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  The compliment captured her attention, so he took the opportunity to lean down and kiss her. The wonderful citrusy notes of her scentbots mixed with the sweet smell of chocolate strawberry layer cake and night-blooming water lilies on the edge of the bay. He moved his mouth over hers gently, testing her reaction. She responded a little shyly, barely parting her lips, but her hand slid up his chest to caress his face.

  The innocence of the moment impacted David more than he expected. The way she slowly explored his mouth, first with her lips, then small darts with the tip of her tongue, revealed how much this pleasant action meant to her. His heart pounded faster with the realization. After all these years, all the women he’d touched, none took the time to enjoy a simple kiss as much as Mari did. He, too, had taken the intimacy for granted until this instant.

  A TALE FROM THE AMBASADORA-VERSE:

  GREENSHIFT

  By

  Heidi Ruby Miller

  Greenshift

  Heidi Ruby Miller

  Copyright Heidi Ruby Miller 2012

  Published by Union City Publishing

  Cover image and typography Copyright Byron Winton 2012

  For Jason—You know I see an Armadan when I look at you, right?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Jennifer Barnes, Michael Duff, Scott Krofcheck, Jason Jack Miller, and Sharon Ruby—you helped me to give this latest tale in the Ambasadora-verse life.

  Thank you to Byron Winton for another beautiful cover!

  GREENSHIFT

  ONE

  I’m giving you one more chance.

  “Unidentified transport vessel, this is Captain David Anlow of the Argo Protector. You have entered forbidden space above an embargoed planet. Disengage your weapons or we will take this as a sign of aggression and release gunships. Do you acknowledge?”

  The UTV’s silence mimicked their response to the first two hails.

  David’s gunship crews were standing by for launch. Normally he would simply fire a warning shot across the UTV’s bow. The sight of a blue-white plasma ball rapidly filling the viewscreen was enough to force even the most powerfully equipped ships to surrender. And this mid-sized transport vessel facing off with them now only had low grade weaponry that would simply vaporize as it glanced off the Protector’s massive shields.

  But David couldn’t risk a warning shot here without the plasma punching through the atmosphere of Tampa One and hitting the planet. The sharp silhouette of the oblong UTV was black against the green and white haze of Tampa One. He hadn’t been on the pristine planet in decades—few had since Sovereign Prollixer and the Quorum of Archivists designated it an eco sanctuary. That meant no new settlements, no harvesting or mining, only tourists who could pay the exorbitant prices that the Embassy-sanctioned outfitters demanded.

  “Third hail,” Commander Lyra Simpra said, her cinnamon breath reminding David of his unfinished cup of chai from this morning. “Gunships are a go, Captain.”

  Lyra had never been a patient woman.

  His patience wore thin, too. “Launch gunships two and four.”

  Still….

  The situation felt wrong to David. He had been captaining the Protector for ten years and had moved through fleet ranks since enlisting as a teenager. In all that time he learned to hone his instincts. Right now they told him there was something he was missing.

  To the gunships he instructed, “Close half the distance. Wait for my order to engage.” Then so that only his commander could hear, “Lyra, something feels off about this ship.”

  “Aside from their outdated registration, non-existent transponder codes, and unwillingness to answer us?” the blonde Armadan asked. “Oh, and there’s the bit about their weapons being online.”

  Only Lyra could get away with talking to him like that, and not just because of how they spent their time together off the bridge. He valued her opinion—she never let emotion cloud her judgment, even when it came to him.

  “Do you really think it’s a coincidence that the day the Embassy sends down the quorum to reconsider the Archenzon embargo, this UTV shows up?” she asked.

  “Why would they do this?” David asked. “They had to know they’d be hopelessly outgunned.”

  “Desperation. To make a statement.” Lyra didn’t sound like she cared about motive. Her mood had been irascible since she returned from a meeting at fleet headquarters last week. She’d never told David what that meeting was about, and he never asked because there would always be parts of their relationship they didn’t discuss—because their positions as officers wouldn’t allow it.

  Considering their conversation before she attended that meeting, David suspected Lyra had requested a transfer. He shouldn’t have brought up marriage again.

  The comm officer interrupted his thoughts. “They’re responding, Sir.”

  “Argo Protector we have families on board traveling from Tampa Three. We’re requesting an emergency landing. Don’t fire.”

  “Convenient,” Lyra said.

  David agreed. “Why are your weapons online?”

  “That can’t be. Our ship isn’t armed.” The man’s voice sounded nervous, not necessarily like he was lying, more like the pronouncement caught him unawares.

  David looked to his petty officer for confirmation.

  “Still reading as online, Sir.”

  “Our sensors report your weapons are online. Disengage and we can discuss your emergency situation,” David said.

  To his comm officer he said, “Relay this information, including the request for an emergency landing, to HQ.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m telling you we don’t have any weapons, online or otherwise.” Panic infused the man’s voice.

  “We’re assessing your situation now,” David said.

  “Response coming in from fleet HQ, Captain,” the comm officer said.

  “Put it through.”

  “Why hasn’t that ship been dealt with?” To David’s surprise, he recognized the voice as Rear Admiral Quartis. He expected a comm officer to relay the message. The Embassy must really be concerned with the security for the quorum’s little foray on-planet. Most likely the escalating terrorist attacks by the fragger organization this past week.

  “Sir, there may be civilian families on board—”

  “Squatters, you mean. Trying to stake a claim to land on Tampa One before the embargo lifts.”

  David had considered that. Accounts and debates had been all over the Media as this vote was coming to a head that those citizens already living on the surface could remain, but no new immigrants would be tolerated. If these were Lower Caste citizens from the ill-formed world of Tampa Three, he could understand their desire to live in paradise. They could never be allowed, of course, because their actions were illegal.

  “I’ll have troopers from one of the gunships board them, access the situation from that end, then take them on board if there’s no threat to the ship,” David said. “Relay that order to gunship two,” he told the comm officer.

  “If that ship doesn’t comply with boarding, engage and destroy. The Enforcer is on its way to back you up.”

  David bristled. “I think one battleship can handle a UTV, Sir.”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Captain Anlow.”

  “You might want to hold your tongue, Captain, before you make us all look bad,” Lyra spit out through gritted teeth.

  “And, you might want to hold yours, Commander.” He didn’t need Lyra’s pissy attitude right now.

  “The UTV’s weapons went offline,” the petty officer said. “Sir, it’s making a break for Tampa One’s atmosphere.”

  “Tell gunships to follow. Do not engage yet,” David said. “Try to hail the UTV again.”

>   “That goes against direct orders, Sir,” Lyra said.

  “It isn’t protocol to shoot down a civilian ship,” David said.

  Every trooper on the bridge remained still, listening to the stand-off between the officers.

  “Rear Admiral Quartis’ direct order overrides fleet protocol according to Section 4.30-74 of the Aramadan—”

  David cut Lyra off. “I’m not blasting a passenger transport out of the sky without true proof of threat. You may return to your quarters, Commander Simpra.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, David.”

  His head snapped around at the use of his given name. That should have been the biggest surprise, but it paled in comparison to the shock of seeing her pointing a cender between his eyes. “This isn’t personal.”

  “Gunships standing by—Sir, gunships from the Enforcer just fired on the UTV.”

  David watched the wall-sized viewscreen as the UTV broke apart into hundreds of red-orange fireballs plunging through Tampa One’s atmosphere. They’d never know the truth now.

  TWO

  The sub-orbital ship’s gangway dropped slowly, first revealing stark white clouds mushrooming into a deep blue sky then the undulating surface of a brilliant turquoise sea on Tampa Deux. Wren had never seen anything like this back on Deleine, even along the coast of the Chac Territory where the ocean wasn’t quite as polluted as the rest of the planet. And it smelled just as she had imagined, like a thousand air purifiers were working at once.

  She could never leave this beautiful place…because she was probably going to die here.

  Terror seized her again, freezing her feet to the dock. Wren’s heart pounded so hard and the blood pushed through her veins with such force that she thought she might pass out.

  “Please don’t do this,” she begged Carlos, the tall blonde Armadan who pulled her along the private dock. His large hand completely wrapped around her bicep, ensuring she went only where he intended—straight to the man who had bought her.

  “Please.” She tried to implore again, but Carlos remained silent. He was only hired muscle anyway, not like he had the authority to do anything except for what Dale told him to.

  Dale Zapona, the wealthy business mogul who was going to show her the system. She didn’t even know if that was his real name. Everything else had been a lie, including what lay at the end of this trip. Certainly not the adventure he had promised her as she sat at her desk in the mining consortium headquarters, mooning over the man who was planning all along to abduct her and sell her.

  She still wouldn’t have known her fate had Carlos not become bored during the journey and decided to make her his entertainment. He couldn’t seem to get it up until he saw her fear. Telling her Dale had already made a deal with some psychopath for her enslavement was enough to do it.

  They crossed the synthstone dock over the sea as it became a boardwalk spanning a high dune. Her shoulder length hair curled up and stuck to her neck, and the humid air invited biting insects. Wren swatted at the winged attackers, but they were fast and raised red welts on the fair skin of her exposed arms and legs and where her sleeveless sheath had ripped during her struggle with Carlos back on board the freighter. Her bulging lower lip also bore the mark of that one and only escape attempt when she had gone mad with the thought of him touching her again.

  Carlos promised Liu Stavros would be worse, but the the man waiting for them on the exquisite white patio was unexpected.

  He was in his early twenties, she guessed, not much older than she was. And very good-looking, reminding her of the guys she and her friends drooled over on the Media feeds from clubs at the Hub and the few exclusive franchises on Deleine.

  When he saw them, he spread his arms and asked, “What the hell is this?”

  The pink shirt he wore billowed open where he hadn’t bothered to button it in the front, revealing a thin, but toned chest and abdomen. She couldn’t see any tan lines where the bronze skin disappeared beneath the waistband of his beige linen pants.

  He flipped his dark shades up from his boyish button nose to look Wren up and down with light brown eyes. They were how her eyes used to look before the vaccine turned them golden-orange.

  “Where’s the blonde?” he asked. “And what’s up with the busted lip? You know I won’t pay full price for damaged goods.”

  “She had a little fall,” Dale said, though he gave Carlos a look which said the difference in price was coming out of his cut.

  “In fact, you’re lucky if I pay half because I already have one with chestnut hair in there.” Liu Stavros hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the double glass patio doors.

  If Wren wasn’t what he wanted, maybe they’d let her go. A small hope swam to the top of her fear.

  The sick smile that spread across Liu’s mouth immediately sank her hope.

  “But I guess you did come all this way.” A crazed expression warped his handsome features and a fast excitement infused his voice. “The mind minstrel’s probing the other one right now.” He let the double entendre linger in the air before asking, “Want to hear the music we’re making? I just got this thing last week. It cost more than that piece of shit shuttle you landed in. Got it from some Lower Caste kid who claimed he was a fragger. But if his scrawny ass was some anti-Embassy rebel, then I’m the fucking Sovereign.”

  Dale seemed unimpressed. “I don’t need to hear anything and I don’t need to see anything. I just need my money, Liu.”

  “Oh. Come on. You know you want to see it. I know she’s never seen one in action before.” Liu walked over and grabbed Wren’s chin roughly in his hand and stared into her eyes, or rather stared at them. She was used to people showing a mild interest in her rare genetic defect, but this man studied her irises as though he were a doctor…or some kind of mad scientist.

  “How about it?” he asked. “They have any mind minstrels on that cesspool planet you’re from?”

  She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to speak to him or even look at him. So she closed her eyes. His grip on her jaw and chin tightened as he shook her head and forced her to stare back at him. “I asked you a question. Do they have any mind minstrels on that cesspool planet you’re from?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re really going to enjoy this.” He snagged her forearm and dragged her to the patio doors. She couldn’t see anything but the sea and sky reflected in the dark glass, but she could hear muffled music and voices from somewhere inside.

  The cacophony of screamed lyrics and erratic beats blasted out at them as soon as Liu ripped open the door.

  All Wren could make out at first was a triangle of light piercing into the darkness from the doorway. Then movement caught her attention near the ceiling. A small, thin parallelogram bobbed around as if in a lazy current and shined a strobing beam of blue-green light down onto the bed like a search beacon. Its focus was a rounded lump, secured by leather straps and huddled on one corner of the disheveled sheets.

  Liu shouted over the deafening music. “Emotions drive the song, and it’ll pick up bits of conversation.”

  As if to emphasize his point, an eerie strain of “Pick it up, p-p-pick it up,” grated along with the fast tempo, repeating until it was nothing more than a manic scream.

  Wren’s entire body shook from the surreal scene and the sensory overload.

  The primal shrieking only excited Liu. He threw his head back, spread his arms and bounced to the sickening beat. “I swear it’s reading her fucking mind sometimes.” Liu pointed to the lump on the bed and slapped Dale on the shoulder. “The shit it spits out in the lyrics is genius.”

  Dale’s jaw twitched in agitation and Carlos’ skin looked grey in the strobing afterglow of the mind minstrel’s light.

  Wren wished her sight had never adjusted to the darkened room when the naked woman on the bed twisted around in her leather bindings to face them. Her mouth gaped but no words came out. Dark stains dripped down her jaw and….

  Wren follow
ed the trail of drying blood up past the woman’s nose.

  She should have never looked.

  Then she wouldn’t have seen the empty sockets.

  Liu smiled as he pointed two fingers at Wren’s eyes and shouted. “Let’s see what kind of music you make.”

  THREE

  It had been such a beautiful day.

  Only to be ruined by the two contractors strutting down the boardwalk toward David and the Bard.

  Granted, the morning wasn’t perfect—he’d spent most of it negotiating for this berth space at Shiraz Dock, the center of the universe so far as the system was concerned. Then he had to attend a special Embassy meeting, where a bored officiate wearing a drab grey sheath dress with her mousy hair pulled tight into a bun, informed him that the ship he’d been piloting for only a month would be gaining a new passenger soon. Sara someone, with the title of ambasadora and part of the new Face of the Embassy program, which was supposed to spread the government’s message of goodwill and cheer throughout the six planets.

  Why they wanted the Bard, a small pleasure cruiser which had been overhauled into a boutique science vessel, to carry a diplomat was never made clear. Not that the Embassy officiate who had briefed them worried about the many questions David and the other pilots asked. The Embassy owned their ships, so why should they be privy to too many details?

  The whole brush-off left David a little pissy. When he was a fleet captain in the Armada, he was the one who decided who should know what…and he was important enough to be trusted with details. That thought had played through his head the entire meeting until it made him regret his decision to take an early—very early—retirement.

  But as the afternoon stretched onward and David fell into the physicality of unloading the last of their supplies for the Bard, he regained his calm and was enjoying the buzz of Hub activity.

  And Mari’s smile.

  The young botanist with her red-tipped blonde hair and tight little body also lived on the Bard. Like David, she seemed delighted by Shiraz, where space traffic met water traffic around the expanse of Carrey Bay. The best restaurants in the system were here, too. He considered asking Mari to dinner tonight, enjoying the coolness of evening on one of the patios. Every eatery had a patio because year-round this territory remained sunny and temperate so close to the ocean.