Gram XV

Gram walked speedily through the streets, weaving through the after work rush fluidly as he overtook them. Normally he felt exhausted after he finished his shift, but today was different. He could hear the distant chirping of birds. There was a certain beauty in the way the haze refracted dusk’s light giving the air a red tint. The void bubble above Hyperion tower was spinning rapidly, Gram imagined the pleasant breeze those outside the crowded lowlands must be experiencing and let out a relaxed breath. It was time to take the plunge.

Gram finished putting it together, a plan even Marco should be able to follow, given he could restrain himself—which made the matter a fifty-fifty gambit. But if that failed, there was a trump card that brought the odds of Marco’s survival to roughly ninety percent. Gram rubbed the small bit of paper in his pocket. Taking it out, a jolt of fear went through his spine, he hesitated to drop it. From behind, people had begun pushing him out of the way to pass. The idea of Marco dying, Gram knowing he could have done more flashed through his mind. Coward worthless coward. Gram repocketed the paper and pushed on with grim determination and a hint of guilt trying to convince himself back into a calm.

He knocked on the door. Luna answered, unsurprisingly.

He regarded her with a nod of the head, “Marco in any state to talk business?”

“Yeah, please come inside. Coffee?”

“Please.” Gram said, walking in from the cold.

“Ohh, let me get that,” Luna said, leaning in close to him to wipe a grease smudge from his face.

Marco walked into the room looking buoyant. “How’s the toil? Alfred still bein’ a dick?”

“There any other way to be Alfred?”

Marco laughed, “Would ya like some tigal?”

“I think for this particular conversation, coffee should work.”

“Suit ya’self.” Marco said, lighting a cigarette and reaching for a bottle.

Gram placed his hand on his friend’s wrist. “Especially for you.”

Marco shook it off. “Fine, I’ll jus’ ‘ave coffee.” turning to his cousin, “Thanks, Lun.” Marco sat down in the hideous overstuffed chair he bought on one of his shopping trips with Ira.

Gram sat down on the couch, cracked his knuckles, and spread out. “I was originally quite upset you took a defenseless contract. I’d ‘ave welcomed the opportunity to cave some hunters head in. But the more I thought of it, the more I realized it would play to our advantage.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. As always, you luck yourself into all manners of smart decisions, Marco.”

Marco nodded. “Ma always said luck’ll get you further than smarts.”

“I can imagine her giving you that bit of advice.” Gram knew he could say such things without Marco noticing. “Anyways, what do you know about hunter contracts?”

“Fer a bunch of sick toffs, an’ fer a bunch of men tired of the toil.”

“Yes, and what is the track record fer those that ran?”

“Dead te the last, unless they got someone playin’ a whitehat. You got an idea how I can be pardoned?”

“That’s not exactly the best strategy, too much unpredictability. And you never know what they will want in exchange for their great and generous mercy.” He thought of the widespread reputation so-called whitehats had, and then he thought of Luna. His blood boiled a little. “Nah,” he continued, “I got something a little more foolproof planned.”

“Like?”

“Do you really think with all the contracts, there has never been one person to escape?”

“They got the power ain’t they?”

“Still, not one? Think of incentives. It isn’t like they can track people wherever they are, and it isn’t like every hunter is a bloody crime novel detective. Let’s say that someone did manage to escape. Who’d tell? The failed hunter? The Bureau of Contracts and Acquisitions? The guy who managed to escape? Nah, none of them. It is all about appearance—it’s in no one’s interest. How much money you got left, Marco?”

“’Bout ‘alf.”

“King’s sake, Marco, it’s been like a month, you fucking muppet! That shit was more than thirty-year’s pay!”

“Feck you, like you know what it’s like te be flush.”

Gram shrugged, “shouldn’t change the plan anyway, not exactly unexpected. Question for you: what kinda person would want to pay more for no-fight contract?”

“A bloomin’ rich coward?”

“A lazy bloomin’ rich coward.” Gram said. Lazy bloomin’ rich torturing coward to be precise, but he doesn’t need to know that. “You don’t need t’ be impossible to find. You just need to be harder to find than is worth their while. After they give up, you’ll likely be marked as dead. So long as you stay hard to find, you can stay very much alive.”

“How’s that?”

“Put yerself in their shoes—ye got more money than sense, and ya don’t want your reputation besmirched an’ such, what would ya do? Simple, you’d lie and say you caught them.”

“But how d’ ya do that? One o’ dem hunted bunkers?”

“King’s sake, think for a fucking second.”

“I did think!” Marco slammed his hand down on the table. “Ask around, most hunted save enough fer one o‘ them. The’r your best bet fer a couple extra months o’ breathin’ air.”

“The money difference between a hunter and a hunted, someone desperate enough to be killed, on the one hand, someone doin’ the paying on the other.” Gram held his hands up bringing one above his head and the other below his waist. “Imagine you’re runnin’ a place like that. What are your incentives? You can make money twice—once from the hunted, then from the hunter. What hit to reputation could occur if all your clients conveniently bloody die as we all know they do? Wouldn’t surprise me if bloody hunters run most o’ ’em.”

Marco leaned forward, gesturing his arms sharply forward. “You an’ your ‘incentives.’ They say they help people! If they’re so bad, then how come everyone uses one then?”

“Because people are idiots! They’re taking the obvious way outta a riptide and drowning.”

“Then how, Mr. smartfuck?”

“With this.” Gram said, handing Marco an ID card with a picture of Marco, but with a different name.

Marco eyed the ID with suspicion. “ ‘ow do I know about yer incentives then? They dunt seem particularly in line. Someone letting someone ken about one trap just to lead ’em to another.”

Gram was surprised at the uncharacteristic sign of cunning coming from Marco. “Because, Marco, I’m your friend, asshole.”

Marco considered this comment and rolled his eyes. He eventually nodded to confirm the truth of it.

Luna handed the coffee to both of them, giving Gram the green mug and Marco a grey one, taking some for herself in her dark blue mug and sitting down on the couch next to Gram. Gram noticed she had painted a little clockwork crescent moon in silver on the side of her mug.

“This ID should pass full muster at any checkpoint. It has the holographic overlay, the micro-engraving, everything. No one should question you.”

Marco eyed the ID closely. “How the hell did ya do all that then?”

“I have my ways.” Gram much preferred to keep this particular trick a secret.

“So, what do I do?”

“Upper Winslet is currently having a bit of a boom. Lots of folks movin’ there fer work.”

Luna turned to Gram. “Upper Winslet…so Marco has to leave?”

Gram nodded his head. “Yes, Marco has to leave.”

Marco’s eyes widened he hit his fist on the arm of his chair. “Bu’ I don’t wanna go to Upper bloody Winslet…”

“Well, my dear fellow, ya should’ve thought ‘bout that before you signed a contract. I’m not made of magic, and if you stay in the city, there’s no way you won’t be found out.”

Hesitantly, Marco sank backward into the chair, its stuffing bulging around him, “So I should book passage on a void drifter then?”

“King’s sake no—A: not a lot of people take those, making it much easier to show up in search of passenger manifests. B: you would, no offense, stick out like a sore thumb. C: I couldn’t build an established wealthy identity ’cause I don’t have a corp’s bloody resources. What you have there is a bog-standard ID of a bog-standard ordinary copper. How many coppers ride one of those? D: those tickets are bloody expensive. E: It ain’t like ya really need to get there in a speedy manner unless ya want to hurry up an’ die. You can either take a train or an airship there. Just keep a low profile. You should have more than enough to get there and lots of extra cushion.”

“Alright, alright, I believe ya! You don’t have to throw one of your bloody lists at me. But I don’t want to take an airship, thems things liable to fecking explode.”

Of course, Marco bought into the propaganda. “Given the number of airships every day, practically none explode. Lug heads like you think they do because anytime it does happen, it’ll be all over the papers. Not to mention that the guy who owns the Void Cruisers also owns half the bloody newspapers. It’s a port city, and rail hasn’t been built to it yet. Airships are the only direct route, so you’ve got less chance of detection. So, unless you’ve got a cripplin’ fear of heights or something, take the fucking whale.” Gram restrained himself from explaining under what situations the hydrogen gas would prove deadly and how new materials made it fairly unlikely. Or that void cruisers could theoretically suffer from catastrophic implosion. Marco’s jaw was already clenched enough.

“Fine, fine, if ya want me to take an airship, jus’ say ‘Marco take a bloody airship!’ Don’t pretend like your givin’ me a feckin’ choice.”

Gram looked directly into Marco’s eyes. “Marco, take a bloody airship.”

Marco sighed. “What about Ira?”

Gram looked up innocently. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb, ya know who I’m talking about!”

“Sure, she can come with. But when you ask her, you should let her know that after this, you’ll be right back to the toil with barely a cent to your name.”

“That ain’t true! You’re just tryin’ to make her leave. Should still ‘ave enough that we can live pretty prim an’ proper.”

“Here, I made you a list of do’s and don’ts: do get a job, don’t spend a bunch of money ya shouldn’t have in the first place. That money should make life easier, but don’t you go acting outta yer class. That’s what worries me ‘bout Ira.”

“Yeah? And what if I just stay ‘ere with her an’ sign up for one o’ them safe houses before the hunt starts?” Marco puffed up his chest. Nothing shows you are willing to abandon reason for the sake of masculinity quite like a chest full of air.

“Then ye can go there and matriculate into the waiting arms of yer hunter, ya daft prick—Here, take this other piece. It’s sealed. Don’t open it. It’ll put you in danger if you do. If you get caught, just give it to the hunter and play along with whatever happens.”

Looking at Marco’s scowl, Gram realized that nothing else could be done now. He would see reason, eventually.

“Leave by the end of next month, an’ don’t spend all yer bloody dough, ya feckin moron, or if ya want, you can just stay here and get slaughtered real peaceful like.”

Marco didn’t respond, just stared at the ID. Gram got up to leave. Luna got up and followed him outside.

“I’m sure Marco really appreciates everything you’re doin’ for him, in his own Marco way.”

“Yeah, he’s got his way. Given circumstances, he’s practically dripping with gratitude as is.”

“I appreciate you helping him too, you know. Do you really think you can save him?”

Gram gently connected his gaze with hers, “Yeah, I do.” He nodded his head and departed down the street. I hope.Marco will be safe. Gram looked at his right hand and wondered what price would he end up paying.