Breakout (35 page)

44

We Have People for That

Dred's office was perfect.

From picking out the furniture to the art on the walls and the plush rug, everything was her choice. The windows gave the room an airy feel, despite being on the fifth floor and hermetically sealed against the scent-rich dome air. While the technicians were meticulous about oxygen flow, they usually couldn't do anything about the pervasive cocktail of smells, intensified by her enhanced olfactory sense.

I can't believe this belongs to me.
But she no longer felt as if it had all been handed to her undeserving. She'd even tacked the carpet in place herself. Dred adjusted the crystal thingamabob Jael had given her to celebrate their official opening and let out a happy sigh. Glancing down, she took in the tailored suit.
I look good.
There was already a backlog of inventors hoping to acquire venture capital from Devos Interstellar. After lengthy discussion, they'd decided to split the liquid funding between in-house and external projects. Tam had screened the list down to the top ten; now they were ready for the presentations to begin. Applicants had flown in from all over and were now gathered downstairs waiting for the Pretty Robotics receptionist to sort them out.

She tugged on her jacket one last time and went to the meeting room, where Jael, Martine, Tam, and Calypso were already waiting. Jael and Tam wore business clothes with consummate elegance whereas Martine went for quirky charm with a short-cut jacket and swirly skirt. Calypso was lean as a knife in trousers and a tunic designed to conceal multiple weapons. Six months after breakout, the former mistress of the circle was probably still sleeping with a shiv beneath her pillow.

Not that Pace seems to mind.

“So . . . is everyone ready?”

“This is . . . unbelievable. You're really paying me to listen and rate crazy ideas?” Martine grinned.

“That and turning our HQ into a fortress,” Tam added.

“Let's do this.” Jael pressed a button, spoke briefly to the PR receptionist, and a few minutes later, the first candidate came in.

“I'm Amali Cervantez.” The young woman bowed as if she were meeting royalty.

Dred kept her composure, knowing that if she smiled it might be taken for mockery. Best not to upset a young scientist who had passed the first cut.

At first, Cervantez seemed hesitant, but as she spoke, she warmed to her theme. “I'm sure you're all familiar with the portal technology that led to the great La'heng cure.”

“Pretend we don't know anything,” Jael said.

Some of us were . . . preoccupied,
Dred thought.

Cervantez went into lecture mode. “Well, some turns back, a couple of travelers stumbled through an ancient portal on Marakeq. They were stranded on a strange world where time moves differently. They also brought back terabytes of schematics, technology so advanced that we're still working to understand it, forty-odd turns later. In scientific circles, it's widely theorized that the original inhabitants are the antediluvian race that first built the grimspace beacons we use today for navigation.”

“Interesting,” Tam said. “How does that relate to your research?”

“My interest is in the portals,” the scientist said. “First I intend to chart them. Marakeq isn't the only one, just the only functional gate we've discovered so far. Perhaps they lead to other worlds . . . or even different times. There's no telling what we might learn if we explore, resources that could be retrieved . . .”

Essentially, you want us to fund your treasure hunt.

But she found the idea fascinating. In her younger days, if she hadn't gone after killers, she might have eagerly signed on for such a dangerous adventure. Now, staying on Gehenna and
not
murdering anyone sounded like paradise. Amali Cervantez finished her presentation with a series of holos showing research trips she'd already taken, along with data she had collected on the portals.

The scientist concluded, “The company that currently owns all exploratory rights to the Marakeq portal has released four tech innovations in the last ten turns. Coincidence? I think not. If you give me the funding I need, I'm confident I can deliver similar results.”

“Thanks for your time,” Calypso said.

In Dred's opinion, that was actually the best pitch of the day. The others were far less interesting: clinical trials, money for prototypes that were just a rehashed version of something else. By the end of the ten sessions, she had a hard time hiding her yawns. When the last applicant departed, she vaulted from her chair.

“Finally.”

“I had no idea work was so boring,” Martine grumbled. “I thought about picking that last guy's pocket just to make things more interesting.”

Tam kissed her forehead. “Let's not rob the people who come to
us
for money.”

Calypso snickered. “That'd be rich, actually.”

“Brief consensus. What does everyone think? We agreed to fund two projects, maximum, while we're developing our own labs.” As usual, Tam was all about efficiency.

Like he was inside.

Perdition might have carved deep channels in her soul, but the chains fell away from her heart. Dred listened to the others debating the merits of each opportunity. Finally, she said, “I only liked the portals.”

“All in favor?” Jael called for a vote.

There was no dissent.

“Excellent. Here's hoping it's always this straightforward.” Calypso popped her neck and headed for the door.

It won't be,
Dred thought. But she looked forward to the arguments and the struggles, the pulling together, and cheering up afterward. All the lovely normal things she'd never known.

“Shall we get dinner?” Jael asked.

“Sounds good. I haven't fully figured out the new Kitchen-mate yet.” Dred felt like an imbecile admitting that, but Jael had purchased top-of-the-line everything for the penthouse, and the stuff they'd had on Perdition was outdated twenty turns before the first inmates arrived.

Since none of them had the latest implants, she figured they wouldn't judge.

“Me either,” Martine admitted.

“Then it's settled,” Tam said.

They headed out together.

•   •   •

NEAR
the lifts, a light cage framed around them. Jael grinned at Martine. “After-hours security, eh, bright eyes?”

“You know it. Just hold still. It'll verify that we belong here, and—” The lasers switched off, allowing Martine to call an elevator with a swipe of her palm.

“You wired this building to kill us, didn't you?” Calypso said. “Then you'll keep everything the company earns.”

“Don't be silly.” Martine got on the lift and waited until everyone joined her to add, “I'll keep Tam. He's endlessly entertaining.”

The world was all sunset glamour when Jael passed through the newly gilded lobby and stepped onto the street. Laser fire bounced across his shoulder, and the pain fired through him before the nerves died. Instinct took over.

He rolled for cover while shouting, “Ambush!”

Even here I'm not safe. I'll never be safe. Worse, I'm a danger to others.

When Ronin Group had heeded the warning and didn't come again, he'd thought they must've cut their losses.
Should've known better. It's really not merc style to be smart.

Might be Quintel, too. They've been ominously quiet.

He couldn't see if it was Ronin or Quintel Consortium but from the shots coming in hot, there must be fifteen or more, converging on their location. Tracking the trajectory, some were street level, while others covered from the upper stories of the building across the way. Another rain of energy sizzled the pavement. Pedestrians and people who lived in the neighborhood screamed as they ran. A stray shot winged an elderly woman who wasn't fast enough to get out of range. It hit her leg, so she tried to crawl to safety.

“See, this is why I don't like roving around unequipped,” Calypso snarled.

“Cowards.” Like Jael, Tam was bare-handed.

He activated the emergency code, but there might be more collateral damage before the cavalry arrived. If his neighbors hated his guts, they'd make sure the business suffered, and even Madame Sorush couldn't protect him from public opinion.

You're not killing my dreams. I'd rather die.

Straightening, he ignored Dred's cautionary shout and ducked his head, using his preternatural speed to dodge the shots striking sparks at his feet. The heat singed his legs, and his shoulder felt weak, though it didn't hurt at least. He didn't think about killing the men perched high with his death first in their minds. The only thing he had to do was get the woman who was whimpering ten meters away: silver hair, blue apron, sensible shoes.

Five meters.

Another shot nailed him, this one in the back. Jael swallowed the scream and pushed on. In a single motion he scooped her up and ran back the way he'd come. He was grateful he'd installed giant planters in front of the building. Funny, it hadn't even occurred to him that the thick stone provided excellent cover while the plants inside were a green riot of camouflage.

Gently, he set the woman down. Her eyes were wide and teary as she gazed up at him. “I . . . I thought I was dead.”

“Not on my watch,” he said.

Martine snickered.

The housekeeper reacted like that wasn't something only a dumb-ass would say; instead, her expression said he was an Honest-to-Mary hero, not a monster.

And maybe that was the key. When people treated him like a beast, he did his best to live down to their expectations. Then he went to hell and met those who thought he could be better. How . . . improbable.

“Help is on the way,” Dred said softly. She touched the old woman's hair with a gentleness that would've surprised him if he hadn't already glimpsed that aspect of her.

With no targets in sight, the action died down. Sirens, flashing lights, and security drones locked down the district a few minutes later. When emergency personnel showed up, Jael let the old woman use his premium pass to get immediate care. Tam watched with a thoughtful expression while the professionals rounded up the criminals.

Calypso frowned. “Wait. So . . . we're not killing anyone again.
Ever?
That wasn't even that many. We could've—”

“Haven't you realized?” Martine cut in. “This is how you know you've arrived, my sweet. We have
people
for that now.”

“What?” Jael asked Tam, once the confusion died down a little. The man was staring at him, eyes narrowed, and that look demanded the question.

“Was that real, or was it PR?”

“Excuse me?” He honestly had no clue what Tam meant.

“The heroics. Your kindness.”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? Six of one.” Then he realized he didn't
want
to stick with the sardonic answer.
That's not who I am anymore.
“Honestly? This is my home, and I was . . . protecting it. Not the old way. The way we are now, the way that leaves people thinking I'm one of the good guys.”

“You
are
,” Tam murmured.

Talking to the security company and signing off on reports delayed dinner another two hours, so Jael was starving by the time they got to the café. He'd planned on a more expensive place to celebrate Devos Interstellar's first day of operation, but all the good spots were busy at this hour, and nobody wanted to wait. So they ended up at the usual place, ordering the customary meal. Not that routine was a bad thing.

Sometimes, it was downright comforting.

A bit later, his handheld buzzed with a message from Madame Sorush, who had been exceedingly helpful since Diamond Tours went bankrupt. He'd heard that former CEO Levin was dealing cards on some backwater space-cruise casino.
So sorry,
Sorush wrote.
I missed signs of collusion between Quintel and Ronin. I've taken steps. They won't trouble you again.