Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1)

by Claire, Nicola

  My turn to offer an inappropriate huff of laughter. I covered it by lifting my near empty coffee cup to my lips.

  "OK," he said leaning forward again. "We do it my way or not at all."

  I could have argued. I'd always been the one in charge. But I felt strangely imbalanced, off kilter, out on a limb. And truthfully, I was just relieved to share the burden with someone I could trust.

  "I'll iRec him from the back of Yum Cha. You hold off committing to anything until you receive my text." He sat back and grumbled, "Not that a name is going to change how trustworthy he is."

  I smiled winningly at him across the table and reached up to pull my sunglasses off my nose.

  "How do I look?" I asked.

  I batted my eyelashes and then opened my eyes wide in a baby doll impersonation.

  Tan snorted, crossing his arms in a disgruntled fashion over his chest, and said, "Like a lamb to the fucking slaughter house."

  I was attempting to hide my laughter when I saw him out of the window, standing across the street watching us. How long he'd been there, I didn't know. He looked comfortable. Dressed in Citizen appropriate jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his rather fine chest. His shoes were still scuffed.

  "How good are you on iRec-ing off the cuff?" I asked Tan, keeping my eyes locked on the deep blue that stared back.

  "Why?" Tan asked carefully.

  "Because by the time I cross Federal Street I want you to text me his name."

  Tan wasn't naive enough to look out the window and confirm what I was looking at. I could feel his hard stare on my turned cheek, the silence seeming to emanate from his body.

  Along with the tension.

  "Walk slowly," he suggested and I smiled. It was probably a little wicked because a frown appeared on the Cardinal pretender's hard face.

  I pushed up from my seat, straightening my dress and then finally turned to face Tan, who had risen as well.

  "Wish me luck," I said.

  He shook his head slowly, eyes rolling.

  "Do me a favour?" he asked when he was done with the show.

  I stopped moving and looked up at him, waiting for the request. My back to the window and our observer, my attention all on Tan.

  Tan smiled down at me, lifted one hand to my chin, the other with his modified cellphone came up and rested on my shoulder, lens pointing out across the street.

  "Oh, you're a bad man," I whispered.

  "Babe," he said as if I'd accused him of stealing candy from a child. And then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my lips.

  The cellphone camera repetitively beeped softly in my ear as a growl of protest sprang up from the back of my throat.

  Tan pulled away looking smug. The kiss had been nothing really. But his timing was definitely a statement.

  "Let's see how he handles that," he announced as the cellphone chimed an iRec hit. "Oh, and lookie here, Carr. Your man has a name."

  I started backing away from him towards the door of the café, my eyes flicking out the window to make sure my quarry was still there. He was. Arms crossed over his chest now, a scowl on his face, the blue of his eyes darker as they bore into mine.

  Oh, this should be interesting.

  "And that is?" I said as I reached the busy entrance.

  Tan's smile dimmed, the importance and risk of what I was doing conveyed in his steady gaze. Take care, his look said. Be careful, his eyes pleaded.

  Then he said in all seriousness, "Masters. His name is Trent Masters."

  I had a name. It didn't mean anything. But now we were even.

  Or at least I hoped.

  Chapter 16

  Selena Carstairs Was Going To Be Mine

  Trent

  So, she had a boyfriend. I shouldn't have been surprised. What was interesting was that the boyfriend was definitely a Citizen and she dressed down for him. Not that I was complaining about the sundress, it was short and cute and displayed a rather impressive cleavage.

  And, on second thoughts, the fact that she had a Citizen boyfriend could be considered a plus. It meant she associated with my kind. Maybe she sympathised, too. Maybe she wouldn't be opposed to joining the revolution.

  Ah, fuck. Who was I kidding? The boyfriend had to go and I was only interested in the fact she ran with Citizens, because it made my goal easier. And my goal involved her and a bed, and not the fucking revolution.

  I closed my eyes for a moment willing my mind out of the gutter as she finally approached the door to the café. I'd been watching for ten minutes. Si advising earlier that she'd been recorded in a limousine arriving at Federal Street. It had taken me half an hour to find her, and God knows how cosy she and the boyfriend had been in that time.

  I didn't want to think about it.

  No, what I needed to do was get my head back in the game. She had the codes, hidden somewhere. And we needed them. End of story.

  I smiled as she walked across the busy pedestrian packed street. I saw a small frown mar her lush lips and then disappear. I dialled back the grin, not wanting to overplay it, and worked on holding her gaze.

  Something was off about her eyes, and for a second I couldn't place it. But when she stopped directly in front of me, no more than two feet away, it became clear.

  She'd dosed up.

  The acrid taste of bitter disappointment met my tongue and I pushed off from the post I'd been leaning against and ground out, "I'm starved. Didn't you say something about Yum Cha?"

  "No official greeting, Cardinal?" she asked sweetly, as she trailed behind, not bothering to exert herself to catch up.

  Once an Elite, always an Elite. I'd do well to remember that.

  "Were you expecting one?" I shot back, flicking a gaze over my shoulder at her.

  She was paler than before, sweating in the heat. Eyes darting all around her, pupils enlarged. The sunglasses were back on, but I was close enough to see detail, and there was strain evident in the line of her lips now. A small crease between her brows.

  She limped.

  This was not the Elite I had met in Muhgah Keekee.

  This was not the woman I had seen jump off a building and somersault through the air.

  What the fuck had happened to make her take her Serenity ration?

  I slowed down my rapid pace, and called myself every pansy-arsed name under the sun for doing it. Something about this woman made me lose all perspective. Something about her was highly likely to cause my death.

  I held the door open to Yum Cha and let her precede me. Her hair brushed my arm as she pushed eagerly into the air conditioned interior, the smell of her shampoo meeting my nose. Flowery and fresh. I'm not up on which petal smells like what, but it suited her. Delicate and pretty.

  The maître d' approached and she spoke in fluent Wáitaměi, taking control of the situation with aplomb. For some reason I let her. I was telling myself it was because she amused.

  We were seated away from the window, but that was only because she asked for that particular table and made sure she was sitting with her back to the wall. Even dosed up she was careful, and I wondered whether, under normal circumstances, if the drug had any effect on her at all. She hadn't been dosed when I saw her last, so I had to assume this was an unexpected shock to her system and that's why she was compromised.

  I should probably use that advantage.

  I sat down opposite her, taking the menu from the server and waiting until they'd left us alone to peruse the dishes. My eyes stayed locked on her face as she pretended to read what was on offer.

  "I hear the chilli crab is good," I suggested.

  Her pale blue eyes came up to mine, the sunglasses packed away. A trade off for sitting out of sight in the dim rear of the restaurant.

  God. She was beautiful. Even half drugged as she obviously was now.

  "Do you believe in destiny, Cardinal?" she asked, ignoring my banal statement.

  "Do you?"

  She smiled that Elite smile they have. Superior, condescending.


  "I believe there is a reason why we met," she replied pleasantly.

  I could have shocked her. I could have told her exactly why I hoped we'd met and it had nothing to do with revolutions.

  But I didn't.

  "And why is that, Honourable Selena Carstairs?" I asked instead.

  "Because I have something you want," she began and for a split second I thought I saw a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  Well, now. Maybe she did know why I hoped we'd met.

  "And you have something I need," she finished.

  Again I had to force my mind out of the gutter. That wasn't why we were here.

  "Do you even know what you've got, Selena?" I asked, then added, "You don't mind me calling you Selena, do you?"

  She held my gaze, a serene smile on her face that I don't think was entirely Serenity related, and said, "As long as you don't mind me calling you Trent."

  And just like that I knew I'd met my match.

  And there was absolutely nothing in this God forsaken city that could stop me from catching her.

  Selena Carstairs was going to be mine.

  Chapter 17

  I Had No Choice

  Lena

  This was harder than I thought it would be. And it wasn't all because of my unstable reaction to the Serenity Tab. Trent Masters kept looking at me as though he wanted to own me, and I wondered in just what capacity that ownership would be.

  The question of why he wanted that file was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't trust this man. In a world where trust was hard to find, I would have been insane to do so. And despite my hobbies, I wasn't crazy.

  But I did need Lena Carr scrubbed, so if that meant dangling the file in front of his nose like a carrot to achieve that, then I would.

  "You've done your homework, Elite," he said slowly, placing the menu he'd been holding as a prop down on the table and making it seem like I was trapped. The blue of his eyes darkening with some emotion I couldn't identify.

  "It seemed wise," I offered with the hint of an Elite smile.

  If he wanted to keep reminding me I was an Elite, I'd play the part. Of course, as soon as he knew what I wanted, he'd know my alias.

  And I suddenly had grave reservations about all of this.

  That trapped feeling became a crushing weight. No matter what I did, I exposed myself. And right now, exposure seemed like a very bad idea.

  "Who are you?" The words slipped out in a moment of sheer panic. I cursed my need to dose up in time for the celebration. I wasn't at the top of my game today, but time was running out. To reacquaint myself with Serenity safely, it had to be conducted over an extended period and in ever increasing measured increments, or I'd tailspin like Aiko had.

  "A Citizen trying to survive," he replied.

  "Why the Cardinal impersonation?"

  "Why the flight-suit and jumping off a high-rise?"

  I glanced around the rear of the restaurant, but the patrons and waiters were all engaged and hadn't overheard.

  I leaned over the table, like I had with Tan at the café. Trent's lips twitched, but he leaned closer too. I could smell his cologne from here, it was disturbingly attractive. Like the man.

  "I'm a bored Elite. A girl's gotta have some fun," I offered.

  He burst out laughing, his whole demeanour changing like it had so briefly on the Rap-Trans train. Fine wrinkles appearing around his deep blue eyes, his full mouth open and relaxed in a beaming smile. The deep chuckle rumbling from within his shaking chest.

  He was the most vibrantly alive person I had ever met. Not bothered that his laughter was inappropriate. Not concerned that he exhibited non-model behaviour.

  I envied that freedom. I was intensely jealous of his ability to forget our country's restraints.

  I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest as his laughter subsided. His eyes trailed over my face and stance, his façade again returning to that hardness he used as a mask.

  "Do you know what it is?" he asked, and I had no doubt he was referring to the file.

  "Do you?" I returned, unwilling to admit my ignorance.

  "You must have an idea of its importance," he offered. "The Cardinals are blanketing the streets looking for you. People are being wiped."

  My body jerked. Just slightly. Hopefully not enough for him to have noticed my reaction to his words. He seemed to not have, as he kept talking without pause.

  "There are more sPol on every corner than ever. Word is, curfew will be extended for tonight."

  "It's Friday," I unintelligibly replied. Friday and Saturday were the only two days without curfew. Our reward for being model Citizens during the week.

  But then, I hadn't been a model Citizen, had I?

  "I feel honoured," I quipped. "A whole city punished for my deeds."

  He leaned forward, his eyes dark chips of blue. "They're waiting for you to open that file," he whispered. "The moment you do, they will pounce."

  My breath stalled. The file had been booby trapped. I hadn't even considered that fact. What would have happened if Zhang Yong had opened it for me?

  I would have been wiped along with the Yehs.

  "You understand," Trent continued to whisper. "I wondered if your bravado was all for show or not. I'm pleased to see you have some self-preservation inside that lovely Elite head."

  It took a second or two for me to find my equilibrium again. To return to the Elite I so often was forced to play. My reaction times were off. My thought processes sluggish. I should never have considered making this meeting. And now I knew my attendance was for naught.

  "That is a shame," I said. "It will make it harder to sell."

  He pulled back, surprised I think. Shocked, maybe even disgusted.

  "What did you think I did with my acquisitions, Citizen?" I asked archly. "I don't hide them away in a vault and dream of them at night. They serve a purpose. And now I have to consider what purpose my latest asset will serve."

  His uncomfortably intense eyes scanned my face. Looking for an answer I was sure he wouldn't find.

  "You can't need the money. You're the last of the Carstairs," he pointed out.

  I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my menu up off the table as the waiter appeared.

  "I'll have the Chilli Crab in Hot Stone," I said. "I've been told it's quite good."

  The waiter nodded as he entered the order into his handheld computer. He turned to Trent, who was still watching me intently, a look in his eyes I didn't much like. I'd seen him smiling now, genuinely amused. To be the object of such honest dislike wasn't welcome.

  "The same," he snapped, not taking his eyes off my face.

  The waiter, no doubt suspecting we were lovers arguing, simply took the menus without a word.

  "Your manners are slipping, Citizen," I said pleasantly, as though I wasn't cringing every time he frowned.

  "I feel disinclined to play the game today," he replied, voice dark.

  "Is it a game?" I asked, repositioning my empty wine glass absently. "I thought it more a war."

  "When have you battled for anything, Honourable?"

  I lifted my eyes to his set face and held his accusing stare.

  "Every day my Shiloh wakes me," I replied in a steady voice.

  "How tragic. Confined to the rules of a society and yet held above the majority for nothing less than your chance of birth."

  "You seem to have a chip on your shoulder, Citizen. Do you long for the boredom too?"

  "You think we don't get bored?" he demanded in a purposely muted hiss. Even angry, we knew to keep our conversations quiet. "Hemmed in on this island and made to conform? There is only so much a Citizen can do for enjoyment in the suburbs, Honourable. Unlike you, we can't afford the glittering parties and fancy purchases and luxury foods."

  I didn't know what to say to that. Part of me was appalled to hear the truth in his words. Part of me was so irate that he thought privilege equalled happiness.

  "And should I gift you my stipend, woul
d your life alter so greatly?" I asked.

  He stilled. "It would alter," he finally whispered.

  "Enough for you not to become bored?"

  He was silent for so long I thought he wouldn't reply. But slowly his face melted into a less defiant expression, his shoulders relaxed their stiff and tight stance. He let a breath out and ran a hand through his dark hair, bringing my attention to its length again. He really ought to have it cut.

  "You're right," he conceded, eventually. "There is no escape for any of us."

  "We should not desire for more than we have. Wánměi provides all that we need." I repeated the doctrine softly, my finger running along the edge of the table and back again. My eyes downcast.

  "You don't believe that," he said. Not a question. A statement.

  I'm not sure why I answered. Why I admitted so much. Exposed myself to that degree. Maybe it was because I didn't want to ever see that disappointment in those deep blue eyes again. Maybe it was the Serenity Tab lingering in my system and making me rash.

  "I'm not sure what I believe anymore." The words hung in the air, suspended like a bright, pulsating star between us, impossible to ignore. Until the waiter arrived and placed our dishes in front of us, breaking the spell.

  Steam wafted off our superheated bowls, the liquid of the crab bisque sizzling against the stone. I wasn't sure I had any appetite left, but not consuming a meal in public was considered inappropriate and definitely not model behaviour. I lifted my spoon and scooped up a portion of the liquid, then blew on it softly working up to swallowing it down.

  "I actually prefer dim sum," Trent suddenly said. "There's this street vendor on Elliott Street that makes the best I've ever tasted."

  My head came up and I scanned his face for subterfuge. My Wáikěiton home was on Elliott Street, just down from that particular roadside stall. But he was sipping his soup like a good Citizen and didn't seem to be aware of my sudden alarm.

  "I think I'd prefer it," I admitted, forcing myself to sound natural. "This is too salty by far."

  "Do you want to ditch it?" he asked. "I could take you to the dim sums."

  "That wouldn't be appropriate," I automatically replied.