belonged to a woman I… knew."
Cara stopped with the bracelet halfway down her hand. She looked at him and then away. "I'm sorry."
"She was killed in an—accident—a few years ago. Like you said before, history." He entered the kitchen area and pulled some glasses down from a rack. "Like a drink? I think it's time we talked about your life."
She sat down on one of the soft couches, near where she'd draped her jacket. "Yes, rum slicer, if you know how to make it."
"I do. I take it you're planning to pass out early tonight?"
"Don't play daddy with me, all right? I've already had one man frag that up on me."
Chase worked on the drinks, but glanced up. "Sorry."
She shifted in her seat. "It's all right."
"It sounds cliché, but care to start at the beginning?"
"Sure, just give me a sec."
Chase finished mixing her drink, and his own, and carried them over. He chose a seat near her, but facing. He wanted to be able to see her face. She took the drink and sipped it, licking her lips slightly afterward.
He remembered the series of images of Cara that Lachesis' report had contained. Spaced just about evenly, one image passing per year, he could see how the girl—no, woman—before him had come to be. He could also see it in the data files, the five runaways after he'd left the family's employ, and the last one, four years ago, to the wilds of Europe. She'd honed her independent streak into such a fine instrument that not even her powerful family had dared retrieve her when she ran away for the last time. All the reports revealed Cara Villiers as a young woman who could take care of herself. And yet she was here looking for his help.
She took another sip. "About three years ago I was staying with some members of a German radical student group called Neustimme, New Voice. They were mostly Cunningham socialists and fond of sitting around talking, yelling, and slipping propaganda pieces into national datafaxes.
"At one of their parties, I met a guy named Adler, who was a chummer of one of Neustimme's more raddy members. He was older and very charismatic, in a quiet, powerful way. I thought he was interested in me, but now I think he knew who I was." Her gaze had softened as she spoke, and her eyes and words took on a distant quality.
"He became my lover that night," she continued quietly. "He was one of the leaders of Alte Welt, the eco-terrorist group."
Chase shifted and leaned in slightly. Lachesis' report had related rumors that Cara Villiers had radical German policlub connections, but none of the media reports had named names.
"I never participated in any of their actions, but I was always there afterward to congratulate them. They were always careful not to hurt people."
"But they weren't always successful."
"No." Her left hand clenched and relaxed. "Those were accidents."
Accidents, thought Chase, the deaths of innocents, no matter how deliberate, were always "accidents." He knew a lot about those kinds of "accidents."
"Of course," he said. "How did your father get involved?"
"Last year, Alte Welt was involved in a campaign against Hanburg-Stein, a heavy industries corp that was polluting the Eder River and the surrounding town. The problem was that Hanburg-Stein fought back. They hired a group of local criminals to kill as many members of Alte Welt as they could find."
Chase nearly smiled. "You play the game, you live by the rules."
"It was bad," she said. "They knew how to blow things up and all, but they didn't know how to fight. There were maybe twelve people in the group at its peak, but suddenly there were only five. Most of them wanted to get out, to disappear and maybe try to start something again in a few months. Adler wouldn't let them. He'd lost—we'd all lost—some good friends, and he didn't want to let H-S get away with it. But he didn't know what to do."
She was silent for a long time.
"I suggested that they get the support of a rival corporation. We'd turned up some valuable pay data on
Cara stopped with the bracelet halfway down her hand. She looked at him and then away. "I'm sorry."
"She was killed in an—accident—a few years ago. Like you said before, history." He entered the kitchen area and pulled some glasses down from a rack. "Like a drink? I think it's time we talked about your life."
She sat down on one of the soft couches, near where she'd draped her jacket. "Yes, rum slicer, if you know how to make it."
"I do. I take it you're planning to pass out early tonight?"
"Don't play daddy with me, all right? I've already had one man frag that up on me."
Chase worked on the drinks, but glanced up. "Sorry."
She shifted in her seat. "It's all right."
"It sounds cliché, but care to start at the beginning?"
"Sure, just give me a sec."
Chase finished mixing her drink, and his own, and carried them over. He chose a seat near her, but facing. He wanted to be able to see her face. She took the drink and sipped it, licking her lips slightly afterward.
He remembered the series of images of Cara that Lachesis' report had contained. Spaced just about evenly, one image passing per year, he could see how the girl—no, woman—before him had come to be. He could also see it in the data files, the five runaways after he'd left the family's employ, and the last one, four years ago, to the wilds of Europe. She'd honed her independent streak into such a fine instrument that not even her powerful family had dared retrieve her when she ran away for the last time. All the reports revealed Cara Villiers as a young woman who could take care of herself. And yet she was here looking for his help.
She took another sip. "About three years ago I was staying with some members of a German radical student group called Neustimme, New Voice. They were mostly Cunningham socialists and fond of sitting around talking, yelling, and slipping propaganda pieces into national datafaxes.
"At one of their parties, I met a guy named Adler, who was a chummer of one of Neustimme's more raddy members. He was older and very charismatic, in a quiet, powerful way. I thought he was interested in me, but now I think he knew who I was." Her gaze had softened as she spoke, and her eyes and words took on a distant quality.
"He became my lover that night," she continued quietly. "He was one of the leaders of Alte Welt, the eco-terrorist group."
Chase shifted and leaned in slightly. Lachesis' report had related rumors that Cara Villiers had radical German policlub connections, but none of the media reports had named names.
"I never participated in any of their actions, but I was always there afterward to congratulate them. They were always careful not to hurt people."
"But they weren't always successful."
"No." Her left hand clenched and relaxed. "Those were accidents."
Accidents, thought Chase, the deaths of innocents, no matter how deliberate, were always "accidents." He knew a lot about those kinds of "accidents."
"Of course," he said. "How did your father get involved?"
"Last year, Alte Welt was involved in a campaign against Hanburg-Stein, a heavy industries corp that was polluting the Eder River and the surrounding town. The problem was that Hanburg-Stein fought back. They hired a group of local criminals to kill as many members of Alte Welt as they could find."
Chase nearly smiled. "You play the game, you live by the rules."
"It was bad," she said. "They knew how to blow things up and all, but they didn't know how to fight. There were maybe twelve people in the group at its peak, but suddenly there were only five. Most of them wanted to get out, to disappear and maybe try to start something again in a few months. Adler wouldn't let them. He'd lost—we'd all lost—some good friends, and he didn't want to let H-S get away with it. But he didn't know what to do."
She was silent for a long time.
"I suggested that they get the support of a rival corporation. We'd turned up some valuable pay data on
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