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  He glanced back at Bentley. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Conference Room, Aboard the Odysseus, Janus System, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector

  Bentley had seen some strange things during her time with the Chesed’s crew. The walk down the quickly made airlock passageway that had connected the Chesed to the Odysseus, however, had been uniquely unnerving.

  The material it was made from was solid, but strangely thin. It was like walking on a bridge of tightly stretched cloth, except the bridge was in the midst of the void of deep space rather than some rocky chasm. Every step Bentley took felt unsteady even though she knew it was highly unlikely that such an advanced ship would be equipped with faulty transport technology.

  It had been a quiet walk between the ships. No sounds of footfalls coming from the soft makeshift floor, nor did Shango attempt any kind of conversation. On occasion, Bentley had thought to say something, but the eerie silence felt stifling. She had no idea what to expect once they arrived aboard the Odysseus, besides a polite and well-spoken Captain and some unusually advanced technology. Part of her still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of LaPlacian trap. Her last two stints in their captivity had been so close together, and she had resolved not to let it happen a third time.

  When they arrived at the other end of the airlock giving access to this strange ship, she was mentally prepared for the worst, and ready to fight, even if Shango hadn’t permitted her to bring a weapon.

  The interior of the Odysseus had a strange, symmetrical beauty to it that struck Bentley the moment she’d stepped into it. It didn’t have the functional, perpetually lived-in feeling of the Chesed, nor the cold, efficient grandeur of the Geburah.

  And while those were the only two proper ships Bentley had been on, there was a feeling she got from being on this one that it was truly unique. Even the decontamination chamber that the airlock had led them into had the air of a fine waiting room, with the ambient radiation that cleansed and scanned them coming out as a warm light that merely passed over them twice before the glass doorways to the ship’s proper area was opened before them.

  All of it looked functional and pristinely fabricated, but with an added artistic flair as though each wall, doorway, threshold and operational console was a unique labor of love. It was all very disarming, and Bentley was mostly shocked by the fact that just the sight of it made her smile.

  The crew, too, had an almost unworldly air to them.

  This was in itself a strange thing for her to observe, considering that two-thirds of the Chesed’s crew were purportedly the very definition of unworldly. Yet there was something about every person standing in this entry chamber that seemed unusually polished: flawless skin, hair without a strand out of place, uniforms that seemed to have been fitted specifically to their measurements without even the smallest deviation. She considered that if Jade were here with them, she would certainly want to take a look at their cosmetics and hygiene systems, though if any of them were wearing makeup it was so subtle as to be beneath notice.

  “Welcome to the Odysseus,” a woman with striking blue eyes and an enviable bone structure greeted them. “Captain Blackfriar is eager to make your acquaintance in person.”

  Shango didn’t seem anywhere near as enamored by this ship as Bentley was. He gave the entire place a dull, suspicious stare as though he were probing it for the slightest flaw. If he’d found one, Bentley certainly hadn’t caught it.

  They remained silent while they were led down a corridor decorated with walls resembling a colorful stained-glass matrix that dovetailed at the end into a sealed doorway that came apart like an elaborate puzzle to reveal the main conference room. It was a large, open room with a domed shape to it, bearing an oblong table of shimmering black glass at its center.

  The crew from the other hostile ship was already present; it wasn’t hard to recognize them, contrasting heavily with the immaculate aesthetics of the ship’s native crew. They were three men and one woman, dressed in what looked like well-worn dark blue military fatigues. The eldest one, who wore what probably passed for an officer’s uniform, was a grizzled-looking man with a sour expression and a wild yet receding, gray-brushed hairline.

  Immediately to his right was a considerably younger, slightly more clean-cut man with a familial resemblance. He looked at Shango and Bentley with a kind of disdain. Over towards the head of the table there was a man. Bentley fancied that he was the owner of the voice that had invited them over.

  Captain Blackfriar was, oddly, one of the few members of the Odysseus’s crew that didn’t give off that impression of irreproachable purity. But there was something else to him, a kind of presence that gave the impression of something more. He was an older man, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with a head long-since bald save a snowy fringe along his temples that ran into a light, close-cropped beard. There were cracked lines around his eyes, which showed a kind clarity tempered with deep intellect. When he saw Bentley and Shango arrive, his face curled upwards into an amiable smile as though he were greeting long-lost friends joining him for a drink.

  “Good,” he said, his voice somehow authoritative in spite of being ostensibly soft-spoken. “Everyone’s arrived. Let us begin.”

  “Begin?” the grizzled-looking officer growled at him without any care for propriety. His voice was easily recognized as that rough, grating tone that had immediately threatened to blow up the Chesed on intercom and refused further hails. “How about we begin by you restoring the Zion’s functions so you can fight us like men? This cyberwarfare bullshit is low, even for Federation bootlickers.”

  Blackfriar was unfazed by the man’s confrontational tone, answering him with a respectful smile. “We appear to have come to a misunderstanding. I am not associated with the Federation, nor with any of its proxies. In the spirit of avoiding any further conflict arising from poor communication, I would suggest we begin this summit with simple introductions. I am Captain Blackfriar, of the Odysseus, and your humble host.”

  Shango raised a hand to speak next. “Shango,” he said. “I captain the independent mercenary vessel Chesed.”

  The third ship’s captain sneered at that introduction. “Fuckings mercs. Figures. Won’t even do their own dirty work out here where we can put up a fight.”

  “Please,” Captain Blackfriar replied without even a modicum of defensiveness. “We have made our candid introductions. Surely it would do you no harm to do the same.”

  “Nikola,” the man answered, almost begrudgingly. “I captain the rebel ship Zion. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Rebel?” Bentley asked. Everyone in the room looked at her like she was speaking out of turn. “What the hell are you rebelling against out here?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” the younger man standing by Nikola choked with marked aggression. “Have you been living under a rock or something?”

  “Ivor!” Nikola snapped at his subordinate while shooting him a fiery look. Though no more words were exchanged between them, Ivor’s posture adjusted and he averted his gaze, like an attack dog being reminded to heel after barking unprompted.

  Blackfriar cleared his throat and continued addressing Nikola as though there had been no interruption. “Well met, Captain,” he said. “You have my assurances that there is no love lost between the Federation and my ship. While we would seek to avoid any active conflict with them where possible, neither would we seek to ally with them against you or otherwise provide them aid.”

  Shango shifted his weight awkwardly. “The Chesed’s crew is of similar neutral predisposition,” he added gruffly. The two captains exchanged a look of mutual respect, as though there was a great deal unsaid that they both understood.

  Nikola’s, however, remained blazing with hostile suspicion. “Heard that one before,” he chuffed. “Over and over again. At best you’re just some shitty bystanders who’ll do whatever needs doing to save your own skins. At worst you’r
e just some fresh trojans looking for an in. Either way: Fuck yourselves. If you want to prove you’re anything else, you can restore Zion’s controls and get the hell off this sector so we can get to work. If not, you can draw guns and try your damn luck. Guaranteed your day-spa crew won’t do so well when you’re fighting real warriors. Ones who can’t be hacked, might I add.”

  Blackfriar nodded thoughtfully in the midst of Nikola’s polemic as though they were having a calm, civil debate. He waited just a few seconds to make sure Nikola had finished speaking. “Your suspicions are understandable, considering the gravity of the foes you face. It would be a disservice to your crew and your cause not to be such, of course. Their lives are in your hands, after all.”

  Nikola’s face showed a mixture of confusion and disgust. Bentley thought it resembled how someone might react to punching a man in the face only to find out it was made of gelatin. He seemed unsure how to answer now, likely knowing any level of hostility that came short of actual violence would be met with the same kind of amicable diplomacy. The pause was enough that Blackfriar saw fit to continue speaking unhindered. “Now, if we can get to the true issue at hand, it is of course one that you already raised,” he said.

  “So you’re saying you’ll restore our ship’s controls, then,” Nikola replied as though it were still a demand, rather than a question.

  “Of course,” Blackfriar answered. “It would be against my interests not to. All of our interests, in fact. But that was not what I was referencing. You touched on a much more salient subject, that of getting to work.”

  “Right,” Nikola agreed. “We’ve got a job to do out here, and I don’t need weirdos and mercs hanging out and getting in our way.”

  Blackfriar gave Nikola a respectful nod and turned his head slightly to Shango. “I presume you, too, were brought to the far reaches of Klaunox for a particularly lucrative job.”

  “Didn’t say it was lucrative,” Nikola responded suspiciously.

  “The job offer was extremely generous,” Shango acknowledged. “Enough that we were willing to accept it in spite of a vaguely defined client and minimal details.”

  Nikola’s eyes widened, with a great deal more surprise than anger when he heard Shango’s description of it, but he said nothing.

  “Beyond that, you found yourself in great enough need of such payment due to rather desperate circumstances, yes?” Blackfriar asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Shango confirmed. “Certain events have made it necessary for us to leave the Klaunox sector for the foreseeable future.”

  “An endeavor requiring a large, sudden overhead investment,” Blackfriar said. He looked over at Nikola now and continued. “Much as I’m sure your rebellion needs for its operation.”

  “A rebellion is always desperate for finance,” Nikola answered evasively. “The day we stop needing money is the day that we’ve won.”

  “Of course.” Blackfriar allowed the line of conversation to glide over that detail without pressing it. “In any case, the nature of your job is one that you received minimal briefing on, other than that it concerns a theft from Thralldom station.”

  “I fucking knew it!” Ivor yelled out suddenly. “These guys are playing us, Dad!”

  Nikola shot another look of reprimand to him. “That’s Captain,” he clarified, his grating voice making what probably passed for a whisper from his mouth.

  Ivor stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. “Forgive me, Captain,” he said.

  Shango’s eyes fixated on Blackfriar. Bentley had seen him looking at her that way before, in a manner that looked like it could peer directly into a person’s soul. The first few times she’d felt it, it seemed like nothing but her own embellishment of its intensity, but the more she observed it, and the more strange things she learned about the Chesed’s crew, the more she began to think there was something very specific occurring.

  “You are our employer, then?” Shango finally asked him.

  “No, that I am not,” Blackfriar answered. “Though a logical conclusion to arrive at, either one of you would have been capable of giving such an impression to me, were you the hosts of our summit. I’m afraid what’s occurred is even stranger. By chance, or perhaps even by design, it seems that all three of our vessels have been hired to perform the same job at Thralldom station.”

  Nikola’s standoffish demeanor cracked slightly with a morbid half-grin. “Shit. Guess maybe they expected us all to kill each other, huh?” he said. “So we were getting played after all.”

  Shango eyed him almost sympathetically. “It was almost so,” he added.

  “If the risks of that happening weren’t so immediate, I can assure you I would not have violated the integrity of the Zion’s systems,” Blackfriar said to Nikola with a tonal implication of respectful apology.

  Nikola looked as placated as he could be by this news, though at the price of seeming doubly upset. “Motherfuckers!” he said. “I knew this job was too good to be true.”

  Blackfriar continued. “While this could very well have been an act of malice, I’ve found no proof to that end. Furthermore, the job seems to remain. If there was an intent to draw us into a conflict, that effort has failed. There is no reason to forfeit the profit in this mission on account of that.”

  “What, so you’ll just yield the job to us?” Nikola said with a hefty dose of incredulity. “Just like that? Somehow I doubt Captain Vagrant over there’s gonna feel the same.”

  Shango made a sharp exhale from his nostrils that Bentley took as his own stoic equivalent to Oh, hell no!

  “Yes, that would be unreasonable,” Blackfriar admitted. “I, too, have an obligation to my crew that necessitates the completion of this job. You could no more expect the two of us to yield to you than you could find it reasonable that we ask the same.”

  Nikola’s brow furrowed again. “So we’re back to square one, then,” he responded flatly.

  “Unless…” Shango nodded as though a conclusion had already been reached, which he was accepting in his own mind. “Yes, that is the prudent decision. Nash equilibrium.”

  Captain Blackfriar looked surprised for the first time, as though Shango had said something he had no answer to. “Pardon me?” he asked.

  “A principle of ancient mathematics,” Shango explained. “Essentially it describes the best decision that can be made taking into account the behaviors of other participants. In this case, that all three of us complete the job together.”

  Even as Blackfriar gave a more genuine grin at Shango’s deduction, Nikola slapped the glassy tabletop with the flat of his hand. “Not gonna happen,” he said. “I’m not taking a paycut.”

  “All of us would prefer not to take less,” Blackfriar answered him. “However, the reward is generous enough that, even were we to split it three ways, we can likely all achieve our intended goals with it.”

  “A goal, sure” Nikola responded. “But not the goal. Until we’re free, you can be damn sure I can’t spare a single volt out of our war chest.”

  Shango’s cold eyes met the fire of Nikola’s. “Yet, if you choose not to cooperate, then you bring yourself into a conflict that could at worst leave you with nothing, and at best leave your ship damaged and ill-prepared for the oncoming mission.”

  Nikola looked back at Shango as though his calm words had been an outright challenge. “Big words from the smallest ship at the table,” he grunted. “Either way, your rustbucket is fucked, so maybe you should just back off and let me hash this out with baldy.”

  “He is correct, though,” Blackfriar cut into the tension between them. “There would be no victors in a conflict between the three of us, only unnecessary costs. And it seems to me that all three of our ships lend themselves to their own unique talents. Upon joining forces for this operation, I believe our chances of success are virtually guaranteed. Three heads are better than one, of course.”

  “That sounds like Federation talk to me,” Ivor cut in.

  This
time Nikola didn’t reprimand him. “Compromise everything for your own survival. Always goes down like that, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t like this, Captain,” Ivor said. “Bad feeling all around.”

  “Me either,” Nikola replied, though with resignation. “But it doesn’t feel like we’ve got much of a choice.”

  “Do we have an accord, then?” Blackfriar asked them.

  “This is acceptable,” Shango stated.

  “I guess I’m in,” Nikola begrudgingly answered. “But we split it three ways. Right down the middle. And you two clowns are going to be putting all the point-risk with ships and manpower. If I’m gonna do this to avoid repairs and loss of life, you can be damned certain my priority is gonna be avoiding repairs and loss of life.”