Ambasadora (Book 1 of Ambasadora) (10 page)

Quivering from the pain of a
hundred virtual broken bones, Sean screamed in the darkness of his own bedroom.
He rolled off the bed and fell to his knees, then he balled his hands into
fists and smashed them into the floor until the pain he felt turned into a numb
afterthought. He concentrated on his breathing, the scent of conductor fluid,
blood, and sweat pushing into his nose.

Today marked the first time in a
decade he had been
killed
in virtual combat, but that wasn’t what hurt
most. His mind crept back to one thought: wrongful elimination.

His breathing became more
labored. Resting his forehead on the cold floor, Sean rocked back and forth in
an attempt to push out the grief…and with it, the guilt.

I wish I had brought some
shades.

By the time David and Soli
stepped off of the magnoramp inside the Embassy, they had to squint against
the sunlight filtering through the six-story chalcedony atrium. A translucent
wall of pale blue light buffeted the huge reception area.

David looked around the spacious
lobby for somewhere to sit. Several intimate groupings of cushy white couches
and chairs clustered around immense green pillars that spiraled toward the
thirty meter high ceiling. He found an empty couch and motioned for Soli to
join him.

He sat down heavily in a chair
and put a fist to his chest. After stifling a painful belch, he said,
“Solimar, don’t ever let me eat maznee again. I don’t care if I’m
starving.”

“Serves you right for going
to that filthy diner. If you were too late for the Embassy dinner, why didn’t
you just go to Oso Negro’s or Yama’s? They’re both right across the
street.” She looked at him with her coffee-colored eyes from under a baby
blue braid. Her blue hair contrasted with her tawny skin in a very fetching
manner.

“They’re out of my pay
range,” David said, sorry now that he had settled for the special at-what
was
the name of that place? He couldn’t even remember, though he did remember the
special. It ended up being a fermented bowl of maznee-spiced chowder he had
forced down in three swallows.

“Do you see a medmarket
anywhere?” He pounded on his chest.

Soli laughed.

“Are you enjoying my
misery?”

“No, it’s just typical
you,” she said. “You get an Embassy stipend for piloting one of their
science cruisers, and you’re afraid to spend even that.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.
Armadan, remember?” He gave her a wink.

“Who left the military for
life as a civilian pilot.”

“Don’t remind me,”
David muttered. “By the way, there’s nothing wrong with being
frugal.”

“We only get one hundred
sixty cycles if we’re lucky, so I say there’s no need to be frugal.” She
playfully squeezed his forearm.

He wasn’t going to argue with
her. Soli was used to being pampered and taken care of, like most of the other
Socialites on the
Bard
. Warriors, or even ex-warriors, were
self-sufficient as a point of pride. It separated them from other Upper Caste
citizens. And, no doubt, put them a step closer to acting like Lowers through a
Socialite’s coddled eyes.

“So, you never mentioned how
you felt about our new passenger,” he said.

Soli had always been affable, but
David only recently developed a good rapport with the woman. Her job as a
social archivist made her one of the biggest busybodies in the system and that
made David uncomfortable. Soli’s constant recording of daily activities aboard
ship was disconcerting and still took some getting used to. Was this why the
original archivists were revered, because they knew everything about everyone?

“I’m anxious to meet her.
The Media has shown interviews with some of the ambasadoras, and they are quite
beautiful, even by Socialite standards.”

“Hey, you and your prime are
ready to have your first child.”
Or her brother’s child, to be exact.
Same gender, or SG, amours relied on siblings as donors and carriers. “You’re
not allowed to look at another woman for a while,” David said.

“No one really follows those
mores anymore, David.”

“Kenon does.”

She pondered the statement,
watching a young mother parade her toddler proudly around the atrium. “I
suppose you’re right. It’s endearing how he’s so ingrained in tradition. Shows
his upbringing. Good circles.”

“Like Trala?” David
asked, liking the way Soli’s eyes lit up with the mention of her prime’s name.

“Exactly like Trala. She’s
very refined and more gracious than I deserve, perhaps. I would never stray
from her during the carrying. Besides, I don’t believe any of the ambasadoras
are into SG. This one is all yours.”

“No thanks,” David
said.

“You don’t think you’ll find
her attractive?” Soli asked. “Or have you been seeing someone
else?” Her tone sounded playful and insinuating.

“It doesn’t matter,”
David said too quickly. “You know my philosophy about tumbles between crew
members.”

“I never mentioned crew, and
technically, David, we’re not crew, only passengers.”

“It’s all the same.”

“Do you really think your
philosophy would stop, oh, say Mari and Kenon from having a tryst? Or, more
likely Mari and Sean?”

David’s eyes narrowed at the
mention of an assumed attraction between Mari and anyone. “What do you mean?
Have you heard something?”

Soli laughed. “It was a
hypothetical thought, though a conceivable one. I could even imagine Mari with
you
.”

David wasn’t taking the bait,
though he shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. “Shipboard romances
make things awkward. If something goes awry, you have to see the person every
day. That’s why Kenon lives in space, far away from all of his trysts, and
especially his amours. Did you ever wonder if he even likes the women he has
children with? Wouldn’t he want to be by their sides as much as possible?”
David paused. “Why do
you
live in space?”

Her full lips shrunk up a bit
before she said, “You’re interesting, David Anlow. I don’t know if your
views are a product of your Armadan upbringing or just a way to hear yourself
talk.”

“It’ll take you another
three months to figure that out.”

A sudden rise in the conversations
around them drew David’s attention to the shimmering magnos on the next tier.
Their elegantly curving surfaces transported society’s political elite to and
from the Embassy offices. Standing at the top was the head man himself,
Sovereign Simon Prollixer, flanked by a pair of Embassy contractors and a
woman.

David had only known the
Sovereign from clips on the Media so was surprised to see that, in the flesh,
the man looked to be only ten years older than he.
Probably had seen the
reconstructive surgeon a few times to achieve that.

Sovereign Prollixer’s real age
seemed to be the biggest mystery in this arm of the galaxy. David guessed about
one ninety, but some sources postulated it was twice that.

He felt underdressed even in his
brown uniform pants and light blue button up shirt. The Sovereign stood rigid
in a formal suit. David knew just how uncomfortable the starched fabric could
be, having sported the side-zipped tunic and front-zipped pants on more than
one occasion. The tunic proved too hard to get on, the pants too hard to get
off. The Socialite ladies went crazy for the look, though, which led him back
to the part about the pants being too hard to get off…which led him to the
woman who stood next to Sovereign Prollixer.

She wore a black full-length gown
suspended from her neck by one thick strap. He followed a V of sheer black
netting past a swell of breasts. Slits ran down both sides of the gown, beginning
at her thighs and reaching the floor. The focus, though, was a six-inch wide
purple corset cinched at her waist.

Her hair sat atop her head in a
crown of black and purple ringlets. The only adornment David could see was the
most obvious and the most captivating, a swirling pattern of purple lights
pulsing slowly under the skin of her bare right arm.

The bioluminescence mesmerized
him. Though the Media were all abuzz about these ambasadora-exclusive
intra-tats, this was the first time he had seen one in person.

“She
is
beautiful,” Soli said in David’s ear.

He nodded, thinking of a
particular chestnut-haired, coral-eyed nineteen year old back on the
Bard
who was not going to like this one bit.

They waited at the bottom of the
magno to receive their newest passenger. The ambasadora leaned forward, as if
to whisper in the closest contractor’s ear. Instead, she chopped him in the
back of the neck, then pushed the other into the Sovereign. The men tumbled
partway down the ramp.

She kicked off her shoes and slid
over the handrail to an ascending magno, disappearing onto the office level.

David looked at Soli. “I
didn’t see that coming.”

“Move!”

Sara flew past a startled Embassy
staffer, her bare feet slapping the onyx floor. As she raced through flanking
planters of giant wax ferns, their iridescent leaves strobed green then
lavender. When she broke into the office hub proper, she slowed her pace and
stayed close to the obsidian fountain wall on her left. It would be best to
avoid the outer offices which lay to the far right, inset behind the grey
corbelled arches.

She needed to be on the other
side of the fountain anyway. That’s where the elevators were. Upon approaching
the end of the fountain barrier, which separated the descending and ascending
walkways to the magnos, Sara noticed a pair of contractors heading toward her
from under an arch. One had his long, black hair pulled back into a knot at the
nape of his neck, the other had his short hair combed into the more common
center ridge style. Just like another Rainer.

Sara watched the contractors walk
in opposite directions. Their casual black pants and jackets made them dark
spots among a spectrum of green-suited staffers. Even if the men hadn’t been
donning the unofficial uniform, the twin side arms strapped to their upper
thighs still advertised their profession. No one besides Embassy contractors
could carry a weapon here.

When both men were out of sight,
Sara headed for one of the large cylindrical communications ports. There were
three of the silver kiosks on this side of the hub. Each one could provide
cover to the emergency elevator at the far end of the lobby.

She circled the first cylinder
and saw most of the doors scrolled a pink holographic message:
OCCUPIED…OCCUPIED
.

Without stopping, she moved onto
the next kiosk and then pretended to wait for it to open as several people
walked past and chatted about the upcoming Tertian Verdant Gala. She was about
to head to the third kiosk when she saw the ponytailed contractor reappear
beside it.

He stayed between her and the
lift, but luckily hadn’t seen her. Circling the cylinder, she kept her right
arm close to the port doors in an attempt to hide her bio-lights. Too many
passersby liked to gawk at the purple pulses that were now glowing wildly with
her increased heart rate. It was hard not to be noticed with those dots
advertising her location like a skyway v-board.

She peeked around to see the
ponytail still hovering in between the kiosks. Had the contractors guessed her
plan to reach the emergency lift, or were they just covering all possible
exits? She could have thought this out a bit better, but there hadn’t been
time. The impulse to escape had only come to her as she was
escorted
through here on her way to the magnos. She should have waited until she was on
her way to her new ship. Impatience had gotten the best of her. Ironic,
considering she had bided her time for two months while Simon kept her under
lock and key. She couldn’t have waited a few more minutes?

The ponytail circled the far
kiosk. Sara ducked around the side of the communications port. She looked
around and saw the other contractor turning the corner at the fountain wall.
Her only recourse would be to hide out for a while. Of the six ports on this
side, all scrolled pink.

One of them had to empty soon.

One did…all the way down at the
far end. She headed straight toward the man vacating it and smiled. He nodded,
then looked down at her arm. Before he could comment about the lights flashing
under her skin, she touched the controls to open the door and ducked inside.

A viewer attached to the narrow
wedge wall directly in front of her glowed bright azure and the white overhead
lights began to dim as the door slid shut. It had almost closed completely when
the overhead lights came back on. She turned to see if the long gown had
impeded the door, but something from behind pushed her roughly and threw her
face first against the communications viewer.

Quick reflexes allowed her to jab
an elbow backward into some kind of soft flesh. Strong hands wrapped around her
wrists and pushed her back into the viewer, its blue glow washing into her vision
as the door finally closed all the way.

She attempted to struggle, but
the small space, meant for only one occupant at a time, left her no room to
move, not that she could have anyway as the intruder pressed his body against
hers from the back. When she smelled a familiar woody scent, she relaxed.

“Rainer?”

“What are you doing,
Sara?” he asked near her left ear.

“Trying to take back my
life. You could help me, you know.” She pushed her backside against his
crotch.

He loosened his grip on her
wrists. “I’ve already helped you too much. And, you don’t seem to
appreciate all the gestures.”

She threw her head back and made
contact with his temple. He slammed her back into the viewer.

“You know, Simon’s going to
be pretty upset if you muss up one of his pets. And, by the way, you were
helping yourself when you slipped me those stims. You always came conveniently
after
my modification sessions with Faya.”