Traitor

The chorus kicked in, a low bass reverberating notes of ominous tension through his bones. From his couch on the glass balcony four stories above the massive hard-light dance floor, Evero watched the throng of club-goers as he always did. He ruled over this small kingdom he’d sacrificed to build, but the usual thrill he felt as the beat dropped was absent.

One balcony over the elven ambassador who had returned earlier in the day now helped himself to the company of two of Evero’s favorites. He hated having to deal with the pompous southerner on his own. Not that he and Carbon hadn’t worked together a number of times, but the latter derived a twisted enjoyment at his brother’s aversion to his presence that Evero took every advantage of. On top of that the elf clearly had come looking to claim a territory of his own, and Evero had no intention of sharing the influence and wealth that came with controlling the Koshari circle encompassing Seattle and it’s suburbs.

He snatched the fresh brandy glass from his dryad secretary lounged to his right and looped an arm over the shoulders of her intern lounging to his left.

“Three days. Three whole days and not a word.”

“People usually do not check in to work on vacation time, Boss,” reasoned the secretary. “Our Informants on the Tamanous incident this morning suspect it was your brother’s work.” She offered him a crisply rolled blunt which he accepted between his lips.

Evero grunted, not willing to be appeased, and both women produced lighters for him, the flames flicking to life with an alien heat. “What was the report again?”

“Moclip salvage. Seems there was a scuffle with the Renraku and Tamanous; no surviving parties, no security footage.”

He tilted his chin up as he exhaled a plume of smoke, and waited several seconds till he felt his muscles finally relax. “Zaron’s lucky he’s irreplaceable.”

The neon lights shimmered and shifted as the songs changed. The dryad lounged against his right side at his beckoning. “What of the Outer Circle’s proposal?”

Evero scowled into his drink. “My brother won’t take a leadership role unless he’s physically dragged to it.”

“…They could make that happen, sir.”

The three of them glanced to the other balcony. Carbon, surrounded by empty bottles, could be seen waving one hand, using his magic to make a nearly full cyberware enhanced waitress dance.

“Speak your mind.” Evero glanced to his secretary as he took another drink. She was good, subtle, but little got past him.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” She looked disturbed, watching the display. “I’m just concerned that allowing your brother such an extended leave could be counterproductive to keeping him on a short leash.”

Evero’s upper lip curled in a sneer at the hint of trepidation in her tone. “Save your worries, pet.” With a motion of his left hand he took control of the waitress in the far VIP, his silent magic commanding her to dump a drink in the elf’s lap before marching off. Carbon jumped up, enraged, and looking around at the other several dozen glass VIP balconies for who dared to end his fun.

“A rest will do him good.” Was he reassuring her or himself? “Soon enough he will come back. He won’t get by much longer without his injections. We cannot escape our fates, and Zaron knows that I own him.”