Emiko’s office featured a large wooden desk, stained and gorgeous. At least four pieces of expensive sculpted artwork sat in its corners, each likely costing as much as the shuttle Jan had taken down from Senator Tarack’s private spacecraft. A rather impressive oil painting of Emiko herself — labeled Miss Nakamura, of course — hung on the wall beside the door.
“Your own portrait.” Jan couldn’t help but smile at the audacity. “Really, Em?”
All else ceased to be as a surprisingly soft and lovely-smelling woman melted up against him from behind, spun him around, and rose on tiptoe to kiss him, quite delicately. Jan knew only that Emiko’s lithe body against his felt every bit as wonderful as always, that Emiko’s hands roamed freely across his back. The thrill of her lips made him woozy.
No, not just that. It wasn’t just her lips. Jan frowned as the room blurred.
“Ah ...” Jan wobbled. “Hello?”
“You’re out of orbit,” Emiko said, wiping her lips with a handkerchief. “And now you’re here, and she’s seen you here.”
Why was Jan so weak in the knees? “Who’s seen me?” He focused on why. “I have a ... I was freed ...”
This wasn’t him. This wasn’t natural. This was that mind-numbing lip gloss Emiko kept for special occasions.
“I’m so sorry, Jan.” Emiko’s voice echoed from high above. “You really picked the wrong day to escape from prison.”
Then it was time to pass out.
JAN SNAPPED AWAKE WITH A START, heart hammering in his chest. A moment of useless, thrashing panic verified his hands were cuffed behind his back and his ankles were clamped into restraints. They left his knees more apart than he liked.
He was restrained in some sort of metal chair, and quite thoroughly. While that could be fun under certain circumstances, this was not one of them.
The room was dark, but not completely. Despite the darkness, Jan could see a stained biocrete floor, walls padded with soundproof eggcrate insulation, and a single overhead light, which was off. Faint light crept in beneath the bottom of the single closed door. Voices spoke outside, obviously unhappy.
“—told me you had the problem handled,” one voice said, female, not Emiko’s. She sounded used to being in charge.
“It is handled.” Emiko’s voice was stressed. “He is handled.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.
“But he’s not dead,” the first voice said.
“There was no reason to kill him,” Emiko said forcefully, which was a relief. “He was a friend, once, and he could be useful to us. He’s really good at ... smuggling things.”
Jan flexed his wrists in the very metal restraints.
“And can you explain to me, Emiko,” the other woman said, which meant she knew Emiko’s real name, “how harboring an escaped convict, still wanted by both Ceto’s government and the Supremacy, a week before we take delivery of an extremely lucrative and illegal item, is useful?”
Jan cocked his head at the word “lucrative.” Not only did this woman know Emiko’s real name, but it sounded like Emiko had a profitable job lined up. Just what had he walked into?
“How do you know our competitors didn’t send him to find out where we’re taking delivery?” the same woman asked. “While I was unable to get the identity of whoever bought him from Tantalus, I do know they were very rich. They were also Advanced.”
So this mystery woman had enough connections to know the ins and outs of Tantalus prison. A woman that connected was far safer as an ally than an enemy. “Ah, a moment!” Jan shouted toward the door. “I can explain that if you like!”
Utter silence from the other side of the door. Then the lights went out. Then the door slammed open, and spotlights on the wall ignited with a flash that caused Jan to yowl. He squinted his eyes and failed to make out anything.
“Well, look at that,” the woman who wasn’t Emiko said. “Your little shit magnet is awake. Did you miscalculate the dosage on your lip gloss?”
Emiko said nothing, which was practically an admission of guilt. Had she really miscalculated? Emiko was as precise as they came, so the idea that she had made a mistake ...
“No matter,” the woman said. “Might as well interrogate him before we dump the body.”
The lights went out again with a loud click, but the afterglow left Jan all but blind. He heard cloth rustle as narrow heels clicked on biocrete, approaching. He felt what might be the first trace of genuine fear.
“Do you know who I am, Sabato?”
Jan did a quick mental inventory of very dangerous people in heels and came up blank. His knowledge of Ceto’s criminal underworld was at least five years out of date. Whoever this woman was, she was likely quite fashionable.
“My apologies, madam, but I do not.” Jan was always polite to people capable of killing him. “I have, as you say, been in orbit for the last five years. If I could trouble you for your name, I’d be happy to tell you everything you wish to know.”
“That’s a lot more words than I expected before I put a knife in you.” Cloth rustled, and Jan made out the shadow of a dark-haired female figure crouching in front of his chair. “But let’s cut the bullshit. My name is Elena Ryke, and you have now stumbled into an arrangement I would very much like you to not.”
Oh shit. Oh shit. Of all the crime lords Jan had hoped to never encounter,
