I consider this version the most tragic, in a way, because I was so close, and yet still not quite there. I had learned to be succinct, and subtle. I had learned how to develop character and forward the plot at the same time. I was beginning to have some sense of worldbuilding, although I hadn't yet internalized the rhythm of how to blend all that stuff together into a sippable consistency.
Her name change came about in 1997, I think, which was also the year I wrote the first complete draft of this. I wrote the second book in the series, "Natoshi," in 1998, and the third, "Mobius" in 1999-2000. Once I could see the big picture, I realized that "Escaping Ariston" was going to have to stand on its own, and in order to do that the beginning and ending needed to be firmed up, pulled into line. I was starting to have a sense of the "point" of a story.
Unfortunately, I was trying to march forward with one foot in the past. I was acting like a Hollywood producer; there were too many elements in this that I liked, too many scenes that I wanted to preserve, and I kept thinking I could just do another glossing-over, slap on a fresh coat of paint, and make it work, when what it really needed was a few bones broken and a body-cast.
This was the version I took to my current writer's group, lo these five years ago, when they first took me in. Based on their conflicting advice, I did another glossing-over in 2002, tacked on a prologue, and started sending it out. One of the editors at Tor liked it, but said there was just something "off" about it. Very depressing, because I knew she was right, but I couldn't get anybody to tell me what it was, or how to fix it.
Ironically enough, this version, with the prologue, was accepted for publication by Mundania Press. I ultimately decided not to publish it with them, however, because I just didn't feel it was ready.
I'm going back to Ariston, Quinn thought. She could feel the plush seat beneath her vibrating as the shuttle breached the atmosphere of AZ-21. Some of the other passengers clutched the armrests or their carry-ons, but re-entry no longer bothered Quinn. In another hour, I'll be back in Ariston.
All week, since reserving her suite on the Starwind Luxury Liner heading for the Rim, Quinn had been deliberately summoning up that thought, testing herself with it the way she would keep flexing a sore muscle. Was it still sensitive? What did it feel like? How far could she bend it?
It didn't feel like anything much, that was the thing. She was curious to see the city again, whether it was as nasty as she remembered. She was curious to see how she would feel, walking over her old turf, assuming she could even recognize any of it. It had been a long time. She was well aware of being a different person from the girl who had left. She had money, for one thing, enough to arrive on the comfortable Starliner instead of bartering galley duty on a semi-legitimate freighter. She had style; her jeans and leather jacket were the epitome of casual chic, but neither had been bought off the rack. She had ten years of maturity and education and polish that would have awed her younger self to the point of incoherence.
She scanned the faces of her fellow passengers, wondering which of them were coming home and which were coming for a visit. Probably not many of the former. People seldom stayed in Ariston if they had a choice. But Ariston was one of those places where any appetite could be satisfied for the right price, so if one had a taste and one had the means, it was off to the Rim for a quick jaunt.
Quinn was not headed out for a jaunt, although she hoped this trip would be quick. She had already made plans to attend a house party on Natoshi in two weeks, and she didn't want to get held up on business.
The descent from orbitdock seemed to take no time at all. Quinn's ears popped as the pressure in the cabin increased. Her breath quickened in spite of herself; she felt a sort of nervous anticipation, pre-performance anxiety, that she hadn't felt in years. Other than that, she honestly didn't know what she felt. I'm going back to Ariston.
The shuttle landed safely and the attendants began to circulate, assisting passengers out of their restraints, but Quinn didn't wait for help. She swung up her bag from the empty seat beside her and headed for the door as soon as the airlock was open.
Heat, light and noise assaulted her skin like a physical blow, but that she had been prepared for. She had not been expecting the smell.
Oh, it was bad. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten. It was so familiar and so aggressive that her eyes watered. Sulfur, ammonia, raw waste, rocket fuel, exhaust and beer fought for the uppermost offense.
"Good lord, what is that smell?" another passenger exclaimed, shuffling down the gangplank and squinting in the bright sunlight.
That's Ariston, my friend. Quinn chuckled to herself. And this is the fresher end of it. She pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. On second thought, she turned the bag around so that the fastenings were on the side against her hip and gripped the strap with both hands, holding her elbows close against her body.
Strange to be thinking of herself as the target, for a change. It made her smile. Around her, the denizens of the docks carried on their business. Dockmasters and freighters hustled back and forth, carrying crates and weapons; armed, graysuited EMPR soldiers stood guard outside the dockmaster stations, looking bored; dirty, mean-looking children ran in packs between the landing pads; gang members paced like caged dogs, constantly on the balls of their feet, ready to leap into combat at the slightest provocation. No one shouted or turned to point at her. The ground did not open beneath her feet and swallow her. She was back in Ariston, and neither she nor it cared.
Well, that was satisfying enough she almost turned around and got back on the shuttle to head for Natoshi. Hell with work; she was in a party mood. But this man Aries was expecting to hear from her, and she was not so wealthy that she could sneer at three million dollars.
So. First to the hotel. She squared her shoulders, settling into the feel of the place. To her left lay the business districts, the slums and the warehouses. To her right began the taxi lines, the fancy hotels, and the ritzy neighborhood; no less dangerous, just prettier. She turned right, past the loading ramps, circling around luggage racks and motorized lift vehicles, heading for the taxi lines. The heat of the sun was rapidly making her leather jacket uncomfortable. Quinn dug an elastic band from the pocket of her jeans and smoothed her long dark hair back from her face, tying it off at the nape of her neck. It was a minor relief, but she'd soon be in air conditioning.
The weight of the strap on her shoulder shifted, just enough to be more than an accident. Quinn pivoted on her back foot, snapping her fist around in a hard arc. The heel of her hand connected with something solid that gave a yelp of pain and surprise. The second child, who was so scruffy as to be androgynous, ducked under her swing and rolled to the side with admirable agility, but not quick enough to miss Quinn's foot. She planted a kick in the little lizard's backside to help it on its way. It gave a whoop and scuttled back into the crowd, followed by three or four other whooping shapes and the one that Quinn had backhanded, his hand clapped to his stinging ear.
Quinn shook her wrist and felt the bottom of her bag for cuts. There didn't seem to be any. "Welcome back to Ariston, Ms. Taylor," she murmured. "How have you been? Fine, thank you. Let us get that bag for you, Ms. Taylor..."
She stopped talking to herself long enough to wave down a taxi and give the driver instructions.
Quinn made a point of always staying in expensive hotels when she was a on a job. She did this for two reasons, other than the fact that she was unabashedly hedonistic. First, security was tighter. She didn't have to worry about housebreakers and she could get her sleep. Second, hotels that catered to the very wealthy knew how to keep one eye closed. As long as you didn't disturb the other guests, the staff stayed out of your business.
The Royalty was the second-best hotel in Ariston; she'd tried the Wellington first but it had been booked. Going into the lobby, she scrutinized the patrons and evaluated her own image. Carrying a single bag, in jeans and sunglasses, she could have been mistaken for a slumming starlet, or an especially privileged college student.
Never in a million years would her younger self have dreamed of waltzing into the Royalty Hotel. If she had tried, she probably would have been tossed out on her ear. But Quinn strolled up to the desk and claimed her reservation under the name Tabitha Morris.
"Certainly, Ms. Morris," the concierge said. "Would you please sign here? Can we help you with your luggage? I hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Morris."
"Thank you," Quinn said. "Do you have any messages for me?"
"One moment, I'll check... No, ma'am, our system doesn't show any messages in your name. Shall I notify the operator to forward calls to your room?"
"That will be fine," Quinn said.
She located the elevator and the service elevator before taking the stairs up to her room. It was a good location, on the second floor with a stairway at each end and the elevator in the middle. She let herself into the room and locked the door behind her. She did not turn on the lights. She dumped her bag and jacket on the loveseat, tossed her sunglasses on the desk, and went into the bathroom.
The place smelled clean and cool. Quinn splashed cold water on her face and drank from her cupped hands, then leaned forward to look herself in the eyes. Even in the bathroom's semi-darkness, she could see the slitted shape of her pupils, wide to absorb the light from the doorway. The expression in them was calm, steady: good. She slicked a hand down her face and reached for a towel.
She was surprised that the dossier hadn't been waiting at the desk. From Aries's message, he'd sounded eager to get the job done. And her cruiser had been late. But no matter. She'd told him how to contact her; if he didn't get in touch by tomorrow, she'd just go home. In the meantime, she had half a mind to do some sightseeing. Walk down the docks to the warehouse district, see how things had changed. Kester's shop, the foundries, Hugo's Jewelers down behind the fish hatcheries. The old public health building, where she had lived for almost three years.
She would need to pick up some supplies, too, of course. She debated whether to put in her masking lenses. Usually the sunglasses were enough to keep anyone from getting a good look at her on the street, but on a job she needed to be more careful. Especially this job. It was unlikely that anyone from the Iron Cross was still alive and carrying a vendetta for her, but anything was possible. On the other hand, if any of them were, they would recognize her long before they got close enough to check her pupils. She hated wearing the lenses, anyway. They destroyed her peripheral vision and inhibited her night-sight.
Quinn opened her bag and dumped everything out onto the bed. There was a tool kit in with her gear; she took the scissors from it and carefully cut a pair of threads in the lining of her bag, then took hold of the tail and pulled. The seaming all along the bottom of the bag unraveled, and Quinn pulled out the lining completely.
Inside the false bottom was her dearest possession, in pieces. She took out a pair of black gloves with padding over the backs, a coil of fine filament like fishing line, and eight thin metal blades wrapped in an oily cloth. Drawing a pair of pliers, Quinn set the blades one at a time into the slits on the backs of the gloves, sliding each one down firmly until she felt it click. Then she took a tiny screwdriver and screwed down the lock, through holes in the wrist of the glove.
Next she took the filament and, using a piece of wire, strung it through the trigger mechanism, feeding it patiently through its tubing until it came out the other end, knotting it several times before screwing down the catch. She put on the right glove and then the left one, and clenched her fists. The right glove worked immediately; there was a soft twang as the blades sprang forward, extending six inches beyond her knuckles, razor-sharp and not much wider than a pencil. She tightened the catch on her left hand and tried it again. It worked.
Quinn had worked out the original design when she was nineteen. Over the years she had elaborated, added the hair-trigger, and streamlined the whole thing until the mechanism was nearly invisible. The backs of the gloves, including the fingers, were lined with cut-proof protective fibers. The front wrists of the gloves were soft and gusseted, so she could bend her wrists forward without impedance, but the backs were hard-lined to give her wrist extra strength and to keep the blade housing in a straight line. Quinn pulled the lever at the back of each wrist and retracted the blades, locking them back.
Satisfied, she took the gloves off and put them in her back pocket.
She took her sunglasses, camera and jacket, putting her passport and credit cards into her belt wallet. There was nothing else in the bag that she couldn't live without, so she left it in the middle of the bed.
Okay. Money, weapons, information, in that order. Quinn got into the elevator. She would have to call Justin, let him know she'd arrived and the space-time continuum had not collapsed. He'd been dead set against her taking this job. The elevator opened. Quinn scanned the lobby as she crossed it, but no one seemed interested in her. The patrons were talking and laughing, spending money and having a grand old time. It reminded her of Natoshi; maybe if this Aries character didn't show she'd be on time to Stephen's party, after all.
She saw a man headed on a tangent toward her and altered her course so they wouldn't collide, but no, he was coming to her, hand extended to halt her progress. He wore a suit and a humorless expression. "Are you Tabitha Morris?"
Quinn looked at him over the rims of her shades. He was the quintessential thug: burly enough to be intimidating, nondescript in every other aspect. He smelled of liquor; not on his breath, but from his person, as though it emanated from his pores. "Who are you?"
"My name is Jano. Mr. Aries wants to meet you."
Did he. Quinn glanced around the lobby, but saw no one watching them. "Where?"
"This way." Jano reached for her elbow.
Quinn took a step back, holding up her hand. "You lead. I'll follow."
Jano looked annoyed, but he led her to the hotel lounge. It was fairly lively inside, mostly young people starting their drinking early, but toward the back a man sat alone, fondling a scotch and watching as she crossed the floor toward him.
She had known of Aries for years, even back when she'd lived in Ariston before, but she had always been ordered to stay clear of him, and this was the first time she'd ever seen him at close range. He was in his late forties, lean and long in the chair, wearing a toffee-colored silk suit that made him look friendly and down-to-earth. He rose to his feet as she approached and held out his hand. "Demetrius Aries," he said.
"Quinn Taylor."
Aries took her hand, but did not shake it. He inclined his head, and Quinn thought for a second he was going to kiss her knuckles, but he only gave her a thorough once-over with his eyes and released her. Quinn guessed that he was assessing her physical prowess. People sometimes asked her if she was a dancer because she was so slim. Sometimes she said yes, because she thought it was funny.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance." Aries gestured for her to sit. "How was your trip?"
"Slow," Quinn said. "Pleasant."
"You didn't have any trouble at the docks?"
"No. Standard searches at orbitdock, but of course I'm not carrying anything suspicious."
"Of course." Aries reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. He held it out to Quinn, who shook her head. "Naturally, I'm pleased that you were willing to make the trip. I realize it was a long way for you, but you came very highly recommended."
"Thank you." Recommended by whom, she wondered. She didn't usually work out on the Rim, but then Aries was the single largest stardust producer in the Embassy. There was no telling who he did business with. "I'm a little curious why you were soliciting outside help in the first place."
He winked at her, lighting his smoke. "It's a delicate matter, of course. Not something we wanted to take care of, locally."
Translation: something they hadn't been able to take care of, locally. Something sticky that the local hotshots couldn't handle. Probably something political. "Who's 'we'?"
He regarded her for a moment, tapping ash into the divot on the tabletop. "To be frank, Ms. Taylor, I'm not the only one who stands to benefit from your services. I approached you on behalf of several of my colleagues."
Quinn tented her fingers beneath her chin. "No offense, Aries, but I don't remember ever hearing "philanthropist" attached to your name."
He had mastered the trick of making his eyes twinkle when he smiled, so it looked genuine. She marveled at how quickly it was possible to dislike someone. "Do you have a naturally suspicious nature, Quinn?"
"No, I've cultivated it over the years."
"Very sensible of you. To be blunt, more than half the businesses on Ariston are dependent on my trade in one way or another. I've spent a lot of time and effort building my kingdom, and I don't want to see the vandals bring it down."
"And the vandals would be...?"
"Rim Patrol."
"Hm. I hate to tell you this, Aries, but I can't do much with an F-class in deadspace."
"If they were in deadspace, they wouldn't be much of a problem," Aries snorted. "My trade routes are secure. But their captain's got them doing planetside busts. Last month they burnt one of my warehouses to the ground, and the governor can't do anything about it. The Ambassador contacted Central and asked for a restraining party, but when the control force arrived, the bastard commandeers the troops and put them on the street."
Quinn had a little trouble following this spate of venom. "The bastard being the Rim Patrol captain?"
"Exactly. He's damn near got the city under martial law, and the governor won't do anything about it. The planet's Ambassador ignores me when I tell him I'm being harassed, like I'm not a tax-paying citizen."
"Everybody has to make a living," Quinn agreed.
Aries shot her a sharp look, but she kept her features smooth and he continued. "I'd admire the man if he wasn't causing me so much trouble. His single-mindedness is inspiring."
"A fanatic?"
"Not likely. I doubt he has any loyalty to the Empire."
Quinn tried not to wince. That corruption of the EMPR's anagram was exclusive to the Rim planets; you didn't dare say it any closer to Central. It was one of the idioms Justin had purged from her vocabulary and it sounded vulgar to her now.
She leaned back in her chair, pinching the edge of the tabletop between her thumb and fingertips. Aries regarded her coldly through his haze of smoke. Except for his insistence on meeting her in person, he was exactly what she'd expected to find here: a petty tyrant with the emotional maturity of a three-year-old and the amorality of a garden snake. Something had upset his kingdom and he thought that enough money would solve the problem. "So you think that killing off this captain is going to make Rim Patrol back down?"
"Yes. Because he's the one they're loyal to. Without their captain, the rest of them can be dealt with. And I won't expect you to worry about that."
There was more threat than generosity in his voice. "Beyond my three million, I don't intend to worry about anything," Quinn told him, injecting a touch of frost into her tone. "Just bring me the dossier and let me decide how to do the job."
"There is no dossier," Aries said.
Quinn tried to control her expression, but she was annoyed. Aries had to see the way her nostrils flared. This was not protocol. If he was trying to control her the way he controlled the rest of the city, he was going to get a nasty surprise. She took off her sunglasses and leaned one elbow on the tabletop.
Aries was good. He looked right into her eyes, something not many people could do, and she swore he actually looked pleased. "Are you free for dinner?" he suggested. "Say, six?"
"Where?"
"Here. I'll reserve a private dining room."
Quinn drummed her fingers on the tabletop, once. "I'm going out into the city. I will be back in time for dinner, and I don't want any tails or any grief from Jimbo, there." She nodded at Jano, sitting at a nearby table and looking surly.
"There's a curfew on the city," Aries said. "Nine o'clock. I suggest you observe it."
Quinn pursed her lips. "I'll be back by six. I'll let you know then if I'm taking the job."
Aries smiled. "You came a long way for dinner."
"I didn't come for the food." She put her sunglasses back on and left the lounge.
She was halfway across the lobby before she realized her fists were clenched. She forced herself to relax and shortened her stride. The concierge was watching her. Aries probably owned the whole damn hotel, she thought, gritting her teeth. She should move. Hell, she should bail right now. She didn't like being manipulated like that. There were rules, etiquette even within the criminal world, and Aries had broken at least three of them.
But she had told Aries the truth; she wasn't here just for the job. Quinn emerged onto the sidewalk and drew a deep breath, breathing in the iron air of Ariston. Richly dressed people moved by, laughing and not paying any attention to her. It pleased her that she could blend in among them. Ten years ago, she would been self-conscious and conspicuous on this end of town, but not now.
When Justin had tried to talk her out of taking this job, she told him the money was too good to pass up, but they both knew that was a lie. She was only thirty, and she had the investments to allow her to retire tomorrow, if she chose. She hadn't tried to explain her actions to him because she hadn't understood them herself, but her mind had become clear at the first whiff of the stench on the docks. There were ghosts here, which needed to be laid to rest.
Ariston had let her in, but it hadn't sucked her in and chewed her up. Perhaps it had forgotten about her. Or perhaps it didn't recognize her. She liked that idea, and she'd be flogged before she ran from Aries or anything else here.