Page 29

I could call Payton from the Warren’s plex.

Gig’s security is pretty good. But if the bad guys are watching Kez, then they might be monitoring outgoing signals. Better to bounce the call through my place, which has the best security I could buy, or steal, this side of military intelligence.

I move back through the house, collecting Mingle from the floor and tucking her back into my pocket, waving at Kez and her crew who are gathered in the kitchen.

Kez catches my eye, slides her big blues toward two heads, dark brown curls and light-brown crew cut, bent over a counter as they slice stalks of native kangalong . Sylvie and Gig. They’re cute together.

I grin back at her before ducking into the long communal ‘fresher.

All my plumbing’s working, which is a relief, given the whole pulverized bones thing.

The little monster is still sore, and a little red, but that’s the least of my worries.

Standing comfortably over the flash can while I empty my bladder makes me aware of how much more easily I’m moving.

I’ll have to think of some way to thank Doc Gray .

Back in the control center, I patch into the feed from my house, log in to the HPC, and call out. Wait until Payton answers. The viewie jingles for a long time before Payton picks up.

From what I can see of her, waist up, she looks just like she did when I last saw her. Perfectly and precisely groomed. But she’s wearing the same clothes, and there are dark lines between her brows. Those lines deepen when she sees me. “Mister Snow,” she says coolly.

“Payton. Thought I’d check in. See what arrangements you want made.”

She sniffs. “Are you offering me accommodation at the Cloud Palace? I’ll need a tab, since you’ve frozen all of Father’s accounts.”

A cold weight settles in my stomach. “I’ll make sure they’re released.”

She closes her eyes briefly. “Myhre.”

“She’s following the money. Led back to you.”

Payton shakes her head. “I gave her everything she asked for. Father was making payments to Mister Mereia and his associates. I did not conceal that from you. Since Father’s death, I’ve made none. I refused him when he asked. Why are you punishing me?” Her voice breaks on the last two words.

I wait until she composes herself, watching her steadily. “I’m not your Father,” I say.

Payton presses her lips into that crimson slash. Takes a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, Mister Snow.”

I take my own deep breath. “It’s Hale. Halemano Hauser. Now you got leverage. Understand?”

Payton’s mouth works for a moment, but nothing comes out. “Thank you,” she finally manages.

“I’ll get those accounts released before dark. When you decide where you wanna be, you let me know.”

“Mister Hauser, Hale—” she says slowly. “I haven’t tendered my resignation. No matter what Myhre says. If you want me to come in, I will. I’ll turn over the operation here to Myhre or whomever you want. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do ... but I want ... I want a role.”

“You got one,” I say simply. “You wanna be here or there?”

She looks as surprised as if I’d slapped her. I wait and let her compose herself. When she does, she says, “Myhre feels threatened by me.” It’s not a question; I nod. “Am I less threatening here?”

“Yeah, I’d guess so. You okay stayin’ there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Snow,” I remind her. I hate it when the Tyngalings call me ‘sir.’ Always sounds like an insult. “You ready for your first assignment?”

She straightens her shoulders and nods.

“You know Acker?”

“Yes, Leader of the Deep Whites. He was a person of interest to Father.”

“Yeah?” That’s not in the Tyng-net files. “Why’s that?”

“Father felt that the Deep Whites’ tunnels would be an ideal storage and transportation hub for the distribution of product, both throughout the Clouds and into Eastern Colony.

” Payton props her head on one hand. “He made several approaches to Acker and his Consort but was strongly rebuffed. Yet—” Payton pursues her lips.

“What?”

“He said something, on the last day of his life, something I did not understand. He said that Acker would soon change his mind about working with us.”

“He say why?”

Payton shakes her head. “Father had many secrets. Even from me.”

Turns out he was right, but probably not the way he figured.

“I want you to meet with Acker. He’s my new go-to.

Head of security for the SoBo. I’ll arrange a meeting.

Today, tomorrow the latest. Get to know him—” Her crimson mouth twists.

I follow her line of thought. Grunt in annoyance. “Let’s try this again. Who am I? ”

Payton lifts her chin and swallows. “Hale. Halemano Hauser.”

“Not your Father. I don’t punish. I don’t assign you ... whatever the fuck you called them ... targets. Are we clear?”

“Yes.” The lines between her brows smoothes. She stifles a yawn. She looks beyond tired.

“Get some sleep. I’ll plex you when Acker’s ready to meet. It’ll have to be on his turf. He don’t come topside.”

Payton nods slowly. “I understand.”

“Good. And Payton? After you’ve slept, I want you to get me as much vid as you can find of the skimmer crash. Send it to me on this channel. Not to Myhre. Not to Tyng Tower. Got it?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Snow,” I grunt.

She gives me that small, real smile. “Absolutely, Snow. Please give my best to Miz Kerryon. I’m glad you weren’t too badly hurt. I should have asked after her. That was rude. I’m sorry.”

“We’re both fine. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you later.”

She nods and signs off. I stand in front of the flexypane with my head down. Take a few deep breaths. Count to ten. Stroke the bunny nestled in my breast pocket.

I need to talk to Myhre. Without yelling at her.

Kez spares me that conversation by poking her head into the control center and telling me that lunch is ready.

I take the coward’s way out. Record a quick plex and send it off.

While I’m recording it, I feel like I’m succeeding in my struggle to stay calm.

The expression on Kez’s face when I finish tells me I’m wrong.

“What did she do?” Kez asks, as she leads me back through the greenhouse. She’s taken off her peds – she’s the one who showed me the joys of going barefoot – and we scuff through the grass together.

I fill her in. Watch her eyes darken.

“Thoughts, kitten?” I ask.

Kez is careful not to step on my toes. Security issues are my domain. I return the favor by asking her opinion .

“We can’t afford to alienate her,” Kez says slowly.

“Nope,” I agree.

“But this is not okay. You didn’t give her the order to freeze those accounts. Neither did I. She’s settling scores. And we’ve got no idea how many she has to settle.”

“You ask Chiara about that. Sometime when you’re alone an’ she don’t feel like you’re asking her to rat. I’ll spend some one-on-one time with Myhre. Make sure she knows who’s calling the shots.”

Kez nods. Leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder. “Not too much one-on-one time with Myhre,” she says.

“Kitten, you got nothin’ to worry about.”

“I’m not worried. I’d just like most of your one-on-one time.”

I put my arm around her. “You can’t be feelin’ deprived.”

She tips her head back. Smiles up at me. “I had to sleep by myself. It was traumatic.”

I chuckle. “Traumatic, huh?”

“Deeply.”

We’ve crossed the open part of the greenhouse and ended up in a grove of purple trees.

There’s a long table framed by benches set up in the grove, and this is where Kez’s crew usually eats.

They’re already there: Gig and Sylvie, Nev and Chiara, seated on the benches and passing food around.

The bunnies are loosely gathered around the benches, nosing in the grass, looking for crumbs.

When she smells the rest of her herd, Mingle gets restless in my pocket.

I scoop her out and set her on the ground near Chalk, who has Mix and one of the red-eyed babies, Slinky, I think, with her.

Kez plucks a handful of greens out of one of the bowls on the table and scatters them behind the bench for the bunnies.

The babies, who aren’t on solid food yet, avoid the herd’s mad dash for the greens, and start playing follow-the-leader.

I step over them carefully as I climb onto the bench.

On their little wobbly legs, the babies are even more unsteady than I am.

Kez notices. She helps me onto the bench, then reaches across me to tuck a fabric napkin into the neckline of my tank. When I pick up my chopsticks, she takes them out of my hand. “Hand and foot, remember?”

“Yeah? You gonna feed me, too?”

She grins, her full mischievous grin. That grin spells trouble. “Yes.”

“Keep it clean,” I tell her. Her crew are probably used to our games by now, but I try not to show too much in front of them. Last time we played with food, things got messy.

She behaves herself, mostly. She feeds me the acarajé , fried whitefish, and seaweed salad without misbehaving.

It’s only when we get to the sticky rinka wings that she starts messing around.

She holds the wing to my mouth, lets me get my teeth into it, and then she leans in and bites the other end.

Starts pulling like we’re playing tug-of-war.

I reach up and flick her on the ear. She breaks off with a giggle.

“My food,” I tell her, stripping the rest of the meat off the wing.

“I thought we shared everything,” she says, but she can’t even manage a pout. Not with that grin splitting her face.

“We do. My food is my food, and your food is my food.” I steal a shrimp ball off her plate. Shrimp is nothing if not plentiful on Kez’s table now that we run the biggest shrimp farm on the planet.

Kez taps a finger against her chin. “I’m pretty sure,” she says, pausing to clean off her sticky paws. “That we agreed sixty-forty, so technically, more than half of your food is my food.”

“In your dreams. ‘Sides, ain’t you supposed to be feedin’ me?”

She dries her hands hastily and wiggles on the bench. “I am. What do you want next?”