Free Destiny's Song (The Fixers, book #1: A KarmaCorp Novel) by Audrey Faye Page A

feeling my way through the shifting melody line of the words she’d said, and the ones she hadn’t. “So who really runs this place?” Inheritors were supposed to rule their planets—but I was looking at the bright, ambitious, driven granddaughter of the man who had pulled BroThree out of self-destruct.
    Janelle smiled and shrugged. “That depends a lot on who you ask. The Lovatts have the ear of the Federation Council.”
    Galactic royalty had thumbed their noses at local rulers before, and at the Commonwealth Council for that matter. Competing seats of power were inherently messy and could send ripples far out into the galaxy. That was the kind of reason that could easily mobilize KarmaCorp troops. This mission wasn’t about a marriage—it was about a merger. “So people figure you and Devan marrying each other stabilizes things here.”
    She made a face. “Do things seem unstable to you?”
    They didn’t, but I’d only been here sixteen hours. And KarmaCorp often targeted latent instability—ripples that hadn’t happened yet. “If it would help your planet, would you marry him?” That was walking awfully close to unbendable lines with an Ears Only file, but I needed to know what levers I had to work with. What mattered to Janelle Brooker.
    She was watching me carefully. “You’re very good at your job, aren’t you?”
    I was, but I didn’t think she was handing me a compliment. “I’m just saying that there might be more than your personal happiness at stake.” And colonists were carefully selected to put the greater good first, even on a planet that seemed as freedom bound as this one.
    “There might be.” She shrugged. “There often is. But I can only go with what I know, and right now, nobody’s making a convincing case for changing my mind.”
    I could hear her steadiness. Her solid trust in her own skills and her own choices, her belief that her destiny was her own to drive. I closed my eyes and sighed. Given the right data, Janelle Brooker would probably do what it was that StarReaders wanted. And for reasons only they knew—they’d decided not to provide it.
    They’d sent me to do their dirty work instead.

10
    A fter Tameka’s tiny cabin and the Brookers’ comfortable, sprawling ranch, I’d somehow expected the Lovatts to live in something resembling an actual house.
    I couldn’t have been more wrong. The Lovatt compound was something out of an old-school fantasy novel, complete with turrets, stone walls, and the kinds of weapons sticking out windows that were banned by at least a dozen kinds of Federation law.
    “They’re none of them armed,” said a smiling woman passing by, her arms full of linens. “At least that’s what the Inheritor tells anyone who comes to inspect them.”
    I watched her go, clad in a dress that looked like it came from the same era as the weapons.
    “Someone will be here to greet you in a moment.” The guard who had waylaid me at the gate was most decidedly from this century, as was the blaster at his hip.
    I decided to see how good security was. “This place looks like three vid sets got sucked up by a tornado and spit back out.”
    He managed not to laugh, but just barely. “The Inheritor’s residence never fails to impress guests.”
    I bet.
    “Singer.” A young man with a slight build and quick eyes had materialized at my left shoulder. “If you’ll come this way, your presence is requested in the Rose courtyard.”
    Roses had thorns. First message delivered, by whoever had sent it. I had my suspicions.
    “Are you sure, Jordi?” The guard raised a quiet eyebrow that managed to communicate uncertainty and calm reassurance at the same time.
    “Quite sure.” The slender man spared an extra glance at the guard before gesturing toward a left-curving path.
    I sent out a quiet ping as I fell in behind him—he moved gracefully enough that I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover he was a Dancer. Nothing came back. Just a guy with some