The post-race ceremony was as grand as anything Ed had seen in his life. The main courtyard was bursting with everything you’d expect to find at an event of this sort. Food and drinks from all around the inner planets were piled high on ornate tables and serving platters. Different music pits were scattered around, some for ambiance, others for dancing, their acoustics so finely tuned one only heard the music when standing next to a pit. Sharp-dressed men. Stunning women. Displays of wealth that dwarfed anything Ed had ever laid eyes on before, much less his hands. It took almost all of his willpower, but he kept from visibly drooling at the sight of all that wealth.

Elias was dressed to the nines for this. His bespoke black suit showed off the three bright red diagonal sashes across his chest. His black top hat shone with a deep luster. He swaggered around, receiving polite praise and accolades from other guests with a dignified nod or tip of his hat. His walking cane gleamed in the lights, the ivory handle topped with an exquisite golden eagle’s head.

“Oh, man, he’s going to be insufferable from here on, isn’t he?” Milton grumbled under his breath so only Devon and Ed could hear.

“Let him bask in his vicarious victory,” Ed laughed. “Besides, just look at this party!” He gestured wide to include everything he could see.

Devon sipped on his fluted glass. Something ruby red glittered inside. He didn’t say anything to his friends but grinned his Cheshire grin.

The three friends trailed behind Elias, mostly to watch how he’d behave around the rarefied elite. Both Milton and Devon—Milton more than the latter—commented on the who’s who in attendance.

“That old faker,” Milton mumbled at the retreating back of an older gentleman.

“Who? The CEO of ArgiForm? Robert Olslang?” Ed asked, drawing on his preparation work to identify the man.

“That’s the fellow,” Milton glared at him over the top of his glass. “Claims he’s working to improve crop yield, but he’s mostly been skimming off the top of his company’s income. I can’t stand men like him, cheating his own company and employees. The shareholders are going to catch on, then there will be hell to pay.”

And so the evening went; Milton praising some, condemning others, with a rare word from Devon now and then. Still no appearance from Prince Jhon. Ed learned a great deal about the business connections of the Merchant Prince and his friend’s families, information that wasn’t public knowledge. He tucked it all away. After all, this sort of information could prove valuable to the right people at the right time.

Elias and the other winners were summoned to the low stage built for the ceremony. Ed and the rest followed, falling in behind Elias and his racing crew.

The stage abutted the Palace. At the back of the stage, the Palace’s ornate gold and jewel-trimmed doors stood closed. The stage floor had been covered with a thick red carpet. A scattering of decor—large potted plants, vases, holographic statues—dotted the stage in artfully arranged patterns.

Each winner and entourage had their own area on the stage. A number of smartly-dressed servants helped herd everyone over to their spots and arrange who stood where to achieve the proper visual balance. Winners, then shorter to taller, grouped by clothing color.

Ed found himself in the back and on the outside edge next to the third-place entourage, which was fine by him. He sipped a mildly spirited drink as he studied everyone around him. It took him a long time to get to this point; he wasn’t going to blow it by being blindsided or overly anxious. In some ways, he felt the same rush when he cracked a safe but hadn’t opened it yet. He wanted to prove to Lars that trusting him was the right choice.

Soundlessly, the ornate Palace doors swung open. A man dressed in a gray three-piece suit, carrying a long solid-gold staff strutted out into the light and onto the center of the stage. He tapped his staff three times on the floor, the noise echoing far louder than Ed expected.

“ANNOUNCING HIS ESTEEMED NEGOTIATOR, HIS WONDROUS TRADER, HIS SOVEREIGN RULER OF THE CRYSTAL PALACE, THE CEO OF CASTILLA, PRINCE JHON,” the herald bawled at the top of his lungs. Hidden microphones broadcasted everything said to the audiences.

The Prince entered with his bodyguards. Ed had never seen Merchant Prince Jhon in person. Sure, he had seen images of him, knew his stats, watched vids in the holotank, but never in person.

Jhon Castilla was of average height and build. His face was frank and honest—a characteristic Ed didn’t think would serve him well in his line of work—framed with a neatly trimmed Van Dyke goatee. His mild brown eyes swept the stage, taking everything in quickly. He nodded as if he was pleased. His suit was immaculate, a double-breasted dark blue with a pristine white handkerchief folded into a point in the correct pocket.

“Welcome, brave and resourceful pilots. Welcome, owners and pit crews. Welcome all!” His voice was calming and warm. Ed caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he turned his head enough to see one of the pit crew from the third-place winner pull out some sort of barreled weapon and aim it at Ed.

“For Legion!” the man yelled.

Ed reacted before he had time to think. He hurled his glass at the would-be assassin, ducked and lunged underneath the man’s guard. There was a loud pop as the compressed-air weapon went off, shooting some sort of spike that missed Ed by a mile. Ed exploded upward with an uppercut that had his full weight behind it. He caught the other man on the jaw and felt the blow connect true. His attacker crumpled into a heap.

The stage erupted in pandemonium. People were running around, screaming and yelling, all scrambling away from Ed and his attacker.

“For Legion!” someone else yelled.

The confusion increased.

The Merchant Prince’s bodyguards whisked him out of sight.

Then gunfire erupted from off stage. The Palace Guards were moving in and engaging with other Legion elements which were surging forth from the service entrances. Ed looked around, trying to decide how best to get out of there. Everything was in chaos, people were running, or screaming, or fighting, or all three at once. The Palace Guard was trying to restore some order but they were being overwhelmed. Ed couldn’t see any of his friends.

“There he is!” someone screamed, pointing at Ed. “Kill him!”

That forced his hand. With no other clear option, Ed sprinted toward the closed double doors leading into the Palace, trying to get ahead of a small knot of people running after him. No one seemed to be shooting at him; that was a point in his favor. In his haste, Ed didn’t know whether to pray to Lady Luck or the Christian God. If there was a Lady Fortune, surely she answered to the Almighty. Would it be like praying to a saint? Ed would have to talk to Father Justinian about that. The double doors were shut. Ed pounded on them. They opened a crack and he was yanked inside before they slammed shut again.

Ed blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the dimmer interior. There was someone pounding on the doors behind him, but he ignored it. Instead, he was focused on the man who had rescued him.

Devon Gorman was grinning his Cheshire grin.

“Hallo, Rod,” he said easily.

“Hallo, Devon,” Ed returned. “Great timing, old man!”

“The Merchant Prince asked me to see to your safety,” Devon replied casually.

Ed didn’t know what to think of that. “That’s very kind of him,” he responded.

“We haven’t much time,” Devon continued. “There’s been an uprising of sorts, and there’s some sort of bounty on your head.”

The pounding ceased.

“Sounds like things are quieting down,” Ed pointed out.

There was a muffled boom.

The doors rattled, then the wall around the door cracked into a spiderweb of fine lines. Dust floated down from the ceiling.

“Maybe we need to get moving?” Ed asked worriedly.

“We will. But I need to know why you are their target. Legion’s target. It would help if you dropped your act, too,” Devon responded calmly.

Ed sighed. The doors seemed to be holding for now. He closed his eyes and focused inward, undoing his mental construct of Rodrigo. He snapped them open, feeling refreshed.

“I suppose there is no need to keep up the charade any longer.” Ed scratched his chin. “I suppose Legion wants me because I was on Rho.”

Devon’s eyes widened. “You’re the Edward Greavely?” It was the most alert Ed had ever seen him.

“Just ‘Ed’ is fine.” Ed wasn’t too proud to admit being recognized like that felt good.

“That explains a lot. Including how you got inside the Crystal Palace and why our intel was so far off.”

The doors shuddered and groaned from something large smashing into them.

“While I’d love to hear more, could we hear it somewhere else?” Ed asked, moving away from the groaning doors.

“Come on, we’ll head to a safer area.”

Devon set off down the immaculate marble floors of the opulent hallway.

“I take it you work for the Prince?” Ed asked, as they passed priceless works of art on either side of them.

“Indeed, old man. I’m one of the many agents of the Merchant Prince. He relies on HUMINT as much as anything else. We’re always out in force during the races.” Devon stopped and looked at Ed. “I have to say, he’s not happy you’ve brought this mess into his house.”

Ed scoffed. “Believe me, I’m not any less happy than he. I was just trying to get a meeting with him.” He didn’t bother asking Devon what parts of his background were the truth and what was a lie. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Devon continued walking. Ed caught up.

“I need to get word to Supreme Commander Stockwell,” Ed said.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“Legion has forces here. The Prince isn’t working with them, is he?”

“You’ll have to ask him, but not as far as I know.”

“When did you suspect I wasn’t Rodrigo?”

“To be fair, I suspected all of you of being impostors. It’s what we do.”

“And there are agents everywhere?” Ed asked, wondering if Devon just got lucky.

“That would be telling.”

They walked along in silence for a while. Ed noted how resplendent everything looked. It smelled like vast wealth. His palms itched, just a little.

They reached a section where one side fell away and was replaced by a floor-to-ceiling window that looked away from the city of Astacus and onto the moon’s trackless wastes. From where they stood, Ed could see the slight curvature of the moon’s horizon and the bright stars above it. He could even make out the haze that marked the edge of the atmosphere.

“Here we are,” Devon said.

Ed turned away from the sights to look at the door Devon indicated. It looked like any of the other doors Ed had passed on their way here, an ivory door with gilded scrollwork around the inner edges of the panels.

Devon pressed his palm in the center and the door swung inward. He motioned for Ed to enter first with a slight bow. Ed went inside and froze. Devon squeezed around him.

“Good Lord,” he said breathlessly. “What happened?”

The room was large and full of various pieces of equipment and furniture. It looked like a center for people with important business that needed what a room full of equipment could provide. That wasn’t what had captured their attention. The dismembered bodies strewn around the room haphazardly did.

“You better call this in,” Ed said, trying not to gag on the stench.

“I shouldn’t have to. The alarm system should have gone off.”

There was noise from the back of the room.

One of the biggest men Ed had ever seen lumbered into the light.

He was tall, maybe six-foot-four, built like a gorilla, and clearly big into cyber body mods. His massive arms, almost cartoonishly large, were metal and plastic. His head, and Ed couldn’t believe he missed this at first glance, was a stylized death’s head with two glowing red LED eyes staring out of their slots. In his left he carried someone’s leg, torn off at the hip. The brute saw the two men by the door. He spat something all square sine-waves at them from where his mouth should have been.

“Run.”

Ed wasn’t sure which of them said it, but both men turned and fled, running as fast as they could.

“Weapons?” Ed called out as they raced down the hallway.

“Back… there,” wheezed Devon.

There was a crash as the monster burst through the door, not bothering to open it. He roared at the two fleeing men. He didn’t sound like he was offering a pleasantry. He started running after them, his over-sized arms swinging to keep his balance.

It was like being in a nightmare. Ed and Devon ran as fast as they could. The thing didn’t let up, but couldn’t gain much ground.

“Turn!” Devon gasped as they reached one of the few T-junctions along the hallway.

Ed didn’t hesitate, and slid into a hard right turn, scrambled to find purchase on the smooth marble floor, then took off. He was getting into a rhythm, arms pumping, legs churning, lungs working.

Devon looked ready to collapse when a squad of armed Palace guards burst into the hallway from a side door.

“Meneer!” shouted one of the men. “In here, we’ll hold him off for as long as we can!”

Devon swung into the open doorway without missing a beat, Ed hot on his heels.

“Fire!” they heard the Guards cry out behind them.

Ed could hear the retort of the firearms and the distorted bellows of the brute chasing them.

The room they were still running through must have been one of the many ballrooms in the Crystal Palace. Ed didn’t have a chance to appreciate the decor of the high-vaulted room before they entered into a servants’ corridor. It was lower but wider, and completely unadorned with white walls, white ceiling, and a scuffed blue tile floor.

Devon ducked into another room, much smaller than others they’d seen. He slammed the metal door shut as soon as Ed was inside, then bent over, gasping for air, as he rested his hands on his knees. The room looked like storage for all sorts of odds and ends, currently doing their best to collect dust.

“What was that?” Ed asked, still breathing hard.

“That…” Devon stopped to focus on regaining his breath. “That was a bruiser from one of the gangs, the Feral Jackals. They love their body mods. Most of them aren’t…” he stopped and took a long slow breath as he straightened up. “They are barely organic at this point. Normally, they keep away from the Palace. The real question is how did he get inside our security? It’s not like he slipped on a waiter’s uniform and slunk in. I’ve got to connect to my chain of command.”

“Why don’t you just use your comms?” Ed asked.

Devon shook his head. “The Palace is locked down now. Jammers are up and running all over. Only hardlines are working. It’s a double-edged sword, but usually I would be back at a node and connected to the rest of Intel.”

“Now?”

“Now, we need to reach the next node and let them know what happened.”

“Do you think the guards stopped him?” Ed asked a bit nervously.

“No. Too lightly armored.” Devon crossed himself. “The poor souls.” He sighed. “I just hope he’s lost our trail.”

Ed really wished he had a weapon. Or Lars. Preferably Lars.

“What we going to do now? We can’t hide out here forever.”

Devon seemed deflated for a second. Then he shook himself.

“Right, right. We’ll use the internal—“

The metal door shuddered as something large slammed into it. The metal began to deform under the onslaught.

Devon swore.

“Quick, follow me!” He ran over to the wall farthest from the buckling door. He tossed junk out of the way, felt along the wall until he pressed his hand against a section, and the wall quietly slid open wide enough for someone to pass through. “I hate these,” Devon muttered as he slipped inside.

Ed followed right at his heels. The wall slid shut with a faint click. It was pitch black. It smelled of thick dust. Ed blinked a few times to trigger his eye implants. He could just barely make out some details. They were in a rarely used service corridor. Thick bands of cables snaked along the floor. There were odd protrusions of pipes and junction boxes poking out from the walls at random intervals. It was barely wide enough to walk normally.

“Come on, if we get far enough away that ape can’t get to us,” Devon hissed at Ed as he twisted his shoulders to fit better and headed off into the darkness.

Ed sighed, coughed from the dust, and hurried after him. The bruiser was busy tossing things around and bellowing static in the room they had just left, but Ed didn’t want to wait to see how long that would amuse him.

After what seemed like forever, and a half dozen twists, Devon opened another panel and the two of them gratefully stumbled back into a more civilized part of the Palace. Ed blinked his eyes back to normal.

Devon did his best to wipe the dust off his clothes. “And I just had these cleaned for the ceremony.” He sighed resignedly. “Come on, we’re close to one of the armory depots.”

Sure enough, they rounded a corner to see a door with “ARMORY” hovering cheerfully over it.

Devon pressed his palm and the reinforced door slid aside.

“Take what you want,” Devon said as he waved at the racks. “I’m going to make a call from here.”

Ed gave a low whistle. This place was well-stocked. He passed over the fancier weapons, handguns, and rifles. Instead, he picked up a black automatic shotgun. He didn’t recognize the manufacturer, but the controls were standard. Thinking of Rho, he snagged two bandoliers of ammo, one marked “slugs,” the other “explosives,” and slung them over his shoulders. Ed stuck two boxes of each in his suit pockets; they bulged but the material held. He loaded the fifteen-round shotgun with slugs. He interfaced with the shotgun and had a slick targeting overlay pop up in his field of vision.

Devon replaced the headset on the stand. “Good news. Legion’s forces have been neutralized. Palace Security is already in mop up action now.”

“Oh. Should I put this back?” Ed hefted the shotgun.

“Er, no. There’s still a danger since they explicitly called for your head. And that bruiser is still running around. But come on, we’re close to an intel node.”

Devon cycled through the exterior vidcams to confirm the way was clear. He picked up a rifle, confirmed it was loaded, slung it over his shoulder, then pulled a handgun off a shelf. He stuck a couple of magazines of each in his pockets as well.

“Let’s go.”

They cautiously exited the armory and walked into a new sector of the Palace. The design tone changed to something more open and plush, with sunken lounges holding scattered chairs and couches and sweeping views of the moonscape from the giant crystal windows. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting warm light. Greenery abounded, from simple potted plants to whole walls dedicated to flora. Tasteful receptionist desks showed up with regularity, empty of even holographic agents. The only thing off-putting was the lack of people as they walked along silently on plush carpets.

“Guest rec centers and spas,” Devon explained. “One of many. The Palace rotates their usage, deep cleans the unused ones, and remodels after a dozen cycles. Keeps things looking fresh.”

Ed found Devon’s changed demeanor intriguing. Gone was the languid attitude, instead, Devon was focused and in the moment.

Ed wasn’t sure if he didn’t like the old version better. The new Devon was certainly useful, so there was that.

“Did you just get lucky being in our group?” Ed asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to break the silence. It was starting to get eerie.

Devon nodded. “The Prince embeds a lot of his agents all over, with some discretion on the agent’s part. I had known Milton for years and recently made acquaintances with Elias. My original assignment had me going to a group I didn’t have any previous connections with, but it didn’t feel right to me. I requested to be reassigned, which was granted.” He grinned at Ed. “I got lucky with you coming in.”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t know how lucky it is to be on the run from that modded nutcase.”

Devon just kept grinning.

They exited the guest area and turned down another hallway, this one wide enough to march a dozen men abreast on the marble floor. Sconces dotted the hallway, cheerily lighting up the place. The artwork was standard opulent resort fare, landscapes and still lifes being the primary subjects.

Up ahead, Ed could see two Palace Guardsmen flanking a door. These guards were in full uniformed battlesuits and holding aggressive-looking rifles. The black and yellow coloring made Ed think of wasps. Really grumpy wasps.

“Halt!” one called out as they approached, pointing the business end of their rifles at them. Devon and Ed stopped a good twenty yards away.

“Devon Gorman, Palace Intel agent,” Devon called out. “Clearance code: Delta-Zorro-Oh-Niner-Oh-Two.”

“Sorry, meneer, we are in full lockdown. You’ll have to get your supervisor to confirm,” the guard shouted back.

“I can’t reach him until I get to a node. The node you are guarding, in fact.” Devon didn’t sound upset but Ed could tell he wasn’t thrilled with how things were going.

“Again, sorry, meneer.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Devon finally snapped. “Fine, can you reach your supervisor and have him talk to mine?”

The guards looked at each other. The other gave a small shrug.

“Okay, give me a minute to connect.” The guard didn’t lower his weapon.

There was a commotion behind Ed.

Ed’s reflexes and paranoia were what saved him and Devon. Without waiting to see what was coming, he spun to the door next to them, shot a slug through the lock, and partially dragged Devon inside. Another room for small conferences. No way out but the door they came in. He eased up to the doorframe and peeked around the edge.

Suddenly, the hallway was filled with what Ed could only describe as a gang big on body mods. He assumed they were the Feral Jackals. He didn’t see the bruiser, but that didn’t mean anything. There were a dozen howling and barking thugs, running full tilt at them, brandishing a wide assortment of weapons and firing wildly.

The Palace Guards were returning fire, their precise aim forcing the pack to scatter. A few Jackals dropped and never stood up. The rest soaked up the rounds and kept running toward the guards. A few stray bullets bounced off the Palace Guards’ armor.

Ed was hoping the Jackals would stay focused on the guards. Someone noticed the opened door, shouted, and a cluster of Jackals peeled off and ran toward it.

“Company!” Ed shouted to Devon.

Devon stood to the side of the door, readied his handgun, and motioned for Ed to move away. Ed nodded and backed up several strides before dropping to one knee. He raised the shotgun, nestling the stock against his right shoulder, and aimed at the doorway.

There was confusion in the doorway as the Jackals started coming through.

Ed shot the first Jackal in the center of his chest, punching a hole clear through. The recoil was as soft and gentle as an angry mule’s kick, jerking the shotgun up and almost dislodging Ed’s shoulder.

Devon fired a round into the head of the next, dropping him on top of the first.

Ed snapped the shotgun back in position to fire again, ignoring the throbbing in his arm. This time, the slug wasn’t enough to punch through the armor and the Jackal kept moving. Ed yanked the shotgun down and at the man’s head, firing another slug right into his modded face under a bright orange mohawk. The now-headless body stumbled to stop in front of Ed before collapsing on the floor.

Then the Jackals were in the room.

Ed fought for his life, scrambling to keep out of reach of the Jackals, jumping on top of the conference table to avoid grasping hands, and pumping rounds into one whenever he could. Devon had switched to his bullpup rifle for the faster firing rate. Ed could hear the bursts as the muzzle flashes lit the room in a lurid and surreal display. A few Jackals were firing at them but couldn’t seem to hit the broadside of a barn. Rounds struck around them without actually hitting either man. The Jackals also started slowing down and struggling to walk in a straight line, staggering around as if the room was listing back and forth. Still, they were relentless, barking and howling in a blood-lust fury as they threw everything they had at Ed and Devon.

The shotgun ran dry. Ed didn’t have time to reload. Instead, he used the butt as a club, trying to hit anything close to him. The hard material crunched into flesh and metal of the Jackals as Ed swung with all his might.

The last Jackal dropped in a spray of blood and oil from Devon’s last burst.

The two men stood panting amid their fallen enemies, somehow intact but for minor cuts, abrasions, and bruises.

“God is good,” Devon wheezed, crossing himself.

Ed nodded. Luck didn’t begin to cover it. They should have been dead. He reloaded his shotgun with slugs. The explosives would have been too much in close quarters. His ears were ringing still from the gunfire. He yawned a few times to get them back to normal.

Ed and Devon exited the room cautiously. The hallway fight was over. The Jackals lay dead or dying. A full squad of eight heavily armed and armored Palace Guardsmen were moving through the downed Jackals, performing triage on the dead and the injured. The living were attended to by a small medical team, then handcuffed and restrained. The dead were being laid out well away from their comrades. A specialist worked on the bodies, disabling any cybernetic mods.

“Meneer, the area is secured.” The same guard they spoke to earlier reported to Devon. “Sorry we couldn’t lend a hand earlier.”

Devon gave a curt nod. “Understood. About our clearance?”

“All clear. Again, sorry about all that, meneer.”

Devon and Ed headed to the door, avoiding the blood and debris as best they could. Devon stopped before entering and turned to the nearest guard. “A bruiser isn’t here. He’s been tracking us somehow. Keep alert.” He looked at the rest of the guards. “I hope this is enough.”

And with that, he and Ed entered the node.

The room was different from others Ed had been in. Maybe the first node had been like this before the bruiser attacked. Ed couldn’t say; he didn’t get a good look before they were running for their lives.

The room was large, holding several holotanks, each one filled with different aspects and floor plans of the Crystal Palace, many with green triangles moving around on different levels. There were red circles slowly being overwhelmed by the green.

Clusters of men and women were discussing what they saw in the tanks. More were working the comms, manually handling calls from their sector of the Palace, creating a low buzz as they fielded questions and requests. People shouted to each other for updates. There were a half dozen Palace Guards in full battlesuits positioned around the edges of the room. It was organized chaos.

One of the agents saw Devon and Ed enter. She ran up, waving.

“Agent Devon! Thank God you made it here!” she said rather breathlessly in a pleasant accent.

Ed couldn’t help but notice the shorter girl was at least in her mid-twenties, long dark brown hair to match her brown eyes, business skirt and blouse, and sported a nice tan. Well, as nice as it could look in the harsh lighting of the room.

“Agent Beatriz.” Devon greeted her with a half-smile. “Fill me in on the SITREP on the Jackals.”

“It’s more than just the Jackals, but no can do, Devon. Boss said you needed to report to the Prince himself as soon as you got in.” She shook her head in amazement. “We watched you and your friend fight off the Jackals. A dozen of us wanted to help out but the Guard told us to stand down.” She looked at Ed with narrowed eyes. “Look, I don’t care if you were the Borderland Bandit himself, you had bett—”

“It’s fine, Beatriz,” Devon interrupted, laughing. “Ed has proven himself to be a fine drinking fellow. Handy in a small scrape, too.” He was grinning so wide Ed thought it’d reach his ears. “Ed, would you be so kind as to wait over there,” he nodded toward a little kitchenette, “while I go take care of a few things?”

“Of course,” Ed flashed his best charming smile at Beatriz. She scowled. “Come along, I’ll show you how to work the coffee maker. There’s a table and some chairs. We’ll wait there.”

“That would be absolutely splendid, Agent!” Ed said cheerily. He made a mental note to ask who the Borderland Bandit was.

Twenty minutes later, after Ed had finished a surprisingly good cup of coffee and surprisingly average Danish, Devon was back. He wasn’t smiling.

“Spill it, old bean!” Ed exclaimed, not liking the change in mood.

“The Prince is demanding to meet you. In person. In the Executive Suites.” Devon shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. Beatriz sucked in her breath. She crossed herself.

“What’s going on?” Ed asked slowly.

“People aren’t asked to see the Merchant Prince unless something has gone terribly wrong,” Devon explained with sympathy in his voice.

“Usually,” Beatriz added, not unkindly.

Ed shrugged. “Well, if that’s all, then I really should be on my way.”

Devon shook his head. “The Prince is sending an attachment of his personal bodyguards. We’ll wait here until they arrive.”

Ed shrugged again. “Fine by me.”

“Until then, I was authorized to fill you in on what’s been happening.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Devon sat down next to Ed. “It was a coordinated attack.” He grabbed the shakers and a few other things on the table. “For starters, there was a small but well-organized internal attack.” He placed the salt shaker down. “Our Expert Systems had pegged a dozen problems, this was one of the highest probability, but Intel couldn’t get a bead on the leaders. Once they revealed themselves, we and the Palace Guard rolled them up pretty quickly. That was just the start.” He moved the creamer next to the salt. “In the confusion, several entryways, normally sealed during the races, were opened.” Devon pushed the pepper, napkin holder, ketchup, and hot sauce past the salt. “A number of gangs from Astacus were let loose inside the Palace, the Feral Jackals made it in farther than most.”

Beatriz nodded. “That bruiser had run into a couple of junior agents. Unfortunately, they led him straight to their node. No one was prepared enough for that sort of onslaught.”

“Ah, that’s why you have the Guard here now?” Ed asked.

“That’s right. We’re doubling their presence at all the nodes.”

“How are the other guests?” Ed asked, worried about Elias and Milton. He hadn’t had the time to even think about the others in their little group.

“That’s one bit of good news, aside from the attack at the ceremony, no other guests have come under fire. The gangs have been pushing into the Palace where it’s the least populated. Milton and Elias are fine.”

“Don’t you people have resources to sniff this sort of thing out before it happens?”

“Indeed, we do. Palace Intel is a large organization, but still somehow this mess slipped through the cracks. None of our informants reported anything. The uptick in chatter was consistent with what we see for the races anyway. Someone well-experienced in this sort of operation planned it.”

“Who?” Ed asked, suspecting the answer.

Devon shook his head and leaned back. “We don’t know. Captured gang members all have the same story—they got an info dump with the time and location and a lot of money. If anyone knows, they aren’t telling us.”

Ed sighed. “I know. It was Legion.”

“Oh, without a doubt, but they had to work through human agents for this. Someone is bankrolling it all. Someone planned it.”

“And you had no idea this was going to happen?”

“Not to this extent. Intel suspected something, we had a number of probable scenarios in play, that’s one reason we concocted the VR break-in story, gave us cover to limit communications. I hope that slowed them down. At least they didn’t get you, old man!”

“Small favors and all that.”

Beatriz had been silent as Devon explained. She spoke up. “Why do they want you, anyway?”

“I was on Rho and managed to anger Legion,” Ed said, nonchalantly.

“But to go to such lengths?”

“Hmm, are you suggesting something other than myself holds more importance to Legion?” Ed asked with mock surprise. “If anything, I’d venture they want to hurt Lars as much as they can, however they can. He really angered Legion. Taking me out would be killing two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.”

“So it’s all true? Everything they’ve been saying on the news?” Beatriz asked with a tinge of skepticism.

“Yes,” Ed responded without hesitation.

Beatriz and Devon exchanged glances.

The hallway door opened. A nondescript man stepped inside the room.

“Ed Greavely?”

Ed raised his hand.

“Would you come this way? Prince Jhon would like to have a word. You won’t be needing any weapons.”

Devon stuck out a hand “It was a pleasure knowing you, old bean. Take care.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Ed said sincerely as he shook his hand. He smiled and winked at Beatriz as he got up and followed the waiting man.

A team of cleaners in white full-body jumpsuits and masks was finishing up in the hallway. The industrial cleaning bots they were using had cleared the area of the mess left by the Palace Guard. If Ed hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him how it looked before.

He didn’t have time to admire the restoration work for long. A team of large, heavyset men surrounded him—two behind, one on each side, and one in front. Ed found it curious that he couldn’t see details about their faces. Every time he tried to look directly at a face, his eyes slid past. Shrugging, he matched their stride.

The lead bodyguard stopped in front of a blank wall, well past the node they had just left. The wall slid open, revealing an elevator. Ed was whisked into the sleek, sterile interior without a word. He was starting to feel like baggage and didn’t like it one bit. On the run with Devon had been at least interesting.

There were no controls or even a floor readout inside. The elevator made a low hum and Ed’s ears popped. After a few seconds, Ed felt the elevator shift and move laterally for a moment before ascending again.

The elevator stopped.

“This way, sir.”

Ed was marched out past the doors and into starlight.

The Executive Suites were at the top of one of the Palace’s spires. The high-vaulted ceiling let starlight pour in from resplendent crystal windows. Ed was marched past doors with signs that bore titles like “Vice President of Sales” and “Most Highly Acclaimed Peer of Market Prognosis”. All the doors were shut and held an air of aloof disdain.

At the end of the long hall was an enormous door, easily twenty feet high, with the letters “C.E.O.” carved into the surface. A large gong was just outside of the door, hanging from timber that looked old enough to have been on the first spacecraft to Eta Cancri.

The lead bodyguard took the mallet next to the golden gong and struck it three times with a measured beat between each strike.

Before the sound had faded away, the imposing door rumbled and began to open slowly.

Ed appreciated the theatrics. It all had a certain splash of style he found charming, although he could see how it could also be intimidating. Especially if you were on the Prince’s payroll.

The door finally finished opening and Ed entered, head held high, a slight smile on his lips.

The office, as he expected, was enormous. Ed couldn’t tell how big. The lighting was kept low, making it hard to see the walls off in the distance, or even gauge just how far away they were. The space felt endless.

What dominated the room were two things.

A large, semi-circular desk of marble and crystal that sat where what Ed thought was the center of the room.

The second was the high-vaulted ceiling.

Ed had seen many a grand thing in his lifetime, but this struck him as being especially stunning. Great steel girders, like the rib cage of some fantastical beast, gilded and shaped into plant-like branches and fronds, held aloft a transparent crystal ceiling that opened up into the dark sky. The curve of the planet Nicomedia, resplendent in blues, whites, yellows, and greens, claimed a quarter of the ceiling. The sun was muted in the opposite corner. In between was dominated by a thick scattering of stars, brilliant and hard in the inky black. The more he looked, the more Ed felt like he was among them, floating millions of miles out in the Deep.

“‘Realities far more beautiful and pleasing’,” Ed breathed to himself. Is this what Augustine meant? Maybe something even more?

His escorts walked him across a plush carpet, their footsteps silent as they crossed the distance to the desk.

The Merchant Prince Jhon Castilla stood up to great his guest. He had traded his dark blue suit for a soft gray pinstripe that left his collar open.

“Please, sit,” the Prince motioned to a well-upholstered chair.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Ed said as he sat down.

“So. I am afraid I have to cut to the chase and set the normal pleasantries and formalities aside. Extenuating circumstances in which you’re intimately involved.”

Ed nodded.

“So. First, so there are no misconceptions, I know who you are, Ed Greavely. Why would Supreme Commander Lars Stockwell send a man so abhorrent and so opposed to my entire philosophy? Why would he send such a man instead of making a simple call himself? How could he possibly imagine that such a man would be fit to pass even the slightest iota of judgment upon my comportment and dealings?” Castilla demanded as he fixed Ed with his intense stare. He didn’t raise his voice, but each word he drove home with all the force of a skilled carpenter driving nails into wood.

Ed was taken aback. Of all the possible conversations, he hadn’t consider something like this.

“Well, I…” Ed started to say.

“How could such a man begin to ascertain if a soul had even been compromised without the more dramatic outward changes Legion likes to flaunt? Surely they have more than one trick up their collective sleeves?” Again, the Merchant Prince’s measured tone hammered relentlessly.

“Now, that’s not quite—”

“How would a man whose entirety of his existence has been centered around deluding then robbing others have any sort of sensitivity toward the subtleties of someone who has done the complete opposite? A lifetime of being frank and honest to find common ground and compromise to the satisfaction of all parties involved, leaving all feeling like they walked away with the better part of the deal?”

“Okay, listen, while it’s tru—” Ed started to get heated under the Prince’s barrage. He was on his back foot and had no ready defense.

“By what lights can you judge? What moral writ can a follower of Lady Fortune deploy in seeking the condition of another’s soul? How do I know you haven’t been compromised by Legion at this point? Wouldn’t it then make more sense for me to judge you?”

“That’s a fair que—”

“So. I deem it more than reasonable to determine if you do, in fact, posses the necessary qualifications to pass any meaningful judgment on me—your assignment from Supreme Commander Stockwell notwithstanding.”

“Hold on,” Ed said forcefully. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation. I’ve been commanded by the Supreme Commander of the Coalition to examine your dealings and ascertain if you have any involvement with Legion. My past, far from being a liability, instead has conditioned me ideally for this task. This isn’t a question of souls and whether I can determine if you need to confess to a priest or anything of the sort.”

“Isn’t it, though? Legion is evil, devils from Hell. Wouldn’t contact with them necessitate some sort of divine cleansing? And how would you see it? I’m not palming dice or fixing races here.”

Ed drew himself up to his full height and then realized why he was asked to sit while the other man remained standing. It was not as easy to look imposing when you are still well below the other’s line of sight. Still, he plunged on. “I don’t know what sort of riffraff you take me for, but those are not—”

“But they are things you’ve done.”

“Not things I do. Anymore.” Ed continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “The followers of Lady Fortune never stick to one type of job for long.”

“Oh, that’s true enough, you all jump to the next swindle faster than fleas jumping from a dying dog.”

“We perform a much needed service!”

“Oho? And what would that be?”

“‘A fool and his money are soon parted’ We are the natural embodiment of that law,” Ed said with as much dignity that he could muster.

“More like natural parasites,” the Prince rejoined.

“Like the Merchant Princes are without blemish or dirty deeds!”

“This isn’t a symposium on the imperfections of mankind and how individuals fail to live up to their own ideals. We are trying to determine by what lights you can possibly judge me. What proof can you possibly offer to prove you are not in league with Legion? It can’t be your long list of crimes and misdemeanors.”

“Oh, this is futile! If you won’t accept that I’m on assignment from Lars—”

“This isn’t about worldly power, or aren’t you paying attention? This is beyond crass materialism.”

Ed slumped a little in his chair. What this man was asking from him was impossible. Never in his life had he been so thoroughly thwarted like this. Turning on the charm wouldn’t work here. He couldn’t see a way to escape with any dignity. He didn’t know what he could say to the Prince that would begin to mollify him, much less convince him.

“Surely Commander Stockwell wouldn’t have sent you without any sort of preparation?”

Then it dawned on Ed. That loud monk had been doing just that. He had been exposed to new ideas, ideas about Christianity and what it meant to be Christian. And now, here he was, at a crossroads unlike anything else he’d ever experienced. He closed his eyes, focused internally, and really reached into his memory and soul. If he were to have a chance here, he had to be fully truthful to the Prince and himself.

“It seems to me,” Ed started out slowly, trying to marshal his thoughts and connect what he knew. “It seems to me that I utterly lack any sort of qualifications that would even attempt to persuade you.” He looked down at his hands, palms placed on his pants, struggling to come to grips with his life. “I’ve spent my life fully committed to satisfying my own greed. Oh, I excused my behavior; orphan all alone in the world, taking what he needs from those that wouldn’t go hungry for the lack of something, finding a gang that accepted me, and so on and so on. And that was mostly true, at first, and not an outright lie. But over time things escalated. I escalated. I still didn’t take from those who would suffer without but I still took even though I didn’t need to.” Ed looked up at the other man who had been patiently, if intently, watching him. “Aside from my commission given to me by Lars, I have no other moral standing.” Ed was going to leave things there but a sudden flash of inspiration struck, some of the things the monk had asked him to read clicked into place. “But you are Christian, and there is a question I can ask you: do you confess that Christ is Lord and God raised him from the dead?”

Merchant Prince Jhon Castilla blinked, taken aback for a second. But despite his confusion, he didn’t hesitate in answering. “Yes, Christ is Lord and God raised him from the dead. So say the Holy Scriptures and all the Saints, so say I.” He then smiled. “Fair enough. We know the Devil himself can quote scripture for his own ends, but I doubt Legion would want to get anyone to confess that for any reason. I am satisfied.” He walked around his desk and tapped something on the console. There was a brief pause.

“Lars here. I take it you two have had a chat?” The commander’s voice boomed even in the large room.

“We have, Lars. We are on a secure line. Your representative has been a busy fellow. But I believe he has a report for you.”

“Ed, who asked you to do something you never considered in the middle of the race?”

“Iskandar,” Ed responded immediately.

The Prince raised an eyebrow.

“Iskandar, is Ed under duress?”

“No,” said the AI over the line. “He is sitting in front Castilla in his office without any signs of coercion.”

The Prince raised his other eyebrow.

“Proceed, Ed.”

Ed glanced at Castilla who seemed attentive but unconcerned.

“Lars, he confessed to faith in Christ.”

“Oh? And what about you? Did you?”

Ed let out a harsh, short laugh. Of all the times to ask something like that. “No.”

Lars grunted.

Ed couldn’t tell if he was displeased or just acknowledging what Ed said.

“Jhon, I apologize for my methods and sending someone to clandestinely root around in your affairs.”

“Understood, Lars. These aren’t usual times. So. We have that settled, but I do have one other matter I wish to discuss.”

“Yes, I know. Iskandar has filled me in. I’ve dispatched two companies, A and B, from the Twelfth Battalion. Forward scouts are already securing the perimeter. If you give permission we’ll set up comms with the chain-of-command for us and your team and begin operations.”

“Given.” The Prince tapped something else on his console. “Communications established with my majordomo and head of security.”

“Thank you. Sit tight, keep your powder dry. Lars out.”

The tension Ed didn’t even know he was holding drained from him.

“So. Drink?”

“Please.”