Chapter V: Angles

“The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

A██ I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”

~ Mary Howitt 1799-18█8 A.D

(Record Incomplete)

507 A.E. April 25, 06:43:23 Local

Khal Dowin

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven, Dowin Engineering Planetary Headquarters

I sit, contemplating.

I sense some pattern—some manner of plot unfolding. I’ve always had a mind for these sorts of things—hell, half the time I’m head deep in several schemes of my own. Nevertheless, doing a little more digging on Sol and Danther, I found a connection between the two and the lovely miss Luna, they all having lived in the same orphanage in Farshore. That much, at least, checks out.

What’s more, what she said to me when I was masquerading as her A.I. did not indicate any collusion on their part—if anything, it supported the idea that Sol and Danther really don’t have any clue that Luna had helped them. It’s actually rather sweet of her, helping without expecting some manner of repayment; sweet and a bit foolish.

Even so, Sol’s been showing up at the port, talking to The Ship. Most of what he says is just emotional wash—bitching about this or explaining about that—but it has me wondering if it’s some sort of strategy to get himself in.

It’s been months since I tried, but the idea of getting into an Earth-built ship still intrigues me. Even if my grandfather hadn’t ordered it, I suspect I would have found my way to discovering The Ship and inevitably tried to get at its secrets. Yet Grandfather did give the order and I am therefore inclined to regard the thing with the utmost suspicion and curiosity.

I would enjoy the simplicity of a scenario where the endgame of Danther, Sol, and Luna is to enter The Ship, but the facts just do not favor the idea. Luna has been with the company for several years, beginning with my own unseen guidance; she has no idea I have been guiding her path since I here university marks showed up in my inbox. Sol and Danther were targeted by me too after the snoopers discovered the latter’s design specs and only came to this city after a long, circuitous route.

They would have had to plan this in their teenage years and, despite my own aspirations at that age, this seems to be an overly complex scenario, Luna as a long-term sleeper, Danther and Sol performing a reverse Trojan Horse, and all the time avoiding any direct connection with The Ship.

No, The Ship is not the goal here.

Less unlikely, though still extremely convoluted, I myself might be the focal point. All the same stipulations would apply, though there is no why. Had I killed their parents? —I the one who sent them to an orphanage?

I do a deeper search of their government files, knowing everything in them might be as fictitious as any number of sims.

Huh. Luna’s Blood—third generation; it would seem the rest of the family disowned her after her mother—the bloodline carrier—died, the father leaving the family’s sphere of influence. Odd that she hasn’t tried to reconnect, though, if I know anything about those self-important fuckwits, they probably shoved her out of the realm of power as soon as they could. Then again, she probably doesn’t know.

Danther’s mother, a surveyor, died in shipboard accident; his father—I clench my fist, reading the man’s arrest record. It would seem the young genius and I have something in common.

And Sol… Sol’s file is bland—well here are a couple here’s and there’s after he was entrusted to the orphanage, but nothing on his past—no… That… that’s just peculiar. I browse and—

I drop my glass, the whiskey and ice sloshing.

He’s got a BLACK code on his EXL-9… that…

Are they targeting the company? The ex-Blood, the boy genius, and the BLACK? Do they see me as some sort of linchpin? Perhaps they have a coordinator? —someone pulling their strings?

I shake my head, taking a sip of whisky with a trembling hand I quickly still.

BLACK.

BLACK could mean anything.

It’s only paranoia if one stoops to worry; considering potentially wild notions for the sake of preparedness is an entirely different story. I’ll have a dryworks team perform a deep probe—Sol, especially. Yet they aren’t going to find anything—BLACK… BLACK’s deep.

Who the hell are you, kid?

I sigh, shaking my head and taking another sip.

I like Sol, stubborn little fuck that he is. The kid’s got a sort of stupid smartness to him—the type of intelligence that gets things done without spending too much time second guessing. He reminds me of myself a little, a sort of lesser reflection in many ways, though with a mind more able to work under the crush than my own; in essence, someone with the makings perfect for an operative specializing in time expedient maneuvers. Yet… because of that, he reminds me of my sister a little more, and having an ally with similar gifts would prove valuable.

Then there’s Danther. He’s already provided the company with more than enough to prove his value—that engine design of his swelled stock prices and it hasn’t even hit the public. I reckon if he got his hands on a half decent setup, the kid’d excel. Plus, what he’s overcome—I realize I’m squeezing my glass and put it down.

Yet then there’s Luna… Luna, that new, errant factor. There’s certainly power behind her family, but it doesn’t look like she’s inherited any of that. Whatever the case, my interests in her are certainly not new, but the way she’s managed to interpose herself complicates matters; it also makes her all the more appealing.

I lean back, finishing the whiskey, but then lean forward again and pour more.

I nearly fell to the temptation of romancing her; preying on so obvious a weakness would be like pulling out a gun and shooting one’s opponent in a game of chess to claim victory. I need to pace myself—enjoy this most refreshing puzzle she presents; in this instance, I not only play against her, but also myself. I want to manipulate her—corner her—so she can appreciate and recognize just how masterfully I have outmaneuvered her.

I want her—I want her—but sampling victory now would be… hmm, like partaking of food before it’s done fabricating.

It sickened me to send those gifts to her—delivering them personally like some sycophantic little shit. Nevertheless, she surmised and summarized my plan so accurately, that… Fuck, I hate to say it, but I panicked—I panicked.

Of course, I hadn’t taken the time to realize what I was doing—that I was inadvertently putting one goal at risk to advance the other. I hate advancing without the proper precautions.

I drink the glass in one.

Yet I still do it. I still fall to my own impatience.

I can almost hear my sister laughing—see that damned smirk—

I throw the glass against the wall.

That bitch Luna and her interfering, making things more complicated.

I close my eyes.

No.

Temper, temper.

That prize Luna and her interfering, making things more interesting.

It’ll be two weeks or so until I can start things up again with our little game. Danther’s mind is too valuable to the company and I cannot let that suspicion of Luna’s live. Plus, I feel for him. If ever I wanted to make sure the kid got a chance to excel, I do now, knowing his history.

This “convergence” complicates both scenarios; though, interestingly, matters might also make things work more smoothly. It’s true the more complicated a process, the more opportunity there is for failure; nevertheless, I’d prefer a pistol to a throwing knife in most long-range engagements.

Back to the night’s original thought, though, I sense something… something happening beneath the surface and I’ll be damned if I will ever play the unwitting pawn again. Tiles are moving, and hands are being played. I have been comfortable for the last couple months and my edge needs honing.

I crack my knuckles.

What am I not seeing here?

A comm. from my secretary comes over neural; it would seem I have a guest. I activate the door and he shutters, apparently startled.

“Mr. Minth; what a surprise,” I say, standing and spreading my arms. “What can I do for you?”

“Tell me about this job.”

507 A.E. April 25, 06:42:15 Local

JP “Sol” Starwind

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven Space Dock, Dock 7

I sit in a sort of hollow stupor, silent for the first time while before Voice’s ship. Danther didn’t answer when I sent a comm. request, his status page saying something about needing some time to clear his head. To be honest, I think I need the same.

Could it really be true that Khal had deliberately got me out of the way and Danther to lose all that money with the altruistic purpose of giving us job offers? On one side of the coin, that’s an incredibly fucked up, deceitful play; on the other, he ate almost a billion credits to orchestrate said play.

The whole thing’s a mess.

“Sol?” Voice asks over neural, too worried to talk aloud even here, it seems.

“Yeah, Voice?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just this… this situation I’m in—the one with Khal.”

She remains silent for a little while. “He’s dangerous,” she says, voice small, like she doesn’t want to offend me.

“I know.” I pause, thinking. “How much do you know about him?”

“I have been keeping track of him ever since he took an interest in me.”

I grin, the expression not so much halfhearted as fundamentally weak. “Very wise of you.”

“Thank you!” she replies, the joy of her voice refreshing.

“Can you tell me more about him? —tell me why he’s so dangerous?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you know of him first and I’ll begin where you leave off.”

“Sure,” I say, stretching my neck and finding a more comfortable position on my chair. “That sounds like a good idea.”

I think for a moment, deciding a simple chronological approach would be best.

“I first saw him at a club—The Artifact, in Farshore,” I begin, remembering that night, sneaking out of my room and into the club. “Some waster spilled his drink on Khal. The guy was a part of a gang and thought himself the sky’s nova so, rather than help clean the mess or otherwise apologize, the guy picked a fight. Khal baited the man into open aggression and used the legal veil of self-defense to beat him unconscious with impunity.” I grin, not unwilling to appreciate the cunning he displayed. “I later learned the gang sent one of the guy’s fingers by way of apology,” I add, my grin souring somewhat as I remember. “The thing will be grown back, of course, but practice is to make them wait to earn the privilege, often without anesthesia.”

“That… hurts, right?” Voice asks, a strange, sterile curiosity in her tone.

“Yeah, I would imagine so.”

“I’ve felt before—in simulations—but I don’t think it translates right. —I’m sorry,” she says, voice regaining its normal air. “I have abstracted our conversation.”

I laugh, amused by the odd phrase. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” she replies, a little sheepish.

“Where was I… ah, yeah, that was when I took an interest in Khal; I thought he was the coolest thing ever.” I lean back, rolling my eyes at my own adolescence. “I saw him a couple times over the next several years, though I had cooled off by then and had no interest in gang life anymore. Nevertheless, that beating stuck with me and I observed and inquired after Khal when I happened to see him. It led me to realize just how important he was. The details were fuzzy and my interest purely passive, until one night at The Artifact, where we got involved with him more personally. I woke up the next morning, hung over after… uh…”

“What?”

“Well, I was with some women and…”

“What kind of women?”

I cough. “I—well… they were helping me with something.”

She remains silent, flavor of the quiet unknowable.

“Anyway, Danther, by contrast, had raked up a debt in gambling he couldn’t immediately remember. Khal met us after that, offering a generous timeline for us to think about our situation; I only now realize he did so to let us stew. We fled.”

I shake my head, remembering how terrified we were—that night when Luna caught us sneaking out and threatened to tell Mother Lux. …I remember telling her if she did I wouldn’t talk to her again. …she knew I meant it. She …she cried.

I haven’t seen her since.

“We fled, doing our best to slip out of the city and find a decent ship to get off the planet. I figured Khal was connected enough to monitor all the outbound public transports, but we slipped away using some things we learned from an espionage sim. We had considered trying to get someone to smuggle us off world—or even stow away—but the risk was too high, anyone liable to smuggle us was probably already connected to Khal somehow; that, and we didn’t know where to start and asking questions would draw attention.”

“That was smart.”

“Yeah. Ultimately, we decided to buy a ship and initially we looked for the cheapest lug we could both fit into, but as we evaded Khal’s grasp longer and longer, the romance of it all set in and we pressed our luck. We should have left when we had the chance. We finally reached Red Heaven, dug our newest temporary hole, and started the cycle again.”

I look up at the ship, sighing.

“That’s when we met.”

She laughs. “Yeah.”

I remain silent, not really sure what to say. I—

“You’re a good person, Sol.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely!”

“Thanks,” I reply, grinning. “You are too.”

“I… I am?”

“Yeah, why not? You’re a little afraid—a little cautious—but I like you. You’re kind and you speak what you think, but always consider how it makes me feel—always gentle enough to worry, but courageous enough to speak the truth.”

“No… I mean you think I’m a person?”

“Of course.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

I chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. Tell me about Khal. What has you so concerned?”

“Well I don’t have any concrete evidence—there are just too many things to watch and Khal is very careful, always concerned with leaving minimal evidence behind. Nevertheless, there are… outer patterns.”

“Outer patterns?”

“A clever person erases the evidence of what he or she does.”

“Or doesn’t leave any in the first place, I expect.”

“Indeed. Yet Khal removes evidence of what he doesn’t do as well. The absence of data can be its own evidence and help to discern a pattern. It’s one thing to follow the path of someone clever enough to clean up after themselves…”

“It’s another when other paths are cleaned too,” I reply, nodding.

“…or the entire area is obliterated,” she replies, soberness making her voice ring.

I remain silent, contemplating the now exposed means by which Khal had attempted to lure Danther and I into his employ. If the mind behind such devices were turned to violent ends—as I have little doubt they often must be by his ruthless beating of that lush years and years ago—I can’t imagine what he could accomplish.

“I—Sol!” Voice says, frantic. “You need to get in a transport pod, now!”

“I—what?”

“Go! Hurry!”

I do, running and dashing into the nearest one. The hatch slams shut, forgoing safety precautions. The pod jerks out of the hold. Emergency lights flash on, the pod heading to Red Heaven at priority speed.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask.

“Danther is meeting with Khal.”

I shake my head. I knew he was considering it—we were both considering it—but I thought he would at least form some kind of plan with me. And now, after having talked with voice, I realize just how dangerous the man is. “Goddamn it, Danther,” I swear under my breath.

I change into clothes Voice has begun fabricating for me, the place I’m going more conducive to a corporate look. “I bypassed the city’s security,” Voice says, calm now that I am on my way. “You have priority travel rights and should be at Dowin planetary headquarters in less than three minutes. Have you managed to reach Danther’s comm.?”

“No.”

She hums. “Khal must be isolating Danther.”

“How should I play this?”

“I am manipulating Dowin’s security now. Giving you clearance enough to simply gain access to Khal’s office is not difficult, but they are… multifaceted, let us say. The protocols are not unusually sophisticated—”

“You’re venturing beyond me, here, Voice.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I say if anyone stops me?”

“Let your clearance do the talking. As far as anyone should be concerned, you have right of access, even if you no one has heard of you.”

“Sounds good.”

“Touchdown in ten seconds.”

“Voice?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

She’s silent for a moment as the pod touches down. “Do you really have to ask, Sol?”

“I… no… no, I suppose I don’t.”

I leave the pod, heading inside. Walking to the transporters, I ping the access panel and I move along the building’s travel lattice. Entering the executive offices, I follow my nav to Khal’s suite; a secretary stops me. “Excuse me, sir? Who are you?” she asks, calm, collected, and impressively disinterested.

I ignore her, heading to the door. It doesn’t budge, let alone open; the woman’s tone makes a lot more sense now. I turn to the secretary, who raises an eyebrow, grinning. “My name’s Mr. Starwind,” I say, even this minimally formal iteration of my name unfamiliar to my lips. “I need to speak with Khal.”

“Mr. Khal is in a meeting at the moment. If you could just—”

“I know—I’m here with regards to that meeting.”

“I am afraid I have instructions not to disturb him. Mr.… Starwind, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Well we have several employees across The Order with that name, but none of them matching your likeness,” she says, sharp, though still inquisitive. There’s something in her voice—smooth, commanding, professional—the type that makes authority known without a modicum of effort. That, and the woman’s damned gorgeous.

“That’s because I’m not an employee,” I reply, trying to keep my voice straight.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” She crosses her legs, barest hint of suggestion in the motion. “Where did you get your security access?”

“Stall,” Voice says over neural.

“It is provisional,” I reply, having learned a long time ago that people telling the truth tend not to spend words justifying everything. “Got it today.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she replies, grinning. I think she knows.

“No,” I say, not able to come up with anything else. “No, it doesn’t.”

She seems to accept this, but then tilts her head, genuinely amused, “hmm.”

“What?”

“I’ve been instructed to let you in.”

507 A.E. April 25, 07:16:17 Local

Khal Dowin

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven, Dowin Engineering Planetary Headquarters

“Welcome, Mr. Starwind,” I say, standing. Danther turns, seeing him stride in, a look of stern disgust on the newcomer’s face.

“Danther,” he says, ignoring my greeting. “What the hell, man?”

“I’m just… well I wanted to hear the man’s offer!”

“Yeah, I can see that, shithead,” he says, and I detect a spark of anger in the young scientist. “Did you forget that this is fucking guy that had you in a state where you thought putting a gun to your head was—”

“He apologized.”

“It was the first thing I did after greeting him, actually,” I say, finally finding an appropriate opening.

“Oh! —Oh! If he apologized!” Sol fixes me with a murderous glare, but doesn’t say anything else, shifting his attention back to Danther.

Even after what I did to them, Sol still seems to recognize how dangerous I am; it’s another mark in his favor.

“I tried to get in contact with you, but you were isolated,” Sol says, glaring at me.

This catches Danther’s attention and he turns, also staring at me. “You isolated me?”

“I isolate this room,” I say, shrugging. I need to get off this topic; indeed, Sol interfering was the very reason for the isolation in question, after all. “Sol, please, sit down so we can discuss matters more comfortably.”

“I prefer to stand, thanks,” Sol replies, cold.

Silence falls over the room, I breaking it and regarding Danther. “As I was going to say, a billion a year plus negotiable commission and royalty on your designs.”

He whistles.

I grin.

“What’s the catch?” Sol asks.

I chuckle; smart kid. “The catch is Dowin owns his work product.”

Danther twitches; I thought this might be an issue, but I have an angle prepared.

“It’s standard operating procedure since Earth times, I’m afraid, though I fully understand your reaction. It feels like a form of mental prostitution, does it not?” I sigh, the words not dishonest; indeed, it’s just the way things work. “You’ll make Dowin quite a hefty profit, generate new patents, and otherwise prove a valuable asset. In turn,” I say, gesturing with a hand, “you’ll earn more money than you know how to spend, have your name on all your inventions and discoveries, and not have to waste valuable hours of your life dithering about in the minutia of all the things that stand to distract you—setting up shop, cleaning, negotiating with business partners—that sort of thing. Beyond that,” I add with a grin, “you stand to make enough to quit after a year and go off on your own. Our job, is to make the stay appealing and enjoyable enough that you choose to stay.”

Danther closes his eyes, shaking his head. He must know the money’s excellent and never having to worry about dealing with all the bullshit that comes with micromanaging everything will tempt him. Nevertheless, I suspect the creative control will be the sticking point.

“Do I get to name what I invent?” he asks, catching me off guard.

I chuckle, amused despite myself. “A question I hadn’t anticipated. I suppose there’s room for negotiation on that front, though, frankly, I haven’t the slightest idea about the policies in that regard.”

“What kind of contract are you locking him into?” Sol asks.

“Year by year with standard clauses for non-competition, work product, and the like. I would not be offended if you wished to review it—hell, I’d be curious if you didn’t. I’m even willing to give you a month or so free of obligation to see if you like the environment.”

“Danther, you aren’t really considering this?” Sol asks, and he turns. “None of the things you create will be yours anymore. It’s… man, it’s…”

“Sol, all this stuff is standard. What, do you think someone would simply fund me? —just hand out credits on the hope I’d make them some money?”

“What if we could find a sponsor?”

“Sol, I didn’t even attend university. I have no work experience and less credibility.”

He holds out a hand to me. “What about what this—this—?”

“Asshole?” I offer, amused.

“Asshole—did to you!”

Danther reaches out to him, palm up. “Don’t you see it, man, if anything, what he did shows interest in us. Do you realize how much effort and money was put into that stunt?”

Sol shakes his head, desperate. “Danther… this is the sweet bet, man, the one you always fall for…”

I see a little flair of anger burn in Danther, If I want them both, I’ll need to—

“You…,” a voice I do not recognize says, catching us all off guard. “You could come with me.”

“Excuse me,” I say, a bit of worry creeping in at this unanticipated variable. “Who’a you?”

“I am the one Sol knows as Voice.” I think but the words mean nothing to me. “I inhabit the ship at dock seven.”

I freeze, the words like ice water.

“Voice?” Danther asks, confused.

“Voice!” Sol yells, the word full of awe and disbelief. “Really?”

“I… I think it’s time I had friends.” A pause. “That is, if you want to be my friend.”

“Voice,” Sol says, shaking his head.

“Yeah?”

“I’m already your friend.”

“I… t-thank you… Danther, you are welcome to come too,” this Voice says. “But if you have anything to do with Khal, my offer’s rescinded.”

I close my eyes, feeling the plan fall apart. I need to stay calm. Even if this deal sours, there is profit in retaining the relationship. No… Sol has already cracked The Ship—has already accomplished what I’ve set out to do. If anything, I need to encourage them to leave—now. I open my eyes, trying not to let the strain and excitement warp the feigned disappointment in my grin. “It would see you have multiple offers, Mr. Minth. My congratulations.”

“I…,” Danther says, stunned. “I think I’m going to need some time to think things over.”

I nod, gesturing to him with an open palm. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Come on, Danther,” Sol says and Danther gets up. I stand as well, offering a hand. He shakes.

“Let me know, okay?”

“I will.”

Sol pauses, but doesn’t turn my way. “Yes, Mister Starwind?”

“Just one question.”

“Very well.”

“Why did you let us run for so long?”

A shallow chuckle leaves my throat, unbidden. “It’s simple, actually.” I pause, and I can almost feel him resisting the urge to turn. “Letting you run taught you things no teacher ever could,” I say, remembering my own experience. “No sword is forged without fire.”