Crossways (4 page)

“Forty thousand credits,” Ms. Yamada said. “That's the full cost of a course of treatment. Such a pity to lose a loved one for lack of a mere forty thousand credits.”

Forty thousand didn't seem mere to Kitty. “I've applied for a loan.”

“Which will be refused.”

“What?”

“But I will personally make sure your mother receives the best of care at Alphacorp's clinic in Switzerland. Keep the reports coming and your mother's course of treatment will continue.”

“What if I can't get him interested?”

“That would be a pity. I understand that unless the course is one hundred percent completed the treatment isn't effective at all.”

Kitty had left Ms. Yamada's office in shock. She'd taken the York flight from Sandnomore with her mind spinning in circles. She was the right size and shape and the right coloring to fall into the category of Mr. van Blaiden's type, and she was certainly in the right place—his office was just down the hall from where she'd been posted, fresh from flight school—but she was no spy. What did Ms. Yamada suspect him of? She so didn't want to get involved in anything clandestine. She'd been hoping for a proper posting in the far reaches of space. Getting involved with politics was going to screw her career.

When she'd realized she was making her lip sore by biting it, she'd activated the sound baffle around her seat and picked up the comm only to find a message from her mother. The image wavered, but the sound was clear.

“Kitty, sweetheart, I don't know what to say.” Mom was smiling like Kitty remembered her doing when she was younger and healthier. “That nice Doctor Pinder came in person and explained everything. I'm booked on a flight to Switzerland first thing in the morning. She said not to worry, once
the treatment is complete I should regain the sight in my left eye and the feeling in my feet and there won't be any further deterioration. And I have you to thank for it, my girl. You and Alphacorp.” Her face clouded, just a little. “Can we really afford it? I mean, I know you're drawing full pay now, but . . .”

She responded. “Don't worry, Mom. It's all taken care of.” She really had no choice. “Just get well soon. I love you.” She hit send.

Ari van Blaiden, get ready, 'cause here I come. Damn and blast it!

Getting close to Ari hadn't been as easy as that, of course. He'd seemed supremely disinterested until she'd mentioned the fact that she'd taken the advanced class in jumpship flying. Then all of a sudden he'd started sending her flowers, which quickly led to the bowlegged fucking thing, except it had been her on the receiving end. That man could go. Despite the fear of being found out, it had been fun at first, when he'd been in the wooing stage. After that—well—she'd rather forget what happened later.

Ari had never suspected, though.

She'd continued to report until the day he'd tried to use Carlinni to take down Benjamin and it had all gone horribly wrong. She'd reported van Blaiden's death and then asked the Telepath, “What happens to my mother? The treatment isn't complete. Tell Ms. Yamada I did my best.”

Rufus had simply shut off the conversation and hadn't been in touch since.

So when Kitty had spotted the opportunity to attach herself to Benjamin's psi-techs she'd gone for it. Once again she had information worth something, and hopefully it would pay for her mother's continuing treatment. All she needed to do was to get a message to Ms. Yamada to restart those regular links.

Of course, she needed to make sure she stayed on Benjamin's good side. She wasn't going to be able to get to him the same way she had van Blaiden, but he did need another jumpship pilot. That could be a way in. She needed to try harder next time.

*Mother Ramona has found you a warehouse space.*
Mother Ramona's personal Telepath, Ully, came through as
Ben followed Cara down the tube to
Solar Wind
's main deck.
*She's arranged for a real estate agent to meet you at the dock and take you straight there. Her name's Bettina Mirakova.*

Ben gathered his skeleton crew at the top of
Solar Wind
's extended ramp. He noted they'd all removed the Trust's insignia from their buddysuits. This wasn't the place to show affiliation to any of the megacorps, especially since that affiliation had been irreparably broken.

“Crossways isn't like most space stations,” Ben said. “Despite what you may have heard, there are rules. Stay together. Don't get into trouble. Gupta and Jon Moon are on duty here to look after things, so the ship will be available if you need a bolt-hole. Cara and I are going to check out a potential home space. I'll let you know if we find somewhere we can all hang our hats. After that we all have decisions to make about where to go from here. If you have to get in touch with your families, limit what you tell them. Remember there's a warrant with your name on it. Don't give your family the responsibility of keeping your secrets if the Trust knocks on their door.”

“What about me?” Kitty Keely asked.

“What about you?” Kitty was trim and fair, maybe a couple of centimeters shorter than Cara. It was easy to see how the two women fell into the broad category of Ari van Blaiden's
type
, yet Kitty didn't interest him at all. She was pretty enough in a superficial way, but his attraction to Cara wasn't all about beauty.

“You didn't promise me anything more than Crossways, and I appreciate I didn't do so well with
Solar Wind
's foldspace jump, but I'd really like to stick around. Do I lose myself here or am I joining the team?”

“Good question. Until a few days ago you were on the side trying to kill us.”

“You know I wouldn't have signed up for that if I'd known what I was getting into.”

Ben glanced sideways at Cara.

*She's telling her own truth as far as I can judge, but what do I know? I believed Ari, too. At first, anyway.*
Cara was the first to admit that her Empathy skills were intermittent at best.

Ben dipped his head fractionally in acknowledgment.
“We'll decide how permanent it is later when we know our next move, Kitty. Stick with Gupta for now. He'll find you something to do.”

She gave him a tight little smile and turned back toward the ship as everyone dispersed, leaving Ben and Cara with Wenna and Ronan Wolfe, the dashing young doctor who had worked with Ben on several missions before Olyanda and was, along with Wenna, one of the survivors of the ill-fated Hera-3 debacle.

“Aren't you two going exploring?” Ben asked.

Ronan shrugged apologetically. “As your doctor I feel obliged to make sure you two follow my instructions to take it easy. Besides, Jon has drawn guard duty, so I find myself temporarily without a partner.”

“And since I never had a partner in the first place, you're stuck with me, too,” Wenna said. “I'm too old for singles bars. Besides, I'll set off every scanner alarm I pass through until I register this with Station Security.” She touched her right arm, prosthetic from the bicep down, with her good left hand, a self-conscious gesture that Ben still winced to see. She'd survived Hera-3, but not without injury.

She was right about the scanners. Crossways was particular about security. With a population laced through with criminals, opportunists, misfits, mercenaries, and free-thinkers, it had to be.

It was good to have the
de facto
president of Crossways on their side, though. The extra layer of protection was useful. Garrick owed them for the platinum deal, which would make him several million credits richer as soon as Olyanda started to produce, though that was still six months away.

Only the Trust had lost out. And Ari van Blaiden, of course.

They passed through the vast hangar lined with three ship-servicing gantries, two in use, one idle. The whole place was gray medonite, clean and workmanlike, but with touches of individuality: Mother Ramona's simple “R” logo and Norton Garrick's colors, dark green with a red flash. One of the ships in dock was Garrick's private yacht, cigar-shaped with a crystal observation deck topside, the other a guppy-shaped runabout, unmarked, that looked as though it had met with some trouble. Ben supposed trouble was an everyday thing for someone in Mother Ramona's line of
business—the softer side of crime, but equally dangerous in its own way.

Smart private guards, dressed in Garrick's livery, escorted them all to the door. Exiting past the security station, they emerged onto a utilitarian concourse divided by a sunken track for the auto-cabs that looked more like a fairground ride than a transport system but sped efficiently around Crossways' complex spiderweb of interconnecting routes.

A tub-cab, garishly hand-painted yellow, red, and blue, pulled up. Serafin West stepped out, trim for seventy, but with a face wrinkled like a walnut. He had a satchel of small engineering bots slung over one shoulder, which he was able to connect to, mentally, via his implant. He called them his boys.

“Hey, guys.” He grinned at them. “Glad of an excuse to get out of the stadium for a while. It's good to see my fellow criminals looking so well. I hear you ran into trouble.”

Ben shrugged. “Had to change our plans about Chenon. Crowder outmaneuvered us. We'll get settled here first and try again.”

A second cab pulled up, equally bright. Gen Marling, nearly four months pregnant and just starting to show, leaned into the protective embrace of a tall settler with a brush of dark hair. Ex-settler, since Max Constant had thrown in his lot with the psi-techs, even going so far as to have an implant fitted, though he'd barely learned how to use it yet. His civilian suit set him apart. Maybe that's why Gen had elected to leave her buddysuit behind. She wore leggings topped by a lightweight tunic in blue with a spray of peacock colors emblazoned across the front that flattered her small bump and set off the golden undertones in her skin.

“Will you two get a room?” Wenna said.

“Got one,” Max said. “The stadium's not the place for us to hang out. I may have been forgiven my romantic indiscretion . . .” He squeezed Gen's waist. “But having an implant fitted is one step too far for my former settler colleagues.”

“So we figured we'd come house-hunting with you,” Gen said. “I want to make sure we get somewhere decent.” She patted her belly. “We don't know how long we'll be here and I don't want to bring up baby in a dump.”

“How come you know where we're going?” Ben said. “I only asked Serafin to come and do a structural survey of the place.”

“Ah, my fault,” Serafin said. “I may have mentioned it to a few people as I was getting the boys together.” He patted his satchel.

“All right.” Ben sighed a mock sigh. “Come on.”

“Coffee, Mr. Jussaro?” Crowder pushed a lidded cup toward the squat, genetically engineered individual with a serious case of monobrow and unsettling nictitating third eyelids. His dark purple-black skin, slightly scaly, was designed to be impervious to the cancer-causing radiation that swamped planets in the Hollands System.

Jussaro blinked his inner eye membrane sideways, like a reptile, and reached for the cup, hesitating just short of grasping the handle, as if he wasn't quite sure whether the offer would be snatched away. He glanced toward the clear panel on the interview room door to see if anyone was observing.

Crowder opened his hand to indicate the coffee was his, free and clear.

Jussaro nodded and drew the cup between his palms, holding it under his nose and breathing in the fragrant steam before sipping slowly. “Nice. Thanks.”

“You're welcome. No need to be uncivilized. I believe you've been Mr. van Blaiden's guest on Sentier-4.”

“You might say that.”

“He wanted to know the whereabouts of Cara Carlinni, I expect.”

Jussaro put the coffee on the table and sat back, eyes suspicious. “I've not seen van Blaiden for weeks . . . months . . .” He jerked his shoulders. More of a nervous twitch than a shrug. “Maybe longer. It's difficult to tell.” He held up his left hand, showing a ridged scar on the back where his handpad had been ripped off. They'd cut him off from the world, removed his ID, isolated and dehumanized him.