Tosh was the first to arrive at the meeting place arranged by his family and the Ironmongers. He’d arrive by horse. Unlike the last time he was on such a beast, Tosh felt more secure. The ray gun at his side rested with more comfort than before. He’d had some time to use it and grow more accustomed to it on his hip, not simply pretending it was there. The man that rode with Tosh gave him more peace of mind. Though it was hard to believe, the last time Tosh had traveled with Azal Kamir, Tosh was the one time bandit leader’s prisoner.

The bandit had come to him and said that he owned Tosh a debt. Tosh was not one to believe such a turnaround, yet he could thank Azal—in a twisted sort of way—for being the one to thrust him into his last planet-hopping adventure.

And with Bors getting drunk and demanding that we spend a Martian year and a day apart, I don’t have many other people to choose from to have my back.

“Are you sure this is a sound plan, sahib?” Azal asked, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. The thief’s eyes slid back and forth, scanning the area.

Tosh gave the bandit a snort of derisive laughter. “This is a meeting arranged by my father. Not a sound plan at all. Until they reveal what the trap is . . . I must continue on.” The possibility of him being true to his word if I make this plan work is too good to pass up, Tosh thought. Tosh’s plan would either help mend ties with his father or sever them completely. Give him a place in the family again, accepted as the heir. Or die trying.

“House du’Vaul does nothing small,” Tosh said while dismounting. Azal followed suit and took Tosh’s reins. As Tosh edged closer to the tent, he squinted when the very tent walls grew fuzzy. Blinking, he took a few steps back. The tent came into focus. This far out? He sighed and shook his head. He marveled at how the security screen to make the tent less tangible had such a wide area effect.

“Is there something wrong, sahib?” Azal asked while slipping up beside Tosh.

“The amount of preparation. It’s gone a little overboard.”

“What do you mean?” the thief asked.

Instead of an answer, Tosh pulled out a small, battered case of leather and metal.

“My House has decided that a disruption field a hundred feet out will help suppress the Ironmongers and their weapons.” He plucked out the small wireframed glasses and placed them on his nose. “And it has also rendered my implants inoperable.” He saw he was correct. His vision stayed constant as he stepped forward. “Same for you, if you have any.”

“If there’s such a precaution, why did you agree to have me come along and help?” Azal asked.

Wordlessly, Tosh nodded to his saddlebag. Azal took a beat before going to the tied horses and pulling free a small shiny metal case. He opened it, looked inside, then looked at Tosh with an eyebrow raised. “You don’t trust them much, do you?” He asked, looking back at the dismantled heavy rifle in the case.

“Only about as far as I can throw them,” he said, smirking, then pushing his glasses up his nose. The glasses were an annoying thing, yet he would be needed since his implants to correct his nearsightedness, rendered useless inside the tent. “This is supposed to be a meeting of protocol and protection for all those involved. Yet, this is House du’Vaul, and they are not exactly supporting me fully on this mission.”

“They are your House, sahib. Your family. Do they—”

“No, my family is not with the House,” Tosh said. “It is those I trust with my life. Which comes down to two people at the moment. One is not here.”

“You honor me, Tosh,” Azal said. His cheeks grew red. “I mean, sahib.”

“Tosh is more than fine, Azal. I don’t mind you using it.”

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Azal gave a nod. “Is there a place you wish for me to be?”

“Hidden, but close enough to see as much of the tent as possible.”

“Consider it done, sa—Tosh,” Azal said. He then drew his sand mask on.

Tosh looked back to the tent and then back to Azal, but he was gone. His horse was still there, giving a small whicker. “Well, he is good at that,” Tosh said with a smirk.”

“Do not worry, Tosh, I’m ready,” Azal’s voice whispered in the tiny earpiece implanted in Tosh’s ear canal. “I’m close enough to act and will do so.”

“Good,” Tosh said. He took a deep breath and kicked his horse into motion.

They had erected the tent a thousand leagues from any possible hidden landing site of a rocket. Nor was there a waypoint for a Gate to be formed within twenty leagues. It annoyed Tosh that he had had to deal with such paranoid and extreme measures to make sure this person was catered to. He had not wanted to do this, yet his father had asked him to speak to Renard, which worried and thrilled Tosh.

That his father had asked Tosh to speak to the general of the Ironmongers was startling. Some of his exploits must had reached his father’s ear apparently, which was what Tosh had wanted in the first place. When his father’s holo visage had said “the man to talk to Renard,” Tosh was sure it was a fake. Later authenticated by his little sister Lizel that father had gone and chosen Tosh to speak to General Richard Renard of the Ironmongers, that bastard.

The reason Tosh had been chosen loomed in his mind as well. Renard had come close to demanding revenge for what Tosh had done before he’d run off to Mars. It felt like maybe Tosh was being set up for something. Hence, he had brought Azal. Well, that and the ambush inside the spaceport. Though, he still wasn’t sure exactly how the bandit had found him. Perhaps the rest of his family had acquiesced to the general’s rage and would be doing his father and the general a good turn by trying to kill Tosh.

It was far, far too late to turn back, Tosh mused to himself as he entered the tent. He found a lovely set up awaiting him. Though it was time-locked. The family had gone to great expense indeed to have it time-locked—a way to put a small section of space-time in stasis, at great expense usually. That was the other reason Tosh had been chosen, he was sure. If something went wrong while he was inside and setting up for the meet, if the time lock rebounded or malfunctioned, he would be sacrificed and not anyone else in the du’Vaul House.

Thanks, father.

He passed through a stasis field, feeling the electrical tingle running along his skin as he entered the tent proper. He was prompted with a visual cue of a holographic attendant, asking for a code at the vestibule of the tent. Doing so, the temporal locks were released, and the tent could join the timeline again.

The smells of the various foods caused him to realize he’d had nothing but trail rations for three days. His mouth watered at the aroma. A just reward for traveling days for this meeting. The soft babbling of an artificial waterfall came from the corner. The movements of servants moving around as the time-lock ended. All were strong bodied and clad in light coverings, for even though the tent was temperature controlled, the aesthetic was of pseudo-Arabian dress in diaphanous silks for the women and ballooning jodhpur for the serving men. Some were bare chested, others sporting mesh or sheer silk tunics on in a riot of eye-wrenching colors. The servants looked to Tosh and gave a bow.

“A pleasure, Tosh of House du’Vaul. It has been some time,” the head of the servants said with a bow.

“It has, Tyla. How is my family?” he asked, plucking a slice of fruit from the platter she offered.

“They are well, sir,” she said without missing a step.

So, they have been well trained . . . good, Tosh thought as he gave her a small bow. “The general will be here soon. You and the others should wait in the—”

“We were told that he would wish to have us around for service?”

Tosh cocked his head to the side. “I thought he would want his Ironmongers to—”

“No, sir. The field is to keep his metalheads out of the tent. He’s allowed one,” Tyla said. She then twisted her hip in what at first, Tosh thought was an invitation. Then he saw the slim baton tied to her leg with a thong, making a telltale bulge in her silks. “We have ways to keep the Fox from being too harsh with us.”

Tosh nodded. “And what about me?”

“Maybe,” Tyla said. “Though your idea of rough is more titillating.” She gave a small smile behind her veil.

Before Tosh could push forward, there was a slight buzz in his ear, and Azal’s voice whispered, “They approach, Tosh. They are in some vehicle.”

“Keep an eye on it,” Tosh said to Azal. He then looked at Tyla, who regarded him oddly. “They are coming. I have a . . . friend on lookout.”

Tyla nodded and continued toward the serving table. The other two servants followed her to the table and settled into position to wait, kneeling, heads bowed, hands on their thighs. There was a part of Tosh that thought this was ridiculous. Yet, Renard was for keeping to certain “traditions.”