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“I’m not a rat,” Cyra says.
“You smell like a rat. Know what we’d do to rats in Lost City?”
“You little ruster…”
“What did you call me?” he says, sitting up at the word.
“I’m not a rat….I just don’t want to die an old woman at the bottom of the sea. Deepgrave is what’ll happen if we try this.”
Cyra pushes at her temples with shaking hands.
I lower my voice to Cyra. “Headache?”
She nods. “Forgot to bring my stuff.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times. You gotta lay off the cyberplay.” I pull my silver dispenser from my jacket and choose a zoladone. “Earth knockoff, but it should do the trick.” She takes the pill greedily and leans back in her chair.
She snorts and downs her vodka. I pour another for her. “Better?”
“No!” She rubs her eyes. “Why us?” she asks me. “What did you do? I know this is because of something you screwed up. Someone you owe.”
“Not this time.”
Volga could blow all this open if she says I met with a Howler right before getting picked up by the Duke. She saw Holiday’s wolfcloak. But the big girl stays quiet.
“You’re gonna do it?” Dano asks me. “You wanna do it.”
I decidedly do not want to do it.
“It’s the heist of the century,” I say with a smile. “Look on the shiny side. The Syndicate has never broken its own rules. Not once. If we acquire the prize, there’s no reason to believe they won’t pay us the commission. Eighty million credits.” Dano whistles. Volga doesn’t react. Cyra looks numb. “And if we surv
ive to spend it, we don’t have to steal anything ever again. Buy an island. Buy a star cruiser. You’re free. Nothing can touch you. Not even this war.”
That sells them. Cyra leans back to rub her temples and sip her vodka, in the shallow, warm waters of the zoladone high now. She stares at the black rose. No larger than my palm, it feels bigger than the room. Pulsating evil. “What’s the timeline?”
“A month.”
She stares placidly at me and nods, the zoladone cooling her blood. Dano’s more animated. He pauses midway to lighting another burner. “This gets better and better.”
“A month is not long,” Volga says.
“We need four months to plan this,” Dano says. “A year…”
“I know. Apparently that is nonnegotiable. We got a month. Less, actually.” No one interrupts. “We were given three specific locations and times when the prize will be in public. We just have to pick the juiciest.”
“How do we have this information?” Volga asks grimly. “This will not just affect us. It is important to know.”
“They’ve got their tentacles everywhere.” I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. Question, Cyra.” I snap my fingers to bring her attention back from her high. “How long would it take for you to don your black hat and pillage some data from Epirus and Leomant?”
“The accounting firm? Depends on their firewalls. That’s some high-grade software. Why?”
“Because I need to know who pays whom. We need an inside man.”
“Bloodyhell…” Dano says, eyes fixed on his own datapad. “The Senate has just issued an arrest warrant for the Reaper.”
We look to each other, sharing the same morbid thought. A game is afoot and we are pieces on the board. I look out the window to Hyperion and wonder what is about to shake my city. But in the back of my mind, I care more about the collar on my neck and who really holds the leash.
I take the holocube that the Duke of Hands gave me and activate it. The pale light washes out the contours of my crew’s faces. The three locations glow in the air. I sit back in my chair, knowing they believe deep down we can pull this off. They’re young enough to have never failed. To never have been captured. But the chance for success is so small, so absurd, that I know we are gallows bound. Yet it seems a dignity to take that chance, to grasp it for all it is worth and not fall under the hacking of the blade of a bonesaw, not off the ledge of some thoroughfare, but on the stage, heart pulsing, feet racing, all the variables falling into place one last time.
