Carnival

“Can’t,” she said. Her hair was dirty; the greasy strands coiled between his fingers when she shook her head. She probably would have fallen over again if he hadn’t braced her.

His fingers wanted to tighten in frustration, but hurting her wouldn’t net him anything. “Not can’t,” he said. “Won’t. I can save her, Katya, but you have to let me.”

She leaned her head against his belly, and he stroked her hair and held the cup to her mouth so she could drink. Her manacled hands cupped around his, and she drank in long, lingering swallows, licking the edge of the empty cup before she’d let him take it away.

The sugar and stimulants worked fast. He felt her stabilizing before he finished reaching over her to set the empty cup down. She shifted on the stool, but didn’t fall or pull away. Instead, she leaned her head against his stomach, closed her eyes, and sighed.

He didn’t say anything, just kept stroking her hair. Gently, impersonally, as he would stroke a child’s hair. She was relaxing, slowly.

People were surprisingly easy to tame, when you knew how to go about it. A little kindness at an unexpected moment could create a bond. An interrogation was a relationship, and relationships were based on developing trust. All seductions worked the same way; the seducer must create empathy with his target. He must project himself into the target’s emotional space and create a connection. Such connections were only effective when they ran both ways.

Vincent couldn’t remember if this had ever bothered him.

“Would you like another drink?”

“Please.” She hesitated. “Could I use the toilet, please?”

She hadn’t been so polite thirty hours ago. “In a moment,” he said, and steadied her with one hand before he stepped away. He made sure to collect the empty cup before going to the door. It was light and rounded, shatterproof, not much of a weapon—but any weapon was better than none.

He’d once seen a man killed with an antique paper fan. It was the sort of experience that stayed with a person.

He exchanged the empty cup for the full, ignoring Agnes’s glower, and returned. Katya’s eyes were closed. This moment of clarity would be brief, and before long she’d crash harder than ever. Borrowed energy would be repaid with interest.

He held the cup for her again, and again her hands came up to cover and control his, the ceramic of her manacles warm against his wrist. She drank half, paused, and drank again, licking her lips when he took the empty cup away. “Do you really think she’s in danger?”

Vincent turned and put his backside on the edge of the table. He folded his arms over his chest and waited, letting his silence be his answer.

“You’re really worried.” Her voice still had that vague, frail note, more strained now though the hoarseness had faded.

“I’m scared stiff.” He made it into a confidence, leaning forward over his folded arms. “And I do want to help. Your mother, and Robert. And my partner.”

She bit her lip. He crossed his ankles and waited, insouciant though it was everything he could do not to jitter against the table edge.

“Whatever they told you, there will be bloodshed,” he said.

“Claude’s going to sell us out to you. To the Coalition.”

“Claude’s your best hope of keeping the Coalition out,” he said. All Kii’s confidence aside, Vincent wasn’t certain that the Dragons could handle the combined might of the Governors and the OECC. “Claude, or your grandmother. If the people you’re working for succeed in overthrowing the government, who do you think will be here to pick up the pieces? A civil war is exactly what they would want.”

“What you would want, you mean. I don’t think so.” She still wasn’t thinking well. It was evident in her squint, in the pauses between her words. “If the Coalition wanted a, a change of government, you wouldn’t be arguing against it.”

He sighed and straightened, came to her, and smoothed her filthy hair again. “Sweetheart, I don’t work for the Coalition.”

Her eyes were closed. She was listening.

“I work with your mother,” he continued. “And I agree with you, things have got to change on New Amazonia. But wiping each other out for the convenience of the Governors is not the way. Trust me on this, as one born on a repatriated world.”

She pressed her face into his wardrobe.

“Get me a map,” she said. “And a pot of coffee.”

Vincent craved a shower, long and hot and decadent and New Amazonian. Anything to wash the deceit off his skin. Instead, he bent down and kissed her on top of the head. Agnes was already on the way in with a datapad in her hand when, silently, her shoulders shaking, Katya started to cry.