by Alex White
Nilah stood on the front stoop to watch the skies for Vraba’s platform, and before long, she was rewarded with the sight of his retinue approaching. Their transport descended in front of the corridor opposite her shop, along with the effusively helpful concierge. The fish babbled away at zir party, but none of Vraba’s guards paid any attention.
“This is Rabbit,” Nilah whispered into her comm. “I have eyes on the crow. Corridor thirty-seven.”
“Copy that,” said Armin. “Eagle, Bear, Wolf, back her up.”
“Please, you mean,” corrected Cordell, huffing. He must’ve been running. “The captain doesn’t take orders. He does favors.”
“Please,” hissed Nilah in Armin’s stead.
Vraba set off down the path, and Nilah followed along at a decent distance, strolling as though she had every right to be there. It was strangely liberating, wearing the mask. Even when Vraba’s guards glanced back at her, she merely nodded at them like a friendly local.
They came to a reindeer with silver vines hanging from obsidian antlers, and zie lazily waved at the crow in greeting. The concierge fish took zir leave, and the party traveled onward, deeper into one of the side gardens.
It was trickier to follow there. The paths curved more sharply, and sturdy elm trees blocked much of Nilah’s sight. When they reached a set of benches around a roaring waterfall, they stopped. Vraba’s guards fanned out, facing away from the crow and reindeer.
If she stopped to watch, she’d be suspicious, so Nilah kept walking. She tapped her comm. “I think I might’ve seen Stetson. A reindeer with lovely black antlers. Near corridor … um, fourteen.”
“I’m almost there,” said Boots. “Stay with them.”
“Can’t stop,” she replied. “They’ll see me. Going to the mezzanine.”
She hopped a platform, which boosted her up to the second level. “I can’t get close enough to hear what they’re saying.”
“Just keep them in your sight so the imagers can capture,” said Armin. “We can run speech analysis back at the ship.”
She walked to the railing and peered over, trying to get a better look through the trees. The shifting leaves provided her targets ample cover, and she searched back and forth with mounting frustration. She finally found a spot with ample coverage and watched the conversation unfold.
“This is Wolf,” said Orna. “I’m in position.”
“Bear. In position.”
“Eagle still inbound,” said Cordell. “These jerks took all the platforms.”
“We’ve got three angles,” said Armin. “Perhaps you’d better hang back, sir.”
“Oh, good,” he sighed. “Not getting as much cardio as I used to.”
Nilah glanced around. The only people nearby were a couple of revelers, laughing and joking on their way elsewhere. She returned her eyes to the targets.
The crow’s feathers bristled. The reindeer had said something to offend him, and the guards turned their attention to their master. The reindeer laughed, and Nilah’s gut tensed. But miraculously, instead of killing him or turning the place into a shadowy nightmare, the crow spun and walked away with his entourage. Whatever defenses the Masquerade had in place, even the Gods of the Harrow wouldn’t dare step out of line.
“That’s interesting,” said Nilah. “Whatever he did got Vraba pretty hacked off.”
“Good,” said Armin. “Get back to the ship so we can strategize.”
“Copy,” Nilah said straightening up to leave. “I—”
“Hello,” came a voice beside her.
She turned to find a bull with horns like flowing fire, and she was so surprised she almost took a swing. “Oh, god, you startled me. Sorry, but I’m—”
“And which one are you?” asked the bull, zir distorted voice growing low and rumbly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re wearing my favorite mistress’s favorite mask,” said the bull, savoring the repetition. “Let’s have it back, eh?”
Her stomach turned as she said, “Bill Scar.”
He grinned as he clapped a hand to her shoulder. “Did you think I wouldn’t have friends on the station who could lend me a few masks? A way to get back?”
She brushed his hand away, looked him in the eyes, and said, “This place has more defenses than most military bases. Try something and get roasted.”
The bull regarded her for a moment, rubbing his bare skin where she’d touched him. “Oh, I will, bunny rabbit. Watch your back.”
Then he walked away to join his friends. She tapped her comm.
“Bill Scar is on the station.”
Orna hadn’t spoken a word since they arrived, and Nilah worried about what was going on in her head.
They crowded into the cramped viewing gallery of the Scuzzbucket as Armin cued up the video of Vraba’s conversation. He quickly located the sync point, and all three videos began playing at the same time.
“I hate these masks,” grumbled the first mate. “Impossible to read their damned lips.”
Nilah sighed. “So it was a bust?”
“Of course not,” Armin said. “I just need to train the model.”
He riffled through the Link, bringing up a dozen white papers on surveillance and analysis of distorted imagery, his eyes flickering over them. Since the masks all used the same vocal puppet pinning algorithm, he could get data from recording the crew talking. He lined everyone up in their masks and had them make weird faces and say nonsense lines until he was satisfied.
“Okay,” he said, interrupting their third chorus of The azure zebra fights fragrant granite. “Let’s see what we can see.”
They turned their attention to the projection, where the three angles interwove to create a rough, three-dimensional space. It had a couple of holes in it, but they could make out most of the action.
“I know why you came here, Mister Vraba,” the reindeer said in a computerized voice, its intonation flat. Apparently, Armin’s model couldn’t suss out tone, only content. “I already heard about what happened to Durand.”
“Good. Then you have the index ready for me?” asked the crow.
“You do understand how I make my living, right?” replied the reindeer.
Boots pointed to the reindeer. “That’s got to be Stetson, then. Who else is going to be talking about an index?”
Armin sighed and paused playback. “I thought that much was obvious. Can we please get back to it?”
“Sorry, sir,” said Boots, and Armin gestured for the playback to continue.
“You drink from a cup and wave your hands around,” countered Izak Vraba. “Show me to your room and turn over the index.”
The reindeer shook his head. “Not happening. It’s safe with me.”
“You’ve misspoken.”
“Have I?” asked the reindeer. “See, friend, only a small portion of my cash comes from the signing commission. Most of it is licensing fees, which you pay to me for keeping your precious index. You might be one of the most powerful men in the galaxy, but you can’t touch me here, which means that those losers from the Capricious can’t, either. Hell, I’ve even got a curse on one of them.”
“Guess again, punk,” muttered Boots.
“I won’t ask another time,” said the crow.
The reindeer shrugged. “So don’t. Grab yourself some drinks and pills and have a nice vacation. But if you think I’m handing you the most lucrative index in my collection, you can go suck a comet.”
Cordell snorted.
The crow cocked his head, the edges of his beak pulling into a cartoonish frown. “In time, you’ll come to regret your mistake.”
“Will I?” asked the reindeer. “You hire independent contractors, you get independent thinkers. Sorry I’m not more like your stooges over there. You’re not going to blow the station. You’re not going to attack me. That, goodly Mister Vraba, is what we call ‘game over.’ Have a nice day, will you?”
“Our organ
ization will brook no insubordination from the likes of you.”
The reindeer mocked the crow’s delivery of a threat, then said, “Go back to your ship, and make sure the money keeps coming in, or I’ll burn the index and release all of your people from the contract.”
“If you did that, I’d swat the Masquerade from the sky like so much stardust.”
“Stop posturing,” the reindeer said. “I’ve got other things to do, so get out of my face.”
The crow shook with anger, then smoothed down his feathers. “We’ll buy the index from you for the remainder of your contract.”
The reindeer nodded. “There’s a win-win if ever I heard one. There was no reason to get all dark and threatening. Besides, I’ve got dozens of other contracts going through you—all of which would end if you tried something. Why ruin a beautiful friendship?”
The crow folded its arms, and the illusory wings clipped through one another. “You should count yourself lucky.”
“Smart. Never lucky. You bring me the closeout fee, here in the Promenade, in two cycles … and I’ll give you the index.”
The parties took off and the conversation ended. Mercifully, Armin cut the feed before Bill appeared. Nilah didn’t want to imagine the effect it’d have on Orna.
Cordell sucked his teeth. “Nice to know we’re not the only ones in the galaxy who can talk back to those cats.”
“Please don’t compare us to that traitor piece of crap, sir,” sighed Boots. “It’s bad enough having to hear him again.”
“Duly noted,” he said. “This mission is getting way too complicated with Giles, Vraba, and Scarett all on the station.”
“What’s complicated, sir?” asked Orna. “Kill two, capture one. They’re making it easy when they show up like this.”
Cordell crooked an eyebrow. “Miss Sokol, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you know that every mission dimension adds risk. This is bordering on unacceptable.”
“You’ve told me about plenty of unacceptable sorties, Cap,” she countered. “You took those odds and made them work.”
Cordell’s eyes were the calm before a supernova. “Because I was ordered to, Sokol. When I’m in charge, I pick the odds. Got any other tips on how to captain a ship?”
Orna pursed her lips but said nothing in return. Nilah swallowed and raised her hand, and Cordell turned his cool gaze on her. That marked the first time he ever looked at her like that, and it gave Nilah a few extra kinks in her guts. In fact, no one had ever given her such sternness—not her father, not Claire, not the prime minister.
“Captain …” Nilah began, “I know you may think I’m taking her side because, um, we’re together, but I really do think she’s right.”
The look on Orna’s face soothed Nilah’s quivering heart, and she took another breath.
“In racing, we have rules, but the teams do anything they can for an advantage. And they have this strategy group, and my old boss was on it so she could lobby for rules changes. That’s done by a quorum of—”
Armin gave her a polite fast forward motion. “Skip to the point, Miss Brio.”
She caught herself before she could wring her hands, forcing her posture upright. “Um, yes, well, when you change the rules, many teams are too slow to respond, and it costs them the title.”
Cordell leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not sure I take your point.”
“The laws of the Masquerade are strict,” said Nilah, “and they’re probably well-enforced. But if we could change them, even for a few minutes, we’d be the only ones with the new rules set. We could kill another god, grab the index—”
“And the Chalice of Hana,” Boots added.
“Right. That, too. Why not?” Nilah looked to Cordell, wondering how he’d take her plan. It wasn’t direct insubordination to side with her fiancée, but it didn’t look great.
“Okay,” he said. “How do we change the rules?”
“Orna and I hit their data center and hack it apart,” Nilah said. “That’ll take down the dispersers and autoturrets. It’ll be their most-guarded area, though.”
“And we can only field four combatants,” Cordell pointed out.
“Five, sir,” said Orna, tapping her circlet.
The captain gave her a skeptical look. “They’re not going to let Charger in there.”
The quartermaster nodded to the door. “About that …”
A two-meter-tall bipedal black wolf came ducking through the door, and the assembled crew shot to their feet in surprise. Its animal eyes glowed with the expressive green light of Charger’s lenses. The sight of the robot in resplendent costume stole Nilah’s breath away.
“The mask fits anyone with a head and a body, sir,” said Orna. “It doesn’t care if you’re alive or not. So we could take the data center with the right mix of two others.”
“I’m obviously one of the two,” said Nilah.
“And I’m the other,” said Aisha. “You need a good slinger.”
Cordell popped open his case and put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Going in there hot, eh? That’ll inflict significant casualties.”
Boots shrugged. “Who cares, sir? These people are thieves. They steal lives and turn them into spike thralls. How is that any different than Witts?”
Only the gentle white noise of the lagging climate system filled the hush that followed. Nilah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, taking stock of the others. Jeannie and Alister totally agreed. The Jans seemed fine with the assault. Boots was obviously in favor, and Orna was nothing if not eager. The executive staff, on the other hand, weren’t so keen.
Cordell cleared his throat. “Do we really want to treat everyone on the Masquerade payroll as an enemy combatant?”
“That puts us at war with them,” said Armin.
“And I’m completely fine with that,” said Boots, and the rest of the crew nodded their assent. “Some of these people need shooting.”
The captain nodded. “So your suggestion is: shut down the data center, then whack Vraba and kidnap Giles … except one person would be on the hook to do the assassinate-kidnap part. If Miss Brio, Miss Sokol, and Missus Jan have a mask, that leaves one for the rest of us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think anyone on this crew is up to that task.”
Nilah gestured to the table running along one edge of the room, where they’d put the five neural spikes they took out of Bill’s thralls. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. The easiest way to get everyone else into the station is as thralls.”
Murmurs went up and she held up her hands to silence everyone. “The scanners on board the Masquerade are looking for two things: the spike codes and higher-function brain activity. We’ve got the codes right here. Captain Lamarr could wear the mask, and Boots, Malik, and the twins could be armed backup. Mister Vandevere would stay on the Scuzzbucket and keep him hot for a jump.”
“And the brain scanners? If you’ve got a way to stop someone from thinking, I’d love to hear it,” said Cordell.
Malik smiled at Nilah, recognition in his eyes. “She does.”
“There’s a sodding good trick that Mister Jan taught me back on Carré,” Nilah said. “We flatten out.”
“We can be at that index deal, Captain,” Boots urged. “All of us.”
Around the room, each of the crew members endorsed the plan until it came to Armin.
“I’ll have to run simulations on all known brain-wave scanners against ‘flattening out.’ If we’re wrong, the Masquerade will automatically gun you down at the docking bay exit.”
Cordell licked his lips. “Then you’ve got under two cycles, Mister Vandevere. Let’s ice these chumps.”
Nilah and Orna spent the next cycle inside their quarters, prepping the neural spikes. It was a tricky task, since they needed the transponders the most, and those were housed inside the part that penetrated the brain. If they decrypted the data shards, they could write the codes onto new hardware, but they didn’t ha
ve time to redesign a chipset. Worse, the Scuzzbucket wasn’t exactly an engineer’s dream workbench.
Before long, they’d littered the floor with bits of wire housing, shards of shaved data crystal, and globs of solder. The Backstrom Ellis designer tables where they worked quickly transformed from priceless antiques to scratched-up junk, pockmarked with scorches. It was, as Armin would put it, a suboptimal situation.
Still, every time Orna finished a section and handed it to Nilah for assembly, Nilah could sense her fiancée’s art in the design. The quartermaster had a primal simplicity to her work that bordered on elegant. Most mechanists couldn’t stand to work together, constantly stepping on one another’s toes, but she fit together with Orna like a nut to a bolt.
Orna handed Nilah the fourth spike look-alike, and Nilah admired her handiwork. It looked like the silver hexagonal head of a neural spike, but they’d crammed the transponder inside so they could glue it to the surface of someone’s neck. When Nilah took it, Orna’s fingers closed around hers, and the quartermaster looked her in the eye.
“I never say it first,” said Orna, “and I’m sorry.”
Nilah smiled gently, trying to wash away the strange frown on Orna’s face. “Say what?”
“I love you. I really, really do. I don’t deserve you.”
“Of course you do, darling. You’re a sodding hero, and everyone knows it. What’s wrong?”
Orna looked away. “You didn’t have to back my plan to the captain last night. I know I said you always run off on your own, but … I didn’t mean that you had to, like, endorse everything I do.”
Nilah laughed, and her exhaustion amplified it a bit louder than she intended. “I backed you up because you were right, love.”
“You promise?”
Nilah scooted her chair down the table to be right next to Orna and snaked her arm around her waist. Then she leaned in and kissed Orna’s bare shoulder, just below the strap of her tank top. Then, she worked her way up Orna’s neck, and the skin around her white scars went pink.
“I’m sorry you have to deal with my … with my past,” said Orna. “I don’t know why you want to marry someone like me.”