Andromeda's Rebel Page 6

  So long as she didn't go beyond the boundaries of Dawn's Landing, she would be fine, though thinking those reassurances didn't stop the dread forming a hollow pit in her stomach. Of course she would have to find a map that clearly delineated the boundaries of the colony. Jita might have one, but she might also want to know why. It would be better to ask Yohzad. Perhaps he could show her around himself?

  "Perhaps Daeven Blayde?" she suggested. Where did that come from?

  She quickly turned her slight gasp into a cough. Why would she volunteer Blayde, a man who had made it clear he couldn't tolerate her presence for long? "Um, I only meant that he's the security officer who escorted me from the port. He seemed to know the area very well. If that's a problem, I'm sure First Officer Cyrek or Jita Tessier…"

  "We'll arrange Blayde's schedule to allow for this new assignment." The director turned her gaze to the scowling Ramsey. "I'm sure this Officer Blayde will do just fine."

  "I'm sure," Ramsey echoed.

  Tamarja glanced at Ramsey, who looked as if she wanted to argue with her boss. Was it because Tamarja had tried to take control of the conversation instead of waiting for Ramsey to assign an escort? Or was it because Ramsey was losing a security officer to an assignment normally handled by a hostess?

  "Good. The two of you can work out a mutually agreeable schedule."

  Tamarja knew a dismissal when she heard one, so she backed out of the room as quickly as she could without tripping over anything. She'd really done it now. Hadn't even spent a full day on Dawn's Landing and she'd managed to force a man, one who didn't particularly like her, into acting as her own personal tour guide. What could have been a lighthearted afternoon with Jita would probably turn into a nightmare with a resentful security officer.

  A resentful but incredibly hot security officer.

  At least that portion of the scenery wouldn't be so bad to look at, even if the attitude needed adjusting. Of course, if Ramsey didn't tell Blayde that Tamarja had suggested him, then there would be no reason for him to be angry with her. If she did tell him…well, it would hardly be the first time Tamarja had managed to rub security the wrong way. Why else would she have been mind-wiped in the first place?

  With a friendly nod to the receptionist, Tamarja activated the compressor and left the executive suite feeling no less apprehensive than when she’d entered it.

  "Was that wise?" Kaylin Ramsey had waited until the door rematerialized before questioning her boss. "That one has rebellion in her eyes. She doesn't like being under the control of others. She could cause trouble."

  "Who better to sniff out trouble than a troublemaker?" Aura pulled back her executive chair and sank into it, swiveling around so she could keep her eyes focused on the brightening horizon. "We do have trouble on Dawn's Landing. I can smell it in the air. Crime has increased negligibly, but there's a focal point now. We just haven't found it yet."

  "Someone's managed to breach our security net." Ramsey shook her head. "We've clamped down on the distribution of Black Wave, but the drug is out there. There are undesirable elements manufacturing the stuff right in our own backyard."

  "The drug is a means, not the end," Aura insisted. "Our security is too tight, our population too small to make drug trafficking all that profitable. With compressors restricted to internal-facility use, it shouldn't be this easy to distribute contraband within the habitats. Someone's making money, but they're not moving it off world. We need to know who and why."

  "And you think a mere pilot can find this person?"

  "She's just one element I'm counting on, but she does have the freedom to move about. Her job is to observe and learn and apply what she learns to her work. And like you said, she has rebellion in her eyes. I think Captain Chase will work out quite nicely."

  "At least let me contact Unity, find her records. We'll have better leverage if we can figure out where she worked before she was assigned here. We need to know where she's from, who her family is and what connections they might have. In the dangerous pool of Unity politics, you need connections to pull a plum assignment such as this one."

  Aura reached for her delicate glass, sipping the cool contents, and considered her options. "Don't contact Unity directly. Use the Guardian. Secure and scramble the channel. No point in giving Manitac any ideas that we're not pleased with her and bringing her any more attention than she already has. If she has a well-connected family member who pushed her name through the proper channels or bribed someone to put her name on top of a list, fine, I can live with that. If she's a common shuttle pilot who got lucky, even better. If she's something else, then I want to know about it."

  Ramsey nodded. "I'll have the information before the delegation arrives."

  Aura watched as Ramsey exited, the doors quickly dissolving and reforming, and pressed her hand to her chest. The constricting muscles rippled as she massaged them. I'll need another re-an treatment soon.

  The muscle contractions eased, and Aura closed her eyes. All the elements she needed to succeed converged here on Dawn's Landing. Business was blossoming, and Manitac had finally granted her the autonomy she needed to push her dreams to the limit. Any threats to her success would be dealt with swiftly. This was the frontier. Even Manitac, with its heavy-handed tactics, had difficulty keeping the peace out here. AuRaKaz wasn't Manitac, however much Manitac thought otherwise. She had her own way of dealing with troublemakers, and deal with them she would.

  She just needed more time to find out who was betraying her. She would find out, any way she had to.

  Chapter Seven

  Before she'd stepped into the compressor, Tamarja had thought she would direct the window back to her room. At the last second, she directed it to the atrium instead. If she was smart, she'd wander around, talk to people, get to know the place. Who was she kidding, though? She wanted to fly. The need for it was almost overpowering. Not only would flying soothe her soul, it would distract her from the confrontation she would have with Blayde once he found out what she'd done.

  She pulled her thoughts away from all the possible things that could go wrong with Blayde. Fog coalesced in her mind, but she breathed deep, and the fog dissipated. Lowering her defenses and letting the feeling of defiance wash away, Tamarja walked out of the compressor window and onto the small terminal leading to the roof. After all, it wasn't really defiance if she decided to start her job a day early.

  Two stalwart guards and a bank of tri-d monitors greeted her. Neither of them responded to Tamarja's hopeful smile as she pawed her way through her new satchel, looking for her disc again. She handed it to the nearest guard, hoping they'd received Ramsey's transmission. Without further question, the gateway dissolved, and one of the guards motioned Tamarja through.

  A stiff breeze blew away whatever neatness she had managed to wrestle into her curls. The sun rose behind a makeshift hangar that kept the shuttle hovering in the shadows. Despite the shade, Tamarja could still see the shuttle's exterior color scheme, which was the classic Manitac gray, but instead of the Manitac logo, the gray included blue highlights overlaid with a white cloud effect. Near the tail was an image of an ave, green and red with its beak open mid-chirp. This ave was much prettier than the one that attacked the floater.

  Raising her hand to block the sun's glare, Tamarja crossed the roof to the shuttle's fore section and carefully placed her new satchel on the ground. The wind picked up again, whipping her hair across her eyes and impairing her inspection. She had lots of practice on this particular model, though she suspected the director might have indulged in a few custom upgrades. Circling around, Tamarja figured she'd wait until she met the maintenance team before checking the fuel.

  Instead, she crouched low, and she crawled underneath the shuttle, sliding her hand along the tethers' lock release. More than one trainee had lost their chance at a license by trying to launch with a frozen release system. Gripping the slip-catch of the first tether proved that it had full lubrication and was ready to go.

 
Tamarja rocked back on her heels and considered her hand, slippery with lubricant and nothing but her uniform on which to wipe it. Oh, well. What good was a uniform if you weren't willing to work in it? Somehow she didn't think the director would see it that way, but she wasn’t here to critique her. She started to crawl out backward from under the shuttle.

  "Nice view."

  Startled, Tamarja jerked up before she cleared the shuttle, slamming her head into a grav-resister platform next to the entry.

  "Ouch, that must've hurt."

  Rubbing her head with her clean hand, Tamarja stood upright next to a man, not so tall, but rugged. He wore a dark-brown uniform, splattered with various fluids and smelling like a garage. He had thick gray hair, crinkled skin, and a nose that zigzagged with more than one break that showed he wasn’t afraid to mix it up or show his age.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said 'nice view.' Now you want to tell me what you thought you were doing under my shuttle?"

  Tamarja refused to blush at the image she must have presented him when she was crawling underneath. "I believe this is the director's shuttle. As her pilot, it's my job to see that her shuttle is ready to fly."

  The man nodded, stretching his lips thin. "Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." He offered her a towel, which she managed to grab despite its wild flapping. "Dace Maretov, maintenance chief."

  "Tamarja Chase." She wiped her hands off before offering one to him. "I didn't see the point in wasting time indoors."

  He hesitated a second before engulfing her hand in his. "Not on a day like this," he agreed.

  An uncomfortable silence descended. What else was there to say?

  "Since you probably know more about this shuttle than anyone else here, why don't you tell me about the upgrades not included in the manuals?"

  His wide smile revealed large, even teeth, and Tamarja knew her request had pleased him.

  "She's pretty enough on the outside. All the standard markings to keep Manitac happy. The engines are also standard. It's what's on the inside that makes her special." He kicked out his foot to activate the grav-resister platform, which immediately lowered.

  She grabbed the hand he gallantly offered as she stepped onto the stairs. "I can hardly wait."

  "Yes, ma'am, I understand. I'll take care of it right away." He didn't though, didn't understand at all. Daeven deactivated his ear jack, and Kaylin Ramsey's image disappeared. Leaning back into the battered, lumpy old chair, Daeven closed his eyes against the merry laughter behind him.

  "It's not funny," he snapped.

  The gloomy, damp interior of the broadcast tower's basement only made the laughter sound more maniacal.

  "But it is, dear boy, it is."

  Daeven only groaned and reopened his eyes as Joran casually slapped him on his shoulder before settling on an equally battered chair opposite him. Although offered an apartment in one of the nearby habitats, Joran insisted on living down here. As the sole operator of the broadcast tower, it made his job easier to live right where he worked, or so he claimed.

  "That girl is going to be the death of you yet."

  Not a comforting thought. "She doesn't even remember me."

  "Good, then she can't cause you any trouble." Joran took a long sip from a cup of claffien. "Won't interrupt the mission."

  "She's already interrupting the mission. I've been ordered to give her an escorted tour of the colony."

  "We planned for this, Daeven. We knew placing you in security would occasionally result in unexpected assignments."

  "Not with her!" He shoved himself out of the chair and paced across the small space, bile rising in his throat. "We planned for everything except her showing up here."

  He could hear Joran sigh. "My boy, I don't know what transpired between the two of you…"

  "She betrayed me. She wasn't who I thought she was."

  "She could say the same about you. If she'd stuck around long enough to see the real you."

  Daeven paced back and sat down. "What are we going to do? The drop is this afternoon."

  "I can handle it on my own."

  "You'll need backup. What if things go sour?"

  "And what if they do?" Even in the low light, Daeven could see Joran's usually merry gray eyes sharpen like a walhoon scenting blood. "I've handled operations far more complicated than this and returned with my skin intact. I don't need some young whelp chasing after me."

  Daeven opened his mouth to protest and then shut it.

  "Trust me, lad," Joran said, his voice back to the merry tone Daeven had grown used to. "If I fall into a bad spot, I'll give you a holler. I'm sure you can juggle two assignments at once. Your resourcefulness and quick thinking is one of the reasons you were selected for this mission. I have complete faith in you."

  Daeven nodded as he gathered his gear together. Joran had faith in him to complete the mission, but did he have faith in himself with Tamarja around? Only one way to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  Tamarja leaned her head back as her whole body vibrated with the auto-massage. After she had spent an hour reviewing the shuttle's exterior and even longer on the engines, Dace caught on to her eagerness to get into the cockpit.

  She never made it. The luxury of the interior passenger cabin called to her, and Dace insisted she take a passenger's seat. The lush material and cool, soothing colors would certainly make for a relaxing ride, but when Dace activated the massage, Tamarja gasped with delight. Her sleep-sick muscles, still sore even though she had followed the prescribed exercise and vitamin regimen, appreciated the extra attention.

  Dace sat across the aisle, fiddling with more controls. She had tried her social-interaction skills on him while they worked their way around the shuttle. She succeeded at first, discovering that he was single, had no family, and had moved to Dawn's Landing two years ago. He told her where she could find a community activity calendar on the local broadcast ‘net, and that the habitats that made up the colony were numbered in order of sequence of creation instead of named, an annoyance to the more family-oriented communities.

  Tamarja, however, failed to discover anything about her predecessor. All she wanted to know was how big were the shoes she had to fill. But no amount of prodding would loosen Dace's tongue on that matter. He knew something, but he didn't care to share, leading Tamarja to believe her predecessor had left under unpleasant circumstances. She let the subject drop as she couldn't afford to annoy the man. Maybe she hadn't been subtle enough? She'd have to work harder at social conversation.

  "Now this I could get used to." She sighed.

  "Yeah. Everyone sees it as the height of luxury." Dace finished whatever he was doing with the controls. "In reality, it's the best defense you have against a bunch of drunken Manitac officers. You get a gang of them in here after a day inspecting an agro bay or production line, and guaranteed they'll leave you alone once you sit them down here."

  Without warning, his seat swung free and whirled about, sliding into the aisle next to her. It happened so fast Tamarja jerked her fingers off the armrest, thinking they were about to be squished.

  "How'd you do that?" She craned her neck around so she could look at the floor.

  "Each seat is set into tracks that run along the floor." Dace pointed to grooves barely visible in the tangle of colors decorating the carpet. "While cruising, each seat can reconfigure its location so passengers can group together or isolate themselves. The director often uses this to continue meetings that began outside. As the pilot, you have your own set of controls in the cockpit so you can lock the seats into place if you hit turbulence, then unlock them when the weather calms."

  "That's certainly unique. My trainer on Bregarlos had seats that shifted, but only because the bolts had come loose with age, not because they were supposed to move."

  "You're not on Bregarlos anymore."

  She flashed him a wide smile. "No, I'm not. So how about showing me those cockpit controls?"

  Her ear jack was still
configuring to the nuances of the flight deck interface when the cockpit door dematerialized behind her. Dace had introduced her to the seat controls on the flight deck, but since nothing else had changed from her training, he had retreated to the small maintenance bay. She assumed he had returned to check on her.

  "Looks like I'm back to playing tour guide."

  Tamarja jumped in her seat despite having secured herself. Twisting around, she saw the displeasure that marred Daeven Blayde's handsome face. Ramsey must have told Daeven about Tamarja requesting him for this tour. His anger hurt, even though she shouldn't feel this strongly about someone she hardly knew. She had no reason to want to reach out and run her hands through his blond hair and massage his broad shoulders until he smiled.

  More than ever, she felt as if Daeven knew her from before her mind-wipe.

  Tamarja took a breath of courage. "I'm sorry to drag you away from your other duties, Officer Blayde. The director suggested the tour, and I mentioned your name." Might as well confront the truth now, just in case Ramsey didn't tell him and he was displeased with the situation in general.

  "It's Daeven." The displeasure disappeared, replaced by a mask of indifference. "Ramsey said you had the day off. Imagine my surprise to find you on the roof instead of in your apartment. She won't be pleased to hear that you've spent the day up here. Makes it look as if you don't take her directives seriously."

  Tamarja winced at the sting of a guilty conscience. "I have nothing to unpack and not enough savings for interior decorating. Where else would a pilot go when she has nothing to do but kill time?"

  Daeven studied her for a minute as his gaze flitted from hard disapproval to almost amusement, then returned to the bland mask he seemed resigned to wearing. For a moment, Tamarja had thought he might have had a change of heart about spending time with her, but then the indifference returned, and they were back to where they began.