“Yep. The other guys must be wondering at this layover since we’re already behind schedule.”
She pauses at the door. “Let them wonder.”
I have no quarrel with that notion. They don’t need to know about my illness or March’s sense of obligation to the clan. Right now I can understand Dina’s attraction to other women. I’m rather fed up with Y-chromosome bastards myself. I roll off the bed, and my reflected movement prompts me to look in the glass beside my bunk. What I see startles me.
“Need to change first. I look like an inmate . . . or a san worker.”
“Clothes won’t help.” She’s back to mocking me, which I appreciate, because it means she thinks I’m strong enough to take it. I think I’d go back to bed if she became solicitous. “You need a new head . . . or at least a new face. Maybe Doc’s friend on Gehenna can hook you up.”
“Ordo?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Still, do your best, won’t you? Spackle on some paint, maybe use the wardrober to manufacture a wig. They’re all queued up to see the ambassador from New Terra.”
“They are not.” I rummage through my bag, sighing over my meager possessions. Impossible to believe—I used to be something of a clotheshorse. Back in the day, I loved dolling up in short skirts and long boots, tiny tops that showed more of me than they hid. Now I’m hard-pressed to find something that doesn’t make me look as though I repair Skimmers for a living.
“Tarn panicked. He was afraid the Ithtorians would take offense to our meandering progress, so he’s ‘leaked’ the fact that New Terra’s ambassador is wending her way toward them on a goodwill tour.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
We could go on like this all day, I expect, so I choose not to be juvenile. I know; it stings a bit. “Do I have an itinerary?”
“You’d have to inquire of Chancellor Tarn.”
“I’d rather make it up as I go along.” I shake my head over the absurdity of the situation. Tarn should have replaced me weeks ago, but he won’t. Because of Vel, I am indispensable. “Get out, or you’re going to see me naked.”
“I’m going!” she protests, heading out. Her final words drift back to me as the door slides shut. “You’re such a stroppy bitch.”
Since March just accused me of having lost my spirit, I certainly like the sound of that. Not surprisingly, it takes me a little while to make myself presentable, given the raw material. Finally, I unearth a simple black vest and a pair of skinny black and gray thin-striped slacks.
I hesitate because the shirt reveals my scars, and then I decide I want it that way. They mean something. That’s why I kept them.
In the end I take Dina’s suggestion with regard to cosmetics. I paint some color into my complexion and cover up the circles beneath my eyes. I refuse to wear false hair, though. Maybe I’ll start a trend for women who fancy wearing theirs a centimeter long but always lacked the nerve before now. When I emerge from quarters, I find Jael waiting for me.
“I’m to be your protection,” he says without preamble. “Isn’t that a laugh?”
“From what?”
“Assassination attempts like the one you didn’t report on New Terra. You tried to pass that off as a crash.”
It takes me a moment to parse what he means. The Skimmer explosion, right. I just wanted off world, didn’t want to wait around for another inquiry. “Did they find the cause? It wasn’t a mechanical fault?”
“Yes, and no. Scavengers found the parts, but they were confiscated when they tried to fence them. The authorities found the remnants of a primitive incendiary device, assembled from common household items.”
“So someone definitely tried to murder me.” I feel oddly numb about that.
“As a direct result of several lengthy communiqués that bordered on interrogation by the Chancellor, I’m now responsible for preventing them from succeeding. I’ll warn you, Jax. Tarn is paying me well, and I intend to take my job seriously.”
“You’ve been keeping him off my back?”
I admit it; I’ve been shirking my responsibilities. As a nav-star for Farwan, I had just one. Take my pilot and make my scheduled jumps. That’s all. My life used to include a fair amount of holiday time, and nobody trying to disperse my molecules.
Different world, different life.
Jael smiles for the first time, charming when he stops radiating belligerence to compensate for his pretty face. “Done my best.”
“If I had any creds, I’d pay you for that myself. Unfortunately, I’m broke as a joke just now.”
His smile becomes a grin. “You don’t need creds. The Conglomerate is picking up your tab, aren’t they? You should charge a bunch of stuff before you lose this gig.”
“You talk like that’s inevitable.” What am I saying? I laugh reluctantly because I see his point. I have a solid record for diplomacy in regard to class-P planets. I know how to impress superstitious natives.
The Ithtorians? Not so much. I hope Vel can save my ass yet again.
Jael spreads his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m just saying, buy some new clothes, maybe some sparklies.”
Tarn’s reaction to my draping myself in diamonds at his expense would be priceless. Despite myself, I rather like this merc’s sense of humor. In some ways he reminds me of Kai: cheerful, cocky, and irreverent.
“Anyway.” I try to refocus the conversation. “I enjoyed some peace while we waited on Emry, though. I appreciate that.”
“All part of the job,” Jael tells me easily. “You look better, less like you’re about to turn toes up.”
“You’re a smooth talker, aren’t you?” I don’t mean for the words to come out flirtatious. Mary knows, I have enough problems in that regard, and it’s not like he’s interested. He’s just saying I look less like the walking dead, which is a long haul from a true compliment.
March clears his throat. From his taut expression, he thinks he’s interrupted something. Mary, I’d like to smack him in the head, but at this point, he’d probably take it as foreplay.
“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.
He brushes past the two of us without another word, and Jael cocks a brow at me. “Trouble in paradise?”
“You don’t get to know about my personal life,” I snap at him. “Just go clear the way or whatever bodyguards do.”
“Darling,” he drawls. “Soon I’ll know everything about you, including how many times you breathe per minute, and if your heartbeat sounds a smidgen off.”
“Will you know when I . . .” I lean in to whisper the rest.
“That depends. Am I in your room at the time?”
“No!” Nothing I say fazes him, so I stalk past to the main hatch.
Great, I need another man poking about in my business.
Like I need to settle down and study rutabagas.
* * *
CHAPTER 25
Lachion hasn’t changed a bit.
Then again, why would it? It hasn’t been as long as it seems since I was here. The horizon stretches pale and endless beyond the compound walls, bounded by dry plains. This place offers extremes—heat or cold—depending on the season.
After discovering the scary things that live in the caves, the clans stayed because Lachion meant freedom from the Corp. Nobody has ever given a shit about what happens on this planet. Despite the new world order, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
To my astonishment, this looks like a formal delegation, not the casual welcoming party I expected. Far cry from the last time I touched down here. And is that the gutter press, lined up behind Keri and Lex?
Shit, it is. I recognize the guy with the poorly implanted ocular cam. In the old days, he stalked me through spaceport bars, hoping to get a shot of my tits for the midnight bounce. Nice.
Keri’s smile looks decidedly artificial. “We’re delighted that you chose Lachion to kick off your interplanetary goodwill tour.”
A smile tugs hard at the corners of my mouth, and it’s all I can do not to burst out laughing. “Of course. I’d love to see a greater level of governmental participation from the clans.”
Since freethinkers and outlaws abide here, that will go over like the monkey-pilot experiments from the turn of the century. The clans don’t want to legislate, vote, or pay extra tariffs. For Mary’s sake, they settle grievances in the arena.
“We’ll discuss that during your visit,” she responds through gritted teeth.
I suspect Keri’s going to kick my ass again, which is sad because she’s just over half my age. The girl is tougher than she looks. As I move forward, a barrage of questions greets me.
“Ambassador, can you tell us anything about your plans?”
“How do you feel about the proposed integration of Ithiss-Tor into the Conglomerate?”
“Why is your itinerary shrouded in secrecy? Our sources say you may be targeted for retaliatory action from Farwan loyalists or other extremist groups. Is there any truth to those claims?”
“Can you comment on the recent rumors that you detoured en route to thwart a Morgut attack on Emry Station?”
I ignore them all, trying to move forward while the guy with the bulging eye cam watches me like I’m about to yank up my shirt right here. In addition to the fact that those days are behind me, it’s also too damn cold. Why don’t I ever have a coat when I need one?
March stands somewhere to the right, just behind me, but he won’t be coming to my aid. Yep, just like the last time. I’ve lost track of Dina, but she’s somewhere behind me, and Vel doesn’t like cameras, as they possess a small chance of ferreting out inconsistencies in his appearance that would ID him as nonhuman.
Jael pushes his way up beside me. “The ambassador isn’t answering questions at this time. Clear the way.” He looks almost friendly as he says it, but there’s a high shine in his pale eyes that says he wouldn’t mind cracking some heads in time for the midnight bounce.
As if they sense it as well, the reporters get out of the way. Keri leads my entourage along the drive, her own people straggling behind. Five of them wear purple arm-bands; I’m not exactly sure what that means.
When we’ve left earshot, she mutters, “You always bring trouble, don’t you?”
“Everyone needs a hobby.” I used to say that to March in regard to thinking about my own death. Does that mean I’ve made emotional progress?
“Perhaps you’d consider horticulture.”
Outbuildings line the path to the main house, an old-fashioned stone structure. The wire-and-steel security fence crackles, reminding me why it’s there: to keep the monsters out. Remembering that endless night where so many people died, I stifle my smart-ass reply.
A while back, March liberated me from my cell, after the crash of the Sargasso. He saved me from a lifetime of torment and delivered me to Lachion, where I was intended to help Clan Dahlgren start a renegade jump-training academy. Unfortunately, their rivals, Clan Gunnar, wanted to get their hands on me as well. Anyone who controlled a supply of jumpers would possess an edge— and on more than just a planetary scale. So they came at us on the ground, forced us to stop.
