by C. G. Hatton
“So what do we do now?”
He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. He needed to get a new Senson. “We need to figure out where they are.” It was twisted. He was chasing them knowing fine well that as soon as he found them, Sebastian could turn up, take over and he could be history. He had no idea why Sebastian hadn’t turned up the minute he encountered that Bhenykhn but if and when he did, fine. Bring it on. Not knowing and waiting had never been his strong points. In anything. “I have a lead to the Order,” he said. “Let’s find out what they know. See if they’ve got any more damned Bhenykhn stashed anywhere.”
It took LC two days to go through it all and the file of material the kid had come up with was hideous. He’d worked on it without a break, pulling every last detail out of his memory, then pushed it away when he was done and escaped to his quarters to throw up and pass out.
NG sat in the briefing room, trying to concentrate on the data and doing nothing but going round in circles or staring at it until it blurred and swirled into nonsense.
He rubbed the side of his neck with the edge of his wrist. His neck was sore with a new implant and trying to counter the dizzying disorientation while it synched was giving him a headache.
No one had offered to get him a drink and he was damned if he was going to ask. He was tempted to call up Evelyn. She’d look after him.
Hal Duncan looked up from the board he was reading with a wry smile.
Okay, maybe not. He looked round the table. Hilyer was writing meticulous notes and drawing sketches. Badger was working six boards at once, trying to corroborate the intel with the data from the greys. Pen and Quinn were just reading quietly. And on top of this, whole teams from Media and Science were poring over the same data.
It was going to take them time to get through it all.
NG stood and walked out. He needed to find a faster way to figure out what was still bugging him.
Morgan was on the bridge. Busy. NG lurked in the doorway, no idea why he hadn’t just called the guy on the Senson.
He looked over eventually, realising NG was there, standing and straightening his jacket, puzzled, and walking over as he also realised that NG wasn’t going to enter the bridge.
“NG?” There was almost a, ‘sir’.
NG stood there, slouching because his knee was hurting and feeling scruffy in the vicinity of uniformed crew. Christ, this was more difficult than it should have been and he could feel that he was making it worse, behaving like a bumbling idiot. He was supposed to be able to handle people. Manipulate them. It was like he’d forgotten how to play at all this.
He didn’t know how to say it so he just did. “The Man used to use this black powder stuff…”
The captain was staring at him, an ‘and…?’ playing in his mind. He heard it flash through the guy’s thoughts, not for the first time, that NG was the last guy any of them had ever imagined would be ‘the one’ to take over from the Man.
Morgan was trying not to look at the bruises, the strapped arm, the bandaged hands, thinking that nothing had changed and everything had changed, narrowing his eyes, trying not to think as he realised that NG would probably be reading every thought he had.
It was tempting to go deeper and find out what they did all think of him but he could guess. Devon and Evie had always given him that same look whenever he’d gone haring off by himself and come back injured.
“I need some,” he said, trying not to sound too desperate and knowing fine well that he sounded like a freaking junkie.
“It’s kept in stores,” Morgan said, simply. “I’ll have the QM get some for you.”
The Man’s chambers felt warmer than usual. The black powder came wrapped in brown paper, sealed with red wax. He managed to unfold it without spilling any and poured the powder, almost reverently, into the bowl. Then he sat back, staring at it, spinning the bowl around without touching it.
That time when he’d been in here and the Man had done just that seemed like eons ago, lifetimes ago.
He let it stop.
The Man had only ever added a pinch at a time. He threw in three generous ones and shook in the remainder from the folded paper too.
The wine reacted, steam billowing up to dance in ascending ribbons.
He poured himself a goblet before it had settled, struggling to hold the jug and splashing wine onto the desk. The Man would have been horrified.
He managed to get the goblet balanced in his left hand and raised it to his lips, taking a sip that hit his bloodstream with a warm punch, like an old friend returning.
He downed the rest and set the goblet on the desk, sitting back and closing his eyes.
He didn’t understand why the Man had left. The Bhenykhn were here. It was what he’d been trained for. What they’d been building the guild towards. And now they were here, the Man vanished?
It didn’t make sense.
He needed to drink more. He opened his eyes to see Leigh sitting across the desk from him.
She smiled. “We didn’t want to leave you on your own. Not after what happened last time.”
She was bemused. That seemed to be her main frame of mind when she was dealing with him. That or pissed off at him.
He was glad she wasn’t pissed off with him.
He dropped another pinch of powder into the jug. “Join me for a drink?”
She was guessing it was a narcotic. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just here to pick up the pieces.”
He shrugged, poured himself another and drained it in one. He wanted to get lost. Forget all this. Leigh was good company but he wanted to be with Devon. It was Devon he wanted to talk to, to hold…
Leigh was watching him.
He gave her a look. “Are you still monitoring me?”
“Not in here, I’m getting nothing. I take it you are working?”
“I need to figure out what I’m missing.” He refilled the goblet.
“You’re not going to regale me with your whole life story?”
He almost laughed. “That would take too long but get me onto another bottle and I’ll tell you about Sebastian.”
She leaned forward. “Who’s Sebastian?”
“He’s the son of a bitch who killed the Bhenykhn and I don’t know if I can do it again without him.”
“Of course you can. Are they really here already?”
He nodded.
“Why are you not going to tell Evelyn that you’re alive?”
“Because…”
She cut him off. “Yes, I know, she’s safer if she doesn’t know. That’s bullshit, NG, and you know it. You want to tell me the real reason?”
He couldn’t. Couldn’t admit that Evelyn was too close an association to Devon and it was easier if he just stayed away, as far as he could from her and the Alsatia.
He drained the wine. “I’m missing something,” he said instead. “Maeve didn’t know why we’ve been fighting the Order.” That was what was bothering him. Was it another lie? Had he been fighting against them all this time on the say-so of a man he actually knew had lied to him?
She watched him pour again, saying cautiously, “Should you be drinking so much of this stuff?”
He shrugged. “It helps me think.” He thought it helped him think. He squinted at her. “The Order tasked the JU to work on the virus at the same time that UM was working on it here. Possibly even Yarrimer too. Christ knows who else. Rodan set Zang up to blackmail us to get it for himself when he realised that Earth really had something. When LC disappeared, they assumed he’d brought it back to us. They all assumed that. They thought we were working against them but we had no idea where he was. The irony is that we have been working against them and they didn’t know it, not until Rodan and Zang went rogue to get this virus for themselves.”
“How did they know Earth had something?”
That was a good question. “I don’t know. Someone went after Jameson. They have someone in the JU. What we don’t know is how much the rest of the Order
know about the Bhenykhn. Is it just UM? What was the JU doing chasing Gallagher unless they knew? And Elliott? What the hell is he in all this? He knew there was something going on here and Christ knows how he knows about this weapons platform. If it even exists.” He was rambling, hyper and talking too fast. He stopped. He’d lost track of how much he’d had to drink. “Sorry, I’m going round in circles.”
“What if…” she said, “someone invited the Bhenykhn in?”
He looked at her, swirling tendrils of steam wandering between them. He blinked. “What?”
“You’re assuming that they picked us as a target and came here of their own volition. What if someone invited them?”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Why not? They’re massively superior technologically. They regenerate like nothing we’ve ever seen before. That’s one hell of an ally to have if you want an advantage over an enemy.”
NG squinted at her. His head was hurting. He downed what he had left, the heat of it burning his throat, the warmth winding its way into his spine. He had everything they needed to know within the intel Sebastian had thrown at him. What was it deep in there that he was missing? He closed his eyes and felt the room spin.
The Man.
He jerked his eyes open and stared at her. It was in the drawer. He fumbled it open and batted through the junk in there. Found the box and lifted it out, tumbled it onto the table.
“What’s this?” she said.
He tipped it up and watched the look on her face as the key fell out.
She looked at him suspiciously. “Where is this from?” She glanced across at the kill token that was still lying on the desk.
“The Man. It opens this room.”
“Ah. And he never told you about the Bhenykhn?”
NG shook his head. In everything that had happened since Erica, he hadn’t given the key a second thought. He picked up the goblet. Its twisted metal stem was identical in design to the key and the kill token, to the gates in his nightmare.
“You don’t know where he is?”
Another shake of the head.
“And that’s not the only thing troubling you, is it? Come on then, tell me about Sebastian.”
He woke, hangover weighing heavily, instinctively stretching out an arm to touch Devon, to feel the warmth of her skin against his.
The bed was empty. Pain flared in each hand. He wasn’t on the Alsatia.
He lay there, fully dressed, not wanting to move. He’d never been able to neutralise the effects of that black powder, had never drunk so much of it before.
He’d told Leigh everything, more than he’d even told Martinez. He had a really bad feeling he might have cried. He had no memory of getting to his quarters. He had a vague feeling he’d sent orders to the bridge crew at some point.
He dragged himself out of bed, set the shower to hot, undressed and stripped off the bandages and bindings. Realising the Man must have known more about the Bhenykhn than he’d ever revealed was even more disturbing now in the cold light of day. And added to the knowledge that the Bennies had active recon units scattered throughout the galaxy, both sides of the line, it was chilling.
He let the hot water drench away the shakes and sat on the edge of the bunk with just a towel round his waist. He had a red scar cutting across his left wrist. He’d been Thieves’ Guild his whole life and no one had ever threatened to cut off his hand before. It was laughable. And it was too much to hope that all this crap could be down to a greed-borne and power-hungry pact between Rodan and Zang to screw over the very organisation to which they owed their status. Maeve had been charming in her barking mad ways, almost flirting with him, but he couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen the danger her grandson posed.
He lay back on the bunk, reluctant to face trying to get dressed just yet. He realised another loose end that he’d missed, something Badger had said, and opened a connection, feeling the raw edge of the link jar the implant. They’d given him a Seven, experimental, not released yet technology. It didn’t feel right.
Badger answered straight away. “How’s the hangover?”
Christ, could no one do anything here without the whole lot of them knowing? He closed his eyes, ignored the question and asked bluntly, “Did you find Ballack?”
“Not yet. He isn’t at any of his usual haunts. Still looking.”
NG cut the connection, ignoring the temptation to contact Leigh. He had a feeling that she’d got him back here to his quarters.
He also had a weird feeling he might have done something stupid and contacted Morgan to find out where they were. “Heading in towards Winter,” the answer came back. “That’s where you wanted to go.”
Itomara.
Toss of the coin.
He hated Winter.
Chapter 16
She was staring at him, thinking that he should have told the boy. She’d said as much before, after Erica, when he’d asked to see her and they’d talked. She’d said then that he should have told Nikolai so much more.
It wouldn’t have made any difference. He truly believed that.
There was only one thing that he regretted not revealing to Nikolai and it was now too late. What was done was done. What he needed to consider, what this assembly needed to decide, was where they went from here.
“How could we aid these creatures more,” one of them was saying, “when all we have set up has been greeted with animosity and paranoia…”
“You have seen how they respond to each other,” said another. “They know nothing but mistrust and hate. By the very nature of what we have sought to do, we are different.”
That enraged her. “The mistake we made,” she said, “was to treat them with such arrogance. To try to manipulate them from the shadows. How could they do anything other than distrust us? Should we not have been more open?” She looked back at him. “You say he continued to chase the Order? How did he fare?”
The Man met her gaze. She was concerned. It was touching. “What do you expect? It did not go well.”
•
Kimi Itomara had a sense of humour that was eclipsed only by his sense of occasion. They’d agreed to meet somewhere remote and the CEO of Aries Corp had given them the coordinates to a spot somewhere just south of the planet’s pole. Welcome to Winter.
NG walked forward, boots crunching in the crisp snow, breath frosting, cold weather gear just about keeping out the chill. Sebastian had accused him of being masochistic. It appeared he was, to choose Winter in his intoxicated state over Aruba Prime which was where Maeve had reckoned Anton would be.
He had Duncan on one side, Quinn on the other, Leigh one step behind and a Security team flanking them.
Itomara was already waiting with his own entourage spread out in a discrete and respectful circle behind him. He was seated at a low wooden table, bowls and teapot spread out in front of him. Bright sunshine glinted from the lacquered tabletop.
NG walked up and waited to be invited to sit.
It was a simple bow of the head but a flash of appreciation for his nod to the etiquette of the situation ran through the old man’s mind as Itomara gestured a go ahead.
He sat and watched as this old master of the High Order lifted the lid from a bowl, spooned dried tea leaves into the pot and added water from a jug, waiting a measured number of heartbeats then pouring the tea carefully into two of the smaller bowls, steam rising.
NG waited.
The old man raised his bowl with a small bow then took a sip.
He followed, mirroring the actions exactly.
“I was promised a meeting with your council,” Itomara said. “I do not see any elders.”
NG set the cup down. He’d left the strappings off his fingers. Show no weakness. He had a lighter casing on his arm, not strapped and well hidden within the sleeve of the heavy coat. He was having to concentrate to shut out the pain and not fumble the scalding hot tea into his host’s lap. “I speak for the elders,” he said, once he had it safely back on
the table, the pause seemingly adding to the ceremony of the moment.
The old man raised his eyebrows. “We have been wanting to talk to the Thieves’ Guild for some time, and you have avoided us, you fight against us. Why do you seek us out now?”
“Maeve Rodan is dead,” NG said.
A cloud darkened inside Itomara’s mind. They almost considered themselves entitled to immortality, this High Guard of the Order. He’d sensed it in Maeve and he read it now in the distaste Itomara felt for that news.
“Did you kill her?”
NG shook his head. “No. Her grandson, Angmar. I killed him. I’m sorry I was not able to stop him.”
He listened in as the old man processed that information and considered the loss, of both Maeve and Angmar.
“You were there?” he asked after a while, referring to their research facility on Poule.
“I was.”
“I do not imagine that she told you about me.” That was the real question. He wanted to know how the Thieves’ Guild had found him.
“She didn’t,” NG said. “I’m here because Maeve was killed after I’d given her information. I’m here to ask if you want it.”
Itomara picked up his bowl of tea and sipped it, waiting and watching for NG to do the same.
He couldn’t feel the ends of his fingers any more but he managed to pick up the bowl and take a sip. The tea hadn’t lost any of its heat even though it was well below zero out here, the technology concealed within the beautifully crafted porcelain.
Itomara gave a slight nod of appreciation and raised eyes that were glinting in the reflected sunlight. “Do you grant me an honour or a death sentence?”
NG set the bowl down and met his gaze. “If you agree to hear it,” he said, “you’ll understand why that question is irrelevant.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You walk away and we take it to Anton or Drake.”
He laughed, a sharp trill. “You try to impress me with your knowledge of the others. You risk much to come here, NG.”
