Chương 99: 2.40 Loyalties

It had been a long, long time since Grando Scrim had been tied to a chair, and he wasn't pleased with the situation. Hadn't he worked his whole rotted career to avoid the damn Royals? Hadn't he turned down a dozen fortune-making jobs because he wouldn't mess with the Great Houses? Through thick lips—swollen from the slap the merc had given him, and made worse by the devil-damned industrial tape they'd put over his mouth—he tried to curse Hector's name. It came out sounding like, " Frkgh Heghker."

He had a hood over his head—a treatment he'd given to many a guest in his backroom office—so he couldn't tell where he was, but he could guess. He'd been grabbed at the club, he knew that much, but they'd quickly dragged him into a car. They'd only driven a short distance before they'd thrown him onto a hard metal floor and then he'd almost lost his lunch as the honest-to- balls fluttercraft thrummed its wings and hurled them into the air. Nobody he knew had a fluttercraft.

Sure, some of his enemies could afford to charter one, but why? No, that was the first moment he'd realized who'd taken him—the Empire—and there was only one reason: Hector. Grando's data port and AUI had been fried by the mercs, so he couldn't be certain how long they flew, but it felt like a while—maybe an hour. When they landed, he'd heard men talking, and their military jargon had cemented his fear.

They'd dragged him into a big, echoing space that sounded like a warehouse, then down a lift and into his current prison—a room that felt stuffy, that echoed metallically when the men walked, and where he could hear the hum of machinery in the walls. In his fear, he imagined he was under a power plant, in the bowels of a refinery, or some kind of processing facility. He had no idea. He squeezed his fists, testing the strength of his bonds. Whatever they'd wrapped his wrists with, though, wasn't going to give.

It flexed enough to allow his blood to flow, which was nice, but no more than that. No matter how he grunted and strained, the stuff held his wrists firmly to the chair, which was heavy-duty and seemingly bolted to the floor. He could breathe all right; thankfully the merc hadn't put the tape over his nostrils—small mercies, he supposed. Grando wondered about the boys back at the club. They wouldn't know what to do with themselves; when was the last time the boss had taken a day off?

Had any of the cams caught footage of the mercs nabbing him? He doubted it; they'd probably jammed the place so hard it fried the circuits. Sitting there, tied to a chair, gagged and hooded, he forced himself to face the stark realization that he'd probably never make it back to the club. In all likelihood, nobody would ever know what happened to him.

The frustration at that thought sent hot shudders through his chest; his breaths grew shallow and quick, and he launched himself into another frenzy of grunting jerks, trying to pull his arms free of their bonds. All he managed was to make himself sweat; his wrists ached, and he knew his AI would be screaming at him about his blood pressure if it weren't offline. What did it matter, though? He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let his mind drift to the condo he'd bought in Tharsis.

He'd seen it twice—when he made the purchase and when he'd moved Cookie in. Damn it! He bit his tongue to take his mind away from her. Nobody knew about Cookie, and he'd be damned if anything he did brought trouble her way. With a throbbing tongue, he probed the tiny nodule on one of his top-left molars. Was he really there yet? He was surprised the damn thing hadn't primed already, considering all the blood he'd swallowed when the merc belted him. Damn clever design.

He could hear Pete's voice, echoing down a fog filled memory corridor, " Gotta press your tongue against it for five full seconds. That'll activate the needle. Your blood primes it. The tooth will get brittle and all you'll have to do is bite down hard. You won't feel a thing." Hastily, Grando pulled his tongue away. That wasn't five seconds, was it?

It didn't stick me— Metal scraping on metal dashed the thoughts from his mind, and he strained his hearing—muddy and washed out thanks to his AI-assisted hearing being offline. He was hoping for a clue, a snatch of conversation—anything. What he got was far better—and worse—than that. He heard the door slam open, hard heels on metal, then the door slamming closed. He was pretty sure there were two people, but he didn't wonder long. Someone took hold of his hood and yanked.

It was too small at the opening, and it jerked his head back as the asshole continued to pull, squeezing Grando's neck, then his, admittedly jowly, chin and face through the too-small opening. The rough fabric scraped his face, bending his nose and ears to the side and smashing them down as it slid free. The pain awakened his anger and put his fear in the backseat. He cursed and growled behind the gag. It felt good to blow off steam, but he knew it was ineffectual—the man's chuckling laughter told him that.

"Sorry there, chum. Was that uncomfortable?" The voice—masculine in its tenor, rich with a cultured accent, did more to reawaken Grando's fear than anything else. Only a devil-damned Royal could pull off a voice like that. Someone scraped a nail along his cheek, peeling the tape loose enough to rip it off. Grando gasped in pain, blinking through suddenly watery eyes. Even the dim lighting in the room was momentarily blinding. When things came into focus, he looked around.

He saw gray plasteel walls, amber track lights, and a wall painted in big yellow letters that read BULKHEAD CONDUIT ACCESS 12B. A man stepped into his field of view—lean, average height, thousand-bit haircut, and a fifty-k suit. His right hand gleamed like polished gold, and his eyes shone with the same luster. When he smiled, his diamond-cut teeth glittered, even in the dim lighting.

"Grando Scrim! What an interesting moniker—probably not the one your mother gave you, though, hmm?"

"Dunno. She threw me out with the rags they used to stop her bleeding." Grando licked his swollen lips, then spat a wad of bloody phlegm on the plasteel floor. He felt a rush of air, then someone cuffed him on the side of his head. His ear rang, and the concussion sent little stars dancing through his field of view.

"Respect, rat!" a deep, hard voice growled from behind him. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Don't knock him out, Lux." The Royal—there was no doubting he was such—spoke lazily, flicking his golden fingers.

"It's hard enough to understand his gutter dialect without you concussing him again." He took a step to the side, moving further from Grando's spit. The motion looked almost elegant—a dance move. His shoes, leather polished to a high sheen, clicked on the plasteel flooring.

"Ung," Grando said, his tongue ever-eloquent in times of great need.

"You know, Grando, I'm not the only one who was interested in you. Why, if my men had been just a bit more tardy, I believe you would have been brought to an entirely different sort of interrogation. It's lucky for you we were first." Licking his lips, Grando tried again: "Is that right?" His head was foggy, his ear still ringing, but he smiled at his stoic resolve, his steady tone. There'd be no cowering from him!

"Oh yes. That fellow you got mixed up with, Hector? It seems he's part of a terrorist cell." Grando's lips wrinkled into a frown. He might not know Hector well, but he didn't think that fit. Really, Grando? Really? Didn't you wonder about his "missing" memories? Didn't you shut up about it because you saw the piles of bits gleaming in your future partnership?

"I'm afraid so, Grando, and it's not looking good for you. We've traced the funds he was using to operate out here. Did you know you were bankrolling a terrorist? Do you have any idea of the wealth lost as a result of the rift disruption? And that's to say nothing of the lives lost!"

"I…" Grando licked his lips, the sudden sideways turn throwing him for a loop. He'd anticipated that Hector was at the root of his kidnapping, but he hadn't expected this. Why? How many times did the crazy son of a bitch say he wanted to kill Royals? How many times did he say he wanted to get strong enough to fight Praetorians? You've done a lot of stupid shit, old boy, but this is the first time you went into business with a rabid dog!

"Oh dear," the Royal said, smiling pleasantly.

"Did I strike a nerve? It looks to me like you're having some very deep thoughts. Tell you what, Grando, you tell me everything you know about Hector Valerius, and I'll put you back in your club. We can pretend we never met." Grando looked up at the man, at his dazzling teeth as he grinned, looking down his straight, narrow nose at him. He knew damn well he couldn't trust a Royal's word, but it wasn't like he had any options… It wasn't like he owed Hector any loyalty, did he? They hadn't come up together.

They were partners in a sense of the word, but Grando never told the stupid bastard to go blowing up rifts. Was he really behind all that? Even Lemon thought he'd been trapped inside—"The offer won't be on the table long, my friend." The man reached into his suit jacket and drew out a long, ivory-colored chem-stick. He stuck it between his teeth and drew a quick puff. When he exhaled orange-colored steam, Grando smelled peaches.

"J-just about Hector?" Grando's jaw clicked on the left side—the side the asshole lurking behind him had struck. At the thought, he opened his mouth wide, rotating his jaw left and right, trying to get his ear to pop. The ringing was driving him mad.

"What else do I care about? Your prostitutes? Your gambling? Do I look like the sort of man who worries about such matters? I want to know who Hector is—why did Gladia Ventress take an interest in him? Why is he helping young Frederick Ventress to foment rebellion? Who is this man, really? I wonder if you had a hand in his current identification record, hmm? It's not a very elegant job, by the way, for future reference—not enough truth mixed in to make it believable."

"I didn't—" Grando started to say, but he felt a rush of air on his right side and jerked his head to the left, reducing the impact of the asshole's next ear-cuffing.

"Easy now, Lux!" The Royal chuckled, taking a quick nip off his chem-stick.

"I'm sure Grando was about to follow up with a ' but'. Weren't you?" He arched a feathery blonde eyebrow, looking down at Grando again. Reaching for the only hope he had, Grando reminded himself that it wasn't his fault. Hector was the one who went and got caught—who got them all caught. Dumbass kid. No, scratch that! He wasn't even a kid! Just a lunatic I got mixed up with!

Having tamped down his guilt, Grando said, "Hey, we had a good thing going, but I didn't know he was going to get mixed up in all this business. I swear! The whole deal was that I'd get him access to fights, rifts—that sort of thing—and we'd split the take." The Royal held up one elegant finger, the nail a smooth sliver of pale moonlight in the dim room. He stared into empty space for a moment, his eyes flickering with a million tiny golden stars. After a moment, he looked at Grando.

"Mm-hmm, I'm listening. And who is he?"

"Hector? Well, for starters, his last name ain't Valerius—it's Finalis."

"Finalis, hmm? That's got a ring to it—an earned name, maybe?"

"You got an AI, don't you? Try looking him up." Grando felt the rush of another blow coming, but the Royal held up that slender finger again, and it stopped short.

"Just a moment, Lux." His golden eyes twinkled with lights again, and then his lips spread into a wide smile—the first that was reflected by his entire expression. He began to laugh, turning away from Grando and pacing toward the yellow letters on the wall as his shoulders shook.

"Oh, Grando, do tell me you're not teasing. Do tell me this is the truth." Something cold and round pressed into the back of Grando's neck, and he growled, "It's true, dammit!"

"Oh, Empire! The irony! It's too delicious—I'll grow fat from just the taste!"

"So, um, is that—" The Royal waved a hand.

"No, Grando, one thing I won't let people say is that Balus Ventress isn't a man of his word. You've saved yourself a thrashing and a brutal death tonight. Your eager tongue has won you a life, though you'll not be the same, I'm afraid. You see, I'll still need to verify what you just told me." He shifted his gaze to the man behind Grando again.

"Take him for a download—wipe his recent memories and then, as I promised, put him back in his club."" What?" Grando cried.

"Um, your L-Lordship! You don't have to rip me! I'll tell you anything else you want! I'll—""No, no. I know you'll tell me anything I want to hear; that's the problem. We'll take a snapshot and let one of the AIs sift through it. As for us? We're done. Thank you again, good man; this news has made my day." Grando didn't hear him. He didn't see him walk away.

All he could do was picture Cookie's face when she'd looked up at him with tears in her eyes, asking why he couldn't stay—why he had to go back to the business. And why couldn't you, you stupid bastard? With a sigh, he pushed his tongue against the nodule on his tooth, mentally counting to five as the rough-handed asshole behind him reached down to slice a humming blade through the bonds on his arms.

"Just go easy," the guy—Lux—said, his voice like an axe grinding on stone. Grando's tongue stung as something stabbed into it, and he smiled, crunching his teeth together. The tooth shattered, as promised. He felt a sizzling, foaming sensation in his mouth and he inhaled sharply, expecting to die—but nothing happened.

"The hell are you doing?" A heavy, vice-like hand gripped his neck, steering Grando toward a plasteel door.

"You! You did something to it—my tooth!" A rough chuckle came to him as the man squeezed almost comfortingly.

"You think they didn't scan you for any and every poison, toxin, and venom under the sun? You didn't feel the injection? Nothing you got is gonna work, buddy. Royals like Balus don't get close to people who might be carrying something."

"Ah, right." Grando couldn't muster the energy to be disappointed.

"Is it…is it as bad as they say it is? Getting ripped? Am I going to be…"

"A vegetable? Nah, it ain't that bad. I've seen guys get back on an easy detail like guard duty after rehab." He tapped the bio-lock on the door, and it slid to the side.

"Just hold still when they tell you to. I think struggling makes it worse." Grando sighed, shaking his head.

"Doesn't it always?"