CHAPTER 45
l spend most of the day with
Vel.
Coming from a
xenophobic race that possesses the unique ability to pass among
other species and chooses not to, the bounty hunter is a walking
contradiction. We spent hours talking, and I still don’t have the
sense that I know him. Not intimately. I’m not sure whether I can,
or if he has the ability to connect as I know it.
By the time I leave
his quarters, my head throbs with all the new information. And I
don’t know how I can remember everything, particularly the seven
hundred sure ways to offend an Ithtorian. My favorite is clicking
the same claw three times in rapid succession.
They find that
gesture especially insulting in casual conversation because it’s
how partners signify they’re finished with one another. Really,
it’s an impressively rude way to end a conversation. I wonder if
snapping my fingers three times would work on people who bore the
shit out of me.
I still don’t
entirely understand the hierarchical system Vel laid out for me. I
even have diagrams, but they don’t help a lot. Fortunately, 245
promised to go over the entire list with me until I can recite each
item by heart.
Joy.
“Thanks for your
help,” I tell her, as we head back down the hall.
“That’s why I’m here.
Have you given any more thought to our discussion, Sirantha
Jax?”
For a moment, I don’t
know what she’s talking about, and then it clicks. Back on New
Terra, while we were still sequestered, she asked me a favor. “If
we land somewhere I can order the work done, you can pick out a
body from Pretty Robotics. Since it’s on Chancellor Tarn, price is
no object. Have you thought about a name?”
“I am 245,” she says,
sounding as puzzled as I’ve ever heard her.
“Yeah, but if you
want a humanoid body so you can accompany me to official diplomatic
functions, you’ll need something else, won’t you?” This was her
idea as well, but I see the merit in it. Then she’ll be my personal
assistant in every respect—and she’ll be able to signal me if I’m
about to make a dangerous breach in etiquette. Her memory will
track that better than a human ever could. “But I guess we could
call you according to whatever model you pick out. They have
Claudia, Julie, Roberta, Paulette, and I forget who else.”
That’s a Pretty
Robotics gimmick since they cater to lonely men who are also
fabulously wealthy. If we go this route, 245 will get more
attention than the rest of us combined. Maybe that’s a good
thing.
“This is important?”
she asks.
“I just thought you
might want to christen yourself. I mean, how many people get to
pick out their own names?”
“Then I will consider
all the names in my data banks, but I may need your help in a final
decision. I don’t wish to select one that is anachronistic or
inappropriate.”
“Sure, narrow down to
five or ten favorites, and we’ll go from there.”
I turn down the hall
that leads back to my room, and a snippet of conversation reaches
me from the other end. “Do you think they know?”
It’s Keller’s goons,
Grubb and Boyle, but they haven’t seen me yet. I duck around the
corner, heart racing.
“Nah,” Boyle says.
“Keller’s the best. They think Jewel really wants to talk.”
Grubb laughs at the
very idea, and they pass on by, talking about playing another round
of Real Killer. I stand there a moment,
wondering at the implications. Whatever this means, I suspect it
isn’t good.
Dammit. We should’ve waited for a Conglomerate
ship.
Once they’ve passed,
I sprint down the hall and into my room. Having the door between me
and the Syndicate thugs helps some, but it’s not enough. I need
everyone in here now, and we need to figure out a plan of
action.
First, I check
something for my own peace of mind. I access the terminal,
something I should’ve done right away, admittedly, if only I hadn’t
been so tired, hungry, and all-around muzzy headed. The workstation
powers up readily enough, but when I attempt to access external
communications, a big red screen flashes.
“I am sorry,” it
tells me, although it doesn’t sound sorry. Machines never do. “You
are not authorized to transmit to bounce-relay satellites.”
Shit. We’re officially prisoners then. No access to
the outside world. In retrospect, I realize Keller promised us safe
passage. He made no guarantees as to what would happen once we
arrive.
I could drive myself
crazy wondering whether they’ve decided I outlived my usefulness,
but that’s a waste of time. Instead I decide to invite the crew to
a “party” in Dina’s room. I’d hold the meeting here, but I doubt
she’d come, given that she wants my head on a pike at the
moment.
I call Vel first.
They’re probably logging this conversation, but my paranoia is well
documented. In this instance it might even work to my
advantage.
“Do you have a
white-noise generator or something that scrambles any snooping
devices that might be present?”
“Well, that certainly
qualifies as one of the odder greetings I have received in my life.
As it happens, I do.”
“Good,” I say. “Bring
it with you to Dina’s room, ten minutes.”
Silence.
So I ask, “What’s
wrong?”
Another hesitation.
“This is not a good time, Sirantha.”
Right. Right after I left, he must’ve started
fashioning the new skin he’ll wear for the next three days. “When
would be?”
We’re both exercising
caution now, and I can tell he’s copped to the fact that I’m
nervous. I wish I could explain, but that would defeat the purpose.
And I suspect he wouldn’t welcome an in-person visit just
now.
“Two hours. If it is
urgent, I could—”
“No, that’s fine.
I’ll let the others know.”
I spend a few hours
pacing and arguing with 245 over why nobody would ever take her
seriously as my personal assistant if she takes the name Colette.
Her alternatives are worse.
“Dreama? Synara?
Those are stripper names.”
“Explain.” She sounds
confused again.
Four choclaste bars
later and six terrible names later, I figure it’s time. By the time
I get there, Dina is on the verge of an eruption because her suite
is full of people and she doesn’t know why. Her décor looks exactly
like mine, but Hit and Jael sit sprawled on her sofa, and Vel is
tinkering with some equipment.
The mechanic glowers
at me. “You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on? Maybe you
just wanted witnesses for when I kick your ass.”
I can tell she’s been
putting in hard time with the EMP band and rehab exercises, as
she’s visibly stronger today. But I have no intention of brawling.
Dina might be able to knock me out one-handed, but she has to catch
me first.
“Save it,” I say with
a sigh.
To simplify matters,
I produce 245 and replay the brief conversation between Grubb and
Boyle. It’s handy I still had her in record mode from the long
session with Vel. I run it twice to make sure everyone has the
gist, and then I take a seat well away from Jael.
“He lied.” Hit pushes
to her feet, slamming a fist into her palm. “I should’ve killed
that scumsucker when I had him by the throat. I can take them out
if Vel helps me disable droid security.”
“I could,” the bounty
hunter says. “But I am not convinced that is the wisest course. If
we execute the crew, we are left with a damaged vessel we may not
be able to pilot. Keller said only he possesses the ignition codes,
so it stands to reason it would require his permission to override
the navigational system as well.”
“That means we
continue on course whether we like it or not.” Dina limps over to
the kitchen-mate and starts making drinks.
“And when we show up
at Jewel’s place with a ship full of dead bodies,” Jael concludes,
“he really won’t be in the mood to
talk.”
“Mass murder won’t
solve our problems this time,” I say. “Huh. Who knew?”
“The jumper’s already
dead.” Having dropped that conversational bomb, Hit crosses to the
table and helps Dina distribute the cups.
“What do you mean
he’s dead?” Remembering my impulsive words, I have a sinking
feeling in my stomach.
“Last night, I was
scouting the place,” she answers without inflection. “And saw them
spacing the body. I cut out before they made me.”
Jael seems to read my
expression. “It’s not your fault, Jax. You don’t get a job like
Keller’s by being a proper nice guy. He had to show his boss
something, prove the failure had been dealt with. Or Jewel might’ve
made an example of him. The Syndicate
doesn’t make any money off valuing human life.”
“You know an awful
lot about them,” Dina says, eyes narrowed. “What do we know about you, anyway?”
His pale eyes shine
with a cold light, but he masks it with a smile. “I was a merc in
Surge’s company, after March’s time. After I got out, I did a turn
as an enforcer, yeah, for the Syndicate. I didn’t much like shaking
down old ladies for their pensions, so I stopped.”
Hit raises a brow.
“Just like that? You said farewell, and they threw you a little
party. Let you walk away?”
At first I’m not sure
why they’re tag teaming him so hard. And then it hits me. Dina
wants him to be a bad guy because she thinks I’m sleeping with him.
I figure she’s already told Hit her side of things. I open my mouth
to defend him, but Jael doesn’t need any help.
“No,” he answers
quietly. “I had to kill a few people to get the message across.
I’ve done things I’m not proud of in the name of survival. But I
expect that’s the case for everyone in this room.”
A chill shivers
through me at his tone. With the possible exception of Vel, who has
more integrity than anyone I’ve ever known, he’s probably right.
Silence meets his words, and I think he’s even managed to instill
some respect in Dina. She won’t mistake him for just another pretty
face again.
Jael smiles. “Can we
get back to business, or do you have further questions?”
