by Blaze Ward
Armoured transport cube half a meter on a side sat on the table in front of Kianoush as she stood and watched everyone settle. It was done in a matte black finish so dark that reality seemed poised on falling in, and it made such a strange contrast with Kianoush. She was in baggy, blue pants and a ratty, gray sweater that had tiny holes burned in the front. And white gloves, but Javier suspected those were just for grandiosity at this point.
It felt more like a game show, where she was intent on drawing out the tension.
Could you make an art show burlesque? The woman seemed intent on testing that question.
“Earth,” she intoned seriously. “Second millennium before the Common Era. Roughly nine thousand years ago. A tiny peninsula on the north shore of the Mediterranean Ocean, known later as Greece. End of the Bronze Age, just as the world was turning to Iron. A smith in that era might have made a helmet that looked like this. They would have worked in bronze and gold, and it would have been an object worthy of a king.”
Javier appreciated the buildup, but he already knew all this. He glanced to his right. Sokolov, Piripi, and the Dragoon were rapt.
But then, the others had only heard rumors so far. But everyone had seen the fantastic coffee mug Kianoush had made for him, once upon a time.
What they didn’t understand was that Kianoush was an artisté.
And a jewelsmith, but she really did understand people. Way better than Javier did.
No, that wasn’t true.
She just liked them way better than he did, not counting Suvi. And ’Mina.
Kianoush popped open all the latches holding the lid down, one at a time.
More buildup. More striptease. More burlesque.
She had custom-built the box too, once the helmet was complete.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kianoush announced, and then smiled. “And crew. I give you the Crown of Athena.”
And there it was, just like Suvi had designed it. Platinum body sheathed in a mirror-flashing of rhodium. Six sapphires on the cheeks, outlining the eyes. Blue gold around the facial opening, highlighting the wings, and forming the base of the crest. Suvi hadn’t added those latter touches. Obviously, Kianoush had taken liberties.
She had taken the right ones. It was gorgeous.
“May I?” Sykora asked politely.
She could be very friendly when Javier wasn’t involved.
Kianoush moved around the table, delicately handling the heavy trophy, the Corinthian helmet, as she did. She put it into the Dragoon’s hands.
“It won’t fit you,” Kianoush said with intent.
Sykora turned a sharp eye on Javier.
“My skull is no larger than yours,” she accused.
Javier smiled beatifically.
“It was designed for a woman an entire eighth smaller than you, Sykora,” he replied, his eyes finding a spot on an invisible horizon. “A rather delicate, wiry, foul-mouthed, goofball of a pilot I once flew with. She had a thing for art similar to Buday.”
Sykora handed it back to Kianoush with a moue of disgust on her lips.
“Thank you,” Javier said to his partner in crime. “I wish there was a way you could show her what you had done. She would have gotten a charge out of it. I plan on saving a ton of pictures and video, in case I run into her one of these days.”
“So, Aritza,” Sokolov finally spoke. “We’ve agreed to Lace’s deal. You’ve mined an asteroid and made an objet d’art. Sykora is in disguise. What’s the next step?”
Javier stopped and really studied Sykora.
Most of the time, she was an alabaster statue standing in his way, frequently wired with an electric fence that would bite you if you got too close.
He had known a few women like that in his life.
But now, there had been a serious transformation.
She had been true to her word. Her skin had gone from washed-out ship-pale, to a nice, even bronzed tan. Her short hair was dyed a chocolate brown so rich that the mahogany was verging over into black cherry.
Sykora was even wearing makeup. Had been for about a week now, in retrospect. A base layer that washed out her freckles. Black eye-liner that extended a fingernail-width beyond her eyes to each side. Blood red lipstick. Matching fingernail polish. Probably the toenails matched, as well.
And she smiled at him.
Javier wasn’t sure if he should be frightened or appalled.
’Mina’s chest was much larger, both relative and absolute. She was also curvier everywhere. And knew just how to kip a hip sideways and drop a shoulder in a way that disarmed men. And most women.
Her eyes could communicate want, need, vulnerability, and fire. All at once, too.
Sykora did not have that. And she was a head taller. Stronger. Harder.
She didn’t have the sexiness that Wilhelmina had just oozed, but a man who liked a fit woman would likely be drooling all over himself when she walked by.
That would have to do.
At least she would protect him from any other assassins. That much he could absolutely rely on.
“We’ll meet up with Lace,” Javier said, ruminating aloud as Kianoush took a seat to watch the potential fireworks. “She’ll provide the documentation and cover story Hadiiye and I need to get aboard Shangdu. You’ll drop us then and hang as close to the big resort ship as you can hide while we take a commercial flight over, case the place, and plan the next step of our caper.”
“Why the helmet, Aritza?” Sykora asked.
For once, she sounded inquisitive, rather than accusatory. Of course, her life depended on them pulling this off, too, so she needed to be in on as much of it as he wanted to share.
“We’ll have just pulled off a major score,” he smiled up at the woman who was about to become his bodyguard, his conscience, and his minder. “We need someplace to hide while we wait for our fence to make our deal. A place like Shangdu is perfect for this. Plus, we need someplace to safely stash a modern-day, priceless antique. Either they let us have access to her major vault and we can see how to crack it, or she’s changed her ways and everyone has their own safe spot and we’ll have to find the one belonging to our target.”
“She?” Sykora spike the word.
“She,” Javier agreed. “Our host. The woman who owns Shangdu. The Khatum of Altai. Who is also hosting the Jianwen Emperor. Or, as close as the modern era gets.”
“Jianwen?” Sokolov asked. “Or am I better off not knowing?”
“Zhu Yunwen,” Sykora turned to the Captain to explain.
Javier felt his jaw drop open.
“Second Ming Emperor,” she continued with a wink back in Javier’s direction. “Ascended the Chinese throne young, was soon overthrown by an uncle and supposedly killed in either the revolution or a subsequent palace fire. Rumors always persisted that he had escaped, disguised as a monk. The third Ming Emperor spent years sending out voyages of exploration trying to prove the man was dead.”
Javier willed his eyes to return to their normal size. It was painful.
Her smile didn’t help.
“Are we assassins now, Navarre?” Sykora continued with a knowing smile.
“No,” he replied to her obvious disappointment. “If we’re lucky, we’ll never meet the man. This guy fled with the family chop, a variety of personal papers, and the genetic records he or his descendants would need to challenge the current rulers, back home. We’re hired to destroy the box, or steal it, but not to injure the man.”
“Interesting,” she said. “So just waltz in, bluff your way to the heart of a conspiracy, and make off with the prize?”
“It’s happened before,” he smiled coldly back at her. “You spent most of it unconscious.”
That brought the scowl back to her face. Which put a smile on his.
“You’re good with this, Javier? Djamila?” Sokolov asked, playing the role of dutiful father figure.
Sykora glanced at Javier for some sign. She got it and nodded to the Captain.
Ja
vier shrugged.
“I’m sure Lace’s principal wants a mass casualty incident here,” he said, sounding harder than he intended. “Else why go to the effort to hire Navarre and not someone easier. Whether the money man has other enemies on Shangdu and is looking for a cover story for his own assassin, I neither know nor care. These people are rich, spoiled aristocrats. I want to fly so far under their radar that this turns into a caper for the ages.”
“Anything else I should know?” Sykora asked him.
“Yeah,” Javier finally admitted. “This is not my first trip to Shangdu, but that was a while ago and nobody in the crew should remember me.”
“And the Khatum?” she continued. “Will she remember you?”
“Black widow, even then,” Javier fired back. “But I was too small for her to notice.”
“Navarre isn’t small.”
“No, but he plans to be the absolute definition of sneaky.”
Book Ten: Xanadu
Part One
Javier smiled as the shuttle docked with the big resort ship. He had flown on first class ships that weren’t as nice as Shangdu’s cargo lighter, to say nothing of the private ship reserved for the very elite. Brightly painted walls. Thick carpets underfoot. Even a touch of spring flower scent pumped through the air system.
Heaven. Or, more likely, money.
He was in the full Navarre costume, with the weapons belt, but mostly that was appearances. Anything else and people might have wondered. Hadiiye was also armed to the teeth, but she was a weapon, even naked.
And if Sykora’s version of Hadiiye’s costume wasn’t as distracting as it had been on ’Mina, it would still do the job. Javier had been hard pressed to remember a woman that big in that good of shape. Ever. Even volleyball players at the Academy usually settled into middle-aged squishy after a decade or so.
Not Sykora.
Never Sykora.
The hatch opened and a Purser awaited them.
He probably had another title. One far more interesting. He still looked like an accountant.
But you needed that level of professional paranoia about your paperwork, when the net worth of your passengers outweighed many planets.
“Captain Navarre?” he smiled, stepping close with a hand out.
Javier handed him the two travel document packets and a hundred credit note.
It wasn’t a bribe. That would need to be several magnitudes of order larger, if Javier was serious.
No, this was simply a tip in advance for good service, for a man who had it in his power to be an absolute shit if he decided he didn’t like you.
Pursers could get that way.
The bureaucrat quickly scanned both packets, compared physical descriptions, ogling Hadiiye briefly, since her nipples were about on a level with his eyes.
“No armaments on board,” he said simply.
Javier already had his belt off and in hand. Hadiiye was a beat behind. Another man detached himself from a wall to collect them and hand over a luggage ticket. They would get them back when they left. Hopefully.
“Let’s see,” he continued, scanning things. “Luggage was checked ahead. You have some personal effects. And one non-standard shipping container that warrants inspection.”
Javier smiled cruelly. The shuttle’s crew was nearly invisible in the background, getting everything settled and ready for unpacking. Similarly, ship’s crew were moving around in the large, airy foyer beyond the Purser.
“I would prefer if we could inspect it in a private room, sir?” Javier asked lightly.
“That is highly irregular,” the faceless bureaucrat replied.
“Understood,” Navarre said firmly.
Eyes locked for a moment.
As contests of will go, barely anything. Still, it was necessary to establish a tone as a dangerous yet polite visitor.
A nod.
“Come with me.”
And he turned and started walking.
Javier dipped to grab the big, black case. They had a cover that needed to be maintained.
He had stolen the helmet, according to all the rumors Stewart Lace was busy planting in the stream. Hadiiye was his bodyguard, not his maid.
Javier had considered bringing along a crew member to fill the role of personal assistant and gopher, but there wasn’t really anybody with the acting chops to handle such a chore: long term and always on.
He would need to rectify that, one of these days. Especially if they got a rep for pulling capers like this.
Maybe he needed his own crew of petty criminals. No, then they’d have to learn the choreography for the big Bollywood productions. I mean, if you’re going to do it, why stop small?
Maybe he just needed to start small and find a couple of folks who could dance.
The office for the inspection had the feel of one of those small boxes where cops stashed shoplifters while they interviewed everyone else and wanted to sweat someone. Claustrophobic. Industrial. Banal.
The Purser took his obvious spot on the far side of the small table with an expectant air.
Javier smiled as he rested the box on the table and popped open the six latches holding the lid. He paused to pull his own pair of white gloves from a pocket and don them before lifting the bright helmet clear and holding it in the air.
“Oh, my,” was the bureaucrat’s response.
He leaned forward to inspect it from almost close enough to fog the platinum, before leaning back and eyeing Javier speculatively.
“I see,” he continued. “And the purpose of your visit to Shangdu goes beyond merely rest and relaxation?”
“Indeed,” Javier grinned back. “Having arrived, our fixer is contacting their fixer, and arranging for the buyer to come aboard, make payment, and take possession of the trophy. Everyone agrees that this is one of the safest spots in the galaxy for such a transaction. Neutral ground, as it were.”
“Very good,” the man said, pulling out their paperwork and stamping it. “Will you be in a position to notify us when the buyer is due?”
Javier shrugged meaningfully.
“That sort of thing is outside my realm of control, sir,” he said with just the right amount of nonchalance. “I will share as much as I am at liberty. I understand that your systems might be available to secure this package while we wait? For a price, of course.”
The Purser fixed him with a hard stare, but Javier was confident that his cover would hold. They would have picked up any holes long before now and simply not let him aboard.
“I will make inquiries,” the man replied after a long beat, apparently satisfied.
“Thank you,” Javier smiled his best Navarre grimace.
“Very well.”
And then the Purser was gone, leaving Navarre and Hadiiye alone.
She was inspecting the edges of the roof with professional care, so she understood that they were going to be under some level of surveillance for as long as they were aboard.
Now the two of them just had to fool every single person aboard this ship.
Piece of cake.
Part Two
The suite where Javier found himself next was amazing. They might as well have just covered the walls with money, but that wouldn’t have done it justice. Stewart Lace’s cash was putting them up in a place that mixed the best elements of a hunting lodge, dark woods and earth tones; with the fragile elegance of a high-end brothel, the ones where they checked your credit score before even sending you an invitation.
Javier was pretty sure there was a name for such a joint, but he’d never been that rich, or that desperate, so he’d never given it much thought.
The main door let into a long hallway, with a kitchenette and bathroom on one side, and two small bedrooms on the other. Since Sykora was his bodyguard and not his lover, she would sleep there. Javier shuddered through his whole soul for a moment at the thought of sharing a bed with the Dragoon.
Black widow.
Beyond that, a salon on three levels,
for no other reason than to have a sunken middle and a raised platform around one side. His own chamber, beyond that, had a bed big enough for a small orgy to be conducted safely, as well as a tub that could accommodate three friendly people at once. He was pretty sure his privacy was secured, though.
Given the nature of the guest list, Javier was willing to bet that the Khatum wasn’t electronically monitoring the suites. Too much dealing and midnight assignations going on that nobody wanted recorded for posterity.
He and Sykora settled for doing a fast, hard search with a pair of handheld scanners he had rigged up for the occasion. Plus, he had brought Suvi along.
“What is that thing, really?” Sykora asked, pointing as Javier pulled out the smaller remote and bounced it in the air.
No weapons aboard meant that Suvi couldn’t fly her larger, armed probe. It would have been nice, having a second bodyguard around, but the risk was too great.
She had bitched, but in the end was willing to return to her little grapefruit, once Javier had attached a small memory core to her charging ring, and filled it with enough books, music, and videos to keep even her entertained for a few months.
“Before you people killed my scout ship, I had to modify the Sentience’s programming occasionally,” Javier replied in a tight, angry voice. “I still know how. So I was able to make the probe more useful.”
Suvi would be listening. And grumpy. But she understood the situation.
Javier watched his sidekick’s fairy-ship hover in place, just below the ceiling, and paint the room with a laser and a sonic pulse he could feel in his ribs. Suvi moved on with great deliberation, scanning each of the other rooms as they watched, always moving with the care of a fragile, old man, rather than her normal scarf-in-the-wind flying.
“Just how intelligent is it?” Sykora probed.
“It’s not,” he fired back in a lie Sykora would never catch. “I got tired of having to do everything manually, so I started automating some of the functionality. Scanning. Perimeter security. That sort of thing. You and I are programmed in as friendly. It will normally sit in the cradle and pretend to be a piece of weird art, but we’ll know if someone comes in while we’re gone. I would have brought the armed version, but they would have never allowed it aboard. This will do for what I need.”
