Carthridge?” Teigan asked.
“Maybe.” Carthridge lifted one broad shoulder and let it fall. “He’s showing off, playing the media.”
Teigan immediately knew where he was going. “And that’s not in a V-10’s character make-up.”
John made a disappointed sound. Teigan, on the other hand, had to fight not to show his jubilation. If the brother wasn’t a Viadal, then chances were the sister wasn’t either.
Satisfied, Teigan turned back to Carthridge to discuss a conversation he’d had with Whitesman late last night.
“I want to bring in a few more soldiers to work external defense. We keep working like we have over the last twenty-four hours and this is going to get old fast. I’m sure we’ve all done long missions without much sleep, but why spread ourselves thin when Whitesman has offered unlimited resources?”
Carthridge folded his arms, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His body language told Teigan he wasn’t keen on the idea.
Teigan cocked an eyebrow. “What? You like exhausting yourselves?”
Carthridge gave a negative shake to his head. “Not especially, no. But given we know the actual assassin is a Viadal, I don’t think more manpower is going to help us out much.”
“He’s got a point,” Garret said.
“And Nolan should be here by the end of the weekend,” Carthridge reminded him. Nolan was the last active duty V-10. He’d been going through his yearly testing at the start of the mission and hadn’t been immediately available.
Teigan grunted. They were probably right. In his eyes, the more bodies between him and a crazy was a bonus. But that was just it, if the snippets of the mission files Whitesman gave him were any indication, then that’s all they’d be—bodies.
John whistled behind him. “Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting?”
“What?” Teigan spun back around to look at the screen.
John minimized a window, and then resized the smaller window, making it larger. “There was a layer here. One carefully covered up on first inspection. I had to go into her grandmother’s birth records to find it.”
“Damn it, John,” Teigan snapped. John was opening and closing windows so fast he couldn’t read any of them. “Just spit it out and stop gloating.”
John leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, a wide smile consuming the bottom half of his face. “Aria’s mother had a sister.”
“So?”
“So,” he waved a hand toward the screen, “take a look.”
Teigan bent over his shoulder, scanning the window John had left open. It looked to be part of a medical record, crammed full of a genetic analysis he had no hopes of reading. He skipped to the summary at the bottom, read it over once, then re-read it more slowly with dread pooling in his gut.
“Well shit,” Carthridge said from behind his shoulder.
“You got that right.” John smirked, snapping his gum. “And it’s just hit the fan.”
Chapter Four
August 1 st 2104: 1601 EST
“There’s a faint static hum in the piano track. It needs to be recorded again and remixed with the other feeds.” Aria’s voice was all business as she spoke, her fingers drumming softly on the arm of her chair.
Under the baleful gaze of her chauffeur, Teigan observed Aria from across the studio office. It was a working office. In the center sat her large desk with seating for two guests in front of it, one of which was occupied by a prim looking secretary. One side of the room was lined with shelves of books and data chips, the other side a cinema size wall screen, and stretched across the back, below an equally large window, was a long panel of controls. On the other side of the monster size window were two recording studios: One for the controller and one where the performers would play or sing. Aria was sitting with her back toward Teigan, a set of high tech recording earphones covering her ears as she dictated to a thin, wild-haired man in the control room in front of
“Maybe.” Carthridge lifted one broad shoulder and let it fall. “He’s showing off, playing the media.”
Teigan immediately knew where he was going. “And that’s not in a V-10’s character make-up.”
John made a disappointed sound. Teigan, on the other hand, had to fight not to show his jubilation. If the brother wasn’t a Viadal, then chances were the sister wasn’t either.
Satisfied, Teigan turned back to Carthridge to discuss a conversation he’d had with Whitesman late last night.
“I want to bring in a few more soldiers to work external defense. We keep working like we have over the last twenty-four hours and this is going to get old fast. I’m sure we’ve all done long missions without much sleep, but why spread ourselves thin when Whitesman has offered unlimited resources?”
Carthridge folded his arms, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. His body language told Teigan he wasn’t keen on the idea.
Teigan cocked an eyebrow. “What? You like exhausting yourselves?”
Carthridge gave a negative shake to his head. “Not especially, no. But given we know the actual assassin is a Viadal, I don’t think more manpower is going to help us out much.”
“He’s got a point,” Garret said.
“And Nolan should be here by the end of the weekend,” Carthridge reminded him. Nolan was the last active duty V-10. He’d been going through his yearly testing at the start of the mission and hadn’t been immediately available.
Teigan grunted. They were probably right. In his eyes, the more bodies between him and a crazy was a bonus. But that was just it, if the snippets of the mission files Whitesman gave him were any indication, then that’s all they’d be—bodies.
John whistled behind him. “Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting?”
“What?” Teigan spun back around to look at the screen.
John minimized a window, and then resized the smaller window, making it larger. “There was a layer here. One carefully covered up on first inspection. I had to go into her grandmother’s birth records to find it.”
“Damn it, John,” Teigan snapped. John was opening and closing windows so fast he couldn’t read any of them. “Just spit it out and stop gloating.”
John leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, a wide smile consuming the bottom half of his face. “Aria’s mother had a sister.”
“So?”
“So,” he waved a hand toward the screen, “take a look.”
Teigan bent over his shoulder, scanning the window John had left open. It looked to be part of a medical record, crammed full of a genetic analysis he had no hopes of reading. He skipped to the summary at the bottom, read it over once, then re-read it more slowly with dread pooling in his gut.
“Well shit,” Carthridge said from behind his shoulder.
“You got that right.” John smirked, snapping his gum. “And it’s just hit the fan.”
Chapter Four
August 1 st 2104: 1601 EST
“There’s a faint static hum in the piano track. It needs to be recorded again and remixed with the other feeds.” Aria’s voice was all business as she spoke, her fingers drumming softly on the arm of her chair.
Under the baleful gaze of her chauffeur, Teigan observed Aria from across the studio office. It was a working office. In the center sat her large desk with seating for two guests in front of it, one of which was occupied by a prim looking secretary. One side of the room was lined with shelves of books and data chips, the other side a cinema size wall screen, and stretched across the back, below an equally large window, was a long panel of controls. On the other side of the monster size window were two recording studios: One for the controller and one where the performers would play or sing. Aria was sitting with her back toward Teigan, a set of high tech recording earphones covering her ears as she dictated to a thin, wild-haired man in the control room in front of
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