Deja Ortega: Oddsbreaker Read online

  “I see,” Deja said slowly. “And what happened?”

  “She upset the status quo, leading the workers in open revolt. She and others were caught planning to disable a transport ship that came to take the harvest off-world. She wound up dead, bleeding in a grove of Yamallow trees. Her skull was split open with a branch. I found a piece of my father’s favorite shirt wedged in a split within the wood. After that, I took my brother and ran. I got us on a transport and away from that wretched excuse of a man.”

  Deja let out a breath, irked that she felt a bit a sorry for the woman who’d framed her for murder. Although she could guess the answer to the question on the tip of her tongue, Deja asked anyhow, her voice soft. “And how did you manage to secure passage on a ship?”

  This time, Famous paused before speaking and Whitley broke in. “Geena, you don’t need to tell her.” Geena, huh? The foodie’s eyes fluttered then glared at Whitley.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Geena said briskly. “What matters is that many years later, we found out that our father had ascended to further fame and riches—all using skills he learned from the woman he killed. Oddly, he divorced his rich wife, left the planet, and went on to become a celebrity foodie. He even changed how he looked—drastically. That’s why it took so long to find him and be sure Lukas Inciardi was actually Phil Torrens.”

  With a sad grunt, Deja looked from one sibling to the other. “All right, you convinced me. He was a rotten slagger who doesn’t deserve the good fortune he’s had. But didn’t you ever try talking to him about what happened? You know, instead of jumping right to a murder attempt?”

  “Why? He was guilty of enough crimes against his workers, even without what he did to our mother.”

  Deja turned to address a question to Whitley. “What about you? Did you ever wish to just speak to your father?”

  Lips parting in surprise, Whitley glanced over at his sister but remained silent.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Deja said gently. With a sad laugh, she gestured toward the viewscreen with her chained hands. “Well, it looks like you’ll get a second chance to have that chat with your dad, if you want.”

  Both of them whirled to look at the screen. Captions streamed across it: “…an experimental treatment has saved Judge Inciardi. He is being transported to an undisclosed location this afternoon for his safety. Relief is sweeping this planet and…”

  Whitley froze, a peculiar look on his face. Geena screamed a curse so hot it could blaze through a glacier, her eyes fixed on the screen, not yet realizing that she was within Deja’s reach. Deja lunged for the control in Geena’s hand. If Deja could hit the release button on the control before the other woman reacted, then…

  “Sleep!”

  And once again, blackness seeped in. Gravgumm—

  Patricio startled awake at a knock on his hospital door. His body ached like a lawn mower had chewed him up, but he knew the drugs he was on were doing a fine job of keeping the worst pain at bay. With his unwounded hand, he toggled on the light above his bed using a switch on the remote in his lap. “Come in,” he said, wondering if it was already time for more physical therapy. Or maybe Deja was here? He hadn’t heard from her in a while.

  But in walked Dr. Chipton followed by Nurse Sterling, who held a small data pad in one hand. “How are you feeling, Señor Ortega?” asked Dr. Chipton, placing his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat.

  “Oh, okay, I suppose,” Patricio answered. “Is my daughter on a call for me?”

  “I’m afraid not. But we do have a call for you. Are you sure you are feeling up to that?”

  Patricio searched the surgeon’s face for clues about the call. He read sympathy in the Ractyl’s eyes, and his stomach knotted up. “Who is it? Is Deja okay?”

  “I don’t know who it is,” the physician admitted. “But I do know it’s about your daughter.”

  “Then I’ll take the call. Whoever it is,” Patricio announced, holding out his good hand. Sterling walked forward and handed him the data pad.

  “Okay, but please let us know if you get too distressed. We are here for you,” Dr. Chipton said.

  “Gracias,” he managed, intent on the screen. He didn’t wait for them to exit the room before he tapped “accept.”

  The face of a soldier looked back at Patricio. The man looked fairly young, with blue eyes, short brown hair, strong nose, and a cleft chin. From what Patricio could see, the man was wearing a Coalition uniform. The jacket was dark gray with black piping. And the collars bore three stripes and a star. A lieutenant colonel, he thought.

  “Is your name Geoff?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “Yes, Señor Ortega. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Geoff Thorne. I have an update for you on your daughter’s status. I’m sorry to introduce myself under such circumstances. But I figured you deserve to know what is going on.”

  The knot in Patricio’s stomach traveled up his throat, and he could scarcely speak. “What’s happened to mija?”

  “Well, sir, your daughter and I were working undercover to prevent the potential assassinations of one or more judges in the Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy Contest. One judge is in critical condition thanks to a violent food activist. And I know that Deja recovered the implement that was used to injure him. But all we know right now is that Deja has been kidnapped by the person responsible for the assassination attempt.”

  Patricio spoke up, his voice low. “You are saying that my Deja was kidnapped by a murderer, and you have no idea where she is?”

  “Yes, I am so sorry,” the man said, taking a deep breath. “The good news is that I tagged your daughter with a tracking device without her knowledge right before she was taken. We are scouring the city and surrounding areas for her. I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you. I promise that I will do everything in my power to locate and rescue her. I owe her my life, Señor Ortega. She saved me more than once. And I intend to return the favor. You have my word.”

  “I see,” said Patricio, swallowing hard. Something in the soldier’s eyes made Patricio pause. “Tell me, sir, do you care for my daughter?”

  Geoff blinked a few times, and Patricio thought the man might end the communication right then and there. Instead, a small smile ghosted across his lips. “Yes, sir, I care for her very much.”

  That was good enough for him. “Then you better get back to searching for her, pronto. I expect you to keep your word and make sure she is safe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Geoff said. “I’ll keep you informed. Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome.” Patricio remembered his manners just in time to add something else. “Also, thank you for getting me out of prison. Deja told me what you did for me.”

  “Of course, sir. It was my pleasure. Thorne signing off,” and the data pad went dark.

  Patricio sighed deeply. If something happened to his daughter, he wasn’t sure he could face himself again. She had put herself on the line for him more times than he could count. What if Geoff couldn’t find her in time? What if Geoff never found her? It was all too much. Tears coursed down his face as he wept.

  Dejacita, come back to me.

  The jostling woke her. She was being supported on both sides, one arm each over a set of shoulders. Her bare feet dangled, sliding along a smooth surface. Two voices talked in hushed, rapid tones.

  “Can’t we just leave with her right now?”

  “Listen to me, Whitley. We’ll let her go as soon as we’ve wiped enough of her memory.”

  Wipe my memory? Like heck you will!

  “But are you sure she wouldn’t be willing to join us?”

  “Whitley, please. I admire her too. But this is the best option.”

  “But she seemed pretty understanding, Geena. We could offer to use our contacts to get her father away from the GJC once he’s well again.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but she’s just too liable to flip on us. If you were thinking straight, you wouldn’t even be asking that.”

&nb
sp; “Still, what if she’s right? What if he didn’t really kill Mom?”

  “Enough. If you want to chat to the gurtler, I’ll arrange it. But right now, we have to regroup.”

  They lifted Deja then laid her down on something. Unable to move anything, not even her eyelids, anxiety buzzed in her chest again. Beneath the useless muscles of her body, she felt a padded table of some type, the upper section sloped a little to raise her torso. A pair of large hands secured her with soft restraints while her adrenaline scrabbled at the drugs in her system. Meanwhile, another pair of smaller hands fitted what had to be a memory halo over her head and began placing sensors on her chest, face, and neck.

  “Tighten that restraint,” Geena ordered.

  “It’s fine,” Whitley said quietly.

  His sister sighed and, apparently, carried out her own order. The cuff on Deja’s left wrist snugged closer. Shoot. There goes an easy escape.

  She tried to remain calm, yet panic threatened to rise like harsh bile in her throat. The siblings planned to do a memory wipe on her.

  Wipes were bloody inexact. What if she forgot about the sketchy folks from her past? What if she couldn’t remember the passwords for her cred accounts—or even where the blasted accounts were in the first place? Even worse, maybe she’d have no idea that her papá almost got beaten to death or that he was recovering in a Coalition facility. What if…what if her every memory of Geoff was ripped from her mind? Her stomach twisted and anger flared at these last two thoughts. Even worse, this memory wiper could be fourth-world junk. If so, her neural pathways would be well and truly slagged. She’d be no more intelligent than a tossed salad.

  If I get out of here, Famous, I think I’ll have to end you!

  Hot tears of rage pooled behind her eyelids. Ack! Stop it. Start bawling and they’ll know you aren’t out cold!

  She focused on slowing her heart, on taking steady breaths. An image of her mother surfaced in her thoughts. Esmira, the ever-transcendent performer. She had guided Deja through endless biofeedback exercises. Tedious tasks for a hormonal teenager with a yen for danger and drama. Lots of drama. Yet all that mandated practice had saved Deja countless times. Panicking or lashing out at the wrong time could get a person killed faster than anything else.

  Thanks, mamá. I know I was a brat. But I was your brat.

  Still drugged and restrained, Deja was nevertheless focused and ready to use any advantage she could get. Her ears pricked up at the sound of a zipper.

  “What about her clothes and stuff?” Whitley asked.

  “Just put the bag under the table.” A rustling thud followed. Deja felt like cackling in glee. If her vest was in there and she could find some way to free an arm… Perhaps they would leave and wait to initialize the wipe.

  Leave, dang it!

  No such luck. One of the siblings began punching buttons on the machine, which powered up with several trills and beeps. “Outstanding,” said Geena. “I knew we’d find some use for this device when I traded those recipes for it.” The machine added a series of mysterious bloops and bleeps to the conversation.

  Funny how we like our tech to make noises so we know it’s working. The inane thought danced through her mind, distracting her from concocting a plan.

  Whitley cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “Yes? What?” Geena replied after a moment, preoccupied.

  “Just…just be sure to limit the parameters as much as possible. She’s got some amazing skills. And she—well, she doesn’t deserve to lose a huge chunk of who she is.”

  Whitley, I think my firstborn shall have your name, Deja pledged with hopeful abandon.

  Geena sighed. “Whitley P. Twilles, please, please understand. You know I’m not doing this out of spite. Life isn’t always about what any of us deserves. We deserved a decent childhood. We deserved a father who wouldn’t smash our mother’s head in. However, we didn’t get that, did we?”

  “No, but—”

  “Right. But we do deserve justice. That, Whitley, is more important than a few memories of an oddsbreaker, talented as she is. If all goes well, she’ll lose just a month or so of memories. Nothing that will really harm her.”

  Says you, thought the talented oddsbreaker. Her face and fingertips began to tingle. She rejoiced. Her feeling was beginning to return!

  The brother huffed in resignation, and Deja heard a shuffling of feet—Whitley’s, she presumed. “Don’t we need to wait until she’s awake?” he ventured after a moment.

  “No. Most minds are more active during sleep anyway. The process will make her black out. The deeper she is asleep, the better the wipe works. In fact…” she trailed off. “Yes, it looks like she’ll need more sedative soon. Come, I’ll retrieve it while you do a final check on our engines.”

  “OK, one second,” Whitley replied. “I saw this gadget of hers that I wouldn’t mind snagging. Can I…?”

  Geena’s answering laugh was…warm, not malignant. “See, that’s the spirit. For all the trouble she has caused, Deja Ortega is lucky we aren’t taking all of her toys.”

  At that moment, Deja Ortega wasn’t feeling too lucky. But that changed as the chef’s footsteps faded away.

  A warm breath tickled her ear. In shock, she nearly forced her eyes open.

  “Deja,” Whitley whispered, “I wish you could hear me. I’m so sorry. My sister…she hurts so much. I once felt as she did. I hated him—the father who treated us like slaves and then killed our mother. But then, well, we were so young, you know? And then I began to wonder. Is her quest for vengeance blurred by ‘facts’ based on half-remembered events? What happened? Did he kill our mother for sure?”

  His hand, warm and broad, came to rest on her right arm. He rushed onward, “You have only tried to save your father. You forgave him. I think forgiving someone who wounded you so deeply takes more courage than a dozen dares.” His breath continued to brush her ear, and she again found herself tempted to open her eyes and plead for escape. But…no. Best to hear him out first.

  “Deja, I can’t let you free. The iDose collar would sound an alarm and she might k—do something drastic.”

  Ugh. “Kill.” That’s the word you’re looking for. Yeah, that would be bad.

  “But,” he said, “I can alter the wipe program even further without her knowing. You should forget just the last few days and the, uh, horrible things we did to you.”

  OK, yes, please. Let’s do that. NOW.

  He couldn’t hear her, of course. And he wasn’t done talking. “I hope you find your lieutenant colonel again. I wish—”

  He stopped himself, though, and his hand lifted. At the mention of Geoff, Deja fought down a traitorous sob. Oh, Geoff. I’ve tried so hard to prove you shouldn’t want me. But if I lose all memory of you, I might just lose myself too.

  She heard Whitley pop open a console and mess around inside. Not long after, the machine produced a cheerful chime. Whitley snapped the console back into place and, without another word, hustled from the room.

  Deja made no effort to stop him.

  If what he said was true, she had to find a way to get off the table and get the drop on Geena. Whitley seemed somewhat unlikely to team up with Deja to kick his sister’s butt. A pity.

  Forcing her eyelids open, she took in her surroundings. Some kind of warehouse or hanger? The room was bare except for a small crate of old electrical parts. Okay, possible weapons. But the entrance was broad and doorless. No good places to hide. Too bad shrink rays didn’t exist. Too bad she didn’t have one. Heck, too bad she’d been kidnapped by a space-traveling, whacked-out Ahab hunting a white whale.

  Papá would be proud of that allusion, she told herself.

  He was the bookworm of the family. Deja sighed. Maybe…maybe she should just let them slice away a few unpleasant days and drop her off somewhere. And yet… Deja would have the Coalition after her and, worse, those idiots might ship her dad back to the prison’s medical ward. Oh, and one other galling detail: “Chef Glass
” wouldn’t get one ounce of what was coming to her. Right. Yes, staying put was Plan B.

  So, testing her muscles once more, Deja started working on Plan A: Get the heck away from Crazy Chef & Co.

  Exerting herself, she tried to move her hand, which cramped most unhelpfully. Precious minutes passed as she struggled. Still, her arms merely tingled. Her legs were lifeless weight. Now what? Keep trying? Vision blurred and body still immobile, she wondered if she had a choice. Hot tears sluiced down her cheeks and, naturally, right into her ears.

  Gah! Just what I need. An itch I can’t scratch.

  And that’s when a low buzzing joined the rumbling hum of the memory wiper. It was a metallic whine. Her mind groped for a comparison. The buzz sounded like…like a hull slicer used at scrap yards. A chill sliced through her as she discarded that absurd possibility and another reared its ugly snout.

  Gravgummit, the wiper is having a meltdown! Whitley must’ve screwed it up!

  With all her effort, she willed her fingers to move. They twitched and then, to her joy, flexed open and closed.

  “Awake! She’s awake,” Geena yelled, striding toward Deja.

  “Darn right, I am! And when I get free, you’ll be fricassee,” Deja growled. She had just managed to dislocate her left thumb and was working that hand free.

  Whitley rushed in, too, right on his sister’s heels--which is why both siblings went down in a tangle. A section of the wall shrieked, gave up the good fight, and slammed to the floor. The ground shuddered on impact, plasticrete dust and rubble spraying in all directions. Deja blinked and coughed, searching the debris cloud for what had better be her rescuers.