Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax 2)

He steps back. “I’m afraid I can’t mix business with pleasure. I need to find Grubb and Boyle. But don’t let me get in the way of your good time.”

Thank Mary, he’s going to let us take the bot without questioning the repair. If he knew anything about the damage to this model, he’d realize there was no way to fix her without a new personality chip. We brush past him, heading for the lift, but my pulse doesn’t slow until we put a floor between us.

“He’s not going to find Grubb and Boyle, is he?” I need a minute to figure out our next move.

We should’ve gotten a message out by now, and apart from having found a body for 245, which wasn’t exactly urgent, we’re no better off. I lead the way down the hall, away from this part of the house at least. The other two follow.

“I don’t think so. We didn’t send a kind, gentle team to take care of them, did we? When Keller finds them—”

“We become Venice Minor’s Most Wanted,” I finish.

“Would you really have fucked him?” Dina raises a brow at me.

“I was going to distract him so you could hit him in the head.”

She grins. “Good thinking.”

“His heart raced in an unusual manner,” Constance observes. Hearing 245’s voice come out of this gorgeous woman gives me a little start. “That signifies excitement, nervousness, or anxiety, does it not?”

“You could tell that?” I realize I have no idea what this Pretty Robotics model is capable of. I always preferred my companions with a pulse.

“I am able to monitor physiological reactions,” she confirms. “Pulse, respiration, body temperature. I believe my predecessor may have used it to gauge reactions to her overtures.”

“But with some adaptation, you could use it as a lie detector,” Dina says. “That could come in handy.”

In my role as ambassador, assuming I ever get there, it would prove invaluable. Constance apparently agrees because she answers, “I need more data regarding the normal spectrum for nonhumans, but yes. I could utilize my sensors in that manner.”

“My secret weapon,” I say.

“Will I be a secret?” the droid asks. “Do you plan to pass me as human?”

I haven’t begun to think of that, or the ethical pitfalls involved. “I don’t know. Is that legal?”

“I can check my data banks.”

Dina shakes her head at both of us. “Stay focused, please. You can worry about the AI precedents later.”

As we move, the villa seems ominously silent. But if Vel, Jael, and Hit have done their jobs well, the place might well be devoid of life, except for us. I haven’t heard the report of weapons, nothing but the soft rasp of our shoes against the patterned tile floor.

Time runs against us. Every minute I spend here and not on Ielos works against us. Tarn’s excuses won’t hold forever.

“We need to expedite an escape, do we not?” Constance must’ve been running the problem over from various angles.

I nod. “That’s the idea.”

“Perhaps my basic clearances will work on a communication terminal,” Constance suggests. “They may not have blocked them because prior to my installation, this unit would never have possessed the impetus to use such a device.”

I stare at her for a moment. “That’s an astonishingly simple yet brilliant idea. Your room is closest,” I add to Dina. “Let’s see if this’ll work.”

The mechanic’s room is quite unlike mine, more masculine, done in mahogany and gold. Our quarters share certain amenities, however, such as the spacious floor plan and luxurious appointments. Her bed doesn’t have the intricate netting, however, or the fanciful carvings on the head-board.

Constance heads for the terminal and keys in her codes. We share a tense moment, and then she glances at me, as if in search of approval. I step up behind her in time to see the screen flash to a new set of options.

“Security for the whole house uses the same central computer, which accepts the same algorithmic sequences,” she explains.

“So what works for the doors also works on the terminals.” Being mechanically minded, Dina figures it out much faster. “Don’t just sit there, bounce a message.”

“I have Chancellor Tarn’s node address, but I require content.”

With her looking like a vid actress, it’s harder to remember how literal she can be. “Tell him we’re being held on Venice Minor by the Syndicate, and we need help.”

“Can you attach a worm to the message so he can trace the message to its origin?” Dina asks. “That’ll help him find us faster. And bury it in the subsystem logs if you can, so it’s not immediately noticeable if someone is monitoring communications.”

For several tense, nerve-wracking moments, we watch her work the terminal with all the care of a tightrope dancer. She’s clumsy with her fingers at first, unused to such an imperfect interface. And then columns of symbols and numbers pour down the display panel, green tinged, yellow tinged.

So far so good.

“Yes, yes, and done,” Constance tells us at last. “After sending it, I altered the time stamp to conceal it from prying eyes. If there is no secondary screening system, our message should reach the Chancellor within twelve hours.”

Twelve hours. But we don’t know how long it’ll take to get somebody out here. Maybe we shouldn’t count on him. But maybe he can spin things with the truth. I can see the talking heads now: The New Terran ambassador has been kidnapped. No ransom demands have been received as yet . . .

The timing of the door chime makes me jump, and Dina looks edgy as a chem-head in search of her next fix. I look around for a weapon. Find nothing. They confiscated all our hardware before we boarded, and we haven’t seen any of it since. Jaw clenched, I take up a heavy bronze statuette on a side table while Dina takes up position on the other side of the door, beside the control panel.

I nod. It’s her room.

“What?” That’s classic Dina right there, down to the irascible tone.

“Everything okay?” Hit asks. “Can I come in?”

“Fine,” Dina answers, unlocking the door.

The tension drains out of me as Dina lets the pilot in. Jael strolls in behind her, but he draws up short when he catches sight of Constance, now sitting on the sofa. Well away from the terminal. Smart.

This should be fun.

“Well then. I had no idea you’d made such a charming friend, or I’d have been back long before now. How’d things go by the way?”

“We got the job done,” Dina answers briefly. “You?”

Jael smiles. “Us, too.”

My gaze fixes on a small splotch of blood on the collar of his pale blue shirt.

Though they don’t tell us where they hid the bodies, the Syndicate is down five hired thugs.

* * *

CHAPTER 50

We’re deep in strategy sessions of phase two.

So far, the best idea is to steal a shuttle that’s strong enough to handle straight space, turn on the distress signal, and wait for rescue. I don’t like the uncertainty, however. There’s no telling who might pick us up.

At least this Jewel has a vested interest in my survival, since he wants to use me. Then again, there’s no telling what he might do when he discovers we’ve been picking off his guys. We need to get out of here, one way or another.

Still, I can’t regret leaving Lachion with them. The arrival of another Conglomerate ship might’ve had disastrous consequences for Gunnar-Dahlgren. Their battle is going to be hard enough.

“I have studied their security in some detail,” Vel says. “And the only vessel we can access is the mini scheduled for repair. Using Constance’s clearance codes, I assigned some tech droids to begin work immediately. Since it was not scheduled for maintenance until next week, they should not consider it a flight risk.”

“How long before it’s operational?” Dina asks.

“Eight hours total,” the bounty hunter answers. “Seven hours remaining. I could not divert the entire fleet without arousing some suspicion. If this place were not almost entirely automated, questions would have arisen already.”

“A point in our favor,” Jael notes. “And since the place is so big, they’re probably still looking for the guys who went missing.”

“How many do you think are on the grounds?” I don’t want to think about fighting our way out of here. Syndicate or not, I’ve seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime. Plus Dina and I still qualify as the weakest links.

We can’t hold our own in a fight yet. I’m stronger than I was—and so is she—but neither of us could take on a trained enforcer. But maybe Vel, Hit, and Jael are strong enough to make up the difference.

“In all?” Hit asks.

I nod.

The pilot looks thoughtful. “For a place of this size, at least ten. Madame Kang would have insisted on twenty, though. But she relied more on manpower than technology. She was old-fashioned in some ways.”

“Perhaps the extra guards travel with the one called Mr. Jewel,” Constance suggests. “In his absence, there is less to protect, only material goods, which can be replaced more easily than a person of some importance.”

Jael squinches up his eyes at the droid, probably in remembered embarrassment. I let him flirt with her for a good five minutes before explaining why Dina and I were snickering.

Vel agrees. “When their leader arrives, we will likely have more men with which to contend.”

“All the more reason to get our asses out of here,” Dina says flatly. “We should stay together, and in seven hours, we make a run for the shuttle.”

“If we have to shoot our way out, so be it.” Jael spins a laser pistol he took off one of the guards.

“Don’t even think about taking that thing on board,” Hit warns him.

The merc glares at her. “You think I’m stupid? I could dismantle that little skiff we’re taking up with a sonicblade, let alone one of these. And I don’t intend to experience the joy of vacuum firsthand.”

Two alphas, one small ship. This will be fun.

“Settle down,” I say aloud. “Jael won’t be taking any laser weapons up. He may look young, but he’s not devoid of sense.”

To my surprise, he slides me a layered look that ends in a half smile. By his expression, he read something significant into my defense, but I don’t have time to figure out what. Maybe he hasn’t been accepted like this before, and he appreciates when I have his back; I hope that’s all it is. Hit doesn’t know he’s Bred, though, or she might be reluctant to work with him. I don’t know her well enough to gauge her prejudices.

Vel says, “We should pack up our gear and convey it to a central location.”

I suspect I won’t be able to carry all the clothes I made in the wardrober, let alone fit them all in my pack. That holds three or four outfits at best, so I need to pick my favorites. When I reach Ielos, I want to make a good impression.