Destiny's Song (The Fixers, book #1: A KarmaCorp Novel)

by Audrey Faye

  Tameka was silent for a moment, an odd smile on her face. “Perhaps.”

  I hadn’t come to her cabin to get more tangled up, dammit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She bowed her head slightly, as if acknowledging something. “As Fixers, we seek to create balance in the universe, and I’ve always believed that’s a fine and noble calling.”

  So did most of us who agreed to be cogs. I Sang a trio of notes that came out mostly like a growl.

  Tameka chuckled. “I’m not spouting the company line at you, or I’m not meaning to, anyhow. I believe deeply in what we do, but I think the bureaucrats and prognosticators sometimes get the details wrong.”

  That was heresy. “It’s not my job to understand the big picture. We get too involved to be objective.” Especially this time.

  “Quite often.” She didn’t seem all that upset by the admission. “But I’ve never been convinced that objectivity makes someone more right. We’re human beings, and one of the things that makes us most human is the ability to put our hearts into everything we do.”

  “You think Talents should just get to run wild and do whatever our hearts tell us?” That was well past heresy.

  “Hardly. I think we do well to have checks and balances in the system, and KarmaCorp works very hard and diligently to make that happen.” She paused. “But when they convince an individual with your kind of Talent that you must only follow the rules and not listen to your own heart and your own wisdom, I believe they’ve made an error.”

  “A StarReader called this one. Not some bureaucrat in a chair.” Which wasn’t something she was ever supposed to know, but my control was whisper thin. She was calmly shredding everything I believed in.

  “StarReaders sit in chairs too. They’re fallible human beings who fart after breakfast and cry at bad movies and act entirely stupidly when they’re in love, just like the rest of us.”

  I gaped, mouth hanging open. Those words had been said with a whole lot of personal vehemence. “It sounds like you know one.” That was almost unthinkable—StarReaders lived in cloistered towers, entirely isolated from the humanity they served.

  “Knew.” She sighed. “An old Dancer’s stories don’t matter overmuch, Singer. Be true to KarmaCorp—just know that sometimes being true to the larger mission might require bending the rules of the one they gave you.”

  I could feel sick confusion burning hot up my throat. I’d grown up on a digger rock, where most of life revolved around two commands. Dig and stop. Either you followed orders, or you gave them. The demon child might have rebelled against the strictures, but she deeply believed they were the way the world worked. “That sounds dangerous and complicated.”

  “Life is dangerous and complicated,” said Tameka quietly. She set down her clippers and stood up, eyes on mine. “But I don’t think that’s why you came to my landing pad. How is your heart, Lakisha Drinkwater?”

  Bruised in every way possible. I turned away, rejecting the concern in her voice—it was the last thing I needed to hear. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stepped closer. “It matters a very great deal.”

  “Well, I have no bloody clue.”

  “That would be an acceptable answer if it were true, but I don’t believe it is.” Her words had the ring of imperial orders.

  The demon child clawed the rest of her way loose and I spun on the woman with stern eyes and muddy knees, ready to spit nails. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “I want you to find your truth.”

  No, she most definitely didn’t. “It’s pretty damn simple. I fucked up, you probably fucked up too, and one of us needs to go and face the music at headquarters.” For one weak, pitiful nanosecond, I wished it could be her.

  Her stern gaze didn’t flicker a millimeter. “You need to face the music here first.”

  Fury rose, hot and white and looking for something to incinerate.

  “Ah, yes,” said Tameka, hands moving sharply. “That’s exactly what you need to do. Let out that rage, child of the rocks, and see what lies beneath it.”

  The sound that came out of me was some kind of tortured, primal howl.

  She tipped her head up to the sky and laughed. “Yes, that. Exactly that.” She started moving, in her muddy pants and ancient boots, into a Dance far different than anything I’d ever seen. Slashing, swirling motion, feet and fists and arching spine hurling anger at the grasses, the sky, the planet, and the great, gaping vastness beyond. An old and wise woman furious at the universe for toying with people she cared about very much.

  I was astonished to discover that one of them was me.

  My own anger blew loose, fueled by days of hurt and anguished confusion. I hurled Song at the clear blue sky, careening notes of mad as hell. Mad at KarmaCorp for making it so hard to be a loyal cog. Mad at the StarReaders for being so mysterious, at Emelio for being so blind, and at Yesenia for sending me off on an impossible assignment. Mad at people who’d made me like them and fed me bacon, at the grasslands and burbling streams that spoke to my heart, at whatever random solar winds had crashed my birth mother into the side of some lonely astral rock, and mad at an old woman who saw way too much.

  “At yourself, girl.” Tameka’s hoarse, rasping voice swirled out from her slicing, arrogant, infuriated Dance. “You’re angry with yourself.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew. Her Talent was so fearsome in this moment that she could likely read my mind. “I fucked up.”

  “Not yet, you haven’t.” Her entire body bent and arched, swirling under her single upstretched hand. A Dancer seeking. “Nothing that can’t be fixed, anyhow.”

  My Song hurled a set of blindingly ugly chromatics out into the universe.

  Tameka’s movements slowed at my side. “Go see him.”

  “He’s the Inheritor Elect, dammit. He has a job to do here.” And mine would yank me around the galaxy until I was as old as the woman I faced. Or dead.

  More hand flicks. “He’s a man with a brain and a heart and the power to make his own choices. Do you really intend to take that away from him?”

  The StarReaders intended it. “I’m just a cog.”

  “This isn’t about KarmaCorp,” said Tameka gently.

  How could it not be? I sank down onto the edge of her porch, suddenly exhausted. “I’m here because they sent me.”

  “Yes.” She moved her fingers in a beautiful swirl that tugged something deep inside my chest. “And you’re here because you were born to make a difference on your walk in this life. Your Talent is only one of the ways you do that.”

  My fists banged down onto the porch. “Quit talking in damn circles.”

  She stopped moving and smiled. “You’re more important than you think you are, and until you believe that and act from it, you’re going to keep making stupid mistakes.”

  It was so very tempting to believe her. “Rogue Talents are dangerous.” That had been drilled into us from the first day of class.

  “Very.” She nodded grimly. “To themselves, to those who love them, and to those who would save them.”

  I wondered what those terrible, sad eyes had seen.

  She chased that thought away with one swift gesture. “There is a vast difference between an untrained Talent wildly throwing herself at the universe and a skilled Fixer embracing all that is possible.”

  Not that I could see.

  “Ah, child.” Tameka’s voice oozed frustration and empathy and a whole bunch of things in between. “It isn’t words you need, and yet here I am, yapping my mouth off.” She rose on her toes, stretching up to the wide blue sky—and then she dropped into abrupt stillness. Only her fingertips moved, soft flutters floating on a river that only she could hear.

  “Listen, child of the rocks,” she whispered, and I didn’t know whether she spoke with words or fingertips or both. The flutters moved up her arms and down her ribcage, a gentle, seductive swell moving with the heart of what mattered. Insisting that I see it. Demanding t
hat I hear.

  My Talent pulled me to my feet, called by the majesty of grass and sky and the quiet worship of a tough, old, wise woman who had walked places I didn’t even know existed yet. I pitched my notes into audible range, riffing off the fluid dance of Tameka’s hands.

  She closed her eyes a moment, listening and utterly still. And then her hands led the rest of her body into swirling motion. Her feet ceased their rooting, letting go of the ground under her feet with bright, flying intention. And a singular message.

  To Dance was her destiny. To Sing was mine.

  I let my music free one more time, dizzy as it soared upward into the endless sky.

  Tameka flew right at my side. I reached my energies to hers, the connection effortless. We had pitched our words against one another. Now we let our Talents blend. My notes bent and twisted, telling a story of lines that refused to be straight and the tangles they had made.

  Her movements wrapped my tangles in undulating spirals and made them beautiful.

  My Song quaked, backing hard away from the spirals and all that they whispered. I was lost now, falling—fury receding and vast emptiness rushing in to fill the vacuum.

  And then Tameka Boon raised both hands to the sky, pulled down her clenched fists, and pummeled whatever she held straight into my gut.

  Straight into the plexus chakra that knows who it is we need to be.

  I gasped, my physical body thrashing for air—and felt what it was she’d pushed into the center of my soul.

  Beauty. Possibility. The audacity for a nameless baby, orphaned on the side of a lonely asteroid, to dare to believe she was not just a cog in the workings of the universe—she was the pinnacle.

  A call to the fiery demon child and her hurling need to make a dent in the world, to prove that the oxygen that had saved the baby was worth giving.

  And a whisper to the woman that child had become, to stop rebelling against—and start rebelling for. Lakisha Drinkwater had broken rules, and she had followed them. It was time to start rewriting them. To become the kind of Fixer who might one day aspire to a shadow of the greatness of the woman who Danced before me.

  I wrapped my arms around my ribs, knowing I had just been nudged by one of the finest Talents ever to walk the galaxy. And not at all sure I was brave enough to go where she pointed.

  19

  “Ah, Ms. Drinkwater.” A young staff person bustled over to me the second I set foot outside my bedroom, still yawning after a two-hour nap. “We’ve been looking for you—a guest has arrived to see you.”

  I wasn’t remotely capable of dealing with company. I needed three days in seclusion, some of Tee’s hot cocoa, and enough mindless vids to turn my brain to mush. “Could it perhaps wait? I’ve had a very busy day, and my voice needs tending.” I felt pathetic as I said it, even though every word was true.

  “Well.” The teenager who had greeted me looked very doubtful. “Mr. Emerson might be willing, but his small companion is rather energetic.”

  Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I knew that name. I dug for it—trainees learned early that there was often no greater sin than failing to remember the name of some major functionary or minor noble.

  A thick swirl of gray moved grudgingly aside. Ah, when I’d boarded the cubesat to come here—the nice man who had recognized me as a Singer. I was astonished to hear he was on Bromelain III. He hadn’t been on my transpo ferry, and this wasn’t exactly a popular travel zone.

  And he was apparently here to see me.

  That roused my curiosity enough to reconsider. It would be unconscionably rude to walk off, but a moment ago, I hadn’t cared. The memory of a man who had shown me both respect and kindness was enough prodding to dig out my manners. I gestured to the staffer to lead the way. “You said that Mr. Emerson has someone with him?”

  “Yes.”

  I raised an eyebrow at the scant reply, but left it at that—I’d see for myself soon enough.

  My escort led me down the cool, shadowed hallways and through enough turns that even my digger-trained internal compass started paying attention. We stopped at the door to a drawing room straight out of a fantasy novel—high double doors, red velvet curtains, and a fireplace big enough to swallow a b-pod. The teenager backed away down the hall. Evidently, I got to introduce myself.

  The man I remembered turned from his spot at a window as I stepped onto the lush carpet. “Hello, Singer. It’s lovely to see you again.”

  His eyes were as lively and intelligent as I remembered them. “I was pleased to hear you were here, Mr. Emerson. I didn’t know you lived on Bromelain III.” This place had a lot of very well-connected people for a backwater rock.

  “Please call me Ralph. And I don’t, but I visit often—I have family up north planet.”

  Huh. I didn’t know who he was, but anyone who could travel freely between the colonies and inner planets was a very big cheese indeed. “In that case, I appreciate you interrupting your visit to come say hello.”

  “It seems we picked a good day to come. We’re looking forward to tonight’s entertainment. I enjoy these musical evenings very much, and I’m grateful to you for providing an excuse for one.”

  Alarm bells started ringing in my tattered brain. “I’ve been out all day—I wasn’t aware of any entertainment this evening.”

  “Ah. Devan said you were the guest of honor.” He smiled graciously. “The invitations went out only a few hours ago—I do hope I haven’t ruined a surprise.”

  A few hours ago, Devan and Ophelia had dropped me off at Tameka’s cabin. My stomach clenched. There was no need to shoot the accidental messenger, however. “I’m always pleased to listen to good music.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy it.” Ralph was still smiling, but his intelligent eyes were watching me carefully. “These evenings loosely follow the traditions of the Irish and Scottish of Earth, but we’ve made it our own.”

  Food, dance, and booze were pretty universal—and apparently today wasn’t done trying to run me into the side of an asteroid. “I’ll look forward to it. I’m glad you could make the trip.” The latter, at least, was actually true. He had a very comforting energy about him.

  “Not just me.” Ralph inclined his head and gestured at a nearby chair. “Malia kindly accompanied me.”

  I stared at the empty chair, confused—and then I saw the black curls sticking out from underneath it. I crouched down to take a closer look just as two grubby hands reached up to part the curls. Bright green eyes peered out from a face that looked like it never stood still. “Hi. Granddad says you’re a really important person and I should try to use my best manners, but it’s okay if I forget sometimes.”

  I grinned at the imp with streaks of dirt on her face, knowing a kindred spirit when I saw one. “I forget sometimes too.”

  “This,” said Ralph, crouching down to join us, “is my youngest granddaughter, Malia. She likes to fly, so I brought her along to keep me company.”

  Malia scowled. “Momma says you’re always supposed to tell the truth, Granddad. This lady is one of those Fixer people, just like Auntie Bri, and you want her to check me for Talent.” She flashed a grin at me. “I’m a really good singer.”

  He reached over and tweaked her nose. “And a cheeky ruffian, aren’t you?”

  Her head tilted sideways. “I don’t know. What’s a ruffian?”

  He smiled. “A very good word to look up on the GooglePlex.”

  She grinned over at me, rolling her eyes as she crawled out from under the chair. “That’s what he always says.”

  She was taller than I expected, all gangly limbs and wild black curls. And after my day thus far, cheeky balm for my ragged soul. “How old are you, sweetie?”

  “Seven.” She plopped down on the carpet, since Ralph and I hadn’t made it to our feet yet. “Do you want to hear me sing?”

  It was rare for Fixers to test for Talent in the field—we were generally trying to keep a low profile, and the Seekers didn’t tend to appreciate us mi
lling around on their turf. I glanced over at Ralph. “Has she been tested before?” With Fixers in the family, someone had probably done a quiet check.

  “Not for several years.” He ruffled Malia’s hair. “She was born singing, so we’ve kept a watch on her. Bri’s Talent isn’t strong enough to sense resonance, but she brought a friend for a visit about three years back—a Dancer by the name of Yalonda Keyes.”

  I knew Yalonda—she was more than strong enough to feel the vibrations of an emerging Talent. “What did she tell you?”

  He kept his eyes calm and noncommittal. “She said to keep watching her.”

  That could mean almost anything.

  Malia squiggled forward on the rug. “Is it fun to be a Singer?”

  This was a bad day to ask. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s hard work.”

  “I’m a pretty good worker.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you get to visit lots of planets like Auntie Bri?”

  I’d fantasized about space travel as a kid too. The cramped insides of an econo cubesat had been a rude awakening. I needed to be careful, however—if the kid had Talent, KarmaCorp wasn’t going to much care what her personal travel wishes were. Talents were too precious, and untrained Talents too dangerous, to worry about little issues like individual choice.

  I sighed. Tameka might have crawled under my skin, but KarmaCorp was far from evil, and the job wasn’t nearly that black and white. Fixers had a wide range of work they could choose to do, and most of us found a niche that made us happy enough. And from what I’d seen of the rest of the world, driving your own life wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be. Some people are pretty intent on screwing up no matter what, and some bloom where they’re planted, even if the soil sucks.

  “You sound tired.” Malia’s forehead had creased in wrinkles.

  Damn, I’d totally blanked on answering her question. “I am—it’s been a long day.”

  She nodded sagely, like she understood the strange adult concept of running out of energy. “Maybe I can sing you a lullaby—Momma says that helps sometimes.”