The Rule of Luck (10 page)

I scooped up the deck, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. My coffee had gone cold by the time I sipped it again, so I tapped the table for more heat. With my interaction, Eleat woke from suspend mode.

“You have been quiet, Felicia. Shall I shut down?”

“No, let's try one more. Open a new file. Call it ‘Petriv.' ”

“Yes, Felicia. Begin recording when ready.”

To my shame, I ran the cards no less than eight times—Eleat was kind enough to keep track. I ran spreads on the success of his venture, his past, his future, his work relationships, his love life, his relationship with me. I wanted to understand him and what he and the Tsarist Consortium hoped to gain by controlling the Earth-to-Mars transit link. What did he mean when he said he wanted to bring down One Gov?

By the time I'd finished, my head spun, but I'd learned something about Petriv. Unfortunately, it scared me. His readings contained too many daggers—strategy and conflict. They were also rife with Major Arcana, meaning his struggles were internalized. He acted on his surroundings, not the other way round. Most troubling, again and again in every reading, I drew the Lovers and Death. Symbolic? Maybe. Something to be wary of? Most definitely. I looked at the Lovers again, my mind flashing back to Petriv's lips on mine and one of the last things he'd said to me before I left the restaurant:
“There is very little standing in my way.”
I trembled at those words and wondered what he'd really meant by them.

A glance out the window showed the sky had faded to black. The sun typically set around six thirty in Nairobi, meaning I'd worked the whole afternoon. Four solid hours of readings. No wonder I felt drained. My hair had dried into a frizzy mess and my feet and legs were cold. Hell, I was still wearing my bathrobe. My stomach rumbled too. Plus, that meant Roy was still out cold in the bedroom. I needed to check on him.

I glanced at my c-tex messages. One from Natty, invoicing our expenses for the next two weeks. My eyebrows rose at the total—I suspected Charlie Zero had padded the numbers with some magic math. Still, I left it. Who knew what situations I'd run into over the next two weeks? I deserved some danger pay. I moved the invoice to the CN-net protocol at the shop. Once I saw Petriv, I would transfer it to him.

I got up from the desk and stretched. A soft knock sounded on the door. “Can I come in?” Roy stepped inside before I could speak, looking rumpled and greenish, eyes bloodshot.

“I have to go in to work tonight. Just got a ping from the CN-net.”

My mouth opened in surprise. “That's kind of last minute.”

He shrugged. “I was expecting it, actually. There's a shipment coming in from Mars with a couple of perps that need tailing. It could make or break my case. I have to be at Spencer Lift Station in two hours. I'll be pulling at least three twenty-four-hour shifts back-to-back.”

Spencer Lift Station was the terminal point for the Indian Ocean space elevator. If Roy left now, MPLE transport would have him there just in time. For everyone else, the trip meant a Y-Line shoot to Jomo Kenyatta International, a twenty-minute speed-burst flight to Moi International in Mombasa, another pod ride to Kilindini Harbor, and finally a hovercraft jaunt out to the terminal point proper. The whole journey could take most of the day. That MPLE could do it in two hours was impressive.

“Will you be okay?” I asked. “You had a lot to drink.”

“I woke up earlier and took the al-effects. They helped. Doesn't matter anyway. MPLE wants me there.”

I knew it was wrong, but the relief I felt at the change in plans left me weak-kneed. I'd be gone and back from Denver with Roy none the wiser.

“When you get home, we need to talk.”

“I know.” He ducked his head, looked sheepish, and ran his fingers through his short blond hair. It stood up in various places. “I overreacted. I'm not sure what got into me. When I couldn't locate you, I got scared.”

“So you decided to drink? That doesn't seem like the logical thing to do.”

“I never said it was logical. I just got scared.”

“About what? You could have contacted the police or…” I caught myself mid-sentence. I didn't want to discuss this now that I was off the hook.

He stepped farther into the office, shrugging into his jacket at the same time. “I just want to know you're safe and sticking close to home until I get back.”

“I'll be here. No big plans for the next few days,” I said, shoving down the guilt.

I stood, offering my cheek for a perfunctory good-bye kiss. Petriv's words came back to me like a blow, along with the realization that if I truly loved Roy, I never would have let him touch me. Fucker.

When Roy's kiss came, it was in the form of lips pressed against my hairline. No passion whatsoever. “I'll see you in four days. We'll do something special when I get back.”

“Okay. I'll try to think of something,” I made myself say.

He grinned, pulling me closer. I molded myself to him. I'd show Petriv how much I loved my boyfriend! “That's my girl. Maybe we could try that—”

My bracelet fluttered against my wrist. “Felicia, you have received a face-chat shim. I have it in suspend. Contact and location are unrecognizable and unhackable. I cannot identify this link. Would you like me to reroute and dump?” the ever-helpful Eleat asked.

Weird. I only received fact-chat shims from friends and family. You needed an old c-tex for that and hardly anyone outside my circle of contacts owned one. If Eleat couldn't identify them, this wasn't a shim I needed to deal with.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my eyes on Roy, whose smile became a frown.

“What's that about?” he asked.

“I've no idea. What were you saying?”

My bracelet fluttered again. Again, Eleat intercepted. “Felicia, you have another shim. Same contact and location as previously. Would you like me to reroute and dump?”

“They seem persistent,” Roy mused.

“It's probably nothing. Eleat, disconnect.” Back to Roy: “I just want to know everything's okay.”

“We're okay.” His arm tightened around me. “Everything is fine, and like I said, we'll do something special—”

My bracelet fluttered. “Felicia, you have another shim. Same contact and location. Shall I reroute and dump?”

Roy pulled back and gave me a level look. “I think you should answer it.”

I frowned, not liking the expression on his face. I tapped the jewels, releasing the shim. Up popped the holo face-chat. “Yes?”

“Felicia Sevigny?” asked a high-pitched nasal voice, words heavily accented. In the display, I could see a sandy haired male. He wore a dark suit with a glittery collar fastened just below his Adam's apple. “Why do you use such ancient, primitive tech? I must begin an immediate download and have no local CN-net protocol to latch against. Without your CNP, how do I know this is even a secure link? Your flat-file avatar is atrocious. No download, no travel documentation, and no immunity.”

“Who the hell is that?” Roy asked, brows drawn in a frown to match his mouth. “Why is he talking about your travel permits?” He fixed me with his cop stare and my whole world began to slide sideways.

He couldn't know! He just couldn't or it would all be for nothing! He wouldn't understand, much less approve. So I panicked and did the only thing I could think of: I cut the link.

Good one, Felicia,
I berated myself.
Way to be a confident woman in charge of your own destiny.

“Did you just disconnect so I couldn't see?” Roy looked at me in disbelief. “Are you five years old or something?”

“No. I mean, yes. I didn't want you to see,” I said, stalling. “I mean, he works for a new client who's asked for complete privacy. I didn't realize he'd contact me so quickly or I'd have reprogrammed Eleat to accept the message. He wants me to run the cards on the success of his racing picks for the Nairobi regatta this weekend, and that's all I'm saying. Everything else is confidential.”
Good save,
I congratulated myself.

“Must be one hell of a client if you gave him your direct shim link.”

“The race starts in two days. There isn't a lot of time. And he's paying well.”

His frown eased a little. “Fair enough. Word of advice though: Russians are vicious. Avoid them if you can. If not, get your money and get out as fast as possible. Based on his flunky, this one seems like a piece of work. Be careful about what you're getting yourself into.”

“Felicia, you have another shim. Shall I—?”

“Put it on hold, Eleat! I'll deal with it in a minute.”

“Yes, Felicia. Timer commencing now.”

Roy laughed. “Looks like we're both on a countdown. I need to get going. Love you.”

“Love you back,” I answered, and received another kiss on the forehead. Then he headed down the hall and out the door. I heard it slam behind him. Crisis averted.

“One minute is up. Recommencing shim,” Eleat announced.

“Wait. No. I'm not ready!”

Unconcerned with my state of readiness, Eleat launched the shim and I faced a pissed-off, irate-looking Russian. “Does
Gospodin
Petriv allow you to treat him so rudely?”

Wonderful. Maybe I needed to rethink the Russian language lessons. “I don't know what that means.
Gospodin
?”

“It's a title of respect. Something you know little about.”

“I apologize,” I ground out in my best “aim to please” voice. “You called at an inconvenient time.”

“I plan on making a full report of this arrogance,” he ranted. “It is a mistake, involving someone so ignorant. A Tarot card reader.
Vy durak
. Not even chipped! I can't even do the most basic workup on you! I've never been party to something so ill-advised and ridiculous.”

More insults rained down in both English and Russian. He may have also spat on the ground. Gods, who was this officious twerp?

“May I speak with Mr. Petriv?” I interrupted. “I'm sure we can clear this up.”

The look on his face suggested I'd asked him to hand me a golden apple directly from the sun. I wasn't sure if it was his disgust in me or his need to protect Petriv that had him so horrified, but I didn't wait around to find out. Two could play this game.

“Please give my regards to Mr. Petriv, and be sure to tell him it was your fault I couldn't attend the auction in Denver. However, I still expect to be paid for my time. Good evening.”

Take that, asshole! I disconnected and went to see what was for supper. I needed to think about getting dressed too, or at least getting out of my robe and dealing with however much of the day I had left.

I padded down the hall, averting my eyes from the scorch mark, which would just have made me angry all over again. At the end of the hall was the extra bedroom we'd converted into a closet. This was another condo upgrade, installing a dummy closet AI with limited intelligence that could handle sorting, cleaning, and clothing repair and maintenance if needed. We described what clothing we wanted, and the closet would present it. It did everything but dress us. I loved it more than I loved the shower.

I stood at the closet interface just outside the door, facing an array of clothing and shoes lined up on rod after rod, shelf after shelf. I had so much more stuff than Roy—almost like he didn't even live here. Then again, I had a look to maintain for the shop, while Roy spent his time undercover or in uniform. It made sense the closet held fewer of his belongings. Plus, I might have a
tiny
weakness when it comes to shopping.

“Loungewear,” I instructed.

The display flashed its selections, I tapped the screen, and the rods rotated along the track until soft black cotton pants and a tunic appeared. I slipped them on, threw my robe into the laundry basket, and went to the kitchen.

My bracelet fluttered against my forearm again. I grinned; it took all of fifteen minutes for the Consortium to get back to me. I sat in an armchair, put my feet up, and tapped the jewels on my bracelet. Flunky was back. His expression looked chastened, and unlike the previous state of his immaculate clothing, it appeared there might be blood on his collar. Note to self: don't get on Petriv's bad side.

“Ms. Sevigny, I apologize for my earlier behavior. I spoke without thinking and should not have let my irritation with your lack of tech get the better of me. I've been set to rights and have come up with a way around this situation.”

“I'm so glad we can come to an understanding, Mr.…I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Dr. Karol Rogov. You may call me Karol.”

“That's wonderful, Karol.” I sounded like a bitch even to myself. “And will we be working together on an ongoing basis?”

“I work as
Gospodin
Petriv sees fit. I have your documentation ready to enter the United Confederation of the West, which I will transfer to your c-tex bracelet. I also have your itinerary and resource allocation. Without a neural connection to the CN-net, you won't be able to upload directly to memory and will need time to glean the basics. You will also find the information you requested regarding Monique Vaillancourt, which you may examine at your leisure.”

“Perfect. Begin the transfer to my shop's CNP. I'm linked through there. Also, I've had my assistant prepare an invoice for my services for two weeks. You'll find that on the CNP. Please deliver it to Mr. Petriv.”

“As you wish. The transfer will begin once I disconnect. Your transportation will arrive at your home sharply at ten-thirty a.m. local time.” His eyes darted off to the side before he returned to neutral face. “And, Ms. Sevigny, I have been asked to wish you a good night's rest.”

I sat up. Was Petriv out of sight feeding Karol his lines? A ridiculous warmth spread through me. It was wrong and I should be doing everything in my power to prevent myself from feeling it, and yet the kick in my gut said otherwise. Still, I did swallow the grin that threatened to make an appearance.

“Thank you, Karol. Tell Mr. Petriv I wish him a good night as well.”

I didn't have a good night's rest at all. Karol was right—if I'd had the t-mods, I could have dumped the files into my head and absorbed the information in a nanosecond. Now I had to rely on my fallible human memory. Not for the first time I cursed my family and their aversion to the technological modifications the rest of the world embraced.

I focused on my mother first. I had to hand it to Petriv; his data was thorough. It detailed her childhood, her impressive education, her Career Design path, her initial research projects, then her employment with TransWorld. Petriv's data also included a One Gov–issued certificate of marriage, as well as photos of the actual event. Hell, it even contained one of my baby pictures. After that, everything career-related stopped, presumably because TransWorld owned her research.

The material showed that she was a native Brazilian of Old World descent. Her family resided in Rio and seemed to be extremely wealthy. There was a vague One Gov connection, though the file didn't elaborate on its exact nature. They were a sharp contrast to the unorthodox world in which I'd grown up. Raised by my great-grandmother and grandmother on my father's side, and surrounded by dozens of cousins and family friends, I'd been happy but poor. It wasn't until I grew older that I realized that without t-mods or any sort of MH Factor, we were second-class citizens. I frowned. What would my life have been like if I'd been a part of my mother's family? I wondered if they knew about my existence or if I would ever get a chance to meet them. Or maybe it would be better to remain ignorant. After all, you couldn't miss something you didn't know existed. Except now that I knew they existed, part of me
did
want to know.

The file also didn't contain much information on my mother's assistant either. If I was supposed to discredit him, shouldn't I know something about him? Yet there was no picture and not much in the way of a write-up. I'd have to ask about that the next time I saw Petriv. Either that, or just wing it.

Otherwise, everything seemed in order and I sifted through the remaining data while gobbling my dinner—a handful of crackers and cheese—then spent several hours throwing everything I thought I'd need into two suitcases. Natty stopped by with Granny G's Tarot cards. If I wanted to look impressive at the auction, they were what I needed. Stunningly ornate, they were large enough that shuffling posed a challenge. I'd practiced a long time to manage the feat. If I ever dropped them in front of a client, I suspected Granny G would find a way to reach from beyond the grave and smack me. Their backs were a rich ebony showing a cross-section of the Milky Way and displaying a spinning void known to hypnotize the unaware. The faces were hand-painted with an assortment of knights, princesses, and wizards from a time when courtly love influenced the known world. The colors were as vibrant and rich as if they'd been painted yesterday. Tech did that: I renewed the pigments with a nano-dip every year. It also prevented them from getting moldy and worn.

When Natty dropped off the cards, she hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands. Typically fresh-faced and bright-eyed, she looked frazzled. Though she had the thin build and dark skin of a native Kenyan, I could see the Middle Eastern features of her mixed heritage. When I first met her, she'd been eighteen and floundering through the first year of her mandatory Career Design program. Based on One Gov's assessment criteria, it was determined that her path lay in drafting arts—meaning she'd work in a government subsidized position at the local engineering institute. Unfortunately, she wanted to cook. She even brought her efforts into the shop at least once a week. It was probably lucky we'd found each other as I'm not sure what might have happened to her otherwise.

She came to my shop one day asking for a reading. Apparently she'd been placed on academic probation for manipulating her test results, hoping to be rerouted to cooking arts instead. When she couldn't pay my reading fee, I told her to come back with a tray of home-baked brownies instead. Her desire to buck the system echoed my own situation, and I couldn't help but empathize. To be honest, I fully expected to never see her again. Instead, she brought me brownies the next day. With minimal prodding from my gut, I hired her on the spot. I needed someone to file paperwork and she needed somewhere to test her creations: a perfect fit.

“Did Mr. Zero tell you about the pegs that came by the office?” she asked. “Both big, scary guys. Skin like yours, but darker…like coffee with cream, maybe. They had accents. English wasn't their first language, but neither was Swahili or Sheng. It sounded all pretty and flowery, with lots of rolling
r'
s.”

“Yes, Charlie mentioned it. He said they worried you.” Rolling
r'
s? I thought of my long-lost mom, living in Brazil. Maybe they spoke Portuguese. Also, what were the chances of two men from Brazil looking for me on the same day I learned my mother was alive? I didn't need cards to figure that one out. “What did they want?”

“They asked questions about you. Where you were. When I saw you last. If you were with anyone. I got nervous. They were hella big. I told them to contact Mr. Zero if they wanted to know more.”

“Smart idea. Charlie can talk circles around all of us. Don't worry about it. Take two weeks off and I'll see you after your cruise.”

Her eyes went wide. “You were really serious? Mr. Zero said you had a big client, but I didn't know how big.”

Then she was off, describing the cruise in detail. As she rambled, I had a thought. Did Roy know about my Brazilian admirers? Maybe they'd paid him a visit as well. It would explain his erratic behavior. If so, why hadn't he said anything? I sighed, knowing I'd have to save those questions until I saw him again. In the meantime, maybe Petriv had information that could clear up the mystery. Natty hugged me good-bye, and I resumed packing and learning my itinerary.

Ten thirty found me at the best I could manage with next-to-no sleep. I'd taken extra care getting ready, determined to make up for how grubby I'd looked the last time I saw Petriv. I wasn't the sort of a woman who wore the same clothes days at a time or spent my nights in jail. Though, who was I kidding, really? I wanted to look good for Petriv, end of story. I wore a red tailored suit, slit cut clear to my hip, and spike-heeled knee boots. My makeup was perfect, and I'd even coaxed my mass of hair into a slicked-back low ponytail. Not the most comfortable traveling outfit, but I knew I looked hot. Petriv wasn't going to catch me unprepared and vulnerable today. I always felt invincible in my red suit, and I was certainly a far cry from the mess Petriv bailed out of the pit. Unfortunately, the prep work left me no time to offer a formal prayer of safety and deliverance. I made due with lighting an incense stick, whispering a few prayers, and crossing my fingers. After the Dark Times, religion of all kinds had gone on the upswing, and it didn't hurt to cover all my bases.

The building AI pinged my bracelet at exactly ten thirty. I couldn't stop the shiver of both anticipation and near dread as I let them in. A light knock sounded against the door. I fought to keep my breathing even. I wasn't going to fall at Petriv's feet. Sure, I wanted him and yesterday had blown my mind, but there was no way in hell I was going to repeat it.