First’s fingernails dug into Loritt’s forearm as she faked an answering laugh. Then, remembering herself, she put out a hand to the alien woman. “Duchess Gertrude Harrington, recently arrived from Earth. And this is my escort for tonight, Tolos Vir.”
“Enchanted,” the alien said. “Chellir of Haswren, House Bellicont, the southern continent Belliconts, you understand. Not those no-account, nest-poaching northerners.”
“Isn’t that funny? On Earth, Europe is one of our northernmost continents, and that’s where all the oldest families hail from.”
“It’s indeed a topsy-turvy universe,” Chellir said. “What brings you so far from home, Duchess, wasn’t it?”
“Duchess is a hereditary title. You really must call me Gertrude.”
“Gertrude it is. Find me inside later. We must talk more.”
“Count on it.”
The short walk through Underbelly terminated in a sort of plaza. The entire space had been rented out, then forcibly cleared of its residents and vagabonds, disrupting their already harried schedules. Security patrolled the perimeter of the area, making no attempt to hide their presence as a way to reassure the attendees. “Don’t worry,” the guards said without speaking. “We will keep the ruffians at bay. You can feel bad for the destitute in peace, without so much as having to actually look at one. Your bubble of privilege extends even into their home.”
Loritt took his leave and peeled off immediately, leaving First to her own talents in the unfamiliar sea. Andrani waitresses—not the juveniles they’d liberated months earlier but still young and ethereal—made their way through the plaza, holding reclamation bin lids as trays for chirpip-skewer appetizers. Others carried the sort of battered buckets the hall rats collected water in, except now they were filled with ice and vintage bottles of wine and other intoxicants from a dozen worlds, each bottle individually worth more than a hall rat could hustle for in an entire cycle.
Everywhere she looked, the poverty motif was being played up for entertainment. First didn’t even try to hide the look of genuine disgust on her face. It was appropriate, after all. Many of the other attendees shared it. But while they were appalled by the conditions, the grime, the smell, she was revolted by their exploitation, their greed, and their callousness. But unless there were any telepaths in the crowd, no one would know the difference.
“Hello, Duchess Harrington,” a familiar voice said with an inflection of jovial accusation. First spun around and found herself face-to-mantle with the squid carrot again.
“Station Counsel Member Plegis,” she said. “How good to see you again. Congratulations on the election. You must be excited.”
“Call me Ulsor! And not half as excited as I was backstage at the Wolverines concert on Faan two months ago when I delivered their tour liner back to them. Not that you had anything to do with that.” Plegis pressed a fleshy, slightly protruding ring on his mantle, which First could only assume was like someone touching a finger to his nose. He leaned in and dropped his volume to a whisper. “Don’t worry, your disguise is great. I wouldn’t have known it was you or Loritt if I hadn’t invited you both. And I won’t spoil the fun. My proboscis is sealed.”
“I already voted for you, Counselor,” First said. “You don’t have to buy me.”
“Ha! Consider it a down payment on the next election, then. I won’t detain you any longer. Eat! Drink! Enjoy all the evening has to offer. The dawn always comes too soon.”
“Actually, I grew up on in the equatorial zone of a tidally locked planet. Perpetual twilight. I learned to appreciate the dawn.”
“Then you have a tentacle up on the rest of us, young human.” Plegis bowed and departed to chase down another glass of wine. First scanned the crowd. For what, she had no idea, but she trusted her instincts to know it when she saw it. But first, she spotted Sheer huddled in a far corner and nervously chewing apart a clawful of skewers. She obviously needed help. First pushed through the crowd toward her.
The Ish mechanic’s shell had long since completed its hardening, and the salmon hue of a fresh molt had been replaced by the deep, mottled crimson of good health. First had not been the only one to undergo an expensive makeover. A net of tiny woven shells hung off her carapace like a doily, while her claws, both small and large, had been filed sharp and lightly carved with intricate, curling filigree, no more than a millimeter deep so as not to impact their integrity. But the difference in hue of the relief was significant, and the illusion of depth was striking.
“Hey, Lady Glosh,” First said, using Sheer’s alias. Sheer’s eyestalks rotated to face the intruder. It was the first time either of them had seen each other in days. “It’s me,” First said. “Duchess Harrington, remember?”
Sheer looked her up and down in amazement. “Ooooh, yes. Duchess, you look so … different.”
“As do you. Are you wearing eyeliner?”
“Just a touch. It’s not too garish, is it?”
First shook her head and pointed at the skewers. “Not at all. Now throw those out and come join the party.”
“I … I can’t.”
“You have to, Glosh.”
“But everyone can see me.”
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
“No, you’re not listening. They’ll see me.” Sheer raised her big claw, just a centimeter, so only First would know what she was talking about, but the message was clear. That’s when First understood.
“Everyone will see what I am.”
“What you are”—First put her hand on Sheer’s big claw with its elegant patterning—“is beautiful. And that’s what they’ll see. A stunning Ish woman, comfortable and confident in her shell. It’s your debut, sweetie. We’re all playing a role tonight. We all get to be someone else. Be Lady Glosh. Put her on like you put on your lace and eyeliner. And if anyone gives you a hard time about it, you can always cut them in half.”
“You really think I’m beautiful?” Sheer asked.
First squeezed her claw. “I’d never lie to you.”
Sheer’s eyes turned to the rest of the plaza, taking it all in. Then, with a snap, the skewers in her small claw fell bisected to the floor. “Excuse me,” she said, then pushed past First and into the crowd. “Who does a girl have to spawn with to get a drink around here?” Sheer shouted.
CHAPTER 24
“Time to put your game faces on, hatchlings,” Loritt said to the rest of the Towed’s crew as the Change Your Luck grew enormous in the view screen. “We’ve arrived.”
First whistled low and long as she took in the measure of the Luck. She’d known on an intellectual level how big it was, but seeing it docked alongside several other ship types she’d actually seen in person, and in one case been aboard, put the whole thing into its proper scale.
And what a scale it was. If the cruise liners they’d nabbed months earlier were space-borne cities, this was a small space-borne sovereign nation state. Its hundreds of interconnected hexagonal modules stacked and spiraled out from the central spine of the ship in a random, haphazard fashion, seemingly without plan or regard for either balance or even aesthetics. The layout had been expanded and added to even in the short time since they’d gotten the most up-to-date schematics the lender had sent over in the original docket.
It would be a wallowing pig to pilot even in the best of conditions. Fenax would earn their share of the job when the time came.
“We’re actually stealing that whole damned thing?” she said rhetorically.
“Stealing half of it isn’t going to do us any good, so let’s hope so,” Fenax said.
“Was that a joke, Fenax?” Hashin asked.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
“Me either, now that I think about it,” Hashin said just before his console lit up. “We’re being hailed.”
“By Space Traffic Control?” Loritt asked. “We’ve already got docking clearance.”
“No, by the Change Your Luck itself.”
Ever
yone in the command cave exchanged concerned glances.
“Answer the hail, Hashin,” Loritt said after a rakim.
Hashin pressed an icon, and the display switched from the enormous floating casino to an incoming com feed of a familiar-looking Turemok female wearing an eye patch.
“Unidentified vessel,” the cycloptic alien blurted out aggressively. “This is Vertok Mala, Change Your Luck’s second bell security watch officer. Your projected course takes you inside our exclusion zone in less than fifty rakims. Alter course immediately to avoid our perimeter, or you will be tagged as a trespasser and referred to station security for armed interception.”
Loritt straightened himself. “Vertok Mala, this is Loritt Chessel, owner/operator of the Goes Where I’m Towed. We are on a best-time course for the docking slip we were assigned by Garlopin Space Traffic Control. We were not given any specific instructions regarding this ‘exclusion zone’ for your vessel. Indeed, I’ve personally never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, now you have,” the Turemok said. “Change course or prepare to be fired upon. This is your only warning.”
“This is highly irregular,” Loritt said. “I’ll be logging a complaint with your superior.”
“Quite frankly, I don’t give a glot what you do, so long as you change course now. Change Your Luck out.” The link cut to static.
“Fenax, adjust course to respect this ‘exclusion zone.’ We don’t want any trouble. At least, not yet.”
“Aye, boss. Adjusting heading to stay clear of the zone.”
“Is it just me,” First said, “or did that look an awful lot like Jrill wearing an eye patch?”
Loritt smiled. “There was an uncanny family resemblance, now that you mention it.”
Jrill had left a full month ahead of the rest of the team, even before they’d gone to the party in the Skins to cajole invites out of the socialites there. She’d been radio silent the entire time, focusing on infiltrating the Luck’s crew. No one had known how successful she’d been until just now. Turned out the answer was very.
“That’s good news,” Sheer said. “Let’s hope our luck doesn’t change one bit.”
“Don’t jinx it,” First said.
“Hang on,” Hashin said. “There’s a parasite signal backpacking off the transmission Jrill just sent.”
“She’s reporting in,” Loritt said. “Let’s hear it.”
Hashin shook his head. “Text only; give me a rakim to run decryption. Okay, on the viewer.”
Loritt,
Infiltration successful. On security watch rotation. Will update schedule as available. Warning: Buzzmouth spotted in system. Current whereabouts unknown.
—Jrill
Loritt grit his teeth. “Karking Soolie,” he muttered.
“The Fin?” First said. “I thought we finally got rid of that guy.”
“He always circles back around,” Loritt said, repeating something Soolie had said to him many months earlier. He’d meant it as a threat, but now it was becoming habit.
“Yeah, well, some turds don’t flush,” First said.
“How colorful.”
“Do you think his squad’s here for the Luck, too?” Sheer asked.
“Impossible,” Loritt said. “It’s a closed contract, and we signed it.”
“But you said three other firms had been offered the contract and turned it down,” Sheer said. “Someone could have spilled the chum over a drink. Soolie hears about the job and decides to go rogue on it. It’s not like the bank would turn the ship away if he shows up with it first.”
“It’s just as likely, maybe more so,” Hashin said, “that Soolie knows nothing about the job and his crew is here acting as hired muscle for one of the doubtless hundreds of shady characters on board, or running his own hustles. Gambling dens attract people like Soolie and his associates like a beacon, and they don’t get much bigger or richer than this one.”
“We should’ve cored his cobbled-together little ship when we had the chance,” First said.
“Now, now,” Loritt said. “That would have been ungentlemanly. Besides, we may yet get another chance.” He adjusted himself in the command chair, then rubbed at an annoying spasm in the elderly component in his jaw. “For now, we should proceed assuming the worst. That the Fin is here to steal our dessert course. Which means we have no time to waste. Everyone get in costume and be ready to go to work as soon as we cast over our lines.”
* * *
The Goes Where I’m Towed did its job and inserted the team into Garlopin Station as discreetly as anyone could ask for. But discreet was not how anyone wanted to make their entrance onto the Change Your Luck. Ostentatious was mundane, while subdued was suspicious. But Loritt had taken steps to prepare for their arrival. Months earlier when they’d snagged the Space for Rant, Loritt had sort of inherited the pair of reentry-rated luxe aircars in the yacht’s small craft bay.
Technically, they weren’t part of the repossession, as they’d been financed under a separate deal and long since paid off. But either the Rant’s former owner wasn’t aware they’d been financed separately or didn’t know they’d been paid off. Which, considering how poorly the Sulican had handled the rest of his finances, shouldn’t have come as much surprise. He’d never asked for them back, and Loritt hadn’t been in any great rush to cure his ignorance.
They were large cars, almost limos, and the five of them would fit inside one with seats to spare. But why use just one when you could use both at twice the fuel costs? So once the Towed was safely tied off in port and shut down and everyone was strapped down in their chairs, they launched from the cargo bay and headed for the Luck’s docking slip.
The reentry cars were really low-orbit spacecraft. They didn’t have the endurance or redundancies of true spaceships, but they didn’t need to. They were meant for ferrying passengers from larger ships in low orbit to the surface, or jetting around inside the safety perimeters of stations. Their flights never lasted more than a larim or two, and it was assumed help would always be nearby if they got into trouble.
Indeed, the only thing about them provisioned for the long haul was their onboard minibars, which Loritt took liberal advantage of. First dug into the cabinet herself only to draw a rebuke.
“You’re not old enough to drink, young lady.”
First pulled a cork out of a blue bottle. “You’re not my real dad.”
“That much is obvious, but I am your boss, and I don’t want my hacker wasted while she’s trying to integrate with one of the most complex security systems in known space.”
First sniffed the mouth of the bottle and winced. “Ah, there’s the good stuff. We’re not starting until the Luck sails tomorrow, and the security system adapts and reacts orders of magnitude too fast for me to have any chance of helping. It’s all up to the crawlers, ghosts, mimics, and spikers I’ve collected and built over the last month. I just plug them in and push Execute. So before I step out of this car in this ridiculous dress to present myself to thousands of ridiculous people, I’m going to take the edge off.”
“That’s a fortified Sulican brandy. It’ll take more than the edge off.”
“Is it really that strong?”
“You could use it as thruster propellant.”
“Excellent.” First poured two fingers of the azure liquid into a chilled crystal tumbler.
Loritt clucked his tongue. “What would your mother think?”
“She’d probably want to know why I wasn’t mixing it with opioids,” First said bitterly.
“Fine, but that’s your only one. You need to be sharp enough to maintain your cover. No slipups.”
“My cover is a European aristocrat. I’d be slipping up if anyone caught me sober past noon.”
“How did your people ever get into space?”
“Dick-measuring contest back in the mid-twentieth century.”
The car’s proximity alert chimed helpfully as it coasted into one of the Change Your Luck’s enormous sm
all craft bays. Rows and racks of reentry aircars, skiffs, and even small high-space-capable yachts filled the compartment. First’s eyes swelled like a child gawking at store shelves overflowing with toys.
“Don’t even think about it,” Loritt said quietly. “We’re here to recover the Luck for tens of millions, not to boost aircars for pocket change.”
First pawed wistfully at the window. “But they’re so pretty.”
“If we pull this off clean, you’ll be able to buy any one of them. Cash.”
First excitedly pointed at a fluorescent-green sling-racer taking up two aircar berths. “Like that one?”
“Almost any one of them,” Loritt corrected himself. Their car shuddered slightly as the compartment’s automated docking clamps reached out to grab them. “And we have arrived.”
First pointed at Loritt’s face. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Mr. Tolos?”
Loritt touched a small hand to his cheek and looked in the rearview mirror. “Oh yes! I certainly did.”
His face reorganized itself, and First felt just the littlest bit queasy. That wasn’t something she would get used to. She’d gotten used to his skinless features and lipless smiles, but seeing someone’s familiar face churn and change like that was just … wrong.
“Better?” Loritt asked.
“Different,” First said noncommittally.
“Ready, Duchess Harrington?”
“At your pleasure, Mr. Tolos.”
* * *
First had anticipated the culture shock of stepping into the crowds of the Change Your Luck, studied it, braced herself for it. But as Loritt—no, Tolos—took her hand and helped her out of the car onto unsteady heels, First realized nothing could’ve prepared her for the transition.
Every “guest” exiting from their cars on the concourse was followed around by a retinue of attendants, bodyguards, drones, and automated luggage. Their clothes, among those who wore any, were drawn from a palette of colors First had never seen in any rainbow, spun from the silks of animals she’d never seen. Her own ruinously expensive dress suddenly seemed subdued by comparison. This wasn’t like the party in the Skins. Here, no one even pretended at concern for modesty. Instead, they embraced the garish display, their peacock outfits matching the decadent décor of an artificial environment created just for them using profits siphoned off of the labors of billions, perhaps trillions of beings who would never get so much as a whiff of a place such as this. Might never even get a hint that such a place existed at all.
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