It took a while for Thomas Martel to find him. As was often the case with underworld figures, Shady found you, not the other way around. After Martel had begun asking for him, Shady stepped out of an alley just as the detective was headed back to the Sous-Sol.
"You ben lookin' for me have ya?" Shady asked.
Martel nearly pulled Maxwell from his holster but stopped short after seeing Shady slumping in the shadows. Having known him since Martel was in the Regalis PD, he knew Shady was slippery but not dangerous.
"Yeah," Martel replied.
"Ha-ware-ya then, Shamus?" Shady went on. "Ben a whoil hasn't it?"
"I'm all right," the detective said. "I've been working a case..."
"So I've 'eard"
"Really?"
"Aye," Shady said. "For Lord Maycare no less."
"How did you know that?" Martel asked.
The Irishman smiled. "I've got ears haven't I?"
"Big ones apparently."
Shady pulled on the lobe of his right ear, perhaps checking for its size.
"Anyway," Martel continued, "that's why I wanted to talk to you."
Shady shook his head.
"Talk ain’t cheap, innit!" he replied.
Martel grimaced, but pulled a credit stick from his pocket and handed the thumb-sized device to Shady who tucked it into a pocket of his own.
"Ah, to business then..." Shady said.
"Somebody sabotaged Lord Maycare's racing sled," Martel explained. "I think it's got something to do with illegal gambling."
"Why do ya s’pose it's illegal gamblin'?"
"Nobody made a sizable bet on Maycare losing or the racer who won," Martel replied. "If I'm right, it would have to be a bet placed under the table."
"Well, I wouldn't know about dat," Shady said, "but ya should talk to Jollux, I wager."
"You mean Gelatinous Bob, the loan shark?" Martel asked, using Jollux' nickname.
Shady waved his hands. "Aye, but I wouldn't be callin' 'im dat to his face. Killed a lad last week who done dat."
"What would a loan shark know about illegal gambling?"
"Are ya daft?" Shady replied. "Who do ya tink bankrolls 'alf the stakes in Ashetown, eh? I've ben doin' odd jobs for 'im as of late an' I can tell ya ol' Jollux is an even fatter cat than Big G."
"I always thought of him as a small timer," Martel remarked.
"He's ben movin' up in the world," Shady said.
Martel scratched his chin. "Seems like that's been happening a lot lately."
"Aye," Shady agreed, "but the bigger ya get, the bigger the target on ya back. Dat's why I stay skinny as a rail..."
Martel nodded grimly and wondered if he should go on a diet himself.
Ta Demona did not relish her visits to the Lotus dens. The leader of the Cyberpunks, Gregor Ivanovich, had made a deal with the Psi Lords, giving them full access to the minds of the unfortunates who slept away their lives in the dens under the influence of Lotus. In return, the Psi Lords gave Gregor's gang the most high-tech augmentations available. While a fair deal in principle, as far as Demona was concerned, she had not found a single mind with information that could prove useful.
Mostly, she thought it was a waste of time.
The smell of detergent and the solvents used to clean delicate fabrics filtered through her respirator as Demona entered the laundromat before walking into the flophouse in back. In the Lotus den itself, the air was cold and moist like a crypt. Silent too, except for the chorus of snoring that rose and fell from the Lotus Eaters.
One of the Cyberpunk thugs nodded at her but said nothing. His mind, which Demona had read many times before, was nothing but rage and stupidity. She doubted he had composed a single interesting thought in his life.
Demona passed along the corridor flanked by doorways on either side. She had no need to open the doors since the minds of those inside, amid their swirling dreams, were already accessible. Many of the dreamers, like the guard in front, were regulars at the den. They offered little in the way of lucrative intelligence. Most were destitute junkies living the last days of their miserable lives, an ending that Demona considered merciful if not long overdue. Yet her boss, Kanet Solan, sent Demona back to this place time and time again. It was a pointless fishing expedition and nothing more.
Quite by surprise, Demona felt something different behind one of the doors. Unlike the dregs of Ashetown, this mind was as new as it was educated. She stopped, shutting out the other thoughts until she focused entirely on this single consciousness. Peering into the man's dream, Demona felt this was more than mere fantasy. These were real memories mixed with the unreal.
The man was dreaming of a room in a luxury apartment with windows overlooking a city of skyscrapers. Handsome, he wore the green tunic of the Groen family. Delving deeper into the man's mind, Demona found his name: Lord Radford Groen.
A woman entered holding something bundled in a blanket.
"Josephine," Groen said. "Let me take a look at him..."
The woman let the blanket fall open, revealing the chubby face of a baby.
"We've named him Jack," she said proudly. "Isn't he beautiful?"
"Well, he has your eyes certainly," Groen said. "I don't recognize much else, I must say."
Josephine frowned. "Don't be silly."
"Curious, isn't it?" someone said.
Both Groen and Josephine turned their heads to see another man dressed in green. Through Groen's thoughts, Demona identified him as Lord Robert Groen, Josephine's husband and Groen's cousin. A few years older than Groen, Robert was taller with a warmer complexion and wide shoulders. He smiled, his eyes fixed on the baby, but his dark eyes were cruel.
"What's that?" Groen asked.
"It just seems strange," Robert went on, "that my son looks nothing like me..."
"I was just joking," Groen replied.
"I'm not," Robert said coldly.
Josephine's cheeks flushed. "What are you implying?"
"The two of you have always been close," Robert replied, "even before we were married."
"Come off it, Rob!" Groen protested. "Josie and I have never been more than friends."
"I'm not so sure..." Robert said.
"You're a fool!" Groen shouted, his own face reddening.
Behind them, the wall of the apartment melted and another man, like a specter emerging from the darkness, appeared. Older than the rest by at least thirty years, he commanded a sense of respect, even fear.
When Demona saw his face, she recognized him immediately.
"You're both fools!" he sneered.
Chapter Eight
As was the tradition, the Imperial Conclave would take place on the planet Lokeren, a world of island chains and vast, tropical oceans owned exclusively by the Veber family. Of the many estates dotting these islands, Lady Veber's favorite was a palace in the southern hemisphere. It had cube-shaped buildings painted white with domes of light blue, overlooking cliffs leading down to a beach of white sand and turquoise water.
Thoughts of the conclave far from her mind, Lady Veber lay on a towel spread over the hot sand. A large umbrella, decorated with a shell motif, provided much needed shade from the sunlight beating down. She was vaguely aware of her husband lying somewhere behind her, but most of Lady Veber's attention was focused on a young boy in the water, her son Philip.
After countless tries, Lady Veber had finally born a child, the spitting image of his father. The two of them were the only men in her life that she cared about, and spending these afternoons together were the happiest days of her life.
Philip played in the gentle surf. No more than ten, he splashed among the waves rippling into shore, his skin tanned to a light bronze.
"Look at me, Mommy!" he shouted.
Lady Veber smiled, shading her eyes. "Don't go out too far!"
"I won't!"
Lady Veber loved the sea. It had always welcomed her like a mother's embrace, but she had become wary of the ocean, knowing it could be deep and da
ngerous.
She turned to check on her husband, but he wasn't there. Lady Veber called his name but no one replied.
Then, like a memory lost in the sand, she remembered that her husband had died, killed when his gravcar crashed into the sea. She had worn black for a year, mourning his death.
The white sands of the beach turned dark as clouds covered the sun.
Philip's voice called out to Lady Veber. She looked back toward the sea, only to notice that her son was more distant now, his little arms waving just above the water.
Lady Veber struggled to her feet, the towel tangling between her legs. She ran to the edge where the sea met the shore.
"Philip!" she shouted.
She saw him yelling but the sound refused to reach her. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. She took a step toward the water but, looking down, the turquoise had turned black and opaque. In just a few inches of water, Lady Veber could no longer see her feet.
"Philip!" she cried again, but the boy was no longer visible. Was he too far out or had the ocean dragged him down?
He was gone.
"Philip!"
One of her handmaidens was at her side. "Wake up! Wake up!"
Opening her eyes, Lady Veber lay in her bed, not on a beach.
"You were having a nightmare," the handmaiden said.
Lady Veber coughed and held a hand against her hot cheek, even as the memory of the dream faded rapidly from her mind.
"I'm all right," she said, waving off the servant. "I'll be fine..."
The handmaiden bowed and left the bedroom while Lady Veber sat up. This was the estate in the southern hemisphere of her family's planet, Lokeren. It had always been her favorite with its white beaches and turquoise sea. It was also the place where her son Philip had died, poisoned by Lord Tagus' father. Tagus would arrive soon, along with the other representatives of the Five Families.
She had to prepare for their arrival and the beginning of the conclave.
In the evening, Gregor Ivanovich and his bodyguard arrived at the Fat Cat Hotel to attend the summit between the Cyberpunks and the Griefers. A valet opened the gravcar door beneath the crystal chandeliers of the porte-cochère at the main entrance of the hotel. The bodyguard, named Ward, stepped out of the car first, followed by his boss who seemed unimpressed by the opulence.
"Cheap glass," Gregor remarked, motioning toward the chandeliers.
"Sure, boss," Ward replied.
While most of the other Cyberpunks had augmented their bodies with electronic devices and weaponry, Ward had chosen hair implants instead. This meant he was not as heavily armed as his comrades, but he had the most elaborate coiffure of anyone in the gang. His boss might have scoffed at chintzy decor, but Ward wondered if he could steal a chandelier and hang it in his one-bedroom apartment.
The manager of the hotel, a Tikarin with black and brown fur, greeted them in the lobby before politely, if not gently, patting them down for weapons. After removing several handguns and Gregor's sword, the manager directed them to a private elevator, which took them to Big G's penthouse. Big G himself met them when the lift doors opened, his head dwarfed by the orange fluff of his colossal belly.
He waddled closer.
"Hello, boys!" Big G shouted, spreading his stubby arms. "Welcome to my hotel!"
Past the Tikarin's stomach, Ward spotted Kid Vicious in a sunken living room, sitting beside an unusually tall man with horrific burns across half his face.
"It's about time you got here, Gregor!" Kid yelled.
"Now, now," Big G said. "Let's remain cordial. After all, you're here under my protection. Consider yourself as safe here as at your mamma's teat."
Gregor grimaced at the thought. "That remains to be seen."
"Did they check him for weapons?" Kid asked.
"Of course," Big G replied. "Everybody's been searched thoroughly."
He beckoned Gregor and his bodyguard to follow and led them down into the sunken recess.
"I didn't know that monster was going to be here," Gregor said, eyeing Munge.
"Have some respect!" Kid replied angrily. "Munge is my best man."
"Well, your best man killed my best man," Gregor said.
Kid snickered. "I guess that shows whose man was really best, doesn't it?"
Gregor, who had just sat, jumped up again but Big G hissed, causing the Cyberpunk boss to stop.
The orange feline wiped some spittle from the side of his mouth.
"You will both behave while you're under my roof," he said sternly. "You guys may be unarmed but my men are not, so don't make any trouble, understand?"
Gregor and Kid Vicious nodded.
"That's better," Big G said, his expression changing to a smile. "Now, we've assigned each of you a suite. Go and relax tonight and we'll get to business in the morning."
The two warring sides stood together, but wisely took the elevator separately. Ward was especially eager to see what the suite had to offer, wondering if there was a hairdryer and luxury haircare products.
While Lady Veber waited at the transmat platform overlooking the cliffs near her estate on Lokeren, the ocean breeze played with the edges of her taffeta dress. With two of her servants beside her, Lady Veber watched as a pair of forms slowly materialized. She had little trouble recognizing the first one, his angular shoulders and arrogant posture identifying him as Lord Rupert Tagus III. The other shape was a bit rounder in the face and more relaxed in demeanor. As his features grew into focus, a hint of scruff became visible around his chin, and a thin mustache beneath his nose.
Lord Vincent Groen, Lady Veber thought.
The transmat process complete, both men stepped down from the platform and gave their host the briefest of greetings.
"Lady Veber," Vincent said, "so nice to see you again."
"The pleasure's mine," she replied.
"Is Richard here yet?" Tagus asked gruffly.
"He's due shortly," Lady Veber said.
"I hope they won't be staying near us," Tagus went on.
"Not at all," she replied with a curt smile. "You all have your own wings, I assure you."
Apparently satisfied, Tagus grunted and gave Lord Groen a nod. "Let's get inside. This wind is blowing sand in my eyes."
"I hope I can get the market reports on this planet," Vincent remarked while one of Lady Veber's servants led them away.
Their voices trailed off, lost in the whispering breeze. Lady Veber took a deep breath, drawing the salty air into her lungs. She wondered what kind of sounds Tagus would make if she shoved him off the cliff. The beach at the bottom would certainly make it easy to bury his body.
She stopped herself.
Killing one of his family was enough. At least for now...
The air crackled and another shape began to form on the transmat pad. This time, the outline was singular in its femininity, with graceful curves like the petals of a flower. When complete, Lady Olivia Montros stood on the platform in a pale rose-colored dress. Blessed with high, angelic cheekbones, but cynical eyes and a sarcastic smile, she grinned at seeing Lady Veber.
"Rebecca," Olivia said. "You haven't aged a bit!"
This, Lady Veber knew, was the exact opposite of what Olivia intended to convey.
"Good to see you too," she replied.
"We missed you at the Imperial ball," Olivia continued, casting a glance at the cloudless sky above the turquoise waters below. "But if I owned a planet like this, I wouldn't want to leave either!"
Olivia came down the stairs and the two women exchanged kisses on their cheeks.
"Tagus and Groen have arrived already," Lady Veber said. "Prince Richard will be here momentarily."
"Well, I won't wait for him," Olivia replied. "I need to freshen up a bit."
Lady Veber motioned to her servant who took her to the main building. Alone, Lady Veber had only the final guest to arrive and within a few minutes, the air thickened into another human form.
"Prince Richard,"
she said. "Welcome to Lokeren."
Dressed in his official garb, the red and gold of the Augustus family, the prince acknowledged her with a magnanimous wave of his hand.
Pompous ass, Lady Veber thought.
On one of the upper floors of the Fat Cat Hotel, a waiter pushed a hovercart with a food tray to the door of Gregor's suite. Dressed in a red vest with a white apron tied around his waist, the waiter knocked. Within moments, a bodyguard with rich, flowing hair swung open the door.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Courtesy of Big G," the waiter replied.
"All right, bring it in."
The waiter pushed the cart into the suite, but the bodyguard stopped him from going farther.
"I need to search you," he said.
The waiter raised his arms above his head while the gangster patted him down. Unlike the bodyguard, the waiter's head was shaved.
Apparently convinced the waiter was unarmed, the bodyguard pointed at the shiny dome at the center of the food tray. "What's under there?"
The waiter raised the dome, revealing a plate covered in potatoes and a steak.
"Filet mignon," the waiter said, setting the cover to the side.
The guard hesitated.
"Well, the boss is taking a shower," he said, "so I should probably taste this in case it's poisoned."
"Be my guest."
Taking a steak knife and a fork from the tray, the bodyguard cut into the juicy meat. He sampled the steak and set the utensils back on the tray.
"That's good," he mumbled, chewing loudly. "What's your name?"
"Magnus," the waiter replied.
"You worked here long?"
"Not long," Magnus said.
Swallowing, the bodyguard turned toward the bedroom.
"I'll see if the boss is out of his shower..." he said.
In a smooth, fluid motion, Magnus Black removed the knife from the tray. With his left hand, he grabbed a handful of the bodyguard's luscious hair, using it to yank the gangster's head back to expose his neck. With a quick stroke, Magnus slit the man's throat, painting the opposite wall with blood.
The bodyguard fell lifeless to the carpet, now soaked in a puddle of dark red.
The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4) Page 9
