Avalon

CHAPTER 05

JETH RECOGNIZED THE NEAREST MAN AS SERGEI CASTILE, Hammer’s general. Like most of Hammer’s soldiers, Sergei was massive, with arms the size of support beams and a body nothing but muscle and sinew. His short-cropped haircut didn’t suit his broad face. It left the black brain implant attached to the back of his skull clearly visible, its tentacles curled around the sides of his thick neck like a rubbery vice. Unlike the identity-erasing implants forced upon the Guards, the Brethren’s implants enhanced their physical and mental abilities, turning them into super-soldiers. They were not a force to be messed with.

Screwing up his nerve, Jeth approached. He swept his gaze over the other two soldiers, taking in their implants, too. The sight of them always creeped him out. Having that thing imbedded in your skull had to hurt, for one thing. For another, there were times he could swear he saw the tentacles moving, as if the implant was some kind of giant parasite that fed off brain matter. Rumor had it the implants gave the wearers a form of swarm intelligence, enabling them to act as a single unit and to communicate with each other and with Hammer without speaking. True or not, Jeth didn’t want to know.

“Hammer wants to see you,” Sergei said, his voice a low grumble.

“No kidding,” Jeth said, unable to stop himself. He felt reduced to a jumble of nerves, his brain temporarily inoperable.

Sergei glared at him in a way that suggested how much he would like to break Jeth’s fingers. The other two soldiers fixed malevolent gazes on him. Surprisingly, Jeth took comfort in their response. At least the Brethren were mostly normal to be around, unlike the Guard, with their vacant, eerie expressions that made them seem less than human.

Not bothering to comment, Sergei turned and headed down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Jeth had come. Jeth fell in step behind him, letting out the breath he’d been holding. He was glad they were going this way. He didn’t want to know what the Brethren would do if they discovered the man on the bench. Openly mock him perhaps. Or initiate a semipublic beating.

They walked along in silence and then entered an elevator. Jeth stood in the rear of it, the safety bar pressing against his back. The Brethren stood semicircled around him, ignoring him completely.

The elevator doors opened moments later onto the expressway deck, and they climbed into a shuttle. Fifteen minutes later they reached Hammer’s private estate. Leaving the other two Brethren behind, Sergei and Jeth entered through a side entrance, out of sight from any late-night tourists.

The upper level of the estate sat like a castle in the middle of the city, surrounded by extensive gardens full of statues, fountains, and real live flowers and plants, all carefully grown and maintained by an entire army of gardeners. Even among interstellar crime lords, the place was beyond decadent. Far as Jeth knew, Hammer was the only crime lord based out of a spaceport; most of them preferring dwellings planetside. The obscene display here was just an attempt to one-up the competition.

They entered the estate, navigating hallways as lavish as the garden outside. Jeth had been here often enough that he found it easy not to gawk at the floor-to-ceiling paintings and row upon row of ancient First-Earth vases stuffed full of fresh flowers. Plush, indigo-colored carpet covered the floor.

Sergei led him past two Malleus Guards standing watch outside a large sitting room. Jeth didn’t have to see the clear implants on the backs of the men’s heads to know they were Guard. The vacant, frozen expressions on their faces, like upright corpses, were enough.

“We wait,” Sergei said as they stepped inside.

Shrugging, Jeth sat down in one of the chairs. In moments, the steady tick-tick-tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner began to grate on his nerves. He focused on other sounds, and slowly became aware of raised voices beyond the door opposite him. He couldn’t make out any words, but the tone was hostile.

A short while later, the door slid open and a man emerged, a glower on his face. He too wore a black implant, marking him a Brethren. But unlike Sergei and most of the other Brethren Jeth knew, this man was smaller of build, less daunting. The moment he spotted Sergei and Jeth his scowl vanished, replaced by an easy grin. Jeth did a double take. He’d never seen any Brethren grin before. Ever.

The man winked at Sergei. “Good to see you, Serge.”

“Dax,” Sergei said, not returning the friendliness.

Jeth’s eyes went wide as he realized who the man was—Daxton Price. Jeth had never met him before, but everyone associated with Hammer’s operation knew him by reputation. Dax worked as a tracker for Hammer, and the stories about him were nothing short of legendary. They said he could find anyone anywhere in the known universe no matter how cold the trail, and that he could shoot straight down the barrel of an opponent’s gun before the person had time to take aim.

Dax turned his gaze to Jeth. He had black hair and caramel-colored eyes, with a long, straight nose and broad chin. “And you must be Jeth Seagrave, the latest test baby. Heard a lot about you.”

Jeth frowned, unsure how to respond. On the one hand, having a guy like Dax know who he was felt like a compliment. On the other hand, he didn’t like the phrase “test baby” or the derisive undertone he sensed. He didn’t exactly understand the term either, although he figured Dax was referring to Hammer’s infamous aptitude tests. All the kids who lived and attended school at Peltraz were required to take them. Hammer’s way of keeping inventory of potential resources. Though Hammer had zeroed in on Jeth long before any test results.

“Same here,” Jeth said at last.

Dax pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the door. “If you’re going in there, Golden Boy, I would step careful. The big man’s in a fiery mood tonight.”

“Right,” Jeth said, his stomach giving a nasty lurch. “Thanks.”

Dax winked again and then swept past them, leaving the room without another word.

“Go on.” Sergei motioned toward the door.

Jeth gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax. He needed to appear calm, like he didn’t have a reason in the world to be afraid of Hammer. Hammer was a ruthless tyrant, but he didn’t tolerate groveling or cowardice. He detested any sign of weakness. If Jeth went in there looking guilty, Hammer would devour him whole.

Jeth stepped inside, closing the door behind him. A large dining table made from some dark wood filled most of the room. More wood covered the floor. It was so highly polished Jeth could see his blurred reflection in the soft glow of faux torches hung at intervals around the walls.

Hammer sat at the head of the table, but he didn’t look up at Jeth’s entrance. He kept his attention focused on a plate overflowing with what looked like a slab of real steak. The smell of it filled the room, making Jeth’s stomach rumble. Real meat was a delicacy at spaceports. Most of the stores and restaurants couldn’t afford the extra import costs and relied instead on synthesized imitations. The imitations weren’t bad, but nothing beat the real thing. He closed his eyes, reveling in the scent and the memories it invoked from when he was a kid, living planetside and having meat whenever he wanted.

Yet Jeth’s appetite vanished as quickly as it had come as he remembered the starving man and the way the bones in his chest had stuck out like a mountain range beneath his skin, and how he had pleaded for food. The longer Jeth stood there waiting to be acknowledged, the more volatile his hatred for Hammer became.

Having no desire to watch Hammer eat, Jeth locked his gaze on the foot of the table, but it was impossible to ignore the squishing sounds issuing from Hammer’s mouth as he chewed.

When Hammer finally finished eating, he set his utensils aside and said, “So I hear the Montrose job didn’t go as smoothly as planned.”

Jeth blinked in surprise at Hammer’s casual tone. He couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t in trouble. Hammer’s reactions might be unpredictable, but Jeth could read his moods well enough. This was not an angry Hammer, not the ruthless tyrant ready to condemn a man to slow death by starvation. This was Hammer, the politician. The only time he was ever diplomatic was when he wanted something without having to use force.

But what does he want from me? Right away, Jeth’s thoughts turned to the lost ship. Was recovering it important enough to stay Hammer’s wrath at how badly things had gone at Kordan? Hammer was cruel, but not stupid. He knew when to use the carrot and when the stick. Such instincts were one of the reasons he was so successful.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Jeth said. He looked at Hammer directly for the first time. He had a bulldog face with black, piggy eyes and perpetually red cheeks. His bald head gleamed nearly as brightly as the polished floor. Like his soldiers, Hammer wore an implant, too. Only his was dark red, the color of old blood.

Hammer let out a dramatic sigh. “Your theatrical exit drew the attention of the ITA, the Montrose’s shielding system was unsalvageable, not to mention the metadrive, and you brought back both Scouts with damage that will cost me thousands of unis to repair.”

“Hey, now,” Jeth said, testing the waters. “The metadrive wasn’t my fault.”

Hammer scowled, the gesture making his piggy eyes even smaller. “That’s beside the point.”

Jeth didn’t respond. Hammer might not be truly angry, but that could change in a second if Jeth pushed him too far.

“Now,” Hammer said, “why don’t you tell me what went wrong at Kordan?”

Jeth shrugged. Lying to Hammer was risky, but telling him about Renford would be downright stupid. Unless he wanted to spend the next couple of months having his every activity monitored and probed for possible betrayal. “It was just bad timing with some reserve sentries. But we got away all right, and with the ship salvageable. Mostly. So, job done. Now, what’s the next one?”

Hammer leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning in protest. His belly was so large he had to sit back from the table to make room for it. “You’re awfully cocky for someone so young, you know that?”

Jeth flashed a mirthless grin. “I’ve earned it, wouldn’t you say?”

Hammer snorted, his pretend anger vanishing with the sound. “You do okay, I suppose. But I tolerate your cockiness because I like you, Jeth. Like you could be my own son.”

Horror at the idea sent a scowl rising to Jeth’s face, and he quickly tamped it down before Hammer spotted it. Jeth’s real father might’ve died a prisoner, and he might’ve lived a short life, clinging to naive ideas like the betterment and well-being of all mankind, but he’d been good. A father worth having.

And nothing at all like Hammer. Please, the starving man had said. I’m hungry. If Hammer were Jeth’s father, he’d have committed patricide long before now. And only a son would be able to get close enough to him to do it.

“It just so happens that I do have your next job lined up,” Hammer said, not noticing Jeth’s reaction. “Something . . . different.”

Jeth arched an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s a salvage mission. Need you to use Avalon to retrieve a lost ship.” He paused. “From the Belgrave Quadrant.”

Jeth frowned, doing his best imitation of surprise. Fortunately, he didn’t have to fake his trepidation over the notion of flying into the Devil’s Boneyard. That emotion was genuine.

“Now, I know the Belgrave has a certain reputation, but considering how much you kids like a thrill, I imagine you’ll be up for it.”

You don’t know them very well, Jeth thought. They all liked a good challenge, but the Belgrave was on a whole new level. It was one thing to face danger in familiar territory, but something else to face it in the complete unknown.

“And even if there is some hesitation,” Hammer continued, “I think the two hundred-k payment ought to smooth things over.”

Jeth gaped, his surprise genuine this time. That was a lot of money, way more than they’d ever made on any job. It was enough to put him within spitting distance of buying back Avalon. That’s one helluva carrot.

The idea of trying to bargain suddenly occurred to him. He’d never dared such a thing before. There wasn’t much point when Hammer held all the power. With a single word he could cut them all off like he had the beggar. The only way out of such a death sentence was if some relative or friend outside Peltraz was willing to come and take you away from the spaceport, assuming Hammer would allow them to land and take off again. But Jeth’s and Lizzie’s only relative was Milton, and he lived on Avalon with them. The other members of the Malleus Shades were orphans, wards of the state already. Wards of Hammer Dafoe.

And the money wasn’t just for him, but for the others, too. He had no right to bargain with it. Yet . . .

I’m so close.

Jeth inhaled deeply, ignoring his squirming insides. “What if I were to say you give the crew twelve-k a piece and keep the rest?”

Hammer frowned, not in anger exactly, but definitely not thrilled. “In exchange for what?”

“Avalon.”

Hammer laughed, his entire belly wriggling. “Very funny, Jeth. Never knew you were such a jokester.”

Do you really believe he’ll let you have your ship? Jeth heard Renford say. He supposed it was time to find out.

“I’m not joking. My cut of that money puts me pretty close to buying her back, by my count anyway. And if you’re already going through the trouble of letting Avalon out of her cage, why not make it simple and let her go for good. Once I’ve brought back the missing ship, of course. You know I’m good for it.”

Hammer’s gaze hardened. “Ah, but that’s the catch, isn’t it? It’s Avalon I need, not you. Who’s to say I don’t get someone else to take her out? Someone who’d be happy with the pay I’m offering?”

Jeth balled his fingers into fists as he fought to keep his cool. Hammer had to be bluffing. The Malleus Shades might not be salvagers, but they had an unbeatable track record, and nobody else was familiar with Avalon. “Like who? The Dark Sol Gang out of the Antares System? I hear they’re pretty good, but could you really trust them like you trust me?”

Hammer considered the point. Jeth held his breath, leery of Hammer’s response and what it might reveal about his real intentions. Will he let me go? It would mean the end of the Malleus Shades. There was no way Jeth would leave Peltraz without the rest of the crew—assuming they wanted to leave with him.

When Hammer finally answered, his tone was too genial. “Like I said before, I do like you Jeth. So, let’s make it ten-k a piece for your crew, and we’ve got a deal.”

Jeth’s heart plunged like a boulder down his chest into his stomach. Hammer’s answer was all wrong. He’d given in too easily. Jeth could tell when he was being placated. For whatever reason, Hammer wanted Jeth happy and committed to the job.

Emboldened by a sense of futility, Jeth decided to keep playing Hammer’s game. “Ten-k it is, but I want the money and Avalon’s title in my name upfront.”

Hammer laughed. “No way. You’ll have no incentive to complete the job if I give you all that.”

“It’s like you said, the Belgrave’s got a reputation. The crew will be a little happier with that kind of reassurance. I mean, who’s to say if we fly in there that we’ll ever fly out again?”

Hammer sneered. “Those rumors are grossly exaggerated, as you well know.”

“Maybe, but the ITA shut down all the trade routes through it for some reason or other.” They’d done it not long after Jeth’s parents returned from their last expedition. Milton had told him that, for a time afterward, the ITA had sent dozens of explorer ships into the Belgrave. Whether or not they found what they were looking for Jeth didn’t know, but they’d kept the routes closed ever since.

“That’s just because the ITA wants to force travelers to use an extra gate to go around it rather than save money by flying through it,” said Hammer. “Really, I thought you had the measure of them by now.”

Jeth smacked his lips. He did have the measure of them. Greed. Same as everybody else.

Hammer sighed at Jeth’s lack of response. “Fine. I’ll give you half the money upfront.”

“What about the papers?” Jeth said, deliberately pressing now.

“I’ll give you a copy of the transfer papers, but I’m not signing until after you come back.”

Jeth exhaled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It was better than nothing. Signatures could be forged. And it was a sign of good faith, for whatever that might be worth. He supposed there was still a chance that Hammer would honor the arrangement, that he was just being paranoid because of what Renford had said. “Okay, it’s a deal. Now, what are the details on the lost ship?”

Hammer leaned forward, his manner all business now. “It’s called the Donerail. I’ll have the specifics on it loaded into Avalon’s databanks in the morning. Your job is simple. Find the ship and haul her in. I’ll give you two weeks to search for her. If you haven’t found her by then, you need to come out of the Belgrave and check in with me.”

“Okay,” Jeth said. “But why do you want the ship? Surely not for the metadrive. There’s no guarantee it’s even working, right?”

“No, it’s not the metadrive this time.” Hammer drummed his fingers against the table, as if debating how much to tell him. “The ship’s carrying a . . . weapon. Something new and valuable, of course.”

Of course. Jeth sighed, a little disappointed. New or not, weapons were nothing special. All they did was kill and destroy. That song and dance was as ancient as human beings.

“The weapon’s dangerous, too,” Hammer added. “And it could be unstable. I’ve got to insist that nobody boards the ship.”

Jeth frowned. Exploring the ship might’ve been the only fun part of this job. Then again, the weapon could be viral or radioactive.

“I mean it, Jeth,” said Hammer. “If you do board her, then our little agreement about Avalon goes null and void, as well as the money. Understand?”

“Yes,” Jeth said, agreement a given. He’d rather face an ITA firing squad than death from radiation poisoning.

“Besides, there’s no reason you should have to board,” Hammer continued. “The Donerail disappeared two months ago, well beyond its food and water capacity. Any passengers would be long gone by now. The ship’s a Marlin.”

Jeth nodded. Marlins were a transport class, short-range ship, the fastest of their kind and surprisingly well-armed and well-shielded for non-military vessels. This made them the ship of choice for corporations that had expensive goods to transport as well as for pirates and smugglers. Jeth supposed if someone had a secret weapon they needed to move quickly, a Marlin made sense.

He wanted to ask more, but he worried Hammer would wonder about his interest beyond the basics, which usually sufficed for him. He would have to do some research on the net when he got home instead. He’d get Lizzie to help. She had a knack for tracking down information.

“How soon do you want us to leave?” Jeth asked.

“Right away. I’ll have Avalon stocked and fueled by tomorrow morning.”

“All right, we’ll fly out not long after.”

“Good. I’ll expect to hear from you in two weeks. Now, I’m sure you can let yourself out the way you came.”

Jeth retreated from the room, walking slowly, though he felt like running. His mind churned with doubts and questions. What would the crew think if they found out how much money they could’ve made? Why had Hammer agreed to his terms so quickly? What was his endgame? Nothing good, Jeth was certain.

But the idea of flying Avalon for the first time in years made those worries seem like pale shadows in strong light. Maybe, just maybe, if he played it right, he might soon get to fly her forever.