2.52 When Goals Align

52 – When Goals Align

When Hector opened his eyes, he was greeted by sterile white plasteel walls illuminated by soft recessed lighting. He knew he was in an infirmary based on the bed—narrow with stainless rails and adjustable slant controls. A reflective black sensor array sat in the ceiling above him, and when he looked to his left, he saw a row of four more beds just like his. Flint Tenebrix was in the one beside him.

At least, Hector was fairly sure it was Flint—much of his face was obscured by bandages, and some sort of mask sat over his mouth and nose. He was missing most of his right arm, but his build looked right. His skin tone matched, and so did the thick, close-shorn black hair. Hector was about ninety percent sure it was him.

Flashes of the fight ran through his mind—from his desperate Shadow Step through the veil, reappearing in the air so he could take Lux’s back, to the agonizing heat of the killer’s aura as he’d clung there, stabbing him again and again. An involuntary shudder ran through him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His chest felt tight, and holding his breath for even a few seconds winded him.

Still recovering.

//We were unconscious for four hours.//

Evie’s words reminded Hector of his situation, and he looked at his AUI, at his aura display, and felt some muscles unknot when he saw he hadn’t lost any potentia. Being unconscious with enemies nearby wasn’t exactly ideal, considering how much he was carrying. He flexed his hands, lifting his fists one by one, ensuring he still had all his digits. His toes were there under his blanket, too—he could feel them.

I’m still fuckin’ breathing! He jammed a fist against his eye, grinding his knuckles into it, surprised by the force of the emotion. He imagined Lemon scolding him for hiding his feelings—imagined Sass saying something like, “Sisters!” They came to mind so quickly! Had he thought of them when he’d gone after Lux?

Don’t lie to yourself, you prick. His caustic inner voice was right; he’d helped Flint for selfish reasons—Lux had needed to die. He pulled his fist away from his eye and looked at his knuckles.

No scars?

//You regenerated entire new sections of flesh, so no, there wasn’t any scarring. It would seem the reaper’s regenerative properties are quite potent. It helps that you have a high-ranked vitality attribute.//

Hector grunted, looking around the little clinic. He was fairly certain they were on the ship—not the IG base. Are you in touch with Mae?

//Yes. She just filled me in on what we missed. The crew loyal to Gladia took advantage of your attack and secured the ship, imprisoning Balus’s remaining troops. Mae sent a medical team to collect you and Flint, then contacted Gladia. She’s here, by the way, but she’s been busily auditing Balus’s activities on the ship, and she only brought one of her security officers—everyone else is still at the safe house.//

Hector sighed, pushing the button at the side of his bed to raise himself into a seated position. He looked at Flint again. “He gonna make it?”

Mae’s voice came through the sensor array. “Aside from his more mundane injuries, he suffered massive aura overload, but we’re working to recondition his pathways. It’s easier to keep him in an induced coma because his condition is incredibly painful.”

“Don’t you have a clone for him lying around?”

“I’m afraid not for Flint, no.”

Hector looked down at his pale gray medical gown. “I need some clothes.”

Mae’s voice took on a motherly tone. “I recommend bed rest for another day or two, Hector. Our chief medical officer was impressed by your regenerative abilities, but he said it couldn’t have been easy on your—”

“Bring me some clothes, please, Mae.”

“Of course. Most of the ship’s personnel are asleep, but I’ll dispatch a duty officer.”

“And let Gladia know I need to speak with her.”

“I will. Oh, and Hector, I should inform you that Gladia used her command codes to…change her command codes.”

He snorted. “Can’t say I blame her.” Grunting with the effort, he slid his legs off the side of the bed and pushed himself off the pillows. Everything worked, but he felt weak. His regeneration, while amazing, had taken a lot out of him.

Mae continued to speak: “Before we both become busy, and I miss the opportunity, I wanted to thank you for what you did for Gladia—for me. I appreciate what you did in the rift, too. Frederick is important to me, and—”

“Did she bring him? His neurodeck?”

“Yes, he’s recovering.”

Hector knew what that meant; the kid was probably in a stim-tank. He had no doubt that Gladia had one, considering she had clones for Freddy and probably herself aboard. The tank would allow his aura system to propagate his potentia—recovered from his old corpus vivum—into his new body significantly faster. More importantly, Freddy’s engram would be able to adjust to his new skin a good deal more gently than what Hector had gone through.

“Good. Well, anyway, you’re welcome, but I didn’t do it for you. I promised some people that there’d be hell to pay for the son of a bitch who tried to kill us, and I delivered. That’s all.”

Mae was silent for a few seconds, then she said, “I’ll speak to Gladia and get back to you.”

Hector sat on his bed, running the events of the night through his mind’s eye again, still struggling to believe that both he and Flint had lived through it all. He glanced over his shoulder at the other man—at his missing arm. He vaguely recalled seeing Lux’s head annihilated before passing out. Good work, Flint—won’t have to worry about Gladia mining his neurodeck for secrets.

//Hector, both Sass and Lemon have been trying to contact you on the secure message board. Nothing other than requests for you to contact them as soon as possible.//

“Ah, yeah…uh, can you let them know I’m alive? I’ll talk to them soon.”

//Of course.//

Hector was thinking about a more detailed message for them, but then he was interrupted again. A short wall separated him from what was probably a medic’s station and the door, but when it beeped and slid open, he heard it. A moment later, footsteps sounded, and then Gladia Ventress came around the corner, a bundle of clothing in her arms.

“Look at you,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Hardly any worse for the wear, and meanwhile my poor Flint looks like he was put through a meat grinder.”

Hector watched her set the clothes on the bed beside him. “Thought Mae was sending a duty officer.”

“I assumed you’d want to talk.” She hadn’t resumed her old-lady play-acting; she looked, moved, and spoke like a powerful woman in the prime of her life. Not for the first time, he wondered who the act had been for—enemies, he supposed, of all sorts. “Frankly, I’m amazed that you pulled it off, Hector. I owe you a great debt—” She shook her head, blinking rapidly as she looked down. “No, I owe you two. Freddy’s recovering and his mind is perfectly intact.”

“Well, you can start by getting my people here. Oh, and the ones at the rift gate—my team. Let them go free if they want.”

“I’ve already begun making arrangements. I have an Imperial jurisconsult among my crew, and he’s already working to spin the story about Balus and his attempt at a family coup. It was surprisingly easy to find records tying him to the stealth drone that attacked the rift.”

Hector chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m sure it was.”

“No!” Gladia laughed—a light, truly mirthful sound. “I mean it! We found records of his communications on the transmission relay.”

“Huh, well, either way, I’m sure you’d have made it stick.” Hector shrugged the top half of his body out of the medical gown, letting it fall onto his lap. To his surprise, Gladia looked to the side while he pulled the House Ventress uniform shirt over his head. “Really? One of your uniforms?”

“Well, I don’t have a thrift store aboard.”

While she continued to study the wall, Hector pulled on the pants. “I’m decent.”

“What will—” she started to ask, but Hector spoke at the same time.

“Any sign of my friend? Grando?”

She nodded. “The security duty logs indicate he was released at the train station yesterday. I’m afraid the records of his stay—his treatment—are missing, but my people interviewed the techs. It seems they performed a memory extraction, and…” She hesitated, and Hector looked into her golden eyes, scowling.

“I’m not an idiot. Just tell me how bad it is.”

“He seemed to have near-normal cognitive abilities, but his recent memory was largely lost.”

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“How recent?”

“Again, the details were deleted, but the techs said he didn’t remember why he was here—no recollection of anything to do with Kessler’s Reach. My people tell me that kind of damage is usually deliberate.”

Balus didn’t want him remembering what he knew about me. Son of a bitch.

With an effort, Hector released his clenched fist and examined the boots Gladia had brought him. They were feather-light and self-adjusting—black and gray like the uniform. He pulled one on, but his mind was still on Grando. Maybe it’s for the best. Hopefully, he kept enough of himself to go back to his club and…I don’t know—keep doing what he used to do.

//It’s possible, if they were accurate with their extraction and only targeted the last few months…//

“Hector?”

He looked at Gladia. “Grando isn’t exactly a good man, but I’d like to know he’s all right.”

She pressed her lips together, nodding, then said, “I have people in Helio. Shall I have someone check in on him?”

“Yeah…” He nodded. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” Somewhere along the line, it seemed Hector had decided he wasn’t going back there. His involvement in Gladia’s feud and, tangentially, her rebellion, had expanded the playing field—his opportunities to pursue his own ends. She didn’t need to know that, though—not yet.

“On another subject,” Gladia said, taking a step back as Hector gingerly stood, testing his weight on his legs. His thighs twitched under the strain, threatening to spasm. “We collected Lux’s potentia before disposing of his corpse. It seems he’d been busy in the rift. I assume you’ll want your share?”

Hector glanced at Flint. “He did the lion’s share.”

Gladia shook her head. “I watched the video. Without your intervention, Flint would be dead. I think he’ll gladly split it with you.”

Hector inhaled, nodding as he pressed his thumbs into his lower back and stretched, trying to get some blood flowing. “I’d appreciate that.”

“I have the collection device locked in my office, but—”

He waved a hand. “No hurry.” In fact, I ought to spend some of my banked potentia ASAP. It’ll be weeks before I get through it all.

//Yes, but I’ll need you to make the selections.//

“You aren’t leaving, are you? I was just speaking to Iris; she intends to bring your people here soon. I’d instructed her to wait until the morning shift at the base. My people are still smoothing things over with the Tribune.”

Hector looked around the clinic and shrugged. “I just didn’t want to sit around in that bed.”

Smiling, Gladia turned toward the exit and motioned for him to follow. “Walk with me, then? I’ll take you to the mess hall; I was told you’d be hungry.”

At the mention of food, Hector’s stomach contracted, and his mouth filled with saliva to the point where he had to swallow before responding. “Yeah.” He followed her out of the infirmary and into an empty but well-lit corridor.

“This way.” She led him to a junction with an elevator—not the one Hector had used during his infiltration. It was smaller and had different access points available on the floor selection menu.

As they stepped inside, Hector asked, “All of Freddy’s potentia came through okay? We had plenty of time to unwind it.”

“Yes, but it’ll make for a long recovery. He’ll be in the conditioning tank for a week or more.” She stretched her glossy, gilt-ivory cybernetic hand toward him as though she might want to grasp his arm, but stopped short of touching him. “Not to sound ungrateful, mind you. I’m very aware that things could have been somuch worse. We spoke for a few minutes—before he went into the tank. I know…I know it wasn’t an easy time for any of you.”

Hector grunted, nodding slightly.

Neither of them spoke, and things began to feel awkward, but then the elevator stopped, and they stepped out. Again, Hector didn’t recognize the area; it hadn’t been part of his rampage. Gladia led him down a short corridor and then into a long, low-ceilinged galley. It wasn’t the kind of galley you’d find on a proper Legion Navy ship. There were only four tables, and everything was just a little too nice and clean—polished white plasteel walls and floor, cushions on the seats, art on the walls, plants in little alcoves, and warm, recessed lighting.

Hector could smell food—actual, proper food—and he licked his lips, his mouth watering again.

Gladia gestured to the buffet line. “The cooks get started early, but I’m afraid demand will be light today. Balus executed a third of my crew. I’m down to the two security officers you met at Iris’s safe house. Honestly, I was hoping you and I might speak about that.” She took in Hector’s expression and smiled. “Go on. Load up a plate, and I’ll wait for you.”

He walked over to the line and was surprised to see a man wearing a clean white coat and hat waiting behind it. The cook smiled, nodding as Hector approached. “First customer of the day. What are you in the mood for?”

Hector cleared his throat, nodding to the bins of prepared food under the heat lamps. “Lots of eggs and some of everything else.”

“Ah! My kind of customer. Coming right up.”

While the man dished up his food, Hector glanced at Gladia. He knew what she wanted to talk about. Something along the lines of him filling in for Flint while he was recovering—maybe even helping her to hire some new security officers. She’d eventually come around to recruiting him for whatever rebellion trouble she had cooking, probably using his friendship with Freddy as leverage, but she’d go gently on that, not wanting to piss—or scare—him off.

“Drink station is just there, sir,” the man said, passing him a tray laden with food—two plates of it.

“Thanks.” Hector approached the two large drink dispensers. One was for coffee and the other had a menu listing two dozen different juices and sodas. After his selection—orange juice—squirted into a glass, he put it on his tray and walked over to join Gladia at one of the tables. They were still the only people in the galley.

She eyed his heaping plates with a small smile, then said, “You go ahead and eat. I’ll talk for a while.” Hector obliged without argument, and she continued, “I’ve already told you I owe you. I want you to know that you’ve also earned my trust. Even if you hadn’t, the fact that Freddy tried to resist going into the tank so he could see you—so he could thank you—would have changed things.”

Hector watched her face while he chewed, mulling the words over. Freddy had never gotten a new skin before, and the first time was always the hardest. He’d probably been delirious, disoriented, and nauseated. It meant a lot that the kid had been concerned about him. Gladia knew it, too.

She continued, “I hope I’ve earned some trust from you, too. Obviously, we ran scans on you; we had to ensure you didn’t have some sort of internal damage that needed attention. We saw your neurodeck, but I instructed my chief medic to leave it be.”

Hector narrowed his eyes at her, taking another bite. He didn’t say anything, but his expression probably said enough. He knew she was full of shit. His neurodeck was locked down, and the only way to remove it would be to cut it out of his skull. More importantly, there was the risk that he’d wake up. They’d seen his regenerative capabilities. They’d have to wonder: would sedatives even work on him? What hell might he unleash if he found someone messing with his neurodeck?

As he had the thought, Hector’s mind jumped to what Balus had told him. How the hell did Lucien get you out of my skull? I mean, if he killed people wearing my skin, he had to, right?

//Unfortunately, those memories were lost to us.//

Right. The corrupted data. The more I learn, the more I begin to wonder if that corruption was really due to entropy.

Gladia didn’t know about his internal dialogue and had continued speaking: “…awakened without any restraints or even a guard. I hope that illustrates my trust. I don’t—”

Hector speared some sausage with his fork. “So, I can leave?”

“Well, of course you can.”

“And everyone else? My people?”

Gladia smiled, shaking her head. “If you asked Lemon, I’m sure she’d say she was doomed because I’ve shared some secrets with her. Heaven forbid!” She laughed softly. “Poor thing. Well, it’s true, she knows I’m less than loyal to the Empire, just as you do. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ve been careful about evidence, and there are a million rumors about every Great House and their schemes.” She waved a hand. “If you want to distance yourself from us, then I’ll not stop you—any of you.”

Hector nodded, still chewing. He’d been eating like a machine, and Gladia’s mention of Lemon had him thinking about how she’d scolded him about that. He snorted. Knew me for less than a day and she told me to slow down and savor my food.

Gladia tilted her head, smiling, though she looked a little puzzled. “Is that a funny idea? You leaving?”

“No, not really. I was thinking about something else.”

“Well, I hope you understand that I don’t want you to leave. It’s hard to find reliable, trustworthy people these days. I need the help—we need the help.”

There it is. Freddy needs me; that’s her hook.

//She included herself. Keep an open mind.//

Come on. You know I’m not going anywhere—you know what I want.

//Closer to Loyal Ventress, and through him, Lucien.//

And Alistair Ventress-Dane—but I’m not ready for them.

//Lucien was quite strong.//

Dane was an Imperial duelist, and that was two hundred years ago.

“Hector?” Gladia was peering at him like he’d grown a third eye.

He realized he’d tuned her out again, and he shook his head, offering a chagrined smile. “I’m sorry. I’m a little out of it, and my AI was distracting me.”

//Oh, fine! Make me the scapegoat!//

“I was saying that I’d like you to stay. Iris and I were speaking—her family has been loyal to…well, to Loyal for years.” She chuckled at the play on words.

“Only a Royal could have the audacity to name their kid something like that.”

Gladia smiled, and it looked genuine. “It’s an old family name. What I was trying to say is that Iris and I—”

“Have some ideas on how to use me.” While she mulled over his interruption, Hector picked up a jam-slathered piece of toast and took a bite.

“I don’t tend to use people—not if I can help it. I try to build relationships with people so that their goals align with mine. You might not see the distinction, but it’s a point of pride for me. You can talk to Flint when he recovers—get his thoughts on the topic.”

Hector sighed, nodding. “I’ll do that. I don’t have immediate plans, other than to see my people and ensure everyone’s all right.”

Gladia leaned forward, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, but you just reminded me of another matter. It seems that your man, the one that had been guarding Lemon—”

“Orin?”

“No, no. The other one—slight, mean-eyed, stubborn—”

“Ah, Demon. Look, I don’t blame you for that. You didn’t know Balus would strike—”

Gladia waved a hand, interrupting him. “No, that’s not it. He was aboard, in the brig—very much alive. He seemed healthy enough, even though they performed a memory download. I gave him quarters on the security deck.”

Hector arched an eyebrow. “Huh.”

Gladia smiled. “You don’t seem very surprised—very pleased.”

Hector sniffed, looking inward. He was happy to hear Demon was alive, wasn’t he? The guy was quiet—sullen almost—but he’d never hesitated when there was work to be done. “Oh, I’m happy enough. He’s a dependable man. I just didn’t know him all that well. I’ll talk to him after I see the others. They should be here soon, yeah?” Hector looked at his food—mostly eaten. A thought occurred to him, and before Gladia could answer, he asked, “Did you look at the data?”

“Data?”

“From Demon’s download.”

“Oh.” She looked down, and he knew she was trying to think of a way to get out of the question without lying. After a moment, though, she surprised him by saying, “I had Mae review it. Would you like the highlights?”

“I—” Hector shook his head, but he couldn’t help himself. “Only if there’s something…I should worry about.”

“I didn’t think so—a hard life of violence, crime, and redemption. He almost died in Scar Basin Penitentiary, met a positive influence there, and spent the last decade or so teaching troubled youth.”

Hector grunted, picking up his last sausage and taking a bite. He looked into the Royal’s golden eyes again. They were something else, those eyes—probably half a million bits’ worth of tech. She had a pleasant face, he decided, and it wasn’t just the fact that she was rich enough to buy beauty. There was honest emotion there—faint lines that said she smiled a lot—and something about how she held herself said she was confident but…at ease.

She must have noticed his attention because she squinted her eyes, smiling in a bemused way that said she was still trying to figure him out. “To answer your other question, Iris and the others just reached the base. They’re being escorted to the ship now.” She looked at Hector’s plate, then asked, “Shall we greet them?”

He drained his orange juice, set the empty glass on his tray, and then stood. “Yeah, let’s do that.”