Wreaths of Empire by Andrew M. Seddon

Author:Andrew M. Seddon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Publisher: Splashdown Books
Published: 2015-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

Jade left the room once, to wander in a desultory manner through the hotel complex. If anybody wanted to observe her, she thought this would give them as good an opportunity as any. Contact might be made today, tomorrow, or never.

While pretending to examine the mass-produced souvenirs cluttering a shop window, she kept alert at all times. But she didn’t see anyone who exhibited any particular interest in her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t being observed.

She noticed a number of locals sporting arm-scarves. In one of the less-expensive stores she bought a patterned lizard silk scarf that complemented the peach color of her blouse and exchanged it for the green one around her neck, tying that one around her upper arm.

She bought a bottle of a highly-advertised—and pungent—perfume and dabbed it on her throat. It was designed, she surmised, not so much for aesthetic pleasure as to dull the nasal smell receptors. That way, the air didn’t seem so bad.

Four or five hours later, after a quick snack of local fruit and muffin in the hotel’s restaurant, she returned to her room. She paused outside the door, unclipped an earring, and waved it over the entrance.

“Two people,” she mused, studying the readout on her visual implant. “With active weapons.” She returned the small scanner to its place. “Just cozy.”

She activated her transmitter.

The door opened to her spoken command, and she walked into her room.

“That’s far enough,” a male voice said.

The blunt nose of a handgun thrust itself into her mid back, grating against her spine.

Jade stifled her defensive instincts and stopped. Instead of turning to face the man, she studied a woman sprawled across the couch, snoring gently. Her head reclined on one armrest, her booted feet, crossed at the ankles, on the other.

Jade cleared her throat loudly. “Is this how you greet visitors to Southern Cross?”

The woman opened her eyes. She was young—Jade guessed late twenties—with long brown hair, a wide nose, spotty complexion, and heavily made-up eyes and lips. Her tan blouse, apparently worn without underclothing, splayed loosely at the neck, and struggled to retain a modicum of modesty. A faded pair of sand-colored trousers was tucked into russet-orange boots. An old version military-style side-arm was slung prominently low on the woman’s thigh, millimeters away from her relaxed fingertips.

“It’s how we greet strangers who bandy names about.” The woman swung her feet to the floor and gestured. The scarlet scarf tied around her upper left arm rustled.

Her companion started to frisk Jade. She brushed off his hand. He jammed his weapon harder into her back.

Jade spoke to the woman. “Either you do it, or it isn’t going to be done.”

A flicker of a smile crossed full lips. “Touchy.” The woman swaggered to her feet, crossed the room, and ran her hands lightly over Jade.

“She’s clean. Let her go, Jacko.”

The man grunted and stepped away, but remained with his back to the wall, legs planted, weapon in hand. Jade turned for a closer look at him. It was the white-bearded man she had spoken to on Varra’s Venture.

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