Page 13

She stared at the valise. At the burden of blood and obedience inside.

Her hands were shaking when she took it.

But her eyes never left his gaze, noting how his orbs didn’t blink once.

On the Sombra , Xander Roman stood alone in his ready room.

His eyes searched the void.

He turned as a whip of energy passed through the space, and a giant violet-gold spectral spirit glimmered into view above and around him.

He gazed into its glowing eyes and raised his chin in gratitude. ‘ Sante .’

The Venantia Eterna glowed like a celestial fortress, all sweeping silver hulls and rows of pulsating lights as Savvine’s pinnace glided into the massive rear bay.

She slammed on the controls with more force than necessary to initiate berthing clamps.

She escaped the pinnace minutes later, striding toward the lockers, peeling off her suit once inside, and throwing her gloves into the bin with a pointed exhale.

She needed a hot meal, a scalding drink, and Abby.

Changed and freshened up, she headed to the staff dining hall on Deck 12.

She sighed as the familiar warmth, conversation’s murmur, clinking utensils, and the soft hiss of pressure valves from the auto-kitchen surrounded her.

Long metal tables sat scattered between potted synth plants that had long ago been used to divide cliques.

The security crew claimed the far left corner, tech crews sat in the middle, and junior medics always hogged the food replicators at the front.

With a packed tray in hand, Savvine slid into her usual chair at the aft of the room, shoulders aching, jaw tight.

Abby was already seated, devouring a plate of spiced lentils and flatbread with her customary speed, inhaling each bite.

‘You look like hell,’ she said without looking up.

Savvine slumped into the seat opposite her, grabbing a mug of roasted kahawa . ‘I feel like it.’

Abby raised a brow. ‘Let me guess. Eugene tried to kiss you, got a nosebleed instead?’

Savvine bit her lip.

The reason she felt like hell had little to do with their boss.

It had more to do with her strange encounter with the Signet rescuer earlier that morning.

She also wondered whether he’d been present in some form at her meeting with Eugene, and freakin’ shifted her before her drug addled Don had almost shot her.

She was off kilter, trying to get her head around the fact that she was attracted to him, even though he operated among Signet’s ranks.

She almost shared this with Abby, but caution held her back.

For now, she wanted to keep him and her unauthorized recon jaunt a secret.

As for her Eugene troubles, those were open slather.

‘He wishes,’ Savvine muttered, her thoughts switching back to their feckless family Don. ‘He played Russian roulette with a laser pistol and gave me marching orders to cozy up to Alexandr Roman, the Signet head.’

Abby dropped her spoon. ‘Are you for fokkin ’ real?’

‘Deadly.’

‘Hell. Our playboy boss is truly trash in a velvet smoking jacket.’

Savvine stared into her brew, steam curling into the dimmed amber lights above them. ‘True. It burns that he has the final say, no matter how many die for him to keep his harem, yacht, and koko streams afloat.’

‘Did he threaten you?’

‘ Naam . My family. My position. You know how it goes. The question is why. What’s the reason behind this recent switch to wanting to work with Signet? Does he want in on the illegal shit they’re pawning?’

Abby’s face darkened. ‘You want me to start pulling private logs from Signet channels, confirm what I found earlier?’

‘Not yet,’ Savvine murmured. ‘But soon.’

She ate fast and drained the last of her kaffeine with a scowl, lips pressed tight.

Her soul still troubled, she pushed up from the counter and strode out to finish her afternoon shift.

Hours later, she found herself weaving through the polished halls of the officers’ quadrant, boots tapping a steady rhythm until she reached her parents’ suite.

She knocked once before slipping in, hoping for a quick drink and a chance to charm her way into scoring an impromptu dinner.

If Gaya Bianchi were in the kitchen, there would be a good chance the universe’s finest pasta would be simmering on the stove.

Her mother greeted her with a knowing look, a cheek kiss, and a goblet of red wine in hand, as if she sensed her mood.

‘Here,’ she said with a raise of an acerbic brow. ‘You need it, seems you’ve been dancing with demons.’

Savvine accepted Gaya’s libation and took a slow sip, sighing as warmth bloomed on her tongue.

‘ The C?te ?’ she asked, with a half smile.

Her mother nodded. ‘Tis bliss in a glass, a pinot noir that’s spell work in liquid form. Handcrafted from de-stemmed fruit, cold-soaked, wild-fermented, and aged to velvet smoothness in seasoned oak barrels.’

Savvine slumped into a lounge chair that hugged her. ‘Always the wine connoisseurs, you two. Sante .’

Her father, gaze penetrating, still in his engineer’s jacket, eyed her from the window seat, his silhouette framed by the stars.

‘You met with Eugene?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘He’s paranoid. Or worse, he’s pretending not to be. He wants me to play nice with Signet. With Roman.’

Her father rubbed a hand down his jaw, his expression unreadable. ‘You contemplating fighting him?’

‘I’m planning to expose Signet if I find proof that they are selling weapons to the Lombardis. I’ll even take it to the Syndicate. Or the holo-nets.’

Enrico’s face tightened. He leaned forward, lowering his voice even though his suite had some of the highest privacy protocols on the Eterna .

‘Savvine, you need to be careful. This ship has ears, from its hallway to its vent shafts. Helena, especially, who’s another level of nasty. If she finds out you’re going behind her or Eugene’s back -.’

His voice trailed off, the meaning and implication clear.

She sliced her eyes to him, lips tightening. ‘I just want a leader who gives a damn.’

‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘But you must also survive long enough to make a difference.’

Her mother sat beside her and took her hand.

‘You’ll stir up a hornet’s nest, no doubt,’ she murmured. ‘Just make your moves carefully and don’t let them trap you first.’

After a delightful chili butter and roasted garlic Nodi Marini pasta, the rest of The C?te and cautious words with her parents, Savvine made her way to the command deck.

The corridors were calmer now, the night shift cycling in, the ship’s hum gentler, almost sleepy beneath her boots.

She was just about to enter an elevator when a shadow waylaid her.

‘ Fokk , you scared me,’ she muttered at the scowling man.

She recognized him, one of Helene’s private guards.

He made his demand. ‘The Donna requests your presence.’

Requests? Right.

‘Now? This late?’

He gave her a baleful look, and she sighed. ‘Lead the way.’

She followed the silent escort through the vaulted halls of the Eterna’s upper decks.

Past frescoes of long-dead Bianchi Dons and diamond-crusted mosaics that caught and fractured the ambient light.

The suite at the far end of the private wing was a level-one top-priority exclusive suite.

Helene Bianchi’s chambers were sacrosanct, and few dared to walk into their thresholds without being summoned.

The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing pure decadence.

The apartment was larger than most diplomatic embassies.

It had ten bedrooms, all themed in opulent excess.

One was styled after the Sistine Salon of the Vatican, and another was in brutalist Echelonian steel and velvet. Gold veined every visible surface.

Moonstone chandeliers spun in the air, suspended by anti-grav.

A living fountain burbled in the heart of the space, crafted of crushed ruby glass and pyrite, forming the shape of a woman drowning a serpent.

At the heart of it all, lounging like a spider at the center of a bejeweled web, sat Helene Bianchi.

The matriarch wore a floor-length scarlet silk robe, embroidered with white ash serpents that curled around her hips and neck.

Her slippers were diamond-encrusted, and her wrists, throat, and ears glittered with gems.

Most that cost more than Savvine had made in six months, assuming she never took a day off.

Helene didn’t rise.

She gestured with a ring-heavy hand, her long crimson nails catching the light like knives.

‘Well? Did you meet with Eugene?’

Savvine crossed the room with careful neutrality. ‘I did.’

Helene cocked her head, expression unreadable. ‘And?’

‘He seemed fine, I suppose.’

‘How was he?’ Helena insisted.

Savvine blinked. ‘That’s an odd thing to ask. Haven’t you seen him lately?’

‘Of course,’ Helene murmured, folding her hands like a queen upon a throne. ‘But getting a second opinion is always wise. Sometimes I’m too close to Eugene to see him objectively.’

Ain’t that the truth, Savvine thought.

Helena had spoiled and pampered her son, and the result was an entitled crybully who had no idea how to run a vast family legacy.

Savvine didn’t add that Eugene had played roulette with a weapon in her face. She wasn’t going to give Helene the satisfaction.

‘That deal with Signet, to build a ship. Make sure it happens,’ Helene murmured, as though she were requesting a menu at a restaurant.

Helene leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with interest. ‘While you’re there, look around. Learn what makes Signet tick. Their systems, operations, structure, and reach. Report back to me.’

Savvine narrowed her eyes. ‘You want me to spy on them.’

‘ Nada .’ Helene smiled, the sentiment not quite reaching her hard eyes. ‘I’m asking you to observe. They’re growing fast, and I want to know how. I hear whispers, too, that they are metas, shifters, enhancements. Abominations.’

Her lips curled like she’d smelled something rotten. ‘So don’t become caught up in their chaos or lure.’

Savvine tilted her head, her utterance deceptively soft. ‘What if I do?’

Helene’s eyes hardened into glacial shards. ‘Then you’ll be muddying our lineage. I won’t have that.’

Her voice carried no hint of humor. ‘Don’t test me, girl. You know what I’m capable of.’

Savvine stared at her. Long enough for discomfort to bloom across the matriarch’s face like a bruise. Helene looked away first.

‘Are we done here?’

Savvine didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and walked out, her boots echoing over priceless marble, not caring that she didn’t have permission to leave.

Behind her, the doors whispered closed.

Yet still, her pulse beat like war drums in her throat as she strode to her office, still amped up and on edge.

General Arasteh was alone in his office, next to hers. His dark eyes scanned a glowing report screen, and his shoulders were hunched with quiet exhaustion.

When she knocked on his jamb and stepped in, he glanced up, one brow raised, the other already bracing for trouble.

‘Eugene?’ he asked, before she even spoke.

She nodded and told him everything.

Eugene’s threats, the briefcase, and the order to deal with Alexandr Roman, while keeping her mouth shut. Finally, about Helene’s interest in the transaction.

The General didn’t speak right away.

He listened in his still way.

Then he turned to his console and keyed in a coded sequence when she was done.

A transmitter shaped like a gem was ejected from a hidden drawer.

He slid it across the desk to her.

‘This gives you comm access to Signet,’ he said. ‘It’s encrypted with level nine clearance. It gets you into the Signet strong guard’s private channel. We used it during the Jovian Blackout when we coordinated with them to free the hijacked ship. Roman’s team still monitors it.’

Savvine closed her fingers around the small device and pocketed it. ‘You trust me to make contact? Fact, you want me to.’

‘I believe Eugene will send someone far worse if you don’t. If you’ve any suspicions about why Eugene now wants to cozy up to Signet, being at the heart of the deal will give you the best sight line. However, don’t share anything substantial with Helena.’

‘I know. Her interest is suss as all fokk . She’ll get a sanitized report.’

The general’s eyes hardened. ‘She’s the one who’s stirred up the Elders against me, and you, and your work to keep the ship and our interests in the flotilla free of corruption.

She supports a return to feuds, pizzo , and even drug running, saying we’ve lost our edge.

She doesn’t realize that if we don’t clean house now, we’ll get a nasty reception in Pegasi.

The Sable Riders, incidentally, meta shifters themselves, run that galaxy.

They will turn us to slag in seconds if we come in hot with puritan thinking and illicit trade.

Helena is playing games she cannot win.’

‘Agreed. I’ll keep my distance from her and s ante for the insight,’ Savvine said with a solemn chin raise as she left.

Her quarters sat tucked near the security wing, one deck below.

They were modest, efficient, and untouched by the layered decadence of some officers’ suites.

A matte desk nested beneath the recessed lighting, stacked with decrypted reports.

One wall held her weapons cabinet, locked.

The other displayed a small shelf of well-thumbed books and a faded holo of her family before the flotilla’s launch from Earth.

Her cot was unmade, the sheets tangled, and her fatigue jacket slung over a chair.

She activated the comms array, inserted the transmitter, and brought up the secure message channel.

The screen flickered. Her fingers hesitated over the keys. Then she typed:

To: A. Roman, Command, Signet Co.

Request: A diplomatic meeting on behalf of the Bianchi security arm. Discussions on weapons channels, flotilla neutrality, ship builds, and pending threats are required.

S. Bianchi. Chief of Security, The Venantia Eterna.

She addressed her message to the man himself, the head honcho of the notorious private mercenary and security group.

Would he reply?

He had no reason to, but still, she shot her shot.

With a shaky inhale, she sent it, then remained staring at the monitor for a long time.

She toed-off her boots, stripped off her suit, changed into a worn shirt and shorts, and fell into bed.

Sleep came slowly. Fitful.

Until a soft, muted ping.

Her eyes blinked open. The room was blue-lit and quiet. The chrono read 01:03.

She groaned, reaching for her neural lens. The message hovered above her wrist:

Meeting confirmed. 1500 ship standard, three days from now. A Signet Corvette will pick you up. Bring no escort.

It came signed with no flourish: A. Roman.

Her heart lurched.

The reply had come so fast.

Perhaps the Bianchi name had more leverage than she expected.

Her mind churned with questions.

She lay back against her pillow, staring at the ceiling as the hum of the Eterna returned to her ears.

She sighed into the darkness.

‘How the fokk is this my life?’ she muttered.