The only downside was the blatant gun belt and stunner.
"This is Madya Vyas and Eric Mcdaniel," she said.
Aramis felt almost cruel now, but rules were rules.
"I'm going to search you," he said, and did so at once without any further foreplay.
They looked a bit violated when he was done. Wealthy scions on ski trips did not get patted down by thugs for hire before having dinner.
Caron looked slightly put upon, but he could read amusement, too. This was the life she led now.
She smiled and faintly shrugged, then walked over and took their hands.
"Sit, please," she said.
Aramis retreated to the far end of the room. Elke took the near corner. He blended into the background and they were able to relax a little. They'd presumably been at other parties with bodyguards, though probably not this high profile.
She was much more courteous to Aramis than she had been. She had a second tray of hors d'oeuvres and dished some onto a plate which she slipped on the counter near him with a friendly smile. The miniature sausage rolls he'd smelled earlier.
Aramis watched her, and watched them. Her smile was genuine and she did have a good time. They ate and chatted, and looked at the swirls and the mine as she pointed things out. They looked pleased, and interested, and impressed by the attention and the details and Caron herself.
Pity, Aramis thought, that there was probably less than one chance in a thousand they'd get more than they had so far.
Elke was closer and had the same professionally bored expression he had as she watched the event. They made eye contact once or twice, and she was open, but with that blank expression she had when thinking. He wondered again why she'd shopped up. Trying for distraction? Attention? No matter.
The three ate and chatted and ignored the video wall with its music and scenes. Caron seemed reluctant to let them go, but it was at the point where she either chased them out or sat in uncomfortable silence.
She offered them each a contact code, unhurriedly moved them to the door, and kissed them lightly before Elke took them back down the hall.
Caron gave Aramis a look of part sadness and part poison and headed into her room.
Chapter 20
Caron's office was in the building next to her father's, for dispersal, where she worked on production schedules and energy expenditures. While an office adjoining her apartment would be safer, it was also a smart idea to have a separate work location to avoid burning out. Alex didn't mind. Her schedule was her own and not too predictable. There were three ways out of her controlled area, and four to here. Cady's team swept them irregularly but frequently, and she had three or four of the team escort her every day. He was always here when she was, and right now, Horace and Elke were across the room.
What an office, though. Another great view out the dome, this time of the old mine and the mountain where the ski dome was. The carpet was thick and brown, the walls in tan and cream swirls and the furniture very comfortable. Too comfortable. He had to stand and walk around regularly to avoid dozing off, but the size of the office meant that was possible without disturbing her. They had a small kitchen and an emergency O2 supply, with sensors for everything all around. To keep busy he would keep her provided with tea and other amenities. He didn't have to, but it kept him alert to her condition and what else would he do? No servants would be allowed to serve her. It was one of the ironies of her wealth that she would not have servants for such tasks.
The Prescots didn't really pay much attention to sales, only to production. They could produce more refined raw material than anyone, and ship it anywhere. As long as they maximized their efficiency, they could sell it anywhere and make an ongoing huge profit. The law firm they owned dealt with the intellectual property and licensing, and they allowed the technology use for colonial and frontier development, cheap to start with, the rates increasing as the industrial base of a system increased to where it could reasonably afford to buy directly. They'd almost literally found a way to mine money.
The next morning, Caron checked her reports, sipped tea while furrowing her brow and tracking the news, which was only hours old, the company being able to afford a shunt through the Jump Point for that purpose, and scanned a few other updates.
"Alex, I have a note from my father. One of us needs to go take a quick tour of space systems, just to show the flag as it were, and get familiar."
"I presume you're the choice?"
"If you don't have any serious objections."
"I will arrange protection anywhere. I can't and won't try to keep you locked up, even though that would be easier, so I will work a detail to your schedule."
"Thanks. I'll try to arrange for it to be quick."
"Take your time."
Actually, he thought, that was a little easier. Sabotage could happen anywhere. They had backups for that, and aboard a ship, they had 100% accountability of personnel. No one could swim up through space. Though they could certainly commit sabotage.
"Would it help to leave quickly?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I can leave in an hour. Please plan whatever you need to and I'll adapt."
"Jason will pilot, Elke as backup because of her technical skills, Aramis as muscle. I believe one of the command shuttles holds four comfortably." He was quite used to these decisions, but always felt a tinge of doubt. He couldn't always send everyone, though.
"Great," she said. "You seem to know quite a lot about our operations already," she commented.
"That's my job, Miss."
"As long as it's not an inconvenience," she said.
Elke stepped over. "Not at all," she said. "I would enjoy some travel. I'll get you some things." She left.
Shortly she returned with a basic black bag with a few wrinkle-less business clothes and a personal kit that mostly held Caron's static hair brushes. She rarely wore makeup and didn't need to.
Alex saw a message flash. "I see Jason is already at the ship," he said.
Elke was ready, too, and Aramis buzzed that he was arriving.
A short walk and mini limo ride put Caron and her guards into a private cabin on a shuttle up to the station. With that done, Alex had a minor break from the ongoing schedule juggling, and only needed to worry about potential threats to her apartment, and coordination for her return.
Horace found the casinos interesting. Not that he'd ever spend money in them. Only Aramis did, and he in moderation. The rest of the team knew the odds and didn't care to lose money at such trivial endeavors. Jason had tried poker and deemed the table fair, with the warning, "If you don't match the average buy in, you're starting with a handicap." The minimum buy in was a hundred, the average around five thousand, the table limits fifty thousand. Per hand.
Caron didn't play, of course. She'd be winning or losing money to herself, and what was the point of that? Nor was even fifty thousand enough to even register on her wealth, even if her allowance, well, salary now, weren't that impressive. Bryan Prescot was trying to raise her properly. She had a professional income, against which her living expenses were deducted for tax purposes, as if it mattered a damn. Still, it was a good habit.
Horace liked the lights, the sound, the brisk but silent ventilation system that allowed for the smoking of tobacco, hash or flavored leaves, without any clouds or residue to disturb people. The floors were laid out in sections of different types of games, coordinated down to the carpet, paint and illumination. The tables started at expensive and went skyward. The croupiers were all at least moderately attractive, professional and experienced, and well paid. As the castes went, they were fairly high. Tourists not only had to but enjoyed talking to them. Below executive, but above servant.
Horace wasn't sure why he classed people like that. It was more an Indian thing than African. Perhaps a habit picked up in Celadon? Except it wasn't casted the same way, and he hadn't been there long.
Something about that, though, gave him pause. There were castes her
e. The Prescots were royalty. He was a Lifeguard. The executives were nobles. The casino and hotel and restaurant staff counted as servants to them. The mine management and facility management were similar. The housekeepers, servers and cooks were menials, but domestic. They rated with the mine managers. Below them were the technical staff, and below that, the laborers. It seemed to work, probably because of the physical barriers between the groups. He imagined there would be mayhem if they were mingled.
What he did do in the casinos was enjoy the restaurants and shows. There were ladies, far too classy to be called mere strippers, who could genuinely dance, do so erotically, and while wearing clothes. There was fine food and real liquor and wine, though he took those sparingly. He even enjoyed a cigar once. He was going to avoid the habit. All of it was a perk of the assignment, covered on an encoded card faced in real gold. He had only to flash it and be seated and treated as royalty himself. He'd done so twice, just to see what the experience was like, then reverted to waiting in line as a courtesy to others. The lines were never allowed to be long, anyway. There were top-rate musicians and plays rotating through, and when schedule permitted he would catch those, too. He made sure to tip the servers and hosts. They made note of it and always treated him well, even more so than the status of the card.
Tonight he sought a steak. That was easy enough. He could almost afford the hundred Marks a steak cost here, plus salad and drink and ancillary items that became a M200 meal for one. Thanks to the card, he didn't have to.
He approached THE Grill, a presumptuous name if there ever was one, but it actually was about the best he'd ever experienced.
"Good evening, mister Mbuto," Keti greeted him at once with a toothy smile. She was a pocket sized Ghanian and cute and lovely, and he'd never risk a liaison with anyone here, even if she clearly did appreciate him for himself.
"It is a good evening, Keti," he said. "Or so the clocks tell me. The dome says it's early morning."
"It does?" she said. "Working in the casino means I don't get to see that often." She led him smoothly toward a table overlooking the doors. Good, she remembered his preferences.
"Ah, true," he said. The light traffic indicated a weekday evening. The glint at a low angle through the doors across the casino from here indicated early local morning. These things were obvious to him. He had to remind himself not everyone was a trained observer.
She touched the chair, and he sat.
"As usual," he said.
"Ribeye medium, potato with everything, salad with sesame ginger, wheat rolls, wheat beer and water," she said.
"Thank you," he confirmed. Then he admired the view from behind as she bustled away.
It was good to relax. He didn't need elaborate measures, just a good meal, and then perhaps a game of billiards and whatever musician was in the lower lounge.
Apart from the challenge of the job, the opportunity to experience so many interesting things was what made it so enjoyable. After that was the mere money.
Though, to be honest, there was little enough here not available elsewhere. That it was covered by a dome was a gimmick, really. Joe Prescot made this work; the investment was well into the black. It was far less relevant than the mine, but it was an efficient secondary stream. The man could pinch a penny until it screamed.
The steak was incomparable, and subtly different from the previous one. The chefs were world class, and paid to travel here. Yet Joe made it profitable. A desolate, uninhabitable, gas-swirled rock, turned into a resort. Horace supposed it fit in with the Dome on K2 in the Himalayas, and the ice palace in the Canadian high Arctic. Similar in scope, but more remote, more stark and more desirable to those with money to burn. For those not interested in hunting dangerous predators in Grainne's remote corners, this was likely the acme of decadence.
He marked a tip on the screen and let it cycle through his account.
"Thank you once again, Keti," he said as he rose. "I'm sure I'll return."
"You're most welcome, mister Mbuto," she said with an iridescent grin and a nodding bow.
Horace didn't want to loiter this evening. There were striking women and men on display, in areas marked so those with moral objections could steer around them. That was largely a farce. Not even the most devout Muslim came here for any reason other than fleshpots. With the cheapest excursion at least 200,000 Marks, modesty wasn't a consideration for any of the tourists.
As he exited the directional glare of THE Hotel to a walkway, he heard a familiar hum. Security Officer Sauers slid by on his skateboard.
"Mister Mbuto," the man nodded genially, looking oddly relaxed. He had exceptional balance.
"Mister Sauers," he returned.
The skateboard was a good idea for saving legs walking, and probably faster for a response, though it wouldn't work on broken ground. However, it would be easy to hop off at a run in that case. In the meantime, it drew attention to him, and gave him a distinct image, both useful for a mundane peacekeeper. Not a bad idea at all, he thought.
He wouldn't mention it to Jason. The man would probably create one with a motor that would turn wheelies.
He smiled at the thought as he returned to his quarters. He could relax there more than here, where he must monitor and analyze every movement.
So many enticements, if he were younger. The water park that was an indoor beach, with sand and pressure-generated waves that allowed limited surfing, swimming, real fish in the water, slides and flumes and a massive UV light bank that simulated the sun rather well. The surface excursions. Already, several billionaires were building remote domes on clifftops, with views of the rocky, ochre landscape and winds. There was a sandy desert east of here, with huge dunes. There was talk of dune surfing and rally racing there. A lifeless rock, but humans could turn it into an exotic playground.
Horace decided the casino and its less extreme diversions were plenty for him.
Jason was happy with how smoothly the trip went, though he always wondered if that meant a pending disaster.
They went down to the dock with the others. Cady's men Lionel and Tristan, tall, black, muscular and intimidating were on patrol down there, with polite, professional nods as he came through with Caron. The shuttle had a relief pilot to return it to the surface, and the man showed company ID and code as they approached. Jason knew his name. Jeremy Steel had decades flying for Space Force and Army, and was another person who lived for the challenge rather than the money. He shook hands with Jason and Elke, nodded to Miss Caron—no one other than her personals were allowed to touch her—and invited them in.
"Get comfortable," he said. "There's no real schedule since we get to set it." He sounded amused. His voice was younger than his age, but so was his physique. Fitness was mandatory for what was effectively a contract military.
The four strapped in quickly. The shuttle was not only nice, it was new.
Steel must have noticed them sniffing and touching.
"Yeah, brand new, state of the art, and I was one of the pilots who consulted on this new control system."
"How do you like it?"
"It's good. Now. They were a bit slow on the uptake. It started out as a passenger package, but it's on par with good military stuff now, and more recent."
"I'd like to take a look once we're lifted."
"Sure. Launching now." He then spoke to Control. "Canyon Three on priority. Lifting soonest. Roger. Lifting."
He boosted the engines and they were out of the hangar at once, into atmosphere and rising fast.
Jason moved up as soon as they were in steady flight, slid into the second seat and examined the controls. Yes, very modern, mostly easy to read, though that planetside compass did have annoying controls to try to synch it. Still, he could fly it if he had to.
"That's all I need, Jeremy. I'll try to get a proper class later."
"Yup, just ignore the compass and use sat if you can. If it comes down to that you're already in a combat environment."
"I hope that won't
happen in the next few minutes." He moved aft as he spoke and took his original seat. "Fastened."
Steel said, "Roger."
He took them into orbit fast, intercepting the station on its current orbit rather than waiting for the next. They were there in twenty minutes and docking took less than five.
This was a private station for family, executives and the more wealthy guests—sheiks, Fortune 50 CEOs, princes, and others. It was always lightly traveled, and was empty at present, with three ships politely waiting.
They transferred through an empty bay, into the small craft, which was guarded and had an external inspection by two more of Cady's people. They weren't getting much action, but they got lots of work to keep them busy. Most of it was strictly cover, but it was still work. Jason preferred his own tasks. He'd prefer them more once away from the station and harder to locate or hit.
Joe was only too glad for her to take that trip. That meant less snoopy questions, since his brother was not the type to go down into the mine. Or rather, he was, but was easily distracted with more paperwork. That couldn't go on forever, but it didn't need to.
He really hoped her guards were as good as reputed. He didn't want anything to happen to her on this trip, nothing at all suspicious. The longer she was occupied, the better. He didn't like the potential threats because they interfered with business, and his plans.
He had to hold things from coming apart just a bit longer.
The payoff was huge, and the family would benefit from it. It wasn't even unethical. Being rich did not create an obligation to anything other than providing honest jobs to people. Nor was anyone entitled to a chunk of the wealth merely because they'd graced the world with their presence. That was Prescot money and they'd worked hard for it. He had an obligation to see that through. His brother could play the nice side, he'd be the tough side.