Page 17 of Spark Transform

Her expression blanked, and she took a longer time answering than he’d have predicted. “Not according to both rounds of CPS testing, or any official bio, but yes, I’m a filer and a finder.” Her shoulders tightened slightly. “Does it matter?”

He shrugged. “Not to me.”

Stepping back and turning, he made himself leave her office and go down to his own room.

He’d mistakenly thought himself immune to her ability to cajole confidences out of people. Even though she’d only visited the rehab center every ten-day or so while he was recovering, she’d heard the life story of every medic, therapist, and admin who’d been involved in his treatment.

She hadn’t turned that skill on him until tonight.

He’d never told anyone the origin of his name. Not even Davidro, back in the early days when Renner had half-believed the man was the legendary Andromeda Star King, plucking poor orphan kids off the streets because they were his long-lost family.

Renner started a series of fast, lift-off pushups to make himself tired enough to sleep without dreams. He would have to set a firm policy against talking to her about non-business subjects. Otherwise, he might do something stupid. Such as tell her about the other ping he’d received, the one that invited “Chalio” to an unexpectedly early meeting in four days about hitting the CPS where it hurt the most.

Chapter 8

Planet: Mabingion • GDAT 3242.191

Soleil Benoit, ex-Jumper, ex-fugitive, ex-dead woman, recent founder of a martial arts studio in the Canals, and the current teacher of eclectic exercise classes, surveyed the open studio with a mix of satisfaction and marvel.

Her life had taken astonishing vector changes in the last year. She was still adjusting to her new starlane and status. For the first time ever, she had more money than she knew what to do with, and she’d regained the love of her life after having lost him.

And unlike every other ex-Jumper she knew, she wasn’t dying of waster’s disease. Probably.

She walked slowly down the two lines of students. They faced one another and took turns mirroring the slow movements of the person facing them. She’d deliberately paired dissimilar body types and skill levels to get them to think outside their expectations. Not the usual combat-training method, but for this group, it worked.

The students were as unexpected as her new life. The least surprising were the five ex-Jumpers. She had twenty-six regulars across all her classes, most with cybernetic parts, all with waster’s disease. They’d joined in part because she was an ex-Jumper, and in part because they hoped her method would help them slow their degeneration symptoms like they suspected it had done for her. She couldn’t tell them it wouldn’t.

The rest of today’s class included a joyhouse medic with a couple of side businesses, two joyhouse workers, a young intersex who worked for a cremation service, and six street kids. Topping the astronomically improbable list was Brenner.

Their first meeting all those ten-days ago had been fraught. She’d known him then as Renner. At his twisted boss’s order, he’d used his talent to torture her. Then, astonishingly, he’d helped her escape certain death.

Soleil wasn’t conventionally religious, but she believed the gods of chaos got bored and therefore meddled a lot. Why else would they have let Brenner live, then sent him to her tiny studio out of hundreds in the city and, just to be sure, made sure she recognized him despite his new look? It had taken her a while to convince him she didn’t hold a grudge. He’d saved her life.

“Switch again.” Her raised voice echoed off the textured walls of the converted warehouse. “This time, leaders, make sure to incorporate a movement your follower does really well.”

Sorryal, one of the joyhouse workers, raised his hand. “What if I don’t know what she does really well?”

“Hmmm.” Soleil tilted her head. “Since you must have been blindfolded when she was the leader, perhaps you should follow her again, now that you can see.” Beautiful joyhouse worker Sorryal was only in the class because his equally beautiful coworker talked him into it so they could learn self-defense against unruly clients. He needed it more than she did.

The girl who called herself Fish smiled sweetly, then, when she had Sorryal’s attention, sank slowly into a full sideways split and rocked forward to place her elbows on the ground in front of her. Sorryal got about halfway down and whimpered.

Soleil couldn’t help but smile at Fish, a bone-thin, young-looking teenager with the instincts of a born leader and the heart of a wolf. “Go easy on him. He’s a noob.”

Fish rolled her eyes, but rose to her feet to match Sorryal’s stance, then led him into a less painful position.

Soleil moved down the line to Murtazo, an ex-Jumper well into Stage 4 of waster’s disease, frozen with intention lock. “May I touch you?”

“Y-yes,” Murtazo stuttered between clenched teeth.

Soleil gently stroked Murtazo’s straining shoulders and arms, moving closer to speak softly in the woman’s ear. “Remember planet-fall. Visualize the movement. Let the mech suit do the work.” Every noob Jumper with a new skulljack made the mistake of trying to use their body instead of their brains to direct a planet-fall mech suit, leaving them sore for days. “You don’t need all those muscles for this.” Soleil kept stroking until she felt Murtazo slowly relax, then let her go and stood back. “What is Davonner good at?”

Murtazo smiled at the tall, lanky boy across from her. “C-c-climbing anything.” She pointed her chin toward the ceiling. “He f-f-free-c-c-climbed to the roof w-w-without a rope.”

Soleil nodded. “Good. This time, don’t think about the movement, think about the goal. Don’t lift your arms; take pleasure in reaching for the ripe apple that’s too high for everyone but a Jumper.”

Murtazo’s arms went up with a jerk, but they went up. Davonner mirrored her, down to the crooked grin on Murtazo’s face. Soleil nodded her approval to the boy and moved on.

At the end of the line, she watched Arco Charrascos. In person, she looked nothing like the broadcast image that reported news stories. Her movements were efficient but not athletic. She had an admirable willingness to try anything and a good attitude when she failed.