Kismet

by Watts Martin

  “Do you think it’s better? I guess I don’t remember the meat here growing up being that different from what I get anywhere else.” She likes the food on Panorica just fine, thanks, and there’s a terrific steakhouse she knows on Rothbard.

  “I think so, yeah. It’s more the mouthfeel than the flavor.”

  “It’s better,” Sky chimes in. Of course she says so. It’s New Coyoacán, therefore it’s better.

  “Mmm.” She circles the short stack of the batter-toast, the bacon, and a pomelo cup. “So, um.” She wants to ask when did you transform? but that sounds so gauche. “How long have you lived on the Ring, Nevada?”

  “Four years. Five in May. I love New Coyoacán—it’s so, so, so green. So open. Everyone is so friendly. Not like Panorica and definitely not like Solera.” Her ears lower on that name, but flick forward again quickly. “You told me it was nice, but I don’t think you did it justice.”

  Sky turns toward Gail, expression comically startled. Mara’s Blood, Gail said nice things about where she grew up?

  Travis helps. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else myself. I’ve been to Panorica, Santa Esmeralda, Arelia, even Mars. They’re all nice, but this is like living in paradise full time.” Thanks, Travis.

  “Well, there’s almost always something, you know, something interesting about anywhere you go.” A waitress—a cisform woman, tall with straight black hair—appears and sets down Gail’s glass, along with whatever Sky ordered. Looks like another coffee. She takes a quick drink of the mimosa, deeper than she should, barely managing not to choke on the bubbles. “The River’s huge. I mean, if you add up all the area it’s much smaller than Earth, but it’s so varied.” She’s pretty sure Squarejaw would lift his brows at that if he were here, but all three of them nod. Good. She feels her words growing warmer with the sparkling wine. “And that’s what I love about what I do. Every year I go places I’d never thought I would.”

  “So work’s good?” Nevada’s expression glows with unfeigned interest. Travis looks sincerely interested, too.

  “Yeah.” She doesn’t risk a glance toward Sky. “There are long slow stretches—really long ones—so I do other work sometimes. But the payouts can be pretty big when they happen.”

  The stag chuckles, lapping at his orange juice. Oh, that tongue. “I always kinda figured you’d get into sales.”

  “Me? Sales? God, no. Retail’s close enough and I haven’t had that slow a stretch in a decade now.”

  “Yeah, you, sales. You’re a smooth talker. You could sell life vests to otters.”

  Gail snorts at that. Nevada giggles in a way only someone who’d never heard that line could.

  The waitress returns with all four plates. The kitchen must have held Travis and Nevada’s food so everything would come out at once. The server isn’t strictly cisform, she sees now, but she’s not a totemic, either; she has a short, reptilian-looking red tail with a spade at the tip, and stubby horns almost hidden by her hair. Cute. She’s heard of people who tried for wings—not to fly, but just for the aesthetics—but hasn’t heard of any successful attempts. Adding one tail to two legs and two arms may not be easy, but adding another pair of limbs goes beyond resculpting the musculoskeletal system into completely reimagining it.

  “So what do you do now, Nevada? I know you were thinking of going back to school.”

  “I did. I went back to school to go back to school.” The vixen laughs again, cutting into her chicken-stuffed cornbread. “I’m a teacher.”

  “Which stage?”

  “I started with first, but this year I’m teaching fourth.”

  Gail nods. Almost every student takes at least one of their five stages in a classroom setting, usually two or three. She’d ended up taking the last half of third stage and all of fourth and fifth out, too, to save Sky’s sanity. “Neat. I hope.”

  “Oh, it is. It’s so different from what I grew up with. Solera doesn’t have an out-of-home school program at all, and there’s no stages. It’s all about test levels there.”

  Gail wrinkles her nose. “That figures. They like doing first stage out of home here because it’s best for socialization, which I think Solera’s philosophically opposed to.”

  Nevada laughs. “Now, I did have friends growing up.”

  “But no totemic friends,” Travis says.

  She shakes her head. “No. There was only one totemic family in the neighborhood, and their child was already full transform.” She smiles humorlessly. “Which my family thought was awful.”

  Gail has some of the toast. It’s prepared well, the batter crispy enough that it cracks under the fork while the bread inside has turned meltingly soft. “That’s still a huge argument here.”

  “I know. We talked about it back on Panorica, remember? I understand the idea of choosing what you are. I mean…” She waves at herself. “But I know if I could, I’d want my child to be born totemic. Transforming early is as close as we can get.”

  She nods. Sky strongly feels the same way; so did their mom. If she hadn’t, Gail probably wouldn’t be a rat. “So no kids yet yourself?”

  “No. But we’re planning for one.”

  Travis grins. “And trying hard. We’re not sure which species, though.”

  That’s a common dilemma for mixed couples. “Fox with antlers,” she suggests.

  Nevada chokes, but Travis’s grin just grows more. “That could be pretty sexy when he gets older.”

  The vixen elbows him. “Or her, and she might not look good with antlers.”

  “Everyone looks good with antlers.”

  Sky’s pulled her viewcard out, holding it at arm’s length and scrolling through its display with a finger. As slight as the frown on her face is, it’s growing. “What’s wrong?”

  The wolf shakes her head, and rises to her feet. “Excuse me a moment.” She walks away from the table.

  “So what made you decide to visit again after all this time?”

  Gail looks back to Travis, startled. Sky didn’t tell them—well, no, she wouldn’t tell them why Gail was here and Gail would be pissed if she had.

  “I mean, it could be that you finally got homesick, but I don’t think you do that.” His grin crooks into an accusing smirk.

  “No. I mean, there are things I miss. People I miss.” She raises her hands apologetically. “People I should stay in better touch with.”

  “You should.” Travis nods. “How long are you staying for?”

  “I don’t know. A few days.”

  He gives Nevada a prompting look. Uh-oh. What’s this about?

  Nevada bites her lip. “If you have time, can I ask you to do something?”

  “Uh. Sure.”

  “Could you come speak to my class?”

  What— “About what?”

  “About your mother, about the RTEA and everything they did. Everything they still do. We’ve been talking about equality issues recently, and…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m kind of out of my depth.”

  “God, and you think I wouldn’t be? I can talk about antique spaceships, but the only thing that qualifies me for talking about old social problems is my family name.” She gestures over at Sky. “Why not get her?” As she speaks she looks at the wolf, who’s talking with someone via the card. She’s keeping her voice very low, but her expression’s shifting from merely upset to positively furious.

  “Because as much as I like Sky, you’re…” Nevada seems to catch herself, then looks down at the floor. “You’re the reason I’ve become who I am now.”

  Gail swallows. God, that’s not a good reason. “I don’t know, Nevada. Like I said, I’m only going to be on the Ring a few days.”

  “Just speak for a half-hour. I’ll set it up quickly. The day after tomorrow.”

  Travis joins his wife in looking at her pleadingly. Nobody says it’s the least you can do aloud, but they don’t have to.

  “Sure.” She tries not to sound resigned.

  Nevada’s ears lift and she b
eams, but abruptly Sky stalks back to the table. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave on a work emergency.” The viewcard gets shoved back into her pocket with enough force Gail’s surprised it doesn’t rip through the cloth.

  “Do I need to come with you?”

  The wolf hesitates.

  “Does it involve what we’re working on?”

  “Yes.”

  Nevada’s wide eyes become worried again. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Gail? Is there anything I can do to help? You did so much for me—”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She gives Nevada’s cheek a kiss, then Travis’s. “Send me details about the school visit, Nevada.”

  As they walk off, she murmurs to Sky. “How serious is it?”

  “Officers from the Panorica Federation are here to take the databox back from Agent Thomas.”

  “Terrific.”

  When they arrive at the hotel, they’re met by a rabbit woman and a raccoon man, both wearing simple outfits and both adorned with the blue-ring-white-dot cloisonné pins. Sky nods to them and waves a follow-me motion, without breaking stride. The wolf’s putting on her own pin as she moves. Given the ferocity in her scowl, it’s a marvel she has the control to keep from slamming the room door as she flings it open.

  In addition to Ansel and Thomas, there’s two uniformed PFS officers—Wolfe and a balding cisform man only a few centimeters taller than Gail. The balding man turns abruptly as the group enters. When he finds himself looking up to meet Sky’s eyes, he looks momentarily nervous. Good.

  She launches into the silence. “I’m Bright Sky, with the Ring Judicial Cooperative. These are my associates, Karen Dupree and Robert Bunten.” She indicates the rabbit and raccoon respectively. If she catches the microsneer he flashes when she gives her own name, she gives no sign, but Gail’s clenching her fists. “I must have missed the communication the PFS surely sent to the RJC before arriving here. You are?”

  “Captain Taylor. With all due respect, Ms. Sky, I’m not here on business that involves the RJC. I’m here to ensure that property in an ongoing PFS investigation isn’t compromised.”

  “We know.” Dupree speaks, her voice mild. “However, this is not only occurring on the Ring at this very moment, it involves a Ring citizen.” She gestures toward Gail.

  Taylor shoots a venomous glare at Gail. She volleys one back.

  “And I’m here to resume that investigation, in the jurisdiction where it belongs.” The glare shifts to Agent Thomas. “You had no authority to take crucial evidence off Panorica and you knew that full well.” He points accusingly at Wolfe. “And so did you.”

  “This is Interpol’s case, not yours, Captain Taylor.” Jack lifts his brows. “I determined that I no longer directly wanted to work with the PFS to complete the investigation.”

  “Interpol’s already determined the disposition of that damn thing!” He points at the databox now. It’s on the desk, sitting on top of other bigger, sleek boxes Gail can’t recognize. Holographic windows float through the desk’s airspace, ghostly cybernetic flotsam and jetsam. “And how dare you criticize the PFS after we’ve—”

  “Released the guy who had the stolen databox on him when you found him and rescinded the warrant for him after he came after me?” Gail throws her hands in the air. “Yeah, you’re doing a fucking terrific job. Have a cookie.”

  While Taylor looks livid enough to spit, she can tell he’s processing that. “That release order was a mistake. The PFS still intends to pick him up. None of that changes the legality of bringing evidence we need to return to Interpol here without authorization.”

  She points at Squarejaw. “He’s Interpol! It’s with him! Job done!”

  Wolfe shakes his head. “Interpol wants it back with us.”

  Squarejaw’s voice remains mild. “Captain, right now you have as much evidence supporting Keces’ claim to ownership as there is Quanta’s. What we have that you don’t is evidence connecting Quanta Biotechnics to Mr. Corbett. The investigation I’m doing here may make this your case. If the databox goes back to Earth, your jurisdiction goes with it.”

  What? They’ve made the connection? How?

  Sky’s the first one to speak. “Explain this.”

  Taylor holds up a hand. “Whoever ends up with this case, it’s not going to be the RJC.”

  Dupree clears her throat. “As I said, this involves a Ring citizen. Two, counting Mr. Corbett. Wouldn’t it be easier to informally share information now?” She smiles brightly.

  Agent Thomas nods, and gestures at Ansel. “Mr. Santara?”

  “Right.” The fox points at an open display window. “We’ve been following up on the Lantern Foundation, the charity Corbett’s done work for. It turns out they fund a lot of studies about the dangers of genetic transformation.”

  Sky looks over his shoulder. “Like totemics?”

  “Like totemics. Now, they’ve gotten almost two-thirds of their funding over the last decade from the Thomas and Cathy Burke Foundation on Earth, and share three board members with them.” He scrolls the window. “Thomas Burke is the former CEO of the Burke-Weaver Group, a holding company. Thirty-three years ago, Burke-Weaver bought a huge biotechnology firm and took it private. Guess which one?”

  Gail closes her eyes. “Quanta Biotechnics.”

  “And as soon as he did, he appointed Thomas Burke Junior the VP overseeing R&D, and his first act was to sell the totemic division to Keces.”

  “So both Burkes look kinda anti-totemic.”

  Ansel snorts. “There’s no ‘kinda’ about it. Lantern’s funded just about every pseudo-intellectual argument against transformation out there, from ‘genetic pollution’ to critiques of our spirituality.”

  Taylor’s been listening with a furrowed brow. “All right, but that’s a damn circumstantial connection between Corbett and Quanta. And what does it matter if this think tank is allegedly ‘anti-totemic?’”

  Sky points at the databox. “It makes the analysis of that box even more critical. The creators of transformation technology and their successor, both involved in a theft tied to anti-totemic activists?”

  Taylor’s scowl immediately returns. “You do not have authorization to tamper with it in any way.”

  As another argument picks up, Gail runs a hand through her hair. The goddess of change. It’s a project code name. Defense and medical.

  The keys to heaven and hell.

  “I think I know what’s on it.” They don’t hear her until she almost shouts. “I know what’s on it!”

  Everyone falls quiet.

  “Kis, call Jason Nakimura. Connect the call to the room speaker, but only take my input.”

  Kismet speaks over the hotel room’s audio. “Yes, Gail.”

  Beedle boop “Ms. Simmons.” Nakimura sounds guarded. “You’re calling from New Coyoacán, yet the databox is on Panorica.”

  “It’s here with me. Long story, but I think I’m close to returning it to you.” She ignores Thomas’s brow lift and Taylor’s eye narrow. “But I need to ask you something.”

  “And that is?”

  “Shakti is your project, and Kali is Quanta’s. They’re both based on technology used for totemics. I’m guessing Kali is a bioweapon. Shakti is about creating—what?”

  Now everyone in the room’s staring at her. Sky’s ears fold down.

  “If you have opened that databox—”

  “I’m trying to prove we don’t need to.”

  It takes him several seconds to speak again. “Your conjectures are mostly correct. The projects are two applications of the same biomedical technology to target specific genetic markers. Our work on Kali, however, is years ahead of Quanta’s. As for Shakti, it performs genetic modifications that allow inheritable in utero transformation.”

  Sky’s eyes grow wide and she begins to tremble.

  No. Holding this damn promise out again— “We’ve been hearing that for generations.”

  “The theoretical solution is older than totemics, Ms. Si
mmons. What we’ve addressed is the failure in practice, and we’re months away from productization. Or were, until coordinated attacks against us destroyed all but one copy of a crucial data set.”

  “This copy.”

  “Without it, Shakti will be set back at least five years, more likely over a decade, as will any countermeasures to Kali.” He sighs audibly. “To celebrate our new spirit of openness with one another, can you elucidate just why you and the databox are on the Ceres Ring?”

  “To give Thomas enough time to figure out who really owns it. And as much as I know now, that part’s still surprisingly fuzzy. I’ll call you back.”

  “Agent Thomas is with you?” Nakimura sounds dismayed.

  “Yeah, he says hi. Gotta go.” She cuts the call.

  All the totemics in the room—even Officer Wolfe—have taken a seat or leaned against something. Dupree looks like she’s crying. Sky’s whispering to herself. “They’ve achieved Mara’s dream.”

  Ansel takes a deep breath and smiles lopsidedly. “That explains the value. God, I can only imagine how much they’re going to charge, given that it stops us from being recurring revenue.”

  Sky’s expression of shocked joy turns to shocked affront. “This is—our future, Ansel. Our children. Not inventions to sell and fight over.”

  “We are inventions, Sky. We’ve always been inventions.”

  Taylor cuts into the ensuing silence with a heaving sigh. “Now that you’re finished helping us all violate the privacy of Quanta or Keces or both, Simmons, legally we’re still where we were ten minutes ago. The databox is still evidence in both a physical theft out here and a data theft on Earth. It’s still been taken to the Ring against orders. And it still has to come back with us.”

  “It’s not going anywhere.” As she whirls on him, Sky’s voice could shatter steel. “This situation directly involves the welfare of a Ceres Ring citizen, and we are asserting our jurisdiction. The databox’s disposition will be determined by a Ring Judicial Cooperative tribunal.”

  The other Ring officials nod assent, giving Taylor challenging looks. For a rabbit, Dupree’s got almost as solid a cross me and I will cut you glare as Sky does.