“Be my guest.”
I hauled myself up and reloaded. The second glass tasted even smoother than the first.
“I’m going to offer you something, Mr. Draith, but I want you to understand the stakes first.”
“I’m listening.”
“You have bested more than one of my people. I do not tolerate such failures in field agents. I find I’m in need of talented help. What you have to understand is that taking a position with me is permanent and irreversible. There are many perks, however.”
My mind was slightly hazy, in a good way. I realized he was offering me a job. I also realized he was threatening my life.
“You had Bernie killed, didn’t you?” I asked.
“He failed me.”
I nodded. “Are you firing Robert Townsend also?”
“He’s been taken care of.”
I felt a tiny chill, despite the alcohol in my blood. “I need some answers before I commit,” I said. “How are these objects made?”
Rostok didn’t answer right away. He heaved himself up, hulked past me, and began to assemble a drink for himself. When he was back in his chair, he sighed. “You ask too much.”
“I’ve got a guess,” I said.
He chuckled. “Tell me this guess.”
I’d done a lot of thinking about the Gray Man’s finger I kept against my chest even now. The blood was still fresh, unwilling to flow out of the flesh. I knew that was impossible—but there it was. It had to have become an object in the cellar beneath the mansion, and the only strange processes that had occurred there were a number of rips.
“One way the objects are made is when vortexes are formed,” I said, voicing my theory. “If they are stuck in between two places for a long time, a normal item might transform somehow into an object.”
Rostok didn’t answer right away. “Who told you this theory?” he asked finally.
His response indicated to me I was on the right track. I shifted in my chair, throwing one leg over the arm of it.
“Meng,” I lied.
“She is not usually so loose with information.”
“So, she lives?” I asked, trying to sound unconcerned. Whether Rostok meant to do so or not, he’d confirmed my suspicions about the creation of these objects. They were forged by being caught between two existences.
Rostok huffed. “You believed you had slaughtered one of the Community so easily?”
“Of course not, I just wanted to make sure she was all right. Send her my apologies for the misunderstanding.”
“Audacity and lies,” Rostok chuckled. “You are full of both, Draith! But as you guessed, objects can be made in this fashion. The process is random, however. They are like diamonds, you see. Rare and valuable. We usually find them buried somewhere, identifiable only by their pristine state. But occasionally a new one is made.”
“Why don’t you manufacture a thousand objects by creating rips in space over and over until you get one?”
“The process is far from certain. We’ve tried to do it deliberately, but it never seems to work that way.”
“So any rip can create one by accident?” I asked.
“Actually, when the Gray Men create a vortex they do it differently. The odds an object is made seem far greater.”
I thought about his words, and a dark suspicion began to take root in my mind. The idea grew there like an evil fungus. Finally, I had to voice what I was thinking.
“I get it now,” I said. “Your motivations have suddenly become clear. All along, I’ve wondered why the Community hadn’t formed a coherent defense against the Gray Men. Why let these attacks go unchallenged? The only effort I’ve seen is from one guy, Detective McKesson, running around picking up the pieces. He covers up the messes, but doesn’t seek to stop them from happening.”
“Does this list of complaints have a point, Mr. Draith?”
“Yes. Rogues such as I, people you despise, we are doing more to battle the Gray Men than the entire Community. That’s because you aren’t interested in stopping them at all, are you? No, the Community sees this as some kind of gold rush. Objects are popping up at a much greater rate. You, Meng, and the rest don’t care what the Gray Men do as long as they keep finding more objects. If they come here and perform an anal probe or two, what does it matter? You’re like fishermen with a big net. All you have to do is let the Gray Men keep coming. If they want to kill rogues, so be it. Just let us run around and die, and then collect the fresh objects, tossing them in your vault afterward.”
Rostok cleared his throat and shifted his bulk in his chair. “It is nowhere near as cold a process as you describe. We’ve gained a few items here and there, yes. But it seems you have gained more than I. You, a clueless rogue, have gathered a powerful set of objects. Enough to defeat Meng and give me pause. I don’t like that development. Perhaps we’ve looked at this the wrong way. Perhaps a scarcity of objects is what we want, in order to retain our relative positions.”