He was alone. He’d strain the chain on his handcuffs for
entertainment, then rest his palms on the cool metal table he’d
been bound to. He thought he’d been in this room for an hour.
The officer returned with a lawyer. “Sorry about that wait
Mr. Bernard, we-”
“So you letting me out of here yet or
not?” He interrupted, tapping his foot on the tiles.
She
bunched up her mouth. “What about your friends?”
“What
about them?” He shrugged, glaring at her from behind sunken
eyes. “You want a deal? Is that what this is? I rat them out and
we never mention this again?”
“Erm,” the lawyer consulted
her file, “well.” She and the officer sat down. “You and your
friends-”
“Associates. Just met ‘em. Hardly know the
guys.”
“-were taken in on charges of breaking and
entering, property damage, forging of official documents,
identity theft, ship theft, conspiracy to commit theft, theft,
and…”
“I’ve been told the robot and the Marxist-feminist
have invented a new crime, yes.”
“Well, yes, but. Your
associates have all been released, is the thing. It’s just you.
We ran your mugshot through the intergalactic database and found
that you, specifically, are wanted all across Andromeda for
twenty-three separate counts of fraud, as an accessory to
forty-one crimes of differing natures, seventeen counts of
illegal data brokering and twelve of identity theft, as well as
four robberies like this one; on eight occasions you’ve been
wanted for questioning related to various murders and
assassinations and you were last seen heading into a gang
shootout on Ichabod’s Reach three years ago. These are all just
on planets registered with the database. We’ve sent out requests
to the other big wanted persons’ registries and we could have
more charges within the hour.” She sighed. “Corda is a backwater
planet. I deal with drunken assaults, petty theft and planning
permission disputes, I’m not sure where to even start with you.”
“I have a question,” the officer next to her interjected. “I
only got in twenty minutes ago, sorry. Sola Bernard, isn’t it?”
The man shrugged, leaning back in his chair as far as the
handcuffs allowed. “Allegedly.”
“So why does everyone
call you Odysseus? Is that your latest pseudonym or something?”
Odysseus sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, you
see…”
Odysseus, wearing a towel around his waist, followed his nose
through the ship, eyes nearly covered by a damp mop of curly
dark hair. “What smells good?”
“They’re no ready!” Gwen
pointed at him with a spatula from behind the breakfast bar.
“Yous are aw like fucking midges honestly.”
“Bacon
rolls,” Emily shouted over from the sofa. She was wearing a
faded E•MO•TION shirt under a flannel, and didn’t look up from
the pretty new edition of Ghosts of My Life she read as pink
nebulae rolled by the window. “Actual bacon for a change, if
you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Oh yeah,” he looked at
Gwen and furrowed his faint unibrow like the alternative was
unthinkable.
“Good,” Gwen declared. “That makes two of
us.”
Redacted ran in and skidded a little on the carpet.
The robot played a “clearing my throat” noise and straightened
up, placing their hands together in front of them. “Good morning
girls and gays. We’re bankrupt.”
“Whit?” Gwen sighed.
“I’ve been up maybe eleven minutes hen.”
“I just tried to
buy this old Lou Reed record but they’re freezing Liberty bank
accounts again.”
“Fucksake.” Gwen turned the heat down on
the cooker.
“Why?” Odysseus asked.
“Fraud
detection,” Redacted folded their arms. “They think I’m a
robot.”
“Uh,” he swallowed. “Are you? A… robot?”
“Oh everyone using Liberty is. It’ll be fine,” they shrugged.
“We have people who sort this out for us.”
“Yeah and last
time it took like four months,” said Emily, getting up and
taking a tablet over to the breakfast bar. “We have enough to
scrape together for a while, but there’s hardly anything on the
go. We’re in the middle of nowhere just now and I’d rather we
not burn the rest of our money getting to the other side of the
galaxy.”
Gwen took the tablet from Emily’s hands and
swiped determinedly.
“I don’t like where this is going,”
Emily shook her head. “I see lots of filters being switched
off.”
“Right.” Gwen declared.
“Mhmm?”
“Hey
kids, you know how shoplifting is actually really cool if it’s a
big business?”
“Oh for f-
Driver Hess sipped on dandelion wine as Dionysus Thrax
slammed against the bar next to her.
“You said you were
retiring,” she spread out into a wicked grin. “Away for a quiet
life in New Atlantis or somewhere.”
“Yeah, but,” he wiped
blood from his lip then laughed at his purple knuckles. “I say a
lotta things. You should know this,” he slumped down on the
stool and she cooed and rubbed his shoulders. He reached for her
glass and brought it to his lips.
“You don’t wanna drink
that.”
“Hm?”
“You never tried it before? It’s an
acquired taste. By most accounts the stuff actually gets worse
with age.”
He smelled it, recoiled slightly, and put the
glass back down.
“Remember how long it took for you to
drop the ‘I work alone’ bullshit?” She growled through the
impression of him. “You need someone to tell you these things,
to civilise you.”
“Is that them?” He nodded at a stall in
the corner of the room.
“Yeah, they just got in. The boys
from the Hell-Pit Crew over at the pool table look like they
wanna boil the minotaur alive, so we should get going.”
“People eat minotaur here?”
“It’s Fangtoma, Dio,” She
leaned over his shoulder. “People eat people.”
Odysseus
vanished the sachet of ketchup he’d been spinning on the table.
“Really?” Gwen laughed. “We’re considering robbing one of
the biggest casinos in the galaxy and you’re nicking wee ketchup
packets from this shitehole?”
“A big heist is just
millions of little heists in quick succession,” he inspected the
pot of cutlery in the middle of the table. “We good for forks,
just now?”
“Ohmgee that’s them,” Redacted whispered.
“See I noticed them looking at us first but I didn’t want to
say anything because I don’t want yous all looking at them,”
said Gwen.
“I was looking at her ages ago,” Odysseus
shook his head.
“Aye?” Emily laughed into her glass.
“Yeah, I’m good at spotting tourists.”
Dorian turned to Redacted. “So how did you notice
them?”
“Oh I’m just bisexual.”
The kinetic,
strong-jawed man with graying hair and a burst lip wandered over
to the table with his companion, a relaxed woman with piercings
and big round glasses. The luminous undertone of her skin,
intense eyes and her tall nose and bone structure suggested that
she was a sidhe, which would have made her age impossible to
tell.
“You’ll be looking for me, then, won’t you?” He
grinned, teeth stained red, and leaned on the alcove’s arch
above Gwen.
“Why would you think that?” Gwen said, taking
a sip of a cold lager.
“Okay, don’t tell me,” he put a
fist to his stubbly chin and inspected the group. He pointed at
the minotaur. “You’re obviously the muscle, and you…” he hovered
over Gwen, “must be the ringleader, since you’re speaking for
everybody else.” He put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, “this
is Driver Hess, by the way, I’m Dionysus Thrax, and I know a
conman when I see one,” he said, looking at Odysseus.
“Which makes you,” he landed at Emily. “The brains of the
operation.”
“Any custom hardware we need, I can build.
Dorian is the brains, really,” she gestured at him.
“Emily is also the brains of the operation,” Dorian clarified.
“It’s a brainy operation,” she nodded.
“And I believe
we advertised for a safecracker?” Dionysus scanned the group
then landed on Gwen, who was looking up at him with a violently
boiling pint in one hand, flashing her implants on the other.
“What about the tearaway child at the back?” Driver asked,
nodding at Redacted. “What can she do?”
Redacted smiled
on one side, then opened her mouth and stuck out the flailing,
enfolding polygon mesh glitch where she usually had a tongue.
Driver and Dionysus had set up in an old repair shop that had
been too small to move the Treehouse into, just outside Black
Smoker territory. The run-down brick room had been filled partly
with scrap furniture, and mostly with Driver and Dionysus’ ship:
a “bottom-heavy” raider with room for two in the cockpit, a
cargo hold and an oversized engine at the back. All their maps
and diagrams were holographic, ready to be packed up at a knock
on the shutter door. A 3D model of the target appeared as
Dionysus spoke.
“The Pot O' Gold is the largest casino on
Libra, a near-lawless human colony where anything that can be
bought or sold will be. There have been a few attempts to steal
from the Pot’s underground vaults - Lùg Harmsworth, the owner
and Libra’s majority shareholder, is not a popular man - but
they all fell at various hurdles. We learned from the CCTV snuff
tapes after we’d got what those guys didn’t have, a man on the
inside.”
Driver smiled and waved from her patchy recliner
chair, not looking up from the handheld device she was tapping
away at.
The hologram switched again, without Dionysus
doing anything, to a model of the underground layers: three
floors containing 110 vaults, going down an inverted pyramid to
a fourth floor with only one. “We have blueprints of all the
security systems. One lone thief did manage to get past the
Balor, the robot guards who patrol the vault layer 24/7, but he
was caught out by Lùg’s personal vault itself, at the bottom.
The alarm went off and though he escaped the casino, the
population of Libra is an entrepreneurial lot: everyone in a
mile was after the bounty that had automatically gone out, and
everyone of them was armed to the teeth.” He threw up some
aerial footage on the hologram: a figure in black being chased
across rooftops by a horde of young and old, taking every
opportunity to throw their competitors into the riot in the
streets below. “First we’re hitting a vault on the second floor
to destroy a data-core belonging to Fenrix Jettstrom, the leader of an
extortion ring that’s ruined countless lives. Nobody knows
what’s in there, but a leaked document values its contents at
around eight-hundred thousand credits.”
“Between seven
people?” Odysseus squinted.
“Your pay will be coming from
the client. Whatever he wants out of there, we’re not keeping
it. The thing that separates us from the suicide missions is
that we’ve found out the vault can only be opened from Mr.
Harmsworth’s office on the top floor, via biometric lock.”
“That’s a ‘clone hand’ job-”
“Amazing,” Redacted
beamed.
-which is easy enough to do,” said Dorian. “It’ll
cost your client some, and it’ll take a couple of weeks, but
it’s more than achievable.”
“No-can-do, it’s not locked
to his hand,” Dionysus waved the idea off. “It’s his brain.”
Gwen, Emily, Odysseus and Redacted were all sat on the ratty
old sofa together, and one by one they slowly turned to their
left as the silence grew longer. Dionysus became fully silent as
he realised what they were staring at, and Driver looked up from
her device and towards the centre of attention in the room:
Dorian, who was looking up at some mote of dust in the air. He
was taking a sip from a large bowl of water he held in one hand
when he became completely still, eyes narrowing as he swirled
the water about in his mouth. Odysseus jumped as he swallowed
and nodded fractionally, and the group tensed up as his gaze
returned to them. “I could steal a brain.”
“OOOohhh my
actual fucking god,” Emily buried her face in her
hands.
He turned to Dionysus and Driver. “Misspent
youth.”
“It’s…” Dionysus stuttered. “It’s not just his
brain that’s the issue, it’s his mind. If we’re going
to open the vault at all, someone’s going to have to convince
him to let us in.”
“So what happens if we manage that?”
Gwen asked. “How are we getting out of there?”
“Mr.
Harmsworth’s most flamboyant security measure is a heavily-armed
weapons platform that hangs in a geostationary orbit directly
above the Pot. If an alarm sounds in the casino, Lúg’s vault
will be lowered down into a ship in his private spaceport, which
will then fly up there accompanied by a small security detail
and watched over by surface-to-air artillery controlled right
from the head honcho’s head. Once we’re in the vault, we’re
gonna close the door behind us and set off the alarm remotely,
which we can do with Ms. Layeni's technical know-how. That’s
our getaway plan. While we’re in the vault level, Ms. Hess will
covertly take out the pilot and fly the vault to the satellite
with us inside. The client has a small team of mercenaries who
we’re going to help infiltrate the satellite under assumed
identities to commandeer the thing and fly us all safely out of
there. Once we’ve shot our way into deep space we all split,
deliver the goods to the client, then me and Driver pull a Mr.
Mardova and hit the beach for a decade or four. There are a lot
of hypotheticals, but, worst case scenario? You look like you
can handle yourselves in a fight. We’ll get to the finer details
later, but that’s the gist of it. Any questions?”
Emily,
who had sunk into the sofa with her arms folded, raised her
hand.
“Miss Layeni?”
“Who’s the client?”
The hologram maps vanished and in their place stood a
silhouetted man in a suit. “You’d probably recognise the name if
I told any of you, but most people would call me a
philanthropist. Mr. Harmsworth and I go way back, and I just
think it’s time someone took him down eight-hundred thousand
pegs.”
“I’ve done a few jobs for him these past couple
years. He’s frosty, but he’s rock solid and he pays well.”
“Has he been here this whole time?” Gwen pointed.
“I
haven’t been wherever ‘here’ is at all, this is just an
intellogram.”
“Intella-what?” asked Odysseus.
“Limited-AI avatar locked into a physical carrier,” replied the
shadow. “Imagine a voicemail that talks back.”
“So how
much are you paying us?”
“You’ll get half the money upon
accepting the job, and half once you’ve completed it.”
“I
accept the job. How much?”
There was a simultaneous buzz
in the crews’ communicators.
“Oh,” Gwen blurted.
“Times ten.”
“…where innovators, hustlers and rugged individualists come
to build their fortune, the free-est planet in the Andromeda
galaxy,” said Emily, stretching as she left the Treehouse. “With
some of the highest inequality, depression and crime rates in
either of ‘em. Smell that air.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Could we not have parked any closer?”
“It’s ten
minutes away,” said Gwen, slapping a parking permit on the side
of the Treehouse, which was resting on a precarious launchpad
the landlord had installed in the courtyard of a rundown
apartment complex.
“And I’m feeling really self-conscious
dressed like this,” Emily muttered, arms clinging to the sides
of her tuxedo.
“Are you more worried about the local kids
pulling the ship apart for scrap or is it just the optics?”
Odysseus smiled.
They emerged out onto the dirt road.
Someone on a hoverbike slashed through a puddle of sewage and a
gleaming, insectoid veetol trailed them not far above.
“Is that a fucking missile launcher?!”
“Yeah Ems
don’t make it too obvious we’re not from around here, m’kay?”
Odysseus nudged her as they cut through the busy street,
following the claustrophobic stream of human activity around
lopsided scaffolding and the afternoon’s sinkholes. A fight
broke out in the market as buildings supported eachother
overhead. Above the wide road to The Pot O' Gold, thickets of
cable bore this world’s only native fruit: small shoes hung in
pairs above the crowd. Dorian, who strode over the crowd of
humans, stared down some dead-eyed preteens with machine guns
who made a point of ignoring them. One had gray hairs.
“I
thought this was a hub of shadow-economic activity. Black market
cosmopolitanism,” said Dorian. “We’re on the ‘far end’ of
Andromeda. Every single one of these signs is in English. And
everyone’s so pale.”
“Probably all the chemical
exposure,” explained Odysseus, stretching a little as they
stepped out of the crowd.
Emily shook her head.
“Naaaaahhh.”
“Hm?”
“Who do you think
Planet Fuck Taxes was built to appeal to, at the beginning, at
the expense of everyone else in the universe?”
Odysseus
shrugged, and stopped to take in the casino. Above the
shanty-town froth, at the foot of a vertical rainbow, there
stood a hundred-floor wound in the sky; gold glass reflected
nothing, for buildings here that grew more than thirty storeys
high would be purchased by the casino’s owner, then demolished.
Rickety skyscrapers shot up every year.
The rhythm of
bustling streets, echoing laughter and kids stopped. Rotting
houses slumped against a featureless metal wall as if it had
sliced the block in half. At the archway stood two armoured men
with guns, on a raised concrete platform that almost shone
against the mud. Beside the little stairway - against the wall
of the platform, which zig-zagged to prevent people sitting
there - a man was sitting and sucking fumes out of a tight
cylinder of paper, holding a painted sign that read: “NO HUMANS
BEYOND THIS POINT”.
“IT’S NOT REAL!” he shouted. His
voice had worn away; perhaps he’d been shouting for decades.
“None of it’s FUCKING REAL you’re not-” he screamed.
“You awright pal?” Gwen hesitated.
“What the FUCK ARE
YOU?” he stood up, staring at Dorian. “It’s fucking monsters in
there,” he’d turned to Gwen and Emily. “They’re ALL. MONSTERS.”
He gestured at the entrance. “Monsters.” He laughed at Odysseus.
“I used to look like you!” He bent down and gave Odysseus a
look, gesturing vaguely for some kind of permission, but before
Odysseus could respond he’d lifted up his leg of his black suit
and theatrically clocked the white socks he wore.
“Did
something happen?” Emily asked, noticing the open wound beneath
his stubbly hair.
“Fucking faeries.” He leaned
in close to whisper something, then nodded over the wall at the
guards in their metal shells. “Never make a fucking deal with
faeries, or take their word for anything. They got my
brother when he was nine.” He pinched his bottom lip, like he
was trying to keep himself quiet. “He always used to say he saw
faeries in his dreams. ‘Sleep paralysis’, dad said.” He nodded,
raising his eyebrows. “Then I woke up one night and I saw them
too. They were in this huge room with actual hills of gold
coins - keep yer fuckin’ pot - right outside our bedroom
door. He’d woken me up, said he’d race me to the top. So he runs
through the door, runs towards the hills, and he runs right
through the hills.” He paused for the penny to drop. “Then
it all vanished. I was too scared to leave the bed so I didn’t
see the trap, I just saw one of the fuckers lean in, look at me,
then reach up and take the wee device from above the door.” He
almost returned to the impression he’d made in the mud. “It was
years after my dad blamed me and kicked me out before I was old
enough to know it was his fault, ‘fore I was old enough
to know what a debt collector was. Back then we just got told
scary stories about ‘the Thimblerigs’, who’d-”
“Excuse
me, is he bothering you?” asked a buzzy, modulated voice. One of
the guards was standing above them.
“I dunno about this
doorman,” Odysseus laughed, shaking his head. He made his way up
the stairs and gestured for the others to follow.
“Do you
need to see ID?” Gwen asked.
“Nah, go right in,” they
nodded.
There was no path towards the building. The group
in their suits and dresses walked over perfect rolling green
hills and amongst oak trees shipped across the galaxy until they
could no longer hear the city surrounding them. They arrived at
the door to the casino. “The Pot O' Gold” was written in neon
over the entrance, between a four-leaf clover and a gurning
cartoon leprechaun with a green hat and ginger beard.
In
the cloistered lobby, more bug-faced suits of armour were
frisking gamblers that streamed in from the pavillion, who’d
come up from the casino’s private spaceport in the sea cave
below. They looked statuesque and standoffish as they were
thoroughly scanned, warning the staff not to come any closer.
One guard sat at a console at the side of the room, the outfit
looked faintly ridiculous doing admin work. One by one the crew
lifted their arms inside the elaborate machine, each of them
trying to look indifferent as their new identities were
verified.
“Name?”
After much deliberation, a holographic whiteboard read:
TEAM 1
Gwen: Mrs. Verity Firestone (Socialite.
Philanthropist. Art Historian. Arm candy.)
Dorian: Mr.
Harold Firestone (Investor, golfer, bore. But sweet.)
Dionysus: Diogenes Olympus-Mons (Poker shark. Silver fox.
Friend of the Firestones and K Franca.)
Odysseus: K
Franca (Not who he says he is. Our way in here.)
TEAM 2
Redacted: Anna Matronic (Algorithmically-sharpened sex on
legs, all sparkling everything), Niewell Wight (Semi-retired
syndicult man. Looks after his tomatoes and great-grandchildren.
Has ordered the deaths of hundreds.)
Emily: Will Powers
(Butchy Femme James Bond vibes, can beat up anyone, right-hand
woman to Niewell Wight)
Driver: Driver (Driver)
Odysseus, who had led them in, was at the back of the queue.
As he approached, the thump in his chest was too familiar to
really be painful. The dry feeling in his throat was unlike
anything else.
The guard nodded, and he rejoined the
other four. He’d tried to glance at the screen on the console as
he passed, but there was a short black visor around it. He was
too far away to see six little dots reflected in the guard’s
glassy face: five green, one yellow. They pressed a button.
Emily’s eyes widened as she and Gwen approached the tall
double-doors. “Oh my god, we’ve not done the thing with
K yet have we?”
“We’re no taking his virginity Ms.
Powers,” Gwen laughed under her breath. “It’s a completely
ordinary thing to happen.” She paused. “In space.”
“What
is?” Odysseus cut in-between them. “Look fancy,” he muttered as
he took their arms in his.
“We’re just talking about how
fast you’re growing up, you probably haven’t seen too many other
species, have you?”
Odysseus made a face. “I’ve been
around!” [Beat.] “I’d travelled whole counties before I
met you.” He unhooked himself from them and hopped ahead,
wrapped his hand around the ornamental door handle and ignored
the residual tentacle-slime oozing out between his fingers. “And
I’ve been to joints like this before, seen guys betting their
fingers and dogfights and everything. Same as any other
establishment on Albion, okay? Just walk in like you own the
place,” he turned to the door, stopped, then turned back to the
crew. “And try not to stare.” He pushed the door open…
…and was nearly knocked over by a gaggle of succubi and
incubi cackling at the rowdy gnomes who’d been making moves at
them all evening. Redacted flinched as a huge rakshasa roared at
the slender croupier as he reached across the length of the
roulette table and took his chips. Gwen politely grimaced and
nodded at the centaur waving her over to his crowded VIP booth,
totally unaware of the mad chupacabra and his entourage being
held back by two tengu bouncers. On a stage at the end of the
room the house band played, of all things, an odd rendition of
Masculine Women! Feminine Men! Emily struggled to take
everything in: hydra playing themselves at poker on the upstairs
deck, spriggans holding a mothman by the ankles as he tried to
fly into the chandelier and a line of jolly haradashi (think
bellies on legs) dancing for tips. They headed straight to the
bar, where the sidhe barwoman with large glasses slid a cocktail
to someone totally disinterested in the hubbub: a lone gray
alien, sipping quietly on his martini. The woman spotted Gwen
and nodded.
“I’ll have a PGG,” said Gwen.
Driver
folded her arms and leaned over the bar, gesturing for her to
come closer. “Not that it’s any of my business ma’am but the
DILF in the white tux has been looking at you all night.” She
nodded at the casino’s upper deck. Gwen looked up and spotted
Mr. Olympus-Mons leaning over the guardrail and raising a glass
to her.
“Well, that’s our cue then. Will you kids be okay
without us?”
“Go get it, Mrs. Firestone,” Emily smiled.
“You look lovely. You should wear lipstick more often.”
She pouted sulkily, dress swishing behind her as she turned and
draped herself around Dorian’s forearm.
“Oh my god,”
purred Redacted, flicking her literally golden curls and
watching the couple immerse themselves into the crowd with
Odysseus. “Can you imagine?”
“That’ll be
⥁32.40.”
Emily turned around and looked at the strange
glowing mixture in its helix glass. “Umm.”
The barwoman
smiled, standing with her hands resting on the cool metal
surface.
“You implanted, hon?” Redacted asked, turning a
dial labelled “Marilyn” up to a hundred.
“We don’t do
contactless.” She held out her palm, and Redacted softly clasped
her hands around hers. Red looked to her right. Emily was subtly
sticking out her tongue and rolling her eyes up into her brain.
“Okay, we’re getting sidetracked,” the officer sighed.
“It could be important later, you don’t know what
mad narratological shell game I could be playing here!” Emily
pointed at the woman from her restraints on the table. “And what
if it isn’t? Even if Driver never shows up again it can’t
all just be raw functionalism, y’know?”
“What
happened next, Ms. Layeni?” asked the lawyer.
She
sighed. “Right. So I try to lie low for a bit while Redacted
socialises with everything and everyone, but meanwhile…”
Dryden marched out of the elevator carrying a glass tablet.
The marble hallway of his boss’ house was all gilded
neoclassicism and oil paintings in the human pre-halcyon style:
the portraits they saved for aristocrats and Christ.
He
entered the wide circular office, the largest room in the house,
which had a few thugs hanging around watching the curved
cinema-screen TV on the wall or admiring the hefty old gamma
rifle above the large stone fireplace. A moat encircled the edge
of the room and ran down towards the elevator, flowing out from
a lookalike Fontana di Trevi behind a large desk. Everything was
orange in the sunset, which shone in through one
floor-to-ceiling pane of glass that curved around most of the
outer half of the room. Embedded in that solid nothing were two
doors on either side of the fountain, and one of them was open.
He walked out onto the balcony, and stopped to look up at the
clouds that curled around the tower’s vertical rainbow. The door
closed behind him, seemingly of its own accord.
“What is
it Dryden?” asked the small man leaning over the guardrail,
watching luxurious ships dock in the sea cave directly below
him.
“Mr. Harmsworth, we’ve had a party of five come in
through the scanners and one of ‘em popped up on a criminal
database. Been on the run for about fifteen years or something,
wanted all over Andromeda for-”
“Dryden,” the leprechaun
raised a hand and turned to face him. “I’ve got Niewell fucking
Wight coming up here soon, whatever this is is like number
absolutely fuck all on my list of priorities, alright? Leave it
on my desk.” He picked up his ringing phone. “Jax.” A pause.
“Bloody hell woman then hit him til he stops crying Jax
I didn’t raise a fucking daughter and if I did she’d still have
more balls than that that boy should be old enough to know to
keep a fucking lid on it by now alright?” He hung up and sighed,
running his thick fingers through what remained of his hair.
“You okay sir?”
“Fine.” He clenched the
guardrail, looking along the coast. “You been up here often?”
“No sir.”
“Look over there. See those needles
on the horizon? Going right up to the clouds? That’s the
Mar Bay, just outside the fastest-moving financial district this
side of the galaxy. There’s such opportunity, th-” he closed his
eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “to live there is such
a boon to a young man. Property so valuable by the
square-millimetre, that those are high-rise buildings you see.
One elevator shaft, next to one tower of vertically-stacked
sleeper pods just big enough to fit a trim young businessperson,
a VR headset and a pot to piss in.”
“That sounds…”
“It’s hard, it’s murder. Suicide rate through the fucking
roof, off the fucking roof and all over the fucking pavement!”
He laughed. “But everyone who makes it out of there makes it out
rich.” He held up his phone. “How’s that kid gonna survive, do
you think? Over there? Cause that’s no place for a fucking
snowflake, ninety-nine percent of the kids on this planet were
born in puddles and lucky to eat anything they didn’t kill. I’m
starting to think I’m being too soft and he’s needing the silver
spoon slapped out his fucking mouth. It’s all about putting a
face on, d’you get that by now?” He pushed himself off the rail.
“Humans moved over here, whole bodies programmed to tell you
exactly what they’re thinking at any given moment, and gave us
the gift of capitalism. They did this, banking on the ridiculous
assumption that there was no other race better at it than they
were. They came expecting a legion of servants to smile while we
cleaned the shit off their shoes, but, of course, we all looked
very sad and oppressed when they started
selling our land back to us.” He grinned. “We’re trickster gods,
Dryden. Don’t believe a fucking word I’m telling you.”
On
the office’s screen, on the feed from the casino, the house band
faerie singer stood against his mic stand in a cloud of neon,
smoke and glitter. “And now, ladies and gentlemen and everybody
outside and inbetween,” he purred, “by request of birthday girl
Anna, here’s Freak Like Me.”
Claude sighed again. He’d been patrolling for six hours, and
he’d become desensitised to overstimulation. Some beautiful
drunk human woman stumbled into him and mumbled something about
needing somewhere to sit, but her voice got lost in the roar of
every other single word being spoken in the room. He caught her
as she fell into him, and she fell into him.
He struck
the keycard like a match and took her “backstage”, held the
weight her upright as he ferried her round a corner. She sobered
up very suddenly as he fumbled at the closet door.
“You
okay uh,” he swallowed. “Miss?”
“Oh,” she grinned. “I
feel fine.”
She pushed him in and locked the
door behind them. Claude left, a couple minutes later, wandered
as far as Level 1 security clearance would take him then noticed
a more senior security guard with a much better jawline, and a
Level 2 badge. “Hey Holly, I got something here you should see.
Down here.”
Claude grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed him into an
alcove and kissed him where the security cameras couldn’t see.
“Holly, I’ll be nice to you if you close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes and count to ten, trust me.”
Holly did, as Claude left one more kiss on him as he stepped
back. “I’ve never done anything with a lad before,” he said
quietly, laughing to himself in the dark. “You know when you’re
a kid, and you go out further on your bike than your mum said
you were allowed to?” He opened his eyes, then stepped out of
the alcove. Look both ways along the empty corridor. Fixed his
hair as he laughed and shook his head. “Bastard.”
He
strutted into the main security office with a pendulum swing in
his hips. There was just a woman sat at a deck of screens: the
main casino floor, the entrance to the vault layers, footage of
Libra from a satellite. Something beeped when he sat on the desk
next to her.
“Hey,” nametag, “Suzie, did you see that
there’s cake in the kitchen?”
She glared at him from
beneath arched eyebrows. “You know I’m on a diet, Holly, and
don’t bother teasing me.”
“I grabbed a bit on the way
past, it’s really good actually. It’s for Claude.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he’s leaving next week. Cancer.”
“Cancer?” She
pushed her chair out from her desk. “Nobody gets cancer.”
He shrugged.
“Never liked that creep anyway.”
“And the breath, yeuch.”
“Ugh, I know,” she
sighed. “Oh well!” She got up to go to the kitchen.
Redacted pulled a drive from the cavity in his chest and plunged
it into the console. Green text flew up one screen in its
human-readable format; he pulled the window by its corners and
broadened it out to binary, then watched the program do its
work. It added a docking appointment to the satellite’s schedule
for ten minutes from now, then fiddled the metadata to make it
look legitimate.
Suzie tried to push the door open with
her back, but struggled for a moment against the weight of it.
Holly pulled it out and she ducked under his arm, picking away
at a slice of cake on a paper plate. “Thanks. Didn’t see anyone
there, this is really fucking good though.”
“Told you,”
he smiled.
Suzie walked back to the casino floor,
listening for anyone coming around a corner. She thought about
Driver Hess, mentally dialled a number then composed. “Satellite
done, tell the mercs they’re clear for landing. I’m away
upstairs to find Wight, get going.” She added a kiss, tutted at
herself and deleted it again. Decided this was a “no full stops”
sort of relationship, then sent.
“Guess my name,” Odysseus told the woman at the desk.
“Lennox Blue, lost his wife’s selkie-skin coat in a poker game
and has haunted these halls ever since?”
He held up two
fingers.
“Errr, Synico? The disgraced general who comes
to lose at fidchell?”
One.
She thought about it.
“K Franca?”
He slid his chips through the opening, light
reflecting off the cartoon leprechaun embossed on the chip,
biting into a gold coin and grinning and winking. “So you’ve
been winning big then? What’s your secret?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, it was all very glamorous you should have seen it,” he
breezed, smoothing out a strawberry blonde strand of his
slicked-back shoulder-length hair. “No plan, no technique. I
have made a superpower out of bluffing my way through this life
by the seat of my pants and you know how I’ve made it this long
darlin’? It’s because nothing else at that poker table could
read this face.” He gestured in a circle at his gaunt
cheekbones, eyes that protruded from varicose dark sockets and
blocky ginger eyebrows that he raised suggestively at every
other word.
She put the transaction through and pressed
the button to call for a guard, who led them through the casino
towards what might have been an actual cave mouth incorporated
into the building.
“We’re sending you a message, Mr.
Franca,” said the guard, idly pressing buttons at a console near
the vault door, some way down the murky stone tunnel.
“Two-fa isn’t massively secure, is it?” said Odysseus
as he handed his communicator over to him.
“How would you
have received that if you weren’t really-”
“Could’ve just
stolen it.”
“Put your hand on the panel here, and look
directly into the scanner.”
Odysseus complied, and
various lights turned green.
“Okay, just one more thing
before we let you through.”
“Of course.”
The guard
opened a metal box, built into the top of the console, and took
out a mesh helmet of glowing blue electrodes wired into the
computer. “Put this on. We’re going to set up a live brain-scan
then have you answer some security questions. Imagine one of
those lie detectors from old TV shows, but for real.”
Gwen balled a fist behind her back as Odysseus put the helmet
on, then opened her whole body up again when Dionysus gently
tapped her.
The guard sat down at his screen. “What town
were you born in?”
“Holburn, on Virginia Nova”, said
Odysseus.
“…it’s a beautiful rustic place,’ Emily almost whispered next to Odysseus on the sofa. “And I want you to look around and notice how content everybody looks, and now I want you to walk with your mother to the edge of the village where it opens up onto the countryside, and I want you to look up from your favourite toy and really take in the sight of the landscape.” She was reading from a script, and Odysseus was nearly asleep in a chair as Driver held a little bottle of something under his nose. “Really focus on each and every one of your senses as you stand here, surrounded by nature. The grass is blue, the sky is green, splorchozoids are splorching over the fields…”
“What was the name of your first pet?”
“A baku called Pippin,” Driver piped up, slouched on the old
sofa and tapping at her device. “Oh, he’s sent me a dicks pic
now. Dicks.”
“Oh my god, right,” said Gwen, chugging the
last of the wine next to her. “Reply, and tell him that-”
“That’s great, really good. Huge, aren’t they?”
Odysseus nodded. “They’re big animals.”
“And finally, I
want you to think about what’s in the vault, and the moment you
lost it. At the table. The colours, the smells, how it made you
feel.”
CCTV screenshots of the night had been taped up all over the
walls. Driver walked through the table and inspected the other
gamblers. “Can we get a little more fang on
second-from-the-left?”
Redacted adjusted the image.
They’d taken the form of K, but with two long cables hanging out
of the back of his neck: one hooked up to the projector above,
with which they were reconstructing the memory, and one
connected to the back of Odysseus’ head, and the full-body
virtual reality rig he wore standing behind them.
“Okay,
dress rehearsal,” Driver picked up a list of timestamped
instructions. “You okay Odysseus?”
“Yeah, fine, it’s just
weird, everything Red is seeing and doing is what I’m seeing and
doing” he said, fumbling as if the VR headset was a blindfold.
“I’ve just never done anything like this before.” He wasn’t able
to see Driver smirk.
“Shake your right fist up and down
six times and roll the dice.”
They did so, in tandem.
They braced for a chill as the huge metal blast door opened.
The guard led them towards Vault 74, and Dionysus nudged Gwen as
they approached the CCTV camera that monitored the door.
Dionysus subtly pulled from his inside breast pocket a device
about the size of a pea, and the tiny drone flew silently from
his fingertip towards the underside of the camera.
“So is
it true?” She asked the guard, gliding to the other side of him
from the drone. “That Lu Harmsworth keeps all his riches
somewhere down here?”
Odysseus turned to her, shook his
head and mouthed “What!?”
“Well maybe it was,”
the guard laughed. “Mr. Franca, you would have come here before
the IA sanctions, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Odysseus nodded.
“So you would have seen this place used to be twice as busy.
There’s the political angle, which can’t be helped, but in the
years since it’s just been fuckup after fuckup. How dumb do you
have to be to lose money on a fucking casino?”
“Poverty of vision friend,” replied Odysseus. “I saw some
interview ages ago where they asked him about this place not
turning much of a profit, and it’s because he invests nearly
100% back into the machine, his other businesses. It’s not about
the money for him, it’s about building up the empire. He isn’t
the richest man on the planet, no, he just owns fifty-one
percent of it.”
“Who do you think owns him?”
They
arrived at the vault. “We’ll start counting your thirty minutes
from the second the door closes behind you,” said the guard as
he slotted a digital key into a slot in the wall. “Not that it’s
my business to know what’s in there, but, why cash in for thirty
minutes in the vault? Jewelry remind you of old times or
something?”
“Something like that,” said Odysseus.
The door opened, and the little boy stood up.
“Heya kid!”
Odysseus beamed.
He entered the vault, kneeled down and
opened his arms to scoop up the child that ran through him and
hugged a column of air. The others entered, and the door closed
behind him.
“‘DARLIN’?” Gwen beamed.
“You’d be
able to see how much I’m getting into character if it weren’t
for the latex,” laughed Odysseus, pawing at the pale face on his
face.
Gwen shot over to the far end of the room, unlocked
a crate marked “K FRANCA - WEDDING DRESS” and pulled out a pair
of jeans and a black tshirt. She unzipped her dress and threw it
down to her feet.
“Uh,” said Odysseus, looking up at the
roof.
“It’s fine, yous are all gay.”
Dorian
snorted thunderously.
“Is that real?” She asked as she
popped up out of a head-hole. “Does K actually have a kid?” she
swiped her hand through the image of the boy’s head.
“Had,” said Odysseus, as he switched the intellogram off and
looked through the boxes. “I was reading Driver’s file on him at
bedtimes. His son died in a fire seven or eight years ago, and
then one night K lost the lightshow in a bet.”
“What the
hell was he trying to win?”
Dionysus opened up the trunk
with his bag inside. “Here we go.”
Dorian took his tools
out of the bag. He stretched his tablet out wide and looked through
it like a window. “We’re not actually that far from Vault 43.”
Dionysus came over and looked, Dorian had converted the
blueprints into a transparent 3D wireframe mapped onto their
surroundings, in which they could see the vault two floors down,
in the centre of an upside-down pyramid. Dorian pressed a button
and made the wiring visible, then turned to the vault’s door. He
knelt down and carefully stuck a small EMP to the lower corner
of the door, set the timer, then covered it with a thick bowl of
polished metal. There was a muffled thud and the lights
flickered. “Okay, just tell me when you’re ready then we’ll go.
We have,” he checked his watch, “Twenty-eight minutes.”
They nodded, and the minotaur rolled up the sleeves of the white
shirt that was just a little too small for him. He fastened a
wrench to one of the gears of the vault door, then the humans
watched the thick metal bend slightly as he pulled it towards
him. The vault opened a crack, and its almighty squealing became
a hiss as the air spilled out of the gap. Dorian wedged his
thick fingers beneath the door, slammed one hoof onto the side
of the frame and bared his teeth as he heaved the twenty ton
thing open.
Emily finished cutting open a square in the wall with a laser
pen and peeled the section out. She grabbed the skateboard from
her suitcase, set it down in the crawlspace and wriggled her way
in. Using the map Driver had given her, she pulled herself along
to a little cluster of wires, and tugged on the thick one that
looked important. She snipped the cable with some difficulty and
slid the wire cutters into the breast pocket of her tuxedo
jacket. As she fitted the signal jammer there was a loud bang
right next to her, which she imagined for a second was a
jackboot testing the skirting board at her ear. She didn’t
breathe for a moment, then quietly laughed to herself at the
reassuring rhythmic thud of a headboard against a wall. Back in
her hotel room, she slid the square of wall back into place, and
covered it up with the chest of drawers that had stood there
before.
As she approached the second-highest floor of
the building, she checked the time on her communicator.
Twenty-six minutes. The elevator doors opened with a
party-blower shriek and a group swarmed in through the door. Two
lamia girls cooed and called her pretty and touched her hair and
a man in a pinstripe suit bellowed with two bottles of champagne
in the air, and she laughed awkwardly as he hugged her and
slipped a baggy of tyger into her jacket pocket.
The vibe
was deep red and gold geometry from a dream of a Vegas heist
movie. She wondered about that. This was a post-colonial
planet, after all. A galaxy of club tracks cross-pollinated
in the noisy halls, and perhaps the battered robot cleaning
staff - one hobbling around wearing a pink feather boa and some
vomit down their side - were on duty all hours of the day.
“Excuse me, fellow traveller!”
Emily stopped for a
human man peeking out of his hotel room. He wore small white
briefs, argyle socks with those little suspenders, and a large,
fully animatronic cartoon dog head which moved in perfect time
with his speech. “Uh, hi?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have
seen any of my lucky oranges, would you? I can’t go back down to
the casino without my lucky oranges, they’re… UGH!” He flailed
and stormed back inside, above a certain volume the mask’s
voice-filter turned his cursing into yappy barks and growls.
Emily glanced into his room: the bed covered in orange peel,
perfect rows of orange slices along the furniture, a shipment of
orange-garnish cocktails placed around the floor.
Two
young men came stumbling down the corridor. One wore a black
mesh shirt and booty shorts, the other wore sunglasses. “Have
you seen a wee monkey in like a bellboy jacket going about!?”
“Oh don’t listen to him!” Mesh Shirt and Calf Muscles
grabbed him and pushed him forward. “Have a good night!” Emily
laughed and looked for a monkey amongst the empty bottles and
cans, food containers boxes and actual piles of glitter. She
followed her tracker down the hall without much incident:
avoided a hairy-chested giant from room 61 with a cork-hat and
hunting rifle, turned down an old faerie countess’s offer of
joining her harem in room 52, caught the chorus of Money,
Success, Fame, Glamour blasting from room 37 and stopped to
check out the actual space aliens dancing and cheering inside.
She was approaching a shining gold doorway as the tracker
counted down. Room 7, room 5, room 3, and then two guards
growing tense as she approached. “Yeah?” one asked.
“Hey,
I’m here to see Lu.” Said Emily, standing on her heels and
smiling with her hands in her pockets like it was nothing.
The guards looked her up and down. “And why would Lu be
requesting the company of a dyke in a tuxedo?”
“I’m not
alone.” She nodded her head. “I’m the assistant to Mr. Wight? He
has an appointment.”
The guard checked a screen on an
ornate gold lectern. “Mr. White…”
“Wight.
Niewell Wight? Drug lord? Preacher? Once invited a rival for
dinner and fed him his pets?”
“Oh, uh, Mr… Wight,” he
paused. “of course. Sorry. Is…” he straightened up. “Do you know
where Mr. Wight is? At the moment?”
“Oh I’m sure he’s
good. He should be…” She stopped when she heard someone belting
out Big Top Medley at the top of their lungs, then come racing
down the hall on a hot pink adult tricycle with a trailer on the
back. They wore a thin houndstooth suit, circular mirrored
shades and what appeared to be a live lobster as a brooch. They
swerved to a halt, and Niewell Wight stood up out of the
trailer. His polished white teeth nearly fell out of his
tortoise-like face when he was smiling, which was constantly,
and he’d been sitting between a pink-haired girl in a fluffy
tiara and regal pink dress and a green-haired girl in a glitchy
holographic bodysuit. “…Nah you’re definitely gay,” said the
green-haired girl as she ran a luminescent claw up his trouser
leg. “It’s fine, I think it’s sexy!”
“Well,
ladies I feel privileged to have enjoyed the pleasure of your
company but I’m afraid I must be going,” he said, standing up
with various popping sounds.
“That’ll be ⥁4.50 pal,” said
the tricycle driver, lobster peering up over his shoulder.
Niewell exaggeratedly patted himself down.
Emily tossed
the bag of tyger with a flick of her wrist which Niewell caught
in both hands. He handed over the bag and the tricycle driver
nodded, taking off down the hall. The girls waved and Niewell
blew a kiss with his trembling supercentenarian hand. “Goodbye,
queens! Ah,” he shook his head slightly, watching them throw
confetti out of their royal carriage and vanish around the
corner to the next party. “Miss Powers, I’m half-convinced I’ve
died and gone to Heaven! I want to stay here forever! I was
dancing with some of the young people, who are all just terribly
sweet, and I approached this very sweaty young man in one of
those Shakespearean ruffs and asked if he was doing okay. He
told me he’d been partying since the early hours of Thursday
morning. I couldn’t believe my ears, the music being so loud
that I could feel the bass guitar section in my mucus glands, so
I said ‘young man, you mean to tell me you’ve been vogueing to
these newfangled ‘hyper-pop’ tunes for three days straight!?’,
and he cupped his hands around my ear and he said to me-” he
curled his bony fingers to point. “He said ‘buddy, I’m as
straight as a roundabout’!”
Emily giggled, and the
nervous guards burst into laughter when he looked at them with
his twinkly eyes.
“A roundabout!” Wight threw his hands
up. “Can you believe that?!” He held the lapels of his suit and
sighed wistfully. “Anyway, is Mr. Harmsworth ready to be
receiving us?”
They’d been prepared for a frisking, but
the guards let them through without delay. When the gold doors
shut and the elevator began moving, Ms. Powers turned to her
employer and smiled. “The thing is I think this is probably the
real you.”
“There’s Jettstrom’s vault,” Dorian whispered, looking
through the tablet like a window. “It’s right on a patrol route
coming from around the corner.”
Dionysus, who kept a
chunky pistol drawn, peered around the corner. “It’s fine, go.”
The group hurried over to the vault.
“Fifteen minutes to
go,” said Odysseus. “Emily should have knocked out the alarm by
now, yeah?”
“Only one way to find out,” Dionysus sighed,
reaching into his bag for Gwen’s tool.
“Nah I need to
butter this thing up first,” she placed her palms on the cold
metal of the vault door. “Do keep an eye out for killer robots.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, metal
glowing hot to her touch.
Niewell Wight and his assistant stepped out of the elevator
and into the shadowy cool hall. The big dark rooms on either
side were all black marble and gold rococo opulence, artfully
arranged and empty. They passed a little table with some books -
The Art of War and autobiographies of hyperball managers - and
Niewell ran his finger along a thin pelt of dust on the top.
Paintings hung in sequence: a thin boy stands alone in a
blitzed-out alley down on the planet’s surface; sharp-dressed
young men pose against a wall with guns and an attack dog, one
holding a shiny gamma rifle positioned above the rest; on a
balcony overlooking the city, an old man sits with his two sons.
Emily noticed thick blast doors disguised by the vaulted
ceiling as they stopped at a set of thin metal bars. They waited
in the gold light from the office for a moment, then the bars
split open and retracted into the floor and roof. Thugs stood up
and nodded at Niewell as the man sprung out of his chair: wisps
of white hair standing out from his shiny head, wide dark eyes
and a red suit with a tacky gold trim. Around his neck he wore a
thick silver band and as he walked around his desk, Emily
spotted the wire from the band that had been fed into his skull
and stapled to his neck.
“Niewell last time we met I’m
sure you had two bitches on leashes, you goin’ soft in your old
age?” He reached out to shake Emily’s hand, then took it and
pressed it between his small lips and the heavy gold rings on
his fingers. “Your glamorous assistant’s sick of me already!” He
grinned, “I can see it, look at that wee micro-expression in the
orbicularis muscle like-” he drew a moustache on himself with
one finger, “those are kissing muscles, incidentally,” he winked
and laughed and gold teeth sparkled in the back of his mouth.
“My name is Lu fucking Harmsworth darlin’,” he said, with a
voice that was not built to speak English, “if I’m being too
much of an areshole don’t take it personally alright?” He smiled
and shook Niewell’s hand. “What’s the occasion anyway?”
“Right, that should be it,” Gwen sighed. “Glove me.” Dionysus
held out the ugly homemade mitten: heat-resistant material from
an envirosuit sewn up around a conical array of glass lenses,
and Gwen rummaged around until she’d found her place inside.
“You probably shouldn’t look directly at this.” She stood as far
back from the door as she could, held out her arm and fired a
shining beam of light into the softened orange metal. She aimed
for an archway about seven feet tall and four wide, but the
shape warped as metal fell on the floor in gooey slices. She
took the glove off just under two feet into the door, then cast
a protective bubble around herself as the thin remaining wall of
molten steel fell over her.
The rest of the group entered
carefully through the hot wound, into a vault filled with
strange artefacts from across the galaxies.
“What kind of
man lets his debtors pay him off in trinkets?” Odysseus asked,
looking around the room filled with pointlessly gold technology.
“It’s not the monetary value, it’s the personal, emotional
value Lu cares about,” Dionysus explained. “Strategic
value, in some cases.”
“Most cases it’s seemingly just
blackmail. What was that thing Emily said?” Gwen wondered.
“Like, nobody actually needs a billion credits, at that point
they’re just after power. Harmsworth is after power.”
“I
dunno if money’s completely worthless,” said Odysseus,
picking up a liquidrive and flipping it open like a fan.
“There’s seven thousand credits on here, you could feed yourself
for like five years on this.”
“Keep your head on and your
hands to yourself. Don’t touch anything we’re not keeping,”
Dionysus grumbled, removing the data core from its liquid
nitrogen container. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re getting
paid out of the boss’ pocket anyway. I’ve been doing this long
enough to know that getting greedy just gets people killed.”
“‘Don’t touch anything we’re not keeping’, got it,” Odysseus
nodded, checking nobody was looking as he slipped the liquidrive
into his pocket.
“What’s Jettstrom got on there,
anyway?” Gwen asked, as she watched Dionysus covet the ancient
metal sphere.
“This is one of Fenrix’s most prized
possessions, all the information you could ever want on half the
mid-level operators in Andromeda’s criminal underworlds:
assassins, shady local politicians, data-brokers and bank
robbers. Lu charges Fenrix out the nose every time he wants to
get something off here.”
“There’s a lot of bad people’s
names on here, then?”
“Yeah,” said Dionysus, inspecting
the interlocking seams. “And their kids’ names, and their
husbands and wives and friends’ names, the towns they grew up
in, where they go to school, anything that could be used to
exploit them.”
“Are you on there?”
“I don’t think
so. I’ve always been very careful, but Fenrix has a grudge
against me, and I have a niece,” he tossed the metal ball to
Gwen. “So.”
Gwen opened up her hand and let the sphere
float up from her palm, then she pressed it inbetween two
streams of warbling heat as it softened and poured from the air
between her hands.
“Dorian,” Odysseus piped up, fiddling
with K Franca’s bushy moustache, “I’ve barely heard any
technobabble from you tonight, how’s the alarm going?”
“Fine,” Dorian grunted, reaching up into a raised panel hiding
some wires next to the vault door. “There’s not much to it. The
alarm went off as soon as Gwen started tunneling, it’s just that
the signal’s being inverted to ‘everything’s fine’ before it
reaches the security hub in Lu’s office. When we pull the
trigger Dionysus has in his bag, it’ll activate this
jammer, which will invert the signal to ‘everything’s fine’
before it leaves the vault layer, meaning Emily’s jammer will be
inverting that message back into: ‘nothing is fine’.”
“Shh. Do you hear that?” Gwen whispered, looking back at the
hole in the door. In the distance, there was the sound of an
engine humming, and wheels turning on pristine metal. “Okay,
everyone push up against that back wall.” Everyone followed.
“It’s going to notice the door, right?” Odysseus asked. “The
field of view’s pretty narrow, so we slip out behind it while it
comes in to investigate, is that what’s happening?”
“Eyes
on both sides of its head. If it spots us, it can shout to a
relay which will trigger the alarm upstairs.”
“What do we
do then!?” He shouted under his breath. “The things are
bulletproof.”
“Yes dear, yes they are.”
Odysseus
was silent as he watched the reflection of the door in a large
glass case. A robot rolled into the dripping orange frame and
stopped. It hovered on three wheels and had a minigun and a
flamethrower where arms should be. The thing slowly turned, and
rolled over the mound of hot slag to enter the vault. It came
in, one weapon a hair away from Odysseus’ cheek, and in a
perfect instant the room flashed as if lightning had struck
underground. Odysseus looked up at the smoking hole in the
robot’s head, and Gwen’s ugly mitten pointing through it.
“Huh,” said Gwen, raising an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I actually thought we were dead for a second there,” she
laughed. “That’s always fun. Come on then, we don’t have much
time to get to Harmsworth’s vault.”
“Fun!?” Odysseus
whined as he stood up, furrowing his brows at Dorian as he
chuckled. “You’re not the one who had an open flame this close
to their face.”
“Hen,” said Gwen, brandishing the
indestructible sockpuppet at him. “I am the open
flame.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you in such high spirits Mr.
Harmsworth,” Niewell cawed, as if nearly deaf, “which makes it
all the more heartbreaking to be the bearer of bad news.”
Lu stepped back from Niewell, pursing his lips in thought.
“Fuck off,” he gestured at his men who swiftly walked down the
hall, the bars sliding up from the floor as he glanced at them.
The five-foot-two man, a head shorter than shrinking old Niewell
and a than Emily - hopped back into his tall leather seat and
hiked it up to the level of his desk. “Sit down why don’t you?”
Two chairs wheeled themselves out as he swiped his hand across
the desk’s surface, wood cut from some tree Emily didn’t
recognise. “So, is this what I think it is?”
Niewell’s
warmth faded from his face, little barnacles of skin emerged
from the folds of his dimples. “What do you think this is?”
As Lu set his elbows down on the desk, blast-proof metal
shutters unfurled down the floor-to-ceiling window behind him
and clamped down. “Unseelie business.”
Will looked over
at Niewell, and he closed his eyes and nodded. “The Court are
less than impressed,” he paused, setting his face to “serious”
as he thought. “I don’t want you to worry too much, as long as
you keep printing money nobody’s coming for your head, but: the
IA have been intercepting more and more shipments on your watch
these past few months and-”
“-and I am just as frustrated
about that as your bosses are Niewell, and while I’m doing
everything I can to take the money where it needs to go I can’t
control the political weather over on Corda, a-”
“-Mr.
Harmsworth,” Niewell croaked, pushing his large spectacles up
the craggy peak of his nose, “the weather on Corda is still
controlled by Airzone Solutions, a terraforming company within
the Interstellar Business Network whose board of directors is
controlled by members of the Unseelie Court.”
Lu leaned
back in his chair and squinted. “Do the guys on the board know
about eachother?”
“Sorry but can we get a shift on?” Will
asked, tapping the time on her communicator. She turned to Lu.
“Basically they’re robbing you. Vault 1. Just call it insurance
til you get your… well, our house in order. So if you
could just open that up that would be great thanks.”
The
leprechaun was silent behind stocky folded arms, and then he
smiled. “You know it’s impregnable? And blackmail-proof, yes?”
He tapped the steel collar around his neck. “I have to want to
open it. You could pull my fingers off you could go and get my
sons, drag them over onto that floor and start slitting their
pretty wee throats open and I still would not open that vault
for you because it can smell the fucking fear on me, alright?”
Niewell leaned forward on the desk. “It never would have
occured to me that a man like you felt fear, Mr. Harmsworth.”
“Oh I’m scared all the time Niewell,” he smiled. “I have
everything in the world and every morning I wake up terrified.
How d’you think I got it all? Everybody on this planet wants
what I have so I made a game of taking it from me. And I won.
The house always, always wins. Because I never let up. Ever.
Even when I was a kid. You know that old human expression
“sleeping like a baby”? It was coined by people who didn’t grow
up in bomb shelters. I have nothing but respect for you and for
the Court but do not fucking come for me and my SHIT.
Because nothing happens on this planet,” he stabbed his finger
into the wood, “unless it happens on my terms.” He
quickly drew a circle on the desk which threw Will and Niewell
to the floor as their chairs violently spun.
“What kind
of man buys evil furniture?” Will laughed, as she stood
up and dusted off her suit. “Do you make opportunities to do
that? Does it make you feel big?”
Lu laughed as he stood
up on his desk. “She’s testing my patience now Niewell, I kinda
like her. It’s always more fun when they start off
bratty.” He twirled his finger in the air, and the chairs began
to circle around them like hungry sharks. “Tell me why I haven’t
called my guards in to peel yer skins off yet?”
“Because
you’re making two naff office chairs circle around us like
hungry sharks which, to be honest, I adore.”
“It
is absolutely extraneous!” Niewell interjected, taking it all in
from the floor. “Astronomers have reported sightings of my wig,
which is currently hovering in a geostationary orbit above,” he
slapped his scalp, “my bald head.”
“What is a
human girl doin’ with the Unseelie Court anyway? What do you
have to gain?”
Will thought about that. “Interbreeding
between humans and Others is mostly non-viable, and strictly
illegal. But it’s happening-“
“-It’s happening
downstairs.” Lu laughed.
“…and Andromeda has been a
profitable adventure for us, but that’s only possible because we
can keep an eye on what’s coming in and out of the Milky Way.
They’re rare, for now, but there are human kids back there
living human lives on human planets with alien blood inside
them. And one day they’re going to be old enough to vote. And
then the dam will crack and the whole structure of the thing
will be ground away into silt. That’s bad for both of our
galaxies, there are more of us than there are of any of you.
It’s not a “racial purity” thing, it’s just that the strictest
controls on immigration possible aren’t enough, the working
class cannot be made to be paranoid enough; there’s no version
of this relationship in which the sensible prevail. So we’re
taking a little bit of money from you now so we can keep the
machine running smoothly and we can all make a lot of money
later. And then we’ll invest that money in furthering
everybody’s aims. Help us fight the good fight Lu, do the smart
thing. Close the Gate.”
Gwen led the group down the stairs to the lowest level of
this inverted pyramid. Beneath everything: the impenetrable
vault of Lu Harmsworth.
“Can’t you just cut it open like
that last one?” Odysseus asked.
“Thing’s solid mithrium,
and twice as thick as any of the others,” Dionysus grumbled.
“We’re here now, so it’s just a case of waiting for Emily and
our friend Mr. Wight.”
Lu looked over into the air for a few seconds, then slowed
down the waltz of the killer chairs. “Seems reasonable.” He
hopped into his seat, then looked intently at the section of his
desk which flipped over to reveal a hand scanner. He rolled his
shoulders to get ready, took a breath and held his hand over the
panel. Then he looked at Niewell. “But you’re one of the few
people who knows about the decoy vault, aren’t you?”
Niewell was quiet, then nodded. “Of course.”
“And you’re
one of many people who know I’m nevergonnafuggin open the real
one. So, if you’re asking me to open it now, does that mean
you’ve a crew down there who have swapped it already?” He
dropped his hand on the scanner.
The group jumped as the vault slid back from its socket in
the wall, then got carried away by hydraulic machinery and
replaced with another, which slid back, spun away and was
replaced with the first. Then again, and again, with increasing
speed.
“Oh fit the fuck is going on up there!?”
Dionysus tossed the bag on the floor, running his fingers
through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. “Lu has two
impenetrable vaults, then. Okay. 50/50 chance between a long and
sunny retirement or instant death.”
Two whiskey glasses on the desk turned themselves over and
began to slide around eachother in a figure of eight. “Go on
Niewell, pick one. Pokerface on. I used to play this game with
people on street corners when I was a kid.” He grinned. “That’s
how I got my start.”
Niewell slowly pulled a chair over
to the desk and leaned forward, inspecting the glasses as they
turned, scanning a mental 3D map of the leprechaun’s face
muscles and the micromovements of his eyes, checking against the
a recorded back catalogue of his mannerisms through this whole
conversation.
“Niewell, think about it,” said Will, who
slowly paced around the room in a wide curve. “You know that
there’s a decoy, and Lu knows that you know there’s a decoy.
However,” she made big arcing movements with her arms, “you know
that he knows that you know, but I know that Gino, whose nose-“
“Does the movement of the glasses correlate precisely to the
movement of the vaults?” Niewell asked, resting his chin on a
hand.
“How did you know I’m moving the vaults?” Lu
smiled, eyes microscopically widening with delight.
Will
continued wandering, closer to Lu’s side of the shell game.
“…And Rose knows that I go with no clothes, then we can safely
infer that-”
“How do you think?” Niewell removed his hand
from his face and placed both his palms on the table, adjusting
so that he was right in front of Lu. “What is my face telling
you?”
Lu leaned forward a millimetre, searching for
tells. He’d played poker with Niewell before, and he knew he was
good, but the leprechauns, tricksters and other Beings of Old
Worlds had survived this long because nearly every species
shared a disadvantage: biological lifeforms are terrible liars.
“Absolutely nothing.”
The glasses stopped moving. Lu
reeled back in shock, then turned around to see Will, who placed
her wire cutters back in her breast pocket, and then knocked him
out with a punch.
“Plan B?” asked Niewell, who peered
over his spectacles at Will dragging the leprechaun’s body to
the centre of the room.
“Yeah. Plan B,” said Emily.
Niewell popped and he was gone, as if brutally unplugged,
and the robot stretched out where he’d stood. “Oh my god I feel
so old.”
“So, uh,” she turned Lu over on his
front as Redacted sat down next to her. “What exactly is Plan
B?”
“Take the two white wires out the back of my neck,”
they popped open a latch between their shoulder blades and Emily
opened it up with the curl of her finger, “snip the ‘female’
wire below the port and tie it up around the wire going into
Lu’s head, then snip the ‘male’ wire-”
“Freudian.”
“-below the plug and tie it into the wire going into his
collar. It doesn’t take orders from anyone other than him, so
every thought he sends down there is going to be encrypted with
one key the collar recognises. Once I have the key it’ll think
I’m Lu, then you can just drop his hand onto the scanner and
we’ll control the vault. Only trouble is finding it. I could be
a minute.”
Emily carefully snipped the second wire and
squished the fibres together with the one from the collar. “What
the hell does an encryption key look like for a person’s
thoughts?”
“I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting
into. Isn’t it exciting?”
Emily could see Red
raise their eyebrows on that last word, they’d learned it off
Bettie Page, even though their face was a black glass visor.
Then they were silent, then they gracelessly fell back onto the
floor next to Lu.
Some impulse kicked in and Emily tidied
up her workstation. She wheeled the chairs back in front of the
desk, then reached for one of the empty whiskey glasses. She
paused, and her hand hovered over to the other, identically
empty glass. She laughed to herself as she picked it up and
placed it on the silver tray next to the decanter. Then she
picked up the other glass, below which had been a single gold
coin.
Emily stabbed at a remote, flipping through CCTV feeds on the
monitor - guests arriving at the spaceport, the house band
playing in the main hall - until she got to Lu’s private hangar.
Driver Hess was leaning against the ship smoking a cigarette,
occasionally checking the time.
Lu stirred on the floor.
She pulled the gamma rifle from above the fireplace and watched
him down the sights as he opened his eyes.
“Whath-” he
slurred as he got up on his hands and knees, “-fuckin… ugh.”
Behind him, Redacted lay still on the floor apart from their
left arm, which scraped across the floor in a sort of waving
motion. “Thasweurd.”
“What’s weird?” She asked, aiming
the rifle at the leprechaun.
“I’m…” He pinched the
bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I’m calling for my
guards right now,” the robot flailed both arms, as if trying to
wave down an aircraft from the ground, “but nobody’s coming.
Nobody’s coming.” He stopped, covered his screwed-up face as he
sniffled deeply. “Nobody’s coming.” He swallowed, then opened
his eyes.
“What’s happening? Red?”
“EeMmIiLlYy?”
the robot jittered.
“I’m still getting used to this,”
said Lu, taking in the height of his ceiling, running one hand
along the fibers of his fine red suit. Redacted stood up, and he
took a couple of steps towards Emily as the robot copied him on
a half-second delay. “I thought the system would flow pretty
simply and one way… y, but turns out my thoughts have to be
boxed up and encrypted on-site,” he tapped his head, “before
they can be passed through to the collar in a format that it can
understand. Luckily I can get the ‘male’ and ‘female’ wires to
go both ways yes pun intended, so I figured out the key by using
the implant’s feely-outy bits to build a model of everything
coming in that wasn’t going out aaaaAAAAAANNND I think this
shiny bastard’s in me now,” he said, tapping Redacted on their
visor. “Oh!” He said, as if snapping out of a daydream. “That’s
me back in the driver’s seat, you mind if I just-”
“Don’t
touch that!” Emily shouted, aiming the gun at him as he reached
for the wire coming out of his head.
“That rifle’s a
decoration lass,” he smiled, then screamed. “GET IN HERE! GET
THE FUCK-” the shutters on the window pulled up, then slammed
down as the lights flickered and doors flapped open and shut and
every drawer in the room shot out and banged shut and Lu
clutched his head on the floor and screamed and trembled. The TV
on the wall was back on. “Oh you cunt, you awful little-AGH!”
One of the glasses on the desk flew across the room and exploded
against the wall.
“Red can you hear me!? What’s
happening!?”
On the TV, an audience’s applause got
louder, Lu smacked the floor and cried then it was silent again,
came back and buzzed out. Now it was showing the local news:
trucks like tanks were riding into a slum, and the residents
were standing in the road to block their path, and the trucks
were rolling over them. Now CCTV footage of the entrance to the
vault level, and guards preparing to enter. Now she grabs the
kicking leprechaun and tries to drag him towards the panel on
the desk. Now a porn video of a human man fucking a slippery
naiad as she chokes on air, sometimes shoving her head back into
water so she can breathe. Now the house band.
The singer
approached the microphone. “For anyone too lazy to just look up
the lyrics that last song was ‘Mad About Me’. Now I am not a
performing monkey who does requests often, I am a performing
monkey with integrity and flair, but this one beautiful girl
approached the stage earlier tonight and it’s like she handed me
a list of every song I’ve ever loved. If you’re a tall blonde
called Anna with green eyes and a deep knowledge of music from
the golden age of humanity, I’ll be hanging around after the
show. For the rest of you, I may be here for your entertainment,
but…” He made a signal to his band, and they began playing.
Lu gasped, screamed “YEEEESSSS!” and shot up off the floor.
Emily tried to grab him by the shoulders, but he raised his hand
to her with a dramatic curl of the wrist, closed his eyes and
mouthed along to the words:
“You don’t own me, I’m not
just one of your many toys,” he shook his head, “you don’t own
me, don’t say I can’t go with other boys…” He grinned as the
music built up, and Emily hurriedly gestured for him to come to
the desk.
“AND DOOOOON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! AND
DOOOOON’T TELL ME WHAT TO SAY! AND PLEASE, WHEN I GO OUT WITH
YOU,” they both raised their arms in balled fists and screamed,
“DOOOOON’T PUUUUT ME ON DISPLAY! CAUSE,” she tried to come over
and Lu twirled a finger, the chairs flew around them in a
widening circle. “You don’t own me, don’t try to change me in
any way-”
“REDACTED.”
“-you don’t own me,” Red
snapped their fingers and fountains popped off on the beat.
“Don’t tie me down ‘cause I’d never stay…” The volume on the TV
turned all the way up as the music built up again. Men with guns
poured in from the elevator. “Mr. Harmsworth!?”
“IIIII
DOOOOOON’T TELL YOU WHAT TO SAY!” They slammed four blast doors
down the hall in time with the drum beats. “I DOOOON’T TELL YOU
WHAT TO DO! SO JUUUUST LEEET ME BE MYSELF, THAAAAT’S ALL I ASK
OF YOU!” Every light in the room switched off except one above
Ludacted who swayed back to back, clutching their hearts. “I’M
YOUNG! AND I LOVE TO BE YOUNG! I’M FREEEEEE AAAAND I LOVE TO BE
FREE!” Some lightbulbs burned and popped with energy, “TO
LIIIIVE MY LIIIIFE THE WAY I WANT! TO SAY!” Pop. “AND DO!” Pop.
“WHATEVER I PLEEAASE!” They stopped, eyes wide and glistening as
if in love for the first time and swooned back into their
chairs, which swept across the room with the violin.
“Ladies and gentlemen and everybody outside and inbetween let me
introduce you to the fabulous musicians you’ve been listening to
tonight, on the panglochord we have the multi-talented Venus
Quinn,” who did a short solo over the song’s backing as the
chairs ferried Ludacted to the desk, stupefied and amazed, and
they clumsily placed their hands on the scanner.
The machinery slowed down and slotted a
vault into place, and a crack of light poured out as it hissed
open.
“Last bets everyone,” Odysseus rubbed his hands
together. "Not money and not gold, what does Lu Harmsworth value
most in this world?"
Dionysus dropped his bag and
wriggled into the seam and tried to push the thing open from
inside. "Dorian, would you?"
(“Playing the kinetophone is
the Naraka System’s favourite daughter, Princess Baby!”
The ten-foot ghost cupped her head in her long hands, and
fluttered the holes where eyes might be.)
Dorian held the
edge of the metal door and pulled it open, flooding the chamber
with cold white light.
Gwen took a second to register
what she was looking at, then whispered. “Oh, for fuck’s-”
“Is this the wrong vault? Did we get the empty one?”
“No, this is the right vault,” said Dionysus, heading to the
back of the group to rummage in his bag. “I don’t think the
treasure’s in it yet.”
“I don’t get it.” Odysseus
muttered. “Why would Harmsworth spend all this effort and all
this money protecting an empty vault?” And then he felt the gun
pressed against the back of his head.
“He’s a
leprechaun, you jackass,” said Dionysus, clicking the
hammer back. “They’re both empty.”
(“Please show your
appreciation for our drummer, the arachnoid wonder Mr. Anan
Segun Mr. Segun take a bow!”)
Gwen was calm. “Get away
from him right now, or-”
“Or what? You think you can melt
me down faster than I can press this button?” He held up the
trigger for the signal jammer. “Soon as I press this, the alarm
goes off and it’s an uphill battle out of here with you versus
the robots, the entire security staff and the population of a
whole fucking planet, you think you can win that fight?”
“I’d rather not find out,” said Gwen.
“You’re not robbing
an empty vault, are you?” Said Dorian. “So what does your
employer really want?”
“One of you is a wanted all across
Andromeda for, oh,” he rolled his eyes, “all sorts. And there’s
a bounty on your head, and there’s really nothing you can do to
get out of this now, so I’d appreciate if you just came
quietly.”
Gwen, Dorian and Odysseus all looked at
eachother for a long moment, and then Odysseus sighed. These
past two months had been a fun distraction, now he was alone
again. Now the Odysseus they knew was gone, and now he was alone
again. He thought about how they’d leave him to rot when they
found out he’d lied to them. He thought about the lies he’d made
a life out of. He thought about Sola Bernard. He thought about
Ichabod’s Reach. “Okay,”
“Okay.” Dorian stepped out in
front of the vault door, and then slowly walked in with his
hands up. Dionysus pointed the gun at him and followed. Odysseus
didn’t breathe.
“The jet and Harmsworth’s satellite makes
for good getaway,” said Gwen, “but if you think we’re not going
to tear up the galaxy to get him back-”
“-you won’t get
him back.” Dionysus smiled and shook his head, stalking around
Dorian in a circle as he brandished the alarm trigger. “My
favourite part is how honest the boss has actually been, you
know? We’re delivering him the treasure he longed for, from Mr.
Harmsworth’s famous vault, which contains something worth around
eight-hundred k. Alive,” he put his gun to the base of Dorian’s
skull. “Or dead.” He shot him, then pressed the trigger. The
blue corridor burned red and lights started flashing. The vault
door slammed shut.
(I’m Stardust, by the way.”)
The control panel flashed “INTRUDERS
DETECTED, AUTHORISE TO JETTISON CARGO” as the singer stepped
back into the spotlight. Emily had been watching Lu and Redacted
slow-dance on the desk, in sync with nearly every other object
in the room. “AAAND DOOOON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Lu kicked the
decanter and glasses off the desk. “OOOOH! DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO
SAY!” He swept his portrait off the wall. “AND PLEASE,” he spun
and sang to Stardust on the screen, “WHEN I GO OUT WITH YOU,
DOOON’T PUT ME ON DISPLAY!” He hopped off the desk and slammed
his hand onto the panel at the band’s last flourish. “You don’t
ooooown meeeeeeee!”
The shutters had nearly finished
rising when Lu noticed the room was empty. He turned around to
see Emily and Redacted outside, many meters away. He looked up
at the slow-moving mechanism, and tried to work out exactly how
long he’d been alone.
Emily and Redacted stood on the
edge of the balcony, clinging to the railing behind them and
watching the black void at their feet. Spotlights came on from
within the casino’s sea cave port, a hundred storeys directly
below them. “That’ll be Driver and the vault with everyone
inside,” said Redacted. “You ready?”
Emily nodded.
“Redacted?”
They turned around, it was Lu.
“Mr. Literally Named Harmsworth?” they said, in their bitchy
monotone.
“What was that? What are you? Really?” There
was an explosion inside the penthouse, and guards were streaming
in through a cloud of smoke and dust. Lu looked at them, then
turned back to Redacted and Emily. “Take me with you.”
“I
dunno babe,” said Emily, shaking her head. “Just try getting
into Kate Bush or something. Start with The Kick Inside and just
like whatever you like from there on out. Also stop being rich.”
Redacted took her by the hand, and they jumped into the
dark.
“Mr. Harmsworth!” Dryden shouted. “You okay boss?”
Lu watched a jetpack stream vanish below him, didn't notice
his own jet tearing off into the atmosphere, carrying a vault.
“No,” he laughed. “No I’m really not.”
The guards rushed down the stairs then
stopped. Wheels, wires and arms were scattered along the hall.
There was a noise coming from around the corner, with the force
and regularity of a hammer striking an anvil but with no
metallic bite. The guards parted as a Balor rushed up behind
them and shot around the corner, then a woman shrieked and they
jumped back as the corridor ahead filled with a shower of molten
slag. The guard in front made raised his palm to the others,
then stepped towards the corner. “Hello? Miss if you don’t mind
I’m going to come around this corner and-”
“COME OUT. ALL
OF YOU. OR I MELT EVERY VAULT DOWN HERE INTO FUCKING SLAG."
The guards poured out from hiding and pointed their guns at
the woman in the exosuit, whose fingers curled around a red
fireball she held to the vault which was red hot and
criss-crossed with deep gashes. Puddles of cooling mithrium lay
around her and the man who hid behind her.
“Put that down
or we will have to open fir-”
“FUCK OFF,” said the woman.
“I'M THE ONLY ONE STOPPING ESS HING FROM FUCKING EXPLODING
THROUGH THAT DOOR, KILLING YOUS," she pointed, 'KILLING HIM,"
she stabbed at Odysseus, "AND FUCKING EVAPORATING EVERYTHING
THAT WEE GIMP ON THE TOP FLOOR EVER WORKED FOR, AND THEN I WILL
LIQUIFY THE FOUNDATIONS OF THIS BUILDING AND USE IT AS A FUCKING
BATTERING RAM IF ANYONE ELSE ON THIS SHITHOLE PLANET TRIES TO
GET IN MY FUCKING WAY."
“What do you…" he hesitated,
"…want, from us then?”
“ARREST ME.”
“What!?”
Odysseus stepped back.
“There are no prisons on this
planet and nothing stopping you shooting us down as soon as our
ship takes off but you make a phone call to the nearest IA
prison and you’re bound by intergalactic treaties to get us
there in one piece.”
“Into prison, Gwen!”
She
looked at him, and just because it could have been a reflection,
that didn't mean her eyes weren't glowing red. “You’ll live.”
The guard hesitated, then slowly lowered his weapon. “O…
okay? Just put these handcuffs on and-”
“-then you told the security officer, as
you were turning yourself in, ‘don’t tell me what to do’. Is
that correct?”
“No,” said Gwen, who had burned through
her handcuffs and was playing with a loose thread on her tshirt.
“You dispute that allegation?” Catherin sighed, propping up her
head with one arm on the table.
“I said don’t fucking
tell me what to do,” she yawned and interlocked her fingers as
she stretched. “Does this answer all of your questions?”
A young police officer slipped in through the door with a phone.
“It’s for you, miss.”
“Oh who is it now?” she snapped,
leaning back in her metal chair.
“Kendra,” he replied,
trembling slightly.
“Kendra as in… Brook? Clarke?”
“Kendra as in…” He remembered to exhale. “The.”
“Geez
that,” Gwen reached over the table and took the phone from him.
“Awrite mum?” She winked at Catherin.
Emily and Redacted sat alone in the
living room, together. Emily had exhausted herself crying into
her shoulder, which she’d covered in a hard light shell of the
sensation of warmth. She’d taken on wide hopeful eyes and a soft
face which she rested in Emily’s hair.
Odysseus closed
the door very gently and looked around. He crept into the living
room and spotted the two of them on the sofa. Redacted looked up
at him.
“Hey,” he whispered. “How are you?”
“Fine,
she’s sleeping,” said Redacted, her voice breaking a little as
she spoke for the first time in maybe an hour. “I’ll decide to
be sad later, but right now I’m just worrying about everyone
else. You took a while in the police station, you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Odysseus nodded. “Where’s Gwen?”
“In her
room, but you should leave her alone for now.”
“It’s
important,” he said. “Sorry.”
He knocked on Gwen’s door,
then slid it open softly. “Hi. I need to talk to you about
something.”
Gwen was curled up in a ball on her bed, her
coat on the floor behind her. “What?” she whispered.
“You're the only other person who saw what happened in that
vault, so you’re the only person I’ll mention this to, unless
you don’t think I’m being crazy,” he sat down on the edge of
Gwen’s bed, then took a moment. “When that door cracked open,
Dionysus was the first person to try to pull it open, right?”
Gwen nodded.
“But we needed Dorian to get that first
vault open, the one we got out of. He knew the door would be too
heavy to pull open himself. I think that was a trick. I think
that was a sleight of hand and he deployed another intellogram,
like with the cameras, maybe just above the vault’s door. I
think everything we saw in that vault after they entered was
faked,” he stopped, and then pushed himself forward. “I think
Dorian might still be alive. Even if there was a DOA bounty for
him, they could haggle with him if he was alive. And then
there’s that thing Driver mentioned. The ‘Mr. Mardova’. Do you
know what that is?”
“No.”
“It’s an old space
pirate’s
term for taking someone else’s identity, doing a job, then
faking your death so nobody comes looking for you. There are a
few different ways to do it, some more long-term than others,
but this ticks all the boxes.”
Gwen took a deep breath,
then hauled herself up. She blew her nose with a ragged tissue
and looked at Odysseus with puffy red eyes. “You sure?”
“Not really, no, but. If there’s a chance…” he trailed off. “Do
you think so too? Do you think I’m thinking straight at all
or…?”
Gwen tried to collect herself and rubbed her eyes
with her forearm. “I have to.” She trembled as she sat up on the
edge of her bed, got her coat off the floor and stood up. She
swallowed as she put it on and patted it down, looking at the
mess of herself in the mirror. “How do you know that, anyway?”
“I don’t know, to be honest, but-”
“How does a
shepherd boy from a Medieval Europe theme planet know about
space pirate slang?”
“Oh,” Odysseus nodded. “It was in a book I
read when I was a kid. Tourists left that sort of thing lying
around.”
Gwen breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a
few seconds. "Okay. I'm good. Let's go."
"Wait," Odysseus
said, almost involuntarily. "Before we go any further…"
"Mhmm?"
"There's something you should know."
He was alone.
Catherin and the
officer returned. “Well Mr. Bernard, we’ve had a match for you
on one non-Alliance criminal database, this time from Infidus.
Which is, allegedly, your home planet.”
“There’s that
magic word again,” Odysseus sighed.
“You were born there
in 4151, arrested for shoplifting aged five, selling drugs aged
seven and near-fatally shooting a man just before your eighth
birthday, just before you were old enough to be tried for a
crime. The middle section is stuff we knew about already: you
were involved in a bank robbery in 4164, which would have made
you thirteen, then a couple years later you pop up on the other
side of the planet working for the data-forger Qo Sarros. You
were then involved in a shootout on Ichabod’s Reach eleven years
ago where you killed ten rival gang members. You died from blood
loss in the desert a few miles from the nearest village. Your
body was examined at the Kelly Mortuary, in the town of Hope’s
Landing. Nobody came to collect your corpse, and so you were
burned on-site without ceremony.” She closed the file. “We’ve
reconciled this information with the Intergalactic Alliance's
records. So, Odysseus or whatever it is we’re calling you, you
and your long-lost twin won’t get mixed up again.”
“Twin?”
“I’m speaking figuratively. You and Mr. Bernard
share a striking resemblance, but the universe is a big place,”
she shrugged, “it happens.” The officer took out a key and
unlocked his handcuffs.
“And what about the crimes I
allegedly actually have committed?”
“We had a phone call
from G.R.I.M.M. about half an hour ago. It all sounded very
top-secret, and after the almighty bollocking the chief got
nobody’s going to be asking any more questions. Officer Berger
will take you to get your things.”
As he prepared to step
outside Odysseus straightened out his bow tie in the reflection
of a window, and fixed that unruly strand of his hair.
"…And there's your wallet," said Berger, fishing things out of a
cardboard box. "A watch, and…" she pulled out the gold segmented
stick, then flipped it open to see the screen inside. "A
liquidrive with seven thousand credits on it?"
Odysseus
snapped it shut and took it from her hand. "Thanks. I'll see you
around." He walked down the steps towards the street, about to
vanish into the crowd.
“Hey Odysseus…”
He turned
around, Catherin was sitting on the steps of the police station
smoking a cigarette, watching the sun set over Tiziana. “Where
are you going?”
“Why d’you ask?” He shielded his eyes
from the sun and looked up at her from beneath bushy brows.
“Whatever your whole deal is it’s way above my pay grade now
so don’t think I’m trying to catch you out or anything,
however,” she straightened up. “I’ll just say that you and your
‘associates’ ship, the- Treehouse?”
“The Treehouse,” he
nodded solemnly.
“…Is, I’m sure you’ve been told,” she
pointed a thumb over her shoulder, back into the station.
“Around the back. What’s going on? Are you not going with them?”
“I am a… drifter, Miss…?”
“White. Catherin White.”
“Miss Catherin White I am a drifter and a lone wanderer, if
such things still exist in the civilised new world you’re
bringing to this end of the galaxy. I work alone-”
“Which
fucking film did you get that from?” She grinned at
him. “Fucking sit down, you want a fag?”
“That’s very
kind darlin’ but I’m not a smoker.”
“Right, okay. It’s
just that I spend half my life sitting in front of guys who get
blind drunk and beat up strangers or rob liquor stores and end
up shooting someone who hurt their feelings or… finally end up
making a go of it and try to kill themselves but just end up
causing car accidents. And you know what the common denominator
is?”
“Nothin’ a couple more centuries in the evolutionary
oven couldn’t fix?” Odysseus laughed as he sat down next to her.
“No, it’s that they’re all in poverty. And life in poverty
is hard-”
“So’s being a surgeon-”
“-so how do you
survive? You get tough and grow thicker skin, you man up or you
die, right? Life’s shit so you just deal with it, and then you
deal with it and deal with it and deal with it then take an
overdose one day because life was shit so you dealt with it, but
here’s the thing,” she pointed at him with the last of her
cigarette. “Lots of people are poor, but it’s the men who
predominantly kill themselves. The stats vary but across every
society that turned out leaning patriarchal, men get the rough
end of the stick.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m in need
of help Miss White?”
“I’m just saying. The whole ‘Sola
Bernard’, thing? We got told to release you by my boss’ boss.
Don’t think for a second you’re fooling me, Mr. Mardova. I’m
sorry for whatever happened between Ichabod’s Reach and now but
you really think a liquidrive with seven thousand credits is
going to get you that far?”
Odysseus sighed. “I
don’t know about sustaining your kind of lifestyle but seven
thousand credits will feed one person for five years if he’s
frugal about it.”
“Seven thousand credits could feed five
people for one year.” She flicked the cigarette away and stood
up, straightening her suit out. “And as if I hadn’t added to
your troubles enough already, I’m sending a notice out to all
the criminal databases in the galaxy. Sola Bernard is dead, you
had the paperwork airtight on that, but there’s nothing stopping
me putting out a friendly note saying that there’s a guy calling
himself Odysseus running around town, and he looks like this.”
She gestured at his face in a circle as she walked up the steps
towards the door. “That should make your solo career slightly
harder, which is very sweet of me, I think.”
Odysseus was
silent for a moment, then turned around. “He looks like this!?”
He shouted over.
“Yeah. Incidentally I checked and
there’s another Odysseus in the records, apparently.”
Odysseus furrowed his brows at her and scowled. “Is he the hot
one?”
Catherin winced, then nodded. “You can get to your
ship through that alley to the side of the building,” she
pointed. “Go be with your friends. They need you.”
Odysseus was alone again, then he stood up and made his way to
the Treehouse.
He was smiling as he entered the alley,
then when he knew nobody was looking he burst out into a wide
grin. He began outright cackling as he reached beneath the
collar of his shirt, and pulled off the sunken old face of K
Franca.
The four of them sat around on the living room floor as Gwen
ate a fake bacon sandwich, at Emily and Redacted's insistence.
"So," Emily started, fiddling with the liquidrive and
leaning back against the bar. "Are we heading straight to
Kendra's after this?"
"We'll need to buy fuel if we're
gonna make it there in a oner, but," she nodded at the
liquidrive as she swallowed her food. "We can fill up the tank
for a while at least."
"You say 'Kendra's' like we're
going to her house," said Odysseus, "and not the headquarters of
a military organisation called G.R.I.M.M."
"They're our
best shot at tracking down the fuckers who took Dorian," Gwen
took another bite. "As much as a fuckin hate to say it." She
made a face.
"What?"
Gwen put the sandwich on its
plate. "Am sorry but a nearly boaked this is making a shite
situation ever shiter."
"Would you rather be eating the
dead animal?"
"This een wisny even alive! It's just two
slices of bread wae absolute fuck all inbetween. There's nihin
that can be done to save that."
"I dunno," Odysseus
smiled.
"What?"
Odysseus reached into the pocket
of his jeans, and handed her a sachet of ketchup.
The adventures of Captain Gwen Lambert
and her crew will continue...
IN
Episode 5: ✨ iNnosense ⚔️ XxXspearienz 💔
Next: Once Upon a Future - Episode 5 (Coming Soon)