THE SPACEPORT’S CASINO WAS THE PERFECT SPOT FOR THE deal to go down.
Jeth Seagrave knew it the moment he stepped inside. The place seemed to envelop him, the lights so bright they made it almost impossible to see and the noise a constant vibration, everything from the hum of the slot machines to the shouts of dealers calling for bets. Some kind of mild, hypnotic music played in the background, blending the sounds together in a reassuring soundtrack—time does not exist here, it seemed to intone. Here you are safe. Here you belong.
Jeth knew better. There was nothing safe here. Everything was suspect, and that was all right. His shady dealing would be one among dozens.
He made a casual scan of the room, getting his bearings in the maze of tables, gaming booths, and gamblers. Then he turned to the right and headed for the casino cage, which held more than a dozen cashier windows. Even though Jeth had seen his share of casinos, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the size of this place. Of the few Independent spaceports in the galaxy, Nuvali was the biggest and the hardest to get to, which gave it the dubious honor of being the favored hub for drifters, criminals, and expatriates seeking refuge from the tyrannical reach of the Interstellar Transport Authority.
A sardonic smile crossed Jeth’s face as he realized he could be described by all three. But any humor he might’ve felt at the notion dissolved at once. For the last eight months the ITA had been hunting him and his crew. Life on the run was wearisome and fraught with sacrifice. Even now his belly felt like a pinched, hollow ball. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and that meal had hardly been enough to take the edge off his hunger, let alone assuage it.
The smells in this place weren’t helping. The sweet, sharp aroma of steak frying in garlic butter, the salty tang of roasting peanuts, and half a dozen other scents, wafted out of the kitchen entrance a few meters down from the cage. Jeth sucked back saliva and fought off the almost overwhelming urge to forget the deal and just enjoy his first full meal in weeks.
Except he wouldn’t. There were cheaper ways to eat, and despite his protesting stomach, he hadn’t yet reached the limit of his endurance.
Jeth stopped in front of the first open cashier and pulled a roll of unis out of his left pocket. “Two thousand, with a sixty-twenty-twenty split, hundred high,” he said. This was the last of the reserve money. He didn’t want to gamble with it, but he had to play the part until Wainwright arrived. He had a couple hundred in his boot, just in case, but that was it. It won’t matter if I lose some, he reassured himself. Just so long as the deal goes down the way it’s supposed to.
“There you are, luv,” the woman behind the counter said as she finished loading the carrier with his requested breakdown of tokens. She smiled broadly at him, her teeth artificially bright in the lights overhead.
Jeth cracked the knuckles of his left hand and schooled his expression to something close to eager. Time to play the part. He picked up the carrier and turned back to the action on the floor. He did another sweep, this time searching for a game to join.
His gaze slowed when he spotted two of his crew standing side by side in front of one of the retro slot machines. Sierra and Celeste had arrived some ten minutes before, part of the backup plan in case the deal went sideways. Old habits died hard. Before they’d become fugitives, Jeth and the original members of his crew, the Malleus Shades, had been professional thieves for one of the most powerful crime lords in the galaxy. Tonight they would deal with another criminal organization, and Jeth wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
Jeth’s breath caught as he watched Sierra raise one slender, bare arm and pull the lever down, setting the digital reels to spinning. He’d never seen her dressed like this, in a glittery, fitted thing that made her look all curves and nakedness. There wasn’t any reason for her to dress that way aboard Avalon. Spaceships made for cold homes.
Jeth knew that both she and a similarly dressed Celeste were armed, but he couldn’t imagine how or where. Well, he could imagine it, but this wasn’t the time or place for that sort of distraction. Especially when he was carrying two thousand unis’ worth of tokens around a roughneck spaceport casino without a firearm of any sort. Wainwright’s men would surely pat him down before they entered the final stage of negotiations.
As if she sensed him staring, Sierra glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his at once. Celeste caught Sierra looking at him, and she stepped in close to whisper something in Sierra’s ear that made a blush blossom over her fair skin and set her to grinning. To an outsider they were just two girls flirting with a stranger.
Grateful for Celeste’s ruse, Jeth started to look away, but then he saw her gaze flick past him, her smirk deepening into her own grin. Jeth followed the direction of her eyes and spotted Vince sitting at the bar, his eyes fixed on the video screen overhead while he idly sipped a beer. The personal comm unit hanging from his belt was the backup for the backup plan.
More like the doomsday plan, Jeth thought, noting Vince’s position. He doubted Celeste had meant to point Vince out to him. She just couldn’t help herself. No more than you can, he mused, stealing another peek at Sierra.
Finally moving on, Jeth spotted an open seat at a poker table toward the back, not far from the private rooms where he would join Wainwright later. Exactly how much later, he wasn’t sure. Wainwright had been sketchy on the details.
Jeth raised his right hand to his head and pretended to scratch behind his ear, activating the comm patch fixed to his skin. The touch of his cybernetic fingers always brought on a surreal feeling of detachment, as if the hand belonged to someone else. He’d had the prosthesis for more than six months now, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to it.
Ignoring the feeling, and the shimmer of painful memories it brought to the surface, he said through the comm, “What’s the buy-in three rows from the back, two over?”
“Hang on,” Lizzie’s voice answered a second later from her position aboard Avalon. The ship was moored in one of the short-term docks several floors below, the closest spot they could get to the casino. Not that location mattered so much. Jeth’s genius of a little sister could have hacked into the spaceport’s security and surveillance systems from anywhere.
“Okay, looks like that table’s . . . ouch, a thousand.” She paused. “But two down is only five hundred and the guy with the blue hair is just leaving.”
“Right,” Jeth said, disguising the word as an exhale. He kept his voice low and hardly moved his lips at all. It was a trick he did well, from years of practice. “But give me some help with that omniscient vantage point of yours.”
“That’s cheating, you know.”
“Consider it a tactical advantage, unless you like skipping meals.” They might be preparing to make a gold mine of a deal, but they wouldn’t be able to access the money right away. It would take time and caution, a transaction like that liable to draw attention. They would need every uni they could hold on to for food, supplies, and fuel.
“Good point.” Lizzie fell silent again, but Jeth had heard the hint of something more in her voice and he braced for what was coming next. “Are you sure we want to go through with this?”
Jeth drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lizzie had sprung this argument on him yesterday, just moments after they’d finalized the deal to hand over the Mirage Cipher to Wainwright for a three million payoff. The amount wasn’t the source of her protest, though it should’ve been: the cipher would give Wainwright the ability to decrypt all transmissions sent by the Mirage Corporation, including flight path information on shipments. Mirage was the leading weapons manufacturer in the galaxy, making the cipher the proverbial golden goose for a crime lord in the arms business. It was worth double what Wainwright was offering. But criminal beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Wainwright’s deal was the best they were going to get.
Lizzie’s protest, however, was more sentimental.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, “but it just doesn’t feel right, not knowing what he’ll use it for.”
“You mean supplying criminals and terrorists with military-grade weapons?” Jeth said as he headed farther into the casino toward the five hundred table.
“To put it not mildly—yes.”
He sighed. “This is what we do. It never bothered you before, when we were working for Hammer.”
“That was different. We didn’t have a choice, and it felt less . . . personal.”
Jeth didn’t respond. He knew exactly what she meant. When they worked for Hammer, it had been like a game. They never had to witness the consequences of their crimes, the impact it had on real lives—people caught in the crossfire of warring gangs, workers laid off when a targeted company chose to cut their losses from the bottom rather than the top. They had just been following Hammer’s orders.
Now, the blood would be on their hands. Jeth swallowed, the memory of what they’d gone through to get the cipher threatening to upset his cool.
He pushed it away. Yes, the decision to steal the Mirage Cipher and then hand it over to a man like Wainwright hadn’t sat well with him either. But there was nothing for it. The story of my life.
Wanting to end the argument once and for all, Jeth said, “Do you want to free Mom, or not?”
“I . . .” Lizzie’s voice caught. “You know I do.”
“Then drop this.” He didn’t mean to be cruel, but they had to make the deal. They needed a big score like this to buy a stealth drive for Avalon. It was the only way to complete their next—and last—job: rescuing their mother, held captive these past eight years by the ITA. Not only was the ITA the most powerful entity in the universe, but they were keeping her in a fortified lab on First-Earth, the most congested and heavily monitored planet in all the systems. Getting her out of there would be tougher than anything they’d ever faced with Hammer, damn near impossible.
Like trying to steal a piece of raw meat from a school of sharks. He’d seen something like that when they had been working for Hammer, back in the aquarium at Peltraz Spaceport. A man who had crossed Jeth’s old boss had been sliced open from nose to navel and dropped inside the tank.
With Lizzie silent once more, Jeth approached the table and set the token carrier on the empty space. “Mind if I join?”
The five players looked up in near unison. Their expressions as they assessed him were dubious, but Jeth knew what they saw: a young man, still a boy really, with plenty of tokens to burn. Even more, the prosthetic pieces he wore on his face to disguise his identity made him look faintly aristocratic. He appeared an easy mark.
He flashed an arrogant smile, encouraging the belief.
The dealer, a pretty brunette in a black tuxedo dress, gestured for him to sit. Jeth did so and pulled out five hundred worth of tokens, setting them in front of him. The dealer dealt the cards and, moments later, Jeth was down three hundred unis. Lizzie offered a few tips but he let them slide, afraid of drawing attention with too much good luck too soon. He had to blend in until Wainwright arrived.
With his thoughts on the meeting, Jeth slid his hand into the pocket of his flight jacket, his fingers closing around a false token. He waited to make sure no one was paying any attention, then slid it from his pocket and placed it on the table near the small pile he’d made with some of his real tokens. The new token looked exactly the same as the others except for a tiny deviation in the anchor emblem imprinted on the top. It was so small no one would notice unless they were looking for it.
“Remember not to bid with that,” Lizzie said.
Jeth grunted at the reminder. He reached out and snagged one of the real tokens, a matching blue one. He waited a second, once again making sure no one was watching, and then slid the normal token into his pocket before returning his full attention to the game.
Sometime later, with his patience beginning to wane in direct correlation to the growing strength of his hunger pains, Jeth made another scan of the room. The arrival of four newcomers drew his eye. There was nothing conspicuous about the men, stopped a few feet inside the doorway, other than their complete lack of conspicuousness. They wore plain suits of varying shades of drab. They were neither large nor small, their expressions neither eager nor guarded.
“I think those are Wainwright’s men,” Lizzie spoke into his ear.
“I know,” he whispered, and turned back to the game.
The player directly across from Jeth, a man with dusty-colored hair and an indistinguishable accent, slid forward a tidy stack of black tokens, raising the bet. The man to the left shifted in his seat slightly, although his eyes did not move off the cards in his hand.
Jeth tapped his finger twice on the table, the sign Lizzie had given him to use when he decided he was finally ready to employ her tactical advantage.
“Call or raise,” she said a few seconds later. “They got nothing.”
Jeth called, keeping his gaze focused on the cards in front of him, even when he saw Wainwright’s men moving toward the hall of private rooms out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if Wainwright was already inside. Probably, he decided.
“Incoming,” Lizzie said, and a moment later, Jeth felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see one of the men staring down at him. The man handed him a card that bore an invitation to a private game in the Ruby Room. Jeth pocketed it without a word and the man walked away.
Once all bets were in, Jeth showed his two pair, winning the hand just like Lizzie had predicted. This time his grin was genuine while he gathered the tokens in the pot.
“That’s it for me. Seems I’ve got another engagement.” He tapped his jacket pocket, then returned the tokens to the tray, making sure the false one was on top of the smallest stack, within easy reach.
He headed for the Ruby Room. Two of Wainwright’s men stood guard just inside the door, but neither moved to stop him when he entered. The door slid shut behind him automatically, but he didn’t hear the click of the lock. In a casino like this one, he doubted the doors could be locked by patrons.
It was darker in here, the air murky with pipe smoke. Jeth breathed in, managing not to cough thanks to years of living with his uncle Milton, who favored the same noxious pastime.
“Come in, Jeth, come in,” Wainwright called from where he sat at the single round table in the room. His wide, welcoming smile emphasized the narrowness of his face. The warmth in that smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained locked on Jeth as he stepped forward and set the token carrier on the table next to a tray of food. The sight of the food—fruit, cheese, vegetables—set his mouth to watering.
With an effort, he swallowed and forced his gaze away, making a quick scan of the room. It had earned its name. The walls were a uniform red, broken only by a couple of gold-trimmed paintings and the four vid screens hung in each corner. Red glass shaped like teardrop rubies decorated the chandelier centered over the table.
More noticeable than the decor were the two men standing behind the crime lord. Jeth couldn’t see any weapons, but he knew they were armed. He cocked an eyebrow at Wainwright. “I thought this was supposed to be a private game? Looks more like an interrogation.”
“I find life itself enough of a gamble.” Wainwright waved to the man to his right. “Check him, Albert.”
The man came around the table at once and began to pat Jeth down. As Jeth had hoped, Albert checked his pockets, soon pulling out the token. He tossed it onto the table.
Wainwright scooped it up with one small, feminine hand and examined it. “Is this what I think it is?”
Jeth adjusted his jacket and sat down. “We are here about the cipher, yeah?” He grabbed a grape off the tray and popped it into his mouth, doing his best to stifle a moan of pleasure as the taste burst over his tongue.
Wainwright cleared his throat. “I’d prefer to think of the cipher as just the opener.”
Jeth’s hand stilled midreach for another grape.
“What does he mean?” Lizzie’s voice whispered in his ear.
Jeth recovered quickly, but instead of a grape he picked up a die from beside the tray, its gold and silver surface glittering even in the murky light as he rolled it between his fingers. “I don’t recall any talk about further business. The deal was for the cipher.”
“It was.” Wainwright picked up the pipe resting in the stand next to his elbow and took a long drag, filling his cheeks with smoke that he let out slowly a moment later. “But from what I hear you have something much more valuable to offer than the Mirage Cipher.”
Jeth slid the die into his pocket for safekeeping then leaned back in his chair as if bored. Beneath his cool surface, his heartbeat began to quicken, sweat stinging his armpits. “Hate to contradict you, but you heard wrong.”
Wainwright set the pipe down and brushed off ash from the sleeve of his pinstriped suit. “I have it from a reliable source that you possess something of great importance to the ITA, something to do with the failing metatech.”
Jeth didn’t move, didn’t breathe, not until he managed to corral the thoughts stampeding through his mind. He knows about the Aether Project. Word was bound to get out sooner or later that Jeth possessed a data crystal that contained all of the ITA’s secrets about space travel and the metatech that made it possible. But the timing couldn’t have been worse.
He composed himself. How much did Wainwright know? If all he knew about was the data, things would be okay. But if he knew about Cora . . .
With a deep inhale Jeth let a slow, cocky smile stretch across his lips. “No offense, but if I had something that valuable, I wouldn’t be wasting time on a deal as small as this one.”
Wainwright rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his dark mustache, his expression inscrutable. “Perhaps. But my source was quite reliable. An undercover ITA special operative one of my captains found tracking an unknown target, one he later revealed to be you. He was a tough one, didn’t want to tell me what he was after, but it’s amazing how forthcoming a man can become when you start to remove his skin.”
Jeth was too familiar with crime lords and their methods to react. He widened his grin, baring teeth. “Oh, I’m sure he talked a right storm, but you should know better than to believe he was telling the truth. ITA special ops don’t break so easily. He fed you a story. An easy one to swallow, given my reputation, but that doesn’t make it any more true.”
Wainwright let out an exaggerated sigh. “I sincerely hope not. If you don’t have the information I’m after, there’s no point in our talking further.”
Trying to ignore the flush spreading up his neck, Jeth shrugged. “If that’s how you feel. I’m sure the cipher will be worth something to someone else.”
Wainwright tented his fingers in front of him. “Wrong. The cipher might have been worth something if you hadn’t left all those witnesses alive. Witnesses tend to talk, and it’s only matter of time before word of the theft gets back to Mirage.”
Jeth clenched his teeth. Not all of them were still alive. Not that stupid woman. Why did she have to— He stopped the thought and forced his jaw to relax. “Mirage won’t be able to modify their encryption software overnight. There’s plenty of time to gather flight intel and to intercept enough shipments to make it worthwhile.”
Wainwright shook his head. “Mirage will double the security on all flights and give their pilots authority to fly unrecorded routes. No, the cipher is practically worthless already.” He sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “This metatech information on the other hand, that would be worth a great deal. Rumor has it that the ITA has no idea why so many metadrives are failing. If things keep on the way they are, there won’t be any shipments for my people to intercept at all. Travel in the universe will come to a complete halt. But if you have the key to changing that . . .”
Jeth racked his brain for a response. It was all true. The metatech was failing, and he did have the key to stopping it. But he wouldn’t hand it over. Not for all the money in the worlds.
He opened his mouth to deny it once again, but before he could, the vid screens in the corners flickered to life, flashing a uniform red. For a second, he thought it was some part of the room’s design, but then the star and eagle emblem of the ITA appeared across the screen. Gooseflesh broke out over his skin at the sight of it.
“What is this?” Wainwright said, turning.
No one answered as the banal background music cut off and a message began to play. For a second, Jeth couldn’t make sense of it. This was an Independent spaceport; they had no obligation to broadcast ITA special bulletins. But then with a sickening wrench in his gut, understanding clicked. The bulletin was an announcement of a newly posted ten-million-uni reward for the capture of an ITA fugitive. Nuvali was Independent, but it knew its clientele well.
Too well, it seemed, as Jeth watched his own face and name flash across the screen.