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“You don’t do business.”
Ignacio laughed. The car’s engine started, a rumbling beneath her seat. They were moving. She could hear the wheat scraping against the windows.
“Of course I do business,” he said. “That’s all I do. Your husband understood that.”
“Hector is dead.”
“So he is. And with him went my monthly checks from the Luna family.”
Marianella’s heart lurched. Was it possible that could be the only reason he was here?
“It’s only been six months.” Every time Marianella opened her mouth, the bag stuck to her lips. “Surely you haven’t fallen on hard times already?”
“Cut the bullshit, Lady Luna. That was a minor irritation, to be certain, but the new manager at the plant has taken up Hector’s donation habits. He appreciates the protection I give them. Paying me is cheaper than paying all those taxes to the city.” The wind whistled through the windows. Cold. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for the last two years. I was willing to look away from your work with Alejo Ortiz when Hector was alive, but if you can’t even see fit to send a few donations my way to make up for stirring up the Independents, well, I guess my relationship with the Luna family is, sadly, over.”
Marianella didn’t respond. The air inside the bag was thick and humid from her breath. Her heart raced.
“The city government isn’t the only group who distributes food in the winter. I get food to the people of Hope City too,” he said. “Delicacies like they couldn’t imagine. And you want to take all that away from me.”
“You get food to the people who can pay,” she snapped. “You starve everyone else.”
“I’m a businessman, Lady, and it’s not my fault that I follow the price of goods. The mainland wouldn’t provide half the things I can provide if we left it to them. They don’t care about us. They have their own problems.”
“It seems you and Alejo agree on something, then.”
Ignacio laughed. “It doesn’t matter what we agree on,” he said, switching his dialect from the sharp vowels of Antarctican Spanish over to the whispery lisp of mainland Castilian. “I don’t want Independence any more than the assholes up at the city offices.”
Marianella worked at the binds around her wrists, but they were much too tight for her to believably pull them free.
“But I’m not here to talk politics.” Back to Antarctican again. “I won’t worry about the ag domes until I’ve seen one.”
Relief flooded through her body, and she sat still in the moving darkness, hands cramping behind her. He doesn’t know, she thought. Thank the sweet Mother, he doesn’t know.
“I’m here to talk about a man named Pablo Sala.”
And with that, every part of Marianella’s system froze into place.
“Who?” she lied, her voice strained.
“He paid a visit to you a week or so ago and took something from you. Unfortunately, I never got to see it.”
She would not give him the pleasure of hearing her sputter and struggle for the right words. The car bumped along, the tires thumping against the ground, and the wind was louder now. And colder.
Beneath the straw scent of the bag, she smelled snow.
“Some whore stole those documents out from under him—at least, that’s what he claimed. I’d have him steal them again, given how he managed well enough the first time, but sadly, Sala’s dead now. You can thank Diego for that.”
A bead of sweat formed between Marianella’s shoulder blades and fell in a straight path down her spine.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sweated.
“I assure you Sala’s death is not my fault,” Cabrera said. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of monster. But Diego, bless him, got a bit overenthusiastic while questioning him. Isn’t that right, Diego?”
There was a heavy silence in the car, and then a quiet male voice said, “Yes.”
“See? All Diego’s fault. But I still don’t know what was in those documents. Do you care to tell me yourself?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The car stopped. For a moment no one spoke, and there was only the sound of the idling engine.
And then that cut off too.
“You’re a lovely woman,” Ignacio said, “but I’m afraid I’ve never really warmed to you.”
A door opened. Cold air rushed in, smelling of metal and ice.
The edge.
A hand gripped Marianella’s arm and dragged her out of the car. The ground was hard and gravelly, and the wind stirring at her skirt wasn’t the artificial air that pumped through the dome’s wind generators but the real thing, a trickle of it through the cracks.
The hood came off in an explosion of light. Marianella’s pupils contracted. Ignacio stood in front of her, his hat shrouding his eyes.
Behind him: glass.
It was full dark now, with no fake stars or fake moon this far out. The car’s headlights shone on Ignacio, casting his shadow across the dark, ice-encrusted glass.
Marianella’s fear was a poison, breaking her down.
“It was easier to get here than I expected,” Ignacio said. “I have a spot in the main dome I favor, a place where I control the guard robots.” His voice was flat, emotionless, and his coat kept blowing in the wind, back and forth. Marianella stared at it and felt a metallic hollowness inside her chest.
“But you don’t pay much mind to the edges out here,” he went on. “Fu
“Why are you doing this?” Marianella’s voice didn’t shake. She was proud of that.
Ignacio looked at her. “I haven’t done anything, Lady. Yet. If you want to stop me, just tell me what was in those documents.”
Nothing moved except the wind, whistling as it slid over the glass, a mournful, plaintive sound that reminded Marianella of weeping.
“A deed to an estate on the mainland,” she said.
“Don’t lie, Lady Luna. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not lying.”
“So if we drive back to Southstar and you pull them out of the file, that’s all I’ll find? A deed?” Ignacio smiled, showing all his teeth. “I doubt it very much.”
Hector, Marianella thought. Why did you do this to me?
“I was promised a way to destroy you, but I don’t need papers to do that, really. And killing you helps with another problem of mine.”
Marianella glared at him. She shook with fear, with the rage of Hector’s betrayal.
“That problem being Alejo Ortiz, of course. I just can’t get to him yet. He’s too protected. That’s the problem with politicians. I kill him, I’ve just got a martyr on my hands. The Independence movement has gained enough traction for it. But if I kill you, well, I’ve managed to send Ortiz a message, haven’t I? Especially doing it this way, where it looks like an accident, maybe even a suicide—the poor Lady Luna, distraught over the death of her husband.”
Marianella did not turn away.
“You really are a brave woman,” Ignacio said. “You do this with men, and they scream and beg for their lives.” He tilted his head. “It must be that aristocratic blood. You would never do anything so undignified.”
“It’s not my title keeping me dignified.”
Ignacio stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Whatever it is, I find it admirable. Don’t worry, Lady. It’ll be like going to sleep. We’re long into winter. I imagine death will be a short time coming.”
Marianella was numb, as if she were already out in the cold. She thought about the black howling winds, the expanse of white desert. Anxiety crawled over her skin.
“May Hector forgive me,” Ignacio said, and one of the men in dark suits stepped away from her and walked up to the dome wall.
“May God forgive you too,” Marianella said.
“There is no God.”
The man tapped a code into the glass. The pattern reverberated through Marianella’s bones.
She held her breath.
The glass slid away with a loud screeching clang, and the snow billowed in, sparking and glittering in the yellow headlights. It scattered across the cement ground, spilled over Marianella’s shoes. The wind shoved her hair away from her face and plastered her clothes to her body, and she turned her head against the stinging in her eyes. The man with the gun shoved her forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ignacio watching her, the collar of his jacket turned up, one hand holding on to his fedora. He didn’t speak. She didn’t speak. Her entire body was shaking.