The Worst of All Possible Worlds Page 5

  The baron’s eyes swept over Orna’s form before he declared, “You could do better, my dear.”

  Nilah inhaled sharply. “Orna is a bona fide hero.”

  “Oh, no, no, no…” replied Valentino. “I was speaking to Miss Sokol. Surely there were more honorable suitors in your company?”

  Orna chortled and put her hands on her hips. “Sometimes, you just have to take what’s available.”

  Valentino’s smile was enough to make Nilah queasy. “Yes, well, I suppose these things cannot be helped when you travel on such a sad vessel. And who is this?”

  Boots came astride Nilah and Orna, still in her combat flight suit as she pulled off her helmet. “Boots Elsworth, sir. I’ll be accompanying these two.”

  “Ah! It’s you! Wonderful, wonderful. You look different than your projections.”

  Boots gave him a soldierly nod. “Hope you’re not too disappointed, your… lordship?”

  “For you? Tino.” He stroked Doudou, nuzzling the creature to his cheek. “Finding Hana was an inspiration after my racing career came to a… sudden stop. It was your show that interested me in the occult and esoterica of Origin. I would love to show you my collection of artifacts.”

  “And I’d love to see it.”

  Boots swelled with pride, and Nilah had to force down her eye roll.

  “Very well,” said the baron, waving them toward the portal. “Let us come in from the cold. Doudou is hungry, and we have much to discuss. Is it only the three of you?”

  Nilah nodded. “The others will remain on the ship. They like to keep him warm.”

  “Follow me, then.” With that, Valentino and his retinue turned and disappeared into the portal.

  Orna tapped her comm. “Boss, we’re heading in.”

  “Stay frosty,” he replied.

  Nilah gritted her teeth against the bitter cold. “Hoping to get less frosty, sir, but I’ll keep the guard up.” Then she turned to Orna. “Really? You just have to ‘take what’s available’?”

  “You’re already letting him get to you,” said the quartermaster, pulling Nilah in for a quick hug. “Let’s make nice, get the cube, and split, okay?”

  “And don’t forget,” said Boots, “the baron was going to sell the journal to Grimsby. We don’t know how deep those allegiances go. Maybe he’s telling the truth about the anonymous escrow, but you can’t be sure.”

  “Right,” Nilah sighed. Steeling herself, she walked through the portal alongside her friends.

  The house on the other side was like an unfinished computer rendering. Blocky, polygonal furniture filled the stark white space, each piece a study in discomfort. Everything carried a sheen like injection-molded duraplast, and Nilah forced an admiring smile. It wasn’t hideous; it was unlivable.

  “Welcome to Rampant Gardens,” said Valentino, shucking the fur coat to reveal a low-cut robe with geometric designs of gold squares shining up its length. The nearest servant took his scarf, and he flipped his hair to straighten it back out. “My guards will be relieving you of your weapons.”

  Her stomach tensed, but it was only a matter of procedure for those in the presence of nobles. Grudgingly, she handed over her slinger; Boots followed suit. Orna took much longer and required a full frisking. The staffers also took their coats, leaving Nilah in her ugly, short-sleeved under layer. Her tattoos gave a subtle jump toward cyan embarrassment, and Valentino instantly smiled at the display. Maybe Nilah could get Arnie Camden to design a cold-weather suit while he was working on Orna’s wedding tuxedo.

  When the weapon search was complete, a member of the staff emerged, holding a cat-sized rodent. Doudou lost its tiny mind at the sight of the other creature, yapping and crooning to be let loose.

  “Not yet, my heart,” shushed the baron, nodding to the woman holding the rat.

  His staffer released the animal, which gave a panicked squeal and took off to hide under the nearest divan. The baron stomped his foot, but the rat refused to emerge, believing it’d found shelter.

  “Tsk,” he said, setting Doudou down onto the floor, where it scrabbled after the rat.

  The rat shot out from under the divan and across the open floor plan like a rocket. Doudou raced after it, remarkably quick for a creature with opposable thumbs. Nilah watched the exchange with dread, fearing the conclusion.

  “Come on, my precious!” called Valentino. “Show them how fast you are!”

  A furious chase led the rat to a corner, where it reared back on its hind legs and hissed. Doudou returned the gesture with terrifying malice, its fur flaring red. It struck, and in the blink of an eye, the rodent collapsed under its own weight. Nilah’s gut churned as she waited for the inevitable bloody consumption, but Doudou swallowed the rat whole, like a snake.

  “So, Doudou,” said Boots. “Boy or girl?”

  With a small shrug, Valentino said, “Neither. I ordered my dear, sweet one from a chimera splicer on Prothero. Though I like to think of her as a girl.”

  He gestured to the couch nearest the kill and smiled at Nilah. “Please, do have a seat.”

  “I’m just going to lay this out there,” said Orna, “but our vitals are being monitored. If something happens to us, I doubt your estate could survive too many hits from—”

  Valentino rested his slender fingers against his exposed tuft of chest hair, his face a rehearsed play of outrage. “I would never harm someone who entered my home in good faith. What do you take me for?”

  Boots rested a hand on Orna’s shoulder. “My companion is just leery. The last time we were here on Carré, the duke’s own soldiers killed him.”

  “Yes, well…” The baron looked down his nose at them. “Perhaps that’s what he gets for relying too much on indentured servants instead of paying people. While you’re with me, you’re under my protection. Now please stop staring at me like I’m going to eat you. It’s boring, even if some of you”—he gave Orna a little wink—“look quite edible.”

  Orna snorted. “Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong utensils for a snack like this.”

  “Pity,” said the baron, swooshing over to another chair, “but understandable. I’m not fond of men, either.”

  Nilah took a deep breath and made her way to the long, white sectional running along the wall. The cushions were wide, flat pyramids with a point oriented perfectly to poke directly into the posterior—but she settled down anyway. Instead of an unyielding plastic surface, she found a pillowy-soft metamaterial, which conformed to her every curve.

  She must’ve done a poor job hiding her surprise, because the baron said, “Don’t look so relieved, Brio! One cannot live in a truly anti-ergonomic setting. It’s a carefully cultivated illusion. Custom nanoscale-actuated furnishings to keep comfort at a maximum… also stainproof—a must for Doudou. Now, if the rest of you could have a seat, we’ll get down to business.” He snapped at the woman who’d brought the rat. “Where are the cocktails?”

  The staffer bowed and glided from the room as Boots and Orna took seats in other chairs. Valentino settled down last in a high-backed white cube, which spontaneously carved out a portion of itself to seat his royal rump. “Now, that’s better—”

  Doudou leapt into Nilah’s lap, and her dermaluxes went deep purple with fear. Its adorable snout nuzzled into the crook of her elbow as though searching for food, and Nilah felt the cool wetness of its saliva around the corners of its poison-filled mouth. A single strike of its teeth had put the rat down in under a second, and while she was much larger than a rat, she wasn’t eager to experiment with neurotoxins.

  “I’d be gentle if I were you,” Valentino cooed. “My little sweet bun produces the same poison used by the Garde Royale. According to the Link, you already have some experience with the compound.”

  The Garde Royale had shot Malik with a poisoned dart when they were in Duke Thiollier’s palace. The raid had seemed so long ago… except for that part. Nilah still hadn’t forgotten his terrified face.

  “Oh, how interesting,” brea
thed Nilah through a forced smile. “I’ll have to tell Doctor Jan.”

  The creature’s fur went bright pink, and it circled Nilah’s lap once before settling into a tight loop of cuddly death.

  “He likes you,” said Orna.

  “No, he doesn’t!” snapped Valentino. “Doudou! Vasoque la!”

  The critter scampered from Nilah’s lap like it’d had its leash yanked. Any trace of affection disappeared as it took up a sentinel’s stance at the baron’s side.

  “Now to business,” said Valentino. “You wanted a data cube, and I want your head on a spike. Metaphorically, of course.”

  “For personal edification,” Boots said, raising a hand halfway, “where do you stand on our heads?”

  The baron was taken aback. “I have no quarrel with you, Boots Elsworth. You’re the main reason I allowed this wretch”—he gestured to Nilah—“to visit my sanctum. I love your work so very, very much.”

  Boots leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Then you understand why you can’t sell it to a cabal of genocidal monsters. It’s not in your best interest, either.”

  “Oh, come,” said the baron, flipping his hair off his shoulders. “It was an escrow sale. You don’t know it was the Children of the Singularity any more than—”

  “We do,” said Boots. “Beyond the shadow of a doubt. Given that knowledge, it’d be wrong to sell to them. Don’t you agree?”

  “My dear,” said Valentino, “you’ve quite publicly foiled their plans twice in a row. I doubt those cultists have anything left with which to fight. No harm in taking their money for a scratched-up old data cube. Not exactly weapons of mass destruction. Plus, there are no treaties in place to stop a noble like myself from selling to—”

  “There’s common decency,” interrupted Boots. “We don’t do favors for the people who tried to kill us.”

  Valentino’s face hardened. “No, we don’t. And that extends to entitled, bratty racers who slam us into walls, heedless of honor and safety. Ah, the cocktails!” The baron introduced each one: a Royal Fire for Orna, a fine Carrétan whiskey for Boots, and a brimming glass of plain Marshanda Fosser for Nilah.

  “Oh. This. How nice,” said Nilah. “How did you know?”

  The baron ran his fingers through his silver hair. “They did sponsor you for two years, silly girl.”

  Nilah seated the glass in her lap, trying to ignore the cloying scent of rosemary hibiscus liqueur. “But you’ll sell to Boots?”

  “We shall see.”

  Nilah replied through a tight smile. “You said you’d sell it to her. That’s what you said on the call.”

  Valentino’s lips went pouty. “I said you would be entertained at my house. Whatever assumptions you’ve made are yours, my dear. You’ve yet to tempt me with the right price.”

  “How much money do you want on the table?” asked Nilah. “A million?”

  Valentino tsked. “You must be joking. The offer of sale was more than five.”

  “So… ten million?” Nilah suppressed a flinch.

  “Oh, but I have money and there’s so much of it out there in the galaxy. Think bigger. Something I can’t simply buy.”

  Nilah grimaced, thinking of how many nobles on Carré had indentured servants. “A servitude contract?”

  Valentino touched a finger to the side of his lip. “I hadn’t actually considered that, but I have something even better in mind.”

  Nilah looked to her compatriots, who gave her confused shrugs. She racked her brain but came up short. Finally, she said, “Well, we have a lot of money… Do you want a lot of—”

  “I want your ship, you fools!” shouted the baron, and Doudou began yapping to match his volume.

  “Uh…” Nilah began. “You want an old marauder?”

  Valentino crooked an eyebrow. “I’m a dealer of antiquities and rare collectibles. The Capricious is the centerpiece of the quintessential intrigue of the decade, my dears. Who knows what it might fetch at auction?”

  Boots folded her arms. Orna scowled.

  “And what, pray tell, are we supposed to use to fly out of here?” asked Nilah.

  “There are a lot of old warships on Carré,” said Valentino. “You have plenty of money. You can buy one of those and continue playing soldier.”

  Boots gave an annoyed chuckle, shaking her head. Nilah’s pulse jumped. Not only had Valentino managed to ask for the unthinkable, he’d insulted Boots’s honor, along with everyone else who’d ever joined them on their quest to destroy Witts.

  “I’d like you to control that tongue of yours.”

  Nilah turned to the fighter jock, agog at her outburst, before checking everyone else’s reactions. Even Orna’s eyes widened, and she glanced around at the nearby staff, clearly sizing up the situation—which was hopeless. There had to be at least six armed guards around, all of whom could be on the scene within seconds. Then, there was the murdermutt, which likely had an attack command.

  “Miss Elsworth,” said Valentino, eye twitching in annoyance, “it’s not wise to insult a noble of Carré.”

  “Death penalty, right? I wasn’t insulting you, Baron,” said Boots. “Just giving a bit of friendly advice. These folks have been through a lot more than a car crash and a broken leg. Two of them are KIA. What do you say we show them a little respect… before I take offense?”

  Valentino was at full attention, anger-shrunken irises locked on to Boots, though the courtly smile never left his mouth. “Now it sounds less like an insult and more like a threat. Let us un-mince your words, Miss Elsworth. What, exactly, will you do if I don’t control my tongue?”

  Boots laughed and relaxed, propping an arm across the back of the couch. “I’ll be disappointed in you, I suppose. I was hoping to swap research stories from the Finding Hana days, but if you’re not going to be nice, I don’t have to stay.”

  One of the servants brought Valentino a tray of delightful fruits, carved into gemlike animal shapes. He shooed the bearer away, returning his attention to his three guests. Loosing a loud yawn, he lounged sideways in the chair, draping his form across one arm like he’d fainted.

  “This posturing is so boring,” he groaned. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “I think I need to ask the captain—” Nilah began, hoping to keep the negotiations alive. She knew she couldn’t bargain away the Capricious, but to outright say no to the baron after all of the tension…

  “Let me save you the trouble. No. Absolutely not,” said Orna.

  “And that concludes our visit,” said Boots.

  “No, stay,” whined the baron, positively leaping from his perch and abdicating his regal act for something decidedly more childish. “I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot, Miss Elsworth. I merely forgot my tact. I would love to show you my collection if you’ll stay.”

  “And I’d love to see it.” Boots nodded sagely. “But if you’re not going to sell, we’re pretty busy.”

  “Always business, never diversions, are you?” asked Valentino. “We can fix that. Come now, be reasonable.”

  “And you’ll sell?” asked Boots.

  “We shall have to see,” the baron replied. “My escrow tells me the buyers wish to make another offer, but… I find you intriguing. If you wish to counter, I will entertain the notion, but we must wait to see what they say. How about a blind bid?”

  “Oh, come on, Tino,” said Nilah. “That’s robbery.”

  Valentino shook his head. “You make a secret offer and they make a secret offer. I’ll weigh the two and make my decision. Why don’t you confer with your captain and see what you can do, then join me for dinner?”

  The Capricious loomed over them as they exited the portal onto the freezing tarmac above Rampant Gardens, his pitted hull almost black against the gray skies. Nilah zipped up her cold-weather jacket, eager to be out of the wind. A few months ago, she’d braved the freezing assault on the Pinnacle at Hammerhead in ascetic cult pajamas. She’d thought it would toughen her up, but sh
e hated cold and mountains more than ever.

  Once on board, they gathered in the mess for a debriefing. As Nilah recounted the details, Kinnard offered helpful context and advice about Carrétan noble customs. All told, it dragged late into the night cycle. When Nilah got to the baron’s requested price—the Capricious—the captain’s reaction was, “Yeah. I guess we’re going to have to steal this Mostafa cube after all.”

  Orna and Aisha gave each other a quick high five, and Nilah elbowed her fiancée.

  “What?” said Orna. “It’ll be easy. You love stealing stuff.”

  “Just once, I’d like to buy what we need, like a civilized person might,” Nilah replied.

  “We’re not civilized, though,” said Boots. “Civility is what allows these monsters to fester in the darkness.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Alister. “I can come to dinner with you and start trying to catch mind readings from the staff.”

  “And I can focus on the baron,” said Jeannie. “If he’s keen on Orna, I’ll just act like her and see where it gets me.”

  Orna gave her a bemused glance, pulling out a boot knife to pick at her nails. “I’m a one-hundred percent original. You can’t copy this.”

  “I’ll just act cold and superior.” Jeannie mimicked Orna’s languid posture. “Maybe I’ll throw in a touch of mockery… You don’t have a fashion sense to appropriate…”

  Cordell’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m stopping this conversation before our quartermaster guts you, Miss Ferrier. Do not try to seduce the baron. For all we know, he was just hitting on Miss Sokol to get under Miss Brio’s skin.”

  “That hurts, Cap,” said Orna. “I’m a strong, beautiful woman, you know.”

  “Excuse me.” Malik stood and held up a hand. Within a second, the rowdy bunch settled down and patiently awaited his words.

  He nodded in calm appreciation. “I suggest we divide the plan into two phases: recon and action. We need an excuse to reconnoiter that isn’t dinner, because—and you three really, really should have considered this—food could easily be poisoned. Either way, you are not to take any actions during a recon mission.”