The 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet arrived with ten frigates and left with three. Sixteen of twenty-six fighters survived, but the relatively high survival ratio was due solely to the fact Commander Morgan Lekkas’ squadron did not lose a single ship.
44
EARTH
San Francisco
* * *
A heavy, damp fog blanketed the streets as far as the eye could see. Which, given it was 0100 and the previously mentioned fog, wasn’t particularly far.
The street lights gave the fog a washed-out champagne glow and created an aura of eerie otherworldliness. This time of year the fog shrouded the Outer Sunset District and Ocean Beach day and night, seeing only the occasional brief clearing after a storm front passed through.
Alex felt the moisture condensing on the fine hairs of her arms. The night air was cold as hell, but she had needed to dress the part. A deep crimson camisole woven with gossamer optic fibers draped to her navel; black leather pants clung low on her hips as she hurried down Taraval. It was even later now, and she still had a lot to do.
The club was almost to the beach, and she could hear the surf crashing against the shore. It brought back memories…memories she did not have time to entertain. She pushed them aside and located the unmarked door beneath one of the refabbed Victorian row houses.
The music assaulted her ears as she descended the stairs. Pure synth—no beat and no lyrics, merely a constant wave of complex tonals designed to soothe the mind and body into a state of open relaxation. It was warmer inside at least, though she suspected it would soon feel too humid as a result.
The warehouse space appeared pitch black save for vague shadows of moving bodies and the neon painted sensory address floating near the ceiling. With a sigh she accessed it. She’d never find her way in the dark.
The overlay shimmered to life. Stars materialized beneath her feet and the cool glow of a pale green nebula in the space around her. A triple star system spun in the air above her, comets dancing merrily amongst it in concentric orbits.
She wouldn’t spoil everyone’s fun, but even a full-sensory overlay didn’t come close to matching the real thing.
Men and women danced in the center of the room in slow, languorous, sensual movements to the synth music or occasionally to their own beat. Others slumped against the wall, lost in head trips. Small groups formed circles, each leaning on the other to remain standing while they engaged in group illusoires set in what was doubtless fantastical worlds. A few couples pawed at each other in the shadowed corners. A few did more.
Alex. The prodigal daughter returns. You can find me on the balcony.
Her eyes scanned the room until she made out the outline of an overhang high above the rear section of the dance floor. She wound her way through the crowd, most of whom didn’t notice her. At the sensation of a hand running along the small of her back and dipping into her pants, however, she did pause to casually knee a strapping young man in the balls then keep moving.
The balcony was nearly as crowded as the floor below—but Claire Zabroi was difficult to miss.
Not because of the cropped, jet black spiked hair or the skintight white leather pants and tunic. No, Claire was difficult to miss primarily because of the full-body network of saffron hued glyphs. They didn’t swirl or entwine softly like most glyphs did to double as tattoo art. Instead they mimicked the intricate patterns of a circuit board, all straight lines and hard angles. They wound up her neck to run along her jaw and disappear behind her ears, leaving her face the sole visible part of her body untattooed.
She had a woman on one arm and a drink in the other hand, but upon spotting Alex a smile pulled at her lips. She nudged the woman off and motioned to a table in the corner. Alex grabbed a cocktail off a waiter’s tray on the way over.
Claire greeted her with a smooth hug. “Alex, babe. It’s been far too long. However do you entertain yourself these days?”
“Oh, I manage.” She slid into the chair opposite her old…acquaintance. Claire was from a very different time in her life. A time after university, when freed of the rigors of study and serving an externship which was interesting enough but hardly filled the hours, she and Kennedy had found themselves in The City by the Bay while young and single, with money, freedom and few responsibilities.
They had soon met Ethan, then Drake and Alice, and through Alice, Claire. Claire was a hedonist, adrenaline junkie and casual chimeral dealer. But most of all, Claire was a hacker—and not your average hacker.
Though not many people knew it—i.e., she had not thus far been caught—she was responsible for the hacking of TransBank and ‘redistribution’ of more than six billion credits to seventeen thousand random individuals. She was also behind the hacking and leaking of government documents which brought down the North American Eastern District Governor in 2309, as well as half a dozen less infamous exploits.
Alex may or may not have assisted in any small or large way in all, some or none of those exploits. It was, as she had noted, a different time in her life.
“So what brings you back into the underworld? Your message said it was urgent.” Claire grinned; it was a harsh, predatory look on her. “Or are you jonesing? I can drop you some Surf if you want—on the house, for old times’ sake.”
Alex gave a wry chuckle. “No thanks, I don’t indulge anymore. Not often anyway….”
Ethan’s penthouse on Rue de Rivoli occupied the entire top floor of the condo tower. The elevator led to a sterile tile and marble foyer and a single door. There was no visible security, no handlers, no lackeys or groupies. She assumed his address must be kept extremely confidential. But though she had never been to this residence, she had always known where to find him.
She pressed the bell and leaned nonchalantly on the wall to wait. Only then did it occur to her the door might be answered by…well, virtually anyone. She hadn’t messaged ahead. She hadn’t planned or thought any of this through. She was simply here.
But it wasn’t anyone who answered. It was him.
He would have accessed a cam of the foyer of course and opened the door already knowing who awaited. He rested on the doorframe and mimicked her pose. His coffee-colored hair was cut shorter than when she had seen him last and barely grazed his shoulders. Chocolate irises sparkled with mischief; that had not changed.
“Alex, love. My birthday isn’t until next month, yet here you are.”
“Yet here I am.” She realized she was biting her lower lip when one of his eyebrows arched and the sparkle in his eyes flared. She didn’t stop.
“To what do I owe this smashing surprise?”
Her expression darkened as she stared at him and tried to find a way to respond glibly. ‘My lover of two years walked out on me and I don’t want to talk about it, think about it or even remember it, I just want to feel’ somehow didn’t seem a suitable answer, but her brain was not currently operating with enough functionality to craft a lie.
He must have read her mood, because he smiled and crossed the foyer to grasp her hands in his. “Never mind. What matters is you’re here.” He began backing up, drawing her along with him toward the door and into the penthouse.
She grinned in what she hoped resembled playful seductiveness. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”
Still grasping her hands, he wound her arms around his waist as the door closed behind them. “I do now….” His gaze caressed her face, down her neck to the hollow of her throat, then returned to her eyes. “Miss Solovy, I do believe you’re high.”
Yes, she most certainly was. “Is that a problem?”
“Bien au contraire, ma chérie.”
He was hardly French, but she supposed ‘when in Paris’…and true to the stereotype, the words sent a delightful shiver up her spine.
He maneuvered her so her back pressed into the wall and closed the remaining space until his lips hovered a breath above hers. “Stay that way. Stay with me. For the weekend, for however long you have.”
>
She responded by spinning him around, pinning him against the wall and crushing her mouth against his.
Alex forcefully blinked away the memory…damn but it had been a hell of a way to get over a broken heart.
Her voice lowered beneath the din of the crowd. “I need a spoofing routine—military grade, the best you have. Cost is not a concern, but I need it now.”
Claire sipped on her drink. “If it were anyone else I’d be tempted to take advantage of your obvious desperation and charge you double for half-assed ware. But once upon a time you had my back, and you never let me down. Also, you know several of my secrets.”
She set the glass on the table and eyed Alex a moment. “I do have something which meets your requirements. One of a kind and thus far solely for me. It’s not on the market.”
“It will be used only once, after which I will wipe it. My word.”
Claire’s gaze drifted up and across the balcony before settling again on Alex. “I keep it in here—” she tapped her temple with a razor square fingernail, causing a ripple along the glyphs on her forearm “—too valuable to store anywhere else. I can burn you a copy. Twenty-one thousand. And it’s worth twice the price.”
Alex smacked her lips and took a sip of her drink. It represented a good deal of money, but nothing she couldn’t pay. She nodded. “Do it.”
“You got it.” She reached into a pocket of the utility belt slung over her hips and removed a slim burner interface. She reached behind her head, rested the tiny oval at the nape of her neck and secured the harness above her ears. “Watch my drink for me?” Her eyes glazed over.
Alex scanned the area with careful nonchalance while she waited. The downstairs may be for mindless trips, partying and hookups, but upstairs serious business was being conducted.
The balcony was much larger than it first appeared and sported a number of couches, tables and private alcoves. Certainly, much in the way of alcohol and recreational chimerals were being consumed—but hard tech was also trading hands. Judging from the hints of trunk lines winding along the walls, she expected active hacks were presently ongoing as well—likely some for sport, others for friendly competition, others for thousands of credits…and still others for real stakes.
She noted in her peripheral vision when Claire’s vision sharpened. The woman removed the interface from her neck, ejected a tiny reflective crystal disk and pocketed the equipment. Beneath the table she extended her hand, palm open. Alex did the same, placing her hand over Claire’s and holding it there as she transferred the funds. She took the disk and slipped it in the tiny pocket in the front of her pants.
“Thank you, Claire. I do appreciate this.”
Claire laughed and sank back in the chair. “Fair business trade. You just bought me some fancy new hardware for my lair. Good luck with whatever adventure you’re diving into. I’m glad to know you’re still in the game.”
She started to protest that she wasn’t, not really…instead she merely smiled. “Thanks.”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around awhile? Sandi, Markos and I were thinking of flying the bridge a little later. I seem to remember you enjoy it?”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember being the one who taught you how to do it in the first place.” Diving off the top of the Golden Gate Bridge using nothing but a tensile double-fiber strand when she was sixteen had gotten her arrested; by twenty-four she had gotten far smarter about it.
“That’s right….”
She chuckled lightly and stood. “As tempting as it is, I’m afraid I must go. Urgent doings and all.” She leaned over and gave Claire a quick one-armed hug. “Stay frosty. Don’t get caught.”
“Never.”
She took the stairs two at a time and hurried through the crowd to the exit. The damp chill outside was, for the briefest moment, a welcome change from the stifling underground atmosphere. Then it was simply cold and wet.
She rubbed her hands over her arms and hurried up the hill toward the levtram station. She could catch half an hour of sleep on the transport to Seattle. Maybe an hour nap at the loft, but no more. She’d need the rest of the intervening hours to get ready—for the Board meeting, followed by a small jailbreak.
45
EARTH
Vancouver, EASC Headquarters
* * *
Alex finished explaining what the data in the report meant in terms so simple even a non-cyberized five year old could understand it, then gazed down the horrifically gaudy conference table at the collected leadership of Earth Alliance Strategic Command expectantly.
The meeting had started late, on account of she had no idea what. Then she had been kept waiting for an hour while they discussed classified war concerns. Her patience hung by a brittle thread by the time she had finally been shown in…but seeing as the matter was of the utmost importance she refrained from showing it.
Now that it was over, she thought on balance she hadn’t done badly at all. Her mother had given her a tiny nod of approval at the end, which from her was high praise indeed.
General Alamatto pretended to study the visuals still displayed above the table—well it was possible he was legitimately studying them, but unlikely—while she fielded nitpicky questions from the others.
No, she didn’t believe the ships in the visuals represented the entire force. No, she didn’t have any idea how many more there might be. No, she didn’t know where the portal originated. No, she didn’t possess hard evidence the aliens were using the terahertz signal as a form of communication; that’s why she had called it ‘speculation.’ No, she didn’t see their weapons in action, for shockingly she had not taunted the armada into shooting at her.
Perhaps tired of waiting for Alamatto to take the lead, one of the Regional Commanders on holo—the one with the fiery orange hair, O’Connell?—leaned forward. The stance on his stout frame was so assertive he appeared as if he were about to bull rush the table. “Based on Metis’ location, these ‘aliens’ will traverse Federation space long before reaching our territory. We can use this to our advantage. A Seneca under attack from two fronts will be far weaker and easier to defeat.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
O’Connell made a laughable attempt to virtually stare her down. “I will not be talked to in such a manner. I am—”
Her mother was staring her down, but she ignored her to meet O’Connell’s gaze icily. “Of course. Pardon my manners. Are you fucking kidding me, sir?”
The man practically came out of his chair and through the holo, but Alamatto cleared his throat loudly over O’Connell’s protestations.
“Ms. Solovy, please. Surely you understand—the goal of war is to defeat the enemy. The General may have put the matter somewhat indelicately, but he raises a valid consideration. If these aliens attack the Federation, it will almost certainly bring a more rapid conclusion to the war and prevent the loss of a great many Alliance soldiers’ and citizens’ lives.”
“Almost certainly—until they get here.”
“We will be on our guard, and study them when they attack Senecan worlds—if they attack Senecan worlds. By the time they arrive here we can be ready for them.”
“You’ll study them while they slaughter millions—billions—of innocent people?” She gestured at the images hovering above the conference table. “Do you see the size of those ships? They can destroy entire colonies with those monstrosities!”
Alamatto raised an over-trimmed eyebrow. “I must admit I am surprised at your reaction, Ms. Solovy. I would expect you to harbor no love for Seneca, given what happened to your father.”
“Do not bring my father into this.”
He withered under the force of her glare, shrinking into his chair. “I’m merely saying—”
She laughed darkly. “You know, I don’t particularly care for war personally—it did, as you so delicately noted, kill my father—but for the most part I don’t give a shit what you do in your free time. But this…these alien
s aren’t going to distinguish between Alliance, Senecan and Independent. Why should they care? I’m pretty sure we all look the same from space—and even up close. Admirals, Generals, whoever else is here, you ignore this threat and you are signing all of our death warrants.”
Alamatto seemed to locate a piece of his backbone and straightened up. “We’ll be the judge of that. Thank you, Ms. Solovy, for bringing the matter to our attention. We can take it from here.”
“Right.” She stood, the picture of calm, and gave the table a final once-over. “Thank you all for the privilege of wasting my time.” She didn’t wait for the offended expressions and exclamations before walking out.
She was actually surprised when her mother caught up to her at the lift; she’d have thought it too unseemly for her to excuse herself from the meeting so quickly.
“Alexis, wait. You need to understand—”
She whipped around and came so close to shoving a pointed finger in her mother’s face. “No. I understand fine. You work with a bunch of power-drunk, narcissistic pizdy with the collective intelligence of one of your teacups.”
“Alexis!”
“What? Dad would be disgusted by this. Why aren’t you?”
“Your father died fighting Seneca—”
“My father died serving his government and his superior officers—who I’m starting to think were probably no better than those Neanderthals in there. He died fighting a stupid, pointless war which never should have been fought. Don’t you dare brandish his death as a totem to justify sanctioning the slaughter of billions.”
“That is not fair. I would never debase his memory in such a way.” Miriam blinked and took a deep breath. “I fear your petulant little temper-tantrum did far more to hurt rather than help your cause—but it may surprise you to learn I happen to agree with you, at least as to the seriousness of the threat. I will do everything within my power to draw continued attention to it and advise—”
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