CHAPTER 5
There’s nothing like riding a
Skimmer, even when it’s this cold.
The speed, the
control, the hint of danger as we swoop around the city. Ankaraj
isn’t a pretty settlement, glittering metal bones jutting from the
snow with more determination than grace. I’ve never been sure why
the Corp chose to center its headquarters here. Even though New
Terra can’t compete with other worlds in terms of natural
beauty—and functions as nothing so much as a farm colony—it
certainly possesses sites more scenic than this.
I hold on tight to
March while the wind whips against my face. For these moments, I am
perfectly, gloriously free. I don’t need to think about the future,
my obligations, or what’s in store for us on Ithiss-Tor. March
knows I can’t stand feeling trapped. Shit, being planet-bound is
bad enough. He intuits what those days trapped inside the cave,
then later confined to quarters because of the Conglomerate
inquiry, meant to me.
If not for Velith
Il-Nok, the bounty hunter slotted to accompany me to Ithiss-Tor, I
would have died in a Corp asylum,after taking the blame for any
number of their crimes. He and I spent several nerve-wracking days
riding out a storm in a cave off the Teresengi Basin, after he
killed his own crew on my behalf. They were monsters, no doubt, but
he’d hired them in good faith. To someone like Vel, his word is his
bond. But I can’t think about what I owe him, or guilt will set in.
I’m not used to owing people debts so big, I have no coin to
pay.
By the time we park
outside a Transplanetary Bank, my fingers feel vaguely numb. I
can’t even remember the account numbers to get past the first
security check, so we’re forced to push the call button. An
irritated blond man flashes onto the vid screen above the double
doors.
“This location
doesn’t handle transplanetary wires or open new accounts,” he tells
me brusquely. “For that, you need to visit our wonderful new branch
in the city center, just two blocks from the AquaDome.”
Before he can turn
off the feed, I answer, “I have an account here already, I just
can’t remember the code.”
He sighs as if I’m
mentally defective. “I’ll send someone.”
At least fifteen
minutes pass before a stocky brunette appears to unlock the doors
manually. Her expression radiates disapproval for customers who
forget their account codes. If I’d entered them, the door would
have verified them as viable with in-house security and their AI
would have unlocked the doors for fifteen seconds. It’s not a
foolproof system, but it cuts down on passersby asking to use the
lavatory, at least.
“How can I help you
today?”
“By looking up my
account information,” I say, as she leads us toward her
workstation.
“I need to scan your
thumb and index finger. You can provide additional information if
you like, but it is unlikely to be required.”
“Not a problem.” I
let her zap me with her wand.
Transplanetary Bank
doesn’t believe in embellishing the workplace: beige walls, beige
carpet, and one fake plant. Her desk is even beige, built of heavy
synthetic wood. A prominent nameplate reads SILVIA KUYEIDI, which
means she’s descended from the original settlers. I wonder whether
her distant ancestors, who revered raven and wolf totems, would
approve of her career in banking.
Then again, so what?
My distant ancestors specialized in spending money and putting on
airs. They wouldn’t be impressed with me either.
While she taps away,
I unwind some of my layers, my least favorite part of a cold
climate. They don’t offer chairs for clients unless you’re
important enough to be ushered into a private suite. I guess we
don’t qualify.
When March grins, I
don’t need to be a mind reader to know he’s considering a reprise
of the whole ambassador bit. That’s going to take some getting used
to. I fidget, trying to ignore the unusual aches and pains I’ve
acquired along the way.
Ms. Kuyeidi bites her
lip. Uh-oh. I know that look.
“I’m sorry, I have
bad news, Ms. Jax. When you were . . .” She makes a moue that I
interpret as discomfort. “. . . declared dead, your husband filed a
next of kin claim, and we consolidated your accounts. And when the
Conglomerate froze all Corp assets, that included the personal
accounts of Corp executives, such as your husband, who are now
awaiting trial.”
“Which means . . . ?”
I don’t really need her to say it. I’m broke.
“Your accounts have
been closed.” Ms. Kuyeidi refuses to meet my eyes, which tells me
she’s aware how shitty this is. “I can provide you with the amount
that your husband received at the time of your . . . er, death,”
she adds. “Perhaps the Conglomerate can see about retrieving the
wrongfully allotted funds. Such inquiries take time, I’m
afraid.”
“Of course they do,”
I mutter.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t
be of more assistance, Ambassador.” She speaks the last word with a
conspiratorial air. I must have looked perplexed because she adds,
“I saw the announcement on the news just before you arrived. I
didn’t recognize you right away, though. Your hair . . .”
Great. My mother
doesn’t comment on it, but the bank lady does. I muster a smile.
“Yes, I look quite different now.”
Silvia sees us to the
door. After thanking her, I stomp out into the cold and immediately
regret the impulse. I shiver from head to toe as I rewrap myself.
Feeling me tremble, March powers up the thermal vents, which help a
little.
“So what now?” he
asks, as we climb back on the Skimmer.
These little beauties
can toggle between hover and ground mode with the flick of a
switch. Speeding over the ice is the closest thing on earth to
flying, and it carries a unique thrill. Any other time, I’d beg him
to break some records on the tundra—final remnant of the Jax I used
to be—but right now I need to get this sorted out.
“Back to
headquarters, I guess.”
“You think Tarn can
help you?” he calls over the roaring wind.
I shrug, knowing
he’ll catch the movement as well as the accompanying thoughts. Tarn
will offer to “look into the matter,” but my hope of recovering
that 100K hinges on how things go on Ithiss-Tor. That’s politics
for you, a filthy polyglot of one hand washing the other until
everything’s unclean.
Suddenly glum, I rest
my chin against March’s back. If I succeed, they’ll kill my mother.
If I fail, I’ll be jobless, penniless, and the laughingstock of the
tier worlds, assuming the Bugs don’t execute me for some breach of
etiquette.
And that doesn’t
begin to factor in the danger we’ll be in, trying to get to
Ithiss-Tor. I didn’t realize how much the clockwork Corp patrols
factored into keeping the star lanes safe. I hope pirates and
raiders will be too busy jacking cargo vessels to mess with a small
cutter like ours.
A surge of heat
beneath me catches my attention, but it’s the high-pitched whine
coming from the Skimmer that alarms me. I hear March mutter,
“Shit,” as he lets go of the controls and rolls hard left. Since
I’m holding on to him, I fall as he does.
We hit the ground and
tumble, careening into packed snow and stacked garbage cans. My hip
feels like it has ground glass embedded in it. The Skimmer
continues in its flight, but it slows without a hand on the
throttle. Midair, it shudders and then blows into shards, raining
fire and ash down on us.
I cover my head as
the larger pieces plummet to earth. The icy air smells of burning
metal. Ah, shit. Ira’s gonna be pissed. Hope he doesn’t get in trouble,
poor bastard has enough problems. Then again, if being an
ambassador means anything, I should have
the power to promote him out of it.
“You all right?” If I
had a credit for every time March has asked me that question, I
wouldn’t be mourning my missing money.
“I’ll live.” I can’t
restrain a whimper as he pulls me to my feet. “What are the chances
this was a routine malfunction?”
Mouth compressed to a
white line, he shakes his head. “Slim to none.”
I test my left hip,
the one that took the impact, by taking a step, and fire streaks up
my thigh. To cover this, I try to sum up our situation, ticking off
the points on my gloved fingertips. “So one faction—the
Conglomerate—wants me to succeed on Ithiss-Tor because they want to
strengthen their position as the galactic governing body. Another
faction—the Syndicate—wants me to fail because periods rife with
chaos are good for the smuggler’s bottom line. And an unknown
faction doesn’t want me to get there at all.”
March nods his
agreement. “This was meant as a preventive measure. I’m not sure if
they thought they’d end you like this or just put the fear of Mary
in you.”
I snort. “That’d take
more than a bunged-up Skimmer, at this point.”
“They don’t know you
like I do.” With careful fingertips, he traces a feathery touch
over my brows, and I feel that lovely little spark. Now’s not the
time, though. “Can you walk?”
I rake a quick look
around the alley. “Do I have a choice? This looks like Wickville,
where auto-cab stands are few and far between.”
His face looks sharp
and harsh within the shadowed frame of his black hood, but his eyes
soften his whole mien. March swings me up into his arms. “You
always have a choice, as long as I’m around. If you’d rather, we’ll
hop a ship to Maha City, claim some land according to the New
Homestead Act, and plant rutabagas or something. Is that what you
want, Jax?”
For a moment, just a
moment, I consider it. Imagine being planet-bound, no more
grimspace, no more wildfire, no more notoriety. Just a quiet life
easing into a quiet death. I could almost, almost manage it, with
March by my side.
Then I shake my head,
smiling. “I don’t think I’m what Chancellor Jackson had in mind
when he set out to attract honest, hardworking citizens to New
Terra. Besides . . . I didn’t become a jumper to die old and
gray.”
Something flashes in
his dark eyes, something stark and raw. His answering smile looks
like it hurts in ways I can’t conceive. “I was afraid you’d say
that.”
