Interstellar Spark

Chapter 20

These were her memories, selective and uneven: some sharp, others faint. The screen mirrored every nuance.

Speakers piped her recalled sounds, startlingly clear. Attention locked to single tones in fleeting moments.

The tech even logged her senses—smells, feelings, reactions.

The screen showed Brian ushering Michael into her private lounge.

Laura snapped, "Freeze!" The image stilled.

The probe kept mining, storing data without live display.

The rear door swung open. Danny, hulking commander of the "Executioner Corps" and Paradise's second tiger, stormed in with two Augment lieutenants. They joined Laura, staring at Michael's frozen face.

Laura giggled and said, "Perfect timing, Danny. This scrawny kid's the one."

She signaled to resume.

The image sharpened, but Brian held focus—Scarlett's indifference to this "Firebird" clear. Her glances at Michael flashed brief and scornful.

Until his eyes sparked. The frame locked on them alone.

Danny called a halt.

Only Michael's electric gaze filled the screen.

Silence hung, then Claire's voice echoed in their tier. "That's him—no doubt. I've parsed his look. His power's more than this; it drains. We must grab him fast."

Massimo's voice rumbled, "Where's it from?"

Though planets apart, their advanced comms synced them with Laura and Danny, letting them dissect Scarlett's memories in real time.

Claire replied, "Solar, mostly, plus something I can't grasp. He's a cosmic marvel."

Danny and Laura traded glances. Danny said, "Fallen City's sealed tight—not a bug slips out. Tycoon, give the arrest order. I'll deliver him to the Lady."

Massimo growled, "Hold off—follow her lead!"

All snapped to attention.

Claire said coolly, "While I sift this woman's recall, Laura, stir panic. Broadcast their faces, launch a hunt. Corner them."

Laura frowned and asked, "He alters looks and chips—what's the point?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through.

Claire replied smoothly, "Sharp thinking, Laura. He'll dodge us with changes, yes. But I want him rattled. When he's trapped, he'll flee Paradise—and fall into our snare."

Massimo rasped, "Do it! Now, let's study this Inferno freak."

Rave Bar thrummed as one of the city's liveliest dens, yet order reigned—oddly so. No brawls erupted.

Brian explained why with two reasons.

First, the owner, "Hercules" Levin, wielded wealth, clout, and brute strength. He could floor a dozen men barehanded. His "No Fighting" sign at the door cowed all but fools.

Second, the star singer, Sapphire, a famed beauty with a voice to melt stars, walked out if fists flew. Patrons obeyed to hear her.

This carved Rave Bar as a rare oasis of peace. When the pair squeezed in, it burst at the seams. The dance floor writhed, bodies swaying to pounding beats, grinding in decadent chaos.

They elbowed to the bar. A couple vacated stools for the dance floor, and they claimed them quick.

Music and shouts pulsed through the haze of smoke and liquor scents. Michael sniffed twice, easing into a euphoric drift. Amazed, he asked Brian, "What are they inhaling? It's magic!"