by Alex White
The fish clasped zir hands and stood clear of the door. “Excellent, my friends. This far I go, and no farther. If I’m needed for anything, please contact me with this.” Zie handed each of them a card, and Boots touched it to her comm to embed the connection string.
Zie was keeping a fair distance, almost too precise, and Boots regarded zir sidelong. Beyond, the room breathed to life, glowing spheres rising from woven rugs to light the rafters.
“You can’t show us the room?” she asked.
The concierge shook zir head. “I’m afraid not. Your apartments are your sovereign territory, and it’s unwise for someone in my position to visit. If you need any assistance inside, I would recommend you bring a spike thrall to our administrative offices for inspection.”
Boots grimaced. “We … uh … don’t have any thralls currently, though, do we?”
“You have five,” said the fish. “Good luck.”
Nilah gulped as they stepped inside and sealed the door. The room beyond danced with shadows from the orbs circling overhead, and she squinted to discern any details.
The eagle raised his finger and whispered, “Fan out. I want those thralls dealt with.”
Tendrils of her silver rabbit cloak receded as Nilah removed her mask, exposing her bare arms. She cycled her tattoos, ramping them up to a flash. Boots and Orna drew slingers, and Cordell cast his shield, cerulean and wavering, in the air.
The first of the thralls appeared in a doorway: a shirtless man, eyes wide and deep-set. Boots raised her slinger, and Cordell stopped her.
The thrall cocked his head. “State the passkey.”
“Let’s not make a mess unless we have to,” Cordell said. “Miss Brio, could you please put this poor man down?”
Nilah traced her mechanist’s glyph and held it in her hand, hesitating. As if reading her mind, Cordell added, “He’s already dead, or he wishes he was.”
She slowly approached the thrall, which became more agitated the closer she got. His lips were twitching, like he wanted to speak, which made the thought of ending his life even more nauseating. To her surprise, he did manage to speak, though his single word dismayed her.
“Intruder!” he bellowed, and other screams rang out from deeper inside the apartment.
Flashes of magic popped from the rooms beyond as the thralls in the darkness cast their marks. Nilah readied herself to leap out of the way, but instead of charging, he cast the breaker’s mark, his muscles magically swelling to near bursting. With a howl, he ran at her, arms stretched wide, ready to rip her in half. Nilah ducked under his sweeping hands and kicked him in the kidney—but it was like kicking the face of a cliff. He wheeled on her and she blinded him with one arm, then rolled to one side to avoid a crushing punch.
The other thralls joined the fray, spells flying, and slinger fire rang out in the now-crowded room. She couldn’t pay attention to them, though, or the breaker would get his hands on her. If he managed to secure a purchase, he could pull off one of her arms or legs as easily as destroying a doll. A lucky lunge brought him too close, and she juked, exposing his spine. She slammed her palm against the back of his neck, psychically connecting to his neural spike.
For a split second, she could see all his brain activity, how it was forcing him to fight, how it suppressed his sorrow. He wanted to die, and it wouldn’t let him.
Nilah shorted the eidolon crystal into his brain, and he fell dead, tendrils of noxious smoke rising from his nostrils.
When she spun to face the other thralls, she found them bleeding out on the ground, slinger wounds in their heads and chests. Cordell stood in front of Orna and Boots, his shield still wavering where it’d been struck by some attack. She hunkered down and retreated behind him, as well. They cleared out each of the rooms without further resistance.
Returning to the foyer, Nilah couldn’t help but stare at her handiwork. She wondered if her dead assailant had done anything to deserve the cards fate had dealt him. Had there been much left of the man in the end?
Cordell donned his mask and tapped his comm. “Concierge? Yes, I need to inquire about body disposal … Okay. Yes. What does that entail?” He held a brief conversation, then signed off. “Apartment interiors aren’t covered by the trust. There’s a service with a hefty fee,” Cordell told the rest of the group, “or we can drag these poor bastards to our disposal chute. If we go with the service, it’s eight thousand per head, and we’ve already bankrupted the ship’s funds, so this would be a shared expense.”
“Garbage chute it is. Boots, you want to get that one?” said Orna, grabbing a woman’s corpse and dragging her toward the kitchen.
“We should do the service,” Nilah blurted. “We’re rich enough. These people deserve proper rites.”
Cordell shook his head. “That’s not what’ll happen, though. They’ll come pick up the bodies, scrub the place with a hotelier, and dump them in their own garbage chute. It’s just a way to clean up. No matter what, these people aren’t getting what they deserve.”
“I know. I just feel worse because …” Nilah gulped, not wanting to say the words she knew should come out of her mouth. “We should harvest the spikes.”
Orna looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“Look,” she said, “those spikes are already coded to the station administration. That means they’re tracked. We … I don’t know … we might be able to reuse those codes somehow.”
Cordell jammed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “So … a bigger mess.”
Orna reached down to her boot and pulled out a long knife. “I’m game. They’re not using them.”
The quartermaster spent the next twenty minutes in the bathroom with each corpse doing her grisly work. Nilah couldn’t bear to watch, but Orna handled it with all the casual professionalism of a butcher. She must’ve seen more than enough mutilated bodies in her time. When she emerged, she held five spikes, still wet with the blood of their former owners.
“Garbage now,” she said.
Nilah helped the others drag the bodies, one by one, to the disposal. Every time she watched the soles of someone’s feet disappear into the darkness, she said a little apology to the deceased. Boots joined in, then Cordell, and finally, to Nilah’s surprise, Orna.
Their task complete, they remained in silence for a long while before Cordell spoke.
“I know what all of you are thinking, and I’d love to scuttle this place, too … but we have to focus on finding Giles and getting the index. The most important thing is finding out what resources we have at our disposal. Toss these rooms until you’ve got everything of value. In the meantime, I’ll let the Scuzzbucket know we’re safe.”
They set to work tearing the place apart. The four units were more tasteful than Scarett’s quarters on Prothero, which made the search more difficult. Each line of modern, minimalist design held yet another hidden cabinet, convenient recess, or access panel, and the handles, catches, and levers were so perfectly worked into their surroundings that they were hard to find.
And then there were the furnishings with blood on them, which everyone avoided until the end.
Slowly but surely, their resources began to pile up. A slinger here, a credit chit there, surveillance devices, emergency depressurization bubbles, two portable shields—not as good as Cordell’s, but useful—and lastly, a plain metal case.
Nilah traced her mechanist’s glyph and placed her hand atop the case, psychically feeling around for any hidden workings or traps. There had been a time in her life when a box was just a box, and she’d have opened it immediately. Many devious ploys later, she trusted nothing on its face.
A powerful energy resonance met her mind, and she nearly broke contact in surprise. Carefully flipping open the top, she found a palm-sized eidolon crystal so pure she felt as though she could fall into its facets. Her breath caught.
“Uh …” But words failed.
Most crystals had a milky surface, a vaguely pinkish hue that spoke to thei
r impurities. They had to be used in series to get the desired throughput, reducing efficiency. The Capricious’s main power plant was a set of eight cloudy, head-sized stones.
She cleared her throat again, but the magical rush of the crystal swooned her. “Hey …”
“What is it?” Cordell called from the next room. “Everything okay?”
She suppressed her spell, and her intoxication dissipated, though her tattoos still radiated pink pleasure. “Yeah. We’ve just … got a new piece on the board is all.”
“What’s up, babe—” Orna rounded the corner and drew up short when she saw the crystal sitting in its protective case. “Whoa. Is that—”
Nilah shook her head.
Orna’s cheeks flushed. “We could …”
“I know.”
“Wow.”
“Right?”
Boots and Cordell followed shortly after, but they only saw future argents when they looked at the stone.
“Just how powerful are we talking here?” asked Boots.
“Capital ship jump drive,” said Nilah. “Or main amp. This could power a small city.”
“Or obliterate it,” Orna added.
Cordell folded his hands behind his back and sauntered to the large porthole window that dominated the bedroom. “Now isn’t that something? Looks like ol’ Bill Scar just gave the Capricious his freedom, because we are definitely turning that into a jump drive.”
Nilah blinked. “You want to put this in our ship? That’s overkill.”
Cordell shook his head. “No more Gate Cartel. No traceability. Just jump on and off whenever we want. Hell yes, I want to put that on our ship. And in the meantime, I want to put it in Charger so that we’ve got the most badass beast in the galaxy.”
Orna let out an annoyed sigh. “Not how it works, Cap. Overcranking his subsystems would probably wreck them.”
He grimaced. “Okay, fine then. All I’m saying is that we use this thing to blast some deserving punks.”
The window adjusted its tint as the light of a large jump spilled across it. Nilah blinked, trying to make out the shape of the ship that had just entered their sliver of space, but only saw blackness and stars. Except some of the stars had aligned into long rows of grid lines. Only then did she understand what she was looking at:
The black hull of Izak Vraba’s warship.
Chapter Nineteen
Duet
Nilah had last seen it in the skies of Hammerhead, sleek and sinister, and had prayed they’d never have to deal with it directly. Twin streaks of engines filled the porthole view as the Masquerade scrambled its fighters.
Cordell nodded approvingly. “Two dozen fighters versus a ship like that? It’ll be a knock-down, drag-out if they go at it.”
Boots spoke up. “You think they’re posturing maybe? Telling him not to try anything?”
The captain smirked. “I wish that asshole would. Those fighters would cut him down, and that’s not counting station defenses.”
Nilah shook her head. “You’re not counting his godlike magic, Captain.”
“True that.” He tapped his comm. “Eagle to Prince.”
“This is Prince,” Armin replied over the comm.
Cordell cleared his throat. “Be advised: Vraba is here, and we’re not sure why yet. Keep all systems online in case we need to beat a hasty retreat. Jump coordinates Murphy Belt. If the shooting starts, give us five minutes and get the hell out of here.”
“Copy that, Eagle,” said Armin. “Be careful out there.”
They watched the vanguard of fighters crisscross around the warship like a pack of sharks, but no glowing shots joined the starscape.
“I think he could easily destroy this place if he wanted,” said Boots. “Just snap it in half. He cracked into the Pinnacle like a candy shell. I’d hate to see godlike glyphs through military amps.”
“He’s not here for us,” said Nilah, “or we’d already be in pieces. He’s here for the Money Mill index.”
“You can’t know that,” said Orna.
Nilah took a few steps closer to the window to watch the action. “He knows we caught Maslin Durand. He knows we looted the bloke’s vault box on Mercandatta. If he hasn’t been able to find the contract anywhere else, he can assume we have it. That means we’re after the index, and he intends to get to it first.”
Boots smiled. “I almost wish he knew we were here, since he can’t blow the station or he might destroy the index.”
“Making his contract and the Money Mill inoperative,” said Nilah. “But … that also means that if we destroy the index while we’re on board, he might just kill everyone in retaliation. There’d be nothing stopping him.”
“The way I see it,” said Cordell, “we’ve got three obstacles: we don’t know where Giles is, we can’t just grab him in the Promenade, and even if we could, getting him back to the ship would be nightmare.”
“He doesn’t have to make it off the station,” Boots added with a dark expression. “Only the index does.”
In the distance, one of the launch bays slid open on the warship, and a marauder exited, flanked by enemy fighters. The Masquerade’s vanguard fell in behind the formation, escorting them toward the station.
Cordell donned his mask, eagle feathers spilling down his shoulders. “Let’s get to the docking bay. I want to see this bastard in the flesh.”
They rushed back into the gardens of the Promenade, and as they walked, Nilah noticed other masked figures joining them. Before long, the palatial Promenade filled with flying platforms, all headed toward the docking bay. They gathered at the head of the station, eagerly watching as Vraba’s marauder entered its final docking stages.
“Why is everyone turning out?” Nilah whispered to Boots in her strange, masked voice.
“Probably just want to see the important guy with the unregistered warship.”
They arrived at the docking bay, taking their place along the mezzanine railing, where they’d have a good view. Several dozen revelers had gathered in the bay, and thralls set up an impromptu cordon to keep them back. The Scuzzbucket lay peacefully nestled among the other ships, its archrome finish scarcely the most exotic thing there. The concierge waited alone on the platform at the end of the line as the blast door slid open.
Vraba’s marauder glided through the atmos bubble, its polished hull like the iridescent carapace of a midori beetle. Anchor servos reached out and gently guided it onto the clamps, and a bridge grew from the concierge’s feet to the ship.
The hatch opened, and Nilah squinted to get a better look, cursing herself for not installing zoom optics on her mask. A figure emerged—an elephant with bulging shoulders and wide gray ears swept backward. A crust of gems sparkled along his trunk, which curled at the end like a question mark. Then came a badger, a weasel, and a marpo; Nilah enjoyed more than a little schadenfreude at that person’s expense.
“How are we going to know which one is Vraba?” asked Orna.
Boots glanced at them. “Maybe we could—”
Then a stately crow emerged from the ship, every feather of its jet-black coat tipped with a golden arrowhead. Gilded chains encircled its head, resting across its reflective beak. It swept down the bridge, and the others fell in behind.
Boots the bear nodded. “Well, that makes it easy.”
“I have to say,” said Nilah, “I’m a little disappointed. It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Cut the chatter,” said Cordell.
“All crew, come in,” said Armin. “This is Prince.”
Cordell tapped his comm, which was a little disturbing, since he had to reach inside the illusory eagle’s head to make that happen. “Go ahead, Prince.”
“You need to spread out, now,” said Armin. “We don’t want him to see you following, or he’ll be leery of your masks. If you can get visual coverage of the Central Promenade, you may be able to see where he goes.”
“Copy, Prince,” said Cordell, turning to the rest of the
m. “We’ve got twenty-five corridors on each side of the Promenade. Bear, head to the intersection of six and forty-four. Rabbit, take twelve. Wolf, take eighteen. Go now.”
Nilah raced down the mezzanine in search of one of the mobile platforms, but so many of them had been taken by gawkers eager to see Vraba’s arrival. It must’ve been a rare occasion for a warship to appear outside of the Masquerade. She hopped on one of the circles and raised her palms, guiding the control panel to her hand. She dialed in twelve, and it set off.
She glanced behind herself. Aside from her own, the only platforms headed away from the docking area were the ones with Boots and Orna. The wolf quickly overtook her, racing toward the far end of the Central Promenade.
Upon landing, Nilah took quick stock of her surroundings: a few benches, a drug dispensary, a nightclub that either hadn’t opened yet or was winding down after a lengthy evening cycle. She hadn’t been on the station long enough to get a feel for the local time. She scurried toward the dispensary, trying to blend in among the other revelers selecting their highs for the day.
A fox in a tuxedo came to her and smiled a toothy grin—another one of the free-willed staffers. How zie could live with zirself among the thralls was beyond Nilah. “Good morning! Perhaps I could be of some assistance in selecting a—”
“Something obscure and wicked. Artisanal. Handcrafted,” she said, cutting zir off. “I expect you to take your time and really impress me.”
“O … okay. Of course. How do your tastes run?”
She turned to face the window, to the Promenade, folding her hands behind her back. “Give me something to regret. Blow my mind so hard it’ll take days to put the pieces back together.”
Zie brightened at that prospect. “I see. Would you like it delivered to your—”
“Do I not sound like I’m dying for it? Stop asking daft questions and brew me something.”
“Right away,” said the fox, bustling toward a doorway deeper into the dispensary.
On the way, a reveler caught the apothecary and added, “I’ll have what zie’s having.”
