Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

  One thing about standing on your hands—it gives you an entirely different perspective on the world. After the meager lunch the rat-faced kidnapper brought him, Jerem had resumed his practice, partly because it seemed to irritate his captor far beyond what it actually should, and also because he couldn’t think of anything better to do.

  He’d had to wait a bit after he ate; he tried right after lunch, but it felt as if the heavy noodle soup was sliding right back up his esophagus, so Jerem sat down for a while until he thought he’d probably digested enough so he could turn his stomach upside-down without risking any unpleasant side effects. Maybe it was like swimming. His mother was always harping on the fact that he wasn’t supposed to go in the water until at least a half-hour after he’d eaten.

  But now he felt as if he could get back on his hands without barfing up his lunch, so he sprang into action once more. And it was while he staggered around upside-down next to the bed that he spotted something interesting, something the dragging bedclothes couldn’t quite hide.

  There was some sort of opening in the wall behind the bed.

  Oh, it wasn’t much—just a hairline crack in the smooth mud-board walls. The bed had been pushed up against it, and it ended a little more than half a meter above the floor, so if Jerem hadn’t been looking at it upside-down, there was a very good chance he wouldn’t have seen it at all. And as soon as he noticed the opening, he realized he had to act as if he hadn’t seen it. After all, those stupid cameras were still in place. If he displayed too much curiosity, the kidnappers would notice and come to investigate.

  So he turned and made a few staggering hand-steps back into the center of the room before vaulting onto his feet and standing upright. His head pounded a little, and his hands felt tingly, but Jerem didn’t know if that was because of the extended time he’d just spent upside-down, or because he might have just found a way to escape.

  The hole wasn’t very big. He’d have to find some way to pry the mud-board loose, and even then he’d have to wriggle flat on his stomach to get inside. There was no way of knowing where it went, or if he’d even be able to get out of the building through the opening. Maybe it went nowhere. But maybe—just maybe—it was a blocked ventilation chute or something that linked up to an air circulation system or something like that. He remembered an episode of Moon of Syrinara where the hoverchair hero’s sidekick had to do much the same thing in order to defuse a bomb before it went off. And Jerem was a lot smaller than the sidekick. He should fit in the shaft or vent or whatever it was a lot more easily than an adult ever could. The trick would be getting in there before anyone else noticed.

  Frowning, Jerem walked over to the bed as casually as he could and sat down, leaning up against the wall and pretending to shut his eyes as if he had tired himself out with all the hand-walking. In reality, he was pushing against it with his upper back to see whether he’d be able to move the bed away from the wall without anyone noticing. He felt it shift an inch, but it also made a horrible scraping noise against the faded linoleum floor, so he stopped immediately, heart racing as he tried to decide whether the sound had been loud enough for the cameras’ microphones to pick up.

  No one burst into the room, demanding to know what he had been doing. Jerem still remained that way for a few minutes, though, eyes shut as his mind worked furiously. What would his father have done in such a situation? Not gotten himself kidnapped in the first place, Jerem thought in disgust. He would have shot their butts off the second they came in the bedroom window.

  But he’d already beaten himself up enough about what he should or shouldn’t have done. All that accomplished was to waste more time. Instead, he clenched his hands, feeling the rough blanket and thin sheets ball up between his fingers. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at the bedclothes as if seeing them for the very first time. He thought for a moment, then glanced casually at the cameras. Once was mounted in the corner right above his bed, and the other one sat perched in the far corner, over by the door. He couldn’t tell by looking at them whether they were just regular video devices or whether they shot other spectrums like infrared. His mother knew all about that stuff, because of her business, and Jerem had picked up some of it, but he had to admit he wasn’t a huge expert on surveillance cameras. Too bad, because if they weren’t infrared-equipped, then there might be a chance to render both of them useless by tossing a sheet or blanket over them. The kidnappers would notice, of course, but all Jerem really needed was about a minute or so.

  Of course, that would only work if he were able to get the sheets to stay on the cameras. He’d have to weight them down somehow, probably. And then of course there was the problem of even prying the mud-board out of the wall without their noticing...

  Every problem has a solution, his mother always told him. You just have to give it time.

  Well, time was something he had plenty of. Closing his eyes once more, Jerem leaned his head up against the wall and began to plot.

  24

  Miala walked out of the main branch office of New Chicago Central Trust, a plain synth-hide satchel clutched in her right hand. She had the feeling she should have a sign blinking on and off over her head that screamed, Rob me—I’m carrying ten million units!

  But even if she’d had such a sign floating above her, and even if someone had been foolhardy enough to attack her, the robber would have had to go through Eryk Thorn first. Miala knew the plainly dressed man striding beside her offered better security than anything her firm could have provided. He walked with an air of casual unconcern, but she could see the way his gaze drifted through the crowds, pausing occasionally on those who might present a threat, and then moving on after any anomaly had been noted and filed for future reference.

  Not that there seemed to be anyone or anything remotely threatening here on New Chicago. A sister planet to Nova Angeles, it had long been civilized, its urban areas dedicated to centers of higher learning and commerce. The crowds around them were a mirror to the people Miala saw on her way in to work every day in Rilsport—neatly dressed, preoccupied. Probably she would have had to turn cartwheels naked down the street while throwing units into the air for anyone to take any particular notice of her.

  A cab whooshed to a stop at the curb in answer to Thorn’s hail, and Miala slid into the back seat, followed by the mercenary. Not until the door shut behind the two of them did she realize how on edge she had been. She forced herself to exhale, but she still retained her death grip on the satchel she carried.

  Once they were back on Nova Angeles, she would have to pull five million out of her own accounts to supply the fifteen the kidnappers had demanded, but that would be a slightly simpler process. Miala had used cash in several large transactions previously, most notably the purchase of her home. The managers at her bank had given her sideways glances over that particular deal, muttering things about “irregularities” and “escrow,” but in the end the previous owners of the house had told the bank officials to get stuffed, because not even a native of Nova Angeles would turn up his nose at a few million in shiny hard Gaian currency. So while the withdrawal of such a large amount from her personal accounts might raise a few eyebrows, at least it wasn’t without precedent.

  Eryk Thorn was watching her with an oddly speculative expression on his face.

  She asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “That went smoothly enough. But I’ve been thinking—”

  Here we go, she thought. He’s suddenly decided he doesn’t want to chip in quite that much cash. Or maybe none at all. “What?” God, that sounded accusatory even to her.

  “About what we’re going to do afterward.”

  “Afterward?”

  The dark eyes narrowed slightly. “After Jerem is safe. After we’re all together again.”

  Relief coursed through her. When was she going to stop expecting the worst of people? Oh, her early life had certainly done nothing to engender a trust in others, and this latest incide
nt with Murgan and now the kidnappers had brought her estimation of sentient life to an all-time low, but if she couldn’t trust Eryk Thorn, who in the galaxy could she trust? Not sure she could speak without letting slip a revealing tremor in her voice, she settled for nodding.

  Thorn spoke slowly, as if gathering together thoughts he’d been turning over in his mind for some time. “You’ve made a good place for Jerem on Nova Angeles. But it’s not really his home world, is it?”

  “Well, he was born there,” Miala pointed out. “But you’re right—it’s just sort of the place I ended up. It’s not as if his roots go back very far.”

  “Then let me take him—take you—home.”

  “‘Home’?” Miala echoed. “Sorry, Thorn, but you seem about the most rootless person I’ve ever met—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  He didn’t appear to take offense. For a few seconds he watched her with that familiar unreadable expression, then said, “Until now I had no reason to go there, to have anything to do with my heritage. But my son should know where his people come from.”

  “And where is that?”

  “A place on Gaia called New Zealand.”

  She tried not to let her shock reveal itself in her eyes. That a man who had spent his life on the edges of the galaxy would want to go to Gaia, the center of the Consortium, seemed strange enough. That anyone would want to repatriate to a world that had almost slipped into ecological oblivion was even stranger. It didn’t sound particularly inviting, especially compared to the comfortable life she had built up for herself and her son on Nova Angeles.

  Still, Thorn was offering far more than she had expected. He would not be mentioning Gaia to her if he didn’t visualize some long-term future with her and Jerem. Wasn’t that what she had always dreamed of and thought she would never have—a chance for them to be a real family? Miala realized suddenly she would go to the wildest frontier planet if it meant that Eryk Thorn would stay in hers and Jerem’s lives, and whatever its current shortcomings, Gaia was hardly the frontier. Besides, she’d grown up on Iradia and certainly knew how to fend for herself in a rough environment. She might have spent the last eight years living soft on Nova Angeles, but once a person has been toughened in a crucible such as her home world, the lessons learned there were indelibly etched in the psyche.

  “What sort of a place is New Zealand?” Miala asked, hoping her tone was neutral enough, even though she thought, Please, God, not more desert...

  When he replied, Eryk Thorn sounded almost amused, as if he had known exactly what was preying on her mind. “It’s a temperate country—it has forests and open land. And it’s an island. Lots of water. No desert. It escaped a lot of the damage Gaia suffered during the environmental breakdowns of the twenty-first century.”

  “And that’s where your mother is from?”

  He nodded. “Both my parents, actually. I think that’s why she kept me. There are far too few of us left in this day and age. Guess she wanted the bloodline to continue.”

  There was so much Miala wanted to ask, but she also knew that Thorn had already revealed far more to her than he probably had to any other living being. She pushed most of the other questions aside, but felt compelled to inquire, “Have you ever been to New Zealand?”

  “Once.” At first it seemed as if he would offer no more than that, but after a brief pause he added, “It can be a harsh place, but I think you will find parts of it beautiful.”

  Then let’s hope that we end up in one of the beautiful parts, she thought. But she only said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Thorn’s lifted eyebrow handed her the lie, but he said nothing, instead reaching over and laying his hand on top of hers where it rested on the handle of the bag she carried. He didn’t bother to offer her any soothing words. She somehow doubted he had any, but the fact that he was already planning for their future together reassured her far more than any facile words about how he was sure Jerem was fine and that this would all go off without a hitch. Whatever else he might be or do, Eryk Thorn looked at the galaxy through a set of keen, unsentimental eyes. If he thought they would come out on the other side of this relatively unscathed, well, then, that was good enough for her.

  Still, she couldn’t help wishing the rough parts were well past them. Too bad that life didn’t come with a selective remote control, one that would allow you to skip over the frightening or dangerous sections. If only that were the case, then she’d push the button that would put her, Jerem, and Thorn safely on the Fury and flying off to Gaia, with the kidnappers vanquished and all the loose ends on Nova Angeles neatly tied up. But life didn’t work that way, unfortunately, and she knew they would all have to live through whatever lay ahead to get to that particular happy ending.

  Miala glanced over at Eryk Thorn’s imperturbable features and wondered if he ever experienced such moments of doubt. It would be nice, she thought, to be that sure of one’s self, to never seem to experience a moment of indecision or fear.

  She tightened her fingers around his, hoping to feel some of his strength bolstering her own sagging will. Let me be strong enough, she prayed silently.

  Let me be strong enough to save my son.

  “Well, dip me in shit,” breathed Creel, who had to read the terse automated message several times to make sure he’d gotten it right.

  Jessa Kodd paused at the edge of his desk, green eyes widening slightly. “Excuse me?”

  He looked up. “Sorry. But I think I’ve got something here.”

  She set down the case file she was holding and walked around the corner of the desk, then leaned over his shoulder so she could get a closer look at his computer screen. A spicy scent wafted from her loose hair as she bent toward him, and Creel had to swallow and attempt to recall what had grabbed his attention in the first place.

  “I tagged Mia Felaris’ bank accounts so I’d be notified in case of any unusual activity,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice his increased respiration. “Two standard hours ago she withdrew ten million in cash from a holding account she had on New Chicago.”

  “Ten million?” Jessa’s tone was carefully neutral, but he thought he could hear the incredulity behind it.

  “Just about emptied the account. There’s a couple hundred thousand left, but that’s it.”

  “Think she’s getting ready to blow the system?”

  He shook his head. Although Mia Felaris’ actions seemed to be those of someone preparing to pull up stakes and move on, somehow Creel didn’t think that was the case here. There seemed to be something else going on, some other motivating factor.

  He just wished he could figure out what it was.

  “I’m pulling in the security feed from New Chicago Central Trust now,” he said, watching as the flat video images scrolled past. They showed a normal weekday morning of patrons moving in and out, some tapping away on their tablets as they stood in the queue, higher-level customers getting one-on-one service from the bank’s various functionaries.

  Creel let the feed continue on its loop, his eyes only half-focused on the flood of data. He’d done this enough times that he knew he’d catch the anomaly when it popped up.

  And there it was.

  Mia Felaris strolled in, accompanied by a nondescript-looking man in a plain dark suit. He stood off to one side while she went to speak with an older woman who obviously was a mid-level bank officer. After a few seconds, they disappeared into a private office. But the strange man continued to wait in the main lobby, his stance relaxed, his gaze appearing to continually move over the other patrons as they went about their business.

  “Who’s that?” Jessa asked.

  Creel shook his head but didn’t lift his gaze from the monitor. “Don’t know. Let me do a capture and see what the databanks have on him.” He paused the image, typed in the commands to have the image-matching software take a snap of the stranger’s face, and then waited as the computer began the process of trying to line up the pixels with the billions
of records on file in the Consortium’s databases. The process could take a while, Creel knew, but it was an invaluable tool in a galaxy-spanning civilization that all too often had galaxy-spanning criminals as well. Of course, anyone who’d had a photo identification taken at some point in their lives was also stored in the database, but usually it was the shady types who tended to have more official “portraits” on file.

  He turned away from the computer to see Jessa Kodd watching him with speculation in her cool green eyes.

  “Think he’s coercing her?”

  That had been Creel’s first thought, but somehow he didn’t believe it was the case. “I don’t think so,” he replied with a frown. Leaning forward, he tapped in the command to have the image back up a few frames, then watched carefully as the pair entered the bank. “You’d think she’d look more nervous around him. Look at the way he touched her elbow there—” He paused the image. It was the briefest of gestures, but somehow it looked as if the stranger were trying to give a reassuring pat to Mia’s arm before she went off with the bank officer. “If he’d been threatening her, she would have reacted negatively, even if she were trying to look cool. But instead she got that little smile on her face. I don’t think he’s forcing her to withdraw that money.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Maybe. All my research so far has shown she leads a pretty solitary life, though. Just her and the kid.” The kid, whom no one had seen since the house fire. The boy hadn’t been injured, as far as Creel could tell. He’d checked with all the local hospitals and clinics, and no one answering to Jerem Felaris’ description had been admitted to any of them. Maybe Mia Felaris had just stashed her son at a friend’s house. He wasn’t at the suite she’d booked in the Rilsport Plaza, either. Creel had already searched the rooms after she’d left and found nothing. For someone leading a quiet civilian life, Ms. Felaris seemed to know an awful lot about not leaving any clues behind.