by Julia Huni
“To relax? Seems like you could use that.”
“It’s my job to never relax.” She looks around the hallway as if she’s sure a pack of ninjas will appear out of thin air any second with throwing stars and Katanas.
I probably shouldn’t have watched that vid on Ancient Tēvē last night.
“Look, you’ve checked out the whole ship, right?” I pause after each question, waiting for her grudging nod. “You’ve vetted the entire crew—I saw you working on that before we left S’Ride. You checked the spa again last night and did another walkthrough this morning. What else?”
Her eyes narrow, and she ticks items off on her fingers. “Upgraded facial recognition systems at all doors. Biometric detectors integrated into your holo-ring. Tested all creams, lotions, oils, beverages, and snacks.”
“Seriously? If someone wants to kill me that badly, I don’t have a chance.”
She laughs. “I was kidding about the snacks. Those are tested when they’re brought on board.” She turns away. “I’m not comfortable leaving my weapons in the locker, though.”
“You can take out a whole army with just your hands,” I remind her. “I’m not worried at all.”
I return to my changing room and slip out of my clothes. The ability to have a spa day without worrying about the cost is one of the perks of being a top-lev. But the crazy security is a definite down-side. I pull on the robe and step into the hall.
Vanti is waiting in a matching white robe. She’s got fluffy slippers on her feet and a small black bag clutched in her hand. I don’t remember her carrying it earlier.
“What’s that?” I scuff my slippers against the carpet to build up a static charge.
“There are some items I won’t work without.” She doesn’t elaborate.
I tap her hair with one finger, and the static charge zings. Ouch! She doesn’t even blink. Vanti is part superhero. I’m convinced.
The rest of the day passes in a relaxed haze. We get massages. Vanti only threatens the massage therapist once, right at the beginning. Then we use the steam room, the aroma therapy studio, the relaxation chamber, and finally, the aestheticians. At the end of the day, we return to our changing cubicles relaxed and refreshed.
Vanti stands in the hallway when I come out. She’s wearing her severe black uniform. The small bag is gone. Her hair is its usual perfect copper curtain. “That wasn’t too bad.”
“Would you like to do it again sometime?”
Her lips quirk in a tiny smile. “Nah, once is enough.”
Five
When I arrive on SK2, my holo-ring pings with a message that has been waiting for me. It’s from O’Neill! I hurry off the ship and step into one of the convenient comm suites located along the transit arm that connects the ship to the SK2 customs terminal. I set the system to “private” and flick the message.
O’Neill’s head and torso appear before me in all his shiny glory. But he looks tired. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his skin is pale and dry. He grimaces at me, as if smiling is too much effort.
“Triana, I don’t know what’s going on.” He runs a hand through his hair, and it doesn’t fall back into place. Something is really wrong in the universe. “The peacekeepers said you decided to return to the ship.”
“I was deported!” I yell, even though I know he can’t hear me.
“Vanti says the peacekeepers are lying, and you were deported. I don’t know who to believe anymore.”
“Believe Vanti!” I yell again. “She’s telling the truth!”
“Please, call me when you get this message. I don’t know why you haven’t responded.” The holo dissolves.
“Because they’ve blocked me!” I holler.
I record a short message and route it through the SK2 business system. Now that I’m back on home turf, I can make use of my hacking skills—and, of course, my top-lev full-access status. I send the message to O’Neill’s work account and cross my fingers.
Vanti waits outside the comm suite.
“Aren’t you off duty?” I grumble as she falls in beside me. “If I’m not safe on SK2, I may as well lock myself in a titanium bubble for the rest of my life.”
“Technically, I’m off duty.” She shrugs. “I just wanted—do you want me to send any more messages to Griz before I head dirtside?”
I stop in the middle of the wide passageway. The trickle of passengers still leaving the Vesteralen flow around us. “I gotta know. Why do you call him Griz?”
Vanti smirks. “Top secret.” She glances at the time. “My shuttle leaves in twenty. Do you want me to send any more messages?”
“Tell him to check his SK2 account.” I turn, and she turns with me. “Whoever’s behind this has blocked my incoming messages to his personal account.”
She nods and flicks her holo-ring. The red “recording” light blinks once, and she murmurs something under her breath. Then the ring switches to green and goes dark. “It’s gone. He’ll get that one, for sure. I told him he should come back on the next ship.”
“No!” Heads swivel in our direction. I smile and wave, as if I’m posing for a tabloid. I lower my voice. “I don’t want to give his family any more reason to hate me. He needs to take his full vacation then come home. I’ll be here.”
“Got it.” Vanti gives me a snappy salute. “I’ll send that as soon as I check in to the shuttle. See you next time.”
Before she can turn away, I throw my arms around her. She tenses then her face relaxes into surprise. “You might want to warn a girl. Hugs can be misinterpreted as attacks.”
I laugh. “If I warned you, you’d run away. Everyone needs a hug once in a while.”
She gives me a quick squeeze then slithers out of my embrace.
With Vanti, I’ll call that a win. “Be careful out there.”
She winks over her shoulder and disappears into the thin crowd. How she becomes impossible to spot so quickly is another mystery. The woman is a master.
I heave a sigh and head home.
A message pings my ring as I exit the float tube on Level 6. It’s Hy-Mi, my mother’s personal assistant. It can wait until I’m home.
I saunter through the concourse and along the radial to A Ring. Kara and I share a one-bedroom compartment on the outer-most ring on Level 6. It’s enormously expensive—at least for a maintenance worker and an aesthetician—but the view is worth every credit. Plus, my top-lev allowance gives me plenty of wiggle room financially. I don’t like to take credits from Mother, but if she’s going to keep pulling me into the family business, I’ll earn every micro-credit.
I wave at the access panel, and the door slides open. The compartment is dark, so I flick on a single lamp and drop into a chair. The cargo handlers will deliver my luggage as soon as it’s unloaded, so I can’t even unpack. Nothing to distract me from Hy-Mi’s message.
The window dims when I flick the icon, and the little man’s avatar pops up. It bows, as Hy-Mi always does, and speaks. “Dame Morgan requests the pleasure of your company at four this afternoon.” The holo dissolves, and my view of the stars returns.
I glance at the time—I have twenty minutes. Thanks, Mother. I consider ignoring the summons—which is exactly what it is. No one on SK2 would dare to decline an invitation from the Ice Dame. Not even me.
At least not if I want her to keep paying for my compartment. See, this is why I ran away in the first place! The credits come with a whole web of strings.
I push myself out of the chair and head for the float tubes.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” she asks as I step into her office promptly at four.
“I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” I mutter. “Besides, this is one of the outfits Hy-Mi coordinated for my trip.” I feel bad throwing the old man under the shuttle, but it’s true, and I’m too tired to come up with a better excuse.
“Those were for the cruise.” Mother sniffs and smooths her severely tailored business suit. “Your daily attire is in your closet.”
“I don’t live here, Mother,” I remind her. “And I’m not working today, so I can wear what I want.”
“As a top-lev, you’re always working.” She shakes her head. “All those years of training, gone. You always scored so well in deportment.”
“I scored well in everything. I didn’t have a life outside of studying, remember?” I roll my eyes. “What did you want, Mother?”
She gestures regally to a high-backed armchair by the faux fireplace. I take a seat and hold my fingers toward the simulated flames. The variations in appearance and temperature are masterful—and just short of convincing to anyone who’s seen a real fire. Still, it’s an attractive focal piece to the room.
She sits across from me and crosses one leg over the other. She looks like a twenty-something model posing as a business consultant for an expensive advertisement. Unlimited access to rejuvenation treatments will do that. Her long blonde hair—sporting a rebellious purple streak at one temple—flows over her shoulder in perfect waves. Her blue eyes blink at me. “Tell me about the Family Meeting.”
I heave a sigh. She attended the meeting virtually, but I knew a full-debrief would be on the schedule as soon as I returned. I cast my mind back to the event and try to think of something I haven’t already reported. “Uh, R’ger seemed to get along with everyone.”
“Of course he did.” She waves that away. “R’ger is charming. How did the others react to the revelation of his Family connections?”
“How did you react?” I retort. According to R’ger, no one, not even my mother, knew he was a senior member of the Kindujas Family until just before the meeting. The Kindujas hadn’t been seen at a Families Meeting in decades, so having Imogen Morgan’s country-bumpkin lover show up as their representative had been a bit of a shocker. “Everyone pretended it was old news.”
“But did they accept him?” She throws the question out as if it’s unimportant, but her eyes bore into mine.
“I told you, he got along fine. Once they were sure he was legit, everyone treated him like any other Family rep.”
“That’s not helpful—I could see that much from the holo.”
She rambles on about wanting a feet-on-the-ground report, but I’ve lost interest. Mother had attended those meetings in real-time through the eye-wateringly expensive communications system available only to top-levs. Everyone else has to send recorded messages outside the system. But if you have the credits—and access to the equipment—you can have a real-time conversation.
“I need to talk to O’Neill,” I say, interrupting her lecture.
Her eyes widen, and her mouth freezes wide open in shock. No one interrupts the Ice Dame. Milliseconds later, her teeth snap closed. “What did you say?”
“I need to talk to O’Neill. He’s on Grissom, and the recorded messages just aren’t cutting it. I need real-time access.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why?”
Throwing caution to the solar wind, I pour out the whole story. “Someone is interfering in our relationship,” I conclude. “I need to put things straight.”
She leans back in her chair, her eyes focused on something—or nothing—behind me. Finally, they snap back to mine. “This one time.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I squeak.
“I remember what it’s like to be young and in love with someone inappropriate.” She wrinkles her nose. “Or apparently inappropriate. But this is a onetime offer. Are you sure he’s the one you want to spend it on?”
There’s no question. “Yes. I need to talk to him. Now, if possible.”
She rolls her eyes—or gives the suggestion of eye-rolling without stooping to that level of crass expression. “Hy-Mi will set up the comms.” She rises smoothly from her chair. “And when you’re done, we will finish this conversation.”
“Of course!” Although I’m not sure what she really wants to hear. “Thank you so much.”
She flicks her fingers—the sophisticated gesture encompassing a dramatic wave-off in a tiny movement—and returns to her massive desk.
I resist the urge to jump over the desk and fling my arms around her—and not only because such an athletic feat is beyond me in normal gravity. She wouldn’t appreciate a hug any more than Vanti had.
The door slides open, and Hy-Mi bows from the threshold. “This way, Sera.”
Six
The interstellar communications booth is located behind the float tubes in the center of the Level 83 lobby. This equipment is so expensive and so rarely used that even top-levs share.
Hy-Mi shows me how to dial the connection and engage the system. “It’s best to set an appointment. You wouldn’t want to waste connection time arguing over availability.” If Hy-Mi is worried about the cost, you know this thing is expensive.
I drum my fingers on the console. “Maybe I’d better do that.” Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and just call. It would be the kind of dramatic, romantic gesture an Ancient Tēvē heroine would make. But the idea of my call coming through when O’Neill is talking to his parents or using the loo makes me hesitate. Besides, I’m not sure I could manage to hack into this system for a second call if I blow the first one. This thing is crazy complex. “How about I set it up for later tonight? Say, nine-thirty?”
“Very good.” Hy-Mi nods in that regal way that almost appears to be a bow. “Let me know if that time needs to change. Sometimes these things are difficult to schedule.”
He secures the booth with his handprint, and we cross the lobby to Mother’s massive compartment. A few steps from the door, he stops me. “She needs to hear Ser Chaturvedi was accepted by the Families.”
“I’m not sure I can tell her any more than she already knows.” I rub my temple. “Besides, she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Why is this so important?”
Hy-Mi smiles sadly. “She says she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. But she’s considering a long-term commitment to Ser Chaturvedi. That’s not just a personal decision. She wants to know the rest of the board still respects her business sense.”
“They’ve never cared about her previous contracts,” I protest. “Or maybe they did, but she didn’t care what they thought. Why is this different?”
“Ser Chaturvedi is the great love of her life.” His quiet tone doesn’t hide the feeling behind his words. Hy-Mi has experienced great love, so he’s quite dramatic about it—in an understated, totally Hy-Mi way. “She feels for him as you feel for Ser O’Neill. But she’s also responsible for this station. She can’t make decisions solely on her personal feelings, but she can’t let Ser Chaturvedi go. It’s a dilemma. Just reassure her.”
He waves the door open and gestures for me to precede him inside.
The idea of my mother experiencing the same feelings I’m going through is mind boggling. The Ice Dame got her name for a reason. She’s ruthless. Cold. Calculating. Her being in love doesn’t compute. Besides, no one wants to think about their parent being in love. It’s too weird.
I send a text to O’Neill then spend twenty minutes assuring my mother that everyone at the Families Meeting loved R’ger.
“Even if they didn’t, he’s a tried and tested member of the Kindujas.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re probably a mistake. Like every top-lev, she knows no one will admit to disliking any of us.
She smiles—a genuine smile. “Of course.” It seems I underestimated her confidence in the social system. She doesn’t really care if the other top-levs like him—only if they behave as if they like him.
“They liked him well enough before they knew who he was,” I add, but she’s stopped listening.
“Thank you for your report,” she says. “I’ll see you at dinner. Make sure you’re appropriately attired.”
Recognizing a dismissal when I hear it, I nod and retreat.
Dinner is with me, Mother, and R’ger. The two of them eat at one end of the long dining room table, giggling and cooing at each oth
er. I sit at the other. Luckily, my stomach is already in knots, anticipating my upcoming discussion with O’Neill, so their display can’t put me off my dinner. I sip my sparkling water and zone out,
“Did you decide where you’re going to live?” R’ger’s question snaps me out of my reverie.
“I live on Level 6.” I set my glass on the table with a loud crack. This is another conversation I’d prefer to avoid. “I don’t mind coming up here to help out when necessary, but I live and work down there.”
“You know your identity has been exposed, don’t you?” Mother raises an eyebrow.
“By whom?” I demand, staring her down.
She shrugs one elegant shoulder. “Not me. Someone down there—” she says the words as if they smell “—must have leaked it. It’s been on the news.”
“What?”
R’ger flicks his holo-ring and throws a vid on the table-top projection. It shows me entering the MCC in my station coverall. The words, “Top-lev slumming in the bowels of the station,” scroll across the base of the hologram.
“I can’t believe anyone cares enough to put this on the news.” I can believe it, but I don’t want to. This probably explains why there weren’t any messages from Rash waiting in my queue when I returned. I’d planned on reporting to the ops center first thing in the morning—one more thing to worry about. I groan.
“Now that you’re exposed, it’s time to come home.” Mother pats her lips with a napkin. “No one on the station is going to hire you—that’s against corporate policy. We have to avoid the perception of nepotism.”
I laugh. “You can’t hire family because it looks bad, but you can delegate all kinds of decision-making to us? Makes perfect sense.” I toss my own napkin on the table and stand. “I’m going to bed.”
“You haven’t exactly provided any scintillating conversation tonight.” Mother waves me away. “You’re excused.”