Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection (59 page)

“This is weird. I’ve never discussed the possibility of working on the loft with him. His expertise is large commercial projects, anyway.”

“What’s up with the windows? They look odd.”

She zoomed in on the specs running along the side of the aural. “It says they’re beveled…which is absurd. Who would put in beveled windows? They would totally obscure the view—and the view is the entire point of the windows.”

“Well, either your friend Will isn’t much of an architect, or…hang on a second. Select the center window.”

The remainder of the blueprint blurred into the background as the center window came into focus. It consisted of a pattern of several dozen small beveled squares.

“There.” He pointed to one of the squares in the lower left quadrant of the window. Now that she examined it, it did seem to contain a more intricate pattern than the others. She selected it, and the square enlarged to dominate the aural.

The pattern inside consisted of an ornamental capital ‘A.’

“That’s what I thought. It’s a hidden message for you.” She looked over quizzically; he shrugged in response. “Spy trick. You should open it.”

“Right….” She raised an eyebrow at the image and tapped the ‘A.’ A dialog opened over it:

What was the title and composer of David Solovy’s favorite musical piece?

A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she input the answer:

Capriccio Italien, Op. 45 by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

A file popped out of the blueprint to hover in the air.

Autopsy Reports: Mangele Santiagar. September 15, 2322

She laughed in delight and sank against the cushion. “Crafty bastard. I knew I could count on him.”

Caleb grasped her face in his hands and drew her in for a long, languorous kiss. He tasted of butter and caramel coffee.
Delicious.

“You. Are. Wonderful.”

“Little bit, yeah.” She kissed him again before pulling back. “I talked to him after you were arrested. I told him about our suspicions and the information you were hoping for, but he said there was nothing he could do to help.”

“Looks like he had a change of heart—unless this Will guy heard about your conversation and accessed the file himself.”

“No. He’s a construction project manager, not a spy. Besides, they’re very close. This is Richard’s doing. Here, let me send the file to you.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and took a moment to study it. “The information’s quite detailed, so hopefully it includes a key to breaking this whole mess open. But it’s got Alliance security written all over it—no way will it pass through the defense net. We’ll have to deliver it in person. Which is fine, because we can be in Cavare tonight.”

He grinned at her, clearly pleased with the turn of events. “Let’s go rent ourselves a ship.”

55

NEW BABEL

I
NDEPENDENT
C
OLONY

O
LIVIA SMILED TO HERSELF
as she toured the newly claimed facility, though she never allowed it to reach her lips. Outwardly she appeared stoically critical and discerning, inspecting every surface and corner for mistakes, flaws or merely a lack of optimization.

She gestured to a series of narrow slits running along the top of the right wall. “Replace those cooling vents. We have access to newer material at half cost. And make certain to get the correct grade for this type of production.”

The manufacturing facility had been ‘liberated’ from the Shào cartel two days earlier, cleaned up overnight and the necessary renovations were now nearly complete. This particular location would increase her supply flow of illegal cybernetic enhancements—vision and reflex enhancers, body state interpreters, sleep deprivation modulators and cyberization overclocks, to name a few—all hyper-concentrated and boosted well beyond safe limits and all carrying a decent risk of blindness, muscular detachment or even catastrophic neural stroke.

It had been a good decision on her part to take what she needed rather than expend the time and effort to build a new plant. The war was heating up in earnest, and they were already seeing a noticeable uptick in demand for the sort of enhancements the plant would fabricate. Everyone wanted to gain an advantage in the rising chaos generated by the war; she was happy to supply them with the necessary tools to do so in whatever manner they saw fit.

She took a last look around the long rectangular chamber. Workers busily installed equipment on the primary production floor. Crates filled with components lined the walls, in many cases stacked almost to the ceiling. Enforcers guarded every door, inside and out; more stood watch in a hundred meter perimeter. Shào wasn’t some street gang, and she didn’t expect they would take the seizure of their property particularly well. There would be repercussions, but nothing her people couldn’t handle.

“I’ve seen enough. Carry on. Contact me if you encounter any last-minute difficulties.” She nodded to Gesson and headed for the lift to the roof, entourage in tow.

The muggy blue haze of a New Babel morning greeted her as she strode across the roof to her transport. She had a dinner date with the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, one who had displayed a degree of moral
flexibility
when it came to his business endeavors.

For the right price, she was confident he could be convinced to provide her the ingredients she required. Once combined with other ingredients from other pharmaceutical companies, legitimate and otherwise, the result would be a new variety of high-potency chimerals for the market, available exclusively through the Zelones cartel.

In the midst of the war, when death and destruction abounded, people inevitably sought a way to escape from it all. Yet another avenue of opportunity opening up thanks to the predictable incompetence and reactionary behavior of politicians.

That and a few well-placed missiles.                               

The colonized worlds which called themselves civilization represented a powder keg lying dormant for far too long. Apply the right amount of pressure and it would erupt into chaos. She could
feel
the galaxy beginning to convulse.

The transport rose above the industrial area and banked toward the spaceport. The pharmaceutical executive didn’t dare risk being seen on New Babel,
of course
, so she was doing him the tremendous favor of traveling to Atlantis for the dinner. A one-time concession—but one time was generally all that was required.

An incoming message captured her attention as she was about to begin reviewing new cost analyses. On opening it her expression darkened to a scowl.

Ms. Montegreu,

Target refused the Vancouver job. He also discovered the contents of the parcel.

— Kigin

She instantly pulsed Kigin.

Is he dead yet?

Um, no, ma’am. I thought I should check with you for instructions.

My instructions are for him to be dead. Now.

Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.

She sighed and pinched her nose in annoyance. This was why plans existed, and why they should not be deviated from unless there was no other viable option. She succeeded in this business in part because she maintained plans for her plans, short and long-term strategies for numerous scenarios and multilayered schemes to be executed over years, even decades. Indulging ad-hoc modifications to meticulously crafted plans was a recipe for disaster which had brought down more than one otherwise brilliant leader.

She should not have done it.

The thought of informing Marcus his little ‘opportunity’ was a no-go crossed her mind for less than a millisecond before being dismissed. He insisted on QEC only, paranoid beyond reason about secrecy, and she did not remotely have the time to return to the office now.

And besides, she had made him no promises. She’d said she would make an effort to accommodate his last-minute special request, and so she did. Perhaps she might let him know when they next talked. But he had pushed the limits of their business arrangement in making the request, and she wasn’t inclined to reward bad behavior.

She would, however, clean up the mess which had resulted though it was an inconvenience—because she, at least as much as he, held a vested interest in their arrangement continuing forward with great success.

56

SPACE, NORTH-CENTRAL QUADRANT

S
ENECA
S
TELLAR
S
YSTEM

C
ALEB STARTED OVER TO
the small stairwell of the rental ship to tell Alex to dress warmly, as Cavare was quite cool at night—then froze when she ascended the stairs.

She was wearing a deep violet turtleneck made of a silky, shimmery material; when the light hit it hints of indigo and crimson rippled across the fabric. It was paired with sleek, form-fitting black pants and wedge-heeled black boots. Her hair was loosely pulled back to cascade over and behind her shoulders in waves. She had allowed a few strands to escape and frame her cheekbones. It was simple, functional and ordinary attire. It was
spectacular
.

She paused at the top of the stairs. One hand lingered on the railing. “What? Did I forget something?”

“You’re beautiful.” His voice came out soft and almost reverential. He had told her so the night before as well, while she had straddled him, naked in the starlight shining through the viewport above her bed. It was no less true now.

She blinked. “I…thank you. I didn’t bring a lot of non-work clothes. Maybe I should have picked up a few things with you on Romane….”

He smiled and crossed the space to her, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other hand drew along her jaw. “You look beautiful in those, too, by the way. In case I haven’t told you.”

She appeared utterly flummoxed, which he didn’t understand. He was certain he wasn’t the first man to tell her she was beautiful. No computer algorithm would produce her features as the ideal example of beauty—they were too dramatic, too unique—but make no mistake. She
was
beautiful.

Finally she relaxed into him, her lips meeting his with a whisper. “You thinking flattery will get you in my pants?”

“That’s the plan.”

A beep in the cockpit signaled their initial approach to Seneca, and he reluctantly disentangled from her and went to the cockpit. It was a little odd him being in charge of the flying, and he knew she found it disorienting. But for the moment at least, this was his show.

“Wait—” he glanced over his shoulder at her, startled at the outburst “—are they going to let me through? Should I have, I don’t know, procured myself a fake ID or something?”

“You’ve been cleared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been cleared. It’s taken care of.”

“Under my own name.”

“Under your own name.” He grasped her hand as she draped her arms along the headrest of the cockpit chair. “It’ll be fine. Promise.”

SENECA

C
AVARE,
I
NTELLIGENCE
D
IVISION
H
EADQUARTERS

They were meeting in a conference room on the first floor of Division Headquarters, for several reasons. This way Caleb wouldn’t be running into a number of people who might be curious about where he had been and what he may have been up to. Also, Volosk wasn’t exactly comfortable giving Alex a red carpet tour of Division’s inner sanctum. From an outside perspective Caleb could understand the concern, so he didn’t argue the matter.

He input the security code, which changed every twenty hours, and his own personal ID scan at the outer door and motioned for her to enter ahead of him. Two hallways and another door, then a final door and they reached the small conference room.

Volosk had been notified of their arrival and was waiting on them. He stood and shook Caleb’s hand. “Agent Marano, glad to see you made it back in one piece.”

“As am I, sir.”

Volosk’s gaze shifted to the left. “Ms. Solovy, I presume.” He extended a hand in a more formal manner. “Michael Volosk, Director of Special Operations.”

She graciously accepted the proffered greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He gestured to the table and they took up seats opposite him. Caleb clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’m sending you a file I think you will find most useful.”

Volosk raised an eyebrow, but his expression transformed once he received the file. His eyes unfocused for a solid ten seconds before his attention returned to them. He smiled in what looked like relief but was definitely appreciation.