‘Where is Ludwig?’ the automaton asked quietly. Its voice was the result of thousands of years of research by the uplifted races and AIs into trying to synthesise charisma and awe.
Fallen Angel closed his eyes. Sight had long since become an overrated sense. ‘He is drinking a star,’ the Elite answered, his voice deep and melodious.
‘They know it was us?’ the automaton asked. Fallen Angel just nodded. ‘Any trouble?’
‘Scab’s pale reflection was there.’
‘It is no matter; he is no longer an Elite. If he comes looking for it then he can play the Game.’
‘If the Consortium send their Elite?’
‘You’ll fight them, and stars will weep, but I don’t think they’ll risk full-scale war. They don’t have our sense of adventure. They like to control and measure their wars. Fight among themselves. That way they can be sure of the outcome.’
‘The Church?’
‘They would but don’t have Elite,’ said the automaton.
‘They have access to lot of S-tech.’
‘Embargoes are more likely, but the Consortium are as sick of their bridge monopoly as we are. We may find they are unexpected allies. No, this was one dice roll and we won.’
Fallen Angel knew that the wants and desires of the Absolute were not necessarily the wants and desires of other sentient life forms. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘It’s a toy. I’m going to play with it.’
The privacy field’s internal holographic projector was old but serviceable. It made them look like they were sitting at their table in deep space looking at a spiral galaxy. Vic liked it. It was retro but evocative.
Despite the Polyhedron’s security guarantees, Scab was still running his own checks. Privacy wasn’t as dead as people liked to claim. It was, however, very expensive.
‘I am disappointed.’ The words seemed to crawl across the blank’s features as a series of violent tics before they came rasping out of its mouth. Scab was mildly surprised that anyone would think he would care if they were disappointed.
‘So this is our mysterious employer then?’ Vic said largely for the sake of something to say.
‘What happened?’ the blank managed after a violent-looking facial spasm that made Vic sit back.
‘Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t viable,’ Scab told the blank.
The blank’s mouth opened wide. ‘I want it,’ it finally managed.
‘Whoever’s running the Monarchist systems these days wanted it more,’ Scab told the blank.
‘Two fucking Elites!’ Vic snapped, his mandibles clattering audibly.
‘Not one, because that would have been easy, but two fucking Elites.’
‘I want it,’ the blank repeated.
‘Elites are beyond my capabilities,’ Scab said. It sounded matter of fact, and only someone who knew him as well as Vic did could understand how much that admission cost him. ‘I would like to be able to kill them but I can’t.’
‘I want it,’ the blank repeated.
‘Well at least we finally have a reasonable employer,’ Vic said. The ’sect was never one to pass up an opportunity to practise his sarcasm. Only felines were better than humans at sarcasm.
The blank’s head slewed around violently to stare at Vic with the patches of skin over where its eyes should be. It turned back to look at Scab with an equally violent motion.
‘Fine. Give me back my armour and the rest of my capabilities, undo the neural surgery, but leave me free and I’ll get it for you,’ said Scab.
Vic turned to stare at Scab. His features weren’t designed to convey the horror he felt.
‘Tell me this isn’t what this is about?’ the ’sect demanded. Scab ignored him.
‘You would be a monster,’ the blank managed through a series of painful facial contortions.
‘Which is what you need now,’ Vic pointed out. The blank shook its head. It looked like it was trying to turn its neck all the way around.
‘Then I can’t get it for you,’ said Scab. ‘Once I had access to intelligence on the possible whereabouts of the aristos’ Citadel but not now.’
‘We… will… provide,’ the blank managed. A cold chill settled on Vic.
‘Even with the intelligence, the Citadel’s going to be high-end S-tech. It could be out of phase; it could even be in Red Space.’
‘We will provide.’ The repeat message seemed to be easier for the blank.
‘It doesn’t matter if you give us the tools and the intelligence; we can’t fight Elite.’ Scab was starting to sound exasperated.
‘Proliferation,’ the blank whispered. Scab stared at it for a moment, then it was Scab’s features’ turn to contort. Vic felt like moving away from him. He didn’t like Scab having emotions. Particularly negative ones like anger.
It happened quickly. Vic found himself wearing part of the blank. The top of the blank’s skull was missing. Scab was holding a smoking tumbler pistol. The sound of the shot inside the tiny privacy cage was deafening but both of their augmentations had coped easily with it. The privacy field that protected them from surveillance also protected them from the Polyhedron’s security systems. There was a reason that privacy cages were also called murder cages.
‘Impulse control! Impulse control!’ Vic screamed at him. Scab’s pale face was also spattered with bits of blank. ‘The S-tech in that guy would have cost the Cartel a fortune! Have you ever had a queen angry at you! It was just a fucking messenger!’
The ’sect was sure they would now have to fight both of the warriors waiting for them. Even as ex-Thunder Squad, starting life as a member of the worker caste had instilled in Vic a fear of the warrior caste on a genetic level. Vic drew both his double-barrelled laser pistols with his top set of arms. With his bottom right he drew the triple-barrelled shotgun pistol. Scab was placing a new round in the empty chamber of his archaic tumbler pistol. The blank was still opposite them, what was left of his head little more than a red bowl of bone and skin. Scab replaced the tumbler pistol in its holster.
‘I mean, what a fucking total waste of time!’ Vic continued ranting. The last time the ’sect had been this angry was when Scab had lobotomised the Basilisk’s AI because he hadn’t liked the ghost’s attitude. ‘Why aren’t you drawing weapons?’ Scab ignored him. ‘I mean, what is it with you?! You hear something you don’t like and someone, anyone has to pay! And I mean what the fuck?! The whereabouts of the aristos’ Citadel?! That’s either board-level consortium intel or one of the fucking royals turning on their own! A palace coup! Like the fucking Art War! Remember that?! What have you got us into?!’
‘I value these little talks,’ Scab said, lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag, the cigarette’s end glowing cherry-red. Vic stared at him. It was scarier because he knew that Scab wasn’t being sarcastic. He probably meant it. This was quality time with another carbon-based life form for Scab.
‘We’re doing it,’ he finally said. For a moment Vic was speechless.
‘You’re not a fucking Elite any more! We are way out of our league!’ Vic’s neunonics autonomously took the calm and informed decision to release massive amounts of sedative into his biological systems to calm him. Through the narcotic haze he started to wonder what the blank had meant by ‘proliferation’. ‘I’m not doing it. It’s suicide and since you murdered me I don’t have any clone insurance left. So die here, die there – makes no difference to me. This way it’s over quickly and I don’t have to put up with however many time units of shit-excreting fear.’