Rivers of Orion Page 6

  Orin squinted. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” said Mike. “Don’t worry about it. Where’s the Beast?”

  “Close! I got parking on Ohio. Is Nimbus here?”

  “Yeah, but he picked up a repurposer somewhere in the crowd, so he’s keeping his distance.”

  Orin supposed with a smile, “I bet he’s already waiting for us in the truck.” He warmed his hands one at a time against an insulated cup. “Which one’s the hot chocolate?”

  Mike turned the closer one toward Orin. “This one. I think.”

  Cautiously, he sipped. With a contented smile, he nodded and asked, “You ready?”

  “Let’s go,” said Mike, and they strolled through the crowd.

  After they climbed inside, the truck growled to life. Orin craned around the cabin and asked, “Nimbus, you in here?”

  A haze of nanobots thickened near the windshield, coalescing as a steel eyestalk rooted to the dash. Words scrolled across its brow. “ORINOCO|WEBB, affirmative!”

  “Good to see you, man. It’s been way too long!”

  “33D:23H:17M:01S passed between our last meeting. I began to experience a certain longing for your company within 8H of your departure.”

  “Definitely way too long! You ready for Nostromo’s?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Orin grinned. “Excellent!” He executed a careful three-point turn, lined himself up with the lane, and jammed the accelerator. Orin and Mike devoured their breakfast dumplings as they traveled.

  Opening his window a crack, Orin enjoyed the cold air blowing through his hair. Mike pulled his jacket tighter about him, prompting Orin to turn the heater on low. Nimbus settled down on the dashboard and switched off.

  ◆◆◆

  Albert studied Casey’s badge and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Earth, huh? You’re a few star systems out of your jurisdiction.” April stood at Casey’s side, while Shona and Malmoradan lingered at the university parking garage’s pedestrian entrance. Shona propped the door open with her foot.

  “I’m with the Interstellar Police,” said Casey, “and our jurisdiction is the whole damn galaxy, got it?” She pocketed her badge. “Look, you either tell us where Orin went, or we start knocking on doors. And guess who’s showing us around?”

  “Me?”

  “That’s right.”

  Albert fought the urge yawn. “Lady, I respect what you’re trying to do.” Shaking his head, he offered, “All he said was, ‘I’m rescuing a friend.’ It’s probably that ocelini girl that comes around sometimes. I don’t remember her name, but they usually end up at one of those dance clubs over in Van Alder.”

  “That’s not very helpful,” said Casey, and she tapped her foot. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “You’re lucky I remembered that much,” said Albert, and he crossed his arms. “Maybe you should try talking to his RA.”

  “I did. He sent me to you.”

  Dryly, Albert laughed. “Well, I don’t know where Orin went, okay? He didn’t say.” A flicker of recollection brightened his eyes, but he immediately cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nope. Not a word about his destination.”

  April nodded toward Casey. “He’s telling the truth.”

  Disappointed, Casey glanced Albert’s way. “Thank you for your time. You’re free to go.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Albert. Muttering to himself, Albert returned to his booth.

  As they walked toward Shona and Malmoradan, April whispered, “I saw a memory of a conversation he had with Orin a while back. The guard can’t quite recall what was said, but I bet I can find it.”

  “I don’t know,” said Casey. “The target’s not technically a criminal. I can’t legally authorize a deep dive.”

  April frowned. “Seriously?”

  With a laugh, Casey replied, “However, what you do on your own time would be extremely difficult to prove in a court of law. Just be careful in there, okay?”

  “I’m always careful,” said April, and she exited the pedestrian entrance to rejoin her crewmates. Closing her eyes, she slipped past the barriers of Albert’s mind. After a moment, she whispered, “Nostromo.”

  “Say again?” asked Malmoradan.

  Casey shushed him and whispered, “She’s following a lead.” Quickly, she added, “Unofficially.”

  “Oh,” he mouthed.

  April opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched. “Here’s my report. The club’s name is Nostromo’s. I cross-checked it against other memories of conversations he had with Orin on the matter.” Rubbing her eyes, she said, “That’s all I was able to get.”

  “I’m sure that’s enough,” said Casey, and she retrieved her phone. “Great work, April.” She dialed her starship, and Cajun answered. “I need you to get me an address—a dance club called Nostromo’s, in Van Alder.”

  “Of course, mon Capitaine,” replied Cajun. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Casey led her crew toward a large, black panel van. She and April took the front seats, while Shona and Malmoradan piled in through the back. “Here,” said Malmoradan, “catch!” He tossed April a bag of snack food.

  “Thanks,” she said, and passed it to Casey. Malmoradan finished distributing snack bags and canned drinks. They settled in to wait for Cajun’s communication.

  It wasn’t long before Casey’s phone lit up with the address and directions to the club. “Here we go,” she announced, and seated her phone upon the dash. “Everyone hang on tight. The target’s got a twenty-minute head start, which means we’ve got about thirty minutes to beat him there.”

  She jammed the van in reverse and peeled out onto the road.

  ◆◆◆

  Orin drove, while Mike and Nimbus slumbered. Orin’s resident advisor left a message warning about the police visit, but Orin had hardly been paying attention, and he hung up halfway through the playback. As they traveled the freeway, their college town vanished behind them.

  Scattered habitats eventually gave way to well-lit, wealthy neighborhoods. From nearly every lawn, blue and yellow spore cluster trees climbed up from the ground, painstakingly trained to twist and bloom in line with adjacent multi-story houses. Vibrantly colored mushroom caps peeked up through the soil, huddled at the bases of the largest trunks. Masterwork ocelini crests sat above every front door.

  Orin noticed a pair of headlights in his rearview mirror. Whether he sped up or slowed down, the vehicle they belonged to matched his speed exactly. “How about that,” he muttered. Leaning subtly toward Mike, he jostled his friend awake.

  “What?” Mike yawned.

  “I think we’re being followed,” said Orin.

  “You’re being paranoid,” said Mike, and he repositioned himself more comfortably in his seat. “This is the only freeway that connects New Cal and Van Alder. I’m sure it’s just someone on their way to work.”

  “They’re pacing us. Watch.”

  Mike perked up as Orin accelerated and jammed on the bakes, alternating between the two. Mike twisted around to look out the back window, and he studied the trailing vehicle. “I think it’s a pickup, or maybe a van,” he said. Clearing his throat, he offered, “They probably just set their autodrive to follow… on a deserted freeway… in the dead of night.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Orin.

  “Okay, I admit it’s a little strange,” said Mike, “but who on Rhyon would be following you?”

  Orin shrugged. Before he could respond, the headlights grew closer at an alarming rate, and a black panel van nearly rear-ended them before merging at the last second. Unaware of who she was, Orin caught a glimpse of Casey in the driver’s seat as she and her crew shot past them. “Wow,” he said, “what the hell was that about?”

  Mike studied the van as it pulled away. “I have no idea.”

  “You can go back to sleep,” said Orin, and he watched the vehicle’s taillights vanish around a bend. “You were right; I was being paranoid.”

  “
Yeah. Sure,” whispered Mike. With a look of concern, Mike settled back into his seat. He closed his eyes for a moment, but slumber remained elusive.

  As they neared Van Alder’s city limits, streets crossed under the curving highway, and business parks appeared in greater numbers. The path inclined as it straightened and cut through a mountain rise. Orin’s truck easily ascended the final pass.

  Van Alder unfolded, a glittering skyline of colorfully lit skyscrapers. Needle-like spires rose from major intersections, aglow with a dozen levels of traffic lights. Flying cars streamed slowly overhead as they traveled along and merged between layers of air lanes. Delivery shuttles made berth at elevated docks, while scattered street traffic navigated the asphalt grid. At ground level, along the darker byways, neon signs advertised eateries, game rooms, and massage parlors.

  Mike whistled quietly. “I’ll never get over just how big this place feels.”

  “It’s a little crowded for me,” said Orin. “I’ve never seen the air lanes empty, no matter what time it is. Makes me glad to be down here on the streets.” Orin guided his truck along a gentle curve, but the vehicle sent him lurching forward. “The hell?” The engine regulator cheerfully engaged, halving their speed as a bright orange traffic network indicator lit up his dash near the speedometer. “When did they put the brakes on street traffic?”

  “Last month, I think. Traffic Ministry’s giving Velocity Pass another try, which is one of the many reasons I don’t drive.” Mike downed the last of his coffee and spilled a drop on his jeans. “Come on,” he huffed, and he dabbed it dry with a paper napkin.

  “The hell with the Traffic Ministry,” Orin spat. “I’ll never pay for the ‘privilege’ of speeding.”

  Mike raised his brow. “Actually, I have an idea.” He tapped the dash. “Nimbus, wake up. We need your skills.”

  Nimbus switched on and printed, “How can I help?”

  “Can you reprogram the engine regulator? Disable it?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Orin looked nervous. “Can’t I get arrested for that?”

  Mike shook his head. “You won’t. Trust me.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. I’ll lose my scholarship if I go to jail!”

  “You’re not going to lose your scholarship. On the off chance we get pulled over, I’ll say I’m the one with the Velocity Pass. Since I’m a Falcon citizen, they’ll have weeks of red tape to wade through, and I can definitely get an actual pass by then.”

  Orin said, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  With a wink, Mike said, “I know, but I do. Nimbus, if you please.”

  The eyestalk dispersed, and the cloud of nanobots flowed into the truck’s dashboard vents. A gentle haze formed around Orin’s engine block. As they drove at sensible speeds, Nimbus got to work on the vehicle’s computer systems. A moment later, a series of cheerfully descending notes chimed, and the traffic network indicator light blinked off. Nimbus returned to the confines of the cabin and coalesced on the bench between Orin and Mike. This time, he took the form of a four-legged, clockwork spider. Cogs and gears ticked slowly at the joints as he hunkered down. From an embedded speaker, using a synthesized voice, he proclaimed, “Orinoco Webb, congratulations on your upgrade!”

  “Thanks, Nimbus. All right then, here we go!” Orin exhaled, fighting the urge to grin. Gripping the wheel with renewed focus, he raced along the roads. Mike smiled as he swayed with the tight turns and sudden changes in speed, the weightless moments when Orin took a hill just a bit too fast.

  “With the connections you made at the spaceflight center,” said Mike, “you really should try for your pilot’s license.”

  Orin cast his friend a sidelong glance. “You know I can’t afford it.”

  “That didn’t stop you from leasing this truck you never drive.”

  “I’m driving it now,” Orin countered, and he jammed a hard left, pressing Mike firmly against the passenger door. “Besides, even if I did get my license, I’ll never be able to afford anything that can fly.” Up ahead in the distance, Nostromo’s Descent crept into view, a gloomy brick edifice wearing a crown of stone gargoyles.

  “You could always pick up some extra work with my dad.”

  Orin shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t have any skills he could legitimately pay me for. It’d feel like a handout.”

  “You could switch your major to biochem.”

  “I have a humanities scholarship, remember?” He stared off for a moment. “Had, anyway.”

  “He might pay for your tuition.” He regarded Orin expectantly. “My dad’s obsessed with forensics.”

  His mood heavy, Orin said, “I barely passed regular chem. Biochem would kill me.” He slowed down and parked next to the curb. “Look, I don’t have a job, and my scholarship’s suspended until next semester. I just found out yesterday that means I’m on the hook for paying my own tuition, even though I’d be getting it right back, and there’s no way I can afford that either.”

  “I wish you’d let me help you.”

  Orin smiled slightly. “It’s still your dad’s money.”

  Mike exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

  Orin switched off his truck and opened his door. “I’m going to end up crewing a garbage scow.” Gloomily, he added, “Just like my dad.”

  “Orinoco Webb,” said Nimbus, “do not surrender to dismay! The future exists in nearly infinite states. You will find your path to one of many successful futures if you do not give up.”

  Orin drew a deep breath and smiled. “Thanks, buddy. Now let’s go find Torsha.”

  Nimbus click-clacked rapidly along as he kept pace with his friends.

  Chapter 5

  The Big Score

  “Hungry yet?” asked Orin, and he gestured toward an enclosed hoagie stand up ahead. At roof level, a weathered panel sign glowed faintly, emblazoned with “Milo’s Heroes” and an anthropomorphized cheese steak sandwich dressed in military fatigues. Inside, the cashier leaned forward over the counter, while the cook steam-cleaned the grill. In the far corner near the freezer, a florescent light buzzed and flickered, as a group of people huddled just outside the door. A blue-eyed ocelini with a Siamese coat glanced briefly at Orin before returning his attention to his comrades.

  “Too bad we just ate,” said Mike. “Maybe on the way back, we can grab some cheese steaks to go.” Nodding toward the eatery, he muttered, “To be honest, I’m surprised this place is still in business.”

  “No joke,” said Orin. “How many health code violations does it take to get a C-rating, anyway?”

  Mike laughed quietly. “I have no idea, and for as many times as we’ve eaten there, I don’t think I want to know.”

  As they neared the stairs leading down into the club, Orin sent Torsha a message announcing their arrival. Mike paused, and Nimbus slowed to stand at his side. “Good luck,” said Mike. “Don’t take too long.”

  “You’d rather freeze out here?” asked Orin.

  “I already told you how I feel about this place.”

  “I don’t know how often she’s checking her messages, so it might take a while to find her,” said Orin. Down below, a set of double doors swung open for a moment, releasing a wave of dance music. “It’s a big club.”

  “I’m aware,” said Mike. He smiled patiently. “We’ll wait.”

  Orin squinted. “You know the owner un-eighty-sixed you, right?”

  Mike crossed his arms and raised his brow in response.

  Exhaling, Orin nodded. “All right. See you soon.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he descended the stairs and passed a group of clubgoers headed up to street level.

  When he reached the entrance, Orin’s face brightened. “Hey, Kondo. Nice suit. Is it new?”

  With a deep voice, Kondo said, “Hey, Orin. New to you, but thanks for asking.” He was a mphuno, an ungulate people native to an arid world, and he stood nearly as wide as he was tall. A single horn angled up from his wrinkled for
ehead. “Let me guess. You’re here to pick up Torsha?”

  “Gee, how’d you figure?” asked Orin.

  “Because, smart guy, I happen to know she’s already inside, and she didn’t come here with you.”

  “You’re far too intelligent to be a bouncer,” said Orin.

  “I’m far too intelligent not to be,” said Kondo, and he passed a metal detector over Orin’s body. Satisfied Orin was unarmed, he glanced up the stairs and pulled open the doors. “What’s up with Mike?”

  Orin stepped inside, lingering for a moment at the entrance. “Nothing. The music’s too loud.”

  Kondo chuckled dryly. “Yeah, sure it is.”

  ◆◆◆

  Parked on a nearby street within view of both the hoagie stand and the club, Casey watched Nostromo’s entrance through a pair of digital binoculars. “The target just went inside,” she said. “He left his passenger outside, probably as a lookout, and… They’ve picked up a spider robot, about the right size for a stun or EMP sentry.” Exhaling sharply, she lowered her binoculars and looked at April. “They made us, didn’t they?”

  “It’s hard to say,” said April. “Either they made us, and they’ve accelerated their timeline, or he’s really just a guy going to a dance club.”

  “But the target said he was ‘rescuing a friend.’ That’s obviously code for something,” said Casey.

  “Oh yeah, obviously,” Malmoradan teased. “Hell, I’d hate to think we came all the way out here for nothing.”

  “We dropped off Kendra. That’s something,” said Shona.

  Casey shot them a warning look. “It’s code. The target’s a spy. Trust me. April, surface thoughts. Please.”

  April smiled slightly. “One moment.” Her consciousness drifted out from the van. Soon, she sensed a mix of frustration and regret coming from Mike as he gazed at the entrance to Nostromo’s. He gave little thought to his physical discomfort. To her surprise, she sensed psychic energy seeping from Nimbus—he overflowed with gleeful data. Fluidly, April’s awareness glided into the club. She quickly located Orin but could sense nothing from him. “That’s odd,” she whispered, and she focused on him with growing intensity.