Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Across the solar system
It wasn’t often that assignments happened one on top of another, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Except just this once, Carver could have used the time to clear his head. Maybe at one of the border stations where the laws blurred, and he could lose himself in strong alcohol and a willing body.
The lift door opened, revealing a bustling hub. He merged into foot traffic. CORE citizens went about their day, voices subdued, their clothing in pastel shades. The fashion trends on this station were ridiculous, including the light blue, two-piece suit he currently wore.
Carver nodded to the person next to him in polite etiquette and headed toward the transport hub.
With a touch to his PALM, he accepted the assignment.
Information scrolled across his ocular implant—a new handler, new contacts, a choice in transport options—erasing his previous assignment like it had never existed. The last item was an attachment, a portfolio with a massive file size. There was no name for the target or a location.
His eyebrows rose. Usually that was the first thing they sent him.
The last part of his new orders, the portfolio, was sealed, to remain unopened until he was off grid, an ultimatum order stamped on the file, along with a bonus creds package.
His acceptance meant he would see this new mission through to the end, whether that meant his success or his death, and he wouldn’t be able to open the file until he guaranteed zero failure and a seven-day completion.
His mind whirred as he took the next right toward the docking bay that catered to public transportation.
With a touch to his PALM, he pulled up the flight plans for all imminent departures.
There was one heading straight to a station where he housed quarters.
It left in thirty minutes, but direct paths were easier to track.
Another transport, scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes and already boarding, required him to transfer ships midway.
Accessing the passenger manifest with a swipe of his fingers, Carver swapped one of his identities for someone who hadn’t checked in yet, a seat at the back where no one would sit behind him.
And just like that, he had a ticket.
He took another right and stopped at a bank of wall compartments.
Swiping his PALM, he opened one up, dropped his bag inside, then marked it for pickup by the resident handler.
Once sealed, he continued walking, got onto another lift, and descended two more decks.
A short walk toward the docking bays, and the crowd slowed and clogged as he neared the departure gates.
The announcement of his flight echoed above him. Carver hung back, his eyes on his PALM like everyone else, minding his own business, until the bulk of the crowd for his flight had boarded. When only a few people remained, he made his way toward the gate.
“What do you mean there’s no room on this one?” The masculine voice cut through the lower murmur of everything else. “I bought my ticket weeks ago.”
As Carver neared the check-in terminal, he turned his head until the reception desk was in his peripheral vision. The agitated man touched his PALM, probably ordering himself a calming dose.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The other person’s tone placated. “There was a glitch in the system, and we’re overbooked.”
Carver swiped his PALM, and the security field allowed him through.
“I’ve been authorized to comp you…”
The argument faded as Carver and the rest of the pastel-clad passengers entered the boarding tube.
The massive transport was packed. It took forever for Carver to arrive at his seat, his jaw clenching with every polite smile, or “excuse me,” or “sorry, ma’am,” he had to dish out as he wove his way aft.
A jolly-looking older woman, her hair done is stripes of pink and gray, occupied the seat beside his. The sight of her welcoming smile created a band of tension across his shoulders.
He gave her a short, polite bow and slid into his seat.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome young man,” she said, turning her body toward him. “Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”
“Both,” he muttered with a tight smile, already regretting his seat choice.
“Oh, what fun. Do you have family on Jupiter One? I might know them.”
“My father just died,” he said to stop that conversation.
“Oh.” The woman leaned back a little, her interest in him changing. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused, brow wrinkling. “But you said…” Her voice trailed off, confused.
Fuck, he hated traveling by public transport. And this last assignment had left him off-balance and unsettled.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the headrest, and counted the seconds until departure.
Hopefully the woman took his contradictory answers as being riddled with grief.
Otherwise, if she started paying him too much attention, she would remember his face, and he’d have to make sure she found her way out an airlock after they docked.
He really didn’t have any extra time with that seven-day limit.
The woman turned away from him, conversing with the person on her other side.
Carver expelled a slow, measured breath, laced his fingers across his stomach, and listened to the civilians around him as the last settled into their seats. A few minutes later, the ship sealed and uncoupled.
The hum of the transport rose in volume, eliminating most of the casual chatter, including the woman’s conversation.
A few minutes passed, and he didn’t move or twitch, analyzing everyone around him, what they discussed and how they interacted.
No one tweaked his senses, and he became certain he was the only agent on board.
He leveled his breathing, like he slept, and waited. The woman’s interest returned to him for a time, but he ignored her. She eventually settled, her posture slumping as she indulged in a nap. Carver didn’t open his eyes until a soft snore tickled the side of his neck.
Shuddering in disgust, he straightened. The woman startled, but resettled in the other direction. He gave it a few more minutes, making sure she stayed asleep before he opened his eyes and accessed his PALM.
The ultimatum order on the portfolio blinked at him, waiting for his confirmation. He wouldn’t find out anything more about the job until he’d agreed to its completion-or-death terms. After this last assignment, he needed a palate cleanser.
Or would this assignment be even worse?
Curiosity won out. He swiped his bio-signature to accept the mission.
Terabytes of data downloaded onto his PALM, nameless and encrypted files compressed one on top of another.
His heart rate picked up speed. Why would they be sending him so much information? It was usually a name, location, and preferred method of death along with an end date.
He disconnected from the grid, changed the setting on his PALM to display on his ocular implant only, and opened up the first folder in the portfolio. Files were stacked within, alphabetically sorted and dated.
Where the hell were they sending him?
The location finally flashed up on his readout along with a current weather update.
What in the ever-loving fuck?