Starshine

by G. S. Jennsen

  The woman placed a delicate hand to her mouth. “It’s magnificent. I simply must have it.”

  Mia Requelme smiled with practiced ease. “Certainly. We will want to retain it for the remainder of the exhibit, but I’ll be happy to make all the arrangements for you now. If you’ll follow me?”

  She slipped gracefully amongst the patrons milling in the gallery’s exhibit space as the woman trailed behind her. It was a good crowd. Thus far the showcase was a smashing success. A third of the pieces had sold in the first two days, and it would run for another week. Antonio Castile Lesenna created art which was simultaneously garish and elegant, which represented everything or nothing depending on what the observer desired to see. It would soon make him ridiculously wealthy, Mia was quite certain.

  She reached the small alcove tucked into the rear corner of the room, activated the screen and turned to her customer. “You can input your information here—”

  The priority pulse asserted itself into her vision.

  Mia, I need your help.

  “Why should I help you?” she snarled.

  “Because I can get you out. I’ll even get you off-planet, to somewhere you can start a new life.”

  “I already started a new life once. Didn’t help.”

  The man smiled in the dim light of the alley; it made her feel safe, which was something she could not afford to feel. “But I bet you have a list a kilometer long of the mistakes you made and how you would get it right the next time. Help me, and let me help you find your next time.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed warily. He had intercepted her on a run through The Boulevard, grasping her wrist from behind as she was preparing to palm a set of disks off the adventure illusoire merchant stand. She had thought he was a cop—though there weren’t many cops on Pandora—until she whirled around and saw the faded flannel shirt and scruffy beard. Then she had thought he was an undercover cop. His eyes were a cop’s eyes—sharp, observant, calculating.

  And she had been mostly correct. He was a cop, of sorts. Now he wanted her to give him the access codes to Eli’s inner compound.

  He continued to watch her and she him…but at her prolonged silence, his gaze softened. “I tell you what. Why don’t you let me buy you some dinner, and you can think it over while we’re eating.”

  That was low. How did he know she was near to starving? Eli’s lieutenant Paul had caught her skimming weeks ago and threatened to rat her out unless she gave him half of everything she made. She’d barely been scraping by before; now she survived on one meal a day and what she managed to steal. It was humiliating.

  She scowled and ran a hand through tangled, dirty hair. “Fine. It’s your money.”

  A few minutes later she eyed him over her burrito. “What are you planning to do to Eli’s operation?”

  The guy—he had said his name was Josh, not as if she believed him—shrugged. “I’m going to explosively dismantle his chimeral production line and bring the cops down on the remains.”

  “There aren’t any cops here.”

  He laughed. It bore a hint of mystery, as if to imply he knew more about Pandora than she did. “Yes, there are.”

  “Well, could’ve fooled me.” She took another bite, stuffing her mouth full of rice and beans and olives. She loved olives.

  She regarded him a moment. He was quite handsome, with startlingly blue eyes and black hair which fell in soft, lazy curls along his forehead. And he seemed only a few years older than her. She might prefer him without the beard, but she suspected it was temporary anyway. “Why would you help me?”

  “Because you’re a better person than they are. You’re intelligent and quick and you clearly have skills. I can see the potential beneath the grime. Besides, you don’t like what you’re doing. You don’t like being a criminal, and you definitely don’t like being beholden to a scumbag like Eli.”

  “How could you possibly tell all that about me? You just met me.”

  A corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. “I’ve been watching you for a few days and—”

  “Impossible. I pay very close attention—I’d realize if I were being followed.”

  “Yes, you do. But I’m better than you.”

  She snorted and finished off the burrito.

  “As I was saying. I’ve been watching you, along with several other of Eli’s lackeys. I need someone on the inside, and it was simply a matter of deciding who. I chose you. Did I make the wrong choice?”

  She finished off the chips next and sank back in her chair. He was right of course. Shockingly, annoyingly so. She had run away from her dad and brother four years ago in search of a better life. But lacking credits, contacts or credentials, she had soon become trapped yet again.

  She knew there must be another way, a better way of living. Glimpses of it teased her in the spaceport and on the exanet. She had educated herself over the last few years, far beyond what an official primary education would have taught her. Now an adult, she was able to legally speak and act for herself. She just needed a chance. One real chance.

  “How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small translucent film. He laid it on the table but kept two fingers securely atop it. “Here’s a ticket to Romane. Give me the access codes, I give you the ticket and transfer two thousand credits to you. You can leave right away.”

  Two thousand credits was more than she had earned in six months. Her pulse began to quicken. “How do you know I won’t double-cross you and give you the wrong codes?”

  His shoulders rose a fraction. “I guess I’ll have to trust you. Are you worthy of my trust, Mia?”

  She stared at him a moment…and nodded.

  Mia motioned Jonathan over to her. “Ma’am, if you’ll excuse me a moment. My assistant can walk you through the purchase process. You’re in good hands, and thank you again.”

  She forced herself not to rush down the hall to her private office at the gallery, even pausing to procure a gin-marinated olive off the tray of a passing waiter. The office was one of several located around the city, and as immaculate and refined as each of the others. Like everything in her life now.

  The guy had showed up on Romane to check on her four months after she fled Pandora. She repaid the two thousand credits, plus interest—she had made excellent use of the time—then asked him to dinner. That had been twelve years ago.

  Once the door closed behind her she sent a livecomm request. “Caleb. What do you need?”

  There was a brief pause before the response came. “Mia, how are you?”

  “I’m splendid, but you don’t have to small-talk me. Are you okay? It sounded urgent.”

  “I’m fine. But I need a favor. Any chance I can borrow a Class I bay at your spaceport?”

  “Of course, it’s no trouble.”

  “I’m also going to need the records of its rental and the ship it holds falsified. And once we arrive, I’ll need the highest-grade security you can provide for the bay.”

  “We?”

  “I’ll explain when we get there—which should be mid-morning tomorrow local. I’m afraid I’m not sure how long we’ll be using it.”

  “It’s not a problem, Caleb. You know that. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, but we can talk about it when I see you. Thank you, Mia. I owe you.”

  She smiled to herself. “No, you don’t.”

  50

  SENECA

  Cavare, Intelligence Division Headquarters

  * * *

  Michael regarded the series of financial transactions on the screen with painfully narrowed eyes.

  Now that the initial panic of the onset of war had faded a bit, he managed to find an hour here and there to return to the Atlantis investigation. Oh, the politicians were still panicking to be certain, at least when they weren’t prematurely gloating about Seneca’s inevitable and sure-to-be-swift victory.

  There was less panicking over the potential alien invasion
, but only because very few people knew about it and most of them weren’t the panicking type. The continued silence from the special forces team sent to Metis to investigate worried him, but given the communication difficulties perhaps he was being impatient.

  Agent Marano was at last on his way home, and with his prize of a companion no less; when they arrived he would turn his attention more directly to the matter. Until then….

  He frowned at the screen. In fairness he had probably been frowning at it for some time now, in which case the frown deepened. As Assistant Trade Director and a friend of many corporations, Jaron Nythal maintained a healthy bank account nearly equal to his healthy expenditures. But if one mapped the patterns in his transactions over a long enough period—and it had taken considerable persuasion for him to get a warrant to review the man’s accounts for said long enough period—recent unusual activity could be discerned. Barely.

  Five deposits, three in the two weeks prior to the Summit and two in the four days following the assassination, totaled almost three hundred percent more than any previous deposit in the last five years. True, they were all for different amounts and from different payers. But it felt like they belonged together.

  Two days after being released from questioning Nythal had purchased a fancy townhome in Pinciana. Prior to being pulled, surveillance had reported he toured four downtown condos on the market after purchasing the townhome.

  As evidence went it was far from sufficient to prove anything, but his gut and years of experience told him the man had been paid off. The question was, for what?

  He had studied Nythal’s history, and one thing the man excelled at was access. Smoothing the way, greasing the wheels. But Candela didn’t need help getting access to Minister Santiagar.

  So who did?

  Michael was leaning casually against the wall next to Nythal’s office when the man arrived for work.

  His step stuttered. “Mr.…Volosk, is it? I don’t recall us having a meeting this morning?”

  “Oh, we didn’t. A couple of final questions came up. Clean-up stuff really. I thought I’d stop by and we could take care of it quickly.”

  “Well I—” Jaron glanced down as he opened his door.

  “Excellent, it’ll only take a few minutes.” Michael slid in the door in front of Jaron and settled in one of the chairs opposite the desk. He looked over his shoulder expectantly until the man circled around and sat uneasily across from him.

  “So, um, what can I do for you?”

  “Enjoying your new townhome?”

  “What? I don’t—”

  “Never mind. I was curious about the different access levels in place at the Summit, and in particular the surrounding safeguards. It seems like the ballroom area where the dinners took place remained fairly open and unrestricted. So tell me about the requirements to get in.”

  “Your men staffed the security detail. Don’t you know?”

  “Humor me.”

  Jaron sniffed and kicked back in his chair. “Well, members of the delegation were granted admission to the area reserved for the Summit. Some conference rooms required additional special clearance, and the private Alliance meeting rooms were off limits.”

  “Let’s see…” he rubbed at his jaw “…we provided the pre-approved guests, corporate executives and media mainly, special admission codes. They also had to clear security and match the list each time. They were thoroughly investigated before being invited, of course—by your Intelligence Division, I believe.”

  “Right. Of course.” Michael shifted in the chair, appearing to display some chagrin. “Though those ‘guests’ were recommended and submitted for approval by your Trade Division, yes?”

  “I believe so, but it wasn’t my responsibility so I can’t be—”

  “You’re the Assistant Trade Director. If not your responsibility, then whose? The Director?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, he did make several specific requests and recommendations—”

  “So you were involved in preparing the guest list, since you know the details.”

  “Uh…partially, as I have a number of contacts in the community, but…Mr. Volosk, I’m not sure I understand the point of all of this. Chris Candela committed the assassination. It’s undisputed at this point, isn’t it?”

  Volosk tilted his head ever so slightly. “So it would appear.”

  “There isn’t any other possibility, is there?”

  He met Nythal’s gaze. “No, certainly not. And with the war on, it hardly matters now anyway, does it?” He stood. “Like I said, merely some clean-up questions. If I find I have any more—clean-up questions that is—I’ll just swing by for another quick visit.”

  “I have an extremely busy schedule, so it might be better if you made an appointment next time.”

  “Sure, sure, I’ll try to do so if I can. I have an extremely busy schedule as well—the war and all—so I can’t make any guarantees.”

  Michael smiled coldly. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good day, Mr. Nythal.”

  Jaron waited until the door had closed to punch the chair in frustration. The soft leather-derived material gave with his fist, but it still hurt like a bitch. He shook his hand out while pacing in agitation across an office whose walls now threatened to close in around him.

  He forced himself to wait five minutes, then another five, before leaving the office. Once outside he began hurrying down the street, but slowed as he realized he may be under surveillance. It seemed impossible—or rather would have seemed impossible until this morning. Now there lurked a cop in the eyes of every pedestrian.

  But he only needed to get outside any possible electronic monitoring; then whatever surveillance he had could go fuck themselves for all the good it would do them.

  When he reached the riverfront he stopped to purchase a breakfast gyro. A nice touch, he thought. He wandered over and rested against the railing, for all intents and purposes enjoying the blue-tinged morning light reflecting off the rippling water.

  Instead he opened a very private address and sent a very simple message.

  We have a problem.

  51

  EARTH

  Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

  * * *

  “She did what?”

  “She broke him out of the detention center. I didn’t even know until I received a message from her. I checked into it, and the records show him being released last night on a technicality. The surveillance recordings have been doctored, I assume by her.” Richard shook his head. “I didn’t realize she was capable of such a sophisticated hack.”

  Miriam laughed, though it carried an almost poignant edge. She sank deeper into her chair and abandoned any pretense of formality. The door was closed, and he was her oldest friend.

  “Trust me, she is. I probably don’t need to ask, but what was her justification?”

  “She again said he wasn’t here to spy on us, but rather to help us and request help in return. Also that we needed to get over this war and focus on the real threat.”

  “She’s gone then? I didn’t warrant a message.”

  “Yeah, they’re gone—at least there’s a transponder record of the Siyane using an exit corridor early this morning. I suppose she could have hacked it as well, but it seems more likely they’re actually gone.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic.” She paused to take a long sip of tea. “If she flies into the middle of this war and gets herself killed, I don’t think I…David would never forgive me, were he here.”

  “It wouldn’t be your fault, Miriam. He’d realize that, better than you.”

  “Maybe.” She held the teacup to her lips and breathed in the steam until the bitter pang of loss, still biting after twenty-three years, subsided back into the recesses.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I did rush to judgment with respect to her companion.”

  Richard regarded her with a look of incredulity. “You think?”

  She rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
“Fine. It is possible I overreacted a small amount. She just…she somehow manages to hit all my buttons, every damn time. I get so angry at her and I’ve no idea how to make her not be angry at me. Sometimes I wish…” her eyes closed “…I wish I could start over. But it’s thirty-six years too late, isn’t it?”

  “You may not be able to go back, but it doesn’t mean you can’t start over.”

  “I’m not so certain…and regardless, now is hardly the ideal time for such matters.” She ran a hand along her jaw and straightened up in the chair, shocked at the sentimentality she had allowed herself to display.

  She busied herself refilling her teacup. “In any event, I’ve never known her to let sex interfere with her better judgment, so perhaps she is correct about his intentions. Which introduces a whole new set of concerns.”

  “You think she’s sleeping with him?”

  A small, arguably devious smile ghosted across her face. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t be. Do you?”

  Richard’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Well, he’s Senecan….”

  “That excuse only works until you discover the person is merely an individual like any other.”

  His lips pursed together in a show of skepticism, but finally he gave up and chuckled in mild amusement. “Then no, I suppose I don’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She sighed, and the momentary levity evaporated. “Listen, is there any way you can keep her out of trouble over this? Keep her from being implicated?”

  It wasn’t the first time she had asked such a favor of a colleague, though it was the first time she had asked it of someone so high-ranking, and someone who was a personal friend. But he was a personal friend of Alexis, too, and would want to protect her for his own reasons.

  He shrugged. “I don’t really need to. There’s no evidence of her involvement—or any crime at all—beyond her message to me. Frankly, I’m inclined to simply stay quiet about the situation and let the record stand. He was released due to an administrative screw-up and that’s the end of it. In the absence of a trigger it’s unlikely the falsified records will be uncovered, and technically he hadn’t committed a crime other than providing a false identification, so….”