"Is Holt a proud man?” His breath feathered against her cheek.
She stared into his dark eyes, seeing intensity and heat. "What? Why? He's hurt, he's my crew—"
"Holt strikes me as a man who prides himself on his competence.” Malachi leaned just a touch closer. "He has Hector and Alix with him. Hector, among his many assets, has a license to practice general medicine. The crate hit your man in the head. He admits, with some bravado, that his head and neck hurt, only hurt a little." Malachi shrugged but did not loosen his grip.
"You're saying it will cause Holt to lose face if I see him like this."
"It's not a battle injury," Malachi said, his weight shifting ever so slightly. When he lowered his gaze, his long dark lashes stood out against his light olive skin. "Would you want your supervisor to see you after that kind of incidental contact? Fuss over you?"
Keya twisted, pulling her arm away. "I wasn't going to fuss."
"Would you want your employer...hovering?" His quiet questions stopped her before she finished the next step.
"No," she said. Not after everything she'd fought for to start her own security business, to make a name for herself and her people in a crowded field of options. With a sigh, she tapped her comm unit. "Alix, status."
"Status is secure. Awaiting medical equipment, specifically a stretcher transport." Alix wasn't worried, their tone as calm as ever.
“Why did Holt leave the scientists?” she asked, her voice rising with frustration.
“They returned to quarters and we needed all hands down here,” Alix said.
They’d needed all hands and she’d been napping. And now Holt was hurt.
Keya squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Do you need me before I hunt down the medical liaison?"
"Negative."
Malachi tilted his head and raised one eyebrow, a nonverbal “I told you so.”
"Status update in ten," she said.
"Roger that," was Alix’s simple reply.
Malachi walked away, flexing his hands once. He didn't show emotion, didn't act without thinking. What had made him pin Keya to the wall like a caveman? He made himself keep walking even when her footsteps didn't start right away. The medical facility was only two levels above their current location.
Keya slipped into the lift just as the doors started to close. Her eyes, large and lovely in her intelligent face, studied him for a long moment.
"Did you sleep?" he asked, realizing he cared about her answer.
"I did. Sleep on, sleep off." She snapped her fingers. "A skill I learned back in basic."
That was interesting. "Good to know. How long did you serve?" She looked rested but still ragged around the edges, another reason he'd kept her from the cargo hold. The real reason? The presence he'd detected was real and it was defending something in those crates.
"Only one tour. Right out of school.” Keya smiled a little. "But my sister needed...support, so I got my discharge and went into business for myself."
"Military's good training," he said as the doors whispered open.
This floor had motion-sensing signs. As they approached, the sign for Medical lit up, showing words and symbols.
"Did you serve?" Keya asked.
He glanced over at her, striding along in her understated black uniform and boots. "In a way," he said, shocking himself by telling the truth. "My parents were part of a separatist group when I was growing up. They made sure I trained through the ranks."
"A separatist group?" Her tone was careful, communicating a sincere attempt to withhold judgment in a time when separatist and terrorist had become near-synonyms.
"Have you heard of the Basque people?" They followed the hall, the doors labeled with a vast range of services, including water massage and jewelry repair.
Keya gave a hesitant nod. "A people living on the border between Spain and France. Neither country will let them go."
He wasn't sure how the conversation had gotten so personal, but it was time to move on. "Exactly. I will give the report of Holt's injury since I was present for the incident. You get to fill out the forms."
The doors to the medical suite slid open as they approached. Malachi stepped up to the automated station and pushed the button to request an attendant. Keya moved to the other station and called up the necessary files, including Holt's non-confidential medical records.
Two near-identical attendants appeared. They looked, more or less, like human males. But the pair had an otherworldly beauty, even a slight glow. Malachi gave his account of Holt's injury and requested a stretcher, or whatever LS Quantum used for stable horizontal transport, be sent to the private cargo hold immediately. He sketched out what he'd observed in a few sentences aware that Keya was listening as she tapped buttons and transmitted Holt's data.
The attendants nodded once he was finished. "The horizontal transport just arrived at the specified location. Your friend will be evaluated. If he is stable enough to move, he will be brought to this clinic,” one attendant said.
Keya stood up and said, “Can I—”
"The medical staff does not use the public halls or lifts," the other attendant said. "Are you blood kin to this person?"
"No, I'm his employer," she said.
"You can wait in our lounge," the same attendant said, his face and voice managing to be both sympathetic and firm. "It has many amenities."
The entire process was so efficient that in under five minutes they were back in the hall, having turned down an offer to be examined.
"Did you, Hector, or one of my people trigger the energy burst?" Keya asked. "I checked for traps, but the scientists packed those crates so I didn't go past a superficial look."
Malachi shook his head. "No, you didn't miss anything. And no, we didn't trigger it. Our working hypothesis is that some of the artifacts reacted with each other or with some combination of Earth materials. Hector and I took a whole series of scans."
"Is the one piece still missing?" She couldn't hide the naked hope in her voice.
"It is," he confirmed. "The data we collected might help us create a trace. That is if the artifact is still on the ship."
"I'd like to be here when they bring Holt in. But maybe we could meet later to go through your data?" She flushed a pale pink.
"We could meet in the Comets and Caviar Lounge," he said. "Most of your principals will be there. Mix business and business?"
"Done," she agreed. "See you at," she checked her comm link, "eighteen hundred?"
"Eighteen hundred," he said, and remained in place because Keya looked like she was going to say something.
She leaned toward him, lips parted, and then just nodded once before walking back toward the clinic.
Keya dropped onto a soft, supportive couch, appreciating the soothing purple-gray tones of the medical clinic's lounge. She took deep breath and then a few more. Pause and breathe, she told herself. Seating for ten people was available on one side of the lounge. On the other side were two tables with four chairs each. One wall panel on each side of the room showed a soothing mountain meadow.
This space appeared to contain as many amenities as a standard cabin. She stood and went to the drink dispenser. Instead of the strong caf, this time she requested green tea. Better to be calm when she spoke with onboard security.
Deciding to initiate that contact rather than wait to be questioned, Keya swiped the air to call up the virtual ship communication. "Requesting security consult pertaining to recent incident in private cargo hold G."
"Acknowledged," a synthesized female voice replied. "Security personnel en route to your location."
"Thank you," Keya said.
"Do you require additional assistance at this time?"
She considered the question. Smart people ask for help had been a rule in their family for generations. It was probably because smart people found it very difficult to ask for help and less difficult to follow rules they made for themselves.
“Request public files and imag
es on Quantum passenger, name, Malachi Cartier.” She hadn’t let herself look for him after their one night together. Not certain what part of the government had sent him to Boulder, the cautious choice was to forget they’d met, deny any knowledge and all that. She had a few minutes now, and LS Quantum’s files were ample but not connected to any other data systems while the FTL drive was engaged.
A single folder appeared in the air. Inside were a few images of high society events, such as polo matches and art openings and a few images of coronations, embassy balls, and lavish state dinners. Malachi was not the central subject of any of the images. Rather, he stood to one side, usually with a beautiful woman on his arm, dark eyes trained on the people around him.
It was a great cover for a top-secret job ferreting out hidden extraterrestrial contacts artifacts. Handsome as sin, smart, unallied with any world power, and rich. That combination would get a person a lot of party invitations.
She’d never competed for a man’s attention and she wasn’t going to start today. Whether Malachi actually had liaisons with any of the women in the photos was not reported in the file. Every single woman was stunning and connected either through wealth or bloodline to the most powerful people on the planet. People who considered themselves above the law. Still, Keya could at least make a little effort to keep his cover intact while they had their business meeting.
"What is the typical or expected attire for the Comets and Caviar Lounge?" she asked Quantum’s AI.
"One moment please, retrieving corresponding images," the computer voice said. "In the guide for LS Quantum passengers, dress for the Comets and Caviar Lounge is listed as resort dressy, but many guests meet in this lounge prior to attending one of the cabaret shows. Formal attire is also a recommended choice." Images of long gowns, tuxedos, suits, and sparkling jewelry scrolled through the air.
She had no doubt that Malachi Cartier not only owned a tuxedo, but that he'd brought it on this trip. She, on the other hand, had packed only uniforms.
"Does LS Quantum loan formal apparel to passengers? Gowns, accessories, and the like?"
"Clothing is available for both rental and purchase."
Keya resisted the urge to sink back onto the couch. Holt's medical fees alone could demolish the already tiny profit margin on this job. Was it worth the hit to her budget to rent formalwear?
As she contemplated the question, a person wearing an LS Quantum crew uniform entered the lounge. "Keya Murakami?"
"Yes?" she said.
"You are the supervisor of one Holt Velten who sustained injury in private cargo hold G?"
"I am," she said.
"We need you to answer a few questions. Please." The security officer gestured toward the nearest of the two tables.
Keya joined her, but before sitting, she said, "I need to see your ID before I show you mine."
"Of course." The security officer took a slim wallet from her pocket and showed both an Interpol Pangalactic badge and a security ID card with her image and LS Quantum logo.
"Interpol?" Keya asked, surprised this hadn't come up in her research.
"Your credentials, please Miss Murakami." The security officer sat at the table and indicated Keya should do the same.
Their wallets were similar, two leather pockets with a place to affix a badge. In the global and galactic security worlds, hard copies of identification for officers were standard procedure, and were required by nearly every planetary and extra-planetary government. No one could predict if a conflict would erupt in a location with IVI, instant virtual interfaces, or a location that boasted running water as its most modern amenity.
From the day she received her first badge and security license, Keya had been both proud of and comforted by the little wallet. It was gratifying to see an LS Quantum officer handle it with respect as well.
"We have your information on file, so thank you for following procedure. My directive was to verify your identity in person. The Q has a particularly unusual passenger load this trip out," the security officer, Danica Wray, said.
It was a calculated comment, most likely meant to both distract her with the information and relax her with the appearance of a confidence shared. But Keya simply nodded and waited for the real questions.
Officer Wray cleared her throat. "The contract on file shows your company was hired to secure Sultan Nurbanu, his entourage, and their cargo."
"Correct."
"One of your employees, Holt Velten, sustained minor injuries to his head and neck in the private cargo hold being used by the sultan and his party."
"Yes," Keya said, fresh frustration rising.
With a subtle tap on the table, Officer Wray called up a keyboard and then a set of documents. "You were not on site when the injuries happened."
"No." Keya paused and then added, "I was in my quarters, resting after a forty-eight-hour long shift." Officer Wray would have asked anyway. This was her calculated statement to show confidence in return.
"Yowch. I'd say you have a tough boss, but you're the boss." Officer Wray tapped the table again. As a set of images appeared, the far wall opened and a person in a medical uniform walked through guiding a hovering stretcher.
Jumping up, Keya hurried to Holt. His eyes were open but tight with pain.
"Hey, boss lady," he said. "You promised me an easy job this time."
She wanted to say, "I didn't know," but that would've been a lie. Instead, she said, "I don't pay you for easy, but easy is what you're going to get lying around in the med clinic."
Holt tried to sit up and winced when the chest strap stopped him. "I'll be out in no time."
"Sir, we need to continue with assessments," the person guiding the stretcher said. He turned to Keya. "Miss, visiting hours will be tomorrow beginning at oh eight hundred."
"You let me know if he gives you any trouble," Keya said, patting Holt's hand. She watched him until the stretcher went through the next set of doors, guilt tightening her throat. She had told her team this would be a simple job. They didn't know how much lower than their usual fees she'd bid in order to get the work. At least the sultan's negotiator had accepted the broad language in their contract defining expenses.
On that thought, she tapped her comm unit. "Alix. Status."
"Proceeding to the Comets and Caviar Lounge in civilian dress. Eighteen of the twenty principals are already in the lounge or en route."
"The sultan?"
"In his room since the jump to FTL."
"Thank you. Holt is secure. I'm meeting with shipboard security. I will relieve you in the lounge no later than eighteen hundred."
Slipping back into her seat at the table, Keya said, "I beg your pardon for the interruption."
"In this our interests are the same," Officer Wray said. "I don't mind working with you and your team so long as that continues."
Keya inclined her head in thanks and waited for the catch.
"For the next twenty-four-hour cycle, private cargo hold G will be under LS Quantum quarantine. Meaning, restricted to all personnel except mine."
Leaning forward Keya said, "But—"
"The only law here is me, Ms. Murakami, and I am charged with the safety of every individual on board. This far from any planted flag, our ship becomes its own entity, its own nation. You and your principal agreed to this when you registered for the cruise."
Anger and worry wound through her ribcage and up into her throat. She could not lose the trust of the sultun and his people. Her sister's life depended on this mission going by the book.
"We've already spoken with Mr. Cartier. He suggested that you would request this exact sort of procedure were you not shorthanded and waiting in medical." Officer Wray's expression softened a fraction, perhaps showing that she understood the challenge of difficult choices.
It was a better move to request intervention from the authorities than to be subject to unwanted intervention. If she could get a report to the sultan before anyone else, she could at least appear ahead of
the problem curve.
Malachi had helped her again. As much as she wanted to handle this on her own, the pragmatic side of her was glad for the assistance. Just like when he'd helped her get her sister out of the Welcome to Earth riot.
Gathering the shreds of her professional demeanor, Keya said, "Yes, I think you know your ship and you have the best tools to investigate this situation. But some of the cargo is sensitive, including priceless artifacts from their world, finely calibrated equipment, and so forth. May I suggest a liaison to assist you? Perhaps one of the scientists?"
Part Two
Quality. Someone with good taste and an eye for quality had been given a free hand with the Comets and Caviar Lounge. Malachi sipped his ice-cold martini and surveyed the room. Soft pink lighting near the ceiling warmed the natural wood crown molding. Flickering sconces at regular intervals gave the appearance of equally soft candlelight. Tables for two were scattered, but not crowded, across the room and arrayed around the small dance floor. Parquet, unless he missed his guess. Booths with curving leather seats were tucked into cleverly built corners.
He'd reserved a booth for all five nights of the cruise. Hector would say that he liked the lounge because it gave him an excuse to wear his tuxedo, but he actually liked the lounge because it breathed life into an old illusion, committed itself to a bygone world, wall to wall and floor to ceiling. If it weren't for the portholes showing the endless night of space, he'd happily believe this wasn't a galactic cruiser but a time machine and they'd been transported to Paris circa 1923.
The guests embodied a wider range of taste, quality, and historical preferences. In recent years, other species, close to human but not exactly human, had begun to emerge in various places on Earth and Earth's planetary colonies. Some of those species were quite long-lived and had acquired vast wealth over the centuries of hiding in plain sight. Malachi took another sip and considered a few of the larger males in the lounge. He picked out at least one shifter and at least one vampire, both handsomely attired in evening dress.
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