No Going Back (2 page)

You may wonder why I’m bothering. If I’m dead, you may think that nothing I will say to you is likely to matter.

Yet I will make these recordings. Some of what I will tell you may prove useful to you if I die.

There are, though, other reasons for me leaving you these messages.

As much as your feelings at times annoy me, I have to admit that I understand them, at least to some degree. I have feelings, too, as troubling as that admission is. So perhaps my feelings are playing a minor role in this choice.

More important, though, than my feelings or yours is the potential cost of your recent behavior patterns. I’m not talking here about death. If you die, or even if we both die, only we will suffer.

What I fear is what you will do before you die.

Jon, I’m bothering with these recordings primarily because it’s important that before it’s too late you come to understand the one thing that might stop you from chasing your own death: Someone could know everything about you and still accept you. Care about you. Be your friend.

More to the point, if I can know you and care, others can, too.

You need to understand that, Jon, but not just for your sake. You need to find some peace for the sake of whatever world you’re on, maybe for the sake of all the worlds.

You’re simply too dangerous to be running so long on the edge.

If I can’t save you, Jon, then maybe by convincing you to open up—if not to me, then to someone—I can save a lot of others from you.

Yes, I know exactly how powerful and dangerous you can be, Jon.

I know
everything
.

Everything.

CHAPTER 3

Jon Moore

A
minute into my approach, Privus began its ascent. The most exclusive, private gallery on Studio, Privus was itself a piece of art that spent its nonworking hours under the surface of the sand. Only the wealthy could afford to rent it.

The ground trembled and nonexistent birds sang in warning, Privus’s invisible speakers filling the air beautifully.

I dropped to the sand as men emerged from the three ships to watch the show.

First to appear above ground was the hundred-and-fifty-meter-wide shell that protected the gallery proper. The pieces of it rose slowly and separately, the first meter taking a full five seconds, and then each following meter, the same. An egg-shaped shell of shimmering metal, it caught the fading sunlight and threw back, with a little help from its own lights, a brighter light in dazzling, shimmering rainbows that made me shake my head in admiration even though I’d studied half a dozen holos of Privus. At the same time, the birdsongs gave way to roaring waterfalls that made the sand falling off the shell seem like water.

Once ten meters of shell were visible, I stood and headed around the gallery toward the back of the ships.

On cue, the two catering ships were landing fifty meters behind the three that had brought the guests. Privus’ rise played loudly enough to cover much of the approach sounds of the hired help.

I was closing on those ships as Privus’s shell reached its peak of thirty meters and paused. Drumbeats wove a background to the waterfalls, which diminished in intensity as the drums gained volume. When the water sounds had vanished entirely, the drums picked up pace and held for a few seconds, the beat powerful in the desert night.

A single voice, wordless but clearly a human voice hitting a high note above the drums, spiked the air. The drums stopped suddenly. The voice held the note.

I felt myself holding my breath and forced myself to breathe as I ran.

Another voice joined the first. A section of the shell broke free, a roughly triangular piece of metal standing apart from the rest.

Another voice merged with the first two. A section on the other side from the first separated from the shell.

Another voice, another new section.

When what had been the shell was now a circle of metal spikes, a dark hulking mass became visible between and inside them. The voices began singing a wordless tune as the spikes slowly withdrew into the sand.

The top of the structure inside the shell burst into a fierce white light. The light moved down the structure in time with the vanishing spikes, leaving behind a building outlined in soft gold and glowing from within, its less bright lights still clearly visible against the ever darkening sky. The round, tapered gallery slowly took form, its glass exterior clear enough to show the gold seating areas inside it. Built for crowds to enjoy art and shows in its center, Privus featured box seats scattered around the upper levels of its interior. As the tips of the spikes disappeared under the sand, the open floor glowed in gold outline.

Most of the men standing outside the ships applauded. Many of the caterers joined them for a second before a few men at the front of the group signaled them to be quiet; the clients did not want to hear from the help. I shared the urge to applaud but kept moving to the rear of the catering vessels.

The singing voices stopped suddenly. The drums returned. Whistles and violins joined them. A second, outer shell grew in sections from the ground, each section composed of a clear, circular beam that rose and then bent inward until the beams had cleared the top of the gallery and bent slowly toward one another. They connected above the center of the gallery and locked together.

The catering ships rose into the air and headed away.

Bells rang as sections of thin mesh shot from beam to beam, linking them in a semi-transparent silver halo that in seconds completely enveloped the gallery. The thin wires and the slight current buzzing through them blocked all electronic transmissions going in or out of the gallery; once inside, your business was strictly your business. The gold lights soaked through and complemented the silver of the mesh in a constant reminder that you were in the presence of wealth.

I reached the rear of the caterers and moved closer to the group. No one was looking in my direction, so I joined the men watching the show.

The music held a single long note and then stopped.

The gallery glowed inside its electronic protector, a priceless egg safe inside a metallic cup that ran five meters deep into the sand. The Privus advertising holos had been free with their facts, because they could afford to be; the gallery was as secure against electronic incursion as it could be. Physical insurance was the renter’s problem, and an enormous deposit made sure you took that problem seriously.

A man separated from the client group and motioned them all back to their ships.

We waited until they were all inside, no doubt enjoying refreshments until we were ready to serve them in the gallery.

As soon as the last of the three ships sealed all the paying guests inside, a tall, wide man with golden skin almost the color of the gallery started barking orders. “Single file through security, station heads and drink masters first, then cooks, then the rest of you lot. Once inside, run to your station heads. We need drinks ready to serve in twenty, and they don’t like to wait. Move it!”

I hung back so I was last in line. I counted fifty-one staff ahead of me, just what Lobo had learned from breaking into the catering company’s databases. He was right; I should always trust him to do his job.

“Nice show,” Lobo said over the comm, “though almost certainly more impressive from your vantage than mine. Are you ready for this? You could still back out.”

“Good to go here,” I said. I bent in a small cough and took out my contact.

Lobo sighed. “Good to go.”

When my turn came, the two security people barely looked at me as one thrust a pair of retina-checking glasses at me while another looked for my name on a small display in her right hand.

The glasses beeped their approval, and the guard began packing them up.

As I stepped forward, the woman with the display held up her hand.

“Not so fast,” she said. “You’re not Ruiz.”

We’d prepared for this, so I answered without hesitation. “Never claimed to be. He felt sick and couldn’t make it. I cleared the security check last week, so he told me about it. I asked for the work. They gave it to me.” I shrugged. “Simple as that.”

She stared at me. “You a friend of his?”

“Friend enough,” I said, “for Anton to pass on a chance at work he couldn’t do.”

She grabbed the other guard and, without taking her eyes off me, whispered to him.

He circled behind me as she said, “Well, that’s interesting. I’ve been seeing Anton for almost a year, and he never mentioned any,” she glanced at the display for a second, “Jon Mashem.”

The other guard put a hand on my right shoulder.

“Exactly who are you,” she said, “and why are you here?”

CHAPTER 4

Jon Moore

“C
hecking,” Lobo said.

I held up my hands. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s just what I told you: My name is Jon Mashem, and I’m here to replace Anton as a server.”

“Got her,” Lobo said. “She’s Cristina Park.”

“What’s in the pack?” Park said.

“My uniform. I didn’t have time to change before the shuttle brought us here.”

“Check it,” she said.

The guard behind me squeezed my shoulder harder.

I reached back and thumbed the pack’s release.

He opened its top and stuck in his hand. “Shirt, jacket, pants, shoes—like he said,” the man said.

“Anyone who wanted to break into this place would bring a uniform,” Park said. “You have one more chance to answer me, or I send you back under guard.”

“You’re Cristina, right?” I said. “Anton’s talked about you; I have no idea why he didn’t mention me.”

“Suggest she contact him,” Lobo said.

The woman glared at me.

I lowered my arms slowly. “If you don’t believe me,” I said, “call him. Ask him yourself.”

I’d drugged Ruiz late during the last round at Evergreen, a bar not far from his apartment. He’d stay under until well into tomorrow. Lobo had better be able to intercept his communications if she called my bluff.

Park stared at me for a second and turned to the side, as if she were going to let me through.

The guard behind me let go of my shoulder.

I stepped forward.

Park blocked my path and held up a small holocomm disc. “I think I will ask him,” she said. “Let’s both see.” She stared at my eyes.

“Sure,” I said. “Remember, though, that he’s sick, so he may not be in the best of moods.”

“Anton,” she said.

A few seconds passed before a holo shimmered a head into existence above the disc in her hand. The head coughed and said, “Cristina. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” she said.

“Sick,” the holo said. “Didn’t Jon tell you?”

Her expression softened. “Yeah, but I still wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m more than a little short of okay,” the holo said, “but I’m on the mend.” Another cough. “Don’t worry; I’ll be ready for our next date. Three days is plenty of time to heal.”

“I’m glad he kept his appointments in his wallet,” Lobo said.

“See you then,” Park said. She thumbed off the comm, pocketed it, and looked up at me. “Anton’s a great server. Make sure you do good work and don’t embarrass him.” She waved me through.

“I will,” I said.

“Reminder,” Lobo said, “I won’t be able to contact you once you’re inside.”

“You ever worked Privus before?” she said.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Head to the right and join the other servers,” she said. “And get changed. You should have shown up in uniform.”

“Will do,” I said. “Thanks!”

I quick-walked through the first doorway only to face another door, this one closed. I waited for a couple of seconds as the first door closed behind me. The one in front of me then opened. Night would bring cold and winds to the desert outside, but we’d know none of that inside.

I immediately turned right. Inside, Privus’s walls glowed with the same gold I’d seen on the exterior, but the chairs, sofas, and some of the interior walls were a soft red fabric decorated here and there with patterns of gold activethread that wove their way slowly through the red. I stopped short of the kitchen and headed upstairs via a servant’s stairway, its entrance door a barely visible crease in the fabric of the wall. I turned into the first restroom I found, changed into the server’s uniform, and tore away the false lining that covered the bottom third of the pack. I pulled out all six thumb-sized cameras and put them in my pants pockets. If we could get Privus’s security feeds to engage at the right time, they would provide enough footage, but redundancy is always a good idea. I left the bladders, a comm hub, two strips of pills, and a pair of goggles in the pack.

I glanced outside the restroom. All clear.

I grabbed the pack and jogged back to the stairs and up them all the way to the top, where a tightly clustered group of four small boxes looked down on the main floor below. Ten security staffers down there were directing ten pedestals, one person per pedestal, into positions around the room. Each appeared to be gently guiding a pedestal with a hand on it a meter or so from the floor. When a guard and pedestal pair stopped, the guard would use quick laser bursts to check how visible the pedestals would be from multiple angles around the space.

I applied one of the cameras to the outside of each of the four boxes and one each to the ceilings of two opposing boxes. Each cam’s chameleon circuitry engaged quickly and blended it into the fabric.

I checked the ground floor. Everyone was so preoccupied with setup that no one was looking at the very top boxes.

Normally, anyone renting Privus would turn on the place’s many security cameras first thing, but we were betting that none of these men wanted any record of their presence and so the cams would be off. I stepped to the back of the last box and tuned into the machine frequency to be sure. So many appliances and other devices were chattering at once that I had trouble separating the cameras from the rest, but after a few seconds, I found one. People may go to great expense to secure the data that security systems capture, but they rarely bother to touch the chatter among the machines. Though mostly dull, those machine-to-machine conversations can also sometimes provide some very useful information.