“You’ve always been a point of interest, given the circumstances of your birth. And then what happened to your mother… a shame.”
Far’s reflection shimmered back at him: opal shades and anger. Shame. He hated that word, never understood why people used it in the wake of tragedies. To him, it always sounded like surrender.
“Your Sim performances have always been superb. Today’s notwithstanding.” The man drew closer until his reflection appeared in the hologram plate as well. “You fear nothing that’s inconsequent. You aren’t overly stiff, nor are you reckless. Your judgment calls are bold but clean. Risk done right. The potential, the talent, the fearlessness, the drive… all of my requirements are there. Now, thanks to a flirtatious Tier Three queen, we can both have what we want. You need a time machine, and I need a captain. You’ve got the drive and the talent. I’ve got the ship and the fuel.”
“Captain?” Far’s mouth went dry at the word, cracked with the possibilities of it. His heartbeat oozed through these gaps.
“I need someone of skill to go back in time and—acquire—certain items for me. I’ll give you and your crew five percent of the cut, as well as appropriate amounts of fuel and use of the TM.”
The black market trade of past-snatched luxuries wasn’t so much a secret as a conveniently ignored fact. Central’s upper crust was attached to such creature comforts: Vintage wines, artisan cheeses, coffee, and fresh flowers could all be found floating around the mansions of the Palisades. According to Imogen’s shop gossip, even senators were in on the indulgence, which was why no formal raid had ever been made by the government. What did history’s integrity matter if there was nonsynthetic chocolate for the tasting?
Never mind a single wink. Hashing hypocrites.
“Were you the one who corrupted my exam Sim?” Because Far was as sure as shazm that someone had, and he couldn’t imagine that a mogul whose operation was twenty types of illegal would have qualms about cracking the Corps’ computer systems.
“When it comes to your Sim, I was a mere observer.” It was a cool response, chill over the shoulder. “The queen’s attentions were a stroke of luck.”
Far turned to face the man. “I don’t believe in luck.”
“Then I’m doubly fortunate.” The black marketer’s grin was as wan as the rest of him, crowded with canines. “A man who doesn’t believe in luck works twice as hard. If someone did sabotage your Sim, you should be thanking them. Souls like yours were never meant for Corps work. Did you really want to spend your life picking flowers for the Central Board of Agricultural Rehabilitation? Filming parties and battles for perpetually discontented datastream addicts? No, Farway McCarthy. You would have choked to death on the Corps’ protocol. Wearing their uniform would have been its own prison.”
These words struck a chord. The Corps had only ever been a means to an end. The end itself remained: a time machine at Far’s back, centuries for the seizing, the Ab Aeterno waiting to be found sometime among them. As tempting as it was to go full-on Pavlovian—drool on the warehouse floor, et cetera—Far knew dreams weren’t handed over without a price.
“So making wine runs as your bootlegger errand boy is a life of free-range fun by comparison?”
“I have more than enough couriers.” The man nodded at the other three TMs. “What I need is a thief. History is brimming with lost treasures. The Fabergé eggs. Art sacked and burned by the Nazis. Blackbeard’s hoard of gold. Things that will never be missed or noticed by the Corps. Things you’re going to help me obtain.”
“You want me to plunder time for you.” Far let the thought sit a moment. It was more exciting than loading up crates of cheese wheels. Riskier, too. “Aren’t you afraid that I’ll slip up and screw over history as we know it?”
“The universe always has a way of righting itself, Mr. McCarthy. Course correction. God’s will. Karma. Fate. Call it what you will. Things tend to balance themselves out.” The man’s eyes never left Far as he said all this. Crux! Did the man ever blink? Was it possible he was a droid? Though most droids had eyelids…
“Speaking of balance. Seems a bit unfair you know so much about me and I don’t even know your name.”
“Lux Julio,” the man said. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Plenty.” Far looked around the warehouse. It was a warren of a place, walls riddled with tunnels. Exits, exits, everywhere, and while some of them were large enough to accommodate magcart tracks, none were suited for a time machine’s girth. “How do you get the TMs in and out?”
Lux pointed past the lights, where the cavern vaulted with cathedral-esque aerobatics. “This ceiling wasn’t always made of earth. My ships leave the anchor date—our present—by jumping to June 2155, a time when the Tiber’s riverbed carved through here. From there they fly to their physical destination, and jump to whatever year is necessary. The return trip is the same.”
“Four jumps for one load of cargo?” Far whistled. “That’s a hash ton of fuel.”
“Discretion has its costs,” Lux said. “This isn’t a job for the faint of heart. Should you agree to my terms, I expect results. Failure to deliver my cargo will lead to… unpleasantness.”
Ah. Now they were getting into the nitty-gritty—sell your soul for silver coins, Doctor Faustus territory. “Care to elaborate?”
“The items I’m sending you after are one-of-a-kind. Irreplaceable. My buyers are willing to put down millions of credits. It’s my opinion that the forfeit should be equivalent to the loss. Say you return with a partially burnt Van Gogh. I’d be inclined to fire you, but not before I wiped your palmdrive and blacklisted your name for every future employer. Cross me and I can end your dreams, your freedom, your life.”
“You sure know how to pitch yourself,” Far said, making a mental note to never, ever flip off Lux Julio.
“You’re still free to walk away, though here’s what will happen if you do. Once I dope you up with Nepenthe, you’ll wake up with no memory of this meeting, an empty ache inside your chest. Datastreams will torment you. You’ll watch your licensed friends grow decades older in the span of days, living the life of adventure you were destined for. The despair will eat you alive until all you can think about is how to end it.” The words alone were terrifying, but the way they left Lux’s lips made them darker still. Ruthless truth, said with a smile no droid programmer would ever authorize. “Work for me, and time is yours for the taking.”
A second chance. And Far’s last.
For the taking.
He wasn’t quite snatching yet.