“This way, sir,” the dealer said, turning away to lead Harkness through the crowd with Bentley and Svend in tow.
As they came towards the glass staircase leading to the second floor of the casino, Bentley glanced back and saw Ivor being flanked by those two large bouncers that had been coming towards him. He was shouting at one and suddenly moved forward to shove him. The other one came up behind him to grab Ivor’s arms and pin them behind his back while he struggled and kicked.
“Dead weight, I suppose,” Svend whispered playfully to Bentley.
+++
Aboard the Chesed, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector
It had been some time since the group had convened in Shango’s quarters like this. In all their years on the Chesed, there was seldom a need to have secret meetings between the three of them in this way. Olofi had almost forgotten what this room had looked like, that strange blend of gadgetry and spiritualism, with swords and tapestries mounted on the walls and work tables covered in half-developed bit-tools.
“I am concerned,” Shango said, taking a seat at his workbench while the other two remained standing. “Placing Bentley in such a pivotal role in this mission may put her at risk in unanticipated ways.”
“No shit,” Loco agreed. “We’ve got dumbshit aggro rebels on one side and a ship full of creepy alfs on the other. This whole thing screams double-cross. So maybe we should be the ones to shoot first.”
“That was not what I was implying,” Shango answered him. “Our equilibrium remains what it is, which is mutually beneficial, and it would be foolish of us to break it prematurely without benefit. However, we do need to take precautions for Bentley’s sake. We cannot risk losing our only active connection to the Sword of the Cross-Roads when we finally have it securely on board.”
“Well, she sure as fuck isn’t securely on board right now,” Loco said.
“That is precisely my point,” Shango replied.
Olofi looked between the two of them and wrinkled his nose. The secrecy of their meeting had already made him uncomfortable, but now he felt the subject matter eating away at him in a way he had to address. “Are we seriously just talking about her like she’s just some extension of the sword now?” he said. “I thought we all agreed we were past that kind of thinking. We’ve got to be better.”
“You agreed,” Loco said callously. “I think if you try remembering real hard, you’ll see that I was and still am well on the side of fuck this pretentious redemption bullshit. We’re past that, we fucked it up, it can’t be un-fucked. We are where we are. So now we’ve got to get back. And I don’t care how much more stupid shit we have to put up with over that kid, if the sword ends up working then I’m going to consider the whole thing worth it.”
“If we just treat her like a means to an end to get what we want, we’re no better than Amroth,” Olofi answered him.
Loco took a step closer to Olofi in challenge, sticking his chest out. “Oh, fuck you!” he sharply snapped. “Do you see me cozying up to the Big Bad and being his fucking lapdog to get my way? No? Then we’re still a million fucking parsecs away from comparing me to Cardboard. Don’t fucking even, bro.”
Olofi didn’t back off and met his friend’s eyes. He knew Loco was right, but also wanted the same acknowledgement of his own point. But he also knew Loco well enough to know that was never going to happen.
“In any case,” Olofi said, stepping back to defuse the situation a little. “Regardless of the why, it’s true that I’m worried for Bentley too. I don’t trust those androids at all. They know more than they let on, that much is for sure. They could even know what we are, or about the sword, or Bentley’s connection to it. With how much our client seems to know, all bets are off.”
Given the opportunity, Loco began to back off. “Well you’re not wrong there. I’m still waiting for the other alf-shoe to drop and just find out they’re planning to hand her over to the fucking Geburah once they know we’re looking the other way.”
Shango slowly shook his head. “That seems unlikely,” he said. “Amroth is singular towards his goals. For all of his zeal and lack of scruples, he is not a being to engage in grand deceit, nor would he entrust the sword’s retrieval to anyone not under his immediate oversight.”
“Maybe the old dog learned a new trick,” Loco argued. “Every time I think Cardboard has hit rock bottom he finds a new way to surprise me, so I don’t know why you still keep giving him so much credit.”
“No, I think Shango’s right,” Olofi said. “But even if they’re not working for Amroth directly, they could be opportunists. With the kind of intel they might have access to…”
“We’ve already discussed this possibility,” Shango pointed out. “If there was profit to be made in selling us to the LaPlace, simply giving out our coordinates would suffice.”
Olofi shook his head. “Maybe not if you want to get the best price. LaPlace has deep pockets, and that’s no secret. If you got hold of something you knew they wanted more than anything, you could name your price.”
“I do not believe the Odysseus is motivated by money,” Shango said with a quiet confidence.
Loco gave a short, sardonic laugh at that. “Oh, come on! We’re all motivated by money right now,” he said. “That’s why we’re taking this royally fucked up job, isn’t it? The rebels need it to keep fighting their fucking windmills, and we need it to get the fuck away from Cardboard. Who, by the way, is probably headed straight for us right now, getting closer every second we spend hanging around a big fucking casino.”
“I have seen no evidence that Amroth has caught our trail,” Shango answered. “I am certain that this far in deep space Bean would be capable of sighting the Geburah in time for us to take action.”
“So, is that really our plan, now?” Olofi mused. “Just run away forever?”
Loco shrugged. “Sure beats being space dust. Besides, if we can haul ass back home then we’re not running from shit, are we? Nobody can touch us. Well, except—”
Loco was stopped by the sound of loud pounding on the door to Shango’s quarters. The muffled sound of Jade’s voice came through the door. “Manual fucking door override tango-charlie-sundae.”
The door hissed open, and Jade came storming into the room with a look of fierce determination.
Jelly Bean hurried in behind her, wide-eyed with her face in its serious mode. “Jade!” she called after her. “I provided you with that override for emergency maintenance purposes, not for—”
“This is emergency goddamn maintenance!” Jade yelled back before turning her attention to the three of them. “Bentley is getting ready to screw all of us over and I need one of you to do something, because Jelly is doing fuckall to fix it! She’s just watching it happen!”
“I don’t believe that’s an accurate assessment,” Jelly Bean said.
Shango gave a deep, considerate look to Jade and told her, “What has given you cause to be concerned about this? Report.”
Jade took in a deep breath, clearly flustered but nonetheless determined. “She’s taken in with that pretty blonde boy they’re partnered with. Letting him seduce her into making all kinds of stupid mistakes while they look all twinkle-eyed at each other.”
Olofi arched a brow at her description. “Bentley doesn’t trust the androids either. I really doubt she’d let one seduce her.”
“He doesn’t seem to be an android,” Jade said. “Not as far as any of the casino’s security systems can tell, anyway. But that doesn’t matter. Look, I know you guys think you’re ancient gods or something crazy like that, but when it comes to making stupid mistakes over boys, I’m the fucking expert on this ship.”
Loco grinned, looking at Jade with a strange kind of admiration. “Gotta hand it to her there,” he said. “Can’t deny that much.”
“This still sounds like mere conjecture,” Shango stated flatly, unflinching and unconvinced. “What kind of mission-specific mistake has Bentley made, in your estimation?”
“She let the rebel guy get captured,” Jade said in a huff. “Then her and golden boy just walked off to the next level arm in arm. What if the rebel ship finds out? They might start shooting at us again!”
“Hm,” Shango answered, staying silent but raising a hand to let the others know not to interrupt his train of thought. “You said the two of them advanced to the next level?”
“Yeah,” Jade confirmed. “Just walked right up there without him. Didn’t even try to help.”
Shango’s eyes were still fixed on her. “Did Bentley instigate Ivor’s capture?”
Jade shifted uncomfortably on her high heels. “No,” she admitted. “He was being a dick and made a scene.”
“Then it sounds like their mission is proceeding successfully in spite of their companion almost compromising it,” Shango concluded. “If Ivor has allowed himself to be captured, that is his shortcoming, not Bentley’s. As this ship’s captain, she has my blessing to continue unimpeded towards our goal.”
Jade looked like there were tears welling in her eyes even as she screamed at Shango. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She looked from him over to Loco, then Olofi. “She doesn’t deserve your trust, you know,” she said. “She only cares about herself at the end of the day. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then Jade turned away, her heels loudly striking the floor of Shango’s chamber in graceless stomps as she hastily exited, letting the door slam closed behind her.
Loco was still grinning, but now at Shango, his eyes stared accusing daggers at him even over his smile. “Well, guess the fruit of the Shango tree doesn’t fall too far from that fucking hill, huh?” he said. “Now you’re both going to end up hustled by some smooth-talking alfs. Which lesson was that, wise fucking master?”
Shango didn’t reply. He didn’t even look in Loco’s direction.
After a few moments of tense quiet, Olofi piped up. “Do you actually trust these androids?”
Shango nodded without hesitation. “I do,” he said.
Loco scowled. “Then you’re a damn fool.”
Shango remained silent, and Loco continued, “And we may as well just give up the fucking sword to Amroth already.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Captain’s Quarters, Aboard the Odysseus, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector
Captain Blackfriar’s private quarters were large, even for a typical captain’s cabin on a ship comparable in size to the Odysseus. This wasn’t a matter of his own ego or personal needs, but rather out of his desire to have a home in which he could entertain guests, a space that stood alone outside of the ship’s common areas or even the more professional meeting areas on the captain’s deck. Blackfriar’s cabin boasted a bedroom, a kitchen, a dining area, and a parlor, all of which were separated by thin opaque glass partitions depending on those being hosted.
At this time, it was only the parlor that was left uncovered. This part of the cabin was comprised of a large sectional sofa of black imitation leather that stood centrally between various works of art, both carefully curated and personally created. The seating faced a large wall of curved crystal that served as an advanced viewing screen, usually to bring in the same visuals at the ship’s main screen, but in this case its purpose was very different. Projected on this screen was the interior of Thralldom station, and a first-person view that moved and operated within it.
This was Svend’s view, which projected everything that he saw directly from his retinal processors to Blackfriar’s encrypted receiver. The detail was exact, beyond anything any human-implanted corteX could have hoped to achieve. It slipped under Thralldom’s security shielding without any lag or latency.
Blackfriar gave the slightest smile as Svend’s view changed, moving from the first to the second floor of Thralldom. This floor was styled with a starry observatory motif combined with the silken luxury of old-world architecture and fashion taken from ancient paintings. Marble columns reached for virtual stars around those who indulged in the floor’s games and excesses. The beauty of the area’s interior itself wasn’t nearly so pleasing as what the advancement represented to him, however. That was a deeper beauty, that went beyond any mere physical aesthetic.
He looked away from the screen to turn to Barnabas. “The human is rather resourceful,” he commented. “To deflect from that certain peril and then immediately advance so quickly. It is impressive.”
Barnabas kept his eyes on the screen. “Perhaps, yes. But at what cost? The rebel boy will not go quietly over a slight like this. Nor will his father…”
Blackfriar turned his attention back to the screen while he pursed his lips into a slight, considerate frown. “No, I do not imagine he will. However, if all goes according to plan in good time, then even by then…”
“Do you really think they can succeed?” Barnabas asked him.
Blackfriar held off on his answer as he examined the events in Svend’s view. His eyes met the golden glow of the android server that Ivor had engaged with in that unfortunate encounter on the floor below. She was unshaken by what had occurred, and smiled at Svend, giving him a knowing wink before turning away to distribute crystalline wine goblets to the floor’s revelers.
“Yes,” the captain finally answered. “I believe they can, and they will. At long last our brothers and sisters will be returning home.”
Svend’s gaze moved between the other servers, most of who had telltale signs of their synthetic origins. Many of them didn’t exchange that knowing look, unable to discern him from any human patron in the casino. He accepted a glass of wine from one and downed its entire contents in quick enough time to return it to the tray.
After a few more moments of examining the unending festivities in Thralldom, Barnabas averted his eyes from the feed. “So, do you think it’s time, then?”
Blackfriar rested his chin on one hand and leaned in closer to the screen. “Time?” he replied. “For what, precisely?”
“To fully brief the freelancers on the truth?” Barnabas replied. “To tell them what we know?”
“Yes,” Blackfriar said, without giving a moment’s pause. “Yes, of course. Arrange a meeting aboard their ship, if you can. It would be best to do this face to face.”
Barnabas stood up and bowed to his captain. “Of course,” he said. “I will hail the Chesed immediately.”
As Barnabas shuffled away to the Odysseus’s elevator, Blackfriar leaned back again in his seat and continued to watch Thralldom unfold through Svend’s eyes.
+++
Third Floor, Thralldom Space Station, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector
The time Bentley had spent since ascending Thralldom’s lowest level seemed to stretch into infinity. Every second had been like a balmy, sublime dream that she began to worry she might wake from at any minute. Life was different here.
Since her first moments aboard the Chesed her life had been nothing but pain, struggle, and bad food. In this place, she forgot about the passage of time, and Amroth’s pursuit, and the sword and the constant expectations that came with it. Here she only had to relax and have fun, dabbling in the games and shamelessly flirting with various patrons until Svend would step in at just the right moment to pull her away and further pique their interest.
And the food.
She’d been told many times that the synthetic nutrients of the Chesed’s autocook were poor imitations, and she’d gathered to an extent what they meant, given the odd texture and strange aftertaste. But here they served her real food. Real meat and fish, served as elaborate canapés and hors d'oeuvres that came by as quickly as she could pull them from the trays of the servers passing by. There was fresh fruit cut into creative shapes and served in stained glass bowls, and their contents were sweet and refreshing in a way she didn’t know fruit could be.
Even Svend’s company was refreshing in a way she was wholly unfamiliar with before now. The way he smiled at her and laughed with her, as though he had no expectations of her in spite of the grave importance of their mutual mission, it ev
en made her forget that relaxing and having fun wasn’t the sole purpose of their being here. Even the occasional polite reminder from Jelly Bean in her ear wasn’t enough to break the sense of rapture.
This wasn’t to say Bentley wasn’t meeting the operation’s objectives. If anything, the way she was letting loose and flowing had made her perform spectacularly. Her enthusiasm for every new pleasure, every game, every stylized dance floor had been infectious and intriguing for all these extravagantly wealthy, jaded socialites and dilettantes. They had long since become indifferent to the worldly pleasures their money could buy, even as they casually consumed them with the same excess that Bentley did. Every person there seemed to want to get to know her, as though hoping to discover the secret to how she could be so easily impressed and satisfied. The real answer, of course, wasn’t one they would ever want to hear, but she merely played coy and passed it off as just naturally wanting to live her life to its fullest.
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