End Game

by Lindsay Buroker

“Clive?” Beck asked. “We already gave you his name. You want his résumé too?”

  “Maybe they think he’s cute,” Abelardus said, “and they want to ask him on a date.”

  Scar turned his humorless glower onto Abelardus and took a step toward him. But Leonidas shifted slightly, and the thug bumped into his shoulder, pulling Scar’s attention back to him.

  Alisa wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Abelardus ought to be able to protect himself with some coercion or telepathic attack. Scar didn’t seem like he had the mental fortitude to resist a Starseer’s mind games.

  Please, Abelardus said silently, he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to resist the mind games of a rock.

  “Were you in the military, mech?” Scar asked, leaning close enough that Leonidas would feel his breath on his cheek. “I don’t recognize you, but you are old.”

  Only someone who knew Leonidas well would catch the flash of indignation in his eyes. Other than that, he did not react. He was too wise to risk the mission over some personal slight. He tried to take a step forward, but Scar shifted to block him again.

  “Answer me, or you’re not getting in, old man.”

  “He’s suspicious, isn’t he?” Whitey asked.

  “There aren’t that many cyborgs around, and I’ve never seen one acting as a servant.” Scar sneered. “No veteran would choose such a menial job.”

  “As opposed to being the security thugs for some rich old woman?” Alisa muttered. “So important. I’m sure the entire system would fall into the suns if you weren’t here servicing Henneberry’s needs.”

  She expected the comment about servicing to go over their heads, as innuendos had for Leonidas before his surgery, but Scar clearly knew he was being insulted. His face reddened, and he lunged for her, almost knocking Leonidas’s trays out of his arms.

  Alisa jumped back, bumping her shoulder against the bulkhead. She would have been too slow, but Leonidas managed to rearrange his load so that he could grab Scar, catching his wrist with one hand.

  “Civilian model,” he said, as Scar whirled toward him with fury in his eyes.

  “What?” Scar demanded.

  “Me. Not all cyborgs were soldiers.” He was lowering his voice, making it gruff to disguise it.

  “Civilian. You got all the surgeries just so you could carry dishes?” The sneer returned, derision in Scar’s eyes. He jerked his hand away, and Leonidas let him go. “That mean you’ve never killed anyone, mech?”

  “Only those who harass my employers.” Leonidas held his gaze, his own eyes utterly cold, utterly deadly, the prosthetics not softening his face, his intent, as much as Alisa had intended for them to. She was glad he never looked at her like that.

  “I bet,” Scar grumbled. He considered Leonidas for another long moment, then opened his mouth. But no words came out. His forehead scrunched up, and several seconds passed.

  Alisa noticed Young-hee looking at him intently.

  Alisa caught Abelardus’s gaze. Is she doing something?

  Alas, yes. She didn’t find this encounter as entertaining as I did.

  She’s wise and mature for her years.

  I just wanted to see your cyborg flattened to the deck with soup all over his face, Abelardus said.

  You are not wise and mature for your years.

  Your words are a dagger to my heart, Captain.

  Scar shook his head, mumbled something under his breath, and stepped aside so Leonidas could pass. “I’ll be watching you, mech. I don’t trust you.”

  Without a word, Leonidas continued forward, his trays in his hands. Alisa walked at his side, and they caught up to Beck and Lunquist. Young-hee, Yumi, and Abelardus came behind with their own loads. Unfortunately, the cyborgs walked right behind them. Alisa had hoped their duty was to guard the flight deck and that they would stay there, but her luck wasn’t that good today. At least they hadn’t asked to see her team’s identifications.

  Cyborgs seem to handle security issues with pissing contests, Abelardus commented silently. None of them spoke aloud, not when they were hemmed in by the enemy.

  Those two aren’t wise and mature for their years either, Alisa thought.

  They were the kinds of thugs who had driven terror into her people during the war, far more like what she expected from cyborg soldiers. She’d met a couple of younger ones who’d seemed like reasonable people—at least when they had known who Leonidas was—but suspected Leonidas was an exception rather than the rule. Maybe he had also been an asshole when he’d been twenty-five.

  Such unflattering thoughts for you to have of your devoted lover.

  Is there a reason you’re in my head right now? Alisa asked. They were winding through spacious marble-tiled corridors, the threat subsided, at least for the moment.

  So I can leap to eagerly obey your commands should the need to arise.

  I’m so fortunate to have an eager crew.

  You are.

  Their walk ended in a vast hall as large as the shuttle bay, but far less practical. The space rose several stories, with massive chandeliers floating near the ceilings, each one containing thousands of crystals. Velvety curtains framed huge rectangular portholes that looked out upon the stars. Golden banners curled up tall marble columns with dragons and other mythological figures carved into the stone. The tile floors gleamed, not a speck of dust on them or anywhere else.

  Here and there, plush sets of furniture invited guests to sit, and many people were taking advantage of them. Perhaps a hundred people already occupied the space, many in opulent clothing, some sporting eccentric fashions. Some wore suits made from rich materials. Others wore simpler suits and carried stun guns openly at their hips as they scrutinized the hall. Several people like that turned to watch the catering team walk in. Bodyguards. Probably at least one for each mafia representative or business tycoon in attendance.

  Lunquist led Alisa’s group to long stone tables set up in the back of the hall, lacy tablecloths only partially hiding their stout legs. They were not the types of tables that could be folded up and easily stored away when not in use. It would probably take a couple of androids—or cyborg thugs—to move one.

  “Set up there,” Lunquist said. “Buffet style is fine. A lot of the guests here are people of—” she sniffed, “—simple tastes.”

  Ah, was she not enthused by her employer’s decision to include the mafia families in her scheme?

  “We will expect you to carry drinks and hor d'oeuvres around on trays.” Lunquist waved at Alisa, Leonidas, and Yumi, those in waitstaff attire. “I’ll have a couple of my people come down to help you. We don’t use androids or robots for serving here. Ms. Henneberry prefers the human touch. That said, don’t even think about spilling something on a guest.”

  The two cyborgs, who were still lurking nearby, stood right behind Leonidas. Whitey jostled him in the back, as if to encourage spilling. Leonidas ignored him.

  They’re really drawn to him, Alisa thought.

  Yes, I have a theory, Abelardus replied in her head.

  What? she asked warily, certain it would be more puerile than enlightening.

  They’ve got those enhanced senses, right? Maybe they’re like dogs.

  I’d happily compare those two to dogs, except that seems unfair to dogs across the system.

  Ever see how fixed dogs act around an intact male?

  Uh, not really. There hadn’t been many packs of hounds roving the Nomad when she had been growing up.

  They harass him, and fights are common. Probably because they can smell that he’s got something they don’t.

  Alisa snorted, skeptical at the hypothesis. She had a feeling these two were just assholes through and through and would bully anyone they perceived as weaker than they were. Which would be most people in the system.

  “We have a sommelier too,” Lunquist said, finishing her spiel. “He’ll come down with wines appropriate for the occasion.”

  “That’s a relief,” Beck muttered after she left. �
�The Nomad’s wine cellar was a touch sparse.”

  “Sh,” Alisa murmured, tilting her head toward the cyborgs. Mentioning the name of their ship where those two could overhear was not a good idea.

  Beck wiggled his fingers in acknowledgment, then waved to the table. “Let’s get set up. Looks like a lot of the guests are already here. This shindig might be starting soon.”

  Alisa unloaded her cart while the others did the same with their trays. Leonidas looked relieved to have his hands free again. Even if he was doing a good job at ignoring the ribbing, he did flex his shoulders and eye each of the cyborgs.

  “Plates, did you not bring plates?” a man with an effeminate voice said, striding up to them and tsking mightily as he maneuvered a hand tractor. Cases of wine floated behind him. “Syria, bring trays, plates, napkins, everything we need for our guests. Oh dear, this is lackluster. I was expecting much more thoroughness. Will there be enough food for all?” He pressed long, slender fingers to his cheek as he surveyed Alisa’s team and the food being spread along the tables.

  Beck led the man aside, and they talked in low voices.

  A couple more servers came out with the requested items, and they filled wine glasses, working with impressive efficiency. Alisa soon found herself with dozens of glasses of a sparkling white wine balanced on a tray in her hands. She needed to slip away as soon as possible to find an out-of-the-way spot to place the tracker, but she would take a couple of laps around the hall first, see if she heard any useful information. It crossed her mind to simply place the tracker under one of the heavy stone tables, since they didn’t likely get moved often, but if Henneberry’s people grew suspicious of her catering team later on, they might search all the spots they had been. Besides, she was sure there would be cameras monitoring this hall. Slipping off to a remote lavatory and sticking the tracker behind the toilet seemed like a better bet.

  Young-hee moved out into the room with Alisa, also carrying a tray full of wine glasses, even though she wore a cook’s uniform. Alisa didn’t object, since she could more effectively spy on people with her mental talents.

  They passed numerous bodyguards, either lurking outside of groups of chatting men and women, or leaning against the walls and watching everything. They never accepted wine glasses. A lot of the guests didn’t accept the alcohol either. Some of them were laid back, talking and chatting easily, but at least two-thirds of the people in the hall looked warily at their colleagues as they spoke, their hands never straying far from holsters hidden by jackets. A few arguments broke out. These people were rivals, if not outright enemies, and Alisa began to realize the magnitude of what Henneberry was planning. Getting a bunch of mafia families to work together would be a challenge, to say the least.

  “Captain?” Young-hee whispered, drifting closer, half the drinks on her tray gone.

  “Alisa,” Alisa corrected, not wanting anyone to overhear her being addressed as anything other than a waitperson.

  “That man in the dark blue suit over there… Do you see him?”

  Alisa followed her gaze, picking out the middle-aged fellow with an affable presence who did a lot of hand waving as he chatted. He was among a group of men who laughed easily, seemingly enthralled by whatever story he was telling. Despite the blue-suited man’s civilian attire, he had short hair, appeared lean and fit, and, with another outfit and a cooler demeanor, could have easily passed for one of the bodyguards.

  “Yes,” Alisa murmured.

  “I think he’s a spy.”

  “Oh? For whom?” She assumed Young-hee could read his thoughts and was basing her assumptions on that.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see what he’s thinking, as I can with the rest of the guests. He may have taken qui-gorn.”

  “Why would he have done that to come here?” Alisa hadn’t seen anyone in black robes yet. As much as she wished Tymoteusz were here, his ship hadn’t been out there, so she didn’t expect him. Presumably, this was a preliminary meeting, and those who proved interested after hearing Henneberry talk might be invited to actually meet the chasadski.

  “Like us, perhaps he wasn’t positive Tymoteusz wouldn’t be here,” Young-hee said.

  “Is a drug the only thing that could be keeping you from reading his thoughts?”

  “He could have Starseer training himself. I can’t tell my own kind just by looking at them.”

  “Are your people allowed to go out in public without a robe?” Alisa couldn’t imagine the affable man with a staff and robe. Starseers all seemed stuffier and more self-important than this fellow.

  Young-hee raised an eyebrow, but if she was reading Alisa’s thoughts, all she said was, “On occasion,” and plucked at the hem of her costume.

  Someone else in the group started talking, and Blue Suit took a sip from a wine glass. A very small sip. Like a man pretending to drink without imbibing enough to impair his senses. He looked across the room, past groups of people, and his gaze locked onto Alisa. It wasn’t a cold gaze, but it did seem to be a knowing gaze. And that made her uneasy.

  A woman walked past, and Alisa offered her tray. “Something to drink, ma’am?”

  She positioned herself so that the woman, when she paused, stood between her and Blue Suit. By the time the guest selected her drink and moved away, the man had turned his attention back to his group and was chatting again. Still, Alisa remained unsettled by the way his gaze had landed directly on her and stuck. He couldn’t have recognized her through her costume, could he have? If he was a Starseer, it might be easy to see past physical appearances.

  “Young-hee,” Alisa murmured, heading back to the tables, ostensibly to refill her tray. “I believe I’ll leave the spying to you and Abelardus. Please feel free to root through people’s minds to gather information. In the meantime, I’m going to try to sneak away and place the tracker.”

  If she didn’t get that done, and if her group got caught, then this whole scheme would have been for nothing.

  “Seems like a good idea,” Young-hee said, peering over her shoulder and frowning at the blue-suited man.

  Chapter 13

  As Alisa approached the table to refill her tray, in the hope that she might meander into the corridors with it and nobody would find that unusual, Scar’s obnoxious voice reached her ears. Beck was talking with the sommelier, Yumi was stirring the various dishes to keep them fresh, and Leonidas was standing at the end of the tables, his arms folded over his chest. He looked far more like a bodyguard than a server. Scar hadn’t left his side, and the other big brute lurked nearby, too, though he was at least pretending to watch the hall and the guests.

  “So tell me, civvie cyborg,” Scar said as Alisa reached the table, “how many roasted turkeys do your implants allow you to carry at once? Is that how your usefulness is rated?”

  Alisa gritted her teeth as she placed glasses on her tray. She wished Leonidas could flatten the brute, but she didn’t truly know if he could do that. He’d beaten a younger cyborg before, but he had also admitted to her that the younger soldiers tended to have more recent and more advanced implants, along with the usual perks of youth. It certainly seemed unlikely that he would be able to handle two of them in a fight.

  And they couldn’t fight. Not here. She couldn’t even imagine what would be done to the members of her “catering company” if cyborgs started flying all over the hall, smashing into tables and hurling food onto guests. Even if her team made it back to the shuttle bay, they wouldn’t be able to leave without a yacht crew member hitting a button somewhere to lower the forcefield. If she’d had Ostberg along, he might have had the mechanical aptitude to manipulate computers from a distance, but she didn’t think Abelardus or Young-hee had that gift. She doubted any of them had any idea about the layout of this fancy yacht or where the shuttle bay controls were located.

  “Nah, not turkeys,” Whitey said. “Perunish hens. Bet his implants were considered a success if he could carry a hundred Perunish hens in one arm, maybe juggling them while
he was at it.”

  “Yeah, juggling,” Scar said. “Do you use your implants to perform for your customers, mech?”

  Leonidas met Alisa’s eyes. She expected a pained or aggrieved expression, but instead, he flickered his gaze toward a corridor behind the tables.

  Had he heard about something going on back there that she might want to look into? Or maybe he thought the corridor would be a good place to place the tracker? She had seen guests filtering into the banquet hall from that direction and didn’t know if she agreed. The servants had come out of a different passage, one that might have all manner of storage rooms and closets—maybe she could put the tracker in the wine cellar—but she would have to walk past the cyborgs to access that corridor. She didn’t particularly want to draw their attention. Even if they were pestering Leonidas endlessly, it was better that they be focused on him than on performing actual security duties.

  Abruptly, she realized that might be why he thought this would be a good time for her to explore. She looked at the corridor he had indicated and met his eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “I can carry one hundred hens, fifty turkeys, and throw obnoxious people out of the kitchen at the same time,” Leonidas said, turning toward the cyborgs.

  “Is that right?”

  They puffed out their chests, and one cracked his knuckles, as if they thought they were about to get the fight they clearly wanted. Alisa hoped that was not the case, but she took advantage of their distraction, sliding the full tray into her arms and stepping away from the table. She tried to catch Young-hee’s eye, thinking it would be smart to take her and her Starseer senses along to warn her about trouble coming, but some smarmy old man had made his way to the table and was trying to charm her. Abelardus was on the far side of the banquet hall, delivering small skewers of grilled fowl, and looked like he was mentally eavesdropping on people.

  One of them was Solstice, who stood in an elegant beaded dress with a swooping neckline, two android bodyguards standing nearby. She glanced toward the catering table a couple of times, a worried expression in her eyes. She had probably picked out Leonidas, and maybe Alisa, even with the costumes. At least she didn’t look like she wanted to rat them out.