Chapter 10

The adrenaline drained from Adam’s blood like a wave receding from a beach. In the absence of something to fight—to kill—dark questions muddied his thoughts. Why had Remington tried to kill him? How dangerous was the research that was stolen? And most of all, had his mother known about the kill order?

He absently watched as the crew scrambled about the room, arming themselves with the weapons of the fallen gang that could be hidden from station security. Buddy and the infernum exchanged a few words he didn’t pick up on. Jim tended to the crew’s injuries. Then Zenith was at his side, saying something to him. When he didn’t respond, she cocked her helmeted head, took his arm, and pulled him to the exit.

“So how did you get tangled up with Remington and why should we trust you? We’ve been trusting too many fucking people lately,” Odybrix said, pointedly staring back at Sturdy.

“You’re a spunky one, ain’t you?” Ebby asked as they hurriedly walked away from the club. “I mean, we can start with how I didn’t chop ya to bits, or maybe take the whole ‘enemy of my enemy’ route. Remington, and corpos in general, can go take a walk on a stellar corona. I won’t work for them and they sure as heck won’t get their hands on me.”

“Look, what you’re singing is exactly what I like to dance to, but—wait, what’s that tattoo under your collarbone?”

“None of your business is what it is. Is she this forward with everyone?” Ebby asked, turning to Hoxley and adjusting her vest.

“Yes. Without exception.”

“No, do you have one of these?” Odybrix asked, lifting the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a splayed cobalt wing.

“Gonna assume you mean the wing and not any of the other things in that menagerie of tattoos. No, I don’t. Though, I have worked with your associates before. Shoulda guessed you were one of them. Same attitude. Same height.”

“Not all Blue Wings are halflings, and we’ll see if you check out,” Odybrix said, tapping a message into the PDA on her wrist.

“What were you after back there?” Adam asked, trying to regain his composure.

“The location of an information dealer. I got word that he was meeting up with someone I’m lookin’ for.”

“Does this someone happen to wear a mask?” Zenith asked.

“Yeah. Bad dude. I’ve been trackin’ him a long time.”

“We need to speak with him and someone he’s been traveling with.”

“Well, I intend to stick him and whoever tries to stop me with Denise.”

“Denise?”

Ebby pulled up her shirt, revealing a metal cylinder tucked into her pants—the beam blade.

“I’m going to ask that you not stick Denise into the other one. Please.”

“Why not?” Ebby asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“He’s my brother. I don’t know how he got tangled up in this, but I’m getting him out. Preferably before he starts wearing freaky masks.”

“Because walking around with your face hidden all the time would be ridiculous!” BOB said, sarcasm indecipherable from his tone.

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely, I will make a strong effort not to kill him. Does he look like you, and by that, I mean does he walk around wearin’ a racer’s helmet?”

“No. He’s an elf. White hair. Late twenties.”

“Noted. Well, it looks like our paths are runnin’ parallel for a while. If we’re lucky, I’ll get Vaelor, you’ll get your brother, and y’all might find some information that gets Remington off your back for a while.”

“You said they’ll keep coming?” Hoxley asked.

“Yeah, you’re always gonna be on their radar now. If they’re tryin’ to keep a secret from getting out, you’d do well to get it out first. That takes the timer off the situation. Then they’ll take their time settlin’ the score.”

“Great. Any chance you can pull a few strings, Adam?” Hoxley asked. “I’m not keen on being in rooms with acid vapour and shotgun robots. Really, anywhere that isn’t a kitchen, library, or my bed is terrible.”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?” Buddy asked. “You look a little pale.”

“How can you tell through all of the burns?” Odybrix asked.

“I’m fine,” Adam managed. “Let’s just keep going.”

The information from Tibor’s PDA indicated that he and his thugs were going to the Elysium district after the Sunrunner’s crew had been dealt with. Illias McIntyre, the information broker Ebby had mentioned, was said to be meeting with a masked contact in his suite at the Calypsa Luxury Tower. Vaughan Spectre had tasked Tibor with Vaelor’s quiet demise and the retrieval of the missing item from the research station. Now those objectives would be taken up by the crew of the Sunrunner with the express purpose of exposing Remington’s actions, or, as Odybrix would put it, shoving it up their ass.

The Elysium district was a sprawling section of the station with a 500-foot-high windowed ceiling that looked out at the cosmos. A massive park snaked its way through the center of the district, providing one of the most scenic strolls one could take off-planet. High-end retail and residences abutted the greenery, redundantly signifying the wealth of the area, as if a giant space garden wasn’t enough.

Normally, it would be a lot to take in. Zenith, however, found herself chalk-mouthed and consumed by thoughts of the upcoming confrontation. She hadn’t seen Harlow in years and their last meeting wasn’t a pleasant one. She had taken the unenviable position of defending her father, a corporate crook with a warrant out for embezzlement. She didn’t want to defend her father—his actions fucked up their lives—but if she was pissed about it, then Harlow was a pot of bubbling rage spilling onto the stovetop. After his military career took a hit from the bad press, he got it in his head to lure their father out of hiding and bring him to justice; he needed her help for this. Zenith disagreed and took the brunt of her brother’s misdirected anger.

Calypsa loomed into view, a gods awful gleaming golden eyesore amongst a wall of equally ostentatious dwellings. She had experienced her share of gaudy locales when she was on the racing circuit, either following her mother or in her own brief career. In her youth, posh places like this used to intimidate her. That feeling blossomed into mild contempt for those who would rather squander their credits on high thread count bedsheets than something useful, like paying their employees a livable wage, or helmet polish—couldn’t have enough of that. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to muster the old animosity.

Adam, possibly the least suspicious-looking among the group, led the way through the tower’s double doors. The lobby was what one might envision when the word “luxury” was mentioned: marble floors, sprawling water feature, attendants ready to spring into action at the snap of someone’s fingers. Though, the assembled bellhops seemed hesitant to approach their motley troupe.

“So are we just going to ask to see this McIntyre guy?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah, that’ll go well,” Odybrix said. “‘Excuse me, my burnt and bleeding associates would like a word with your very rich clientele. What’s that? Stay here for a minute while you go call security? Sure, no problem.’ I’m surprised they haven’t called already.”

“I could slip past them and find a back way in,” Sturdy offered.

“I don’t know if we’re in any shape to handle a fight if things go sideways,” Adam said.

“Well, y’all better make a decision quickly; we’re startin’ to draw attention,” Ebby said.

Zenith took a breath and began preparing a lie to give to the receptionist. She would say that she and her pit crew got into a scrap with a rival racing outfit and that she needed her benefactor to clear up the mess. It was plausible enough. At the very least, reception would confirm whether he was actually in the building. But before she could act, Hoxley walked straight to the receptionist.

Odybrix hissed an expletive as he walked away, then quickly buried her frustration when half the room turned to look at her. Hoxley and the receptionist, a young dwaven woman, appeared to be having a pleasant conversation. Whatever apprehension she might have held at seeing the haggard crew melted away into a disarmed smile and laughter. Then, curiously, Hoxley made a quick series of gestures with his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Zenith caught Ebby’s posture shift and noticed her brow furrow. A few seconds later, Hoxley returned.

“We can go up,” Hoxley said, brandishing a key card. “Penthouse One.”

“How...” Adam trailed off.

“I asked nicely.”

“Does she have a thing for reedy nerd cooks?” Odybrix asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hoxley asked.

“This newfound confidence is extremely disturbing.”

“Why, what about me do you find unattractive?”

Odybrix raised a hand and motioned vaguely at his entire body.

“I didn’t mark you as the persuasive type, darlin,” Ebby said.

“Neither did we. So we can just go up?” Zenith asked.

“Yep, but let’s be quick in case she changes her mind.”

The group packed themselves into an elevator and Hoxley keyed in their ascent. Despite her preoccupation with Harlow, Zenith still kept an eye on Sturdy, who stood next to BOB. They would need to finish the conversation they started. Were it not for Buddy’s “feeling” about him, Zenith might have shot him back at the bar. Until she could ensure BOB’s safety, Sturdy was a threat.

“This song is terrible!” BOB said, extending their manipulator to turn off the elevator music.

“It’s elven classical,” Sturdy said.

“You say that as though I should be impressed!”

“You should,” Sturdy said, offence breaking through his gravelly tone. “The piece is about the loss of the composer’s ancestral home to the wrath of a vengeful god, or what is historically believed to be a devastating wildfire. It’s moving.”

“It’s inadequate!”

Sturdy scowled and said, “What would you know about music?”

“Quite a bit! I will demonstrate!”

A pleasant, inoffensive, and entirely unmemorable tune began emitting from BOB.

“There!”

“This is elevator music,” Sturdy said, scowl deepening.