“You’re right,” he said. “It was a busy day. I like busy. Need more of it.”

  He walked inside the stone building where we made a poor semblance of a home – bedding, kiosk, liquor – and laid on a mattress he damn near never used. Moon stared at the ceiling while he smoked. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and chugged as I paced.

  “For a fella who killed hundreds of folks then got laid as a reward, you strike me as overly contemplative and minimally fulfilled. Out with it, partner. What’s stuck in your craw?”

  “I don’t know where to begin, Royal.”

  “What say we start with your first sexual venture in nigh on two thousand years. How did it go?”

  His indignant stare said I need not have asked.

  “It’s been forever, Royal, but I never forgot how. I started slow because I wasn’t sure what she’d accept.”

  “Consideration of her needs. Commendable.”

  “Then I went for the old favorites. I was brilliant. In some ways, it was like no time passed since the last one.”

  Used to be, Moon celebrated his sexual triumphs like a beast untamed, geared up for the next conquest. He wanted more and demanded better from himself. In his mind, no one – myself included – matched his repertoire. Judging from his reputation at the time, I never disputed the claim.

  “What’s missing?” I asked.

  “I did everything right. She praised me, like the others did long ago. But this time, it didn’t feel earned.”

  “Why? Because it required payment?”

  “No. I can’t explain it.”

  “Perhaps her skills weren’t up to par, or she lacked passion. You always preferred the ones who took the most chances.”

  “No. She was a pro. She was creative.”

  “Maybe your sensitivity receptors were turned down too low.”

  He blow out smoke rings and watched them hover.

  “I set my nerve impulses to the highest pleasure level.”

  Huh. I didn’t care for the sound of that. I had long banked on Moon’s return to sexual mastery as critical to his full recovery. As a killer, he was unrivaled. Yet he lacked balance. What better counter than lovemaking? Or so I assumed.

  “Give me your best guess, Moon. If you were perfect, and she was acceptable, why didn’t it feel earned?”

  “I look human, Royal. Sometimes I feel human. The syneth tries to duplicate the experience but …”

  I sighed as he spoke of the quandary we’d always face.

  “We’ll never be a hundred percent, Moon. And why would we want to be? Live a mortal life? Grow old and sickly? No thanks.”

  Moon waved off that preposterous notion.

  “When I gave up my body, I never looked back. You taught me the importance of accepting what we are now. A thousand pegs below omnipotent, but a thousand pegs above homo sapiens. I’m right there with you, Royal. But I thought I could step into my old shoes and they’d fit. No luck.”

  I liked this suddenly contemplative Moon.

  “Our core matrix is to blame, I reckon. The algorithmics don’t account for every emotional nuance. We can tap into the extremes, but there are tiny layers missing in between. In that sense, we’re like humans. Most of their weaknesses can be linked to tiny flaws in their genome.”

  “We should be better, Royal. We held onto every gram of our human consciousness. I remember all my adventures, including how I felt. I remember their names, how their lips tasted, and how they laughed. Today, when I watched that fireball rise on Qasi Ransome, I wanted more. I loved it so. When I incinerated Esai, I wanted to storm over to the closest building and burn everyone inside. It’s the same feeling of conquest. I …”

  “Let me stop you right there, partner.” I offered him my bottle. “Take a few sips and cool your syneth.” He accepted. “Let’s gain some perspective. First, it’s good to take satisfaction in the work. We’re on the same page as regards to killing: It’s fun.

  “While that’s not in dispute, and we’re both committed to an endgame of general chaos and mayhem, I think we need to guard against extremes. Perhaps equating incineration with sexual gratification might be a tad over the top. Not saying it’s entirely unwarranted, but it does seems a bit psychotic. I generally try to not to use the I-word around you anymore, but let’s face it, partner: What you’re talking about is just around the bend from insanity.”

  He leaped off the mattress and faced me head-on.

  “I am not regressing. I know the difference.”

  “Now. But that wasn’t always the case. I held you on a short leash for years. I know the signs.”

  “What do they tell you, Royal?”

  Moon’s hot breath delivered a hefty concoction of tobacco and whiskey. I turned down my olfactory sensors.

  “They tell me that as we expand the business, we need to add more recreation to our pursuits. A full life, as they say. I think the exhilaration from the Qasi job was so strong, your reintroduction to intercourse couldn’t compare, so you discounted it. What you need, Moon, is repetition. Back in the saddle, so to speak. And, of course, a diversity of interests. I believe my new scheme sets up the perfect scenario.”

  “Your scheme. That’s the other thing pissing me off. What were you up to while I was securing our weapons and getting laid? Why did I infect those men? I saw you with that kid. Is he part of it?”

  “Integral, my friend.”

  “We always planned together, Royal. From the start. Equal partners. What are you up to? Why haven’t you told me the details?”

  I didn’t appreciate his snippiness, so I yanked away my bottle.

  “As I said at the bar, I was visited by a grand revelation. The plan emerged from the fog. I improvised until all the parts fit together.”

  “Did they?”

  “After I sat down with my young friend. Don’t take offense, Moon. I haven’t even disclosed the plan to Theo, and he’s a constant nag.”

  “There’s more where that came from, old man!”

  “I’m so pleased you’ll be with me for eternity, Theo. You provide nonstop entertainment.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Care to share it with your partner?”

  “Of course, but not here. Grab a trowel and meet me outside Bart.”

  It wasn’t enough to explain the scheme. I needed Moon to connect its value to his well-being. We had performed this particular dance since I met him. Like then, I took lead. He was seventeen and mortal at the time, hopelessly unaware of his potential and facing certain death along with his family. I offered an escape route. Dangerous, granted. Ultimately, he got himself killed. But he wouldn’t have known rebirth and immortality without my intervention.

  And a tad bit of luck, I suppose.

  He always deferred to me, taking every last inch of what leash I allowed. When he proposed to destroy a pair of heavily populated planets to bring an enemy to its knees, I applauded the audacity. Frankly, the feats made him so happy, I offered no resistance.

  Maximos deos. Good times.

  Now, I dealt with a more temperamental and impatient creature.

  We met outside our interstellar shuttle. I pointed to the nearby ground cover.

  “What’s your favorite activity when you’re bored?” I asked.

  His shoulders sagged.

  “I dig pralones to pass the time, Royal. I don’t enjoy it.”

  “But you’re so meticulous, my friend. You make sure to dig around the rhizome without cutting it until you reach the sac. Not easy in this clay. I’ve seen you take pride squeezing every drop of water from a sac.”

  “I’m just being precise, like you taught me. It keeps me focused so I don’t think about …”

  “Unproductive things. Yes?”

  He tossed the trowel to the ground.

  “You made your point. I need to be distracted.”

  “More than that, my friend. You need a purpose, and a purpose requires work. We have too much down time between jobs for the Prez. The natural high of a good slaughter lasts what? Two, maybe three days? Eh. Then there’s all those hours you sit beside me watching vids from around the Collectorate. I know it bores you senseless. You’re not the type for good entertainment or much into the news. Passive is not your style. I get it. Hence, I offer a new life filled with purpose, in pursuit of our greater goal.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “When our association with the Prez ends in about fourteen months, we’ll have enough money to launch our business. What we will not have is a network of clients or a proven track record. No one knows who we are. Yes?”

  “Right. We agreed it would take time to establish our footing.”

  “One does not simply raise the roof on an interstellar corporation and expect it to dominate overnight. However, we can lay the groundwork by becoming – wait for it – small business owners.”

  Moon studied me cross-eyed. I had to admit, the term did have a laughable connotation.

  “This involves Desperido?”

  “Oh, yes, my friend.”

  “What? You want us to start a business there?”

  “A business. A home. A kingdom.”

  “Desperido?”

  “The fort has served its purpose. We almost took a huge hit today. Time to leave these ruins in the rear view.”

  “Staying here kept us out of the public eye. You said …”

  “Desperido won’t change that equation.”

  “But Royal, there are six hundred people in that town.”

  “And not a damn one wants attention. They left civilized society by choice. They don’t use family names, and most changed their given names. That’s how much they value their privacy. How would they react if their little island of solitude was suddenly under attack? Wouldn’t they be thankful to have benefactors who held off the barbarians at the gate?”

  “Us? Defending them from what?”

  “A small army sent by a certain Senora Cardinale to defend her Horax interests.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Revenge for the deaths of two beloved soldiers named Vincente and Mando. Such good men who were merely doing their jobs.”

  He raised his brow in recognition.

  “The contagion. They’ll track the origins to Desperido.”

  “Yes. The cantina, specifically.”

  “How?”

  “When we tip off Cardinale.”

  His eyes ballooned. My partner didn’t see that twist coming.

  “So, let me get this straight, Royal. We set up a base in that town, defend those people in a war we created, and what? They hand over the town to our control?”

  “After a fashion. There are still a couple ways that particular piece might go.”

  “We’ll be exposing ourselves for what we are. It’s the only way we could win. If they know the wolf and the serpent are back …”

  “They won’t. OK, so maybe two or three will.”

  “Wait. What did you do, Royal?”

  I explained my interest in Ship Foster and the nature of my confab with the kid.

  “So, you promised him a new arm and a bright future. He doesn’t know you, Royal. How can you be sure he’ll trust you?”

  I held up my right hand and explained my little demonstration with the unloaded Skyrex.

  “What? You said we wouldn’t reveal our true nature!”

  “I didn’t. Ship knows I’m not human but I can conjure miracles. He’s young and motivated, Moon. Just like we were when we got our starts. Ship Foster is a pseudonym. He’s agreed to compile a list of every independent contractor living underground in Desperido. We’ll know their specialties. That town is shit on the surface. But there’s considerable money being made. More important, we’ll have access to a bounty of contacts in all manner of pursuits.

  “The woman who runs Desperido is connected to Cardinale. Can’t wait to find out how. Bottom line, my friend: We are going to become the proud owners of the single largest business on the Naugista Plateau. And our six hundred employees will love us for it.”

  Moon took a long, contemplative pull on his cigar.

  “Maybe I should use the I-word on you, Royal. This sounds like insanity to me.”

  “Not at all, my friend. It’s a low-risk, high-reward investment in our future – and in your mental health. Think about it. Running a town and supervising all those employees will be a full-time endeavor of the highest quality. In the quiet moments, you’ll have ample sexual recreation at your disposal. It’s a win-win.”

  “What happens when the President sends us on a new job? We were on Qasi Ransome for ten days.”

  “Eh. We’ll have to juggle two careers. No worries, Moon. We’ll make sure no one engages in an uprising while we’re off wreaking havoc. I’m excited about this opportunity.”

  “I’m not sold.”

  I grabbed the trowel and handed it to my partner.

  “Change is hard. Dig for a while. Give it a good think.”

  I blamed myself for Moon’s hesitation. I should have sold it better. Perhaps if I’d been more graphic about the inevitable bloodshed.

  What a vision! A war in the desert against a high-powered criminal organization of worldwide, nefarious repute.

  Damn, this was gonna be great fun.

  13

  C ELEBRATIONS NEVER LASTED LONG in my line of work. As an angry teen, I took on a parttime terrorist gig fighting for a cause I didn’t believe in. But I was in love. It happens. Terrorists are never satisfied; always plotting to scale up the operation. Bigger body counts! Spectacular special effects! Later, when I was a soldier fighting a hopeless war, my life centered on slaughtering the enemy. Unfortunately, victory was an elusive bitch. Every day became a grind. Eh.

  My story changed locales (and universes), but I only found short-lived satisfaction no matter who I killed, where, or why. Godhood offered a marginal improvement; yet with every genocide, mass plague distribution, or planetary apocalypse, I felt a certain pressure to up my game. Standards and such.

  That’s why I took great pleasure in working freelance for the President of the People’s Collectorate. She assigned occasional jobs; the targets were isolated; I didn’t need to worry about blowback; and the compensation was delicious. Afterward, I returned to the Fort of Inarra and settled in for a nice, relaxing vacation.

  Yeah, no. That’s what it used to be.

  Our circumstance took a difficult turn. The news from Qasi Ransome didn’t go down how I expected.

  I used Bart’s transceiver to surveille deepstream broadcasts from Qasi and Amity Station, where Congress was based. Three days after our attack at Club Moulet, the authorities estimated the death toll at two hundred and seventy. They showed images of our victims under the label “Presumed killed.” Security drones helped determine who went inside but never came out.

  They posted the eight members of Matisse Alaine’s contingent, but another fellow of some distinction dominated the coverage.

  Among the collateral damage: Congressman Charles Rypien, one of the planet’s four representatives to the interstellar government. The man had served four three-year terms. He was popular, and some said he might’ve succeeded the current President.

  Worse yet, he openly opposed our gracious employer’s policies on shipping tariffs and, well, nearabout everydamnthing.

  Moon and I studied his image and racked our memory. We didn’t see him inside the club. Theo and Addis, who acted as a pair of backup eyes, searched details we overlooked but came up empty.

  “Hell of a coincidence, Moon. A man that powerful was somewhere in the club while Alaine and his cronies met with a pair of well-heeled Chancellors to plot the Collectorate’s downfall.”

  “If he was in Alaine’s group, why didn’t he join them?”

  “He’s a politician. Those fellas know how to circle in the general vicinity of sharks without getting bit. It was a big club, Moon. Lot of rooms we never saw. Hell, he might’ve been outside playing golf. Maybe he came in for a gentle libation. Maybe he planned to meet with Alaine after our confab. Not worth speculating. Bottom line, it ain’t pretty for us or the Prez.”

  “What happens now?”

  That was the million-credit question.

  “They’ll consider every option where we’re concerned. Pay us for the job then make a permanent break. Pay us then freeze ops until the temperature levels off. Or straight-up kill us.”

  “I’d like to see them try.”

  Try being the operative word. We weren’t invincible, but killing a synethic shapeshifter with fifty times the speed of a normal human? Yeah, good luck with that.

  “No, Moon. I don’t see the Prez going that route. She’s already too deep in this shit. Her people would have to farm out the job to elite mercs. Nah. Too many moving parts. She won’t risk it.”

  Payment hadn’t come through, but I wasn’t concerned – yet. My account didn’t usually balloon until a standard week after the job. This time, we sent them a nice trove of hardware to examine plus the Q6 information. That would keep her people busy.

  I thought of jumping Bart to the drop in 40-Cignus to see whether they retrieved the goods.

  “Maybe we’re thinking about this all wrong,” Moon said.

  “How you mean?”

  “Perhaps we did her a favor. This Rypien guy was working against her in Congress.”

  “She won’t see it that way. Whoever fills his shoes is bound to join the opposition, too. Remember, these assholes are elected. The same folks who supported Rypien ain’t gonna vote for somebody who backs the Prez. It will look too suspicious. I been watching Qasi broadcasts. These people love their conspiracy theories.”

  “The President wants less enemies, not more.”

  “And that’s why I’ll bet she keeps us on the payroll. I knew the Prez when she weren’t more than a high-society gal with an attitude. She fought too hard to earn respect and that office. She’ll do whatever it takes to hold the Collectorate together. We’re still a valuable asset.”

  For Moon’s sake, I tried to project confidence. Truth was, I had no clue about the President’s next move. The first few times we violated her “no collateral damage” rule, the subject never came up. We were paid in full, and the jobs kept coming. I figured she’d be annoyed as hell by our Club Moulet spectacle but chalk it up to the price of doing business in a complicated galaxy.