by Jett Lang
“You think I won’t report this? You think I haven’t already?” The hatch shut out the cold and the old master for good. Warmth vented throughout the cabin, and they lowered their blanket. Queen could see Five-Nine’s black trench coat whipping about in the icy gale. It had to hold its hat in place with one alloy hand, the other grasping a short, grey pistol.
While the Ringmaster was pounding on the pilot’s dark window and shouting demands, his daughter, her lithe form bundled in a thermal coat of snow leopard fur, tugged on Henry and Jeffry’s winter sleeves and directed their attention to the robot with multiple jabs of her index finger. “There, there, there,” she was saying, a frantic expression on her innocent face. Queen was not glad she was able to witness that before the hovercraft lifted off. The Ringmaster slammed a fist on the window one last time, and left a dent that rattled the pilot.
“Guy’s majorly enhanced.”
“Arrival time,” Syntheia said.
The pilot shot back a two hour ETA, cited afternoon traffic for the delay. Syntheia waved a half-hearted hand: Proceed. His focus switched to his viewport and flight wheel, both the same dark shade as everything else inside the vehicle. Beyond the frontal tint, a lead sky was cracked intermittently by blades of silver light.
And beneath that sky, the city of Prosperity.
※
“What is it you desire?”
Syntheia sat in a wingback chair, red satin and black enamel. It was situated beside a fireplace set aflame by a single button press on the dark granite mantel. The room itself was high-ceilinged and wide – an office not dissimilar from Mr. Chamber’s own, but with a touch of darkness that not even the fire could penetrate completely. Jack and Queen had been blindfolded not long after entering the hovercraft. “For your safety,” one of the juggernauts had said, oddly apologetic. But someone unseen had taken the blindfolds off and quit the room they stood within. Queen hadn’t looked back to see who it was, hadn’t cared. She observed Syntheia, her long-sought quarry, while the woman poured herself a glass of red wine from a crystal decanter.
“Money,” Jack said. “A good tumble.”
Syntheia smirked at Queen. “I can see why you keep this one around.”
“He has issues.”
“That I do,” he said.
The humor dropped from Syntheia as she regarded the hearth flames. Faux logs crackled, the electric fire swaying in eyes where pupil and iris merged into one inseparable color. Black eyes like Philip’s. Her shoulder-length blonde locks curled and framed her face. Surgical symmetry. A natural beauty made perfect under the exactness of the knife. Only the best for daddy’s little girl.
“Sit,” she said.
Jack and Queen obliged, taking to a pair of matching chairs in front of Syntheia. A low, black-tiled table between them was populated with a bounty of sliced cheeses and dried meats on a wooden cutting board. At the end of the table, wine glasses and bottles: red and white. Jack stared at the spread with the wary longing of a desert wanderer, uncertain of the image but aware of his need.
“Poisoned, you believe,” Syntheia said, following his gaze. “Why would I end a thing I have saved?”
Queen popped a bite of cheddar into her mouth and poured herself a glass of red. As she chewed and drank, her toxin indicators had nothing to say on the matter.
“It’s clean.” She loaded up a small, gold-filigreed plate with a healthy portion of everything. Jack needed no more encouragement. Queen licked the grease from her fingertips. “So, what’re you proposing? I’ll assume it involves killing and keeping our mouths shut for the rest of our lives. I’m sure you’re aware of how proficient we are at that.”
“Hit or miss, as of late,” Syntheia said. “However, I cannot blame you for stumbling. You have found yourself embroiled in events which defy your paygrade.”
“We need to clear things up first before you go on: Why did your men try to kill us back in Angel Bay?”
“I had to test you. Your records preceded you, but I prefer empirical evidence over documentation.” Syntheia faced them, brushed a rogue strand of hair from her forehead. “And if my men had succeeded, well, I would have put Philip under house arrest until your replacements could be found.”
“You planned it out, step by step. What about Five-Nine? Is it–”
“Under my employ now, yes.”
“You bribed a machine,” Jack said. “There’s a new one.”
“It bribed itself. Philip’s files contained a virus.”
“You turned it,” Queen said.
Syntheia inclined her head. “One of my hirelings is a rather astute manipulator of software. He was a lucky find.”
“And by extension that makes you an astute manipulator of software,” Jack reasoned with a mocking edge.
“Careful, Jack,” Syntheia said with more patience than he deserved. “You are a useful tool, but nothing I cannot replace.”
Queen frowned at him, nudged his side with her elbow: Behave. He stared passively at their host, then looked to Queen. “Yeah, yeah.”
Syntheia pantomimed a whip with the corresponding sound effect. “You see what women can do once our claws are dug in?”
“I’m beginnin’ to.” Jack stacked another generous helping of sliced meats onto his plate.
“Then what I am about to ask should come easy,” Syntheia said. She set her glass on an ornate pine stand. “I asked what you desired most. What is your answer?”
Queen bit the inside of her lip. “What are you offering?”
Syntheia closed her eyes and locked her fingers upon her lap. “A question is not an answer.”
Queen had no doubt she could spring out of her chair at that very moment and end the woman, but then what? She and Jack would likely die a second after, either by an unseen security system or the guardsmen listening outside. Then it would be over – really over. Maybe if she just had herself to consider, she could do that without regret.
Now there was Jack, his confession in the trunk of the hovercraft worming around in her mind and forcing hesitation. If there was a safer option, one where he could walk out of this without further injury, it was a route worth exploring. Whether or not Syntheia would deliver was undetermined. Thus far, the woman had shown them a candid hospitality, which was more than she could say for Chamber.
But there was guile to Syntheia, secrecy. These were inescapable qualities for a woman of her status, and she carried it with a discreet confidence that Queen admired. This was the person that could get her career back on the rails.
“I want a job, steady pay; for me and him.”
“That can be arranged.” Syntheia opened her eyelids halfway. “Do you know what I want?”
“You want Chamber gone. A loose end tied up.”
“You get ahead of yourself, yet you are not mistaken. He will die when the merger is assured. For that to happen, my father, Wayne, must die.”
Jack placed his full plate on the black-tiled table. “There’s a certain rank where a man can’t be harmed by anyone, includin’ his kids. There’s a balance to this. You disturb it and the whole structure changes.”
“It all changes in time,” Syntheia said. She peered at Jack with a peculiar fascination.
“Gradually, not rapidly. This is how empires fall, how societies die. Lack of foresight, siblin’ infightin’. Revenge. You don’t think the world is fragile enough without you cleanin’ house? That kind of power struggle is dangerous. Too dangerous now.”
Syntheia’s jaw tightened. “I will no longer let old men dictate the how and why of my life. I will not allow their rules to stay my hand. My father shall suffer for what he has done, and Chamber for the puppet he wishes to make me. I have spared both of you from the tide, yet I have seen no graciousness from either of you. As your new employer, I cannot abide by this.” She stood, her shadow flickering rhythmically. Her features lightened, but her eyes were still hard.
“We want the job,” Queen said. “Right, Jack?” She grasped his forearm
, kept the grip even as he tried to shake her off. She was not going to have him sabotage their possible career-salvation. Not after all the grief she’d overcome getting here. Queen gave him that significant look encoded into every generation of female, then he cooled his nerves and relaxed. She let go, rested both pale hands upon her lap.
“We’ll work for you. Whatever you need, we’re there.”
“That’s right,” Jack said to the fireplace.
Syntheia reseated herself. The woman would not stomach insults. Not to the degree Jack was accustomed. But there was something else. A woman of Syntheia’s wealth and status did not lightly cast her anger upon just anyone – not unless Jack’s words rung true. What was it Murdoc had said, that he was untouchable?
Oftentimes the city’s top tier were the ones requesting liquidations, and they paid extremely well for even minor work. It made good business sense not to bite the hand that fed the company by killing anyone more important than low-level managers and union leaders. Small time hits. Beyond the city, where the laws of state went unheeded, she could exterminate anyone deemed a threat. Foresight Policy, it was called. Murder at her discretion, as long as it was untraceable and clean.
But she wasn’t in the wildlands outside the city. She was in Prosperity, where rules governed civilized people. If she’d had her job, and her apartment, and her five thousand credit bed, she might give a shit about regulations and the untouchable corporate elite. About the balance of power. But not when she was broke, and certainly not when the other option meant a swift demise for her and whatever Jack was to her.
“My father is your first target,” Syntheia said. “He is aware of Philip’s fate, but not of Andrew’s.”
The other brother. “Where is he?” Queen said.
“Here.”
“Alive?”
“Yes. He will act as my bargaining chip, along with the correspondence Five-Nine extracted from Philip’s computer. Father was foolish to allow that pathetic little junky access to the network in the first place. Now his mistake will work against him.”
Queen edged forward, her plate forgotten on the low table. “And when do we come into play?”
“Not yet,” Syntheia said. “As the plan progresses, you shall learn everything you need to know.”
She rose again and strolled to the granite hearth, the flames captured in its gem-like smoothness. There was a picture on the mantel that Queen could make out from where she sat. Five people gathered on a well-manicured yard. A manor in the background, a sky of pure blue and milky white behind this – a private dome. Two boys, one girl, a man, and a woman. It was old, not a high-rendered holo-picture like she was accustomed, but gilt-framed and glassed-in. Smudged.
“The gentleman who brought you here will show you to your quarters. There is much to be done.” Syntheia took the frame in both hands as the large cherrywood door behind Queen and Jack opened on noisy brass hinges.
“Your room is prepared,” said a tired male voice from the threshold. Footsteps whispered on the carpet in the hallway, and Jack was the first to leave. Queen lingered at the doorway, saw Syntheia clutch the photograph. Clutch it until her fingers were winter-white.
※
The guest quarters were a compact facsimile of Syntheia’s office, minus the niceties. Two twin beds, sheeted exactly, pressed against the far wall with a cherrywood nightstand between them. In the center of the room, beneath an overhanging mosaic lamp shade, was a table and two stools made of the same material as the nightstand. Queen went straight for the bed.
While she was unzipping her jacket and unclasping her boots, Jack said, “I can’t believe you.”
“What do you mean?” she said, knowing full well what he meant.
“She can’t kill two major players like this. It’ll destabilize all the states – everythin’ – faster than you can imagine.” He hobbled over to sit on the bed across from her.
“Why do you care? You gave it all up. You gave up the company, you gave up your loyalties. I don’t understand why you’re leaping to the defense of a bunch of faceless corporate bodies. Or are you lying to me, and you’re still working for them?” She folded her jacket and laid it at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t do that.”
“We don’t have a choice here, we never did. We’re swept along in this fucking intrigue, so put your helmet on. What are you not getting here?”
“Why you’re so compliant, and why you don’t care about the repercussions.”
“Do you not want to live? Is that it? Because I do, and I would hope you do, too. Am I wrong?”
“No. But we gotta draw the line somewhere. This is bigger than us.”
“There is no line,” Queen said. “If we don’t kill Wayne, then Wayne is going to kill us. It’s the same outside the city as it is inside. You think our skyscrapers and walls somehow make us good? I know you’re a smarter man than that, Jack.”
“We have to be careful here; we don’t know what she’s capable of. Or what kind of world that’ll remain after she’s done with her revenge.”
“It’ll be one where we’re employed, I can tell you that. That’s the only world I’m interested in.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
Queen sighed and shook her head. “Of course I can’t. It’s all dice and dreams at this point, but what’s the alternative?”
“Some things are more important than a career.” He moved from his bed to hers, and the springs whined. “Old bed, old place.”
“There’s the start of a poem. Probably a bad one.”
“Well, that’s your bag, not mine.”
She leaned against him, and he slipped an arm about her waist. “Not anymore.”
“I did see some books in the corner.” He nodded to a shelf embedded in one of the walls.
“Why don’t you go get something and read to me?”
“And here we were about to have relations.”
“Because we’re on a ‘penetration basis,’ you think?” She smiled and withdrew from his embrace, laid back in bed.
Jack went to retrieve the literature. What he brought back was a leather-bound tome, the pages yellowed, the border coated in silver. He wet his finger and leafed through it, sat back beside her.
“Anythin’ in particular?”
Queen propped her feet in his lap. “No. Just read, reading monkey.”
※
Her mother was reading to her beside her bed. She saw herself lying there, no more than six or seven, her white hair down to her shoulders and her small, weak body clothed in colorless pajamas that would soon be too short. Vertical striped walls of alternating pink and blue were cast in a nightlight glow. So much like her old room. No eyes or mouth on her mother’s face, but Queen could have recognized her anywhere. Could never forget. She could hear someone crying. Not her mother or Little Self, but a man.
There was a white metal door in the middle of the room, freestanding, that she hadn’t noticed before. Closer, the crying was louder. Underneath the crying was chatter, low and somber. A doctor. She knew it was a doctor. And the sob sounded so much like her father. She turned to her mother. There was a large book in her dark hands, and as Queen neared the pages filled with stanzas of gibberish. None of it legible. The title on the top, though-
The book slammed shut with thunderous resonance. Her faceless mother and Little Self stared up at her. Her Little Self’s expression contorted into the same mocking hatred as the boy that had taken a bite out of her ear in New Paradise. Little Self, too, was missing a lobe chunk. Teeth marks edged the wound.
“Hey lady,” Little Self said, red eyes and pink lips smiling. Blood oozed between overlarge white teeth. “You should take a look at yourself. You’re falling apart.”
She laughed wildly. Tendrils of blood and spittle sizzled and burned her albino flesh to the bone; her chin melted in an instant. Queen tried to look away, but her mother stood and grabbed the back of her head. Forced her onto her knees as blood boiled out of L
ittle Self’s every pour. The mattress swelled crimson. Slurry of organs and viscera poured over the side and onto Queen’s knees.
Molten heat splashed onto her. She screamed.
※
Queen awoke in a cold sweat. Jack slumbered in the dark, and the peaceful rhythm of his breathing did not ease her. Overhead, the ceiling seemed to go on forever. Black, impenetrable.
It was just a dream.
She slid out of the downy comforter, padded across the redwood floor and discovered the door locked. The brass knob was unyieldingly secure.
“Typical,” she whispered, and pressed her ear up against the door’s cool, varnished surface. No footfalls in the hallway or revealing conversation between two employees. Hardly ever was. Airtight operations did not permit loose-lips.
She strolled back to the table and pulled out a chair. She was without luggage, without armaments, and without anything common to her profession. It was maddening to be defenseless. To be stripped of everything she had worked so hard to build up, to have it taken with frightening ease by so many people, at such a blurring speed. She had been cautious and distrusting from the beginning. That’s how she survived. And it hadn’t been enough.
She wondered who it was that left the bomb for the hawkish man back in New Paradise. The bomb that had detonated her relatively stable life. A low-echelon flunky of Wayne’s empire, surely. Chamber had never said who it was, and thinking of it nagged her. A small detail in the scheme of things, but a major security hazard for New Paradise. Though, that city wasn’t her problem anymore: She had to remind herself the same way she reminded Jack, despite how alien the concept seemed. It was done. What mattered was getting her job, not some lackey carrying out orders.
She flexed her fingers, looked over at Jack, his back lit by green alarm clock numbers. He was important to her. She couldn’t get away from that. She’d been distrusting and cautious of everything but him. Still, she wasn’t sure she believed his motives entirely. That bothered her more than anything – uncertainty.