The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  According to the captain, it was “like a vacation.” Which only meant Yordon Llotho had some pretty terrible vacations.

  Really, the only good to come out of the four weeks—aside from the not-yet-defined thing he had going on with Elicasta Sangristy—was the hotel. Makk hadn’t been hoofing it from Kindontown since the day of the arrest; he’d been in a room at the Porritino, one of the most upscale hotels in Velon. It was the place visiting heads-of-state stayed when attending the League of Countries.

  The Porritino was a little out of the way compared to some of the hotels situated in Geoghis Quarter—he still had to take an app car to get to Twenty-One Central—but the trip was neither as far nor as unpleasant. And, it came with a great view of Pulson Harbor. The hotel also had excellent security (half the cost of the room went to the security, he was pretty sure) and a live-in girlfriend.

  Elicasta was the one footing the bill for the hotel room; it was way outside of his price range. He also did not look at all like he belonged there, at least not in the first couple of weeks when security stopped him nearly every day. Then he decided to let her buy him clothes, and it became less of a problem. He got a lot of sideways glances downtown after that, but if he didn’t care what anyone thought of him when he wore the same suit every day he also didn’t care when it was a different, fitted suit every day.

  Captain Llotho, a noted clotheshorse, had the best reaction. Well, after he laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself. Once he calmed down, he handed Makk a card for his tailor. Then he called Makk a gigolo and told him to ride the credit train as far as it would take him.

  As Makk walked through the Porritino lobby, getting eyed suspiciously by the security team near the elevators, he meditated on the likelihood that any of this would last.

  I give it another week, tops, he thought.

  Their “room” was a suite three floors from the top of the hotel. It came with a private balcony, a hot tub, a full bar, a deluxe bed, and a separate living room. Not only was it larger than his apartment, it was larger than the ground floor of the Lucky Twins. When Makk first saw it he asked how many more people they were expecting. It was that big.

  ‘Casta was on the balcony when he got in, on one of her new laptops, nestled between two of the six or seven live plants that came with the suite. (Makk had never in his entire life lived in a place with live plants, unless mildew counted as a plant.) Her drone was out and capturing a headshot.

  She’d been doing live Stream updates from the balcony a lot lately. The angle she picked took full advantage of the view, with Pulson Harbor up in her background. She claimed this was why they were in the suite in the first place, and that it was the best she could do since her last place—with its view of Norg Hill—got blown up.

  He thought that was probably true. But it was also true that she’d done hardly any new reporting since breaking the news of Calcut’s arrest, preferring to field interview requests from other news Streams, hold live chats with her subscribers, and do face-to’s like the one she was doing now, in which she just talked about her day. She claimed she was just leveraging the fame and boosting her rep, and maybe she was.

  Or, she was more nervous about Calcut exacting some sort of revenge than she let on.

  Since her blue light was up, he left her alone and went to the full bar. The liquor was nothing but top shelf. When the day came that he had to leave the suite, he would miss the bar the most. He poured himself a sizeable drink.

  She came in a minute later.

  “Hey babe,” she said, kissing him on the cheek on her way to the bar. She was wearing full, “let’s go out to dinner in a fancy restaurant” makeup, a blouse with a plunging neckline, and shorts. Nothing below her chest showed up in her face-to’s, so this was how she dressed for work.

  “Hey,” he said, heading to the couch.

  “Got some reqs for your time,” she said. She went straight for the wine. She had a fondness for Lladnian whites, which he found much too sweet. “Feel like boosting your profile?”

  “It’s sufficiently boosted already, thanks.”

  One of the positives of getting new clothes—and a new haircut, and a daily shave—was that he no longer looked quite as much like the famous Detective Makk Stidgeon, who single-handedly took out a small army. (Or something. Only one of his kills had been captured in Elicasta’s panic Stream. The other four were inferred. He continued to not understand why this was a big deal.) Since the makeover he’d stopped getting recognized on the street so much, which was great. He’d also had to deal with more than his share of outreach from fic vid producers looking to turn the whole Linus case into a major production video, about which he was dubious. But, a couple of them had offered enough credits for him to retire on if he wanted.

  He was considering it.

  “Aw, c’mon,” she said. “Gotta stroke the subs, or they’ll forget you.”

  “Maybe I want them to forget me,” he said. “And I don’t have any subscribers.”

  She laughed. “Never change, Makk Stidgeon,” she said, plopping on the couch next to him. She still had her headgear on. She only took it off to shower or sleep. He was learning to get used to this.

  “I did receive an interesting proposition today,” he said, “only not from anyone on the Stream.”

  “Oh? Spill.”

  He walked her through the meeting with Quibb. Or rather, he walked her halfway through it. She stopped him as soon as he said what Kev wanted.

  “When are we leaving?” she asked.

  “I haven’t…”

  “Tomorrow? I think the Tether shuttle leaves at twelve on good weather days.” She jumped to her feet. “What should I wear? I’m gonna have to drop a blast tonight to tip my subs. There’s so much to do!”

  Then she was in the other room, diving into the closet for apparel choices.

  “I haven’t said yes yet,” Makk half-shouted. He wasn’t getting off the couch for this.

  “You haven’t what?” she asked, popping back into the living room. “Of course you did; you said yes immediately and then ran back to tell me. You should have sent a message, man. I may have to work through the over just to line everything up.”

  “I told Quibb I’d talk to you about it. I was under the impression this would be a difficult decision for you.”

  “An invite to Lys? Are you flaked? Yes I’m going! What Veeser in the right wouldn’t vet that in a heartskip?”

  “Could you…could you take it down a touch?” he asked, rubbing his temple. She’d veered into full Veeser-speech, and had also gotten a little loud. Makk liked her a lot, but her energy levels were a bit much at times.

  “Have you ever been to Lys?” she asked.

  “Just thinking about the Tether makes my stomach flip.”

  “So no. Neither have I. Nor has anyone I know. There have been maybe a dozen documented Veeser Streams of the station because we’re not welcome up there. Everything else is fic vids. Don’t you want to see it?”

  “Not that badly, no. The obscenity of wealth isn’t a big draw for me.”

  “The obscenity of wealth is the meat, Makk.”

  “You don’t think Kev’s request is a little off?” he asked. “I can understand, maybe, asking for me. Asking for me alone, with no backup, sets off all kinds of alarm bells. Asking for me and you, a civilian, is a full block siren.”

  “Yeah, that part is a little off-tilt.”

  “Only a little? The last vid we featured in together was the one where his daughter implicated him in several crimes and then tried to kill us. That might be why he wants me there, but it’s definitely why he wants you.”

  “Okay, it’s a lot. I don’t care. It’s Lys. It’s practically the sacred sword of Honus. If I’m saying no to that I may as well power down and sunset.”

  “You have enough coin to do that.”

  “I’m pretending I didn’t scan that,” she said. “Call him.”

  “It’s a little late.”

  “Cal
l him anyway. We can be off-planet by this time tomorrow.”

  “All right. But you’ll have to be excited enough for both of us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Captain Llotho drove them to the Tether platform himself. He seemed about as concerned as Makk was about the whole deal.

  “I’m told voicer communication works fine from the station,” Llotho was saying as they pulled up to the front. “So keep me updated as much as you can. I’ll have a team ready down here when you’re on your way back. You’re sure about this, right?”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” Makk said.

  “What about Streaming?” Elicasta asked.

  “What about it?”

  It was currently a point of conflict between the captain and Elicasta that she chose to notify her subs of the trip in advance. He thought it might create a problem either with Kev’s people (this was a concern shared by the C.A., evidently) or with the Lys cognoscenti. It could also result in a crowd scene at the Tether platform if enough of ‘Casta’s fans decided to see her off.

  “Is it possible to Stream live from Lys?” she asked “Or is the band too narrow?”

  “That’s something you’d know better than I would.”

  “All I know is rumor,” she said. “You didn’t ask?”

  “Why would I ask?” Llotho said.

  She just shook her head in disbelief. Another thing Makk had learned about Elicasta in their time together was that she sometimes had trouble parsing the part of the world that doesn’t exist on the Stream, or particularly care about it.

  Llotho stopped the car near the dock.

  “This is a bad idea, Makk,” he said. The two of them were in the front seat of the car, with ‘Casta in back. Yordon said this quietly, and just to his detective.

  “I’m not happy about it either,” Makk said.

  “You should have your back covered. I volunteered myself, but Kev’s people were adamant. I’m saying, you can still say no. We’ll work something else out.”

  “Nah. I’m thinking this is at least half my fault. Quibb is right; I handed him a half-assed murder case with Linus. The Ba-Ugna Kev charges are a lot stronger and we need a win. I do this, maybe Pillick is less of an ass about Calcut.”

  “Sure,” Llotho said. “And maybe the key testimony in both cases ends up in lower orbit without a pressure suit.”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of worried about that too.”

  They got out to a mostly empty platform. If Elicasta’s base of subs decided to see her off, they were hiding on the other side of the fence. Or so Makk initially thought. Then he noticed a drone hovering at the edge of the parking area, which led to the discovery of five more, and another dozen after that. They were there, just not in person.

  The shuttle was waiting, doors open. Makk paused before stepping on, and looked straight up, through the platform’s glass roof. The thin shaft that would be carrying them into space disappeared from view before it even reached the clouds. Thanks in part to the lights that dotted the Tether, from a distance it looked plenty substantial. Up close, there didn’t seem to be any way the thing was strong enough to support the weight of the shuttle.

  “Don’t do that,” Elicasta said, grabbing him by the elbow. “It’s too early to get all spun.”

  The ride up was terrible. Makk had brought nothing to read or to do, and had six hours to kill. The view was amazing, and he didn’t even mind the heights as much as he expected to—his aversion to null-grav tech didn’t apply here since the Tether was using an old-fashioned pulley system to get the shuttle to the top—but he could only look at it for so long before the Velon cityscape became mundane. Then it disappeared below a cloud bank and he didn’t even have that to look at.

  The shuttle itself was pretty large. There was a bar in the middle that served food and drink, and it looked like there was a fully stocked bar. Makk was on the clock, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a drink while his badge was lit. This seemed like a bad time, though; he was walking into a situation where he might need full command of his faculties, as much as that was ever possible. But the food was okay, and the coffee was pretty good.

  There were three other riders going up with them: a man named Dintae Lornt, another man named Oual, and a woman named Itazaer-Ga-Serabom Yattlewin-X. Makk knew none of them, by reputation or by looking, but Elicasta was beside herself to even be sharing the shuttle. (Makk asked why Oual didn’t have a last name, which she evidently thought was a joke. Then he suggested he take one of Itazaer-Ga-Serabom Yattlewin-X’s names, since she had extra. This was a joke, but she didn’t think it was funny.)

  Once the three of them collectively noticed Elicasta’s gear, they positioned themselves at a point as far from her and Makk as was possible. This was pretty far because again, the shuttle was large.

  She didn’t appear to mind. Her rig went blue as soon as the doors to the shuttle closed, and she spent most of the six hours doing face-to’s and dictating notes. She wasn’t live-Streaming; just recording footage for use on what she described as a multipart episodic adventure.

  He wondered how she was going to react the first time someone told her to shut it off. It would surely happen eventually. Possibly the minute they were on Demara property.

  That was another thing for Elicasta to get excited about.

  “You haven’t told me what estate we’re going to,” she said, about three hours in. “Did they not tell you or are you keeping it to yourself?”

  “They didn’t,” he said, “but we’re being met by someone named Exty. She’s going to bring us the rest of the way.”

  “Exty Demara?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Archeo’s great grand-daughter??”

  “If you say so.”

  Then she made a bunch of excited noises and talked to her headgear for a while.

  Makk really didn’t understand what the big deal was, but then he never quite figured out how being very wealthy translated into being very famous, beloved, popular, or whatever. He’d met plenty of wealthy people, and could attest to their own high opinions of themselves—they certainly thought they were worthy of love and praise—but just because your family’s money puts you in the public eye doesn’t mean you’re the kind of person who deserves to be there.

  He had a lot more respect for people like Ba-Ugna Kev and Calcut Linus. They were famous because of what they did and not because they were related to someone who did something. That they were both also murderers certainly didn’t help make his point, but he thought it was a good one anyway.

  Makk brought it up with Elicasta about an hour before they reached the top of the tether. (This he judged by his watch, not by what was out the window. What was out the window was the planet’s stratosphere, according to the friendly automated audio host.)

  “I don’t understand why they’re a big deal,” he said.

  “What’s that?” She was working on her laptop by then, organizing files. She explained her job once as like putting on a live stage play every day without rehearsal. He thought it was a poor analogy, but didn’t say so.

  “Them,” he said, pointing to the other end of the shuttle, where the wealthy twelve-somethings were camped out.

  “Individually?” she asked. “Like, their bios?”

  “The ‘famous for being rich’ in general. Them, and also this Exty Demara, and anyone else you think you’re running across while you’re up there. I don’t understand why a news Streamer cares so much.”

  “I see. You’re wondering what makes them worth my time.”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re not,” she said. “Not really, if we’re talking real news. Oual is about to open a restaurant at the edge of Pantolinar, but the only news there is it’s his third try because he’s a terrible businessman. Dintae Lornt has had two rape charges dismissed already and he’s not even twelve yet. Neither of those charges are recent, though, so he’d only be newsworthy if he was spotted near the Astasparkle, beca
use they banned him after the second accusation. And Itazaer-Ga-Serabom? Last time she made news was when she converted to Unitism, and that was only news because her uncle’s the High Hat of the Butoa temple in northern Inimata.”

  “She’s a Spanner? Really? She doesn’t look like one.”

  “Yeah, I think she did it to piss off the family. I think that’s all that motivates half of them, real. But your question’s missing the target, babe. I don’t care about them; my subs do.”

  “But why?”

  “If I ever feel like burning my list to the ground, I can ask.”

  He laughed.

  “Look at it this way,” she said. “A lot of people know who Dintae, Oual, and IGS are, and—I’m guessing—even more know who Exty Demara is. Now in the, um, in the orphanage you grew up in, there were some Septals who were better known than others, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give me one. First one that springs.”

  “Sister Whiddy,” he said. Whiddy had terrible breath and a weird laugh that came out at inappropriate times. She used to walk around with a smooth stone in her hand and nobody knew why.

  “Great, so my guess, if you come up on someone else from the orphanage and say, ‘did you hear about Sister Whiddy?’ they’d be all ears.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s all this is, except we’re not talking about a Septal and a few survivors from an orphanage, we’re talking global. ‘Did you hear about Dintae Lornt?’ will drive huge traffic, even if the answer is just, ‘he was spotted on the Tether.’ It’s news because of who he is, and the next story—‘guess who he was with?’—is also news because of who they are. Because everyone knows them. Get it?”

  “I do, thanks.”

  “Good, now let me get back to this before we come off the Tether. I think I’m gonna lose my Stream connect when that happens. It’s already getting wiggy.”

  Coming off the Tether happened a half an hour later, and Makk did not like it at all.