“Ah,” Jan said, as he suddenly felt a whole lot better about not going out an airlock. “I am that.”
“In short, it takes a thief to catch a thief, and Bharat claims you’re one of the best thieves in the business.”
“Smuggler.” Jan nodded. “But yes.”
“And all of this leads me to wonder why the best thief—”
“Smuggler,” Jan corrected.
“—ended up rotting in Tantalus prison,” Tarack continued, “instead of whoring it up on a beach at Valor’s Squall.”
“Whoring is overrated.” Jan allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Also, beaches.” He leaned forward. “What stolen item would you like me to recover, Senator Tarack?”
Tarack frowned. “That’s your first question? Not what I’ll be paying you, or who stole it, or where we think it is now?”
“If you knew where your item was now, you would not have arranged this meeting with me. As to payment, Bharat and I discussed that. Given I am now in your employ ... happily, I might add ... I will not be tossed out an airlock.”
Bharat didn’t move from his place beside the door.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Tarack said. “If you’re so good at this, how’d you get caught?”
Jan pushed aside an unwelcome image of Fatima’s wide, dark eyes. “My poor choice in business associates.”
“And that’s supposed to reassure me?”
Jan shrugged. “Even a man as charming and intelligent as I can, in unlucky circumstances, be brought low by traitorous partners who lack both judgment and moral character.”
Tarack snorted. “You are arrogant.”
Jan simply inclined his head as a taunting and impossibly appealing possibility slipped inside his mind. “As for who stole your item, would you allow me to hazard a guess?”
He saw Fatima as clearly as when she’d betrayed him to the authorities: the small yet perfect line above her lips, the curls of dyed platinum-blond hair blowing in the wind, her haunted gaze as he glared daggers and walked away in cuffs. He’d dreamed about catching up with her every day since she’d sent him to orbit, but now ... was this even possible?
Tarack glanced at Bharat, then returned her gaze to Jan. “Sure. Impress me.”
“The thief who stole your item is the Golden Widow, yes?”
Tarack’s audible intake of breath would have been more than enough to confirm his suspicions, though her wide and now murderous eyes helped. “How the fuck do you know that?” Tarack’s eyes narrowed noticeably. “Are you working with her?”
The rush of dopamine flooding Jan’s silently cheering brain was tempered by Senator Tarack’s ire. One of Bharat’s hands went to the holstered needle pistol on his hip, but his gaze remained on his employer, not Jan. Interesting. Very interesting.
Jan ignored the butterflies in his stomach, the chance that all he wanted could be snatched away again, and spoke quietly, keeping his expression as pleasant as if they were enjoying tea. “I am simply piecing together all available facts.”
“What facts?”
“Purchasing a prisoner of my caliber from Tantalus prison cannot have come cheap, and even a senator of your obvious means would not have done so without a very specific purpose in mind.”
Tarack gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sabato. When a space station filled with violent criminals is always a week from flying apart in orbit, a reasonable donation goes a long way.”
“My obvious value aside,” Jan continued, “my partnership with the Golden Widow was well known. If one wronged by her wished to ensnare her, and one was either unaware of the identities of her current associates or unable to locate them, one’s next logical step would be to interrogate the only remaining associate who could be easily obtained. Providing one had the financial means to purchase them from prison, of course.”
Tarack released the table and sat back, frown incrementally less murderous. “So you’re not hopeless.” She glanced at Bharat. “You win this one. I expect I’ll earn it back.”
Jan glanced between Tarack and Bharat. “I am responsible for you losing a bet?”
Tarack scowled. “I’ve spent more on bedsheets.”
“Generously threaded, I assume.” Jan missed real beds. “Now, to business. What did the Golden Widow steal from you?”
A glowing projection of a sandwich-sized data disc snapped into view on the table between them. As with the door, Tarack and Bharat must be controlling the ship’s components using their Personal Brain Assistants, or PBAs: brain-mounted computers that offered wireless control of any number of devices and access to simulations that seemed more real than reality itself.
This was what Jan had heard, of course. He’d never been willing to install a PBA himself. As a person who made much of his living hacking into computer systems, he knew better than to shove a hackable computer inside his brain.
“How long will it take you to get this back?” Tarack asked, pointing at her holographic projection.
Jan regarded the rectangular disc. “If you will forgive me, Senator, I had twenty such data discs stashed inside my yacht before it, er, exploded. I may need a bit ... more?”
“You won’t, actually.” Tarack swiped two fingers against the projection and spun it around, showing the back side of the disc. “Take a good look.”
Jan leaned in and spotted something unusual on the disc’s undercarriage: a blue square about the size of an eyepatch. He’d seen it before only in pictures. He whistled and sat back.
“Impressed?” Tarack might be gloating a bit. “Do you even know what you’re looking at?”
“I have never actually seen a data disc with a quantum crux drive.” Jan agreed to be impressed. “That drive is worth about the same price as this ship, isn’t it?”
Tarack smiled like
