Ramona raised her eyebrows. “A little high profile, maybe?”
“As you said, time is a factor.”
Her belongings waited in a neat pile by the aerial: a large waterproof, fire-retardant bag with necessities and a few changes of clothes, a weapon case containing her favorite energy rifle, and a hideous chartreuse gown vacuum sealed in resilient plastic.
Matias frowned at the gown.
“You’re going to visit your sick aunt, and I’m going to the wedding of my childhood friend, whom I haven’t seen in ten years,” she informed him.
“But why is it so . . . aesthetically lacking?”
“It’s tradition. The uglier the bridesmaid’s dress, the better the bride looks. Also, it’s a great distraction. Everyone who witnessed me leaving will remember this monstrosity and little else.”
“It is rather memorable. Where did you find this on such short notice?”
It was the dress she wore the first time she met Gabriel. She had worn it in silent protest against the engagement she didn’t want. “I have my ways.”
He reached for her bag. “May I?”
“Please.”
Matias picked up her baggage and walked up the ramp into the aerial. She followed him, carrying her rifle and her dress. She liked the way he moved, balanced, relaxed but ready. The martial art of seco was fluid, relying on speed and constant movement, which was why the secare children started their training by learning dances rather than specific battle stances. But there was a vast gulf between a dancer and a martial artist. Matias moved like a fighter.
They deposited her belongings next to his large enviro-proof bag, which was stuffed so full it would be in danger of ripping if it wasn’t made of tear-resistant fabric, and made their way to the cabin. Dual pilot seats. In a pinch, either of them could fly. This was a combat ship masquerading as a luxury aerial. That meant the sensitivity of the controls and the acceleration were a step above commercial transport. There would be a world of difference between flying this craft and an ordinary civilian vehicle. Most pilots would overcorrect and crash.
This ought to be interesting.
Matias activated the console and went through a quick checklist. “The Davenports are the obvious choice.”
She’d thought about it too. Like the two of them, the Davenports had thrown all their resources into the production of a working seco generator but had made the least progress.
“And likely the wrong one,” she said. “My husband led a rather cushy existence. I take it your wife enjoyed the same?”
“I gave her everything she wanted. Almost everything.”
Her curiosity spiked. She really wanted to know what hid behind that almost, but his tone told her questions wouldn’t be answered.
“Stealing the research carries a lot of risk. They wouldn’t have done it unless the payday was worth it, and they expected to survive. The buyer must have promised money and protection.”
“And the Davenports aren’t in a position to provide either,” Matias finished for her.
“Their finances are stretched”—she almost said “even thinner than ours” and then remembered who she was talking to—“dangerously thin. Of course, they’re desperate enough to lie to get what they want.”
Matias touched the controls, and the aerial soared in a smooth curve. She barely felt the acceleration. He angled the vehicle with practiced ease and effortlessly joined the stream of aerials speeding through the air above New Delphi.
When Matias was eighteen years old, he had left the planet for five years. Her family never figured out where he went or what he was doing, but now she had a pretty good idea. Whatever he did had involved piloting small combat craft and lots of it.
At the time he left, she was fifteen. She’d envied him the freedom.
“Cassida would have done her homework,” he said. “She’s thorough, and she had access to our database. Our Davenport file is extensive. I trust yours is as well.”
She nodded. “So, it’s not the Davenports.”
“No.”
“Still have to check.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I don’t want to hurt them.”
He spared her a long, careful look. “Compassion? At a time like this?”
“Were you happy in your marriage, Matias?”
“Happiness is overrated.”
“The Davenports are happy. They just had a baby. I don’t want to wreck that without a reason.”
“And if they had a part in this?”
She sighed. “Then I’ll cut them in half. Isn’t that what I’m famous for?”
“Very well. We will be gentle as a summer breeze until we have a reason not to be,” Matias promised.
“Thank you.”
He touched the console, and the aerial swooped down and to the left, banking gently. Ahead the Davenport building rose in the middle of a small park, an undulating flame of orange glass wrapped in an envelope of black callosteel ribbons. The ribbons curved around the building, skimming the solar glass but never touching it, with the widest gap between them barely two meters tall.
At this time of day, Damien Davenport would be at home, while Haider Davenport would be in his office on the twenty-third floor, safe behind that shatterproof solar glass and callosteel designed to hold the enormous structure of the building together through the hardest earthquake. The ribbon envelope was impact resistant. It would take a blast from a midgrade energy cannon to even scratch it.