1.13.1

A Penny Exchange

Back in the corridors, Rue seemed set on their next destination.

“I know where we’re going. Keep up.”

The halls widened further in, until finally the pair arrived at a central hive. High ceilings, tall glass displays, and city lights, all loomed from within the inner core of the station.

Folk crossed the massive atrium from every direction, with access and exit points all around that spanned to the various sections of the structure.

But inside, at the very epicenter, thumped a deep throb of primitive percussion. Ill-fitting metal and discolored materials revealed the centric club to be a recent addition. Writhing bodies cast long swaying shadows over the surrounding floor, and the energy that emanated from within threatened to intoxicate Astrid’s senses. The collection of shifting notes, a dark tune, beckoned her like a siren song, foreign and exciting.

Music.

“Over here.” Rue prodded her instead to a smaller venue across the way.

The Channeler stole another peek of the vibrating scene that served as heartbeat to the station.

The two ducked into a nearby lounge, where deep blue lights cast the room in an intense indigo light. The only contrast lay in the fuchsia glimmer of neon, encased at the center of each dancing pole.

Women and men both, scantily clad, floated to a song both dark and pulsating. The saturated colors outlined every fine detail of flesh and muscle. In a dreamlike state, they moved with such smooth and purposeful measures it entranced patrons and passersby alike.

Rue bumped Astrid to keep her moving, and the Channeler realized she’d been staring.

Rue headed for a far door, where she addressed an armored guard. Astrid’s eyes found nowhere to settle that didn’t make her feel like a guileless child.

Even the customers made her blush, as couples and dancers touched in dusky corners.

Heat rose to Astrid’s cheeks. Patrons demonstrated urges she’d never even been permitted to read about. And enacting such in the Sanctuary would have only gotten her time in the tanks. But to see it, so blatant and public, disturbed and stirred her simultaneously.

She turned back to Rue to find the woman glaring at her from a now-open doorway, waiting. Embarrassed, Astrid tried to swipe the adolescent wonder off her face.

They were directed away from the club front and into a private room. The armored guard remained at their side all the way. Finally they arrived to a plush chamber with velvet walls.

A long sofa lined the far side, speckled with comely beauties in short cocktail dresses. They draped over a relaxed gentleman in a suit.

Two more men, one in a high-backed chair, and a second standing just aside, looked up from their discussion as Rue and Astrid arrived.

Astrid did her best to emulate Rue’s forceful stance and dared to look upon the men in the room.

The one in the chair, akin to a throne, straightened to take in the pair. Dark eyes raked over them, and Astrid braced herself against his examination.

“Well, I know you’re not here for auditions,” the man said plainly.

“You’re Benson?” Rue cut to the quick.

“For the right people.” The man looked past Rue’s posture to Astrid, tucked just beyond her. “What about you? You in the right place, sweetheart?”

Astrid felt his suspicion that she lingered behind. Rue was right, she realized. They could sense apprehension.

“Oh, yes.” She reinforced her tone. “My work benefits from people underestimating me. Surely you understand.”

“And are you looking to be underestimated here, then?” The man raised a skeptical brow.

“I seek only the means to render the tactic obsolete.”

Rue wouldn’t look at her. But under such close examination, to do so would be telling.

“Well, I’m not sure how I can help you.”

“I believe you know how to help us better than anyone,” Rue cut in. “We have a task ahead. Something with long-term ambitions that a short jaunt to the shops won’t satisfy. We need a partnership.”

“Something of that scale requires deep pockets.”

“We have them,” Rue insisted.

“What is it exactly that you’re looking for?”

“Something new. Something outside the realm of legal ordinance. Perhaps with a special bend toward the EMF sensitive.”

The man’s face instantly hardened. Astrid felt his static fizzle as he guarded himself.

“I can’t help you. What you describe is beyond my reach, even if I wanted to obtain it. I’m just a businessman.”

“Bullshit,” Rue accused.

Benson waved two of his fingers to the tall aide at his side, prepared to eject them upon Rue’s rebuff.

“I don’t know you, girl, and I owe you nothing. Least of all an explanation on how I conduct my business. Your proposal of partnership is rejected.”

They were losing him. Astrid could feel it. He didn’t trust them.

She needed to say or do something to latch him back on before Rue made it worse. But she had precious few encounters to fall back on involving intimidation. Only the memory of Rue’s furious face in the dark of the Aldebaran. Her cutting and fearsome words rang in Astrid’s ears, and the Channeler stepped forward.

“We have a wild animal to put down. Many. Work that needs to be done. Your reputation precedes you, and we will not accept anything less than the best.”

At her words, the man’s hand stilled. His henchman halted, and piercing eyes pinned Astrid in place.

The dealer turned to the posse strewn about the couch and gestured to them instead.

“Out.”

The girls pouted, but the suited man stood, adjusted his jacket, and led a train back out to the thumping music of the club until only Rue, Astrid, Benson, and his man, remained.

Once the door settled closed, Benson sank back into his chair, steepled his fingers, and rested an ankle on his opposing knee, sated.

“We’ve been expecting you. Though,” Benson continued, “we were thinking the S.O. would send someone more… substantial.”

It took everything in Astrid to not reveal her elation that her guise worked. And now they had a clue. Whatever the “S.O.” represented.

“Discretion is our point,” she covered. “Or would you expect a brute thug to cultivate such a relationship?”

“I was told you had supporters higher up. I wanted face time with a person of repute.”

“Whatever he’s on about, you two better move quick before the real buyer shows.”

“And who else here might recognize them and tip our hand? Doesn’t our caution benefit you?” Rue interjected. “After all, you’ve yet to show us what you can supply.”

“Orion,” Benson addressed his man, shortly. “Take the Miss to inspect our offer. I’ll entertain her partner, and we can negotiate a price.”

This time, Astrid slid her gaze to Rue, but the soldier only nodded in compliance.

“This way, Miss.”

The aide, Orion, tall and broad, walked Astrid to the back wall and teased one of the plush-pillow seams stitched to the wall. With a thick finger he rotated and pressed a felt button, and the panel gave way to a lit hall, hidden beyond.

He gave a gentlemanly bow and waited for Astrid to cross first. She ignored the discomfort of being separated from her teammate and acted every bit the professional. She boldly crossed into the secret corridor.

The thick door closed behind as Orion followed, and Astrid found herself sufficiently cut off from the club, and Rue.

“How convenient. I can’t imagine this was part of the original structure.”

“It was.” Orion’s deep voice drowned the sound of her boots thudding over tile. “The wall we just passed through, however, is of recent construction.”

Above them, at the end of a hall, a camera followed Astrid’s footsteps. She considered trying to drain it, but if anyone watched it would only alert them. For now, she could only hope to remain undistinguishable to any viewers.

Orion moved ahead, to access a key-carded door to what Astrid suspected to be one of the former research labs. When it swung open, Astrid wandered into an immaculately kept armory.

Gleaming white polymer, sophisticated lines, and a familiar pristine finish greeted her. Just like the material of the first weapon she held. But more than rifles lined the walls and display benches.

Heavy cannons in Rue’s style, pistols, and grenades, all sat, perched pretty in their cases, as if waiting for Astrid.

“You put out quite the spread.”

“Showmanship matters in business, does it not? I trust the S.O. was satisfied with the custom samples we sent?”

Astrid looked over her shoulder and did her best to imitate Jenna’s coy smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Once you make your selections, we can have an order placed within the day. We can procure a dozen each of the rifles, heavy guns, and pistols in under a week. Two dozen of the grenades.”

The man followed her around the room as she took in the embarrassment of riches, as if a proprietor showing off his favorite selection of jewelry.

“We can match that again every four weeks. Three, with the right financial support.”

“I need to be thorough in testing for quality.”

“Please.” Orion bowed over one of the silver cases and produced an elegant rifle into her arms. “Be my guest.”

Mimicking Romo to power the weapon on, Astrid reached for the knob toward the back and stirred the armament alive.

She smiled when a matching purr promised her an exact duplication of what she sought. She passed the expression off as impish approval.

“Feels good. Like it wants to be used.”

She hovered her fingers over the power source that thrummed within. Adrenaline fueled her, and with all her recent practice under her belt, she timed her draining of the weapon with her pantomime of powering it down.

She channeled the energy into the crystal hidden under her gear before she reached for the next rifle, to “test” it as well.

“I assure you, they’re all perfectly functional.”

“I take my job seriously, Mister Orion,” Astrid deflected.

To keep him from scrutinizing her methods too closely, she kept him engaged.

“A shipment every three to four weeks? That takes a lot of materials.”

“As you know, we’ve already secured our refinery and engineers. There is even a Research and Development team assigned specifically to your needs. We’ll have new merchandise for you in a matter of months.”

After her third rifle, Astrid moved on to the cannons. “That’s a lot of investment.”

“Mister Benson recognizes the value of your cause, and your partnership. Even if our involvement alienates our other clients, your success would still outweigh the cost. We expect you’ll make us very rich. In fact, we insist upon it.”

Astrid’s eyes drifted over the clean shells of the arsenal.

“These don’t have the pattern on them. The embellishment you detailed on your samples.”

“As I said, those were custom. We would be happy to engrave all your future orders. For an additional fee, of course.”

Another cannon drained under Astrid’s fingers. “We do take pride in our work.”

“I would expect no less from the Static Opposition.”

The Channeler nearly froze at his words. She willed those on the Aldebaran to bear witness to what she’d heard.