VI. Accountability
"Now approaching Ganymede. Please switch all toll cards to debit mode." The smooth, synthetic greeting dragged Julia from a dreamless slumber, and she sat up, flexing her joints, for a look around. On Ganymede it seemed to be approaching dusk. Vicious was busy with the instrument panel, paying tolls and shutting down the automatic pilot. With control of the vessel back, he gunned the engine and they dropped into a sharp descent as soon as they cleared the last guide ring.
He maneuvered over the circular oasis of the city, landing on the roof of an office tower with a view of the water sculptures in the bay. Julia's ears rang as the engine noise declined and stopped; she barely heard Vicious when he finally spoke.
"It's showtime," he told her conversationally.
"I still don't know what I'm here to do," she reminded him.
The hatch of the zipcraft hissed open. He didn't answer until they had clambered down the narrow stair with their bags.
"We need to find out who manufactures the Red Eye here." He busied himself closing the hatch and securing the ship. "Manfred won't want to give up that information, since he's hoping to rope me in as a more frequent buyer. But it's not worth the time and the trip coming out here when we can get it on Mars most of the time. If we had access to the manufacturing, we could use our transports to make pickups directly and deliver to the warehouse district."
She folded her arms over her chest, the patent leather creaking. "And we'd be supplying the White Tigers as well as our own contacts."
He nodded with a small smile. "You understand."
She shrugged. "I could have figured that out for myself. But it doesn't explain what you think I'm going to be able to do, all dolled up, to get the name."
His smile faded; he seemed to weigh his options before he continued. "Manfred doesn't exactly attract the attention of women. He's led a hard life."
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to spit it out.
"I think the promise of your attentions might make him willing to barter with his knowledge." Vicious watched her face, but not a muscle moved as she continued to stare at him.
"The promise?" she finally asked. "As in, tell him I'll fuck him if he tells you where the dealer is, and then split when he spills the beans? He can't possibly be that stupid if he's kept the details from you until now."
He inclined his head, acknowledging the backhanded compliment. "Some guarantee of payment on both sides will be required. It will be a delicate negotiation."
Her features transformed by slow degrees into a glower. "This is punishment," she said flatly, "and nothing more. You could have brought more people and gotten the information by force."
He extended a hand to take her shoulder, but she turned at the waist to avoid the contact. "Julia," he said, "it's not punishment. But it is a test. And it is reparation for what happened at Henshai's."
"A test of what?" She took a step back from him as he moved to touch her again. "Of whether I'll fuck another man? And what happens to me if I do?"
"If you get the information, you'll be commended by the Van. And I'll know you believe in what we're doing as much as you believe in your fantasy of us having a life together."
"So the last two years have been a dream?" No trace of hurt made its way into her voice; it seemed like a simple question.
"No. But the future years are." He looked down at the city below them. "We can each have only one primary motivation. To make up for protecting you, I must show that I am willing to give you up for a time. And to make up for choosing me above your task, you must show that you are willing to act in a way that would betray me."
She scoffed, a haughty and dismissive sound that made his muscles tense. "You direct me to betray you, but the fault is mine, then?"
"The Van directs you to complete a mission. Only if you do so will you prove to me that we can continue to be equals."
She desperately wanted to confront him with his order to Spike the night before, but knew that if he'd issued such a decree, he would be willing to seek the same fate for his own partner. Instead, she gathered her bag and coat and turned away from him, heading for the roof entry. "Let's go," she called back without looking at him again. "If it's showtime, get ready. You're going to watch."
He felt a strange twist in his gut as he watched her walk away, and relief that she did not see his face.
The roof entry was simply an elevator door; they descended in silence to the 30th floor and entered a long, anonymous hallway. Julia took note of the stairwell entrance, remembering it would not take her all the way to the roof, and read the names of several of the businesses on the doors they passed. Most seemed to be partnerships: probably financial fronts for illegal trade or legal firms representing the other building tenants.
Vicious led her through a series of turns; keen-eyed, she watched which signs corresponded to each change in course. They came out into a wider passageway, better-lit, and Vicious stopped her.
"Julia, this is important. Go along with what I say. If you want to be angry with me, do it later. Listen to my cues. If Manfred suspects foul play, we are in his territory and I would rather not have to kill him." He watched for her response, but she simply shrugged.
"Can we keep moving?" she asked, her tone almost bored.
Eventually, they came to the end of the hallway and a door marked "Manfred Freightways". The lettering peeled, a preview of the condition of the office beyond it – when Vicious opened the door, a dank, acrid smell drifted out and Julia fought to keep an expression of distaste from her features. They stood in a small waiting room, with two folding chairs in front of a battered desk. It lacked a phone, lamp, or anything else that might have been found on a desk; the blotter was covered in water damage rings. Julia noted that the clock on the wall was stuck at 3:22.
After a moment, the door behind the desk – which Julia had assumed was a coat closet – banged open and her target came through. She swallowed, locked her knees and elbows to keep herself from shuddering, and forced what she hoped was an aloof but otherwise empty smile.
Vicious extended a hand to Manfred, murmuring, "We meet again, Long Haul."
Manfred's face moved – Julia hoped this was supposed to pass for a pleasant expression. His left eye was missing, and he wore no patch to cover it. Silvery scar tissue stretched over the socket instead, with faint puckering where the lids had been stitched together. The left side of his face was paralyzed, so that when he grinned his lips on that side hung open, slack and wet with saliva. His voice was equally moist and distorted.
"Vicioush," he slurred, "We should do bushinesh more often." They shook, and Julia noted Manfred lacked fingers on both hands. He turned his remaining eye, ringed silver with cataract, to her. "Hello," he told her. "You make the room brighter!"
She maintained the smile and bowed her head. "You are too kind."
"Manfred, this is my wife Julia." Vicious put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side. She looked up at him, the blank look frozen with the smile on her face, and he grinned back. "Darling, will you excuse us for just a few minutes?"
"Certainly," she replied. It had taken considerable effort to unclench her jaw before speaking. Vicious nodded almost imperceptibly and released her.
"Manfred, shall we discuss the details?"
"Of courshe," he said. "She will not be joining ush?"
"Later," Vicious said with a smile. "But first, we should agree to terms."
Manfred's lopsided grin widened as he saw the steel case Vicious carried. "Come on, then," he mumbled, and went back to the door behind the desk. Vicious followed, not looking back, and the door closed behind them.
Julia took a long, deep breath and let her body slowly relax. She wasn't sure what Vicious was playing at, and hated being expected to go along for the ride. She sat on one of the folding chairs, running her hands over her cropped leather jacket, making sure her weapons were still concealed in their proper places and nothing had shifted to become visible. She looked up at the clock on the wall, but it had not moved, and she realized her comm. was back on the zipcraft. With no way to measure the passing time, she put her feet up on the desk and settled in to wait.
***
Spike wiped a swath of steam away from the mirror of the Syndicate bathroom, a towel around his waist and his Jericho tucked in the back of it. He relished the feel of hot water on his face, the smell of shaving cream, the icy breath he sucked in after a good tooth-brushing. He hadn't realized how grimy he really felt until the blood, sweat and dirt were gone. Just as he finished shaving, a current of cold air buffeted him and in the mirror he saw Mao Yenrai come through the doorway.
"Spike!" Mao exclaimed. "So good to see you up and around. Vicious had me worried you were knocking on heaven's door."
The younger man chuckled. "No, I think he got carried away with that whole situation."
"I hoped that was the case," Mao replied. "We were all concerned when we did not hear from you, or from him, that night."
"Sorry about that." Spike rinsed the razor and began re-packing his shaving kit. "He sent me around to check up on Julia, and by the time I got back here, it was too late to wake anyone, since I wasn't dead."
Mao let out a hearty laugh. "Indeed!" He raised his eyebrows. "Was Julia injured as well?"
Spike turned to face him. "Vicious gave her a scare. He was angry at how the job played out." He hesitated. "Mao, can I ask you something in confidence?"
Mao's expression slid instantly into seriousness. "Of course. Speak to me as you would to your father." For a moment, the rust-brown eyes of his protégé clouded. Spike's father had died defending Mao, so long ago now that it was like a movie he had seen as a child, rather than a real memory.
"You have been a father to me, Mao. So I hope you will have good advice." Spike took a breath, unsure how to phrase the delicate admission. Mao simply waited, familiar with Spike's silences and well aware the young man was more observant than he let on.
"Vicious didn't just overreact to my injury," he finally continued. "He seemed to take Julia's actions personally. He offered her a chance to leave the Syndicate."
Mao nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Clearly, she did not accept his offer."
Spike inhaled again and settled back to sit on the lip of the sink. "He sent me to make sure she didn't," he replied. "I didn't have to convince her, but it wasn't his place to make the offer, or to rescind it."
Mao nodded again, watching Spike. "You are correct about that. But what is it you want to ask me?"
"I suppose I have two questions. The hard one first: if he comes to me with the same request again, I won't carry any part of it out. And I want to know that no one else will do it either."
Mao turned away to the urinal and Spike heard the soft sound of an expensive zipper. As he relieved himself, the older man replied, "You need only come to me, and your fears will be assuaged. You should have come to me last night."
"I know. I've spent all morning thinking about the position he put me in."
"You still care for Julia."
"I've always cared for Julia. She's my friend." Spike took his shirt down from the hanger where he'd let it smooth out in the steam and began to dress.
"I know what you felt for Julia in the beginning," Mao said, his voice echoing off the tile. "And I know what you feel for Vicious. Let neither of those things color the lens through which you see their actions."
Spike sighed. "Good advice, as I had hoped. This stays between us, right?"
"Of course it does, my son." Mao smiled at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You said you had two questions. What is the easy one?"
"Right." Spike smiled back sheepishly. "I, uh, need to find another apartment. Got any suggestions?"
***
Vicious accepted a drink from Manfred as he pulled up a stool to the worktable in the storeroom. Manfred poured another for himself and sat to face Vicious. "You've been doing well for yourshelf," he said with a lascivious grin. "She's a real peach."
Vicious nodded. "She is lovely and talented."
"Gahr, tell me a shtory!" Manfred downed his drink and wiped his mouth with a damp sleeve. "What she good at?"
"Would you like to find out for yourself?" Vicious smirked over his glass.
"I don't get it. What are you playing at, boy?" He leaned back, suspicious.
"You see, I need to make a contact with a manufacturer." Vicious watched him closely as he went on. "I've brought something of mine here, that I think you might appreciate, in the hopes you would agree to make an introduction."
Manfred cocked his eye at Vicious and got up to refill his glass. Over his shoulder, he called, "Would be a short reward in exchange for a long drought, by my account."
Vicious chuckled. "I'm not looking to take away your business, Manfred. I'm just hoping to expand my own. You would be free to make your own arrangements for a commission."
The old man considered as he finished his second drink. "What exactly would I get?"
"A demonstration of Julia's considerable talents. A night to do whatever you wish with her, as long as she isn't harmed."
"What do you conshider 'harmed'?" Manfred leered.
"The first thing you'd like to do to a beautiful woman who'd do your bidding is hurt her?" Vicious fixed him with a glare.
Manfred let out a booming laugh. "Oh, well, if you don't conshider a good banging to be 'harm', no harm would come to her."
They sat, appraising one another. Manfred narrowed his eye. "My guarantee?"
"Make the call to arrange the introduction. After I pick up what I've come to purchase from you, you'll have your evening with Julia. I'll be present, naturally, to make sure you don't make any attempt to call off the meeting." Manfred raised his eyebrow, but Vicious continued before he could interrupt. "We'll go straight to the manufacturer when your time is up." Vicious tipped the last of his whiskey back. "You should have another, Manfred. Don't want to be nervous when we go tell her about the date."
Manfred opened his mouth to say he hadn't agreed to the terms, but thought better of it and went to the liquor cabinet again. "You're a shtrange one," he said with a chuckle. "Mosht men wouldn't think of thish, and if they did, they'd just bring me a whore."
"You could get one of those yourself," Vicious replied. "As I said, I've brought you something of mine, something I know to be of quality, in exchange for a quality relationship with someone you know."
"Oh, I get it. I jusht don't get why you'd let her near an old rustbucket like me." The third drink disappeared as quickly as the first two.
"She owes me," Vicious said in a low tone, "And she won't object."
"Well, then," Manfred said, slurring even more, "I think I have a phone call to make."
"Now approaching Ganymede. Please switch all toll cards to debit mode." The smooth, synthetic greeting dragged Julia from a dreamless slumber, and she sat up, flexing her joints, for a look around. On Ganymede it seemed to be approaching dusk. Vicious was busy with the instrument panel, paying tolls and shutting down the automatic pilot. With control of the vessel back, he gunned the engine and they dropped into a sharp descent as soon as they cleared the last guide ring.
He maneuvered over the circular oasis of the city, landing on the roof of an office tower with a view of the water sculptures in the bay. Julia's ears rang as the engine noise declined and stopped; she barely heard Vicious when he finally spoke.
"It's showtime," he told her conversationally.
"I still don't know what I'm here to do," she reminded him.
The hatch of the zipcraft hissed open. He didn't answer until they had clambered down the narrow stair with their bags.
"We need to find out who manufactures the Red Eye here." He busied himself closing the hatch and securing the ship. "Manfred won't want to give up that information, since he's hoping to rope me in as a more frequent buyer. But it's not worth the time and the trip coming out here when we can get it on Mars most of the time. If we had access to the manufacturing, we could use our transports to make pickups directly and deliver to the warehouse district."
She folded her arms over her chest, the patent leather creaking. "And we'd be supplying the White Tigers as well as our own contacts."
He nodded with a small smile. "You understand."
She shrugged. "I could have figured that out for myself. But it doesn't explain what you think I'm going to be able to do, all dolled up, to get the name."
His smile faded; he seemed to weigh his options before he continued. "Manfred doesn't exactly attract the attention of women. He's led a hard life."
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to spit it out.
"I think the promise of your attentions might make him willing to barter with his knowledge." Vicious watched her face, but not a muscle moved as she continued to stare at him.
"The promise?" she finally asked. "As in, tell him I'll fuck him if he tells you where the dealer is, and then split when he spills the beans? He can't possibly be that stupid if he's kept the details from you until now."
He inclined his head, acknowledging the backhanded compliment. "Some guarantee of payment on both sides will be required. It will be a delicate negotiation."
Her features transformed by slow degrees into a glower. "This is punishment," she said flatly, "and nothing more. You could have brought more people and gotten the information by force."
He extended a hand to take her shoulder, but she turned at the waist to avoid the contact. "Julia," he said, "it's not punishment. But it is a test. And it is reparation for what happened at Henshai's."
"A test of what?" She took a step back from him as he moved to touch her again. "Of whether I'll fuck another man? And what happens to me if I do?"
"If you get the information, you'll be commended by the Van. And I'll know you believe in what we're doing as much as you believe in your fantasy of us having a life together."
"So the last two years have been a dream?" No trace of hurt made its way into her voice; it seemed like a simple question.
"No. But the future years are." He looked down at the city below them. "We can each have only one primary motivation. To make up for protecting you, I must show that I am willing to give you up for a time. And to make up for choosing me above your task, you must show that you are willing to act in a way that would betray me."
She scoffed, a haughty and dismissive sound that made his muscles tense. "You direct me to betray you, but the fault is mine, then?"
"The Van directs you to complete a mission. Only if you do so will you prove to me that we can continue to be equals."
She desperately wanted to confront him with his order to Spike the night before, but knew that if he'd issued such a decree, he would be willing to seek the same fate for his own partner. Instead, she gathered her bag and coat and turned away from him, heading for the roof entry. "Let's go," she called back without looking at him again. "If it's showtime, get ready. You're going to watch."
He felt a strange twist in his gut as he watched her walk away, and relief that she did not see his face.
The roof entry was simply an elevator door; they descended in silence to the 30th floor and entered a long, anonymous hallway. Julia took note of the stairwell entrance, remembering it would not take her all the way to the roof, and read the names of several of the businesses on the doors they passed. Most seemed to be partnerships: probably financial fronts for illegal trade or legal firms representing the other building tenants.
Vicious led her through a series of turns; keen-eyed, she watched which signs corresponded to each change in course. They came out into a wider passageway, better-lit, and Vicious stopped her.
"Julia, this is important. Go along with what I say. If you want to be angry with me, do it later. Listen to my cues. If Manfred suspects foul play, we are in his territory and I would rather not have to kill him." He watched for her response, but she simply shrugged.
"Can we keep moving?" she asked, her tone almost bored.
Eventually, they came to the end of the hallway and a door marked "Manfred Freightways". The lettering peeled, a preview of the condition of the office beyond it – when Vicious opened the door, a dank, acrid smell drifted out and Julia fought to keep an expression of distaste from her features. They stood in a small waiting room, with two folding chairs in front of a battered desk. It lacked a phone, lamp, or anything else that might have been found on a desk; the blotter was covered in water damage rings. Julia noted that the clock on the wall was stuck at 3:22.
After a moment, the door behind the desk – which Julia had assumed was a coat closet – banged open and her target came through. She swallowed, locked her knees and elbows to keep herself from shuddering, and forced what she hoped was an aloof but otherwise empty smile.
Vicious extended a hand to Manfred, murmuring, "We meet again, Long Haul."
Manfred's face moved – Julia hoped this was supposed to pass for a pleasant expression. His left eye was missing, and he wore no patch to cover it. Silvery scar tissue stretched over the socket instead, with faint puckering where the lids had been stitched together. The left side of his face was paralyzed, so that when he grinned his lips on that side hung open, slack and wet with saliva. His voice was equally moist and distorted.
"Vicioush," he slurred, "We should do bushinesh more often." They shook, and Julia noted Manfred lacked fingers on both hands. He turned his remaining eye, ringed silver with cataract, to her. "Hello," he told her. "You make the room brighter!"
She maintained the smile and bowed her head. "You are too kind."
"Manfred, this is my wife Julia." Vicious put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side. She looked up at him, the blank look frozen with the smile on her face, and he grinned back. "Darling, will you excuse us for just a few minutes?"
"Certainly," she replied. It had taken considerable effort to unclench her jaw before speaking. Vicious nodded almost imperceptibly and released her.
"Manfred, shall we discuss the details?"
"Of courshe," he said. "She will not be joining ush?"
"Later," Vicious said with a smile. "But first, we should agree to terms."
Manfred's lopsided grin widened as he saw the steel case Vicious carried. "Come on, then," he mumbled, and went back to the door behind the desk. Vicious followed, not looking back, and the door closed behind them.
Julia took a long, deep breath and let her body slowly relax. She wasn't sure what Vicious was playing at, and hated being expected to go along for the ride. She sat on one of the folding chairs, running her hands over her cropped leather jacket, making sure her weapons were still concealed in their proper places and nothing had shifted to become visible. She looked up at the clock on the wall, but it had not moved, and she realized her comm. was back on the zipcraft. With no way to measure the passing time, she put her feet up on the desk and settled in to wait.
***
Spike wiped a swath of steam away from the mirror of the Syndicate bathroom, a towel around his waist and his Jericho tucked in the back of it. He relished the feel of hot water on his face, the smell of shaving cream, the icy breath he sucked in after a good tooth-brushing. He hadn't realized how grimy he really felt until the blood, sweat and dirt were gone. Just as he finished shaving, a current of cold air buffeted him and in the mirror he saw Mao Yenrai come through the doorway.
"Spike!" Mao exclaimed. "So good to see you up and around. Vicious had me worried you were knocking on heaven's door."
The younger man chuckled. "No, I think he got carried away with that whole situation."
"I hoped that was the case," Mao replied. "We were all concerned when we did not hear from you, or from him, that night."
"Sorry about that." Spike rinsed the razor and began re-packing his shaving kit. "He sent me around to check up on Julia, and by the time I got back here, it was too late to wake anyone, since I wasn't dead."
Mao let out a hearty laugh. "Indeed!" He raised his eyebrows. "Was Julia injured as well?"
Spike turned to face him. "Vicious gave her a scare. He was angry at how the job played out." He hesitated. "Mao, can I ask you something in confidence?"
Mao's expression slid instantly into seriousness. "Of course. Speak to me as you would to your father." For a moment, the rust-brown eyes of his protégé clouded. Spike's father had died defending Mao, so long ago now that it was like a movie he had seen as a child, rather than a real memory.
"You have been a father to me, Mao. So I hope you will have good advice." Spike took a breath, unsure how to phrase the delicate admission. Mao simply waited, familiar with Spike's silences and well aware the young man was more observant than he let on.
"Vicious didn't just overreact to my injury," he finally continued. "He seemed to take Julia's actions personally. He offered her a chance to leave the Syndicate."
Mao nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Clearly, she did not accept his offer."
Spike inhaled again and settled back to sit on the lip of the sink. "He sent me to make sure she didn't," he replied. "I didn't have to convince her, but it wasn't his place to make the offer, or to rescind it."
Mao nodded again, watching Spike. "You are correct about that. But what is it you want to ask me?"
"I suppose I have two questions. The hard one first: if he comes to me with the same request again, I won't carry any part of it out. And I want to know that no one else will do it either."
Mao turned away to the urinal and Spike heard the soft sound of an expensive zipper. As he relieved himself, the older man replied, "You need only come to me, and your fears will be assuaged. You should have come to me last night."
"I know. I've spent all morning thinking about the position he put me in."
"You still care for Julia."
"I've always cared for Julia. She's my friend." Spike took his shirt down from the hanger where he'd let it smooth out in the steam and began to dress.
"I know what you felt for Julia in the beginning," Mao said, his voice echoing off the tile. "And I know what you feel for Vicious. Let neither of those things color the lens through which you see their actions."
Spike sighed. "Good advice, as I had hoped. This stays between us, right?"
"Of course it does, my son." Mao smiled at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You said you had two questions. What is the easy one?"
"Right." Spike smiled back sheepishly. "I, uh, need to find another apartment. Got any suggestions?"
***
Vicious accepted a drink from Manfred as he pulled up a stool to the worktable in the storeroom. Manfred poured another for himself and sat to face Vicious. "You've been doing well for yourshelf," he said with a lascivious grin. "She's a real peach."
Vicious nodded. "She is lovely and talented."
"Gahr, tell me a shtory!" Manfred downed his drink and wiped his mouth with a damp sleeve. "What she good at?"
"Would you like to find out for yourself?" Vicious smirked over his glass.
"I don't get it. What are you playing at, boy?" He leaned back, suspicious.
"You see, I need to make a contact with a manufacturer." Vicious watched him closely as he went on. "I've brought something of mine here, that I think you might appreciate, in the hopes you would agree to make an introduction."
Manfred cocked his eye at Vicious and got up to refill his glass. Over his shoulder, he called, "Would be a short reward in exchange for a long drought, by my account."
Vicious chuckled. "I'm not looking to take away your business, Manfred. I'm just hoping to expand my own. You would be free to make your own arrangements for a commission."
The old man considered as he finished his second drink. "What exactly would I get?"
"A demonstration of Julia's considerable talents. A night to do whatever you wish with her, as long as she isn't harmed."
"What do you conshider 'harmed'?" Manfred leered.
"The first thing you'd like to do to a beautiful woman who'd do your bidding is hurt her?" Vicious fixed him with a glare.
Manfred let out a booming laugh. "Oh, well, if you don't conshider a good banging to be 'harm', no harm would come to her."
They sat, appraising one another. Manfred narrowed his eye. "My guarantee?"
"Make the call to arrange the introduction. After I pick up what I've come to purchase from you, you'll have your evening with Julia. I'll be present, naturally, to make sure you don't make any attempt to call off the meeting." Manfred raised his eyebrow, but Vicious continued before he could interrupt. "We'll go straight to the manufacturer when your time is up." Vicious tipped the last of his whiskey back. "You should have another, Manfred. Don't want to be nervous when we go tell her about the date."
Manfred opened his mouth to say he hadn't agreed to the terms, but thought better of it and went to the liquor cabinet again. "You're a shtrange one," he said with a chuckle. "Mosht men wouldn't think of thish, and if they did, they'd just bring me a whore."
"You could get one of those yourself," Vicious replied. "As I said, I've brought you something of mine, something I know to be of quality, in exchange for a quality relationship with someone you know."
"Oh, I get it. I jusht don't get why you'd let her near an old rustbucket like me." The third drink disappeared as quickly as the first two.
"She owes me," Vicious said in a low tone, "And she won't object."
"Well, then," Manfred said, slurring even more, "I think I have a phone call to make."