Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax 2)

To my surprise, Dina flashes me a sheepish smile. “Yeah, Hit talked me out of that. She said she can always tell when somebody’s getting down, and you haven’t had any since we left Lachion.”

My eyebrows feel like they’re shooting off the top of my head. “She can do what now? How?”

Hit smiles. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

“Funny,” I mutter. “Like I haven’t heard that line a thousand times. It was old when your great-grandmamma was young.”

In the pilot’s case, however, it just might be true. I opt not to stick around long enough to find out. I have work to do.

* * *

CHAPTER 47

We’re on Venice Minor.

Kai and I vacationed here once, four years ago. There’s a unique brilliance in the sunshine, and the quality of the air possesses an indefinable sweetness. It actually soothes the lungs as you draw it in, soft and balmy. Back then, I laughingly called it paradise, but today it’s my prison, however prettily they package it.

And let me say, it’s a fabulous villa, all shimmering white stone designed in faux-classical style. Spacious grounds with seven open gardens and terraces invite you to take a stroll; tiered balconies overflow with miniature fruit trees. Yes, you can pluck grapes right off the vine and peaches from the bough. Sweetness drizzles from your lips down your chin.

Though Keller and his goons refuse to confirm, I know perfectly well where we are. And the first time I get access to an unsecured terminal, I’ll bounce a message so that the whole world knows, too. They’re not blaming this on me; I refuse to be held responsible for increased Morgut attacks and diplomatic failure on Ithiss-Tor.

Maybe I took my role lightly at first, but our time on Emry, and later, on Lachion, put me ass deep in human suffering. I won’t stand aside. I won’t let the Syndicate neutralize me with promises of future meetings and astonishing opulence.

Keller assigned us lavish suites that actually manage to dim the luxury we enjoyed while aboard the ship. I refuse to be distracted by promises of steam baths, pure-earth facials, and deep-tissue massages, however. I pace my gilt-and-ivory cell, feverish with the need to act.

Everything is coded. It practically requires Keller’s permission to take a bath. He plays the role of host quite convincingly. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe him when he says, “Mr. Jewel has been called away unexpectedly, but he wishes you all to avail yourself of his hospitality in the meantime.”

Bullshit.

I’m starting to wonder if this Mr. Jewel even exists. He might be Keller for all I know. The voice that spoke through my mother’s voice was distorted enough that I wouldn’t recognize it if I heard it without augmentation.

The first day, I amuse myself playing with the ridiculously sophisticated wardrober that came with my room. The Fashionista 4000 has patterns and styles that I’ve never seen before. By the time I’m finished, I’ve come a long way toward replenishing all the clothes I’ve seen lost or destroyed along the way.

In some of them, I might even look like an ambassador, although Dina refuses to watch me try on outfits and give me her opinion. Too bad, since she’s the only one of us with any experience in such matters. But maybe I shouldn’t have asked because she wears a queer look when she shakes her head.

“That’s all behind me,” she says quietly. “I’m a mechanic now.”

“Yeah, okay.” I turn from the mirror, clad in a filmy scarlet dress that gives me the look of a fetish vid star not afraid to show some skin. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to go see what Hit’s up to.” The way she leaves makes me sure I’ve struck a sore spot.

Damn, I hate when I’m an insensitive asshole. Usually I can see it coming, but this one blindsided me. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can imagine Dina sitting in her sister’s rooms, watching them try on clothes, talking about the parties they’ll attend. Maybe the coup on Tarnus took place twenty years ago, but she still wears the scars. Hers just go further than skin deep.

With a sigh, I peel off the red gown and don something more sensible: skinny white slacks, white vest, and light woven shoes. While checking to make sure I got the sizing right on the new clothes, I notice that my dark hair’s almost three centimeters long now, and it’s starting to curl. I’m finally losing the lost-refugee look.

With a shrug, I close the closet door. Most times, when I look at my reflection, I see the scars to the exclusion of all else. They remind me of the people who died for the Corp’s greed; I carry their shadows in my skin.

If I’m a walking memorial, my life has to mean something. I never used to think along those lines. Never saw patterns or purpose—I think that’s March’s influence. I force back the mood shift that threatens at the thought of him. No time for that. I’ll yearn or grieve, or whatever the right emotion is, later. For now I’ll do some poking around; see what I can find out.

Mary, I can’t believe I have to put my faith in a politician like Tarn. Now that I understand his angle—and what he’s trying to prevent—it scares the shit out of me. I hope he can come up with an explanation for where I am this time. I’m supposed to be on Ielos, inspiring the pioneers that eke out an existence on the winter world.

He must think I’m the biggest fuckup in the world. When we win free, I’m going to take this job seriously. I can do this. I can be more than Jax the jumper. I’ve already memorized half the list that Vel went over with me. Morning to night, 245 drills me mercilessly, and it’s not like I have anything else to do.

Hit would like to slaughter everyone on the estate and steal a ship. But then she tends to solve all problems with a closed fist, which explains why she and Dina get on so well. Fortunately, cooler heads have prevailed so far, and we’re doing recon, trying to find out how many men are at this place, what types of ships are docked here, and what security we can expect—Vel’s forte.

I hate relying on Vel, but my options are limited. Realizing I’m pacing, I wheel as I come up against the glastique door that bars me from the terrace. I could key it open, as Keller kindly gave me security codes—but it wouldn’t help in the grand scheme of things. We’re prohibited from wandering off estate grounds—“for your own safety,” as Keller put it—and there’s a shock field around the perimeter to protect us from marauding native animals, since the undeveloped portions of Venice Minor consist of wild jungle and dense rain forest.

Well, I have to do something. In the last two days, the only thing I’ve achieved is a light tan. While I no longer look so sick or pasty—and daily injections seem to be shoring up my rickety bones—I need to accomplish something substantial. The past months, I’ve felt like deadweight that just slows people down.

As I’m getting ready to head out, the door bot tells me, “You have a visitor, Sirantha Jax. Allow entry?”

“Who is it?” I’ve learned something since March walked into my cell on Perlas Station. I always ask the caller’s ID now.

After a brief pause, the bot answers, “Vel.”

I find that oddly charming. The bounty hunter doesn’t use nicknames or terms of endearment, but he’s adopted my mode of address for him? From what he’s said, his people don’t adopt new customs easily, which makes their ability to mimic alternate forms all the more intriguing.

Most Ithtorians would consider the way Vel lives vulgar. There’s a certain stigma attached to concealing his true appearance. The ability developed as a trait meant to enhance hunting prowess, not to allow an Ithtorian, who is clearly superior, to pass among the soft skins.

“Let him in.”

The door swishes open, and Vel steps inside. He’s getting better at smiling in greeting, simulating the type of expression that people wear when they’re happy to see someone. I smile back because whenever he’s around, I feel steadier.

“They gave you the princess room.” He takes in the elevated bed with its elaborate netting, and the furniture that shimmers with gold.

I arch a brow. “I figured everyone’s room looked like this, which must make you boys feel less than manly.”

He radiates puzzlement, though his face doesn’t alter noticeably. “How could a color scheme affect my gender?”

“Never mind.” Sometimes I forget that while Vel might be masculine, he is definitely not a man. “What’s your room like then?”

I figure he’ll get around to the reason behind his visit, and it doesn’t hurt to be social. I could use the practice since the Ithtorians will be judging my manners.

“It is green,” he says.

Well, that doesn’t tell me much. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter.

“You want something to eat or drink? I have a full gourmet kitchen-mate in here. And there’s a peach tree on my balcony.” I must admit, playing the hostess doesn’t come natural to me. I’m ready to demand what he found out, which doesn’t bode well for my aptitude for political maneuvering.

“If it contains citric acid, I will become ill. Thus, I must decline.”

At this point, I give up. I can practice the art of patience later. “Have you finished with your recon? What can you tell me?”

He takes a seat on the long, soft white sofa. “I have. I took a look around the compound, examined security measures, and listened to Grubb and Boyle for an extended period of time. When they were otherwise occupied, I managed to access one of their personal communication units and I downloaded all relevant data. After lengthy analysis, I believe I have detected a fault in their security that can be exploited. But it will require complex planning and some sleight of hand.”

“Vel,” I breathe. I somehow manage to control the urge to hug him around the neck. “I knew you’d come through. Tell me what you need.”

“It will take everyone, operating in tandem, to make this work,” he says. “But I believe I’ve located an old terminal in the sublevel of the structure. It has been decommissioned, but if you take Dina with you, you should be able to patch back into the system. I don’t believe such a task would surpass her capabilities.”

Given that I’ve seen her repair a ship with glue, copper wire, and pure voodoo, I’m sure he’s right. “Okay, what will the rest of you be doing?”

He tells me.

* * *

CHAPTER 48

“You sure Jael and Hit can pull this off?” Dina mutters.

She has some reason to worry. We laid out a three-prong plan, and if anything goes wrong, we’ll be in the soup for sure. Timing is crucial. It’s a good thing we learned to rely on each other in the tunnels; otherwise, we wouldn’t have dared risk something on this scale.

We’re down in the basement, not somewhere we should be wandering. I doubt we could convince anyone we’re sightseeing. This will work, though. It has to.

I cock a brow at her. “Do you think we’re better qualified to take out targets quickly and quietly?”

Dina responds with a withering look. “Don’t be an idiot. You have the schematics?”