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“Yes, yes.” Aventurine mutters, only half paying attention to the IPC beaurocrat’s request. “No need to worry. I’ll pick it up.”
Aventurine hangs up. Tipping his head back so that it rests on the back of the velvet couch, he sighs. He is in the lobby of the galaxy’s greatest resort, yet he still can’t catch a break. Some IPC hotshot’s kid has left her favorite necklace in the dreamscape, and Aventurine has to find it before she throws a tantrum.
Just thinking about it bores him. Aventurine hates the IPC. It is full of corruption and lies, with unfair advantages being offered left and right. And that’s not even mentioning the atrocities he’s seen the IPC commit, the horrors written in the reports he has read.
Aventurine only puts up with it because he never wants to be on the receiving end of those horrors again.
“You, and you.” Aventurine points to two of his bodyguards at random. His voice is dull as he says “Go look around Golden Hour for a necklace. Silver, with a sun and moon charm. Whoever finds it gets a million credits.”
“Wait.” One of them gapes in disbelief. “A million?”
“That’s just working for Aventurine.” The other gives him a friendly smile. “I told you he’s generous.”
Aventurine watches them banter, their faces lit up like children on Christmas. A strange longing pierces his heart. If a million credits were able to give him even a fraction of that joy, then perhaps Aventurine would be the happiest man alive.
But he is not. He is empty, hollow, like a lost soul that should have died long ago. Perhaps he just doesn’t have enough money. Maybe it’s not a billion credits that will grant him happiness, but a trillion. It is more likely that no amount of money will make him happy, but Aventurine refuses to admit that.
“Get going.” Aventurine snaps. “Or else you’ll get nothing at all. I’ll be in my room.”
Aventurine heads for the elevator. He arrives in his hallway within seconds, but stops at the entrance. The door to his room is slightly ajar, and he is certain he is not the one who has forgotten to shut it.
A smile tugs the corners of Aventurine’s lips up, a sharp contrast from his previous mood.
“Wait here.” Aventurine motions for the men in black to stay. “There’s something I would like to investigate.”
He slips inside, and shuts the door behind him. At first glance, the room is empty, exactly as he left it. Except the pile of papers on his desk has been shifted slightly, the pages a few millimeters too far to the left.
There is a soft rustle of fabric, and then cold steel at Aventurine’s throat. A hooded man appears from behind, reaching over Aventurine’s shoulder to press the dagger into his neck.
“Move, and I kill you.” He whispers, his voice garbled by a changer.
“Sure.” Aventurine raises his hands in relaxed surrender. “Do be careful of my scarf. You won’t believe the price of tripfox fur these days.”
“I said, ‘move and I kill you!’” The man shifts his head slightly, glancing between Aventurine and the papers piled on the table. “What part don’t you understand!?”
“You won’t stab me.” Aventurine sounds sure, but he is not. Of the three factions that were likely to be searching his room for information, only two are not after Aventurine’s life. But he is a gambler, and he has always been lucky.
Aventurine smiles.“As much as you might like to, you won’t slit my throat.”
“How do you know!” The man presses the dagger against Aventurine’s skin. His hand shakes in fear, and the cold blade bumps into Aventurine’s warm skin.
Aventurine’s heart pounds, pumping sweet adrenaline to the rest of his brain. It wakes him up like nothing else can, a draught of cool water in an arid desert.
“Killing me will stir up more trouble than I am worth.” Aventurine glances at the papers on the table. “You are here for information, not my life.”
“I could be here for both.”
“Then go ahead.” Aventurine grabs the dagger. He steadies it, brings it closer to his neck until it rests on his jugular. It is so close that it makes a shallow cut. A drop of blood spills out, a brilliant ruby red, proof that Aventurine is still alive.
“If you are in here to kill me, then open my throat, right now.” Aventurine smiles. The gamble is set up, and all that is left is to roll the dice.
“You know the walls are soundproof. Nobody but me knows you are here.” Aventurine continues. “So we could come to an agreement, just between you and I.”
His assailant freezes, the grip on his knife slackening as he considers.
Aventurine isn’t scared. All he wants is the thrill of playing, the sweet taste of victory, and the soft ding of credits being added to his bank account. And if he loses, that’s fine, too, because then all of this would be put to an end.
When the hooded man lowers his knife, Aventurine knows he has won.
“What do you want?” He asks.
“Let’s start with what you want.” Aventurine walks to the table. “Judging by the papers that you have touched, you’re looking for information concerning our trade with businesses in the Luofu.”
“Aurum Alley, starskiffs, the works. There’s so much more than what’s in that measly little folder.” He picks up a miniature replica of each, and offers them to the man. “And it can be yours.”
“For the right price.” Aventurine takes a seat. “Care to start negotiations?”
—
“Aventurine.” Veritas sits on the plush couch in Aventurine’s room, a pile of paper on his lap. A holographic screen hovers in front of him, displaying numerous tables and graphs. He points to a spot on the top left. “What do you suppose this could be?”
“What is it?” Aventurine cranes his head to look. The cut on his neck stings beneath its coating of concealer. “It seems to be part of a perfectly normal shift in the dreamscape.”
“It’s a bit taller than the other peaks.”
“Can I borrow the hologram maker?” Aventurine makes a grab for the small black box on the coffee table. “I want to check a few figures that don’t translate well to 2D.”
“The hologram maker belongs to the Intelligentsia Guild.” Veritas yanks the device away. “Please keep your hands off it.”
“Come on. I just washed them.” Aventurine holds them out to demonstrate how clean they are. He wonders whether or not he is faster than Veritas.
“If you think you can annoy me into giving you the—” Veritas lets out a soft, slightly strangled cough, as if he were choking.
“What?” Aventurine glances up to find Veritas staring at him with a mixture of fear and concern on his face.
Veritas doesn’t respond. Aventurine frowns. “Are you all right? Don’t die on me now. I need you for the mission.”
“Are you aware that your neck is bleeding?” Veritas says, slightly stiff.
It is Aventurine’s turn to nearly choke, his hand flying to the cut on his neck. Sure enough, he is bleeding, the warm liquid soaking straight through his black gloves.
Veritas rises from the couch. “Allow me to take a look.”
He tilts Aventurine’s chin up before lifting Aventurine’s hand off the cut.
It takes Aventurine a few seconds to react. He leaps backwards, his hand over the cut, as he yells “What the hell, Doctor? I’m fine.”
“Where did you get that?” Veritas ignores Aventurine, his eyes still fixed on the tiny cut. “That is unmistakable a silversteel knife cut. Weapons of that caliber aren’t allowed in the reverie.”
“Perhaps I decided to go for an ill-advised walk.” Aventurine shrugs. “Get some fresh air. Take a break from staring at graphs all day.”
“The Family’s security measures take at least five hours to pass through. Your cut is no more than three hours old.”
“Then perhaps I got into an altercation with a member of the Family.”
“You would still be stuck in customs.”
“Or I could hav—”
“For the love of Science, Aventurine!” Veritas throws his hands in the air. “Tell me the truth.”
Aventurine sighs. Veritas will figure out the truth eventually. “Fine. I got into an altercation with a man attempting to steal IPC secrets.”
“That still doesn’t explain the cut.” Veritas fixes Aventurine with a scrutinizing glare. “You walk the path of Preservation. Any party with you in it is functionally immortal.”
“He tried to threaten me. I called his bluff.” Aventurine’s voice is monotone, robotic, as if he were listing off actions someone else had done. “It was a power play that gives me all the cards I need to make a profitable deal.”
Concern flashes across Veritas’s face before he hides it, his face as calm as if it were made of plaster.
Aventurine takes the opportunity to pocket the hologram maker. He’s not about to stare at a couple of 2D graphs for the rest of the night.
“Okay.” Veritas takes a deep breath. “First things first. Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Aventurine wipes away a spot of blood. “Look. It’s already stopped.”
“Now onto the questioning.” Veritas says. “You were being threatened at knifepoint, and your first thought was to make a deal?!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Aventurine laughs. “Don’t forget you’ve threatened me, too.”
“That was only because you were being insufferable.” More softly, he adds “It was also a regrettable action.”
“Like you’re any less insufferable.” Aventurine mutters. He removes the hologram maker from his pocket, the little black box a perfect diversion. “By the way, I took this.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Why did I take the hologram maker?” Smirking, Aventurine says “Because I think someone who’s not insufferable should be in possession of the best data display device.”
“No, not that thing.” Veritas scowls in exasperation. “I mean why did you try to cut a deal? Does money truly hold that much value for you?”
“Because—”
“And I don’t want bullshit.” Veritas folds his arms. “You don’t even have to say the answer out loud. Just make sure you know it’s not bullshit.”
“Because I—”
The hologram maker slips through Aventurine’s fingers, falling to the plush carpet. Aventurine doesn’t move, he barely breathes, as he realizes he doesn’t know.
“Exactly.” Veritas murmurs. “It’s not an uncommon phenomenon among students. To realize you have no idea why you are studying.”
“Right. And you’re the almighty teacher that can help me.” The moment of vulnerability is over. Aventurine’s eyes are cold and guarded, and his voice drips sarcasm. “Oh, Doctor. Please enlighten me with some advice.”
“I didn’t know, either.” Veritas adds softly. “It was only for a brief period, but I did not know why.”
“And you do now?” Aventurine whispers, barely audible. His voice is strange, finally devoid of the dozens of masks he wears each day. It is raw, rougher, and pure.
Veritas gives him an honest answer. "I do.”
“Hmph.” Aventurine chuckles. He flops onto the couch beside Veritas, his eyes sliding closed for half a second. When he opens them, all traces of their previous conversation are gone. Aventurine’s irises are their usual, cheerful, bright pink. “I’ve had a hell of a day. Do you want to get a drink?”
Veritas straightens a pile of papers. “If you promise to keep what I said in mind.”
Aventurine responds with a smile. “The only thing I’ll promise to keep in mind is that you’re insufferable.”