by Alex Knight
“There are no other theatres on this planet,” Kaiden said.
Marty adjusted his worn-out suit and smiled.
“It would seem my point stands, then.”
The same overdone red cushions and stained loungers decorated the lobby of the theatre. The holograms on the wall flicked between ads for two different shows, and Kaiden was pretty sure they were the same two shows as every other time he’d visited. Something was off, though. It took him a moment to realize exactly what.
Lou, Marty’s ever-present sidekick, was, apparently, no longer ever-present.
“Where’s Lou?” Kaiden asked.
“My esteemed associate is off on official theatre business,” Marty said, as unspecific as ever. “So, tell me: why have you come, old friend? Looking to reprise your starring role in my production?”
Pretty sure I’m far too high-level to fight in your arena now, Kaiden wanted to say. But that wasn’t how things were done here. Marty was all double meanings and veiled intentions. A bit of a tiring game to play, but things always seemed to go smoother when he played along with the NPC.
“Actually, no. I think my acting days are behind me.”
“Shame, shame,” Marty said, shaking his head. “The crowds would love to watch your triumphant return. So, then.” He leaned on his scarred and chipped counter and lowered his voice. “What can I do for my favorite warden?”
“We’ve come for information,” Titus said bluntly. “About an organization called ‘The Syndicate.’”
Marty slid back off the counter to stand up straight.
“I am no mere peddler of rumors and heresy, sir. I am a purveyor of the arts! Of stories to make one weep, or cheer. If rumors are what you’re looking for, might I suggest any one of our esteemed drinking houses? They’re always happy to perpetuate nonsense, or so I hear. I abstain, personally.”
“Err... let me handle him,” Kaiden said to Titus through comms. “He has a particular way of doing things.”
“Yeah, this one’s all you, dude,” Titus said with no small amount of relief.
Marty still appeared annoyed when Kaiden turned back to him.
“Marty, Marty, my apologies for my friend. He’s not a fan of... the fine arts. A bit out of place in a theatre, if you know what I mean.”
“That much is painfully clear,” Marty said. “This is a palace of art! An institution beyond repute. I cannot have passersby off the street wandering in and…” He shuddered. “And speaking plainly.”
“Of course you can’t. I completely understand,” Kaiden said, trying to look sympathetic. Do NPCs pick up on such things? Or is the success of my request going to depend solely on my prestige with the criminal underground and my past work with Marty? Eh. Can’t hurt to play the part, right?
“If it’s all the same, though,” Kaiden said, leaning on the counter and lowering his voice. “My friend’s question still stands. You see, we find ourselves in something of a difficult position.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
All right, come on now. I’m no good at this game. Kaiden held back his sigh and forced an understanding smile.
“Marty, we’re what you might call in between productions. You see, our last show was a smash hit. Wildly popular. Maybe even too popular, because now the pressure’s on for a follow-up. I’m sure you’ve been in a similar situation yourself.”
“Too many times to count.”
“Ah, so you understand what it’s like, then? You see, we know what we want to do next, and we’re sure audiences are going to love it. The problem is, though, we need some help to make it happen. We have the actors, the story, but what we need are producers. We need the support of some real big shots behind the scenes.”
Marty seemed not to like the sound of that; he pinched his mouth, as if tasting something sour.
“Look here, Kaiden. We’ve done some good work together, there’s no denying that. But if you’ve come to my quaint theatre looking for ‘big shots,’ I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“There’s no need to be humble, Marty.” Kaiden rapped his knuckles on the wood counter. “This is the finest theatre on all of Nassau. I know the performances put on here aren’t massive, but there’s no denying they attract attention. And with how long you’ve been successful, I can’t imagine you haven’t made certain contacts. Or, at the least, that you’ve heard a thing or two. I think you might know something about the... producers we need.” Kaiden gave a wink. “Which is to say the Syn—”
“Okay, okay.” Marty waved his hands. “I’ll thank you not to use their name.” He shook his head, seemingly troubled by the conversation. “You and I have a history as temporary partners. A history that’s benefitted us both. But what you’re asking about, it goes way beyond my little piece of dirt. These producers aren’t the sort of people you want to go asking about. If they see potential in you, they’ll contact you. That’s how it goes.”
So The Syndicate does exist? Kaiden shot a glance over his shoulder. Titus met it, then gave a little thumbs up.
This is progress. But we need more. Kaiden turned back to Marty.
“They’ll reach out if they want us. Okay. That’s good to know, but is there anything else you can tell us? Any stories you might have heard about them? Anything that might help us catch their eye?” Kaiden looked him dead in the face and did his best to look sincere. “We really want our next production to be a success.”
“These producers have a lot of people vying for their attention, you have to understand. And, the critics – oh, the critics are always after them.”
Critics? Does he mean the Warden Corps? Or the Party?
“These producers aren’t the sort to bother with a humble operator like myself. They’re the real upper echelon of the... performing arts. Private box seats sorts. When they give their blessing to a production, it succeeds. Simple as that.”
“Thank you, Marty.” Kaiden reached across the counter to pat the man on the shoulder. “I can feel our impending success already.” He switched to comms and shot a glance back at Titus. “We really need to get in contact with these guys. They could be exactly the ally we need.”
“You’re right, Kai. But I’ve known people like this. They’re not just going to help us out of the goodness of their hearts. We need to make it worth their time. They need to be able to gain something from it. That’s the only way things happened on King Street, and I doubt it’s any different here.”
“You’re saying we need to make bringing down the Party profitable?”
“Yeah, probably. If we want The Syndicate to work with us.”
“Well, we did that once, in a way, with King Street,” Kaiden said. “Maybe we could do it again here?”
“King Street only manages to operate because the Party doesn’t crack down on them. These Syndicate guys sound like they operate in spite of the Party. Hell, it almost sounds like they’re running the show in Nova. I don’t think it’s going to be easy to convince people like that.”
“You’re probably right.” Kaiden shook his head. “But we gotta try. We’ll figure something out. We always do.” He faced Marty again. “I can’t thank you enough. You’ve done good here today. Really made a difference.”
“What I’ve done is put my neck on the line talking about things it’s better I shouldn’t,” he said. “But I have a soft spot for my star. Still keeping hope alive that he might return for another performance, perhaps.”
“I don’t—”
The door hissed open.
“Take them alive!” A shout burst into the room and Kaiden flung himself to the side. At almost the same moment, a Burst Arrow whipped over his shoulder and exploded just above Marty. The NPC was thrown to the side, his health bar flashing and dropping well into the red.
“Get out of here!” Kaiden shouted at him. “And keep your head down!”
Marty didn’t hesitate, crawling behind the counter then sprinting out of a side door. Once he was
clear, Kaiden spun around and activated his shield. Too slow, though. Another Burst Arrow exploded into his chest, dropping his health down to eighty-eight percent.
Twelve percent damage from one attack? Kaiden swallowed hard at that as he worked his way over toward Titus and raised his eyes to their attackers.
The first of them was all too familiar. In looks, at least, if not in level.
Werner10
Warden Captain
Class: Blast Warden
Faction: Warden Corps
Level: 53
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Jonduu, huh?” Thorne said as the pilot set their ship down deep inside the icy cave. The turen ships that had escorted them in hovered for a moment, then turned to depart, heading back toward the frozen surface of the planet.
“Been a long time since my last visit,” Thorne continued. “Though I never had a reception quite like this.”
In front of the ship, a gathering of turen was forming, the aliens dressed in flowing robes so light and soft they almost seemed to float in the relatively low gravity of the planet.
“They, uh, didn’t do that the last time I was here either,” Zelda said, looking at them quizzically for a moment before shaking her head and making for the ramp out of the Veritas II.
They’d deactivated their transponder on the way in, flying under the ship’s true name so as not to arouse any thought of deception. Zelda and the others’ prestige with the turen was through the roof, so even though they were all wanted fugitives, Thorne had been confident the locals wouldn’t turn them in. Better, then, to be honest about their ship. The turen were notoriously intolerant of ‘mistruths,’ as they called them. Lies, really, but anything factually incorrect was just as bad. A transponder broadcasting a fake ship name would be a double affront to their sensibilities – inaccurate and deceitful.
“Honored friend Zelda, you are welcome on Jonduu,” the foremost of the turen greeting party said.
“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be back?” Zelda said, seeming taken aback, but adjusting quickly. “We’ve come seeking knowledge and would like permission to use your archival facility to attain it.”
“The council of Jonduu has declared our archives open to all who seek to better themselves through knowledge.”
“Yup,” Zelda said, nodding. “That’s… exactly what we’re here for.”
“I’m not sure we’re technically planning to better ourselves by learning about some all-powerful criminal organization,” Thorne said through private comms. “Particularly one that doesn’t exist.”
“We’re... better preparing ourselves to resist the Party. So, you could say our overarching goal is to change the world for the better?” Zelda replied, seeming to think it up as she went along. “That’s close enough to bettering ourselves, yeah?”
The turen crowd had parted now, revealing a path through the cavernous space of ice and snow toward one of their smooth, rounded buildings.
The foremost of the turen gestured toward it with a graceful sweep of her hand.
“You are familiar with the archive, Zelda. It is at your disposal. We do not know your friend, however.” The lead turen seemed to squint at Thorne a moment. “If you vouch for the goodness of her intentions and the purity of her mind then she may accompany you. But know that any action of hers will reflect on you, as well.”
“I don’t know,” Zelda said through comms and threw a smirk at Thorne. “Can you be trusted? You gonna break something in that archive and get us both thrown out?”
“Oh, you know me. Walking disaster,” Thorne laughed back. “Tell ‘em I’m pure of mind, or whatever. I’m with you, after all, so I can’t be that bad, right?”
“Yeah, just an outlaw terrorist wanted by every member of the party,” Zelda said with a chuckle, then switched back to proximity chat. “Thorne’s with me. She’s all right.”
The lead turen looked confused at that, like it hadn’t made any sense.
“I fail to see how her wellbeing is relevant in this matter,” she said.
Zelda muttered at that, then tried again with only a bit of a mocking tone.
“Thorne is pure of mind and has only good intentions. I hereby vouch for her.”
“So it is.” The lead turen nodded, then looked to another in the group. “Elistar, I will ask you to assist our guests.”
“I will do so.”
Thorne squinted at Elistar. For the most part, he looked similar to those around him. Slits for nostrils, four eyes, and a tall, slender frame. He did look a bit... bookish, though. Given, one could describe just about all of the turen as bookish, what with their gentle demeanors, slow, measured speech, and apparent disdain for any physical activity. Still, though, even for a bookish alien race, Elistar looked slightly more bookish than the rest.
“Welcome back, Zelda,” Elistar said as the rest of the turen group seemed to melt away, walking off back to whatever they’d been doing, each step so gentle it seemed they were almost floating. The snow was hardly disturbed in the wake of their passing.
“You may remember me from your last visit. I am Elistar, an archive secretary. It will be my task to assist you in your search for the duration of your stay here.”
“Elistar, right,” Zelda said, nodding. “You helped us last time we were here. Good to see you again. How’s it hanging?”
“I do not know what the ‘it’ you are asking about refers to.”
“I meant, how are you?”
“My bodily functions are operating within acceptable ranges.”
Nice ice-breaker, guy. I bet you’re a blast at parties. Thorne shook away her sarcasm and tried to look friendly as she stepped forward and gave a little wave.
“Captain Thorne of the Warden Corps—er, well, former captain. Now, I don’t know. Just Thorne, I guess.”
“Don’t get him started on rank,” Zelda said through comms, but it was too late.
“Rank supposes an alleged categorical hierarchy based on merit, yet our research has found it to be largely corrupted by wealth, societal status, and nepotism. As such, we have deemed it superficial and do not recognize it as an effective system for titles.”
“Oh, uh. I see…” Thorne said, at a loss for how to respond. “Cool?”
Elistar seemed unfazed.
“This way, please,” he said, turning and heading toward the archive.
“Actually, you might be able to help us,” Zelda said, jogging to catch up with him. Her steps were heavy and labored through the snow, leaving it churned and tossed in her wake. In comparison, Elistar’s passing seemed no more than a gentle breeze.
“I intend to help you, as discussed prior.”
“We appreciate that,” Zelda said. “But you know the archives, right? Spent your life studying them?”
“My knowledge of the archives is vast and my memory is precise, yes.”
“Are you familiar with the rumors about a vast criminal organization some refer to as “The Syndicate?” Thorne asked.
Elistar stopped walking. His eyes went out of focus a moment. Thinking, maybe? Then he blinked, all four eyes at once, and spoke as if reciting a passage from memory.
“No such organization as ‘The Syndicate’ is known to exist within the boundaries of the universe,” he said, speaking with confidence, or as close as a turen could get to such an emotion.
“Ha! Told you!” Thorne said to Zelda though comms. “Bunch of rumors. It’s just like I said, this whole thing—”
“‘The Syndicate,’ is however…”
Thorne stopped mid-sentence as the turen continued speaking.
“Among a list of known monikers used to erroneously refer to an entirely different organization. But this knowledge is restricted. Only the wisest of our people may have access to it.”
“Elistar,” Zelda said, leaning in close. “I think you may have heard about some of our recent exploits involving the dark turen?”
Forcing a prestige check, Thorne realized. Nice.
&
nbsp; Elistar was still for a moment. He blinked, then nodded.
Prestige check passed.
“Of course, as you have been such a great friend to our people, you are welcome to this knowledge,” Elistar said, focusing on Zelda. “Your friend does not hold such status, however. Thorne may not be present while I disclose this information.”
“Oh, sure, sure,” Zelda said, nodding along. “Though you should know the first thing I’ll do when I leave will be to relay all of the information to Thorne.” Zelda shrugged. “So, really, it’d just be inefficient not to tell her now.”
Clearly that had an effect on the turen. The muscles in his face twitched as he took in her words. Finally, he grimaced – or as close as a turen got to grimacing – and sighed.
“Once the information has been relayed to you it is yours to do with as you please. I cannot stop you from telling Thorne. I also cannot tolerate inefficiency.” Another turen grimace. “Okay, then. I will make an exception on this occasion.”
Zelda smirked at that. Thorne almost gave her a high-five, but right in front of Elistar that just seemed rude.
The turen looked at them both, two eyes on each of them. “As I was saying, ‘The Syndicate’ is among a list of known monikers used to erroneously refer to an entirely different organization. An organization whose knowledge, influence, and ability to reshape the universe to its very will requires us to hold it in high regard. The name of this organization and its members is itself a secret known only to the most educated. Criminals think they are The Syndicate. This is a misnomer. The grachnids think they are the holy broodmothers, and worship them as the ssghriitzeeen.” Elistar opened his mouth wide and did an honestly impressive impression of a grachnid’s screech.
“This is also a misnomer. The Ship Builders, a particularly ancient and somewhat wise race, think they are the original builders themselves, and call them—”
“Get to the point,” Thorne said, anger building. “Who is this all-powerful organization you want us to believe exists?”
Elistar focused all four eyes on her and... smirked? Was that a smirk? Turen didn’t smirk. They hardly ever showed emotion. And yet, the narrow slit of his mouth seemed upturned ever so slightly at the edges.
