“In the city of Tumba, the concept of justice seems to be mentioned only as the butt end of a joke. Amongst that gathering of murderers, swindlers, and liars, subversion of civilization is the favored state of being, and they ignore all virtue as a point of pride.”
-Paladin Sarcho Valento, 184 U.E.
The whole crew sat assembled in the rec room around the table. A course had been set for Tumba. Stephan served a simple chicken stew with rice and bell peppers, the first of which he had separated into a second pot and diluted into a soup for those on the crew to whom solid food was a struggle.
Stephan’s ears were still ringing after the firefight, and the scrape on his neck had been bandaged up, but overall he was no worse for wear.
Kurko had suffered some injuries during the boarding, but his natural armor and thick layers of hardy blubber had prevented any incoming fire from causing him any real harm. He had been bandaged up generously but observed normal function.
Torch had lost a lot of blood due to the gut shot he had sustained, but a few med-patches had seen him right, and while he wasn’t jumping around with his usual vigor, he hardly seemed to notice any pain.
Yin was another matter. She suffered a moderate concussion from the beating she had taken, cracked ribs, and severe bruising and swelling, as well as some smaller cuts from the captain’s knuckles.
They applied med-patches to some of her smaller injuries, but there was little that med-patches could do for her cranial injuries except exacerbate the problem. The vivimantic spell stored in the patches was clumsy, and could easily produce debilitating mutations, which was not an acceptable trade-off when dealing with an area close to the brain.
Her natural healing rate was remarkable, however. Only hours after the injuries had been sustained, her body was already starting to knit itself back together. A side effect of her body’s rapid healing, however, was that Yin constantly complained of hunger while in this regenerative state.
Still unable to eat herself, Stephan fed her soup while she complained over her pains between every spoonful.
Stephan couldn’t bring himself to join her. He wasn’t hungry. Ghosts lingered in his mind.
“Excellent work today, everyone,” Quintilla said. She balanced on the back legs of her chair, one arm slung over the back of it and one foot placed against the table. “We ran into a couple snags, but we got what we came for, eh?”
“A couple snags?” Kazzul asked. “We barely got out of there alive.”
Quintilla’s self-satisfied smirk didn’t slip a hair. “It’s a fine line between life and death, my dear Kazzul. We are the line dancers.”
“Tactfully put,” Kurko said, sitting cross-legged on the floor while he used a ladle to spoon stew into his mouth. “but you’re avoiding an important issue.”
“Which is?” Quintilla asked.
“Your lack of planning should have killed us.” He kept chewing and didn’t look up. “If not for Kazzul’s experience, or Taira’s genius, or Yin’s efficiency, we would not be here now.”
That caused Quintilla’s smile to drop. She frowned and settled her chair back on all four legs.
“If I don’t make plans that are a little daring, you’ll never get a chance to show what you’re made of,” she said. “I just have faith in you, that’s all.”
Kurko shook his head. He looked up, and his glacier blue eyes carried a hard intensity as he stared down the captain. “What you did isn’t faith. It’s recklessness. Learn to spot the difference, if you expect to keep a crew for much longer.”
Only the sounds of clinking cutlery and discrete chewing broke the oppressive silence that fell over the room. Stephan didn’t dare look at the captain.
“Is this how you all feel?” she asked.
“Yes,” Kazzul said.
Stephan stared into his bowl. He cleared his throat. “There were elements of this operation which could merit improvement.”
The others murmured their assent.
Quintilla nodded. “I see. I’ll take that into account.” Her smile returned, and she bit off half a strip of bell pepper. “No need to look so serious, guys. I’ll do everything I can to keep you dropouts alive.”
“Hiring this cook is going a long way,” Torch said, soup dripping from his chin. “I hardly feel like I’m on the edge of starvation anymore.”
Stephan managed a smile and a nod in gratitude.
“Speaking of starvation, or lack thereof,” Quintilla said, “once we’re back in Tumba, I will ensure you all get paid. Shares are twenty kay each. Kazzul, I’m afraid your share will have to be dispensed at a rate of two thousand standard every two weeks.”
“That’s outrageous!” Kazzul cried. “It’s my money, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. And last time I put that kind of money in front of you, you spent it on whores and booze and clothes in a week. Remember that? I will hold onto your money and make sure that it’s dispensed responsibly.”
Kazzul offered up several protests. When that didn’t work, he reached for threats—stating that he would walk off the crew if he wasn’t paid. When that failed to budge Quintilla as well, he settled into a sullen silence.
“I have something special for you, Mr. Lordling,” Quintilla said. “I had time to snag it on my way out of the Intrepid. Figured you should have it, considering.” She reached into her belt and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a linen cloth. She slid it across the table and Stephan caught it.
Unwrapping the cloth, he found a pistol. The metal was bright and clean, and it had a pearl grip. Judging by the quality, he figured it had to have belonged to the captain of the Intrepid. His sidearm, most likely.
“It’s a Rivello,” she explained. “Enchanted so that it never misfires. Never. Reliable as a mother’s tit.”
Torch whistled. “Damn, that thing is beautiful. Lemme see.” He wiped his filthy hands on the front of his equally filthy coat and grasped towards the pistol.
There was something wrong about it. Stephan couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but it made his stomach bunch up, knotted his throat. He handed it as quickly as possible over to Torch and managed a ‘Thank you’ to the captain.
When he blinked, an image of the man he had killed flashed in front of him. The man who’d looked so much like Jamine.
The look of fear and defiance in his eyes, right before Stephan drove the light from them.
Could it have been him? Stephan wondered.
Lunches on campus, long nights studying, friendly visits, all flashed before him.
No. That’s not possible. Hundreds of millions live in the Concord. What are the chances it would be him, specifically? Astronomical. Practically impossible.
Jamine had briefly entertained a desire to join the Ministry of Glory. But that couldn’t be the case. He would have ended up working in an embassy somewhere, sitting on his butt all day.
“Hey, what’s the deal?” Yin lisped from between swollen lips. “Keep it coming.” She nodded towards the half-empty bowl of soup.
Stephan spooned her another mouthful, which she slurped down greedily.
The harder he tried to get rid of the image of Jamine—or rather, the captain—the more insistently it forced itself into his consciousness.
He didn’t string together more than a few words throughout the rest of dinner.
When he slept that night, his dreams were disturbed and torturously graphic.
*****
As soon as they landed on the Perch, there were men in Elandran uniforms there waiting by the platforms. Quintilla disembarked, and it was explained to her that Magister Io Moricus desired her presence. From their tones, it was clear that this wasn’t a request.
She let them take her, intel packet tucked into her pants, and they put her in a car. They drove her to a private estate, although the ride was barely any quicker than if she’d walked.
The estate was lavish and expansive, but seemed to have been in a state of disuse for some time, windows smudged and gardens overgrown.
Quintilla was taken up some stairs, and into Moricus’s private chambers.
The magister lay stretched out on a table, mostly naked apart from a towel over his nethers, and was being massaged by an athletic young man.
He hardly glanced up when Quintilla entered.
“The Intrepid was destroyed,” he said matter-of-factly. “Do you have what we agreed upon?”
“Yes,” Quintilla said. “I do. Nice dad-bod, by the way.”
Moricus groaned softly as the masseuse went over his shoulders, rubbing them vigorously. “Allow me to inspect the validity of your claims. If I should assess that what you have brought me is authentic, you will be paid in full. Two hundred thousand, I believe?”
“Slow down there,” Quintilla said. She stuck her thumbs inside her belt and regarded the older man. “The job presented more of a risk than we believed. Now, we retrieved your intel, at great risk to our own persons. I’d say we’re due a bonus.”
Moricus scoffed. “Ha! You joke.”
“Not at all. I’m deadly serious.”
The magister waved his masseuse aside and sat with deliberate slowness. He worked his neck one way, then the other, groaning as he did. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Quintilla.
“You think you are entitled to additional reimbursement, am I getting this correctly? And you realize that, if I wished it, I have soldiers who could kill you and throw you in the ocean, and I’d have the information for no charge at all.”
Quintilla couldn’t help a grin. “Now, that’s not a very mature way to solve your problems, is it? I’m a prominent pirate captain, and my crew all know I’m here. If I go missing under mysterious circumstances, all of Tumba will know what was done to me within the day.”
“And you think they will avenge you? It surprises me that you, of all people, should forget where we are. This is no place for loyalty, or justice, or integrity.”
“You’re absolutely right. But it is a place for smart business. You know what’s not smart business? Getting killed by your employer at the end of a job. If you take me out, doubt will be cast not only on you but the Valerian Dynasty as a whole. Won’t be a captain worth two shits who’ll work with you moving forward.”
Moricus sighed. He mulled over her words in silence.
“How much are you asking for?” he asked.
Quintilla’s grin widened. “Three hundred.”
He’d bristle and bluster, of course, but he’d pay exactly what she asked him. She knew how vital that information was to him.
She knew that the Concord had planned to invade the Aiyek Archipelago, to occupy the islands it hadn’t already gobbled up.
It was all right there in the folder.
Never try to double cross pirates. They always have contingencies for that sort of stuff.
Really, the magister should know better than that.