Polaris Rising (Consortium Rebellion, #1)(51)
“I do.”
“Okay, see you in a little while.”
I wrapped the scarf around my head while we waited for the cargo door to open. It was a bit tricky without a mirror, and I fiddled with it until Loch grabbed my wrist. “It is fine,” he said. “When we get out, I’ll be playing your bodyguard.” He pulled on a dark cloak he’d found.
“You’ll roast in that,” I said. Heat already poured in from the narrow opening in the cargo door. I dreaded going out in long sleeves.
“It’s temperature regulated,” he said. “Rockhurst kitted this ship with only the best.”
“Damn, now I’m jealous. Maybe I’ll buy myself one while we’re out. Maybe one in blue,” I mused to myself.
“I like you in blue,” Loch said.
I hoped the scarf covered my blush. “Today, I’m Irene while in company. What should I call you?”
He shrugged. “Guards don’t have names. Just call me ‘guard’ or, better yet, just point at whatever you want me to do.”
“My guards always had names. I suppose Marcus will have to do. It’s common enough that people shouldn’t immediately associate it with the bounty.”
I straightened my shoulders, tipped my head up just a bit, and settled firmly into my public persona.
“It’s scary how easily you do that,” Marcus said. I raised one imperious eyebrow at him and looked faintly bored. He grinned. “That’s the whole Consortium in a single expression,” he said.
“I had years of practice,” I said. “We wield expressions like soldiers wield weapons. One disdainful sniff from a House representative to a lower noble and the whole room will turn on the recipient. But we have to be careful, too. Wars have been started over unintentional insults.”
“Sounds tedious,” Marcus said.
“Incredibly. Are you ready?” At his nod, I stepped out into the bright midday sun. Stifling heat seared my face. It would be better on the city streets where a combination of building shades and thermoregulators would be hard at work to keep the heat tolerable.
The transport I’d called waited at the bottom of the ramp. I made sure the cargo door closed and locked then slipped into the transport’s cool interior. Loch followed me in and sat across from me. I touched my right thumb and middle finger, then ran my secondary identity chip over the reader. “Take me to the nearest von Hasenberg bank,” I requested. A location popped up on-screen, five minutes away. I confirmed and the transport glided away from Polaris.
The spaceport I’d chosen was tiny, with just a single berth perched on top of a middling building. Hundreds or thousands of such ports existed across the city, and ports for the larger ships ringed the outskirts. Buildings towered around us, protecting our little port from all but the most eagle-eyed spotters.
Once we glided off the edge of the two-hundred-story building, the glass panel in the floor of the transport—ostensibly for tourists but used most frequently to make sure no one was tracking you from below—revealed the chaos inherent in a city of over a hundred million crammed into an area just under eight square kilometers.
Sedition was the largest city on APD Zero by population, but one of the smallest by size. Situated on an island, it had grown vertically when the land ran out. Transport traffic was constant and mind-boggling at every level. Our transport slid into the flow heading down.
In Sedition, the closer you were to the ground, the better off. Only the highest-end luxury brands and the most world-class smugglers and privateers could afford ground-floor rent. The reason was simple—the lower you went, the better shielded you were from the ferocious sun. It also meant that if you tossed so much as a drop of water over the side of your balcony you faced up to a year in prison. The rich didn’t appreciate dodging detritus from the sky.
We were headed to the largest von Hasenberg bank in Sedition. It took up an entire ground-floor block. The rent would’ve been astronomical if the House didn’t own the entire building. The other Houses also owned their own blocks for similar reasons. APD Zero might be a smugglers’ haven, but the Houses wanted everyone to know that the black market flourished only because of their benevolence.
The transport settled onto a wide, tree-lined avenue. Men and women in expensive clothes strolled sedately along the shops. If you wanted to see and be seen, this was the place, which was a little tricky for someone who wanted to remain anonymous.
Luckily, I wasn’t the first person reluctant to show my face on a street full of wolves.
We rounded the corner and entered the private garage reserved for bank customers. And Irene Marie was quite a long-standing customer. Once the transport stopped, I told it to wait for us to return then moved to exit. Loch—Marcus—blocked my way. “Bodyguard first,” he said.
He climbed out, all dark clothes and radiating danger. After a few seconds he reached in to help me out. He fell in behind me as I headed for the VIP doors. I hit the doorman with my mother’s stare before he could embarrass us both by asking for my credentials. He turned magenta and opened the door so quickly it hit him in the face.
Inside, the VIP lobby was done in tasteful shades of cream, brown, and gilt. The whole place screamed old money, including the man moving to meet me. A middle-aged gentleman in a suit that cost more than most people made in a year, he would be easy to dismiss if you didn’t notice his shark-like eyes.