Honor Among Thieves Page 7

  I glimpsed flashes of my “inspiring” story (a word they actually used) playing giant-sized on buildings around us. My scowl looked impressive on that scale. They were calling me a “wild card pick” on the news, speculating on the mystery of exactly why the Leviathan wanted me. Dad’s picture flashed up, smiling just as he was now.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” I couldn’t shut out his voice, especially when he was in my face like this. I smelled day-old garlic. “Sharon says—”

  I turned toward him so suddenly he pulled back. “Keep my mother’s name out of your mouth. If I have to smile and shake your hand, I will. But there’s nothing else, right? I will never forgive you.”

  That was as blunt as I could make it. I didn’t miss a flare of anger in him, the way his fist curled, like he wanted to smack the defiance out of me. Some things didn’t change.

  Marko glanced between us and then murmured something into the mini-H2 on his wrist. “I think it would be better for you to make your own way to the hotel, Mr. Cole. I’ll send a separate vehicle for you.”

  A surge of gratitude almost made me smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The e-car was posh inside, and I liked it even more when we left my old man standing on the curb. The giant holos shimmering on the buildings flashed my picture up again, noting my arrival. Asking the question I was curious about right now: Why her? Apparently, experts were weighing in. I was glad I didn’t have to listen to them break me down into tasty pieces for public consumption.

  We reached a flash hotel, a tower of gold with obsidian accents that was famous for hosting the Honors when New York won the bid, along with more drone cams and reporters eager for a glimpse of our party. Marko skated us past, an old pro at dodging unwanted attention.

  At that point I had to say, unwillingly, “Thanks.”

  Marko nodded. “I understand. It’s overwhelming.”

  As we reached the front doors, my old man climbed out of his e-car and waved to the crowd. I quickened my step to avoid sharing the impromptu spotlight with him.

  “I’m sorry,” Marko said. “But it’s common for family members to participate, even estranged ones. This makes for a better media event. The Honors program promotes global unity, and they like the idea of facilitating reconciliation. No borders, no limits . . . remember that slogan?”

  “It’s fine,” I told him. “I can take care of myself.”

  He nodded. “You’ll need to answer some questions inside. He’ll expect to stand with you.”

  “I don’t want him talking.”

  “Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Marko said.

  He seemed to be acting as a protector. Marko wasn’t my brother or my friend, though. I barely knew him, except the story from the holos. But if he could keep my dad’s mouth shut, I’d take that as a gift.

  Sure enough, inside in the lobby, there was a crush of reporters sporting grafted-in cameras and enough drones whirring overhead to create a breeze. The hotel’s atrium was an extravagant place, with vast holo walls that currently displayed . . . space. It felt like floating, with the nano-tinted carpet shimmering black with little points and sparks of light appearing and burning at random.

  The vast shape of a Leviathan swam slowly around the walls of the room. Its skin glimmered like burnished metal where light touched it. Like a fish in a bowl, I thought.

  Took me a minute to realize that Marko was clearing a path for us.

  So many reporters shouting for my attention. I didn’t hear the voices I wanted most, so I scanned the crowd until I spotted my mom and sister. Amid the media frenzy, Kiz nearly flattened me with a hug.

  I jumped excitedly with her and then stepped back to really look at her. Almost as tall as me, now. A shower of thick, springy curls all the way down to her shoulders. Vivid light-brown eyes and the dark-ochre skin tone we shared. Kiz was wearing an orange shirt and loose flower-patterned skirt, and—

  “You’re grown,” I said.

  I hugged her; she grabbed me back, bouncing. She couldn’t restrain a squeak of excitement, though I wasn’t sure if it was the reunion or all the press coverage. Hard to believe this polished young woman was the same kid who’d cried when I wouldn’t let her tag after me.

  “Missed you,” Kiz whispered.

  “Me too.”

  Mom stepped up then, smoothing down her dress like it might fly away, and I saw tears gleaming in her eyes. I got my height from her, and my shoulders. Kiz and I both inherited her lovely hair, though my mother kept hers in tight, natural curls close to her scalp. She opened her arms, and I forgot about press junkets and clamoring reporters. I’d never been the daughter she wanted and she hadn’t always been the mother I needed, but there was no question that I loved her and Kiz. Or that she loved me.

  I just didn’t know how to live with them. My father had carved a hole in all three of us, and we’d each filled that space as best we could.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Mom said. My dad had claimed that too. But Mom meant it.

  I smiled. “It’s good to see you both. Was the trip okay?”

  Kiz grabbed my hand. “Z, it was amazing, you could see the Leviathan all up in orbit. . . . We don’t see stars through the dome, but there are so many, it’s just so beautiful!”

  I gave her a grin that felt real. “Guess I’ll see for myself pretty soon,” I said.

  “Oh, good, you’re here!” A professionally attractive woman joined us, wearing an ice-white suit and high heels. Everything about her screamed money. “I’m Gidra Valdez, your press liaison.”

  She gave some introduction I only half listened to because I was worried that my dad was about to step forward and start running his mouth. I made sure Mom and Kiz stood on either side of me—with my old man forced to the back row with Marko and Ms. Valdez.

  “Is it true that Zara is your replacement aboard Nadim?”

  Marko had an easy, holo-friendly smile. I’d never be able to do that. “Yes, it’s true,” he said. “Chao-Xing is coming with her own replacement today as well.”

  A tall, goofy-looking reporter waved until he caught my eye. “Zara, Zara! Are you a musician as well?”

  I swallowed and managed to croak, “No.”

  “Then what are your talents?”

  I shrugged. “Take a look. Figure it out.”

  My old man had had enough of being ignored, and he pushed forward, trying to join our family lineup by force. “I’m Zara’s father,” he said, “and—”

  Marko gestured; his mic cut out. Mom smiled for the cameras. “I always knew Zara was special. She’s strong, and she’s always been very independent.”

  Kiz beamed and waved; she was so photogenic on the holo that it hurt in a good way. Like, it was worth all this nonsense to see my baby sister this happy.

  Mom and Kiz took a few questions about life on Mars, but it was me the press wanted to hear, so I answered as best I could, hating every minute of it and not saying much beyond bare facts, but it kept Dear Old Dad from spewing whatever lies he had rehearsed.

  Eventually, Ms. Valdez signaled the crowd. “That’s all the time we have today, everyone! Please meet me in the briefing room in Ballroom B for downloads of Honor Cole’s biography and highlights.”

  Someone shouted, “Will Zara’s family be available to answer some questions?”

  I glanced at Mom, who shook her head slightly.

  “No,” I said, at the same time my old man, of course, said, “Yes,” and I glared at Marko. He went to instruct Ms. Valdez, who nodded briskly, as if herding and muzzling the families of Honors was just another part of her job. Which it probably was.

  “This way.” Marko guided us off the dais, and I held on to my mom and sister as we moved through the crowd. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Kiz smiled at Marko, so cute that his expression warmed up by ten degrees. “We’ve got ours already. Some Honors rep said we’re in an adjoining suite.”

  Finally, a bright spot to this circus.
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  Just then, a side door opened, disgorging a disheveled guy in his twenties. He had a look straight out of the Zone—unshaved, pallid, shaky, wearing a stained Honors uniform. His eyes locked on mine, and I recognized the look in them. Equal parts desperate and haunted. Saw a lot of both on the streets, and it didn’t look any different in a fancy hotel.

  Kiz let out a little cry and moved back. Marko instantly tapped his H2, and a security notice flashed on the wall beside us. Guards would be on the way, fast.

  The guy grabbed my arm, and I moved to free myself with instinctive violence, but he was strong. Really strong. “It’s a lie.” His breath smelled sickly sweet. “Ask them about the weapons. Ask them. I think . . . I think I remember—”

  “Who are you?” I blurted that back just to keep him talking instead of twisting, but all I could think of was how much I was going to have to hurt him to get rid of him.

  He didn’t seem to hear me, too panicked or lost in memories. His intensity gave me the shivers. “Don’t go out there with them, they lie, they all lie. I think—they told me—” He let go of me and slapped his head with both hands, hard enough to hurt. Kept doing it. “No, no, that’s not right, I know I saw—I know—” His voice was rising in pitch and panic now, but I was already backing off. He grabbed for me again. “Please listen! Don’t go!”

  “Step away from my daughter!” Mom charged forward, and with a strength that surprised me and shocked him, she wrenched his hand away and twisted it until his knees buckled. I’d never seen all that much resemblance between us, but damn, that expression? I’d felt that on my own face. Pure, righteous fury.

  She didn’t let go until security charged in to take control. And then she turned on Marko. “What the hell was that?”

  “I’m sorry.” His eyes were bleak as he watched the intruder being rushed out. “Valenzuela was a year ahead of us. He . . . didn’t adapt well on the ship, and had to be removed midyear. I thought he was in treatment.”

  That sounded like a prepared explanation, and I had a good ear for bullshit. “He seemed fine in the interviews he gave before he shipped out last year.” I’d listened with half an ear while I was stuck in Camp Kuna, but I still remembered Valenzuela. He’d been relaxed, confident, eager to start his trip. No sign of the shambling wreck he was now.

  “That’s not always an indicator of how well someone integrates.”

  “If you say so,” I muttered. Didn’t believe a word. Don’t go, Valenzuela had said. He had to mean, Don’t go up to the Leviathan. Why not? What did he know?

  Tense silence reigned until the elevator doors dinged open. We got in.

  Kiz asked softly, “What did he mean, telling Zara not to go? Is there some kind of danger?”

  “Of course not,” Marko said, and distracted her by talking about all the celebrities who would be attending various events. I didn’t miss that slick diversion.

  Ever polite, he walked us down a long, empty hallway. The carpet was black, with nano-stars and slowly swirling galaxies. We were walking on space, and on either side, doors showed pulsing designs of nebulas, Oort clouds, and thick star fields. We stopped in front of one that shifted from a spinning galaxy to Welcome Honor Cole at our approach. Marko handed me a thin, clear card, and as I touched it, the door clicked open.

  “You won’t need it again,” he told me. “It’s keyed to your DNA. Just keep it on your person. Get some rest.”

  As he walked off, Mom opened the door to their room, pausing long enough to say, “They gave us a copy of your schedule. It’s rough. You feel like a late dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  After my mom and sister went to their room, I inspected the posh suite I’d been assigned. The closet held a full week of Honors uniforms stacked on the bed. The nu-silk didn’t wrinkle, no matter how I twisted it up. When I wandered into the bathroom, I found an array of sponsor-provided toiletries and nano-cosmetics on the counter, and a shower big enough to lie down in, if I wanted. I didn’t, but it was gorgeous to rinse off the travel, co-wash my hair, deep condition, and use the luxe products to finish my curls. The finger-styling went much easier than it had at Camp Kuna.

  Time to get dressed.

  Afterward, though I was definitely hungry, I checked out the schedule my mom had mentioned. No joke, but it was packed. Orientation, lectures, sim training, press junkets, luncheons, fittings, and specialized classes.

  Yet I hadn’t forgotten that weird moment in the hall, earlier. Valenzuela . . . When I checked the net, I pulled up a ton of results for Gregory Valenzuela, all glowing profiles. Not one of them mentioned him being pulled from a Leviathan midyear. They’d just stopped reporting on him.

  Cover-up, or just respecting his privacy? Hard to tell, but I hadn’t noticed the newshounds out there respecting privacy much. It was too juicy a story not to splash out, unless someone had a very tight lid on it.

  I wanted to follow the trail, but Mom and Kiz were waiting on me. My head was all over the place; it was great to see them, but their faces reminded me of what I put them through, so it was a cycle of gladness and guilt, longing to be back with them and a never-quite-gone urge to bolt. I pushed all the distractions away with an effort. I really did want to make the most of our time together.

  Once I got ready, I knocked on the connecting door. It took about five seconds for the locks to click back and the door to slide open. “Set?”

  Kiz had touched up her lipstick, and Mom had swapped her fancy shoes for pretty but still-comfortable ones. “I hear the hotel restaurant is something,” Mom said.

  On the way to the elevator, Kiz started naming all the things she was going to eat that were hard to get on Mars.

  Which made me wonder, “How is dome life, anyway?”

  She thought for a minute. “Structured. But my school is awesome. We take field trips outside for science sometimes, and I thought that was a big deal. Can’t believe you’re going to space, Z. But then you always did want to run as far as you could.”

  That stung, because she was right. I’d always been about running away. Once, I’d seen some gorgeous street art in the Lower Eight: the words INERTIA=DEATH, surrounded by exquisite color and Leviathan-inspired patterns. It had made a lasting impression, and I’d been living by that principle ever since. So, maybe taking them up on this Honors thing was as far as I could ever go. If I looked at it that way, I might warm up to the idea. In time.

  Early the next morning, I woke up because my door made a soft, respectful chime, but when I put it in view mode, there was nobody there. Just a fancy arrangement of flowers, and a card stuck on it. I opened the door and brought it inside.

  The card said, Give it back, and I’ll let everything go.

  Deluca.

  All of a sudden, the purples and reds of the arrangement looked like bruises and bloodstains. I ripped up the card and stepped away for a second with my heart pounding. The room read my anxiety, and I smelled lavender as the relaxers were pumped in.

  I dumped everything in the disposal unit, along with the ripped-up card, and hit the delete control. It took about two minutes to incinerate everything, but when the container opened again, there was no trace of Deluca’s message.

  The hotel has anti-terrorism scans, I told myself. It was standard for these fancy places.

  Fear couldn’t be eradicated so easily, though. It haunted me the whole week, through all the lessons and drills, all the interviews and info sessions. I learned about Leviathan biology, including a very basic (and mostly theoretical) analysis of how their bodies processed energy gathered from starlight and used it to drive their propulsive systems, which were strong enough to overcome the speed of light, when they chose to use them. Not a lot of info about the Leviathan’s social structure; there were Elders who accompanied the younger ships we’d be traveling with. They seemed to be larger and stronger and generally more badass. I approved.

  More classes. Virtual navigation, which I hated. Hands-on console repairs, which I
didn’t. We were introduced to a variety of sims that we’d be expected to use aboard the ship, partly to keep us in good mental and physical shape. My favorite, to no one’s surprise, was the fighting sim, where I got to kick ass for cardio benefits. Perfect scores.

  Second favorite unit? The crash Leviathan MD course. I had a thousand questions about the emergency procedures, how we might be called on for medical intervention, and a more in-depth study of biosystems. When it came time to choose my elective seminar, I picked Leviathan physiology over navigation.

  But worrying about Deluca cost me when I took the final tests; I couldn’t focus on the higher math and I choked on the chemical formulas. Thankfully, I leveled out on tech and rocked the unit on biomechanics. End result? With my cumulative total, I passed by two points.

  Yep. Bottom of my class. I was certain that was just what they expected. But deep inside—very deep—I was still disappointed, before I put on the brassy armor of self-confidence and pretended that coasting just above fail was my survival strategy.

  The send-off gala the night before our departure was the social ticket of the year, and my mom and sister were beyond thrilled to be going; they’d gotten free fancy dresses and makeovers, while I stuck to my uniform. I had gone for a haircut, though—trimming my curls on top, undercut, with a fade on each side, so I looked sharp and tailored as I threaded through the crowd.

  I headed for Kiz, who was chatting up a famous Nigerian pop star. With his dark skin, well-trimmed goatee, and white suit edged in silver, Obari was fine. I could see why my sister was glowing. A hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me. When I turned, I was facing a tall white man in a crisply tailored black evening suit. His smile was all shark teeth and cold, dead eyes, and even though I didn’t recognize him in that second, I knew his type.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Miss Cole. Congratulations are clearly in order. The first Honor chosen from the Lower Eight.” He was still holding on to me with his left hand, but now he extended his right. A giant ring with a red stone—ruby?—glinted on one of his fingers. “Torian Deluca.”