The Rule of Luck, page 11
Hands caught me, holding me upright. Then strong arms lifted me off my feet. I was swung around so that the cable was behind me and blessedly out of sight.
“Don’t look at it,” said a voice in my ear. “Just breathe and close your eyes. Let the sea air calm you. It’s refreshing, isn’t it? You can hear the waves.”
Petriv carried me. He had me pressed against his chest. He seemed like the most solid thing in a world gone crazy. I clung to him, my face to his throat and my arms around his neck, fighting to keep from throwing up. When I could raise my head, we were no longer on the platform. We were inside, away from the elements, and about to be lifted to the DLL.
My eyes met his. He smiled. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It happens to everyone the first time they see the elevator. The scale is so colossal few can wrap their minds around it.”
“What about you?”
He shrugged; a difficult move he made look easy considering he had his hands full.
“You can put me down. I think the danger of me fainting is over.”
He grinned. “Far be it from me to go against a lady’s wishes.”
As soon as I was on my feet, I smoothed my skirt, hair, and whatever else I could find that needed smoothing. Petriv had caught me in a vulnerable state, and I didn’t want to seem weak. I also didn’t want to encourage whatever the hell was happening between us. This would destroy everything I had with Roy. I wasn’t stupid, despite evidence to the contrary. Even if he never learned about Petriv, guilt would consume me until I ruined it myself.
My eyes darted to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them I could see the Indian Ocean and make out the shadowy line of the Kenyan coastline. The elevator pod rose slowly. I found if I concentrated on the shoreline, my panic hovered at a minimum. I shot a quick glance around the elevator and found that myself, Petriv, and the four chain-breakers were the pod’s only occupants. It could have held dozens more.
“Security concerns. We’ve booked the DLL as well,” Petriv said. “The entire climb takes an hour and a half. Once we board the Consortium’s jet, we’ll reach Tsiolkovsky Tower One in the Pacific in three hours; then it’s a quick flight to Denver. There’s a nine-hour time delay between Nairobi and Denver, so it will be three in the morning local time when we arrive.”
“So we left before we started,” I offered, doing my best to play along like all of this was completely normal. “I should have plenty of time to overcome any jet lag before the auction.”
“If you had t-mods, you could reset your internal clock. But there are zone acclimatization meds I can provide to help your body adapt.”
“I don’t have t-mods and I’d prefer to avoid the drugs unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“That could pose a difficulty. You’ve no idea what could be required of you in the next few weeks.”
I shot him a look. Was he smirking? “I’ll take my chances,” I said drily.
Eventually, the pod stopped and we entered the DLL. I kept my eyes straight ahead, worried I’d have another fainting episode. I expected the DLL to look like the elevator pod, but it was an actual room—rectangle shaped, long and thin, with a low ceiling. Tiny windows of thick pressurized glass lined each wall. Seats were arranged in rows of four across, an aisle down the middle, with fifty or so rows in total. Gray and utilitarian looking, their cushions were emblazoned with One Gov’s tri-system symbol of a yellow sun and three white dots.
I picked a seat near the back, close to the exit. Petriv sat beside me. The security detail took up position around us, but not close enough to feel like they were intruding.
“All these seats to choose from and this is where you decide to sit?”
“A man has to sit somewhere. May as well be here,” he reasoned.
I sensed he wanted to say more, but an automated voice came over the speaker system, instructing us to secure our shoulder and lap harnesses and detailing what we should expect during the climb. At first, I listened with interest, but as the voice continued in a dull monotone, I got bored.
With a jolt, we began to move. I looked out the window, seeing only the expanse of the Indian Ocean. As we ascended with increasing speed, the ocean grew farther away and I had to crane my neck to see it.
“If you like, we can move closer to the window,” Petriv said. I heard a trace of laugher in his voice.
“Nope. Here is fine.”
We were passing through clouds now. Then there was nothing to see but blue sky. Blue faded to white as we rose even higher. The motion was remarkably smooth given that I knew the DLL slid along the cable the way a spider crept along its web.
I resettled in my seat and fiddled with my bracelet, considering linking to the CN-net just to give myself something to do. I picked at the jeweled buttons. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt fidgety and anxious. Nerves, I told myself. It’s just nerves. Plus guilt. I must never let myself forget the power of guilt.
Except, it wasn’t either one. I had a feeling in my gut and the longer I sat locked in my harness, the greater the feeling became. I needed to do something. I had to get up and…And what? Leave. Yes, I had to leave. Get out of the DLL. Now.
I jerked toward Petriv. “How much longer until we dock?”
“A few minutes according to the system AI.”
“How many minutes?”
He frowned, brows coming together over laser-like blue eyes. “The AI says fifteen minutes before we link with the space station. Are you alright, Ms. Sevigny?”
“No, I’m not. I can’t explain it, but I need to get off this thing.”
“Is it a repeat of your earlier experience?”
“I feel agitated.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “Like I might jump out of my own skin.”
My gut said I had to move. Run. Hide. Move to a safer location. I’d never been in a situation where my gut told me to do something I physically couldn’t do, and definitely not for such a long period of time. The feeling grew to unbearable pressure. It hurt, and I whimpered with pain. I tried to focus on the seat in front of me but couldn’t. Finally the DLL stopped. The impact was jarring as the braking and locking mechanisms engaged in a series of loud clicks. I tore off my harness with frenzied hands and leaped from my seat.
“Ms. Sevigny, what are you doing?” Petriv barked, unbuckling to follow.
His no-nonsense tone should have had me quaking in my designer boots. I ignored him, concentrating on yanking my two suitcases from the storage locker. Petriv grabbed my arms, jerking me away with brutal strength and whirling me to face him.
“Tell me what’s happening,” he ordered, shaking me a little. Chain-breakers flanked us. I could sense them behind me, felt their hands on me. I tried to shake them off, but couldn’t.
The gut feeling turned to screaming panic. I cried and could barely catch my breath to speak. “I need my things. I have to get out of here!”
“Why? What’s going through your head?”
“I feel caged.” I took a breath, trying to stop the tears long enough to be more coherent. “It’s not vertigo or claustrophobia. Just if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to die.”
There, I said it. Aloud, it sounded stupid, but it wasn’t any less true. A second later, the electronic doors unlocked. I shouldered my travel case with my cards, decided the suitcases were a lost cause, and tried to leave the DDL, but I couldn’t because Petriv had me in a death grip. He raised me up until I stood on tiptoe, my eyes locked with his.
“You’re sure of this? You truly believe you’re going to die here?”
“Yes!”
He scooped me up, shouted commands in a fury of guttural Russian, and plunged out the door.
We were on the launch dock. Windows surrounded us, offering a panoramic view of a horizon caught between black and white. The area around us was clear and free of people. Outside the windows were numerous high-orbit planes lined up in their bays, ready for launch.
“There’s our transport,” Petriv said, directing my attention to a sleek private jet in Bay E, three bays away. “We climb aboard, and we’re gone.”
I nodded, but my gut feeling hadn’t ebbed. Instead, it grew sharper and I fought Petriv as he strode us toward it.
“Stop! Put me down!”
He ignored me and continued toward the jet. As we moved closer—two bays, then one—the panic arced to a fever pitch that had me punching him in the shoulder, fighting to break his hold. He dropped me. I went reeling and staggered to stay upright.
“What now, Ms. Sevigny? We stay? We leave?” He sounded both exasperated and frustrated, his face a dark scowl. He grabbed my left arm, righting me with another shake. “What is it you want?”
I threw my arms in the air. “I don’t know! I just feel…I don’t know what to do!”
“The jet? Do we get on it?” he tried, moving in its direction.
The fear spiked again and I yanked away. “No! I can’t. Leave me here. I’ll take a commercial flight and catch up with you. I’ll even pay for it myself, but I am not getting on that fucking jet!”
Which was a good thing too, since the jet exploded.
Chapter Eight
Later I learned “exploded” was too dramatic a term for what happened. “Caught fire” was more accurate. Fire crews reported to the scene, extinguished what remained since fires didn’t burn well without oxygen, conducted a preliminary investigation, and determined the cause. One of the engines had a mechanical short the AI hadn’t caught during its preflight check, which would have become a problem sooner or later. However, later would have had us flying over the Pacific Ocean where we would have crashed and died. Three cheers for me and my gut.
Once security determined it wasn’t a terrorist attack, and the panicked crowds had been appeased, flights resumed. Petriv decided to cut his losses, denied any connection to the ruined jet, and booked tickets on a commercial flight under false identities. I wasn’t sure how he did since it meant scamming One Gov’s queenmind and I would have said that was impossible, but I let it go. Soon we were winging our way to Tsiolkovsky Tower One on the other side of the world.
“I’m sorry I freaked out earlier,” I said to Petriv.
It was the first normal thing I’d said in what seemed like hours. Petriv had secured two private cabins in first class. He and I were in one, the four chain-breakers in the other. That had produced some heated debate in Russian. Though I hadn’t understood it, I still caught the gist.
At first I’d amused myself by braiding my hair so it wouldn’t float every which way during the low-g flight. Then I’d examined the minibar, the CN-net shopping display, and checked my bracelet for shims. Not much there other than a reminder about my grandmother’s birthday from my cousin Rainy—well over a month away. He wanted me to bring my cards, which annoyed me. The whole damn family wanted to get their hands on my deck and I had to bring them to every function to prove I hadn’t lost or destroyed the things. If they’d been on Petriv’s jet…I laughed at the idea even as it horrified me. There were also several shims from Roy, reassuring me of his love. I squirmed with guilt, deleting them after tapping back that yes, I loved him too and couldn’t wait for him to get home.
“Did you hear me?” I asked, leaning closer. “I said I was sorry about earlier.”
“I heard. Don’t trouble yourself. The situation called for it,” he said absently.
Guess he wasn’t in a chatty mood. I looked out the window and tried to settle, but after the morning’s events, I just wanted someone to talk to. “It’s not every day I slug a crime lord,” I pressed on. “I’d hate to have a contract put out on me because I’d breached some sort of etiquette.”
Petriv wore a pensive expression. “Do you really think now is the time for humor?”
Ouch. “Laughter is a good stress release.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“So, I’m trying to laugh about what happened because I’m stressed. Maybe this is an everyday occurrence in your world, but not in mine. I suppose you’re making plans, consulting your network of mysterious contacts, wondering which heads have to roll and how this affects the bottom line.”
His look turned incredulous. I suspected the expression didn’t cross his face often. “You don’t seem concerned with the fact that someone may have tried to kill you.”
“Of course I’m concerned. I’ve just decided to be happy I’m alive rather than terrified over what could have happened. Give me time. I’m sure I’ll be as upset as the next person.”
“I see. That’s a…unique worldview.”
“It comes with being a card reader. I see future events coming at me all the time. It helps me appreciate the near misses,” I said, unable to hold back a grin.
He shook his head and returned the grin. It made him look boyish, changing him instantly into a person I felt like I could talk to rather than the leader of a crime syndicate. I caught myself leaning into him, stopped, then decided what the hell—I was still alive, wasn’t I?
“Do you have any suspects yet?” I asked. “The Brazilians? A rival for the Mars contract? Someone in your organization with an ax to grind? All of the above?”
The grin turned into laughter. “I have my theories. You’ll be the first to know when there’s a working hypothesis.” He leaned in as well until our shoulders touched. “May I ask you something?”
“What?” I felt like a coconspirator and giddy nervousness bubbled up inside me.
“You wanted off the DLL. You seemed adamant something terrible would happen. Why?”
I leaned back, the spell broken. Ironically, as I moved away, he leaned closer. I stopped, afraid I’d look ridiculous if I smacked into the wall. Should I tell him about my gut feelings, the ones I couldn’t describe because they didn’t make sense to anyone who wasn’t family? What about the readings I’d done about him where the Death card kept appearing? Both made me sound insane.
“Given your limited CN-net immersion and the fact that you believed your mother dead all this time, you haven’t had much opportunity to investigate her,” he said when I didn’t answer. The random statement didn’t fit into our discussion, but I bet Petriv rarely said anything that wasn’t on point.
“Not much other than the files you sent.”
“As a researcher, she had to publish her findings in order to gain recognition in the field. Once TransWorld hired her, her research became company property. It’s been several years since she’s published anything, but one of her last papers dealt with the potential existence of a luck gene in the human DNA sequence.”
I stared at him, sure I’d misheard. “My mother was looking for luck?”
“She was working toward isolating it.”
“That’s crazy. There’s no such thing as a…a luck gene. Genes determine eye color, sex, and quantifiable things like that—things you can tweak or boost to some predetermined MH Factor. Luck is intangible. You can’t manipulate it. Most people don’t even believe it’s real.”
“Whatever the case, your mother was looking for it.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you mention it earlier?” I demanded, feeling betrayed. What other nonsense was he holding back?
“Because until I met you, I didn’t believe it existed.”
I think my jaw may have dropped. “You’re saying I have this gene she’s looking for because I didn’t want to get on the jet? Lots of people have a flying phobia.”
He merely looked at me, saying nothing. His silence made me feel even more uncomfortable so I turned away. I would have gotten up from my seat, but the low gravity made stomping off dramatically too difficult.
“I’m just asking you to weigh the options,” he said several minutes later. “Consider the accuracy of your card readings. What is it that makes you so skilled? Or think about the times in your life when unusual things have happened. When did you last have a feeling like you did today?”
I was quiet for a long time, then in a small voice I said, “I’ve never had a feeling like that. The need to get away was so intense, I could barely think.”
“It may be more than luck working in your favor. Luck happens. It’s random. In your case, you appear to possess a type of self-directed luck. It’s almost premonitory, if I had to label it. You have a feeling and the choice is yours as to whether or not you act on it. What happened today is a perfect example.”
I shot him a look from the corner of my eye. “That seems far-fetched. I was nervous. I’ve never been on a high-orbit flight before.”
“Then what about a time not so far-fetched?”
I knew what he meant, and it scared me to think about it. I could weave all the elaborate scenarios my mind wanted to, but I refused to lie to myself when confronted with a reality that I couldn’t ignore.
“When you came into my office for the first time. I felt it then,” I whispered.
“What did it feel like?” he asked, just as softly.
I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. “That if I let you walk away, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”
“Ah, well. That’s something I can at least work with, isn’t it?”
The tone of his voice suggested things I shouldn’t be hearing. It made me think of the restaurant all over again, the feel of his body against mine, and how he’d brought me to a toe-curling orgasm in minutes.
“Don’t,” I murmured, fighting back the memory my body so badly wanted to relive.
“You shouldn’t deny yourself something you really want,” he concluded logically, his tone reasonable. “If everything in you is telling you to accept what’s in front of you, perhaps you should.”
“What I want isn’t always what’s good for me.”
Petriv’s fingers came up under my chin, and he turned my face to his. “In this case, I beg to differ.” His other hand came to rest on my throat, his thumb idly stroking my collarbone. “I think it could be very good for you.”
