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Quinn dug her fingers into the padded armrests. Her teeth rattled along with the walls of the shuttle, its Twin V thrusters fighting against gravity. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and exhaled.
Thankfully, Senator Braddock’s assistant was oblivious. The platinum-blonde stick insect sitting beside Quinn was wholly absorbed in Sugar Smash 4, Revenge of the Ravinoids. Her manicured nails clicked against the omni screen. Distorted carnival music droned through her earbuds.
Quinn hadn’t flown since her stint on Anseries III with seven days of cryo-sleep each way. Space tremors made her jittery for a month afterward. Being locked in a cryo-pod was too much like a coffin. Nothing but bad dreams and nutra-tubes jammed in places that’d make a gynecologist flinch.
Off-world gigs paid better, but Quinn managed to keep her feet on Centauri VI most of the time. She’d only break atmo for really lucrative gigs, the kind of money that made her bouts of grav sickness worth it.
If Senator Braddock’s message was legit, she wouldn’t have to take another flight for a long time. Stars, she could even take a vacation. Bring Gabby to the floating isles.
Fifty-thousand creds—tax free—just to come and meet with the senator. He had a personal security issue he wanted to discuss. Highly confidential. The words “long-term consulting contract” and “salary negotiable” were tossed around.
The whole setup reeked of criminality. Senator Braddock was probably another sleazeball politician guzzling public funds and siphoning them into his own pet projects.
Quinn didn’t like it, but she needed the money. So, she’d slipped on her black sheath dress and silver pumps but let her long mane of dark curls tumble around her shoulders. Pulling it back always gave her headaches. Then she made her way to the spaceport. Senator Braddock’s assistant met her there—one of an army of blonde bimbettes in his retinue—and ushered Quinn onto his personal shuttle.
Quin would have grinned if she wasn’t fighting to keep down her lunch. If she pulled off this consulting gig, it could open a world of opportunities. All she’d had to do was buckle on her grav-harness and take the shuttle to the senator’s aerosphere, two hundred miles above Centauri VI. A big pay-off and no cryo-sleep required.
Disembarking the shuttle, Quinn wrinkled her nose. A strange, vegetal smell wafted through the air. She realized the Senator had live grass. Planet-side, the air was filled with smog particulates. Organic plants suffocated. The last time Quinn had seen a biologic was her fourth-grade field trip to the Old Earth biome, now defunct due to budget cuts. Kids growing up on Centauri VI today would never know the scent of grass. Quinn shook her head. No point getting choked up over it.
The senator’s aerosphere was another world entirely. A white pebbled road cut a swath through the hills steeped in green. Senator Braddock didn’t just have grass, he had live trees— tall, clunky ones with fronds waving from the top. There were shorter ones too, with delicate branches fanning out into fiery, five-fingered leaves. Thorny vines crawled up trellises, bursting with round pink flowers whose petals curved around themselves in intricate spirals.
The driveway itself was a frenzy of activity. Staff swarmed along the pathway guiding hover-carts, scanning boxes with their omnis, or directing traffic. Quinn hummed to herself, eying a stack of crates. Through the slats, she caught a glimpse of vivid greens and reds. Fresh vegetables, she guessed, though she’d never seen an edible plant in her life, much less eaten one. A delivery truck rumbled past, boasting “100% Meat—Never Synth” with a red logo stamped on its side.
The senator’s assistant tapped on her omni. “If you’ll please follow me. The senator is expecting us.”
“Of course.” Quinn gestured toward the loading staff. “Is it always this hectic?”
Blondie rolled her eyes. “Tonight, is the annual Solarus Gala, so we’re extra busy.” She said it with the fake perkiness a waitress reserved for her least favorite customer. “As you can imagine, it’s a very important fundraising event for Senator Braddock.” Quinn could read her thoughts—and I’m stuck with you—as if they were scrawled in sharpie across her Botox-smoothed forehead.
Quinn allowed herself to be ushered to a sleek black hover-cart, though she would have preferred to walk. Once inside, the senator’s assistant scanned the ID port with her omni, and the machine hummed to life. The interior auto-nav system greeted them and announced their trip to the senator’s residence would take approximately five minutes. It floated serenely up the path, bobbing around the human staff in its way.
As they drifted up the hill, the senator’s residence came into view. It crested the hilltop, looming into sight like the sun cresting the earth’s rim at dawn. Quinn held up a hand to shade her eyes against the glaring artificial light.
The roof was layered with terracotta tiles, sloping down the gently angled roof. Curved archways lined the entranceway and glass windows stretched at least two stories high. The textured white walls were pristine. Quinn detected a faint aroma of fresh paint. Blondie wasn’t lying. Senator Braddock was deeply invested in this party’s success.
The hover-cart slipped through one of the archways and powered down inside the courtyard. Water bubbled from a fountain in the center, cascading over the rims of tiered bowls before plunging into the contoured basin beneath. A muscle tightened in Quinn’s jaw. She forced her mind away from the water rationing on Centauri VI, from the lines of children reaching out with grubby hands, and the pregnant mothers, swaying on their feet from exhaustion.
Quinn thought of Gabby waiting at home. Money was money. She smoothed the indignation out of her expression and banished it into the recesses of her subconscious where it burned like an itch at the back of her neck.
As they approached the senator’s office, Quinn noticed more sophisticated security measures. There was enough ballistic plating to fend off the Cromoidian syndicate and enough money poured into the interior design to camouflage it.
She kept a mental tally of the features she observed—infrared sensors disguised in the door molds, security cameras laced in the crystal chandelier, the almost imperceptible seam in the wall on either side of the desk—probably hiding an auto-defense system with subsonic rounds. This was over-kill for a politician on the up-and-up.
Expecting trouble, Senator?
Senator Braddock sat like a king on his throne. His blue-marbled desk and winged executive chair cemented his image as a man larger than life. He rose as she entered.
“Welcome, Ms. Ramos. Thank you for accepting my invitation. I apologize for the journey. I know you dislike anti-grav.”
Quinn smiled, all teeth. He was sizing her up, highlighting a known weakness. She made her face bright and brushed off the slight. “Not at all. I found the flight quite pleasant.” She would be darned if she looked away first.
“Please have a seat.” He gestured to a chair in front of the desk. Lower than his, of course. Classic psychological play.
Quinn sat and observed Senator Braddock. He was a tall man, with silvery-gray hair. Even at his age, he was striking, with the rakish curl over his widow’s peak and distinguished cheekbones. He had broad shoulders and a custom-tailored suit. He looked as good in person as he did in his political ads.
Braddock wasn’t a politician in name only. Quinn read the intelligence flickering behind his eyes. He’d taken pains to cultivate the aging gentleman persona—a hero for the masses groping around in the squalor of Centauri VI. If she hadn’t seen his security system, she could almost believe he was as clean-cut as he tried to look.
He leaned forward with a grin that must have broken quite a few hearts when he was a younger man. “I’ll get right to the point. I’m looking for someone to test our security system for flaws. I have an asset with unusual vulnerabilities.”
“What kind of asset?”
“The kind that requires discretion.”
Quinn crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t deal with traffickers.”
Senator Braddock laughed. “No, no. You misunderstand me. It’s nothing of that sort.” He waved his hand as if fending off the accusation. “I have an orchard.” Sometime of her shock must have shone on her face because he clarified. “Fruit trees, Ms. Ramos.”
Quinn exhaled slowly, trying to reign in her surprise. “You’re talking about Old Earth biologics?”
Senator Braddock leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “I know it must seem like foolishness to you, taking such risks to harbor illegal plants. But I feel a strong connection to things from Old Earth. It was our origin point after all.”
As he warmed to his topic, the senator’s voice lost some of its exaggerated poise. The years fell away from his face and Quinn caught a glimpse of the excited schoolboy he must have been once.
“Over the years, I’ve come across frozen samples that I’ve cultivated into live trees. As you can imagine, the process is difficult and extremely expensive. A single seed is worth millions of credits.” His words came faster, voice losing some of the mellow rhythmic cadence he was famous for. “And that’s even before we know whether it’s viable. Two thirds of the seeds we’ve attempted to germinate end in failure.” Braddock shook his head, grieved.
He leaned in toward her, with child-like delight, and whispered conspiratorially, “We’ve been successful with a dozen McIntosh, three Trevatts, and my most valuable gem, an Amalfitano lemon tree.”
Quinn tried to look impressed, as he obviously wished her to be. But what in the stars was a McIntosh? And Trevatts? It sounded more like a surname than a snack.
The senator waxed on, and Quinn resisted the urge to yawn. She fought the temptation to pick at a loose thread.
“Even on Old Earth, Amalfitano only grew in an extremely small region. The Amalfi coast was only thirty-four miles long, on a planet with over fifty million square miles of land mass.”
Quinn cut him off. “So, it’s rare.”
“Extremely rare, Ms. Ramos. I’d say it’s my most valuable possession.”
She asked the obvious question. “Is there a reason you’re concerned about security? From what I’ve seen here, all your measures are up to date. And I’d imagine your orchard isn’t public knowledge.”
“It’s become a hobby among people of my social set.” He preened. “My colleagues and I are very passionate about connecting with Old Earth. We’ve been collecting biologics of this nature for years. Very discreetly, you understand. There’s some sensitivity on Centauri VI regarding the living conditions there compared with the aerospheres. We can’t tolerate the idea of these seeds being locked away forever, just because they won’t survive on Centauri VI, but we don’t want to spark unrest either.”
Especially during an election year—Quinn filled in between the lines.
Braddock rubbed his chin and Quinn sensed he was finally getting to reason she was here.
“Lately there have been a series of break-ins. A team of thieves have become aware of the orchards. They are cunning and professional, leaving no security footage, no clues. They’ve already racked up well over a billion in assets.”
“And since purveying Old Earth biologics for personal use is a criminal offense, you can’t go through official law enforcement channels.”
Braddock steepled his hands. “There are times when we need a more creative approach,” he agreed. “Take your younger sister Gabriela, for example.”
Warning jittered up her spine. Why was he bringing Gabby into this?
“I understand she’s a very promising scholar. Looking to attend Tarvos Aerospace Academy next year.”
Quinn nodded. A knot in her gut twisted and she tasted bile.
“That’s a very competitive school, as I’m sure you’re aware. Last I heard, their acceptance rate was less than one percent. And that’s without taking financial matters into consideration. Using the official channels, I’d say she doesn’t have much chance.”
Quinn raised her chin and steeled her gaze. So, Gabby was the bargaining chip.
“I’m a Tarvos alumnus myself and an on-going benefactor. In addition to the very generous compensation, I’m prepared to offer you, I’d put in a good word for your sister. Make sure she’s on the list for the academy’s merit scholarship.”
“So, I secure your orchard from this particularly conniving thief, and you guarantee Gabriela a full ride to Tarvos?”
“Those are the terms I’m proposing, yes.”
Gabby would be furious. She’d kill Quinn if her acceptance was because of some shady backdoor deal. But she’d never know. This proposal was something both Quinn and the senator would want to keep quiet.
Gabby had dreamed of going to Tarvos ever since she was a dust mote. Quinn loved her kid sister and wanted to give her the world, but she had to be realistic. Even with all her hard work, they were barely staying afloat.
Resolve hardened in her veins.
“Senator, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll need to see this orchard and get a sense of what I’m working with.”
“Of course. I’ll have my assistant show you around.” He pressed the intercom on his desk and buzzed his assistant inside. “Mallory, please escort our guest through Viridian Grove.”
Blondie pouted but hid it quickly behind a plasticine smile. “Of course, Senator Braddock.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He gave her a wink and she giggled.
Quinn valiantly suppressed an eyeroll.
As she was heading out the door, Senator Braddock called out, “Oh Ms. Ramos, after your visit to the grove, please stay for tonight’s festivities. We’re having a little gathering and I’m afraid the docking station will be quite busy for the next few hours. I’ve arranged for the shuttle to return you home afterward.”
Quinn pressed her lips together. She stifled the flash of anger that sang through her blood before turning to face him. Careful to keep her voice neutral, she shrugged. “Why not? I’ve always loved a good party.”
“Wonderful.” The senator waved her out.
Once the door slid shut, Mallory wiped the saccharine smile off her face and fixed Quinn with an annoyed stare. “Let’s get this over with.” She flounced down the hallway without a backward glance.
They were passing under an arcade of columns when a shadowy figure jumped out in front of them. Quinn’s heart rocketed up her throat as the man grabbed Braddock’s assistant and twirled her around.
“Oh Miles!” Mallory screeched in delight. “You scare me terribly when you do that.” She looked anything but scared as she draped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his collar.
Quinn let out a breath and relaxed her stance. She’d automatically turned sideways and raised her fists, but one look at Miles Braddock told her he was no threat. The senator’s firstborn progeny was infamous. Tabloids made millions documenting his disorderly escapades across the sector. He must have gotten expelled from whatever long-distance university the senator had tried to hide him away in.
Miles caught her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “Who’s your friend, Mal?” He pried her arms off his neck and turned to inspect Quinn. He was not subtle in the interested way his eyes traced down her curves.
Mallory frowned, clearly annoyed at losing her moment in the spotlight. “She’s just some security consultant for your father, Miles. I’m taking her to Viridian Grove.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mal. I can take her.” Miles puffed out his chest and hooked his fingers in his belt.
Solar flares! That was the last thing Quinn needed. She shook her head slightly, hoping Blondie would catch the hint.
Mallory ignored her. “Are you sure, Miles? Won’t the senator be upset?”
“Nah, don’t worry about the old man. I’ll give her the grand tour. Besides, you still need to get all dolled up for tonight.”
“You’re such a sweetie.” Mallory kissed his cheek, leaving a fuchsia imprint. “It really would help me out, if you don’t mind.”
Quinn’s stoicism caved in at the thought of having to spend time alone with the senator’s son. She sent Mallory a pleading look. Blondie flashed her a malicious smile.
So much for female comradery.
The time alone with Miles Braddock was as awful as she imagined it would be. He talked incessantly, bragging about himself and his honking, nasal laughter was giving her a nervous twitch. He insisted on driving the hover-cart himself and nearly crashed into a cluster of staff. Even the orchard was ruined. Mile’s steady stream of narcissistic prattle spoiled any wonder Quinn might have felt looking at trees that hadn’t existed in hundreds of years. Worse, she completely forgot to take her initial assessment of the orchard’s security.
By the time Miles drove her back to the mansion, Quinn’s goal had crystallized into one word: escape. She mumbled about bathrooms and dashed off before Miles could even unbuckle his seatbelt. His “tour” had lasted long enough that the aerosphere was crowded with party guests when they returned.
Quinn thanked her lucky stars. It would be much easier to avoid Miles with hundreds of other people milling around. Maybe he’d lose interest? There were plenty of outlandishly garbed ladies to grab his attention.
She had to hand it to Braddock, he knew how to throw a party. Ice sculptures dotted his gardens, lit by multi-colored frion globes. Soft music purred from invisible speakers and waiters in silver and purple glided silently among the guests making sure no one had an empty glass.
Quinn snagged an iced tea with green leaves floating in it. She swirled the drink with her straw and took a sip. It reminded her vaguely of tooth cleanser. Strange.
A woman walked by, wearing a metallic pink carapace vaguely reminiscent of body armor. Her spiked shoulder pad stabbed Quinn as she brushed by.
“Ouch.” Quinn hissed and rubbed her arm.
The woman didn’t turn around.
“Figures,” Quinn muttered. Why did she expect manners from someone dressed like a giant fluorescent spider?
With her simple black dress, Quinn felt like a weed in a sea of flowers. Her appearance didn’t deter one man from attempting to flirt with her though. He wore a blue and gold suit with feathers woven into his hair. His eye augments rotated, apertures widening in what Quinn assumed was interest. She shut it down quickly and moved to the outskirts of the crowd.
Quinn watched the politicians and their spouses schmoozing. Trampling across the grass without a second thought. On Centauri VI, people were starving or dying of soridius, but in the aerospheres it was another world. She swallowed back the bitterness. A job’s a job, even if the Senator’s opulence gave her ulcers.
She had to hand it to the thieves, stealing fruit was slick. With the upper class hoarding exclusive access to Old Earth vegetation, each fruit, each seed would be worth a fortune on the black market. And there was no way for the senator and his cronies to openly prosecute them. If they tried to go public about the thefts, there would be an outcry.
Quinn wished she could have enjoyed the orchard more. It would certainly be more pleasant than this party. She checked her omni. Three more hours of this nonsense and she’d be free. She was just about to head back to the main reception area when a nasal laugh set her teeth on edge.
Solar flares!
She knew that voice. Only one man in the Centauri sector could irritate her just by breathing.
Miles Braddock.
Quinn would cheerfully book a month-long trip in cryo-sleep before she’d listen to him again. She looked left and right. Other than hiding in the bathroom, there was no place Miles couldn’t follow her.
Unless…
She did some quick mental calculations. The orchard wasn’t far. She could make it on foot in about fifteen minutes. Chances were good that Miles wouldn’t think to look for her there but would her security ID work? There was a chance Senator Braddock hadn’t added her ID to the security system. Quinn hoped his overconfidence would play in her favor. Either way, she didn’t plan on sticking around for Miles to find.
Viridian Grove wasn’t hard to locate. Quinn gave the security system a minus point in her mental tally. Large metal vents traced along the ceiling, leading directly to the orchard. She assumed the biologics had very specific air quality requirements. Even so, camouflaging the vents would be one of her first suggestions for improvement.
She stood outside the sealed glass doors and took a deep breath.
Now, for the moment of truth.
Quinn pulled up her security ID on her omni and pressed it to the door’s sensor. Nothing happened for a moment. Then there was a soft click and the doors slid open. She glanced behind her, but no one was around. She thanked her lucky stars and ducked inside.
Taking a moment to enjoy the silence, Quinn sat on a park bench, leaned back, and closed her eyes. The smell of the grass wasn’t so jarring anymore and the artificial breeze that whispered through the leaves was strangely soothing. It was a shame most kids today would never know the smell of biologics.
The bushes stirred behind her, and Quinn flinched. Her hand fell to her side, where she normally kept her stunner, but it wasn’t there. She didn’t think she’d need it for a visit to the senator.
Calm down.
The threat level was still minimal. She released her death grip on the bench and demanded in a loud voice, “Show yourself.”
There was more rustling in the bushes, and a handsome man stumbled out. Quinn pursed her lips. He was dressed in the flamboyant fashion of the other party guests, a black flux-tux with neon green lights pulsating along the seams.
She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who are you? This area is off-limits.”
“My apologies. I seem to have gotten disoriented.” Quinn took in his flushed face, loosened collar and crooked bowtie. He stumbled toward her, and she caught a whiff of strong liquor. “My name is Vincent. Vincent Delacroix.” Vincent executed a tipsy bow and nearly bowled over.
Just her luck. An inebriated party guest shattering her brief moment of serenity.
“Do you mind if I sit a moment?” he asked, words slightly slurred. “I feel a bit disoriented. A little too much…” He mimed sipping a cocktail.
“Suit yourself.” Quinn shrugged. “I’m not great company.”
The man teetered over to the bench and slumped onto it with a groan. He leaned back resting his neck on the top of the bench and studied the stars.
Quinn assessed him out of the corner of her eye. He was young, perhaps younger than herself. His color coordinated outfit perfectly set off his dark complexion and obsidian hair streaked with gold. He didn’t appear to have any augments. That was rare for this crowd. The upper crust of Centauri VI was always trying to improve themselves. Personally, Quinn thought they looked ridiculous. She was worried the man would start to chatter on, but he sat in silence, looking up at the sky.
When she started to rise, the man cleared his throat. “You work for Braddock?”
Quinn shifted, her attention drawn back to him. “What makes you think so?”
Now he turned to look at her, a wry grin twisting up the corner of his mouth. “No gown. No cocktail. Let me guess, security?”
“You could say that.” Quinn tried to suppress her irritation. Maintaining a neural expression made her forehead itch. So much for security. If this drunk dandy could stumble into Viridian Grove, she was going to have her work cut out for her.
“Why would a beautiful woman like you work for a jerk like him?”
She bristled at his words and sucked in her lower lip. “There’s no law against being a jerk.” She considered him for a moment. “I take it you’re not a fan of Senator Braddock?”
At this the man turned away, but not before she caught a flash of emotion across his face. Anger it looked like, quickly smoothed to indifference.
“I’m not a fan of politicians as a rule.” His words carried unmistakable scorn.
Quinn smiled. “And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am,” He agreed. The man ran a hand through his hair, disheveling his perfect coiffure. That hairstyle would have cost her a month’s wage. He brushed the gold flakes from his fingers. They danced in the recycled air. Thousand-dollar dust motes.
Quinn frowned. Was this dandy judging her? Of all the space trash. “I have a younger sister,” she blurted. Why did she feel the need to defend herself? “She’s a math nerd. Can do things with numbers that make my head spin.”
The man stiffened, then let out a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed and he angled his body toward her with a smile that shot straight through her heart.
For a moment, Quinn forgot how to breathe.
“Your sister,” he prodded.
“Right.” Quinn shook her head. “She wants to be an aerospace engineer. Design interstellar ships. Things I couldn’t dream of. She’s dreamed of going to Tarvos for as long as I can remember. When I have to put up with slimeballs for a while, I just picture my kid sister’s face, grit my teeth and get through it.”
Vincent nodded. “I have a little sister too. Karly.” Her name came out as a strangled whisper. He gouged his nails into the sateen fabric of his trousers. “A real do-gooder. Unlike me.” He chuckled bitterly. “Last year, we found out she has soridius. Incurable you know.” His fingers dug deeper into his pants.
Quinn winced. “I’m sorry.”
No one knew what caused soridius, but there were theories. Poor air filtration, nutrient deficiency, solar radiation. Whatever it was, it didn’t affect people in the aerospheres.
Vincent shrugged. “If I could trade places with her, I’d do it. She’s the kind of person who’d change the world for the better. Loves history. Can’t get enough of Old Earth.” He unclenched his hands and rubbed them along his thighs. His gaze carried a depth of emotion that broke her heart.
Quinn cleared her throat. “She’d love this place then. Senator Braddock tried to get me enthusiastic about all these old trees. The last of their kind. His favorite is this amalfitty—”
“Amalfitano,” Vincent interrupted. “Sfusato Amalfitano. From Old Earth Italiano. Karly told me the rind is supposed to be so sweet it’s even better than the fruit.”
Quinn speared him with her gaze. Why would he know that? “How did you get in here, Delacroix? This area’s supposed to be secure.”
The man leaned toward her, and she caught a whiff of expensive cologne mixed with alcohol. “Are you going to interrogate me, Ms. Security? How exciting.” The grin that stretched along his perfect teeth would have made the Cheshire Cat proud. He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Call me Vincent.”
Quinn pulled her hands back with a groan. She must have been mistaken or watched too many old spy movies. There was no way this dandy could be in a mastermind thieving ring. All the same…
“Let’s go.” She took his arm and helped him up. “We should get back to the party.”
“Ramos,” a nasally voice called out. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” Miles jogged toward them, red-faced. “My father isn’t paying you to bring the guests into Viridian Grove.”
“Your father isn’t paying me at all, Miles. Not yet anyway.”
Miles scoffed but before he could say more, Vincent stepped in.
“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Ms. Ramos was helping me. I became disoriented and she waited with me until I felt well.”
“This is a restricted area. Guests aren’t supposed to be in here.”
“My mistake.” His voice reminded her of a cat’s purr, smooth and confident and pleased with himself.
“Let’s go, Ramos!” Miles grabbed her arm in his sweaty hand and tugged.
Vincent swayed to his feet and let out an ear-splitting yawn. Stretching his arms out wide, he smacked Miles in the back of his head. Hard.
The Senator’s son stumbled forward, pinwheeling his arms. Miles turned back to the taller man, hands balled into fists. “How dare you!” he screeched, his face an alarming shade of purple.
“Pardon me,” Vincent drawled. “Champagne goes right to my head.”
Miles puffed out his chest and snarled, “Don’t you know who I am? My father—”
“Easy, Miles.” Quinn shouldered her way between the two men. “It was obviously an accident.” She eyed Vincent.
It was an accident, right?
“Accident?” Miles’s eyes were bloodshot. Spit sprayed from his mouth with every word. “He assaulted me. Arrest him!”
Quinn briefly closed her eyes and massaged her temples. This was exactly the kind of drama she’d been trying to avoid. “I’m not a police officer. I don’t arrest people.”
“Then I’ll do it. No one makes a fool outta Miles Braddock!”
Quinn raised her eyebrows. Too late.
Miles fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out an Old Earth pistol.
Quinn took a step back. Dread trickled down her spine. Projectile weapons were strictly forbidden in aerospheres. One errant shot could be catastrophic.
She scanned the weapon. The pistol was an antique. It probably couldn’t even fire, but she still needed to confiscate it. Miles Braddock was the last person who should be carrying a projectile weapon.
“Miles,” Quinn spoke slowly and held out her hand. “Give me the gun.” Iron threaded her voice.
Miles sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Ready to take me seriously now, Ramos?”
Quinn stepped toward him, palms out. “This whole dome is pressurized.” She spoke calmly, like a parent lecturing a child. “If that glass breaks, we’re all dead.”
“I’m not stupid.” Miles curled his lip. He waved the pistol toward Vincent. “Just arrest this guy in and I’ll—”
Miles stumbled over a root.
BLAM!
The gun fired.
Quinn threw herself to the ground and pressed her hands against her ringing ears. Old Earth weapons were loud. She did a quick self-assessment, then turned to check Miles and Vincent. The senator’s son was flat on his back, gasping. Vincent was also lying prone in the dirt, hands over his head. Quinn let out a breath. Everyone was still in one piece.
She stood and squeezed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “You’re lucky your father had the foresight to bulletproof his orchard.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vincent said and pointed to a chip in the glass.
A high-pitched whine tore through the air and nausea surged up Quinn’s throat. She swallowed and watched the spiderweb of cracks snake across the window. Wind whipped her hair, air from the orchard getting sucked into the vacuum of space.
“We need to move, now!” Quinn yanked Miles up and shoved him toward the exit. Leaves and gravel blew past her. Small branches slapped her legs, torn from the trees. “Hurry!”
Quinn’s body and mind locked into autopilot from the years of training drilled into her. In an emergency, aerospheres were designed to seal off compromised areas behind blast doors, sacrificing one section to save the rest. Getting trapped and asphyxiating wasn’t a good way to die.
A siren blared.
The overhead lights flickered and went out. Flashing red LEDs slashed through the darkness. Quinn dragged a stumbling Miles toward the exit, fighting against the wind.
The gale force grew stronger, pulling up larger pieces of debris. She dove out of the way of a trash receptacle barreling toward her. It nicked Miles on the side of the head and sent him sprawling. She helped him up and assessed his forehead. A shallow gash and a bump starting to form, nothing worth stopping for. Besides, any first aid would be moot if they didn’t get out of this orchard first.
Quinn felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Something wasn’t right. She spun around and blinked, straining her eyes to search the darkness.
Where was Vincent?
He’d been right behind her.
Hadn’t he?
“Vincent!” A vision of his brown eyes and sardonic grin burned behind her eyelids. She couldn’t leave him to die. “Vincent!” she screamed; words swallowed by the howling wind. Then she saw him, sprinting toward them with a heavy black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
Quinn stared. She opened her mouth and closed it. A vein throbbed in her temple. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand had curled into a fist. She swung, aiming to shatter his perfect, aristocratic nose.
Vincent caught her fist in his hand and chuckled. “Miss me, Ramos?”
“You!” She would have slapped him if she could. “If we weren’t about to die, I’d kill you.”
“No point in letting them go to waste.”
Miles looked between the two of them, confusion furrowing his forehead. “What?”
“He’s the thief!” Quinn tore her hand from his grasp. “And he went back for his score.” She shoved past him. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe I wasted a second worrying about you.”
Miles looked like he was turning green. It was doubtful he’d remember any of this tomorrow. If they lived through this, he was going to have a hangover the size of an asteroid.
“Let’s go,” Quinn growled. “The exit should be just around this corner.”
Red and yellow hazard lights flashed around the blast doors. The thick metal panels were still open.
The tightness in her chest loosened. They weren’t locked in yet.
A computer chimed, “Airlock emergency. Please evacuate immediately.” The blast doors began to slide shut.
“Move!” Quinn shouted. She thrust Miles through the opening. He tumbled forward and sprawled across the lawn. Vincent leaped after him. Quinn raced across the threshold. The doors were almost closed.
A metallic shriek pierced the air, like nails on a chalkboard.
“Get down!” Vincent shouted.
Quinn jerked her head up to see a lamppost had torn free. It sailed toward her. Jagged pieces of metal glittered under the flashing lights. She froze.
Vincent tackled her backward, knocking them both to the ground. The lamppost soared overhead and slammed into the glass. The cracks widened, splintering along the sides of the window. The rush of air accelerated. The remaining oxygen would be sucked out in a matter of minutes.
Quinn fought the urge to wretch. She took great gasping breaths. Her stomach roiled. Vincent rolled off her and helped her sit up.
“Thank you.” Her voice was scratchy. She rubbed her raw throat.
“Don’t thank me just yet.” He nodded to the blast doors. The metal panels were sealed shut and they were still on the inside.
Quinn’s limbs felt like jelly. Worms of panic squirmed through her gut.
Vincent gripped her shoulders and shook her. “But don’t give up either. There’s still a chance we can use the vent.” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“The vent?” she yelled.
“The one I used to break in.”
“Right.” Quinn pressed her hands into her thighs until they burned. She knew nothing about this man, except that he was a criminal. But in this moment, he was her only chance. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand.
Vincent slung his duffle bag across his back and nodded to the right as a pair of pruning shears flew by them. “It’s not far.”
They sprinted across the orchard, dodging branches, flying trash barrels, and even a park bench that had torn free.
Vincent skidded to a stop beside a rickety tree. “Here.”
Quinn looked up. A gray ventilation shaft stretched overhead, cutting a path straight across the ceiling. “It’s at least six stories up. What are we supposed to do, fly?”
Vincent rummaged around his bag. “This was supposed to be an easy job,” he muttered. He pulled out a pair of gloves lined with silver wires and slipped them on. When Vincent flexed his fingers, Quinn heard a metallic click. Lights flashed along the edges of his shoes. Air hissed and metal ports unfolded beneath his loafers, glowing brilliant blue.
“Mag soles.” Quinn let out a breath like a prayer. “Aren’t those military grade?”
Vincent shrugged. “You’d be amazed what you can find on the black market.” He rolled his wrists and tapped his fingers, as if typing on an invisible keyboard. The mag soles activated, and he began to hover. “I should warn you, I’ve only ever flown solo.”
Quinn took in a sharp breath. By her mental calculations, a few more minutes and they’d be at risk of asphyxiation. “Hurry up Vincent! I don’t want to die down here.” She had to scream over the wind.
Vincent flashed her a martyred look, as if to say I’m-saving-your-bacon-and-you-have-the-nerve-to-yell-at-me. “I need my hands to steer. You’ll have to climb on my back.” He turned and bent down.
Quinn scrambled onto his back and cinched her legs around his waist. Her nose brushed the back of his neck, his hair tickling her nose and she smelled his cologne—woodsy with a hint of spice. She swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling dry.
“Hold on,” Vincent said. He raised his arms like a conductor and suddenly they were in the air.
Quinn gasped as they surged upward and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Vincent coughed. “I can’t get us out if you choke me to death, Ramos” he grumbled.
“Quinn,” she muttered, relaxing her grip slightly. “Call me Quinn.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him chuckle.
They floated up toward the vent. The hatch was already loose. Vincent was able to open it easily and glide the two of them inside. Once Quinn slid off his shoulders, he deactivated the mag soles, his shoes thudding the last few inches to the metal plating.
Quinn and Vincent hurried along the ventilation shaft. It was wide enough for them to crouch and shuffle forward, desperation driving them on.
Up ahead, Quinn could see an emergency light flashing. Anxiety squeezed her gut. Emergency doors had locked down the airflow through the ventilation shaft as well.
“No!” She slammed her fist into the metal door. They were still trapped inside the orchard. The vent was a dead end.
“I was afraid of this.” Vincent drawled. “You’ve really got me working overtime here, Quinn.” He pulled out a thin metal pick and used it to pry off a corner of the metal plating. “All these shafts have access panels for maintenance. I just need to rewire it…”
The panel came loose, and Vincent let the metal plate drop to the floor with a clunk. His cavalier grin settled into a frown as he focused on stripping the wires. Sparks flashed. A scent of burning plastic filled the air.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Quinn asked.
“Relax.” Vincent tapped two wires together. More sparks flashed and the emergency seal cranked open with a groan. She could see the sweat trickling down his neck as he turned back to grin at her. “See? Have a little faith.”
Quinn grumbled but followed him through the grate. The ventilation shaft continued over the senator’s lawn. She could catch glimpses of it through the metal slots. No sooner had they both crossed over the threshold than the grate slammed closed behind them.
“And your plan for getting down?” Quinn asked.
“There’s a discreet spot up ahead that I used to enter. The mag soles will do the rest.”
Quinn huffed. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”
He stopped and glared at her over his shoulder as they crawled along the shaft. “I’m towing along one of Braddock’s security officers. So no, I’d say things didn’t quite go according to plan.”
Heat raced up the back of Quinn’s neck. “Where do you get off?” she snapped. “You’re a criminal. It’s not like you have the moral high ground.”
“I like to think of myself a modern-day Robin Hood.”
“Robin who?”
Vincent clicked his tongue. “Robin Hood. Old Earth hero. Stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Ring any bells?”
Quinn continued crawling along behind him. Her hands ached. She was going to have callouses tomorrow. “So, you’re some kind of vigilante?”
“What about you Quinn?” Vincent stopped and squinted back at her. “How can you sleep at night knowing you work for a criminal?”
“I sleep great, thank you very much,” Quinn said primly.
Vincent sighed and resumed moving forward. “Don’t you think it would be nice if the people on Centauri VI could see Amalfitano lemons too?”
Quinn scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Biologics can’t survive on Centauri VI.”
“Is that what he told you?” Vincent sounded sincere.
Quinn wished that she could read his expression. “Everyone knows that.”
“What if I told you Karly found a way?”
“What?” Quinn stumbled to a halt. “Are you serious?”
“Forget it.” Vincent waved his hand in dismissal and resumed his crawl. Quinn could see him slipping the mag sole glove over his left hand.
Suddenly, a metallic shriek tore through the air and the ventilation shaft buckled. Quinn felt the metal seam under her fingers start to separate. She scuttled backward as the metal passageway shuddered.
Vincent turned to follow her. The seam between the two panels stretched wider. He managed to make it halfway across before the shaft groaned and jerked downward. The panel behind him fell away completely, spiraling down to the lawn below.
The motion caused Vincent to lose his footing. He slid toward the gap, hands and feet scrabbling at the smooth metal surface, trying to find something to grip. His feet slipped off the edge. The muscles in his jaw tightened like cords of steel. His eyes widened as he fell backward, his perfect mask of nonchalance cracked.
Quinn caught his arm.
She pushed a foot against each wall to keep herself from tumbling out after him and dug her fingernails into the fabric of his shirt. He could complain about her death grip later.
Vincent hung, dangling from her grasp. The Senator’s lawn loomed below. Quinn’s eyes watered when she looked over the edge. It was at least forty feet below and she’d never been good at heights.
“Quinn,” he called out and she could hear the relief woven into his voice. “Can you pull me up?”
She shifted her shoulders and tensed her arm muscles, but the moment she started to tug the metal shaft grated and trembled.
“It’s no good.” She groaned. “Stars you’re heavy.” Her fingers were starting to go numb.
A clicking sound scraped her ears and tugged at her memory. It was followed by a steady electric hum. Why did that sound so familiar?
The mag soles! He was trying to operate them one-handed.
“Give me a minute to—”
“We don’t have a minute!” Quinn watched in horrified fascination as the metal panel alongside her began to peel away.
Time seemed to slow down.
She heard Vincent shouting but his voice sounded garbled, like he was under water. She saw a screw sliding across the ventilation shaft and drop over the edge.
Then she was falling, mouth open in a voiceless scream.
Vincent tugged her against his chest and flung out his left arm.
This was nothing like their graceful ascent into the ventilation shaft. They jerked to the left. Then Vincent must have self-corrected too far because they swung to the right, fast enough to give Quinn whiplash. Their erratic flight pattern made bile surge up Quinn’s throat and pressed her face into Vincent’s shoulder. Maybe if she couldn’t see the ground it would help.
Then again, maybe not.
Quinn felt them crash sideways into a biologic. Branches scraped across her cheek and tugged at her hair. She crashed to the ground in a shower of leaves and landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her.
When Quinn opened her eyes, she thought maybe she’d died. Large fuchsia blossoms surrounded her like a cloud. The sound of twigs snapping brought her back to reality.
Vincent rushed to her side. “Quinn! Are you hurt?” He knelt beside her and peered into her face.
“I don’t think so.” She flexed her fingers and toes, then attempted to sit up. The world spun and she used his arm to steady herself.
“You have flowers in your hair.” Vincent tugged one of the blossoms free and twirled it between his fingers. “Rhododendron ferrugineum.” He held it out to her. “I’ll never take a shrub for granted again, I promise you.”
Quinn snorted. “You are such a nerd.”
His stylish clothes were covered in dirt, bits of grass stuck in his hair. She probably didn’t look any better if her sweaty, itchy face was any indication. They took in each other’s appearance and burst out laughing.
“That was…” Quinn started. But then there were people rushing toward them. Security, party guests, a red-faced Senator.
Soon this whole area would be flooded with security.
Vincent started to step back, and she grabbed his arm. “I can’t just let you walk.”
He shrugged. “I saved your life. Twice. But who’s counting?”
“It’s my job to protect the senator’s property.”
“The Senator.” His words were bitter, incredulous. His hand twitched toward his side.
Quinn’s breath hitched. Did he have a weapon?
“Ms. Ramos! What is going on?” Senator Braddock charged forward. His eyes bulged. Veins purpled along his temples as he took in his orchard. “My trees! My beautiful trees!” he wailed, falling to his knees.
Quinn sighed. “Your son discharged a projectile weapon. We were lucky to get out alive.”
The Senator’s face blanched.
Quinn put her hands on her hips. “Operating a projectile weapon within an aerosphere is highly illegal. There’s no insurance company in the galaxy that’s going to cover this damage.”
Senator Braddock’s pinched face was starting to turn blue. Should she remind him to breathe?
At any rate, it looked like security would be occupied for a while. Quinn ran a hand through her hair when she felt that familiar prickle at the back of her neck. Something was off.
Solar flares! Where was Vincent?
She saw him slipping away in the crowd. He turned back toward her and flashed a thumbs up. She remembered what he said about Karly, about planting seeds so that everyone could enjoy real fruit instead of canned synth mush.
“Ms. Ramos?”
“Ms. Ramos!”
Quinn blinked and registered a million voices clamoring for her attention.
She focused on one, the Senator’s security officer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Was there anyone else? Anyone else with you in the orchard?”
Quinn looked through the glass window, watched trees and soil sucked into the void of space. The place was going to be a total loss. No one would miss a few lemons. She shook her head, “No, it was just Miles and me. He was showing off an antique gun and it accidentally discharged. The damage caused a breach. We barely made it out alive.”
Miles would take a while to recover from his head injury. He’d also clearly been drinking. She doubted that anyone would believe his story, even if he told the truth. By the look on the Senator’s face, the lemon thief was the last thing Miles needed to worry about.
Gabby probably wasn’t going to get her free ride to Tarvos. One look at Senator Braddock’s face told Quinn the deal had gone up in flames. Strangely, she didn’t feel troubled by it, if anything, she felt lighter. Gabriela was a genius. She could get into Tarvos on her own merit. Quinn had confidence in that. They’d find a way through, somehow. They always did.
The next morning, Quinn’s doorbell rang. It was parcel delivery. The man handed her letter and a box tied with a red ribbon. She opened the letter first. It was from Senator Braddock. He hoped she’d understand that her consulting services would no longer be needed, but he thanked her profusely for saving his son. Behind his hand-penned note was a second document, an offer of a merit-based scholarship to Tarvos for one Gabriela Ramos.
“Gabby!” Quinn shouted. “You’ve gotta come see this.”
When she showed her sister the paper, Gabby pouted.
“Aw sis, you ruin everything. I got the notification a week ago. I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
“A week?” Quinn sank into a chair and stared up at her little sister. All her worrying, and Gabby had already done it on her own. She’d never needed Braddock’s twisted scheme.
“Hey, what’s that package?” Gabby asked.
Quinn shrugged helplessly and handed it to her. “Go ahead, open it.”
Gabby tore apart the packaging. Inside, on a bedding of crushed black velvet, sat a beautiful shining lemon.
“A biologic!” Gabby clapped her hands in delight. “How amazing! I’ve always wanted to see one. Do you think it’s from a secret admirer?”
Quinn crinkled her nose at the sharp aroma and ran her finger along the wrapping. She pushed aside the curtains and glanced across the street. Vincent was probably nearby. Knowing his line of work, they’d certainly meet again.
What would she do next time?
Quinn shook her head. She’d deal with it when the time came. Rubbing her hands together, she grinned at her sister. “Let’s try it! I’ve heard the rind is the best part.”
And it was.
