A Bad Deal for the Whole Galaxy

by Alex White

  Tariq’s face formed from the aether. Nilah recognized him—the Children loved to post about him on the Link, spouting theories about his book, Foundations of Life. He was one of the originators of Taitu, assassinated by his own people and later venerated in Taitutian law. The Children claimed the first Taitutians, the ones who murdered Tariq, were in the right, and the planet never would’ve thrived if they hadn’t killed him.

  “Tariq ruined our gorgeous planet, and what could’ve been the seed of an even greater empire.” Osmond took a swig and contemplated the man’s face with a bitter swallow. “He sought to ensure the lives of those who should be dead. To live outside that system is to chase true freedom. There is no virtue greater than following the natural law, taking what you can, surrendering what you can’t. And when you are too old to lift a finger, too frail to carry on, you either become meat for the circling wolves”—and with this, he crept toward Nilah—“or snatch your own life from death itself.”

  He straightened up, his theatrics draining from his body. The twinkle faded from his eye, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. “But I think you already know that, don’t you, dearie?”

  She took a half step back, shifting her weight closer to a fighting stance.

  “You understand what’s required to win. To take everything from your competition, no matter the cost.” And with particular relish, Osmond said, “To be a champion, Nilah Brio.”

  No.

  He couldn’t have called her by her name. A million possibilities shot through her mind, all of them nullified by his hungry gaze. With those last two words from his mouth, he’d gone from being an old man to an active threat. Had he told the others? Could she silence him now and say it was an accident? A few dozen highly motivated killers lurked in the facility below, eager for a reason to erase the hated Nilah Brio from the fabric of existence.

  In the blink of an eye, Elder Osmond’s glyph bloomed from his hand, masterfully drawn. Nilah tried to leap away, but viscous tendrils of energy compelled her knees toward the floor. She looked on in horror as Jeannie and Alister tried to escape, but a rolling wave of shimmering space knocked them over.

  “Alist—” Jeannie tried to call for her brother and was silenced by a crushing, invisible force. Alister clawed at the ground, his face contorted in agony.

  More drips of wavering air fell upon Nilah’s shoulders, dragging her down, wrapping around her wrists like lead weights. Nilah clicked the transmitter on the roof of her mouth and opened her jaw. If this was going to be her final moment, she wanted someone to hear it.

  The old man chuckled and pulled a long steel spike from his robe, pressing a button near its base. As it began to spin like a drill head, Nilah knew it must be a neural spike. “They call my magic ‘the spinner’s mark,’ because it’s like a spider. I like to think of it more like being crushed by a boa constrictor, but it just doesn’t have the same ring, does it?”

  “No!” she gasped, struggling to pull away, but the tendrils wrenched her arms aside and yanked her forehead against the marble floor, exposing the back of her neck. Osmond brought the spike close to her ear, its high-pitched whine grating against her bones. He moved it to her other ear, as though dubbing her for knighthood. She wanted to look up, to plead with him, but the tendrils redoubled their grip on her head.

  “They say you can still think with one of these in your brain, that you can still be yourself,” he whispered, his awful breath tickling the back of her neck. “I could make you serve in my retinue.”

  Orna, I love you. I’m so sorry. Nilah struggled against her restraints, but with every kilogram of pressure she generated, the weights upon her doubled. She cut her eyes to the twins, seeing them flattened in her periphery, their mouths locked in silent screams as Osmond’s spell crushed the breath from them.

  “From the top of the podium to the bottom of my order … It’s a good look for you.” Osmond positioned himself for the kill, enjoying every second. The neural spike pinched the hairs at the base of Nilah’s skull, ripping them free, eager to dive into her spinal column and subvert her nervous system. “You’ll be part of the herd forever, Miss Brio.”

  She brought one of her feet underneath herself, pushing as hard as she could, and she felt Osmond’s spell give slightly. Straining to raise her head, Nilah gave a vicious roar. Osmond’s tendrils couldn’t hold her forever.

  “If you’re going to kill me, do it!”

  And the spell released. Jeannie and Alister rolled on the ground, gasping, and Nilah’s muscles burned from the exertion, but she refused to let Elder Osmond see her weakness. Osmond stood before them, another spell in his hand, his face stony with a lack of exertion. He could easily crush them if he cast again.

  “But that’s not in the cards, I’m afraid,” said the old man, taking a short step back and pointing to his brain. “Spike thralls can’t be double agents. Can’t pass as one of us, you know.”

  A thousand insults swarmed her mind like stinging insects, but Nilah kept them all inside. She couldn’t attack him again, not while he’d be ready for it. His glyph pulsed in his palm, ready to pour over her again if she stepped out of line.

  “I’ll die before I join you.”

  Elder Osmond regarded his hands for a long moment, as though he were only just noticing the liver spots and bony knuckles. “Join? I wouldn’t let you join my Wednesday night card game, much less the Children of the Singularity. No, honey, we’re going to crack open that little skull of yours and pull every trick out of your head. We’ll get your hideouts, your bank codes, and everything else you know. Then, we’ll make you turn on your friends and carve them up in the night.”

  Nilah stepped backward, rubbing her sore shoulder joints and neck. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  Osmond grinned. “You know the barrister’s mark, don’t you?”

  That mark was the foundation of intergalactic treaties and slave contracts alike. It compelled those under its thrall to perform all agreed-upon services.

  Nilah’s jaw tensed. “Those spells can be broken.”

  “Not this one, dear.” Osmond shut down the neural spike and replaced it within his robes. “Why would we have a mindless drone, when we could have you, body and soul? My Lord Vraba will be here in three days, and he’s going to take you to the best barrister in the galaxy.”

  Nilah balled her fists. She’d never felt so weak in her life. “I’ll break any contract. My friends—”

  Osmond laughed so hard he wheezed. “You think that’s what this is about? Sure, those boys and girls downstairs are pissed at you, but the upper echelons couldn’t care less. You’re a flea, my sweet, but you’ve got access. I bet we could even have you snap that new prime minister’s neck if we wanted, in the cold light of day.”

  He pulled back the sleeve of his robe and tapped his watch. In response, Sharp rushed out of the stairwell with a cadre of armed spike thralls in tow. Osmond flicked his arms, straightening his sleeves.

  “Miss Brio,” he began, “we’re not accustomed to taking prisoners at the Pinnacle, so we don’t have a brig for you. You three be good and stay here until Lord Vraba arrives.”

  Then, to Sharp, he said, “Drug them.”

  The last thing Nilah felt before the warm embrace of sleep was the sting of a fléchette.

  Chapter Ten

  Escape Clause

  Their cover is blown, but they’re not dead,” said Malik, and Orna sucked in a breath before wincing at her injuries.

  Boots and the others stood around the bridge. Malik’s glowing face filled the central projector, where battle plans were usually displayed, giving Boots the odd feeling of talking to a giant.

  “Hunter Two still hasn’t given me a direct report. She was searched, and they discovered the transmitter,” he said, his voice close and a bit muffled by the survival tent. “Here’s her last communication …”

  An old man’s voice filled their speakers, promising a horrid fate to the three crew members. Boots looked to Cordell
and Armin to find their expressions grim.

  Orna pounded the console next to her, and it squawked a warning. “We’ve got to exfiltrate them before then, Cap.”

  Cordell tapped his chin. “I’m inclined to agree. What do we know about the defenses of the Pinnacle?”

  “They’ve got some anti-air slingers—large lancers and all,” said Malik. “But they’re also using neural spikes to control some of their initiates. We have to assume they’ve got a hodgepodge of talented casters ready to battle.”

  Boots blanched. “Neural spikes? Are you serious? Whose territory is that?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Armin. “Hammerhead has no major jurisdiction.”

  “No,” said Boots, “but it does have citizens of other planets stuck there. Any government with a person on Hammerhead would want to intervene.”

  “So you’re suggesting we call the cops?” said Orna. “News flash, Boots, we don’t know which cops are the bad guys!”

  “What did the old-timer mean about ‘an unbreakable contract’?” asked Cordell.

  “Stetson Giles, sir,” said Boots. “We haven’t had time to review the intel, but we know he’s involved. If they coerce Nilah into signing a contract, and Stetson hits her with the barrister’s mark, she’s as good as gone. She’ll have to do whatever they say.”

  “So we drop in there, gun everyone down, pick up Nilah and the twins, and go,” said Orna. “She was supposed to collect the double agent, but there’s no chance of that now.”

  “We’ll need someone to sabotage their anti-air,” said Aisha, gesturing to change the projection to an aerial view of the Pinnacle. “And it’d be good to shut down their network of spikes.”

  “I can do that,” said Malik. “I’ve been encamped on this glacier for too long. Now that they’ve found the transmitter, we can assume they’ll come looking for me. May as well work on shutting them down in the meantime.”

  “No, you can’t,” Aisha cut him off, then cleared her throat. “I mean, you’re not a hacker.”

  “What about an aerial insertion?” asked Orna.

  “What about your hip?” asked Boots. Her own hips were sore after that escape, and she hadn’t even been shot. Orna’s right side bore a faintly glowing duraplex cast, visible through her shirt.

  Orna shook her head. “Charger’s emergency med systems took good care of me. I’ve been through worse.”

  “I remember,” Boots replied, thinking of Mother’s claw going clean through Ranger’s—and Orna’s—abdomen.

  The quartermaster gave her a poisonous look. “You drop me with Malik and we clear out the resistance on the ground. If we blow a hole in the side of the Pinnacle, you can use it as an extraction point.” She pointed to the sheer cliff on one side of the installation. “See? We’ll be shielded from the guards in the barracks.”

  Armin measured the distance with his finger, the projector noting ten-meter increments to the gaping chasm at the bottom. “That’s quite a drop on the other side, Miss Sokol. If Miss Brio or the twins are substantially injured—”

  Orna’s nostrils flared. “We can make it, sir.”

  “There are a lot of assumptions in this plan,” said Cordell, pacing around the console. “One: we’re not a hundred percent on their air defenses. Two: we have essentially no intel about the interior of the Pinnacle. Three: we don’t know the location of our crew members,” he said, ticking each point off on his fingers as Orna’s face grew redder and redder. He turned to her, halting the coming objection. “And four: we can’t be certain they’re alive.”

  Orna slicked back her hair. “But you heard that elder guy—”

  “Yes,” interrupted Cordell, “and he may have been counting on us listening in, Sokol, so sit your butt down and let’s use our damned heads. Wounding a soldier so you can attack their rescuers is the oldest trick in the book.”

  “What we need is eyes-on surveillance, Captain,” said Malik. “Even if I can’t get inside, I may be able to see something with a passive sensor kit. There’s a ridgeline opposite the cliff. My computer has a path for me, but it’s a dangerous hike. I can be there in two of your days.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Captain,” said Aisha.

  Malik shook his disembodied head. “I have to move anyway, hon. I may as well move somewhere useful. If Nilah can get me a signal, that’ll be something.”

  Boots swallowed, her skin growing prickly with her next thought. “If Stetson Giles is casting the barrister’s mark, I know where he’s going to be …”

  The curse kicked in immediately, sending stabbing pains up her spine. That fateful day aboard the Saint of Flowers, Stetson had made Boots promise never to say where he was or even give a single clue. Welts formed on her arm as though she’d been whipped, and she clutched her tortured flesh. Fresh rage blossomed inside her as she remembered him drinking confidently from the chalice, Gemma lying dead at his feet with a hole in her head.

  Cordell eyed her new marks. “First time I’ve ever seen that. You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Boots said through clenched teeth as the fire dissipated from her skin. “Just felt like it had to be mentioned.”

  “So we could pick up Malik and intercept them at the next location,” said Aisha, “if we could break Stetson’s curse.”

  “Except you can’t,” Orna spat. “Boots can’t tell us, so we’d have to read her mind, and guess what? Our two readers are on the ground with my girlfriend!”

  “You’re going to control yourself, Miss Sokol,” snapped Armin, “or you won’t be part of these discussions.”

  Cordell placed a cigarette between his lips, but he didn’t light it. It was a sure sign he was ready to go stress out in private. “Look, we’re not going to leave any of our folks on Hammerhead, okay? But we’re not going off half-cocked. It’s a two-day jump, and I expect us to be ready the second we exit the Flow. If we don’t have a signal by then …”

  His expression darkened. “We may just have to pick up Malik and leave.”

  “Captain!” Orna snarled, but Cordell interrupted her.

  “Enough! You know the risks! You all knew them when you stayed on the ship and kicked Witts’s anthill. I’m not saying Miss Brio and the Ferriers are dead, but we have to consider the living crew first.”

  “So you’re just giving up on her?” said Orna, face bright red.

  “Absolutely not,” said Cordell, “but unless we can be sure there’s a reason, we will not assault the Pinnacle. And before you open your mouth to say something foolish, Miss Sokol, they have a few days to get us a signal. Any signal at all.”

  “If you intend to leave without her,” said Orna, “I’m staying behind.”

  Boots had never seen Orna look at her captain that way.

  Cordell shook his head. “You do what you have to do, but I aim to keep everyone alive.” He waved the map up to full. “Malik, you’re to go wait along the far ridgeline. We have to know if any shuttles arrive or depart, and if possible, who’s on board. Nilah and the twins have had some amount of military training on our vessel. If they’ve absorbed enough, they’ll know it’s their duty to get a signal to us.”

  Cordell turned to Armin. “Mister Vandevere, I want you running scenarios of all possible air defense, as well as infantry magic tactics … in the event that the rescue mission is a go. I want to know where the most scanner-opaque place is to set Miss Sokol and Charger down. If we can weave through their sensors, they won’t see us coming.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” said Armin.

  “Mister Jan, when you rendezvous with Miss Sokol, you two are to create as much chaos in that base as possible. When I’m satisfied their air defenses are shattered, we’ll launch Miss Elsworth in the Midnight Runner and hammer that guard post with everything we can.”

  Everyone nodded their assent, but no one looked particularly pleased with the plan.

  “And since there’s a possibility we’ll encounter a shadow god …” Cordell began, giving Orna
a meaningful look.

  Orna leaned back against a console, her icy glare fixed on the captain. “The disperser rifle will probably work, if I cannibalize some of the parts from Charger’s main slinger. That’s going to leave me up close and personal during any fighting.”

  “Are you complaining about that?” he asked.

  Her lips curled in a snarl. “No. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Dismissed. Missus Jan, lay in a course for Hammerhead.”

  “She’s going to signal us, Captain,” said Orna.

  He put his hands on his hips and huffed through his nose. “I know she will.”

  Orna took off, no doubt headed for her bench in the cargo bay, where she could start prepping, and Armin followed shortly after, bound for the datamancer’s throne in his quarters. Aisha said her goodbyes to Malik and retreated to the pilot’s chair. Boots turned away from the married couple’s conversation, feeling as though she was intruding on a private moment. Cordell tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Everyone is getting down to business,” he said. “That means it’s up to you and me to look through the contents of Durand’s box in my office.”

  “And I’m guessing you want to smoke, sir.”

  “Head down to the mess, grab us enough coffee to wake the dead and some snacks. Maybe I’ll be done by then.”

  Boots scoffed. “Yeah. I’ll take my time.”

  Nilah had spent a few hours in a daze, wandering around the Pinnacle’s rotunda like a buffoon. But when she ate again, the food tasted strangely bitter—and the cloying sensation of the cultists’ drugs fled her system.

  Someone had fed her an antidote, but who? Maybe the double agent was still around. Maybe it was a mind game.