“Meredith Heath, executive assistant. Surely you’ve got us on Mr. Cray’s itinerary.”
The man got louder. “Excuse me!”
Anna shifted her glare to the rear and up. “Pardon? Did you sneeze or something?”
His face reddened. “You cut me off.”
“Lose twenty pounds and walk faster. Mr. Galbraith doesn’t have time to wait for the likes of you.”
Aaron forced the irresistible laugh into a cough.
Anna faced the receptionist. “We’ll just go up. What floor for Julian―”
“Do you know who I am?” roared the suited man.
“Obviously someone who fancies himself more important than he really is if you’re asking that.” She whirled about and glared at him. “Mr. Galbraith represents Halcyon Logistics Interstellar. Lenny, is it? We are here to discuss the facilitation of your network beyond Mars to dozens of colonies. Do you honestly think the handful of sectors you manage, rather cack-handedly by the way, matters one whit of fuck all in the grand scheme of things?” She took a step toward him.
Aaron grinned. Anna seemed to share in his practice of exploiting surface thoughts.
The six-foot-nine almost four-hundred-pound man leaned away from the five-nothing sprite.
“How do you think Mr. Benitez would react to learning you were the reason HLI walked out today?”
Lenny broke out in a sweat.
Aaron covered his mouth, trying to make the color in his face seem like anger and not the desperate need to belly laugh.
“Seventy-third floor, Miss Heath. Go right up.”
After a final lingering scowl, Anna pivoted on her heel and stormed across the lobby to a set of burnished black metal elevators. Aaron made eye contact with no one until the doors closed them into a small space walled with crimson velvet panels.
Hold it together.
Aaron lost all urge to laugh at the sound of her voice in his mind. He broke out in a cold sweat as the strength left his legs.
What the devil’s wrong with you now?
They had passed the fortieth floor before he found the ability to reply. Careful. Something’s not right with my brain.
She laughed. “Really, you don’t say.”
I’m not mucking about. He scowled. Trying to do anything mental to me could be… bad. Last time, I blew out almost the whole ground story of a casino.
Anna blinked in a flutter. I… Umm.
Don’t worry about it. He recovered his confident stance. Good to know I can still have a telepathic conversation without knocking the building down. Where’d you learn to talk like that?
Her cheeks went pink. I’ve had the displeasure of enough executives’ company to know what corporate types are like, especially ones who think they’re as important as Galbraith.
Aaron found himself speechless at the sight of her far-off look. Rhythmic bands of light pulsed from ceiling to floor as the magnetic capsule ascended in silence. His instinctive reaction to a woman wearing such a somber expression, reading surface thoughts, stalled. He lost a moment trying to convince himself he hesitated only because she’d have noticed him looking.
By the time the doors opened, Anna had recomposed her lethal outer shell and stormed down a cobalt-blue carpet flecked with a repeating pattern of tiny, black fleur de lis. Aaron put on his ‘king of the world’ affect and went after her, almost managing to keep a straight face when the holographic figure of a dark-skinned woman in an iridescent charcoal suit appeared in front of them. She had a certain kind of pleasantness about her, the kind that could turn on a pinhead to wrath.
“Mr. Galbraith?” asked the transparent figure.
“Yes.” Anna stopped short. “Mr. Cray is expecting him.”
Aaron tried to summon an imperious scowl and a look of impatience. The second part came easier; this entire side trip felt like yet one more obstacle cropping up in his path of revenge. He clung to the sour mood brought on by thoughts of Talis all the way down the corridor to the door the hologram indicated.
The left side of the outer office contained a number of silver spheres, hovering at various levels, each bearing a live plant. They ranged in size from eight inches to a foot and a half around, bobbing about with the slightest disturbance in the air. From behind a desk to the left, the real version of their holographic escort gestured at some chairs along the wall. A faint wisp of cinnamon perfume hung in the room.
“Mr. Cray will be with you momentarily. Please have a seat.” She motioned toward a small table with a few silver cubes. “Please help yourself to refreshments if you like.”
Aaron went for the chairs. “Miss Heath, be a dear and fix some proper tea.”
Her plastic smile lingered until her back faced the executive assistant, whereupon it became a dire glare. “Of course, Mr. Galbraith.”
“Do try not to muck it up this time, luv.” Aaron made it a point not to look at her, focusing on his NetMini while muttering about a nonexistent presentation to the board of directors in three days.
Anna fumed, but forced a pleasant expression as she went to the table. Cray’s assistant gave her a knowing look of sympathy. She fiddled with the food assembler.
“Would you believe these machines have no preset for Tim-Tams?”
Aaron looked up with genuine disappointment. “Shoddy.”
“Uncivilized,” muttered Anna, returning to sit with two cups of Earl Grey and some generic cardboard-flavored English tea biscuits.
If we wait more than ten minutes, you should throw a fit.
Aaron cringed as her voice entered his mind, eyeing the room with dread. Nothing moved. He exhaled. Three minutes passed, occupied with sips of tea and nibbles of the bland, crusty things Anna had brought back.
“Mr. Galbraith?” The woman at the desk tapped a few keys on a holo-panel, opening the inner door. “Mr. Cray will see you now.”
Aaron set the half-consumed tea on a table to his left, got up, and crossed the room. The inner office was at least six times the size of the former, perhaps occupying an entire quarter-floor on its own. Water rippled in thin sheets down two massive granite slabs, falling into carved fountains brimming with koi. Small statues, Noh masks, Chinese fans, and European paintings (or excellent replicas thereof) adorned walls of burnished steel. Black marble columns ran in pairs down the center of the room, stopping twenty paces from a great onyx desk where two men waited.
The larger of the two looked to be in his later twenties, Asian, with spiky hair and a permanent scowl. He wore all black; his sleeveless shirt exposed the interface where his metal right arm met flesh; baggy pants concealed his legs. The artificial arm mimicked the shape of human musculature in such an exact match to his still-flesh left arm, it appeared like someone painted cybernetics over his skin. Silver squares embedded on each temple flickered with internal light. The sides of his head bore the telltale dark lines of embedded neuralware. He stood behind and to the right of the seated man, regarding Aaron with a frown as if debating the most efficient method to kill him. Dark grey plastisteel fingers fluttered as he opened and closed his fist.
Julian Cray seemed in his mid-forties, with brown skin and long, dark hair slicked back over his head into a ponytail. His features blended Spanish and Asian, with a touch of Eastern European. He stood as they approached, extending a hand.
“Mr. Galbraith, I apologize for the delay. An unexpected matter came up that required my immediate attention. I hope your trip was pleasant at least.”
Cray barely acknowledged Anna’s presence, sitting after a handshake with Aaron.
“The ride was less than pleasant.” Aaron eased himself into the chair. “I trust the day finds you well?”
“Well enough,” said Cray. “I thought our meeting was tomorrow.”
“It was.” Aaron put on an annoyed expression. “Bloody military inspection of our facilities tomorrow, and Harrison demanded I be present to smooth things over with the brass. You’d think those simpletons could handle it. Considering the natur
e of our agreement, I thought it best not to call too much attention to this meeting by making a scene.”
Aaron listened in on Cray’s thoughts. The large man, whom he referred to as Tseng, spoke via an implanted device. Julian seemed pleased Tseng’s scanning eye revealed no weapons or even any cyberware implanted in either guest. It made him feel safe.
Cray’s lips teased at a smile. “Speaking of discretion, I was under the impression you would be alone. Who is this?”
“Meredith Heath, my new executive assistant.” Aaron chuckled. “Horrible at making tea, but she’s quite capable in other respects, especially discretion. I trust her implicitly. In fact, I can only think of one error of judgment she’s ever made.”
“Oh?” Cray raised an eyebrow.
Tseng tensed.
Anna glared at him.
Aaron steepled his fingers and flashed an aristocrat’s smile. “She favors Manchester United.”
Her eyes flared. Tseng furrowed his brow. Cray looked serious for all of two seconds before laughing, slapping the desk. The gesture reminded Aaron of the unstable crime boss from innumerable action holo-vids who could laugh at your joke and kill you a second later with a straight face.
Arsenal wanker rang out in his mind in Anna’s voice.
He stifled a laugh.
“Damn Brits and your frictionless,” said Cray. “I’m more of a Gee-ball man, myself. Full contact, guts and glory. There’s danger out there, Galbraith, risk. Blood and spectacle.”
“I take it you’ve never gone to a proper match then,” said Aaron. “It’s a bit rougher in person. The fans are… eh…”
“Dedicated,” said Anna.
“Right.” Cray clapped. “So, Halcyon’s offer.”
Aaron lifted the particulars out of Cray’s immediate thoughts, as well as his intention to haggle. He needed the deal too much to turn his nose up at it, but he would threaten to walk. He glanced at his NetMini as though he sifted over contract documents. A text-only message scrolled along the bottom: ‹I’m in the cameras. That’s the bastard. Do it.›
“Retainer of five hundred thousand credits per quarter, which includes a thousand one ton cargo pods per quarter to Mars and our network of outer colony settlements. Additional cargo beyond that to be billed based on our fee schedule according to destination. Halcyon agrees to honor your non-compete with other parties deemed detrimental to your business interests.”
Cray flashed an appraising smirk at his terminal. “We had an offer from Parsons-Dormand for three hundred thousand a quarter.”
Another text rolled by. ‹What are you waiting for?›
The answer shone clear as day on the tip of the man’s brain. Aaron waved his hand around as he spoke. “Parsons-Dormand, on average, uses fourteen-year-old vessels with a host of mechanical problems. One in fourteen shipments they send never arrives. Plus, they lack the starport contracts Halcyon is able to leverage on the more established colonies. Not only do they pay per-landing berth fees, as opposed to a fixed yearly rate, they have no ‘protection’ from the scrutiny of local authorities upon unloading. With Halcyon, you’re also getting discretion.”
Anna gave him a sideways glance. You could do this for a living.
Except, what I’m doing to him is technically illegal.
Cray drummed his fingers on the desk. He scrambled to come up with something to offer in exchange for a reduced quarterly cost: sabotage to competitors, drugs, stolen merchandise, even sex slaves for some Halcyon executives. Not knowing how Galbraith would react to such suggestions kept the ideas from leaving his mouth. The man was definitely Syndicate.
“I do have one small question,” said Aaron. “Something that got asked about in the boardroom while discussing possible liability and discretion. Do you remember a man by the name of Cory Braddon? We’d heard some unsettling rumors that you’d had a police officer murdered and didn’t keep much of a lid on it.”
To his credit, Cray kept a calm face. His thoughts gave him away in an instant. Images of a young man flashed by. Blond, green eyes, caramel skin, eager to be part of the Syndicate―until his cover fell apart. Once they sniffed him out as a police infiltrator, Cray had indeed ordered the man killed, though he had not been there to watch. Thoughts of Cory Braddon gave way to wondering who was going to die for leaking word of it to the outside world. A couple faces and names cycled across the forefront of his thoughts until he settled on a familiar looking faerie. In Cray’s memory, she’d once appeared on every terminal screen in the Syndicate hotel, giving him a double middle finger.
Aaron suppressed the urge to facepalm. Way to stay subtle.
A trace of anger hardened Cray’s eyes. “There are certain matters of business that many consider unsavory. One such area often involves hackers with monetary agendas. One such individual has targeted us for extortion.”
Shimmer texted him again. ‹Bastard. Kill this fucker already!›
Anna must have been eavesdropping on Cray’s mind as well. She tensed, ready for the proverbial shit to hit the fan.
Aaron smiled. “That’s good to hear. My board of directors would like to enter this arrangement with open eyes. We are fully aware of the situation.”
Are you just going to kill him? Anna held up her NetMini as if checking an appointment.
He glanced at her. Me? No.
“What… situation?” Cray leaned forward over his desk.
“Your employer’s interests.” Aaron dropped to a whisper. “The Syndicate.”
He smiled at Tseng, gathering a sense of the man’s weight in his mind and concentrating an overdone amount of telekinetic force on the metal fist. Enough effort to lift three cars hauled the limb straight up over the man’s head. Tseng’s face turned red with shock and exertion as he fought to bring his runaway limb under control. Aaron sucked in a breath as if about to battle constipation, and drove the metal fist downward. It hit Cray in the back of the head, detonating his skull in a shower of gore.
Most of which wound up splattering over Anna.
The impact cracked the slab, embedding Tseng up to the elbow in the expensive desk. Cray’s body convulsed as spurts of arterial blood shot out of the mangled remnants of a neck.
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “An Arsenal fan would have seen that coming and ducked.”
“You bloody idiot.” Anna gasped.
“Actually.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “You’re the bloody―”
Tseng roared, tugging at his trapped arm while screaming incoherencies.
Anna gawked at Aaron. “Feck me.”
“I thought you said you were taken.”
She zapped him in the knee, making him yowl and rub the spot. “No, you git. I just realized. You’re a damn telekinetic. No sodding wonder you were such a star. You cheated!”
Aaron made a blasé face. “Yeah, yeah… Took the bastards awhile to catch on.”
“I knew it!” Anna leapt to her feet. “The only damn way Arsenal could win so much is cheating!”
Tseng lifted the stone desk an inch off the ground before it cracked away from his arm, sending him stumbling backward into the wall.
“Luv, I don’t think this is the time or the place to get into a debate about sports ethics. We’ve got a cyberspsychotic about to turn us into mince pies.”
“You’re a cheat!” Anna stomped in a circle. “They won sixty-eight of seventy-five matches over three years because you’re a bloody cheater moving the stone!”
“You sound like a petulant schoolgirl. It really wasn’t a big deal, just a little nudge here and there.” Aaron stood up “We really should leave.”
Cray’s executive assistant appeared in the doorway, screaming.
“I say, Miss.” Aaron gestured at her. “Your former employer’s guard seems to have become unglued.”
Tseng sprang airborne over the desk, leaping into a punch. Aaron redirected his flight with a subtle shove that could pass for a coincidental miss. Tseng’s fist cratered the floor.
“Too
much cyberware,” whispered Aaron past the back of his hand while pointing at Tseng with the other.
“Mr. Cray!” screamed the assistant.
“He’s a bit far gone for that, luv,” said Aaron.
“How many goals did you really score?” Anna attempted to loom at Aaron, as much as she could at her height. “Or, did you cheat them all in?”
Aaron dragged her to the side as Tseng pounced like a human flea, cracking the floor again. The executive assistant ran from the door, screaming for security. Cray’s bodyguard jumped up, sprouting a single fourteen-inch sword from the back of his cybernetic arm. Heat blur peeled from the edge and the high-pitched whine of a vibro-blade raised the hairs on the back of Aaron’s neck. Oscillating at thousands of cycles per second, it could cut almost anything with little effort.
Tseng managed a step and half before a faint thread of electricity flickered between Anna’s hand and his forehead with a loud pop. Aaron coughed at the strong ozone scent, jerking his hand away from her arm and waving his fingers as if burned.
The aug bodyguard went over backward like a plank, twitching and foaming at the mouth. Tiny panels opened and closed along his arm, and wirepaths beneath his skin glowed orange for a brief moment.
“Not a big deal?” screamed Anna. “Not a big deal? Are you serious? Do you understand what you did? You’ve destroyed the integrity of―”
Tseng howled past clenched teeth. “… Kill …”
“Oh, shut up,” muttered Anna. Another hair-thin lightning filament snapped to his chest with a sound like a pistol firing. She jabbed a finger into Aaron’s shoulder in time with each word. “You destroyed the integrity of the game. Arsenal’s record for those three years was built on shit and bollocks.”
“Miss Heath, we should not be here when the authorities arrive.” Aaron jogged to the far end of the office, where dark tinted glass made up the entire wall. The street at the bottom looked clear.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Anna stalked after him. “You’re going to contact the regulatory commission and―”
“They already know.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
Zero Rogue Page 13