Get a FREE copy of THE CHAMPION
Watch for a special offer at the end of this book to get a FREE copy of THE CHAMPION, a bonus chapter bridging JANE AND THE EXODUS and DOPPELGANGER GIRL, the second book in the Stargazer Series. THE CHAMPION is an exclusive, available only to email subscribers.
JANE AND THE EXODUS
STARGAZER SERIES – BOOK 1
T.R. WOODMAN
HEIRESS
The hollow chime in his ear had been ringing for almost a minute. Marcus knew who was calling, and he knew how the conversation was going to go. He also knew he was likely to regret not answering, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted—he still had a job to do.
The crowd in front of him had been gathering for some time. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, but people didn’t congregate in the starkness of the plaza for fun. They usually came to protest, sometimes to beg, and occasionally—when the rare opportunity presented itself—to gawk at a celebrity of some sort. Today was no different, and without a doubt, as word spread that Carson Philips was here, the best and the worst of the population was on display.
Easily three hundred people had amassed in the square as Marcus peered over the tops of their heads, a good twenty feet back from the crowd. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. No matter what the city’s officials did to keep the factory workers from the nearby slums out, they always managed to find their way into the city center. An image of cockroaches scurrying around a concrete floor popped into his mind as he watched the seething mass, but he quickly pushed out the thought, remembering that he might have been living on the streets too, if it hadn’t been for a fortunate—if somewhat painful—stroke of luck.
The vibe from the growing mass of people was hard for him to gauge, even as close as he was. Some moments he felt like he was looking at a bunch of teenagers awaiting the arrival of some international superstar, and in others he felt like he was watching angst-ridden soldiers preparing for a siege. The crowd’s energy continued to build, the plaza guard scrambled to mobilize their troops between the mob and the steps of the senate complex, and Marcus suspected there was about to be trouble, one way or another.
Though he didn’t want to pick up the call a moment before, Marcus knew from the chime it was time. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small metal box about as thick and half as wide as the palm of his hand. Sliding the latch open, he only glanced for a second at the six metallic insects inside. Each was about the size and shape of a mosquito, though slightly larger, but unless someone thought to look at them closely, they wouldn’t know the difference. He thumbed the navigator on his tether and pressed the screen. In an instant, one of the mosquitos in the box flashed an iridescent blue and then returned to its natural black as the wings started beating, sending the bug buzzing toward the crowd.
Marcus stared at the screen on his tether, waiting for the video feed to link, absently snapping the lid closed over the rest of the mosquitos, and slid the box back into his pocket. There was a brief flash of blue on the screen, and then the video from the mosquito pulsed into view as it raced toward the crowd.
He continued to pilot the mosquito with his thumb on the tether, glancing up just in time to see the great glass doors of the senate building open. As he figured, the crowd erupted into shouts at the sight of Carson Philips, though Marcus wasn’t sure if they were going to be more hostile or friendly as he emerged.
Carson acknowledged the crowd with a brief wave and an unsmiling nod, then turned quickly to his side, obviously wanting to make sure Jane was with him. Even people who paid little attention to such things knew who the recently widowed Carson Philips was—and most everyone knew of his eighteen-year-old daughter. As one of the few remaining billionaires left in the world, Carson had a towering profile, and his fame trickled down to his family members. What Marcus had recently discovered, however, and what it seemed the Philips family had gone to great lengths to conceal, was the fact that Carson also had a son, Tate Philips, who disappeared at the age of eighteen, over eight years earlier.
With the country sinking deeper into depression, Marcus knew this man’s fame and his family’s billions were polarizing. His public appearances seemed to bring out the extremes in people, and as Carson and his daughter walked across the gray granite landing and steps toward the raggedy mob, him in a tailored suit and her in a breezy summer dress, they looked as out of place as two jewels propped up on a slag heap.
A roar went up from the crowd hammering against the line of guards like a wave pounding into a beach. Carson grabbed his daughter’s hand, moving quickly down the steps, and even though he seemed to be maintaining his composure at the hostility they faced, his daughter had started mouthing something and pointing at some of the more assertive onlookers.
Damn, Marcus thought, shaking his head, glancing briefly at his video feed and laughing to himself at her bravado. Not so sure that’s a good idea, princess.
His mosquito was bobbing around in the currents created by the swarming crowd, so he went a little higher and realized that Carson and Jane were coming around the side of the crowd in his direction. Marcus felt his pulse quicken. Not wanting to miss his opportunity to get close, he guided the mosquito toward them. The crowd was also rushing toward him, and he found himself shuffling backward, trying to step ahead of the mass of onlookers. Between the guards who were knocking people out of the way and the mob that was trying to beat them back with shouts and raised fists, Marcus knew it was going to be a miracle if his drone didn’t get swatted out of the sky.
He was engulfed in the stampede, with Carson and his daughter racing toward him, but as two guards tripped behind Jane, taking down a dozen people with them, Marcus saw his opportunity. Jamming his finger forward on the tether, the mosquito shot into the clearing, and the last thing he saw before the video went blank was the back of Jane’s dress as the mosquito buried itself in its fibers.
Marcus breathed, realizing he had been holding his breath, and he looked up, trying to gauge how bad the mob around him had become. Just then the crowd parted, guards in riot gear pushing people back with their electric prods and shields, and Marcus looked straight into the eyes of the oncoming Jane Philips.
She was a few inches shorter than he was but still a little taller than he thought she would be—he figured it was either her shoes or her attitude, or probably a bit of both—and as she came close, he couldn’t help but smile. Her response to his smile was a raised eyebrow and a stony glare, as if she disapproved of any attention she was receiving in the moment, especially his. She brushed past and he couldn’t help but laugh again, this time at himself. He was trained to be in the background, and not only had he just been spotted by his target, but she clearly hadn’t been impressed by what she saw.
The crowd and the shouts blew past just as fast as Carson and Jane had, and as the father of artificial intelligence—something else Marcus had just learned in his briefing that morning—and his daughter ducked into their waiting car and drove off, he knew the easy part of his day was over.
The chime in his ear rang again. Now that Carson and his daughter were gone, Marcus knew he didn’t have an excuse not to answer. Reluctantly, he touched the screen on his tether, and a voice erupted in his ear.
“What the hell are you doing, Marcus? Why haven’t you been picking up?”
“Sorry, sir, I’ve been a little busy out here.”
“So, where is that sonofabitch?”
“He and his daughter just drove off. I think they’re heading back to Atlanta, but I’ll be able to confirm that soon.”
The line was quiet for a second, and then Marcus winced as the senator hammer-hacked a phlegmy cough in his ear. The senator’s daily indulgence of bourbon and cigars hadn’t d
one his lungs any favors, and now in the early-morning hours, the mucous of forty-plus years had apparently congealed overnight. Marcus wanted nothing more than to flush out his ear. He couldn’t help but clear his own throat, a reflex to the senator’s wheezing.
“That sonofabitch,” the senator grumbled. “I swear, if Philips tries anything …”
Marcus waited for the senator to finish his thought. It had been fairly common for the senator to make threats over the past few months, but it still made him uneasy.
“Marcus, I can’t tell you how important it is that we stay on top of that sonofabitch … and his daughter. So let me make this very clear … if you lose them, I lose you … and it won’t be any place you’re gonna find your way back from.”
Marcus stepped to the curb, the crowd having dissipated somewhat, and looked down the street. It was the first time the senator had ever threatened him, and he quickly flitted past being worried to being pissed but took another breath. The senator was right to be worried. Marcus didn’t know all the reasons, but given the work the senator had him doing, like tracking high-profile citizens, he could tell things were getting unstable.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Marcus said, looking down at the tiny blue dot on his tether. “They aren’t going anywhere without me.”
DAUGHTER
Jane slipped out of her dress and into the faded blue jeans and vintage pale pink T-shirt she had left on the bed earlier that morning. The shirt was her mom’s. It dated back to the end of the NASA space program and simply read: I need my space. It was Jane’s favorite. She enjoyed playing dress-up on the occasions when she attended business meetings with her father, but sitting for hours in a dress and heels was too much. She was a country girl at heart and preferred the comfort of cheap cotton denim to expensive synthetics any day.
She sat on the edge of her bed, which was packed into her room along with one closet that actually contained an efficiently arranged shower, sink, and toilet, another closet that was an actual closet, a not-so-comfortable chair, and a desk that was barely big enough to fit her bag and the framed picture she kept of her and her mom. Jane’s windowless quarters on their shuttle hadn’t any more frills than any other. Being the daughter of Carson Philips had its perks, but luxury accommodations on the shuttle wasn’t one of them.
Jane quickly slipped on her sneakers and laced them up. She wanted to get out to the bay windows on the shuttle. Although she had made the trip up to the space station Vista hundreds of times in her life, she never tired of seeing the view on the way up. She stood quickly, took a half step to cross her room, and checked herself in the mirror. Glancing down at the picture of her and her mom resting on her desk, she paused to pick it up. Her dad had taken the picture of the two of them standing in front of the Colosseum in Rome. She’d been told over the years that she looked more like her mom than her dad, but the picture really showed it; they almost looked like they could have been sisters, with a number of years between them. They had the same thin nose and high cheekbones, the same large round blue eyes, and the same super-blond hair. Though now Jane’s was cut even shorter than it was in the picture, a gamine style her dad said reminded him of a twenty-something Audrey Hepburn.
Jane loved her mom and missed her terribly. It seemed strange to her that the Jane in the picture was the blissfully innocent Jane who still had her mom. It was the last real picture Jane had of her, and every time she looked at it, her eyes got misty. Now that her mom was gone, Jane often wondered if she would have done anything different … if she had known that those were going to be some of their final moments together. She didn’t think so, but she never really got any concrete answers from herself on the matter.
The one decision that haunted her, however, came not long after they returned from Rome. She and her mom were on a flight together, heading home, when her mom decided to reroute to Washington to meet her father. Jane could have gone along, but decided to go home first, thinking she would catch up with her the next day. Jane’s mom flew off in the shuttle, blowing her a kiss from the bay windows as she did, and that was it—that was the last time she saw her.
It was a complete mystery about what had happened. As the artificial intelligence behind her father’s corporation, Evelyn monitored and ran all of CP Interstellar’s technology. This included running the autopilot on all the shuttles they flew; her mother’s fatal flight had been no different. The shuttle crashed near a military base, so civilians weren’t allowed near the crash site, and the remains of the shuttle were delivered back to CP Interstellar for investigative purposes, since they had built it. The remains of Jane’s mom, the only passenger on board at the time of the crash, were also delivered to the family, though she had been naturally cremated in the fire that had consumed the shuttle on impact. In the report that followed, Evelyn noted that all the shuttle’s systems had been operating normally when one of the engines lost power, sending the shuttle down. Given the reliability of the engines in the shuttle, however, and given that there was no apparent damage to the engine itself prior to the crash, the cause of the burnout was never determined.
In the months that followed, Jane would often think about that moment, standing there while her mom flew off. She certainly had her moments when she wished she had been on the flight with her, given how hard it was to be the one left behind. She knew it was defeating to think that way, though, so she never lingered on it long. There was no reason for Jane not to go home first, and there was no reason for her mom not to continue.
Jane believed in God, but Tate was the one who really had faith. He often reminded her at her lowest points that their mom was in a better place, and it was all part of God’s plan. That gave her some consolation, but then again, most of the time it just pissed her off. Jane usually got pissed when she thought about her mom being taken from her, but she still couldn’t figure out who she was more pissed at: Was she mad at her mom for leaving? Was she mad at herself for staying? Was she mad at God for messing with her life, Evelyn for flying the shuttle, her dad for owning the company that built it, or her brother for seeming to have so much more peace about it? It was all—still—a painful mystery to her.
Some days Jane wanted to punch herself through the picture, as if to say, Hey … wake up … Your life’s about to turn to crap … Do something! Other days, like today, she just wanted to let herself cry for a while, wishing she could hear her mom’s voice just one more time.
Jane stared at the picture and brushed another tear from the corner of her eye with the tip of her finger.
“Jane?” came her mom’s voice over the intercom.
Jane jumped, nearly dropping the picture she was holding. It took her only a second to remember that it was actually Evelyn speaking over the intercom, but that second was still enough time for her to go through the full range of emotions. Mom, you’re here? Mom, you’re here! Mom … you’re gone. She felt like she had rocketed up the first hill of a roller coaster and crested the top at seventy miles per hour, only to discover there was no track on the other side.
“Dammit, Evelyn,” Jane said, bracing her hand on the table to catch herself from falling back onto the bed. “Haven’t I told you not to use that voice with me?”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Evelyn replied. “I thought I had modified my voice enough that you wouldn’t be bothered by it.”
Truth be told, Jane knew Evelyn’s voice was fine the way it was.
A few years ago, as a prank, her dad had convinced Evelyn to play a trick on her and her mom by replicating their voices over the intercom, which backfired and was more freaky than funny. Jane’s mom insisted that Evelyn never replicate their voices again. In the end, Jane’s dad liked the sound of his wife’s voice, so he had Evelyn alter it just slightly so that she sounded like a more mature Jane or, if Jane’s mom had had one, like her sister.
Her mom hadn’t been gone long, but long enough that it was hard for Jane to distinguish between the two voices, with Evelyn sounding more and more like her mom wi
th each passing day. Most days it didn’t bother her. In fact, she often found a little comfort hearing a voice that sounded so much like her mom’s, but today it had just caught her off guard at a particularly sensitive moment.
“No, you’re right,” Jane said, feeling badly about her reaction. “Your voice is fine. You just startled me … Do you need something?”
“No, Jane,” Evelyn replied. “I just wanted to mention that we crossed through fifty thousand feet. I know how much you like the view on the way up. I didn’t want you to miss it.”
“Oh, okay … thanks,” Jane replied, carefully placing the photo back on the desk. She decided punching her picture-face could wait another day.
Jane grabbed a sweatshirt from her closet, and zipping it up as she walked out of the door of her quarters, she headed toward the rear of the shuttle.
Shuttles had changed considerably in design after her dad’s company developed engines that not only had the power needed to get the shuttle into outer space, but could handle the emptiness of space and could also manage a controlled reentry. On the ground, the shuttles looked more like giant birds of prey as opposed to their predecessors, which looked more like buses with wings. They were sleek, hawkish, and rather intimidating to look at up close. They also didn’t look much like sightseeing vehicles, considering the wings and engines extended from the sides of the shuttle, blocking much of the view from that vantage point.
The view on the way up was always breathtaking from the back of the ship. While the shuttle could rocket vertically with astonishing power and speed, Jane preferred the long, slow climb of circling to ascend. Watching from the ground, it could be terrifying to see one of the shuttles coming or going in this manner, as it resembled nothing other than an enormous predator circling its prey. From the air, however, the shuttle gave a completely different experience. The shuttle was peacefully quiet inside, and it felt like it could rise in circles effortlessly, like a feather caught up in a warm breeze. Because the shuttle’s rear tilted slightly toward the ground as the ship was ascending, the seamless windows gave an unobstructed, ever-changing view of Earth as it became smaller and smaller in the window as they rose.
Jane and the Exodus Page 1