Search & Recovery: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel Read Free Page A

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    Somehow she pried the doors open and squeezed through.
    The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and fried circuits. Her eyes watered.
    She could see the dome behind her, set against the famed university shopping district, but it looked wrong.
    Black. Rubble. Smoke, billowing everywhere. Some of it near the sectioned dome, but most of it behind the protective barrier.
    She climbed on top of the car. The train was twisted too. Cut in half. Sort of. Because in the back, past the section, she couldn’t see a train at all.
    She couldn’t see anything she recognized.
    “Mother,” she whispered. And then she shouted, “Mother!”
    Her mother never shouted back.

 
     
     
     
    ANNIVERSARY DAY

 
     
     
     
    TWO
     
     
    BERHANE TOSSED HER engagement ring at Torkild Zhu’s retreating back. The ring missed by a good five meters, and bounced on the blue carpet of Terminal 20’s luxury departure lounge.
    Three employees of the Port of Armstrong stared at her as if she were the crazy one. A little girl ran toward the ring, glinting on the carpet, and her father caught her arm. A Peyti watched, eyes glittering above its mask.
    But Torkild didn’t turn around. Of course not, the bastard. He probably didn’t even know she had thrown the ring at him.
    She wiped the back of her hand over her wet cheeks, then blinked, afraid the tears would start again. She doubled over, her face warm. It felt swollen, and her eyes ached.
    Damn him. Damn him all to hell.
    It was just like Torkild to pick the departure lounge of Armstrong’s port as the site of their break-up. He couldn’t have done it in the car when she brought him here, or in her apartment.
    Or in bed—
    Good God, the bastard had made love to her— screwed her—just that morning, even though he had known what he was going to do. But he hadn’t told her he loved her. He hadn’t said that at all, even though she had pressed herself against him and declared her love for him loudly, so that he couldn’t ignore her.
    At least, in that moment, he had had the decency to look away.
    Bastard. Bastardbastardbastard bastard .
    Somehow her cheeks were wet again, but she wasn’t sure if the tears were anger or frustration or humiliation or actual grief.
    No, she knew they weren’t actual grief. She’d felt grief before. She knew grief, and it hadn’t felt like this.
    Someone tugged on her arm.
    Berhane looked down. The little girl, advertising-cute with her black pigtails, coffee-dark skin, and button black eyes, held the ring in her thumb and forefinger.
    “’Spretty,” the little girl said, slurring the words together. “Daddy says ’spensive too. Shouldn’t throw it.”
    Out of the mouths of babes.
    The little girl’s father was standing just to the side. He gave Berhane an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, as if he couldn’t control his daughter.
    He probably couldn’t.
    What father could?
    “Thank you.” Berhane took the ring gently from the child, biting back all of the nasty words she would have said if Torkild were still standing there.
    It’s not expensive, she would have said. It’s a cheap ring from a true asshole, and he knew it even when he gave it to me.
    Back then, she hadn’t cared. Not even when he apologized as he gave her the ring.
    I know you can probably afford to buy a million of these, he had said earnestly, but this is what I can get us on a student’s budget. I hope you don’t mind.
    Mind? she had replied like the lovesick suck-up she was. That makes the ring even more special .
    The little girl hadn’t moved. She was still looking at the ring, as if she wanted it for herself.
    “You okay?” the little girl asked. She was biting her lower lip, and actually seemed concerned as her gaze met Berhane’s.
    Berhane wondered what the girl’s father would do if Berhane gave the child the ring. Probably make her give it back. That was what Berhane’s father would have done. But not for the same reason. He would have done it