"It's a kindness," Claire said. "She was trying to save me from embarrassment, because my hair draws attention."
"Don't listen to her. I like your hair," the vendor said.
"It's sunny."
"I like my hair too. Thank you for the fruit." She took the satchel and went to her apartment.
Claire washed the fruit, arranged it on a plastic cutting board she'd found in the kitchen and took it and a knife to the coffee table. She cut the fruit into slices, put it into a bowl and took it to the couch. She linked her tablet to the larger digital screen on the wal and pul ed up the work manuals. The Guardian procedure differed slightly from Uley's military protocols but the basic methods were the same. She'd finished with them and looked at the screen.
She stil had a lot of fruit and nothing to do.
"Net search: Venturo Escana."
"Venturo Escana," the AI announced in a pleasant male voice. "Son of Haldor Madsen and Malvina Escana.
Founder and joint owner of Guardian, Inc. Personal net worth estimated at seven mil ion credits -"
"No audio," she said. "I want to read it."
The digital screen flashed, opening various news articles. She scooted deeper into the couch and reached for a piece of some green fruit shaped like an ancient hour-glass.
She sifted through press releases, financial statements, and tabloid gossip. There wasn't much.
Guardian, Inc., seemed to have a stel ar reputation. In the eight years of its existence, the firm had grown from a smal start-up to the third largest provider of the bionet security in the southern hemisphere. Its chief competitors, Apex and DDS, both had decades of experience and a lot of family capital backing them up.
The entire Escana family preferred to fly under the radar. all she found were random images of Venturo in a formal setting in a company of New Delphi Elite, usual y escorting a beautiful woman. She tried to narrow down his type. He seemed to show no preference. The only common ground between his dates consisted of expensive tastes, beauty, and superior grooming.
Studying the New Delphi's movers and shakers proved highly educational. There was no color too bright or inappropriate for clothes or hair. She ended up laughing at the ridiculous dresses and insane shoes. It was the best time she ever had in the last decade.
A smal link popped up on the screen in the corner.
She fol owed it to an eighteen-year-old news item. "Rumors of Engagement between de Solis and Escana."
Hmm. Now that was interesting, provided that de Solis owned DDS.
"The persistent rumors of a union between de Solis and Escana kinsmen families can be put to rest. When asked for comment, Castilla de Solis debunked all speculation of the proposed engagement between herself and Venturo Escana. It seems the de Solis heiress holds the rising star of the Escana clan in low regard. Had the rumors proven true, the struggling Escana Family would have reaped great financial benefits..."
"Castil a de Solis, image," Claire said.
A picture of a woman fil ed the screen. Tal , slender, athletic, she leaned back, laughing, the bright lavender dress fal ing off her shoulders, held up seemingly by her breasts alone. Jet black hair spil ed down her back in a glossy wave.
No way to gauge her psycher capacity.
If that was Venturo's type, she'd chosen the wrong hair color. She should've dyed her hair black.
Claire leaned back. "Delete."
Castil a disappeared, replaced by an image of Venturo: golden, muscular, his green eyes sharp with intel ect. Her body tightened in response, eager for contact.
She imagined sliding her hands along those carved arms...
Claire exhaled slowly. There was no rational explanation why when she looked at him, she thought of sex. It was an involuntary response, completely at odds with her personality and training.
Sex was a means of relief. On Uley, it was an understood fact that one engaged in it, but it was rarely discussed. She had a sexual partner once. His name was Dominic. She was eighteen, he was twenty-two. She had just made lieutenant and he was in line for the captain promotion. They had three months together and in those three months she had something to look forward to when she returned to her apartment. She could stil recal the feel of his hands on her, the way he said her name, the way he felt inside her.
The Intel igence had transferred him across the city.
They had no warning. One day he was simply gone. It didn't take her long to put it together: she was a rising star and he was perceived as a distraction. He didn't try to look for her.
He didn't put up a fight. Since then, she'd kept her sexual impulses under lock and key. Masturbation brought her the same relief, and while it came with no intimacy, it didn't carry a burden of disappointment either. In her last weeks on Uley she hadn't even felt the need for it.
She looked at Venturo Escana on the screen. It was as if some vital part of her, the one that was female and craved male contact, sex, and love, had withered. Somehow this man managed to resuscitate it without doing anything at all.
And he felt nothing except pity for her. The irony made her laugh.
She would see him again on Monday. She had to make sure to not make a fool of herself.
Her supervisor was a woman three years her junior.
Her name was Renata, her hair was dark brown, her nails bright yel ow, and when she was surprised, she opened her brown eyes so wide, she looked slightly deranged.
"How did you get through these so fast?"
"I'm motivated." Claire smiled.
Renata scrol ed through the bionet activity reports with rows of tabled data. "Hang on, I have to find something to gripe about." She kept scrol ing. "Oh. Here, look, the Radon sector heading should be in blue and you have it in grey."
Her fingers flew over her keyboard. "Fix, fix, fix! Fixed."
Claire studied Renata out of the corner of her eye. Her mannerisms were so... carefree. Not exactly childlike but completely devoid of the somber poise common to Uley. If you had dropped Renata, the big smile, wide eyes, and purple dress in the middle of an Uley's skyscraper, people would pretend she wasn't there. They'd just refuse to see her. Maybe some well -meaning soul would walk up to her and confidential y inform her that her hair was too bright and she was making a fool of herself...
A mental tug interrupted Claire's musings. Venturo Escana, approaching fast. A walking mental firestorm of a mind behind an invisible wal of a steel will .
"Al set." Renata raised her hands from the keys. "Did you review the Sangori file?"
"Yes." Venturo's mind was coming closer.
"And the recommendations?
"Yes."
"Good! Be ready to spit it all back at Ven when he comes by. He has a meeting with them later this afternoon and he prefers the spoken summary. But don't worry, he knows most of the file already. He just needs a refresher course."
He had a heightened auditory focus - his mind processed sound better than visual cues. Although for most people the theory of learning styles had long been debunked, for psychers it remained true: some were visual learners, some listened, and others had to write every scrap of information down. She'd worked with auditory psychers like that before. There was a trick to it - the combination of the correct intonation, vocabulary, and the information presented in a logical manner.
Renata's eyes widened. "Speak of the devil."
Venturo had turned the corner. Claire braced herself and turned to look, slowly.
The amicable man she saw yesterday was gone. He wore a black shirt that clung to him like paint, focusing attention on every contoured muscle. A fine mesh of hair-thin fibers snaked its way through the fabric, widening into oblong scales on his chest and the larger muscles of his shoulders. He looked as if he wore armor, if armor could be flexible and formfitting. His eyes were dark, and his mind churned - something occupied his attention. He moved with a purpose, striding straight down the hal way with a kind of fierce masculine determination. People moved out of his way.
"What is he wearing?" Claire murmured.
"What is he wearing?" Claire murmured.
"A bionet suit. When psychers log into the net, their bodies don't move at all. A human body isn't designed to be completely immobile unless it floats," Renata said. "The suits start pulsing after a while, exercising the muscles and making sure lymph keeps moving."
A bionet suit. Claire recal ed waking up cramped up after hours in bionet and wincing as the medic massaged her limbs back into life.
"Someone's smitten," Renata said.
Claire glanced at her. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes. Very." Renata paused. "Claire, you do know what psychers do, don't you?"
She needed to give a general answer. "Provide security?"
"If they catch hackers on the bionet, they kil them."
Renata leaned closer. "Venturo's death count is in dozens.
You can't keep doing that sort of work and not be affected."
You don't say.
"He looks delicious and golden, but his head is a dark place. He was attacked in front of our building once - four people - and he drove each of them to impale themselves onto an iron fence, one by one. You don't need to tangle with that kind of mind. Trust me on this."
"I understand," Claire said.
"There is a reason why psychers in Guardian Inc. aren't permitted to read our minds. Sometimes a two-way connection happens and you see things in their heads.
Dark things. He's a kinsman - all they care about is power and influence. Not to mention that nothing serious could ever come from it. Psychers love other psychers.
Something about joining of the minds, and all that."
Venturo saw them. His steps sped up a fraction.
Renata fell silent.
Claire looked down at her tablet.
Venturo stopped by them. "Renata, where is the new hire? The refugee?"
Claire glanced up. Renata cleared her throat and pointed at Claire with her stylus. Venturo turned. His eyes narrowed.
For a brief, tiny second the two of them were alone in the Universe, and then he nodded. "Love the hair. I need the summary of the Sangori file."