The Rule of Luck (5 page)

We eventually reached the end of the hall and another door. Outside was probably a prisoner processing center I'd have to deal with before my release. Gods, I could only imagine the questions they'd ask, and I was fresh out of lies.

I heard another lock click and the door swung open. The hooah pushed me inside when I hesitated, and I found myself in a large white room filled with rows of desk terminals. Each was occupied by a waxy-skinned and glassy-eyed search jockey. Their desks were empty save for their gracefully folded hands. Their minds were wired into the AI queenmind, processing data. They spoke rapidly in gibberish, as if giving voice to the queenmind's internal processes. This couldn't be right. Why was I being paraded through such secretive, high-scale tech? Why not take me out front?

At the end of the room was a door that led into a tiny antechamber. Inside was a low table where my personal effects lay in a heap. With little fanfare, the hooah directed me to pick them up: my c-tex bracelet, a pair of sapphire earrings I'd bought when I first opened my shop on Night Alley, my suit-belt and velvet boots with their metal-clad heels, and a handbag whose contents seemed intact. I rushed to put myself back together, not even taking the time to check my bracelet. When I finished, the hooah opened another door and shoved me out into the waiting sunlight. The door thudded closed behind me.

I stood blinking owlishly in the warm, slightly muggy—I checked my c-tex for the timewatch—mid-morning haze. What the hell? I'd been thrust outside without being questioned, processed, or interrogated. The whole situation was so incongruous that I couldn't figure out what to do with myself next. I'd expected to see Roy, or have a guard sit with me…or something. Instead, I found myself in a deserted back alley, surrounded by garbage bins and shanties with rusted metal roofs. Shit. I'd be rolled in no time.

Then I saw a flight-limo parked not far from where I stood. The windows were tinted, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. It wasn't like Nairobi was overflowing with flight-limos.

I watched as a burly bodyguard climbed from the cockpit, stepped around the limo, and pushed the door release. He stood to the side in traditional guard pose—bulging arms folded across his chest, impassive face, wraparound shades. He was tall, fair-skinned with a blond crew cut, and his shoulders alone were so massive they appeared to be wrestling his black suit jacket for dominance. He probably had a boosted MH Factor for strength and could have smashed out of the pit without a moment's hesitation. In Bahati's words: a true chain-breaker.

In a seamless gliding motion, the limo door folded back into itself. Although it seemed the stupidest thing in the world, I stepped forward to get a better look inside.

Alexei Petriv. Surprise, surprise.

“Please get in, Ms. Sevigny. I suspect you've had a trying day and we have much to discuss.” He gestured to the seat beside him.

“You arranged for my release?”

“I'm also your ride. You were very expensive. A planet's ransom in bribes.”

He'd bribed the prison hooahs? Was that even possible? Now was clearly not the best time to ask, and to be honest, my mind was refusing to process any more information, but I couldn't help myself.

“Not that I'm ungrateful, but why are you here? How did you even know?”

“I've had my eye on a few dodgy connections. I believe you were entangled with one of them. I felt I owed you a bit of help.”

Mr. Pennyworth! It made an odd kind of sense. Bad guys all know each other, right? Petriv must have learned what had happened and bailed me out because of the Tarot card reading. It was the only thing connecting us.

“You were lucky you weren't killed during the bomb blast. Others were. It made the tri-system news. One Gov wants someone to pin this on,” he continued, blue eyes meeting mine.

I blanched and felt the world swim around me. I had to reach out and grab the side of the flight-limo to keep from fainting.

“I convinced them you weren't the party they were looking for.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” I whispered.

“I know, although it took some persuasive negotiation to convince them to overlook the smart-matter.”

Again I cursed Pennyworth. Had he known it would give us away? I filed the thought to puzzle over later.

“I appreciate that,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster. “I'll pay you back somehow. I…I can return your payment for the card reading. It was too much anyway.”

“Keep it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Your services were worth every gold note. I'd be willing to pay that and more for future readings. But if you would kindly step inside, I'd like to get out of here and discuss another arrangement with you.”

My gut twisted. I'm surprised I didn't throw up. The feelings I'd had at my shop were nothing compared to this. My gut wanted me to jump into the limo, his lap, whatever he wanted.

“What kind of arrangement?”

“I have a business proposition concerning someone in whom we share a mutual interest.”

I swore under my breath, though I'm sure he heard. Was this the slippery slope to organized crime? I owed him now.

“Who is it?”

“Monique Vaillancourt.”

I blinked first, thrown. “She's dead.”

“You're certain of that?”

“I have documentation proving it.”

“All forgeries. Ms. Vaillancourt is very much alive. Get in. We'll discuss it over lunch.”

The way he said it made me shiver, and not in a good way. “But she can't be alive. If she was, she would never…You're lying.”

“Hardly. I rarely lie to beautiful women.”

That jolted me. I rolled my eyes. He may have bribed me out of jail, but he could shove flattery up his ass. “I call bullshit on that one. I look like crap right now.”

He laughed. “Get in, Ms. Sevigny. This is business—nothing more. I've helped you out of your situation. Now, I would like your help in exchange. Should you say no after hearing my proposal, our paths will never cross again.”

“Monique Vaillancourt is dead. No one can help you.”

He merely looked at me, serious now. Under the weight of that gaze, I faltered, afraid. Afraid of what he knew, what I didn't, and what it all meant.

“Please get in, Ms. Sevigny. Time is passing.”

So I got in the flight-limo. What else could I do? After all, Monique Vaillancourt was my mother.

Having never been in a flight-limo before, I wasn't sure what to expect. Queasiness—yes. Maybe some vertigo. But they had to be safe, considering the rich and famous zoomed everywhere in them. Those same rich and famous were also the only ones who could afford them—the lunar refined HE-3 jet fuel that powered flight-limos cost a small fortune. I slid in and took the cool leather seat facing Petriv rather than the one beside him. A moment later, we were off and I felt all the discomfort I could have wished for. However, it had little to do with seeing the streets rush by through the tinted windows. No, the nervousness, anxiety, and queasiness I felt were all thanks to the man sitting across from me.

“You must be anxious to check your c-tex.” He flicked a casual hand to my bracelet. “Your friends and family are no doubt worried about you. It's been over twenty-four hours since your arrest.”

A whole day? I felt sick at the thought. My fingers itched with the desire to tap the bracelet, but I didn't want him spying on my personal interactions. He knew enough about me; I wasn't going to give him more fuel. “I'll tell them later I had a new client who wanted complete privacy. It will annoy them, but they'll get over it.” Except maybe Roy. He was going to be pissed. I wasn't sure I could even lie creatively enough to save myself from that fight. “I want to discuss what you mentioned outside. I assume that's why you tracked me down in the first place.”

Another smile, another view of those perfect white teeth. “I'm not saying the reading wasn't accurate, but you are correct: your card reading skills weren't my primary reason.”

“What proof do you have she's alive? Where is she? What's your proposal? I doubt your end goal is a touching family reunion.”

“That's more questions than a simple limo ride will allow for—comfort and the cost of HE-3 notwithstanding. As I said, let's discuss this over lunch.”

“I can't afford the extra calorie consumption points,” I said, hedging. “I'm almost at One Gov's allocation limit. I'd hate to cut back on milk next month.”

He waved it away as if it was nothing. “Lunch will be off the record.”

Wow. He bailed me out of the pit
and
could get around calorie restrictions? I knew more than a few people who would kill for the luxury of being able to eat whatever they wanted, when they wanted, without worrying about point deductions the following month. I fought to look unimpressed.

“You'll need to do better than a free lunch.”

“You're not the least bit curious about your mother's whereabouts?”

“I didn't say that, but I also don't know if you're telling the truth. I may read the Tarot and look for answers in the cards, but some questions are better left unanswered. If she wants to be dead, she has her reasons. I'll listen to your proposal and take the lunch, but I'm not promising anything more.” Not what I wanted to say, but I refused to give him the upper hand.

“Something to drink?” He pushed a button on the console on his left. A compartment opened in the seat beside him, sliding up to reveal numerous crystal decanters. “Would you care for some water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” He poured himself a drink from one of the many decanters. The liquid sloshing into the glass was slow torture for my bladder and parched throat.

Ah, hell. “I need to use the bathroom. Can you stop somewhere so I can pee?”

Petriv's chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. It made me want to both slap him and run my fingers through his thick, black hair. I pressed my hands into my lap instead.

“Glad you find me so amusing,” I said, sounding grumpier than I'd intended. “I assume you'd have pulled through a night in a holding cell like a champ?”

“Ah, Ms. Sevigny, I've done my own stint of time and I know it's unpleasant.” He pressed the button beside him again and the minibar disappeared. Another button press and a speaker buzzed to life. A flurry of Russian followed. I frowned. Learning Russian had never been a priority. My Swahili was passable, I knew most of the Old World languages, such as French, Spanish, and Italian since they helped in my Tarot studies, and I was working on conquering Mandarin since I had many Chinese clients. But I'd never bothered with Russian. Now, I regretted the lapse.

“What did you say?” I asked. A second later, I felt the flight-limo change course. “Where are we going?”

“It's a restaurant I frequent whenever I'm in Nairobi. It's out of our way, but I enjoy it. It's called the Kremlin. Maybe you've heard of it?”

I had, and always thought the name pretentious. The Kremlin was located in Little Russia, in the city's northeast section, a part of Nairobi I rarely visited. After the Big One in 2459 that shook apart much of southern Asia and the devastating North American quakes in '61 and '65, along with the rising waters from the polar melt, anyone who could fled to cities in the world's highest elevations before countries closed their borders. Nairobi was one of them, along with Lhasa in Tibet, La Paz in Bolivia, Santa Fe in what was once the United States of America, and several others. But what was once Russia had been almost completely destroyed. That was the beginning of the Earth's infamous Dark Times. Billions died in the two global conflicts that followed. Entire swaths of land vanished from the map. Living space and arable land came at a premium, until One Gov eventually came to power out of the chaos. Kenya's population exploded as refugees flooded its borders. Many of those refugees came from northern Russia, which had long since disappeared under the rising waters. In fact, outside of what was left of the Motherland, Nairobi boasted one of the highest concentrations of Russians in the world. I didn't have anything against Little Russia in general, but they did things their own way. Most of those ways tended to be violent, scary, and made the CN-net news flashes on a regular basis.

I frowned. “No chance of going somewhere closer to my part of town?”

He smiled. “Where's the fun in that,
dorogaya moya
?”

My frown grew. “No Russian. I want to understand every word spoken to me.”

“Of course. I apologize.”

“I enjoy learning new languages. Just not in the back of a flight-limo.” Shit, that sounded like flirting.

“It means ‘my dear.' ”

“Thanks. I'll file that away for future reference.” Gods, I wanted to smack myself. Time to refocus on the most important thing. “You said you have proof my mother is alive. Show me.”

“Check your bracelet.” He waved in the direction of my hand. I edged away from him. While the flight-limo was roomy, our knees brushed as we sat facing each other. Every move he made brought him into my personal space, the same way it had at my shop. I also remembered the rush of heat I'd felt then, so I made sure to keep my legs as far away from his as I could.

I tapped my bracelet and scrolled through my messages. More than two dozen filled the holo pop-up. Lots from work and friends wondering, then
demanding
to know where I was. Each shim sounded more desperate. I also counted eight from Roy. I groaned, imagining the fight we'd have.

“Something wrong?” Petriv asked, watching me.

“I'll sort it out later,” I muttered, rubbing my free hand over my eyes. He had no business asking about my personal life, even if he seemed to know more about it than I did.

I jumped to Petriv's message, the last on the screen. A picture opened. Its date stamp showed two months ago, although that could be altered. Anything could be changed if you knew how.

Again, as if he had a hardwire right to my brain, Petriv said, “That is a true image. I will have it certified by a pixel-wizard of your choosing if you like.”

A face dominated the shot; the background was blurry. Thanks to the Renew treatments everyone started at age twenty-five, aging slowed significantly. With enough money, you could upgrade beyond the basic One Gov programs and in theory remain perpetually young. I'd promptly started the program when I turned twenty-five six months ago, and as a present to myself, splurged for whatever I could afford. Still, no one lived forever, and time eventually made an appearance somewhere, such as a weary look around the eyes. Seen too much, lived too hard…whatever. It sounded clichéd, but it was true. This woman had that look. There was a directness in those green eyes that came only with time and experience. Pale blond hair was piled atop her head. Full lips. Smooth, creamy skin. High cheekbones. She was gorgeous, and you would never know her true age. Most significantly, however, if not for my darker coloring from my father's side, we looked so much alike we could have been sisters.

My wrist dropped. The image disappeared. My other hand pressed against my mouth and I gasped softy through my fingers. I had seen pictures of my mother before, back when she'd been with my father. She'd been smiling and happy, not the determined woman Petriv presented. Who was this woman? Why had she hidden all these years? Why had she let me believe she was dead?

“I think I'd like that drink you offered earlier,” I said moments later in a voice that almost sounded normal. “Do you have anything in your cart stronger than water?”

I caught a ghost of a smile. “I always do.”

The rest of the ride was silent. Petriv said nothing and I gazed out the tinted window. Once over the initial shock, I didn't know what bothered me most. I couldn't bear thinking she was out there in the world, doing her own thing and not caring about me. Had my father's family known and kept the truth from me? No, I couldn't imagine they'd be so deliberately cruel. I wished I could talk with my father to see what he might know—if I could even locate him. Grandmother might know something if she deigned to talk with me. We weren't on the friendliest terms ever since Granny G had bequeathed the family Tarot cards to me. I think it galled her that I, a mere great-granddaughter among many, should somehow rate higher than an actual daughter. It was a family drama involving years of heartache.

But now, Petriv wanted me to contact my mother as if we'd just chatted yesterday. Or worse, looked to exploit a connection by dredging up unresolved family issues. That made me angry. Angry enough to take on a Tsarist kingpin? Well, we'd see.

I swirled the glass of whiskey I held, my second, and the ice clinked. Three fingers of Jack straight from the protected reserves of Tennessee—real stuff, not synth, which meant it cost a small fortune. I was impressed. I was also getting the warm feeling that came with too much alcohol and not enough food. A feeling that could make a girl do stupid things.

“Where is she now?”

“Curitiba, Brazil. She's resided there for the past few years.”

I took another sip of whiskey, then put it down before it clouded my thoughts further. “You must know I've never been in touch with her. As curious as I am about her, I can't help you.”

Petriv looked amused, which annoyed me. I wanted to throw my king's ransom in whiskey all over his expensive suit. Maybe ruin his perfectly groomed dark hair as well, which looked way too touchable. Right now, he had all the cards. But strangely, the feeling in my gut didn't care and wanted to agree with whatever he had planned.

“It's what we can each do for the other, Ms. Sevigny.”

Maybe it was me or maybe just the whiskey, but I felt that heat again. I fought not to squirm. He leaned forward a little. I refused to edge back.

“Your mother holds the key to something very valuable to me. With your help, I believe I can persuade her to give it to me. And with my help, you will achieve your greatest desire.”

“And you know what that is, I presume?”

He shook his head as if I was being deliberately obtuse. “I bailed you out of prison for trying to influence a government official at a fertility clinic. Unless that's an everyday occurrence for you, I believe we understand each other.”

“You can remove my blacklisted status.” My eyes narrowed. “What would I have to do?”

“It's complicated. As I said, we'll discuss it over lunch.”

That sounded ominous. In fact, everything about the situation was ominous. I stared into my nearly empty glass, thinking hard. Though he may deny it, Alexei Petriv was organized crime. The Tsarist Consortium claimed to offer another option to One Gov's rule, but many said they weren't much better than thugs. They'd even tried running in the last global free-election two years ago, but lost—though not by much, if I recalled. They ran on a platform of change and wanting to ease some of One Gov's more restrictive mandates. They asked questions like: Why should we continue to live as if we were still in the Dark Times, with the end of days upon us? Did One Gov really need to regulate our lives so carefully now that we had Renew treatments, space travel, and two nearly empty planets open for colonization? Many people agreed and started wondering the same things themselves. Whatever Petriv ultimately wanted, I suspected I wouldn't be comfortable with it.

When I looked up, Petriv was watching me. A half smile played on his lips. Gods only knew what the man was thinking. His leg shifted, touching mine as if in personal challenge. My eyes narrowed while I kept my leg where it was. No way was I backing down or making it seem like I was afraid of him.

“You have one hour to convince me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and meant business, gut feeling be damned. I didn't get into bed with gangsters. “If I decide I want no part of this, I'd still like the information you gathered on my mother. I appreciate the measures you took to get me out of yesterday's situation, but I need to make up my own mind about what I want to do about her. I promise I won't say anything about how I got the information.”

“Done. I will provide whatever assistance you need.”

He agreed so readily to something I thought he'd scoff at, I suspected I set my price too low. “No offense, but I'm not in a hurry to jump down the rabbit hole just yet.”