{Gait}

Pehton felt pale. A gray cast covered her pitch-black skin. She kept checking her hands to see if the color washed away. Korac’s past, what little he shared with her, left her sick. Bruised. And that was only a quick overview. The way he talked about it, too. So clinical. Cold. Dead.

She shuddered and chafed her arms, freezing. Her boots splashed along the wet pavement on her way to Razor’s Emporium. The purple Overseers droned through the sky. Unmanned, they swept for escaped prisoners or persons of interest. She received their reports every hour to her palm device. The uncatalogued faces of Prisonborne required the occasional followup, but otherwise the prison planet was quiet.

As she crossed to the warehouse’s revolving door, Pehton considered her reasons for returning. She no longer trusted the memories Razor granted her. It freed her from him in a sad way. Her liberation was a consolation prize for forgetting the beautiful faces of the little boy and girl—

The door was locked. She pushed, but it refused to spin. Unheard of. A little frantically, Pehton knocked on the glass. She came here to ask Razor about the Atheneum. Ever since she was made, Razor was always here. He might know something.

If he’d answered the door.

The ginger human came to the glass. “He said if it was you to tell you to wait. He’ll be with you in a minute.”

“I’m—”

“The Executive Warden of Gait. Yea, yea. Anyway, he’ll be right over.” Then he took a sloppy bite out of a massive sandwich.

Well.

Pehton stepped away and reflected on her conversation with the Icarean General. “The one man I can’t see in my memory asked the man in white pants about the Atheneum. As if they were assigned to guard it. Hide it, even.” The devastation in Korac’s gaze kept her from pressing. He was famous for the perfectly cultivated mask. The most nonreactive leader in the Vast Collective’s history. Devastated, and he let her see it.

“You’re shivering, Peh Peh.”

If she wasn’t before, she would now. Razor’s voice was pure ice. The other night with Korac and Sagan was the first time she truly defied him. It was a bad idea, but Gait’s Warden would never regret it. For once, people took her side and had her back. It warmed her through, even at the memory. But how did she proceed from here?

Pehton turned and offered him a professional smile. “That’s Executive Warden Pehton. May I come in? I’m conducting a Vast Collective investigation, and I have a few questions to ask you.”

It bothered her so much that Razor smirked as he gestured her inside. “Quite the return to form, Executive Warden. If you’ll follow me this way.” To the ginger human, he instructed, “Matt, please see to our guest.”

“Sure, boss.” The ginger winked at Pehton and walked off while stuffing his face with the last of his sandwich.

Up the wrought-iron stairs to the mezzanine. Across the corrugated metal to the vault. Which he opened and indicated for her to follow inside. Odd. Pehton hesitated at the blackness inside. So seamless, she startled when Razor sank into a staircase in the floor.

He raised a questioning brow. “Is there a problem, Executive Warden?” As if this sort of clandestine set up was normal, and she was the weird one.

Still, Pehton followed him below. It dropped them into a barely lit black cavern that spanned the entire basement of the original warehouse. An Olympic swimming pool of a bed took up the center, sunken into the space. The sheets struck her as odd. They were a purple silk and familiar. A colossal desk overlooked the bed. Enki tablets and stationery neatly arranged on top.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Razor called out, “I’m home.”

Oh. This was why he wanted her down here.

The Lyriks poured out of the dark space. Scantily clad or entirely naked. They slipped the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders. Pulled out the desk chair for him. Handed him a drink. All while Pehton stood across the desk from him.

Oleen pushed in the chair under him. Triss, the brightest red-feathered of the Lyriks, walked up with a sultry sway to her hips, got on her knees, and ducked her head out of Pehton’s sight under the desk. In Razor’s lap. Her head bobbed a bit, and the Executive Warden felt bile rise. Before she vomited, Triss stood with his loafers in hand.

Smug. Perversely gratified by Pehton’s disgust. Bastard. He kicked his feet up on the desktop, and Triss snatched a pillow to place under them. Such a gross display of power. Power Pehton gave him. Power he now threatened her with.

Razor leaned back with his arms folded behind his head. “How may I help with your investigation, Executive Warden Pehton?”

Shamed, she trembled. She did not pity these women. They brought this on themselves, and she wasn’t entirely sure they’d yet served the extent of the sentence they deserved. She would never be like them.

“What do you know of the Atheneum?” Professional.

He chuckled and sat up straight as if relenting the display for the conversation. “A long time ago, the Tritans scoured the planet for it. It’s a myth. Something about the Ancients. I’ve lived here for millions of years. I’ve known no one to find it.”

Bullshit. “During Inanis—”

“Peh Peh.” He admonished her gently. Filled the familiar endearment with kindness and a warmth close to love. The follow-up sigh sounded with pity.

“—Two men discussed the preservation of it in the prison yard.” The Executive Warden didn’t acknowledge the interruption. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders.

Razor stared at her across that immense desk and looked impressed with her. He rapped his knuckles on the surface before offering, “We haven’t been very nice to each other over the last few days. Have we?”

The charm, when he laid it on thick, tempted her. Return to the status quo. The familiar. The safe. In his good graces.

“I’ll do something nice for you. No favors in return. Just to show you there are no hard feelings between us, and we can return to being friends.”

So tempting. The tension with someone like him truly unnerved her.

He slipped his suspenders off and finished his drink in one gulp. As he rolled up his sleeves, Razor finished his proposal, “I’ll ask around and cash in on a few favors. The Atheneum. Inanis. Your whole crusade. Free of charge.”

Pehton’s eyes widened in surprise. Razor did not do charity. Cautiously, she prodded, “I hope you understand I find this offer too generous.”

When he stood, she almost flinched. “I like you, Peh Peh. If I didn’t…” He spread his arms wide to once again remind her of the worst-case scenario. “I don’t want to fight with you. Hell, the little show the other night brought in so many customers over the last few days, I might even owe the three of you credits. The highest rollers arrived from all over the galaxy for the chance to glimpse the sainted Seamswalker and her sinful Icarean General. It’s adorable.”

She reluctantly sighed in relief. With enough credits, Razor could forgive anything. “I’d appreciate your participation in this investigation.”

Razor held out his hand with a kind smile. Pehton hesitantly placed hers in it. He pressed two fingers to the pulse point in her wrist. As he did when they first met so very long ago. “Let’s start over.”

They emerged from his creepy basement in time to find Sagan exiting a booth, looking exhausted and hauntingly satisfied. The young woman forgot to close the port in her chest. She also lost some weight—

“Hey, Pehton. I still owe you an apology, but I’m heading out. Didn’t want to be rude and leave without saying goodbye.” Sagan nodded to Razor.

The Executive Warden stepped over to her and closed the nacre port. Into that shamed smile, Pehton said, “You eat something and get some sleep somewhere other than Korac’s cell.”

“You can always sleep in the infirmary,” the Pain Curator offered.

Matt appeared from the kitchens and glued himself to his employer. “Yea, I can stand watch.”

Pehton didn’t like the proud beam Razor shined on his human employee for vouching.

Do not tell that grown woman how to live her life. Do not adopt her like some little sister and sway her from sleeping where she shouldn’t. The Seamswalker could handle herself. Although, given her current condition, maybe not so much.

“I appreciate that, but I promised Tameka I’d stay with her in Enki. She gets kinda mad if I break a promise. I’ll see you, later.” After a wave, she disappeared.

Razor looked visibly disappointed. He wiped it clean off his face as he turned to Pehton, “I’m returning to my home. Unless there’s anything else?”

“No. Thank you. I look forward to news on the Atheneum.”

A strange ripple coursed over the Pain Curator’s body at the word. Like his muscles shifted and rustled. “Of course. Good night, Peh Peh.”

He nodded to Matt, who led Pehton to the door. “See you next time, Executive Warden.” Even the young man sassed her.

On her walk to the prison, she considered how someone like Razor slept. That’s when a figurative bolt of lightning hit her. Recognition dawned.

The sheets were violet. The color of Sagan’s eyes.

“Motherfucker.”