Rebel's Consort - Phoenix Book 1 (7 page)

The fractured carcass of Dr. Evan Paresh against her door, the dent he’d made in her security containment field, provided her with freedom. Two minutes of downloads had delivered his remaining monetary creds into her fresh new account.

Reward for losing two loving parents and an arm. Hardly.

But that and the Down Below underground had provided her a good start, though her social skills had never caught up with her subversive ones. Hiding on the streets at sixteen had proved almost as hard as surviving Paresh’s lab of horrors. She’d slipped into a renegade roll early on, being lucky enough to procure a laser cannon in the Down Below market for at least ten times the credits it was worth.

For better or worse, her naïve transaction had allowed her to distract Regent guards from taking a young mother’s infant. It had also flagged her to the leader of the underground, code name Radar.

She’d prided herself on evasion only to find herself one night twenty feet from a Regent patrol squad and in a face-to-face introduction with Radar. One of less than a handful of individuals who knew what she looked like, he’d helped her escape and offered her a slot on his team. He’d defined rules to keep her safe, pushed her in the direction of the caves when he’d realized she’d never integrate, even on the fringes of Down Below, and made the difference between her success and death at an early age.

Her one claim to relationships, a series of messaging commands from faceless members of the team. At least what she considered closest to a relationship. Physical relationships didn’t count. Sex, she’d tried once or twice. A fumbled, unpleasant exercise she’d been glad to leave to the people who felt compelled to procreate.

Desire and want had never entered her life—or her thoughts—until the crystal flooded her with images of haunted brown eyes and Trace Boden had walked into her life. Perhaps the reason she fought so hard to keep him at a distance. Her life worked. Complications were something she didn’t need.

***

The path out was easier than the path in. And slower, giving Trace plenty of time to berate himself for expecting a successful outcome and ruining his chances.

He waited precious extra minutes at the crack in the earth beyond New Delphi’s perimeter to make sure no one waited to note his exit. No one would gain access to the entrance and jeopardize Analena’s safe-hold from his actions.

At least six hours had passed underground. Dawn’s light framed the dark lumps from last night into clear, concrete foundations of satellite dishes and pyramids of rubble beyond the tall grass and weeds. The way looked clear, but warning tingled along the back of his neck. Choosing caution, he dropped to his knees and then down to his belly. The blades tickled his face, and the weeds itched against the back of his hands. He slithered the fifty feet to the dark cover of the New Delphi grid’s edge.

Hidden behind a pillar and some rubble, he stood, canvassed again, and then activated his face shield.

The grasses were clear. However, a large, armed surveillance team, escorted by two men wearing the bright orange insignia of immunization technicians, worked their way through the housing ruins twenty feet beneath the grid’s edge.

A knock echoed from their position. The annual census list required constant update, all residents routinely approached, checked, and verified against previous lists. All new children summarily added to the roster and inoculated against tactile infection from the bacteria.

Trace swallowed back his disgust at the obvious way to target prospective harvest victims like cattle. He waited for the group to move further into the quadrant, and made a beeline for the nearest open market stall. Dawn pulled people from their hovels in a false sense of security fostered by the break of sunlight. The crowd of people seeking to replenish their supplies offered him cover.

He headed toward the far corner of the market and Rasmond’s stall. Wrapped and cloaked from view, her gnarled hands were the only clue to her advanced age. He’d guess ninety and given the conditions in Down Below, her longevity astonished him.

The burly outline of her son, the youngest of her brood and the largest, framed against the tarp at the back of the stall. He pushed through to stand at his mother’s back.

With a nod, Trace made a pretense of sorting through the old replacement parts Rasmond stocked for hover vehicles and solar bikes. Few in the Down Under had any need for such items, though only a local would notice. The truly useful items, the illegal ones, lay buried in the baskets beneath. His target—several ion batteries to recharge the tools he’d used on Gar and to run further tests back at his house.

A man peered over Trace’s shoulder, eying his selections, and then moved on to another stall, appearing more interested in newer technologies. From within his vid mask, a rear projector followed the man until he disappeared in the crowd.

Hardly coincidence, the unsubtle reconnaissance flagged that he needed to get moving.

Noting the same thing, Rasmond pointed to the bottommost basket. “Three in yesterday, fully charged.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

She cackled, but her son moved closer, seemingly not trusting any relationship of business. Three hundred pounds of body at her back allowed Rasmond more leeway for trust. “I received a supply of programmable super metal as well, if you’re interested.”

“How much?” He pawed through the box, testing the charge on the batteries and palming all three. “For the metal, too.”

“One hundred and thirty creds.”

He started to put the batteries back, when she leaned in closer, covering his hand so he wouldn’t release the items. “I’ll make it worth your while with information.”

“Information first.” The barter between them was typical. The woman charged exorbitant prices for her merchandise, which was old and of only fair quality, though clean of tracking devices. Her information, however, was always well worth the difference.

“The Regents have levied a head-price for capture of the insurgents who broke into the camp the other night.”

“Hardly surprising, Rasmond. Not sure what good it’ll do them. The breakouts have been running for years. The guards have been looking just as long. They pick up one person, and someone will fill the hole and start again.”

Her hood bobbed, the gesture giving nothing away.

He knew better. Rasmond had lost two grandchildren to the detention camps. She held no love for the Regents or their practices. Then again, he wouldn’t trust her not to sell him out. Whether she knew he’d provided medical aid when her daughter had been attacked, he didn’t know. Even so, it would only buy so much loyalty.

“They’re leaking information on movement of a new child.”

“Who?”

A nail gestured toward the immunization squad now entering the market.

He pocketed the batteries, retrieved a cred coin from his pocket, keying in the amount and his authorization ID. Neither were traceable, thanks to decades of his family’s paranoia in safeguarding their money. “I’ll take the metal, as well.”

“They’re going for more than one. A big show.”

Her hand searched in the bowels of her cloak and produced the tiny box of metal, which he added to his pocket.

“Keep your head down, doctor.”

He froze, but her fingers urged him to move quickly. He dove into the crowd before the squad reached the stall.

Avoiding the obvious routes in favor of the darker, tighter spaces, he sped faster toward his first safe house while contemplating hard choices.

If the witch-hunt targeted a large haul, with a public arrest and execution to send a strong message, and the Regents suspected Onyx, then Piper was a prime target. Rasmond’s declaration confirmed as much.

He would go underground and burn all paths before they closed in, stopping any way of tracking Analena or her small troupe. Then what?

He couldn’t risk contacting her. Though, if she messaged him, his lack of reply would send her a warning.

Glancing at the communicator inside his mask, he willed it to activate from her call. It would probably be a cold day in hell before she asked for his help again. He would be more than happy to crawl to hell and back to keep her safe. Or maybe just to keep her.

Safety for all of them meant wiping Onyx off the map. He could gather all his supplies in several hours. He’d distributed his stash over three locations in case of this eventuality.

Once finished, even Analena wouldn’t be able to find him. Which was fine, he thought with a fresh surge of energy. He would go to her. He refused to leave her exposed and alone. Communication was too dangerous, but he could lay enough false trails throughout Down Below and New Delphi so the Regents would never find him.

He only wished he had an idea of how exposed she might be. If there were truth to leak of a child in need, nothing would keep her away.

Yet, in spite of Analena’s resilience and independence, she must have others in her network. She couldn’t have arranged the extraction of so many children on her own. Shepherd had confirmed the network would monitor feeds to Piper to avoid this circumstance. However, nothing prevented her from receiving intel through other means. Aaron had access where she didn’t. Trace could only hope that the boy scrutinized what information he passed on with as much care as he exacted on assessing him.

Which was why Trace was going back. To Analena’s role as soldier, rebel, and surrogate mother, he could add nothing except medical expertise. Fine. But for the woman, he could provide sanctuary and protection she didn’t realize she lacked.

Granted, he’d shot a big hole in his credibility. But he wasn’t afraid of a little rejection if it saved his angel’s life.

***

“You reek,” said Hena.

Aaron shook his head and scrubbed at his face with one hand. “I want points for the lengths I’ve suffered to procure information.”

“Suffered? Hardly,” Analena said, a frown marring her features as she waved a hand in the air before her nose.

He held out a hand for Gar’s water cup and screwed up his face when the sweet flavor refused to dispel the oily, tang from his taste buds. “Honestly, the synthetic whiskey is horrible. It should be illegal to make alcohol from kelp.”

“It is,” Hena added, unimpressed.

He snorted. Hena would never have pulled off what he did, ferreting out the secrets from people who depended on them to survive. Gads, sick. What was he thinking? Hopefully, Hena wouldn’t ever need to run scams.

With a raised brow, Analena prodded, “This valuable information?”

“I found out more about Trace.” He sidled a glance at the kids. The children shifted, moving closer expectantly as Analena opened her mouth, prepared to send them to the back room. “They deserve to hear this.”

She flinched, closed her eyes for a moment, and then met his gaze.

“He has no connection with anyone here. That’s the first thing they deserve to know.” He glanced at Gar. The kid waited on a cue from Analena. They all did.

“Fine. At least Bits is already asleep.” Her gaze rolled over the ten children in the room. “The rest of you are old enough. So, where the hell have you been, Aaron?”

“Your creds procured three fine bottles of synthetic whiskey.” He closed his eyes for a minute. “To endure three grueling hours of Babcock’s past.”

Hena screwed up her face and leaned back against the rock wall from her pillowed seat on the floor. “How about we get to the important part?”

“There’s a guy on my delivery route, Babcock. He’s been helpful in the past.” Aaron leaned back as well. “After a bottle or two, he gets more helpful and pretty loose with information. He’s let slip before that he worked in the Med Lab building, near Regent’s Square. Rumor had Trace linked there years ago, ten, maybe more.”

It had taken two full bottles before Babcock got into the gritty stuff. Aaron had tipped the bottle between them, filling Babcock’s glass and then his own, discretely keeping a third glass below the table, so he could switch them back and forth and appear to be keeping pace. But as the second bottle drained to its finale, Aaron had almost given up any hope of getting more details on Trace.

“Must be nice for those that live in the high rises above the grids,” he prodded. “No worries. Clean water, food, solar generators to power all the new toys.”

Babcock grunted and rolled his lips over his teeth. “Safer here.” He took a deep swallow and thunked his glass down for more, but once refilled, he let the glass sit. “I used to work up there.”

“No joke?”

“Nah. Nice security desk job with the Med Lab. Sat there all day checking IDs, not a care in the world.” Babcock grabbed the glass with meaty fingers and stretched out his forefinger to point at Aaron. “Good day, sir. Good night, sir. Cake.”

“Those docs must have it made.”

He slurped his whiskey and glared at Aaron over his glass as if waiting until he took his own sip. “Some of them got no problems at all. Some got no soul, either.”

“You knew a lot of them.”

“Most.” He waved the glass. “Not one knew me. Lucky thing.”

“Sounds like all ego.”

The glass lowered to the arm of the chair. Babcock gazed off to the side, replaying something in his mind as Aaron waited.

“One fellow’s wife used to come to work with him. Pretty thing, curvy, long carrot hair. Walked him in, did all the kiss-on-the-puss right in the lobby. First few months, it was all good. A proud, big guy with a swagger, all well-paid family man with a high-end rep.” He took another slurp. “Time goes on, the swagger’s gone. The wife’s still walking him in, except it’s more like she’s dragging him. Her eyes still gleaming, making eye contact with anyone important. Liked the high-end life, she did. Whatever his issue, she towed him in whether he wanted to be there or not.”

Two minutes rolled into five, and Aaron thought he’d finished.

“Wife stopped coming one day, but the doc—he dragged in. Same big dude, now full of ‘I don’t give a flying fuck.’ No good day, hello, good-bye or kiss my ass.” He swallowed the last bit, slammed the glass down again, and turned a cold look on Aaron. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought he was in over his head.