Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Holly gazed at Beenan’s miniature form hovering above her d-pad, wishing she had not tapped that screen.
Of course he’d want a live visual communication and couldn’t just send a message.
He sat at his desk in his corner office in Nova.
His suit was immaculate, his hairless head gleaming, his expression arranged into something that was probably meant to be pleasant but came across as calculating.
Holly was acutely aware of how she must look to him.
She sat on her sofa in her grandfather’s apartment, wearing a loose tunic in shades of deep green and brown that she’d purchased from The Emporium last week, with houseplants lining the sill behind her.
Her hair was down, her feet were bare, and she looked nothing like a Sol-Arc Industries engineer.
She looked like someone who had moved on.
“Beenan.” She kept her voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Clearly.” His gaze traveled over her appearance. “I’ve received some concerning information, Holly. It seems you’ve taken on other employment.”
Holly’s stomach tightened, but she kept her expression calm. “I haven’t taken on other employment.”
“No?” Beenan’s eyebrow muscles flexed upward. “Because my sources tell me you’re running a hospitality outpost in deep space. That sounds like employment to me.”
“It’s not employment. It’s an inheritance.
” Holly shifted on the sofa, trying to project a confidence she didn’t entirely feel.
“My grandfather passed away recently. He owned a small moon with an outpost on the edge of the quadrant. I inherited them, and I’m overseeing matters here until the estate can be settled. ”
That was a broad bending of the truth, but Beenan didn’t need to know the details.
He didn’t need to know that she was hoping to stay here and leave Sol-Arc for good.
There was still a part of her, which she didn’t like very much, that was terrified to cut ties with the company she’d been employed by for over twelve years.
Sol-Arc had been her identity for so long.
Walking away from it felt like stepping off a cliff.
Beenan was quiet for a moment. His expression shifted, and Holly recognized the look. He was calculating something. Reassessing her.
“You inherited a space station and a moon?” he asked slowly. “I had no idea you were heir to such a thing.”
“Until recently, neither did I.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t tell him that it was actually her mother who had inherited it, or about the family drama and bad blood that surrounded Charles Moone’s legacy.
She didn’t mention the impossible terms of the will, or the statue, or the fact that Moone’s Landing was a two-star way station of last resort.
But she could see Beenan doing the mental math.
Owning a moon was a significant thing. Galactic laws made the purchase of entire planetary bodies unlawful, but ownership that predated the law was grandfathered in.
Holly was in a rare class of privilege now, at least on paper.
Only she knew how precarious that privilege actually was.
Beenan’s gaze swept over her again, lingering on her flowing tunic and bare feet. “Your fashion choices certainly suggest you’ve moved on. Very… artistic.” Oh, that word again. Spoken like it was a bad thing.
“I’m very far from Nova,” Holly replied evenly. “Out here, styles are different.”
Another side step of the truth. The truth was that she loved how she dressed out here. Her clothing choices were just clothing choices, and not visual indicators of status and position and worth. She wasn’t ready to say that out loud. Beenan wouldn’t understand the concept, anyway.
He grunted. “Acknowledged. Records show that you still have your living unit here on Nova.”
“That’s right. I haven’t decided to leave Sol-Arc,” she added, because some part of her still needed to say it.
“I’m taking the time the company gave me to take care of family business and reflect.
” Her lips twitched on that last word. “I’ll give my decision at the end of the three months, as agreed. ”
“Very well,” he said. “That brings me to the other reason for my call.”
Holly waited.
“The engineer who replaced you on the Kelloran mining retrofit is not performing to the client’s satisfaction.” Beenan’s tone was clipped now, businesslike. “They’ve lodged a formal complaint. The alternative designs your replacement submitted are not meeting their expectations.”
Holly pushed back a petty smirk of satisfaction that had nothing to do with her replacement’s work, and everything to do with Beenan’s cavalier belief that Holly was so easily replaced.
Whoever the poor soul was who was thrust into the middle of the project, likely on top of their own pile of work, had a miserable task.
But after everything Beenan had put her through, it was hard not to feel a little vindicated.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said carefully.
“The client specifically requested your involvement.” Beenan leaned forward slightly, his pale eyes fixed on her through the holographic projection.
“I need you to review the project files, analyze the aspects of the retrofit design that isn’t working, and put together two alternative layouts to pass along to the client. ”
Holly stared at him. “I thought I was on leave.”
“You are. But this is a special circumstance. The client relationship is at stake.”
And how was this her problem? She was already up to her eyeballs in work at Moone’s Landing.
The repairs, the guests, the missing nits, the list of things that needed her attention.
Taking on this task from Sol-Arc would mean late nights and stolen hours and the creeping exhaustion she had felt so often back on Nova.
She should say no. She knew she should say no.
“I’ll see what I can do.” For over ten years, she had sought Sol-Arc’s approval. Agreeing to requests from management was as natural as breathing. But even as she said it, she felt different. Less like she owed them anything, and more like they owed her. “But I expect to be paid.”
Beenan’s hairless brows rose. “You’re on probation for defying company standards, Holly. Hardly in the position to make demands.”
“It’s galactic law to pay people for work they do.” That sounded more threatening than it actually was, but she wasn’t going to be bullied by a man in an office many light years away. “Pay me the freelance consultant fee.” She raised her chin. “I won’t work for free, Beenan.”
Beenan narrowed his eyes, but nodded. He had gotten what he wanted from her. Maybe he’d underestimated her a little, too. “There’s some currency credit left from your last job that I’ll reroute and authorize to go to your account.”
“Good.” Holly sat a little straighter. “Send the project files to my d-pad and I’ll take a look.”
“Fine,” he said. “And Holly? Answer your calls more promptly in the future. Better yet, get a HeadLink installed in your temporal lobe so you’re more easily reached.”
Holly knew this was just Beenan getting in the final dig.
A HeadLink. Similar to the device Rasker had, but worse.
His required activation, a chip pressed to the temple.
A HeadLink was permanent. Always there. Always on.
Always reachable, always available, and never truly alone with your own thoughts.
Exactly the kind of thing the enhanced aesthetics program would push on her, if she returned to Sol-Arc Industries. No, she thought. Never.
“Goodbye, Beenan,” she said coolly.
She cut the transmission before he could respond.
Holly set the d-pad aside and let out a long breath. Her hands were trembling slightly. She pressed them flat against her thighs until they stilled.
Bean lifted his head and regarded her with those big brown eyes. He made a soft sound, almost questioning.
“I’m okay,” she told him. “Just dealing with some old ghosts.”
She shifted closer to him on the sofa and ran her fingers through the soft fur behind his ears. Bean grunted happily and pressed his warm body against her leg. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have done that. She was getting the hang of living with a stubborn old dog.
Her mind drifted to the hotel guests. They had warmed up considerably by the end of the evening, but earlier, a few of them had waved their hands in front of their noses and commented on the stale smell under the dome. One of them had wrinkled his nose and asked if the air was always this stagnant.
Holly had apologized and explained that some of the air circulators needed repair.
She’d smiled and assured them that it was being addressed.
But the truth was, she had no idea when she’d be able to fix the circulators.
Sam had given her an estimate weeks ago, and the cost had made her wince. Five thousand nits.
She wished she could conjure currency units out of thin air. Or from wherever Charles had stashed his wealth.
For a moment, she considered dipping into her own savings.
She had more than enough to cover the cost of her living unit for three months on Nova, which was the most expensive place to live in the solar system.
Out here, it would go much further. She could pay for the air circulators and still have some left over to survive if everything fell apart.
But she had promised herself that her personal money was her safety net. Her escape route. If Moone’s Landing turned out to be unfixable, if the station failed despite her best efforts, she would need those nits to start over. Touching them now felt like tempting fate.
Holly sighed and scratched Bean’s ears. He made another happy grunt.
Then she paused.
Beenan said he’d be paying her with currency credit left over from her last job. Credit that he would authorize to go to her account once she addressed the Kelloran problem. It wasn’t nits, exactly. It was credit.
That day in The Emporium, Orba had told Holly that she had credits on account there from Charles’ account, transferred to her.
We have access to the entire galactic commerce system.
Holly sat up straighter. Bean grumbled at the disruption but settled back against her.
She had forty-six hundred credits left at The Emporium. She had been using them for clothing and small comforts, things to make her feel more at home. But credits could be spent on other things.
Things like air circulators.
Holly’s heart beat faster. It would mean no more flowing tunics, shoes, or other small luxuries from The Emporium’s endless aisles. But that was a small price to pay for air that wasn’t smelly. First thing in the morning, she’d be paying a visit to the Vepins with her quite unusual request.