FLETCHER

The northern cliffs of Fort Rimon run for thirty miles beyond the second commerce district and rise to six hundred feet. Renowned for the outstanding beauty of the vistas, the cliffs are a popular leisure site during the warm months and the site of the annual Aether Faire. ~ excerpt from Fortuna, a visitor’s guide

Eyes gritty from too few bells of slumber, Clarice opened them to find Fletcher slipping from the bed. “What bell?”

“Barely sixth,” he replied in the freshening-closet doorway. “I hoped to leave without waking you. Return to slumber if you are able.”

The door closed behind him, and she closed her eyes. Slumber would not come; instead, her mind gyrated over the discoveries of the night gone. There was nothing to do on the intrigue but wait for Seigneur Trevelyan’s instructions, but at least there was more than sufficient routine commerce to occupy her day.

Abandoning the hope of further slumber, she rose and pulled on her training garb. She would accompany Fletcher to the lobby and then visit the training chambers. She was fastening her tunic when Fletcher emerged from the freshening closet, garbed for flight, with Clyde on his heels.

The faux servitor pushed past Fletcher and raised a device she recognized as a counter-stealth scanner used to discover hidden monitors. “Mistress Clarice, if you would hold your arms out at the shoulders.”

“Do as he as asks,” Fletcher said. “It seems that you were the target of the woman following you.”

Stunned, she lifted her arms. “To what end?”

Clyde crouched and ran the scanner along her legs. “Some black-commerce raiders sought to ransom Monsignor Hercules’ shadow consort for a set of pairing devices.”

“But Monsignor ended our liaison more than a month gone.”

Clyde rose. “Information they discovered from the Seventh Day societal media.” He ran the scanner along her hips. “You no longer have value, which is why the surveillance ceased.”

Gathering her jumbled thoughts, she asked, “You think they planted a tracker in my training garb?”

“Not your garb,” Fletcher said.

The scanner chirped and Clyde made a satisfied sound. He touched her shoulder, bared by the training tunic. “Standard tracker. Same type we use in slates.”

“In me?” Clarice twisted to examine her shoulder. “They tagged me like a slate?” She shook her arm. “Get it out.”

Clyde stepped back. “Any competent medic can remove it, but I recommend using the medic at Bright Star Headquarters.”

She did not ask why, knowing Clyde would have his reasons. “When? How?”

Fletcher pressed his lips to the spot. “The Shimmering Horizon? Recall the wound from that bump in the training chambers?”

It was in the same place. The puncture wound had been consistent with a blow from a blade hilt but could have been an injector. “I erred in not having it tended.”

Fletcher executed the pairing validation a third time without incident. In his ear, Chrys hummed over the communications line. “Validation two. Validation three. Fletcher, at your convenience.”

“Iron Hammer Alpha preparing to take flight.”

As always, the controls responded to his lightest touch, the flyer easing out of the hangar to the launch strip. This day would be a repeat of the day gone, with Fletcher reaching the farthest marker at top speed and then relying on the pairing device guidance for a convoluted transit to the far side of the system. Except, with the Five Warriors’ grace, without the frustrating system failures.

All the console lights were a steady blue. In moments the flyer was shooting toward the clouds. Fletcher’s breath caught and exhilaration filled him. He was born for this.

Setting her slate by the techno array, Clarice regretted she had not stopped for tea in the lobby. The tea in legalistics was worse than coffee. Her attempt to visit the Bright Star medic had come to naught, the woman unavailable until fifth bell. The detour had put her behind for arrival at the cartel. Even though Fletcher would not see it until commerce close, she sent an alert informing him that she would be stopping at Bright Star on her return to Serengeti House.

Initiating the techno array, she scanned her alerts and assignment queue. Zora had finally provided an analysis of the questionable contracts. She wondered which tactic the senior associate would use. She could claim that she checked the archives and found precedent, or she could agree the provisions were outrageous. If Zora was part of the plot, she would be wise to take the second route and avoid calling attention to the existing contracts.

Either Zora was cleverer than Clarice expected, or she had not received sufficient training in Serengeti legalistics protocols. Her report cited a wide range of penalty provisions in various commerce ventures other than vistrite, along with Fortuna commerce rulings and those in the Thirteen Systems protocols. She concluded that such provisions were a matter of commerce judgment and that the Grey Spear associate tasked with that region of Fortuna should be consulted.

If it were not for Koralia’s intrigue, Clarice would simply call Zora into her office and educate her on Iron Hammer protocols regarding penalty provisions, which were never acceptable without a seigneur’s authority. But, that might call too much attention to the matter. A warning chime alerted her to Seigneur Okoth’s operational review. She would devise a strategy for dealing with Zora afterward.

At the edge of the Fourth System, Fletcher set the course indicated by the pairing devices and settled down to wait for the next revision. If all went well, he could return to Clarice for the night. He had only two nights left on Fortuna, and he wanted to spend every bell at liberty with Clarice.

He reached for a slate to discover if she had visited the Bright Star medic and then remembered it was secured with the militia. He shared her aversion to the notion that someone had invaded her with the device. He would have set Clyde to guard her along with Mrs. Tasha, but the operative took orders from Trevelyan. He was deep into the investigation of the anomalous contracts. Fletcher had truly enjoyed watching Clarice stun the man the night gone.

He wondered how she was dealing with matters at Fortuna Headquarters. If she was correct and the senior associate was part of the intrigue, it would take a delicate balance to conduct commerce and avoid alerting the woman.

The console flashed and Fletcher returned his attention to navigation. No issues so far. The pairing devices were receiving the signals as designed.”

Seigneur Okoth’s operational review was not that different from the Crevasse City legalistics review. Each department presented status and highlighted accomplishments or issues. The topics were broader, with issues related to operational execution that did not surface in legalistics activities.

Clarice had known that the Leonardo Society construction fields consumed significant vistrite and mercium resources. She had not realized how much vistrite was pouring into the Fourth System to support all the new construction in Fort Rimon, the expansion of the stellar transit center, and the increased stellar transport construction.

It was no wonder Koralia’s intrigue had gone unnoticed. In total, Serengeti’s revenue from vistrite for personnel devices was substantial, but there were only a handful of customers and distributors significant enough to cause a ripple in operations. Those contracts would have been reviewed by Seigneur Herman and would not have such dangerous provisions.

Clarice’s fingers skittered on her slate.

“Mistress Clarice?” Seigneur Okoth frowned at her from the head of the table. “Did you wish to speak?”

Had she made a sound? “No, Seigneur.”

He gave her a long look and then turned back to the media management master. “Continue.”

The flyer shot past the small molten planet nearest the Fourth System sun. Fletcher contained a shout of excitement. They had made it past all the problems of the day gone, but until the flight was complete, they could not be certain the devices would pass the test. His stomach rumbled, and he pulled a nutrition bar and water vial from the console. Basic flight rations would provide what he needed to sustain his energy levels.

He wondered what Clarice was doing. Would she meet someone for a midday meal or settle for the companionship of her slate as she did so often. If he had his slate, he would send her an alert. Something romantic.

Her reaction to the notion of romance was like her initial reaction to passion, skittish and eager all at once. She wished for a delicate touch but needed a certain one. She was an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and he was determined to unwrap every layer.

He smiled as he read the next set of instructions from the pairing device.

Mulan’s flame! Clarice needed Seigneur Herman’s council. She wished Fletcher were accessible and she could ask him to validate her suspicions. She had no mechanism to reach Clyde. She examined her analysis once again. It was improbable but not impossible that the current gray commerce intrigue was not intended to cause financial damage but create attention. Attention that could cause the type of disruption that would equate to a multi-transport pileup on a major transitway.

Ignoring the hunger pangs that made her regret skipping a morning meal, she finalized her analysis, moving all the pertinent files and data into her secure archive. If her suspicions were correct, it would be the new year at the earliest before Koralia and her confederates tried to execute the secondary part of the intrigue. Yet, she had a sense of urgency that would not allow her to cease until she had everything documented and secured. She sent Rebecca an alert, knowing the spy would not hesitate to contact Seigneur Herman for an explanation of the legalistics.

With nothing left to accomplish until she heard from Rebecca or Clyde, Clarice became aware of a dull headache that had developed while she worked. The accompanying lightheadedness warned she had gone too long without a meal. One of the lobby cafés would need to suffice. She had neither the time nor the inclination to summon Mrs. Tasha to accompany her beyond Serengeti.

It was nearing third bell after midday and several cafés were not serving meals. She found one in an out-of-the-way corner that was more of a canteen and picked up a tray. It did not take long to consume a vegetable roll, green tea, and a hard-cooked egg. The alert from Rebecca was from the night gone and contained the contract for Pippa’s new artist. Setting it aside for review after commerce, Clarice considered her next steps.

If everything were in order on Fortuna, the next priority was taking Zora to task for her inadequate analysis of the suspicious contracts. It was still the best course of action. A chance to assess the woman free of the other associates. She scheduled the appointment for the next day and then took her tray to the servitors’ station.

A casual approach to Milo might serve. She would take a route past his worksite on the way back to her office. Leaving the canteen, the object of her thoughts stepped into her path.

“Master Milo, well—”

The rest of her greeting ended in a shocked gasp when his hand slapped her neck with a sharp, stinging pain. Not his hand. A dart. She tried to pivot, to bring her leg around with enough force to knock him away. The walls spun. Her vision tunneled and then collapsed into darkness.

The black of the beaconed expanse brightened to deep purple as the flyer descended. Fletcher could not be more pleased. The pairing devices performed perfectly, and he would be back at Serengeti House by sixth bell. The next day would be busy as they performed the final tests, using test markers position to match the distance between the last Ayres’ beacon and first Nightingale marker. If all went well, Fifth Day they would install the devices on the freighter and, on completion, be set to depart for the Thirteenth System on Sixth Day.

As eager as he was to return to the Nightingale and the Thirteenth System, he would miss Clarice. She was not scheduled to remain on Fortuna past forty-sixth sevenday. It would be the forty-eighth before he returned from the Thirteenth System, and another sevenday after that before he reached Crevasse City.

The dark-gray flatlands took form and then the familiar jumble of the construction fields. Banking a turn, he savored the rush as the ground flew past his window. Aligning with the launch path, he brought the flyer down with a whisper-soft landing.

Inside the hangar, figures scrambled, racing to greet the flyer. Chrys’ long form soon took the lead. Grinning, Fletcher leapt from the flyer. “It was a perfect flight!”

Chrys skidded to halt, his expression hard.

Good humor fading, Fletcher asked, “What is amiss? Was there an error?”

“The tests were perfect. Clarice has disappeared.”

Shock and pain lanced Fletcher. “Disappeared? When? How?”

Verity reached them, her breath coming hard. “The militia and security-privilege are seeking her slate.”

Every Serengeti slate contained a beacon to protect against loss or theft. “How long?”

“Fourth bell,” Verity gasped, still catching her breath.

Chrys added, “She did not respond to an urgent alert from Rebecca. They sent Mrs. Tasha to find her.”

“She would not have left the cartel without her guard.”

“We do not believe she did. The monitors have her in the lobby among the cafés. She was speaking with a man and collapsed. He seemed to be helping her to the risers but then he disappeared.”

Fletcher’s blood ran cold. “A man? Who?”

“His features were not visible.”

“I need my slate.” The slate secured in the LAT a hundred paces distant. “Verity, give me your slate.”

Eyes wide, she fumbled it from her satchel and handed it over. “It is unlocked, but you will need . . .” Her voice trailed away as his fingers flew over the slate, the stealth access codes retained in muscle memory. Clyde had erred, and Clarice was still a target.

Chrys had his slate in hand. “The militia have located her slate in the Serengeti transport bays. Nothing on the monitors to show her exit.”

The Iron Hammer militia guard pulled up in an open construction transport. He handed Fletcher his slate satchel. “Get in. Seigneur Marco wants the LAT in the air.”

“Hold.” He snatched his slate from the satchel. His alert queue was glowing with alarms. Skipping the militia alerts, he found one from Clyde. As he hoped, the black-commerce tracker had not been removed. “We have her, moving north and west through the second commerce district.”

Clarice’s headache was back, and her mouth tasted like stale metal. Where was she? She was slumped in a chair. No. A transport seat. She was on Fortuna. Did she fall asleep on the way to Serengeti House? Milo.

Mulan’s wisdom. He was in league with Koralia. Where is he? Where are they? Her eyelids cracked open enough to show a dark sky with the last of the deep-green sunset lining the horizon. Green-and-blue bluffs were gray in the twilight. There were no lights. They were on the cliffs north of the city and it was well after sixth bell. She was in the driver’s compartment, propped against the door. She did not dare move her head, but she had no doubt who was driving.

From the nearness of his breathing, it was a smaller personal transport. Fortunate for her, or she might have ended up in the storage section. The transport slowed and pulled off the road, bumping over the uneven ground and then halted. She tried to keep her breathing steady, continue to simulate unconsciousness.

She heard the driver’s door open. She might not get a better chance. Twisting in her seat, she reached for the door controls only to be halted by the bonds on her wrists and ankles. Her door opened and she met Milo’s determined gaze.

He reached in and grabbed the length of binding between her wrists. With a grunt, he pulled her from the transport. She stumbled, managing to keep her feet by bracing against the transport. “Whatever you have planned, it is over. Security-privilege knows what you and Koralia are doing.”

“I doubt that,” he scoffed, yanking her away from the transport.

Verity paled and Chrys profaned. There was only one reason to carry Clarice to the desolate cliffs. This was not about ransom.

The militia guard made a motion to hasten. “We are going to intercept whoever stole Mistress Clarice.”

“The LAT is not fast enough.” Fletcher stowed his slate, shouldering the satchel.
“I am taking the flyer. If you encounter Mr. Clyde, do whatever he says.”

He vaulted into the flyer. The fuel was depleted but there was enough to make it to the cliffs. The wild flame destroys and cleanses.

Milo bent, trying to get Clarice over his shoulder. She twisted, and pulled free, hitting the ground with painful impact.

Milo was not a small man, but he spent more time at his worksite than in the training chambers. Ignoring her protesting hip, Clarice rolled out of reach. “Your embezzlement scheme is a feint.”

Milo stalked toward her, his arms in a grappling stance.

“You and Koralia are planning to place the maximum orders you can without review—all for the same or close delivery dates.” She twisted and rolled down a small incline. “A hiccup. But big enough to get attention.”

He lunged, moving faster than she expected, grabbing for her ankles. She kicked out, caught his thigh with a sharp heel. He cried out and jerked away, allowing her to wriggle backward, pulling out of his reach. There could only be one reason for their location. “Tossing me over the cliffs will not help you. Seigneurs Herman and Trevelyan know all.”

He hesitated. “Impossible.”

She inched farther away, trying to keep his attention on her words. They would be seeking her. Fletcher would find her. “Even if you manage your hiccup, it will not get the results you seek.”

He stalked forward. “We will. You have no idea how big this is.”

She rolled to the side. “You want those provisions known to other vistrite customers. Major ones with provisions guaranteeing they have the most favorable terms available.”

He stopped, becoming uncertain. “How could you know that?”

“Koralia is incompetent. When local system terms contradict multisystem terms, the governing protocols dominate. The ridiculous penalty clauses will be declared null and void.”

Milo straightened with a sneer. “Not as clever as you think. The governing council cannot rule without a full review of Serengeti contracts.”

“They will not risk the vistrite supply.”

He closed the distance. “No, but the review would hamper Bright Star. Serengeti will take on a new partner before risking that.”

She kicked out, but he was prepared this time and dodged her feet, throwing his weight on her. He grabbed her ankle bonds and rolled to his knees, pulling her legs up. She twisted, attempting to get leverage, but was hampered by the suit-skirt bunch at her thighs.

He staggered to his feet, staying upright against her struggles. Her head bounced on a stone, and white-light pain blinded her. More pain shot through her shoulders and back as she was dragged along the bluffs. With her hands bound in front, she could not grab for purchase. She had to free herself. She did not want to die. She wanted to see Fletcher again. She wanted him to give her the romance he promised.

Milo’s pace slowed as he struggled against a rise. Stiffening her core into a plank, she lurched her torso toward him. Startled, his grip slipped, and she twisted free. Scrambling on hands and knees she crawled away from the cliff edge.

In a decade of moon racing and a day of ferocious battle, Fletcher had never known fear. Exhilaration, determination, and savage joy, but not fear, let alone this soul-searing terror. His mouth dry and his heart hammering, all he could think about was Clarice and the hundreds of feet between the cliff tops and the pounding surf.

With no time to set a flight plan, he kept the flyer low. Skimming the construction fields below standard LAT elevations, he spiraled and twisted, dodging cranes and massive transports. When he reached the plains, he accelerated to maximum velocity.

At the horizon, a faint smudge of green from the fading sun marked the distant hills. In a matter of breaths, the green disappeared, the hills becoming towering obstacles. This was not the void of the expanse. The flyer screamed its protest as he forced it into a vertical ascent against gravity’s restraining grip. His heart in his mouth, he crested the tips and leveled out.

The sun was gone, the faint light of a rising moon reflecting off the water. He was not too late. He could not be too late.

Thick fingers twisted in Clarice’s hair, jerking her head back. “You over-pampered doxy.”

She found her knees and threw her head back, impacting something hard. Milo howled and she was free. “Killing me gains you naught but a murder charge.”

Her fingertips tore against a rock. Ignoring the pain, she wrenched the rock from the earth. His hands grabbed for her ankles. She twisted away, bringing the rock around to slam it into his knee.

He roared and dropped her. She scrambled back and he staggered after her. In the light of a rising moon, his mouth was bloody from where she split his lip, his expression one of feral rage. There was no reason in him. No logic. She was not going to be able to crawl away. If she could manage a kick into his groin, she might disable him long enough to reach the transport.

Exaggerating her exhaustion and weakness, she slowed her movements. Mulan aid me. The moon’s light grew, brightening the bluffs as the wind picked up. A streak of silver passed overhead. Not the moon. “That was a flyer. Fletcher saw us!”

Milo looked up and saw the flyer returning. With a snarl, he ran for the transport. Clarice stared up at the sky in wonder at Mulan’s grace and waited for Fletcher to come for her.

Fletcher ignored the man running for the transport. He would not get far. He dropped the flyer on the bluffs with a bone-jarring thump. He was on the ground and running before the door was half open. Fear ravaged every nerve as he drew close and saw Clarice bound and staring into the sky. No! Mulan’s grace, he could not be too late.