by Kelly Jensen
You don’t know that yet. You need intel.
“Mr. Anatolius!” A bounce escaped as the woman thrust out a hand. “I’m Hana Kareem, director of Chloris Station. It is an honor to meet you, sir.”
Zed shook her extended hand. “Zander Anatolius.”
“Oh, I know. I recognize you from the holos. And of course, your access code...” Her smile widened. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I just never expected to meet you in person. I’ve only been with Anatolius Industries for a short time—”
“Oh?” Given the woman’s relative youth, he’d expected that she was an employee who’d worked her way up the ranks from graduation onward. If she was a new hire...He almost groaned as his brain slipped into analyzing her possible motives and exploitative weaknesses. She wasn’t a mark, this wasn’t one of his covert ops, and she wasn’t a threat.
“I worked for Shi Corporation previously, managing a series of smaller ex-orbital stations,” she explained. “I know, I look young. Good genes. Something we have in common, I think.”
Did she just wink?
“Right,” Flick said, stepping up to Zed’s side. “So is there a reason you’re here, or...”
Hana’s dark gaze flashed to him, then back to Zed. “I wanted to officially welcome you to Chloris Station and offer you the use of any of the executive facilities you wish. We’re always happy to accommodate the Anatolius family. And, speaking of...”
Oh, God, please don’t say Dad’s here.
“Your brother Brennan indicated that he has booked transportation and he will be here within seventy-two hours, possibly less. He’s eager to see you. He asked me to pass along a jazer transmission.” The blush in her cheeks flared.
Though he still thought of his father, Alexander Anatolius, as the head of the family company, in the past few years it had been Brennan at the helm. The fact that he was taking time out of his schedule as CEO to march across the galaxy...Zed held back a sigh. “Go ahead.”
Hana produced a wallet. Moments later, Brennan’s deep, distinctive voice roared onto the docks. “Zander Damianos Anatolius, I don’t fucking care if you’ve achieved the almighty high rank of General Overlord, stay on Chloris until I get there. Please.”
Zed glanced at Flick, trying to keep the conflict he felt out of his expression. He suddenly ached with the need to see his oldest brother, to indulge in the hug he knew would be his, if he wanted it. His throat tightened and he clenched his jaw. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
He’d do his damnedest to be gone before Brennan got here.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice rough.
Hana’s wallet disappeared into her smart suit. “You’re welcome. He sounds quite excited by the chance to meet up with you.”
“Yeah. It’s been a while.” Zed tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice. He didn’t think it was common knowledge yet that the youngest Anatolius had estranged himself from his family, and he didn’t want it to be. His parents and brothers had done nothing wrong and they didn’t deserve the extra scrutiny and attention that news would bring. Or the questions they couldn’t answer.
“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing one of the family apartments if you wish to make use of it,” Hana continued. “You also have a standing dinner reservation at the Ochre Orchid, the best restaurant on Chloris. I would be happy to meet you there to discuss the station and its operations, if you’d like. Though, I imagine you’re tired from your journey.” She cast a doubtful glance at the Chaos, as if the ship were more to blame for any fatigue than the trip itself. “We could make it a more private discussion.”
Zed had figured the invitation to dinner was a date and not a business meeting, but he hadn’t expected such a blatant follow-up. Automatically, his gaze roamed over Hana’s curves, his imagination filling in what they might feel like under his hands. There wasn’t a single spark of attraction in his gut—mostly because of the man standing beside him. If Flick wasn’t around, Zed might have taken Hana up on her offer. Maybe. Sex was sex. He didn’t particularly care about a person’s plumbing.
“He’s busy,” Flick said.
Hana turned a pleasant smile to the engineer, but Zed didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in her eyes. “I’m sorry, and you are?”
“The guy who’s telling you he’s busy.” Felix grabbed Zed’s shoulder and tugged. “C’mon, Zander Damianos, we’ve got work to do.”
Part of Zed thought he should offer an apology to Hana. The rest of him was too bloody amused to do more than grin as Flick and Elias led him away from the ship and deeper into the green, leafy interior of Chloris Station.
* * *
Chloris smelled weird, all flowery and green and alive. Felix angled toward the nearest planter and sniffed. The broad leaves stirred, moved by a breeze that lacked the distinct aroma of recycled air. Skin itching, Felix moved back. He curled his fingers into Zed’s shoulder and directed him away from the plants.
“Looking for something?” Zed asked.
Catching the dry humor in the other man’s tone, Felix scrutinized his expression. One brow arched into a jaunty angle, blue eyes sparkled, and his lips were twisted just so.
“C’mon, we’ve got a job to do.”
“I’d like to check the scene first.” Zed’s expression sobered with scary swiftness. “Then we can canvass the adjacent grids for places Emma might be hiding.” He extracted a wallet from a utility pocket and flipped it open.
Felix tried to put himself in Emma’s shoes. Just when he thought he might fail the empathy check, he fell into a moment of accord. She was alone and hunted—on foreign soil, behind enemy lines, without allies. Fear slithered through his gut and goose pimples prickled his arms. Glancing up, he caught Nessa looking at him, her gaze warm with the sympathy he should be feeling...was feeling.
“Qek and I are meeting with a colleague,” she said. “We’ll check in if we learn anything.”
“I’m going to visit a couple of my contacts.” Stepping back, Elias melted into the crowd with the ease of a man used to blending.
Felix checked Zed’s wallet display and nudged him in the direction of the square where Emma had...yeah. Felix drew alongside. “Hey, what gives with that jazer from Brennan?”
Zed continued to fiddle with the temp wallet Felix had activated for him.
“Why haven’t you been in contact with your family?”
Brennan’s message clearly indicated he hadn’t seen his brother in some time, which was really odd. The Anatolius family was close-knit. In the past they’d always embraced Zed and all his projects and problems, including an eight-year-old boy named Felix Ingesson. Though Zed denied it, Felix suspected his scholarship to Shepard Academy hadn’t been a random draw in the Academic Lottery. Station rats—sons of disabled shuttle mechanics and unregistered day laborers—didn’t get free rides. Then, after the war, the Anatolius family had maintained their standard of care, offering him everything but Zed, probably because they couldn’t contact him either.
Felix hadn’t taken up their various offers of assistance. Not long after his return to AEF space, he’d learned that Pontus Station had been almost completely destroyed by the stin. Mechanics were born and bred aboard Pontus. The space-yards there had produced and maintained a hefty percentage of the galaxy’s merchant fleet. Annexed as an auxiliary maintenance outpost for AEF ships, the ex-orbital station had been hit early and hard. The name Ingesson did not feature on any of the lists of survivors. Connecting with Zed’s family—by extension, or as a replacement for the son they couldn’t access—had just seemed too painful a prospect. Felix had already lost too much.
The pain reflected in Zed’s blue eyes spoke of the same fear.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Felix reached forward to prod the display. Courtesy of the schematics Zed had shared with them, they had access to the floor plan of every level, including sections of the station not advertised publically. “If it was me, I’d scout gray market locations and secure a bolt-hole close b
y.” He enlarged the map to show the legal market, and searched for obvious links to the less legal venue. “Give me a couple days and I’d sniff it out, but someone in the legal market will know where it is.”
“She might not have been thinking rationally, Flick. Making plans, securing exit strategies and so on. This wasn’t a mission.”
Ignoring the tension suddenly pulling Zed tight as a bowstring, Felix said, “What if it was?”
“We were all discharged. Emma too.”
“So you think she just went—”
Zed snapped his wallet closed and stuffed it into his pocket. “Let’s get on with it.”
Felix trailed Zed again, thankful he hadn’t clicked into his Zone. He sympathized with Zed’s low mood, though. Felix usually had a tight rein on his mental state—okay, he fantasized that he did—but despite his wavering moods, he never felt like he might cut a swathe through innocent men and women using only his hands. He was more likely to drink himself into a pit of despair and wake up breathing vomit bubbles through a broken nose.
Rubbing absently at the crooked bridge of his nose, Felix lengthened his stride so that he walked at Zed’s side. He gently nudged the other man with his elbow. “Got your six, Zed.”
Zed didn’t immediately unbend, but Felix thought he detected a softening of his jaw.
The theme of green continued outside the transport hub, where the concourse widened into a verdant avenue. Craning his head backward, Felix gazed up at the interlocking trapezoids of glass that snaked across the ceiling, revealing the stars, and the only clue they were still in space. Stores lined the concourse, displaying the sort of merchandise a tourist might feel compelled to grab before boarding an outbound transport.
The businesses that formed the backbone of Chloris were no less intriguing. The station was a hub of scientific research into the various effects of space on terrestrial vegetation. Here, they figured out how to grow strawberries that might withstand acceleration, or at least a container designed to preserve them. There, scientists encouraged flowers to bloom in zero-g. Weightless, the flowers doubled their size and value. The strawberry folks probably figured out how to transport them too. Less particular but more important work formed the bulk of the research: adapting strains of grain to cope with alternate climates, gravities and gases. It would be interesting work. Something like a mechanical puzzle, but on a cellular level. The smell of live things made his skin crawl, though. He was too used to dust, tank water, sweat and the whiff of ozone that surrounded the c-core.
Zed stopped walking and pulled out his wallet, activating a discreet display. Felix gazed around the airy junction in front of them. It didn’t look like the site of a massacre. Windows, walls and floors gleamed under diffuse lighting. The stars continued to twinkle overhead. Greenery stirred gently in the ubiquitous breeze that funneled through most station corridors. A lone pedestrian slipped silently through the junction, distracted by her wallet.
“So this is the place.”
“Yeah,” Zed murmured, frowning at the map.
Felix chewed on his lips, teeth worrying a bit of skin that he’d have to bite off sooner rather than later. The disquiet he felt wasn’t for the quick pain at his lower lip. Rather, the reality of where they were, and why, had caught up with him. It was hard not to think back to the Academy, to faces that always glowed with health and vitality in his memory—thanks to the holo-captures he kept on his wallet.
He found it difficult to think about Emma losing her shit. Not only because she was the last person he’d expect to crack, but because of what that meant for the man standing beside him.
Felix focused his gaze on the smooth, bright flooring. “Looks pretty clean here.”
“Exactly.”
Felix scanned the four wide corridors that formed the square. “Think it was the AEF?”
“Maybe.” Zed closed his wallet. “Regardless of who it was, we’d need some pretty sophisticated equipment to find any trace evidence.”
Zed had to have known that before they approached. Maybe he’d hoped to find Emma waiting here, logic be damned. Felix studied his face, looking for a clue to his thoughts. Gray edged out the blue of Zed’s eyes. The color of worry and fatigue. He saw the memories there too. Zed would have more than he did. So many more.
Turning away, Felix scanned the scene again and stopped in front of the restaurant that faced the square. The windows and doors should have been open, damned plants crawling through both to tangle customers, invite them in to eat, drink and be merry. The lights were, off, though, and the menu board was blank but for a small sign. Felix wandered toward it.
“Babylon is closed,” a softly voiced program informed him. “Please visit our sister restaurant, Eden, on Concourse D where you’ll find the best cocktails on Chloris. Happy hour begins at—” The voice cut off with a squawk of static.
“How did you do that?” Zed asked, nodding at Felix’s upraised wrist.
“Ad hack. I’ll send you a copy if you like.”
“Please do. Wait, can you interrogate—”
“Already on it.”
The menu board wasn’t a particularly subtle interface. It had two functions, greet guests and entice them inside. Right now, the display simply directed patrons to another site. Anyone who approached would trigger the dumb recording.
“It’s not interactive. Seems the restaurant actually employed people to talk to customers.”
“Can you pull anything from the cameras?”
“Nah, they’ve been locked. Marnie could probably walk into the system and dust off the deleted footage. I can’t.”
Zed’s brows quirked together. “Maybe I can do something about that.” He opened another wallet display and scrolled through a long list. “Here. I have access to the station camera feeds.”
“What good will that do us?”
“Can you write a program to scan for sightings of a woman matching Emma’s description?”
“Maybe, but won’t Anatolius Security and the AEF already be doing that?”
“Sure. They’re not going to share that information with us, though.”
Felix tapped his bracelet. He selected one of his sniffer programs and worked at adjusting it. A few moments later, he activated the search. “Done.”
Someone else might misinterpret Zed’s stiff posture as a lack of enthusiasm. Felix knew they battled similar demons, only Zed’s were the larger, more immediate versions. He touched Zed’s arm. “Qek has a program scanning the local news nets for clues, and she and Nessa are meeting with a former colleague. Outside of research, scientists love gossip. Elias is chatting up contacts. You have the keys to the station and I know how to use them. Between the five of us, we’ll shake something loose.”
Zed dipped his chin in a curt nod and grabbed Felix by the elbow. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Zed raised his wallet again. He tapped a glowing key and a web overlaid each level of the station. “Gray markets, clinics, hostels, unsecured locations, camera blind spots.” He tapped another key. Another overlay glittered into place. “Anatolius security has cleared these locations.”
Closing his mouth, Felix attempted a frown. “You knew where the gray markets were?”
“Some. They might have moved.”
“Why did you ask me to write a program if you had all this?”
A flash of blue flicked toward him, Zed glancing over and back. “We’re a team, right? And I can’t program for shit. And I only have access to reports filed, nothing active.” He indicated the first web. “This might not be correct. I compared what I remembered with what I know of station life and the filed reports. It’s a place to start, right?”
Felix studied the new information and then pointed out a heavy cluster of gray. A nexus of activity and blind spots. “Here. We should start here.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
Two levels down, Chloris could have been any other station in the galaxy—corridors lined with doo
rs, apparently useless niches and exposed ductwork, totally lacking in vegetation of any sort. Pockets of men and women in station coveralls loitered in courtyards and outside tired cafes. The scent of rank oil, fertilizer and sweat replaced the more delicate aroma of flowering plants. Felix felt right at home.
He and Zed fell into a practiced and comfortable routine. Though they’d never crewed together in the AEF, they both had the same training. Every junction was cleared—scanned for security and possible threats—before they moved on to the next, each one taking the lead from the other in a casual leapfrog pattern. When they arrived at the intersection they sought, Felix took the opposite corner and peered around at the same time as Zed. They both pulled back immediately and eyed each other across the hall.
“Well, shit.” Felix murmured.
Zed raised two fingers and pointed over his shoulder to indicate he had two suspicious contacts. Felix raised three fingers, followed the count with the sign for hostile. Zed’s features hardened. Glancing both ways, Felix crossed the corridor and fell into Zed’s shadow.
“Mine are Agrius,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
Felix tapped his neck. “Two of them have clear tattoos on their necks. Moths. They’re not the most discreet buggers. Then again, they don’t have to be. Who’ve you got?”
“Two lurkers, no visible tattoos.”
“Let’s try a different approach.” A run-in with Agrius would only invite complication, particularly if news of the Dardanos incident had spread through the cartel.
A call snapped their attention to the center of the junction. “Oy.”
Shit. So much for a different approach.
A woman stood there. Short but powerfully built, she radiated barely restrained threat, tattoo creeping across her neck notwithstanding.
“This is a private corridor.”
Her attitude plucked at the station rat Felix used to be. He stepped out of Zed’s shadow. “Yeah? Says who.”
She sized him up—scars, crooked nose, web-work glove, tired pants with dead patches of smart fiber, sagging pockets and threadbare knees. “Haven’t seen you around here before,” she said, obviously baiting him.