He couldn’t believe he had come so close. Keraunos was in his hands. Hei Gezi was in his sights, and Ursza would either come with him or be dead in a matter of days. He didn’t enjoy that last idea, but he decided he could live with a successful mission. Now, he was starting from scratch again.
He sat in the back of the amphib while Ness piloted them through the darkness back to Nakano City. The sea air had a smell and taste unlike anything he was familiar with on Earth. Not clean, but at least more pleasant than Tahmo Island had been two days before. Ness kept one eye on the controls and handed him her datapad, scowling. “While you’re out playing in the woods with the kids, all hell is breaking loose in the city.” Her expression was neutral, but not quite detached.
He grabbed the pad and started scrolling through newsfeeds — street gangs, criminal organizations, resistance fighters. He put the pad down and began rubbing his eyes. His head was still throbbing from the beating he’d taken from the Ninja, to say nothing of being within a meter of a stuncap when it went off. Now, after twenty minutes of bobbing over waves in an amphib, he was slowly adding nausea to his list of ailments. “Can you give me headlines? It’s been a rough night.”
“With Shard about to be a very limited commodity, the factions who kept a stockpile are sitting on a goldmine, while the others are facing disaster with a percentage of their most desirable recruits now on a ticking clock before withdrawal starts. It’s accelerating everything.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer group of people, as far as I’m concerned.”
“The correction vendors are making their money at least. I’ve never seen so many variant truths out there.” Ness laughed. “My last correction stated that Tachibana’s Shadow was now responsible for the starport bombing. This put a crimp in their plans to go to war with Dark Serpent, since now the Avengers of Red Mountain and Gi-no Gunzei have thrown in against them.”
“Over a starport bombing? Why would Tachibana’s Shadow bomb a starport?”
Ness looked up. Six drones, noticeable only by the reflection of moonlight on their silvery surface, flew overhead towards Klein’s island compound. She didn’t speak until they lost sight of them in the darkness.
“The practical answer is: because Mother Eye wants them removed from the board, probably so their Shard addicted recruits will go running to the government and spill all that they know about the other factions in exchange for leniency and a fix.”
Clay switched to rubbing at his temples. “While the local civics lesson is extremely entertaining, if frustrating, the mission is to find that Ninja and get Keraunos. For that, we need to use the Shard that I’ve got to get Ursza to help us. The problem is finding her.”
“The easiest way to do that would be to ask someone who regularly works with her, you know, like Sem Talbot or Nils Hoefer. Oh, wait, they’re indisposed now.” She paused and pointed to her right. Clay spotted another amphib with the assistance of his ocular implant. There were six men on them. Security team, he thought, not Tokusha.
He sneered. “Dre Berger’s alive, and I’m betting he’d also like a word with Ursza after she tried to pin Hoefer’s murder on him.”
“Yes, and he’d probably like a word with you for the same reason.”
“In which case, I won’t need to worry about not having an appointment to see him.”
“Clay, maybe he gave you the wrong impression when he was drooling over Nils Hoeffer more than he was over a yorohito on a yishi table, but you do realize he didn’t get to be manager of the Hotel Fontaine because of his skills as a businessman, right? He might use you to fertilize the plants in his lobby.”
“He’s a basic opportunistic influence peddler. Of all the odd people, strange vices, and crazy politics I’ve dealt with on this insane planet, Berger is the only one I even halfway understand. I can handle him.”
#
Clay wandered into the first floor of the Hotel Fontaine, smiled politely at the holographic concierge, and proceeded straight to the lounge where Ursza had slipped him the yishi chit two days prior. He signaled for the bartender and ordered a bourbon and settled back to watch the newsfeeds, confident that he was on somebody’s radar by now, judging by the number of otherwise invisible surveillance cameras his ocular implant was picking up.
The newsfeed on the holodisplay behind the bar flickered. According to the story, the Eyes of Ball were being blamed for a home invasion and burglary of the island compound of Markus Klein, resulting in significant injury to Klein and two staffers, as well as the deaths of four security guards and the maiming of a third. There was no mention of what, if anything, was supposedly stolen.
“It’s awfully late to be out drinking, don’t you think?” a female voice asked from behind him. Clay stood up and turned, not wanting to be caught flat-footed.
“Vivaine,” he said warmly. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again. I’m sorry I missed your show on the yishi table last night.”
Vivaine smiled. “Mmmmm. You missed a good one. They broke two of my ribs early, so breathing was excruciating. Then one of the younger boys got a real charge out of breaking my fingers one at a time. I’d never experienced that before. This younger generation can be very inventive.”
“So, a couple of hours on an autodoc and you’re back at work the next day?” He tried not to visibly wince and almost considered activating his anti-deception routines to keep his heart rate and pupil dilation in check, but decided against it when he realized Vivaine wasn’t paying attention to him but instead scanned the room, as if looking for someone.
“I have a guild-issued regen unit that is hospital-grade. Nothing but a bit of discoloration and some soreness today.” She wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. Clay saw only the faintest bruising on the knuckles. “So, why are you here? Not enough action the other day?”
“I was hoping to get a word with your boss,” Clay said.
“Yes, I thought you might be. That’s why I came over. You need to leave, now. He wants you dead, you know. Killing you himself would be a bonus.”
“Yes, that’s part of why I’m here. I thought we might be able to come to terms.”
“I find that a very unlikely possibility. Mr. Berger doesn’t do terms. He’s a very busy man. A man who is used to getting what he wants.”
“Exactly, and I believe I have something he wants,” Clay said confidently.
Vivaine turned and looked him in the eyes, and for the first time, he saw fear on her face. Seconds later, there was a cough behind his back, and a large man in a gray suit stepped between them.
“Mr. Gerard,” he said politely, “My name is Jager. I am to escort you to Mr. Berger’s suite.”
Vivaine deflated instantly, finished her drink, and set it on the counter. Clay took this as a cue to do the same. Jager quickly frisked Clay, removing his identicard, pocket terminal, and plaser. He then led them out of the lounge, where two formally dressed guards led them to the elevator and up to the 89th floor, Jager cautiously taking position in the back of the car.
Clay resisted the urge to make a frivolous joke as the car carried the five of them up for what seemed like an unusually long ride. When the doors finally parted, the pool deck and dining area were dimly lit and empty. A bartender who appeared to be cleaning up after a rather busy night looked up, examined the group, and promptly went back to work.
The guards marched them into the same suite that, two days earlier, had held the yishi party, still immaculately decorated with the same marble statues, though furniture had now been brought back in. When they entered the parlor, a large grand piano sat in the corner where Hoefer and Berger had been standing the night before. He wasn’t sure if the table was the same.
They walked down the hall into the room where Hoefer had met his end. Dre Berger was leaning against the desk, watching the doorway for their arrival, arms folded across his chest. An overweight man with thinning white hair sat in a wingback chair to his left, sipping a clear drink in a wide-bottomed glass. A third man, with a tangle of red hair, was standing in the window looking out over the city, hands clasped behind his back. When the group entered, he turned around. Clay recognized him instantly as Obryn, Klein’s traveling companion on the Maguro.
Jager crossed the room and immediately handed Berger Clay’s identicard, terminal, and sidearm. Berger spent twenty seconds examining all three, keeping the gun in his hand and placing the other two items on his desk.
“Mr. Girard,” Berger said, not warmly, but without aggression, “infamous party crasher, murder suspect, horrible dresser. What brings you to my humble establishment again? Would you like a drink?” He gestured to a small liquor counter in the corner. “Jager, make the man a drink.”
Clay leaned forward in the chair. This was the “rapport-building part of the interrogation,” he decided. It was best to lay the groundwork here before Berger lays down dominance. “My apologies for the other night, Mr. Berger. I understand you are no doubt angry about having Hoefer’s murder pinned on you like—”
“Angry?!” Hoefer laughed. “I thought it was hilarious, as did everyone else in the room. How could I logistically have shot Hoefer? For that matter, why would I shoot Hoefer?”
“I see, in that case—”
“Oh, I knew some of the shady stuff he was into,” Hoefer interrupted. “Beating girls, even if they were only yorohito, was the least of his sins. Still, he was one of my best customers, and he paid his bills. Well, that is up until somebody puts a plasma bolt in his face right here in my office, while the suite outside was full of very important people.”
Jager handed Clay a tumbler with bourbon and ice. Clay took the glass and rested his hand on the armrest of the chair, not daring to drink it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Vivaine saunter over to the bar and make a drink for herself. She seemed unconcerned with the conversation.
“So, Mr. Girard, what would possess you to come back here, knowing I wouldn’t exactly be happy to see you?”
“Bonai Saigo sent me here to strike a partnership with Locke to develop a certain technology. Hoefer tried to steal the plans for that tech, but the girl, Venter, double-crossed him and has likely already sold them to another buyer. I need to get to her, find out where they are, and get them back.”
“And this is my concern? What made you think I would help you?”
“A business proposition,” Clay said calmly.
“It’s very hard to do business with a dead man.” Berger laughed at his joke and waved Clay’s gun nonchalantly. The large man in the chair opposite Clay rolled his eyes and shifted his weight, bored.
Vivaine crossed the room to Clay’s other side and leaned against the wall, watching him intently with an unsettling smile as she sipped on a long-stemmed glass of the ubiquitous green liqueur.
Obryn straightened and walked to the other side of the room next to the large man in the chair. He was walking with a very noticeable limp. “Come off it, Berger, your business will be back to normal next week, you had no love for Hoefer, and you’re no killer. You’re not going to harm him, and he can read that all over your face.”
Clay smiled, nodding his head at Obryn’s leg. “You appear to have had a rough night, Mr. Obryn.”
“Comes with the lifestyle, I’m afraid, but nothing I can’t handle, I assure you.” Obryn smiled, then nodded back to the man in the chair.
“Well, I hope the other guy fared worse, then.”
“As you say,“ Obryn smiled coldly, then gestured to the large man seated opposite Clay. “Alexandre Girard, this is Max van Rijn, head of another of those organizations your company is loath to do business with.”
Clay attempted to look uncomfortable. “Let me guess. Eyes of Baal?”
“The Eyes?!” Van Rijn laughed heartily. “What do they care about off-world businessmen? They never leave Harba City. No, sir, I am the head of the Dark Serpent Cartel,” he attempted to make the name sound scary, but then dismissed this notion.
“Well, then, I’m honored. From what I’ve heard, you’re the new big player on this planet.”
He heard Vivaine stir behind him as she crossed the room, set her empty glass on the table in front of Clay, and moved to stand next to Obryn.
Van Rijn scoffed. “And where did you hear that?”
Clay shrugged. “It was on the news. Avengers of Red Mountain and Gi-no Gunzei are backing you in your war against Tachibana’s Shadow.”
“Ah, Mother Eye, of course.” Van Rijn rolled his eyes. “We had no interest in Tachibana’s Shadow until Mother Eye suggested we were going to war with them. We merely called in favors to get the protection of ARM and Gi-no Gunzei, in case the Shadow took the report seriously. Later, we found out that Tachibana’s Shadow all but collapsed under their own infighting over Hoefer’s position. Their leaders went to a half-dozen other factions, their foot soldiers went to Cerberus.”
Obryn shook his head. “Cerberus is not our concern—”
“Enough talk,” Berger half-shouted, still waving Clay’s gun around. “I’m more interested in what Mr. Girard here is offering in exchange for the girl.” Finally, he set the gun down on the desk and sat down in an oversized chair.
Clay stared at him. “Sem Talbot is dead. He was the sole source of Shard on this world. Sure, some of the bigger players have stockpiles, but eventually they’ll run out unless someone comes forth with a new source. It could be leverage for someone–”
Vivaine slid her hand down the wall as she walked from Obryn to Van Rijn, caressing the back of his chair with an odd look on her face. She looked up at Jager and winked.
“It’s a synthetic compound of his own making, not something you just stumble on by accident. I’m certain Talbot took that secret to his grave,” Berger continued.
“Nonetheless, I believe I have his process. He wasn’t stupid, but he was arrogant enough to have it on a large holo-display in his office.”
Berger considered this, then shook his head. “Maybe you don’t know how many people come to me every month claiming they’ve cracked the process and have the secret to making Shard. I’m not buying it. If you’re so sure you’ve got something, take it back to Bonai Saigo and do it yourself.”
“I have no interest in anything like that, I just want the girl. Deliver her, or at least tell me how I can get in touch with her. The formula is yours. Maybe it’s legit, maybe not. The only thing I took from it was a favor, and I can always pay that back.”
Vivaine let out an insane little giggle and grinned wildly. Something was suddenly very “off” with her, Clay decided. She was possibly high on something, judging by the look on her face.
Berger seemed to ponder Clay’s offer for a moment, then he walked back around his desk and sat down. “Very generous. I believe I will pass.”
“Why? It’s a good deal, Berger.”
“It’s an excellent deal, except that several people are protecting her, I suspect.”
“Who’s protecting her?” Clay kept his tone business-like.
Berger recoiled in confusion. “Who!? Well, for one thing, a rather vicious martial artist and assassin is very protective of her. After that, the government apparently wants her alive. Why do you think the newsnets blamed Hoefer’s murder on you, the boring off-world businessman, instead of her, the mysterious operative who has worked for every faction on the planet at one point or another and currently keeps an assassin’s appointment calendar?” He wrung his hands nervously. Clay heard Jager shifting his weight behind him. “I’m just a hotel keeper who doesn’t take sides in that kind of stuff. Hell, right now, ten factions that are likely to be at war tomorrow, rented rooms and gambled in my casino tonight. Why? Because I run a legit business and I plan to keep it that way.”
It was that exact instant when Vivaine chose to strike. As soon as she raised her left arm, Clay caught the glint of a steel blade in her hand, headed for Max Van Rijn’s neck. He instantly stood up, kicked Van Rijn’s chair over and out of her striking range, and secured her wrist before Jager had even pulled his sidearm from its shoulder holster. Berger instantly recoiled in his chair and slid backward. Obryn stood upright and made two steps forward towards them, watching the situation carefully, still heavily favoring his right leg.
Vivaine looked at the blade in her hand, then at Clay. Her face immediately turned to concern. “Don’t. Stay out of this,” she whispered, her voice almost a plea.
The two struggled over the blade. Clay pulled her arm down in an attempt to lock it behind her back, but she countered with a knee to his stomach, causing him to lose his grip long enough for her to twist and break the hold. She slashed out, barely missing his chest. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Her face had a contorted grin of pleasure. She was breathing deeply and slowly, almost a sigh of contentment.
“Shoot her, you idiot!” Berger yelled at Jager, who stood frozen next to Clay, gun aimed at Vivaine the entire time.
“But … it’s Vivaine, boss,” Jager protested.
“I said shoot her!”
Vivaine charged Jager, slashing wildly. He raised his gun, and she caught him with a deep gash that made him recoil. Clay stepped in behind her, hooked her knife arm with his, lifted the blade above her head, and planted a right cross on her jaw that, while it connected badly, certainly hurt. She growled and grabbed the knife in both hands, attempting to break his hold.
The two stumbled backward. Vivaine brought the knife straight down, catching Clay’s bicep but missing his torso completely as he pivoted. He moved in, four hands now wrestling for the blade, and twisted her arms, trying to force her to drop the knife. Vivaine only laughed, blood gushing from her mouth from the punch he’d thrown. Still refusing to drop the knife, no matter how hard he twisted.
She spat a mouthful of blood into his face and began kicking, screaming, and biting. In the chaos, he felt her wrist slipping out of his grip. She was out of control and had left him no options. He pushed in again and twisted, felt her wrist break as the knife came free, and drove the blade straight up under her sternum. There was a yelp of surprise, almost ecstasy, then her eyes went blank, and she crumpled to the floor.
Berger was beside himself, his desk chair against the far wall. Van Rijm slowly pulled himself up from the floor and straightened his jacket. Obryn, calm as ever, slowly limped back to his original spot, leaning on a cadenza. Jager was nursing his bleeding arm, his face ghostly white as he looked from Vivaine’s body to Berger. Clay picked up Jager’s discarded sidearm from the floor and held it at his side, not sure whom to trust at this point.
Berger stood up slowly. His jaw dropped, and his face conveyed shock and dismay. He looked at the bloodied, lifeless form of Vivaine, then at Clay. “She was yorohito!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got her guild credentials. It should be impossible for her to hurt anyone.”
“The rumors are true,” Obryn whispered. “I’ve heard talk of this. They’ve figured out how to corrupt the conditioning. Turn the trigger from emotional or physical pleasure to pain and suffering.”
Berger shook his head. “You’re saying she enjoyed that the way she enjoyed giving men a rush in a yishi ceremony?”
Obryn nodded. “What better way to disguise the corruption? You think she was riding an endorphin high from the men’s arousal. She was actually getting it from witnessing the pain and violence.“
Clay set the knife down on Berger’s desk and grabbed his confiscated belongings. “Who? Who’s figured out how to corrupt yorohito?”
“Prevo,” Obryn said quietly.
Berger shook his head in disbelief. “Jager, go downstairs and find someone to clean up this mess, then kick all the yorohito out of the lounge, and tell Lukas not to let any yorohito in without running it by me first … wait … what am I saying. Tell Lukas to do all that. You’re fired!”
Slowly, Jager set Clay’s personal effects he’d taken from the bar on the table, then turned and quietly left.
Berger nodded to Clay. “Just a businessman from Procyon, eh? Obviously not. Who do you work for then? Couldn’t be one of the factions, I know everybody there. Couldn’t be Prevo, she was his and tried to take your face off just now. So, who’s your boss? The Raven? Tarek Saleh? Hell, maybe you are one of them?”
Clay examined Jager’s dropped plaser and slipped it into his pocket. “Look, Berger, you don’t want to be a Shard dealer, that’s fine, but I’ve got to find that girl. Are you going to help me, or do you want to be on my bad side?”
“Hey,” Berger held up both hands. “I’d love to help you, but honestly, I run a hotel. There isn’t much call to hire ninja assassins. If anyone inquired, I would refer them to any faction head who has done business with her. Sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”
Clay glared at Van Rijm, who merely smiled. “I owe you no small debt for saving my life, my friend, but alas, I have no idea how to contact her either. In the past, she has always seemed to know when I needed such services, and simply appeared.”
“I heard a rumor that Talbot rented an apartment for her in Low Town, down on the eastern shore,” Obryn offered.
“That’s less than helpful,” Van Rijm said, “there are thousands of apartments in Low Town, and the people who live there are more likely to skin him alive for being a suspected off-worlder or Tokusha than they are to help a stranger find one of their own.“
Obryn nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry, my friend, it is all I have.”
“It’s okay.” Clay nodded, glancing at the newsfeed behind Hoefer, wondering how it would end up spinning the death of a yorohito at the supposedly neutral Hotel Fontaine. “I’ve got a pretty good idea where to look.”
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