Expelled (Interplanetary Spy for Hire Book 1)

by Ell Leigh Clarke

The duffel bag felt like a ton of rocks over her shoulder by the time Jayne got off the elevator.

  “Honey, I’m home,” Jayne called as she walked through the office door.

  Merry, still thoroughly affixed to her laptop, didn’t even look up.

  “I’ve always dreamed of saying that.” Jayne dropped her duffel bag on the floor.

  “Well, now you’re living the dream,” Merry briefly knitted her brow before casting a somewhat expectant gaze at Jayne. “Ask me what I’ve been doing.”

  “I’m scared. What have you been doing?” Jayne sprawled out on the settee. Ahhhh… velvety.

  “Working on the gear situation.”

  “Oh, that.” Jayne propped herself up on her elbows eagerly. “What did you get?”

  “What we talked about.”

  “Tech tables and briefing screens?”

  “Check.”

  “Bugging mechanisms? Surveillance systems? Tracking devices?”

  “Checkity, check, check.”

  “Night vision goggles?”

  “Well, yes, but for myself.”

  Jayne started to ask, but decided against it.

  “Anything else you want to ask about?” Merry punctuated her question by poking the Enter key. “I’ll ask for you. Tickets for the Governor’s ball? Check. ”

  “Wait, huh…?”

  “I want to get paid, Jayne. Reliably, and in large amounts. I can’t get by on looks alone.”

  “But we did get paid,” Jayne grimaced with disbelief. “And we spent 15,000 credits on the office, but—”

  Merry held a finger up. “Worth it.”

  “Yes. Worth it. And the rest will come…”

  “Yeah,” Merry closed her laptop, “If we solve this case. Come on, Jayne! You need to branch out, network—”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘schmooze’.”

  “That too. The Governor’s ball is perfect for all of that. You need this.”

  “Like I need a boil on my ass.” Jayne moved to the edge of the settee and put her head in her hands. She could feel the blood vessels tighten.

  “So your head doesn’t get lonely?”

  Jayne laughed despite herself. “Ha-ha. I’ll give you that one, but I am not going to some stuffy politician’s Snooze-Fest-Schmooze-Fest. I don’t even know why you think this is something we should do.”

  Merry stared at her incredulously. “Because… you’re an intergalactic spy?”

  “What’s that got to do with the price of Funkels on Tarem?” Jayne pulled her tablet out of her messenger bag and started playing with it.

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve got to be kidding me…”

  “No,” Jayne marched to her desk and assertively locked her tablet into the center, “I want you to spell it out for me.”

  Merry sighed and shook her head. This was going nowhere fast. “Spies are the ultimate observers, right?”

  “All part of the training.”

  “And you can’t really observe unless you blend in, right?”

  “Where is this going?”

  Merry pursed her lips and made a rolling motion with her hands, attempting to invite Jayne to put two and two together.

  “And what? Hanging out with a bunch of phony stuffed shirts is going to make me a better spy?”

  Merry shrugged, “Ding ding! Tell the lady what she’s won, Johnny!”

  “That’s a trillion parsecs of a jump, Merry.” Jayne sat on the edge of her desk, arms folded.

  “No, Jayne, it’s not,” Merry sighed angrily. “I’m thinking ahead. Big picture. We need a steady income. In order to get credits, you need jobs. We’re okay now, but I don’t exactly want to live hand to mouth. Let’s line some jobs up. Besides, we’re new to this. What if espionage work has an off season?”

  “I’m not into strictly personal cases. I don’t deal with petty problems.”

  “The stakes are higher with the Governor’s crowd. They have more to protect. And they have friends. You earn the trust of one guest at this ball, you’ve earned the trust of every single one of their dirty, fat cat, credits loving compatriots. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: higher stakes equals higher fees. And you don’t have to feel bad charging these folks a little extra.”

  She had a point, but the thought of putting on a political façade churned Jayne’s stomach. Jayne couldn’t tell if she wanted to vomit or run screaming. “I don’t think I’m that kind of spy.”

  “What’s your big problem?” Merry’s frustration was getting more palpable, further compounding Jayne’s headache.

  Truthfully, Jayne just didn’t see this as part of her dream. She didn’t want to waste her skillset on vain bigwigs thinking she was a rent-a-spy who would cover up some blemishes on their public record. Fuck. She wished Merry would just back off. She looked out their window, at the ocean of connecting buildings, the layers of gridlocked traffic through the hovering thoroughfares. “I’m better than that.” She turned to face Merry.

  Merry shot eye daggers that Jayne never wanted to see again.

  “Okay, that was bitchy,” Jayne sighed, “but you have to admit that you’re being a bit much right now.”

  “Pardon me for wanting us to succeed. Pardon me for wanting the gear to do my job. To do our job.” Merry paused either for emphasis or because she had a verbal bullet she knew she couldn’t un-shoot. “Look, we need the good stuff, so we can get the cool cases. The cases that pay.”

  “We’ll get there. Fucking chill.”

  Merry paused a moment. “What if you don’t go to the ball and completely miss the opportunity that would get us there quicker?” Her arms uncrossed and her face looked more relaxed, but the palpable tension was still there. “This is about the Academy, isn’t it?”

  Damn, Merry. “No, don’t be stupid.”

  “Oh my god, this is about the Academy.”

  Jayne angrily shook her head.

  “You’re afraid the Academy was right about you.”

  The words gave off a chilly echo that made Jayne sit straight up. Damned if the girl didn’t go straight for the jugular.

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  “That’s classified.” Jayne stared out the window, feeling her chest tighten.

  “Classified, my ass. It’s written all over your face,” Merry frowned and approached Jayne slowly. “But they’re wrong about you, Jayne.”

  Jayne crossed her arms. Merry was laying into her, and she wanted her to back off.

  “This is your chance to show them Jayne Fucking Austin is no impostor.”

  And Merry Fucking Winterbourne is a master manipulator. Jayne briefly wondered if Merry had considered a career as an interrogator.

  “Fine. You win, Merry,” Jayne exhaled and hopped off her desk, “I’ll do it. Fuck.”

  Merry’s smirk broke into a grin. She clapped her hands and giggled as though someone told her she was getting free kava for life.

  “But I’ll need a gown.”

  “Dark green. Satin. Enough cleavage to get you noticed, but not enough to get you thrown out. Got it.”

  Jayne’s stomach growled. “And we need some damn food.”

  “Two orders of Old-Beijing noodles and dumplings. Check.”

  Jayne had to smile when Merry did an about-face and went back to her laptop. It felt like being released from handcuffs. “And I need to do something about those university forms, so I can move out.”

  “Covered. How’d that go, anyway?”

  “How’d what go?” Jayne felt a little emotionally hung over and distracted as the tension left the room.

  “Clamping your nipples to the radiator,” Merry snorted. “The roommate situation. What else did you think I meant?”

  “Oh, that,” Jayne nodded. “Good, I guess. No bloodshed.”

  “Not cutting a bitch is good. So she took it well?”

  “She did. Well enough, I think.” Jayne shrugged.

  Merry raised an eyebrow. Being back on the same page about
moving forward with ISA was a huge relief.

  BZZZZZZZ!!

  The vibration of Jayne’s comm in her pocket interrupted them. Fred and his timing…

  “She exists,” the message stated, followed by an explanation of Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease, Type 6.

  “Oh damn,” Jayne muttered. Well, at least Wilson was honest about that.

  +++

  Theron Techcropolis Gateway Building, L45, Theron Techcropolis, Armaros

  “They never really covered all this in history class,” Merry mumbled, barely perceptible over her kava swig. Her kava consumption greatly slowed after a heavy dinner and nine hours of research. Every single tech device in the office was searching a different aspect of the Tetchivan Trade Agreement. “I think my brain is melting. Don’t mind the puddles.”

  Jayne was lying on the floor, knees bent and arms stretched above her head. Her hand smacked an empty carton of noodles. “True, but it’s best to know all angles because we’ve already figured Wilson is giving us the iceberg treatment.”

  Merry massaged her temples. “And no real woman is satisfied with just the tip,” she moaned dramatically, “but I guess it’s better than the mushroom treatment.”

  Jayne made a face. “So let’s make a list of what we already know, call it a night, and review it when we’re fresh as Holo-daisies.” Jayne slumped her chest to her knees and squeezed into a tight fold before remotely turning on the projection function on her tablet. “Activate Dictate Convo function. The Treaty was originally proposed by the planet. Why?”

  “Tarem is a parasite and parasites suck their hosts dry.”

  “Think the threat is real?”

  Merry stretched her fingers and rolled her wrists, which made subtle popping sounds. “Real, but not immediate. Tarem’s population is going to be five times that of Amaros in 175 years, but even then it won’t be overpopulated.”

  “No immediate threat and plenty of resources. For a few more decades, anyway,” Jayne mused, looking around for her half empty water bottle. She was at the stage of exhaustion where anything more viscous felt like a thick film in her mouth.

  “So this probably wasn’t just about rationing for sustainability. What does Armaros get out of proposing this Treaty?”

  “Control over resources?” Merry’s eyelids appeared heavy. “I always thought things were pretty symbiotic between Armaros and Tarem. Why get greedy?”

  Jayne gulped the rest of her water. “There are a couple possibilities here. One, Armaros wants Tarem for some purpose. That means they need to get the ring people to destroy themselves, leave, or submit…”

  “Ring People,” Merry chuckled under her breath. “Sorry. What’s the other possibility?”

  “Armaros isn’t acting alone and this is some chess move to get their planetary buddies involved.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “All planets need allies, Merry. It’s intergalactic globalization. Not everyone can be trusted, but you need to know where your allies are and what they’re about. Armaros is no different.”

  “Why not build Tarem up as an ally? Isn’t that what the Treaty is for?”

  Jayne shook her head. “If it were that simple, why send a government employee as insurance-slash-back up? I really think Armaros needs Tarem for something. And whatever it is, Tarem won’t like it.

  “And the only way to get Tarem to agree is with a stranglehold on the resources? So they’re going to go for the resource which would hit them the hardest?”

  Jayne nodded. “Something they need most to survive, like food, water… or other supplies they can’t get from anywhere else.”

  Merry picked up her laptop and scanned the Treaty documents for keywords. “That’s pretty much everything in the Treaty. What would be the most major resource?”

  “Which one is repeated the most?”

  Merry typed two short commands. “Looks like steel is mentioned six times, but nitrates and seeds are tied at 26.”

  “There’s a nitrate shortage on Tarem. Without enough nitrate, Tarem can’t grow enough food.”

  “Huh.” Merry squinted at the screen, either because she was exhausted or because she was going screen-blind. She typed commands into her laptop, tablet, and Jayne’s laptop. “It doesn’t look like this nitrate shortage was public knowledge. Nothing comes up on normal news sites, but in the government database…”

  “Did you do that on my laptop?”

  Merry ignored her.

  Why did I even ask? “Anyway,” Jayne sighed, “Armaros maintains a couple tactical advantages by not telling Tarem how bad the nitrate situation really is, but Tarem thinks the Treaty is about tariffs. You said seeds came up just as often in the Treaty, right?”

  “There’s a seed shortage?” Merry looked engrossed in the confidential document she had so kindly accessed on Jayne’s laptop.

  Jayne shook her head. “Not a shortage, but Tarem needs refined, 100% deformity-free seeds to grow food due to their gravity and atmosphere. Have you ever noticed there’s no open market for seeds on Tarem?”

  “You mean in all that time I spend farming?”

  “How do I know you don’t?” Jayne smiled. “The big deal with the seeds is they need to be practically 100% genetically pristine, completely sanitary. There were so many teratogens in ancient crops thanks to all the atmospheric garbage. The plants were sucking it all in through the soil and it started mutating their DNA. Plus, there was all this genetic engineering for bigger, better crops.”

  “So the government took control of it?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” The statement came out energetically. “The Federation created Tarem to house a population that wouldn’t stop breeding and consuming. It wasn’t hard to control them. All Armaros had to say was, ‘You idiots run with scissors, so we’re taking them away.’”

  “Hmmm,” Merry mumbled, “make them grateful for being peons. Thank you, Mistress Armaros. May I have another?”

  Way to make it creepy. Jayne continued. “Seeds become plants, which belch important chemicals back into the atmosphere on their way to becoming food. Think about it this way: if you control the seed supply, you keep more control over the environment, control how much food is grown, and basically own an entire culture. Besides, the planet needs the nitrates for their own food. All the more reason to ration it, but the ring people are just thinking about what’s going on with them.”

  “Keep ‘em in the dark and control the food. Evil and kinky, but it seems like Armaros controls Tarem no matter what. Why bring your planet friends?”

  “Probably for the same reason you don’t always directly attack in chess.” Jayne was starting to feel woozy and dehydrated. “You need to sacrifice a few pawns before you get to the queen.”

  “So who or what is the queen here?”

  “Don’t know,” Jayne yawned, “but I do know our blackmailer sees our government guy as a pretty important pawn. I don’t think we’re going to figure this out tonight. Deactivate Dictate Convo function.”

  Merry nodded heavily. “Split a cab with me?”

  “I’ll tag along.” She already had most of her gear in her bag.

  “Hey Merry, can I ask you something?”

  “Hmm?”

  “After all that stuff about me not living in the dorms, why are you there?”

  “Cheap accommodations,” she smiled wryly. “I just show up for the odd class and test, but that’s no biggie because it’s not like I need to study.”

  Jayne shook her head as she and Merry locked up and left the office. The girls poked fun at their own exhaustion and punch drunkenness as they made their way over to the carport to hail a cab.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Theron Techcropolis Gateway Building, L45, Theron Techcropolis, Armaros

  The smell of fresh kava hit Jayne as the doors to the office slid open. Then she noticed the extra-large cup on her desk.

  “Mornin’, Sunshine.” Merry greeted her flatly, barely looking up from her screen. “Di
d you recharge?”

  Jayne chortled. “Like a tablet battery.”

  Merry raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, not missing a keystroke.

  Jayne stared over Merry’s shoulder, like she’d have a clue what to make of her work. “What are you working on?”

  “Trying to figure out who thinks our little buddy Wilson is a key pawn.” She took a giant pull of kava. “I mean, you have to be sick or desperate to leverage someone’s dying niece against them.”

  Jayne sat on her desk and pulled the kava cup closer to her to inhale the aroma. “So what did you find?”

  Merry nodded at it. “That’s for you by the way.” She turned her gaze back to the tablet screen. “I’ve been weeding the sickos off the suspect list and narrowed it down by, like, two.” She briefly grimaced when the computer beeped at her. “I’m now going through the desperate suspect list. That one’s a little trickier. The task is to find someone who went to great lengths to be untraceable.”

  “Like using the shadow web.”

  “Yep. Wilson probably used it because any treatment for that nerve disease would be a custom job. The mystery is why or how anyone would know a straight arrow like Wilson would use the services of a, um, designer pharmacist. It doesn’t seem like his thing.”

  Jayne shuffled up onto her desk and sat cross-legged. “Again, we go back to this blackmailer either being hired to follow Wilson or being close enough to know he had secrets.” She powered on her tablet.

  “Co-worker?” Merry suggested.

  “His government pals would have access to the data and probably have some strong opinions about the Treaty, but I don’t think Wilson is the type to spill his personal business at work.”

  “Family?”

  “Unless they were seriously fucked up, it’s not likely.” Jayne closed one eye and looked through the steam rising from her kava. “Celia is too young to have enemies and Wilson didn’t mention any weird family stuff. Who in their right mind would throw her under the hover-bus like that for a Treaty?”

  “And a hospital employee probably doesn’t care about the Treaty.”

  Jayne accessed the list she and Merry made before they left in the early hours of the morning. “This leaves us with someone who would do anything to keep the Treaty from passing, has access—or can get access—to all sorts of confidential shit, knows the exact nature of Wilson’s job, doesn’t care who they hurt, and is somehow tied to the government. Sounds like a white collar guerrilla soldier.”