Aetheral Space

Chapter 39:3.2: The Halls of Power

Skipper blinked, sighed as he rubbed his nose. "I figured something like this was coming."

"No shit," said Dragan. "When you kidnap someone, ’why’ is a question that jumps to the top of their list pretty quick."

"What other questions are on the list?" said Skipper, resurrecting the cheeky grin that usually contaminated his face. "Any good ones?"

"I’m not playing games. Just answer me."

Dragan tried to project the most serious mood he could, hoping he could kill any joke Skipper threw out before it could be used as a distraction. He felt like he understood the captain more now - every word he said was used to redirect the flow of conversation, to avoid awkward questions or prompt certain behaviours. If he didn’t nip that in the bud, he’d come out of this conversation empty-handed.

It really annoyed Dragan that this Crownless man seemed to be a better Cogitant than him without even trying.

Skipper shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You wanna sit down for this?"

"You’ve got the only seat," Dragan said, frowning in annoyance.

"Your powers of observation are truly astute, Mr. Hadrien," Skipper shot back with a wink.

Damn, he’d walked into that one. But so long as he kept his focus, Skipper couldn’t trip him up.

"Just tell me," he said quietly.

Skipper sighed again, but it seemed more genuine this time, lacking the theatricality that accompanied most of his mannerisms. His eyes turned dull, and for a few seconds he seemed much older, slumped in his chair.

He looked down at the floor, as if considering it. "I can’t tell you," he said after a pause.

Well, he’d been prepared for that. "I walk, then," he said, crossing his arms. "We’re in a crowded UAP hospital, we’re separated from the others, and you’re still pumped full of anaesthetic. You’re in no condition to stop me from going to the authorities." He honestly wasn’t sure whether it was a bluff or not.

Skipper’s eyes were pained. "I can’t tell you what for," he said, after thinking on it some more. "But I can tell you why."

"They’re the same thing."

"They’re really not," Skipper said seriously. "My actions and my motivations are very different things, Dragan. For now, I can only divulge the latter."

Dragan frowned. "And why’s that?"

"If one wrong person finds out about my intentions, they won’t work," Skipper said. His eyes were honest, but there was a sharp, cold glint in them. "I don’t mind telling you why I’m doing what I’m doing, but -"

"- but you’re not willing to tell me what you’re doing."

"Exactly. Is that good enough for you? If it’s not, you can walk away. I won’t chase you."

Dragan looked deep into his eyes - again, he was telling the truth. Despite how secretive he could be, Skipper was an honest person all the same. The only lies he was adept with were lies of omission.

Was that good enough, though? If he walked away, Dragan had a good chance of linking up with the UAP’s UniteFleet and earning himself a cushy position selling out the Supremacy’s secrets. He’d be richer, more comfortable, and safer too - the UniteFleet wouldn’t want one of their informants to get killed.

He could turn around, walk away, and get himself an objectively better life.

But he was invested now, damnit. If he didn’t see this through to the end, it’d cling to him forever like a spider crawling up his back. It’d drive him crazy for sure. It wasn’t that he’d gotten emotionally attached to these idiots, but he wanted to know how things would pan out.

Plus, if he stuck around, he’d know why Skipper had grabbed him before long anyway. That would satisfy his curiosity - and it wasn’t like he couldn’t just leave after that, anyway. It was the smartest choice.

Obviously.

"Tell me," said Dragan, leaning against the wall as he watched Skipper’s face carefully.

Skipper’s eyes flicked to the door, and Dragan saw him concentrate - watching and listening to make sure no doctor was near as he spoke. "There’s someone I want to kill," he said softly.

A chill ran up Dragan’s spine. "Who?" he said cautiously, mouth dry.

It was Skipper’s turn to roll his eyes. "Not you, kiddo," he chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, you’d be breathing dirt already. Relax."

The tension drained from Dragan’s shoulders. It wasn’t as if he’d believed that - they’d taken too much trouble to kidnap him - but Skipper was stupid enough for the possibility to be there.

"Who, then?" Dragan said, voice low. "Who is it you want to kill?"

Skipper opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. "No, sorry," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn’t the right way to explain things - that’s more like a component, you know? Not the big dream. Do you know what I mean?"

"No. Explain properly."

"Jeez, you’re a taskmaster. I guess…" Skipper closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, when he spoke, he sounded far-away. "I guess I want a revolution. I - I want to change the shape of this world."

The man seemed to have stars in his eyes as he said it, like he was looking directly at his dream. A curious smile played across his lips.

Dragan didn’t feel the same. This felt like dangerous talk - more dangerous than Skipper’s usual rambling.

"A revolution against who?" he asked quietly.

Skipper smiled. "Who do you think?"

"The Supremacy," Dragan nodded. That made sense - Skipper and his crew obviously had no love lost for them. "How do I play into that? You know I’m not, like, the only Cogitant in the Supremacy, right? We’re not exactly an endangered species there."

"All good things," said Skipper, face returning to the same easy grin he’d worn since Dragan had first met him. "Come to those who wait.’

He looked up at Dragan, as if challenging him to turn around and leave as he’d threatened to. Again, he’d read Dragan like an open book. The Cogitant didn’t much like the fact that he was getting used to it.

But…

"Yeah," he said, staring as though his eyes could drill the information right out of Skipper’s head. "I guess they do."

-

"Bored," sighed Serena, swinging her legs off the side of the bench like a lost child.

"Don’t care," said Bruno, keeping his voice low - there were people passing by all the time, and he didn’t want to get strange looks.

"You should," pouted Serena. "If I’m bored, you’re bored. That’s how it works."

"I’m not bored," said Bruno. It was true, he wasn’t. He was quite content to sit and do nothing for hours on end. If only his lifestyle permitted that kind of relaxation.

While Hadrien and Skipper had gone to get the final preparations done on the artificial arm, Serena had wandered out onto one of the hospital’s colossal balconies - and, by extension, dragged Bruno along with her.

Denied entertainment by Bruno, Serena huffed and marched down the hallway, arms crossed. Ruth had gone to talk to the doctor who’d installed Skipper’s new arm - she was concerned about it, because of course she was - so there was nobody willing to distract Serena.

"Hey," he said. "We should stay put."

Ignoring Bruno’s half-hearted internal protests, Serena turned the corner and walked out of a spot without even looking to see what was beyond it - and when she did, she skidded to a halt on the smooth floor.

Her eyes widened with awe, and a gasp of amazement escaped her throat.

The word ’balcony’ was something of an understatement - you could have probably fit a few houses into the garden that protruded from the side of the skyscraper, looking out at the very peak of the city. Bruno could hear the sounds of birds - a rare experience in a megacity like this.

The sun was shining, a gentle artificial wind was making its way through the installation, and quite a few residents of the hospital were taking the chance to enjoy it. The whole thing was a vision made of light.

"It’s so pretty," mumbled Serena, grinning at the scene.

Bruno had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. After their interrogation, they’d recovered in a dingy secret UAP hospital for several months. If they’d been in a place like this instead, would it have taken as long? The place seemed designed to calm every sense.

Serena took a few steps forward past a gentleman in a wheelchair, her feet crunching on the artificial grass. For a second, Bruno was concerned she’d start running around and making a scene, but she didn’t get the chance.

"Do you like birds?" croaked a voice from behind them.

Serena turned around. It was the man in the wheelchair that had spoken. He was emaciated, almost a skeleton, bones clinging to his skin as though they were eager to slip free. Only a few tufts of white hair trailed from his wrinkled head. His eyes were deeply recessed, making it look as if they were staring out of twin dark tunnels. Still, there was a kind of dignity to him - like a giant that had been worn down by time.

The wheelchair he was sitting on was a manual model - unlike the chair Skipper had used, which would only work in the hospital, this was one the old man likely used all the time. He wore a pinstripe suit that, small as it was, still looked oversized on him.

"Do you like birds?" he said again, lips barely moving. He didn’t look at Serena, but it was obvious who he was speaking to.

Serena frowned for a moment at the sudden address, but then nodded enthusiastically. "Sure do!" The sounds of tweeting birds intensified around them a little, as if excited by the acknowledgement.

The old man held up a trembling finger, pointed at a nearby bush. "Look over there."

Not even considering the fact that it could be some kind of trick - and ignoring Bruno’s protests to that effect - Serena skipped over to the bush and poked her head inside. Bruno stuffed down his annoyance; even if he wasn’t the one behind the driver’s wheel, he could still feel the branches dragging against their face.

A tiny speaker was nestled right within the center of the bush. The sound of tweeting birds emanated from it.

"Oh," frowned Serena. "It’s fake."

The old man half-grinned, but his eyes didn’t move in the slightest. "Do you know what a bird is?" he rasped.

"Sure I do," said Serena, pulling her head free of the bush. "It’s like a mouse, but with wings."

"No," said the old man, twitching his head in what was probably an effort to shake it. "A bird is three-hundred thousand and twenty-two UAP credits a year."

"No, it’s not. It’s an animal. Are you okay?"

The old man ignored her, his gaze sliding over to look at the bush, at the speaker cradled within it. "The birdsong you’re hearing right now," he said, breathing heavy, just speaking obviously requiring a great deal of effort. "Is from the Salavian Red-Jay. It’s a bird that’s been extinct for fifty-two years now. The hospital pays the company that owns the rights to their birdsong three-hundred thousand and twenty-two credits a year so they can use it here, in this garden." He chuckled darkly. "That’s all that’s left of them. Numbers on a spreadsheet."

Serena’s face dropped, crestfallen at the sudden pessimism, but it quickly hardened into Bruno’s scowl. He didn’t much care for the way this man was speaking to Serena.

"If you have a problem with me," he said, heightening the pitch of his voice to match Serena’s. "I’d prefer you keep it to yourself, thanks."

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War paused. He had a juicy bit of information that Care had passed on to him, but he was uncertain if now was the time to share it. Just as much as Care was becoming an irritant, the same was true of Plenty.

The viciousness that had originally endeared her to him had, in recent years, developed into something more of an inconvenience. He truly didn’t want to order her death, but if it became the optimal option he wouldn’t really have a choice.

Her reaction to this news should give him a little more data to make that decision with, at any rate.

"I’ve learnt something interesting," he said. "Care passed it on to me shortly before the meeting."

"Oh? Care did?"

"Yes. Apparently, the man called Skipper has come back to Taldan."

Plenty was silent for a long time after that. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with feral interest. "That’s very interesting indeed," she said hungrily. "Do you intend to use him, then?"

"Oh, yes."

After all, Skipper was an investment War had thought long since lost. Now that he’d suddenly presented himself again, War couldn’t let him slip away again without getting the maximum usage out of him.

It was time to cash out.