Ascendant: The Martiniere Legacy Book Two: The Martiniere Legacy, #3

CHAPTER 1

Mr. Martiniere, Ms. Barkley, we’re on final approach, the pilot of the small corporate jet announced. Going to be some turbulence.

Ruby looked up from her computer projections and glanced out the window as they entered a cloud bank. She shivered, dismissed the display, and tucked the comp chip back into the fist-sized scanner she always carried. Then she made sure her seat belt was securely fastened. Across the cabin, her business partner and ex-husband Gabriel Martiniere winced as he copied her actions.

Thought we’d be able to avoid the early wave from Hurricane Charley, he muttered, rubbing the left shoulder where he’d been shot six months ago, just before their lives had changed and they had gotten back together. At least that was the original forecast. Feeling the barometric pressure change though.

You’ve got your meds?

Gabe nodded. He slipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out a pill dispenser, shaking one into his hand. Might as well take one now. Non-drowsy.

That’s good. Ruby eyed him thoughtfully, concerned.

Six months ago, Moondance, Gabe’s home ranch, had burned. He had moved to her Double R ranch in Northeastern Oregon as part of their biobot business launch. Since then, she had become more aware of the lingering side effects from Gabe’s bout with the nasty G9 virus that had killed his second wife Rachel and left him impaired. Gabe could cover up a lot—but they shared a bedroom, if not a bed, due to space constraints at the Double R. He couldn’t hide everything from her.

Gabe leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, fingers tightening on the armrests until white showed under the brown on his knuckles. "I fucking hate small planes. Even corporate jets aren’t big enough."

At least it’s not as bad as when you were hopping from rodeo to rodeo in during Cowboy Christmas in July, she said.

Oh God, how the hell did I ever keep from getting killed during that era? Gabe opened his eyes and freed one hand to rub his left shoulder again. I was an idiot.

Sheer luck and being drunk out of your skull.

Gabe snorted. And the pills to get through it. Don’t forget the pain pills. Typical dumbass saddle bronc rider. But it changed when we got together.

At least you never rode bulls.

"I’m not that damn crazy. Those were the guys whose money I took when we played poker."

The plane bounced and Ruby’s fingers also clenched the armrests, hiding her own fear. Gabe at least had an excuse for not liking to fly. His parents and sister had been killed in a plane crash when he was twelve, and he ended up in the care of his uncle Philip, who had always hated Gabe.

For her it was simple dislike of flight.

But it was time to meet on-site with their third partner in BMS Associates, Jeff Swait, and see what progress he had made in integrating his Swaitbot with two forms of her current RubyBot to create the RS Defender and the RS Protector. They hoped to have the prototypes on the market by next spring.

Amazing how Martiniere money manages to fast-track product approvals.

It had taken her years to earn approvals for the RubyBot. But that was before the Martinieres came into her life.

Then again, there were a lot of things that she hadn’t anticipated would be smoothed out by Martiniere money, whether it was Gabe’s or his cousin Justine’s. Travel. Financing lab expansions. Building repair and maintenance. Not needing to worry about paying bills.

She was still getting used to this life.

Hope it’s not so stormy that we can’t run the tests. Gabe dropped his hand from his shoulder, wincing.

Not supposed to be. The plane steadied as they dropped below the cloud cover. Cloudy but at least not windy or rainy yet.

And Justine vets her pilots meticulously, Ruby reminded herself.

Gabe’s cousin might appear to be an airhead on the surface, but that was just for appearances. Underneath that superficial façade Justine was as much of a detail and control freak as any of the Martinieres.

Including Brandon.

But then again, their son got that as much from her as from Gabe.

The plane delicately touched down on Swait’s airstrip—one of Justine’s contributions to BMS Associates as a silent fourth in the operation, along with the open use of her three planes. Can’t science like you, she had said when they had objected to her insistence that they put in airstrips at the Double R, Gabe’s Moondance, and Swait’s Arkansas farm. But I can contribute to your safety and security, and minimize the threat from Daddy-damned-dearest.

Daddy-damned-dearest was just one of the diminutives that Justine used to mockingly refer to her father Philip. Head of the Martiniere Group, infamous not only for their agricultural technology, data gathering, and pharmaceutical operations but the slightly shady recreational body modifying business…and their heavy participation in human trafficking involving mind-controlled indentured workers with bodies modified to their contract owners’ specs.

Gabe had testified against Philip and adopted a new identity as a result, before he met Ruby. Their divorce twenty-one years ago had been fueled by Gabe’s fears that Philip was going to attack Ruby and Brandon—and Philip’s use of mind control on Gabe kept him from telling her who he really was. But he’d not told Ruby about his worries concerning Philip—until six months ago. Sure, some of it had been shaped by the Martiniere mind control technology that kept Gabe from saying even his own name until the G9 wiped that programming from his brain. But still—

A lot had changed since then. Ruby, Gabe, and Jeff had successfully gamed the AgInnovator, the oldest of the reality shows that provided funding for new agricultural technology. The Innovator had brought Ruby and Gabe back together, and they found new allies in Jeff Swait and other farmers and ranchers deeply involved in agtech to counter the effects of climate change.

The plane taxied to a stop. The copilot came back to open the cabin door and lower the stairway. As a wave of humid heat washed into the cabin, Ruby patted the top of her head to ensure that her silver-streaked red hair was still confined in its snug bun. Then she pulled on a flat-crowned, wide-brimmed white hat and tied the long silken scarf ties under her chin. Her typical summer straw Western hat wouldn’t fit over the bun and wasn’t professional enough for a business trip like this. Or at least that was Justine’s opinion.

Ruby stood and stretched, grateful now that Justine had insisted on wardrobe upgrades, aided and abetted by Ruby’s old rodeo queen advisor Vickie. The cream-colored silk—real silk!—shell and slacks felt much more comfortable in this humidity than the jeans and lightweight long-sleeved snap-button cotton shirts she wore at the ranch.

Gabe smiled down at her. You look good, he said as he donned his own hat, a gray trilby that matched his gray slacks and shirt, and shrugged into a lightweight gray jacket that covered his shoulder holster. He grunted as he struggled to get the jacket over his stiff left shoulder. Ruby helped him get it settled.

So do you. She made a face as she stepped back to study him. I just don’t like that shade of gray. Doesn’t go with the brown skin.

He shrugged. It’s the Martiniere image. I don’t want to stand out. He gestured for her to go first.

Tan would be better, she said as she picked up her bag, automatically checking to make sure that her snub-nosed .38 was secured in the carry pocket. She still didn’t like carrying all the time—an artifact of her past—but at least Justine knew the best solutions for concealing weapons for all different levels of dress, from business casual to white-tie formal.

"I don’t like tan, Gabe complained as he extracted his folding cane from its holster pocket on his belt. Philip wears that all the time."

I need to sic Justine or Vickie on you then, because I really don’t like that shade on you.

It made him appear less healthy, bringing out the paleness that was part of post-G9 syndrome. Vickie Chandler, Ruby’s former rodeo queen advisor who was now one of her dress consultants, had complained about the look of that gray tone on Gabe as well.

Like hell, he grumbled behind her as she stepped out of the plane. You keep my cousin out of my wardrobe. And that includes Vickie, while you’re at it.

God, he’s grumpy. Must really be hurting today.

She chose to ignore his comment for that reason and strode toward Jeff Swait, leaving Gabe to walk more slowly behind her. Swait waited for them at the edge of the tarmac, wearing green shorts, sandals, and a colorful green and blue tropical print short sleeved shirt that looked good against his dark skin. A tan trilby sat on top of his tightly curled black hair.

Gabe, Ruby. Hope the trip wasn’t too rough. Sounds like Hurricane Charley is camping out right at landfall for a few hours. Good for us. Jeff grinned as Gabe joined them.

They bowed in greeting. She already felt sweat popping out where her hat made contact with her head.

God, it’s muggy. How do people stand living in this? I couldn’t do it.

It was okay until the landing, Ruby said.

Well, I’ll do my best to get you two in and out of here before the storm hits. Should be a good test for both Defender and Protector. Plus I seem to have had a breakthrough with Pollinator.

"Now that’s some good news," Gabe said.

They headed for the electric truck waiting a few yards away, Ruby and Jeff matching Gabe’s hobbled pace.

Three of us will fit in front, Jeff said.

Ruby nodded. She climbed in easily and settled herself in the middle—a bench seat instead of the bucket seats in the trucks she and Gabe drove. Gabe wrestled himself in. Jeff set the autodrive and collapsed the steering wheel. Ruby fished her water bottle out of her purse and took a couple of swallows before passing it to Gabe.

I think you’ll like what you see with the Defender, Jeff said. It really wants to go bigger, and I’ve tweaked those parameters. He hesitated. "I got some info from Temira Cho. The non-indentured farm labor pool seems to be much smaller than in previous years—almost nonexistent, in fact. And the indentured ones that are showing up are different. More mechanical."

Really, Gabe said. Have you seen any of them? He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the sweat on his brow.

The pool sent me two of them when they couldn’t find me any non-indentured workers. But those indentureds are problematic around the Defender. It keys on them and not on any stray biobots left in the field. We had an incident when we tried to use them.

That’s troubling, Ruby said, biting her lower lip. The Defender had evolved from a counterbot her lab had developed last spring. Rogue killbots had showed up in various cultivated grain fields, not just at the Double R, but at her neighbors and at Moondance. Normally killbots worked to eliminate previous biobots that hadn’t shut down and decomposed like their programming required. The killbots’ own programming was supposed to limit them for both duration and location. But the rogues wouldn’t stop, and spread aggressively.

The counterbot prototypes of the Defender had behaved well—except for one of Ruby’s fields that had been tampered with by some of Philip’s indentured workers. There, when that same interference had routed a drone cam over the field, the counterbots had attacked the cam and brought it down, leaving no trace once they were done with it.

Yeah, Jeff said. What happened with those two indentureds reminded me of that incident you had with the cam.

How bad was it with the indentured? Ruby asked.

Temporary immobilization. The Defender swarmed them hard.

That could be useful, Ruby said.

Did you scan the indentureds to see what implants they might have? Gabe asked.

I didn’t even get the chance, Jeff said. They reported it immediately to their labor pool administrator once I got the bots off of them. My lease was cancelled and they were off the place before I could do anything.

Gabe sighed. He tapped his fingers on his cane. Any idea of their origins?

Blotted AgI identification tattoo on the left hand, Jeff said. A fresh trefoil tattoo on the neck. I didn’t see it, Carrie did.

AgI. The parent company of the AgInnovator competition, also involved in agtech development and specialty ag indentured labor pools as well as loan operations for farmers and ranchers.

This is not good. Ruby’s gut tightened.

What color was the trefoil? Gabe asked.

Red and black.

Gabe’s lips tightened. Martiniere Group, then. Spying on us.

I thought so, Jeff sighed. It’s taking longer to get workers on site as a result. That’s why I talked to Temira. To see if it was a Midwestern thing.

How’s she doing? Ruby asked.

Temira Cho had been one of their competitors in the Superhero, the first one cut from competition. She had gone on to place two levels down in the competition, in the Star Innovator level which granted five years of funding at $100,000 per year, as long as she could show consistent progress with her program. But it was a far cry from the $3.75 million for five years with no check-ins that was a part of the Superhero, or even the three million for five years that Ruby, Gabe, and Jeff had earned by filing a collaboration agreement to end the competition.

She’s making progress, Jeff said. But she’s noticed the same thing with the labor pools in Illinois. Minimal non-indentureds. And of the indentured, not many options besides the more mechanistic, body-modded ones.

Gabe shook his head. Is she using them?

No. Higher expense but she’s going with non-indentured, non-implanted support workers. She has more labor resources available there than I do. It’s always been tough here to find non-indentured labor, and when we do use indentureds, I try to find ways to buy them free. I hate using indentured workers. And these new ones—no. I don’t want them anywhere near my place.

I imagine so. Gabe tightened his lips. Were you able to get any pictures of the indentureds in question?

"Now that I can give you, Jeff said. He extracted his scanner and popped out the computer chip, calling up a projection. Here’s their full-body ID shots."

Gabe and Ruby peered at the projection. Gabe reached into it and rotated the picture. We need to send copies of this to Kris and Brandon. They’ll know more about these body-mod versions. His lips tightened. The second one resembles one of my kidnappers. But that person didn’t have a Martiniere trefoil or an AgI diamond on them. Then. He zoomed in on the left hand that showed a blue-green blur.

Go ahead, Jeff said.

Gabe nodded. His fingers danced in the projection. Copies sent to Kris, Brandon, Justine, and us.

Might want to send copies to Charlie and Tim, Ruby said. Charlie was the ranch manager for the Double R and Tim for Moondance. See if any indentured like that starts sniffing around the ranches.

Good idea. Gabe repeated the action. Then he leaned back into the seat with a heavy sigh. Jeff closed the projection.

The truck swung around to halt by a grain field where several people waited by bot growboxes. Ruby squinted at the field, not quite recognizing the grain.

Swaitrice? Must be.

Jeff had originally been developing biobots to improve the drought tolerance of dryland rice, breeding a complimentary strain that required less diagnostic work from the bots while increasing carbon and water uptakes.

Here we are. Looks like Carrie has everything ready to roll, Jeff said.

Is that some of your Swaitrice? she asked.

Jeff grimaced. Yeah. This field didn’t work well with the Swaitbots. It’s really frustrating because this substrain has some desirable characteristics I’d like to use. But the RNA in this version doesn’t respond to bot manipulation, so— he shrugged. Might as well kill off the Swaitbots and see if I can still recover some rice for the harvest. It’ll produce something, at least.

Ruby waited while Gabe eased out, then joined him. They followed Jeff over to the people by the rectangular growboxes that resembled beehives, only twice the size. A dark-skinned woman with hair wrapped in a colorful red, blue, and yellow cloth headed for them.

Ruby, Gabe, this is my farm manager and sister, Carrie Swait, Jeff said. Carrie, this is Ruby Barkley and Gabe Martiniere.

Pleased to meet you, Carrie said, shaking hands with both Ruby and Gabe. I’ve been really enjoying working with the RubyBot, especially the counterbot. It’s really responsive.

Oh, the counterbot isn’t my work, Ruby said quickly. My lab staff threw that one together last spring. Martin Thompson and Julie Paprivides. I’ll pass your complements on to them.

Please tell them it’s solid work, Carrie said. I think you’ll like what we did with it.

Ruby walked alongside Carrie as Gabe and Jeff followed them to the boxes. She felt like she was walking through a wave of sweltering hot air that sucked at her legs and arms and weighed her down.

If it’s hitting me this bad, what about Gabe?

She glanced back at him. Other than sweat beading on his forehead, he seemed to be all right as he talked to Jeff.

Jeff said you had an incident with the Defender and indentureds, she said quietly, returning her focus to Carrie. Gabe suspects that they were Martiniere Group spies.

It wouldn’t surprise me, Carrie said, tightening her lips. They didn’t act like typical indentureds.

How so?

Their focus was wrong, Carrie said. "Most of the time the indentureds I’ve seen on other peoples’ places are pretty much tell me what to do, no questions asked. No curiosity until they’re on task. No distractions. These guys? Looking around. Almost like they had ADHD. I had to yell at them, and that’s one of the things you don’t normally need to do with indentureds. In fact, it’s one of those things you shouldn’t have to do with ag indentureds. At least that’s what I was told when training."

I wouldn’t know. No labor pools where I am.

Carrie side-eyed Ruby. No labor pools—not even with indentureds?

Not a big enough population where I am to justify the expense except for very specialized labor needs. Nearest ag labor pools are in Hood River, Ontario, and Hermiston, and those are three-to-five hour drives away. Plenty of people in Thunder County either do contract work or are looking for side jobs. Plus I have interns from the local high school. I had to go to Portland and Hood River to find the two labor pool workers I have on site.

Ah. Got it. Well, we have a lot of indentureds here but no independent contractors and darn few side hustle workers, Carrie sighed. Looks like I’m going to need to find a different option. There’s almost nothing in the labor pool this year other than ones like these two. Definitely no non-indentured. When I’m looking for indentureds, I’m trying to get them toward the end of their contract period so that we can free them, but—not many of those left. Mostly lifetimers anymore.

You’ve been buying up contracts?

Carrie nodded. "And giving them a bonus to get the hell out of town before they get shoved into indenture again. That happens a lot around here. Especially for nonwhites."

Geez. I can send you the pitch proposal I sent my local high school for interns to give you some ideas. Or is that a problem here?

Hadn’t thought of that option before, Carrie said. But yeah, I’d love to develop interns.

Maybe your state ag school as well.

Carrie pursed her lips thoughtfully. Yeah. Thanks.

Ruby shrugged. I’ve had to be creative over the years. Not a lot of money, and obviously not a lot of options.

Your suggestions are helpful. Until now our labor pools have been the best choice for finding workers, so I’ve not needed to think about other options. So here we are. Carrie stopped by the boxes. She introduced the two men and one woman, all Swait relatives.

Pleased to meet you. Gabe stood by Ruby, smiling at them, suddenly seeming to be bigger than usual as he put on his social face. Ruby murmured a response, muffling the desire to laugh at his posturing. After all, self-promotion and projection was part of deposing Philip as the Martiniere. Gabe had to play the role.

Okay, let’s get this show rolling, Jeff said, rubbing his hands together. As I told Ruby and Gabe, this field isn’t working well with the Swaitbot. So we’re going to kill it.

How tightly programmed to targets are these Defender bots? Gabe asked.

This was the field that we started to clear with the new indentureds, Sara, a Swait cousin, said. After the first batch of counterbots swarmed the indentureds but didn’t touch the Swaitbots in the field, I kept the algorithm pretty broad. I had no idea at all what they might have planted in the field or tampered with, and I didn’t want to take a chance. I’m wiping everything out.

Good idea, Gabe said. Can I look at the algorithm?

Of course.

Gabe and Sara stepped aside as Sara brought up a projection. Gabe focused on it, poking at several lines of programming, a smile spreading across his face as he became more immersed in studying it. Ruby turned to Jeff.

Should we wait for them to finish sciencing or go ahead with the test?

Carrie chuckled. "Sara will be pissed if we don’t wait for her. She’s our head lab tech and she’s been itching to see how this program works."

Sara and Gabe rejoined them.

Sorry to hold things up, Gabe said. That’s a robust algorithm. Let’s see it in action.

Ruby held her breath as Nick and Michael carried the first beehive-looking growbox to the edge of the field and tipped it slightly, forgetting the heat, the mugginess, the sweat trickling down her back between her shoulder blades. She never tired of watching a bot release, especially the colorful forms based on the RubyBot framework that looked like tiny ladybugs. The wave of bots spilling out of the box was an iridescent dark teal at first, fading in intensity as the bots spread to cover the nearby section of the field. A yellow glow caught her eye and she turned her head to see Gabe and Sara poring over a projection—feedback from the Defenders as they activated.

Gabe chuckled. "I like this. I really, really like this. Damn. Martin is going to be itching to get his fingers on this one, Sara. You folks have done well with it."

We’ve got a box of samples to send back with you, Sara said.

Good.

Onward to the next sector, then, Jeff said. Ruby watched as he flipped a switch on the remaining boxes. A faint roar, and then, one-by-one, the boxes levitated, tiny flames pushing them up. The punch of another button, and the boxes slowly processed along the edge of the field.

Now that’s some sweet tech, she said. We’re still using trailers, forklifts, and scooters to move our boxes.

Jeff grinned. Propane-powered platforms with programmed stops. Works great during the rainy season. Not so great for long distances, but moving growboxes to the fields? Oh yeah.

You selling them?

Mmm, they’re not in production. I just kludged them up to meet the need. But I can get you some by next spring.

Gabe, Ruby said. Take a look at this.

Huh? He looked away from Sara. What?

She jerked her head toward the slowly moving growboxes. Take a look at that, she repeated. Self-propelled growboxes. Think that might make things easier during mud season?

Gabe pursed his lips thoughtfully. Should be useful. We can only use it during snow and mud, though. Those flames look like they could start fires once the vegetation dries out.

That’s when we use the crawler trailers. But something like this would sure save us a world of hassle during snow and mud seasons.

Oh yeah, I agree. How many are you going to order for the Double R? Moondance could use half that amount.

Jeff and I are still talking. Not in regular production.

Hey, if both of you are interested, then we’ll get to work on it over the winter, Carrie said. Two of you—probably even more folks will be interested.

Damn, looks like I’ve got to get this production up and rolling too, Jeff said. But you said this wouldn’t work once things dry off in your area?

Too much of a fire hazard, Ruby said. We are limited in what equipment we can use from—oh, about late June to November. And I could see some issues with ice formation when there’s snow on the ground.

Tell you what, Jeff said. Once we’re done with harvest I’ll come up and see what I can figure out for your climate. You think this might be a good Barkley-Martiniere-Swait product?

Ruby and Gabe exchanged glances.

Don’t see why not, he said. We can market transport mechanisms to go with the growboxes. It’s a logical side market.

Sounds good.

The second and third releases were much the same as the first. At last they approached the final corner. Ruby noted that Gabe was gimping more and leaning on his cane heavier, sweating harder than ever.

You holding up okay? she whispered to him as they hung back while Nick and Michael prepared to tip the final box. She noticed that Jeff, Carrie, and Sara seemed to be tenser and edgy with this release.

I’ll be all right, Gabe said. He brought out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. It’ll be better once we’re back in the plane and have AC. I need to take more meds, but I can hold out until we get back to the Double R.

Don’t work yourself sick, she cautioned. While she’d not experienced Gabe in the depths of a bad post-G9 syndrome flare, what she’d seen so far of his mild occasional ones were bad enough. He hurt when he had an attack.

Not a problem. Gabe straightened up, lips pressed together tightly.

Hey, you might want to watch this one, Jeff said. This section is where those indentured workers came under attack.

Right there. Gabe moved his cane to his other hand and took Ruby’s arm. Changing angles will probably help, he said softly to her.

She