Rachel picked up the card and flipped it nonchalantly into her hand: seven of plums. Her hands were shaking a little, and she had to concentrate on keeping her breathing just right. It was a good hand, but she couldn't read Hobenson so well as to know if it was good enough. That was the thing about psychopaths—they did tend to have a natural poker face. Silently, she nodded her continued consent to the stakes. She could back out at any time and get out with her ship, but there was no way she was going to leave Amelia here. Not now that she'd seen what Hobenson was capable of.
The thin wiry man smiled inscrutably and flipped over the last wild card. Eight of peaches. "Last chance to back out, Captain Wu."
Rachel took a deep breath, glancing down at her cards. This had been a very bad idea.
SIXTEEN HOURS EARLIER
Rachel usually didn't play poker with them, primarily because they usually played to ride out the storm when she and Daphne locked horns. It was a slow day, however, so Leo had managed to corral Dex and Saul into a game, and the captain had decided to sit in. Leo was dealing, bronze-tinted cards clicking together as they landed in neat piles. "First wild's universal, second's bid for tall, you can buy four on a dragon or a one, or on the first wild, but not the tall. And dragon pairs are up on three ones, but no other threesomes. Got it?"
Dex blinked and shook his head, leaning toward Saul. "Can you believe this guy?"
"No, but then people tell me I'm not very trusting."
"Could we just play, please?"
Leo shrugged. "Just trying to keep the game interesting. Ante."
Each player tossed in a scrap of paper with a shipboard chore scribbled on it. It was an old spacefarer's wager—useful, since Leo was the only one who actually had the real money to lose.
The players glanced at their cards, and placed their bets. Leo flipped over the wild cards, and Rachel won the bid. Silently, the other players traded out new cards and added their last bets. "All right, what's everyone have?"
Dex flipped over two pair, fours and tortoises. Saul scoffed and dropped his cards to the table—three of a kind, sixes. Leo shrugged and dropped his hand face down. Rachel smiled and laid her hand down. "Straight in peaches." Dex let out an appreciative whistle as the captain scooped the papers toward her position.
"Every hand. How'd you get so good at cards, Rachel?"
"That is for me to know and you to find out, Doctor."
Dex grinned. "You're wastin' your time, Doc. I been her best friend since we met, and I couldn't tell you half the things she's done for a living."
Rachel looked back and forth between Dex and Leo. In truth, she'd expected the tension between them to be greater, but apparently they got along well enough when Mariah wasn't in the immediate area. Despite their polar backgrounds, they weren't really too different when you got right down to it. She was about to suggest that they just play regular tall card for a while when Mona rapped on the door frame.
"Sorry to interrupt the game, but, Miss Wu, you wanted me to tell you as soon as we came up on Hobenson Skyplex. I got us touchdown coordinates 'bout a minute ago."
Rachel nodded her thanks and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, looks like the lull's over. Back to work. Saul, get ready for walkabout."
"Yes, sir." Saul pushed up from the table and bounded down the corridor toward his quarters as Rachel bristled. Try as they might, they still hadn't gotten rid of the military streak in him. It was better than having a completely mercenary mercenary onboard, but the titles did make her a mite uneasy.
"Dex, you and Mariah can come with me to look for work. Might be fortuitous to have her way with words about, fancier place like this."
Dex nodded, blushing almost imperceptibly, and stepped toward the stairs to the lower deck.
"What about me?"
"You and your uncle can tag on with Saul and Mona if you want, see the skyplex. Maybe strike a better deal if there's anything you need for the infirmary."
Leo bit his lip and nodded. "Right." So that was it. Most of the young women he'd courted back on the Core would make excuses, little ways to slide their schedules into his. He shook his head ruefully as Rachel turned down onto the ladder to her room. Mariah he could figure out—she was more or less like the ladies back home. But Rachel confounded him. He wasn't used to practicality.
Rachel slipped the hairpin into place as she walked into the open-space airlock. Technically, civilian weapons of any kind weren't allowed on Hobenson's skyplex, but the man had a less than attractive reputation: crime boss, gambler, slave trader. Rachel didn't like the idea of going in completely unarmed. "Ba chu qian. We're on the clock." Mariah nodded meekly as she approached, as if the delay had been entirely her fault, and Dex smoothed out his white shirt, wrinkled from the weeks at a time he spent in mechanic's jumpsuits.
"Rach, you really think there's any work worth havin' here?"
She shrugged. "Doubt it. Still, more likely to regret not lookin'."
Dex snorted. "Not with th' kind of jobs we're gettin' lately."
"I'll ignore that."
Sir Anderson hung back with Saul as Mona dragged Leo from kiosk to kiosk, pointing out fascinating bric-a-brac that, while decidedly upscale for this far out on the Rim, would have been laughed out of even the humblest curio shop on Osiris. Sir Anderson glanced around at the mobs, a paranoid gesture he had taken to performing even more frequently since signing on with Artemis. "Tell me, Mr. Horton…what do you know about the man who owns this station? Hobenson?"
Saul shrugged. "Pretty big man in this system. Has a hand in everything from slaves to weapons. Pretty psychotic too, from what I hear." Saul glanced down at the old man, eyes darting around. "He doesn't deal with the Tongs, though, your Lordship. You can relax."
Sir Anderson shook his head. "Mr. Horton, I don't think I can relax until the entire Yao family is locked up and I'm back in my parlor on Osiris. I mean, you've obviously been on the Core. Doesn't it seem positively provincial out here, by comparison?"
Saul's shoulders tensed. "I fought for the Independents during the War, d'you know that?"
"I…no."
"Then after that, I went into bounty hunting. That's why I'm not head chef at some Core restaurant."
"I…I apologize. For what's its worth…some of my friends were…supporters of independence."
"My point is…when you've been around the 'Verse as much as I have, you start to realize that there's no such thing as a better or worse place. There's just where you are, and if you don't like it, you're nowhere." Saul nodded to the nobleman. "I'm gonna go buy synthetic protein. You're welcome to come."
Sir Anderson shook his head as Saul moved into the crowd, then followed his nephew and the pilot into the market.
"Explain to me again why we're here."
Dex shifted toward Mariah, only raising his voice high enough to be heard over the noise of the smoky lounge. "'Cause Rachel's a card shark." Mariah's curious glance didn't fade, and Dex smiled concedingly. "Hard to just ask around for work, place like this, where the boss has such a tight reign on everything. We'd either have to go through Hobenson and give up a share of the profit or risk havin' him find out we were dealin' behind his back." Rachel checked the bet to her, discarded one card, and passed one to her right. "This way, if the captains have any cargo they want to transfer ship-to-ship, they can talk about it while they play, and not have to worry about the middleman."
Mariah nodded. It certainly made sense. "But doesn't the owner monitor the lounges?"
Dex shrugged. "Too many games goin' on, too much noise bleedin' through. This many people, it's perfect cover."
Mariah looked over at the mechanic, his angular face framed against the harsh yellow light coming from the vidscreen behind the bar. "You really do know your crime."
Dex looked at Mariah out of the corner of his eye, smiling up at him. He cleared his throat. "Well, I guess…ain't nothin' to be proud of." His eyes turned a little closer to hers, then they both darted back to face the poker table. "Uh, listen, d'you wanna…go to the bar and get a…"
"Huang jin dai ti liang xin cheat!" The tall man with the salt and pepper beard pushed back from the table violently, sending bronze cards and plastic chips scattering. A short black man sitting next to him scowled.
"Si' down, Art."
"Bu hao re! She's cheatin'!" The man jabbed a finger at Rachel, but the other visiting captains shouted him down.
Rachel raised her hands defensively. "Just 'cause I'm better'n you's no reason to get uppity, friend."
The shorter man shrugged apologetically. "I 'pologize for Art. He's a little paranoid ever since he got conned out of all that money he put in wobbly-headed geisha dolls."
"Hey, people love those!"
Rachel nodded and kicked her chair back from the table. "Thanks all the same, but it's about time for me to cash in anyways. I got a schedule to keep."
Rachel gathered her chips together—significantly more than she came in with, Dex could see where Art got the idea—and Mariah and the mechanic followed her to the counter.
"Oh, yeah, see, just soon as I get wise to 'er!"
"Shut up, Art."
Saul met them at the door to the gambling lounge. "Cap'n, we're all loaded up." She nodded as she counted off a modest of Alliance bank notes. "We get a job?"
"No, game was a bust. Everyone here now's either buyin' or sellin'. No transfers."
Dex gestured to the money. "Well, at least the day wasn't a total waste."
"Excuse me, Captain?"
All four turned around to face the middle-aged balding man standing in the lounge doorway. "Yes sir, how can I help you?"
The man squeezed a hat between his hands nervously. Now Mariah placed him—he had been watching the game from the other side of the poker pit. "I, uh…I have a job I'd like to hire you for."
Rachel slid away the stack of bills and smiled. "Is that so? What do you need? Ferry, cargo?"
"No, nothing like…I need you to get my daughter back."
…
"I love this plan."
Dex cast an annoyed glance back at Mona twirling about the engine room in the new gauzy black dress. "Rach ain't even filled us in on the details yet."
"I know. I'm just saying, any plan where I get a new dress is a good plan."
Dex turned back to the layer of exposed wires he was hunched over. "Yeah, well just try not to tear it on anything. Only reason you got that xiao an zhuang's 'cause you ain't got nothin' looks half respectable. This job, we gotta blend in with the upper crust, and we can't do that you lookin' like a meng yi school girl."
Mona stopped twirling and crossed her arms. "I don't dress no worse'n most girls my age. You should see what they're wearin' on the Central Planets."
"Tha's 'cause th' whole 'Verse is slidin' further and further into filth and immorality, and you ought to be feel ashamed for bein' a part of the problem." Dex didn't change the distracted tone of his voice, didn't even turn around, as he lectured her. Mona smiled. He was like her brother—well, not like her brother, Dash, but like a brother—and there was nothing short of flying that brought her as much pleasure as these teasing matches.
"Oh, come on, Grampa, next are you gonna tell me how much better things were in your day? You ain't five years older'n me." Dex didn't acknowledge her, but jut kept on working. Mona grinned. She'd have to pull the ace out of her sleeve. "'Sides, I bet if Mariah dressed like I do, you wouldn't have no objections…" Mona shrieked and laughed, diving behind the doorjamb as the the bundle of insulation strips sailed past her head. Worked every time. "Why don't you go ask to see her little black dress…"
Dex was up before Mona could react, and the only thing that saved her from a tickling to make any big brother in the 'Verse proud was Rachel stepping into the engine room door. As Mona skipped down the corridor laughing, Rachel looked at the mess in the engine room in front of her. "Dex, ain't you done here yet? I got Saul bringin' Chafee up right now, I'm about to tell everyone the plan."
"I know, but I got some checks I want to run since I'm not gonna be here tonight. Don't want no problems croppin' up 'less I'm here to fix 'em."
Rachel sighed and nodded. "Just keep it square. Hobenson's party starts in three hours, and it wouldn't do to be late."
Dex cast a forlorn gaze back at the jumble of wiring, sighed, and wiped the last of the engine grease off his hands. As he followed Rachel into the galley, Mona still spinning around the others seated at the dinner table, he caught Mariah's gaze and a thought entered his mind unbidden. He wondered what she was wearing tonight.
Mariah scooted her chair to make room for the mechanic, who smiled and tried to make eye contact. Rachel cleared her throat, and the eyes of the assembled crew and passengers swung up to where Saul had ushered in the balding client. "Everyone, this is Mr. Chafee, we're gonna be doin' a little job for him. Mr. Chafee, this is the rest of the crew and our passengers." Chafee's eyes slid across the cramped room as the motley crew greeted him casually. His gaze caught on one, a buxom redheaded woman, who leaned down over the table and blew him a kiss. He was starting to think this might not have been the best idea. "Why don't you have a seat, and tell them everything you told me."
Chafee nodded gratefully as Rachel directed him to a chair. He cleared his throat. "I…I am…" He looked up at the captain apologetically, and she gave him a reassuring nod. Chafee sighed. "I am a compulsive gambler. I've been drifting systems almost…twenty-five years now, playing…poker, blackjack, long pai, anything. I've made a fortune or two, I…I've had people threaten to break my thumbs if I didn't pay my debts, but…I've never been in a position like this before."
"Position like what?" Something in his tone had made Mona pay attention, and she was now leaning over the edge of one of the couches lining the far wall of the common room.
"I…my daughter. Her mother died when she was four, and she's been traveling with me ever since. All those years, I wanted a better life for her, so when I heard about Hobenson, about six months ago, I started heading this way. He seemed like the perfect mark, some rich dan san ming zhi cut off from the real world bragging about what a good card player he was. My reputation got me into one of his games, and I thought I'd just fleece him, but…he…he was as good as he said he was. By the end of the night, I'd lost everything, I was twenty-thousand square in debt, he wouldn't even let me leave the room until I could think of some way to…" By now, Chafee seemed as if he was about to cry. Mariah's hand slid out, coming to rest on top of his.
"It's all right, sir."
Chafee swallowed and nodded. "I couldn't…I didn't know what to do. When I said there was no way I could pay him back, they…he took my daughter."
Saul squinted. "You sold your daughter?"
Chafee looked up, shaking. "No, never, I'd rather…she came looking for me after the game, when she walked in, Hobenson's men grabbed her, he said my debt was paid…they dumped me back on the market deck. I've been here over a week, trying to find someone who could help me."
"I'm sorry, but how exactly are we supposed to help?" Leo leaned closer to the center of the table. "I mean, the man's a crime lord. We can't just walk in there and take her."
Rachel nodded in concession. "No, we can't. But we can win her back."
Mariah's eyes lit up in recognition. "That's why you were watching the game in the lounge. You've been looking for someone you thought could beat Hobenson."
Chafee nodded shakily. "I think your captain can do it. She's certainly better than I am, probably better than Hobenson, too."
"Hobenson's havin' a party tonight. Mr. Chafee says he can get us in. Then I get into Hobenson's keystone game, and win the girl back."
Daphne's hand snaked up. "Uh, this is all very noble, and I hate to bring this up, but since no one else seems willing to…what about payment?"
Rachel smiled. "Most of the folk comin' tonight are magistrates, dons, corporate types—mostly there to socialize, don't barely know how to play and won't miss any money they lose. Anybody knows how to shuffle a deck could play the tables and walk away with a couple hundred square, easy."
Dex shrugged. "Plus there's the job opportunities. Good at cards or not, rich folk always got stuff they need shipped, and like as not shipped quiet…"
"…which is our specialty. Look, Hobenson's got a less than fluffy rep, and I ain't gonna order anyone to go in on this. Job don't appeal, just get up from this table and go about your night." Rachel's eyes roamed the table, falling more often than not on Sir Anderson. The nobleman glanced up, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at him.
"What?"
Rachel smiled. "All right, then. Everyone get into your fanciest digs…" she glared at Daphne, "…fanciest tasteful…" the Companion rolled her eyes, "…and get back here so we can talk assignments."
The table slowly broke up, Mariah casually asking Dex what color he was planning to wear, Mona nudging the mechanic in the ribs knowingly, Daphne wondering exactly how tasteful "tasteful" had to be. As Sir Anderson moved for the stairs, his nephew grabbed his shoulder. "Gong bo bo, why are you coming along for this? I've never known you to be one for a sob story."
"My dear boy, that man's predicament, however tragic, has absolutely nothing to do with it. For the first time since we left Osiris, I have the opportunity to be in a roomful of people who bathe and speak proper English." Sir Anderson smiled. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
…
It had taken Mariah quite a while to pick out the dress she was wearing. She had dug through the clothes she'd brought with her from Sihnon twice, Mona sitting on the bed and critiquing, until she found it at the bottom of a suitcase. It was a classical sari, a translucent swath of pink and gold wrapped around deep red silk. She hadn't worn it since her twenty-first birthday, the night her father had…well, in a long while. Mona had immediately approved of the dress, but it wasn't until Mariah had seen Dex's reaction as she walked into the dining room that she knew her time had been well spent.
Now, she had her hand around Dex's arm as the guard waved them through the entrance to the upper deck. He was dressed in his finest as well, although the mechanic's finest consisted of a slightly wrinkled dress shirt and a vest that looked as if it had been cut from a throw rug. He'd obviously been a little embarrassed when he saw how much more elegantly she was dressed, but she couldn't understand why. She thought he looked cute.
Dex nodded to the guard and they stepped off the bare steel floor onto the poshly carpeted parlor of Hobenson's private penthouse level. There were gaming tables set up throughout, about two dozen people milling about, or starting early games of mah jong, or congregating at the full bar that stood opposite the deck's massive star-filled windows. Smiling and offering casual greetings to the clusters of people they passed, Mariah and Dex, arms still clasped, moved toward the tables. That was their job, along with the doctor, to get into the games and do their best to make the job worthwhile. Mariah was good enough at cards herself, though she felt uneasy about trying to join the games on Artemis—neither Saul nor the captain seemed very enthusiastic about her attempts to integrate herself with the crew. Mona told her it would just take time, but it always seemed as if Captain Wu didn't trust her, thought she had an ulterior motive.
As Dex nodded sheepishly to her and broke off toward one of the games already in progress, Mariah looked back to the door, where Daphne and the doctor were entering. Leopold was wearing a dark suit—as had his uncle when he and Mona entered in front of them—much like those he had worn for his entire stay on Artemis, with a few slight variations that would only be apparent to someone of Core breeding. To the untrained eye, it probably seemed as if Sir Anderson and his nephew had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks.
Daphne had her arm looped in the doctor's, and was pressed against him a little closer than seemed necessary. The scrap of blue silk that meandered tightly about the Companion's chest and hips was just enough to keep her from being bound for indecent exposure—apparently she hadn't exactly taken the captain's advice on taste to heart.
Leopold caught Mariah's eye across the room and he and Daphne began to head toward her. When he reached her, the doctor planted a light kiss on the back of Mariah's hand. "You look absolutely gorgeous, Miss Boleyn."
Daphne uncoupled from the doctor and reached out to draw her fingers down the front of the silk, grinning sensuously as she gazed Mariah up and down. "Yeah, e gou bao." Mariah blushed. Daphne always made her uncomfortable when she acted like this. The Companion sighed a little and pulled her hand away. "I'll be seeing you two." Mariah let out a breath in relief as Daphne swayed off toward the bar. The Companion would be at Hobenson's table with the captain and Sir Anderson. However intimidated Mariah might have been by Captain Wu, she couldn't argue with her judgment; all the highest of the high rollers would be at that table, so it made sense to have the two people onboard with the most social clout standing by as political insurance.
The captain and Saul were at the bar, chatting leisurely with an aging man in a straight white suit. The cook had on a tuxedo (or a reasonable approximation) and Captain Wu was fidgeting in a teal cocktail dress on loan from Mariah. Casting one last, uneasy glance around the deck, Mariah nodded absentmindedly to Leopold and broke off to find a game. She didn't like this place. It was too much like home.
The man in the white suit—who had introduced himself as Magistrate Higgins, owner of the eponymous mud-farming moon, some distance farther outsystem—nodded politely and left the bar to greet a portly older woman he apparently knew. Rachel sighed, brushing a stray hair back into her complex coif and rotating her shoulders to find a comfortable position in the dress. "Can't stand wearin' this. Why can't th' rich just dress like normal folk?"
Saul pulled awkwardly at the collar of the suffocating white shirt. "You're tellin' me."
Rachel cast him a skeptical glance. "Thought you were upper crust back home. Shouldn' you be used t' this sort of thing?"
Saul shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint, sir. I tried to spend most my time in a chef's apron. Never did get th' hang of all this."
Rachel smiled a bit and nodded. The cook didn't talk much about his life on Persephone, before the War. She knew he'd been pretty well-off, and had relatives on the Core, but that was about it. She didn't prod; she knew as well as anyone that there were some parts of a person's past that it's only respectful to keep buried. "You clear on your job?"
Saul nodded, eyes scanning the hall casually. "Wait'll the games start. Snoop around. Find out where he's keepin' the girl, just in case we gotta do this plan B."
Rachel nodded. "And I want you to take Mona."
"Cap'n, I don't think…"
"I need someone to keep an eye on her. Got an interest in stayin' subtle here, and that ain't Mona's strong point. 'Sides, she might be handy, you come across a lock or somesuch."
Saul frowned and nodded, then tapped the captain's shoulder. "Qing cai, ta bi jin." Rachel looked up, and saw a man in a finely tailored blue suit gliding across the suddenly silent floor, entourage flitting around him like flies. She nodded to Saul, and the two broke off from the bar.
"'Scuse me, Mister Hobenson."
Hobenson turned toward her and smiled. Rachel knew that smile; it was the same one that Badger had, the smile that said the wearer would be your best friend—until you crossed him. Then he'd have you cut into chunks, have the chunks tossed out an airlock, and calmly move down to the next name on the list to replace you. The feng dui sha ren fan smile. Rachel gulped as he extended his hand. This had been a bad idea.
…
Rachel edged her hand out to meet Hobenson's cautiously, and almost flinched when his fingers snaked out to wrap around hers. "Yi qian shi ren he ren chang shi miao shu tai zi bi zi sha you yu qi que dian." Hobenson raised her arm higher, and planted a delicate kiss on the back of Rachel's hand. "Julius Hobenson at your service."
Rachel smiled coyly. "Rachel Wu. I must say I've heard some interesting things about you, Mr. Hobenson."
"All of them entirely false. I assure you, there's nothing interesting about me." Rachel forced herself to chuckle. "Do I know you? Are you that new girl Lord Folsom's been talking about? I can certainly see why he feels compelled to brag."
Rachel pursed her lips into a forced smile. "No, I'm here on my own. This is Saul Horton, an associate of mine."
Hobenson nodded absentmindedly to Saul, then turned back to Rachel. Before he spoke, however, his eyes flared and he looked back up at the cook. "Not Saul Horton…the Knight?" Saul grimaced and nodded curtly, as if afraid that anyone else there associate him with his title as a bounty hunter. "Well, this is quite a zhong da shi jian. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Horton."
Saul smiled flatly. "So does yours, Mr. Hobenson."
Hobenson's smile curled into a sneer around the mustache of his thin, graying beard. "Then I suppose we should all be careful tonight, shouldn't we?" Saul forced a smile and Hobenson turned his attention back to Rachel. "Wu, Wu…you're not the one who's sitting in at my table tonight, are you?" Rachel nodded. "Well. It will be a pleasure to have you." Rachel didn't like the way he said that. He looked as if he was about to leave, but then turned back toward her. "Tell me, Miss Wu, why exactly have you come here tonight?"
Rachel shrugged dismissively. "Just trying to meet new people."
Hobenson stared at her for a moment, then nodded seriously. "Just be sure you don't try to break into the wrong conversation, hm? Some people don't take well to others showing an undue interest in their affairs."
Rachel smiled icily. "Yes, I've heard that."
Hobenson sneered gravely, then melted into the crowd. As soon as he disappeared, Rachel shut her eyes and let out a breath of relief. "Well this is gonna end badly."
"You see that look in his eyes?"
"Yeah. Somethin' tells me that girl won't be safe here much longer."
"Tha's one creepy dui sha ren fan." Saul cast a conspiratorial glance around the room, but the clusters of nobles and corporate officers were largely concerned with their own dealings. "You think he knows why we're here?"
"'S what it sounded like to me, and I doubt there's much goes on here he ain't wise to. Still, now I met him, 's just more proof we gotta take that girl outta here. Get Mona and get snooping."
"Ma shang, dui zhang." Saul nodded and slipped silently into the crowd, turning toward the lounge where the children and wives of the gamblers were rubbing elbows.
He found Mona framed by three boys, two about her age and one who looked a little older. She was chuckling, spinning a lock of her chestnut hair between her fingers— teasing and flirting as well as any Companion, and obviously more than a little drunk on the attention. Saul shook his head and sighed. Girl was gonna xing da du zi yun if she kept this up.
"Actually, I've never been to Sihnon. I'd love to hear…" Mona's words were cut short as Saul broke through her admirers and dragged her off by the arm. "Jeez, Saul, lighten up. We were just havin' a little fun."
Saul frowned. "I know spoiled rich boys, all right? You keep teasin' 'em, they're gonna want to have more fun than you can manage."
Mona scoffed. "Come on, Saul. You have got to stop being so paranoid. I bet there's even someone here you could…"
"Hey! We got a job to do. Someone's life might be at stake, you don't get to treat this like a pleasure cruise."
"And you don't get to suck the fun out of everything just 'cause you can't get the stick out of your pi gu!"
Saul opened his mouth to retort, then sighed. It wasn't worth the effort—she never learned. "Why don't you just take this opportunity to try an' learn how to be a functioning member of society?" Mona rolled her eyes. "Cap'n wants us to poke around, try to find Chafee's daughter in case we gotta get her out of here another way." Mona sighed, bit her lip, and nodded.
Mariah was doing well. The captain had been right, most of the players were only here to socialize, and hardly even knew what the suits were. Two of the men at her table had actual talent, but they were letting her win. If she'd actually tried to buy their compliance with batted eyelashes and coy smiles they probably would have seen through it, and she'd be about a hundred square behind. She'd learned a long time ago that she didn't have to flirt, like the captain sometimes did during negotiations, didn't have to act. Being shy and empathetic and sincere worked better than any face she could have put on. The proof was that, despite being a middling poker player, she'd made almost one hundred and fifty square since she sat down.
Mariah rubbed her neck and clicked her chips back into neat piles. "Would you deal me out this hand? I'm going to get a drink." The dealer, a portly man with shiny white hair, nodded amiably.
Mariah leaned against one of the filigreed bar stools and glanced up at the wine list. "Can I buy you a drink?" Mariah's eyes shifted to the right, and she smiled gingerly as the speaker came into view.
"I don't know, can you afford it?"
The doctor grinned. "I think I can make the sacrifice."
Mariah nodded to the bartender. "Just a half glass of the Santo, please." The bartender handed her the wine, and she swirled it around the glass before looking back at Leopold. "Shouldn't you be playing poker, not trolling the bar?"
He shrugged. "I've won three hundred already, and had some wonderful conversation. Pity our mechanic's not adjusting so well." Mariah followed the doctor's gaze to the table farthest from hers. Dex had obviously amassed a tidy pile of winnings, but had just as obviously failed to fit in with the other players. The chuckling that occasionally arose from around the card table was clearly at his expense. "I'm at the game next to his. They've been picking at him since he first opened his mouth."
"Well, he's out of his element."
Leopold shrugged. "I just wish they'd stop acting like mian mao. It's not his fault."
Mariah looked askance at the doctor. "What's not his fault?"
"That he's not as civilized as they are. He can't help having grown up on the Border."
Mariah winced. "That doesn't make him any less civilized. Dex just doesn't put on airs." Another round of chuckles from the table drew her eyes. "Besides, there's nothing to be proud of, being able to fit in with people like this."
"Well, I just meant…things aren't the same here as they are on the Border."
"We're still on the Border. Just because they want to put themselves in a little bubble so they feel superior doesn't mean they're civilized." Before the doctor could respond, Mariah finished the wine and leaned off from the bar as more laughter rose from Dex's table. "Excuse me, I'm going to get back in the game."
Leo shook his head as he watched her go. So much for being the easy one to figure out.
…
Rachel took her place at the poshly appointed card table. This game was cut off from the noise of the party hall, in an octagonal room swimming with art objects that would have been tasteful enough, had they not all been crammed together. She'd met the rest of the players when she came into the room—all men, all over fifty, and all ying you jin you bao jin rich, by the look of things. Most of them had seemed coolly amused that a woman, let alone a young, beautiful woman, would be playing with them. That meant they would underestimate her, which was good. She could focus her attention on beating Hobenson.
Sir Anderson and Daphne stood behind Rachel, mainly to give her the appearance of propriety—everyone else had at least one servant standing by, crammed into the limited space behind their chairs. Although, Rachel thought with chagrin, the presence of the half-dressed Companion probably wouldn't hurt if it came to distracting the other players.
Their host entered last, followed by his entourage, which quickly took up what remained of the space in the tight card room. That entourage, which she had only seen in passing when she had met the man, consisted of two large men in dark suits (obviously bodyguards), a younger fellow whose dress and shun cong manner suggested a secretary or assistant, and two young women, swathed in silk and fur, who Rachel guessed were only there to look pretty. Hobenson bowed slightly to his guests, then took the large carved chair nearest the door. "Gentlemen…" he shot a pointed glance in Rachel's direction, "…lady…welcome to the big game." Without any further ceremony, Hobenson grabbed a deck of cards from the center of the table and began to deal. "Standard long pai, Chun Jie draw rules. One-spots are wild in suit. Ante."
Rachel absentmindedly tossed a white chip into the center of the table and picked up her hand. The cards were exquisite, platinum-plated at least, probably solid, and covered in delicately etched designs that amazingly did nothing to obscure the numerals or suits. So far, they were the most tasteful thing about Hobenson.
Hobenson flipped over the top card of the tall deck. "Apple. Apples are tall."
The first bet went around to thirty credits, then the draw. By the time the discard got to Rachel, no one had taken the tall card. She glanced down at her hand—she had three apples, the six of plums, and the one of peaches. If she took the tall, she could have five sixes. She slipped two cards out of her hand and slid them face-down across the table—the five and tortoise of apples. "Two." Rachel kept her face expressionless as she picked up the cards Hobenson dealt—the four of bananas and the one of oranges. That left her with a pair of ones. She called the second bet with a show of hesitation and they all dropped their cards. She'd lost by a wide margin; several of the men snickered or glanced at each other as if they'd expected as much. As the man sitting to the left of Hobenson raked the chips toward himself with a self-satisfied grin, Rachel smiled inside. She'd lost for the same reason Hobenson had—because no card shark worth his chips would ever do something so stupid as winning the first hand. As the man who'd won the last hand dealt out the next hand, Rachel let out a calm sigh. This might just be easier than she'd thought.
Saul pressed his ear closer to the wall, tapping the drywall at seemingly random intervals. Finally, Mona couldn't take it anymore. "All right, I give up. What are you doing?"
Saul didn't look at her, but kept working. "Tryin' to find secret panels."
"Uh…why?"
He shot the teenager an annoyed glance. "'Cause if you have to keep things hidden as often as someone with Hobenson's rep does, you fix things up to make it easier. Same reason there're smuggling nooks on Artemis."
"But…if he thought someone was gonna come lookin' for her, wouldn't he know that they'd figure that he'd hidden her, so wouldn't it make sense for him to put her somewhere real obvious?"
Saul sighed. "No, because he'd know that they'd think that, so he'd hide her knowing they'd check the obvious…I can't believe I'm having this argument, just go check somewhere, anywhere."
Mona pushed off from the corner of the narrow hallway that had made a hard right turn away from the gallery. "Okay, okay." The pilot began sliding along the wall sulkily, tapping at various spots that seemed like appropriate places for a secret door. She'd gone a few meters along the wall before she spoke again. "I take my job seriously, you know." Saul looked up. "What you said earlier. I understand how important this is. But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be a kid every once in a while." Mona separated from the wall. "I'm gonna go check some doors."
Dex glanced down. He'd won almost six hundred credits, enough to keep the steamer fueled for a month, but with each passing round he was less and less sure it was worth it. The more he won, the more the grinning nobles would bait him. It almost seemed less like a game of cards than like they were paying him for the privilege of being their personal punching bag.
"So, tell me, Mr. Dexter, where exactly were you born?"
Dex frowned. "Beaumonde."
The hawkish, skeleton-thin man in the pinstripe suit who had asked the question—and done the great majority of the heckling that night—let out a soft chuckle. "I own some property on Beaumonde. If you ever feel like settling down, one of my factories could use a shop foreman."
A low chuckle rose from several of the other nobles at the table. Dex gulped and the red in his cheeks deepened. Even on the most favorable terms, he had trouble talking to people. He'd barely been able to say a word so far without either stuttering or embarrassing himself further. "Well, I…if-f-f…" The hawk-nosed man let out another cutting laugh.
"Excuse me?" Dex's eyes bolted up to see Leo leaning his chair closer to their table. "Lord Crane, isn't it?" The hawk-nosed man smiled thinly. "Owner of Crane Metalworks?" The man nodded. Leo held out his hand. "Dr. Leonard Gustavson, at your service. It's a genuine pleasure."
Crane nodded. "Good to meet you, young man."
Leo pushed his chair forward again. As Crane was about to deal the next hand, the doctor leaned his chair back out. "Say, now I know where I heard your name. Weren't you sitting at Mr. Hobenson's game the last time you came to one of these?" Crane bristled and shot Leo a glare. The doctor grinned. "And now you're out here instead with everyone else." Leo shook his head ruefully. "Some people can just be so petty can't they?" Leo grinned again and nodded his goodbye with a parting wink at Dex. When the mechanic turned back to the table, the other men were smiling—apparently he wasn't the only one who had enjoyed watching Crane get knocked down a peg. Dex leaned back, raised his cards, and smiled.
"Saul." The cook turned to where the young pilot was kneeling in front of the control panel on a door, grinning. "Found a locked one."
Saul nodded appreciatively. "Good sign. Can you get it open?"
"As we speak…" Mona had already forced open the faceplate, and was in the process of rerouting the wires that ran across the surface of the chip. With a click from the mechanism and a triumphant smirk from the operator, the door slid ajar under Mona's weight. "Fu ruo yi."
Mona cracked the door open and let Saul squeeze through. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a small Cortex screen reading "Out of Order." The room was small, but almost pitch black, and it took Saul a moment before he heard it over the screen's constantly repeated message that it was out of order and needed to be checked immediately. He got low to the ground, Mona following suit at the door, and began to edge toward the sound. When he found the source of the whimper, his eyes bulged. With uncharacteristic care, Saul stripped back the sealing tape stretched across the blonde's mouth, freeing a frightened gasp as her eyes shot around the room. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay. Are you Amelia Chafee?" The girl nodded, barely restraining herself from crying. "Your dad sent us here to get you out of here, okay? We've got a plan, but in case it doesn't work, you're going to have to be ready to move. Can you do that?"
The girl swallowed. "My hands…they tied…" She was still too distraught to speak. Saul nodded and forced his nails under the knot that bound her wrists together. When the fiber rope was off, Saul guided Amelia to her feet, throwing her face into stark relief against the blue glow of the screen. Saul's breath caught in his throat as his eyes traced the Chinese characters running down the girl's left cheek—Ju Liu Hu Ben San Zhan You Ci Biao.
Julius Hobenson owns this prostitute.
"Oh my God." Mona was close enough now to read the characters in the blue light, black against Amelia's pink face.
The girl looked like she might cry again. "He said I had to pay off the debt."
Anger was tying a knot in Saul's stomach. This girl was no more than twelve years old. "Bi go neong yung duh, wo jiang hui chai jue hou!"
Mona tugged at Saul's sleeve. "Hump the plan. Let's get her out of here! I'll tell Rachel."
Amelia gulped. "I…I think they'll probably do it for you."
Saul and Mona turned to follow the girl's gaze, and ended up staring right down the barrels of a pair of Newtech assault rifles. Saul sighed. This was not shaping up to be his best day ever.
…
Things were finally looking up. Dex was up seven hundred and fifty credits and, after Leo had stepped in, Crane had faded grudgingly into the background. Smiling smugly in spite of himself, Dex slid the neat stacks of chips into the gutter that hung off the table. The plastic disks rolled down toward the center of the table with a clicking sound, then a white paystub flicked out from the top of the depositor. As he took the plastic card, Dex couldn't help but be impressed by the complexity and frivolity of the technology. It made him feel honroed to be taking the money of such excellent people. "You'll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I'm gonna cash in while I'm ahead."
When the mechanic rose from his chair, he had to stop rather abruptly in the middle of his first step to avoid running into the massive man in the black suit who hovered not a foot from the table. "Carl Dexter?" Something in the man's tone made Dex feel it might be better for him if he weren't.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I…I think you…" Dex wasn't a very good liar, and when his gaze caught the two other large men standing on either side of Mariah and Leo it occured to him that he might as well save the effort. He sighed. It had been going so well…
For all intents and purposes, Rachel and Hobenson were the only ones still in the game. The other men had a little money left, but it was now clear who the dominant players were. Rachel had made a small fortune, but it was hardly the twenty-thousand Chafee owed. If she could win everything Hobenson had in front of him, it might—might—be enough to buy the girl back. Rachel had just forfeited a small pot to Hobenson and was preparing to deal when one of the man's attendants leaned down to his ear. Hobenson nodded, looked up at her, and smiled. As he whispered something to the attendant, Daphne leaned toward Rachel under the pretense of rubbing her shoudlers. "Problem?" Rachel didn't say anything, but shifted uncomfortably and nodded slightly in the Companion's general direction. Hobenson smiled and cleared his throat. "Well, gentlemen, it's been a genuine pleasure having you here. I hope to see you all again in May." The other players exchanged curious glances, then shrugged and, one by one, lifted themselves from their chairs with respectful nods to Hobenson and searing glares at Rachel. When they had left the room, Hobenson nodded to the attendant, who muttered into an earpiece, and the door opened again. A curse caught in Rachel's throat.
The room was barely big enough for the rest of the crew, the girl, and the three new bodyguards to stand all at once. Hobenson looked up at Rachel expectantly—she looked first at Saul, who nodded, then at the tattoo on Amelia's cheek. "Well?"
Rachel finally met Hobenson's eyes. "You called us here to reveal the identity of the murderer?"
Hobenson smiled thinly. "Why don't we put our cards on the table, Captain? Figuratively speaking." Rachel paled. "It is Captain, isn't it? I ran a search as soon as those two were found snooping around my private wing." Hobenson took a deliberate sip from the glass of water at his side. He wanted her to sweat. "What exactly is it you want, Captain Wu? No, I know that, you want the girl. But I would like to know why."
"Just a job."
Hobenson chuckled. "The father. Of course. Man can't settle his own account, so he drags you into it. But that's not your fault. So I'm willing to let you and your crew leave right now without any fuss." Rachel's eyes drifted back to Amelia's tattoo; even at a distance, she could easily make out the characters. Hobenson followed her gaze. "Oh, yes. Well, she's none of your concern. Nor is the way I run my business."
Rachel's eyes shot up. "She's business?"
"Of course." Hobenson spread his hands. "Whatever you might think of me, Miss Wu, I'm a professional. I don't sample the merchandise."
"You're a real humanitarian."
"You can leave my station, with all the money you've won, right now. All you have to do is mind your own business."
Rachel's eyes flitted from Amelia's terrified face to Hobenson's smirk. "I'm a professional, Mr. Hobenson. And taking this girl back to her father is my business."
"I took her for twenty thousand, four hundred eighty one square, Miss Wu. If you'd like to make me an offer, go right ahead."
Sir Anderson, eyes locked on the writing on Amelia's cheek, leaned toward Rachel. "I can make up the difference."
She turned toward him in shock. "That's twelve thousand square," she whispered, "I can't ask you to do that. Besides, what if the Tong traced the transfer?"
"We can't leave that child here."
Rachel cast one last, longing glance back at Amelia. "I know." She turned back toward Hobenson. "I'll play you for her."
Hobenson sighed. "Goodness, I certainly didn't see that coming…"
"I'm a sucker for the classics. It's the only way you're going to get rid of me."
"All right, Captain, have it your way. I'll put my newest acquisition on the next hand. But in return…you bet your ship." Rachel's eyes jerked up and Hobenson grinned. "If we're going to be cliché, we might as well go all the way."
Rachel cast a glance at the girl's shaking face. She was close to tears. Though blonde, she looked more than a little like Jasmine. Rachel winced at the memory. She'd be damned if she'd give up this time. "Wo chang."
Hobenson smiled and waved his hand dismissively. Rachel shuffled the cards, warm to the touch after having been handled all night. "Two wilds, one after each draw." Rachel flipped over the round card from the center of the table. "Peaches are tall."
Hobenson nodded solemnly and Rachel picked up her hand. Five of bananas. Five of apples. Tortoise of apricots. Eight of apricots. One of plums. Rachel cleared her throat and looked expectantly at Hobenson. He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll take the tall."
Rachel nodded, then slipped two cards out of her hand, the one and the tortoise. She picked up two from the deck and glanced at them. Five of apricots. Seven of apples. Three of a kind was a good start, but Hobenson had taken the tall, so he could very well have better. She gestured to him to flip over the first wild card—five of oranges. That was better, at least.
Hobenson looked at his hand for what seemed like an eternity, then smiled confidently and slid one card toward her. She flicked the top card from the deck toward him, then discarded the seven and took one for herself. "Are you all right, Captain?"
"Fine, why do you ask?"
Hobenson smiled. "You're sweating. I don't make you nervous, do I?"
"Just play the game." Rachel picked up the card and flipped it nonchalantly into her hand: seven of plums. Her hands were shaking a little, and she had to concentrate on keeping her breathing just right. It was a good hand, but she couldn't read Hobenson so well as to know if it was good enough. That was the thing about psychopaths—they did tend to have a natural poker face. Silently, she nodded her continued consent to the stakes. She could back out at any time and get out with her ship, but there was no way she was going to leave Amelia here. Not now that she'd seen what Hobenson was capable of.
The thin wiry man smiled inscrutably and flipped over the last wild card. Eight of peaches. "Last chance to back out, Captain Wu."
Rachel took a deep breath, glancing down at her cards. This had been a very bad idea. She glanced up at Dex, watching the game helplessly from behind Hobenson. She could not afford to lose that ship. It was more than home, to both of them—it was freedom. Without it, what were they? She looked up at him for guidance. He just nodded. Rachel sighed. "What have you got?"
Hobenson smiled and dropped the cards. "Straight flush, Ssu-ling. I'm very sorry, Captain. But you must have known you couldn't beat me."
Rachel sighed. "I did." She took a deep breath. "But I've been wrong before." Hobenson's eyes went wide as she dropped her hand. "Five sevens." Hobenson looked horrified as she began to stand up. "We'll go ahead and let ourselves out." Hobenson didn't speak as she led the others out of the room. Rachel eyed the bodyguards skeptically, then turned toward the door.
"Captain?" Rachel spun on her heel and looked at Hobenson expectantly. "A good game." She nodded. "I'll see you again."
Rachel nodded calmly, the nervousness she'd been faking for the past ten minutes banished. "I look forward to it."
"Daddy!" Amelia ran directly into her father's arms, swinging up onto Artemis' open cargo ramp. Rachel smiled and tapped Chafee's shoulder as he swung the child back down to his side, a grateful smile lighting his eyes. "Thank you, Captain. Words can't express what you've done for me."
Rachel shook her head. "Wo men shi xi bang mang." Rachel passed Chafee a slip of credit notes, and shruged at his puzzled expression. "Everyone donated a little of what they won. It's about five hundred square."
"I…I can't accept this. You've done too much already…"
"Learn a trade. Get her into some corporate school." Chafee opened his mouth to protest, then merely smiled.
As Chafee led Amelia off the cargo ramp, Mona slid into place behind the captain. "That was mighty nice, Miss Wu." Rachel shrugged. "Didn' think you were one give money to strangers."
Rachel smiled. "Just remind me o' some folk I used to know, is all." She glanced down at Mona's curious expression and grinned. "Jus' get us back in the black."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
As the cargo bay doors slid closed, Rachel watched them walk off into the crowd. Jasmine would be about Mona's age now. She wondered what she would look like. With a shake of her head, Rachel let the doors obscure her view of the Chafees and began to walk slowly back toward the bridge.