."

"How
do you know?" Dahlia asked.

"Our
contacts had a visual of Sara and Cryer disembarking here at the Hub some time
yesterday."

Dahlia
paled slightly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Chen
and Faya shared a look. "You were seen pretty often with Rainer before he
ran off to chase his ambasadora around the system," Chen said.

"I
don't care what the monitors showed," Dahlia said. "He has no
interest in her."

"Why?
Because he's married to you and six other women?" Faya circled her sister.
"Mother told me about your secret ceremony. She was concerned for the
family since rumors have Rainer falling out of favor with the Sovereign."
Faya stood in front of Dahlia and stroked her hair. "You can keep secrets
from the whole system, but you have to trust your family. That's why I'm giving
you the opportunity to choose your family over your prime amour." The
warning in her tone left no doubt she'd make Dahlia pay for any type of
betrayal.

"I
would always pick family over everything," Dahlia asked.

"Good,"
Chen said. "Then you'll come with us to find Sara and her fragger. If we
can get to Simon's anti-virus before he does, we have the key to the
system." Chen hoped to gain a full pardon from the Sovereign as a reward,
or a high place among the new governing ranks if Prollixer died.

"Tennor,
I just hired you for another job," Chen said. "You can be our guide
in the Underground."

"I'm
better with the tech."

Chen
leveled a cender at Tennor's narrow nose. "I think it's time you put all
that V-side combat training to practice, unless you're afraid Zak will kick
your ass in the real world."

38

Like
just about every morning since he started dosing, Sean woke to ringing in his
ears, but this morning he wasn't alone. Sara lay naked and beautiful, folded in
his arms. This was how he wanted to wake up every morning from now on.

Her
purple-streaked black hair hung loose around her bare shoulders. The bio-lights
twisting down her arm glowed steady and calm. Last night their rhythmic pulses,
quickening in time with her heightened arousal, nearly drove him mad. He
couldn't remember having to exert so much control in his life. Every time he
felt close to completion, he forced himself to slow down— and not look at those
lights. That night was for Sara's pleasure. It was the only way he knew how to
help her with her pain. In his mind she transcended being just a pleasant
intimacy. He saw her as an irrevocable part of his life. He hoped she felt that
way, too. Part of him worried her attraction came as a side effect from the dew
drops. It was enough that she had asked him to share last night with her, to
use his touch to forget her time at Palomin.

Studying
the curve of her body made him want to wake her up with a trail of kisses down
her back. But he slipped out of bed without waking her, then grabbed his
clothes from the floor before heading into the bathroom. He zipped up a pair of
comfortable worker's pants and tugged on a light blue shirt.

Life
had changed during these past few days. Sean had changed. The emotions Sara
stirred within him were the most intense he had felt since losing his brother.
Except, these feelings were beautiful and amazing, better than any drug he'd taken,
and so much better than the lonely life he lived before. It was the perfect
example of an emotional fallacy, according to their society—basing life
decisions on what the world considered to be nothing more than fleeting moods
and sentiments biased by hormones.

Sean
didn't care if all of that were true. He would do anything to keep feeling this
way. Of course, that meant making sure he had no more secrets that could ruin
things later. Secrets like his family background.

When
he returned to the bedroom, he was disappointed to see the bed empty. He heard
the clanking of metal and ceramic coming from the kitchen area. Sara sipped on
a cup of tea, already dressed in the clothes he borrowed for her from
one of the shops yesterday. The short white sari looked like something Soli
would wear, only Sara had managed to wrap the scarf around her more modestly
than Soli would have preferred. Soli had insisted all along that Sean needed
someone in his life. He may never get a chance to tell her she was right, but
thinking of her friendship made him resolute in this one last confession to
Sara.

She
offered him a cup of tea. He took the mug and sat it on the counter. "I
need to tell you something," he said.

Her
smile faltered a little, but she kept a light tone. "I already know you're
a fragger. You know I was sent to kill you. And…you know what makes my lights
flash."

He
smiled at that one.

"What
other secret could possibly matter?" she asked.

"Your
intel was right about the operative being Armadan, except I'm only half, on my
father's side."

"Oh."
She seemed relieved and not at all surprised. "I guessed you had Armadan
blood in you after last night."

"You
did? Why?"

She
hesitated for a moment, and he thought she blushed a little. "You're a
little taller than the average Socialite, your shoulders a little broader,
your…hands are bigger."

He
looked down at his hands, having never really thought about it before.

She
seemed a little flustered and quickly added, "You're also much stronger.
You hide that strength from people, though, don't you?"

He
had for as long as he could remember. "I guess so, but not as much as I
hide the fact that my mother came from the Lower Caste." The words came
out of his mouth like he'd been waiting to say them his entire life. He sat
down on one of the plush dining chairs, wishing he could take it back. He
looked at the steam rising from the mug of tea on the counter, avoiding her
face, afraid he might see rejection or judgment there.

"That's
why your forced handling of the Lowers at the Tredificio caused you so much
conflict," she said.

"Probably."

"And,
why you feel so comfortable here in the Underground." She said it more to
herself.

He
didn't say anything.

She
ran her hand through his hair, then slid onto his lap, forcing his gaze upon
her. "I don't know about you, Sean Cryer, but I'm tired of pretending to
be someone I'm not because society dictates it." Sincerity showed on her
face. "Does your mother care about you?" she asked.

He
was taken aback by the question. "Of course."

"Then
be proud of that, no matter who she is." Sara kissed him on the forehead,
but he pulled her lips to his. Their kiss was different this time. Instead of
just playful or passionate like those hundreds they shared last night, this
kiss was a promise of the future they meant to share.

Sean
could have stayed in that kiss forever, but they weren't safe yet. He slowly
broke away.

"I'm
not sure how much longer we can remain here," he said.

"Maybe
Simon, the Embassy, the whole system thinks we're dead," she said.

"Everyone
might, but it won't stay that way for long. We passed too many voyeurs at the
Hub, and I'm sure we didn't hide your bio-lights as well as we should
have."

"What
do we do?" She looked nervous for the first time.

"We'll
bargain for our freedom."

"With
what?"

"The
cure for Simon's curse," Sean said.

"You
have it?"

"I
can get it." At least he hoped he could.

Their
trip in the elevator this time was uneventful. It stopped at the ground floor
and opened onto a sub-street. They exited Carnal Escape and headed across the
way to a v-game parlor called Shocker's. All v-game parlors smelled the
same—the spicy tang of dosed air drifting above the metallic notes of conductor
and cleaner fluids.

Acid
pink and rich blue arabesque loops scrolled along silver half-meter portals in
the back wall. These were the only lights in the expansive room, aside from the
twinkling stars on the walkway.

Ahead
of them, at least thirty people waited in a dark line. One woman lay on the
floor, singing to herself. A couple near the middle kissed and groped each
other, much to the entertainment of those around them. Just in front of Sean
and Sara, a group of Lower Caste kids argued with an attendant over the price
of admission. They finally left grumbling.

No
nurseries or academies for them,
Sean thought. They were probably better off.

"They're
so healthy," Sara said.

"Who?"
Sean asked.

She
gestured toward the children hurling back foul-mouthed insults at the
attendant. "Their skin is clear, their cheeks rosy, and their muscle tone
is better than any of my cousins their age. Most of my family would have to get
little tweaks to attain that kind of look. Where do these kids get that kind of
money?"

"They
don't. That's just how they are naturally," Sean said.

"Did
you ever have any cosmetic alterations?" she asked.

"No."
He mused at her naivete, but could forgive Sara for assuming everyone who was
attractive owed their looks to selective breeding or cosmetic enhancements.
That's how most Uppers viewed the world. She was only now learning to see life
from a different perspective. "The diversity of genes among Lowers
benefits them in a lot of ways."

"You're
a good example of that," she said.

Her
last comment made him feel like he'd given her the wrong impression. The
Armadan traits he received from his father benefited him just as much as
everything his mother passed onto him.

A
few meters away three sharp beeps sounded from a portal whose round façade
pulsed with an intense white light. The portal and the tube it was attached to
slid out from the wall. The v-gamer inside convulsed, vomit splattered over his
face and neck.

Attendants
pulled the man out, plunged a syringe of stims into his leg, and whisked him
onto a gurney and through a back hallway with practiced precision, not even bothering
to tear the eye mask from his face. A woman in coveralls raced to the tube and
flushed it with a pale green cleaner.

"He
dialed up too high," Sean said. "Worked himself into a seizure, then
couldn't unplug."

Sara
covered her nose. "Are you getting in one of those?"

"Not
a chance."

Another
attendant appeared from a hidden door on the wall to their right.

"Cryer?"
he asked.

"Yeah."

"This
way."

Sean
took Sara's hand and led her through the doorway. The pressure of her fingers
around his made his arm tingle. He found it hard to focus when she was near
him. Once they got out of this mess, he wouldn't have to focus on anything but
her.

The
room looked like a miniature of their skybox without the windows.

Sean
waited for the attendant to exit.

"This
shouldn't take more than a few minutes," Sean said. "Don't worry if
my arms and legs twitch. It's just reflexes."

"You're
not going to come out of this like that last guy, are you?"

Sean
took her hand and kissed it—that was a reflex, too. "If you knew how many times
I've done this…."

Or
knew how many times I've died in the V-side.

The
thought that this time could bring real death entered his mind. He tried to
dismiss it as a left-over bit of paranoia, but knew it wasn't. Ephemerata
proved that sides had been chosen, and Sean had ended up on the wrong one. He
kissed Sara as though it might be their last.

"Maybe
you shouldn't do this," she whispered, her forehead against his.

"I
have to. We have to buy our lives back."

He
lay on the bed before he changed his mind. "I'll be back before you know
it." He closed his eyes, wishing he had his lenses to make the insertion
easier. Instead, he had to rely on an old implant behind his ocular nerve. He
slowed his breathing and stared at the blackness behind his lids. The seconds
ticked by like they were years, but Sean kept his meditation. As the coldness
of insertion finally crept into his mind, he was vaguely aware of Sara curling
up next to him, her head on his chest.

The
watery lobby lapped at Zak's raft. He ignored the blue globes hovering around
him and summoned a dark sky through his programs. Stars appeared. The raft
launched toward them, forcing a feeling of inertia on his stomach.

Within
seconds he was just beneath the sky. This close the stars hung down as shimmering
teardrops above his head, each one a portal to a different world. An infinite
universe.

"Which
of you is hiding the intel dump?" he asked the virtual universe.

Zak
reached up and combed his fingers through the spongy constellations. They felt
wet to the touch, but left no moisture on his skin. Six separate sweeps
revealed nothing. The coordinates led to this sector. It had to be here.

Or
I'm screwed.

A
buzzing in his left middle finger alerted him he'd found the port he wanted. He
pushed his finger into the membrane. The teardrop stretched down and drew Zak
into its protective bubble. Then the sky shed its tear into the purple sea
below.

There
was no impact with the water's surface. The bubble's velocity remained steady. Smaller
aerated bubbles, representing other users, rushed past Zak's clear transport on
all sides, yet he heard nothing. A peace settled upon him as increasing
pressure squeezed the membrane tighter.

In
the illuminated depths of this vast sea, Zak monitored a shadow falling
parallel with him. The bubbles obscured its form, but he knew it was moving, or
swimming, closer. Three hundred meters, perhaps. It picked up speed. Zak
calculated the rate of acceleration with dormant programs.

One
hundred twenty meters and closing.

Ninety.

Maybe
I really am screwed.

Thirty.

The
shadow blackened the water in its wake as it closed on Zak. His heart rate and
blood pressure sky-rocketed. He forced himself to remember this was just some
architect's game, an over-the-top construction meant to inspire awe and fear in
the user, but even with his experience, too much of the V-side felt real. A
shock rippled through him as the shadow engulfed him.

Complete
darkness. Silence. A sucking noise from near his feet. The tickling probe of
his idents. He held his breath while waiting to clear fragger security
programs. His fate was sealed. If Ephemerata were wrong about his idents being
linked to the dump he'd be dead before he realized she was wrong.

The
bubble burst.

Zak
landed on his feet in a sunny field of green and blue feathers.  The ocean
was nowhere to be seen.

The
landscape stretched on in all directions, no landmarks marred the downy meadow
except for one droopy tree thirty meters away. Zak moved in that direction, his
booted feet kicking up feathers along the way. Instead of settling back to the
ground, they remained suspended in the air just above his knees. There would be
no covering his trail, but he aimed to be in and out before another user
arrived.

He
slowed to a cautious crouch walk when he noticed a circular object nestled in
the tree's black roots. If it were a trap, someone went to great lengths to
lure him here when they could have disposed of him in the ocean lobby upon
insertion. Still, he scanned the horizon to be sure he was alone. He reached
the tree and saw a ceramic pot among the roots.

Zak
tested the lid with a finger—data streamed through him. He couldn't move. He
couldn't think. Just had to let the energy transfer continue. He willed himself
to breathe, knowing his body would respond in kind back at the v-game parlor.
He believed Sara would pull him out once she saw him in distress…if she could.

A
pain stabbed behind his eyes with the final information surge. Zak fell face
first to the ground. Feathers shot into the air around him and hovered there
like a cloak. He pushed himself up by his elbows, sorting out the muddling in
his head. He recognized the tickle of the intel dump in the back of his mind.
He looked for the pot, but it was gone.

He
got to his knees and waited while the pain subsided and his disorientation
cleared. A large hand reached down to help him up. Cuzco pulled Zak to his feet
and waited for him to speak.

"What
are you doing here?" Zak asked. The big guy was the last person Zak would
have suspected of stealing the data and letting him take the fall. "Why'd
you set me up, Cuzco?"

Cuzco
let go of Zak's arm and flexed big fingers around a crafter. "I don't know
what you're talking about. I was just monitoring the trap we set.  The
trap that snared you like a little bird."

We?

"I'm
here to find out who's messing with me." Zak tried distracting Cuzco while
he called up compression programs. The only way he'd be able to transfer the
dump to safe storage in his hidden cache would be to zip the file. He'd
decompress it and sift through it when he wasn't at the bad end of a weapon.

"I
think you came here to retrieve the data you stole."

"You
know that's not right, Cuzco." Zak's transfer was only a third complete.
"I don't know who you are in the real world or even in this one, but I
believe you're a fragger because the ideology fits."

"From
what I hear, you're sporting a new ideology."

Three
more portals deposited Topper, Vishneu, and Ariel in a semi-circle around Zak.

Topper
leveled a cender at Zak's chest.

"Traitor,"
Vishneu said.

"Get
those out of my face." Zak grabbed Vishneu's wrist and twisted the cender
from his grasp.

Eighty
percent uploaded.

Topper
fired once, but the shot went wild. The tip of Zak's cender pressed into
Topper's reptilian neck.

"I'm
not here for a brawl," Zak said. "We've got problems in the
organization."

"Like
nodes who turn traitor?" Vishneu asked.

"Not
true." Zak kept an eye on Vishneu's weapon.

A
faint buzzing brushed a far corner of Zak's mind. The count stopped at
ninety-six percent. Was it feedback or a lag? The relentless traffic in v-game
parlors often taxed the stream.

"You're
not responsible for the intel dump, then?" Topper asked. "And you didn't
cause the destruction on Tampa Three?"

"Even
though your ident signatures are all over it?" Cuzco added.

"Someone
hacked my signature." The buzz in Zak's mind oscillated.

"Impossible."
Cuzco was still the most even-tempered of the group, but even his patience
appeared to be wearing thin.

"You
know it can be done." Zak tried to concentrate, to think of the right
thing to say, but the buzzing interfered with his thoughts. A searcher program
groped his mind.

Zak
released tracing programs to find the source. They were illegal in the V-side,
but most everything he did was illegal.  Which was the only way he'd ever
know about programs like tracers and searchers.

Cuzco
was speaking, but Zak couldn't hear him over the program's buzz.  The
intensity told him the searcher had to be local.

Who—

Zak
fired three rounds into Ariel's head. Cuzco knocked the weapon from Zak's hand.
The others opened fire. Zak called up his unplug codes, but Ariel had already
locked him out. Zak's heart rate increased and his muscles twitched as his
contingency threatened to assassinate him. He stumbled to his feet and called
upon an emergency weapons program. As cender fire bit into his back, a dozen
razor discs materialized over his head and launched at his contingency.

Explosions
blossomed around the three assailants, buying Zak precious seconds to scan the
data Ephemerata had given him.

There! Just as he had hoped, she provided him
with a lockpick.

Zak
concentrated on unlocking his codes amidst the onslaught of pain from cender
and crafter blasts. He almost had it.  An interceptor program latched onto
the lockpick, unraveling its code at an alarming rate. Zak struggled to focus,
to keep his head clear, working just milliseconds ahead of the interceptor. The
tracer reported back. It had Ariel's plug-in location. She was somewhere in
Shocker's.

His
guard slipped at the revelation. The weapon fire became too much for him. His
torn and lifeless body had nothing left.

He
thought of Sara, out there watching him die. He thought of her face and how she
looked at him like no one else ever had, how she felt in his arms. He'd been
prepared to head to the Otherside so many times before, but now felt cheated
because he had her. A searing white light burned into his vision and all he
could hear was ringing. As the world slipped away, he wondered if this what his
brother and his father saw as they died.

39

"Wake
up!"

Sara
shook Sean again, calling his name in a panic.

His
limbs twitched and sweat poured down his face and chest, like he was in shock.
Then his entire body started to convulse. She didn't know what to do, didn't
know the first thing about the V-side, or how to get Sean out of it. When they
had watched the attendants carry that man out earlier, Sean mentioned something
about not unplugging in time. That meant she had to break his connection to the
V-side.

She
spotted a wireless station in the wall. Ripping the cover away, revealed a mess
of wires and an emergency jack coiled up with its plastic-coated cord. If she
cut the power, would that work? Probably not, or the attendants would have done
that for the man earlier. She abandoned that idea and felt along the inside of
Sean's belt for stim patches. Maybe she could pump enough adrenaline and
stimulants into him that he'd wake up. She found five patches and three
injectors about the same size, then caught the side of her finger on something
sharp. At first she thought she had accidentally triggered an injector, but instead,
she pulled a thin razor disc from its sheath on the inside of his belt.

She
looked at the emergency jack again, an insane idea coming to her.

It
might work, if it will reach.

She
uncoiled the cord and made sure it remained attached to the power supply in the
wall. It stopped just short of Sean's body. She pulled his twitching arm off
the edge of the bed. The cord could reach his hand.

Careful
not to cut too deeply, she made a large enough slit in the plastic coating to
expose the hot wires inside. They glowed white, warning they were live.

She
hoped the sweat on Sean's skin would be a good enough conductor. He was
convulsing so badly she feared she'd get zapped along with him, then no one would
be around to wake them up. They could disappear to the Otherside permanently.
She wanted to see what they could be like together here first.

Ready
with the injectors in one hand, Sara brought the exposed wires near Sean's
hand. She hesitated. If she couldn't bring him back….

She
made contact. A white arc jumped across his hand and a massive convulsion
rocked his body. She threw the cord against the wall.

Sean
didn't move, not even his chest rising and falling with breath. The absolute
stillness of his body terrified her.

She
held the ring-sized injector to his neck and felt the compressed air force the
needle into his flesh.  Taking a gamble, she used the other two on him.

Nothing
happened.

She
peeled the backing off a stim, jabbed it into his neck, and fumbled to get the
next one ready. Then two more. Her hands shook as she pressed the fifth and
final patch into place. She felt on the other side of his neck for a pulse.

Nothing.

She
put her ear to his chest. "Please, please, please."

Nothing.

Then
his lungs filled, and he sat up with a gasp. His eyes tried to focus as he
looked around in confusion. She held his cheeks in her hands, reassuring him.

"Sara."
His voice sounded choked.

"Are
you okay?"

He
squeezed her hands and calmed his breathing. "How did you get me out of
there? I thought I was dead."

"You
were." She showed him the frayed wire from the wall. "I stopped your
heart."

His
expression went from alarm to disbelief. "How did you restart it?"

"I
gave you all the dosers you had on you."

His
fingers flew to the patches on his neck. "You gave me all five?"

"And,
the three injectors, too."

His
complexion looked flushed. He stripped the patches away from his skin.

"I
thought the more the better, especially for someone who doses pretty
frequently," Sara said.

"The
injectors were doubles," he said.

Sara
felt sick. "Can you handle that much?"

"We'll
find out." He ripped the last patch out, but the concentrated stimulants
from the injectors were already moving through his system. "We have to go.
They found us." Sean pushed off the bed and fell against the nearest wall.

Sara
steadied him, hoping his disorientation would wear off quickly. "The
Embassy found us?"

Sean
swayed and pulled a deep breath. "Fraggers."

"If
I go, they'll follow me and leave you alone," she said.

"They
probably want me more than you at the moment."

"Can
you walk?" She let him test his footing. His arms trembled, but his legs
seemed to hold his weight.

"Someone
from my contingency is here," Sean said. "A woman named Ariel." His
breathing evened out and he stood straighter.

"She's
in the Underground?"

"She's
here in Shocker's."

"Does
she know that's where we are?"

"Pretty
sure she does." Sean opened the door and scanned the parlor's waiting
area. "Never thought I would say this, but we need to contact David for
help."

"I
thought you two didn't get along."

"We
don't. He reminds me too much of my brother, but that's also why I trust
him." Sean led the way out into the commotion of the v-parlor lobby. They
exited into the traffic-stalled street and picked their way across, back to
Carnal Escape.

More
people elbowed around the club now than last night.

"What's
Ariel look like?" Sara asked, scanning the face of each woman they passed,
trying to detect a threat.

"I
don't know. My guess is she'll be the one trying to kill us. The dance floor's
the best exit. We can use the crowd as cover."

Sara
didn't like the sound of this. "She could be any woman here. Does she know
what you look like?"

"No.
Maybe. Probably." He pushed Sara into an elevator. Blue mist engulfed
them. Anticipating a slide, she held her breath. When the dosed air seeped into
her lungs, she readied herself, but her mind remained clear.  Her
strongest memories were flashes of Sean and the phantom feeling of his touch.
Only vague hints of Faya and her torture pinched in the back of Sara's
mind—memories, not hallucinations.

Memories
were manageable.

The
door opened onto a green-tinged dance floor. Half-naked bodies undulated to the
oscillating beat of a wooden drum. Strobing purple lights made the movements
appear slow, adding to their sensual nature. Couples and groups docked in the
cushioned grottoes lining the side walls.

Sean
pressed his mouth to Sara's ear to be heard. "There's a service exit at
the other end of the dance floor. I've used it before."

They
shoved their way through the dancers, Sean guiding Sara from behind. Zealous
hands grabbed at the couple in invitation. Several dancers groped Sara as she
passed. Her skin flushed from the contact and the drugged mist. She stayed
aware of faces in the crowd, but only saw dosed parasites, pleased to be caught
up in their own arousals.

Except
for that guy.

Though
the misty interior masked his features, she caught the stranger's gaze tracking
them across the floor. She felt like she should know him, the way his body
moved as he paralleled their progress toward the exit. The blue mist swirled
and cleared for only a moment, allowing her to recognize him.

Chen.

"Move."
Sara shoved through the last six meters of the dance floor.

Chen
ran over dancers to get to them. He drew a cender and fired.

Sean
shoved Sara to the floor. With the palm of his hand he absorbed the cender's
blast as it burned a glowing wake through the mist. From this close she could
see the absorption field came from Sean's reporter. Dancers screamed and
stampeded in all directions.

She
waited for Sean to orb the energy back at Chen like those fraggers at Palomin
had that day. Instead, Sean closed his fist around the glowing energy ball
until it dissipated. The lights in the club flickered out for a moment.

"This
way." Sean pulled her up from the floor and through a shimmering silver
doorway. He rushed down the poorly lit grey hallway banging on one closed door
after another.

"Why
didn't you orb the energy back at him? He'll have the advantage now," Sara
said.

"Because
he was insane to fire a cender in there in the first place. Didn't you see the
mist ignite in its path? Concentrated into orb form, it would have caught all
the mist on fire and incinerated everyone inside, including us."

"Where
did it go? Did your body absorb it?"

"I
grounded out."

"I
don't understand," she said.

"I
was standing on a port in the floor. Sent the energy through my foot." He
picked a lock with his reporter. "Inside."

A
blast of cold like the airlock on Nanga Ki rushed at her. Black light played
over a long room of freezer cases. Inside were thousands of iridescent blue
star lilies, the source of the club's mist.  She'd never seen so many in
one place.

"Head
to the back. There'll be a door in the wall, behind this row of freezer
cases." Sean worked on the lock from the inside.

"That
won't stop Chen," Sara said.

"Your
Chen?"

"That
Chen." She waited for a reaction or disapproval, but Sean remained on
task.

A
faint click brought her head around. She saw a triton knife flash in the black
light and threw her hand up. The blade sliced a trail down her left cheek. With
a side step, she evaded another slash and shoved her knee into the man's groin,
then slammed both fists into the back of his neck. His triton clanged to the
floor as he fell into a heap. She hit his nose with the butt of her hand until
she heard the bone crunch.

Three
rogues emerged from the nearest row of freezers. Though she'd met them only on
rare occasions, Sara recognized them as Chen's associates.

Sean
scooped up the short-handled triton and engaged two of the rogues.

The
third tried to attack Sara from behind. Sara punched him in the jugular notch,
sending him sprawling against a table with syringes and vials marked BENZOATE
FLORAL PRESERVATIVE—TOXIC. When he slid onto the floor she kicked his spine
with her heel. She saw he wasn't getting back up and raced to Sean's aid. He
had already dispatched one of the rogues and stripped the downed man of his cender.

The
other rogue elbowed Sean in the temple. He repaid him with a slash across the
throat. Sean looked around to find Sara.

"Behind
you!" Sean lunged toward her.

Something
pierced her lower back. Sara fell to her knees. Pain shot into her gut and radiated
through her nerves. She fought to see through the tears and stars. The last few
centimeters of a metal flower corer stuck out of her abdomen. Her blood dropped
from its tip, darkening her shirt. She couldn't quite catch her breath from the
searing pain.

Sean
had already swept past her, unaware of her injury. He grabbed a large metal
syringe from the counter. With a swift move he jabbed the fragger Sara had
fought earlier.

The
man grabbed his shoulder. Sean freed himself with an elbow jab to the man's throat.
He stumbled backward, coughing. He choked out, "You're more like Zak than
I thought you'd be." Bloody foam spewed from his mouth.

Brief
recognition lit Sean's face. He kicked the man's knee to bring him down and
pointed a cender at his head.

"You
deserve to suffer, Ariel."

"Piss
off." The man spit through the bloody froth.

"Sean…."
Sara barely got his name out before pitching over.

Ariel's
thrashing and gasping drew no sympathy from Sean. He kneeled at Sara's side and
concentrated on her thin breath.

"Pull
this thing out of me." Blood seeped around her lips. She lay on her side
and wheezed.

"The
corer's keeping the bleeding down. It may do more damage if I remove it."
He examined where the metal tool had penetrated her back. "You won't be
able to ride very far like this.  I have to get you to a doctor."

He
knew where to find one, close, but taking an ambasadora to a covert fragger
facility might get them both killed. Still, he had to risk it.

Sara
closed her eyes.

"Hey,
I need you awake." He stroked her cheek.

Her
eyes opened. She tried a weak smile.

Admiration
for her grit edged out the panic Sean felt. He eased her to her feet, angry he
couldn't take her pain. Figuring Chen was on his way, Sean knew time was short.
He scooped Sara into his arms and palmed the door controls open.  He took
a deep breath, then stepped out into the buzzing street.

The
only people who paid any attention to the pair were those who weren't dosed out
of their minds or engaged with a partner. The few partiers who did watch didn't
find the sight of a man carrying a semi-conscious woman particularly odd.
Things like this happened all the time down here.

Sean
balanced walking quickly with walking steadily. He felt how the occasional
jostles had Sara gasping in pain by the way her breath changed. He had to move
faster.

He
spotted a transport a few meters ahead. The driver was out of his seat and
screaming at a hover bike rider. Under the transport's front left tire were the
remnants of the rider's bike. The dispute quickly escalated into a stim-fueled
shoving match. Sean slipped Sara into the passenger seat. Before the driver
could turn around, Sean had slammed the transport into gear. It shot forward,
rolling over the hover bike and clipping the rider.

The
driver grabbed onto the passenger door handle. Sara pushed the door's
auto-release. The latch clicked and the door swung open, plowing the driver
into an industrial trash bin.

Pedestrians
scattered. Sean accelerated through the narrow streets like they were part of a
memorized v-game map. He waved dosed pedestrians out of the way, shouting and
swerving around them before any of them ever even realized they'd been in
serious danger of being run down.

Sara's
breathing slowed.

"Stay
awake, okay? Almost there." She couldn't die, not after he finally found a
reason to live in this world. He grabbed her hand.

Hitting
the decelerator, he made a sharp right and stopped less than a meter from a
heavy metal gate. He held his hand under a small white box with multiple
sensors and scanners attached to it. The box contracted around Sean's fist like
a clamp and shot tracer pulses through his body, searching for idents.

Three
seconds later a chime sounded and the clamp released Sean's hand. The gate
squealed open.

Sean
palmed his pilfered cender, never knowing for certain the difference between
good will and a trap. He ran to the other side of the transport. Sara's head
lulled back and forth. Her blood, lots of it, added to the stains on the grimy
seat. Sean suppressed his alarm and slid his arms beneath her. He glanced at
the sleeve covering the bio-lights on her arm, rested his cheek against it and
tried to assure her she was safe now.

The
glowing on her hand would be harder to hide, and it was better if the fraggers
at this medical outpost didn't know she was an ambasadora. The doctor would
find out soon enough. Fortunately, this particular doctor trusted Sean, even if
no one else did right now.

A
woman with bobbed lavender hair waited for them at the end of the passageway.
It smelled antiseptic compared to the street outside.

Sean
called out, "I need a stretcher now."

The
woman crossed her arms over her chest.

"Did
you hear me? She needs help."

"Who's
she?"

"My
prime." The moment he brought Sara through the grate, the scanners had
alerted those inside that she didn't have idents.

"She's
not authorized. You can't bring her here even with your node status." The
fragger's gaze took in the blood trailing Sean down the passageway, but it
didn't change her mind.

Sean
pushed forward. She blocked the way and let her fingers slip to a cender
strapped on her thigh.

"She
needs help." Sean's voice amplified his desperation. "Yul knows me.
He took care of my initiation, and I've been in his service before."

The
woman's delicate features were offset by her aggressive stance. She looked from
Sean to Sara.

"Just
ask him!" Sean forced himself to remain calm. He knew his attitude
wouldn't help here.

A
man said, "Let him in."

For
a moment Sean thought the voice had come from behind him, and half-turned
before realizing it was the cocom Ephemerata had forced on him at the
Tredificio. It took another moment to realize he was actually eavesdropping on
this fragger's subvocal conversation.

The
woman stepped aside and motioned Sean through a sliding metal door.

Three
men rushed at him with a stretcher and equipment. He didn't want to let Sara
go.  He believed as long as he could hang onto her he could protect
her.  Relinquishing her to the others left him shivering and cold.

One
of the men snagged her sleeve, exposing her right hand. Sean's muscles
tightened as he prepared for an argument, or a fight. When the men failed to
respond, his stomach fell. Sara's bio-lights had faded so badly he had to
concentrate on her skin to find their patterns.

Another
sliding door opened to a blinding white light. Sean pushed after the stretcher
bearers, but a large man stopped him with a hand to his chest. "You have
to wait."

Sean's
frustration level ratcheted up by a factor of ten. Uncontrollable anger made
his face hot, pushed away his ability to see reason. He gave the fragger an
upper cut to the jaw. The bigger man staggered backward, due to surprise more
than the pain. Sean tried to push past, but got tackled from behind. The big
fragger threw Sean to the ground, knocking the wind from him. Sean struggled
and landed a damaging kick to the man's shin, but couldn't break free.

"Zak!"

Sean
twisted his head up to see Yul hovering over Sara.

"You're
not helping. I'll let you in if you promise to behave."

Sean
nodded.

Yul
motioned to the man perched on Sean, who let him stand after bouncing his
shoulder off the floor to make a point.

Sean
flew to Sara's side. Once it was just he and Yul, he asked, "Will she be
okay?"

"She's
an ambasadora." Yul ran a sterilizing irradiator over Sean.
"What were you thinking bringing her here?"

"I
was thinking she needs help. You're still a doctor, aren't you? Now, is she
going to be okay? She lost a lot of blood." Sean felt panic welling inside
him, an emotion he hadn't felt full-blown in years.

"If
that lot out there finds out who she is, they'll tear you both to bits. Maybe
me, too."

"She's
worth the risk," Sean said.

"What
is she to you? Not your prime. You were never the type to take an amour."

"She's
more than that to me." Speaking the sentiment out loud made Sean face the
idea that at some point since first meeting Sara Mendoza he decided he wanted
to spend the rest of his life with her. And just her. It must have been his
Lower Caste monogamy genes kicking in. Maybe he had just bypassed the emotional
fallacy stage and was full-blown delusional, but so far the delusion of Sara
outshined his dark reality.

Yul
cut her clothing away from the wound. "I'll do what I can for her."

"I
need you to do more than that. Please." Sean wondered if he should mention
the irradicae. Yul would notice them before he tripped them anyway, and he
might be reluctant to help her at all if he knew there was greater medical risk
involved.

"I
can trust you to keep her safe and locked away until I get back?" Sean
studied Yul's face.

"You're
leaving?"

"I
need to find us a ride out of here. Can I trust you?" Sean asked.

"You
wouldn't have brought her here if you didn't already know the answer to that
question," Yul said. "Besides, I owe you."

The
sincerity of Yul's words alleviated some of Sean's guilt.

"I'll
keep this room locked down. My codes for entrance only," Yul said.
"But secure a way out of here fast. Not everyone here can be
trusted."

"Thanks.
I'll be back soon. If I don't, make sure she gets in touch with David Anlow,
the pilot from my ship. And, tell her…." He couldn't imagine saying
good-bye to her.

"I'll
tell her you saved her. That she was worth the risk," Yul said.

Sean
stroked the skin on her arm one last time. He wanted to kiss her, but feared it
would be too much like a good-bye, so he left, promising himself he'd kiss her
again, soon, or die trying.

40

Chen
stood over Tennor's writhing body. The freezers' black light highlighted the white
thread of his clothing and the foam spattered on the floor around him.

"What
happened?"

Tennor
clasped his stomach and continued to roll back and forth. "Kill me."

"Looks
like someone stuck you with a preserving agent. That's some tough stuff. You'll
writhe for an hour maybe. If the pain doesn't kill you, the convulsions will.
Snap your neck right off your spine."

Tennor
whimpered and shook.

"Where's
Sara?"

"Fragger
doctor."

"Where?"
Chen asked.

"Please
kill me." Tennor's blued lips spat out the plea.

"Tell
me where."

"Lindenn
Street. First gate." Tennor's head snapped back and his body spasmed so
violently he almost came off the floor. He reached for Chen's cender, but Chen
held it just out of his reach. Tennor's knees jerked. He kicked the concrete floor
so hard the bones in his feet and ankles splintered.  He pounded the floor
with his fists, breaking the bones in his hands with muffled little pops. His
body straightened with a series of escalating cracks, then just as suddenly was
still.

Chen
tapped his reporter and spoke into the empty air, hoping the signal Tennor had
boosted for him earlier would reach Faya a few streets down. "Ariel's
dead. Sara and the fragger are still here in the Underground. They went to see
a fragger doctor. I'm heading there now."

"Are
you insane?" Faya's gravelly voice mocked him.

"What's
the problem?" Chen asked.

"A
contractor walking into fragger territory by himself. They'll slice you then
fry you."

"We
can't let them disappear again." Chen noticed a strip of light on the
floor behind a freezer case and walked toward it.

"Stay
where you are. I'm coming to you," Faya said. "There may be a way to
flush out Sara and Cryer."

"Fine.
I'm…on Lindenn Street. Near the first gate." Or he would be soon. Chen
ended the communication and stepped into the bright lights of the street.

41

Ear-shattering
wails and electronic screeches blasted from a raucous group of street musicians
farther down Lindenn.

Sean
made a left and slipped into an alley. He glanced around for spying eyes before
pulling himself up onto a low-hanging roof. The rusting metal groaned under his
weight in places, but held him. When he reached a circular exhaust chimney, he
stooped down and removed the pale green plastic cap that kept pests out.

His
hand slid down the narrow tube. The inside was smooth ceramic. Once he pushed
in up to his elbow, he rubbed his fingers along the side in all directions
until he found his prize. He pinched a small bit of metal like a builder's nail
between his thumb and forefinger and carefully lifted it to the surface.

The
jack's sharp point glinted in the streetlights. Jacking was standard practice a
decade ago, until fraggers invented jackless reporters. The Embassy killed a
few operatives and stole the design for their contractors. So, the fraggers
released the tech into the general population as revenge. The Embassy still
took credit, however, citing it as an example of how the Sovereign's scientists
had found a way to improve personal communication.

But,
there was only one way to communicate with the outside world here in the
Latulip Underground, with an old-fashioned jack.

Taking
a deep breath, then releasing it slowly, Sean pushed the jack into the soft
skin on the inside of his wrist. With a little effort he threaded it into the
nerve cluster which held the brain of his reporter. His mouth twitched at the
insertion. He clenched his teeth. The sting brought tears to his eyes, even
with the extra stims in his system. He'd forgotten how much it hurt.

Sean
searched his mind for the transmission signature he needed.

An
androgynous voice filled his head. "This is a scientific vessel owned
by the Embassy. Your communication is illegal."

"City
girls." Sean spoke the password he'd programmed a while ago. He held his
breath until it cleared him.

"Please
specify which passenger you would like to communicate with." The androgynous voice was the same, but
this time it was interactive.

"Navigational
Leader David Anlow."

"Connecting
to Bard secure
line."

While
Sean waited, he scanned the area from his rooftop vantage point. Even the scant
light up here seemed harsh compared to the darkness below. His heart felt just
as dark thinking about Sara.

"Who
is this?"

Though
Sean couldn't see David's face, he could hear tension in the man's voice.

"David,
it's Sean."

"Sean?
What th—? Where are you?" The
tone changed slightly, but not necessarily for the better.

"I'm…."
He hesitated, second-guessing his decision to trust David.

There
were few alternatives at this point. Deep down Sean knew the Armadan was
honorable. Besides, anyone who walked out on the military couldn't be all bad.

"I'm
in the Underground with Sara. She's been hurt."

"Injuries
from the Tredificio?"

"No."

There
was a pause on both ends.

"We
need a discrete pick up, David."

"No
good."

"What
do you mean 'no good'? I know we've had some problems, but Sara doesn't have
time—"

"Sovereign
Prollixer's Head Contractor is on board. Guy by the name of Rainer
Varden."

Sean's
heart stuttered. "What's he doing there?"

"He
says he's Sara's bodyguard, but there's an awful lot going on behind the
scenes. You know all about that, though, don't you? It's why you two
left."

"Sara
never mentioned a bodyguard." If that euphemism was the contractor's idea
of a joke, Sean would cut the smile right off his face when he finally met him.

Then
again, what if Sara hadn't told Sean the truth? He snapped a piece of metal
from the rusted roof and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. He shook
the thought off. That was his stim-induced paranoia talking. After all they
shared, he would trust her with his life.

"Kenon's
dead, Sean."

The
news stunned him.

"What
happened? Did he make it out of the Tredificio?" He had known Kenon for
six years. Though not the best of friends, they had some good times.

"It
wasn't the eruption. He died protecting Geir from a female contractor at Soli's
estate."

"What
were they doing there? Is Soli okay?"

"She's
alive, at least in body. Trala was killed, too."

"Trala?"
Sean squeezed his eyes shut. He had been closer to Soli than anyone else on the
ship, mainly because of her refusal to leave him to his own misery. He couldn't
imagine the pain she must be feeling. "What happened?"

"My
guess is the contractors were after Sara and her fragger operative."

Sean
couldn't say anything, and David's sudden silence made his point clearer than
his accusatory tone.

"Why
involve Soli?" Sean asked.

"We
may never know the truth. Rainer had her committed to the psych ward at Embassy
Hospital."

"You
just let all this happen?" He didn't mean for it to come out that way, but
frustration and guilt got the better of him.

"I
didn't just let this happen, Sean. You did. You and Sara and whatever games
you're playing."

Silence.

"I'll
come for you and Sara somehow, but I can't promise the others will welcome you
back," David said.

"All
of this is wrong. A misunderstanding." He wanted to explain what had
happened to Sara, to him, but there wasn't time.

"I
don't care what your excuses are. Two of our crew are dead, people who meant
something to me, and who knows what will happen to Soli. I'll come for you, not
because you mean anything to me. I'm coming because I don't leave people
behind, even if they deserve it."

Sean
drew in a breath. "Understood. As soon as Sara stabilizes I'll transmit
again."

He
cut the transmission and sat very still. Things were completely out of control.
The cacophony of sound floating up from the street mirrored the chaos in his
life right now. If it weren't for saving Sara, he might do exactly what
Ephemerata had warned him about—stare into the abyss and jump. And, if Sara
didn’t make it, that jump would be far too easy for him.

He
climbed down the side of the building and headed back toward Lindenn.

A
small boy waited for him at a blind corner. "Don't go back there."

Sean
looked around while he questioned the boy. "What are you talking
about?"

"Back
to the gate with the claw box."

Sean
grabbed the kid's wrist.

The
boy's eyes opened wide and he talked fast. "A contractor gave me six
blocks to tell him where you took the bleeding girl from that transport."

"Why
are you telling me now?"

"So
you'll give me more to tell him you left the Underground."

Sean
hesitated putting his trust in someone who could be bought so easily by so
little, but he needed to get Sara out of there while Yul still held sway with
the other fraggers. He couldn't do that with Chen trailing him.

He
let the kid go. "I don't have any blocks."

"They
said you wouldn't." The kid ran.

Something
hard hit Sean in the back of the head. Pain streaked through his mind and
blurred his vision. He heard his assailant step onto the street behind him.
Even as his consciousness spiraled away, Sean's training took over. His right
leg kicked backward like a piston. The move rewarded him with the satisfying
crack of a knee joint splintering in the wrong direction followed by a
suppressed scream.

He
turned around and stepped forward in a basic fighting stance. His eyes wouldn't
focus. A dark figure lay on the ground, grasping its damaged leg. Sean went for
his stolen cender when he caught movement to his right.

Smooth,
hard muscles propelled him into the battle. A blur of black topped in pink
flashed past him on the left. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

Cender.

The
shot sizzled into his brain. Burning pain spread through him, but the level
wasn't high enough to kill him. He collapsed to his knees.

A
female voice buzzed in his ears. "Where's Sara?"

"I
got rid of her," he said and threw his forehead into the woman's.

Another
set of hands secured his arms behind him. The pink-haired contractor pushed
herself up with one arm, the other secured in a bone mender. With her free hand
she stuffed a rag in Sean's mouth. It smelled of strawberries. Or maybe the
scent was hers. With a raised boot, she kicked him onto his side. His shoulder
took the brunt, but his head still hit the ground with a crack.

"We
need you alive, not necessarily in one piece. I've been wanting to get my hands
on you for a while."

Sean
knew they were after the data. If he didn't make it, Sara would need it to make
a deal for her life. He opened his subvocal link to Yul. Since others would be
eavesdropping like Sean had earlier, he said what they would consider
gibberish, but what Yul would figure out later.

"Compromised.
Take Sara to my initiation. Check the lights—"

The
female contractor kicked Sean in the jaw, breaking his subvocal link and nearly
stealing his consciousness. She slid Ariel's plundered triton from a sheath
under Sean's pant leg. The cold steel burned as she worked it into the skin of
his wrist. Warm blood leaked down his arm. Feeling the point of the knife
probing under the skin and slicing through nerves kept Sean from passing out.
With a final, violent rip and a blast of searing pain, the woman tore the
reporter and jack from his arm.

42

Rainer
stared at the white walls of Sara's suite. The mirrors at the far corner only
reflected more of the alabaster nothingness. His fingers kneaded the Deleinean
silk gown on the bed where he sat. Her soft scent hung on the turquoise fabric.

No
more roses. Instead,
there lingered a light smell he didn't recognize. The mech tech fragger had
taken that scent memory from Rainer.

He
tossed the dress aside. His relief that she lived through the Tredificio
destruction twisted into suspicion. He now accepted that she wasn't with Sean
Cryer against her will, that maybe she had run off with him. Perhaps she was
playing an angle to get at Prollixer. The theory rested on shaky ground. Rainer
despised the fact that he even cared what happened to her at this point. At one
time he imagined her as his amour. Her elevated status as an ambasadora would
make her more acceptable to his family circle. Then the good Sovereign ruined
her.

The
disappointment he felt troubled him. That's why he'd rebounded with Dahlia when
she'd asked, and why he'd agreed to a child with her immediately. Yet, here he
was, chasing Sara for the Sovereign, at least that was his official story.

Her
resilience fascinated him. Though Prollixer would never admit it, Sara had a
certain power. When the Embassy thought they could use her for their own
purposes, she surprised them, turned on them, even Rainer.

His
shoulders rolled back as he tried to dismiss thoughts of her, not the images of
her from after her modification sessions, times when she needed him most. He
wanted to be rid of those thoughts, instead focusing on Sara after Prollixer
had changed her, when she became defiant.

Rainer
remembered pressing against her in the communications kiosk, of the harsh words
they had spoken to one another. When he called her a liar, it was because he
recognized an attraction she still held for him, one she'd fiercely deny by the
time they could finally act upon it.

She
blamed him for not helping her sooner. He figured if anybody could've gotten
her out it would've been him. But it would've cost him his position, his
family.  No reasonable man would take those kinds of risk, no matter the
intensity of the attraction.

Yet
guilt stirred inside him. And desire. All he wanted to do was feel her, taste
her, have her. Like the way she once wanted him.

Rainer
picked up a chair by the bed and threw it into the corner mirror. He looked at
his reddened visage, mimicked over a thousand small shards, and hated her for
introducing this weakness, this emotional fallacy, to a life he'd built on
strength and careful analysis.

He
needed to talk to Dahlia. She allowed him to remain focused because he would
never burn for her like he did for Sara. Dahlia needed him for a breeding
relationship, nothing so personal and complicated as what he had with Sara.

He
opened an air screen and punched in Dahlia's code.

Her
surprised face appeared in the space in front of him. She was prettier than
Sara, but the observation didn't make him feel any different. Sometimes she
reminded him too much of her sister, Faya.

"Rainer?" Dahlia's voice betrayed a nervous pitch.

"Were
you expecting someone else?"

"You
shouldn't be contacting me."

His
brow knitted. "What's happening, Dahlia? Is it something with Sara?"

The
mention of Sara's name turned Dahlia's nervousness into irritation. "She'd
be smart to hide. The Sovereign wants her brought in, and Faya's pushing for a
Writ of Execution."

"So
she can collect on Sara's death. What is Faya using as her argument?"
Rainer imagined it stemmed from her own miserable failings during the
modification. Maybe it was just to get to him.

"Under
the auspices of treason. Because of the Palomin data cache," Dahlia said. "Faya has help.
From Chen Starrie. He was the rogue who used Sara to siphon that data in the
first place."

"What
does he get out of it?"

"Faya
promised Chen a full pardon and re-instatement as a guild contractor once all
of this is over."

"She's
making some big promises for a mid-level contractor."

"A
mid-level contractor who has the Sovereign's ear."

Apparently
the confidence did not go both ways, otherwise Faya would have known that
Prollixer hijacked Sara's lineage. Rainer was certain that seeing Sara
disgraced, in pain, and forced to take her own life would have been more
appealing to Faya, even if she wouldn't receive any remuneration for it. Still,
Rainer worried because Faya's power play couldn't have come at a worse time.

"Rainer,
she's pushing for collusion with a known fragger operative and a rogue
contractor."

The
mention of Sara with Cryer made Rainer's jaw clench and his chest tighten.
"If Prollixer's pardoning Starrie, can he really make a case for Sara's
collusion?"

"Chen's
not the rogue he's talking about."

Rainer's
mind ran through lists of names and faces of contractors who could be involved.
Nobody else was in any kind of position to do the kinds of things…. The hairs
on the back of Rainer's neck stiffened. There were no other players except the
original ones.

"Prollixer
put the writ out on me, didn't he?"

"Yes." Dahlia's bottom lip twitched, but
otherwise she showed no emotion.

Reality
slammed into him like a runaway monorail. The Sovereign knew how Rainer had
helped Sara during Faya's modification sessions, why he'd taken on the
responsibility of being Sara's bodyguard.  Maybe he even knew about
Rainer's fallacy for the woman.

"Tell
me everything, Dahlia."

Her
gaze met his through the viewer. "We have Cryer, but Sara's still
somewhere on Tampa Quad."

Dahlia
blinked one too many times when she spoke about Sara. Rainer balled his hand
into a fist. Even his amours were lying to him now.

"Is
she hurt?" Rainer's voice remained steady, his gaze fixed. He never gave
up tells.

"Probably.
But it will be worse when Faya finds her." Dahlia's half-smile dared Rainer to
reveal something.

"If
your sister's smart, she'll control her homicidal tendencies. Sara's too
valuable. She may be the only one who can get us out of this mess."

"What
do you mean?"
Dahlia's eyes widened a bit too much, pretending innocence.

"Stop
it, Dahlia. You don't have it in you to bluff. I need exact locations."

"Do
you plan to save Cryer, too?"

"He
can rot. But knowing where he's being held could be good leverage." Rainer
wasn't sure if Sara cared, but David Anlow wasn't about to let another person
under his watch disappear.

"Sara's
in the Latulip Underground."

That's
why Rainer couldn't find her through the minstrels and voyeurs. He would never
have thought Cryer would risk taking Sara into fragger territory and a dead
zone. "Where's Cryer?"

"I
don't know." Dahlia
swallowed after she spoke.

"Stop
lying to me, Dahlia. Writ or not, I am still your amour and the father of your
child. I can make life very difficult for you once this is all cleared
up."

The
cock of her head showed defiance, so he added, "Don't underestimate me or
you'll end up on the losing side."

Rainer's
heart raced with news of how badly the odds had become stacked against him, and
his mind flooded with options, including running. But, he made sure none of
that showed on his icy exterior. A Writ of Execution was just paperwork—showing
weakness was the real death sentence.

Dahlia's
tanned face became pale and splotchy. He was slightly relieved that she still
feared his power.

"They
took the fragger to Palomin. Don't contact me again until this is over. I have
a child to think about."
Dahlia's image dissipated.

Rainer
ignored her last jab. He was already planning his next move. If he played all
his options well, there wouldn't be a need to go back to Palomin. Once Sara was
safe, Sean Cryer's bones could crumble to dust in the desert sun.

43

This
had better work.

David
watched the night side of Tampa Quad come into view. He'd already been
concocting a reason to land at Shiraz Dock and find a way to get to Sean and
Sara without anyone knowing.

His
response to the question, as it surfaced every few minutes in his head, was
always, because I have to. It wasn't duty. It was emancipation from
guilt.

Most
citizens only saw the military in action during major rescue operations, like
the recent destruction of the Tredificio. Yet, the Armada was in combat
situations often enough—quelling uprisings when specialized contractors would
be wasted on the effort, closing off borders near the unstable Giovani
Territory, even breaking up siphoning stations along the Kimberly River.

The
Embassy had always kept them away from fragger activity, however. David never
knew why until his last official mission, when Lyra and some of the others
began to turn, when he had to leave some of the mutineers behind.

So
what did the military do? They promoted her. That's when David left both Lyra
and his commission. If the Sovereign knew how the Armadans were working more
for themselves than the Embassy, he'd have the whole military disbanded. He
preferred his mercenary contractors anyway.

A
tell-tale clump of rubber soles preceded Rainer's appearance in front of
David's holo-controls. The contractor's black boots nearly blended into the
dark floor. "Land at the Hub. I need to pick up Ambasadora Mendoza at
Latulip."

"You
heard from her?" David feared Rainer had been listening to his
conversation with Sean.

"Sara
was seen there, and she may be injured."

David
didn’t miss the fact Rainer had called her by her given name. "You know
this for certain?" David tapped his reporter and stood over Rainer in the
fading control icons.

"Yes.
We're wasting time. My only objective is to bring her back. Shouldn't that be
your objective as well?"

"What
about Sean? Is he with her?"

"No
mention of the mech tech. He's not my concern. Now get me there."

"I
can go with you and help you bring them back."

David
expected a sarcastic remark or an argument, but Rainer looked to be considering
the idea. Maybe he was getting desperate. David sweetened the deal. "I'm
weapons trained and discreet." David knew the only way Sean might get back
alive was with his help. He waited for Rainer's reaction.

The
contractor didn't twitch.

David
changed tactics, hoping he had correctly read the signs of Rainer's attraction
to Sara. "You need someone who wants to get her back as badly as you
do."

"This
all finally makes sense," Rainer said. "I saw the vid of you with her
from Nanga Ki. Is that why you want her back?"

The
edge in Rainer's voice put David on guard.

"You
can't believe everything you see. I would help anyone in her situation."
He left Sean out of it this time, wondering if Rainer would be more likely to
accept assistance if it were only for Sara. David had no intention of leaving
Sean behind, but Rainer didn’t need to know that right now.

"Get
me there first." Rainer said. "Then we'll discuss if I need you
further."

"We
agree to it now or we go nowhere."

"For
all your talk of helping others, you seem anxious to risk Sara's life for
principle. I suppose all those rumors Captain Simpra's been spreading have an
edge of truth to them."

Rainer
played this game better than David because Rainer Varden would risk many lives
just to prove his authority.

Every
kilo of David wanted to tackle the man to the bridge floor and smash in his
smug, perfect face. Instead, he dropped back into the holo-controls. "We
arrive in thirty minutes."

And
that was exactly how much time he had to think of something.

44

"Who
are you? Where's Sean?" Sara's speech was mostly sputtering.

She
heard pounding, and not just in her head. Her eye lids drooped as she struggled
to wake herself, but she kept forcing them open. The rhythmic insistence of
fists on metal sounded from the white door behind her.

The
man in the room took a silver flask from the counter and popped its cap under
her nose. The metallic smell invaded her nostrils and her brain. Its familiar
tang brought brief panic when she thought she'd found herself back in a
modification cell. She believed she could feel Faya's hair tickling her cheek
while she administered the drugs. Sara pulled her arm up in defense, but a
restraint dug into her wrist.

"Sorry.
Occupational precaution," the man muttered, unlocking the padded metal
bands. "Seems silly to use on an ambasadora. I'm Yul, by the way."

Sara
took a breath and the strawberry brush of Faya's hair became a scratch from
Sean's stubbly cheek. Remembering their night together calmed her.

The
pounding halted.

Yul's
head snapped up. "They'll hack my door soon." He grabbed a fresh blue
sheet from a cupboard and placed it beside her.

"Where's
Sean?" she asked again.

The
frantic alarm from the door hinted that they didn't have much time. Yul tapped
a finger to his palm. The alarm died.

"He
went to get help, but he'll be too late. I'm getting you out of here because I
promised him no harm would come to you."

"How
will Sean know where to find us?"

"I'm
hoping to contact him on the outside." Yul's gaze drifted away from hers as
he said this. The alarm shrilled again. He tapped his reporter, but the alarm
wouldn't respond this time. "I'm sorry we have to go now. I'll explain
once we're safe."

Sara
slid from the table and nearly toppled to the floor. Yul ran to her side and
steadied her. "Careful. You'll tear all that newly-mended tissue."

She
wrapped the sheet around her like a sari, while Yul worked at a wall box beside
the door. The alarm bleated out of existence. "Lucky for us, they
underestimate me—I wasn't always a doctor. But that was my last trick."

"Let's
go before they get savvy."

"Right."
Yul palmed open a panel in the wall and ushered Sara into the awaiting
darkness. The panel snapped shut behind them.

"You're
glowing again." Yul motioned to Sara's bio-lights. They were bright enough
to make out their swirly pattern. "That's a good sign."

The
illuminated floor outshone her body art, revealing the room's giant occupants.
At least a dozen metal spheres, measuring half her height and just as wide,
rested at the bottom of matching launch tubes. Sara's gaze followed the tubes
angling high into the wall.

"Parcel
launches?" She touched her back where the corer had penetrated. "I'm
not crazy about bouncing around in a high-speed metal ball being sucked through
a vacuum tube in my current condition."

"Let
me see how your mending is holding up." Yul unfolded the sheet to expose
her lower back. "The synthskin patch doesn't show signs of corruption, and
my reporter verifies the mender beneath it is healing the tissue already. Even
with some jostling in there, you won't have scarring. Most fraggers don't care,
but a woman in your position relies on her image." He lowered his eyes as
though she were the Sovereign herself.

His
response unnerved her, embarrassed her. There was nothing special about her,
except for some purple bugs living in her arm.

"I'm
just a Socialite who got captured and tortured and modified and forced to do
Simon Prollixer's bidding."

The
shock in his face made her regret having said anything.

"Then
you are more remarkable than I could have known. I understand why Sean's taken
with you."

"He's
more remarkable than I am," she said, worry creeping into her voice.

Yul
popped the seal on one of the grey spheres. "I'm not the only one who
knows about these abandoned launches, so they'll figure it out
eventually." Taking her by the elbow, he helped her inside.

Sara
stopped him from closing the lid. "Where am I going to end up?"

"Shiraz
Dock by Carrey Bay. See you there in ninety seconds. And if anything should
happen before then, it was nice to have met you, ambasadora."

That's
encouraging.

Yul
pulled his arm away and slammed the lid closed. The sudden darkness startled
her. Sara braced herself, hoping the thin foam padding would be enough to keep
from being knocked out.  She held her breath.

The
tube launched.

Sara's
stomach fell from the force of acceleration. She had the slight sensation of
spinning, but was unable to tell up from down at this speed. It was like
blasting off in a starship without the reassurance of restraints.

The
coffin-like claustrophobia of the parcel sphere squeezed her mind. Images of
Sean rushed with her through the vacuum. His crooked smile. The stare of his
brown eyes. His kiss.

A
sudden jig to the left shoved her shoulder into the concave wall. She felt a
tear at the tender synthetic skin over her wound. Her mind grabbed for calming
images again: His kiss, not Sean's. Chen's. At Palomin. Before he left her. Had
he kissed her good-bye? Rainer never did.

A
spin to the right knocked her head.

Rainer.
His dark hair. Hands that barely touched her. Stopping the pain. Not quite
pleasure. Pleasure was Sean. Not an emotional fallacy. But, Sean was gone.

Sara's
body became heavier. The sphere decelerated. When it rolled to a gentle stop,
she suddenly felt very alone.

45

The
sunset spread onto Carrey Bay from the West, leaving the brightly lit shops of
Latulip to their purples and blues.

Rainer
tossed a few blocks to a street vendor, then left the kiosk's hot pink glow to
offer David a bottle of water. He needed an excuse to stay topside in Latulip
until he grabbed another read from Lyra's network of voyeurs and mind
minstrels. Once they hit the Underground, there would be no outside
communications.

He'd
like a better read on David, too. He brought the Armadan along to watch his
back, especially with the Sovereign passing out Writs at Faya's every whim.
Rainer only hoped he wouldn't regret arming David with a pair of cenders.

The
big man may have suspected his role as shield for now, but his nonchalant
posture masked all but the most subtle cues. David's apprehension only showed
in his wide stance and crossed arms. And though he'd flipped the cap off the
water bottle several minutes ago, he hadn't taken a drink.

"What
are we waiting for?" David asked.

Rainer
took a draw from his bottle. A melody carried on the slight breeze as the synth
spiders began spinning their electric webs on Carrey Bay. "I want an
update before we storm in there." Rainer could manipulate the situation
with half-truths and outright deception, but wanted to observe David's reaction
to the truth. "About Cryer."

"I
thought you said there was no mention of Sean. Something change?"

"Nothing
that concerns you."

David's
body language remained neutral and gave no hints to his intentions. Rainer
stayed alert.

"He's
part of my crew. It concerns me," David said.

"You
have no crew. Just passengers."

David
uncrossed his arms.

Rainer
put a hand to his cender. His other wrist vibrated, indicating an incoming
message on his reporter. It scrolled across his palm. David stepped closer.

Rainer
tapped his palm. Music played in his head, a snippet from a mind minstrel
stationed along the parcel launch docks on this side of Carrey Bay, filtered to
him via Captain Simpra's network. The cadence was choppy and fast with breaks
into a liquid refrain.

His
smile. His eyes. His kiss. Sean.

His
kiss. Chen's kiss. Before he left.

Before
Rainer.

His
touch.

After
Rainer.

His
pleasure. His kiss.

Not
a fallacy.

Sean.

Alone.

Not
a fallacy.

So
alone.

His
smile. His—

The
song looped, but Rainer caught what he needed the first time.

"Sara's
at the docks."

They
caught a water transport. Rainer crushed his empty bottle and threw it into a
disposal unit as Sara's song replayed over and over in his head. He wondered
what it meant.

46

"Let
me out." Sara screamed, panic invading her already too small space.

For
several minutes she felt along the sides of the sphere, looking for the
release. She found it near the bottom, just when she thought for sure her
oxygen had run out. With a racing heart and shallow, labored breaths, she
rocked the parcel launch back and forth until the release was on her left.
Jamming a thumb into the depression, she released the seal with a hiss.

She
spilled out into the Tampa Quad night and onto a heap of spheres. Their grey
coatings reflected repeating images of blinking purples and blues. A breeze
cooled the perspiration on her face. She rolled over onto her hands and knees,
her head hanging low to control her deep breathing before she hyperventilated.
Her fingers probed the area where the corer had penetrated. No seepage, but
still some pain.

Under
and around her were thousands of parcel spheres. Crawling over the shifting
mass, Sara reached the edge of a large cargo container. The purple and blue
reflections took shape as strands of lights strung between nearby buildings.
Just a few meters beneath those, hundreds of citizens sat at café tables and
danced in the cobbled alleyway. Smells of fried fish and spilled alcohol wafted
up from the carnival atmosphere. Though she hadn't eaten in a while, the aroma
of food turned her stomach.

Melodies
from a pair of synth spiders and Media commentary from multiple air screens
competed with the raucous crowd.

Sara
ducked when a voyeur drifted up out of the partiers. Once a beacon of safety,
the floating transmitters had now become deadly tattles, promising her capture
if they looked her way.

She
scanned the crowd, looking for Sean, but knew she wouldn't see him. Abandonment
never crossed her mind. Her instincts said he was in more trouble than she was
right now.

A
metallic clunk nearly sent Sara out of her skin. Yul emerged from his own
sphere and crawled the unstable gauntlet to her. She waved him down as a voyeur
crested the cargo container from behind. He dropped and lay still. The voyeur
kept moving above the spheres, but finally settled over the front of the
container and into the festivities below.

The
dock parties, infamous for their cheap booze and fights, were more interesting
than two people crawling out of a parcel launch.

Yul
dragged his body up to hers. "Hello again."

Sara
eyed his olive shirt, then peered over the container's far side, away from the
carnival. "Take off your shirt."

"Why?"

"Because
we need my sheet, and I'm not walking around that dock in just a pair of
panties."

Yul
pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to Sara. "The sheet will only
give us about three meters."

"Not
if we tear it into sections."

"Still
a nasty drop."

"Do
you have another way to get down?" Sara untied the sheet and slipped on
Yul's shirt. It smelled like talc with a tinge of chemicals from the medical suite.

"I've
been trying to think of one ever since I climbed into that parcel sphere."
He grabbed one side of the sheet and thrust his triton into its center.

Seeing
the doctor rip through the powdery blue fabric with the knife gave her chills.
Until that point she had considered him harmless, but he was still a fragger.
She held onto the thought that he had risked his own life to save her.

"Sean's
in trouble, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes,
he sent me a subvocal transmission just before I woke you. The others in the
fragger compound heard it. That's why they came running."

"Where
is he?" Sara felt sick.

"I
don't know, only that he's been compromised."

"What
does that mean?" Panic rose inside her.

"Most
likely he's been captured. He asked me to get you to a fragger initiate center
in Rushow. It's a safe house with people we trust, and he told me how to access
the data. We can use that to get him released."

Another
voyeur peeked from the far corner of the cargo container. Sara and Yul lay as
flat as they could among the parcel spheres. As soon as it wandered away, she
tied one end of the sheet to an opening in the lip of the container where the
automated cranes grabbed the monstrous spheres for removal.

Yul
tugged at the knots where he joined the sheets and helped her over the side.
"Remember, I'll be at Rushow, at the end of the dragon's tail."

"You're
not coming with me?"

He
was already gone. "Yul?"

Sara
was on her own again. Her bare feet stuck to the metal sides in the humidity of
Carrey Bay. Hoping not to draw any attention from the revelers on the other
side, she half-walked, half-rappelled down the cargo container. When she
reached the end of the sheet, she didn't even look down. Dropping feet first
onto the cobbled stone surface jarred her body. Her lower back throbbed in
response.

She
looked up, hoping Yul had decided to follow.

The
side of the cargo container was bare. No Yul, no sheet.

A
hand wrapped around her mouth and pulled her to the shadows behind the
container. She pummeled and kicked at her captor, but her weakened condition
hindered her ability to defend herself.

The
assailant pushed her to her knees. The sudden contact with the cool cobbles
forced pain up through her legs and into her back and abdomen, where it pooled
and reverberated within her wound. At one time she would have welcomed pain
like this to quell her panic. Not anymore.

She
looked up into the end of a cender held by a tall woman. A couple of males as
large as David flanked her. Maybe Simon sent the military for her.

"We
need the data you got from Sean Cryer," the woman said.

"I
don't know who or what you're talking about."

The
woman smashed the cender against the side of Sara's head. She crumpled
sideways. Her shoulder bounced off the rounded stones.

"Did
that help your memory?" the Armadan asked.

Pain
blurred Sara's vision, but she still caught movement at the top of the cargo
container. A barrage of parcel spheres rolled off the side. The rumbling drew
the Armadans' attention.

Sara
rolled out of the way.

One
of the male Armadans leaped in the wrong direction and caught a sphere to the
chin. The female noticed Sara's escape and fired a cender at her, but an
incoming sphere bounced in the way. The static blast blew a hole in the side of
the sphere. It rained down large pieces of hot metal shrapnel.

Sara
pushed to her feet and sprinted around the side of the cargo container,
targeting the green lights of the docks. She could hide among the hundreds of
ships berthed there.

A
hand on her left arm jolted her reflexes into fighting mode. She thrust her
index and middle fingers from her free hand at her assailant's eyes.

Icy
blue eyes.

Rainer
caught her by the wrist.

Her
relief at seeing him gave way to a tired embrace. His woody scent masked the
smells of the dock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yul at the top of the
cargo container. He waited for a sign from Sara that she was safe, then
disappeared over the other side.

David
appeared from the other direction. "Are you okay?" he asked Sara.
Then, he drew his cenders and pointed them past her.

The
Armadans, bloodied and bruised, faced them, weapons drawn.

"What
are you doing here, Lyra?" David asked.

"She
watched the feeds like we did," Rainer said.

Sara
felt lost. Apparently everyone knew each other except for her.

"You
got here faster than I expected," Lyra said.

"Did
you think you'd be in and out with her before anyone knew?" Rainer asked.

"Something
like that," Lyra said.

"What
do you want with me?" Sara asked. If they were working against Rainer,
then Simon had stepped up his game, and she was losing fast.

"Answering
a Writ of Abduction for the Sovereign's errant ambasadora."

"A
writ?" The warmth drained from Sara's cheeks.

A
voyeur slid around the side of the cargo container. Rainer blasted it with his
cender, sending it plummeting to the ground beside them. The action put the
Armadans on high alert, alternately scanning the skies for more voyeurs and
keeping track of Rainer's itchy trigger finger.

David
put his hands out in a peaceable gesture. "Are we going to be able to walk
out of here without someone getting killed?"

"You
should know I don't negotiate." Rainer's finger moved to the trigger.

"I
don't care about you, Rainer." Lyra stared at Sara. "I want Cryer's
data."

"So
Simon asked you to recover what I couldn't? No wonder he wants me dead,"
Sara said. "Too bad Sean's gone."

"You
know where he is," Lyra said.

"Would
I be running around like this if I did?" Sara never blinked, and her tone
was strong. "I guess you can't trust many people these days."

"You're
lying." Lyra's voice trembled slightly. "Where is he? People will die
without that information!"

"Simon's
the only one dying, and I don't see where that's a bad thing," Sara said.

"It's
not just him," Lyra bit out.

"Ah,
Lyra." David lowered his weapon. "Please tell me you didn't let them
inject you with those bots. Is that what happened to the others before the
mutiny?" His tone hinted at an intimacy they may have shared at one time.

"She
has Simon's curse." Sara looked at the male Armadans and realized they,
too, had been affected.

Lyra
didn't bother to make eye contact.

"I
told you not to do it, Lyra." David's voice came as a sad whisper. "I
practically begged you."

"You
cursed yourself," Sara said without pity. "Just like Simon."

Rainer's
face screwed up in disgust. "You've polluted your line. A true Upper never
resorts to gene manipulation, not even for procreation."

"Save
your lecture. It was my duty to the Embassy." Lyra stood a bit straighter.

"Duty
never usurps family," Rainer said. "And, there are horrors worse than
death, like having your family circle disgraced and marked in shame
forever."

Lyra
stepped toward Rainer. "You say things like that because, no matter hard
you try and how many generations go by, contractors will never be what they
pretend to be—Armadans. There's nothing special about you, Rainer. You're
pretty and you're devious, but in the end, you're still as much a Socialite as
the woman standing beside you, only with a weaker gene—"

"Stop
it, Lyra." David stepped between them.

Rainer
dialed up his cenders. Sara put a pacifying hand against his chest and pleaded
with him. "We need her."

"For
what?" Rainer asked.

Sara
focused on Lyra. "I'll make sure you get the data if you secure amnesty
for all of us, including the other passengers on the Bard."

"Agreed,"
Lyra said.

"I'm
not done," Sara said. "I want you to help me find Sean and bring him
back."

"She
can't keep that promise," Rainer said.

"She's
in a better position than you are right now," David said.

Sara
walked over to Lyra and looked up into her eyes. "If you help me get Sean
back, I'll turn myself in with the data," Sara said.

"Don't
be foolish, Sara," Rainer said.

"If
I have the cure, I won't need you," Lyra said. "You can go and live
your life with your fragger or your contractor or both, if you want."

"Then
gather whatever force you can," Sara said. "I'll be in touch
soon."

She
took a risk trusting Lyra, but then desperate people were sometimes the most
reliable…until they got what they wanted.

47

A
final clang of metal on concrete marked the end of Sean's struggle with his
steel bindings. He managed only to work them deeper into the flesh on his
wrists and ankles. The muscles in his back bunched up in spasms. After leaving
the cargo hold of the light cruiser, the contractors shackled him again in this
dank cell. He tried keeping track of time by counting his heartbeats, but lost
count too many times already. For all he knew, he could have been here for an
entire day.

Heaps
of garbage ship parts and outdated tech fragments littered every corner. In
some places the junk spilled out into the center of the room. He had the
impression they used this space more for storage than modification. With the
eye that wasn't swollen shut, Sean scanned the scraps for something he could
use as a weapon.

Chen
Starrie hobbled back into the room. Even in these circumstances, Sean sized up
the man Sara would have taken as an amour.

She
could have done better.

"You
broke my knee." Chen stood in front of Sean. "And, I hate wearing
bone menders."

"You
must have hollow bones. All that inbreeding catching up with you?"

Chen
punched Sean in the nose. The bergamot smell of the contractor's knuckles
lingered before the irony tang of Sean's blood permeated his taste and smell.

"Sara
never told me you liked it rough," Sean said.

Chen
snickered. "You can't goad me with Sara. She was fun in the beginning,
then a means to an end. And she should have ended back here."

"Here?
Where are we?"

"Palomin."
Chen adjusted a setting on the mender wrapped around his knee.

"Sara
liked it here." The female with the pink-streaked hair strolled up beside
Chen. "Did she tell you about me?"

Sean's
right wrist suddenly ached in its makeshift tourniquet where it dangled from
the binder—a broken monument to her earlier slicing and paring. "Who are
you?"

"I'm
Faya. Surely Sara told you what kind of fun we had, or maybe she was sobbing
too hard to be coherent. She babbled a lot during our sessions. And screamed.
It was sad and pathetic."

"Don't
ever remember her mentioning you," Sean lied. If he could get just one
hand free, he'd snap the bitch's neck, even if Chen killed him for it.

"I
think you're lying." Faya handed Chen an arm's length of a broken
auxiliary engine rod. "But I like your attitude. Let's see if you last
longer than she did. I'm sure you will the first time. She begged right
away." Faya chuckled. "But, she got good at taking the pain. I bet
you don't have that in you."

Metal
glinted under the harsh white ceiling lights as Chen held the rod over his
shoulder like a club. Sean tensed. Chen brought the rod down on top of Sean's
knee cap. His left knee gave way with the impact. Bones crunched and the engine
rod resonated in a high-pitched ring as it bounced onto the concrete floor.

Sean
clenched his teeth to keep from screaming or vomiting. He lost his breath and
shook as waves of pain radiated from his busted knee. His eyes watered, and bloody
drool dribbled out of the side of his mouth.

The
stims were wearing off. Now, he wished he would have kept the patches on, but
his heart probably would have exploded before they even got him here. Maybe that
wouldn't have been such a bad idea, considering his nervous system was so raw
to the pain.

"That's
not how you handle a fragger." Faya glided over. "They like the pain.
Hadn't you heard?"

"I
always wondered where that rumor started." Sean's words came out in a
pant. Most likely fragger operatives were so dosed upon capture that they
didn't really feel much.

I
feel everything.

"You
plan to kill him with kindness?" Chen asked.

"We're
not going to kill him—yet. There's some very important information locked in
here." Faya leaned close and rapped a fist on Sean's head. She produced a
long-needled syringe and jammed it into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. The
thick green liquid split his muscle and pushed into his veins.

He
was about to make a desperate move when he saw the third contractor, the other
female, leveling a cender at him from the room's doorway.

Not
now. The time would be right. He could handle what they threw at him to know
Sara was safe.

"Help
me, Sean."

The
voice echoed inside his skull like Ephemerata's through his subvocal link.

"Please.
Help me."

The
whisper floated to him from somewhere in the room, everywhere. It sounded like
Sara. He twisted his head around.

"They're
going to hurt me, Sean."

"Sara?"

"Yes,
she's right here." Faya's voice modulated from normal to tinny, stuttering
at times. "We have her and we'll cut her unless you cooperate."

Sean
searched for Sara, but couldn't find her through the blue mist filling the
room. In the beginning stages of a full-on panic, Sean fought for breath. He
was sliding. And, it was some heavy stuff. Nothing like he'd ever had before.
If this was what Faya had forced on Sara time and time again….

"Sean,
we'll be okay, right?"
Sara's voice tickled his left ear. She clung to his neck and buried her face in
his chest. His heart pumped faster, but his mind slowed.

"Yes,"
he said. "I promise." He wanted so much to hold her, stroke her hair.
He took a deep draw of her scent, the scent he made for her, but choked on a
heavy perfume of sweet berries and musk.

She
raised her head. The dark locks were streaked magenta instead of purple, her
eyes a frozen blue, not rich and dark. He pulled back from her. Sara's oval
face bounced with a giggle. Her lips pulled back into a shrill laugh, cracking
her beautiful face. Higher cheekbones and a pointed nose erupted from the
split, desiccated flesh. Bright pink roots pushed out the shiny black hair.

"Get
away from me." Sean's words dripped from his tongue with blood.

"Should
I play with her instead?" The voice was Sara's but the head
belonged to Faya. She grabbed his face and forced his focus to a pile of
discarded view screens and voyeurs in the corner.

An
arm peeked from the bottom of the junk heap, its olive skin dirty with bruises.

It's
not her. Not her.

The
arm twitched, then the fingers moved. The discarded viewscreens burst to life,
throwing images from every angle. Rapid flashes of code, a flickering of
prismatic light, bursts of static, chatter in unknown languages. Then they all
went silent and tuned to the same channel showing a blurred picture.

A
muffled rhythm filtered in, but not from the speakers. It came from Sean's
head. The fingers on the exposed arm twitched again. The screen shot widened.
As the picture focused, the volume boomed, filling his head. It was
sobbing—Sara's sobbing.

The
screen's image cleared.

A
woman's naked torso filled his view, repeated on every viewer from every angle.
The body quivered, its skin split in a thousand places and oozing black fluid.
The shot flashed to the head, bald and bruised, a hand hiding the face.

No.
Not her.

He
told his mind not to believe his eyes, but his logic slipped away into some
dark crevice of his consciousness as he watched the fingers claw at the
concrete floor, splitting the nails, scraping the skin from the knuckles. The
arm bent backward at the elbow to reach the closest viewscreen, its shoulder
still lost under the pile of metal and plastic. The hand pushed into the
viewscreen, pulling at the one hiding her face. The hand slipped away to show
Sara's visage.

"Sara."
Sean's tears slowly blurred the image once again.

"Tell
me where the data is, and I'll help her, let you keep your promise to
her." Faya's whisper was a scream in his ear, making him flinch. "And
I'll stop hurting you. Trust me, you want to make that deal now because I
learned a lot about how to break the tough ones from your little
ambasadora."

Faya
pulled the triton out of her waist band with one hand and grabbed his bound
wrist with the other. "If I see her, I'll give her the few pieces of you
that are left…before I start cutting on her, too." One quick slice severed
the smallest finger from his left hand.

With
no more help from the stims, Sean screamed. Faya started on his next finger.

48

"Thanks
for the clothes." Sara tugged a long-sleeved black dress over her head.
The swirling white vortex crawling down its front was like a graphic reminder
of her life since Palomin.

Except
for that night with Sean.
Their coupling was the only time she hadn't been blinded by hurt and suffering.
She missed his touch. He made her feel safe.

"I
would prefer you in one of the Embassy gowns," Rainer said.

"Yeah,
well, I'd prefer not to be here at all, so I guess we're even."

Even
though Rainer had managed to secure her proper attire and passage aboard this
ferry, she wished he had gone back to the Bard with David. The ferry's
small quarters suffocated her. Too many accidental touches in the tight
corridors. Too many unguarded looks. From both of them.

But
maybe David wasn't coming back. His attitude upon leaving was non-committal.
Diffusing a fight with the Armadans seemed to be the end of his involvement in
this mess. She couldn't blame him for that.

Sara's
choice would have been to run and hide, but not without Sean. The stress of not
knowing where Sean was, or if he were safe, made it impossible for her to
control her breathing.

He's
a fragger. He'll be fine.

"Isn't
the point of this so no one recognizes me as an ambasadora?" She continued
stuffing her dark hair into a bobbed green and silver wig. They had both
changed their appearance enough to throw off the voyeurs. Though she scolded
herself every time she looked at him, she admitted Rainer's clean-shaven face
and flattened hair gave him a softer look and enhanced his features.

"You
should talk about fashion choices," she said.

He
looked down at his new clothes, a pair of light grey tailored pants and a
button up white shirt with navy blue pin stripes that any Embassy worker would
have been proud of. "I take your point."

"Do
you think David will show?" Sara asked.

"He
seemed hesitant. We'll be fine without him."

"You
don't like him, do you? Or anyone who's different from you."

Rainer
fingered a few green strands of her wig in appraisal. "It's not about liking
people. It's about their value. David's an Armadan, and most Armadans, are of
value to our society."

"Lyra
lost her value in your eyes."

"She
chose her shame."

"Lyra's
not the only one cursed. Shouldn't Simon bear just as much shame in your eyes,
or more?" she asked.

Rainer
plucked a decanter from the bedside table and poured three fingers of brandy
into Sara's glass. "Prollixer corrupted himself for power. He's not whole,
no matter how long he's Sovereign. He hasn't had an amour in decades. No
children left—not that most citizens believed those were his original children
to begin with."

"Then
how does he stay on top?" Sara sniffed at the brandy before taking a sip.
Sweet, verging on the edge of sour.

"The
Sovereign gets by with the help of key individuals. He probably cursed some of
them, too."

"You're
working for him. What if he cursed you?" she asked.

"Used
to work for him. I'm rogue now, remember? Becoming your bodyguard has done
wonders for my career." Rainer filled his glass. "And I would know if
anyone tampered with my genes."

Sara
was surprised by his earlier comment. "He didn't order you to watch over
me?"

"No."

The
admission hung in the air. She didn't know what to say. Now was not the time
for her to begin believing Rainer could actually care. Still, she had to ask,
"Did my reconstruction devalue me?"

He
brought the glass down without taking another drink.

The
fantasies that kept her alive during her modification were all about Rainer.
Now his attraction to her was obvious, but aside from fulfilling her physical
needs, what more could he offer her?

"They
just reconstructed your shell," he said. "What's in your line remains
more or less unaltered."

Typical
Rainer response. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"So
long as those irradicae are still on your ovaries, you'll be little more than a
tumble to any Upper who has a true pride in his heritage." He emptied his
glass without looking at her.

Part
of her didn't believe him, knew he was trying to convince himself that he
didn't want her. It didn't matter. She no longer wanted him. Rainer had
now become the empty shell, at least to her, because he'd never be the man Sean
was.

The
glass domes in the city of Rushow glowed from the inside with soft blue light,
spreading their warmth through the gloomy afternoon. Above, a green-grey sky
threatened rain. Sara breathed the loamy scent of the approaching storm with
anticipation. A rising wind pulled at the fine hairs of her wig.

She
and Rainer mixed into the crowd of passengers bustling down the gangway. They
hadn't spoken in hours. What else was there to say?

It
was only her third time to this part of Tampa Quad, yet Sara marveled at
Rushow's stately architecture. The buildings in the main square intersected at
a series of glass elevator towers, giving the impression of one huge complex of
alternating walls of slate and windows.

"Hard
to believe this city was designed as a virtual world first, then built here in
the real world," Sara said. They had been watching vids about Rushow on
the cruise over, partly for research, partly to fill the uncomfortable silence.
She had been painfully aware of his every movement, and forced herself not to
stare at him and wonder at how things could have been different.

"Ridiculous."
Rainer moved past her into the street.

Their
previous conversation had gotten to him, which surprised her because he wasn't
the brooding type. She told herself it was being cast out of Simon's powerful
circle which had brought about the change in Rainer. But, she recognized a lie,
especially when she was the one telling it.

The
steps were the same ash grey slate as the exterior of the buildings. Coils of
fossilized sea creatures, metamorphed by the planet and buffed to a shine by
human hands, twirled up and down the façade, complementing the round domes and
windows and glass elevator towers. She recognized the great silica dragon
skeleton winding around the side of the third building on the left. This had to
be the dragon Yul had hinted at.

"This
way." Sara tugged at Rainer's arm.

The
elevator doors opened from opposite sides, one leading to the second building,
the other letting off passengers to the third. A few other Socialites entered.
Sara sneezed from the mix of floral and musky fragrances spewing from their
scentbots. They all stared out different sides of the glass elevator box. She
concentrated behind them where the dragon's skull rested just outside the
elevator tower.

"What
floor?" A platinum-haired man asked.

"Three."

Sara
watched the vertebrae in the dragon's tail get smaller and smaller as the
elevator crept toward the higher floors.

The
doors chimed and opened at the third floor of each building, but the dragon's
tail continued to curl upward. Everyone stepped off except for the
platinum-haired man, Sara, and Rainer.

"Sorry.
Next floor, please."

The
man smiled and pressed the button with a shiny fingernail.

Another
floor and the dragon tail slithered still upward. She tried to crane her head to
see farther up the wall, but couldn't see past the current floor.

"My
mistake," she said. "The next one, if you would? Thank you."

The
man nodded, no smile this time.

Rainer
shot Sara a look and gestured to the number nine button the man had lit upon entering.
He might be in for a long ride.

Even
before the lift settled again, Sara knew it was the wrong floor.

"Six,
please."

The
man cleared his throat, about to protest, when three Socialite women swept into
the elevator. One with clover pink hair piled high on her head asked for floor
six, as well, and he readily complied.

Socialite
men. Sara shook her
head. They had never held her interest, no adventure—they never got dirty.

The
sixth floor slipped into view. On the stone wall outside, framed perfectly by
the glass lift's window, was the silica dragon's perfectly coiled tail.

The
females glided out in a chatter. Sara stepped to follow.

"Are
you sure this is your floor?" The man sniffed.

Rainer
dropped a shoulder into him on his way out.

"How
do you plan to find this fragger doctor now?" Rainer asked.

"I'm
hoping he'll find me."

They
stopped in the middle of the hallway, the circular stained-glass window
refracting every wavelength of blue light over Rainer's white shirt.

"You
said you knew where to find him."

"Approximately…."
Sara ripped off the wig and walked around in a circle, staring at the walls and
ceiling.

"What
are you doing?"

"Trying
to get noticed."

Click.

A
door to her right popped open a few centimeters.

Rainer
reached for cenders that weren't there. Sara had insisted that if he were going
to walk around with weapons strapped to his thighs, there was no need to alter
their appearances in the first place. He had back up weapons secreted
somewhere—she was certain—otherwise he would have never agreed to give up his
guns.

She
edged toward the door, but Rainer stopped her with a raised hand.

Standing
to the side, she spoke. "Yul. I need your help."

Seconds
ticked by. Sara stared at the thin line of white light that slipped through the
portal. The crack widened. Rainer held a razor disc in the hand at his side.
Sara shot him a look of alarm.

A
redheaded woman dressed in a light pink mini-dress stepped through the doorway.
"How may I help you?" she asked.

"I
need to see your doctor, Yul."

"We
have no doctor in this suite. Perhaps you could try three floors up."

"Tell
Yul that Zak's life is in danger." Sara stepped closer. Anger and
impatience threatened to break through her dam of resolve as her panic rose.
"I need him. Please."

The
woman cocked her head, listening to a subvocal feed. "This way." She
put a hand on Rainer's chest. "But the contractor has to leave his toys
behind."

Rainer
shook his head no.

"Then
stay out here," Sara said. She wouldn't lose a chance to save Sean because
of Rainer's stubbornness.

Rainer
handed over the disc.

"And,
the others?" the redhead asked.

"That's
it," Rainer said.

"Then
you wouldn't mind if I searched you, would you?" Her tone was mild, but
conveyed a warning.

"You're
not going to search me." Rainer made it sound like an order.

"Then
you'll wait for her here," the woman said.

Sara
headed for the door, but Rainer grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Fine."
Rainer allowed the woman to search him and take three razor discs and a
retractable whip. When he didn't show any real indignation about the
confiscated items, Sara knew there were a few weapons the redhead had missed.

Inside,
Yul waited for them behind an empty medical table in the center of the spacious
room. It was a silvery island amidst a sea of blue and beige tile. Sara rushed
to greet him.

"I
can't believe I found you." Tears puddled in the corners of her eyes.
"We've heard the Embassy has Sean," she whispered.

Yul
looked nervously at Rainer, but his words were tender. "I know. Word came
through the ranks that they took him to Palomin."

Sara's
heart sank. Until that moment there was still the possibility that all of this
was misdirection on Simon's part, but hearing that Sean was imprisoned at
Palomin almost undid her.

Yul
reached a hand toward her arm, but stopped short of touching her when Rainer
stepped forward.

"We
have to contact Simon to make a trade—his cure for Sean," Sara said.
"I'm surprised you haven't done that already." Her chest tightened as
she thought of what Simon's contractors were doing to Sean right now. If he
hadn't helped her, he could have escaped, dropped out of society, been safe,
but saving himself wasn't in Sean's make up.

"I
don't have the data," Yul said.

"Why
not?" Sara's voice rose in anger. "You said he told you where to find
it."

"Yes,
I know where to find it, but I can't access it inside the V-side. I was locked
out on my first attempt. Too many fraggers in that Underground compound heard
Sean's transmission."

"Why
didn't you send in another operative?" Rainer asked.

"Because
I traced my lockout back to this location. Aside from my
assistant," he motioned toward the redheaded woman. "I can't trust
anyone else here."

"Then
send her in," Rainer said.

"She's
not a fragger." An unexpected fierceness came into Yul's voice.
"She's my prime, and I'm sorry, Sara, but I can't risk the mother of my
children, even for Sean."

Sara
regarded the redhead, who looked away as if in guilt. "It's okay. I could
never ask you to sacrifice your family after all that you've done for me. Send
me in instead."

"Absolutely
not." Rainer's tone made Sara and Yul jump. Stepping between them, Rainer
spoke to Sara. "He can get someone else to go in. There's no reason for
you to do this."

"Didn't
you just hear him? There's no one else. It has to be done. Now."

"I
would have to agree with him," Yul said from behind Rainer. "To get
you into the V-side would involve implanting idents, and in your
condition…that's not advisable."

"You
mean the irradicae," Sara said.

"I
found them during a scan before I removed the flower corer from your abdomen.
That's why I didn't give you any immune boosters."

"Would
that have set them off?" she asked. It was the first time she had gotten
any real answers about what was happening inside her. She hadn't felt pain or
discomfort, not so much as a cramp, but maybe she wouldn't, maybe her eggs
would just shrivel inside her. Or, maybe it would kill her immediately with an
onset of severe hemorrhaging, sparing her the Passing Ritual. Either way, she
believed she'd know when it happened.

"Yes,"
Yul said. "Irradicae are immune boosters, on stims. They don't just
go after diseased cells, they look at everything as a threat and devour
whatever's in their path. That's why they were banned by the Embassy."

"Except
for purposes of genetic blackmail," Sara said.

"I
can't give you idents without giving you immune boosters, not after your recent
injury. It may seem almost healed, but I scanned your vitals upon entering, and
there is a small spike in your white blood cell count. Probably an
infection."

"Then
that's the end of it," Rainer said. "We'll find another way—"

"It's
not your decision."

"You'd
give up your lineage for him? Shame your family and take your own life,
if you eventually survive this?"

"Yes."
Her response held more weight than she felt. "He'd do all he could to help
me, and has."

"He
wouldn't do this."

"How
do you know, Rainer? Because you wouldn't? Not every man in this system
is like you and Chen. Get everything ready, Yul."

Rainer's
expression went from anger to alarm. He took her hands in his, the most
touching gesture he had ever made toward her. "Sara, I'm begging you not
to do this. There's still a chance they can be removed without any damage to
you. Still a chance that we could…."

She
waited for him to continue, knowing he'd never speak the words. "Could
what? Fly back to your place and play at the perfect society couple? The only
reason you want me is because I'm taboo in your world."

"You
don't understand what you're risking."

"Sean's
already risked more for me than anyone else ever has. He has an ideology, a
sense of honor in this place so corrupted and decadent that most people don't
even remember what commitment means." She had been afraid she might not be
able to do what was necessary, but now she was certain she could do anything.

"You
wouldn't understand, Rainer. Life's about more than passing on your
genes." Her tone was gentle, free of judgment. "You have six amours
and a dozen children. Sean only has me, and I only have him."

Rainer
released her. The disappointment in his gaze tore at her. She lay down on the
table, resolved, but frightened. "I'm ready."

Yul
pressed a sedative patch into the crook of her arm. His talc smell comforted
her. She held her hand out to Rainer. He reached out, but pulled back. Then he
left. The sight of him walking away was all too familiar.

49

Chen
ducked as the Sovereign lobbed a razor cuff at the room's blood-splattered
wall. Thanks to his atrophying muscles and fading motor skills, the cuff
clinked harmlessly to the concrete without leaving so much as a dent in the
stucco.

There
were few options left to Chen—either Prollixer would grant him his pardon for
his continuing efforts in the data recovery or he would order Chen's immediate
execution. Chen knew Faya was the better shot, but Dahlia was much closer.
Which of his cousins would get him first?

He
edged his nervous fingers toward his cenders.

Sean
Cryer let loose then with a roar of rage at some vision only he could see.
Prollixer shrank away from the noise.

Chen
gripped his weapons.

Prollixer
shook visibly. "Stop that," he yelled at Cryer. "Make him
stop!"

Faya
kicked Cryer in the stomach. He doubled over, but continued to snap out terrifying
screams and growls. Chen hoped the bindings held against Cryer's vicious
thrashing. Faya had really pissed him off when she mentioned cutting on Sara
this last time.

Sweat
poured down the Sovereign's face, and Chen realized he was looking at him.
"Who are you?" Prollixer asked. The facial twitch which accompanied
the question showed the old man was slipping away fast, and not just
physically.

He
didn't recognize Chen, even after their ongoing negotiations. The Sovereign
lost interest in Chen when Cryer took another fit and pulled his undamaged leg
free of the manacle. He kicked Faya in her chest as she tried to secure him
again and knocked her backward onto the floor. Chen pulled his cender, his
heart slamming against his rib cage. Before he could fire, Faya sprang to her
feet, sucking in air and ready to punish Cryer. She pulled his head back and
pointed the triton knife at his good eye.

"Stop."
The Sovereign grabbed Faya's wrist. Chen knew she could have easily twisted out
of his feeble grasp, but she wasn't ready to defy Prollixer yet—that was a path
of no return. She sheathed the knife.

"How
can you expect to get anything coherent from him in this state? These
facilities weren't built to fulfill your personal masochistic desires."

"He's
already given us some information," Faya insisted. "We just need to
play up his emotional fallacy with the ambasadora."

"Emotional
fallacy? He's a fragger. They have even less emotion than contractors."
Prollixer muttered something about the groups being one and the same, but Chen
couldn't catch it all.

Faya
set her jaw. "And less emotion than Simon Prollixer."

Chen
held his breath. Part of him enjoyed this showdown and wanted to see how it
would end, but the preservationist inside him backed toward the door.

"You
don't speak to me that way." Prollixer suddenly seemed lucid. The coldness
in his voice was terrifying. "I am still your Sovereign." He walked
toward Faya. "I am still your Sovereign!"

Prollixer
grabbed a fistful of Faya's shirt, a surge of strength, fueled by rage, rose
from his gaunt frame.

Faya
pulled back from him in shock, but he held tight.

"What
do you know so far?" The nervousness in his voice from a few moments ago
turned into fierce accusation.

Chen
believed Prollixer was almost as messed up as Cryer.

Faya
cleared her throat. "He didn't take the cache—"

"What?"
He shook Faya in a panic.

Faya
looked as though she wanted to tear his eyes out, but her tone was matter of
fact. "But he did receive possession of it, then hid it somewhere within
the V-side."

"Where?"
The Sovereign's eyes lit up and he actually smiled. Chen noticed dark spots
discoloring Prollixer's teeth in places. It was as haunting as it was
disgusting. If Chen looked close enough, he could also see those same spots
erupting on the man's neck and hands.

"I
was just about to find out," Faya said.

Prollixer
released his hold on her. "I think we've come as far as we can with your
tactics."

Cryer's
broken body, which had been so loathsome to the Sovereign only minutes before,
now seemed to stir him. He touched Cryer's shoulder and asked, "Do you
miss Sara?"

The
fragger's head lulled on his chest at the mention of her name. Dried streams of
blood zigzagged down his bared back and his temples, while bright drops still
puddled around him from deeper wounds. The Sovereign avoided the mess and
squatted next to Cryer.

"She
misses you, too." Prollixer's voice was soft.

Cryer's
head lifted slightly, but his gaze couldn't focus.

"She's
here. Sara asked for you. I told her you were helping me lift my curse. That
made her very happy."

"Sara."
Cryer's voice barely got the word out.

"Yes,
Sara. As soon as you tell me where to find that cache, we'll let you see her.
She's waiting for you. You don't want to disappoint her, do you?"

"The
lights," Cryer said. "The lights."

"What
was that?" The Sovereign leaned closer. Faya had a cender trained on
Cryer, not taking any chances after the kick he gave her moments ago.

Chen
didn't think this was a ploy, though. Somehow Prollixer had managed to convince
Cryer what Faya couldn't—that Sara was here waiting for him.

"Tell
me what you said again," the Sovereign said.

But
Cryer had slipped into unconsciousness. Faya had gone too far with the drugs in
an attempt to pluck a fast and easy confession from the fragger.

Expecting
the Sovereign's earlier rage, the three contractors backed toward the exit.
Chen stopped dead when he saw the Sovereign lean over and cradle Cryer's head
against his shoulder. He cooed to him as if to an infant. "Everything will
be fine. Just fine."

Chen
looked to Faya and Dahlia for validation. Their startled expressions mirrored
his thoughts. Dealing with a sane Sovereign was delicate at best—dealing with
whatever he was turning into might mean the end of all their lines.

50

"Yul?"
Sara awoke to a sweetness on her tongue and a fuzziness on her teeth. She tried
to swallow, but the dehydrating sedative made her tongue feel like chalk. The
medical table chilled her skin, even through the soft blankets.

Yul
rushed over. Tilting her head, he held a glass to her cracked lips.
"Sip."

The
same sugary taste dribbled into her mouth. Coughing and clearing her throat a
few times she managed to say, "Am I okay?"

"It
appears so, though it may be too early to tell." He squeezed her arm.

She
didn't feel any ill effects, but that didn't mean she was fine. Feelings
offered her little in the way of real relief at this point.

Rainer
appeared in her periphery and occasionally touched the table's rounded edges,
but never her. She smiled faintly. He looked away.

Yul
passed a hand-held scanner over her body. She scratched at her wrist as the
scanner's fingers of light played over her. A stinging pain forced her to
clench her fist. A small streak of blood dripped from the inside of her wrist
down to her fingertips.

"Sorry.
I should have bandaged that." Yul held a sterile pad over the incision and
applied steady pressure.

"What
is it?" Sara tried to lift her hand to see exactly what he'd done to her.

"An
internal reporter. No more bracelets for you. I'll explain how to use it later.
Now you need to rest."

A
sense of urgency gripped Sara. She fought to push her grogginess away.
"No, Sean doesn't have time."

"Normally
an initiate would wait thirty hours before attempting her first post-op
insertion—"

"Out
of the question."

"I
figured you'd say that." Yul handed her a case.

Sara
flipped the lid open and saw a pair of silver lenses.

"I
sent you an invite to the area where Sean hid the cache. It took me a while to
figure out what he meant by check the lights. You will, too, once you're inside
the right world."

"How
do I get there?" she asked.

"You'll
arrive in the lobby, a sort of waiting room that looks and feels like an
endless ocean. A sphere will rise out of the water. Just touch its surface. It will
take you where you need to go. I've set up an automatic streaming program for
you, which allows me to siphon the data and pull you out as soon as the capture
is complete."

So
much information.

Sara's
head swam, trying to shake off the sedative and process Yul's instructions.
"So, I'm stealing back the same data that got me here to begin with."

"I've
always felt life is circular," Yul said, then seemed embarrassed by his
wistfulness. "Anyway, the lenses will adapt themselves to the pattern of
blood vessels on your retina."

"Can
I go in without them?" The stigma of the v-mitters stayed with her after
Palomin. She was glad Sean hadn't used them back at Shocker's.

"Not
at your level," Yul said. "It's painful enough the first time. Let
the lenses make insertion easier."

Sara
held her breath against the faint chemical smell. The lens didn't slide on as
easily as she'd hoped. The longer it took, the more she wondered if this were
really the path she wanted to take. When it finally slid into place over her
iris she immediately wanted to rip it right back out. "Is it supposed to
burn like this?"

"Stings
a bit."

She
kept her eye still. The drying burn became a series of minor irritations
tingling randomly beneath her lid. She held her breath and tried the other before
she changed her mind altogether. Thankfully, it adjusted quicker.

Now
she only saw blackness with an occasional spark of light to accompany the
tingle. She imagined looking down on herself from above and seeing the silver
v-mitters in place of eyes. She closed her lids, wondering if wearing the
lenses in the real world really made a difference. Only areas which had already
been mapped virtually like Palomin would even show up. She suspected some
fraggers hid behind the lenses' anonymity or wore them for intimidation.

In
a way, these v-mitters, which had once haunted her dreams and visions, were now
the final piece of her transformation. Stripped of the shell she'd been born
into, she finally knew who she was, and the thought gave her courage for
whatever lay ahead. So did the promise of seeing Sean again.

Her
ears popped, then a brilliant new landscape flashed into being all around Sara.
A purple sea shimmered in every direction. It was so real. She trembled from
the shock and curled her toes.

Her
toes. She could feel
her toes.

Sara
looked down to glimpse her bare feet, her av's bare feet. They were the same,
felt the same, reacted the same. Everything was the same, except no bio-lights.
A black sarong brushed her ankles, its Deleinean silk sliding along her legs.
Matching black scarves, their ends wrapped snugly around her wrists, blew
freely in the slight ocean breeze. Long waves of dark hair fluttered against
her shoulders. Her hand went to her abdomen, and for the first time in weeks,
she let herself entertain a feeling of hope. She was one step closer to
freedom, hers and Sean's.

A
blue sphere rose from the purple water just as Yul had said. She cautiously
touched its shimmering surface. Electricity swept through her. Her instinct was
to pull away, but she remained still, balancing on the little floating raft
which bobbed slightly on the ocean lobby. The sphere expanded. Her heart
pounded as she stepped inside.

It
was like a door into another world, but a world all too familiar to her. Sara
placed her foot down on the onyx floor of the Embassy Hub. Disorientation
flooded her mind, a remembered fear simmered in its wake. A darkening sky
barely filtered through the chalcedony wall. This Hub was exactly like the
original.

Just
no people.

The
magnoramps were lifeless. The seating areas empty. The silence was almost
complete, except for a distant buzzing. For all she knew, it could have been
inside her head or a result of her popping ears during insertion. As the light
of the Tampa Quad sky continued to fade, the interior lights of the Hub came
up.

A
green shaded floor lamp flickered from a far corner, the only animate feature
of this doppelganger Hub. She walked toward the lamp. The light brightened and
the buzz intensified with each step. Her eyes darted from corner to corner. She
expected someone or something to jump at her from the shadows. She stopped a
meter from the lamp. It shined with a steady intensity.

The
buzz evened out into a high-pitched whine. She covered her ears, but forced
herself to inch closer and closer until she was within touching distance of the
lamp. Tentatively, she reached out a hand.

The
lamp exploded.

A
blue arc jumped from the conduit into Sara's chest. The intense heat washed
over her face, but her chest burned with cold. Her breaths came in ragged
gasps. Her heart pounded out of control. Her vision blurred. All she could
think about was how Sean's body had convulsed when he was last in the V-side,
how he could have died in here, how she might die in here.

Then
all sensations stopped, and she stood in front of the same lamp, now in
pristine order and glowing steadily once again. No more buzzing. She controlled
her breathing, confident she had the data and that Yul would pull her out at
any moment.

"Looking
good, Zak."

Sara
spun around.

A
large, barrel-chested man walked toward her from the bottom of the inert
magno-ramp. "Or are you just a little friend he sent to retrieve his
cache?"

A
hand grasped her shoulder from behind. She shook it off and backed up enough to
put each of the intruders in her sight. This second man was smaller, but the
fierce, dead stare of his green eyes was almost reptilian. Darkness bloomed as
a portal opened beside him. A third man in a blue shirt stepped through the
portal, brandishing an odd-looking cender. The same weapons materialized in the
other men's hands.

"Yul,
get me out of here." Sara had no idea if he could hear her. She worked
around one of the white plush couches, never taking her eyes from the threats
in front of her.

"It's
not Zak, Cuzco," the man with green eyes said.

"So
the idents affirm," Cuzco said. "Can you get a read on her real
identity, Vishneu?"

"Doing
it now, but I need a location from Topper first."

"Working
on it," the green-eyed man said.

Sara
didn't understand what they were talking about, but knew it couldn't be good
for her.

"Whose
side are you on?" Cuzco asked.

"I'm
on Sean's side," she said. "Zak's side. He's innocent. The
contractors are trying to split the fraggers, can't you see that?"

"So,
he's not the one who hid the data you just recovered?" Vishneu asked.
"Remember, lies will get you killed here." He shot, but aimed high so
the massive blast of energy would miss Sara by fractions of a meter.

"He
had no choice." Sara scanned the Hub, hoping Yul would open a portal for
her any minute, or maybe just rip her out of this world like she had Sean.
She'd even be happy if Yul had to stop her heart to do it.

"That
doesn't sound like Zak. Always struck me as the kind of guy who made sure he
had plenty of choices to fall back on," Cuzco said.

"Got
an insertion location for her," Topper said. "Rushow."

If
they contacted operatives at Rushow, Yul, his wife, and Rainer might not have a
chance, and if Sara couldn't get out of here, Sean's chances died with her.

"You
ready to give us some answers?" Cuzco asked.

Her
patience wore thin. "You know the truth." She walked toward the trio,
ignoring the raised weapons aimed at her. "Otherwise, I'd already be
dead."

"It's
not too late for that," Vishneu said.

Sara
never blinked. "Stop hiding behind your avatars and fight for your
ideology. Sean's dying for his at Palomin right now. If you had half the
courage and passion that he has, you'd gather as many fraggers as it took to
bring him back. But for all the blustering and rhetoric that comes out of this
organization about marriage rights and destroying an antiquated caste system,
all of you just stand in the background, waiting for the right time. This is
it."

A
portal opened to Sara's right.

"Simon
is dying and the Embassy will be up for grabs," she said. "All you
have to do is put your training into practice. You can start by helping Sean.
He would have done it for any of you. And, if you're afraid to come out of
this…." She looked around. "…this antiseptic, shell of a world, and
fight in a real battle, then stay here. Sean's probably better off without
you." She backed into darkness to the rejoin the real world because she
wasn't afraid to fight any more.

51

David
squeezed Mari's hand and followed the funeral procession into the memorial
hall. She probably hadn't been to many funerals in her short life—David had
attended too many. She looked beautiful and so grown up in her modest navy blue
sheath dress. She still sported sky high heels, but even their beige color
seemed demure for Mari.

Leading
the mourners, a synth spider played the lively tune of Kenon's family circle on
his mother's side and spun a bright blue web of light between its sinewy legs.
Its sound politely covered the soft crying of Kenon's family and friends.

"I
always thought these places were too beautiful to cry in," Geir whispered.
"I don't want—" His voice broke and he had to clear his throat to
continue. "I don't want my family crying for me in a place like this.
Don't want them crying at all. Have a party for me when I die."

They
glided past endless rows of sparkling silver monoliths that stretched into the
dimly lit depths of the cavernous room.

Mari's
gaze stayed on the white marble beneath their feet.

David
envied her hyper-emotions—the extreme sadness and clingy vulnerability she
showed now complemented her usual bouncy cheer and mouth-pursing determination.
She was never embarrassed by her feelings, the complete opposite of David's
Armadan upbringing.

His
children, their children, would be raised to value emotions, not hide
them. And to think he almost lost Mari twice. The incident at Soli's brought
back all the gut-wrenching fear David had experienced when Dale Zapona had
abducted Mari for that psychopath Liu Stavros. David had taken care of Dale and
hopefully his brother Ben would get Liu in the end.

He
put his arm around Mari's bare shoulders and followed the mourners, forcing
himself not to count the monoliths as they walked by. Not superstitious in nature,
David wasn't taking any chances that cosmic luck, bad or otherwise, actually
existed.

The
six-sided monoliths had narrow bases that widened like inverted pyramids to a
flat base at top, rising like the decorative bird baths in his mother's gardens
in the Koley Mountains. But unlike the many-storied baths, the monoliths of The
Passed barely reached a meter. Their granite tops, set with gemstones in every
hue of the spectrum, gleamed within a halo of blue from lights shining down
from the ceiling.

David
passed a man and three children on his right who watched a holovid play just
above one of the pedestal's surfaces. The young woman in the vid chased the
same three children around a manicured lawn. They were all laughing in the
captured scene, but here in the memorial hall, the children wept and clung to
their father's side.

A
somber glow beckoned the processional from an archway.

"What
do we do now?" Mari whispered, looking up without moving her head.

"We
just follow the people into the Sculptorium."

"We
won't actually be in there when they burn him—the body, will we?"

"Yes,
but we'll leave before they begin the sculpting." David was thankful for
that. It was one thing to see a finished pedestal of ash and gems, another to
witness The Passed molded into their own memorial.

David
and Mari followed the men in front of them in ever-larger circles. Each sweep
strategically placed members of Kenon's extended family around an oblong
impression in the floor. Within the impression lay Kenon's body, dressed in formal
attire. David, Mari, and Geir's view near the end showed three hundred odd
mourners radiating outward.

Giselle
held the spot of honor at the front with Kenon's mothers and fathers. She kept
tight hold of Hailey. Mikail stood next to her, holding Sasha. A dark-skinned
Armadan rounded out Giselle's inner circle. Kenon's remaining amours and their
amours were positioned according to the hierarchy.

The
synth spider played its last strand, signaling Kenon's mother to begin. She
looked like she could be David's age. Socialites always started their families
young, why they had so many more children than the average Armadan.

With
a steady voice and a rigid stance, she said, "Today we gather to remember."

The
assembled recited, "We remember."

"Though
Kenon Jean-Luc Brudger has passed to the Otherside, today he becomes part of
the History and will live there with us forever. We remember you, my son."

"We
remember," Mari spoke the words quietly with those around them, but David
remained silent.

"I
remember. I remember the beautiful smile I gave to you. I remember the
darkness of your hair that came from your father."

Mari
choked back a sob against David's chest as Kenon's mother continued her eulogy.
Geir bowed his head.

Lost
another one, Anlow. Another dead kid. What kind of captain are you?

He
knew this wasn't his fault any more than it was Sean or Sara's fault, but he
needed someone to blame, otherwise he'd have to accept that bad things could
happen to any of them at any time. That was more difficult than accepting he
was no longer a captain in the fleet. He hugged Mari a little closer. Civilian
life was growing on him.

Mari
looked at him and just cried, harder than he'd ever seen her cry. He kissed the
top of her head. "At least it wasn't you," he whispered against her
hair. "I couldn't have handled that." The thought of losing her
paralyzed him. "I will never let anything happen to you."

Several
more of Kenon's mothers spoke and his birth father. Then Giselle stepped forward,
her formal strapless gown hugging her tiny figure and making her the most
radiant woman in the hall. Kenon would have been in awe of his prime. Of
course, they all knew he had been in awe of her every day of their marriage.

"We
remember you, Kenon." Giselle's voice was thin and wispy, even though she
tried to project for all the mourners to hear.

"We
remember," came the refrain.

"I
remember you. I remember the brush of your hand, the looks from across a
crowded room. I remember the words we spoke and those we didn't, the vows we
took and those we broke. I remember naming our child. I remember making our
child. I will always remember you."

To
David's surprise, tears poured from Giselle's closed eyes. He always assumed
Kenon's emotional fallacy for his prime was one-sided. She held her arm out
over Kenon's body. A silver chain and black pendant swung in her hand. She let
it fall back to Kenon in the funerary niche.

Hailey
followed her mother's lead. "Good-bye, Daddy." Her sapphire ring fell
short of the pit. She ran forward to pick it up. This time it fell from her
little fingers onto her father's chest.

Mikail
held the younger Sasha near the niche. Together they offered a small green
stone. "You live on through your children, Kenon. And through your
family," he said. "We are strong because of you. You live on because
of us."

As
Kenon's other amours and children stepped forward to say their final words,
David understood why Kenon followed tradition so closely, why having his own
circle was so important to him. He lived the History. And, like his
mother said, he would live forever through that History, through generations of
an extended family and their genes.

When
the last of the offerings were made, Kenon's birth father proudly held a
flickering torch over the niche.

Mari
buried her head in David's shoulder. He held her for a long time before taking
her hand and leading her away from the ceremony. He touched her cheek with the
back of his hand. "There could have been a better time for this,
but...." He slipped a ring from his pocket and slid it onto her middle
finger. The shine of three obsidian spheres set atop the silver band made up
for its loose fit. The stones dwarfed her tiny finger, but the ostentatious
nature suited her.

"I
want you to be my prime, Mari, so we can laugh, and dock, and fight every day
for the rest of our lives."

A
small smile shone through her tear-streaked face. "You're leaving, aren't
you?" she whispered.

It
wasn't the response he had expected, but she was intuitive, another quality he
admired. He felt guilty for his answer. "Just to help bring them
back." David wasn't sure if he meant Sean and Sara or the crew he walked
out on so many months ago. Maybe in a way it was for all of them. "Then
I'm yours for good."

"I'm
holding you to all three of these." Mari wiggled the ring on her finger
and stared up at him with a twinkle in those gorgeous eyes.

"That's
why I chose that one." He kissed her like it was their first kiss at
Shiraz Dock all over again.

52

"I
can't believe I'm going back there." Sara studied the purpled contours of
the slot canyon below. The wavy edges of eroded rock snaked away for
kilometers, eventually emptying into Palomin Canyon Reserve in the southeast.
Lyra and a group of nineteen Armadans she had managed to gather stood watching
with Sara and Rainer.

"It
would have been easier if Simon hadn't installed rim scanners after that first
fragger attack," Rainer said. "Approaching from this far out leaves
us exposed too many times along the way."

It
amused Sara that Rainer now freely referred to Simon by his given name. He was
either picking up her habits or had decided there was no point in keeping
formality with a man who had ordered his death.

"It
doesn't bother you to come back to Palomin?" she asked.

"I'm
not proud of what happened, Sara."

The
near-apology caught her off-guard, and she didn't like how her feelings toward
Rainer softened.

"Is
that why you're doing this, some type of redemption?" she asked.

Lightning
speared the desert sky behind them. Thunder clubbed the black clouds in the
distance. Sara's skin tingled, a mix of anxiety and inevitability. A sudden
pinch in her side heightened her apprehension. She pressed a hand to the pain.

"What's
wrong?" Rainer asked.

His
alarmed look mirrored her thoughts—that the irradicae had begun their assault.

Whether
in denial or because she didn't want Rainer to know, she lied. "I'm fine.
Just need to adjust this grappler belt." She loosened the nylon, hoping
that would bring some relief. It didn't.

"It's
more awkward than the thigh holsters, but you should be able to get rid of it
once we deploy the grapplers." He pulled out one of the cenders holstered
around her legs and checked the energy level, even though he'd seen her do it a
few minutes before.

"You
never answered my question," Sara said.

Rainer
replaced the cender and inspected her harness. "These leg straps are too
loose." He grabbed the strap on the inside of Sara's right thigh and
pulled it snug.

She
reached for the other strap and grabbed Rainer's hand by mistake. He caught her
fingers with his. "I'm here because our situation could have been
different." He tested her other cender.

His
words sounded tragic to her. "You could have made it different."

He
handed the gun back to her this time, instead of replacing it himself.
"Too late now?"

She
wondered if he wanted a response from her. She didn't have one.

"The
truth is," he said. "We probably both would have ended up dead."

That
last statement put her on guard. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't believe
Rainer would have changed that much. If he wasn't willing to risk his life for
her so many months ago, he certainly wouldn't be putting himself in peril now
simply to save Sean. Rainer had his own agenda. It just so happened that his
and Sara's goals overlapped presently. At least that's what he thought since
she lied to him about not finding the data.

Yul
had played along when she came out of the V-side and said the data was still in
Sean's head. It was the only way to insure his safety. If Rainer were playing
both sides, he still would have to get Sean out alive in order to obtain his
prize. Yul had the cure now, and even Sara didn't know where he went after
fleeing Rushow. She was a quick study of contractor ways after being around so
many for so long, and the first lesson she learned was deceit. The second was
manipulation. A part of her felt guilty for it, but the larger part of her just
wanted Sean back.

A
swirl of sand appeared over Rainer's shoulder.

"What's
that?" Sara asked.

Lyra
squinted through one eye in the dust cloud's direction. "Incoming
rover."

"Nice
optical implants. They're illegal, you know," Rainer said.

"You
can turn me in when we break into the Sovereign's estate."

"They've
found us." Anger and fear flooded Sara's system at giving up the advantage
of their surprise entrance.

The
Armadans readied static rifles simultaneously. Sara aimed a paired of cenders.
Rainer stood there with his arms folded. "We're out of range for weapons
that small."

"I
know," she said. "It just feels better to have a weapon between me
and whoever's headed our way."

Lyra
squinted again. "Calm down." She lowered her rifle. "It's the
rest of our team."

"I
didn't know there were others joining us," Sara said.

"I
wasn't sure they would until just now," Lyra said.

An
open-air desert rover rambled into view ahead of the whirling cloud from the
west. Sara counted a full load of six Armadans, three of whom were women,
sitting on bench seats under the roll bars in the transport's bed, plus a male
driver and passenger.

A
force of thirty against a hundred or more. And that was if they did it the easy way.

When
the rover lumbered to a stop, David was the first to hop over the side. Sara
wondered how a former fleet captain felt about sitting in the back. Not sure if
he were still angry with her, she greeted him formally by placing her palm
against his chest.

"Thank
you," she said.

"Duty
calls. Can't let one of my crew down, even if he is a cocky, dosed up mech tech
who's too smart for his own good." He gave her a small kiss on the
forehead.

Sara
knew David cared about Sean, otherwise he would never risk his life to bring
him back. She handed him a harness.

"You've
been hanging around Socialites too long. Picking up their posturing," Lyra
said.

"It's
a sign of affection, Lyra. Something you wouldn't understand," David said.

A
light breeze blew among them, making Sara shiver. Thunder banged off the rock
walls. The storm to the north had begun.

"It
won't be long now," Rainer said.

Sara
snapped into the boot restraints on her swivel board the way Rainer had showed
her. She shouldn't have been surprised that board training was now mandatory
for contractors after they were introduced by the fraggers at the last battle
here. Any seven year old could master the gyroscopic maneuvers of the hovering
plank, but the unsteadiness still made Sara's insides churn. The pinching in
her abdomen didn’t help. It was constant now, intensifying a little with each
breath.

The
wind picked up, stirring from the slot canyon below. It smelled of fresh clay
and reminded her of the first notes of Sean's scent. A rumbling shook the
ground. Lightning filled the air with the smell of ozone. The temperature
dropped suddenly.

"Ready?"
Rainer moved the small force into position at the canyon's lip.  He turned
a slow semi-circle on his board, watching for signs of confirmation from every
man and woman.

A
deafening roar belched up from the slot canyon. Purple brown water raged below
them, shaking the ground with its passing.

Rainer
dropped his board into the churning waves, followed by Lyra. One after the
other Armadans disappeared over the rim.

David
motioned Sara in front of him. With a twist of her body, she moved her board to
the edge. She didn't hesitate—afraid her legs would lock up out of fear—just dropped
into the flash flood. The sound was deafening, and the narrow canyon eclipsed
the sun except in patches. Out of instinct, she braced for impact. But the
board's absorption field ate her momentum and left her bouncing just above the
gnashing water. Splashes drenched her boots and pants, and the spray soaked the
rest of her. While the muddy water painted the canyon walls a dark charcoal, it
splatted her black shirt and pants with a greyish purple scum.

She
shifted the weight to her back foot slightly to make the board climb a little
higher. The front end angled too high. She threw her weight forward, but
overcorrected. She swung her arm to the opposite side to regain her balance. A
startled cry echoed below her. One of the Armadans had dropped into the flash
flood. Sara saw his head, then only an arm and a foot pass under her before the
body disappeared completely. Her heart thundered nearly as loud as the rushing
river. She looked up in time to see the canyon wall jutting in front of her.
Taking the brunt of the hit with her shoulder, her center of gravity shifted.
The board spun ninety degrees.

She
adjusted right before smashing into a ledge on the opposite side. David nearly
missed her and surfed past just over her head. She held her breath and found her
balance. One lean too far to the right or left and she'd end up grated against
the sandstone. Adrenaline masked the pain in her shoulder and belly.

The
side entrance to Palomin approached rapidly. All the force in the universe
wouldn't stop her now. Sara tried to guess how far she was from the
ever-widening sliver of light that floated just above the flood. She hoped the
water contained enough force to blind the entry sensors—otherwise, the
harrowing trip through the slot canyon would have been as ineffective as
driving right up to Palomin's rim and jumping into direct contractor fire.

Three
troopers and David surfed and bounced out of the slot canyon in front of her
and into the main expanse of Palomin. Sara followed their route, though the
waves were unpredictable as they jostled for release at the mouth of the slot
canyon. One rose high. Sara had nowhere to go. She burst through the wall of
water and surfed into Palomin. The cluster of white buildings appeared ahead.
Their white towers rose three hundred meters high, capped by the rounded
remnants of a worldship hull.

As
the canyon widened, the water level dropped significantly. The boarders fell
into formation, five abreast. David dropped in beside her. "That was close
back there. You look pretty shaken."

Actually,
the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a roiling pain in her abdomen in its
wake. David didn't need to know this, though. "I'm worried about what
we'll find inside. Whether Sean's…."

"Sean's
going to hang on just to keep pissing them all off." Despite the joke,
David's tone indicated that he worried, too.

Sara's
board jerked. The bottom skipped off a rock, exposed by the dwindling flood
waters. She compensated and climbed a bit higher with the board. David
gracefully swerved and maneuvered on the board like he'd done it all his life.
His agility surprised her, and made her feel a little clumsy. Apparently, her
few weeks training as a contractor wasn't enough to erase eighteen years as a
coddled Socialite.

They
pulled up to the others at the nearest tower. Sara dismounted from her board
into the shin-deep water. Her legs wobbled as she settled into a thin layer of
mud on the canyon floor. No alarms, no sign of contractors.

She
walked up to where Rainer and Lyra looked to be in a heated discussion.

"You'd
better be right," Lyra said. "Because we only have one shot at
this."

"I've
scoured every inch of this compound on security detail," Rainer said.

"I
don't believe the Sovereign's Head Contractor performed his own security
detail," Lyra said.

"Rainer
doesn't leave anything to chance," Sara said. "He's Head Contractor
because he does the job the best."

"Was
Head Contractor," Lyra corrected.

"You
either trust me or turn back now," Rainer said.

Sara
held her breath at the bluff. Rainer was gambling with Sean's life by making
the ultimatum. He knew as well as she did that they needed the Armadans' skills
and numbers if this plan were to work.

"We'll
follow you," Lyra said. "But, if this goes wrong, I'll kill you myself,
Rainer, and collect on your execution writ."

Rainer's
look said she'd try to kill him, but that he wasn't envisioning the same
ending she was. Sara knew Rainer would win.

Because
he always stacks the odds in his favor.

Sara
unholstered the grappler gun, then unbuckled the nylon belt and let it fall to
the thick mud at her feet. The receding water had also left a strong organic
smell behind, not as pleasant as when the torrent first rushed through the
canyon.

The
reinforced aluminum stock of the grappler had little heft and fit neatly in the
palm of her hand.  She flipped on the laser sight and painted a dot on the
bottom of the balcony railing suspended three hundred meters above her.
She pulled the trigger. A click preceded the whooshing of the aluminum
grappling hook carrying the silk rope up to the balcony. It pierced the
concrete just under the railing and locked in place. Sara secured her right
hand to the grappler with the strap on its side and held tight with the other
hand. She pressed the retract button by her thumb and shot into the air.

Sara
and the rest of her group zipped toward the balcony. The wet skin on her hands
and face tingled with the rush of wind. Her clothes clung to her, sucking away
her warmth. She watched the concrete supports of the balcony loom closer. Her
ascent slowed automatically as the grappler reeled in its last twenty
meters.  She reached for the railing with her free hand, ignoring the
throb in her arms.

Rainer
and Lyra were the first two to climb the railing and hop onto the balcony. Sara
and David took their turns with the remaining Armadans. Rainer stood in front
of the double doors leading inside.

"How
long do we have until the contractors inside react to your access code?"
Lyra asked.

"Hopefully
they'll think it's a glitch and not check at all, or send one guard,"
Rainer said. "If they're anticipating a move like this, then about six
minutes. If so, that fragger camera loop program will be worthless."

"It's
better to have it just in case," Sara said.

Yul
had been busy loading them down with tech before she and Rainer left him at
Rushow. Though she had full faith in Yul, she still held some trepidation that
one of the cameras along the way wouldn't pick up the signal from her reporter
in time, therefore not prompting it to show the same loop of video of the few
seconds before their arrival.

"Then,
let's get this over with," Lyra said.

Rainer
tapped his reporter. A small green circle lit on the door's lock. He shouldered
the door open and followed the muzzles of his weapons inside. Lyra stayed close
on his heels. One by one the troopers filed through the door, each one covering
a different direction. Sara swept with David. No one spoke.

Inside
the sounds reduced to the buzzing of lights in the grey hallway.  With
sudden alarm, she remembered being here. Her mind went back to that night after
the fragger attack, after Rainer had shot her. She had traveled this same route
to her torture. Doors marked with signs for the hippodrome confirmed her
surroundings. The elevators would be coming up in the hallway on their left.

Sara
felt nauseous, whether from reliving her last moments before imprisonment or
from the increasing spasms in her abdomen. When they reached the elevators, she
clenched her cenders tighter to keep her world from spinning.

Cameras
rotated within their white sphere casings, but didn't zoom into any one spot.
She hoped that meant Yul's trick was working. Rainer inclined his head toward
the stairwell door by the elevator bank. Lyra entered first as he covered her.

They
all spiraled down a staircase, cenders and rifles drawn, boots tapping the
concrete stairs in a soft cadence. They descended floor after floor. The
overhead white lights burned into Sara's retinas with an unrelenting intensity.
When they reached the bottom landing, Rainer pushed open the door just enough
to peek through. Satisfied, he slipped onto the awaiting metal catwalk.

Single
file, their rifles against their shoulders, the Armadans traversed the catwalk.
Sara didn't remember this accessway, nor the cavernous room thirty meters below
it. The low level lighting allowed her to see large shipping crates stacked
like buildings underneath them. Aisles crisscrossed among the crates like a
street grid. She froze when she thought she saw a figure dash behind a stack.
David bumped into her and immediately trained his rifle where she pointed her
cenders.

Then,
she felt it. The hair on her arms stood straight up, charged with static.
Cender fire splashed off the railing to her right, sizzling through the trooper
standing there. She dove for the catwalk floor.

"Covering!"
David aimed the rifle through the exposed rails of the catwalk. He sent
alternating bursts flying into the aisles below. Sara aimed her cenders at the
oncoming static trails. Their flash dissipated just before reaching the ceiling
lights above the catwalk. She crawled toward the other end of the accessway
where part of their group laid down more cover. As she approached the end, Lyra
yelled. "Incoming grenades."

A
shrill series of beeps cut the air. Rainer grabbed Sara and pulled her to her
feet, then shoved her through the door. A silvery light from the exploding
catwalk blinded her. The force threw a body into the stairwell on top of her
legs. The world cut out from her for just a moment. She fought off a wave of
oncoming blackness.

Pain
wrapped around into her lower back, and her ribs ached, but she held her hands
to her ears against an unbearable ringing. She shouted for Rainer, for David,
until a coughing fit took her breath. She coughed and spit grit from her mouth,
then stood and shook off the dust. Her vision returned in a spotty mess. The
dust swirling through the concrete stairwell didn't help her visibility.

It
was if time played in slow motion.

She
looked for familiar faces, spotting David among the other Armadans. Shrapnel
peppered his right cheek and neck. Blood dripped down to this chin.

She
shouted for someone to close the door to the stairwell, but realized it had
been blown off its hinges. The closest trooper nudged her up and shoved her
forward. She looked around frantically for Rainer. There were only twelve of
their group left here in the stairwell. She ducked around the trooper.

David
caught her arm as she went for the doorway. She skidded to a stop. It was gone.
The contractor force below had taken down the entire accessway. Bodies littered
the floor below. She could hear muffled bursts of gunfire as her hearing tried
to come back. David pulled at her arm. She punched at it, not going anywhere
until she knew for certain. He grabbed her chin and pointed her face toward one
of the stacks.

Rainer
lay face down among the shredded steel. A dark stain oozed beneath him. She
stared at his lifeless body in disbelief as David dragged her away.

53

Chen
held his cender to Sean Cryer's head. It felt a little cowardly considering the
fragger was so dosed out of his mind that he couldn't tell reality from
hallucination any more, but Chen wasn't feeling overly brave after the Armadans
took out forty contractors during the skirmish in the warehouse. The troopers
had taken heavy losses, as well, but not in comparison to the defense they
mounted on the contractors' surprise attack.

"I
say we get rid of Cryer now and cut our losses," Chen said. "The
Sovereign is as good as dead any way. You saw him. He's lost his mind. His body
will follow soon enough. It's better for us all if he dies, especially with
Rainer dead. All we have to do is bide our time to see how the new government
shakes out and force our way to the top of it."

"I'm
not leaving without the cure. "Faya leveled her cender at Chen. "So
step away from him."

She
was obsessed. Chen lowered his weapon, not really caring if Cryer lived or
died. "Weren't you listening to me? We don’t need the cure anymore."

"I
need it."

For
the first time Chen noticed the little shake in Faya's hands. He understood how
Cryer had gotten the drop on her, even in his condition. "Prollixer gave
you his curse?"

"It
wasn't a curse when he gave it to me. It was a gift."

"Prollixer
doesn't give gifts," Chen said.

"I
was special."

The
way she said it left no doubt what she meant. And, here they all thought the
Sovereign wasn't interested in pleasures of the flesh. Chen wasn't sure what disgusted
him more—the thought of Faya docking Prollixer or the fact that she would alter
her genes in such a drastic way.

"Did
Rainer know that his days as Head Contractor were numbered because he wasn't
providing the same type of services that you were?" he asked.

She
ignored the taunt and picked up the knife she had been using on Cryer for the
past hour.

"I
think you're already losing your mind." Chen made for the door.

"Dahlia
and the Sovereign are halfway to the docking pad by now," Faya said.
"You'd never reach the ship before they take off. Besides, I need someone
to watch my back. I almost have him broken."

Cryer
wasn't giving her anything more, but her desperation outweighed the obvious.

"The
few remaining contractors we have left out there won't be able to hold off
those troopers before our reinforcements arrive," Chen said. "I'm
getting out while I can. You're on your own, cousin."

"I'll
remember this when I'm controlling the Embassy," Faya shouted after him.

Chen
wasn't worried. If she did make it out of here alive and managed to cure her
curse, he knew her dirty secrets. That kind of blackmail would be worth a power
position. He had nothing to lose, unless he couldn't get to that ship before it
left. He dialed Dahlia on his reporter.

54

"That's
it," Sara said. Their small team stood outside her former modification
cell. Of the remaining Armadans, only two troopers—Markus and Tamasine—stayed
with Sara, David, and Lyra. The others split off in the stairwell to assist
their comrades on the warehouse floor who managed to survive the fall and were
still battling contractors.

A
distant sound of footfalls echoed from around the corner. With quick hand
gestures, Lyra and David signed to one another, then to the troopers. Each of
them took a position along the concrete walls. David motioned Sara toward him,
then cupped his hand over her ear. "Could be an ambush. You and I will
watch the rear."

Sara
aimed her cenders at a small imperfection about two meters high on the wall
down the hallway behind them. It was unnerving to be facing away from the
action, but if this were an ambush, she and David would have plenty to deal
with on their end. The footsteps were louder, but also more hesitant as they
approached the hallway. Sara wanted to see what Lyra and the troopers were
doing, but kept her discipline and never deviated from her spot on the wall.

The
footsteps stopped just before turning the corner. Sara controlled her
breathing, though the soft exhalations still sounded deafening to her.

The
smack of a weapon into bone and flesh made Sara flinch. From behind her, she
heard a thump, like a body hitting the floor.

"Clear,"
Tamasine said.

David
held up a hand for Sara to stay and cover. Sticking to the wall, his compact
rifle butted against his shoulder, David hurried to the end of the hallway.
Sara maintained her concentration, even with the scuffle erupting behind her.
David peered around the corner, keeping most of his body in cover.
"Clear," he said, though his stare remained on the adjoining hallway.

Sara
finally looked at the contractor held to the floor by Lyra and Markus. Though
Chen's features were distorted by the gag stuffed in his mouth, Sara recognized
his eyes. Not quite Rainer's icy blue, but piercing enough. She had never seen
Chen's eyes so rounded in fear. Maybe she should have felt a twinge of pity or
nostalgia for him, but it was as if that life, the one where they were
together, wasn't hers anymore.

"Where's
Sean, Chen?" she asked.

"You
know this man?" Lyra and Markus hoisted Chen to his feet and slammed him
against the hard concrete wall. His one knee couldn't hold his weight and a
bone mender beeped in alarm. The trooper kicked it off, sending Chen into a fit
of muffled shrieks.

"He's
working with the group who has Sean," Sara said. When Rainer initially
mentioned this to her, she thought it was a bluff, but meeting Chen here at
Palomin was no coincidence.

Lyra
grabbed Chen's head and slammed it into the wall again. She flipped open her
knife in front of his face. "I'm going to remove this gag, and if you make
any noise except to answer her, I'll jam this knife between your ribs and
deflate your lung so you'll barely be able to whisper. Do you understand
me?"

Chen's
gaze darted from the knife to Lyra to Sara and back.

"Do
you understand me?"

He
nodded his affirmative.  She plucked the rolled up piece of shirt from
Chen's mouth.

"Will
you let me go if I tell you?" he asked.

Lyra
stuffed the gag back in and jabbed the knife under his ribcage. Chen jerked in
pain, his screams muffled by the gag. "You don't listen very well,"
Lyra said. "I didn't nick your lung this time, but if you don't answer her
question, next time I'll plunge the blade in up to its hilt."

Chen
quit squirming. Lyra ungagged him, pressing the knife to his side.

"Cryer's
in the storage room at the end of the next hallway."

Sara's
mouth went dry. "Is he alive?"

"For
now," Chen said. "But Faya's still working on him."

Sara
bolted around the corner and ran down the hallway. The pain of twisted muscles
gathered in her abdomen. Her heart banged against her rib cage, terrified at
what she might find inside that room.  She heard David shout,
"Targets this side." Weapons fire sounded behind her, but Sara's mind
had one purpose—get Sean away from Faya.

She
was within a meter of the storage room door when a hand snatched her by the
shoulder and flipped her to the floor backward. Sara rolled to her feet and
kicked the cender out of Faya's hand. A bone mender chimed from her other arm
as Faya used it to smash one of Sara's cenders into the wall. Sara fired the
other one. The shot grazed Faya's shoulder, but she wrestled the weapon out of
Sara's hand before she could do more damage.

Sara
plowed her head into Faya's solar plexus and knocked her down. Faya kicked Sara
in the chest with the heel of her boot. Pain surged through newly bruised ribs,
the sharpness in sickening contrast to the dull, constant pain in her abdomen.
Faya regained her feet and locked her arms around Sara's head and shoulders
from behind. Sara jabbed her thumb back into Faya's left eye. She cried out and
loosened her grip. Sara twisted out of her hold and tackled Faya to the ground.
Jamming her elbow into Faya's throat, Sara pushed away, but not before grabbing
a fistful of pink-streaked hair. She slammed Faya's face into the floor and
ripped out the pink streak by its roots. Sara went right back for another
section of Faya's hair and dragged her to the storage room door.

When
Faya bit Sara's leg, she kicked her in the teeth. She trapped Faya's arm
between her legs and accessed Faya's reporter. The lock mechanism lit green.
Sara pulled Faya to her feet and shoved her into the room first, in case
another surprise might be waiting inside.

There
were no sounds, no words, when Sara saw Sean's body.

She
was paralyzed. The bile in her stomach rose from the stench of chemicals and
blood and torture. Sean was slumped over on the floor, his hands bound behind
him, blood streaking his head and bare chest, soaking the waistband of his
pants and pooling on the floor around him. Ugly bruises covered his fair skin
in deep purple blooms.

David
stormed inside with the troopers. Sara threw Faya at him and ran to Sean.

Seeing
him broken like that made her sick. She noticed how his leg from the knee down
rested at an unnatural angle. Then, she saw his missing fingers and how his
wrist dangled from his arm. She couldn't imagine she'd ever looked this bad.
Her hands shook as she reached for his arm. She had to know for certain. His
skin felt chilled under her touch.

"Sean."

She
leaned closer, afraid to look at his face, afraid to see how Faya might have
butchered his handsome features. A small movement from his chest, as though he
were taking a shallow breath, sent a shiver of hope up her spine. "Sean?
Can you hear me?"

He
groaned, a small, wheezy, pathetic sound that sent her into a sob because it
meant he was alive, but that he had suffered horribly at Faya's hand. Discarded
at his side lay her weapons of choice—syringes of hallucinatory drugs and the
triton knife he had taken from Ariel at the Underground.

Sara
picked up the knife. Bright red dripped over blackened flakes of dried blood,
Sean's blood. She flew to where David still held Faya back. She screamed and
kicked at Sara and struggled against David like a deranged animal. Sara pulled
Faya's head back to expose her throat.

"Sara—"

Her
look silenced David. "Just hold her."

It
was her fight, her past.

"I
want you to know this isn’t because of what you did to me," Sara said,
staring into Faya's eyes. "It's because of what you did to him." She slid
the knife across Faya's throat. It split as easily as Sara's skin had so many
times from the blade cuffs. Sara watched Faya's head flop with each gush of
blood until the contractor's blue eyes stared into the Otherside.

David
let her body drop to the ground.

A
moan from Sean drew Sara's attention. Lyra and Markus had Sean sitting up
against the wall. Sara shoved Lyra away from him and kneeled in front of him.

His
right eye had swollen shut, and the surrounding skin shined black and purple,
all the way down to his broken nose. Crusting rivulets of blood matted his hair
and painted his cheeks, and his lips were split and cracked. She cradled his
head and begged him to come back to her, even just a small part of him.

An
explosion from the floor above dimmed the lights and shook the room. They
choked on dust that fell from the ancient structure.

"What
was that?" David asked.

"Not
from us," Lyra said. "Unless some of our troopers found a supply of
rocket launchers hidden in that warehouse."

"Not
likely," David said. "And if the contractors had rocket launchers,
they would have used them when we were most vulnerable, on the catwalk."

"Then,
someone else has joined the party. We need to go now," Lyra said.
"The fragger's sliding pretty badly. We don't have time for him to pull
out of it…if he even can."

"Sean,
we're getting you out of here," Sara said as Lyra picked the lock on his
restraints with her knife.

No
response. Dizziness slammed into her, maybe because the pain in her belly was
almost unbearable, maybe because she might have come all this way and still not
get Sean back.

David
lifted Sean onto his shoulders, pinning Sean's arm and his bad leg against his
chest with one hand. In the other he brandished a cender.

"We're
on the bottom floor, right?" Lyra asked Sara. "All we have to do is
get back into the canyon and onto our boards—"

"This
level is actually below ground," Sara said. "We need to go up four
floors to exit out onto the canyon floor."

Lyra
shot David a concerned look. "Can you do the stairs carrying him?"

"It'd
be better for both of us if we could take the elevator."

Sara
refused to think about the difficulties they faced trying to transport Sean by
swivel board back to the slot canyon. She would drag Sean out of Palomin if she
had to. First, they had to make it out of here.

A
second blast shook loose tiles from the ceiling. With an electrical hiss the
lights began to oscillate and strobe. Ozone wafted through the room. Explosions
and voices came from upper levels through new holes in the structure.

"If
there's an elevator left," Sara said.

The
strobing lights showed their exit in slow motion. Lyra led them down the
hallway. Sara followed David, helping Tamasine sweep. She leveled her cenders,
ready to take out anyone who might be following them.

The
muscles in her abdomen contracted so hard, she doubled over, riding through
wave after wave of nauseating blackness.

"What's
wrong with you?" Tamasine asked, her personality less hard-edged than
Lyra's, more like David's and Geir's.

Sara
forced herself upright. "Nothing."

They
waited for Lyra's "all clear" before rounding the corner. As they
halted in front of the silver elevator doors, Sara was mesmerized by their
reflections flickering in and out with the strobing lights. They looked like
battle-worn ghosts returning from the Otherside.

When
the lit display showed the elevator descending to their floor, the group took
up posts to either side of the doors. At the chime announcing the elevator's
arrival, Lyra and Markus readied themselves.

The
doors opened.

Swinging
around, cenders first, Lyra yelled, "Clear."

They
boarded. Sara rubbed a hand over Sean's back. There was a whirring sound and a
feeling of inertia as the number display counted up from sublevel four.

Another
distant explosion rippled above them. The elevator jerked and the lights went
out. Dim emergency lighting popped on in one corner.

"How
far did we make it?" Sara asked.

"The
display is out," Lyra said.

The
main lights popped on again and the elevator dropped. This time Sara's stomach
floated.

The
number display flashed, all the floors lit.

Sara
jammed a fist against the emergency halt button. The elevator lurched and
stopped.

"Looks
like we're at sublevel three," David said. "Not much progress."

Lyra
and Tamasine pried the doors apart. "We're between floors."

A
narrow opening greeted them at eye level. The larger opening went to the floor
below. Sara stuck her head out and looked up at the wall of the elevator shaft.
"There's a big two painted on the wall above us."

"We'll
take the stairs up the last couple of levels," Lyra said.

"I
hope we can squeeze through that." David eyed the bottom space.

Lyra
slipped through first, followed by Tamasine. Markus had a harder time squeezing
his chest and shoulders through. Sara dropped down next and waited for David to
maneuver Sean through the opening with Markus' help. David managed to slide
through with only minimal scrapes and scratches.

Lyra
and Tamasine checked the stairwell. "Clear."

Sara
brushed sweat-soaked hair from her forehead and swallowed back her rising
nausea. She was losing the battle against her pain. It took concentration just
to remain upright. Pushing off the wall, she ascended the steps on Lyra's
heels. Sara once again relied on her pain for focus, like she had during her
imprisonment here.

If
nothing else, the pain meant she was still alive.

55

Finally.

David's
neck and shoulders burned under Sean's weight. He was heavier than he looked. Once
Sean was well enough, David wouldn't let him forget how big a pain in the ass
he was for making them come all the way to Palomin for him. But, the joke
landed flat, even in David's head because he wasn't sure Sean was going to
survive. It made him sad because, despite Sean's moodiness and arrogance, David
appreciated his spirit, his drive to be self-sufficient, and his unguided
passion.

You
would have made a good fleet officer.
David smiled, knowing Sean probably would have punched him in the mouth for
such blasphemy.

The
massive white doors that opened to Palomin's canyon floor loomed twenty meters
away.  A fresh coat of silt deposited by the flash flood covered every
surface. The smell of mud reminded David of the slot canyon and just how far
away that escape route was now. He slipped, but managed to catch his balance,
even with Sean's weight making him top-heavy.

Sara
didn't fare as well. She hit hard on her shoulder and didn't get up right away.
Tamasine helped her to her feet, and after a few words between them that David
couldn't hear, Sara continued toward the door with cautious steps and a hand
wrapped around her belly.

He
had never seen combat take such a toll on a person so quickly, then again Sara
was no warrior. She looked like she'd aged twenty years since this morning. Her
ashen complexion and bleary eyes reminded him of a private on his first
commission who'd taken a low level cender blast to the gut. The severe internal
injuries weren't enough to kill him right away, so he suffered greatly until
finally succumbing to the pain. Maybe Sara had been injured during her fight
with Faya.

He
liked how Tamasine had taken to watching over Sara. Lyra could take a lesson in
leadership from the younger woman.

Standing
at the door controls, Lyra said, "Ready?"

Tamasine
and Markus took up position on either side of the doorway. On Lyra's command,
they each kicked a door open.

Windblown
grit washed into the room on a sound wave of dissonant music. The lyrics
screamed death to the Embassy, and called for Sovereign Simon to be castrated.
Refrains of Kill the castes echoed from a hodge-podge of ships—space
transports, cruisers, sanitation vessels, an old medical frigate. They all
vented fragger boarders out of their bellies, thousands of them that surfed
through the air around a few huge Embassy transports.

David's
whole team stood dumbfounded in the cap-shadowed doorway. The thick scent of
ozone mixed with the smell of canyon mud.

"What
the...?" Lyra stepped back.

Heavy
weapons fire pelted Palomin. Soft metal surfaces melted in the inferno.
Cascading booms caused rock columns to fall from canyon walls. Light strobed
through smoke just before bone-softening thunder wracked David's body. The
cleansing light of revolution had descended into this part of the world. The
contractors countered with grenade launchers and heavy static guns mounted in
the back of rim transports, but they were outnumbered three to one.

Plasma
bombs ate through the old buildings and glassed the canyon walls.  Energy
waves rippled through the sand. Prop wash blew dust and ash into their faces.
It was impossible to shield their eyes from the energy that erupted all around.

Combatants
on both sides yelled orders through speakers, trying to be heard over the
blaring music. Waves of mismatched fragger surfers shot through the air dodging
contractor fire. Every so often one would fall straight to the ground as a
lucky contractor hit his mark.

"We
won't make it through that," Lyra said.

"There's
another slot canyon behind us," David said.

"With
no transport waiting at the top," Lyra said.

"Once
we make it topside, we can do a rim skim and circumnavigate all this."
David had doubts about how well he'd be able to maneuver along the inside of
the canyon rim with Sean on his back, but would deal with that when the time
came.

"Agreed,"
Sara said. "Sean won't last much longer."

David
wasn't sure she would either.

The
team worked its way around the base of the building they'd just fought their
way through. Sara could tell David grew weary from carrying Sean. She couldn't
imagine that strain, considering she could barely place one foot in front of
the other in her current condition.

"Everybody
down!" Lyra jumped back against the wall. Sara pulled her cenders.

A
transport filled with contractors rolled toward their small group. Though they
didn't have one of the large mounted static guns, the half dozen contractors in
the open air bed fired their cenders.

Markus
took fire to his shoulder. David had dropped Sean and grabbed his rifle.

Sara
threw her cenders to the ground.

She
ran to the front of the fray, rage and pain controlling her mind and body.
Blasts sizzled around her. Standing in the middle of the heated onslaught and
staring down the oncoming transport, she held up her palms, not certain the
convertors in her wrist implant would absorb the incoming cender energy and not
really caring anymore. Her body shook. Her heart raced. The energy compounded
until she labored for breath. She staggered backward.

From
the corner of her eye she saw David rush at her, then stop and simply watch.
She was watching, too, from somewhere outside her body—watching and crying.

Blinding
light emanated from an orb at the center of Sara's palm. She screamed with the
effort to control the energy. The pitch of her voice melded with the squeal of
overcooked cenders and the ringing in her ears. She smashed her palms together,
forcing the light into one large, quivering orb and launched it at the
contractors.

Glowing
hot light blasted through the men and women. Sara dropped to her knees and
covered her eyes. She expected silence like when she had first witnessed the
orb weapon used on Palomin's rim, but the sounds of battle never relented. She
opened her eyes to watch the last dying flash reveal the contractors' charred
bodies.

As
she pushed to her feet, fragger boarders dropped in around them, surrounding
the group. The low whir of their boards was nearly lost in the noise of battle.
Each fragger wielded dual cenders, the modded kind like she had seen in the
V-side.

"Don't
fire." A female fragger, her long blonde hair whipping around her face,
jumped from her board, her eyes hidden by dark shades. She held her palm screen
up to read from it. "Fragger idents."

Her
attention snapped to Sara, honing in on the bio-lights peeking around rips in
the dark sleeve. "Nice to finally meet you in the Realside, Ambasadora
Mendoza."

Sara
stumbled forward. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her nose scrunched up
from the pain, but she stood tall when she reached the fragger. When she asked,
"Who are you?" her wispy breath barely carried the distance between
them.

"Yadira,
but you know me as Cuzco," the small woman said. "Yul is waiting for
you. And Zak."

"What
about the rest?" A boarder in back pointed a cender at the Armadans.

"They're
with us," Sara said.

Several
fraggers dismounted and attended to Sean. Sara wondered if any of them were in
the V-side with Cuzco that day, not that she would recognize them without their
avs. Cuzco/Yadira said, "We'll go two per board and make the run for our
ship."

"I
don't like this." Lyra's grip remained tight on her weapon.

"Mount
up, Lyra," David ordered. "You know better than to refuse aid from
allies."

"You
trust a bunch of fraggers?" Lyra asked.

David
looked at Sara. "Do you trust them?"

"Yes.
They came here for Sean. They didn't have to."

"There's
your answer, Lyra," David said. Tamasine stepped forward to stand with
him. Sara didn't miss the scathing look Lyra gave David, nor the way he ignored
her.

56

A
rumbling explosion woke Rainer. He tasted blood in his mouth. Unable to pull a
full breath, he realized he was lying on his chest. Before he moved his head,
he tried moving his fingers in case he'd suffered neck or spinal trauma from
the fall. He remembered the fall, the explosion on the catwalk, shoving Sara
out of the way.

Confident
he had full use of his limbs, he pushed himself up onto his knees and took
inventory of his injuries. Some broken ribs, to be sure, and a cut to his
forehead—that explained the large amount of blood since head wounds tended to
bleed more—but aside from the bruising and general all-over pain and stiffness
he could expect from falling a hundred meters into a cargo crate, he was fine.

And
he was alone.

He
wouldn't let himself read too much into that thought. Looking down the side of
the crate stack showed nothing but darkness. Even the scant light from the
ceiling and at ground level had been extinguished. He grabbed for his cenders.
His holsters were empty. They would be—he'd had his weapons drawn when the
catwalk collapsed. He searched for them among the crate debris, but they were
gone.

He
had no choice but to take his chances on the ground. Each movement on his climb
down sent electric jolts of pain up into his groin, through his back and neck,
and settled in his damaged ribcage. Muffled sounds of heavy weapons fire
bounced along the exterior walls. Maybe Prollixer had gotten wise to their plan
and called in the military. Maybe Dahlia had told him everything.

At
the bottom, Rainer flicked on his palm screen to light his path through the
carnage of a battle. It looked like the contractors had gotten the worst end of
it. He noted a prompt on his palm announcing a message waiting for him from
Dahlia.

Stalling
take off. It was sent twenty
minutes ago. No follow up.

He
sent back, On my way. No cure.

According
to their prior arrangement, she would know to bluff Prollixer. If Dahlia
decided to turn on Rainer, he would lose completely. Not just the cure. And not
just Sara.  But his life, his family honor.

He
considered searching for Sara's body among the burnt and cracked contents of
upended crates, but he knew in his gut she wasn't dead. She had made it inside
the stairwell before the blast. When his mind wandered to darker possibilities,
Rainer repeated to himself that she had made it. She was alive.

He
picked his way through crumpled bodies and still burning table linens and
broken dishes meant for the ballroom upstairs, then had to detour around large
engine parts and crushed ceiling lights. His focus returned again and again to
a pink emergency exit light hanging above a doorway where the door itself had
been blown from its hinges.

His
head throbbed with each exertive step.

He
felt the air rush at him, carrying the scent of the recent flood. The sounds of
a full-scale battle boomed louder. When he rounded the corner, he saw the right
side of the building had a ten meter gouge which opened it to Palomin Canyon.

Rainer
stood at the edge and witnessed war raging outside.

Perhaps
because he was still dazed from the fall or because he held tight to his
stoicism for focus, he watched the brutal battle between fraggers and
contractors as though it were a Media vid. In the back of his mind he contained
the small fear that one of his brothers or sisters could be fighting for their
lives or already lying in the mud at the bottom of Palomin. Or worse, one of
his amours.

The
idea that his line, his family, could be destroyed, if not in this particular
battle, then one like it that was sure to come after today, cemented itself in
a primal spot within his brain. He had lost sight of his priorities, given into
emotion, and he would pay for that indiscretion.

His
reporter buzzed with an incoming message.

Dahlia
responded, Hurry.

That
one word, coming from his seventh amour, the woman carrying his thirteenth
child, a woman he had all but ignored except to conceive and to plot with, gave
him hope like he had never felt before.

He
sent back, Soon.

The
easiest way to the transport pad was the obliterated catwalk or the internal
elevator. Both ways were cut off now. He'd head for the stairwell.

At
the end of the featureless hallway, Rainer signaled a door control with his
reporter. It ignored him. He pounded it with his fist. The decorative cover
split open, spilling a busted responder and fingers of twisted cable, but the
main door remained shut.

He
carefully played two wires against one another, short-circuiting the electronic
lock, but the door jammed after opening only a crack.  He used his leg as
leverage and pried the door open. Centimeter by centimeter the gap widened.
Sweat mixed with the dust that coated his face and hands. He pried the door a
little further and wriggled his body through, catching his side against the
door frame. The pain shot through him. He closed his eyes to it, trying to
breathe.

He
pushed open the door to the stairwell and started his climb up forty flights.
Each time his boot slapped off the concrete, he heard its echo and felt its jarring
in his body. Each step ate through his stoicism. He fought the onslaught of
emotion at first until he stumbled on tired and bruised legs, falling against
the grey wall like a child just learning to walk. His anger boiled to the
surface, and he welcomed its hot flush like an amour's touch. Someone would pay
for all of this.

When
he pushed open the door onto the launch pad, his stride was purposeful,
concealing his pain and extent of his injuries.

Dahlia
and the Sovereign waited for him by an Embassy ship.

The
access iris above the transport pad remained closed. The sounds of the fragger
bombardment outside would necessitate waiting until a moment or two just before
lift-off to open it to the sky above.

Prollixer's
face split into a crazed smile. "Contractor Varden, I knew I could count
on you. Please, give me my cure."

Rainer
walked past him and straight up to Dahlia. He stroked her cheek and pulled her
into a tender kiss, then whispered, "Thank you."

While
he nuzzled her neck, he slid his hand down her thigh to her holster. He pulled
out her cender, drawing in shallow breaths of her rosy scent. It smelled better
on her than Sara.

"Where's
my cure?" Prollixer clasped a hand on Rainer's shoulder. Rainer elbowed
him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Then
he fired his cender into Prollixer's face. The Sovereign's head jerked back and
settled against the concrete floor.

The
pilot rushed down the gangway, cenders drawn. Dahlia drew and fired, dropping
him as he stared at the Sovereign's dead body. Rainer saw her with new eyes.
She had stood by him when abandoning him would have been easier.

She
trained the cender on Rainer. "I need to know if you did this for
her."

Rainer
looked into Dahlia's cender barrel. Mourning filled him, mourning for a life he
was afraid to ever want in the first place.

"I
did it all for her. But now it's time to move on." He walked past her and
into the ship.

As
he started the lift-off sequence, he figured Dahlia would either shoot him or
slide into the seat next to him.

She
followed him into the ship, then stood over him, almost like she still didn't
know which she'd choose. After a tense moment she settled into the seat and
buckled her restraint.

Rainer
opened the ceiling and held his breath. The transport pad began to rise.

"Where
will we go?" Dahlia asked.

"Somewhere
safe. Somewhere together."

The
transport cleared the pad. Turbulence rattled the hull as shells from the
fragger conflict exploded and echoed throughout the canyon. Rainer deftly
maneuvered the Sovereign's ship in the opposite direction, leaving the fighting
behind him, only to seek comfort in the darkness ahead.

57

"He's
so cold," Sara said. Her body shook as she tried to rub life back into
Sean's arm. "Will this work?" She looked at the three swivel boards
lashed together into a makeshift stretcher.

"We're
only going a few hundred meters," Yadira said. "It's risky, but our
only choice."

David
hoisted Sean into a sitting position on the boards, lashing his back to the
middle boarder's legs. Sean was completely unresponsive. The rest of Sara's
group doubled up on boards.

"Ready?"
Yadira reached a hand out to pull Sara onto her board.

Sara
willed herself to move forward. A wave of pain forced her to her knees. She
collapsed into the mud and vomited. Her vision blurred. She pounded her fists
into the ground to keep from screaming. She felt the blood trickling down her
thighs. A crazy vanity inside her was thankful no one could see the proof of
her suffering, of her loss.

David
kneeled beside her and pulled her into a hug. He pushed the sweat-soaked hair
from her neck and produced a stim patch from his pocket. "You should have
told me earlier how bad you were hurting." He pressed the patch into her
neck.

"This
is faster acting." Yadira handed David an injector.

He
held it against Sara's neck. Its air-forced needle jabbed into her skin,
delivering the entire dose at once. David helped her onto Yadira's board. Sara
wrapped her arms around the tiny woman's waist. The boards moved out, and
though the pace was excruciatingly slow due to their overload of cargo, Sara
still had to close her eyes from time to time to quell her sickness.

Blasts
of music alternated with the gunfire until they became part of the same
composition. Exploding rockets echoed off the canyon walls and the hulls of
burning ships. It was a cacophony of death, but also the birth scream of a new
system, conceived in discontent and born naturally into the raw, naked glory of
war.

Overheated
cenders popped and smoked, making breathing difficult. Each cough wracked
Sara's body with pain. The system could eventually return from this violence,
but she wasn't sure she could ever return from sterility.

The
boards carrying David and the healthy troopers arrived at the ship first.
Yadira held back, sweeping the area while the boarders carrying the injured
crawled into the ship. A sudden lurch forced Sara to the ground. A rocket
exploded in front of them and rained down dirt and stone.

Sara
crawled through the swirling dust and smoke. A hand on her arm helped her
stand.

"My
propulsion's shot," Yadira said. "Run for the ship. I'll help the
others."

Sara
scrambled after Yadira through the clearing dust. She could only run doubled
over, her arms holding her mid-section. Coming up on her left, she saw a trio
of crumpled boards still lashed together with bodies sprawled around it.

"Sean!"
She ran for the downed men. The direct hit from the rocket left them bloody and
lifeless.

She
turned over body after body. None of them were Sean. She looked for Yadira
amidst the mayhem.

She
was helping another fragger from a wreck farther ahead. Fire from grenade
launchers had sent them crashing to the ground. Return cannon fire sounded from
the ship. David and a combined force of Armadans and fraggers laid down cover
while Sara's group struggled toward safety.

Through
the smoke, she spotted a group unloading Sean.

Relief
and a sense of accomplishment swept over her. Her efforts to save him had been
worth every kilo of pain. Now she needed what was left of her strength to save
herself, vowing not to be abandoned in Palomin again. She stumbled and fell.
Pain seared through her belly and ribs, a fiery kick that felt like her insides
had grown a hundred times too large.

She
didn't have the strength to stand up again, so she crawled on her elbows. A
million little explosions pounded through her abdomen, the pain pulsing through
her was worse than if it'd come from the rockets that ripped through the sky
all around her.

"Sara?"
David called to her from behind a curtain of smoke.

She
tried to respond, but at first only raspy croaks issued from her dry throat.

"Over
here," she managed.

David
appeared on her left.

"I'm
here," she said.

Lifting
her up into his arms, David cradled her against his chest and rushed for the
waiting load ramp. She wanted to tell him about the pain, to slow down. Each of
his wide steps brought the taste of blood onto her tongue. She wiped her mouth,
streaking blood across her cheek.

He
placed her on the cargo bay floor. Medics ascended on her as the ship lifted
off. Sara pitched forward and vomited again. Rolling onto her side, she cradled
her belly and rocked back and forth on the metal floor.

"She's
bleeding out." Yul's familiar voice rushed into her ear.

Several
pairs of hands lifted her onto a hovering stretcher.

Sara
screamed as her insides twisted, trying to discharge the mess that the
irradicae had left behind.

Yadira
held one of her hands and Tamasine held the other. Sara squeezed them for
strength. A steady ache pushed against the walls of her belly. Yul pumped stim
after stim into her system.

Her
vision went dark. Frantic voices tried to comfort her, to bring her back into
the world. Pricking needles on her skin gave way to numb coldness. She'd look
for Sean on the Otherside, but hoped he would live many long, happy years
before he made his way back to her there.

58

"I
can't believe it's been so long," Sara said.

But
Sean couldn't hear her as she changed the bandages on his knee. She'd move onto
his wrist and fingers next, a routine Yul had showed her last week when she had
finally felt well enough to stay on her feet for a few hours at a time.

Sean
would finally be able to wear a bone mender on his leg after this last surgery.
The wrist would have to wait. He'd had so many surgeries, so many scares. He
remained sedated most of the time, but occasionally he'd wake up and ask for
her. She would hold his hand and talk to him, usually about her family and her
childhood, until he drifted off again. The reconstruction took its toll on his
body almost as much as Faya's torture.

She
missed him, but he was alive and healing, and they were together. Actually,
they were all together—David, Lyra, Tamasine and Markus, Yul and his pretty
wife, all hiding from the Embassy on the fragger ship with Yadira and a dozen
others, most from Sean's contingency.

My
contingency now.

She
took his place as node and worked tirelessly in the campaign against Simon and
his corruption. The fraggers had won at Palomin, but their resources were
limited, their leadership still fractured. Falling back to reorganize in the
V-side would allow them to prepare for the next stage.

Yadira
walked in and put a hand on Sara's shoulder. Since Palomin, the two women had
become good friends, as had Tamasine, who resigned from the fleet in order to
join the fragger organization, much to Lyra's disgust.

"How's
he doing?" Yadira asked. "His color looks better, no ugly black and
blue patches anywhere."

"He's
strong," Sara said, pride and adoration creeping into her voice.
"He'll be up and trying to take his job back from me in no time."

"Speaking
of…we have to send the message to the Embassy now," Yadira said.
"Sorry to pull you away, but once we reach Archenzon, broadcasts will be
impossible due to the communications net and the embargo. Are you ready?"

Sara
was ready. She volunteered to be the face for their revolution. There was more
danger to her than any real power, but the cause needed a shell to embody their
ideology.

The
right shell, an empty one, like hers.

She
kissed Sean, realizing she really wasn't that empty anymore.

THE END

Dear Readers:

Thank you so much for
joining me and the crew of the Bard in the Ambasadora-verse. You’re the
reason I keep expanding this world.

You can also follow
David and Mari’s adventure before they even met Sara in Greenshift
(From the World of Ambasadora). There’s a sneak peek within the next
few pages.

If
you enjoyed Ambasadora Book 1: Marked by Light, please consider leaving a few
words in a review on Amazon. Kind thoughts are always appreciated in this
turbulent world of publishing.

Look for Starrie
(From the World of Ambasadora) and Ambasadora Book 2: Scarred by Light
coming soon.

To sign up for book
release notifications from me, email heidirubymiller@gmail.com
with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. I only send out an email when a book is
releasing because all of our inboxes are way too full!

Happy reading and
adventuring,

Heidi

About the Author

Heidi Ruby Miller uses research for her stories
as an excuse to roam the globe. With degrees in Anthropology, Geography,
Foreign Languages, and Writing, she knew early that penning fast-paced, exotic
adventures would be her life. She's put her experiences and studies to paper in
her far-future AMBASADORA
series, including her latest novel GREENSHIFT,
and into ATOMIC ZION, the beginning of her new thriller series.

In between trips, Heidi teaches creative writing at Seton Hill
University, where she graduated from their renowned Writing
Popular Fiction Graduate Program the same month she appeared on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
AMBASADORA was her thesis novel there, and the multi-award winning writing
guide MANY
GENRES, ONE CRAFT, which she co-edited with Michael A. Arnzen, is based on the Seton
Hill program and was named #5 in The
Writer magazine's Ten Most Terrific Writing Books of 2011.

She has had various
fiction and non-fiction publications, as well as various jobs,
including contract archaeologist, foreign currency exchanger at Walt Disney World,
foreign language teacher, and educational marketing director for Frank Lloyd Wright's House on
Kentuck Knob. In 2012, Heidi created the Dog Star Books
science fiction imprint for Raw Dog Screaming Press and was the managing editor for
the line for three years.

Currently she is the Director of Professional Writing Relations for the Pennsylvania Literary Festival,
an event she co-founded in 2014 with her husband, award-winning author Jason Jack Miller, and Matthew
Dowling and David Slusarick, the producers of the GoingLIVE talk show on FCTV, where
Heidi sometimes co-hosts.

Her formal memberships include The
Authors Guild, International Thriller
Writers, Pennwriters,
and Science Fiction Poetry Association.
She lives near Pittsburgh and is fond of high-heeled shoes, action movies,
Chanel perfume, Tiffany jewelry, and tea of any sort. Interact with her at www.heidirubymiller.com, @heidirubymiller (Twitter), @heidirubymiller
(Instagram), and at heidirubymiller@gmail.com.

GREENSHIFT

BY

HEIDI RUBY MILLER

1

I'm
giving you one more chance.

"Unidentified
transport vessel, this is Captain David Anlow of the Argo Protector. You
have entered forbidden space above an embargoed planet. Disengage your weapons
or we will take this as a sign of aggression and release gunships. Do you
acknowledge?"

The
UTV's silence mimicked their response to the first two hails.

David's
gunship crews were standing by for launch. Normally he would simply fire a
warning shot across the UTV's bow. The sight of a blue-white plasma ball
rapidly filling the viewscreen was enough to force even the most powerfully
equipped ships to surrender. And the mid-sized transport vessel facing off with
them now only had low grade weaponry that would simply vaporize as it glanced
off the Protector's massive shields.

But
David couldn't risk a warning shot here without the plasma punching through the
atmosphere of Tampa One and hitting the planet. The sharp silhouette of the
oblong UTV was black against the green and white haze of Tampa One. He hadn't
been on the pristine planet in decades—few had since Sovereign Prollixer and
the Quorum of Archivists designated it an eco sanctuary. That meant no new
settlements, no harvesting or mining, only tourists who could pay the
exorbitant prices that the Embassy-sanctioned outfitters demanded.

"Third
hail," Commander Lyra Simpra said, her cinnamon breath reminding David of
his unfinished cup of chai from this morning. "Gunships are a go,
Captain."

Lyra
had never been a patient woman.

His
patience wore thin, too. "Launch gunships two and four."

Still….

The
situation felt wrong to David. He had been captaining the Protector
for ten years and had moved rapidly through fleet ranks since enlisting as a
teenager. In all that time he learned to hone his instincts. Right now they
told him there was something he was missing.

To
the gunships he instructed, "Close half the distance. Wait for my order to
engage." Then so that only his commander could hear, "Lyra, something
feels off about this ship."

"Aside
from their outdated registration, non-existent transponder codes, and
unwillingness to answer us?" the blonde Armadan asked. "Oh, and
there's the bit about their weapons being online."

Only
Lyra could get away with talking to him like that, and not just because of how
they spent their time together off the bridge. He valued her opinion—she never
let emotion cloud her judgment, even when it came to him.

"Do
you really think it's a coincidence," she said, "that the day the
Embassy sends down the quorum to reconsider the Archenzon embargo, this UTV shows
up?"

"Why
would they do this?" David asked. "They had to know they'd be
hopelessly outgunned."

"Desperation.
To make a statement." Lyra didn’t sound like she cared about motive. Her
mood had been irascible since she returned from a meeting at fleet headquarters
last week. She'd never told David what that meeting was about, and he never
asked because there would always be parts of their lives they didn't
discuss—their positions as officers wouldn’t allow it.

Considering
their conversation before she attended that meeting, David suspected Lyra had
requested a transfer. He shouldn't have brought up marriage again.

The
comm officer interrupted his thoughts. "They're responding, sir."

"Argo Protector we have families on
board traveling from Tampa Three. We're requesting an emergency landing. Don't
fire."

"Convenient,"
Lyra said.

David
agreed. "Why are your weapons online?"

"That
can't be. Our ship isn’t armed."
The man's voice sounded nervous, not necessarily like he was lying, more like
the pronouncement caught him unawares.

David
looked to his petty officer for confirmation.

"Still
reading as online, sir."

"Our
sensors report your weapons are online. Disengage and we can discuss
your emergency situation," David said.

To
his comm officer he said, "Relay this information, including the request
for an emergency landing, to HQ."

"Yes,
sir."

"I'm
telling you we don't have any weapons, online or otherwise." Panic infused the man's voice.

"We're
assessing your situation now," David said.

"Response
coming in from fleet HQ, Captain," the comm officer said.

"Put
it through."

"Why
hasn't that ship been dealt with?" To David's surprise, he recognized the voice as Rear
Admiral Quartis. He expected a comm officer to relay the message. The Embassy must
really be concerned with the security for the quorum's little foray on-planet.
Most likely the escalating terrorist attacks by the fragger organization this
past week.

"Sir,
there may be civilian families on board—"

"Squatters,
you mean," Quartis
snapped back. "Trying to stake a claim to land on Tampa One before the
embargo lifts."

David
had considered that. Debates consumed the Media feeds concerning the upcoming
vote which would decide whether those citizens already living on the surface of
Tampa One could remain. The single point all legislators agreed upon, however,
was that no new immigrants would be tolerated. If the passengers in the UTV
were Lower Caste citizens from the ill-formed and dirty world of Tampa Three,
David could understand their desire to live in paradise on the rustic and
isolated Tampa One.

"I'll
have troopers from one of the gunships board them," he said, "and
assess the situation from that end. If there's no threat to the Protector,
the UTV can handle its emergency in our docking bay." To the comm officer
David said, "Relay that order to gunship two."

"If
that ship doesn't comply with boarding, engage and destroy. The Enforcer is on its way to back you
up," Quartis said.

David
bristled. "I think one battleship can handle a UTV, sir."

"Don't
forget who you're talking to, Captain Anlow."

"You
might want to hold your tongue, Captain, before you make us all look bad,"
Lyra spit out through gritted teeth.

"And,
you might want to hold yours, Commander." He didn't need Lyra's pissy
attitude right now.

"The
UTV's weapons went offline," the petty officer said. "Sir, it's
making a break for Tampa One's atmosphere."

"Tell
gunships to follow," David said. "Do not engage. Hail the UTV
again."

"That
goes against direct orders, sir," Lyra said.

"It
isn't protocol to shoot down a civilian ship with its weapons offline,"
David said.

Every
trooper on the bridge remained still, listening to the stand-off between the
officers.

"Rear
Admiral Quartis's direct order overrides fleet protocol according to Section
4.30-74 of the Armadan—"

David
cut Lyra off. "I'm not blasting a passenger transport out of the sky
without true proof of threat. You may return to your quarters, Commander
Simpra."

"I'm
afraid I can’t do that, David."

His
head snapped around at the use of his given name. That should have been the
biggest surprise, but it paled in comparison to the shock of seeing her
pointing a cender between his eyes.

"This
isn't personal," she said.

"Gunships
standing by—Sir, gunships from the Enforcer just fired on the UTV."

David
watched the wall-sized viewscreen as the UTV broke apart into hundreds of
red-orange fireballs plunging through Tampa One's atmosphere.

2

The
sub-orbital ship's gangway dropped slowly, first revealing stark white clouds
mushrooming into a deep blue sky then the undulating surface of a brilliant
turquoise sea on Tampa Deux. Wren had never seen anything like this back on
Deleine, even along the coast of the Chac Territory where the ocean wasn't
quite as polluted as the rest of the planet. And it smelled just as she had
imagined, like a thousand air purifiers were working at once.

She
could never leave this beautiful place…because she was probably going to die
here.

Terror
seized her again, freezing her feet to the dock. Wren's heart pounded so hard,
and the blood pushed through her veins with such force, that she thought she
might pass out.

"Please
don't do this," she begged Carlos, the tall blonde Armadan who pulled her
along the private dock. His large hand completely wrapped around her bicep,
ensuring she went only where he intended. Not that he would help her anyway—he
was only hired muscle with no authority to do anything except what Dale Zapona
told him to.

She
implored Dale. "Please. I want to go home. You can't sell me."

The
wealthy business mogul ignored her pleas.

"You
said you would show me the system." Her voice elevated in panic and
outrage, wishing she had refused his offer of adventure back at the mining
consortium headquarters on Deleine. Sitting behind a desk all day and reviewing
miners' health benefits didn't seem so bad. "You lied about
everything." She despised the memories she had of mooning over this man
whose secret trade was in human trafficking.

"Shut
her up," Dale said.

Carlos
pulled Wren up close to his chest. "You want me to remind you how rough I
can be?"

She
still wouldn't have known her fate had Carlos not become bored during the
journey and decided to make her his entertainment. He couldn't seem to get it
up until he saw her fear. Telling her Dale had made a deal with some psychopath
for her enslavement was enough to bring on the terror.

She
had been afraid every second of every hour since.

They
crossed the synthstone dock over the sea as it became a boardwalk spanning a
high dune. Her shoulder length hair curled up and stuck to her neck, and the
humid air invited biting insects. Wren swatted at the winged attackers, but
they were fast and raised red welts on the fair skin of her exposed arms and legs
and where her sleeveless sheath had ripped during her struggle with Carlos back
on board the freighter. Her bulging lower lip also bore the evidence of that
one and only escape attempt when she had gone mad with the thought of him
touching her again.

Carlos
promised Liu Stavros would be worse, but the the man waiting for them on the
exquisite white patio was unexpected.

He
was in his early twenties, she guessed, not much older than she was. And very
good-looking, reminding her of the guys she and her friends drooled over on the
Media feeds from clubs at the Hub and the few exclusive franchises on Deleine.

When
he saw them, he spread his arms and asked, "What the hell is this?"

The
pink shirt he wore billowed open where he hadn't bothered to button it in the
front, revealing a thin, but toned chest and abdomen. She couldn’t see any tan
lines where the bronze skin disappeared beneath the waistband of his beige
linen pants.

He
flipped his dark shades up from his boyish button nose to look Wren up and down
with light brown eyes—the same shade her eyes used to be until the vaccine
turned them golden-orange.

"Where's
the blonde?" he asked. "And what's up with the busted lip? You know I
won't pay full price for damaged goods."

"She
had a little fall," Dale said, though he gave Carlos a look which said the
difference in price was coming out of his cut.

"That
a fact?" Liu said, unconvinced. "You're lucky if I pay half because I
already have one with chestnut hair in there." He hitched a thumb over his
shoulder toward the double glass patio doors.

If
Wren wasn't what he wanted, maybe they'd let her go. A small hope swam to the
top of her fear.

The
sick smile that spread across Liu's mouth immediately sank her hope.

"But
I guess you did come all this way." A crazed expression warped his
handsome features and a fast excitement infused his voice. "The mind
minstrel's probing the other one right now." He let the double entendre
linger in the air before asking, "Want to hear the music we're making? I
just got this thing last week. It cost more than that piece of shit shuttle you
landed in. Got it from some Lower Caste kid who claimed he was a fragger.
But if his scrawny ass was some anti-Embassy rebel, then I'm the fucking
Sovereign."

Dale
seemed unimpressed. "I don’t need to hear anything and I don’t need to see
anything. I just need my money, Liu."

"Oh.
Come on. You know you want to see it. I know she's never seen one in
action before." Liu walked over and grabbed Wren's chin roughly in his
hand and stared into her eyes, or rather stared at them. She was used to
people showing a mild interest in her rare genetic defect, but this man studied
her irises as though he were a doctor…or some kind of mad scientist.

"How
about it?" he asked. "They have any mind minstrels on that cesspool
planet you're from?"

She
didn't want to answer, didn’t want to speak to him or even look at him. So she
closed her eyes. His grip on her jaw and chin tightened as he shook her head
and forced her to stare back at him. "I asked you a question. Do they have
any mind minstrels on that cesspool planet you're from?"

"No."

"Then
you're really going to enjoy this." He snagged her forearm and dragged her
to the patio doors. She couldn't see anything but the sea and sky reflected in
the dark glass, but she could hear muffled music and voices from somewhere
inside.

The
cacophony of screamed lyrics and erratic beats blasted out at them as soon as
Liu ripped open the door.

All
Wren could make out at first was a triangle of light piercing into the darkness
from the doorway.   Then movement caught her attention near the
ceiling. A small, thin parallelogram bobbed around as if in a lazy current and
shined a strobing beam of blue-green light down onto the bed like a search
beacon. Its focus was a rounded lump, secured by leather straps and huddled on
one corner of the disheveled sheets.

Liu
shouted over the deafening music. "Emotions drive the song, and it'll pick
up bits of conversation."

As
if to emphasize his point, an eerie strain of "Pick it up, p-p-pick it
up," grated along with the fast tempo, repeating until it was nothing more
than a manic scream.

Wren's
entire body shook from the surreal scene and the sensory overload.

The
primal shrieking only excited Liu. He threw his head back, spread his arms and
bounced to the sickening beat. "I swear it's reading her fucking mind
sometimes." Liu pointed to the lump on the bed and slapped Dale on the
shoulder. "The shit it spits out in the lyrics is genius."

Dale's
jaw twitched in agitation, and Carlos's skin looked grey in the strobing
afterglow of the mind minstrel's light.

Wren
wished her sight had never adjusted to the darkened room when the naked woman
on the bed twisted around in her leather bindings to face them. Her mouth gaped
but no words came out. Dark stains dripped down her jaw and….

Wren
followed the trail of drying blood up past the woman's nose.

She
should have never looked.

Then
she wouldn't have seen the empty sockets.

Liu smiled as he pointed two fingers at
Wren's eyes and shouted. "Let's see what kind of music you make."

Read
more of Greenshift
(From the World of Ambasadora).

THE PLANETS OF THE
AMBASADORA-VERSE

TAMPA ONE

The first to
be terraformed, Tampa One was only halfway settled before its larger neighbor,
Tampa Deux, was ready for habitation. Home to large swaths of unspoiled
wilderness, like Archenzon, much of the moon remains a preserve for millions of
species of animal and plant life.

TAMPA DEUX

Heavily
populated, even after Tampa Three was terraformed, Tampa Deux’s popularity
still grows because of its infrastructure and planning.

TAMPA THREE

The smallest
of all the moons, it was originally meant to be an exclusive world for
Socialite families with the most money; however, bad terraforming and rushed
planning made this the least desirable in the system.

YURAI

This world was
terraformed to compete with Tampa Three as the optimal planet. Socialites left
it to the Armadans because they believed its potential wasn’t as high as Tampa
Three, but now Yurai’s size and wealth is rivaled only by Tampa Quad.

TAMPA QUAD

The most populated
planet in the system, Tampa Quad is the center of government and commerce. As
the largest moon, Tampa Quad boasts more inhabitants per square foot than any
other, while still maintaining as much wild space as Tampa One.

DELEINE

Deleine was the
newest planet to be terraformed, mainly so that workers could be close to the
plethora of uranium, iridium, and bauxite mines there. The extensive mining has
caused health issues, especially among the less genetically diverse Socialites.