CHAPTER VIII: THE TRILANCER

Pleasure Car, Gravity Train

Valor’s Run, Platinum Accords

December 17, 2771

The Trilancer was glad to leave Rask in the rearview, the Outerboss’ barely restrained fury added a good deal of strain to negotiations. His pride was wounded, but in fairness, the Trilancer made him look weak and incompetent in the heart of his territory, and in front of a fellow Outerboss.

An odd murder attempt or two wouldn’t be out of place in the coming future.

But if he hadn’t done what he did, the Trilancer weighed, there may not have been a coming future.

Pacing about the private car, he took stock of the immediate surroundings as the train zoomed back towards the docking bay. Purple rugs and curtains adorned every surface, lavish finger foods and expensive wines on every table, but all flatware removed, and all glasses replaced with goblets and flutes of ivory or obsidian.

As for passengers, he consciously turned his head to make eye contact with Chief and Nara along one wall. He usually liked to keep his movements minimal and observe through his HUD, making him harder for others to read. But for his crew, he made sure they saw him ‘see’ them, insofar as he could. They were in this jam because of him, and he needed to make it right by them.

Chief held the same stony scowl on him since they left the Monte Cristo, lips tight and jaw protruded, eyes just a little too wide. So at least it wasn’t much different.

Nara on the other hand, had shrunk. Gone was her laid back posture and puffed out chest, high eye line and resting half-smile, now replaced with hunching shoulders, a dipped chin and an aimless downcast stare. She may as well have been naked.

The sight of her like that kept the residual anger in the Trilancer’s chest, and it burned a little hotter when he turned to the middle of the car, where Zolara sat in a Roman couch as a physician delicately applied a fast-acting gel suture to the corner of her eye. Her Scandar Recusant stood behind her, his glare only slightly more baneful than Chief’s, and a smattering of her private hit squad peppered the bar at the opposite end.

It was peculiar, the Trilancer noted — she was willingly receiving medical attention in full view of not just her subordinates, but the three hostiles. It was his experience that kingpins, warlords and the like never showed this kind of vulnerability in public, it’d undermine their credibility. If Tanion Rask had such a wound, he’d likely leave it bleeding in front of others, as if it weren’t there, then treated it privately. It’s a vainglorious show of strength, but there is a logic to it. But as Zolara lay back, the gel suture re-integrating the tissue in short order, the Trilancer saw her intent:

No matter what you did to her, she would make it pleasurable. You couldn’t phase her. This laceration on her eye? Now no more than an exfoliation. The Trilancer briefly felt nervous at that, but then recalled a detail about the car: All the flatware and glasses were gone. He smiled behind his mask. She might project the illusion that all he did was rev her engine, but evidently she took immediate precautions afterwards. She’d never show it, but now he knew:

He scared her.

“You can stop pacing now, darling,” she assured him, “The deal is struck, you’re not in any trouble.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She chuckled, waving her medic away as she sat up, eye good as new. “Well, how much trouble you’re in is up to you, now. I’m just giving the job. If you feel another sudden, idiotic compulsion to do something dashing and heroic, I suppose that would be your choice.”

“No more smoke,” he brushed off. “What’s the job?”

She smiled with her bone-white fangs. “Cargo retrieval.”

“I’m gonna need more specifics.”

“Such as?”

He sneered behind his mask. “Does this ‘cargo’ have a name and a family?”

“It’s a case of polymer and steel, you’re welcome to ask it,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s a 5x7 storage container, is that humane enough for you?”

“What’s in it?”

“Nothing nasty,” she teased, “Decommissioned United Planets equipment sitting in a dusty bin, no one’ll miss it.”

“Weapons?”

“Not to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s none of your concern, love.”

The Trilancer exhaled and resumed his pace. “What’s your business with it?”

“I like antiques. The United Planets are working hard to ensure this package never sees the light of day — naturally, I must have it.”

“You need a Trilancer for that?”

“I’ve sent other assets before, they never came back.” The Trilancer slowed a step, taking in the ominous statement. “And as of late, my closest contacts in the Wonari Belt have fallen silent. They know better than to ignore me, so I suspect it’s something dire.”

“So this isn’t just recovery, it’s extraction.”

“If that’s the proper term, yes,” she crossed her legs. “Does that violate your scruples?”

Scruples, he thought, fighting a chuckle. She’s baiting me again. “No, ma’am. I said one free job, outside Guild regulations. Any inhibitions therein would just be due to circumstance, not contract.”

“Wonderful, then it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’d be a might useful to know what kind of resistance I’m to expect.”

“I’m sure it would,” she nodded, “If I had any details to give. But I’m afraid I have no more clues. I only know that if it were natural interference, my people in the Belt would send an emissary back to me. That hasn’t happened, and they’ve not returned my transmissions in over two weeks. I’m fairly certain they’re dead.”

“Dead?” he turned sharply at her, “You don’t seem right broken up over it — I thought your crews mattered to you?”

“They do,” she stood. “That’s why I’m sending a Trilancer to confirm if they’re alive or not.”

“You must have some idea of a direction, the Wonari Belt is massive.”

“It’s the edge of the Belt, right outside the Eobaria System.”

The Trilancer fully stopped. “Eobaria?” His sight trailed off Zolara, now zoned out. Chief’s fixed scowl cracked for a second too, subtly eyeing him with concern. “There’s…there’s no contact?”

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“No,” Zolara answered with a lilt, picking up on his reaction, but unable to pin down what it meant. “As I said, my network went dark weeks ago—”

“What about official channels?” he interrupted.

She furrowed her brow and turned away. She tapped a small metallic diode imbedded under her ear and listened for a few moments.

“Broadcasting the same message — their satellites are down for maintenance,” she answered. The Trilancer’s insides tightened. “If anything, this should make the job easier — you’re going to the gas giant, Kastagir, they won’t even know you’re there. But my people going dark, that concerns me.”

The Trilancer looked back up. “Right,” he shook off, “Rivals in the area?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“Could be Aphelions,” Chief finally raised. “Sanguid Nebula ain’t far from there.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts, darling,” Zolara dismissed.

The Trilancer scoffed. “Lucky you,” he said before glancing at Chief, “But something about this just doesn’t trail.” He sat across from Zolara, brought up a star map on his gauntlet and dragged the image to a holo-projector hanging from the chandelier. The projector whirred to life, displaying the three celestial bodies of the Eobaria System in the middle of the car, and the Trilancer addressed a small, silver planetoid. “Jawhara’s an artificial construct, just one big city that orbits Parvati here,” he then motioned to a much larger solid planet of blue seas and shimmering green, gold and brown land. “Parvati’s a bread basket, only thing underground’s roots and seeds,” he went on, before nodding at a massive red orb some distance away, partly patched over with metal. “Kastagir’s got a passel of refinery platforms above the gas layer, but the refinery’s been empty for near two decades.”

“I know all of this, Captain,” Zolara rolled her eyes.

“Why does this job need a Trilancer?”

“I told you, my people nearby have disappeared.”

“Then why not hire a private military? You could afford a couple.”

“Private outfits ask questions.”

“So do I.”

“Private outfits also have bargaining power,” she warned. “You don’t.”

The Trilancer bit his lip and nodded. “That’s right true, but this isn’t some hostile frontier on the Fringe, it’s a cushy little bubble for diplomats and farmers. And yet, someone’s hiding cargo odd enough to earn your appetite, your eyes and ears in the area are all going dark, and all at once every comm satellite needs maintenance? Something’s out of color here.”

“It is…a strange happening, in faith,” she gave.

“We’ve a word for that sort of strange in English, it’s called ‘suspicious.’”

Dropping her flirty predator act, Zolara threw her hands up slightly. “I agree, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know — nobody I own has been able to give me answers. Part of the reason this is my favor,” she bit her lip, not wanting to divulge. After a beat, she shrugged and continued. “Is because your kind are discrete and thorough. You’re the man who’ll find my quarry, and you won’t candidly share that my Clan has been in the dark.”

The Trilancer almost nodded in agreement. In dropping her act and leveling with him like a professional, she just nearly earned his courtesy. If she hadn’t said ‘nobody I own,’ he might’ve been fooled into thinking he misjudged her.

“I like to know what I’m flying into,” he folded his arms. “I can’t account for the job if I don’t know all the variables.”

“Well I can’t elucidate,” she admitted, “But I can ease your worries. I’ll make sure you have the utmost protection.”

“No escorts,” he said, “Send an armed company to keep eyes on us, and any hope of discretion you had is jettisoned.”

“No, no, of course not. No companies…”

She looked left. The Trilancer followed her gaze as she settled on her Recusant. He and the Scandar seemed to realize at the same time.

“No,” he shot down.

“It’s not your place to refuse, darling. Be reasonable.”

“If you wanted me to see reason you wouldn’t send us off with an assassin.”

The Recusant stepped forward as well, signing “I’m bound to protect you, not this ingrate spacer.”

She held up a hand to him, “You’re also bound to protect my interests, which you will.”

The Trilancer up forward as well, “I’m not keen to wait until your interest is to cut our throats and have him take the package himself.”

“I would not cut your throat,” the Recusant signed at him, “I would disable your ship’s life support and wait for you to asphyxiate. Then I would cut your throat.”

The Trilancer gestured to the Recusant like a piece of evidence.

Zolara rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers at one of her servants. The servant approached with a small gold chest, and Zolara flipped it open as she went on. “Darling,” she answered the Trilancer as she absentmindedly flipped through flat, angular flash drives, “If he was going to kill you, why would he describe his ideal method right in front of you?”

“Because Scandar aren’t renowned for their modesty.”

“Nor humans for their candor,” the Recusant fired back.

“Oh, I’ve been plain with how I feel. I can get even more ‘candid’ if it’s to your liking.”

“Boys, boys,” Zolara raised a hand, still focused on the chest. “Neither of you are in a position to refuse me, let’s not debate this like the decision hasn’t been made, hm?”

The Recusant stood down first, nodding apologetically at Zolara, while the Trilancer grunted and walked away. Zolara’s manner continued to fuel his anger, but more than that, he knew he had no ground to stand on. He sighed and peered out the long windows of the train as the docking bay drew closer. “What’s the make and design of this cargo?”

“Ah!” Zolara plucked a specific drive from the chest and offered it up like a treat. “This should provide an ample image.”

The Recusant went to receive, but the Trilancer was suddenly there first, snatched it from her fingers and slotted it into his gauntlet. His HUD soon flowed with information. Zolara was careful enough to format these drives for specific purposes, as this specific one’s storage capacity was nowhere near full, only holding images of this specific cargo case, its early flight manifests and a handful of security vids of it being transported from United Forces black sites — Black sites? the Trilancer thought, The United Forces haven’t had black sites in over a decade…

“To your liking, handsome?” Zolara called him out of his trance.

He copied the files and ejected the drive. “Sufficient,” he nodded, tossing the drive back to her.

Mercifully, the train began slowing down as the docking bay now loomed ahead. The Trilancer looked at Chief and Naraami with a simple jut of his head, they acknowledged and formed up behind him. Before they could cross to the other end of the car, Zolara sidled up to the private bar and piped up.

“Oh pretty girl?” she called.

Naraami turned back slowly, the Trilancer and Chief whirled around as well, moving to defend her. Naraami waved Chief off, then looked into the Trilancer’s visor — not asking permission, but telling him to trust her. He relented, leaning his back against the wall by the door, eyeing Chief to be poised for action. His experienced first mate didn’t need to look back and confirm, she was at the ready. He glanced again at the Recusant, who waited by the other end. Finally, his focus locked on Nara as she drifted into Zolara’s personal space. The Outerboss leaned in and whispered. The Trilancer didn’t enjoy eavesdropping, but he instantly attuned his helmet’s audio sensors to their resonant frequency and listened in.

If that was an invasion of privacy, he was confident he’d find a way to live with himself.

“I wasn’t lying, love,” Zolara’s cold yet honey voice promised, “I may well know where you come from.”

Nara whispered back in a silky and assured tone unfamiliar to the Trilancer. “I’ve been lots of places, my lady. I care more about where I’m going.”

“What, with him?” Zolara chuckled, briefly flicking her eyes at the Trilancer. “Does he hold your leash?”

“That’s more like your kink than his, my lady.”

“Hmhm. It’s true, I’ll have him on a leash sometime soon, but not you. No, you? I want to do proper digging with. Get to the root of what that lovely brand really means. See if the rumors are true.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghost stories?”

“There’s a lot more to the stories about you Astra Branded than other tall tales out in the Skyfield — the devil’s in the details, you know.”

“No, she isn’t…” Nara concluded, looking Zolara over. Zolara grinned insincerely as Nara pulled away and rejoined her Captain. She nodded at him and exited, Chief right behind. The Trilancer tracked the Recusant, then followed up the rear.

In the rearview of his HUD, the Trilancer saw Zolara leering at them as they left, but she didn’t follow. He knew it didn’t matter, this whole train was most certainly under constant surveilance, hut he was still relieved that her ember eyes were no longer directly over him or his crew. The few train cars before the exit platform were similarly lined with her security or servant staff, all of whom gave he and his crew apprehensive and suspicious looks — until they got to the Recusant, oddly. When they saw him, they broke eye contact immediately. The directions they looked told the Trilancer a story: some feigned looking up at something, others just looked directly at the floor, but none looked away on the same level as them. Avoiding eye contact on the same plane was often a sign of disrespect or disinterest, but breaking off directionally? That was deferential. Reverent, maybe.

No — Fear, he concluded. That’s what it was.

Noting this, the Trilancer took a wide berth around the Recusant and caught up to Chief, both of them watching Naraami up ahead.

“Look,” he opened quietly, “I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“Later,” Chief cut him off, stomping ahead. She took point ahead of Nara, heading out of the sliding doors onto the docking bay platform. The Trilancer sighed as he and the rest of them followed, before Naraami slowed a bit, now keeping pace with him.

“Captain,” she opened quietly, “You didn’t have to—”

“Later,” he cut her off, motioning to move up. She pulled her lips in and nodded, jogging to catch up with Chief. He glanced back at the train, where Zolara’s crew watched them leave. Then he realized he was walking at pace with the Recusant. The Trilancer didn’t look at him, nor the Recusant back, but they both tensed up as they made their way to the Monte Cristo nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. They accidentally strode in-step up the Trilance’s hangar ramp, and the coincidence nearly broke their calm. One more thing, and they looked ready to go for each other’s throats.

At least they were on the same page.