by Rhonda Mason
“Where are we at with leverage on Bredard?” she asked Malkor.
He shook his head. “Not far enough.”
“Do we know what evidence Bredard has against us?” Isonde asked. She looked as determined as Kayla had remembered her from before her coma. Maybe more so. “Could we preempt his revealing that with some kind of counter-press conference?”
“I have no idea what ‘proof’ he has,” Malkor said.
Kayla slanted Malkor a glance before speaking. “Killing Bredard would be useless. If we off him, they’ll come at us with someone else.”
And then who would they face? And what would the body count be?
“Break it down for me,” Ardin said. His eyes focused on Malkor, friend to friend, conspirator to co-conspirator. They were in this together, reminding Kayla that these three friends—Malkor, Ardin and Isonde—had charted this course long before she met them. “What options do we have?”
Malkor ran a hand through his hair. Kayla knew the options—they all sucked.
“Well,” Malkor said, “we could unleash the info from Dolan’s files on all of the corrupt members of the IDC and what they had been involved in, and hope that in the resulting firestorm our blackmailers would A: be taken down before they could do anything to us and B: not be taken seriously if they did file allegations against us. But… that would destroy the integrity of the IDC.”
“Fine by me,” Kayla said. Malkor frowned. Hey, he’d already heard her opinion on that subject.
Ardin turned to her. “You know nothing of imperial politics and how important the IDC is to keeping the peace in the empire.” His tone had too much arrogance for her liking.
“Excuse me?” she said. “What have I been doing here for the past months, playing dress-up?” Though in truth, the intricacies of interplanetary politics in the empire made politics on Ordoch look like a tea party. And she’d never been meant to rule at all, her older siblings Natali and Erebus had been groomed for that role.
“The IDC is too crucial,” Ardin stated, clearly his last word on the subject.
Good thing the decision wasn’t entirely his to make.
Isonde spoke before Kayla could retort. “We could give them what they want. Trade the scientific data for Bredard’s blackmail info.”
“No,” Kayla and Malkor said at the same time.
“What if—”
“Not happening,” Kayla said, her raw throat robbing the words of the necessary force. She reached for Toble’s concoction and downed a healthy swallow. If they thought—
“We could trim it,” Ardin said, “offer only part. The schematics for advanced bionics, weapons, long-range communication tech.”
Kayla shook her head. “The only schematic they’ll be satisfied with is the schematic for Dolan’s Influencer. And they will never, ever, get that.”
She made eye contact with each of them. “Ever.”
She held Ardin’s gaze until he glanced away. Good. Let him be uncomfortable with her intensity. At least then he’d understand that no one would cross her on this.
“Next option,” she said, looking back to Malkor.
“Only two more that I see. One, we disappear. We keep all of the data, possibly to use at a later time, preserve the IDC, and run, staying alive when Bredard reveals the Empress Game cheat.”
“Unacceptable,” Isonde said. “The last choice?”
Malkor frowned, not at Isonde’s words—they were in agreement there—but at the last option they had, clearly his least preferred. “We offer to trade them something else in return for Bredard’s blackmail files. Instead of the scientific data, we offer them all of Dolan’s personnel files on the corrupt IDC agents and leaders.” He sighed. “We’d have to surrender all proof of their collusion with Dolan over the last decade, all of their illegal activities, all of our best leverage to clear the cancer from the IDC.”
“Would that really work?” Ardin asked.
“I think so. Dolan’s info detailing Senior Commander Vega’s activities on Ordoch, her people’s interactions with the Wyrd prisoners, even things done on Protectorate Planets under her orders… not to mention collusion with the imperial army. It would be Vega’s death sentence.”
Malkor continued. “If Vega wants Dolan’s tech data, it’s safe to say that she’s interested in mind-control. The only mind-control worth all this risk is control of the Council of Seven. If they refuse our offer and out Isonde/Kayla as conspirators, the government is in chaos. Isonde is executed. Her position on both the Sovereign Council and the Council of Seven remain unfilled. No rulings can be made with the councils in such an uproar. Vega doesn’t want that kind of chaos. It would bring every council action and vote under a microscope, drawing too much attention to her possible machinations.”
Kayla agreed with Malkor. Only an idiot would try to override the will of the Council of Seven under such circumstances. Nonetheless, she would have to live knowing that she gave away the evidence that would have brought justice to the people ultimately responsible for her family’s imprisonment and torture. The people who funded Dolan, supported him, gained from his experiments.
People who deserved death.
Silence descended on the room as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. Kayla sipped at the now tasteless drink, eyes on the chronometer, ticking, ticking. Could she live with this, if it meant saving Malkor’s life?
Her gaze drifted to him and found he had been watching her. Thinking the same thing, she knew.
For Malkor? Absolutely.
More than that, though, it would save Isonde and Ardin and their chance to influence the Council of Seven. Their chance to free Ordoch, their chance to stop the horrific spread of the TNV across the empire, to save billions of lives.
The decision paired Malkor’s life with the fate of her people. Thank the void she didn’t have to choose between them.
“That’s it, then,” she said, “our only real option. Are we agreed?”
Everyone nodded. There was nothing else to say, really, and they had three hours to deadline.
Malkor stood, his expression locked into something neutral. “I’ll talk to Commander Parrel.”
13
It had taken Malkor a precious half-hour to convince Commander Parrel to make the trade—Dolan’s blackmail data for Bredard’s. And by “convince” Malkor meant he’d convinced Parrel that he was going through with this, not that Parrel had been convinced it was the right idea.
In the end, it had come down to Malkor asking his commander point-blank: “Are you going to stop me?” He wasn’t. He couldn’t, really, not unless he had Malkor physically detained for the next three hours or so. Malkor had his own copy of the data he could make a deal with. He needed Parrel to destroy his copy, so that Malkor could prove he turned over every last shred of evidence on the IDC-army cabal from Dolan’s files.
Parrel had been furious, but in the end, he had no alternate plan. And while he might not place the value of Malkor, Kayla and Isonde’s lives above the worth of that data, he couldn’t promise Malkor he’d for certain use Dolan’s data to expose the traitors.
“I’ll take what I can do over what you might do,” he’d told his commander, and walked out.
Now Malkor sat in the back office of an empty fashion boutique at a quarter to midnight, waiting for Bredard to show—or screw him over.
Malkor had suggested the location, an oft-used “neutral ground” for the IDC to meet with informants, and Bredard had agreed. Kayla and Hekkar were there as Malkor’s “muscle,” and Rigger had come as well. Complink in hand, Rigger would confirm the validity of the data Bredard would hopefully hand over.
The four waited in tense silence. When Malkor had proposed the alternate trade to Bredard, the damn man had left him hanging with, “I’ll contact my people to see if this is agreeable.” Now the minutes crept toward the deadline and there was no sign of him.
“They won’t go for it,” Hekkar said, from where he lounged against the wall
. He had his jacket tucked back and away from the ion pistol at his hip.
Rigger looked similarly dour, her blonde hair pulled tight in a ponytail, ion pistol on her belt. Malkor was similarly armed. Kayla might prefer the intimacy of hand-to-hand combat—he planned to shoot the shit out of Bredard and Siño if either of them twitched.
Kayla had come as herself, no hologram this time, and was tapping a finger against one kris, eyes on the door.
“They’ll go for it,” Malkor said. “We can bury them with this.” He indicated the black case on the table in front of him, the indestructible housing that protected the data chip. “And if Bredard doesn’t show, I guess we’ll be fighting treason with treason.”
At one minute to the deadline a chime sounded in the office, indicating someone had entered the building.
Thank the stars.
Malkor stood as Bredard entered the office, followed by the biocybe who had roughed Kayla up. Siño’s nose looked recently repaired, and one of his eyes was still swollen and red from Kayla jabbing it. The other eye lit on Kayla with an all-too-pleased gleam.
She assessed the biocybe coolly, then tapped her finger to the outside edge of her eye in silent mockery. Siño grinned. He pursed his lips, sending a kiss her way before taking position behind Bredard.
Bredard placed a bag on the table and sat down, indicating Malkor should do the same.
“So. Are we going to do this?” Malkor asked.
Bredard focused on him. “My superiors are displeased with your offer.”
“I bet.”
“You know what we want: Dolan’s experimental data and schematics.”
“I’m going to save us all a lot of time on threats and haggling,” Malkor said. Bredard might still be trying to negotiate, but Malkor doubted the man would walk out. “You are never, ever, going to get your hands on that data. You can kill me and my friends here, kill the princess and release what you know about our activities at the Empress Game, and you still won’t get that data. We will destroy it, and all the technologic advancements contained therein, before we let you have it.” Malkor held the man’s gaze, projecting deadly honesty as his words sank in. “This,” he tapped the case they’d brought with the chip inside, “is all you’re going to get from us.”
Bredard absorbed the words in silence, his gaze seeming to test Malkor, challenging him to break.
Malkor leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms as if his life didn’t hang in the balance. As if Kayla’s didn’t. Ardin’s. Isonde’s.
“You think you’re so superior,” Bredard said. “Breathing the stratosphere, looking down at us.” He snorted. “You’re nothing but a liar and a cheat who saw a chance to grab power for himself and his friends and took it.”
“Isonde and Ardin will use that power for good.” The words were out before Malkor realized how they sounded. Didn’t everyone who coveted power think the same thing? “We never hurt anyone.” Never helped Dolan torture his own people to mental ruin and death.
“Not yet,” Bredard countered. He tilted his head, appraising Malkor. “How far will you go, I wonder, so that your friends can ‘do good?’”
The smug frutter. Malkor wanted to slap the satisfied smile right off the man’s face. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Fine. Just remember—if you were any better than us, you wouldn’t be here with me, trying to blackmail us to recover evidence of your own crimes.”
Bredard opened his bag and withdrew a complink and an indestructible case similar to the one that held Malkor’s chip. He punched a code on the case’s lock pad and Malkor did the same on his. A code and a thumbprint scan opened the outer case. A different code and an index fingerprint scan unlocked the inner case.
When both chips were laid bare on the table, Bredard flicked a finger over his shoulder. Siño reached into his vest pocket. Hekkar and Rigger had their weapons trained on him before he could remove it. Kayla looked calmer. Then again, she could probably leap over the table and stab Siño before anyone fired.
“Easy, agents,” Bredard said with a chuckle. “Standard procedure at info swaps.”
Siño removed his hand, coming away with a white organoplastic box, four centimeters by six centimeters with the Ingalls logo on the outside. He passed it to Bredard who popped it open.
Malkor’s turn to chuckle, a bitter sound. If he ever doubted his own agency was behind this blackmail, this was proof enough. Malkor pulled an identical white box from his own pocket. Opening it revealed matching contents to Bredard’s: two flat, beige, dissolvable applicator strips, loaded with an advanced formulation of a truth serum available only to the IDC. The cases were identical, down to the serum manufacturer’s stamp—ATX-006—embossed on each pad.
“We’ll work it this way,” Malkor said. “Hekkar will select one pad from your case for me and your biocybe can select one from mine for you. No tricks, no preplanned double-crossings.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
While Hekkar selected a beige pad and handed it to Malkor to place under his tongue, Rigger set out her complink and gestured to the chip Bredard brought. “May I?”
Bredard brought out his own complink and the two opposing camps began scanning the data available on each other’s blackmail chips.
The applicator pad dissolved sublingually and the calming effect hit Malkor’s bloodstream. The truth serum was intricately engineered, way past its origins in the unreliable sodium pentothal used in the pre-space-travel days, but it was still at its very basic level a barbiturate. Hekkar and Kayla weren’t only backup in case the trade went south, they were there to get his ass home safely when the drug dulled his reflexes and instincts.
They waited minutes for the drug to be fully absorbed, Rigger scanning through file after file as Bredard did the same. Finally, she nodded, confirming that the file did contain what Bredard claimed: proof of their cheating the Game. Bredard’s eyes rounded as he took in the sheer quantity of the files Dolan had kept on all his illicit dealings. “The Wyrd traitor certainly was thorough,” he murmured.
“Satisfied?” Malkor asked.
Bredard turned his attention back to him. “Depends.” He checked his watch—time enough had passed for the serum to take full effect. He nodded to his biocybe.
“Can you confirm that this is the only copy in existence of these files?” Siño asked.
“Yes,” Malkor said.
“Can you confirm that this is the entirety of the information that Dolan had on his dealings with the IDC, the imperial army and members of the Council of Seven?”
Sadly, Malkor’s answer to Siño was a firm, “Yes.” If only they could have kept some of those damn files back.
Hekkar cleared his throat. “Bredard, can you confirm that this is the entirety of your evidence against any fixing of the Empress Game by any party?” They had agreed to make the question broad enough that he couldn’t get away with only providing materials against Malkor, while holding back proof against Isonde or someone else.
Bredard nodded. “Yes.”
“And can you confirm that this is the only copy of such files in existence?”
“Yes.” Bredard’s gaze slid to Malkor. “You got very lucky this time, Agent.” He slipped Malkor’s chip into the case he’d brought, along with his complink.
Malkor got to his feet, the words provoking enough anger to slip through the relaxing effect of the serum. “If you ever come near us again…” He let the threat hang there.
Bredard chuckled and made his way to the door, Siño covering his back. Before he left, he said over his shoulder, “This isn’t done. We will get the rest of that data.”
The sweet taste of the truth serum in Malkor’s mouth mocked him all the way home.
14
THE SICERRO, MINE FIELD
“Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere,” came over the comms.
The Yari filled the viewscreen as they approached, stunning in its massiveness. Vayne couldn’t take it all in, couldn’t believe it.
He’d seen the ship in history vids. Everyone had seen the history vids. He’d studied the structure, advanced for its time, and knew the story of its demise. It was a relic so mysterious and ancient as to be arcane.
What had happened to it?
How had it arrived here, in Imperial Space?
Beside him, Corinth’s eyes were wide with wonder, his mouth slightly open, looking as dazed as Vayne felt.
This could not be happening.
Even as his mind rejected what he saw, the Ilmenans made their preparations to dock with the impossible.
The Ordochians had never built a ship like it before or since. It resembled an old-fashioned spindle, apparently—that was how all of the history vids described its structure. At one end was a large disc, stories upon stories high, that contained all of the living quarters, science labs and so on. Sticking out from its center was a long shaft. Skinny at first, where it attached to the disc, then bulging in the middle where the massive reactors rested, before slimming down again. It stretched out forever, the spectacular housing of a never-before-seen energy weapon that Ordoch had hoped would decisively end the Second Ilmenan War.
A war neither side won.
Most of the shaft was dark—powered down or powerless, impossible to say—but lights winked from the disc section like eyes of a deep sea creature beneath a ledge. Lights? Holy frutt, the thing was still powered, after all this time…
And who the frutt had commed them?
Tia’tan opened a channel. “The Middle of Nowhere sounds about right. Docking in five.”
The Yari didn’t have docking bays, only pressurized hatches they could sidle up to, and it wasn’t long before they were aligned and locked on.
“Well,” Tia’tan said, a grin somewhere between anxious and excited on her face as she looked around at her people, “this is it.” They looked equally excited, and Vayne wanted to smack the lot of them. They were supposed to be headed toward the safety of Wyrd Space, and there was something very wrong about this.
