Page 41 of Spark Transform

“One day, maybe two. Headache, mostly. We’ll have to leave on a moment’s notice, ditch the team, go where we’re told, then slip back into place.” He tightened his arms across his chest. “You’re a filer. You’ll be hurting from the memory gouge.” He spoke as if he’d seen it before. Considering his sadistic twist of a boss, he likely had.

The deal sounded like a micro-targeted scam that preyed on any journalist’s fear of being attacked to stop their investigation or to exact revenge for published work. The tantalizing secrets and sneaking around added sweet-stick appeal.

She had to admit she was intrigued. For one, most scams didn’t mention the threat of being assaulted by a cleaner. For another, most journalists made a living, but not a fortune, so richer targets made better sense. Third, her enemies weren’t that subtle.

“I’ll think about it,” she told him.

She’d immersed herself in work for the rest of the day and evening, but the offer simmered quietly in the back of her mind. An anonymous search found no better information on shielders than she already had. No source referenced the gifting of minder talents as anything other than mythology. It took a pummeling hot shower near midnight to finally make up her mind.

Because Brenner never read messages unless she told him she’d sent one, she took a chance that he was awake as usual and knocked softly on his door.

When he answered, she said, “I’ll go if they let you come with me. Otherwise, no deal.”

He opened the door wider, revealing that he was wearing nothing but loose-knit shorts slung low on his hips. “Okay. I’ll ping them now. We’ll work out some contingencies.”

His heady male magnetism blindsided her. Flawless golden brown skin, perfect muscle tone, taut stomach. She turned away fast before the rush of hormones hijacked her tongue.

“Are you scared?” His voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard from him. She didn’t dare turn and look.

“Terrified,” she’d told him truthfully, wrapping her robe tighter as she went back to her bedroom. Not just about the shields, but for her objectivity. For her career. For her heart. Sleep had been a long time coming.

It was a good thing they’d worked out flexible cover stories that morning because the orders came at midday.

She told the team she’d be working at Novo G’s offices until late. Brenner said he’d stay with her and gave the rest of the team the time off. Minan and Tōn Ko agreed they’d restart the random patrols of the townhouse neighborhood at midnight.

Arco asked N’Dwama to evaluate additional security team candidates proposed by Novo G’s security office. She had a hunch that fast-thinking N’Dwama’s useful sifter talent for detecting minder talents, plus detecting truths and lies, would make her a good interviewer.

Sneaking out of Novo G’s office was easy with Brenner’s talent to cause a momentary surveillance system glitch. After that, a private autocab to the spaceport, a change of wardrobe, and a shuttle to the space station.

And now there she was, sitting on a narrow bench in the body parlor’s back room, sweating like she had a fever.

The concealing turban on her head was both hot and heavy. The fashionable reflective curtain veil and color-morph cocoon coat with built-in gloves made her look like a caterpillar wearing rain boots. They effectively distorted her profile without impeding her movements. But worn on top of her flexin armor, the outfit was a portable sauna.

Brenner looked enviably more comfortable in his soft, high-necked black tunic and duster vest over dark pants and scuffed boots. A furry, fringed cap disguised his bald head and the distinctive squareness of his jaw.

He frowned at his percomp. “Time.”

“I’ll be okay.” She’d mostly convinced herself that was true. The source of the shields had much easier ways of harming her than this elaborately clandestine setup.

He gave her a final glance, then left the room. It was comforting to know he’d be undetectably monitoring her using his unique talent.

The preview room’s equipment looked old and mismatched, which belied the high prices advertised out front. The community she’d been raised in disapproved of body changes of any sort, especially surface enhancements or vain indulgences. One of the many restrictions she’d left behind when she’d started her career.

However, she had zero experience with a full-body makeover, as Brenner had undergone multiple times, including the last one during rehab. On the other hand, she also had zero experience with a building collapsing on top of her, so there was that.

A tickle at the back of her mind told her she was no longer alone with her thoughts. Cautiously, she waited, prepared to plunge into a sea of boring memories she’d amassed for just such a purpose.

“Hello,” said a voice in her mind. “I am the janitor.” No sense of gender or personality came from the thoughts.

“Hello, yourself. On-point name for a cleaner.” She had to remind herself not to speak out loud.

“I thought so.” Humor threaded through the reply. “Do you consent to me erasing memories of anything that might hurt us or you? I give you my word that I will not disclose anything personal I unintentionally learn. A meaningless promise from a stranger, but I offer it anyway.”

This was the decision gate. Her memory was her earliest talent, her livelihood, her life. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Thank you for your trust.”

She was too nervous to be soothed. And too curious. “So, besides the fact that I’ll lose some memories either way, tell me the true price. The one you wouldn’t tell my contact.”