After Salazar earned his first real sum of scrip he spent a week in a tanning booth. Anything to get away from the stigma of being a federal ward basement dweller. But even now he preferred the relaxed lighting.
The Dalphene sat a few meters back from the edge of the terrace above, casting its entrance into deepening gloom, and affording it space for a shaded cantina feel. Behind the open-air section—which would make sense if it wasn’t on a space station—stood the doors. Overhead a sign lit with actual neon lights read, “Dalphene.” Interspersed with the fluid text was the image of a woman with the lower half of a fish. The ‘D’ was made to look like a harp the woman played.
Quick-mold steel tables, blackened and distressed to give them the feel of cast iron, sat in the cantina area. Matching chairs with tall, scrolling backs sat mostly empty. Mostly.
The Kid sat in one of the chairs, his arms crossed and his big black boots on the table, close to kicking over a tall, thin tumbler of some green concoction.
Salazar walked up beside him but didn’t sit. The Kid lifted his boots off the table and let them fall to the ground. He beheld Salazar from behind his shiny, reflective shades, then pointed to a chair.
“Take a seat, if you want.”
Sal sat. “Thanks for coming.”
“Coming?” The Kid feigned surprise. “I was kind of hoping you meant some other ‘Dalphene.’ I was already here.”
Salazar grinned.
“Want something to drink?”
Sal narrowed his eyes at the kid.
“Business before pleasure,” they said at the same time.
Vance cracked a smile and Sal chuckled.
“You ready?” Salazar asked.
Vance finished off the last of the green liquid. “Let’s do it.” They stood, and the kid walked beside him as they pushed through the doors.
Dalphene’s interior was even darker than the exterior. There seemed to be sources of light everywhere, but none offered much actual illumination. Tracks of light shined onto the floor from under the raised booths. Lights glowed ghostlike under the heavy faux-wood tables. A huge holographic chandelier hung in the air without a chain, the candlelights flickering neon yellow.
“Good day gentlemen.” A balding, dark-haired man in a tuxedo greeted them from behind a glowing podium. “Party of two?”
“Actually,” Salazar said, “we already have a table under the name Sooro.”
Tuxedo nodded, looked down at the podium, and then nodded again.
“This way gentlemen.”
Sal and Vance followed the maître d’ past rows of booths. Many were empty, but a few had men and women sipping drinks and talking, and some ate. Sal could tell the second shifters from the first shifters easily: the former drank alcohol while the later drank coffee.
Sal glanced at the kid and found he was still wearing those reflective shades. He shook his head. Vance noticed and shot a curious glare at him. “What?”
Sal held his hand out. “Let me see those.”
“My shades?”
Sal nodded.
“Why?”
Sal grabbed the things off Vance’s face and held them to his own eyes. “Aha!” Through the lenses the Dalphene was brighter. Sal even saw a few elements of a low-level heads-up display.
Vance snatched them back. “Give me those!” he slapped the shades back in place.
“That’s some pretty sharp tech there, Kid. Light amplifying?”
“That’s not why I got them,” Vance said, frowning. “I got them because they look swag.”
“They probably cost swag too.”
“Not if you know the right guy.”
Salazar wouldn’t admit it, but the Kid was a natural businessman. Like with his modified repeater, like with his vision-augmenting shades, Vance was good at getting what he wanted without paying too much for it. His people skills still needed work, but his instincts would make him a fine smuggler captain when it was time for Sal to retire.
The maître d’ ignored them, turned and entered a hallway with not-wood doors on either side. He stopped, and Sal and Vance stopped too.
The maître d’ opened the door marked ‘6’ in brass, revealing a room slightly larger than the booths outside. In fact, it basically was a booth. Its walls were the high-backed red benches. The entirety of the floor was covered by the tall faux-wood table. There was extra space between the door and the booth for people to enter and exit. A tray sat on the table loaded with bowls of some kind of chips and a pitcher and empty cups, laid on their mouths.
Sitting in the corner was a lithe Sabatean, his skin a burnt umber, his eyes almost entirely black.
“Come in, gentlemen,” the Sabatean said, his voice uncharacteristically gritty for one of his kind. Sal entered and sat across from him. Vance sat next to Sal. The maître d’ closed the door behind them.
“Thank you,” Sal said. “I am Salazar Kol, Captain of the free trader Jessamine. This is my associate and protégé Vance Gosen.”
To Sal’s surprise, Vance put his fists palm-down on the table and said, “Roolaii.”
For a silent, frozen moment the Sabatean stared at Vance, Vance at the Sabatean and Sal’s eyes played ping-pong between the two, wondering what would happen next.
The Sabatean laughed a gritty, grating chuckle. “Nice try, kid. Pathetic, but nice try.”
Sal relaxed, then glared at the Kid.
“What?” Vance said, looking back at him. “Some of my playground buddies were Sabbies.”
Sal cleared his throat and turned back to the contact. “Are you Sooro?”
“I am. Care for a drink?”
Sal and Vance accepted and Sooro poured clear, bubbly liquid into three glasses then slid them across the table with the panache of a practiced bartender.
“Thanks,” Sal said, and took a swallow of the drink.
“How long have you operated here?” Vance asked. Sal worked to hide his growing surprise at the Kid. They’d been to a hundred meetings together and Vance often said nothing. Now he was Mr. Chatty.
“Fifteen years, local time.”
“Long time in one place.” Vance paused to drink. “This system seems too clean-nosed to hold up a business like yours.”
“Actually, it’s exactly the right climate for me.” Sooro fidgeted with his drink as he spoke, his fingers constantly working. “You see the local authorities keep all the big organized crime under wraps and so there’s nobody to put pressure on a wee little data broker like myself.”
Sal enjoyed his fizzy somewhat-sweet drink for a while and let the two talk. He didn’t know if Vance was so chatty because their contact was Sabatean or because he was starting to feel comfortable acting as lead. As the Kid moved the conversation from idle talk to business, Sal leaned towards the latter.
“So,” Sooro said. “I hear you two are looking for someone.”
“We are,” the Kid said, and Sal let him make the deal.
“Got a description?”
“Even better, I got a name. Tanno Anatheret.”
Sooro, in the middle of a sip, choked. He put his cup down.
“Are you kidding?”
For the first time Vance was unsure, he looked to Sal with a curious expression. Sal shrugged. The Kid looked back at Sooro.
“Why?”
Sooro lifted a cloth napkin and dried off some of the liquid that spilled from his cup. As he did his eyes flashed back and forth between Sal and Vance. He seemed to come to a decision and nodded to himself.
“Twenty thousand.”
Vance laughed. Sal hid his initial shock behind his glass until he could produce a suitable sneer to match the Kid’s play.
“Don’t worry,” the Kid said, “I still respect you, but I’m thinking something more like five thousand.”
“For a defense minister? Are you crazy?”
It was all play. Nobody in their line of work expected the first offers to be serious. In fact, if someone accepted your first offer it was a sign they planned t
o double-cross you, kill you, and take the money back. The kid talked Sooro down to a respectable eleven thousand in CAS-authorized scrip, Sal made the transaction with his link, and then Sooro surprised them.
“Eltar, Meritene Palace.”
Now it was Sal’s turn to choke. “What?”
“Your man’s on Eltar, at the Meritene Palace,” Sooro said again.
“You beady-eyed—” Vance started, but his voice held no anger. Mostly shock.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Sooro said. “Temper.”
“How do you know?” Sal asked. “Can you prove it?”
Sooro pulled a link from a pocket, tapped at it, and set it on the table. He switched it from 2d to 3d mode and a holographic projection of a talking head popped up.
“Everybody knows.” Sooro said.
Sal listened to the dark-skinned woman with the professionally attractive face.
“...authorities state that Tanno Anatheret of the Ministry of Defense is personally overseeing the Alliance’s efforts to reestablish peace on Eltar after the prosecution of Governor Vares and...”
Sal tuned the news broadcast out. Anatheret was here. He was in this system. Within arm’s reach. How could he not—
Sooro’s link halted the recording. The projection faded and his screen went red. Text spilled over the screen.
“Oops.” Sooro swiped the link from off the table before Sal could read what it said. “Well, gents. That’s my cue. Nice doing business with you.”
“Where are you going?” Vance asked as the lithe Sabatean dropped his link into his pocket and made for the door.
“If I told you, kid, I’d have to charge you.” Sooro put a hand on the door.
Vance grabbed Sooro and threw him back into his seat. He then stood up and blocked the door.
“Now, hold on. Something’s up and you’re not leaving until you tell me.”
Sal slid out of the booth to stand uncomfortably close to the Kid in the tiny standing space. Sal pulled his link and dumped another thousand credits from his account into Sooro’s.
Sooro’s link chimed. The sabatean’s face went from anxious anger to surprise. He pulled the link, looked at it, then looked at Sal.
“Consider it a professional courtesy,” Salazar said.
Sooro nodded. “The navy is coming. I’ve got a pal who analyses the station’s N-space beacons so I would know when they’re coming so I can dodge before they get here. I’m leaving the station. Now please get out of my way or I’ll miss my ship.”
Vance shook his head. “You’re about to—" but Sal tapped his shoulder. Salazar opened the door and stepped out.
“Let’s go, Kid.”
The Kid glared at Salazar for a moment but didn’t question. He stepped out too and made room for Sooro.
The Sabatean followed, shut the door behind him and started down the hall heading further away from the front entrance.
“Do you know why they’re coming?”
Sooro chuckled his gritty, grinding laugh. “Now that’s information I don’t care to know.” He waved at Sal and Vance without looking at them and walked out of sight.
Chapter Twenty-Three:
Horses and Chariots
“So, let me get this straight,” Nix said, pulling the boxes out of his bedroom closet. “This girl all the rumors are about, Remnant, is a friend of yours. She saved your life by healing you with her, like, magical powers and so you became her...what? Bodyguard?”
“Close enough,” Gan said. “But it’s not magic.”
Nix sighed, shook his head, pulled another case out.
“Okay. And when the Alliance came after you two, she told you to bring the...thing here while she got captured.”
“Right.”
“But now, because you snuck up into the administrative sector, you know the Alliance is coming here after you so you have to grab this...thing and run.”
“Correct.”
Nix pulled the little prybar from its hiding place and pried the floor of his closet open. He lifted the floor up, pulled the stasis cube out of its spot and then lowered the floor back down. Nix knelt on the floor of his room with the stasis cube on his knees. His fingers brushed the little screen showing the battery icon. It was at 50%.
“You should charge it here before you go,” he said, handing the box to Gan. “And your smartskin too, while you’re at it.”
“Thank you.” Gan dropped the cube into that strange dark backpack, then attached it to his back. Nix lowered the floor back into place, hid the prybar, and started putting the boxes back into the closet.
“Where are you going to go?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Remnant’s master will provide me with guidance.”
“Do you think you’ll go to the palace?”
“No. Not right away at least. That seems a good way to hand the enemy the thing they want most.”
“Is the Alliance really the enemy?” Nix stood and looked at the big ex-assassin.
Gan’s eyes went distant and a shadow of a smile touched his face. “We do not struggle against flesh and blood, but against...against...well, against spiritual enemies.”
“What?”
“It was something she had said. The words come from this.” Gan pointed at the backpack. “It means no person is our real enemy, but a pawn in the war against the true enemy.”
It suddenly felt cold in Nix’s bedroom. He kept his hands from hugging himself. “That’s kind of creepy.”
Gan shrugged. He stood and turned away. Nix thought he might disappear then and there. But then he turned back and presented his hand. Nix took it and shook.
“Thank you for your help,” Gan said.
Nix opened his mouth, but he was halted by the sound of the front door opening. At first Nix thought of Gallo, the big kid, coming for vengeance or Alliance soldiers come to shoot the place to bits. He looked at Gan and made for the hall.
Gan raised a hand to stop him, then disappeared.
“Niko?” The voice echoed through the hall.
“Dothin?”
Wherever Gan was, he was no longer in the way, as Nix burst out of his bedroom and into the hall.
“Dothin?” Nix ran down the hall, turned to the front door in time to see the old man drop his bag by the door. Nix stood there a second, shocked, wondering if he was dreaming or seeing a ghost. Dothin couldn’t be here because he was dead under a pile of rubble or held as a tortured captive at the palace or—
“Dothin!”
Nix ran. Dothin smiled and surrounded Nix in a hug. Nix returned it. Dothin held him at arm’s length, looking him over. Nix thanked Pattie for whatever she had given him to eliminate signs of his black eye.
“Are you okay?” Dothin asked.
“Am I okay! You were the one trapped in a warzone. Are you okay?”
“Fine, Niko, I’m fine. Thanks to the help of some old friends and some new friends. Speaking of which.”
Dothin released Nix and moved aside, revealing another person standing in the kitchen. This person stood covered in Dothin’s jacket, which was much too big for them. The face was covered by the hood pulled low.
They—she—pulled the hood back and Nix recognized her immediately. Who in the system wouldn’t recognize the pretty princess face with the smooth, fair complexion and dusting of strawberry spots about the bridge of her perfect nose.
“What the void is she doing here?”
Ashla Vares’ nervous face winced.
“Niko!”
Nix turned to Dothin’s disappointed face. “She’s at the center of the whole mess down there and you bring her here? When the Alliance comes and finds her here they’ll—”
“Wait, what?” Dothin’s eyes narrowed and his gray eyebrow curled downward.
“The Alliance Navy is sending ships here to Lodebar to take over,” Nix said.
“How do you know that?”
Nix looked around. “Um, Gan? Are you still here?”
“Who?”
“D
othin,” Nix said, holding his hands out, “don’t freak out.”
“Freak out about what?"
Gan materialized in the living room.
Dothin’s shock appeared only in a grimace twisting the wrinkles on his face. Ashla Vares screamed.
Despite his entrance Gan was far from the most exciting thing in the room. Nix jumped at the scream and he and Dothin both turned.
Ashla Vares stood as if welded to the floor. She trembled. She looked at Gan with huge, terror-filled eyes.
Dothin stepped closer to her and she took a step back.
“What is it?”
“Shaumri,” she whispered, pointing, as if they hadn’t seen the tall man in black smartskin appearing out of thin air.
Nix looked up at Gan and found surprise on his face as well.
“Nix, you and your friend need to explain yourselves.”
“I mean you no harm,” Gan said.
“What’s going on?” Nix asked.
“It’s okay,” Dothin said, taking her shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“He’s like the other one.” She was crying now, tears falling down her face.
“I know.” Dothin guided her to a chair. She sat.
“He tried to kill me.”
“I know.”
“He almost killed Cel.”
“If he meant any of us harm, he would have done it by now.”
Gan stepped forward. Ashla gasped and Dothin stuck a hand out to stop Gan without looking at him. Gan stopped.
“I give you my word,” Gan said. “I’m no longer Shaumri. I have forsaken their ways.”
“Niko,” Dothin said. Nix recognized the tone as Dothin’s ‘you’re in a metric ton of dog wat’ voice.
“Yes Dothin?”
“You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Yes sir.”
“I mean a lot.”
“Yes,” Nix sighed.
“In the meantime, it might be best for me to have a conversation with your...friend while you wait out here with my guest.”
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