Replica (11 page)

Nadia dropped her voice to something just above a whisper, through with the games. “Neither of us is going to come out of it unstained if you take this any further. I suggest for your own sake that you pay more attention to your lessons and less attention to who else may or may not be listening.” How had she ended up defending the guy she knew was here to spy on her? If she’d been using her head instead of reacting emotionally, she might have been able to use Jewel’s complaint as an excuse to get Dante out of the schoolroom and away from her.

Jewel smiled, a razor-sharp expression that held no warmth. “I was merely trying to be helpful.”

Nadia didn’t dignify that with an answer, and was more relieved than she wanted to admit when Jewel gave up and flounced off. Hostilities weren’t over—they never were, where Jewel was concerned—but at least they were on temporary hiatus.

Nadia began fixing the cup of tea she no longer wanted, and she was surprised when Dante finally left his post at the wall and made his way to the table beside her. He made a show of gathering the trash and dirty dishes onto a tray, but if he were just doing his duty he would have waited until after the break was over.

“I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position,” he said in a voice so low she could barely hear him. “I’ll try not to catch her attention again.”

Nadia dunked her tea bag a little more vigorously than necessary as she took a sidelong glance at him. His eyes were a green-flecked brown, and they sparkled with humor. He must have really enjoyed listening to a pair of Executive girls arguing over him.

“If you’re going to play at being a servant,” she said in an equally low voice, “you should at least
try
to act like one.” No well-trained servant would address his employer’s daughter with such ease and familiarity, especially when they were close enough in age that it could easily be construed as flirting.

Dante arched an eyebrow at her. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said with a pretty good impression of puzzlement. “All I wanted to do was apologize for my mistake. And if you dunk that tea bag one more time, your tea is going to be dark enough to pass for coffee.”

Nadia withdrew the tea bag—he was right, and the tea was likely undrinkable—and dropped it on the tray he extended to her.

“Will there be anything else, Miss Lake?” he asked, suddenly turning formal again.

In her peripheral vision, Nadia saw that the other girls were back in the schoolroom, and she figured even if they weren’t looking directly at her, they were very aware of her and—thanks to Jewel—of Dante. So that was why he’d turned formal again after his overly familiar teasing.

“No,” she said with a sigh, wishing for a simpler life. “You’ve done quite enough already.”

CHAPTER SIX

It
had been almost forty-eight hours since Nate’s murder, and still no word from Kurt. Not that Nate was expecting word anymore. If Kurt had been planning to contact him, he’d have left
something
in the secret compartment, even if it was just a scrawled good-bye. No, Kurt was gone, and he’d left Nate behind without a word. Even if he hadn’t needed Kurt’s account of what had happened on the night of the murder, Nate doubted he could have let go without making an effort to find him. No matter how dangerous that effort might be.

There was only one logical place to begin the search: the Basement.

There were parts of the Basement that respectable Employees and Executives could visit during the day with relative safety. These were the neighborhoods on the fringes, not controlled by any of the gangs. These were also the neighborhoods where the black market did a brisk business, selling goods smuggled in from rival states.

Though the Replica technology was unequaled anywhere in the world, the rest of Paxco’s home-grown tech was decidedly second-rate. Officially, Paxco citizens could buy Paxco products at reasonable prices, or a competitor’s superior products at absurdly high prices with a premium tax on top. Even the richest of Paxco’s citizens balked at those prices, and there wasn’t a single Executive Nate knew who didn’t take advantage of the black market’s offerings—usually through intermediaries, because even in the fringes the Basement was never truly safe.

What Nate was contemplating was not a routine visit. To track down Kurt, he would have to delve into the Basement’s human trafficking market—and that would require him to go deeper into Debasement, where even Paxco security officers feared to tread. It would require him to leave the relative safety of the daylight and venture into the dangers of the Basement night.

Even thinking about going into the Basement at night sent a shiver of adrenaline down Nate’s spine. Like any young man of means, he’d made forays into Debasement with friends, dipping his feet into the shallow end. The neighborhoods that housed the black market during the day turned into something much more sinister at night. The privileged rich could sample some of Debasement’s most tempting vices, dabbling in drugs, exotic contraband, and sex for hire. Such behavior was officially frowned upon, but everyone knew that perfectly respectable Executives and Employees took advantage of the opportunities there.

Nate had never told anyone, not even Nadia, the truth about how he’d met Kurt. Sure, Kurt had shown up at one of the Basement recruitment drives the Chairman sponsored, but he’d come because Nate had invited him. Nate had first met Kurt at a Basement-fringe club called Angel’s, one of the favorite destinations of well-heeled tourists. At Angel’s, you could get cheap, home-brewed drinks that ate a hole in your stomach, or you could get expensive brands that weren’t carried by any official Paxco liquor stores. You could also get any drug your heart desired, and a pretty girl or boy to “entertain” you in one of the private rooms upstairs.

Last year, Nate had gone to Angel’s with a group of friends. Well, not friends, exactly. It was hard to make real friends when you had a secret you couldn’t afford to share—and when most people who tried to make friends with you were just kissing your ass because you were the Chairman Heir. Anyway, he’d gone to Angel’s with a group of other Executive guys. Getting laid at Angel’s was practically a rite of passage for an Executive boy, but Nate had been more interested in getting drunk when the press wasn’t around to snap embarrassing pictures.

He’d been well on his way to achieving this aim when he’d caught sight of Kurt, prowling through the crowd in a palpable cloud of sexual energy. One glance was all it took to see that he was trolling for customers, but like any born-and-bred Basement-dweller, he always kept his eyes open for unexpected opportunities. Like when he’d bumped into a very drunk Executive douche bag and carefully relieved the man of his wallet.

The moment Kurt had slipped the wallet into a gap in his clothing—no doubt a secret compartment sewn in for just such occasions—his eyes had met Nate’s. If Nate were being a responsible Executive, he’d have stormed over and demanded Kurt return the wallet. Instead, he froze like a rabbit, immediately and completely fascinated. A slow, wicked smile spread over Kurt’s lips, and Nate had to grab the back of the chair he was sitting in to keep himself in place. Here in the Basement, he could let loose a lot of his inhibitions, but his companions weren’t so drunk they wouldn’t notice if he made a pass at a guy. And since they weren’t really his friends, that would be a bad, bad thing.

Without meaning to, Nate licked his lips. The spark in Kurt’s eye said he saw the gesture as an invitation. Nate swallowed hard, wishing he could make a true invitation. But though he tended to recklessness, he wasn’t a complete moron and had no wish to experience the horror of “reprogramming.”

Most likely, Kurt knew exactly who Nate was and knew better than to approach. He merely winked at Nate and moved off into the crowd. Nate hadn’t been sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

That might have been the end of their acquaintance, if one of the club’s hostesses hadn’t glommed onto him a while later and started flirting. Naturally, Nate wasn’t interested, but the girl was persistent, and so sexy Nate’s companions started looking at him funny for refusing her. He’d given in because he couldn’t afford not to, but she’d surprised the hell out of him by leading him to a room that was already occupied—by Kurt, who’d paid her to catch Nate’s eye and lure him upstairs.

That had been one of the best nights of Nate’s life, made all the better by the knowledge that he was doing the forbidden and getting away with it. There was an undeniable chemistry between him and Kurt, something Nate
knew
was mutual. Before the night was out, Nate had extracted a promise from Kurt to show up at the next recruitment drive, so that Nate could give him a safe, respectable job. He’d paid an absurd amount of money for Kurt’s time, hoping that Kurt would be able to get by without having to turn tricks until the recruitment drive rolled around, but he half-expected him to be a no-show. Nate had been more thankful than he cared to admit when Kurt kept his promise after all.

Angel’s would always be a favorite for Nate because it was where he’d met Kurt. But it was also a place where money, both company scrip and real dollars, changed hands in epic quantities. If Kurt had arranged passage out of Paxco, he’d most likely arranged it at Angel’s. So tonight, Nate was going there, as he had countless times before since his first trip at the age of fourteen. With one big difference.

This time, he was going alone.

*   *   *

Nate
looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if he’d gone completely crazy. Nobody sane would think of doing what he was about to do.

The eyes that stared back at him from the mirror weren’t his.

Well, yes, they were. They just didn’t look like it.

Pale blue contacts leached most of the color from his eyes, and the kohl he used to line them made them look paler still, almost inhuman. His naturally dark hair was hidden under a white-blond wig, and his eyebrows and eyelashes were painted soot black with more kohl. A thin, blue-white powder cooled and lightened his warm skin tone, and his black lipstick didn’t go all the way to the edges of his lips, making his mouth into a harsh black slash in his face.

He couldn’t do anything to change his basic bone structure, of course, but a couple of pouches artificially filled out his cheeks, giving him dimples, and the changes in his coloring were so striking that even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. If his own mother were around, that is. She and the Chairman had had a falling out almost ten years ago, and she’d withdrawn from public life, entering a fancy Executive “retreat” that bore a disturbing resemblance to a medieval cloister. Nate hadn’t seen her since. Apparently, staying away from the Chairman was more important to her than maintaining a relationship with her son.

Regardless, no one looking at him would guess that he was really the Chairman Heir in disguise. Right now, he was a different person. He was the Ghost, a Basement alter ego Kurt had helped him create. Well, bullied him into creating, at least at first. Nate had balked at just about every aspect of the costume. But he’d wanted to go to the Basement incognito more than he’d wanted to protect his dignity, and in this getup, he fit right in. Nate had the amusing thought that if his own staff should catch sight of him, he’d be detained as an intruder. But then he decided the thought wasn’t so amusing—if anyone should find out about his alter ego, his days of slipping away to the Basement would be over.

Dressed in black leather and silver chains that made his artificial skin tone look even paler and more sickly, Nate used the escape route he and Kurt had devised together to sneak out of his apartment without anyone knowing.

The escape started with a long slide down a laundry chute—one that was a lot less nerve-wracking when Kurt was waiting at the bottom. Tonight, Nate just had to hope no one was dawdling in the laundry room at one in the morning.

Nate hit the pile of laundry at the bottom of the chute with a soft “oof” he couldn’t suppress. The landing stole his breath for a moment, but he was relieved to find himself in a pitch-dark room. There was no one around to witness his escape.

When he caught his breath, Nate scrambled out of the laundry and edged his way to the door. From there, it was a long, nerve-wracking trek to the service stairs, and an even longer climb in the dim, echoing stairway down to the parking level. The only good news was that no one in their right mind used a stairway in a high-rise—especially at one in the morning—unless absolutely necessary.

Nate couldn’t set foot on the street in his disguise. Theoretically, Basement-dwellers could roam the city as freely as Executives and Employees, but in practice they tended to stay in the Basement. You could sometimes see them in their flamboyant outfits in the neighborhoods that bordered the Basement, but you’d certainly never see them in the streets of lower Manhattan, in the territory of the cream of Executive society. Even if he wasn’t immediately detained, he’d be
noticed,
and that might be just as bad.

But he couldn’t just commandeer his own car to drive out into the city. He’d have to use his parking pass to get in and out of the garage, and the activity would be logged for curious eyes to see. Which left him no alternative but to be a little … creative.

As a general rule, most people of the Employee class couldn’t afford to own gas-fueled vehicles, so they used public transportation. However, one of the men who worked the front desk at Nate’s building owned a motorcycle—an ancient Ducati he had inherited from his grandfather—that he doted on like a favorite pet. Thinking he might enjoy taking a joyride someday, Nate had persuaded Kurt to steal the man’s keys and make copies, a task that had been child’s play for Kurt’s nimble fingers. They never had taken that ride together, but Nate still had the keys. He figured it wasn’t stealing, as long as he brought the bike back in one piece. Besides, being on the bike would give him an excuse to wear a helmet and cover the most obvious parts of his disguise.

The bike had an obviously nonstandard storage compartment strapped awkwardly to the back. Nate removed his chain-laden leather jacket and stuffed it in the compartment, leaving himself in a plain black T-shirt and black leather pants. Still noticeably out of place in this neighborhood, but probably in the dark and on the move it wouldn’t draw too much attention, as the aggressive chains would.