Chapter 1

“Frankie!”

Frankie looked down the tunnel, searching for her dad in the crowd coming in from the transport. She finally spotted him and her mother waving as they tried to make their way toward her. Minnie’s blond hair could be seen behind her mom, and a man in a safari hat and dark glasses was sticking close to Minnie’s side.

Frankie’s eyes grew wide. Had she really brought Lance with her? Lance, who had been off Rarified Robotics’ radar for the past sixteen years? Lance, who was formerly known as Quinn 9, one of the Mars Security Quinns that Frankie had illegally upgraded in the middle of a crime surge? She certainly hoped he planned to lay low on the rest of this twenty-six month vacation. Even with his auburn hair and green eyes changed to brown, the addition of facial hair, a new vocal accent installed, and his AI signature altered from RR’s to Brilliant Technologies®, could he really go unrecognized with such a high concentration of Quinns in the domes?

Her parents finally made it through the press of people and pulled Frankie into a fierce hug. “Oh Frankie,” her mother breathed out, “this job is too far away. Can’t you find something back on Earth?”

“Now, Kat,” her dad admonished, running a hand over her shoulder-length red hair, “we weren’t going to try and talk her into anything. Remember?”

Frankie looked up at her dad and blinked back tears at the gray she saw in his dark hair. It _had_ been too long. Two and a half years. And it would have been much longer if family visits hadn’t been part of her Cyber Security contract.

“Well,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re stuck with me for the next two years.”

She moved to hug Minnie, who was wearing something florescent and flowy, and Lance joined in, hugging them both. “I didn’t really expect you two.” She pulled back. “You will be extra careful, won’t you? And not just for your sakes. My job could be—”

“No need to worry,” Minnie interrupted. “Lance won’t be recognized.”

Frankie squinted in disbelief, and Lance put a hand to her shoulder. “It will be all right, Frankie,” he said in the lower range Midwestern accent he now used whenever he was out. He only employed his Irish lilt when he was alone with Minnie. “I’ve tested everything. Spoke to some Quinns before we made the decision to come. They never suspected that I was once an RR Quinn.” He grinned. “I’m Brilliant now.”

Frankie shook her head. If he’d used that joke once, he’d used it a hundred times in the last sixteen years.

A hand landed on Frankie’s shoulder and she turned to see that Ella had come out of the office to watch the parade of Mars tourists. She wore the same black CS uniform, and Frankie pulled her forward to meet her family. “Hey, everybody, I’d like you to meet my best friend in this crazy place and my Number Two in the Cyber Security office—Ella Abbot.” Ella stepped closer, and Frankie threw an arm around her shoulder.

Her mother gave a small gasp as her focus shifted to the only slightly shorter blonde beside her. “You could be sisters!” Her eyes went even wider. “You’re practically twins!”

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Ella giggled. “Especially when we’re in our CS uniforms.”

“Do you both go to the same hair stylist too?” her dad asked, taking a step back to study them.

Frankie ran a hand through her short layers. “Ella cut hers first, and I liked it.” Her smile grew mischievous. “And we’ve actually been able to pull off some twin pranks. I can even do her voice. Ella’s not quite as good at mine, but—”

Frankie’s attention was pulled to where Ella was discretely pointing. “Is that him?”

Frankie pushed up onto her toes, trying to get a glimpse over her dad’s shoulder. He turned, and Frankie got a clear view. The man in question walked with purpose down the middle of the tunnel in a dark suit with a Vincent on either side. The man would appear tall if not for the taller androids flanking him. Two Quinns followed.

“That’s him all right,” her dad confirmed. “We didn’t see much of him on the transport, but when he did come out of his room, he was never without his security guards.”

They watched the men troop by, and Frankie noted the lack of expression on the central figure’s face. First time visitors were usually gawking at everything. This man’s eyes never strayed from the path ahead.

As he and his entourage moved toward the central dome, news hover bots moved in to catch his first impressions of the domes his grandfather had left him in his will, but his body language showed no excitement or even interest.

Frankie’s lip twitched into a half smile. “The rumors seem to be true. Looks like he really does have the personality of a first gen Charles.”

The Vincents and Quinns mounted their speeders, and the solemn heir of the Mars Domes climbed into a sidecar before they all rose on a blast of air and took off.

“A _gorgeous_ first gen Charles,” Ella corrected. She giggled. “He could be _my_ butler. I wouldn’t mind.”

Frankie looked to the blonde who could pass for her sister. “Not me. I’ve had enough of that family, thank you very much.”

Her mom and dad agreed.

“Where are you staying?” Frankie asked, walking them down the tunnel.

“The Shooting Star Suites.” Her mom hooked her arm with hers. “Is that anywhere near you?”

“Umm, not too far.” She stopped at the entrance to Centaurus, the central dome. “Wish I could help you get settled in, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

After more hugs and Frankie’s promise to come to their suite later, she turned and made her way back to the door of the Cyber Security office where she and Ella worked, keeping a vigilant eye on the computerized security of the domes, as well as the many businesses that had sprung up there.

“You shouldn’t hold his aunt’s behavior against him,” Ella insisted, going back to the topic of Leonardo Montoya. “He can’t help that she was a crook.”

Frankie put a finger to the button beside the Headquarters door and pushed. “I don’t care,” she said as the door slid open and they stepped through. “Ariel Anderson wasn’t just a crook, she was a heartless crook, and I’m sure you heard about that disaster in Greece. He’s the same.”

Ella followed, and the two entered what looked like a basic waiting room but was really the front line of defense for their highly secured office filled with state of the art computers. Anyone who “waited” was scanned for weapons, computer components, memory cards, and electronics of any kind. Facial recognition software compared them to the Mars database of residents in a matter of seconds, while their BMI was calculated and their last meal analyzed. Nutritional suggestions and exercise guidelines were given to them on their way out. That last was Frankie’s own personal April Fool’s joke from the previous spring, but no one had caught on, so she had just let it ride.

“Did you see the memo about ‘the tour’?” Ella questioned as they went through palm and retina scans to get through the next door. Then they strode between the terminals where some techs focused on holographic numbers and symbols hanging in the air while others viewed schematics of the domes themselves, analyzing weak spots in the physical security of the domes.

“Yeah, I saw it. We’ll be ready.” Frankie was referring to her own department that tested every firewall, trying to find a way in. After the computer virus of four years ago that very nearly took out the domes’ primary systems, including the oxygen and water systems, Ricardo Montoya had finally put more money into security, and a new “leaf” was added to the “stem” of the flower-shaped resort, with dozens of cyber security experts brought in to make sure it never happened again.

But now, Ricardo Montoya was dead, and his only grandson had just inherited the Mars empire. Frankie wondered if he would take security seriously or implement the rumored cutbacks that could see her job disintegrate.

Stopping at her cylindrical office in the center of all the hubbub, she made plans to meet Ella for lunch before going through no less than five rounds of security measures to make the door slide open. The Mars landscape greeted her on the other side, even though her curved “window” was really a screen that showed her what the cameras saw outside. It helped the space feel less claustrophobic, although it could be disorienting when you walked around the outside of the office.

She bypassed her oval desk in favor of the egg chair hanging off to the side and folded herself into it so that the opening was on her left. Slipping on her computer tap rings, she focused on her private screen on the inside. Nobody needed to know her method for breaking through firewalls. That was her little secret that kept her department on its toes and herself at its head.

***

Leonardo Montoya took a step into Mars’ idea of a luxury suite and snorted. The Quinn behind him offered him a handkerchief, and he waved it away. “I don’t have something up my nose, Quinn.” He took a few more steps and turned. “I have a sudden case of claustrophobia. Is this truly the largest suite you’ve got. I mean, dignitaries from all corners of Earth have traveled here. Surely you have better.” His boat was bigger than this.

“If there is one, I’m not aware of it.” The Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Is 186 square meters truly not large enough for one person?” His Irish lilt was alive with surprise. “My apartment is 46.4 square meters.”

Leo turned and walked across the living area to look into the bedroom. “Yes, well you are a Quinn, aren’t you, and I…” He turned back and lifted his chin, his dark eyes flashing the contempt he felt for the responsibilities his grandfather had thrust upon him on a planet he’d prefer got sucked into the sun. “…am not.”

The Quinn blinked twice. “You can have a look at what the other hotels are offering, but Chief Hill said The Shooting Star was the best.”

Leo ground his teeth in a tight smile, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew he was coming off like a rich prick, when it was really the stress of knowing that one little thing could go wrong on this travesty of a colony, and everyone would die that was starting to throb behind his eyes.

And then there was Luna.

How could she choose Earth high society over being with him? He swallowed hard and hoped he’d swallowed the rage threatening to pour forth. His grandfather was no doubt watching from whatever metaphysical resort he had moved on to, and he could never tolerate “a goddamned tantrum.” Of course, his idea of a “tantrum” was anything other than pure, unadulterated joy.

“This will be fine,” he finally worked out of his mouth. “I’ll only be here, what? A year,” he said flippantly.

“Twenty months, sir.”

Leo’s staged smile sagged. “That will be all.” He motioned stiffly toward the door. “When can I expect my luggage?”

The Quinn turned to go, and the door slid open. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

“Fine. Right.” He knew he should have slapped on a new anxiety patch before he left the transport.

The door closed, and Leo shrugged out of his collarless black jacket and flung it on the sofa before loosening his tie, pulling it over his head, and sending it in the same direction. As he headed toward the bedroom, he pulled a slim vidcom out of his back pocket, and after belly flopping onto the bed and pulling a pillow down to his chest, he brought up Out of This World’s quarterly report on dome safety.

His grandfather had left him only two choices: inherit it all and run it all or inherit nothing. He was not allowed to sell off any part of it without board approval, and the board of directors would be expecting nothing less than his full immersion into the business. The free and easy lifestyle he’d enjoyed for the last several years was over. Living on a yacht was over. The thrill of sailing was over. He was now stuffed inside spaces that, while they supposedly simulated outdoor places, did not have any body of water larger than a pond.

He thought about his Aunt Ariel and knew she would have gotten it all if she hadn’t ended up in prison for corporate espionage, as well as several counts of kidnapping, and he wondered why she hadn’t had the patience to wait.

“You didn’t have the patience to wait, did you, Leo, to see what grandfather might leave you in his will.” He looked to the sofa in the middle of the room to see Aunt Ariel sitting there, her long legs crossed in a short skirt, bouncing her foot up and down. “You took off in the yacht.”

Leo rolled to his side, propping his head on his fist. He’d been expecting her or one of his other therapy buddies to grace his new space. Seems they showed up more and more lately. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have been the big boss if you hadn’t gone astray. You would have been.”

“I didn’t want anything that had to do with Ricardo. I lived with his dissatisfaction for longer than you. And he wouldn’t even let me make my own way in business. He shut me down every time. It had to be his way or no way.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “He really left me no choice.”

Leo didn’t believe that line of bull, but he did understand the feeling of being trapped. He let himself fall to his back and wondered for the thousandth time if his grandfather had known of the paintings he’d taken out of storage and sold for a small fortune before “borrowing” the family yacht and heading to the Mediterranean. If he had, he hadn’t reported it. But this, he realized, could very well be his revenge—forcing him into the role of CEO of Out of This World® Inc or starve.

Yeah, he had fifty or sixty grand left, but he knew that wouldn’t last forever. If Luna got into it, it might not last a month.

Sitting up, he looked to the now empty sofa, and scrubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t want to think about Luna right now. He scooted off the bed to revisit the lounge he’d seen coming in. There was a bar, and he definitely needed a drink.

Chapter 2

“Minnie and Lance are out dancing already?” Frankie couldn’t hide the near panic she felt about that and then felt guilty that she was just thinking of herself and how they—specifically Minnie’s possible outlandish behavior—would reflect on her.

Her dad settled into a chair across from where she sat cross-legged on the sofa. “Relax, Frankie. Lance has been a very calming influence on her. She’s still Minnie, but she’s less likely to make a spectacle of herself.”

Frankie nodded, scolding herself for being concerned at all. _When did I get so… uptight?_ She shook her head and changed the subject. “So how are Clarinda and Vincent?” She unfolded her legs and ran a finger around the hole on the thigh of her favorite pair of comfy jeans.

“They’re good.” Her mom walked around the kitchen counter with a big bowl of popcorn and smaller serving bowls and set them on the coffee table, taking Frankie back to when they were all together on Mars sixteen years ago.

“So they still like Montana?”

“Very much,” her mom assured, scooping up popcorn in her bowl. “They seem to be very happy there.”

“Vincent has become one of the best horse trainers they’ve got.” Her dad helped himself to the popcorn as well. “And Clarinda isn’t too bad herself.”

Frankie reached for a few puffed kernels sans bowl. “Do they never want to get back to security and organizing?” She tossed a piece into her mouth.

“They manage to do a bit of that wherever they are,” her mom insisted, “but Montana is just a safer place for Vincent.”

“Especially after the Vincent 3.0s were back in circulation,” Doug added. “Lance had an easier time altering his appearance. It’s harder for a black man.” He chuckled. “It’s amazing, though, what just a change of clothes can do. Put the man in jeans and a cowboy hat, and he looks like a completely different guy.”

Frankie recalled one of their Montana vacations. Her dad was right. It had made a huge difference. A Vincent 3.0 wouldn’t likely be fooled though. And that was why Vincent was still in Montana. The need for high level 3.0 security on a horse ranch was rare.

Frankie downed a few more pieces of popcorn before jumping up to check the fridge for some Spritz®, her new favorite soda. The shelves were mostly bare. “Haven’t had time to shop yet, huh?” She closed it and headed for the door. “I’ll just run down to the lobby for a soda. I’ll be right back.”

“The front desk told us there is a recreation area on every floor,” her dad projected after her. “Follow the shooting stars down the hall.”

She spotted the sparkly stars and followed them to the rec room only to find a birthday party in progress once she got there. Not wanting to interrupt, she headed to the nearest lift tube, and got on when it opened with an older couple inside, not paying attention that it was going up, not down.

The two got out at the top, and Frankie’s brows shot up at the different floor design she could see through the doors—an elegantly decorated round space filled with cushy furniture around the edges and small round tables in the center. The doors closed, but before the lift could begin its descent, Frankie entered her security clearance code into the panel, and the doors opened again. She stepped out to investigate further, and her eyes went up to a high domed ceiling with a huge chandelier, then came back down to land on a full bar with a working bartender. _I guess this is where the rich folks stay._ She’d heard rumors of “top floor luxury” but had never seen it for herself.

She wandered around the space, admiring the expensive tapestries and artwork which were a darned sight more expensive than what was in her parents’ suite. She’d taken a fair amount of art classes in college. When her brain needed a break from computing, art was her escape. She paused at a mixed media abstract Bèrtini and sucked in a breath. It was an original worth thousands. Maybe millions. The swirls of color and slashes of black made her heart race.

“Are you a fan?”

She spun around at the voice behind her, and the face she found looking down at her stole her response. Half a meter away stood Leonardo Montoya. She just blinked.

He looked her down and back up, his gaze catching on the hole in her jeans. His mouth jerked into a condescending smile. “Or are you lost, sweetheart?” he asked with just a slight Hispanic accent. He sipped his drink and looked over the glass at her.

“M-my parents are just a floor down,” she stammered. “I was just looking for a…” She swallowed. “A Spritz.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “A Spritz? Is that a new drink?” His dark eyes looked her over again, and a lock of hair flopped toward his eye. “You’re not old enough to drink, are you?”

Frankie gave him a perturbed look. “I most certainly am.”

He smirked and held out an impatient hand. “Let’s see your ID.”

Frankie took a step back. That was one of the oldest tricks in the book. The guy wanted her name and address. She looked around at the five or six people taking advantage of this ritzy lounge, wondering why Montoya was pretending to be in charge. Or was he pretending? Maybe he was so controlling, he planned to have his fingers in every pie. She pursed her lips. If he put his fingers too far into her department, he’d regret it.

When she didn’t answer, he went on. “That’s what I thought.” He made a sweeping gesture meant to guide her back to the lift tube. “I suggest you go back down to your parents before they come searching. That would probably be embarrassing for you.”

His eyes slipped again to her holey jeans, and Frankie had had enough. She turned back to the painting. “I am a Bèrtini fan. I love how his colors speak of joy and laughter, but the black pierces that with the inevitable sorrows of life. The radiant yellows shine through it all, bringing hope, even when these browns are encroaching from the sides like a gang closing in on a lone target. His use of globby paint in with the smooth shows us too that life is full of the unexpected. And then to unbalance it all, he’s thrown in the swirls of torn, textured paper in this lower corner that almost seems to ask a question.” She turned back to the stunned Latino. “And I think that question is different for each person who looks at it.” She took a step toward him. “It’s asking me what I’m doing talking to a condescending SOB.” She raised a brow. “What’s it asking you, Mr. Montoya?”

She turned her head and yelled across the room. “Hey buddy, you got a Spritz at that fancy bar of yours?”

He reached under the bar and brought out a bottle. Frankie threw one tiny smile to the still silent Montoya and strolled to the bar to pick up her soda and transfer the credits to pay for it.

When she headed once again to the lift, Leonardo Montoya was gone.

***

Leo leaned against the pillows on his bed, his legs crossed at the ankles, swirling the last of his scotch in the tumbler. He’d been doing it for fifteen minutes. He couldn’t get the blonde out of his head.

And the electricity that had snapped between them.

It really shouldn’t have been surprising that she knew who he was, but he never got used to being known just because of his grandfather. Just because of the name.

And the money.

It always felt shocking somehow. And he always hated it when people made assumptions about him based on his crazy family.

“Your family ain’t crazy.” His friend Jeremy had always followed the news of his family with great interest. “They’re eccentric.” Jeremy’s infectious smile lit up his face, and he ran his hand through the sandy hair that looked perpetually mussed.

“Only if eccentric now means greedy, obsessed, narcissistic, and manipulative.”

He laughed. “Well, I didn’t say they were just eccentric.”

Leo finally downed the last of the scotch and swung his legs to the floor and rose, setting the glass on the side table as he went to the window. “I guess I’m becoming just like him. The blonde said I was a ‘condescending SOB.’ ”

Jeremy gave him a salute. “Well, you were the one to make assumptions.”

Leo was high enough up to see the famed blue sunset marking the end of his first day on Mars. Maybe it was the girl’s art analysis still playing with his mind, but he saw it as a painting. He smiled at her on-the-spot interpretation of the Bèrtini and wondered if she really believed all the BS she had spouted.

He turned with a slight smile, remembering the fire in her eyes, and found Jeremy gone. He was used to his comings and goings by now. As well as all the others. “Therapy gone wrong,” his grandfather called it, ironically, only when he was one of the ephemeral visitors in Leo’s head. It turned out that there were good reasons not to consent to experimental drugs, no matter how desperate one was.

He headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. It was still early, but anxiety always made him tired. And he’d had a fair amount of scotch as well. As he rooted around in the still-packed shaving kit for his toothbrush, he drove his thoughts toward the next days’ itinerary.

Tours had been planned for him every day for the next week. Determining the safety of this ill-conceived resort was his top priority, and tomorrow’s was of the utmost importance. The Cyber Security department protected the domes from computer virus terrorist attacks that could kill everyone inside. Slowly, with destruction of the hydroponics operations, or quickly, with contamination of their water or air supply.

Looking in the mirror, he saw his mother’s sad face in the room behind him. “Don’t worry, Mamá, I have no intention of dying either slowly or quickly on this hell hole of a planet.”

He brushed his teeth and spit out the toothpaste before running a glass of water, his mind still on cyber security and the name he’d committed to memory as the head of the department. He paused with the glass near his lips. “Either this Francesca McKenna will prove her worth, or tomorrow will be her last day working on the domes’ payroll.”