Fontanas Trouble (2 page)

Chapter Two

Fontana leaned back in her chair
in the 1930s speakeasy the Rag Time Club and looked across the dance floor at
the black woman singing on the stage. Her sultry voice poured from the
microphone into the dimly lit room like Norak silk. The early twentieth century
had its moments. The tables surrounding the dance floor accommodated two people,
the white vinyl booths that lined the wall, six. Every seat was filled. Most
people were dressed in character from the twenties and thirties. Fontana wore a
black satin dress with a flared skirt and her long hair contrasted the short
cuts nearly all the other woman wore.

Anyone who saw her would assume
she wasn’t quite the avid 1930s fashion fan most female tourists were, but she
fit in well enough. Still, she couldn’t help admiring the elaborate flapper
dresses and the long, elegant gowns. The waist-length necklaces, long cigarette
holders, and feathered wraps would be fun. Fontana thought of the man she’d met
in the alley two hours ago and pictured his shoulders filling out one of the
knee-length pinstripe suit coats. She remembered the gorgeous cock that would
fit snugly in the trousers. The black collared shirt and white tie would be an
irresistible finishing touch.

The front door of the bar opened,
and a man stepped inside. The carved ebony nose ring he wore identified him as
New Kenyian, a reclusive race of nomads who currently inhabited two planets on
the Second Spiral Arm. His gaze passed over the room in casual interest. His
eyes didn’t linger on her, but she knew he saw her.

She was taking a chance, hiring
him. She was, after all, supposed to be on vacation. The idea still made her
laugh, despite the fact that if the Track Cartel found out where she was, she
would be dead within a day.

The Corps said she needed to stay
safe until the hearing where she testified against the cartel members, and a
vacation resort was the last place they would look for her. But her safety was
only part of why the Corps had sent her to Sagitariun. This vacation was
supposed to make her forget about Jenny, a young geologist fresh out of school
with a head full of hopes and dreams who’d been tortured and murdered on Rigil
IV.

If Stephaney knew Fontana was
conducting her own investigation into Jenny’s death, Stephaney would revoke
Fontana’s leave. The last thing the Coalition wanted was a Corps soldier
interfering in Special Ops. But the Coalition had no intention of expending any
more energy on Rigil IV. One failure on that planet was enough.

Fontana figured that whatever
cartel leader Gaelen Castor had beamed off the planet before she and the rest
of the Corps had closed in on him had something to do with why he’d murdered
Jenny. If the Coalition wouldn’t uncover the truth behind Jenny’s death,
Fontana would. Jenny deserved justice. So did the parents who’d lost their only
daughter. A daughter lost under Fontana’s watch.

Her contact sauntered to the bar
and ordered a drink. Fontana sipped her Scotch. She hadn’t had a Scotch this
good in years and wondered if Sagitariun replicated the smoky-oak barrel taste,
or if it was the real thing. The synthesized liquors typically didn’t compare
well to the real thing, but aged liquors had become too cost prohibitive for
the average person. Only a handful of manufacturers catered to the wealthy, and
the best oak for aging came from Earth. Oak had become so valuable—along with
other irreplaceable woods, herbs, fruits, and berries—that Earth had turned
into an agricultural paradise.

She threw back the remainder of
the drink, then signaled the waitress for another. The song ended, and the
singer began an even slower song. From the corner of her eye, Fontana saw her
contact lean against the bar. He gazed around the room and paused when their
eyes met. She gave a small smile, indicating interest, and he pushed off the
bar and wound his way through the tables toward her.

“Care to dance?”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” she
replied.

“Leave it to me.” He set his
drink on the table and extended a hand.

She rose, and he led her onto the
dance floor and into the heart of the swaying throng. Fontana entwined her arms
around his neck and pressed her cheek against his jawline. He smelled of light
cologne and musky male, a pretty good combination. So why was she picturing Mr.
Naked streaking through Spacer Jack’s?

Her contact pressed his mouth to
her ear. “This is one big favor.”

Her mind snapped to attention. Favor?
Was he kidding? “Ten thousand credits is no favor,” she said.

“I should have gotten fifty thou
for the risk I’m taking.”

“Is the little mouse afraid of
the big bad wolf?” He was no little mouse, but he was acting like a pussy.

“If my transmissions are
intercepted, I could get popped,” he replied.

“Then keep quiet and listen
close, friend. You were paid for one small piece of information. Nothing more,
nothing less.” She felt him stiffen. “Loosen up,” she ordered. “I expect you to
act like you want to dance with me. Now, what have you got?”

A heartbeat of silence passed
before he answered. “Ten days ago, a small freighter entered Draconian space.
It was heading for customs when it vanished off the screens. The freighter
asked for permission to pass but warped out when ordered to stand down and be
boarded for inspection.”

Fontana whistled under her
breath. That was not only illegal but marked the ship for challenge anywhere in
the four galaxies. The ship might have to be dismantled and the hull number
abandoned. The going rate for a new hull number was a billion credits.

“That’s not something that
happens every day,” she said. “Any idea why they disappeared after asking to
enter customs?”

“Customs detected an unknown
source of energy onboard. They figure the captain was on to them and took off.
In any case, that’s the only incident that showed up on the grid you outlined
in the time frame you gave.”

It wasn’t much, not nearly what
she’d hoped for. What had she hoped for, the cartel to wave a sign that said ‘this
is the reason we killed Jenny?’

“Your precious Galactic Coalition
made a real mess on Rigil IV,” he said.

Fury swept through Fontana, yet
fresh tears flashed under her eyelids. Jenny had been too young to die. She
shouldn’t have been placed so deep undercover. Fontana would never get over her
death. Just like she’d never get over blaming Stephaney for assigning Jenny to
a mission she hadn’t been ready for.

Fontana forced her body to relax.

He gave a soft snort. “When their
cadre’s house of cards falls, they’ll take half the galaxy with them.”

“You going to solve galactic
politics?” He was right, but Fontana didn’t try to hide the menace in her
softly spoken words.

If not for exclusive trade
agreements, progressive tax zones, and patent protection, the Coalition would
crumble—which was why she and Jenny had been assigned as undercover agents on
the newly colonized Rigil IV.

The Coalition should have known
better than to leave Rigil IV unguarded, but the logic had been that the lack
of military force would show the planet had nothing of value. They’d been
wrong.

* * * *

Night had passed into late
morning, and nothing appeared on the news feeds about the naked man. Blowing
the back door of Spacer Jack’s should have lit up news outlets all over the
resort. Was she wrong? Did the lack of news mean the incident really was part
of an adventure package?

Fontana skirted the nine meters
tall eggplant that stood like a purple wart in the middle of the lobby of the
Hotel Baba Ghanoush.

 A harpist played soothing tunes
beside a burbling fountain. She continued past the concierge’s podium toward
the hallway.

“Miss Fontana,” the concierge
called out in his singsong accent that sounded more Indian than Middle Eastern.

He hurried around the desk. She
stopped as he approached.

“Miss Fontana, pardon me, please.
Pardon me.”

“Cut the phony accent, Ahmed. No
one is around.”

He stopped and straightened. “A
man was here to see you.” His Middle Eastern accent had been replaced with a
hint of Old Earth Boston.

“Was he naked?” she asked.

Ahmed’s eyes widened. “No, ma’am.
Not at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush. We’re a family resort.” He reached inside his
billowing sleeve and produced a slip of paper. “The man left this.”

Handwritten on the note was:
You
took my raincoat at Spacer Jack’s yesterday. Kindly return it, and I won’t
press charges.

She folded the note. “Thanks.”

“Yes, my lady.” He held out a
hand. “I didn’t tell a soul.” He made an exaggerated motion of locking his lips
and throwing away the key.

Ahmed couldn’t know the Coalition
Corps had paid the small fortune the ground-floor room with terrace had cost
and wasn’t shy about asking for money. She couldn’t blame him. Working at a
resort hotel was little better than indentured servitude. Club Sagitariun was
filled with people who had come here to work, then couldn’t save enough to
leave. She reached behind his ear and produced two tokens by sleight of hand,
making him flinch. Fontana held the tokens just out of his reach.

“If the man comes back, don’t
tell him I was here. Right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She dropped the tokens into his
palm. Two minutes later, she was at her room. She thumbed the lock. The door
dematerialized, then rematerialized behind her after she’d entered. She caught
sight of the flashing green dot in the upper corner of the mirror, indicating a
message was waiting. It was too much to hope the message was from her brother
Mason back home on Earth.

Fifteen years ago, Fontana left
Colorado and her brother for Lower Florida, where Corps headquarters was
located. Mason’s small, industrial-design business did well for him and his
wife Susan and would provide for the baby that was overdue. Hard to believe her
baby brother was expecting his first child. She’d left Colorado fifteen years
ago. Fontana sighed. She hated the fact Mason still took time to worry about
her.

Fontana crossed to the bed, a
round monstrosity big enough for a foursome that dominated the center of the
room, and tossed the note onto the mattress. A couple dressers, some
appliances, entertainment equipment, and clothing and food synthesizers left no
wall exposed except for two old-fashioned French doors that opened onto the
terrace. A stand supporting a one hundred and twenty-two centimeter tall vase
stood between the two doors. She continued to the French doors and opened them.
A dozen couples lounged around the pool and frolicked in the water. Perfect.
She could use a swim—as soon as she got rid of the fucking green eye staring at
her back.

Fontana turned. She wanted to
ignore Stephaney, but the Corps was drilled too deep inside her. That was their
job, to burrow so deep inside that nothing short of death could extricate them.
They’d had fifteen years to own her. The transaction was complete.

There was a chance the message
was from Mason with the announcement she was an aunt. Warmth rippled through
her at the thought of Mason’s son calling her Aunt Fontana. She had no idea
what kind of aunt she’d be, but she wanted to be a part of her brother’s life.
She released a breath, strode to the dressing table, and sat on the stool.

“Play message.”

The decryption algorithm
chortled, then: “Hi, Major.” Stephaney’s clipped voice filled the air. “Give me
a call. I have an update on Jenny.”

Fontana’s heart constricted.
Stephaney knew how to twist the knife. Fontana opened a connection to Corps HQ,
334-YT on Travit VII. The mirror clouded up, and the blue GT&T, Galactic
Telephone and Teleportation Corporation, a spiral–arm galaxy emblem spun as a
subspace link burned through the ether. The progress bar rolled to completion,
and Stephaney’s face replaced the corporate emblem. She sat behind her desk
and, as usual, not a strand of auburn hair was out of place.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”
What did Stephaney
expect her to say? I’m having the time of my life and haven’t given a thought
to the fact a new recruit was murdered on her first assignment?

The yearlong assignment had
required total isolation on Rigil IV, an agrarian colony. Jenny had been part
of the Geology and Soil Management Department, while Fontana had been in
security—her stomach twisted. She had run security and let Gaelen Castor murder
Jenny.

“You said you had news about
Jenny,” Fontana prodded, shutting off the memories.

The colonel nodded. “Her remains
are in an S-warp drone on the way to her family.”

A super-warp unmanned drone was
the latest technology. With warp fields so powerful and acceleration so high,
no living human could survive a ride in one. Very safe and very expensive.

“She arrives on Earth in ten
days, and the wake is two days later,” Stephaney continued.

Fontana suppressed the tears that
welled up. “How’s the case going?”

“The evidence, along with your
testimony, will convict the seventeen members of the Track Cartel who were on
Rigil IV. Good work.”

“One Coalition agent for
seventeen criminals.” Fontana nodded. “Sounds like we came out ahead.”

“You can stop blaming yourself.”

Fontana kept her eyes locked with
the colonel’s. “I’m not the one who sent her there, ma’am.”

“You blame the Corps for sending
her in.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you blame yourself for not
protecting her.”

Fontana stared. “Will there be
anything else, Colonel?”

Stephaney released a tired sigh.
“Get some rest. Remember, you’re supposed to be on vacation. Lose yourself for
a while, Major. There’ll be plenty of work when you get back.”