End Game

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Alisa?” Yumi murmured, coming over to stir a chafing dish next to her.

  “Grab a tray,” Alisa said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Yumi might not have Starseer senses, but she could stand outside a door and warn Alisa if someone was coming.

  Yumi nodded and hurried to place drinks on an empty tray.

  Murmurs arose across the hall, and the cyborgs stopped harassing Leonidas. Ms. Henneberry had appeared, striding across the marble floor in a dress that swept the tiles. Two men almost as burly as the cyborgs followed her, clearly acting as bodyguards. Maybe they even were cyborgs. Had she hired half of the ex-imperial battalion?

  “Better go now,” Yumi murmured. “Everyone will be listening to her speech.”

  “Right.” Alisa glanced toward Leonidas to make sure his buddies weren’t paying her any attention. They weren’t. Even though they had paused to watch their boss’s entrance, they were sticking to him like magnets.

  I’ll try to keep an eye out for you, Young-hee’s voice sounded softly in Alisa’s mind.

  Good. Thank you.

  Taking her drink-laden tray, Alisa headed for the corridor Leonidas had indicated. A man and woman with linked arms walked out of it as she approached. She lifted the tray, glad for an excuse to be heading this way.

  “Wine, sir? Ma’am?”

  Without acknowledging her, they plucked drinks from the tray and continued into the banquet hall. Alisa smiled slightly. In this case, it was good to be invisible.

  She headed up the corridor with Yumi strolling behind her. It proved as wide, spacious, and marbled as the other passages, with sculptures of famous figures on pedestals here and there. Alisa almost laughed when she spotted Alcyone with the Staff of Lore. Maybe Henneberry had yearned for that artifact long before it reappeared in the system.

  “Do you know what’s back here?” Yumi asked as they walked.

  “No idea.”

  “Are we picking a spot at random then?”

  “Any place that looks like it wouldn’t be searched often, preferably a room not likely to have a camera in it.” Alisa still had a lav in mind but would settle for a closet.

  Unfortunately, all the carved wooden doors looked like they led to staterooms for important people rather than to broom closets. The corridor the servants had been using might have been a better bet.

  Up ahead, two women came out of a room, one finishing adjusting her dress. As Alisa came forward and offered them drinks, she glimpsed a sink inside. It was a public lav. Not as remote as she would have preferred, but maybe it would do.

  The two women took drinks and headed toward the banquet hall, where Alisa could hear Henneberry’s voice now, an amplification system helping it to carry. She couldn’t make out all the words, but it sounded like a welcome and the opening remarks of a speech. Claps followed whatever she said first.

  Alisa waited for the women to reach the hall before reaching for the lavatory door. But someone burst out of another door farther up the corridor, and she paused.

  A man with his shirt tails dangling out and lipstick on his collar mumbled something about being late and shoved past Alisa and Yumi to enter the lav first.

  Not wanting to be caught lurking around the facilities—who knew if the servants were even allowed to use this one?—Alisa headed farther up the corridor.

  “Young-hee says there’s a linen closet that way, past that intersection and then after that turn up there,” Yumi whispered.

  “That could work.”

  Alisa didn’t want to look too determined as she strode farther and farther from where she was supposed to be working, but walked quickly anyway. The sooner they planted the tracker, the sooner they could return and calmly serve drinks until the event was over.

  She peered left and right at the intersection, hoping it would be empty. It was, but a sign on a pair of closed doors at one end made her pause. Bridge Access, it read.

  Alisa had wanted out of the way, but if this was the route to the bridge, it wouldn’t be nearly as remote as she had hoped.

  I doubt the bridge crew leaves to check linen closets often, Young-hee spoke into her mind. Keep going. The bridge is up three floors—that’s just the doors to the private elevator leading there. There are only a few people up there, and they’re chatting with each other and monitoring the other ships. They’re wary, worried that one or more mafia families might try to take advantage of this get together to rid the system of rivals.

  Thanks, Alisa thought, glad for the extra intel.

  She continued through the intersection and up the main corridor, turned the corner, and almost ran into a man coming out of his cabin.

  Yumi sucked in a startled breath, bumping into her shoulder. The gray-haired man looked more like one of the guests than the crew, so Alisa hoped he wouldn’t think anything of them wandering around.

  “Wine, sir?” she offered.

  The man blinked bleary eyes, peering at her and then at Yumi, his gaze snagging on Yumi, though he appeared more puzzled than suspicious. Yumi offered her tray without saying anything, though her eyes darted from side to side, like she was thinking of fleeing.

  “Wine?” the man asked, still sounding puzzled. “Yes, wine. That should wash things down, eh?” He thumped Alisa on the shoulder. “The old witch started talking yet?”

  “Uh, I believe so, sir.”

  “Hm. Better make an appearance.” He grabbed a glass of wine and walked toward the corner, his gait uneven.

  “Looks like he’s already been drinking,” Alisa murmured.

  “Drugging. That was the man I told you about. The one whose children I tutored.”

  “The secret mafia prince? He didn’t seem too intimidating.”

  “Not when he’s high, no. But if he’s here, and any of his enemies are here, you can expect trouble.” Yumi waved toward a bulkhead, or perhaps toward the ships surrounding the yacht.

  “Enemies? Other mafia clans?”

  “Yes. He’s conniving. I could see him using this as—”

  The man came back around the corner and frowned toward them. Yumi flinched. Had he heard her voice and recognized it? He wore that puzzled expression again as he walked toward Yumi.

  “You remind me of someone,” he said.

  Yumi shook her head. And here Alisa had been worried that it would be Leonidas’s voice that would get them in trouble.

  “She grew up in Southern Sarki,” Alisa said. “One of the remote tribal villages. She doesn’t speak Standard.”

  “Huh. Well, she doesn’t have to speak.” He grabbed a second wine glass, then gestured toward the door he had originally exited from. “Come see me later, eh? I’ll make sure you have a good time. Tell her, will you?” he asked Alisa.

  “Of course,” she said, careful to keep the distaste off her face.

  “Excellent.” He checked out her chest. “You can come too.”

  “I’m so honored.”

  He winked and ambled out of sight again.

  “He’s less of an ass when he’s sober,” Yumi said, after peering around the corner and making sure he was truly gone this time. “He can be quite genteel.”

  “As he’s swiving servants. I can imagine.”

  Yumi sighed. “He fooled me for a long time. And his children adore him, think he’s a wonderful father.”

  Alisa had a hard time imagining that, but it didn’t matter right now. She had a mission.

  She headed for a door as carved and elegant as the others but positioned close enough to another door that it looked to be a lav or closet instead of a cabin. Like the others, it had an old-fashioned doorknob to match the real wood. It opened easily, no lock.

  Yumi lingered near the corner, reaching into her jacket for something. She pulled out a pen and looked around.

  “Yumi?” Alisa whispered. “Come watch my back, will you?”

  Yumi came over to join her, but her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. Alisa walked into the most elegant linen closet she had ever s
een. It was well lit, with marble shelves of towels and sheets neatly stacked and rising well over her head. A cadre of cleaning robots rested on the floor in the back. She had been hoping for a dark, dingy, and rarely visited closet, but the meticulousness of the place made her think it was visited—and inspected—often.

  “Let me know if anyone comes,” she whispered to Yumi, then set her tray on a stack of towels, the glasses clinking together, and dug the tracker out of her jacket.

  Maybe if she tucked it under a shelf in the back…

  “I will.” Yumi leaned in and grabbed a card off a stack, the fronts monogrammed with H’s. The bottom was blank, probably for leaving some note about cleaning services. Yumi stepped back into the corridor with it.

  Alisa knelt down next to the robots, noticing one with a big dent. It was in the back corner and dustier than the others. A broken one, perhaps. On a whim, she picked it up and stuck the tracker to its low profile belly. The amount of dust and lint stuck to the bottom made her hope the robot cleaner had been back here for years and wouldn’t be taken in for maintenance anytime soon. She flicked a switch to activate the tracking device and hustled out of the closet with her tray.

  She caught Yumi finishing penning a message on the back of the card.

  “Nobody’s coming,” she informed Alisa.

  “Thanks,” Alisa said dryly.

  Alisa closed the door and strode for the corner. The sooner she got away from this spot, the better. She wasn’t surprised when Yumi lingered behind again, pausing at the door of the room her mafia prince had exited. The door wasn’t locked, and she disappeared inside.

  Alisa sighed and waited, peeking around the corner to make sure the way remained clear.

  “Sorry,” Yumi whispered, rejoining her.

  “Was that a note telling him you wouldn’t be able to accept his invitation?”

  “More that he would be unwise to harass one Yumi Moon, due to her powerful new friends.”

  Alisa raised her eyebrows.

  “I told him I was surrounded by Starseers and cyborgs,” Yumi said.

  “I’ll give you Starseers, but is it possible to be surrounded by one cyborg?”

  “Leonidas is a large man.” Yumi stretched her arms out wide.

  “This is true.” Alisa had been surrounded by him before, certainly. “Ready to get back to him?”

  Yumi nodded.

  They crept around the corner, trays in hand, and made it to the intersection without seeing anyone. Alisa thought they might make it back without anything bad happening. Then the bridge access doors opened, and a man with a familiar face and a familiar cocky amble walked out. Commander Tomich.

  “What the—” Alisa blurted, so surprised that she couldn’t clamp her mouth shut in time. Worse, she was so busy gaping at him, that she bumped against the corner of the intersection. Her tray only clipped it, but that was enough to cause glasses to clink and wobble. “Shit.”

  She reached for two teetering on the edge, but they tumbled over the side before she caught them. They hit the marble floor and shattered, spraying her leg with wine. It was all she could do to steady the tray before the rest of the glasses pitched to the deck.

  Tomich slowed down, but kept walking toward them as he stared at Alisa. He wore the same blue uniform as the security people did, but there were silver embroidered rings around the cuffs of his sleeves, and he wore a cap with more silver embroidery on the bill.

  Yumi set her tray down on the floor and pulled a towel from the belt of her uniform.

  Alisa was too busy staring at Tomich to bend down to help. What in all three suns’ hells was he doing here? And had he recognized—

  “I don’t know the face,” Tomich said, after a glance over his shoulder, “but I know that voice.” He jogged forward and gripped Alisa’s shoulder. He looked up and down the main corridor before whispering, “What are you doing here, Marchenko?”

  “I was just wondering the same thing about you.” Alisa plucked at his embroidered sleeve. “Are you working here? What happened to—”

  “Sh,” he whispered, glancing toward the ceilings. “Cameras. Let’s hit the lav.”

  Two floor-cleaning robots zipped down the corridor from the direction of the linen closet. Not the out-of-commission one, fortunately. Yumi scurried back as they flung themselves atop the water and glass, making crunching and slurping sounds.

  “Yumi,” Alisa whispered. “Can you take my tray back? I’ll meet you back in the hall in a minute.”

  “Yes, of course.” Yumi looked daunted at the task of balancing both trays, especially after seeing Alisa crash, but she did her best and tottered down the corridor.

  Barely waiting for Yumi to move out of the way, Tomich grabbed Alisa’s arm and dragged her to the lav the lipstick-besmudged man had gone into a few minutes earlier. She opened her mouth to warn him that it might be occupied, but Tomich shoved the door open and pulled her inside before she could speak. It was empty.

  “No cameras in here?” she asked, still staring at Tomich, her brain not able to puzzle out how he had come to be here, or why he was here.

  “No. What are you doing here, Marchenko?”

  “What are you doing here? I’m a notorious criminal these days, aren’t I? Accused of kidnapping and colluding with the empire, and the suns know what else? Shouldn’t I be tangled up with the mafia?”

  He snorted. “You tell me. You’re not still trying to catch up with that staff, are you?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the staff. I’m after… Tymoteusz.”

  “Why? He’s not the one with your daughter, is he?”

  “He’s the one with…” Alisa realized she would set herself up for further accusations of colluding with the empire if she admitted she was after the prince. “Someone,” she finished lamely. “Someone I promised to get back.”

  Tomich opened his mouth, no doubt to question her on Someone’s identity, but she rushed on, hoping to distract him. And she wanted answers of her own, damn it.

  “I think Henneberry will lead me to Tymoteusz,” Alisa said. “Tomich, what are you doing here? In that uniform?”

  “Spying, what do you think?”

  “You’re not a spy. Unless they sent you to intelligence school in the last year.”

  “All right, I’m the pilot for the spy. But my chain of command set it all up so I could believably get a job here. That’s why I was seemingly publicly embarrassed, locked away, then kicked out of the military.”

  She stared at him. She hadn’t heard that last addendum.

  “It was to make it plausible that I’d be searching for a civilian gig. And Henneberry was happy to get me.”

  “You’re here because of the meeting?” she asked. “Not the staff?”

  “Well, we want the staff, too, of course, but this—” he waved a hand to take in the yacht, “—has been in the works for months, and our intel people caught a whiff of it a while ago. We can’t let these thugs even contemplate taking over the system. Business moguls and mafia brutes. It would be even worse than the damned empire.” He pushed a hand through his hair, seemingly forgetting that he had a cap on, for he knocked it off, cursed, and had to pick it up.

  “Your spy,” Alisa said slowly, “is it the man in the blue suit?”

  “You knew?” Tomich cursed. “I’ll tell him he’s not being nearly as circumspect as he thought. He’s supposed to be one of the entrepreneurs Henneberry invited. The real man is locked up on Arkadius for tax evasion. He’s in a costume and designed to look like him. How did you know?”

  “My spies are better than yours.”

  He gave her an aggrieved expression, and she almost laughed despite the uncertainty of this predicament. It was good to one-up him.

  “You brought some of those damned Starseers along, didn’t you?” he asked. “That’s cheating.”

  This time, she did laugh. She supposed that answered her question about whether the blue-suited man was a Starseer. He must simply have taken some o
f that drug.

  “Look, maybe we can work together,” Alisa said. “I’ve just placed a—”

  Voices sounded outside the door, right outside.

  “That’s the captain,” Tomich whispered, pressing a finger to his lips.

  The door opened.

  Before Alisa could start to think of an excuse for why she would be in the lav with the pilot, Tomich pressed her against the wall, grabbed her ass, and kissed her. Vigorously. She was too stunned to do anything more than stand there, though she eventually realized she should look like a participant and not a victim. She put her hands on his waist and rubbed him through his clothes, while hoping that he didn’t knock off her fake nose with his enthusiastic kissing.

  A throat cleared as the door opened fully.

  “Commander Tomich,” a white-haired man with a gravelly voice said, his tone extremely dry. “Your reputation is for screwing admirals, not serving wenches.”

  Wenches? Alisa wanted to comment on that, but figured she had better keep her mouth shut. She did not want to be brought to Henneberry’s attention.

  Tomich, feigning that he was surprised to see his captain there, pulled back and faced the door. “That’s true, sir,” he said, plastering that insouciant grin of his across his face, “but she has a nice ass. I couldn’t resist.” He grinned at her, too, though there was a glare wrapped up in it, and she had a feeling he was blaming her for putting him in a suspicious position.

  Well, the hells with him. He’d been the one to drag her in here.

  The captain stuck his head far enough into the lav to look at Alisa’s butt. She didn’t know whether to sigh or feel embarrassment. There were people standing in the corridor behind the captain. A couple more blue-clad officers, and—her gut twisted—Leonidas. Holding a tray of hor d'oeuvres. What was he doing out there with those crewmen? And had he seen that ridiculous kiss?

  “It is nice,” the captain agreed, “but I expect you to keep your ass-squeezing to after hours, and certainly not during Ms. Henneberry’s big event.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I didn’t figure you’d need me right now.”