Hotter on the Edge (11 page)

"Don't be talking about last requests," her father said gruffly. "The medics say you're going to be just fine." The roughness of his tone suggested that it had been a near thing. "Your shoulder is bad, but the slicer only nicked your heart."

She was going to live? "But what about the chanting?" The meditation priests only murmured the rhythmic words of tranquility when it was time to ease someone's passing. Who else was going to die?

Pia's face came into view, too. She was a little pale, but just as beautiful as ever. "
Listen,
Mica.
Listen
to the chants."

Mica concentrated harder and heard only a long rising sound and short dropped one, repeated over and over. And how strange that it wasn't coming from inside the medic wing? It seemed to be coming from outside the palace completely. From the streets below. She looked at Pia for clarification.

"It's 'Simon,' " Pia said. "The people are chanting his name. The palace is surrounded—"

"—besieged," their father corrected.

Pia nodded, finally agreeing with their father. "The Peace has Simon's men in custody. The miners refuse to work. They won't listen to Father. They'll riot if you don't stop them."

***

Mica wished that the very helpful news personality Lana Starcaster hadn't pushed a pillow down the back of her chair. The pillow made Mica flex her sore stomach to sit up, which in turn made keeping a grimace off her face even more difficult. Several media bobs buzzed in the air around them, taking in every angle.

Mica had only offered the interview in the hopes that a comm from her might mitigate the rising unrest throughout Sol City. The chants of yesterday had transformed into angry bursts of vandalism. The passion of the miners had spread through the populace and the air was static with impending violence. Even her father was convinced that the public needed to be appeased—and who better than the princess who'd been so dramatically defended? Which meant he, Pia, Mother, and representatives from the shareholders had gotten nowhere on their own.

…the heir to Sol has risen from her deathbed…

…whereabouts of Simon Miner unknown…

…dead or alive? Will she tell the truth?

…or will she toe the family line?

Lana sat opposite her, angling her gold blades off to the side. Her aura was simple sunshine that lit her blonde hair and amber eyes. She waited while an announcer introduced the exclusive interview to be transmitted in real time from the Sol palace, and then her composed expression suddenly went very concerned. The voices of the other comms were cut off, and the faraway chants of "Si-mon" could be heard. "Princess Mica Sol. Two days ago, you were shot in the heart. It's a miracle that you sit before me today. How do you feel?"

"The shot hit my shoulder mostly," Mica corrected, working up a smile. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. It's good to be back on my feet."

Lana leaned in and used a voice dripping with compassion. "You must have been very frightened when the wedding was disrupted."

"Yes, of course. I was terrified."

"And the way you protected your sister will go a long way to demonstrating that corp families, for all their wealth and excesses, love each other, too."

Why did anyone need proof of that? "Of course we do."

Lana gave her a pat kind of smile that made Mica think the uncomfortable pillow shoved down her back was intentional.

"Current media comms have focused on the plight of the plains people, commonly referred to on Sol as
scavengers
. A little over one hundred years ago, this planet was supposed to have been theirs. The Sol family only had a contract on the mining rights. As you're a terraforming specialist, can you explain why they are now the outcasts, scavenging, for lack of a better word, for the materials to survive?"

This was public knowledge and, yes, had been hashed extensively on the comms for the past two days.

"It's simple. The terraforming wasn't entirely successful, which is why Sol is classified as a beta world—one which cannot support human life without life aids, like oxy plugs." Then she took it a step further, to save herself Lana's next question. "The scavengers don't accept support from Sol City because that would make them dependent upon us for survival, which they believe—and perhaps rightly so—would eventually subsume them under Sol. They have been offered transport to other worlds as well, but that would constitute releasing their claim, which they will not do. Sol is too valuable. Occupation is part of the sector claim laws."

"Is there no solution, then?" Lana implored gravely. "Will the violence continue?"

Mica tried to lean back, but her wound wouldn't allow it. She broke into a cold sweat, too. "I would offer the
plains people
an alternative solution. If they are fixed upon inheriting Sol, then I would be willing to apply my expertise and put together a team of the best minds to bioform the human genome to be consistent with Sol ecology. It simply didn't work the other way around. But this way, they would become heirs to Sol as much or more than I am."

Lana all but scoffed. "That seems like a faraway and troubled solution."

Mica would've huffed back at her if it wouldn't have hurt, but Lana had been selected to conduct the interview because of her reputation for giving everyone, without regard to wealth or rank, a hard time. The Sol family was after credibility.

"It's the only new solution I have at this time," Mica said. "If anyone else has alternatives that don't include slicing me or my family, I'd be happy to hear them. This one isn't so far-fetched as you might think."

"Not far-fetched for someone who felt high enough to play god."

Mica leaned into a protest. Pain had her snarling. "That's not fair. I know Sol inside and out." Slept in wombat dung just the other day. "And there are case studies in which ..."

But Lana held up a hand. "Obviously there are no viable solutions to be had at this time."

"If you'll just consider ..." But Mica could see it was no use. She made a mental note that if she ever did inherit Sol not to offer a controversial solution to a controversy, and she wondered if she was doing anything to appease the miners, who didn't care a scrap about the scavengers. She doubted it.

***

Simon opened his eyes when Pilar burst into his serene room, in a flurry of color and light. She tossed a small metal disc onto the wall, and that half of the room altered into an intimate space with two seated women talking to each other. Media bobs darted around their heads like bloated razor bugs. It took a second for him to recognize the woman on the right.

"Mica!" he called, burning sound through his chest. But of course it was an in-progress comm. She looked like she'd just spent a day on the run in the King's Valley jungle—pale, sweaty, panting. "She needs to get back in bed."

"Yeah, she's drooping badly. And she's terrible," Pilar said. "She's been talking about frankensteining the scavengers. Looks more and more like a mad scientist too."

Mica looked beautiful to him. Alive. Well. And talking shop to an unwilling audience. He could listen to her forever. "Not to worry. It's obvious that that media person is about as smart as one of those bobs."

Pilar gave him an exasperated look. "Mica's supposed to be calming the masses."

Simon smiled again at his brainy girl. She'd just claimed to know Sol. Simon would've liked to correct her: she
was
Sol. Contrary and wonderful and dangerous. This world needed her.

But the Starcaster bitch had to go.

Pilar's expression altered to mischief. A glint in her eye.

"I'm listening," Simon said, though he was filling with dread. Still, anything for Mica.

"She'll kill me."

Simon was sure Mica would. "Just say it."

"You fought so hard for her." Pilar's voice clogged. "Do you have the strength to give the comms a better end to the story than Mica's science?"

"She knows what's best for this world," he said. Eventually others would consider her solution and see how smart it was.

"Well, duh," Pilar answered. "She's clearly the brains. Your job right now is to look pretty for the bobs. Cut a heroic, man-of-the-people line and save all our collective Sol asses."

Simon grinned, remembering the set-up to Pilar's and Hakan's engagement. "If you can get Mica naked in this bed, I'm happy to get naked with her." Maybe Pilar's scheme had been more fun than calculation. Yes, get Mica in his bed; there was room for two. If the bobs caught them, could he have her forever?

"What about an on-comm reunion?" Pilar said. "Push Starcaster out of the limelight. The miners only want you anyway, but Mica gave orders that you weren't to be bothered with the problem."

"What do you mean?"

Pilar swiped her hand in the air to pass through different comms. He caught a second of his fight against the scavengers, a spotlight on mining, and a street-level view of the crowd massing on the street, voices rising in protest demanding to see him.

No, Pilar was right. That mob wouldn't want to hear about bioform.

"I mean," she said, "will you bust in and save her all over again?"

***

Lana leaned forward slightly, eager, as a three-dimensional lightscape of the chaos of Pia's wedding sprang up before Mica. An image of Simon was frozen mid-strike, fighting with fistfuls of dome glass. Mica had played the comm once and had sobbed until Pia started showing her the offers Simon was getting around the sector: a part in an upcoming alien survivor action flick, the kind that got xenobioform wrong every time; modeling for high-end hubwear like some kind of space dandy; and bodyguard services, which included a contract clause for bedsport. Mica did stop sobbing long enough to respond negatively to the last one on his behalf, and then vowed never to watch the comm again.

Lana altered the comm projection to Simon, lying in a pool of his blood. "We've had an official report from your father, Drummond Sol, that Simon Miner, your consort, is in stable condition. Have you seen Simon, and can you confirm that he is alive and improving?"

Mica was wary about the shift in topic. But yes, she had demanded to see Simon as soon as she could sit without the world going into a dark spin. His coloring had been ashen, bruised under his eyes. His chest had been dermo-bandanged, so she had to force the medic to show her the sims of his treatment. His hands had been covered in rejuvy-gel to knit the tissues back together, but the deep gashes were still visible. What had they been like when he'd been first brought in?

"My father's report is accurate," Mica said. She wasn't going to undercut him. He'd been wrong about how he'd handled the mining accident and wrong about Simon in general, but he was still her father and still the ruler of Sol. It helped that he'd finally caved on the issue of the theft and Simon's men had been released. "Yes, I've seen Simon. He is alive. He's undergone two successful surgeries."

"Is it true that he died at the site?"

By most standards, yes, so she answered with the technical details to buffer herself from the pain of it. "The Peace had him in a bio freeze and vitals capture within the sixty minute window."

Lana Starcaster frowned at her. Maybe technical wasn't the way to go there either, but with all the trouble the Peace were now having beyond the palace walls, it didn't hurt to remind people that they'd played their part in saving Simon, too.

"Wasn't he exiled from Sol City for theft?" Lana asked.

The whiplash back in time had Mica stammering. "That was a mistake. The charges have been dropped."

"And then again, two men claiming to be associated with Simon—one even swears that Simon used his slicer gun during Pilar Sol's wedding—were arrested for theft. Do you deny it?"

Mica shook her head. "That was a mistake, too."

"So many mistakes," Lana mused. "Are you in love with him?"

That was easy. "Yes. He's everything to me."

Lana's expression went pained. "But
really
, is there hope for a lowly miner with a corp-born Princess?"

Again, easy. "Absolutely. I'm his, if he'll have me. I've already asked him."

Lana did a double-handed flourish. "You're telling me that with a simple
yes,
a miner could wed the heir to Sol corp?"

"Ah, no. I didn't mean that," Mica said. "With a simple
yes,
Simon could marry me. And the rest will work itself out—whether I remain corp or not. If the shareholders don't approve my marriage, then I'm not. Either way, I'll have Simon."

Where would they go? Mica grinned a little to think of him taking one of the other offers—the modeling gig. He'd never.

A media bob whizzed in front of Lana's face. She spoke directly to it. "You heard that correctly. Mica Sol claims she will give up corp life to marry her consort. Is it the stuff of fairy tales, or is it a fabrication to cover the truth? Does Simon Miner still live after being so grievously wounded, or are they covering up his death to forestall more violence?"

Mica sputtered, speechless for a second. What kind of interview was this?

A low voice behind her answered the question. "Oh, I'm still kicking, I think, and I'll take a fairy tale, Princess, if you'll still have me."

***

Simon flinched as the bobs whizzed to circle him, and the same panic that had assailed him at The Tank a few days back gripped him now. He'd had maybe a couple of hundred eyes on him then; now the whole sector was watching. But if he was going to stand next to Mica in this life, he had to stand the weight of those gazes, too. He'd keep working, of course—in the mines, or wherever—but it seemed he'd always be a mere mortal. He was born in the dirt, and that was okay by him.

Mica had turned a bit to see him—he grinned at her surprise—and she rose to face him. "You shouldn't be upright!" She moved to examine him. "Pia put you up to this."

Lana was saying something, but Simon didn't bother listening. He'd heard enough from her.