Defy the Worlds (Defy the Stars #2)(30)
“We’re the largest investors,” he grumbles as Gillian helps him to his feet. “You’d think we’d merit a personal greeting.”
“We still don’t have a majority.” Gillian’s tone suggests she’s said this many times before. “Besides, does it matter?”
The question seems to irritate him. “Status always matters, my dear.” People from Earth have strange priorities.
But Gillian doesn’t think like her father. Her eyes take on the distant, fiery glow of holy purpose. “Soon they’ll know what we’ve really accomplished.” Noemi has no idea what the woman is talking about, but she’s certain it means nothing good.
“Docking instructions have been autocoded into your personal cruiser,” the message continues. “Upon your arrival, our team of mechs will take care of your every need. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the miracle that is about to unfold.”
“What the—” Noemi feels a slight tug as the Osiris begins towing them in. “Did they say ‘miracle’?”
“Hyperbole. I advised the other board members against that kind of language, but they outvoted me. But haven’t I performed miracles before, Miss Vidal?” Mansfield asks as he settles back onto his chaise.
Abel surely counts as miraculous, but that’s not only Mansfield’s genius at work. Something else happened within him to make him so much more than his creator.
To Mansfield she says only, “You’re no god.”
The Osiris looms larger before them, its ornate golden hull blotting out the stars. One of the mechs steps closer and fluffs Noemi’s hair, then spritzes her with something that smells of pear blossoms; it startles Noemi until she remembers that she’s being passed off as Mansfield’s invitee. As the golden well of the docking bay swallows their vessel, Noemi takes a few deep breaths and straightens. She’ll walk onto this ship not as a prisoner nor as a party guest, but as a soldier of Genesis.
It doesn’t matter if nobody else knows what she really is. She knows it. That’s enough.
The cruiser passes through the silver sparkle of a force field and settles onto the deck. When the cockpit pops open, scented air rushes in, thick and seductive as perfume.
A Zebra model comes up to them, holding out his hand. “Professor Mansfield, Dr. Shearer, welcome to the first stage of the great journey. Your suites are fully prepared.”
“I’ll want to see the labs,” Mansfield says. “Not right away, of course, but soon. Sometime before we get going. How long is that again?”
“We plan to set off as soon as Minister Cheng arrives in approximately ten hours.”
Mansfield and Gillian exchange a look of horror. Ten hours isn’t much time for Abel to catch up to them. Noemi ducks her head to hide her smile. He’ll never make it. Mansfield will never get his claws into Abel again.
Now if only I can get out of his claws myself—
The Zebra turns its attention to Noemi, though he speaks to Mansfield and Gillian. “May I inquire as to your guest?”
“Her name is Noemi Vidal,” Gillian says, taking Noemi’s arm as though they were on some kind of date, “and she’s to be kept away from any sensitive ship areas. Put together sensor checks that will alert us if she goes anywhere near a weapon or an air lock. And put her into one of the empty cabins, preferably the one closest to mine.”
Any human would immediately understand that those are nothing like the normal instructions for a “guest.” The Zebra nods politely, his smile unchanging. “Let us know if we can do anything for you before our departure, Miss Vidal.”
Noemi sees the chance and pounces on it. “Our departure to where, exactly?”
But Mansfield waggles one finger as his Tare model helps him into a low-hovering chair. “Don’t tell her a thing. I want it to be a surprise.”
If the Zebra’s programming allows him to recognize how weird this is, he gives no sign. “The prelaunch cocktail party is already in progress. I can escort you there now if you’d like.”
Inclining her head, Gillian says, “Please.” As they all set out, Noemi walks behind them, trying to figure out this charade. But each event is more surreal than the last. Her heart remains on Genesis, imagining all the pain there. Her body still trembles from the adrenaline of being taken hostage and of fearing for both her life and Abel’s. But her mind has to somehow gather the self-control for a… cocktail party.
Maybe the gas they pumped into my starfighter didn’t just knock me out, Noemi thinks. Maybe this is all one big hallucination.
The Zebra leads them from the docking bay. A Yoke hastens by with a tray of glasses filled with something fizzy; Mansfield shakes his head, but Gillian takes one, and Noemi figures she might as well, too. When she gains a swallow, she’s startled to realize it’s strongly alcoholic, but manages to get that mouthful down without coughing.
They walk through a corridor with carpets so thick they seem to caress her feet with every step. A faint gold shimmer lines the curving walls, and cobalt-blue sconces are shaped like scarab beetles. This doesn’t look like a spacecraft to her. It’s more like the way she always envisioned a palace. The air not only smells but feels pleasant; it takes Noemi a few seconds to realize that’s because there’s some humidity—not much, but more than the usual arid conditions aboard a spaceship.