Chapter 15
Arco did not consider herself to be a persuadable person. And yet here she was, in a scan preview room of a body parlor on the Mabingion Space Station. Supposedly, in the next few hours, she’d get permanent minder shields, with sections of her memory gouged out as the price.
It was all Brenner’s fault. It had started five days ago with his insistence that she and the whole security team carry inhib jets and patches at all times. She’d agreed because it seemed like a harmless request.
Then he’d insisted she start wearing a full flexin armor layer under her clothes instead of just a camisole.
She’d lost that argument because the rest of the team had been appalled to learn she wasn’t wearing it already.
The combat version of the armor dispersed kinetic energy from projectiles and withstood low-res beamers and forceblades.
The thinner version she now wore had less stopping power, but could make the difference in an attack.
Then yesterday at Soleil’s martial arts studio, with the rest of the team below, he’d taken her to the warehouse’s covered rooftop garden and launched his sales pitch.
“Are you immune to the telepath class?” he’d asked bluntly. “Twisters, cleaners, straight telepaths?”
“No, but I can distract them.” She’d stared at him in consternation. “Why?”
Maybe he was still stewing about the visit with Olavskaya.
The CPS had denied any knowledge of the accident or the reported casualties.
But the agency was also notorious for forcibly transferring any employee to wherever it damn well pleased, as it had for the Charisma project.
From her research for the story on the astronomically high fatality rate for ex-CPS contractors, she believed the CPS hired out local crew to do the transferring.
When she had time, she planned to research the criminal crews in Arazak.
“You need shields.” His expression was neutral, but his statement was a declaration, not a suggestion.
“Did Tapio say something to you? I know he swears by shielders, but I’m not hiring any more of them.
Tōn Ko is enough. I’d need three just to keep constant coverage, and they intimidate the people I interview.
That’s my livelihood.” The cool wind felt momentarily good on her sweaty chest. She pulled the edge of her knit tunic out. “I can’t afford them.”
He nodded as if he expected her answer. “I know how to get permanent shields as good as if you were a shielder yourself.”
That kind of teasing wasn’t his style, so she assumed he was serious, but the assertion was suspect. “How? Experimental implant?” She shook her head. “Not for me.”
“No, permanent minder shields. I don’t know how they work, just that they do.” He crossed his arms and shoved his hands under his armpits. “Davidro’s best telepaths couldn’t break them.” Satisfaction flitted across his face. “Torqued his jets past overload.”
She wished she had her tablet. “Give me a minute.”
After a long, centering breath, she delved into her own memories of everything she’d ever read or heard about shield talents and their limitations.
She made ephemeral notes in her head on the few items that might support the claim.
The best was a practical study on how long and under what conditions temporary shields could last when applied to others by top-level shielders.
She looked up and caught his eye. “Theoretical, but possible. First question. Why me? Millions of better candidates.”
“They didn’t hire me. You did.” His shoulder lifted slightly. “I’m telepath-immune. You’re not.”
Another gust of wind blew by. She wrapped her chilled hands in the hem of her tunic. “Fair enough. Second question. What’s the price — half my royalties forever? Cryptokeys to the Intergalactic Finance Exchange? Produce an epic campaign for them to win an Intergalactic Humanity Achievement award?”
He blew out a loud breath. “My connection says there’s no trade required, but that’s probably slugshit. I don’t know what they want.” He frowned. “I do know that if you go, they’ll clean your memory either way. If you go and turn them down, you won’t remember that, either.”
And that was why she valued Brenner so much. He didn’t lie to her about the important things. “Third question, and I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this. What kind of downtime for me? Weeks? Months?”
“One day, maybe two. Headache, mostly. We’ll have to leave on a moment’s notice, ditch the team, go where we’re told, then slip back into place.
” He tightened his arms across his chest. “You’re a filer.
You’ll be hurting from the memory gouge.
” He spoke as if he’d seen it before. Considering his sadistic twist of a boss, he likely had.
The deal sounded like a micro-targeted scam that preyed on any journalist’s fear of being attacked to stop their investigation or to exact revenge for published work. The tantalizing secrets and sneaking around added sweet-stick appeal.
She had to admit she was intrigued. For one, most scams didn’t mention the threat of being assaulted by a cleaner. For another, most journalists made a living, but not a fortune, so richer targets made better sense. Third, her enemies weren’t that subtle.
“I’ll think about it,” she told him.
She’d immersed herself in work for the rest of the day and evening, but the offer simmered quietly in the back of her mind.
An anonymous search found no better information on shielders than she already had.
No source referenced the gifting of minder talents as anything other than mythology.
It took a pummeling hot shower near midnight to finally make up her mind.
Because Brenner never read messages unless she told him she’d sent one, she took a chance that he was awake as usual and knocked softly on his door.
When he answered, she said, “I’ll go if they let you come with me. Otherwise, no deal.”
He opened the door wider, revealing that he was wearing nothing but loose-knit shorts slung low on his hips. “Okay. I’ll ping them now. We’ll work out some contingencies.”
His heady male magnetism blindsided her. Flawless golden brown skin, perfect muscle tone, taut stomach. She turned away fast before the rush of hormones hijacked her tongue.
“Are you scared?” His voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard from him. She didn’t dare turn and look.
“Terrified,” she’d told him truthfully, wrapping her robe tighter as she went back to her bedroom. Not just about the shields, but for her objectivity. For her career. For her heart. Sleep had been a long time coming.
It was a good thing they’d worked out flexible cover stories that morning because the orders came at midday.
She told the team she’d be working at Novo G’s offices until late. Brenner said he’d stay with her and gave the rest of the team the time off. Minan and Tōn Ko agreed they’d restart the random patrols of the townhouse neighborhood at midnight.
Arco asked N’Dwama to evaluate additional security team candidates proposed by Novo G’s security office. She had a hunch that fast-thinking N’Dwama’s useful sifter talent for detecting minder talents, plus detecting truths and lies, would make her a good interviewer.
Sneaking out of Novo G’s office was easy with Brenner’s talent to cause a momentary surveillance system glitch. After that, a private autocab to the spaceport, a change of wardrobe, and a shuttle to the space station.
And now there she was, sitting on a narrow bench in the body parlor’s back room, sweating like she had a fever.
The concealing turban on her head was both hot and heavy.
The fashionable reflective curtain veil and color-morph cocoon coat with built-in gloves made her look like a caterpillar wearing rain boots.
They effectively distorted her profile without impeding her movements.
But worn on top of her flexin armor, the outfit was a portable sauna.
Brenner looked enviably more comfortable in his soft, high-necked black tunic and duster vest over dark pants and scuffed boots. A furry, fringed cap disguised his bald head and the distinctive squareness of his jaw.
He frowned at his percomp. “Time.”
“I’ll be okay.” She’d mostly convinced herself that was true. The source of the shields had much easier ways of harming her than this elaborately clandestine setup.
He gave her a final glance, then left the room. It was comforting to know he’d be undetectably monitoring her using his unique talent.
The preview room’s equipment looked old and mismatched, which belied the high prices advertised out front.
The community she’d been raised in disapproved of body changes of any sort, especially surface enhancements or vain indulgences.
One of the many restrictions she’d left behind when she’d started her career.
However, she had zero experience with a full-body makeover, as Brenner had undergone multiple times, including the last one during rehab. On the other hand, she also had zero experience with a building collapsing on top of her, so there was that.
A tickle at the back of her mind told her she was no longer alone with her thoughts. Cautiously, she waited, prepared to plunge into a sea of boring memories she’d amassed for just such a purpose.
“Hello,” said a voice in her mind. “I am the janitor.” No sense of gender or personality came from the thoughts.
“Hello, yourself. On-point name for a cleaner.” She had to remind herself not to speak out loud.
“I thought so.” Humor threaded through the reply. “Do you consent to me erasing memories of anything that might hurt us or you? I give you my word that I will not disclose anything personal I unintentionally learn. A meaningless promise from a stranger, but I offer it anyway.”
This was the decision gate. Her memory was her earliest talent, her livelihood, her life. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Thank you for your trust.”