a religious artifact from the … Eshvaren Empire?” Scarlett leans in to read the subtitle, whistling softly. “Supposed to be a million years old.”
“What a load of crap.” Cat chuckles.
But Auri’s mismatched eyes have gone wide, and she’s staring at Dariel’s screen like it punched her in the mouth. Her voice is just a whisper.
“Eshvaren?”
“It’s a scam,” I assure her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean?” Kal asks, scowling at me.
“I mean the Eshvaren. They’re a ghost story, Pixieboy.”
“Load of bollocks.” Cat nods, and I make a note to mark my calendar because this is the first time I ever remember her agreeing with me on—
“Who,” Auri says, her tone growing more strident, “or what, are the Eshvaren?”
“An old grandmother’s tale,” Dariel says.
“Ghost story.” I nod. “Supposed to be a race that lived a million years ago. Except there’s no evidence they existed.”
“Other than the relics they left behind,” Kal says, pointing to the screen.
“They’re a scam, Kal.” I smirk. “A way for curio dealers to part rich and stupid people from their creds. Parents tell their kids about the Eshvaren when they want them to grow up to be stellar archeologists.”
Kal glowers at me with those big pretty eyes in a way that makes it hard to focus on what he’s saying. “The Syldrathi are the oldest race in the galaxy. Older than Terrans. Older than Betraskans. And we keep tales of the Eshvaren. They were the first beings to ever cross interstellar distances. The first to find the Fold.”
“And Terrans still tell stories about the tooth fairy and Santa Claus,” Cat leans on the door frame, folding her arms. “Doesn’t mean they exist.”
Aurora licks her lips, swallows hard.
“Does the word … ‘Ra’haam’ mean anything to anyone?”
We exchange a series of blank looks. Shake our heads or shrug.
“It’s just … I’ve heard the word ‘Eshvaren’ before,” Auri murmurs. “ ‘Ra’haam,’ too.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like on that busted uniglass of yours, or—”
She shakes her head.
“In my dreams …”
Uncomfortable silence settles over the room. Cat looks at Tyler and shakes her head. Tyler’s looking at Auri, fingertips brushing the Maker’s mark at his collar. Auri’s eyes are locked on Dariel’s screen, on the image of that sculpture rotating on the display. She looks halfway between terrified and exhilarated.
“So Casseldon Bianchi owns this thing?” Scarlett says, breaking the silence.
Dariel comes to his senses, nods. “This and half the sector, yeah.”
My cousin taps his keyboard, and the image of an alien appears on a second monitor. He’s Chellerian—tall and bipedal and broad shouldered. His skin is smooth and pale blue, his jaw heavy, his head hairless. He has four eyes, perfectly circular, bright red. The muscles in each of his four arms strain the fabric of his blindingly expensive suit. His grin is white and wide and full of razor-sharp teeth.
“That’s Bianchi?” Scarlett asks.
“The one and only.” My cousin nods. “Thank the Maker.”
“Tell me about him.”
Dariel finds his smirk again, and shakes his head. “Oh, sweetheart, fairy stories aside, ain’t none of you doing a deal with him. He practically runs this place. He lives inside a reconditioned luxury liner—one of those old-time cruise ships that Tesellon Inc. used to run through the Thiidan Nebula. Nobody gets into that joint without an invitation, and most people who get invited never come out again. He runs the security force on the whole World Ship. Keeps holding cells underneath his ‘estate,’ where people go to disappear. If your business is bringing you into Bianchi’s orbit, then I recommend you either alter course, or settle up with me before you get yourselves cadaverous.”
“He’s that dangerous?”
“He’s worse than the Lysergia plague and the Selmis pox put together.”
I look around the room at the faces of my squad. Cat’s a tiny ball of suspicion, staring right at the back of Auri’s head. Kal has his lips pursed in thought, even Zila looks a little put out. Scarlett glances at her brother, but Tyler is still peering hard at the image on the first monitor screen.
The statue Aurora painted on the walls.
“You notice anything about its eyes?” he says softly.
I look at the display. Skeptical as I am about the artifact’s origin, I can’t help noticing that its gemstone eyes bear an awful similarity to Auri’s.
One dark.
One white.
The younger Jones twin takes hold of Dariel’s chair, swivels it to face him.
“Okay, Big Time,” he says. “Tell us everything you know.”
16
Tyler
“Wow,” Scarlett breathes.
It’s not often my big sister is reduced to being monosyllabic. Our father told us that