Episode 9 - A Dark, Deep Place. And the Hollow Beyond.

  Chapter 89 - Operation: Cards on the Table (2)

  “What do you want to do?” I probe. I’m sick of this dance. Either we start saying the words we each chew on, or we give up.

  Rhett’s jaw tightens, and he stares at me in the half-blue light of our trailer. But he does not seem to be looking at me. Instead, his hesitation seems inward. The pause as a player considers the move that will reveal their cards… poised in that silent struggle while they wonder if their hand is enough. He thinks his hand isn’t enough.

  “You want to be better than your parents?” I add, trying to find something to get him speaking.

  “It’s not about them,” he replies. “I don’t-”

  “Then what?”

  “You want to ask me questions, then let me speak,” he growls.

  “I am!”

  “You are not.” He stands suddenly, leaning forward over the table. “You don’t even let me think about the words I want to use.”

  “What’s there to think about?” I demand.

  His mouth almost hangs open. “You hear yourself, right? You, who were born into the gift of symbiont power, offering me... what? An experiment? You hold your own secrets tight to your chest and lie on the slightest whim, and do so from a position where you could literally end all our lives at Pooka’s hands. You have a power that is incomprehensible even to me, who has grown up around cryptids, and that you continue to downplay then unleash without warning for reasons I cannot understand. Instead, I need to put myself between you and everyone else to keep the peace, because they’re all waiting for you to go off!” His words gain momentum as he speaks, accusations turning back on me.

  “Born into power?” I spit, incredulous. “I didn’t even know what I could do until recently! I have never-”

  “You said as much yourself. You have selfishly chased your own impulses your whole life because nothing else mattered! What easy freedom! From the very beginning-”

  “I don't share things because I don’t trust you!”

  “And why then would I trust you?!”

  “Because I’m trying!”

  “And how that does that feel? Hmm.” His glare at my words cuts deep, his jaw clenched and the muscles along the edge of his cheeks steely.

  I bunch my fists, and I barely control my instinct to scream at him. Just as Rattakul taught me, I take a breath and wait as I fill my lungs, stretching my diaphragm open. I am the human. My next words aren’t entirely calm, but they are the first that don’t raise in volume again. “What do you want to do?”

  Rhett deflates, looking suddenly at the table and maps again. He splays one hand open and nudges a discarded filter with his fingers, then he sighs and folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the trailer wall. “I admit it’s not often I get asked that question either,” he says slowly, in a flat, defeated tone. “It’s a little hard to find the right words still. I was born into a legacy I had no choice in. I have things I have to do, not want to do.”

  “You don’t have to?” I ask softly.

  “No. I do. Because what else am I otherwise?” he sinks into the table, burying his face in his hands as he sits again. The self-hatred in his next words are gut-wrenching, ending on a bitter twist of his voice that is almost sarcastic. “I was more or less bred to be something I’ve disappointed everyone by not being. You don't know what you do by offering me something I thought I'd gotten over.” He blinks between his fingers and tucks a loose curl behind one ear as he takes a breath.

  As I watch Pell emerges, climbing up his side with each leg delicately stretched one after another and tarsus hooked over the ridges of his clothing to climb his body. She settles on his shoulder, three legs stretched up and onto the side of his head, and the rest spread across his chest.

  From the perch of his hands, he continues. “Owen started Aquila for his own reasons, likely some power play between Apex, Intertrain and Fengxian. The cold peace is built on family; the boards interbreed with each other just enough to make sure everyone is related. For any other disagreements, the resource costs of real confrontation are high, but it doesn’t mean they don’t all arm themselves with subtle tools. Aquila was likely born as just another power play in this politicking, an arm that could do things the head could not. Owen is old blood, part of these management families for generations. But Mum… she wasn’t a nobody, but she was close enough. I don’t fully know what she did that got Owen’s attention, and he would have needed someone unknown to the broader management dynasties for his new company to be truly capable of operating independently. But whatever his reasons, he picked her out and thrust upon her the goal of making him a company that could do anything it was asked to do. And she took that and built Aquila.”

  I sit as he speaks, silently waiting for him to continue.

  “Mum doesn’t do anything for a single reason. She’s a shit mother, but she’s ruthless in her pursuit of goals,” says Rhett firmly, pausing as if he expects me to interrupt. When I don’t, he continues. “You might’ve heard by now I almost had another sibling. I wasn’t old enough to remember it for myself, but after things didn’t work out with my Dad, she started courting Owen directly. She’s not his wife; she’s closer to a concubine, and I’m the closest thing he has to a son for whatever reasons. A blood relative would have been ideal… Look, I have seen Mum snatch victory from defeat more times than I can count. And one day, as I got older, I realized what she was doing,” says Rhett steadily.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused at this sudden change of topic.

  “Owen is not just powerful, he is ‘owns four companies’ powerful, Conrad,” explains Rhett, emerging from his hands and gesturing to make his point. “He traces his lineage directly to the Apex board. He’s the oldest and truest kind of generational power there is. Power like that needs an heir, from somewhere. I am sure it was a tragedy when Mum lost her second pregnancy; it was late enough that I know it wasn’t expected. I don’t think… she did something on purpose. I don’t think she is capable of going that far. I think it really was the loss that it seems; I’m told she changed after it. But I have always wondered, what if? What if she made a new plan as she mourned? What if it became a convenient excuse to never try again? What if it left Owen to pass his stake in the empire to the closest thing to a son he had? What if, by never giving him his own blood… she secured me?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “You’re not directly related?” I ask breathlessly, putting the pieces together for myself.

  “There are other kinds of blood that matter more. I may not have manifested my father’s cryptid… but I, like you, am valuable for what might hide in my genetics. The children of concubines are legitimate heirs, and it is not uncommon to have one wife for politics and a concubine for symbionts. Owen is secretive about his affairs, who is to say I’m not his blood? For those who might know the details, Aquila formed before I was born, the timeline can work. Pair me with the right political marriage and connections, and you have a worthy heir. None of it is official today… but tomorrow, when the groundwork is laid, it could be. She has never loved me like I see other mothers, but that does not mean she doesn’t love in her own way. Mum makes contingency plans. From tragedy… she saw a path to victory.”

  I process his speculations silently, leaning back on the peeling stool as I wait and too nervous to interrupt when I've never heard him speak so candidly.

  “So…” he mutters, “as you can see, it's not really about what I want. It’s what I need.”

  “What do you need, then?” I ask.

  “I need to take care of the people already along this pathway with me. I need to have people I trust, for when Mum’s footing eventually slips. I need my own soft power, connections and knowledge. And I need hard power even more. I don’t know what larger part of Apex’s political strategy Aquila was positioned to play in the games of the megacorporations, but it has to be soon. Our growth in the last few years is exponential compared to what we were when I was growing up. And whatever happens will be on my watch.”

  “You would overthrow Regina?” I ask.

  “No. Not directly, at least. She is Aquila, and she is still my Mum. And the problems she takes care of are the problems I don’t have to worry about yet. She has done this far longer than any of us, and has the best sense of what the organization may be entrusted to do one day. If anything, I will support her until the day she falls, and I am forced to step up.”

  A question he had once asked me returns to my lips. “Why go along with any of it? For what purpose?”

  He groans, idly gathering up a respirator again to busy his hands. “I’d like to stop getting people killed, if I can manage that. I’d like to do something a bit like my father’s company if I can. More employee ownership - my equity stake will one day be high enough I can probably split it. Beyond that, survival? It’s hard to make plans for things I can’t see.”

  “Who else have you talked to about this?”

  Rhett blinks. “Aster is the only person I’ve talked with in detail. We had some long conversations shortly after I returned from Captain Rattakul’s crews and I was kind of working myself out… I’ve tested the waters with a few of the younger weapons technicians, and others I know well. Nothing too direct; it’s too early to fully form alliances. And not Adrian, at least not properly. At Catakalan… we learnt a little bit too much about each other. He knows my thoughts, always has. His inaction, as he knows, is one of the most important things he does to secure his own safety if a power play were to break out and neither side is guaranteed. So I trusted him to remain silent. Until recently. You’ve changed him.”

  I purse my lips, folding my arms in thought at this comment. The right thing would be to be truthful back to Rhett and say that I’ve locked in with Adrian, tossing him headfirst into my overwhelming bond. Whether that has opened Adrian up to be more willing to try out change, or the knowledge of someone else carrying his secrets for once has softened him, I refuse to know.

  In the very few times we have locked in since my first, I have carefully maintained his privacy in the mental spaces of my communion. It was an accident to see as much as I did that one time, a desperate fumbling while I learnt to control something new, just like all my growing power has been. And it’s an accident every time I glimpse his thoughts, feeling his self-hatred, discomfort, and disgust at his own body that seems to be a constant background thought for him. I don't know what he sees of me. I shove the unspoken parts I witness deep down and never speak of them with him, and he does the same, just as he always has, and it works. It’s how Adrian holds every secret. We’ve otherwise avoided locking in at all costs if we could.

  But, Rhett’s certainly done as I asked and laid his cards on the table. Shouldn’t I do the same? Instinct, or self-preservation, or some other nagging habit holds my tongue.

  “So why tell me all this now then?”

  He is silent, his jaw perched on his hands again and fingers curled over his mouth. Silence that speaks louder than any words.

  “I'm your hard power?” I infer.

  The silence continues.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What? You want me to lie to you now?” he whispers.

  “Is that why you came out here?”

  “Stop jumping to accusations,” he demands, louder. “I am here because Captain Rattakul ordered me. I am here because I gave you a choice, and you asked me to come. I am trying to be better. I… I would rather this be something… anything other than what it is. But some things are what they are.”

  I fume. I want to chew back at him with pointed fingers; I want to fight with him. But there are a lot of things he has said that make sense, that click with conversations I’ve had with Aster or Regina. It’s an overwhelming amount of information, and my mind racing through his words seems to give my fractious nature something to churn upon instead of continuing to yell at him.

  I fold my arms, turning from him to pace and finding myself confined to the trailer and unable to put enough distance between us. He waits, sitting at the table still, finger impatiently tapping the respirator filters as he waits.

  “It’s your turn,” he growls.

  “My turn?”

  “You’ve done it. You’ve won. I’ve confessed my life story, so what now? You still want me to blood bond, or whatever the Captain sent you out here to do?”

  “Fuck you," I snap, folding my arms defensively. Unable to let the previous point pass me unchallenged, I continue. "You didn't negotiate in good faith! You offered me the option to tell you ‘no’ to you coming, without the full context to know your real reasons.”

  He sighs, massaging his forehead. “I don’t even know my real reasons,” he mutters. “What does it matter? I’m here. It might defeat the purpose of me being here if I’m bleeding in the wild somewhere too.”

  My chin tightens, and I sniff, trying to dismiss his words. I hate this. I hate that I’ve walked myself into this position. Forced to assess my value in the mathematics of power. And a thought strikes me: like father, like son. Fuck him. I’ll bargain if he wants to bargain. “I want something.”

  He pauses, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Hmm? I’m not in the position to make promises.”

  “I want my messages back. From Murasaki. Regina took them off me when I left.” He unfolds his arms, massaging one knuckle while he thinks. As he opens his mouth to speak, I interrupt him. “And I want to meet with my dad. In person. I want him at Aquila with me if he wants to come.”

  He shuts his mouth. “That might be difficult.”

  I huff dismissively, spinning to pace again. “So? You want your hard power. I want things too. I’d rather be expensive. Might as well fucking get something out of all this shit.”

  When I turn back to him, Rhett already has his hand extended across the table, palm open and fingers stretched. “Done.”

  I hesitate, cautious of how quickly he’s suddenly agreed. I unwrap my left hand from my chest, the one scarred permanently along the back of my knuckles, and touch it, as if feeling the sensitive scars will slow my usual impulsivity down. And he waits. So I slowly stretch my right hand towards him. As our skin touches, I flinch, but he closes his hand to make our deal.