Crossways (18 page)

“You're taking all this seriously?”

“So should you, little brother.” Kai always managed to make things sound reasonable.

“Maybe.” Ricky scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair. “Thing is, Kai, I'm going. I can't miss this chance. There's an official supervised trip. All I have to do is turn up. My name's already on the list. I can get a lift to the hub at Corrigar with the Pastorios.”

“Don't be dumb—”

“I can't miss out on this, but I figured that someone should know where I am.”

“So you thought it was okay to get me into trouble with Nan and Dad?”

“They can hardly blame you. There's not much you can do to stop me.”

“I can call Dad.”

“I keep your secrets. You keep mine.”

Kai frowned.

“Besides,” Ricky continued, “I'm pretty sure Dad's actually pleased I'll miss out on the test and the fast track program. He's never wanted me to try for the psi-techs. You know what he's like about space.”

“He's always been like that, ever since his parents . . . well, you know.”

Dad had been nine when his parents' ship had been lost in the Folds.

“Nan's on your side, Ricky. Don't forget what her job was before she gave it up to look after Dad and Uncle Ben.”

“Yeah, a negotiator for the Five Power Alliance, I know. She made us sit down and drink tea.”

Kai shook his head. “That's pretty serious negotiation tactics. You don't suppose she knows I turned down an implant, do you?”

“She's psi, an Empath. She always seems to know what's going on. She hasn't said anything, though.”

“Good. Look, Ricky, if you're intent on going to Arkhad, just don't do anything to draw attention, right?”

“I'm only going to sit the test. I don't think we'll be in Arkhad for more than a couple of hours. By the time they know what I did I'll be safely on my way home.” Ricky smiled.

“How long do you figure they'll ground you for?” Kai asked.

“I don't know.” Ricky bit his lower lip. “It'll be worth it, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Kai looked over his shoulder again. “Coming,” he said.

“You do have someone with you,” Ricky said.

“Only my bunk-mate. We don't get our own bedrooms, you know. This isn't a hotel. It's pretty cramped up here.”

“Was that a girl's voice I heard?”

“Look, Ricky, it's great talking to you, but I have an early class and I need some sleep. Let's talk again soon, just you and me, huh?”

“Yeah, that'd be great.”

“Okay, then, take care of yourself and don't get into trouble. I'll call after your test, just to make sure you've arrived home safely. Okay?”

“Yes, thanks. You're a pal. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Kai's face disappeared and Ricky felt better about what he was going to do.

*N
OT NOW, REMUS, PLEASE!*

Kitty jerked awake, wondering where she was, saw the plain interior of Wes' bedroom in the dim light from the holographic clock and tried to relax.

Beside her Wes stirred and muttered something unintelligible before subsiding into sleep again.

*Report!*

Better get it over with.

*There's a Telepath called Jussaro turned up. Emil Jussaro, a Hollander. He's got some kind of connection with Cara Carlinni from before Olyanda. I don't know the details.*

*Emil Jussaro. Noted. What else?*

*Benjamin has employed the mercenaries van Blaiden took to Olyanda to run security for the Free Company on Crossways. The Trust sent a flotilla to try and retake Olyanda. They failed. Benjamin tangled with one of the Trust's cruisers, the
Simonides
, dragged it into foldspace and out again. Dumped ship and crew fifteen days away from the nearest gate without casualties. Neat bit of flying.*

*You admire him.*

*He's a good pilot.*

*Anything else?*

*Isn't that enough?*

*It will have to be.*

*My mom, Remus. What about my mom?*

*I don't have that information.*

*Well, dammit, can you find out?*

*I'll ask for next time. Stay sharp, Keely.*

He disengaged from her mind. She hadn't mentioned her unorthodox trip from the
Solar Wind
to the
Simonides
. It never happened, she told herself.

She rolled over and checked the time. Still a full hour before either of them needed to get up.

Wes' arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her back against his warm body. She could feel something hard against her butt cheek. She smiled and pushed herself against him. He spread his fingers against her belly and stroked downward. His hot breath tickled her neck and she felt his lips tracing a warm line across the back of her shoulder. A little jiggle and his other arm was beneath her, wrapped around caressing her breasts. He had big hands, warm hands, gentle hands. Oh gods! Talented hands. His fingers found their way between her legs, already sensitive from their lovemaking the night before.

Her breath hissed between her teeth and she arched. He pulled her back gently until his cock slipped between her thighs and found its home.

“Wes, I—”

“Shhh.”

He moved inside her slowly and languorously from behind. His fingers worked lightly, gently, until she ached for more. She reached between her legs, sliding her own hand across his until she touched that part of him that wasn't inside her, hot and swollen, and brought forth a shuddering gasp. He pulled her hips firmly toward his own and began to thrust.

Afterward they snuggled together until the alarm reminded them that they had someplace else to be. Still, they found time to shower together, and despite Wes' compulsive tidiness, the tangle Kitty had left her underwear in the night before almost set them off again.

Finally, dressed in buddysuits, his in Garrick's colors, hers workaday black, they stepped out into the hallway, still warm and fuzzy from sex, straight into Wes' teammate
Ellen Heator, who lived across the hallway and was, herself, heading to duty at Port 22. She said good morning and gave Wes a knowing smile and a wink. Wes blew her a cheeky kiss, grinned and took Kitty's hand as they waited for the elevator. Two levels up Syke joined them, nodded to Wes and Ellen, said a polite good morning to Kitty, but kept his expression completely neutral. Stiff-ass. Kitty tried not to laugh at his formality.

The elevator disgorged them into early morning crowds at the cab station and Syke took the last place in an eight-seater going to the port hub while Ellen shuffled further up the platform to see if she could grab a space. It was hot and noisy. How on earth could anyone tell where some of the tubs were heading? They all looked the same to her.

A warning rippled through the crowd.

“Pickpocket,” Wes said. “Stay sharp.”

Exactly what Remus had told her.

“How can anyone tell what's happening in a crowd like this?” she asked.

“You'll see.”

The crowd parted and Ellen Heator stood over a prone body, a hypo stick fully extended. She grinned at them. “Tell the captain I'll be late.”

“What happens next?” Kitty asked.

“It depends if he's been caught before. If it's his first time he'll probably get off with a warning and a fine since no one was hurt. If he's part of a gang, the gang will get a warning and a fine, too. Second time he's caught the fine will be hefty. Third time all his possessions will be impounded and he'll be removed from the station. If anyone's been injured he may be removed without benefit of ship.”

“I see. Isn't there a prison on the station?”

“Only a temporary cooler for suspects awaiting questioning, or trial if it's not an open-and-shut case.”

“There's a courtroom?”

“Not really, but there's a judge, a class one Empath.”

“That's a hell of a responsibility.”

“For the really big stuff, terminal stuff, there's a panel of three, but the council has the last say. I suspect Garrick can sway the council on most issues if he wants to, though.”

“Is that good?”

“Crossways has been a safer place to live since Garrick
took over from Chaliss. Garrick's solid. Chaliss was—how can I put it?—whimsical.”

“You like Garrick?”

“What I know of him, yes. And he pays my wages, of course. I think Garrick's good for Crossways.”

Ricky wiped his nose on his sleeve. The floor was hard under his skinny buttocks and the wall unyielding against his back. He could sit on the chair, of course, but it was fastened to the floor and the camera eyes stared across the middle of the room. A spigot and basin on the far wall with a pull-out san-unit completed the facilities. Tucked into the corner, half-shielded by the narrow bed, he finally gave in to the tears.

Crying wasn't what his Uncle Ben would have done, he suspected, but in view of his stupidity he reckoned he was allowed some childish behavior. Nan had warned him, Dad had warned him, even Kai had warned him, and he'd still walked straight into a trap. He hadn't even had any kind of test. He'd entered the testing room of his own free will and there was a tough-looking woman in a buddysuit who had simply slapped a blast pack to his neck. He'd felt a cold sting and the next thing he knew he'd woken in a groundcar, blinded by a hood.

He'd counted the journey time by heartbeats and listened carefully to external sounds, more as a way to keep his mind off what was happening than with any idea that he might be able to put any information to use, but he got lucky when he heard the unmistakable sound of the wheezy BX98 airtruck engines, the workhorse used by the Trust. He figured he was somewhere on the Trust's massive Colony Operations site just outside Arkhad City itself. All his studies of the Trust had paid dividends in a way he could never have imagined.

His prison was either very high up or very low down according to the length of time they'd spent in an elevator. An elevator, not an antigrav shaft, Ricky noted. The ride was so slow and smooth that he'd have had difficulty telling up from down if it hadn't been for the very slight grav-pull as they stopped.

Down.

He was almost sure.

The hood had made him dizzy and he'd gasped for fresh air. Logging the turns and the number of paces from the elevator as they marched helped him to keep it together. The sounds of booted feet on the hard floor sometimes echoed as if they were passing through a hall, and sometimes the space sounded narrow and confined. No one spoke, but he was fairly sure the scary woman was still there. He'd noticed she had a habit of clearing her throat softly, and every so often he heard the sound.

When they'd finally unlocked a door and shoved him through it, she'd removed the hood. Yes, it was the same woman, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a buddysuit with a Trust flash on the shoulder.

At least he'd told Kai he was going on the trip to Arkhad. Kai would call home this evening. Nan and Dad would be worried when he wasn't on the school shuttle. Kai would confirm what they'd probably already guessed.

But even if they knew where he was, how could they get him out? If this was Mr. Crowder's doing—and the scary woman had not given anything away except by her uniform—he had all the resources of the Trust behind him.

Would they use Ricky as bait for a trap for Uncle Ben, or was there, even now, some negotiation going on?
Give yourself up, Ben Benjamin, or the boy gets it.
Was that even possible? Was Crowder so ruthless?

Ricky began to tremble.

“Louisa Benjamin is in the main lobby, sir.” Crowder's secretary, Stefan French, commed him on audio only.

“Louisa Benjamin?” He'd been expecting the brother, Rion.

“Yes, sir.”

Crowder crossed quickly to his desk and accessed Ben Benjamin's file, pulling it up on the holo-screen. Had Benjamin's ex-wife turned up? No, the ex-wife was Serena, not Louisa. Crowder had never heard Ben talk about a Louisa Benjamin.

He looked up the brother's wife, but they didn't have her name on file.

He did a search for Louisa.

Of course! Benjamin's grandmother. Ben had always referred to her as Nan, obviously a title, not a name.

“Have we got a visual on her?” he asked.

“Patching it through, sir.”

A separate holo-image popped up beside his screen. A tall, rangy woman paced the waiting area in the lobby, her long leather coat flapping around her calves. She paused briefly at one end of the room with hands on the windowsill, then turned and paced back, energy evident in the set of her shoulders and her determined stride.

Unexpectedly, Louisa Benjamin was of European descent, though bronzed by the sun and weathered by the wind. Surely not Benjamin's grandmother. It wasn't her skin tone that surprised him most, however, it was her age, or lack of it. This woman's hair was steel, not snow, and she didn't look much more than fifty—maybe sixty. She could have been through intensive rejuv, of course, but there weren't many farmers on Chenon who could afford that kind of treatment.

She raised her head and glared at the cam as if she knew he was watching. Bronze skin, steel hair, and iron eyes. Was there anything about this woman that didn't remind him of metal? Farming was a tough life and looked to have honed a tough woman. This wouldn't be an easy meeting.

“I'll see her in the visitors' lounge, Stefan. Make her a caff, be pleasant, but don't comment on the boy's disappearance or the Olyanda mission. As far as she knows the whole colony died of plague. Call Pav Danniri.”

Pav Danniri was the twin of Thom Danniri, one of Crowder's recently deceased bodyguards, killed by Benjamin. If it meant a chance to get revenge Pav would not question Crowder's orders or spend time checking the rule book. She'd already secured the boy.

“I'll keep Mrs. Benjamin waiting for . . .” He glanced at his handpad. “Ten minutes should be long enough. Then give me another ten and come and remind me about a scheduled conference call. When you show her out make sure she uses shaft 4B.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ten minutes later Crowder fixed a sad smile of condolence on his face and prepared himself to be solicitous.

When the lounge door whooshed open he could see immediately that condolences were not called for. Any ideas
of dealing sympathetically with Ben's grieving Nan went out of his head at the look on Stefan's face. On the spectrum of uncomfortable to terrified, it was as close to terrified as it could be without any weapon being pointed in his direction. He was pressed back into his chair with Nan on her feet towering over him.

Crowder didn't catch any of the conversation because at the sound of the door opening she whirled around, coattails swirling. “Gabrius Crowder, I trust you've not come to give me any more of this condolence crap. Where's my great-grandson?”