Canto Bight

by Saladin Ahmed

  He sat. “Your Grace,” he choked out. “I left that life behind. I’m a father now.”

  “Ah, yes. Your daughter.” She swirled the wine in her glass, staring at it as though it contained all the mysteries of the universe. “Your human daughter. Tell me, how did you come to possess such a creature?”

  He blinked at her. “I came to care for her, not possess her.”

  She waved a hand. “Same difference. How?”

  “I found her in the stairwell. In an empty cargo box. Someone had just left her there.”

  The countess raised one eyebrow. “Did you ever try to locate her parents?”

  “Of course I did. But children are so quickly and easily abandoned here. It was like trying to find a flea on a fathier. Those first few days were hard. I knew all about human anatomy, but it turns out I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know what to feed her or how often, whether she was a species that needed or loathed physical touch, or what it meant when she made those awful wailing sounds.”

  “But you figured it all out.”

  “I did. And I almost went broke hiring someone to care for her while I was at work. Humans aren’t independent until they’re many seasons old.”

  The countess was leaning forward, eyes wide, hanging on his every word.

  Lexo resisted the urge to flinch away. “Why are you asking me all this?”

  “Would you be interested in finding her real parents?”

  Lexo stared. He didn’t know such a thing was possible. Thousands arrived and departed Canto Bight via the spaceport every single day. Lula’s parents could be anywhere in the galaxy. “You can do that?” he said.

  “I might. Let’s see…it was about thirteen years ago, and she is a dark-skinned variety of human, yes?”

  Lexo nodded, still dumbfounded.

  “That’s enough information to begin making inquiries at least. I’ll tell you what. You do this tiny favor for me, and I’ll help you get inside Ganna’s suite and make inquiries about your daughter’s parentage.”

  “Only if Lula wants to know.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “I…” He hadn’t killed in decades, and he was rusty. Killing required finesse, strength, young tendons, a willingness to bear the burden of conscience. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He certainly didn’t want to, maybe not even for Lula.

  “Do you have a better plan for reaching your daughter?”

  His silence was all the answer she needed.

  She smiled. “If I know you’ve been running around town all night, then it’s only a matter of time before Ganna knows it, too. He will hurt your daughter. Maybe even kill her. You must act tonight or lose her forever.”

  The countess was right, and Lexo didn’t know what else to do. His gut churned and his shoulders grew tight, tight, tighter as he said, “All right then. Tell me about the mark.”

  The countess set down her wine as relief pheromones filled the air. “It’s a human male, middle-aged, light-toned skin, blue eyes, black facial hair. Very tall for a human; the top of his head would probably reach your shoulder. His name is Jerdon Bly, and he’ll be entertained tonight by Baron Yasto Attsmun on his yacht, the Undisputed Victor. The yacht is scheduled to sail within the hour, so you must hurry.”

  A human. Lexo knew all about humans now. Hard to raise, easy to kill.

  “Jerdon Bly is a buffoon,” she said. “Easy to manipulate, very full of himself. He’s an easy mark if you can just get him alone. I’ll arrange for you to be on that yacht in a serving capacity.” She gave him the berth number and a passcode.

  He memorized the information and asked, “Why do you want him dead?”

  “That’s above your pay grade.”

  “It most certainly is not.”

  The countess seemed astonished that he would contradict her. “I will tell you only what you need to kn—”

  “A good assassin wields knowledge as much as any physical weapon. You know this to be true, or you wouldn’t have been tracking me with spies. Councilor Ganna also understands this, or he wouldn’t be going to such lengths to recruit me. So you will tell me exactly why you want him dead, because my success may hinge on that knowledge.”

  She pressed her lips together, considering. Then: “He’s an arms dealer. A dangerous one. He’s playing both sides, you see. Selling to both the First Order and the Resistance.”

  Lexo gave her a withering look. “Everyone in Canto Bight plays both sides.”

  “Yes, but he is gauche about it.”

  “Gauche? In Canto Bight? I can’t imagine.”

  She swept up her glass and brought it to her smiling lips. “Dangerously gauche. This city survives on open secrets. Yet Jerdon Bly boasts to anyone who will listen about the major deal he has arranged, something going down very soon. He’s going to bring trouble on my city, mark my words.”

  Lexo could smell the lie, but it wasn’t a strong one. A partial lie, perhaps. The intended mark was almost certainly a weapons dealer, just as the countess claimed. But Lexo would bet his floating distal bones that the real reason the countess wanted him gone was to eliminate her competition. She was the one who wanted to play both sides.

  Lexo stood, and the countess grabbed her wineglass and stood with him. If she were a head taller, they’d be nose to nose. On impulse, he reached for her arm. Her epidermis was thick and protective, but porous enough, allowing the chemicals from his fingertips to penetrate.

  He squeezed gently and said, “Ganna must have considerable leverage on you, for you to be willing to help a lowly masseur, assassin or not. As I said, I’m sorry for whatever he is doing to you.”

  To his surprise, tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want to sell my share of the spa. But I need resources…my husband…”

  Her husband the count was rarely seen in public. In fact, Lexo couldn’t remember the last time he’d made an official appearance. “Is he all right?” Lexo asked, his voice full of sympathy.

  “He…” The countess’s eyes widened, and she swung her arm, throwing off his hand. Wine sloshed in an arc across the wall, onto the rug. Anger pheromones filled the air. “Never touch me again,” she spat out.

  Lexo bowed, backing away. “Apologies, Your Grace. I’ll return when the job is done.”

  She turned her back to him and stared across the balcony toward the racetrack. “You do that,” she said.

  Lexo stopped at the door to get his bearings. He was using his ability too often. He needed food and rest. Not getting them soon might cost years off his massaging career.

  “Why are you still here?” the countess said, still gazing into the Cantonica night.

  Lexo said to her back, “I don’t know if this will help or not, but I’ve heard that it would be wise to bet against DeFancio Storsilt’s stable tonight. Maybe place a small wager on a long shot instead.”

  “I always bet on Hard Luck.”

  Lexo sighed. “Me too, Countess. Me too.”

  LEXO SOOGER DID NOT KNOW how to swim, a fact that became suddenly and terrifyingly forefront in his mind as he entered the monolithic boathouse and felt the deck sway beneath his feet.

  The Undisputed Victor was berthed exactly where the countess said it would be, and it was sleek, beautiful, and enormous. It stretched at least twenty-five meters from stem to stern, and boasted several levels culminating in a massive viewing deck with a shiny rail. Most impressive of all, it was equipped with repulsorlift technology, which could allow its lustrous hull to barely skim the water.

  A long line of impeccably attired guests waited to board. Lexo pulled up the cowl of his robe—being recognized now would ruin everything—and scanned the crowd. No one matched Jerdon Bly’s description. Maybe the arms dealer was already aboard.

  Lexo reached the front of the line, where an electronic voice said, “Invitation or passcode, please.”

  A protocol droid stood sentry at the bottom of the gangplank, flanked by two Trandoshan guards. He was an older model, refurbished but in g
ood condition, and painted pure, reflective white—a smart precaution under the Cantonica skies. He held a datapad and was checking off guests as they embarked.

  Lexo gave him the countess’s passcode.

  “Most excellent,” said the droid. “You’re expected down in the galley. Up the ramp and to your right, inside the first door, and down the stairs. Please proceed with all haste and decorum.”

  Lexo did as he was told, climbing the ramp quickly. He was much relieved to discover that the repulsorlift retrofit made the yacht feel as solid as the ground itself. If not for the sound of tiny waves lapping against the dock, he could almost forget he was on a boat at all.

  He wasn’t able to get a good look at his surroundings—much less the observation deck where his mark would probably be—before he found the aforementioned doorway and had no choice but to proceed down the steep, narrow stair into the belly of the yacht.

  The galley was in chaos, as cooks and servers and dishwashers—both organic and droid—scurried to fill trays with hors d’oeuvres, only to have them swept away, then replaced by newly washed, empty ones. Cauldrons boiled at one end, ovens baked beside them, and an automatic dispenser looked like a tentacled monster as it squirted, mixed, and arranged drinks using a variety of tubes and attachments.

  A rock of dread settled in his shoulders. The baron was expecting an enormous crowd. Based on all this flurry, it would be the party of the millennium. At least until the next party. In spite of the crowd, Lexo would have to single out one guest, assassinate him, and get away unseen.

  “You there!” hollered a droid’s voice. A refreshment tray was thrust into Lexo’s hands. On it were tiny glass cups, each filled with a bright-purple gelatinous mass. “You’re dressed well enough to serve. Head up to the observation deck and circulate. Do not speak unless spoken to. When the tray is empty, pick up any refuse and return. Now go, go, go!” Metal appendages shoved him away, and the purple gunk inside the tiny cups wobbled dangerously.

  Well, at least he now had reason to cruise the observation deck. Lexo headed back up the stairs as fast as his quivering cargo would allow.

  He took a few wrong turns before finding the center staircase leading to the top. Just as his head was breaching the deck, the mammoth doors of the boathouse swung wide, letting in the Cantonica night. The floor rumbled as the engines purred, and the yacht began a smooth, gliding journey into the open sea.

  Almost immediately someone swept by and grabbed one of the tiny glasses from his tray. She tossed it back into her throat, swallowed it with a single gulp, then returned the empty glass—all without acknowledging Lexo at all. That suited him just fine. It was best to be invisible.

  Guests were everywhere, some of them already inebriated. A few danced to a live band. Others gathered around tiny refreshment tables. Still more posed against the railing, displaying themselves to their best advantage. Lights reflected in the water from other pleasure barges, from the city itself, and from spaceships skimming the sky on their way to the port. A pleasant breeze ruffled the waves, sending only the slightest, most elegant spray against the skin of Lexo’s face.

  It was a beautiful, glorious sight, on a beautiful, glorious night, and Lexo wished with all the feeling in his shoulders that Lula could be there to share it with him.

  He resumed his search for Jerdon Bly, moving across the observation deck with perfect composure. Really, he thought, it wasn’t so different from being a masseur. Glasses disappeared from his tray table, only to reappear empty moments later. On the starboard side, partygoers crowded around a holo of the racetrack; a loud cheer went up when the first horn sounded and the fathiers burst free of their gates.

  Lexo looked everywhere, weaving in and out of dresses and stoles and robes and even the occasional personal hoverchair. He was beginning to despair when he spotted a tall humanoid creature with dark hair, speaking to Baron Attsmun near the stern.

  He hesitated, shoulders tightening. The baron was one of his clients. It’s possible he would be recognized, even cowled as he was. Then again, his clients so often remained facedown on the massage table, eyes closed. Many of them—like the baron—never deigned to acknowledge a servile being, much less really look at them. Maybe it would be fine.

  Gradually, carefully, Lexo approached.

  The dark-haired fellow laughed at something the baron said, shifting slightly…Yes! Definitely human, with black facial hair and light eyes. Lexo just needed to get close enough to confirm his mark, then figure out a way to separate him from the throng.

  “Do I know you?” asked a feminine voice.

  He nearly dropped the tray.

  Sidling up to him was a woman, a beautiful biped in an iridescent gown, with a cone-shaped head and the softest, smoothest skin he’d ever seen. He couldn’t remember her name, only that she had been a client once or twice, and had name-dropped the countess during her massage.

  “I doubt it, my lady,” Lexo said, bowing to hide his face. “I’m new to Canto Bight.”

  Her lovely eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head as if to see him better. “You Dor Namethians do look very much alike.”

  “Yes, my lady. So I’ve heard.”

  “Huh. Well, have a pleasant night.”

  “You, too, my lady.”

  He spent a dangerous moment marveling that someone like her would remember him, much less speak to a lowly server where she could be seen by everyone around. Maybe not everyone here was so bad.

  She headed away without sparing him another glance, but his shoulders did not ease in the slightest. If she could recognize him, someone he’d served twice at most, anyone could.

  Lexo returned his attention to the man who might be Jerdon Bly. In fact, the woman who’d just recognized him was heading Bly’s way. She caught the man’s eye. He paused whatever he was saying to the baron and stared at her. A lascivious grin spread across his face.

  Another glass disappeared from Lexo’s tray. He was running low and would have to return to the galley soon, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off his mark. He crept closer. Suddenly their conversation broke through the din of engines and party chatter, and Lexo could understand what they were saying.

  “Tomorrow, is it?” the baron was asking.

  “By this time tomorrow night, I’ll be the richest man in Canto Bight,” Bly crowed. But his eyes were still on the woman. What was her name? It was on the tip of Lexo’s tongue.

  “And you’re selling the same blasters to the First Order that you already sold to the Resistance?”

  “Yes, of course. Once the First Order knew the Resistance carried them, they had to have some, too. Wouldn’t do to be outgunned.”

  Contempt oozed from the baron, but he clapped Bly on the back. “Brilliant!” he said. “Simply brilliant. Oh, hello, Centada. I’m so glad you could join us tonight.”

  Centada. That was it. The woman’s name was Centada Ressad. Lexo crept closer still.

  “Introduce me,” Bly demanded. The sharp musk of attraction made Lexo’s nostrils twitch.

  The baron completed introductions, and Lexo was relieved, because even though he’d been almost certain of his mark, it was still good to hear the name Jerdon Bly spoken aloud.

  “May I steal Lady Ressad away for a while?” Bly asked.

  “By all means,” the baron said, and Lexo sensed a sudden excretion of fear. Centada Ressad did not fancy being alone with Bly.

  The baron strode away to greet a different cluster of guests, while Bly indicated that Ressad should follow him toward the railing. She did, but Lexo noted how she glanced around furtively, perhaps looking for allies.

  Two more glasses on his tray were emptied as Lexo followed the pair. He could kill Bly easily—he needed exactly seven seconds. But he had to get him alone. How? Maybe a distraction would be best. Something to draw everyone’s attention away while he did the deed.

  Bly grabbed for Ressad’s waist, but she slipped away. She was so graceful about it that it almost looked like a coincidenc
e. She laughed at something he said, but fear continued to radiate from her skin. Bly tried again, and this time he was successful. He pulled Ressad close, whispering something. She tried to squirm free. He held on tighter. Panic filled her eyes.

  Lexo dreaded killing again. Not the act itself so much as the burden of conscience that followed. But Bly being a scum would ease that burden a little. If Lula were here, she would describe him as “horrible.” Maybe she would even understand what Lexo had to do.

  Ressad continued to protest. Bly brought his face toward hers. She lifted her knee and sent her foot crashing down on his instep.

  Bly squealed in pain.

  Ressad glided away as Bly doubled over. Others in the crowd flocked to him, offering comfort, drinks, sympathy. Everyone wanted to get close to the man who would soon be the richest in Canto Bight.

  Lexo had an idea.

  His final glass was emptied, and Lexo returned to the galley.

  He dropped his empty tray full of empty glasses with the dishwasher and swept up a new one. This time, though, he did not head up to the observation deck. He found another staircase and went down instead, toward the engine room.

  He kept an eye out for likely places as he went…there! An alcove, with a door hatch that probably led to a supply closet.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?”

  Sands.

  An alien approached. Small horns jutted from each of his temples. He carried a blaster. Security, no doubt.

  Think, Lexo.

  “You are approaching an off-limits area,” the alien said, fingering something on his blaster.

  “Sir, the baron just won big in the first race of the night. To celebrate, he ordered that I bring refreshments belowdecks for you and your colleagues.”

  The security guard’s eyes narrowed.

  “I was surprised,” Lexo soldiered on. “He’s not a man known for generosity. I’m really not sure what came over him. I can assure you, though, that this particular refreshment does not have any inebriating qualities. The baron wants you to celebrate with him, but that is not an invitation to abandon your duties.”