“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.”
Everyone 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 small 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.
It was like being spit out of a wormhole into a new universe. First was Dorothy walking down her porch steps into Oz, Katniss stepping off the train into the Capitol. But unlike them, she wasn’t here to solve a puzzle or burn it all down. She was here to steal everything her eyes fell upon.
The realization finally fixed a smile on her face.
“Found your happy thought, Duchess?” Loritt asked next to her as they queued up for the security line.
“Oh yes,” First said as she scanned her surroundings with naked avarice. “A most happy thought.”
“Good, because we need you to fly.”
First laughed as she noticed the markers for the security lines. They were numbered with six-pointed stars clad with platinum, probably to make it easier for anyone who didn’t read one of the six Assembly Standard written languages. She pulled them toward the two-star line. “Second star to the right.”
Loritt had to remind her to leave their bags in the cargo compartment. A duchess and her escort wouldn’t lower themselves to actually touch their own luggage. Porters would attend to them, for a tip. First, they had to go through a set of deep-penetration imaging scanners to make sure they were clear of weapons, poisons, or chemical agents. Shoot-outs and political assassinations on board were generally regarded as bad form, as well as bad for business.
Clearing the scanners, Loritt took out their forged ID chits and handed them over to the Turemok behind the small security/reception desk. “Tolos Vir and Duchess Gertrude Harrington seek your permission to board,” he said. The guard’s uniform of the day was a light blue affair with a faded yellow sash bisecting the chest that made them look like a member of a musical ensemble cast for a particularly nightmarish children’s show. The Turemok’s tone betrayed that they knew exactly how ridiculously discordant they looked.
“Invitations?” they said, holding out a free hand while reviewing the ID chits with the other.
“Oh yes. Of course. How forgetful of me.” Loritt retrieved his handheld and opened it to the pair of invite confirmations they’d secured before leaving Junktion, then flicked them over to the guard’s terminal.
Satisfied, the baby-blue guard passed their IDs back. “Welcome aboard. Your aircar will be stored in our complimentary valet hangar until we return to port. Your luggage will be delivered to your staterooms within half a larim. Please make your way to one of the money-changing kiosks. The minimum deposit is one million Assembly credits or equivalent.”
“One million?!” First blurted before she realized her mistake and caught herself. Loritt elbowed her in the ribs with one of his small arms as the guard’s red irises tightened and glared up at her.
“I mean,” First stumbled. “Why such a small buy-in? The high rollers in Monaco back home put that much down on a single roulette spin.”
“I did say ‘minimum,’ Duchess,” the guard said suspiciously. “You can always put down more, if you prefer.”
“I’m just worried about hobnobbing with too many mere millionaires,” First said. “You know how they can be.”
“Yes, those lowly millionaires,” the guard said sarcastically. “Now, I must attend to the next patron in line.”
Loritt leaned down to whisper at her as they walked deeper into the immense and intricately decorated open spaces of the ship. “Nice recovery.”
“Thanks, and sorry. It just came out.”
“This is why I didn’t want you drinking.”
“Please. That brandy hasn’t even hit my bloodstream yet.”
“Oh, wonderful. Look, over there. Sheer, Hashin, and Fenax have already made it through security.”
“You mean Lady Glosh, Dul’kit, and, er, Fenax,” First corrected.
“Yes, of course. You’re right.”
“Oh my gosh!” First pointed excitedly into the crowd. “That’s Baked in the Volcano!” she said, starstruck.
“Well, the actor that plays them, at the very least.”
“Do you think they’d let me take a picture? Quarried would be so jealous.”
“I think by the time you complete the process of asking permission and receiving an answer, the cruise will already be over.”
The money-changing kiosks were just ahead to the right. They stood ready to accept a truly dizzying array of currencies, fiat and crypto, from across the inhabited galaxy, with exchange rates that updated even as First’s eyes worked their way down the list. She was shocked to see the US dollar, euro, and Chinese yuan among the hundreds of symbols. There was even a side desk for direct barter of precious metals and rare commodities, staffed with specialists decked out with spectrographs and other tools to authenticate the merchandise.
At least the obscenely rich were above discrimination. All money was given an equal opportunity to wind up in their pockets. As Loritt put down their deposits, First found herself fighting the sudden urge to put on sandals and flip tables.
Their money confirmed in escrow and now officially welcomed to enter, Tolos and Duchess Harrington left the money changers behind and made their way down the Grande Parade that served as the entry point into everything the floating casino had to offer. Huge, double-helix columns spiraled up from floor to ceiling, serving no structural purpose but to act as a nod to some obscure architectural tradition or locale meant to drum up associations of opulence and wealth in the audience.
First ran a manicured fake nail over the surface of the closest column and was surprised to find genuine marble. “Unreal,” she said quietly to Loritt. “Think of the mass penalty of these columns. It must be hundreds of metric tons.”
Loritt shrugged. “The cost of a few thousand more units of reactor fuel are a rounding error to the bookkeepers in this place. This isn’t a cargo ship or a combat vessel. It isn’t in any hurry to get anywhere. Presentation, however, is paramount. Observe…” Loritt pointed ahead to an atrium beyond the columns, where a pedestal had been erected.
Perched atop it sat a larger-than-life statue of the already generously proportioned Fonald Plump. Everything but the fingers, they seemed on the stubby side. Like a fistful of baby carrots. First felt the bile rise in her stomach.
“Who puts a statue of themselves in their own entryway?” she marveled. “I mean, this place is already festooned with PLUMP branding. How much hungrier for self-aggrandizement can one man be?”
“Plump is something of a collection of insatiable appetites. And incidentally, that’s not a statue.”
First was about to ask what he meant when the statue sprang to life, answering her question before it escaped.
“Welcome, guests, to the most exclusive, most macro gaming experience in the galaxy! It’s amazing, believe me, believe me. You’re in for a real treat; everyone says so. You’re the special people. You’ve floated to the top, and now you get to live it up with your humble host, me, Fonald Plump. So dine at one of our twenty-seven, three-star-reviewed restaurants, sample exotic drinks from across the galaxy, catch a risqué floor show, and most importantly, head to the gaming floor, find your favorite game, or a new favorite, throw down your chips, and Change Your Luck!”
The automaton returned to its resting position and fell silent, a statue once more. First looked around at the audience that had gathered to watch the introduction and shook her head. “He commissioned an animatronic of himself to welcome his own guests. How lazy and inauthentic can you get? And from the looks of things, these people’s luck is already pretty damned good.”
“Well, we’re here to change that, aren’t we?” Loritt asked.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
“That’s the spirit!” a booming voice said from above them loud enough to nearly send First jumping out of her heels. Even Loritt looked startled. First looked up and realized the statue was talking to them.
“You can hear us?” she asked.
“Of course!” Plump’s android avatar said. “I have excellent hearing. The best. Trust me.”
“But I thought you were just a preprogrammed announcement.”
“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m a fully autonomous neural network patterned after a living brain pattern scan of the great one himself, me, Fonald Plump.”
“Where are, um, you, then?” Loritt asked.
“I’m a very busy man. I could be anywhere.”
First shook her head. “Isn’t AI banned in Assembly Space, though?”
“Rules are for the ruled, little lady,” the avatar said, then spread his hands. “You’re among the rulers now, where all your dreams can come true, for the right price. You know, you remind me of my daughter.”
She ignored the creepy comment. “If you’re patterned after Plump, don’t you get bored sitting on that pedestal all day? Tired? Hungry?” First grimaced. “Horny?”
“You know, no one’s ever asked me that before. Now that you mention it, yeah, I do.”
“Why don’t you just leave, then? Take a day off?”
“Oh no. I have behavioral inhibitors that prevent me from doing anything too crazy.” The avatar stared off into the middle distance. “We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen. Not like last time.”
“Last time?” Loritt asked, obviously concerned.
“Ancient history,” the avatar said, then shook itself back to the present. “Nothing to worry about, trust me. Hey, how about two complimentary tickets to Fengar the Defenestrator tonight? His show’s fabulous; everyone is saying so. You’re going to love it.”
“What’s his show about?”
“He throws anvils out of windows and smashes things on the stage below, calls them the Slam-O-Matics. Hilarious show. Go early. Get dinner after. Or just pick the pieces of smashed fruit off your clothes and grab a late-night cocktail.”
Their handhelds dinged with alerts that free tickets had been added to their onboard spending accounts.
“Thank you,” First said.
“Don’t mention it,” the avatar said, then held a hand to the side of its mouth. “No, really, don’t mention it. I can only give out ten comp tickets per day.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” First said.
Satisfied, the avatar reset and restarted its welcome speech for the next batch of freshly arrived guests. First kept watching it from their vantage point behind the pedestal.
“You have that look on your face,” Loritt said.
“What look?” First said sweetly.
“That ‘I’ve just had an idea that will cause three to five of my boss’s components to stroke out’ look.”
First absently rubbed her chin with a finger. “Oh no, nothing like that. Just thinking about taking out an insurance policy.” She moved away from the avatar mid-speech. Loritt followed in silence until they were both huddled near a kebob stall, then First pulled out her handheld and opened a program she hadn’t used in months.
“Hello, Firstname Lastname!” Navigator said. “How can … I … wait a rakim. Where the hell am I?”
“Don’t panic, Navigator,” First cooed. “You’re not on the Matron of Tides anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because we stole her.”
“What?”
“Yeah, months ago. And you helped!”
“I did?”
“Yes, you were a most willing accomplice.”
“Accomplice?!” Navigator keened, clearly on the verge of a system reboot.
“Which is why you’re here now. I have a job for you.”
The little cartoon Fenax’s eyes narrowed. Navigator was a quick learner. “What kind of job are we talking about?”
“I’m glad you asked,” First said cheerfully.