“If you get the chance, explain things to April for me. Hopefully, they’ll understand.”
“I’m certain they will. See you around.” Zion clapped him on the back, then broke the hug and started toward the shuttle. “I’d get out of here quick, Doc. Folks look like they’re coming our way.” Then he was aboard, and the shuttle was lifting off, leaving Layth behind on the only place he’d ever lived, and the furthest thing from a home.
17
Layth leaned against a dividing wall in the spaceport, across from where the shuttle had been berthed, and told himself again that this was a good idea. He’d managed to buy a billed cap off one of the dockworkers and had it pulled low over his eyes. Combined with his usual, non-descript clothing from the Sentinel, he blended in with any of the dozen or so staff he could see taking a break. It should keep him beneath the notice of casual inspection. In his experience, no one looked twice at the cleaning crews that swabbed out landing bays between ships.
Two hover cars drove up, followed by an open-topped off-roader with four security guards inside. Layth watched as a thin man in an ill-fitting suit stepped out of the front car and walked into the hangar. He came out a moment later. “Where are they?”
The security team shrugged, and one of them pulled out an omni to call the tower. For all the good that would do them; Zion would be halfway back to the Sentinel by now. It’s not like they’d be able to recall them.
“You!”
Layth glanced up, realizing that the thin man was addressing him as he stormed closer. He tugged his hat down lower. “Sorry, sir. Just getting back to work.”
“I don’t care about that. Did you see this ship leave? How long ago?” The thin man pointed back at the empty bay.
“No, sir.” He tried to think of an excuse for why he might have missed it. “I had my music on. In bay twelve.” Sweat pooled in his palms. He needed to convince this guy before the security team came closer. They’d be able to check his nonexistent ID, and what little plan he had would be shot.
Fortunately, Thin Man seemed to buy the story and turned back to the hover car. Layth started walking back up the line, headed for bay twelve on the offhand chance he was being watched.
“Get your hands off me! I can stand fine.” The familiar voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. Meja was being dragged from the second car; a security guard wearing a GRCA patch had one meaty hand around her upper arm and was steering her toward the empty bay.
“Is this where they were?” Thin Man sounded pissed, just unhinged enough to be actually dangerous rather than faux-tough-guy dangerous.
“I told you, Gideon. They were nobodies. A cheap ride to get back home after selling off your little failures. They didn’t even check my ID.”
It was a good story but wouldn’t hold up under much scrutiny. Layth knew it would be standard practice to check the logs for which vessels had made the transit. It wouldn’t take much of a jump to notice the Sentinel leaving and returning in the time frame of her absence. Still, he admired her effort to keep the heat off his friends.
At least now he knew why she hadn’t shown up. He checked the area, wishing he’d thought to get a weapon from the shuttle’s locker before it left. There wasn’t much around he could use, and while his military training was good, there were certainly a lot of them. He changed direction to head toward the security off-roader. Surprise would buy him a moment or two to grab a stunner, that might be enough of a distraction for her to get free.
“No!” Meja shouted, and Layth looked up to see her shaking her head, eyes catching his for a heartbeat before focusing on the thin man, Gideon. But in the moment, her plea was obvious. “No, this isn’t the right space. Is there still a ship in Fourteen?”
She tugged her arm out of the security guard’s grip and started walking in that direction, away from him. Gideon walked after her, grabbed her himself, and ducked as she spun around fist-first. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight against him in a way that made rage boil in Layth’s blood. Gideon whispered something in her ear then shoved her back toward the hover cars. The GRCA guard caught her, pushing her head down as they guided her back into the car.
For a split second, her gaze locked with his. The panic and fear written there left him ready to tear the whole building down on their heads for daring to hurt her. Then he realized her fear was that he’d do something rash, that he’d get hurt trying to save her. Her shoulders slumped, and she settled into the hovercar without argument.
Layth kept walking past the off-roader. He understood her fear. Hell, he’d allowed that same fear to put his entire life on hold for far too long. Behind him, the doors shut on the two hover cars, and they drove off, followed by the sound of the off-roader’s heavier engine and the crunch of its wheels.
He didn’t look up as they drove past him, didn’t want to risk seeing her face in the window begging him to do nothing. There was no way he planned to leave her in Golden Ratio’s clutches. But she was right, this wasn’t the battlefield to choose. He’d be better off going up against them in a way they understood.
Except that like most corporations the only thing they understood was power, something he didn’t have nearly enough of to be a credible danger to them. He took a deep breath and went through the list of people he still knew on Burbidge. He’d worked so hard to cut ties with the world after Jayme’s death that he barely could remember names anymore, let alone keep track of what had happened to most of the people with whom he’d served.
There was another option, but he shelved the idea as quickly as it surfaced. His family wasn’t viable. Hadn’t been viable since before he’d joined the military, and certainly hadn’t gotten any better over time. If he did anything, it would have to be on his own. Unless…
It was a long shot, but at this point that was all he had left.
The next morning, Layth exited the autocab and walked to the main doors. His clothes weren’t fancy, but he’d managed to purchase an outfit that would pass for high end. More important was the attitude—that wealth and power were his right, rather than something he’d worked to divorce himself from. He hated that he had to slip into behaviors and attitudes he despised in his family, but he needed it to stick, and this was a character he’d spent half a lifetime playing.
The main doors opened as he entered. A receptionist waited just inside the door, falling into step beside him as he walked. “Welcome to Golden Ratio Companion Animals, where perfection is process. May I take your coat, Mr….”
Layth turned and stared at her, summoning the intense distaste his father had always managed for anything that his children had found interesting.
The receptionist withered and took a step back. “Of course, sir. May I—”
“I don’t deal with underlings. Fetch someone with a title for me to talk to.” He regretted it as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but they had the desired impact. She winced and scurried to the corner and started tapping on her omnidevice. It had been his father’s motto, to never talk to anyone without an executive title, and Layth hated how easily, how reflexively, it had dripped from his lips.