by R. M. Olson
The bodyguards came in first. There were five of them, and they took their positions around the sides of the room in a no-nonsense way. Then a woman came in, with an insignia on her vest that marked her as one of Grigory’s personal bodyguards. She asked him to stand, and he did. She waved a scanner over him, checked it, then gestured him to take his seat again. Then she took her place behind the chair at the head of the table, the one directly across from Lev’s chair.
The curtain was pulled back, and Grigory stepped into the room.
He smiled at Lev, the grey streaks in his beard hardly noticeable in the soft light of the dining room.
“Lev.” His voice was hoarse, but there was a note of cold amusement in it. “It is so good of you to join me.”
Lev gave a respectful nod of his head. “It’s an honour.”
By rights, he should have called the man Krestnaya, or at the least, boss, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do that, and so he chose instead to omit a title completely.
Grigory would possibly notice. But at the same time, there was nothing inherently disrespectful in the way he’d spoken, so it was unlikely to cause comment.
For the moment.
He wondered how long it had been that he’d started making these calculations, instead of doing the smart thing right off. If he was being honest, it probably had some connection with when he started working with Jez. She had a way of rubbing off on you.
Grigory took Lev’s hand. “I’m delighted to meet with you, boy. Your friend Masha speaks highly of you, and I decided I had to speak with you myself.” He gestured around the table, and the people who had entered behind him took their seats. He recognized them at once, from government files—the woman’s medium build, pale skin, and brilliant red hair identified her immediately as Yana, the packhan of the mafia’s military arm. The other, who identified as non-binary, was Zhenya, the packan of the security arm, and the other member of the mafia trifecta. Zhenya had a slender build, dark hair, and a slight beard, and was supposed to have been one of the deadliest of Grigory’s boyeviki, long before they ascended to their current rank.
Grigory pulled back his chair and sat. Yana and Zhenya sat as well, and, after what he judged was a respectful pause, Lev took his own seat.
Grigory smiled at him, then turned to the server. “Please. Take my friend’s order first.”
Lev bit back a grimace. He’d had more experience than he’d ever wanted with ordering food at the table of a deadly crime boss, and the last time it had ended with him choking down some sort of centipede, which he’d vomited up onto said crime boss’s courtyard a few minutes later.
That had, admittedly, been mostly Jez’s fault. The centipede, that was—the vomiting had been all him.
“Sir?” the server said. He touched his com, and a three-dimensional screen appeared, the dishes rotating slowly to show their mouth-watering contents off to best effect. Lev glanced them over quickly, and touched one he was fairly certain would contain no centipede to speak of. The server nodded, then turned to Grigory.
“And you, sir? The usual, I assume?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Grigory, in his gravely voice. Yana and Zhenya ordered, Yana’s voice harsh and slightly jarring, Zhenya’s words so soft that Lev couldn’t make them out. The server seemed to, however, because he bowed again and slipped out the curtain.
Grigory smiled at Lev. “I must admit, I’m a bit disappointed. Vitali led me to understand you were a much more adventurous diner.”
Lev froze.
Grigory chuckled. “Ah Lev. Vitali and I are not on the best of terms professionally any more, and more’s the pity. But he couldn’t help but brag to me about his clever nephew. We’ve known each other for years on a personal level, your uncle and I.”
Lev forced his hands to stop trembling. “Vitali spoke to you about me?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Grigory leaned back in his chair, a wide smile on his face. “He did. He spoke of you quite highly.”
“We—parted on difficult terms last time we met,” Lev murmured.
This was true, as he was fairly certain that knocking out one of his uncle’s guards, helping break the rest of the crew out of his uncle’s prison, leaving, meanwhile, if he knew Jez, all sorts of havoc in their wake, breaking into his uncle’s most secure vaults, taking down his security system, stealing his prize ship, blowing up half his compound, blowing up an additional number of his ships who were pursuing them, and also, by the way, stealing a staggering number of credits, would qualify as ‘difficult terms.’
“Ah, yes, he did mention you left something of a mess behind you,” said Grigory. He was still smiling broadly, but the ever-present menace behind that smile set Lev’s nerves on edge. “I think he would have been disappointed if you hadn’t. If he finds you again, he’ll certainly kill you, but he was quite proud of you all the same. ‘Boy has the family brains,’ he told me.”
Lev drew in a long breath.
Being reminded of his murderous crime-boss uncle who wanted to kill him was not, honestly, the type of dinner conversation he would term relaxing.
“Well,” he said at last, forcing his face into its typical calm. “I’m flattered.”
Grigory chuckled again. “He also told me about how you ate a centipede.”
Of course he had.
Lev managed to keep from gritting his teeth. “My uncle’s ability to bring in specialty dishes is unparalleled, in my experience.” He smiled pleasantly as he watched the small barb sink in.
He’d never enjoyed being tested, especially by people who were debating killing him.
Grigory’s face darkened slightly, but at last he shook his head. “Well, you’ll judge for yourself in a few minutes.” He leaned forward on the table. “As I said, Lev, I have heard a great deal about you. But all this can wait until we have food on our plates. Conversation flavoured with salt is much more pleasant, I’ve always found.”
For a few minutes, they made small talk about the ship, and about the view, and about the luxury of the gambling hall and dining room.
“I hear,” Grigory said, “that your friend the pilot is enjoying the gambling hall. Perhaps too much. I might mention that to her, if I were you. There are people on this ship who it’s best not to get on the bad side of. I’ve asked them not to kill her outright, if possible, but it would be bad for morale if I let it go.”
“I will certainly bring it up,” Lev murmured.
Of course, bringing it up would only make Jez more determined to cheat more deadly mafia killers out of their money, but—
He sighed. This was something Masha would have to deal with, if “dealing with” was a term you could use in relation to Jez.
The food arrived, and, to Lev’s relief, it seemed to contain a noticeable lack of centipede. He took a tentative bite.
It was surprisingly good, the flavours complex and developed, the profile rich and savoury and slightly smokey. He raised his eyebrows.
“There,” said Grigory. “You think my food is as good as your uncle’s?”
“It’s delicious,” said Lev, with complete honesty. Grigory smiled at the compliment, and took a bite of his own food.
“I hire chefs here who have proved outstanding planet-side,” he said as he chewed. “I find that even the most home-loving chef is eager to come along once I’ve explained to her what she might expect out here in deep space.” He paused a moment. “And, of course, if they don’t?” He shrugged. “I had to kill a chef once. It was a pity—he was a man of many talents. But you see, in the business I’m in, you must act decisively. You may think it petty of me. You may think, there are so many chefs. If one chooses not to come, surely it’s no trouble to find another?” He paused a moment, watching Lev. “But you see, as soon as one person can say no to me—as soon as one person thinks they can get away with telling me what they will do or will not do, which orders they will follow and which they will not—then—” he spread his hands. “Then I�
��m a lost man. I’m a man waiting to be taken down by some young person rising in the ranks, who’s not afraid to kill a chef. So—” he shrugged again. “So, I killed the chef. And now I have whoever I choose come work for me here on my ship, and the food that you order is the very best of the best.”
They ate in silence for a few moments.
Lev studied the man surreptitiously as they ate.
Grigory was enjoying his meal, seeming entirely comfortable with the silence.
“Lev,” he said at last, looking up from his plate. “We aren’t all that different, you and I. Both of us grew up poor. Both of us had only our wits to get ahead. And yet, here we are.” He gestured around him expansively. “You know, I asked you all here because I wanted to speak with Masha. But—” he paused, shaking his head. “The more I looked into the people she was traveling with, the more I realized what kind of a genius she was. She’s not always going to be the smartest person in the room, Masha. But she will always be the person who knows the smartest person in the room. Her skills are getting the best of the best together. But you—you are the best of the best. You, Lev, have always been the smartest person in the room, I imagine.”
Lev gave a self-deprecating shrug, and Grigory smiled, leaning forward on the table.
“Lev. My boy. You could do well here. Most of the people here have worked their way up from the bottom, but someone like you? We could do business, you and I.”
“Perhaps,” said Lev, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
The secret was, of course, to keep him talking. Grigory clearly was trying to woo him over, but for what, he wasn’t sure. But give a person enough space, and enough time to say their piece and enough encouragement to keep them going but not quite enough to make them certain of you—well, there was almost no one he’d met who could withstand that.
Grigory placed both hands on the table, palms open. “I don’t want secrets from you, you know. I’m willing to be an open book.”
“And I am more than willing to listen,” said Lev, voice still neutral. “But I have very little information to go on, other than what Masha told me. And—” he shrugged. “You know Masha.”
It was a calculated gamble—Masha may have been playing the crew off as completely united. But he somehow doubted it. And besides, with Tae’s unhappy scowl clearly visible on the cameras that had been placed in their rooms, it would be clear to the most casual observer that they were not as united as might be hoped.
There was a gleam of interest in Grigory’s eyes. “I do know Masha,” he said, “but not, perhaps, as well as you do.”
Lev shrugged again. “I’m not sure any of us really knows Masha. She can be close-mouthed about details.”
“Ah.” Grigory nodded and leaned back slightly, and there was just a hint of satisfaction in his expression. “I can see that. From what I’ve heard, Masha has always been one to play her tokens from a closed hand.”
“You might say that,” Lev murmured, letting just a hint of wryness bleed through his tone.
“So. What do I want from you, Lev? That is a fair question.” Grigory paused a moment. “You and your friend Masha burned bridges I spent years building. And Olyessa Janovik’s people—they had some powerful members in that prison you broke out. And now they’re back at the table, and they’re bringing credits, and they have a solid hand of tokens. There are people in the government who were once on my payroll who’ve been thinking about how to use this to get ahead.”
He smiled. “None of that worries me too much. But this impasse with the government? Masha told me something about the government’s plan. Perhaps you could confirm it’s correct?”
Lev raised an eyebrow. “I assume you’re talking about the Vyernist Protocol? The program to hack into the brains of every person in the system and be able to eliminate them at will? If that’s what you’re referring to, then yes. I can confirm that that is correct.” He rubbed a spot at the base of his skull ruefully. “I can also confirm that it will be the death of me and of every other member of my crew if we don’t find a solution.”
It was possible that Masha hadn’t informed Grigory of the extent of their interest in taking down the Protocol. Still, this was a calculated gamble. If Grigory didn’t already know he and the rest of the crew had been infected, he’d find out soon, and when dealing with a man like Grigory it was always better to defuse the inevitable revelation upfront.
Grigory raised an eyebrow, although Lev was fairly certain nothing he’d said had surprised the man.
“I see. So to say you’re motivated to find a solution to that would be correct.”
Lev gave a measured nod. “Of course. I have no doubt we’ll find a solution, but time is always a factor. More of it would be useful.”
“It would be a loss indeed for people as talented as your crew to be killed.”
“Of course. Besides the admittedly personal reasons I have to regret that outcome,” said Lev dryly.
Grigory chuckled. “I like you, Lev. Your uncle was right. He told me I would.”
Lev suppressed a sigh. Of course. His murderous uncle would speak with perhaps the only person in the system more murderous than himself and give Lev a character recommendation. And it would prove to be true.
He wasn’t certain this was a form of flattery he appreciated.
“So. We’re after the same thing,” said the mafia boss. “You want to stop this program from going forward. I don’t want my rivals in the government to have that type of power—I would be a begging dog at their table, just like every other begging dog, asking for scraps in return for favours. But, Lev, I think we can solve all of our problems with one solution. As I told Masha, I’m putting on a conference. Through a friend, of course, a friend who has contacts. We can talk business, the officials who attend and I. My plans wouldn’t affect you, of course—I’m only looking to take things back to the way they were before Masha planted her explosives. And, since she’s so kindly agreed to help, I invite your government friend who’s over that program. Her top assistants. And then—” He spread his hands. “There’s an accident. You’re safe, and I’m safe, and things are back to what they were before this misunderstanding with Vitali started in the first place.”
Lev sat back in his chair and watched Grigory.
Things back to where they were.
He knew very well what ‘back to where they were’ meant—it meant Evka, experimenting on street kids in the university while everyone turned a blind eye. It meant poor families like his dying of hunger and exposure every single winter. It meant Tae’s friend Ivan, and the professor he’d met in prison, locked up for reading the wrong books or saying the wrong things, it meant Lena’s ilk preying on the edges of the system like deep-space scavengers, killing off the weak and the old and anyone, like his family, who was one cargo run gone wrong, one theft, away from starvation. It meant the mafia’s fingers all through the government, pinching and prodding and sucking out the money that had been in turn sucked from the pockets of desperate dirt-eater farmers on remote outer-rim planets.
Perhaps it said something about what had happened a few weeks ago that ‘back to where they were’ sounded almost appealing.
Still …
He smiled slightly.
Still, he could use this.
Possibly.
This was the most delicate part of the conversation.
“It appears you have things well in hand,” he said. “As you said, stopping this program is as important to you as it is to me. I’m not certain what benefits I could add to you, after Masha’s already offered to help. Or—” he paused delicately. “What benefits you’d offer me in return.”
The words landed heavily. Grigory’s expression darkened, his brows pulling lower over his piercing eyes, the simmering rage surfacing in his face for the briefest moment. And for just that moment, Lev wondered if he’d made a miscalculation.
But at last Grigory shook his head and gave a small, forced chuckle. “Lev. I do like you
. Not one to mince your words. That is a trait I can admire.” His tone under the words he spoke, though, said something different.
Grigory would kill him without a second thought.
They were hunting alongside a harobeast, and if it turned on them, it would tear them to shreds. There was no loyalty, no mercy, nothing but cold self-interest. They were alive because they were useful.
But then, Grigory could be useful as well.
“What I want you to do, Lev, is help me to plan this. It needs to go off perfectly. If what your uncle tells me is correct, planning is a talent of yours.”
Lev didn’t let the wryness creep into his smile.
He was pretty sure that since he’d met Masha, there hadn’t been a single incident he’d planned that had gone off ‘perfectly.’
Still—
“As for what I could do for you?” Grigory smiled, but there was an unmistakable menace behind it. “Well, Lev, I could keep you alive.” He paused a moment, deliberately. “From the government, of course,” he added. “Because, as you said, an error in timing is something you can’t afford at the moment.”
Lev kept his smile cool and bland, tried not to show how quickly his pulse was racing.
Grigory wasn’t telling him everything. That much was obvious. Still, as long as the man could do what he promised, any other consideration was hardly relevant.
And, of course, there was something else, too. The reason he’d agreed so readily to dinner with Grigory in the first place. Perhaps killing the minister would give him a couple months, but there was a way to stop the program completely.
Grigory was perhaps the only person in the system with the connections and resources to get to Evka.
He blinked at the familiar lightheaded rush, the blend of regret and anger and fondness and hate the thought of her flooded through his brain.
Jez, lying on his lap, blinking sleepily up at him …
“I must admit, I’m intrigued,” he said at last, slowly. “However—” he stopped, and spread his hands.