“What if we refuse it?”
“We refuse the Queen’s Kiss, we’re dead,” I say.
Cyra has a burst of inspiration. “We can leave town. Set up farside in Endymion. There’s plenty of work there.”
“I’m not going to Endymion,” I say sharply.
“Eph…”
“No, actually it’s a grand idea. Their Endymion outfit will be waiting to welcome us to the city. Show us the sites. The Crescent Orb, the Tridian Palazzo, the Ephor Spires.” I put a finger gun to my head and pull the trigger. “Then they kill us.”
“We can go off-planet.”
I sigh. “The Duke of Legs has men in the docks. They’ll kill us in transit.”
“Then we don’t fly commercial. We charter a ship farside out of Eridan Interplanetary. I can wipe the transit records. Or get us documents for Earth or Mars.”
“Cyra, you might have enough money to charter a ship. But to buy vintage Solar Republic passports with hologram veracity and magnetic coding on this timetable?” I ask, knowing how dearly she fancies her sparkling new condo in the Sordo District. One of the new Redache glass buildings. Gaudy shit. “After the down payment on your haunt, how much do you have left?”
“It’s none of your….”
“Your mortgage has a bigger appetite than Volga, love. And those diamonds you’re wearing aren’t exactly sale items. From Gustave’s?” Her face pinches. “Don’t get tight, I’m not going through your receipts. But new money all shops the same.” She looks embarrassed, but I keep punishing, because I need her to know there’s only one way out. “So…after the diamonds, the mortgage, the server farm in your spare room, I’d say you have maybe fifty thousand in your account.” By her expession I know it’s less. Lady loves to spend. “Gods. You don’t even pay taxes and you’re broke!”
She’s not done trying. “We could combine our money. Dano. How much do you have?”
“Me?” Dano looks up from his datapad, where he’s texting one of his warm bodies. “Rooting in the wrong mine, lass. I like fliers and Pinks too much to gather commas in the old account. Sin’s a hungry slag. What about you, tinman?”
“I’m dry,” I say.
“Tables leech you?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re a mess of degenerates,” Cyra mumbles.
“I have money,” Volga says from the window.
Cyra wheels on Volga. “How much?”
“All of it.”
“All of your share?” Cyra asks, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“From all our contracts?”
“Yes.” Volga hesitates, embarrassed. “Well…I must eat. And I eat much more than you…smaller people. And I like beer. And I pay my landlord each cycle change. He says I am the best tenant.” She blushes. “And…and sometimes I go to the Cerebian. You know. The zoo? I like the popcorn and the animals. And the people are all so happy. Especially the children. But I go in the middle of the day, so tickets are cheaper,” she adds quickly at the end to mitigate the gross expenditure.
“Volga!” I feign astonishment. “You’re out of control. A regular hedonist.”
“I know,” she mutters, shaking her head at herself. “I know.”
“I’m joking, Volga. You’re as parsimonious as a White.”
“Thank you,” she says, beaming, then squints. “Parsimonious. That is a fine word.”
“That should be more than enough money,” Cyra chirps. “With that much we can get a real starrunner. Maybe even buy a used—”
I toss the last centimeter of my Pernod into her lap.
“What the hell,” she sputters.
“You’re a horrible person,” I say. “That’s Volga’s money.”
“Kinda slagged up, Cyra,” Dano says.
“Because I want to live?”
“I don’t mind,” Volga says. “I will share.”
I know she’s been saving the money from our jobs to buy herself some acreage on Earth. All those dreams of Luna, and now she wants to start a refuge for carved animals that have been discarded by their masters. She told me one night when she was drunk. She wants zebracores and griffins and all other manner of beasties that will probably eat her in her sleep. She doesn’t remember, but I do, and I’ll be damned if I let these other two take her piece.
“Yes, you do mind, Volga. Or I mind for you. It doesn’t matter if we had ten million credits to spend. Wherever we go, they’ll find us and kill us.”
“There’s another option,” Cyra says. “We could take it to Republic Intelligence.”
Dano sniffs the air obnoxiously. “Odd, Eph. A prime spot like this having the smell of rats.”
“I’m not a rat,” Cyra says.
“You smell like a rat. Know what we’d do to rats in Lost City?”
“You little ruster…”
“What did you call me?” he says, sitting up at the word.
“I’m not a rat….I just don’t want to die an old woman at the bottom of the sea. Deepgrave is what’ll happen if we try this.”
Cyra pushes at her temples with shaking hands.
I lower my voice to Cyra. “Headache?”
She nods. “Forgot to bring my stuff.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times. You gotta lay off the cyberplay.” I pull my silver dispenser from my jacket and choose a zoladone. “Earth knockoff, but it should do the trick.” She takes the pill greedily and leans back in her chair.
She snorts and downs her vodka. I pour another for her. “Better?”
“No!” She rubs her eyes. “Why us?” she asks me. “What did you do? I know this is because of something you screwed up. Someone you owe.”
“Not this time.”
Volga could blow all this open if she says I met with a Howler right before getting picked up by the Duke. She saw Holiday’s wolfcloak. But the big girl stays quiet.
“You’re gonna do it?” Dano asks me. “You wanna do it.”
I decidedly do not want to do it.
“It’s the heist of the century,” I say with a smile. “Look on the shiny side. The Syndicate has never broken its own rules. Not once. If we acquire the prize, there’s no reason to believe they won’t pay us the commission. Eighty million credits.” Dano whistles. Volga doesn’t react. Cyra looks numb. “And if we survive to spend it, we don’t have to steal anything ever again. Buy an island. Buy a star cruiser. You’re free. Nothing can touch you. Not even this war.”
That sells them. Cyra leans back to rub her temples and sip her vodka, in the shallow, warm waters of the zoladone high now. She stares at the black rose. No larger than my palm, it feels bigger than the room. Pulsating evil. “What’s the timeline?”
“A month.”
She stares placidly at me and nods, the zoladone cooling her blood. Dano’s more animated. He pauses midway to lighting another burner. “This gets better and better.”
“A month is not long,” Volga says.
“We need four months to plan this,” Dano says. “A year…”
“I know. Apparently that is nonnegotiable. We got a month. Less, actually.” No one interrupts. “We were given three specific locations and times when the prize will be in public. We just have to pick the juiciest.”