The Rule of Luck (13 page)

The lobby looked no less majestic. The white marble floor was shot through with green and gold. Columns reached to a high vaulted ceiling, which was a mirrored star surface. It reflected the birth of a black hole. The scene played out in time-elapsed high speed, but even still it took a day to show the entire recording. I wondered if they had it on a loop or if it switched to something else when the show ended, then realized I wouldn't be there long enough to find out.

Before we reached the front desk, we were approached by four men and a woman. Only two of the men, chain-breakers, had true youth. I dismissed them from my mind the only way you could when you saw two overgrown gorillas capable of tearing your head off one-handed—just averted my eyes and pretended they couldn't see me.

As for the other three, their eyes gave it away. All were older, anywhere between fifty and sixty if I had to guess. One was Karol, my pain in the ass from Nairobi. He met my scowl with a neutral expression. As for the other man, both he and the woman beside him had blond hair, his cut short against his skull while hers flowed down her back in long golden waves. Green eyes, perfect white teeth, chiseled profiles, and peaches-and-cream complexions made them a matching set.

An exchange of Russian followed, along with lots of cheek-kissing and embracing.

Petriv turned to me. “Ms. Sevigny, allow me to introduce you to my colleagues: Vadim and Oksana Ivchenko. You already know Dr. Karol Rogov, the Consortium's tech-med.”

“We've met,” I said, eyeing him warily. At least now I understood his disgust with my bracelet. Tech-meds diagnosed and resolved AI issues, be it a simple wiring problem or an entire personality overhaul. Essentially, they were doctors of technology with varying degrees of specialization.

“A misunderstanding, I assure you.” Karol's eyes darted between me and Petriv as if to convince us of his sincerity.

I caught Petriv's frown and remembered the blood I had seen on Karol's collar. I dredged up a smile and played nice. “Of course. Nothing to worry about.”

Petriv nodded. “Good. Karol will examine your bracelet and determine if it's free of TransWorld spyware. In the meantime, Oksana will prepare you for tonight's auction.”

“What will you be doing?” I wanted to know as I placed my c-tex bracelet in Karol's palm. “Rolling heads?”

He smiled but it felt remote, like it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Don't worry, you're in capable hands.”

I was summarily dismissed as Petriv fell into a rapid and heated conversation with Vadim and they walked away. Was this what it would be like now? Was I nothing to him? If so, it hurt more than I could have imagined. I wanted to call after him, say I was sorry, and tell him…What? I swore under my breath. I was the one who pushed him away. Besides, it wasn't like we were compatible anyway—him with whatever modifications he had and me with essentially nothing. And Roy…I had to think about Roy. Unfortunately, that didn't make me feel any better as I watched him go.

My attention was drawn back to Karol as he slunk off with my bracelet, muttering to himself. The chain-breakers carried my bags toward the elevators at the far end of the lobby, presumably taking them to my room. That left me with the blonde goddess Oksana, who smiled but eyed me like livestock at a Martian colonial fair.

“It's a shame the original outfit the Consortium chose for you for the auction was destroyed in the explosion,” she said. “Still, who doesn't like an excuse to go shopping? This hotel has an excellent selection of boutiques. I've already contacted them and had several gowns set aside for you. With hair and makeup to consider, we must hurry. And shoes! We mustn't forget the importance of shoes.”

And suddenly I'd just found my new best friend in the entire tri-system.

It was impossible not to rally from my funk with Oksana for company. It was like I'd met the sister I never had. The next several hours were a whirlwind of expensive shops and clothing beyond my wildest dreams. As Oksana took me to each boutique and I tried on gown after gown, I felt like I was living the fashionista fairy tale I'd always dreamed of. Long, short, full, skintight, strapless, backless, and in every color I could possibly envision. And if I wasn't sure of a gown, Oksana had the offending garment whisked away and out of sight.

Eventually we both decided on a strapless floor-length gown of deep teal. The material was soft chiffon that floated about my legs as I moved. I didn't even bother looking at the price. It was so beyond my reach, it was laughable.

“I always look best in blue-green,” I said, as we each studied the dress critically in the mirror, taking in the view at all angles.

“This shade is perfect,” she agreed. “You have fabulous eyes, and this will show them to their best advantage.”

“I'm not really here to draw attention to myself,” I said regretfully, running my hands along the dress. The fabric felt like a dream. I think I may have even sighed.

“Ah, but it would be a greater shame to go unnoticed, wouldn't you agree?” Oksana asked, winking at me. “I know Alexei would think so.”

“To be honest, I don't know what that man thinks.”

She met my eyes in the mirror. “Well, yes, I suppose he can be an enigma at times. However, I have known him for years and can say with certainty he is driven to succeed like no man I've ever known. When he wants something, nothing gets in his way.” She broke the stare and turned away. “Now then, let's see about finding you some shoes.”

Before I could pursue the subject further, Oksana disappeared and returned with a selection of shoes. I spent the next hour trying on shoes I could never afford. We settled on a pair of matching sandals with sapphire and emerald encrusted heels. Ridiculous, yet I was instantly in love. Also added to the “could never afford” list were earrings, a necklace, and a bracelet of blue-green sapphires and white diamonds which Oksana said I could wear “on loan” for the evening. Hair and makeup were done in the hotel salon. My hair was left down to preserve mystery, and my makeup was done dramatically to reflect my Romani heritage. Intrigued, I asked the stylist to record her steps and the colors she used and send me a copy. She had an interesting brush technique I wanted to try myself once I returned home and life got back to normal. And there
would
be a “back to normal,” I promised myself. All this shopping may have been fun, but I couldn't let it go to my head.

While I was in the salon, Karol made an appearance to return my c-tex bracelet, reporting he'd found no bugs, tracers, or anything suspicious. I checked it myself but it seemed the same as before. Then again, it wasn't like spyware would be obvious—hence the term “spy.”

Three hours later as I managed a quick bite of food, Oksana finally declared me ready. I stood in a lavishly appointed bedroom before a large framed mirror and considered the finished product—dress, hair, makeup, shoes, jewelry. I'd never felt more beautiful and glamorous in my life, and more than anything, I wanted Petriv to see me. See me and…and damn it, what did I want? I'd told him no, and he'd backed off. I knew I shouldn't let my thoughts wander in that direction. Roy. I needed to focus on what I loved about him. What had originally attracted me? His appearance? Kindness? Sense of humor? Hell, what if I was with him only because he'd been available when I'd needed someone? No, that was too awful to consider. But what did it say about me that I couldn't remember?

I heard a knock at the door, then Oksana's lilting voice. My heart leaped into my throat in anticipation, imagining Petriv in the other room. Several deep breaths and a few prayers later—I stepped into the drawing room.

Except it wasn't Petriv. Not by a longshot. My heart dropped and my stomach did a somersault. My apprehension was replaced with boiling, searing rage.

“You!” I screeched, pointing a turquoise-holoed fingernail. “You goddamn piece of shit! What the hell are you doing here? Get the fuck away from me or I'll kill you!”

It was Mr. Pennyworth.

I launched myself at Pennyworth, striding across the carpeted floor to scratch out his eyes even if it ruined my three-hundred-gold-note manicure and shorted the temporary nail holos. I'd almost reached him when hands restrained me. Two chain-breakers held me effortlessly. I struggled to get free, which was kind of like wrestling a fish underwater—utterly impossible. Only when I went limp did they set me down. By then, I'd exhausted the best of my profanity and worst heat of my anger.

“What's he doing here?” I demanded, swinging to Oksana in the loose chain-breaker grip.

“We contract out to him on occasion,” she said, a concerned look on her face. “He comes highly recommended and is quite skilled.”

“Skilled at what? Setting people up and leaving them for dead?” I turned to Pennyworth. “I spent a night in a One Gov pit thanks to you!”

“It appears you made it out unscathed,” he answered in the voice that sounded neither male nor female.

“It doesn't matter if I'm unscathed! What matters is you left me to take the heat for your shitty plan! The clinic had sensors that picked up your worthless smart-matter gas. I paid you to…” My voice trailed off as several things clicked into place. I turned to Oksana. “Where's Mr. Petriv?” I was surprised at how calm I sounded. “I'd like to speak with him.”

“I'm afraid he's unavailable.” She looked sorry too.

“I see.” I held myself as still as possible.

Mr. Pennyworth worked for Petriv, though I hadn't known it at the time and wouldn't have cared if I did. But his plan's failure landed me in Petriv's clutches. Perhaps that explained why Petriv had paid so much for my initial Tarot card reading—he already knew the plan would fail and I would be out all my savings. I supposed there was honor in that if I chose to see it that way. I didn't.

“I want to see Mr. Petriv or the deal is off. He can find someone else to do his dirty work.” I shook my arms again and glared at Oksana. “Tell these assholes to let me go!”

“Yes, of course, I'm sorry.” She spoke some Russian, and the chain-breakers released me. I rubbed my arms, wincing. I'd have bruises tomorrow.

“Ms. Sevigny, I'm sorry you feel this way. Mr. Petriv would have been here, but after the incident at the space elevator, others within the Tsarist Consortium felt it was better that he not be exposed to such risk and he's been recalled. It wouldn't be appropriate to put the Consortium's heir-apparent in jeopardy,” Mr. Pennyworth said, as if the logic in this should be obvious to someone as dense as me. “You do look lovely in your dress, by the way.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, Pennyworth.” Heir-apparent, my ass. I paced the room, rubbing my arms. I felt like a caged animal. “I'm not doing this. I want to go home.” No one moved and I stomped around some more to no purpose. “Fine. We can wait here all night. The auction will be over in a few hours anyway.”

“And you'll return to your shop and your boyfriend, your life having moved no further ahead and all your hopes broken. You'll be no closer to lifting your blacklisted status, or unraveling the mystery of your mother,” Mr. Pennyworth said, advancing toward me.

“That's fine.”

“Is it?” he asked, tone merciless, moving until he stood right in front of me. “Tonight everything could change, and yet you stand here pouting like a child. I never thought you were an idiot, Ms. Sevigny. However, I believe you're behaving like one now.”

I slapped him hard. He didn't even flinch although I winced as a sharp, stinging pain went through my hand. Was his jaw made of steel?

“Did that satisfy you? Would you like to hit me again? I assure you, it will hurt you more than it does me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you!”

“But you would go with Mr. Petriv, I presume?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“So then you wouldn't go even if he were here? Is that correct?”

I stalked away without answering. He was right: I was pouting. But damn it, how was I supposed to react? I'd just had the rug pulled out from under me, in a situation where I wasn't sure who I could trust. I was attracted to a man with a laundry list of ulterior motives, and worst of all, my gut wasn't telling me anything useful. So I did the only thing I could think to do: I turned to my Tarot cards.

On a nearby desk was the elegant silk evening bag that matched my dress. I fumbled with the clasp, opened it, and dumped out my cards. Then I sat and shuffled. The room grew so silent, I may as well have been alone. Good. That, and the simple act of shuffling, helped calm me.

A one-card spread is the easiest reading in the world. It gives a yes or no answer depending on whether the card is upright or reversed. Deeper analysis can give more information as to the nature of the question, the influencing factors, or how things might be resolved. But in this case, I needed simple: go with Pennyworth or not? I finished shuffling, then cut the deck: Wheel of Fortune, upright. Destiny, success, and an unexpected turn of events. All I could do was hold on and enjoy the ride. I sighed. I'd gotten my answer and then some.

I scooped the cards back into the evening bag. Then I turned to Oksana, the chain-breakers, and Mr. Pennyworth, who stood much too close, having watched everything over my shoulder.

“Show's over, people,” I said with resignation. “Let's go.”

“Ms. Sevigny! What a surprise! We didn't know you were coming until the last minute. We're so pleased you could join us.”

Mick Doucette reached for my hands as he met me at the side entrance of the Grand Meridian Hotel, shaking them both vigorously and making my nail holos shimmer with little stars. He had a short mop of curling brown hair that bounced around his face, a thin build, and was of medium height. Cute, but not outstandingly good-looking, with ruddy cheeks that gave him the appearance of having been out in the sun too long without protection. From everything I knew of Mick that was probably true, since he was too busy saving the world to notice. I'd always been impressed with his charity work, but knowing he was connected to TransWorld changed my opinion.

Though he looked no older than twenty-five, the last press release I'd caught put him at 172. Money got him access to upgrades far beyond the basic Renew program package, opening up opportunities I'd never have. It irritated me a little, though if I saved my money and kept up normal routine maintenance with a few tweaks, I could hit a hundred and fifty if I was lucky. Which, I reflected drily, I clearly was.

“Your charity is supporting such a worthwhile cause, I fought like hell to clear my calendar,” I answered. “I'm thrilled you could accommodate me and I apologize again for not giving your staff adequate notice.”

“Not a problem. My assistant Mitsuki will see you sorted.” He waved at a regal looking woman behind him. With glossy straight black hair and pale porcelain skin, her Asian heritage was obvious. Japanese, I guessed, though Japan itself had been washed from Earth centuries ago. Those who'd escaped the rising waters had taken great pains to preserve their heritage. “Once the guests see your skills, I suspect bids will go through the roof.”

Did I mention Mick was also an accomplished bullshit artist? I laughed. “That's lovely of you to say, but let's wait for the auction results first.”

“Of course.” He'd already dropped my hands and moved on, getting back to the party and his many guests. So many people to glad hand, so many butts to kiss, so many gold notes to collect. “Mitsuki will take care of you and your assistant. Let her know what you need and she'll ensure you have it.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for being so gracious.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Then he left, leaving me and my assistant—Mr. Pennyworth, damn him—with the unsmiling and frosty Mitsuki.

She bowed formally. “If you will follow me, I will show you where the other parties are arranged.”

“I don't need a staging area,” I answered, as I'd rehearsed with Mr. Pennyworth. “It's easier to just add me to the bidding list and let me mingle with the crowd instead. I plan on doing one display reading with someone my assistant selects for me. Based on that, people can decide if they want to bid on my services or not.”

Mitsuki frowned. “This is highly irregular,” she said in perfect, unaccented English.

“Perhaps, but we know from experience that it works,” Mr. Pennyworth replied, which made me want to roll my eyes. He wouldn't know what worked if it kicked him in the face.

“Follow me.” Her frown vanished as she turned back to the party. “I'll direct you to the Grand Meridian ballroom where the guests are located.”

She glided rather than walked down the service hall with its concrete floor, light-duty fiber walls, and poor lighting. Mr. Pennyworth had insisted we use the side entrance to conceal our identities until the last minute. Even worse, as he tried to alert Doucette of our arrival via the CN-net, I'd had to spend twenty minutes shivering outside in the cold. A March evening in Denver was a far cry from Nairobi's heat.

As we walked behind Mitsuki, I had the oddest feeling of déjà vu. I remembered the Mayfair Fertility Clinic, when we'd walked behind the One Gov employee Pennyworth had referred to as Third Generation MH Factor. I shot him a look from the corner of my eye and found him watching me. Of course he remembered.

“Don't try any bullshit,” I whispered.

“A shame you aren't as amenable as our dear Mitsuki.”

“Bite me.” I stomped ahead, heels clicking angrily.

At the end of the hall, we stepped through a gunmetal gray door. This brought us into the kitchen where we waded through a barrage of chefs and servers yelling orders and jostling for space. The smells were delicious and I longed to reach out and grab a handful of whatever looked good. People gawked at us, but with Mitsuki leading the charge, we passed by without question.

We hustled through an empty dining room with a high vaulted ceiling. Large canvases lined the walls, showing holographic displays of vintage circuses before the Dark Times. Clowns, jugglers, even elephants—extinct for centuries—were depicted in loving detail. The ceiling itself looked like a giant white-and-red-striped tent, and in the center of the dozens of tables were magnificent centerpieces resembling sugary pink puffs of air blown into artistic whims of fancy.

“Is that real candy floss?” I asked Mitsuki. I wondered if it would count toward the calorie consumption index.

“No.” Her tone indicated that my obvious idiocy and lack of social grace were an affront to everything she stood for. Lovely.

“You know, I've never met anyone of actual Japanese descent before,” I continued. “You must be very proud of your heritage.”

“We go to great lengths to maintain our identity,” she agreed in the same tone, which translated roughly into: “You're not worthy to speak to me, mongrel dog.”

“That's wonderful. My family is the same. We're Romani. We also lost our home during the floods.”

“That's sad.” Translation: “Silence, cur. You are an inbred mutt.”

“One thing we love is curses. Never get on the bad side of a gypsy who can lay a decent curse! I could show you sometime. I inherited my great-grandmother's skills. One of the best.”

She threw me a look over her shoulder. “Curses aren't real. Such belief stems from ignorance and superstition.” No translation needed there.

“Oh, but that's not true!” I continued blithely. “It takes less than a second to cast even the most innocuous curse. Say like cursing someone to trip over a chair.”

At that, she tripped over a chair. Honestly, it was only because she looked at me at that moment and I'd noticed a chair blocking her way. I didn't know the first thing about curses, but the horrified look on her face was so wonderful, I knew I'd enjoy reimagining it for years to come. Mr. Pennyworth helped her rise—such a gentleman—and asked if she was hurt. He shot me an unreadable look to which I couldn't help but smirk. After that, Mitsuki rushed us to the ballroom with no further comment.

Like the dining room, it was also done up in vintage circus theme. Performers worked the crowd—juggling, swallowing swords, and breathing fire. It was all very impressive, though I suspected the performers had some sort of MH Factor which elevated their pain thresholds.

“The other parties with auction items are through there.” Mitsuki gestured to a side room where guests wandered in and out. She refused to meet my gaze. I smiled. “I will add your name to the bid list. Please come find me when you wish to perform your reading. Until then, enjoy yourselves.”

She scurried off, thank the gods! Around us, beautiful people laughed, talked, and ate. I turned to Mr. Pennyworth, my last choice in the world of a date to an event like this. He hovered like a shadow in the background, unseen and unheard. I had the uncanny feeling that if I took my eyes off him, I'd never find him again.

“Are most of the people here TransWorld employees?” I asked.

“A few. The majority are upper echelon One Gov leaders, or those with political or financial influence that TransWorld hopes to gain. This is a type of luxury very few enjoy under One Gov's rule.”

“It sounds like you have a personal problem with that.”

“Not at all. Their mandate is unity and equality for all. Thanks to them every citizen is offered basic t-mods and MH Factor boosts, as well as access to the Renew program.”

“And what's wrong with that? We're probably better off than any generation before us. Without One Gov, the human race would have fallen apart. We never would have survived the Dark Times without strong leadership. Okay, I'll admit they may be bloated with bureaucracy and we've strayed a little from the path of equality for all, but…well…what government in history has been perfect? No one ever gets it a hundred percent right. It's not like we live in some horrible dystopia where people disappear in the night.”