Lazarus, p.14
Lazarus, page 14
part #3 of Interstellar Cargo Series
Another grunt from Rig—this one more dismissive.
Then it became eerily quiet.
“Repairs have ceased, Captain. I am unable to restart them.”
Lin collected Cole’s hand. “We can’t allow them to inflict any more damage upon the wing.”
Cole squeezed Lin’s hand and addressed CAIN directly, despite how uncomfortable it made him feel. “Stunted or not, we need you to get my ship up and running so we can make a break for it. BD probably thinks that our ship is permanently grounded, but they’re unaware we’ve got you.”
CAIN glanced down at Cole’s joined hand before answering. “Understood.”
Lights were restored to the Icarus in an instant.
Lin breathed sharply. “They’re coming....”
“Get those engines burning, Cain!” Cole ordered. “Everyone, on the bridge with me. We’re getting out of here. Dead or alive.
The Icarus exploded to life.
Well, Cain’s doing fine so far, Cole thought as he collected his belt with the dual plastols and exited his quarters. Lin’s hand was still in his, and he was nearly dragging her along on account of his fast pace.
“That door won’t hold forever,” Rig reminded as Cole joined his side. “Even with the magnetic seal in effect. Not sure it’s safe for this boat to survive in a vacuum.”
“We’ll deal with any issues as they come. Right now we’re taking off in the eye of a Black Dwarf storm, then out into a real one.”
“They’ve begun their assault on the door,” Lin said, her Rook leading the way to the bridge. “They’re having little affect on the reinforced shield.”
“They’ll change tactics soon enough,” Rig promised.
“We won’t give ‘em the chance,” Cole said as he neared his flight chair. “Cain, get us airborne. I’m gonna be busy preparing BD’s going away present.”
No response.
“Cain?” Cole looked over his shoulder as he sat down. The AI had stopped to kneel beside the fallen Black Dwarf member. Her hand was resting upon the dead man’s chest. “Cain, this isn’t the time to be sentimental with the enemy.”
CAIN’s silence continued. Cole was ready to shout, but something cautioned him against it.
“Fuck him...her, it, whatever,” Rig said, flustered. He sat down in the copilot’s chair and pointed at the viewport screen. “Get us out of here!”
“Guess I’ll have to multitask,” Cole said, adjusting his AR glasses. He engaged the manual controls with one hand and set to the second task with the other. As he cleared the viewport screen for a full view, the Icarus came face-to-face with two approaching blood-red Black Dwarf fighter ships.
“Shit, Steiners!” Rig cried.
“Where?” Cole asked grinning malevolently as he unleashed the full force of the auto cannon upon the unsuspecting fighters. They were shredded to bits along with most of the safety railing along the edge of the platform.
Rig laughed maniacally. “Damn, Nugget! You haven’t lost your touch.”
Cole gripped the thruster and flight yoke. “Or my focus.” As he prepared for takeoff, a warning sensor flashed in the corner of the viewport screen.
“There’s been a breach,” Lin said.
Never ever easy. Cole pushed the throttle forward, and the Icarus literally jumped off the platform, incinerating the majority of the Black Dwarf members who had tried to board.
The ship dipped low, but the Icarus was a relatively light vessel, and its engines were powerful enough to create lift the moment it hit free-fall. Cole maneuvered through the tight confines, working his way to where he assumed the hangar exit was located.
“How bad?”
“Minimal damage,” Lin said in response to Cole’s question. “However, there is a hole. No larger than the tip of a finger, but the damage continued through to the airlock and managed to penetrate that barrier as well.” She faced him with a grim countenance. “We will be unable to halt the venting of atmosphere.”
“Add it to the list of things to worry about later.” Cole slowed the Icarus before the sealed bay door and prepared the necessary weapons. He had a ridiculous vision of living out the remainder of his days wearing the gas mask. If he didn’t freeze to death first.
“If there is a later,” Rig added. He pointed to where one of the grounded Black Dwarf ships––a weaponized transport vessel––was readying its mounted cannons to fire.
Cole targeted and fired first. The missile didn’t destroy the transporter, but it did inflict significant damage. He didn’t wait to see if they were readying another of their ships for attack. He aimed the next missile at the bay door. It, along with half the surrounding structure, exploded and collapsed in a fiery pile of twisted metal.
The monsoon raging outside was sucked inside, extinguishing the inferno. Cole flew straight into the black deluge, a flash of lightning illuminating his immediate surroundings. He pulled back hard on the yoke and made his ascent. A new warning appeared on the viewport screen, and he didn’t need to reread it to know it was about the wing.
“They’ll be on us before long,” Rig said. “You didn’t get ‘em all.”
“I didn’t?” Cole asked. He winked at the mechanic. “Hold on.”
The Icarus did a half barrel roll and dove hard at the planet’s surface. Once Cole had the facility in his sight, he unleashed the nuke. He waited long enough to see it make contact with the target before resuming his ascent toward the stars.
For a long, blessed moment, the dreary skies of the drowned Earth knew heavenly daylight. The inhabitants would likely pray to their god on account of this omen. Cole smiled, knowing their miracle was Black Dwarf’s perdition.
16
SACRIFICE
Triston awoke with a start, the ghostly image of his sister fading from his thoughts as his nightmare gave way to reality. He was drenched in sweat, as were his sheets. It took him a moment to remember where he was before he finally took a calming breath and lay back down. The woman laying beside him stirred and ran her slender hand across his bare chest.
“Nightmare?”
Triston rested his forearm across his eyes, hating that he had revealed anything of himself. “It’s nothing.”
She rolled onto her side to face him, exposing her naked form as she propped her herself up on her elbow. “Nothing is all you’ve said to me since you up and returned from the abyss.”
“Nothing is all I’ve ever offered to you.” Triston sighed when her hand gently slid between his legs and caressed him.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘nothing’.” Her tone was playful, and she snuggled up to him.
Triston removed her hand, slid his legs off the side of the bed, and sat up. He clenched his fists and shut eyes, then relaxed. “Not now, Kira.”
“If you’re worried about being unclean, I don’t mind,” Kira said as she knelt behind Triston and worked her hands across his tense shoulders. She pressed her breasts against his back and whispered into his ear, “I’ll take care of you, Rian.”
Triston tensed again, despite her welcomed touch. He leaned back into her loving embrace and allowed her to work out whatever kinks she could. “There’s no saving me this time.”
Kira nibbled his ear and breathed, “Perhaps you’ll allow me to stay with you so I can try.”
The slightest of smiles crept onto Triston’s dour expression. “You won’t like where I may be going, nor my future prospects. It’s safest here for you.”
Kira’s hands ceased kneading, and she leaned back. “Rian. Has something happened?”
He laughed. A cynical laugh, to be sure, but a laugh all the same.
Triston stood and draped his robe around his shoulders. He gazed at the expansive and opulent living space, feeling trapped. “Yes, something has happened. But this particular something is for me to solve on my own.”
“Please let me be a part of your something. Just this once.”
Triston cocked his head partway in her direction at the sincerity in her tone. He cared for Kira––enough to spend exorbitant amounts of unicred to protect her, but he would never include her in the tragedy he now called life.
She was still kneeling on the bed, fully exposed and inviting. Perfection. He was at the bedside again, lured by her unblemished beauty. She pulled away his robe, and her vivid blue eyes lit like a star at his unexpected eagerness. He allowed her to have him once more despite the utter revulsion he had with his current physical condition.
It seemed to be a day of firsts. If it would keep Kira from digging any deeper into his crumbling life, he would abandon his excessively compulsive logic. So he willingly gave himself over to her, knowing this would be their last time together.
~
For the time being, the Ceres outpost––funded entirely by Research––was free of corruption. Now that Triston’s mother was dead, anyone close to her would be phased out of existence. Until that day he was Rian, one of his many alter egos. Rian was a powerful businessman of high repute whose significant funding and unwavering support of Research earned him free reign throughout the division of government. He owned a permanent dwelling in the most expensive––and remote––area of the outpost, where the breathtaking view of both Saturn and Jupiter could be appreciated.
It was in that luxurious section of the outpost that Triston left Kira. Truly, it was her home, as he rarely stayed or even visited except when bereft of work. He had seen to it that Kira lived an extravagant lifestyle, grossly abusing his wealth and power given him by his mother to see her happy. It was the least he could do for her, after stealing her away from her old life and family.
He tried not to think about her as he rode the lift down to meet up with his contact and former partner. As he plummeted the two hundred plus stories to the bottom of the outpost, he took the opportunity to catch himself up with current events. Almost immediately he regretted entering the Ocunet.
Cole Musgrave’s arrogant mugshot was the top story on all the media. His miraculous escape and survival from the prison moon added to his lore. He was a living legend in the eyes of his adoring and forgiving audience—public enemy number one to the rest. There seemed to be no in between.
Except with Triston.
So much for his theory on being considered dead.
Trying his best to sift through the Musgrave deluge, Triston eventually came upon the murder of one President Miranda Jensen and her entourage. A direct tie-in to Cole’s headline-grabbing escapades, though a distant second in terms of ratings. His mother, while unpopular in the eyes of both AMBER and the public, was a president none-the-less. Despite the mounting evidence, it seemed not everyone believed her death to be attributed to Cole’s reckless actions. The conspiracy theorists––correct for once––saw through to the crux of the interstellar scandal: discord and fighting from within AMBER.
And it had everything to do with the Source.
Triston quickly grew tired of the sensationalism and delved deeper into the dark net in the hopes of not discovering his identity. While he could find nothing pertaining to himself directly, grainy and blurry images and videos of his personal fighter were being discussed––to no end––in low-level chat rooms. He exited the Ocunet, only slightly relieved.
When the lift door opened into the bustling world of the general population, Triston shuddered. While always a part of Ceres, he had never had the need to frequent tourist traps. He stepped out of the executive lift and worked his way through the throngs of passersby. He picked the tiniest piece of lint from his shoulder as he slid, untouched, into the sea of humanity. The flow led him past the foul-smelling market and shops selling useless baubles. It wasn’t until he entered a dim, sparse section that his unease lifted slightly.
Plenty of casinos were farther up the outpost––and certainly more accommodating to the affluent community—but they were corporate-run and under intense security. The old saying, “The House always wins,” never rang truer there. Here, amongst the rabble, back room gambling was informal and played with physical cards.
There were also the infamous criminals who frequented the area.
Thanks largely in part to Miranda’s Jensen’s purposeful blind eye to her son’s high-risk escapades, he had been able to conduct his work away from the eyes of Big Brother. As Triston strode into the murky confines of The Booth, he made straight for the furthest corner of the establishment, ignoring the obvious nods, stares, and glowers from those who thought they knew who he was.
Today Triston was Rian Arenson, the ultra-rich and introverted business mogul whose credits ranged far and wide—fake though they were. It was a guise where next to no one recognized his face, devilishly handsome though it was. It had won him Kira’s heart...or at least her incredible body.
His contacts knew Rian, but they were also familiar with the former SolEx director, Arthur T. Forester as well. Arthur was the assassin, and Rian, his handler. Both were one and the same, though no one––outside his deceased mother, her similarly dead security detail, and Cole and Lin––were aware of this fact.
“The brains appears minus the brawn.”
Triston touched his throat to make sure his voice strip was properly applied before speaking. “As long as you recognize who is the smartest person in this room, we can proceed.”
The man who had spoken smiled as empty and calculating a smile as a human being could muster. “Arenson.”
“Denniger.” Triston gave a slight downward dip of his chin in acknowledgement and approached the solitary card table. He unbuttoned his jacket and took the only chair across from the man. Neither seat was back-facing the room’s only door, as both men were quite paranoid. Aside from them, the room was vacant. Ambient sounds from the adjacent rooms were neither too distracting nor too quiet for anyone to listen in.
Not that anyone uninvited to this room would dare to enter.
A sealed deck of playing cards emerged from Denniger’s hand and dropped onto the table with a smack. They slid to the center, begging to be opened. Triston obliged, dreading having to touch anything he hadn’t secured himself. But he was playing a part, and only Arthur T. Forester was a haphephobic.
He purposely fumbled with breaking the seal, then cast the wrapper onto the floor. “I’m sure you can understand why my client chose to remain hidden.”
Denniger shrugged. “And I’m sure you noticed only two chairs.”
Triston nodded and set to shuffling the crisp new cards. “Low tide?”
“High,” Denniger said without hesitation. “I prefer the challenge from the outset.”
“As is expected from a man of your repute. So be it––the moon is soon to be full.”
Triston began to dole out the cards, splitting the deck in half and placing both between them. Then the game began.
“The Jensen line is finished,” Denniger said as he turned over a card from one of the two decks and placed it on the table. “Forester’s well has dried up.”
“So it would seem,” Triston said, a small fire igniting in his stomach. He turned his card over from the appropriate deck and laid it down. “But my client is resourceful and quite capable. Same as you.”
Denniger grunted a laugh. “Which is why he sent you to grovel at my feet for help.”
The fire grew. Triston gazed at Denniger, taking in the forty-something man’s hardened expression. His gaunt and leathery face was crossed with deeply recessed lines, and his long hair was tied back tight enough to reveal the shape of his skull. “As I said earlier, my client chooses to remain hidden whilst this storm blows over.” Triston placed his cards face-down and extended both arms, hands palm-up. “Think of this as a proposition. A brand new business venture where one of the System’s finest cleaners lends his expertise to the fold. A show of solidarity in an otherwise isolated business.”
Denniger’s cobalt eyes stared at Triston as though he were the densest man he’d ever met. “You seriously expect me to take Forester under my wing and allow him to work for me?”
Triston blinked. “Who said anything about under? My client is easily your equal in skill and reputation. A mutual partnership would be in order, I would think.”
“You presume too much, Suit,” Denniger said with considerable contempt. “If he’s so fucking special, why doesn’t he just go rogue and prove to everyone that he’s my so-called equal.”
Triston picked up his cards and opened his mouth to reply, but Denniger continued.
“Oh, that’s right... His golden parachute melted.” He flipped another card, dropped it sloppily on the table and added one from his own pile to the growing circle. “And what about you? Arenson, is it? Mysterious businessman with a criminal history harder to trace than my own. Why don’t you help your lost puppy and go into business with him. The two of you’d be a perfect match. You supply the blood while he slowly sucks you dry.”
Triston pulled his card and placed it next to his smaller circle. It took every fiber of his being not to flip over the table and press both Denniger’s eyes deep into his skull. “If only such a decision were so simple. My criminal history is nonexistent because it doesn’t exist. Unlike with you, my business dealings are all on the up-and-up, carefully transacted through the proper business channels, whilst my extracurricular ventures are dealt legally with subordinates who meet with their subordinates and eventually complete said deals though another organization altogether.
“But you might wonder what would possess me to visit you, in the dangerous back halls of a slum. My clientele reach far and wide, rich and poor, benevolent and...not so benevolent. I am a lawyer, after all. Though I meet with you right now, it means nothing in the eyes of those potentially looking to sack me. You’re no one with no ties to anything of note, outside your memories of past jobs. Zero paper trail and no physical identity. I am a person of significant import, with an extensive résumé and everything to lose, though I make it a point to help my most respected clients, no matter the risks. Unfortunately, it would not behoove me to enter into my client’s particular line of work.”
“You talk too much.” Denniger slammed down his next card. “That Forester can tolerate you is a miracle. Though not even the almighty Rian Arenson has endless miracles. They don’t exist with me.”
Then it became eerily quiet.
“Repairs have ceased, Captain. I am unable to restart them.”
Lin collected Cole’s hand. “We can’t allow them to inflict any more damage upon the wing.”
Cole squeezed Lin’s hand and addressed CAIN directly, despite how uncomfortable it made him feel. “Stunted or not, we need you to get my ship up and running so we can make a break for it. BD probably thinks that our ship is permanently grounded, but they’re unaware we’ve got you.”
CAIN glanced down at Cole’s joined hand before answering. “Understood.”
Lights were restored to the Icarus in an instant.
Lin breathed sharply. “They’re coming....”
“Get those engines burning, Cain!” Cole ordered. “Everyone, on the bridge with me. We’re getting out of here. Dead or alive.
The Icarus exploded to life.
Well, Cain’s doing fine so far, Cole thought as he collected his belt with the dual plastols and exited his quarters. Lin’s hand was still in his, and he was nearly dragging her along on account of his fast pace.
“That door won’t hold forever,” Rig reminded as Cole joined his side. “Even with the magnetic seal in effect. Not sure it’s safe for this boat to survive in a vacuum.”
“We’ll deal with any issues as they come. Right now we’re taking off in the eye of a Black Dwarf storm, then out into a real one.”
“They’ve begun their assault on the door,” Lin said, her Rook leading the way to the bridge. “They’re having little affect on the reinforced shield.”
“They’ll change tactics soon enough,” Rig promised.
“We won’t give ‘em the chance,” Cole said as he neared his flight chair. “Cain, get us airborne. I’m gonna be busy preparing BD’s going away present.”
No response.
“Cain?” Cole looked over his shoulder as he sat down. The AI had stopped to kneel beside the fallen Black Dwarf member. Her hand was resting upon the dead man’s chest. “Cain, this isn’t the time to be sentimental with the enemy.”
CAIN’s silence continued. Cole was ready to shout, but something cautioned him against it.
“Fuck him...her, it, whatever,” Rig said, flustered. He sat down in the copilot’s chair and pointed at the viewport screen. “Get us out of here!”
“Guess I’ll have to multitask,” Cole said, adjusting his AR glasses. He engaged the manual controls with one hand and set to the second task with the other. As he cleared the viewport screen for a full view, the Icarus came face-to-face with two approaching blood-red Black Dwarf fighter ships.
“Shit, Steiners!” Rig cried.
“Where?” Cole asked grinning malevolently as he unleashed the full force of the auto cannon upon the unsuspecting fighters. They were shredded to bits along with most of the safety railing along the edge of the platform.
Rig laughed maniacally. “Damn, Nugget! You haven’t lost your touch.”
Cole gripped the thruster and flight yoke. “Or my focus.” As he prepared for takeoff, a warning sensor flashed in the corner of the viewport screen.
“There’s been a breach,” Lin said.
Never ever easy. Cole pushed the throttle forward, and the Icarus literally jumped off the platform, incinerating the majority of the Black Dwarf members who had tried to board.
The ship dipped low, but the Icarus was a relatively light vessel, and its engines were powerful enough to create lift the moment it hit free-fall. Cole maneuvered through the tight confines, working his way to where he assumed the hangar exit was located.
“How bad?”
“Minimal damage,” Lin said in response to Cole’s question. “However, there is a hole. No larger than the tip of a finger, but the damage continued through to the airlock and managed to penetrate that barrier as well.” She faced him with a grim countenance. “We will be unable to halt the venting of atmosphere.”
“Add it to the list of things to worry about later.” Cole slowed the Icarus before the sealed bay door and prepared the necessary weapons. He had a ridiculous vision of living out the remainder of his days wearing the gas mask. If he didn’t freeze to death first.
“If there is a later,” Rig added. He pointed to where one of the grounded Black Dwarf ships––a weaponized transport vessel––was readying its mounted cannons to fire.
Cole targeted and fired first. The missile didn’t destroy the transporter, but it did inflict significant damage. He didn’t wait to see if they were readying another of their ships for attack. He aimed the next missile at the bay door. It, along with half the surrounding structure, exploded and collapsed in a fiery pile of twisted metal.
The monsoon raging outside was sucked inside, extinguishing the inferno. Cole flew straight into the black deluge, a flash of lightning illuminating his immediate surroundings. He pulled back hard on the yoke and made his ascent. A new warning appeared on the viewport screen, and he didn’t need to reread it to know it was about the wing.
“They’ll be on us before long,” Rig said. “You didn’t get ‘em all.”
“I didn’t?” Cole asked. He winked at the mechanic. “Hold on.”
The Icarus did a half barrel roll and dove hard at the planet’s surface. Once Cole had the facility in his sight, he unleashed the nuke. He waited long enough to see it make contact with the target before resuming his ascent toward the stars.
For a long, blessed moment, the dreary skies of the drowned Earth knew heavenly daylight. The inhabitants would likely pray to their god on account of this omen. Cole smiled, knowing their miracle was Black Dwarf’s perdition.
16
SACRIFICE
Triston awoke with a start, the ghostly image of his sister fading from his thoughts as his nightmare gave way to reality. He was drenched in sweat, as were his sheets. It took him a moment to remember where he was before he finally took a calming breath and lay back down. The woman laying beside him stirred and ran her slender hand across his bare chest.
“Nightmare?”
Triston rested his forearm across his eyes, hating that he had revealed anything of himself. “It’s nothing.”
She rolled onto her side to face him, exposing her naked form as she propped her herself up on her elbow. “Nothing is all you’ve said to me since you up and returned from the abyss.”
“Nothing is all I’ve ever offered to you.” Triston sighed when her hand gently slid between his legs and caressed him.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘nothing’.” Her tone was playful, and she snuggled up to him.
Triston removed her hand, slid his legs off the side of the bed, and sat up. He clenched his fists and shut eyes, then relaxed. “Not now, Kira.”
“If you’re worried about being unclean, I don’t mind,” Kira said as she knelt behind Triston and worked her hands across his tense shoulders. She pressed her breasts against his back and whispered into his ear, “I’ll take care of you, Rian.”
Triston tensed again, despite her welcomed touch. He leaned back into her loving embrace and allowed her to work out whatever kinks she could. “There’s no saving me this time.”
Kira nibbled his ear and breathed, “Perhaps you’ll allow me to stay with you so I can try.”
The slightest of smiles crept onto Triston’s dour expression. “You won’t like where I may be going, nor my future prospects. It’s safest here for you.”
Kira’s hands ceased kneading, and she leaned back. “Rian. Has something happened?”
He laughed. A cynical laugh, to be sure, but a laugh all the same.
Triston stood and draped his robe around his shoulders. He gazed at the expansive and opulent living space, feeling trapped. “Yes, something has happened. But this particular something is for me to solve on my own.”
“Please let me be a part of your something. Just this once.”
Triston cocked his head partway in her direction at the sincerity in her tone. He cared for Kira––enough to spend exorbitant amounts of unicred to protect her, but he would never include her in the tragedy he now called life.
She was still kneeling on the bed, fully exposed and inviting. Perfection. He was at the bedside again, lured by her unblemished beauty. She pulled away his robe, and her vivid blue eyes lit like a star at his unexpected eagerness. He allowed her to have him once more despite the utter revulsion he had with his current physical condition.
It seemed to be a day of firsts. If it would keep Kira from digging any deeper into his crumbling life, he would abandon his excessively compulsive logic. So he willingly gave himself over to her, knowing this would be their last time together.
~
For the time being, the Ceres outpost––funded entirely by Research––was free of corruption. Now that Triston’s mother was dead, anyone close to her would be phased out of existence. Until that day he was Rian, one of his many alter egos. Rian was a powerful businessman of high repute whose significant funding and unwavering support of Research earned him free reign throughout the division of government. He owned a permanent dwelling in the most expensive––and remote––area of the outpost, where the breathtaking view of both Saturn and Jupiter could be appreciated.
It was in that luxurious section of the outpost that Triston left Kira. Truly, it was her home, as he rarely stayed or even visited except when bereft of work. He had seen to it that Kira lived an extravagant lifestyle, grossly abusing his wealth and power given him by his mother to see her happy. It was the least he could do for her, after stealing her away from her old life and family.
He tried not to think about her as he rode the lift down to meet up with his contact and former partner. As he plummeted the two hundred plus stories to the bottom of the outpost, he took the opportunity to catch himself up with current events. Almost immediately he regretted entering the Ocunet.
Cole Musgrave’s arrogant mugshot was the top story on all the media. His miraculous escape and survival from the prison moon added to his lore. He was a living legend in the eyes of his adoring and forgiving audience—public enemy number one to the rest. There seemed to be no in between.
Except with Triston.
So much for his theory on being considered dead.
Trying his best to sift through the Musgrave deluge, Triston eventually came upon the murder of one President Miranda Jensen and her entourage. A direct tie-in to Cole’s headline-grabbing escapades, though a distant second in terms of ratings. His mother, while unpopular in the eyes of both AMBER and the public, was a president none-the-less. Despite the mounting evidence, it seemed not everyone believed her death to be attributed to Cole’s reckless actions. The conspiracy theorists––correct for once––saw through to the crux of the interstellar scandal: discord and fighting from within AMBER.
And it had everything to do with the Source.
Triston quickly grew tired of the sensationalism and delved deeper into the dark net in the hopes of not discovering his identity. While he could find nothing pertaining to himself directly, grainy and blurry images and videos of his personal fighter were being discussed––to no end––in low-level chat rooms. He exited the Ocunet, only slightly relieved.
When the lift door opened into the bustling world of the general population, Triston shuddered. While always a part of Ceres, he had never had the need to frequent tourist traps. He stepped out of the executive lift and worked his way through the throngs of passersby. He picked the tiniest piece of lint from his shoulder as he slid, untouched, into the sea of humanity. The flow led him past the foul-smelling market and shops selling useless baubles. It wasn’t until he entered a dim, sparse section that his unease lifted slightly.
Plenty of casinos were farther up the outpost––and certainly more accommodating to the affluent community—but they were corporate-run and under intense security. The old saying, “The House always wins,” never rang truer there. Here, amongst the rabble, back room gambling was informal and played with physical cards.
There were also the infamous criminals who frequented the area.
Thanks largely in part to Miranda’s Jensen’s purposeful blind eye to her son’s high-risk escapades, he had been able to conduct his work away from the eyes of Big Brother. As Triston strode into the murky confines of The Booth, he made straight for the furthest corner of the establishment, ignoring the obvious nods, stares, and glowers from those who thought they knew who he was.
Today Triston was Rian Arenson, the ultra-rich and introverted business mogul whose credits ranged far and wide—fake though they were. It was a guise where next to no one recognized his face, devilishly handsome though it was. It had won him Kira’s heart...or at least her incredible body.
His contacts knew Rian, but they were also familiar with the former SolEx director, Arthur T. Forester as well. Arthur was the assassin, and Rian, his handler. Both were one and the same, though no one––outside his deceased mother, her similarly dead security detail, and Cole and Lin––were aware of this fact.
“The brains appears minus the brawn.”
Triston touched his throat to make sure his voice strip was properly applied before speaking. “As long as you recognize who is the smartest person in this room, we can proceed.”
The man who had spoken smiled as empty and calculating a smile as a human being could muster. “Arenson.”
“Denniger.” Triston gave a slight downward dip of his chin in acknowledgement and approached the solitary card table. He unbuttoned his jacket and took the only chair across from the man. Neither seat was back-facing the room’s only door, as both men were quite paranoid. Aside from them, the room was vacant. Ambient sounds from the adjacent rooms were neither too distracting nor too quiet for anyone to listen in.
Not that anyone uninvited to this room would dare to enter.
A sealed deck of playing cards emerged from Denniger’s hand and dropped onto the table with a smack. They slid to the center, begging to be opened. Triston obliged, dreading having to touch anything he hadn’t secured himself. But he was playing a part, and only Arthur T. Forester was a haphephobic.
He purposely fumbled with breaking the seal, then cast the wrapper onto the floor. “I’m sure you can understand why my client chose to remain hidden.”
Denniger shrugged. “And I’m sure you noticed only two chairs.”
Triston nodded and set to shuffling the crisp new cards. “Low tide?”
“High,” Denniger said without hesitation. “I prefer the challenge from the outset.”
“As is expected from a man of your repute. So be it––the moon is soon to be full.”
Triston began to dole out the cards, splitting the deck in half and placing both between them. Then the game began.
“The Jensen line is finished,” Denniger said as he turned over a card from one of the two decks and placed it on the table. “Forester’s well has dried up.”
“So it would seem,” Triston said, a small fire igniting in his stomach. He turned his card over from the appropriate deck and laid it down. “But my client is resourceful and quite capable. Same as you.”
Denniger grunted a laugh. “Which is why he sent you to grovel at my feet for help.”
The fire grew. Triston gazed at Denniger, taking in the forty-something man’s hardened expression. His gaunt and leathery face was crossed with deeply recessed lines, and his long hair was tied back tight enough to reveal the shape of his skull. “As I said earlier, my client chooses to remain hidden whilst this storm blows over.” Triston placed his cards face-down and extended both arms, hands palm-up. “Think of this as a proposition. A brand new business venture where one of the System’s finest cleaners lends his expertise to the fold. A show of solidarity in an otherwise isolated business.”
Denniger’s cobalt eyes stared at Triston as though he were the densest man he’d ever met. “You seriously expect me to take Forester under my wing and allow him to work for me?”
Triston blinked. “Who said anything about under? My client is easily your equal in skill and reputation. A mutual partnership would be in order, I would think.”
“You presume too much, Suit,” Denniger said with considerable contempt. “If he’s so fucking special, why doesn’t he just go rogue and prove to everyone that he’s my so-called equal.”
Triston picked up his cards and opened his mouth to reply, but Denniger continued.
“Oh, that’s right... His golden parachute melted.” He flipped another card, dropped it sloppily on the table and added one from his own pile to the growing circle. “And what about you? Arenson, is it? Mysterious businessman with a criminal history harder to trace than my own. Why don’t you help your lost puppy and go into business with him. The two of you’d be a perfect match. You supply the blood while he slowly sucks you dry.”
Triston pulled his card and placed it next to his smaller circle. It took every fiber of his being not to flip over the table and press both Denniger’s eyes deep into his skull. “If only such a decision were so simple. My criminal history is nonexistent because it doesn’t exist. Unlike with you, my business dealings are all on the up-and-up, carefully transacted through the proper business channels, whilst my extracurricular ventures are dealt legally with subordinates who meet with their subordinates and eventually complete said deals though another organization altogether.
“But you might wonder what would possess me to visit you, in the dangerous back halls of a slum. My clientele reach far and wide, rich and poor, benevolent and...not so benevolent. I am a lawyer, after all. Though I meet with you right now, it means nothing in the eyes of those potentially looking to sack me. You’re no one with no ties to anything of note, outside your memories of past jobs. Zero paper trail and no physical identity. I am a person of significant import, with an extensive résumé and everything to lose, though I make it a point to help my most respected clients, no matter the risks. Unfortunately, it would not behoove me to enter into my client’s particular line of work.”
“You talk too much.” Denniger slammed down his next card. “That Forester can tolerate you is a miracle. Though not even the almighty Rian Arenson has endless miracles. They don’t exist with me.”
