StarCraft II: Devils' Due (29 page)

possible. The amount of energy required to run the

capital city of Semele, where they were headed, was

likely enough to power al of Shiloh. He’d liked the glitz

and the glamour and the high life, but now its waste

and crassness were spread out before him, starkly

and almost lewdly, and Jim realized that even the

things he used to enjoy now had a pal cast over them.

He settled back, mental y counting the hours until

this was al done. Having made his decision, he was

ready—more than ready—to turn his back on this life.

Their destination approached rapidly as they made

their descent. Jim shook his head quietly as the lights

of the city seemed to surge to meet them, and they

docked in the starport that Jim just knew would have

jingling slot machines available the second they

disembarked.

“I don’t like how you’re looking, Raynor,” said Ash.

Jim started from his reverie.

“I don’t like big cities,” he said. “Especial y garish

ones.”

“That’s fine,” Tychus interrupted as he was directed

in for docking. “With the money we’l get from this

haul, you can buy yourself your very own planet and

decorate it just how you like it, Jimmy.”

That brought a chuckle from everyone but Ash, who

continued regarding Jim thoughtful y. Jim and Tychus

had discussed what would happen after they made off

with several mil ion credits. Jim would receive his

share and be quietly dropped off somewhere on the

way back to Deadman’s Port. They hadn’t chosen to

inform Ash and the rest of Scutter’s boys of this

change in plans. Ash disliked them enough as it was.

They had rooms in one of the more middle-of-the-

road hotels, neither too ritzy nor too much of a dump.

They would check in, then Ash and his boys would

begin reconnaissance while Jim and Tychus hooked

up with Tychus’s contacts.

The sooner they did, the sooner it would al be over,

and the better Jim would like it.

A vessel designed for only one person without

much cargo also was vectored in for docking at the

Semele port. The ship had been fol owing the vessel

bearing Jim, Tychus, Ash, Rafe, and Win ever since it

had departed Deadman’s Port. The man piloting it

reached out with a gleaming metal hand to press a

button.

“Acknowledged,” said Ezekiel Daun.

The place was every bit as high-intensity, bright,

obnoxious, and loud as Jim had expected it to be.

Hovercars and -bikes whizzed past their taxi as it

ferried them to their hotel, the Bel issima Grande

Hotel and Casino, and Jim worried that the driver

might have a heart attack, considering how loudly he

yel ed and how vigorously he gestured at other

drivers.

The streets were crowded and bright as day, even

at this hour, and attractive women cal ed out to them

as they made their way the short distance from the

street to the hotel’s entrance. Tychus whistled and

said a few lewd things, but Jim just kept his head

down. Inside, it was gaudy and crowded and thick

with smoke. The constant sound of bel s and whistles

and the shouting of players as they won—or lost—

bombarded his ears, and when at last he and Tychus

settled into their own musty rooms, Jim leaned

against the door for a moment.

Even here, the world of high-stakes gambling and

partying intruded. The wal s were thin, and he was

treated to the sounds of just how much his neighbors

were enjoying their bedrooms. He headed into the

sonic shower, threw on some clean clothes, and met

Tychus in the lobby.

Tychus looked surprisingly good. His suit, like

Jim’s, was understated but wel tailored and fit

perfectly across his broad shoulders. He had a fine

cigar clenched in his teeth, and his eyes gleamed with

delight as Jim walked up to him.

“I like this place,” he said. “Lots of distractions. For

the marks while I work, and for me when I’m done.”

“It’s al yours,” Jim said. “Where do we go first?”

“Don’t tel me you ain’t gonna even try to enjoy your

last big fling,” Tychus chided.

“That’s exactly what I’m tel ing you.”

Tychus slipped an arm around his friend’s shoulder

in a mock-paternal gesture. “Jimmy, I’m going to

make you have fun if it’s the last thing I do.

Fortunately, our meeting with my contact takes place

in one of the most popular hotels on this whole glitzy

moon. Come on.”

Twenty minutes later, Jim felt as if he had

stepped out into an entirely new world. The little bar

cal ed the Blue Note, in the Rapture Hotel and Casino,

was so far removed from the almost frantic energy

and neon colors of every place else Jim had seen as

to be almost disconcerting. The décor was comprised

of stepped forms and sweeping curves, and there

were freestanding pieces of art made of inlaid wood

and steel in repeating patterns of chevrons and

sunbursts, as wel as paintings adorning the wal . Soft

jazz came from somewhere; the leather seats were

incredibly comfortable; and the waitress spoke in a

soft voice and had something approaching a genuine

smile as she brought Tychus and Jim their drinks.

A few moments later, there was a soft rustle of

satin. A tal , gorgeous woman, clad in a floor-length

red dress and carrying a shopping bag from one of

the finest stores in the city, slipped into the seat

across from them.

“Jennifer,” Tychus said, “damn, the years like you,

honey.”

She smiled, and Jim saw what he hadn’t observed

at first, thanks to the soft lighting. This woman, despite

her jet-black hair and slender figure, was actual y

much older than they were. But Tychus was right: she

didn’t need flattering lighting to be breathtaking. There

was an elegance to her movements, and her face was

finely boned. She’d be a beauty in torn clothes and

sitting in the mud, Jim thought.

Jennifer smiled. “Tychus Findlay,” she said. “Long

time no see. This must be Mr. Raynor.” She extended

a slender, wel -manicured hand. Jim found himself

struggling against the urge to kiss it and instead

shook it awkwardly.

“How d’you do, ma’am?”

Jennifer’s lovely smile widened. “Much better

manners than you, Tychus. I like this boy.”

“Don’t get too fond of him,” Tychus said. “He’s

going straight soon, or so he tel s me.”

Jennifer’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “Real y?

That’s too bad,” she said, as if Tychus had just

pronounced dreadful news.

“Jennifer and her husband, Gustav, are from

Umoja,” Tychus explained. “Can’t wait to see what

she’s got for me.”

“I love it when I hear from you,” she said. “You

always give Gustav and me such interesting things to

design.”

If she hadn’t had Jim’s utter attention before, which

she pretty much had, she had it now. With a smal

government and a lucrative economy, Umojans were

known for cutting-edge technology. Jim, too, now

leaned eagerly forward as Jennifer removed a gift-

wrapped box from the shopping bag and handed it to

Tychus. Tychus grinned and opened it.

Inside was a beautiful patterned vest. The main

color was black. There were smal diamond shapes

cut into the bottom of the vest, and in each nook

sparkled a green or red gem. The colors alternated in

a complex pattern al around the front and, Jim saw,

even the back. It was beautiful, and elegant, and

utterly not Tychus.

Then Jennifer turned the vest and opened four

cleverly concealed flaps. Jim realized that they were

holsters, and that definitely was utterly Tychus.

“My, my, ain’t that pretty?” Tychus said. “Jennifer,

you do outstanding work.”

“Ah, but such a nice waistcoat demands the right

accessory,” Jennifer continued. She handed him

another, smal er package.

“I feel like this is my birthday,” Tychus chuckled. He

opened the box to reveal an exquisite antique pocket

watch. Jim whistled softly.

“Gustav wanted to put your initials on it, but I

recommended he refrain,” Jennifer said. “Here … let

me show you how to set the time and wind it.”

She removed it careful y from the box. “To set the

time, pul this little notched knob cal ed the winding

crown straight up, like so. Set the hands to the time

you wish, then push it back down. To wind it, turn the

winding crown clockwise until you cannot wind further.

Very simple.”

“Very simple indeed, but effective.” Tychus grinned

at her. “I’l be sure to take very good care of it.”

“These”—and she handed him a final box—“are for

al your friends. Also watches, but not quite as nice as

yours. You must make sure they wear them, or at least

have them on their person in some fashion.”

“I wil , darlin’. You and Gustav are too good to me.”

Jennifer’s smile widened, became mischievous.

“You’ve admired them enough, Tychus. You can

investigate them a little more closely when you’re in

your room. But for now … why don’t you take them,

and me, for a spin? There’s dancing right next door.”

“Hel , honey, you know I can’t dance. I’l step on

those dainty feet of yours.”

She laughed throatily. “I know. But it’s a practical

test…. I just want to see how you’l be able to move in

the vest, see if I need to make any adjustments.

Come on.”

Tychus sighed in resignation. “You coming with us,

Jimmy?” Tychus asked.

Jim grinned. “Think I’l stay here. You two crazy kids

have fun.”

Tychus shrugged, removed his coat jacket, and put

on the vest. He placed the watch securely in the slit

pocket in the front. Jennifer graceful y slipped

Tychus’s arm through hers, gave Jim a smile that

melted him, and led Tychus off to the dance floor. Jim

had to admit as he watched them go that Tychus

looked positively dashing in his new vest.

Pity he wasn’t going to have it long.

Tychus had not lied to Jennifer and Jim: he

couldn’t dance. He was large, and while he was agile,

he was not graceful, and he knew nothing—less than

nothing—about bal room dancing.

While he stumbled more than a bit awkwardly

around the bal room floor, Jennifer lifted her lips to his

ear and whispered. Not sweet nothings, no—she was

whispering key information about the vest. He

nodded, taking everything in, then whispered back

comments about how it felt as he moved in it.

So far, al seemed to be perfect. Tychus felt good

enough to execute a twirl, which Jennifer, as a

gracious dance partner, spun through so easily, she

made him look good. By now he was confident

enough to glance around the room slightly as he

pul ed her back to him, even dipped her, and the

dance ended.

He placed his hand on the smal of her back and

guided her to the refreshment table, continuing to look

around as unobtrusively as possible. At first the crowd

seemed to be typical for such a place: middle-aged

men with red-rimmed eyes; women showing too much

cleavage for their figures; some nice dresses and

suits, most of them off the rack. It was—

They locked eyes.

Tychus stared at a man with a thick head of glossy

black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a glorious

mustache.

“Aw, shit,” Tychus Findlay muttered as he

recognized Marshal Wilkes Butler.

Jim was on his second beer when Tychus burst

into the Blue Note and jerked his head toward the exit

commandingly. Immediately Jim sprang up and

fol owed, quickly tossing a few credits on the table.

“What is it?” he asked as they hastened outside

and tried to flag a cab.

“What kind of convention is being held here?”

Tychus asked suddenly. He seemed torn between

anger and humor.

“Marshals Con—Oh, you’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“Wilkes is here?”

“In the flesh.”

“He see you?”

“That he did.”

Jim swore. They tumbled into a cab, and Tychus

directed the driver not back to the hotel but to another

casino. “Gotta throw him off our trail,” he explained.

“So, what do we do? We gonna tel Ash?”

Tychus shook his head. “Nope. They’re already