by Jason Letts
Wud took a few awkward steps back as he rubbed his throat, shooting a vicious look toward Bailor.
“This kid has these freak moments when he’s like Reznik Igorovich,” Wud said.
Bailor didn’t respond, and Rion wouldn’t be convinced that Wud would abandon the charges he’d been gathering for around five years until he was out of their sight.
“Are you ready to say you’re sorry?” Lena asked him. Her taunting was merciless. Rion could see she wanted the fight to continue, even if her movements were stiff. But Wud, perhaps shaken by her confidence, looked like he’d had enough. Another exchange and someone really might not walk away.
“We’re getting out of here. You can go die in a hole for all I care,” he said.
“Who’s we?” Rion asked.
Wud blinked when the incongruity of what he said hit him. Perhaps unwilling to lose face yet again over something as little as a verbal mistake, he reached over and grabbed Ollie by the waist, lifting him up and carting him out the door.
Ollie had a look of shock on his face, but he didn’t cry out. The temptation hit Rion to go after the younger boy, but nobody seemed in good condition to do so. They did get up and go to the window in order to watch Wud and his unwilling companion skulk away into the artificial night.
That was when he saw his boxes of forms smoldering in the alley. Flames and smoke had mostly died down, leaving ash and some charred remnants. Seeing all of that paper burning hurt more than any of the bruises.
“Maybe we could go back and…” Lena began.
“No, there’s no time to print more. We’re just going to have to let it go,” Rion said, kissing goodbye his moment of irony.
“Should we even go at all?” Bailor asked. “Wud could go right to one of the inspectors and tell them what we have planned.”
Rion took a few moments to let his head settle down and tried to sort out what was likely to happen.
“I can’t see Wud going to them. If he told them there was about to be a robbery at the Regent’s Center, they would ask him how he knew. What would he say, that he was a co-conspirator? I can’t see him risking his own hide, even if he hates us.”
“So that’s it then?” Lena asked.
“I don’t have anything to go back to. The only option is to move forward. We keep going with the plan, minus the manifest forms dropping from the ceiling.”
Rion turned away from the window to get his mat back to where it needed to be, but he felt her hand on his shoulder. Her face had a pained expression.
“I’m sorry you got beat because I swiped Wud’s card. I didn’t know when he’d find out or what he’d do. I just did it.”
Rion looked at her, a few faint lines along a small nose and curved cheeks.
“Careful. We might start to think you care,” he said.
“I don’t, but I am sorry.”
Trying to lighten the mood, Rion reached for the Martian lasso still in Bailor’s hands.
“Wud was right about one thing. Bailor can be an animal when he gets over himself about it.”
Bailor grinned sheepishly.
Cheever never even poked his head down to ask what was going on. Maybe noisy altercations like these were so common in this area that even seeing the situation wasn’t worth the bother. Rion hoped the regent center’s guards behaved the same way when he caught them with their pants down.
CHAPTER 4
Sitting on the tram heading toward the Regent’s Center felt surreal to Rion. Between the events of the night before, the ensuing fatigue, and the sensation that something was about to happen that would have a dramatic impact on his life forever, he could barely sit still. He knew he was either going to walk out of there with something that would change everything or die in the attempt.
For all his anticipation, Lena and even Bailor were both remarkably calm. After keeping it completely hidden for the entire month, Bailor openly played with his lasso, extending it and snapping it back like a yo-yo. Lena had an introspective look on her face as she stared at the bags of pillows on the tram floor in front of them.
“Ten minutes until we get there,” Cheever said as he walked by, grimacing when he glanced at Rion’s battered face. He hadn’t said a word about their missing comrades.
Nothing but solid Martian rock could be seen outside of the windows. Rion realized these would be the last quiet moments he had before they jumped into action. They felt precious.
“Will you finally tell me why you decided to run away?” Rion asked Lena, who took a deep breath. She looked at him forlornly and then ran her hand through her black hair, holding up some of the strands at the end.
“It’s because of this. My parents injected me with a substance called Midnight that turned me black on the inside. So black that no light can touch it. It’s not just my hair and my pupils. My blood is like that too. Apparently it never goes away. They did it to make me more attractive. Everyone on Neptune does things like that to themselves, but it always repulsed me. Now I get to be disgusted by myself as well,” she said.
Bailor leaned forward to look around Rion.
“Is that when you started hating people the way you do?”
“No, they picked Midnight because they thought it fit with my personality. Otherwise I could’ve woken up with a thick needle in my arm labeled Sunshine or Bubble Gum or Deep Blue Sea. To be honest, it could’ve been worse. I knew someone who chose to have limbs amputated and got special replacements to be part robo. It must be that being so far away from the sun drives everyone to treat their body like an interchangeable fashion accessory,” she said.
“On Ganymede, people just liked to gamble,” Bailor said, leaning back against the stiff plastic seat.
Rion glanced down the aisle at some of the other workers, some of whom seemed to be sad at losing a job as long-term and reliable as this.
“What about you? Why don’t you divulge some personal information?” Lena asked.
Getting a question about himself from her was rare, and he wondered how much she really wanted to know. He pulled the disc from his pocket and traced the lines forming a hand with one shortened finger.
“I don’t know why my dad gave this to me before he left. It doesn’t plug into anything or emit any kind of signal. It’s nothing but a little round chunk with something etched into it. It’s a crappy souvenir of the life I used to have though. There were a lot of things back in my room that would’ve been more useful. A crow robo. A quarker…”
“You had a quarker?” Bailor said with astonishment.
Rion realized he’d given something away. Quarkers were able to transmit energy through the air, activating lights, machines, or other gadgets. It may have been the most expensive toy a kid could have. He sighed.
“My parents had more charges than they knew what to do with. A hangar full of ships. We had people waiting on us. There were cruises around the solar system. But other than the vacations, I hardly saw them for more than a few minutes a day. Then they decided even that was too much and they got rid of me. The longer I’ve been here the more I’ve known that Wud had been right. They didn’t want me.”
Bailor was sympathetic, but Lena snorted.
“I’d trade my parents for yours any day. The only alone time I got was in the bathroom, and even then it wasn’t always a sure thing. They had big plans for me to be a Nepball player because I can jump. By now they probably had another kid they can project all their dreams onto. I’m glad I ducked out,” she said.
Cheever got up from his seat and started rustling through the bags, tipping off that they were close to arriving. All of a sudden the rock outside gave way to a view that was so dazzling it nearly blinded them. The vibrant colors of the fields, streams, mountains, and sky appeared to go on forever.
It was enough to instantly break the three of them out of their malaise, and they got up from their seats to rush to the windows to get a better perspective.
“I can’t believe it’s not real,” Bailor said.
>
“Shh, I want to pretend it is,” Rion said. “Something this perfect has to exist somewhere.”
“And not a single person anywhere,” Lena said.
The tram continued to roll through and the Regent’s Center drew the attention of their tilted heads and strained eyes. A magnificent building that towered over everything, it was made of mortared stone that stretched into tall turrets with fires roaring on top. The fountains in front became visible, as did the bushes and hedges.
When they came to a stop, the three of them lined up first at the doorway. It pained them to have to lug a large bag of pillows with them as they went. The doors slid open, allowing the sweet air outside to rush in. The conductor, visible to the far left of the platform, had been right. No one who came here would ever want to leave.
The tram station had a guard outpost where final checks were performed before allowing people on the grounds. Rion found himself bizarrely fascinated by the dirt path and the countless strands of real grass poking out from the lawn. Cheever escorted them through, urging them to head directly to the front entrance to begin decorating, but Rion couldn’t resist the temptation of the grass.
He lagged behind the others, waiting until a gap opened up before reaching out a short distance from the guard shack.
Before his outstretched fingers could get close, Rion felt an unforgiving grip against the back of his shirt. One of the guards lifted him off his feet and twisted him around to look him square in the eye.
“What do you think you’re doing? Can’t you read? You’ll lose a finger before we lose a single blade of grass,” he shouted.
Rion struggled as hard as he could, his hands flapping against the stern guard’s arms and chest.
In a flash, Cheever was there, grabbing Rion by the waist and offering the guard a strained smile.
“I’ll keep him in line, sir. Terribly sorry.”
“How long until we get to give them the flushing they deserve?” the guard said to another at the station, tossing Rion one more severe glare.
Cheever was almost as merciless.
“Use your head, kid. Don’t ruin this for us,” he said, giving Rion a shove toward the bag of pillows on the ground. Rion picked it up, patting his pocket with one hand.
They continued on through the gardens and around the fountains, meeting up with other decorating teams around the entrance. Some had folding chairs, some had banners and large spools of string, others had mesmerized stares directed at the center’s decadent façade. Cheever rounded up his team and issued instructions.
“When we’re inside, don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even make eye contact. Place the pillows on every piece of furniture you find, benches, sofas, chairs, tables, any open surface. Don’t touch anything anywhere. When you empty your bag, go back to the tram station and get another one if any are left. Otherwise wait there for the rest of us. Our tram home leaves in an hour, and guests begin arriving shortly after that. If you’re late to the tram and a guest sees you, there’s a good chance security will have you served for dinner.”
Rion, Bailor, and Lena nodded subtly to each other. It was time to get to work.
The Regent’s Center was stunning in both its gothic architecture and its interior decorations. Paintings lined the walls of nearly every room. The rug on the stairs felt like it was made out of silk and wool. Every room had a priceless treasure of some sort collecting dust in a corner or on a stand.
The excuse of doing their job by depositing the pillows around gave them plenty of cover to scope out the various rooms on the ground floor. The stairways were all supervised by men performing some combination of butler and guardsmen duties, but the other rooms were vacant unless party decorations were going up.
When their bags were mostly empty and the hour had nearly expired, they turned a corner and found themselves in a long hallway containing display cases on one side and windows set into the side of the building on the other.
Each footstep on the white tile floor sent clacking noises echoing around. The trio appraised the items in the display cases and were instantly in awe. Heirlooms of the Kline family lined the shelves, some dating back hundreds of years. The progression of Planetary Alliance uniforms looked like a trip into the past, but other items predated even the oldest of those by a considerable margin. Apple computers, large spacesuits, and debris from a wreck in which one member of the family died packed a series of cases.
Farther on, dead center in the hallway, they stopped at what was undoubtedly the crown jewel of the exhibit, a spacesuit glove affixed with a display screen running along the armguard. The nearby plaque described how the first Regent Kline used this glove to break Martian ground on what would become the colony in its present state. He’d led a fleet for the Alliance’s Lord Chancellor and was rewarded with the Mars regency, which would be handed down to his children and their children.
Bailor’s face thumped against the glass when he absorbed the contents of the plaque.
“He fought in the Expansion Wars? That is legendary!”
Rion suspected that even Bailor’s appreciation would pale in comparison to the current regent’s.
“I think this is it,” he said.
The other two agreed. They inspected the case, which was held shut by a lock. Rion produced a short screwdriver and turned to the nearest window. While the other two kept watch at the ends of the hall and made plenty of noise with their footsteps, Rion banged the window latch and pried at the lock until it was nearly off.
When he was confident that the window couldn’t easily be secured, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pin he’d taken from the station guard. It had colorful squares denoting rank and position. After bending the head of the pin, Rion set it on the floor below the window that he left cracked open.
They then left the room and headed to the nearest staircase. While Lena and Bailor stayed out of sight, Rion cautiously approached the man on duty.
“Scuse me, scuse me,” Rion said. “I just saw something strange. There was someone hanging around that side of the building who kept touching the center window. He wasn’t a decorator, so I thought I’d let someone know.”
The butler ignored Rion, but a perturbed look on his face hinted that he wasn’t going to forget what he’d heard.
“Alright, whatever,” Rion muttered as he shuffled out of the room with his empty bag and rejoined his friends. Together they waited in silence by the adjoining archway in the other room. After a few minutes, they smiled as they heard the butler leave his post to follow up on Rion’s tip. The first clacking footstep from the tiled hallway signaled that it was safe to move.
Together, they hurried up the stairs and began creeping down a hallway lined with doors, some of which had light streaming through the gaps underneath. After passing at least a dozen doors, they found a dark one in a corner that seemed vacant. Despite their hunch, Rion still felt some trepidation as he gripped the knob and twisted it. For all he knew he was about to walk in on the regent himself reading quietly by a fireplace.
But his fears were unfounded and they entered the room, which had a bearskin rug and a number of bookshelves. Bailor was in heaven.
“This is incredible,” Bailor whispered once they’d shut the door and wedged a chair against it.
“Cheever grunted when I told him I wasn’t feeling well and we were going back on an earlier tram,” Lena said. “He won’t miss us when it’s time for everyone to go back.”
Rion sighed, going to the window and trying to see into the garden on the building’s left side, but the view was facing the right garden, making it impossible to see the full reaction of his ruse. He hoped the center’s security and the station guards would spend the evening infighting, allowing them free run of the building while the party went on. With any luck, every one of them not directly serving the bourgeois guests would be clustered around the window with the broken latch, arguing over what happened.
Or maybe some would lie and wait thinking that someon
e was about to make an attempt to steal the spacesuit glove, leaving other areas of the estate unwatched. A third possibility was that they’d figure out that Rion had done it, poke around the gardens for a while, and conclude he’d left with the others.
There was no way to lose.
Cloistered in a room with bookshelves, a large desk, and a number of cupboards running the length of the floor, the three of them poked around in search of what their souvenir might be. Lena unlatched a cabinet, reached into the darkness, and pulled out a sheathed dagger with several jewels upon the hilt. Sliding off the cover, she saw that the blade had been twisted all the way to the tip, almost like a corkscrew.
“There can’t be another one like this. I’ll take it,” she said, fixing it to the loop around her pants.
Bailor perused the bookshelves, his fingers outstretched as he carefully examined each spine. One in particular buried in the corner drew him in. He squinted, his eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned closer as he plucked a small and dusty volume from the row.
“This is it for me,” he said, pleased.
“You’re taking a book?” Lena asked skeptically. “You’re supposed to take something that’ll change your life.”
“A book can change your life,” Bailor said.
By now he’d caught Rion’s interest enough to make him come over. Bailor flipped to a random page, revealing the handwritten script within. A faint gasp escaped from Bailor’s lips.
“This is the personal journal of Regent Kline V, the man who as we speak is greeting guests and dignitaries who’ve come to celebrate the centennial. Can you imagine what kind of a window this man has into the workings of the Planetary Alliance and the goings on throughout the solar system?”
“I wonder if there’s anything in there about us,” Rion said. “Did he even know what we had to go through, or what the people in the slums are going through?”
“I’ll let you know when I read it if I find anything,” Bailor said. His grin was a mile wide, and Rion had to admit it was an impressive find. The regent probably had countless offices, but as Rion went to the desk and opened the drawers he got the impression the man came here to relax and unwind at the end of the day. He found several bottles of alcohol in one, a tablet that lit up with pornographic images in another, and then dozens of painted military figurines in a third.
