The tunnel sloped gradually downward, leading them deep into the station’s core. She glanced over at Micah as she walked, and found him subtly transformed. His shoulders were pulled back, and his arms swung more aggressively at his sides, defining a larger personal territory. His gait was changed as well, his stride longer than before, more confident. His eyes were the same, though. When he looked at her their amber depths sparkled with excitement. And why not? He was in his element now. She felt as if a different man was walking by her side—rough-edged and confident, a man whose focus was on the physical world rather than digital fantasies. She and Tully had played various roles in the course of their outriding duties, but they had never transformed so completely or so compellingly. There was something perversely fascinating about a man who was so skilled at becoming someone else.
Soon the voices were loud enough that they knew they were getting close to their source. Ru did a final inventory of her weapons, making sure everything was ready at hand but hidden from sight. All except the long knife that was clipped to her belt. She remembered Micah’s horror when he’d learned the handle was made from the bone of an actual animal, not something cultured or synthesized. But when they left the Artemis he’d insisted she wear it. It had the right flavor for Hydra, he said. Whatever that meant.
People may not wear dead animals in the outworlds, she thought, but in some colonies no one would think twice about it.
The tunnel finally opened out into a large chamber hewn from the same coarse rock, obviously a social space of some kind. Variants of every size and shape were perched at the edge of a long bar, nursed drinks at the small tables surrounding it, traded cards and cast dice at larger tables beyond that, and pursued more private pleasures in shadowy alcoves around the perimeter. Many of the locals had tattoos and dermal inlays like Ivar’s. Only the center of the common room was unoccupied, perhaps because of the large circular cage that stood there. Raised up on a platform that was streaked with dark stains—dried blood, perhaps?—it loomed over the crowd, quietly ominous. Let’s hope that’s not where they entertain visitors, she thought.
They stood in the entrance for a few minutes, just taking it all in. With the costumes Micah had chosen for them they fit in well enough, but Ru was acutely aware that the wrong words or actions could give them away, and she remembered Ivar’s warning about what would happen if locals became suspicious of them.
Somewhere in here is a person who will tell us what we need to know, without asking why we need to know it. All we have to do is find that person. Looking around the room, she shook her head. The task had seemed far easier back on the Artemis, when it was just hypothetical.
“Drinks,” Micah suggested. She nodded in agreement, and the two of them crossed the crowded room, dodging inebriated locals along the way. One man reached for Ru’s butt but she shot him a look that made him draw his hand back as though he’d just grabbed a hot poker. There were several empty stools at the far end of the bar, and they claimed two. Ru looked around for a person or bot to serve them, and saw an Arakni pouring drinks at the far end. Two of his spindly arms were pouring beer, one was shaking a mixed drink, and one more was wiping the counter clean. Ru caught his eye and he nodded; when his tasks were done he came over to them.
“Haven’t seen you two before.” Was there an edge of challenge in his voice? These people probably all knew each other.
“First time at this bar,” Micah said guardedly. “I’m Tonio. This is Ru.”
“Pred Pago. What can I get for you?”
“What do you recommend?”
“We have an excellent Saurin lager, if that’s to your taste. Just came in. Smooth as a whore’s tongue. Or if you like mixed drinks, the house special is a Bleeding Heart: pepper-infused vodka and cava juice, with a dusting of semi-detoxified nightshade.”
“Semi?” Ru raised an eyebrow.
He grinned. “Dulls the kick if you take it all out.”
“I’ll have the lager,” Micah said.
Ru nodded. “Same here.”
Pago returned to center of the bar, to a row of taps whose manual design suggested a simpler, unconnected world. He was preparing two other orders at the same time as theirs, and it was dizzying to watch his spindly extra arms weave deftly around each other: a ballet of bartending. Finally he returned and put the two drinks down in front of them. Tall glasses filled with amber liquid: the color of Micah’s eyes. “That’s fourteen creds.”
As Micah rummaged in his pocket for the cash chits that Ivar had procured for them, Ru said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “What’s the cage for?”
His upper shoulders shrugged. “Personal challenges, grudge matches, sometimes a formal competition. Whatever people want it for. Better to fight there than in the middle of the bar, yeah?”
Micah sorted through his chits until he found a twenty. “Here.” He put it down on the bar in front of Pago. “Keep the change.”
“Much obliged.” Clearly pleased, the man tucked it into his apron pocket. “It’s been an unusually slow shift up till now, but if you hang around for a while I’m sure you’ll see some action. A day doesn’t pass without someone wanting to beat the crap out of someone else, and this is where they usually come to do it.”
“Inside a cage, so no one else can get hurt,” Ru said.
“Not to mention, it’s easier to clean up after.” He grinned again, then moved on to other customers.
Ru and Micah tasted their lager. It was indeed very smooth. “Alcohol acquisition complete,” Ru said. “Now all that’s left—”
“Is to figure out what manner of game we have to play to find our informant.”
She chuckled softly. “Everything’s a game to you?”
“World’s too damn boring, if you look at it any other way.” He took a deep drink. “Pago’s a talker, and he likes our money, but he’s way too busy right now.” He looked her up and down. “You could seduce someone.”
She blinked. “Say what?”
“Get some pillow talk going. It’s a classic.”
She laughed. “Hardly my style, Micah.”
“Why not? You’re hot, in a Can-you-tame-this? way. Some men can’t resist that.”
She ignored the compliment, mostly because it startled her so much she didn’t know how to respond. “You might be more successful at it. In fact, there’s someone over there”—she gestured past his shoulder—“who has been eyeing you since we sat down.”
“Really?” His eyes widened with interest. “What does she look like?”
“He looks pretty hot.”
He said nothing.
“Not your thing?”
“Not my thing.” He took another drink then looked around the room. “It looks like there’s a card game going on back there. Maybe poker. You any good?”
She chuckled. “I’m good at anything that two people would do to pass time during a tediously long interplanetary flight.”
“Well then, you see? You’d be a natural to—”
“Y’know, I do think that guy is trying to get your attention, maybe I should invite him to join us—”
“Cards it is.” He downed the last of his drink and put the glass down on the bar. “We don’t have to win anything, right? Just make some new friends. Hell, losing might work better for that.”
“You’re the gaming expert. Lead on.”
But before he could get off his stool, a man’s voice rang out. “Attention, all! We have a challenge!” Ru looked for the source of the voice and saw a small group of people gathered at the cage. A tall Medusan was looking around the room, waiting for everyone’s attention. From the way his cranial tentacles were twitching around his head, Ru guessed he was pretty inebriated. Next to him a woman was fumbling with the cage lock, and two men were stripping off
their gear and clothing, baring torsos covered in tattoos.
Micah leaned back against the bar. “This should be interesting.”
The two contestants were totally mismatched. One was a hulking terramorph, a solid wall of muscle in the shape of a man. Even his tattoos looked aggressive. The other was maybe half his size, a slender Frisian who looked like a strong wind could blow him over. He was clearly nervous about the coming challenge, and one could hardly blame him. Soon the two men had taken off everything but their pants; without his shirt, the Frisian looked even smaller. They entered the cage, taking up positions on opposite sides. And waited.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Medusan announced, “and those of you who are both, or neither! This is to be an endurance challenge. No rounds, just survival. On my right is Tank Logan, three-time champion of Hydra’s freestyle competition. On my left is Shane Everest, making his first appearance on our stage.”
Micah muttered, “He’ll fucking crush him.”
“Unless he knows some tricks,” Ru said.
Micah snorted. “It would take one hell of a trick to even that match.”
The Medusan spread his arms wide and called out, “Declare your wagers!”
“Ten seconds!” a voice from one of the gaming tables cried out. People laughed.
“One and a half minutes,” a woman’s voice called out. “Fifty Cs.”
“I’ll take that at three to one,” a man responded.
“Done!”
Other times and prices were called out, gamblers pairing off to wager against each other. Sometimes the odds were haggled over like goods at a bazaar. Most of the times suggested were short, Ru noticed.
“They’re betting on how long he’ll last,” Micah murmured.
“Yeah.” She shook her head. “This is not going to be fun to watch.”
But it was impossible to look away.
When the mating cries of the gamblers had subsided, the Medusan looked around the room one last time. “No one offering three minutes? Oh ye of little faith!” He gestured broadly toward Everest. “Consider: would any man step into this pen if he lacked the fortitude to put up a good fight?” There was no response. “I’ll offer ten to one odds myself, if anyone has the balls to bet on a full three minutes.”
Suddenly Micah slid down from his stool, startling Ru. He positioned himself with his hands on his hips and called out, “One thousand Cs. To win.”
The room suddenly grew quiet. Ru heard someone mutter, “Holy shit.” The Medusan looked at Micah in astonishment. “Do I understand you right? You want to bet on Everest to win?”
“You offered ten to one odds for just three minutes. I’ll take those odds for a clean win. Or . . . a not-so-clean win.” He smiled dryly. “Assuming that works for you.”
“You’d just be throwing out your money.”
“And this bothers you . . . why?”
Now it was the Medusan who fell silent. Was he thinking about how losing this bet could cost him a small fortune? Or reminding himself that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening? Perhaps he was wondering what would drive a man to bet so much money on a lost cause. Hell, Ru was wondering that herself. Maybe the Shenshido bug was still screwing with Micah’s brain, and he was going insane.
“Done,” the Medusan said at last. He made a last call for wagers, then addressed the two fighters. “Standard house rules, no time limit. When one of you taps out—or passes out—that ends it.”
He stepped back. “Lay on.”
Tank moved forward immediately. Everest danced lithely out of reach; it was clear speed was his forte. Ru leaned over to Micah and whispered, “That was a crazy bet. Do you know something I don’t?”
“Lots of things, I’m sure.” He grinned. “But not in regards to this. I’m just playing the game, Ru.”
The beatdown began. It wouldn’t be accurate to call it a “fight,” because that would suggest two equal opponents. Everest was quick and agile and clearly knew how to brawl, but Tank’s longer arms gave him an unbeatable advantage. Again and again the smaller man tried to close distance enough to get in a good shot, and again and again he failed. Meanwhile, Tank had no problem reaching him, and blow after blow landed with a sick smacking sound. Now Ru understood why no one had expected the smaller man to last as long as three minutes.
Then Tank directed a kick at his opponent’s flank. Everest caught the leg deftly under one arm, and before Tank could react he slid forward, closing the distance between them. His right fist drove toward Tank’s jaw, but was blocked. Everest ducked under the counterstrike and brought his left arm around with all his strength, right into Tank’s jaw. The force of the blow threw Tank off balance, and then they were grappling, and they went down together. Everest was like a tenacious spider, his limbs wrapped around Tank at four different angles. He was obviously a skilled grappler, and as he twisted around the hulking body to get the grip he wanted, Ru thought he might even have a chance. But in the end, size and raw strength won out. Tank got an arm around his neck and squeezed. Everest struggled to take control of the situation, and failed. Soon it was over: the smaller man’s body went limp in Tank’s arms and was allowed to slide to the floor.
“We have a winner!” the Medusan announced. His eyes flickered upward as he consulted his brainware. “Official time: two minutes and fifteen seconds.”
Micah took out his cash chits, rummaging through them to find the ones he needed. By the time the Medusan joined him at the bar, a thousand creds were waiting for him.
“Sorry, man,” the Medusan said with a grin as he took them.
Micah shrugged. “It is what it is.”
And then the Medusan just walked away. Surprised, Ru waited until he was out of hearing, then said, “I thought you were going to court him as a contact. No?”
“Too busy. Too public.”
“Yeah, and you don’t want to be the center of attention.” She chuckled. She looked back at the cage, now empty. “So what was the point of betting on that guy?”
A sly smile appeared. “I didn’t bet on him. I bet on human nature.”
“Jeez.” She turned back to the bar. “You’re getting as annoying as Ivar.” She took a deep drink. “So what now? Back to poker?”
“I need another drink first.” He signaled to the bartender to bring them both another round. As fresh drinks were set down before them, and Ru was reaching in her pocket to pay for them, a voice from behind them said, “Allow me.”
Turning, they saw it was Everest. He had put his clothes back on, so most of his bruises weren’t visible, but there were red stains slowly seeping through the bandages wrapped around his knuckles, and a bloody abrasion ran down one side of his face. He reached between them and slid some coins across the bar; they looked like real metal. “Keep it,” he said. He looked at Micah. “Couldn’t leave without meeting the guy who bet a thousand Cs on me. Figured the least I could do was buy you a drink.” He eyed Ru. “You together?”
“Business partners,” Micah said quickly, before Ru could speak. “My name’s Tonio. She’s Ru.”
“Well, you know my name already.” He studied Ru for a moment more, then looked back at Micah. “So, tell me . . . why?”
“Why the bet?”
“You seem sane enough, so you must have known I couldn’t win.”
Micah chuckled. “Maybe I enjoy betting on impossible things.” He leaned back against the bar. “Now it’s my turn: why the hell would you ever agree to a fight like that?”
He sighed. “Lost a poker game. Didn’t have enough money to stay in, and my opponent said he’d accept an IOU on my fighting with the bruiser in lieu of cash . . .” He ran a bandaged hand through his hair. “I thought he was bluffing. I swear to God, I thought he was bluffing.” He started to shrug, but the motion made him wince. “I think maybe Tank broke a rib.”
&nbs
p; “You should sit down,” Ru said. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll sit somewhere quieter, have some drinks, relax. You’ve earned it.”
He hesitated.
“Our treat this time,” Micah told him. “Reward for your foolish courage.” He nodded toward where the tables were. “Why don’t you go find us a free table, while I get us a pitcher?”
“Please?” Ru said. Though she wasn’t being particularly seductive, her tone was soft enough that he could take it that way if he wanted. And from the way he looked at her, he wanted.
“Sure,” Everest said finally. “What the hell.”
Ru watched as Everest went off in search of an empty table. A slow smile spread across her face. “Damn, you’re good,” she whispered to Micah.
He chuckled. “Nice to know my skills are appreciated. You weren’t too bad yourself.”
“You should know I don’t do small talk well.”
He shrugged. “Get a man drunk enough, start him talking about himself, and the scene will write itself.” He downed the last of his drink and signaled for a full pitcher to be brought.
We make a good team. She wanted to say it out loud. She was afraid to say it out loud.
Some feelings were too ephemeral to bind to words. They might vanish like smoke if she tried.
“Let’s just hope he has some useful information,” she said.
“Amen to that.”
Altruism is hardwired into the human psyche, not as sentiment, but as investment strategy. Cooperation provides a competitive advantage, hence success in the evolutionary arena. Nature has taught us that those who share the burdens and risks of human existence are more likely to survive than those who walk alone.
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