Deja Ortega: Oddsbreaker Read online

  “Security barely had enough time to deploy some detention bots to quell the violence. Once that was under control, the prison boss had your father transferred to the medical ward. But I expect you know that their personnel and equipment aren’t so great.”

  “So you,” she said, looking up at him, “got him out of there and placed him in a better facility?”

  “Of course.”

  A bothersome number of tears slid down her cheeks. Geoff must have called in a whole slew of favors to make that happen. “Thank you,” she said, swiping at her tears. “But why didn’t they notify me?”

  “Oh, this happened right before I contacted them about your father. I asked them if I could break the news to you.”

  “Ah.”

  Silence reigned until she heard Geoff punch in an order at the beverage bay. She watched him approach with another plastimug. “Here,” he said. “Just don’t fling this one at me, okay?”

  “No promises,” she answered, unable to smile yet. After draining the entire glass, she set it down in slow motion on the end table masquerading as a polished tree nut. “Can I talk to him, Geoff? Please?” The prison had only allowed written correspondence and, oh, how she wanted to speak to her papá now.

  But Geoff shook his head. “I wish you could, but his injuries are just too severe. The doctors have him sedated. The healing process is tricky enough without waking him up. I’m sorry, Deja.”

  “Yeah, I understand,” she sighed.

  “But he is getting the care he needs. I told my superiors it would go a long way in gaining your cooperation. Yet… I would’ve done whatever I could to help him once I found out.”

  “Mission or no mission?” she challenged.

  “Exactly.” His eyes never left her face.

  She believed him, and her throat didn’t hurt so much. A brief smile, she found, felt good. “And your plan is…?”

  “Why not break the odds and help me break my case? Who knows what dangers I’d be willing to risk with you as my partner?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. Or tried to, but the alien face he wore couldn’t quite translate the movement. So instead his forehead suffered an undignified seizure.

  Allowing herself an honest reaction, Deja snorted. However, she couldn’t help but tighten her arms around her knees. “And as for Famous?”

  Geoff rubbed his traumatized forehead as he spoke, “Did Famous Foodie ever tell you that you couldn’t have a sous chef?”

  Twin jolts of mischief and hope blazed through her, and she grinned. “Nope.” She paused. “In fact, wouldn’t Famous want me to do as the Vinadroans do?”

  Interlacing his inked, albino hands, he cracked his knuckles in a familiar gesture.

  “What’s more,” she pressed, “I’ll have a useful accomplice in what I’ll be making them eat.”

  “Right,” he said, failing to balk at the “accomplice” jab. “Something barbaric?”

  She paused with prim unconcern, leaning back against the couch where she perched. “Just the finest dirt this side of the Gutha Quadrant.”

  “Crap,” he said, tugging at his collar.

  “No. Dirt,” she replied, laughing.

  “Pfft,” Geoff grunted. “That means I’ll definitely be getting my hands dirty, won’t I?” he quipped, plopping himself down beside her.

  “No way to escape that once you’ve thrown in your lot with the likes of me.”

  “Who said I wanted to escape?” He tilted his oh-so-altered-looking cranium at her, the paleness of his skin at odds with the dark, tribal etchings. Dang, even dressed as an Evuutan kitchen warrior, Geoff had a knack for burning through her atmosphere.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Just be sure to remember that when I put you to work. The dirt won’t just camouflage itself.”

  “Guess we’ll just have to do a lot of…experimenting, won’t we?” He leaned closer, his breath subtle and warm on her neck. “And, with me as your co-conspirator, our dirty work will be sanctioned by the Coalition.”

  “Hmm. Fancy that,” she said, resting her chin on her knees. And when he put his arm around her, she reached up to touch the back of his hand, tracing the tattoo that curled around a knuckle.

  Then, just because he deserved it, she clamped down on his wrist and slid off the couch, unfolding and turning her body so she had his arm in a painful, locked position. Or, she would have, if the jerk hadn’t expected it. Close combat wasn’t her strong suit. Now he had both arms tightened around her, and her knees were pressed against the heated tile floor, thighs flush with the padded furniture. For a few seconds, his scent—the waxy hint of boot polish, the oily scent of a laser rifle, the musk of his sweat, and the fiery freshness of peppers—was all she could smell. In that moment, she wondered what tricks his modified tongue might have in store.

  Yet almost as soon as such thoughts bloomed and her body softened at his touch, Deja inhaled a deep breath and wrested control back. This would not do. Although she had other means by which to extricate herself, she just leaned away as best she could when he bent to kiss her. “That will be quite enough, lieutenant colonel,” she said. Slowly, he pulled back and loosened his arms. A little. But it was enough. Pushing against the couch’s edge, she rose to her feet, out of his warmth.

  “I’m working.” She stared him down until he straightened in his seat, passion ebbing from his posture. “As grateful as I am about what you did for my papá, Famous needs a response because of your meddling. And the judges will be announced soon. Then I’ve got a few measly days to make dirt taste yummy.” She breathed out and in once more, steadying herself. “So, the only kind of all-nighters you can expect will involve slaving away in the kitchen. My kitchen.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I’m just lucky you’ve decided against boiling my eyeballs into jelly.”

  “Oh, that option’s still on the table,” she said with a stealth smile. “Some ground rules: Before you go chasing after any leads on Famous, you clear it with me. In the kitchen and at the contest, you are my employee, that’s it. Not my boss. Not my partner. Certainly not my—not a, uh—” Gravgummit, why couldn’t she just say it?

  “Not the love of your life, you mean? So noted,” Geoff conceded with a playful smile.

  Dang.

  “It’s about time I briefed you on Famous,” he said briskly, getting to his feet in that limber yet controlled manner he possessed. In that brief movement, he was once again the hardworking, efficient officer she knew him to be.

  “Yes, about time,” she echoed. Her father needed her, and she would use whatever tools the galaxy sent her way.

  “Wait, so you’re saying that Famous is a murderer many times over?” Deja demanded.

  “Yes. That’s what I wasn’t allowed to tell you before; it was classified. I’m sorry. But this activist is a dangerous felon. He’s orchestrated and perhaps even carried out many food-motivated killings. That said, we have to expect something more sinister than giving the judges dirt to eat. Any ideas?”

  “None come to mind,” she admitted. “Why couldn’t this have just been a simple dare for once?” Her thoughts returned to her wounded father, and she gritted her teeth. She had to make this dare work for his sake. If the GJC took him back to the shoddy infirmary at the prison, well… She couldn’t bear to think of what might happen then.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Geoff moved closer to her. “Deja, it’s okay to be upset. I know I’ve made this even harder on you, and I apologize. I just want what’s best for you. And I feared for your safety with Famous as your backer. I hope—”

  She cut in, softly. “It’s okay. I’ll survive. And what you did was save my father. I won’t ever forget that, not ever. But I need to… I just need to take a shower and think, okay?”

  “Sure, sweet—” he stopped himself. “Of course,” he finished.

  As she showered, she cried. A lot. The water drowned out her cries and warmed her cold heart. Fear threatened to crystalize around her heart, but she wouldn’t let it. The crying helped.
She just hoped Geoff couldn’t hear.

  Before she went to sleep that night, she responded to Famous Foodie.

  Luck_Goddess: I have enlisted the help of an associate who is well versed in food prep. You never said I couldn’t have a sous chef. So I don’t see how this negates the dare. Besides, I still have my work cut out for me. If you end the dare now, you’ll simply be missing out on a lot of fun, I promise. So what will it be?

  A few moments later, Famous replied with “So be it. Good luck.”

  Relieved, Deja logged on to some local fashion websites and ordered some new clothes that would suit her persona. She also let herself have a few drinks. That done, she went to bed where she tossed and turned, thinking of her father.

  The next day, Deja and Geoff found themselves sitting in oversized wooden ladles—er, chairs—amidst thousands of spectators and competitors packed inside the cooking coliseum. Could this planet be any more enthralled by food? She felt so ridiculous. Or edible, to be more exact. The clamor and odor—yes, odor—of countless languages swirled through the bowl-shaped amphitheater like flour at a bakery. Some of the “seating” consisted of large water tanks to accommodate amphibious guests or specialized enclosures for those who couldn’t breathe the planet’s air. Untethered holocams zoomed around; the proverbial flies at a picnic. Some would be for security, others for entertainment coverage.

  Geoff nudged her and raised his eyes upwards. Near the domed ceiling, a six-sided holopanel hung. Pre-recorded and live-action ads from sponsors played out in 3-D. Culinary wares and gastronomical adventures literally jumped off the screen. It didn’t surprise her much that Geoff was fixated on the big-screen holopanel. A fascination with large screens seemed to be encoded into male DNA.

  Deja turned her attention back to the setup down below. Engaging the handy zoom feature on her LinguaLenses, she went in for a closer survey. One central platform, vast and circular, stood draped in crimson fabric. Standing higher than the rest, it was devoid of any furnishings whatsoever. Around it, several shorter, teardrop-shaped platforms clustered like petals on a flower, each cloaked in luscious fabrics of solid colors. Linked by staircases and ramps to the main platform, the nine smaller stages were also decked out with various tables, chairs, tanks, and other equipment, all to accommodate the motley cabal of as-yet-anonymous judges. Speaking of which, how much longer before the gurus of gastronomy made their appearance?

  Surveying the crowd around her, she noticed her nemesis, Chef Glass, sitting just two rows down from her. Her slender sous chef sat on her left. Deja elbowed Geoff. “There’s our mutual ‘friend,’” she said. With a casual movement, Geoff spared a second to follow her gaze. There, indeed, was their fellow contestant, looking just as severe as ever. This despite sitting silently and straight-backed in a cutaway version of a metal sieve while other spectators around her were chatting and carrying on.

  “Quite the model of rigid professionalism,” Geoff observed.

  “Yeah. Maybe she didn’t eat enough of those peppers to ‘loosen up’ her inner reserves.”

  “You never know,” Geoff agreed with a chuckle.

  The seat in front of Deja was still empty, and just as she wondered if it would remain so, she saw a tall Vinadroan with navy-blue fur making his way up the steps. He wasn’t moving very fast due to a throng of people around him. A distinct scar marked his forehead above his right eyebrow. His mouth curled back in a broad smile, showing off his bright fangs. The alien wore a white chef smock with short sleeves and tailored white slacks. His dark fur stood out against his pristine clothing. As he progressed up the stairs, Deja could hear the people around him clamoring for his autograph. In an instant, she recognized the contestant before she could read the name on his chef jacket.

  “Look,” she told Geoff, “that’s Chef Bastian Boyar! He nearly won the contest five years ago. Quite the celebrity still.”

  “Interesting,” her partner said.

  Boyar finally reached the end of the row where he intended to sit, it seemed, because he shooed away his admirers. “Go on, now. Everyone, please skedaddle. The presentation is about to begin!” he said in a deep but jolly voice. The people in question turned reluctantly and moved away from him down the stairs.

  When Boyar had made his way to the seat right in front of her, Deja couldn’t stop herself from standing up and greeting him with a small bow. “Chef Boyar, what a pleasure to meet you. I’m quite the fan,” she said, smiling. Geoff sprang up from his seat, following her lead.

  “Are you now,” Boyar said, flashing his fangs at her with a debonair smile. “Always a pleasure to meet another fan. You may call me Bastian. What is your name?”

  “I am Chef EvaLynn Dubois, sir. And this,” Deja said, pointing to Geoff, “is Sous Chef Ian Blackleaf. I can’t wait to watch you in action.”

  “Charmed,” Boyar said, nodding at them both. “Now if you’ll pardon me…?”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, feeling foolish. “Please sit. I’m sure you’ve had enough attention from admirers to last quite a while.”

  “Ah, ‘tis but the price of fame,” said the Vinadroan, smoothing back his blue hair, which had golden highlights. He bowed and then turned around, sitting in the empty seat right in front of Deja. And just in time, too.

  In a flood of dancing lights and up-tempo string and percussion music, the program began. Orange and red flames leaped from the holopanel above. A voice, speaking Common and then Vinadroan, rumbled from speakers everywhere. “Welcome, one and all, to the thirtieth Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy Contest! Thank you for coming out to the show! Shall we present our tasteful judges?”

  Deja joined in the cheers, eager to see the beings who held her father’s fate in their hands—or claws or, well, whatever. Just as the shouts and applause seemed close to bursting her eardrums, something began to rise up beneath the red covering on the central stage. The object was a smooth dome-shape and topped with a small squarish lump of some kind. Suddenly, several heavy-duty robots appeared, tugging the dark cloth until it puddled to one side of the stage. And there stood the judges, presented on a carved marble platter and enclosed in a transparent dome, much like a host of tempting pastries.

  Deja stifled a jovial noise at the back of her throat. Geoff coughed to cover his own chuckle. A previously undetected panel slid open. One by one, the disembodied announcer introduced the judges, who exited the see-through cloche and took their places on the smaller stages. Five of the eighteen were Vinadroans, which made sense. Four were humans. Two males and two females. But her magnified view of one of the human males made her curse aloud. The man from the transport! The one she condemned to sharing his sleeping compartment with an old lady. He was a sodding judge? Now she remembered him saying something about how his private ship had been decommissioned, resulting in his being forced to use public transport.

  “Gravgummit, not him! Not that Inciardi guy!” she burst out. Oh, stars and suns. Her new disguise had better be good enough. She hadn’t realized how loud her outburst was until Chef Boyar turned and stared at her with brow furrowed and a hint of calculated interest in his large eyes. A few others turned their heads to gaze at her with varying levels of curiosity and annoyance.

  Geoff, who’d been keeping an eye on the crowd rather than the judges, cleared his throat. Great, now he was nervous, too. “Who?” he asked, still not looking at her.

  “Sorry,” she told the chef in front of her. Chef Boyar cocked his head and swiveled his ears forward, but turned back around to face the stage. The other once-interested spectators turned around, too. In a quieter voice, she answered Geoff’s question, “That judge, Lukas Inciardi. The jerk sat next to me on my flight here. Tried to persuade me to engage in some…extracurricular activities.”

  “Hmm,” Geoff said. “And?”

  “Uh.” She wetted her lips. “I tricked him into sharing his sleeping compartment with a much older woman.”

  “Slag me, you’re good!” he said in a cheerful tone. Not what she expe
cted him to say. He didn’t often cuss, for one thing. He didn’t even say anything about how this might jam things up.

  Deja exhaled forcefully. Still speaking under her breath, she said, “Good enough that he doesn’t recognize me now, I hope.”

  “Indeed. Even Chef Glass heard you,” Geoff said.

  Did I really speak that loudly? she wondered. Vinadroans had great hearing, so she wasn’t surprised that Chef Boyar had heard her. But Chef Glass was only human—at least, she appeared to be only human. Suspicion sprouted about the female chef, and Deja’s belly soured a little. For the second time, she felt grateful to have Geoff there to back her up.

  Turning her attention back to the grand stage and the other judges being presented, Deja noted two porcine Orinkks, two bearish Pintrels, and one each of the following: a blue-skinned Be’Voyan, a one-eyed Tondwian, an amphibious Zoox, a reptilian Rekloran, and a birdlike Ractyl. She recognized a few of the judges’ names and knew that she and Geoff were in for a big fight. The rest of the presentation was rather instructive, though somewhat mind numbing. The announcer regaled the crowd—for six hours—with details of the judges’ credentials and outtakes from their various shows, writings, and adventures. By the end, Deja’s PalmStar was filled with pages of notes about the humans and aliens who would decide not only her fate but also Geoff’s and her father’s.

  Once Deja and Geoff had returned to her quarters, she reactivated her comm-shielding gadget. From his rucksack, Geoff retrieved an ultra-sensitive bug detector. Nicer than her own, she had to admit, though she kept that to herself. Naturally, Deja had already done a sweep of everything Famous had shipped to her. Everything had been clean. Or so she’d thought.

  “What makes you think Glass could hear us at the ceremony?”

  “Remember when you recognized your prior seatmate as a judge?” Geoff replied, still working.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, our mutual ‘friend’ suddenly whipped her head around and stared straight at you. I noticed from the corner of my eye. I was keeping her in my field of vision just out of curiosity.”