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“That’s funny.”
“It’s not mine.” I shrug. “I stay busy.”
“There are other ways to stay busy. Meaningful ways.”
“Tried that.” My hand instinctively drifts to my chest where the scars from the Gold are hidden under my suit jacket. I notice her watching my hand. I drop it. “Didn’t take.” Her datapad buzzes on her arm. “On call?” I ask. She silences it without looking down.
“Grand theft’s gone up. They’ve got a task force now. The Sovereign is tired of this city’s culture being plundered for the highest bidder.”
“The Sovereign, eh. How’s old Lionheart? Still giving out Amnesty passes to murderers and slavers?”
“That still under your skin?”
“Grays: short in life, long in memory. Forget that little jingle? Tell me, does the new task force have a pretty insignia? I bet they do. Maybe a flying tiger or a lion with a sword in its lustrous mouth?”
“You were the one who chose to leave the Rising, Eph.”
“You know why I left.”
“If you didn’t like how things were going, you could have stuck around, made a difference. But I guess it’s easier sitting in the cheap seats, throwing bottles.”
“Make a difference?” I smile nastily. “You know, when the Hyperion Trials started, I thought there’d finally be some justice. Honest to Jove. I thought the Golds would finally pay the bill. Even after Endymion, even after what they did to my boys…” I touch my chest again. “But then your Sovereign got cold feet. Sure, some Society military brass, some high-up psychos from the Board of Quality Control got life in Deepgrave, but more got full pardons because she needed their men, their money, their ships. So much for justice.”
Holiday holds my gaze, willful.
After Trigg died on that Martian peak, I joined the Rising. More for revenge than anything else. I wasn’t a believer. Eventually they put my Piraeus and legion-honed skills and understanding of Gold culture to use hunting Peerless war criminals down. Used to call ourselves “scar hunters.” Just another slick name.
I know I shouldn’t press the politics with her. She’s as thick in the head and set in her ways as ever. Just another grunt seduced by the pretty demigods. But the booze is making me care.
“You know, every time I saw a Gold slaver walk free for the sake of ‘the war effort,’ it was like watching them spit on Trigg’s grave. Aja might be dust, but men and women just like that bitch walk the worlds because the people holding your leash couldn’t follow through. Shoulda put a Gray as Sovereign. At least we finish shit.”
I drain my glass for emphasis and feel like an idiot talking head on an HC show. Cute empty words and flashy maxims.
“You know I can’t help you if you’re caught on a job,” she says.
And like that, I’m dismissed because she’s always right, and I’m always just running my mouth. “Public urination is a victimless crime,” I say with a smile. I pull out a burner and light it.
“I meant what I said last time.”
“About the Hyperion Chimera match? I’d have lost a fortune on that bet. Embarrassing spectacle. But fauxWar is unpredictable, neh? Karachi is a safer bet.”
“The offer is still on the table, Eph. We could use a man like you. Come back. Help us unwind the Syndicate. You can save lives.”
“I am saving a life. Mine. By staying as far away from your masters as humanly possible. Shame Trigg didn’t get the same chance.”
She watches me through the smoke I blow in her face. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Be more specific.”
“This.” She looks around the bar. “This isn’t for him. It’s not even for me. It’s for you. So you can sink in it and let it rot you. That’s not what he would have wanted.”
“What would he have wanted?”
“For you to have a life. A purpose.”
I roll my eyes. “Why’d you bother to come? I didn’t make you.”
“Because my brother loved you,” she says sharply. She lowers her voice. “He would have wanted more for you than this.”
