CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Venus Futures Corporate HQ
City of Olympia
Old Terra
Sol System
Terran Federation
November 27, 2552
Simron and Reagan Murphy took the external lift up the South Tower toward Kanada Thakore’s office. The view from the crystoplast-walled lift at sunset made this Simron’s favorite time to visit Venus Futures’ enormous headquarters complex. The golden hour before twilight, glinting off the endless vista of skyscrapers stretching away into the Federation’s capital, had always given her a sense of calm.
But not today.
“What does Grandpa want?” Reagan asked. “Do you think he’s heard something about Dad and Callum?”
The sixteen-year-old wore all black. Simron wasn’t sure if she was mourning anything in particular or if she was going through a phase amidst the family and Federation-wide crisis in which they found themselves.
Now Reagan scratched at the security band wrapped around her upper arm. The device, which camouflaged itself to be virtually invisible when worn, carried transmitters that broadcast health, location, and stress levels to the Venus Futures proprietary network tapped into electronic and communications systems all over the planet. All over the Sol System, actually. It could be programmed for any megacorp’s network, really, which explained why it was the top seller for those who needed another security layer to safeguard themselves and loved ones.
“It’s…too soon for any word to’ve come back from the Fringe,” Simron said. “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard something else. It could be good news.”
“If it was good news, he’d have just told us over the link.” Reagan rolled her eyes. “He wants us in his office because that way, no one else knows what he has to say to us.”
“You’re reading too much into this.” Simron adjusted the drape of her sari over her left arm.
“You just don’t want it to be bad news,” Reagan replied.
“Is that what you want?” Simron snapped as the lift came to a smooth stop and the doors opened soundlessly behind them.
“I just want them to come home,” Reagan said. “Dad and Callum were supposed to babysit some Fringe planet full of barbarians for two years. Not become warlords.”
“They’re not warlords,” Simron said as they stepped into an enclosed foyer. Security lasers scanned them both.
“That’s what the news is calling them. And all my friends at school,” Reagan pouted.
“Maybe we should switch to private tutors for the rest of the semester,” Simron said, giving her daughter a quick hug.
“I guess so. No one’s even asked me to the junior prom.…”
“Well, no one at that place is good enough to take you.”
Simron linked arms with Reagan as the foyer’s security doors opened to give access to her father’s office.
Kanada Thakore stood behind the desk of Midden wood to greet them as they stepped into the office. The wood grain’s fractal patterns glinted with embedded flecks of golden resin. Just how those flecks had been embedded had mystified Simron ever since she was a little girl, but it had been passed down through generations of Thakores.
Kanada wasn’t alone. Amedeo Boyle sat across the desk from him and Simron stiffened as he gave her a nervous smile, then dabbed sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she saw him, and the prickle grew stronger as she looked behind her and saw a pair of men in simple business suits standing against the wall to either side of the portrait of Sudharma Thakore, Venus Futures’ founder. She’d never seen either of them before, and something tightened in her stomach as they gazed back at her, as calmly emotionless as predators.
“Father, Mr. Boyle,” she said. “What’s the occasion? And—” she waved her free hand at the two men against the wall “—who’s this?”
“More security for me,” Boyle said nervously. “My underwriting department insisted on some enhanced measures while things are so…uncertain. I’m sure you understand.”
“They can leave,” Simron said flatly, but Kanada shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s not just Amedeo’s underwriters. There are quite a few members of the Five Hundred with augmented security at the moment.” He grimaced. “And these two bodyguards come from a highly recommended agency. One that’s worked with the Oval and the Prime Minister’s office quite often. In fact, they’ve done so much…sensitive work that they’ve all been conditioned against discussing any of their clients’ proprietary information. Isn’t that right?” he said, looking over her head, and one of the bodyguards nodded.
“Our psychological profiles have been altered to prevent unauthorized disclosures,” he said. “And we put up a significant bond with each employment contract,” he added with a smile.
Simron regarded the two bodyguards. Each stood with a degree of confidence that was at odds with the protective details that had been part of her own life ever since she was a little girl. Security details—good security details—were constantly on edge, alert for danger to their charges. But the air around these two was more relaxed, as if they were certain there was no danger. Not for them.
“Just think of them as more furniture,” Kanada said, interrupting Simron’s thoughts. There was no protest from the bodyguards, and he gestured to an empty chair next to Boyle. “And, please, have a seat. We have some matters to discuss.”
“Is there news from Terrence? Or from Callum?” Simron stayed where she was and gripped her sari tighter. “If there is, just say it.”
“Nothing.” Kanada shrugged. “It takes time for word to come back from the Fringe. We’ve had some…minor news from other sectors, but nothing more from New Dublin or Terr—your husband. The message lag is a fact of life.”
“I’m well aware of how long it takes to send news back and forth,” Simron snapped. “But if it’s not that, then what is it? Why did you summon me here with Boyle…and those two?”
Kanada looked at Boyle. The other man gazed back for a moment, then shook his head slightly, and Kanada looked back at his daughter.
“Simmy, your husband’s actions have had an extremely negative impact on Venus Futures,” he said.
“Along with the rest of the Federation,” Boyle added, just loud enough for the two bodyguards to hear, and Simron’s fear flashed over into simmering anger.
“Terrence is no traitor! He crushed the League’s fleet at New Dublin, then ran them to ground and destroyed their hidden shipyard. He should be as honored and appreciated as his grandfather!”
Boyle grimaced and looked away.
“Some of those points are…in doubt.” Kanada held up a hand. “Terrence’s actions as governor were erratic. Leading missions beyond the Blue Line without orders from the Oval would’ve been enough to—”
“Why are we here?” Simron hissed.
“Nothing good is coming from this.” Thakore raised both hands. “The best we can do now is mitigate the destruction before more people are killed and it does even more damage to the Federation.”
“Then perhaps the Five Hundred should have considered that before they decided to arrest my husband for succeeding at his job,” Simron said. “Was that because someone in the Oval had some victory in a minor skirmish to announce and Terrence stole their thunder? It certainly wasn’t because he’d done what he was accused of, and you know it!”
“It’s not—” Kanada put his hands on his hips and turned away, looking out his office’s windows rather than at his daughter. “We have to do what’s right for the Federation now, Simmy. Venus Futures needs to take a stand—publicly—on the matter. He’s my son-in-law, after all, and that puts the entire family in one hell of an awkward position. We can’t have one foot on Earth and the other in the Fringe.”
“What did you threaten him with?” Simron demanded, wheeling on Boyle. “Cancellation of the new carrier program? Audits from the Taxation Bureau?”
“There was no need for threats,” Boyle said. “Kanada’s loyalty is to the Federation, and that’s never been in question among those who know him.”
Simron’s eyes narrowed.
“But?” she said.
“But the entire Federation doesn’t know him—or you—the way I or the rest of the Five Hundred do,” Boyle said. “We need you all to make a statement. A public statement denouncing Murphy’s treason for violating his orders, and—”
“He’s no traitor!” Simron snapped so sharply Boyle shrank back as if she’d slapped him. He looked at her for a moment, then he raised his palms almost placatingly.
“Then a public statement against any violence and a plea for peace. Is that too much? Because that sounds very reasonable to me.”
Boyle looked at Kanada, then back at Simron, and one of the bodyguards cleared his throat.
“We can’t be lukewarm about this,” Kanada said, very carefully not looking at the bodyguard. “Not when Rajenda’s deployment to Jalal Station will hit the nets in the next day or two.”
“Wait. Rajenda’s already been sent? I thought he was bringing back units of Fifth Fleet from Beta Cygni?”
“That was the original plan,” Kanada said. “It turns out he was already in transit back from Beta Cygni before his new orders even reached him. Fleet Admiral LeBron had sent him home to report to the Oval after First Fleet took Kellerman. The good news was that he got home earlier than anyone expected; the bad news was that, aside from three damaged FTLCs that need massive amounts of yard work, he didn’t bring any carriers with him. So they gave him a task force from the Reserve, instead, and sent him directly out to secure Jalal.”
“Jalal, not New Dublin?” Simron asked sharply.
“Only to Jalal,” Boyle replied before Kanada could, and Simron glared at him. She wouldn’t have trusted him if he’d told her water was wet.
“When?” she demanded, turning back to her father. His eyes evaded hers for a moment, then he inhaled deeply.
“Two months ago.”
Simron stared at him, her eyes wide. For a handful of breaths, she literally couldn’t move. Then she shook her head as if her father had just punched her.
“Two months ago,” she repeated. “You knew he’d been sent two months ago, and you never told me?!”
“There was nothing you could have done, Simmy! I didn’t see any reason to…distress you any more than you already were.”
“Distress me?” Simron’s eyes blazed.
“Not his worst decision,” Boyle muttered and got an angry look from Kanada.
She opened her mouth, then remembered the bodyguards and closed it again. Silence hovered for a long, tense moment, and then she inhaled.
“What did the Oval send my brother to the Fringe to do? Exactly?”
“To bring Murphy to his senses before his actions sparks some sort of revolt—I’m not saying that’s what he wants, Simmy, but you know it could happen!—that kills even more people than the war with the League,” Kanada said. “The Federation simply can’t tear itself apart over this, Simron. We have to think of what’s at stake here. It’s larger than me. Larger than even Venus Futures.”
“He’s my husband, and the father of my children,” Simron said coldly. She stepped over to Reagan, who sat on a small couch with her head bowed, and touched her shoulder. “And the Five Hundred sent my own brother to kill or capture my husband? How ‘rational’ am I supposed to be about something like that?”
“You’re actually taking it better than I expected, if that helps,” Boyle said with a chuckle.
Matching daggered glares from two sets of Thakore eyes cut his humor short, and then Kanada looked back at Simron.
“Yes, the Oval sent your brother. Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted to put my only son into harm’s way, along with one of my grandsons? I lose, no matter what happens, Simmy. Again, no good is coming from this. I’m willing to concede that Terrence didn’t set out to commit treason—even that that’s not what he thinks he’s doing, even now—but that’s beside the point by now. The Federation’s on the verge of civil war—a civil war that could dwarf the casualty rates from the war against the League and give the League the military victory it could never achieve any other way. That’s where we are, that’s the reality of the situation. At this point, we have to do whatever we can to limit the harm.”
“They sent Rajenda to punish us.” Simron’s face was dark with anger. “He’s never cared for Terrence, and if one—or both—of them…”
She sank onto the couch beside Reagan and put her arm around her daughter.
“They’re both smart men,” Kanada said. “Smart enough to figure out how to—” he waved a hand “– come to some sort of arrangement without killing anyone. I pray for that. But the orders have been sent. That’s beyond our influence or control now, and we have a duty right here at home to mitigate any further harm.”
“And what does the Five Hundred have in mind?” Simron glowered at Boyle. “This isn’t your idea, Amedeo. You’re too much of a yes-man to be bold enough to suggest all this on your own.”
Boyle hovered on the brink of protest for a moment, then let it go.
“A news conference,” Kanada said. “We read prepared statements, and then you and the children retire from public view until this is over. For your and their protection.”
“Protection from what?” Simron demanded.
“Do you think you can walk through the galleries here in Olympus, or the red carpet at the Las Vegas Fashion Gala, and not be recognized?” Boyle asked. “Of course you can’t. And not everyone’s going to be…happy to see you. There’s what you believe about your husband, and then there’s what everyone else knows about him.”
“They only know it because of what the Five Hundred’s put out on the nets. Why isn’t news of Terrence’s victory at New Dublin on the feeds? Or his capture of the League’s shipyard? All I see or hear from those marionettes on the feeds are stories about his supposed corruption and the federal marshals sent to kidnap him!”
Kanada winced at her choice of verbs, but her glare never wavered from Boyle’s face.
“Any discussion of intelligence derived from the purported raid on the purported shipyard is classified,” one of the bodyguards said. “You’re not read in on any of that information. I strongly encourage you to not disseminate it any farther.”
“What are you going to do? Cut out my tongue?” Simron snapped.
The man smiled at her.
“Simmy,” Kanada tapped his desk, “the truth will out. At this moment, none of us can be positive what the truth really is. Eventually, it will all come out, I’m sure, but not anytime soon, it seems. And at the moment, we have to deal with what’s already out there. Like I said, Rajenda and Terrence are both smart men, and I’m positive neither of them wants to get anybody killed unless they absolutely have to. It’s entirely possible they’ll arrive at a sort of…standoff. A stalemate, while they negotiate with one another out in the Fringe. And if the two of them are facing off out there, and Terrence sees your statement, it may just tip the balance in favor of his seeing reason and backing off the ledge.”
Simron looked at him, stunned that anyone as smart as her father could believe anything of the sort might happen. But then she realized he wasn’t actually explaining that theoretical logic for her sake. It was for Boyle’s and the Five Hundred’s.
“Either way, we have to make our public statement before any dispatches from Rajenda make it back to Earth,” Kanada continued. “We have to get ahead of whatever report comes in from Jalal and New Dublin, good or bad. If we’re reactive, we’ll look like we’re trying to play both sides.”
“Not once have you—” she pointed a finger at her father “—or you—” the finger moved to Boyle, and then she snapped her hand at the bodyguards “—or anyone from the Five Hundred been the least concerned about the truth. Or about justice. You don’t care about that. You’re all just afraid of losing control.”
“And if we do lose control?” Kanada demanded. “What happens then, Simron? I’ll tell you—anarchy! Chaos! A civil war worse than anything in human history! We have to set aside our pride for the sake of peace and think of the good karma we’ll earn.”
“And so now you expect me to sacrifice my integrity, as well as my husband, is that it?” Simron said. “You want me to denounce my own husband, when I know everything that’s being said about him is a lie. How can I do that?”
Kanada’s head drooped and the room was silent. Then she heard a noise from behind her. The sound of a throat being quietly cleared.
She turned her head and looked behind her, and the bodyguard who’d spoken earlier smiled at her.
And in that moment, Simron Thakore realized who Amedeo Boyle’s “bodyguards” truly were. Agents of the Five Hundred.
Fixers.
She’d grown up with the rumors of the Bauk, boogeymen, that were always watching the Five Hundred, although she hadn’t really believed them, as a child. After all, who could possibly threaten her? Her father wasn’t simply the most handsome, strongest, smartest man in her world, he was also Kanada Thakore, one of the dozen or so most powerful men in the entire Federation!
But then, in her final year of high school, Angela Cole, the rather pretty daughter of another conglomerate’s scion and one of her friends from the year before, had…disappeared. She’d spent the previous summer as an intern for the CEO of Zaibatsu Industries, and there’d been some sort of data breach at Zaibatsu. No one in Simron’s circle had known what sort of data had been hacked, but they’d known it had been serious, and she’d looked forward to pumping Angela for the details. But Angela hadn’t returned to school after all. No one knew where she’d gone instead, but when she finally did come home again, eight months later, she’d been a sadder, quieter ghost of the mischievous Angela Simron had known.
And she’d refused to answer a single question about where she’d been.
When Simron mentioned Angela to her mother, Dušanka Thakore had grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to never speak of it again, or the Fixers would pay the Thakores a visit.
Dušanka’s obvious fear had astonished high-school-aged Simron, but she’d learned more about The Hand—and the Fixers who served it—as she maneuvered through the Five Hundred and assumed an ever larger role in Venus Futures’ management. In fact, she’d learned more than enough to understand her mother’s fear—far more than she wished she’d ever learned. The Fixers were always for hire, willing to tie off any loose end, tidy any problem, for a fee. But they never came cheaply, and despite their official assertions, she was convinced their fundamental loyalty was seldom to their “clients.”
It was to the Commission, and the Commission was as dedicated to keeping the rest of the Five Hundred in line as it was to dictating the policies the Federation’s government “spontaneously” adopted. The organs of government’s obedience could be insured through corruption and blackmail, but the Five Hundred was more…amorphous. Its members sometimes forgot they, too, were part of the system that regimented the Federation and thus subject to the will of those who controlled that system. Yet the more those members relied upon the Fixers, the deeper into their lives and businesses the Fixers—and the Commission—sank their claws, because whatever the rest of the Federation might know or suspect, the Fixers knew precisely what they’d done for those who engaged their services. And if any of the Five Hundred caused enough problems for the rest, or threatened the Commission’s control, damning evidence would emerge for either the federal prosecutors, most of whom answered directly or indirectly to the Five Hundred themselves, or into the media, most of which was controlled and owned outright by the Five Hundred.
All of that was true, and so was the fact that anyone who engaged the Fixers exposed themselves to the danger of retaliation from their fellows if the fact that they’d hired the Fixers ever came out. And the odds that it would come out were…nontrivial. Their claim of being psychologically blocked from disclosing anything was hard to believe in its own right—anything that could be done to a mind could be un-done—but even that was the least of it. Because the Fixers would use any weapon someone had been foolish enough to leave in their hands—including evidence of the things the Fixers had done for them—against previous employers if a new one, or the Commission, made it expedient.
There was a reason—there were a lot of reasons—her father had always categorically refused their services and Simron was happy to keep that policy in place.
Reagan gripped her hand hard. Simron doubted very much that the girl had any true idea of just who it was that stood behind them, but she obviously sensed enough to be frightened. And as Simron recognized her daughter’s fear, a fiery corona of rage wrapped itself about her own fear. She’d wondered why her father had insisted on Reagan’s coming. Now she knew. He hadn’t insisted at all, really. It had been Boyle. Boyle, who’d wanted Reagan there to make the threat from the Hand that much worse.
Boyle…who’d had the temerity to threaten her daughter.
Fury boiled up within her, but she knew the danger now.
Carefully, she thought. Carefully, Simron!
“My integrity matters to me,” she said evenly, “and so does my belief in my husband. But you’re right, Father. This situation is cascading from bad to worse. I can’t—and don’t—believe Terry is a traitor, but I can issue a statement in the interest of peace. But let me write my own. You may be right about a statement from me influencing him to see reason, but, as you say, he’s a smart man. He might suspect I’m being coerced to speak out, or that I’m being held hostage, if I read something prepared.”
“I brought a draft statement for you all,” Boyle said. “But it is a draft. So long as you hit the high points, I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m certainly satisfied.”
He stood and looked at the Fixers. For approval, Simron realized.
“In that case, Sir,” the Fixer who’d spoken said, exactly as if Boyle were actually in charge, “I suppose we should be on our way.”
Boyle’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and he nodded, but the Fixer wasn’t quite finished. He moved smoothly toward the coffee table in front of Simron and Reagan’s couch. He stopped a step or two away and snapped a plastic card against the glass tabletop, and Simron glimpsed the edge of a holstered pistol inside his jacket as he bent over.
“Send your statement for approval to this address, please, Ma’am,” he said.
His tone was calm, courteous, but his eyes held hers for a heartbeat. Then he, his companion, and Boyle stepped out of the office, and the security doors slid shut behind them.
“Grandpa!” Reagan sobbed. “How could you—?”
“Wait.”
Kanada opened a desk drawer and removed a slate. He tapped a ten-digit code against the screen, and a pair of small drones lifted from the top of a bookcase. They flitted about the room, then slowed into a hover before the painting near which the Hand agents had stood. Something like thimble-sized lightning bolts flashed from the drones, and a smoldering disc fell from the underside of the frame.
“Is that the only listening device?” Simron asked.
“It’s the only one the best detectors money can buy could find, anyway,” her father replied. “And then there’s this. I had it developed in-house.”
He tapped another code, and Simron felt a dull ringing sensation in her ears.
“It’s uncomfortable, I know.” Kanada’s words were muted and he stuck the tip of a pinky into his own ear and shook it. “But the multipath fading keeps our conversation localized to a few yards around me. Nowhere near were those two were.”
Simron pointed to Boyle’s seat and raised an eyebrow, and Kanada snorted.
“Would you trust him to plant a bug?”
“No.” It was her turn to snort, yet any temptation towards levity was short-lived. “But, Father, we can’t—”
“We must!” Kanada covered his mouth for a heartbeat. “Everything’s at stake, Simron—everything. Venus Futures, everything our family’s built over generations, could just vanish if we give the Five Hundred reason to destroy it.”
“And Rajenda really has been sent out already? Or was that just some sort of test?”
“He has.” Kanada nodded heavily. “And, no, I didn’t tell you about it before he left the system—for which, I apologize.” He met her angry, frightened gaze levelly. “But I’d do the same thing again, Simmy, because there was nothing you could have done about it—nothing I could do about it, given the timing—and I knew how…painful any scene between the two of you would have been.”
“Painful,” she repeated bitterly, and he nodded.
“I love you both, and I know you both. You would have done your best to stop him or make him promise you Terrence won’t get hurt, and he wouldn’t have done it. All that conversation could have done would be to make it hurt worse. And, to be honest, I truly do think sending him is the best option available to us. Partly because of how it helps protect the family, of course, but also because even though you’re absolutely right about how much he and Terrence dislike each other, he’s probably the only Heart flag officer with a single chance in hell of talking Terrence into surrendering peacefully. And, frankly, Simmy, that’s the only hope he has of getting out of this alive, and again, to be honest—” Kanada’s shoulders slumped “—even that’s not a good one. I don’t know exactly what new information’s been added to the mix, but something has. And the only thing I can think of is that they think the Fringe is going out of compliance.”
He met his daughter’s eyes levelly, and she felt herself pale. Unlike Reagan, she knew what that meant. But surely they were wrong! Terry believed in duty, in honor, and he was Henrik Murphy’s grandson. He’d die to preserve the Federation!
Yes, he would, a tiny voice said in the back of her brain, but if doing his duty leads him into conflict with the Federation…
No. Not with the Federation; with the Five Hundred.
“He’s terrified too many people too badly,” her father said, speaking her own fear out loud, “and the Five Hundred is out for blood this time.”
“This is that O’Hanraghty’s fault, isn’t it?” Reagan demanded. “Dad was so happy as a Survey officer. Then he met that redheaded asshole, and—”
“Your father’s a Murphy.” Simron patted her daughter’s hand. “Yes, he loved Survey, and he was happy there. But over the last few months I’ve begun figuring a few things out. Things he didn’t share even with me, probably—” she looked defiantly at her father “—because he was protecting the family.”
Kanada looked as if he were about to reply, but then he shook his head and sat back in his chair while Simron returned her gaze to Reagan.
“The reason he’d chosen a Survey career to begin with was because he knew how the Five Hundred would react to the possibility of a Murphy they didn’t feel confident they could control in command of a war fleet. They knew a thing or two about Murphys, the Five Hundred. Things I’m ashamed to say I didn’t think about. Not as deeply as I should have, at any rate.”
Reagan looked puzzled, and Simron grimaced as she reminded herself that her daughter was only sixteen. She considered her next words carefully.
“Your father,” she said, “embraced a Survey career partly because he truly loved survey duty, partly because he knew how…hesitant some of the Five Hundred would be to give him a combat command, and partly because he knew it would convince them he only wanted a governorship to get his ticket punched before he went into politics or back to Survey.”
She locked eyes with her own father again and saw the recognition—and chagrin—in Kanada’s eyes as he realized, possibly for the first time, just how completely his son-in-law had played him to get what he wanted.
“They wanted a Murphy they could control?” Reagan said slowly, then barked out a harsh laugh. “How’s that working out for them?”
“Not well,” Simron acknowledged with a wry smile that—somewhat to her own surprise—held quite a lot of pride.
“We could pin this all on O’Hanraghty,” Kanada said thoughtfully. “Make him out to be someone like that Iago character from that play you starred in all those years ago.”
“You really think that would work?” Simron said, and, after a moment, her father shook his head regretfully.
“Not at this point. No, they want their kilo of flesh, Simmy. And if we don’t give it to them, then all the rest of the family goes down right beside Terrence.”
“I can’t do this, Father,” Simron said. “Not against my own husband. Not against Terry!”
“I should’ve raised you to be more flexible. Rajenda knows how the game is played. You, though—you never learned how to compromise those principles of yours, did you?”
She looked at him, one arm around her daughter, and he sighed.
“No, you didn’t. But we’ve bought some time, at least. The earliest Rajenda can reach Jalal is two weeks from today. Assuming he spends a week or so integrating the Jalal System picket into his fleet before he moves on, the soonest he’s likely to reach New Dublin would be sometime around January tenth. That means the soonest we could hear back from him, even if he and Terrence get this thing settled the very day he arrives, would be February twenty-fifth. We’ve got one day less than that.”
“We can run.” Reagan perked up. “We’ll…we’ll meet up with Dad someplace. Then at least we’ll all be together!”
“No.” Simron shook her head. “We don’t know he’s still in New Dublin. Even if he is right this instant, there’s no guarantee he’d still be there by the time we got there.”
“Then we can—”
“Stop this.” Kanada looked around the room. “If we try to run, it makes us look like we support your father, and we can’t risk that, Priy. Not now. That’s why Earth is the best place for us right now…as long as we cooperate, we’re safe. If we give the others a reason, they’ll drop the hammer on us.”
“Well, I’m not saying anything against Daddy.”
Reagan crossed her arms and glared at her grandfather. In that moment, she looked a great deal like her mother.
“No, you don’t have to,” Kanada said. “You’re a child. Just your mother and me. And Vyom. Who’s out past the Snow Line, shaking down the latest FTLC to come out of the yard. I couldn’t get him back here in time for our little meeting. I’ll set you both up in my private quarters here. Then I’ll send for your things, and—”
“I will not imprison myself or my children.” Simron stood. “We have our own home. We’ll stay there while I…think of something. Anything.”
Kanada considered arguing, but he recognized futility when he saw it.
“I’ll send over a security detail,” he said instead. “Milunka Savic and some other old hands I trust.”
“You think they can stop the Five Hundred if they come for us?” Simron asked.
“No, but they will dissuade any paparazzi that come snooping around. The media firestorm’s just beginning, Simmy, and Milunka can help a lot with that. Remember what she did to that reporter who tried to follow you into the bathroom while you were pregnant with Vyom?”
“Didn’t she break every bone in that scumbag’s hand?”
“Up to the elbow.” Her father nodded. “And she rather enjoyed it. She’ll keep you both from being bothered.”
“And what about Vyom?” Simron asked, and her face darkened. “He was so looking forward to all the wedding planning.…”
“I’ll speak to him when he returns to Earth,” Kanada said. “I won’t send him back to hide behind his mother’s sari, though.” He snorted. “He’d probably refuse to go, anyway.”
“Is the wedding still on?” Reagan asked. “Are Vyom and Ingrid still engaged?”
“Her mother hasn’t sent me a text message since the word broke.” Simron shook her head. “Not a good sign, honey.”
“I’ll take no news as good news for the time being,” Kanada said, and tapped a slate on his desk. “Here’s the draft statement Boyle brought. Take it with you and—”
“No, I’m reading it now.”
Simron snatched it up and began scrolling. Her face tightened, then lost color as she continued reading.
“They’re insane.” She looked up, wiped a tear from her eye. “I can’t say this…I can’t say any of this!”
“Let me push back—see where we can compromise. Give me some time,” Kanada said. “I have a lot of favors I can call in.”
“Did you know they want me to get a divorce?”
Simron slapped the slate down on his desk.
“Hai raam.” Kanada ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll read it later. Please, go home. And don’t do anything rash. We need a plan, not just reactions. Just give me some time to think, okay?”
“Mommy, no! You can’t divorce Daddy!”
Reagan began sobbing, and Simron stroked her hair.
“Never, sweetheart! They’re mad. Let’s get home before the traffic gets too bad.” She gave her father a dagger-sharp look. “And don’t you ‘forget’ to tell me when Vyom gets here, Father. He’s the one we have to worry about.”
“Yes, yes!” Kanada waved his hand at her, then activated the holo projectors that cast screens around his desk. “Simmy…I love you. All of you. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“I never have,” Simron said.
She went to the card the Fixer had left behind and hesitated before she picked it up. Somehow, it radiated an actual foul aura, and she refused to carry it with her. Instead, she memorized the only text on the card—a simple comm combination—and then helped Reagan stand and guided her to the lift.