What legends become, p.11
What Legends Become, page 11
The port was less populated than when they had first landed. Seth dogged Michael’s heels. Michael waved toward the hatch’s panel. Seth raised the ramp and secured the airlock before joining Michael at the front. Michael already had pulled up the communications hub.
“Looks like we are grounded until 0900 tomorrow.”
On the small monitor below their viewscreen, the Yukon notice ran through the bands. An electrical storm was approaching. All ships were dry-docked until the morning.
“What about Jinx’s message?” Seth removed his coat and threw it over the back of his seat.
Michael turned in his seat. “I sent it to your station.”
Seth sat down. Priority alert flashed. He entered his name and set his hand on the bioreader. His blood seemed to congeal, and rage began to build.
Mid has bounty on Sierra. Came in an hour ago on all NP-Hi-Waves. Stephen’s hack on card keeps her protected for now. Midland has different codes. We aren’t updated on those. She will be flagged as soon as she uses her card. Connect @ Nelson’s Hangar in MidC.
Stephen ushered his sister down the narrow aisle. They squeezed past bodies carrying small luggage bags, parents with children, and lone travelers frantically searching the berth numbers above the doors.
He nudged Sierra’s back, guiding her to their immediate left to Berth 2310. The door slid back, and they stepped into the small confinement. Stephen turned a tight circle. Well, it wasn’t that small—a twenty-by-ten room. Two bunks lined the corner of the room to his right. A faux wood table separated the lower bunk and the shortened couch nestled next to the window. Across from the shortened couch was a lengthier one with a long, cylindrical cushion. To his left was the refresher station.
Sierra settled on the shortened couch. She squirmed a bit before looking up at him with a smile. “It’s quite comfortable.”
He shrugged and stepped toward the longer couch yet propped his arm against the viewport and leaned against it as he gazed out. The transport began pulling away from the New Frandiego station. He hadn’t gotten to see much of New Frandiego. Sierra had wanted to explore, but he had convinced her that Midland offered more. And they could come back. She thought he was here to explore. What would she think if she knew his real reason? And thinking of such, he needed to find a better card and hack it. His Citizen Two status wasn’t going to allow him to get very far.
“Stephen? Did you hear me?”
He jerked out of his musings and turned to her as he sat on the couch’s edge. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
“I was saying that they deliver food and drinks to the berths. Do you want anything?” She turned back to the viewport and watched the scenery race by. Tall, white buildings that gleamed in the light slowly faded away to more compact buildings and resident complexes. And just beyond those metal and faded terracotta buildings, the brown expanse of the desert began to appear.
Her eyes danced at the scene beyond, and a smile played at the corners of her lips. “The view is amazing.”
“Yes. Amazing.” He touched the arm of the couch and activated the amenities menu, selecting board mode instead of holograph.
“So, do you want anything?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I thought I would explore the galleys and see what they have. You know me.”
“Yeah. I do. You can’t bear to stay still in one place.” She gave a slight chuckle. “Just be careful, yes?”
He gave her an absentminded nod and continued his scrolling: galleys, restaurants, dining halls. He paused at that one. It required a Citizen Three, Class Prime status. Stephen curled his lip in disgust. This class system of GFT’s was ignorant and pointless. Yet it was a higher status he was going to need if he wanted to visited the better locales and travel undetected as he searched for that infamous medlab.
He swiped at “clubs.” Those may hold what he would need. They would probably be packed with people, bodies bumping into each other. They would be easy targets to filch a card from. He closed down the menu and stood.
“I’m going to head out now.”
She gave him a small wave and continued watching.
Stephen stepped out into the quiet aisle and headed west toward the tail end of the transport. Above him, the sound of the conveyor hummed as it transported the Citizen Three statuses toward the same direction. He shook his head. Why couldn’t they be endowed with a Citizen Three? It would make life so much easier—especially his.
Still, this avenue offered some attractions. He paused at one of the art pieces framed in a gilded box that decorated the walls. The riot of colors swirled and blended in what would have appeared as an abstract to most people. But the red lines created the Golden Ratio within the medley. Did the artist intend for that to happen? He looked at the name tag at the bottom. The holographic readout stated her name was Denise Nicolosi. A prompt offered more information. Stephen tapped it.
A benefit was being held at Club Endeavors in C-Three Twelve West. Well, he was headed that way.
He followed the corridor, stepped through the couplings between the transport compartments, and drank in the crowded sight. Out of the all the people he saw, only three held the Golden Ratio on their face. There were two arrangements of flora that used ferns with Golden Ratio fronds. The rest of the world was nothing but chaos—sights, smells, and even sensations. He ran his hands against the sides of the booths as he passed through the galleys and restaurants—soft fabric, leather, wood, velvet. Then he felt the hardened steel-plast. Those were in the café named Harden Biscuits. Stephen shook his head at that name—absurd.
Then he was through and into a small club style section. An attendant held out his hand for Stephen’s card. Stephen handed it to him as he surveyed the crowd. Lights danced above. There were no booths, just small tables bolted to the walls. People mingled with drinks in hand.
He accepted his card back and suffered through four more repeats before he made it to C-Three Twelve West. The door slid open, and a curtain pulled back. Stephen glanced over his shoulder. The curtain was holographic, a newer version, creating realistic images instead of blue and white lines peppered with green codes—not that most people saw it as such.
The attendant here waited patiently. Stephen turned his attention to him as he passed over his card. The quiet man scanned it and handed it back before gesturing toward the dimly lit area where people strolled along, pausing at times to view framed artwork or study the intricate sculptures.
He mingled among them. None of the art were as captivating as the one he saw earlier. Apparently, that was the only abstract. The paintings at the end of the row did capture the essence of mood and movement, such as the one with the two bare-chested dancers. Stephen frowned and stepped back in order to view the line of paintings that hung on the wall. These didn’t capture the beauty of the human body—not like in the art books at home. Those paintings from centuries ago highlighted the beauty of God’s creation. These? He let his eyes flow from one end to the other. They sexualized the body, removing the beauty. Stephen shrugged and moved to the next array of art.
The sculptures were excellent yet lacked the touch to make them realistic. Human bodies were not perfect, but these sculptures seemed to try and capture perfection yet failed. Perfection came in the imperfection of life, in the varied outcomes of personalities and features. On these sculptures, there were no wrinkles, marks, or bumps, just smooth marble and stone. They were lifeless. He paused at the last sculpture—except for this one.
The label said it was called Eve Before the Fall. Wavy hair hung down her body, appearing to float around her full hips. Strong yet delicate arms were reaching back to collect handfuls of her locks while her head was thrown back in obvious delight. And her face . . . Stephen had never seen such a perfect Golden Ratio. He allowed his eyes to travel over every inch of the sculpture. The exquisite talent rivaled the abstract from earlier.
“I see you know perfection when you see it.” The mellow and languid voice purred next to him.
He smiled slightly and cast a hooded gaze over his shoulder. Her scent was intoxicating—a blend of rose, musk, and sandalwood designed to be an aphrodisiac.
“And what do you know of perfection?” He fully turned and studied the older woman, letting his gaze flow down her body. The black, shimmering dress hugged her lithe form. A small clutch on a golden chain hung at her side.
Dark eyes glinted mischievously from under glitter-coated lashes. Full lips widened, stretching the red stain that covered them. “Well, I created this piece. Actually, all of them that you see on this transport. In this compartment, it shows the progression of my talent from novice to master.”
Stephen reached out and ran his hand around the sculpture, careful to not touch it. “And this is your last piece?”
“Why create more when perfection has been achieved?”
Stephen quirked the corner of his mouth at her statement. Perfection, huh? The woman was narcissistic and proud. She would be easy to manipulate. What would she think if she knew there was more than something like this sculpture? More than the regular humans mingling about?
He returned his gaze back to her. “Stephen.”
“Denise.” She waved toward the bar set up in the corner. “May I offer you a drink?”
Stephen offered her his elbow. A full smile slid across her face as she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. He covered it with his hand and led her to the bar.
“I saw your abstract in one of the eastern compartments. Chaotic, but there was an order to it, too.” He waited until she was situated on the stool before settling down beside her. “Was that an earlier piece?”
“Yes, but it was what spearheaded my sculpture line. So, tell me, Stephen, you like art?” She waved toward the wait-BOT. “Two martinis.”
“I like beauty.” He leaned toward her as she gave the wait-BOT her card. Her Class Prime status flashed in the lighting above the bar. He let his hand settle near hers. “And when I find beauty, I have to investigate it.”
Her face blossomed as a slow red traveled from her neck to her ears. “Investigate it. As in . . . ”
Stephen allowed his lids to lower a bit more. She was so much older than he—maybe closer to forty-five or fifty. Yet she was alluring. That beauty from her youth had never faded. Many women he had seen so far used artificial means to keep their youthfulness. But Denise . . . she allowed her beauty to age gracefully.
He reached out and used the back of his fingers to trace the fine lines at the corner of her eye and then smoothed it down her cheek, stopping at her jaw. His forefinger flowed across her chin and then down her neck as he spoke.
“I’ve always been intrigued with how beauty and perfection align—especially in nature. Some women carry this naturally—like you.” He stopped at the recess of her throat at her collarbone, feeling the heavy pulse.
A deep rumble shook her chest. Stephen cocked his head in confusion.
“You are quite skilled, my young Stephen.” She handed him his drink. “I’m experienced enough to know when a young man is trying to charm me.”
As he sipped the alcoholic drink, raising a brow at the taste and lack of sensation, she continued. “But you need not try so hard. I had my sights set on you the moment you walked into the berth.”
That took him aback. “Really, now?”
“You were hard to miss. Latest fashion. Dark, brooding. A man in search of something.” She chuckled, reached to her side, and pulled her small clutch onto her lap. Stephen watched as she reached in and removed a small piece of film. She spread it on the bar’s surface and peeled back the folds. Four tiny blue crystals laid on the surface. Denise pressed her fingertip onto one and turned to him.
He pulled back when she reached for his lips. A small pout issued from her mouth. “You wanted my time, right? Then do this. Trust me, you will enjoy it.”
Stephen regarded her. He needed that card. That was the only way he was going to be able to get into Midland’s central hub, since only Citizen Three status was allowed. And he couldn’t risk hacking from a tunnel. Not this time around. It had taken too long in Yukon. No telling how long it would take in Midland City.
And he was enhanced. If alcoholic drinks had no effect, surely illicit drugs wouldn’t either. He leaned forward. Her finger slid between his lips and placed the crystal on the tip of his tongue. Immediately, the room lit in a brilliant haze, pulling a quick gasp from him. Colors overrode his vision, highlighting lines and curvatures. People’s faces became emblazoned with a bright glow and vibrant hues.
She laughed at his expression and slid a crystal into her own mouth. “This is how I create perfection.” Her hands were cool against his skin as she captured his face and kissed him before he could react.
The riot of colors and enhanced sight were almost overwhelming. Now, the added sensation of her lips against his, forcing his mouth to respond as she deepened the kiss, awoke something within him. Then it began to fade.
He broke off the kiss and leaned away from her. Her eyes, hazy with passion and the effects of the drug, searched him. A part of him revolted at his behavior. Yet he needed that card. This was the only path to achieve it. Stephen swallowed hard against the guilt that tried to rise within him. “Give me one more.”
“Are you sure?” At his nod, she grabbed his hand and tugged. “Follow me. You don’t want to have a second one in public. Trust me.”
Trust her? Definitely not but he would follow her in order to obtain his goal. The end—in this case, that card of hers—would justify the means.
His senses were returning to normal as he followed her through the west exit and through two more compartments. The Class Prime sections were opulent and identical in decor. Golden tones set into a faux teakwood wainscot. Soft, muted lights lined the aisle above them. A glass encased lift stood near the first berth, giving the passengers access to the conveyor above. Mauve carpet softened their footfalls.
She keyed open the second berth to the right. Dark lighting greeted them. Luxurious tapestries decorated the walls, and a plush coverlet draped the slender bunk to his right. As soon as the door closed behind them, she pulled the folded film from the depths of her clutch and then cast the purse to the side. It slid along a small table before coming to a rest against the wall and the corner of the bunk.
Stephen tamped down his excitement. It would be easy to grab that card.
She set the film on the table and opened the folded edges, pressed two fingertips against the crystals, and then turned, holding up her hand with two fingers suspended between them, offering him another taste of the mind altering experience. Stephen leaned down and accepted it, smothering the small voice in his mind as colors and heightened sensations exploded around him.
That small voice screamed louder at him, and a tightness gripped his heart and twisted it. He growled. She giggled. He would make that voice shut up. He was tired of it—tired of its condemnation, of it rearing its head when all he wanted was a bit of fun . . . and that card.
The voice began screeching as he allowed her to push his shirt from his shoulders, their lips never severing their connection. Aggression rose within him, and he didn’t stop it. Her laughter filled his ears, and the voice faded as he allowed the most savage part of him to take over.
Sierra glanced up at the chronometer. Three hours had passed, and he was still gone. She closed down the holo-reader. It was time to find her irritating brother. After a quick check to make sure her card and salve were in her satchel, she stepped through the hatch and keyed the lock.
Smells assaulted her—cleaning fluids that were used on the carpet underfoot, oil from the walls, grease from the hatch’s interior workings, ozone from all the electronics around her. She passed through the connection and into the next compartment—perfumes, colognes, food.
Her head began to ache from the various odors. She spied a short, polished steel bar at the far end. Sliding past the crowd that lingered around the small, circular standing tables, she hurried to the corner.
The stool molded to her weight and gave support. It was nice and comfy. She smiled as she pulled her salve from her satchel and uncapped it. The bartender approached as she rubbed the tube under her nose.
“Menu?’ He held out the placard.
“Thank you.” She accepted it and pressed the red icon in the upper corner. A holograph appeared above the card.
There weren’t a lot of choices. Yet the food seemed to be specialties and delicacies. She perused the items before deciding on an egg hollandaise. They may have considered duck eggs a delicacy; but in Alaska Country, it was an everyday staple.
The drinks, though, were not familiar. She glanced at the bartender. “May I have plain water?”
“We only serve flavored spritz.” He took the menu from her. “I suggest the strawberry. Easier on the palate.”
Sierra nodded her thanks. He disappeared through a narrow door behind him as a voice drifted her way. She turned on the stool and scanned the area. Across the crowded expanse of the compartment, a woman dressed in a flowing, purple gown stood on a small stage. Her blonde hair was pinned at her nape, and a golden chain with a heavy pendant hung around her neck.
It didn’t seem as though she was singing words—just inflections and octaves of sounds. Yet there was a pattern to it. She closed her eyes and let the song flow around her. No, those were words. She could catch the syllables and emphasis.
It reminded her of the dialect from Upper Bay. Some of the inflections and enunciations were the same.
“Here you are, Miss.”
Sierra turned to her food. “What language is she singing?”
The server glanced up at the singer. “Oh, that’s Katherine O’Hennessey. She’s from the Gaelic Opera House in GFT North Isles. I think they use the ancient Gaelic language.”
He moved down to the next customer. Sierra tried her food. It wasn’t as fresh-tasting as home, but it was palatable. She moved her plate and glass around so she could sit sideways and watch the singer.
