Destiny's Song (The Fixers, book #1: A KarmaCorp Novel) (12 page)

To Dance was her destiny. To Sing was mine.

I let my music free one more time, dizzy as it soared upward into the endless sky.

Tameka flew right at my side. I reached my energies to hers, the connection effortless. We had pitched our words against one another. Now we let our Talents blend. My notes bent and twisted, telling a story of lines that refused to be straight and the tangles they had made.

Her movements wrapped my tangles in undulating spirals and made them beautiful.

My Song quaked, backing hard away from the spirals and all that they whispered. I was lost now, falling—fury receding and vast emptiness rushing in to fill the vacuum.

And then Tameka Boon raised both hands to the sky, pulled down her clenched fists, and pummeled whatever she held straight into my gut.

Straight into the plexus chakra that knows who it is we need to be.

I gasped, my physical body thrashing for air—and felt what it was she’d pushed into the center of my soul.

Beauty. Possibility. The audacity for a nameless baby, orphaned on the side of a lonely asteroid, to dare to believe she was not just a cog in the workings of the universe—she was the pinnacle.

A call to the fiery demon child and her hurling need to make a dent in the world, to prove that the oxygen that had saved the baby was worth giving.

And a whisper to the woman that child had become, to stop rebelling against—and start rebelling for. Lakisha Drinkwater had broken rules, and she had followed them. It was time to start rewriting them. To become the kind of Fixer who might one day aspire to a shadow of the greatness of the woman who Danced before me.

I wrapped my arms around my ribs, knowing I had just been nudged by one of the finest Talents ever to walk the galaxy. And not at all sure I was brave enough to go where she pointed.

“
A
h
, Ms. Drinkwater.” A young staff person bustled over to me the second I set foot outside my bedroom, still yawning after a two-hour nap. “We’ve been looking for you—a guest has arrived to see you.”

I wasn’t remotely capable of dealing with company. I needed three days in seclusion, some of Tee’s hot cocoa, and enough mindless vids to turn my brain to mush. “Could it perhaps wait? I’ve had a very busy day, and my voice needs tending.” I felt pathetic as I said it, even though every word was true.

“Well.” The teenager who had greeted me looked very doubtful. “Mr. Emerson might be willing, but his small companion is rather energetic.”

Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I knew that name. I dug for it—trainees learned early that there was often no greater sin than failing to remember the name of some major functionary or minor noble.

A thick swirl of gray moved grudgingly aside. Ah, when I’d boarded the cubesat to come here—the nice man who had recognized me as a Singer. I was astonished to hear he was on Bromelain III. He hadn’t been on my transpo ferry, and this wasn’t exactly a popular travel zone.

And he was apparently here to see me.

That roused my curiosity enough to reconsider. It would be unconscionably rude to walk off, but a moment ago, I hadn’t cared. The memory of a man who had shown me both respect and kindness was enough prodding to dig out my manners. I gestured to the staffer to lead the way. “You said that Mr. Emerson has someone with him?”

“Yes.”

I raised an eyebrow at the scant reply, but left it at that—I’d see for myself soon enough.

My escort led me down the cool, shadowed hallways and through enough turns that even my digger-trained internal compass started paying attention. We stopped at the door to a drawing room straight out of a fantasy novel—high double doors, red velvet curtains, and a fireplace big enough to swallow a b-pod. The teenager backed away down the hall. Evidently, I got to introduce myself.

The man I remembered turned from his spot at a window as I stepped onto the lush carpet. “Hello, Singer. It’s lovely to see you again.”

His eyes were as lively and intelligent as I remembered them. “I was pleased to hear you were here, Mr. Emerson. I didn’t know you lived on Bromelain III.” This place had a lot of very well-connected people for a backwater rock.

“Please call me Ralph. And I don’t, but I visit often—I have family up north planet.”

Huh. I didn’t know who he was, but anyone who could travel freely between the colonies and inner planets was a very big cheese indeed. “In that case, I appreciate you interrupting your visit to come say hello.”

“It seems we picked a good day to come. We’re looking forward to tonight’s entertainment. I enjoy these musical evenings very much, and I’m grateful to you for providing an excuse for one.”

Alarm bells started ringing in my tattered brain. “I’ve been out all day—I wasn’t aware of any entertainment this evening.”

“Ah. Devan said you were the guest of honor.” He smiled graciously. “The invitations went out only a few hours ago—I do hope I haven’t ruined a surprise.”

A few hours ago, Devan and Ophelia had dropped me off at Tameka’s cabin. My stomach clenched. There was no need to shoot the accidental messenger, however. “I’m always pleased to listen to good music.”

“I think you’ll enjoy it.” Ralph was still smiling, but his intelligent eyes were watching me carefully. “These evenings loosely follow the traditions of the Irish and Scottish of Earth, but we’ve made it our own.”

Food, dance, and booze were pretty universal—and apparently today wasn’t done trying to run me into the side of an asteroid. “I’ll look forward to it. I’m glad you could make the trip.” The latter, at least, was actually true. He had a very comforting energy about him.

“Not just me.” Ralph inclined his head and gestured at a nearby chair. “Malia kindly accompanied me.”

I stared at the empty chair, confused—and then I saw the black curls sticking out from underneath it. I crouched down to take a closer look just as two grubby hands reached up to part the curls. Bright green eyes peered out from a face that looked like it never stood still. “Hi. Granddad says you’re a really important person and I should try to use my best manners, but it’s okay if I forget sometimes.”

I grinned at the imp with streaks of dirt on her face, knowing a kindred spirit when I saw one. “I forget sometimes too.”

“This,” said Ralph, crouching down to join us, “is my youngest granddaughter, Malia. She likes to fly, so I brought her along to keep me company.”

Malia scowled. “Momma says you’re always supposed to tell the truth, Granddad. This lady is one of those Fixer people, just like Auntie Bri, and you want her to check me for Talent.” She flashed a grin at me. “I’m a really good singer.”

He reached over and tweaked her nose. “And a cheeky ruffian, aren’t you?”

Her head tilted sideways. “I don’t know. What’s a ruffian?”

He smiled. “A very good word to look up on the GooglePlex.”

She grinned over at me, rolling her eyes as she crawled out from under the chair. “That’s what he always says.”

She was taller than I expected, all gangly limbs and wild black curls. And after my day thus far, cheeky balm for my ragged soul. “How old are you, sweetie?”

“Seven.” She plopped down on the carpet, since Ralph and I hadn’t made it to our feet yet. “Do you want to hear me sing?”

It was rare for Fixers to test for Talent in the field—we were generally trying to keep a low profile, and the Seekers didn’t tend to appreciate us milling around on their turf. I glanced over at Ralph. “Has she been tested before?” With Fixers in the family, someone had probably done a quiet check.

“Not for several years.” He ruffled Malia’s hair. “She was born singing, so we’ve kept a watch on her. Bri’s Talent isn’t strong enough to sense resonance, but she brought a friend for a visit about three years back—a Dancer by the name of Yalonda Keyes.”

I knew Yalonda—she was more than strong enough to feel the vibrations of an emerging Talent. “What did she tell you?”

He kept his eyes calm and noncommittal. “She said to keep watching her.”

That could mean almost anything.

Malia squiggled forward on the rug. “Is it fun to be a Singer?”

This was a bad day to ask. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s hard work.”

“I’m a pretty good worker.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you get to visit lots of planets like Auntie Bri?”

I’d fantasized about space travel as a kid too. The cramped insides of an econo cubesat had been a rude awakening. I needed to be careful, however—if the kid had Talent, KarmaCorp wasn’t going to much care what her personal travel wishes were. Talents were too precious, and untrained Talents too dangerous, to worry about little issues like individual choice.

I sighed. Tameka might have crawled under my skin, but KarmaCorp was far from evil, and the job wasn’t nearly that black and white. Fixers had a wide range of work they could choose to do, and most of us found a niche that made us happy enough. And from what I’d seen of the rest of the world, driving your own life wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be. Some people are pretty intent on screwing up no matter what, and some bloom where they’re planted, even if the soil sucks.

“You sound tired.” Malia’s forehead had creased in wrinkles.

Damn, I’d totally blanked on answering her question. “I am—it’s been a long day.”

She nodded sagely, like she understood the strange adult concept of running out of energy. “Maybe I can sing you a lullaby—Momma says that helps sometimes.”

That was interesting. “Is your mom tired a lot?”

“Only when Henrique and Tao are being brats.” She grinned. “They’d exhaust anybody.”

Ralph chuckled quietly. “Malia’s twin brothers. They’re two.”

Tee’s sister had twins, and after a couple of hours childminding them once, I’d been ready to die. “Do you sing to your brothers?”

“Nope. Momma says they’ll sleep when they’re good and ready, and the rest of us just have to buck up. I help play with them, though. They like the game where we jump on the gel-couches and try not to touch the poisonous swamp on the floor.”

I remembered a version of that one, although digger rocks didn’t tend to run to swank decor like gel-couches. “How many of you has the swamp managed to eat?”

Malia giggled. “It got Granddad’s toes once.”

“Did not.” Ralph sounded insulted at the mere suggestion. “It only licked them.”

The kid rolled her eyes again, lips tightly closed, and gave him a look that promised the conversation wasn’t nearly over. One seven-year-old, trying to remember her best manners.

I watched the light dancing in both their eyes and tried not to be envious. It sounded like a normal, happy childhood—the kind most people never even caught glimpse of. She was a really lucky kid. “Got any songs about the swamp monsters?” Kids with Talent usually had an oversized love of the dramatic, and it would help magnify whatever resonance she might have.

She shook her head. “No, but I bet I could make one up.”

She probably could, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy. And there were easier ways, albeit less fun ones. “How about I Sing a few notes, and you sing along with me—whatever wants to come out?”

“Okay.” She sat up a little straighter and pulled air into her flexible lungs. “Can Granddad sing too? He does musical theater, and he has a really nice voice.”

I looked at Ralph and shrugged. “Sure.” Whatever made the kid feel more comfortable.

He smiled at his granddaughter and mimicked her good posture.

I let a couple of breaths massage my ribs, and then I started in my high midrange, sounding some basic tones. Malia listened for a few notes and started chiming in with ones of her own. She had a sweet, clear voice and a natural sense of harmony. I focused on her energy resonances as Ralph added chord intervals below us.

My Song didn’t sense Talent from either of them.

I shifted, moving lower in my range. Digging. Sometimes miners went deep on pure instinct.

Malia followed me down, picking out pretty intervals, adding a few interesting shifts, and frowning harder the lower we got. I waited, swimming around a basic chord progression, wondering what she would do.

She tailed me for a couple of spins and then she inhaled, eyes sparkling, and flew up a steep run to an octave most singers could only dream of. I followed her up, hearing my larynx gurgling in protest. It was a range I could sing in, but just barely—and I usually babied my vocal chords a whole lot on the way there.

Malia rippled through the high notes like a butterfly, light and sure with flashes of glorious color. I took a moment to appreciate the pure, incandescent beauty of her voice. I knew good singing, and hers was glorious. There were a hundred inner-planet opera houses that would line up for a chance to train her.

They’d never get the chance. In this range, the kid had Talent streaming from every cell.

I glanced at Ralph, saw his gentle smile, and nodded, confirming what he already knew. And was fiercely glad to see the protective instincts rising in his eyes. Good. KarmaCorp would come for Malia in three years. In the meantime, she’d be in very good hands.

Talent like hers was a highly desirable commodity, and grabbing young girls before the Seekers found them was extremely profitable business, even with half the Federation on their tails. And then there were the garden-variety corrupters—the people who thought just a small nudge couldn’t hurt, a little tweaking of the universe on their behalf.

If the look in Ralph’s eyes was any indication, swamp monsters would be the worst thing Malia had to worry about.

She’d stopped singing and sat watching me, still as a statue.

Hoping. Wishing. Wanting the answer to be yes.

That had never been me—I’d hated every minute of discovering I had Talent and what it meant. It was humbling to see her want, so clearly, to step into the shoes I wore. I reached for my subsonics and sent a gentle, welcoming trill her direction.

Joy streaked across her face, and a response came back—excited, effervescent, and insanely loud in the frequencies only I could hear.

I laughed. “You need a little work on your volume control, kiddo.” Especially if she had subsonics at seven years old.

“How did you do that?” She practically bounced herself into my lap. “That thing I could feel inside my brain, how did you do that?”

I’d been doing it for a lot longer than she’d been alive, and I still didn’t really have any idea. “That’s what they’ll teach you on Stardust Prime.” In the meantime, she’d just deafen the odd pig or bird.

She’d bounced over to Ralph’s lap now. “I’m going to be a Fixer!”

“I know, brightness.” He stroked the back of her hair. “I believe you’ll make a very fine one.”

She turned toward me, eyes shining like the noonday sun. “Granddad says it’s really important work, helping the universe to have good balance.”

He’d been preparing her, then. “I think so.” I soaked in her innocent, steadfast belief that what I did mattered.

Ralph was still stroking her hair. “We live in a galaxy more peaceful, more just, more rich in beauty and diversity and freedom than anything that has ever come before us, thanks to the hard work of Lakisha and the other people at KarmaCorp.”

His belief wasn’t so innocent, but it was just as steadfast. I felt my battered soul drinking it in. Tameka Boon was only one voice—there were others.

Malia smiled up at him. “We live in a good world. We’re really lucky.”

“We are—and you’re going to help keep us that way.”

She nodded and looked over at me. “Do lots of things lose their balance? My brothers used to fall down a lot, and it made them cry.”

The universe didn’t bounce nearly as well as most toddlers. “We try to help catch things before they land on the ground.” It was a lot easier than trying to put galactic Humpty Dumpties back together.

She frowned. “That sounds hard.”