Crack in the Kill Code (AmpCore #2)

51 - The Very Best of Friends

At first, when they placed the first course of insane, luscious, beautifully sculpted food in front of her, Piper wanted to flip the whole table over. The overt display of hedonism made her stomach turn.

Then the smell hit her and she could feel herself salivating. Toran's words rang in her ears.

The one thing about this night that will be actually 'good' is the food, and the drink, so I'm going to enjoy it. I suggest you do the same.

She breathed deep, straightening up in her seat and trying not to think too much about the events that had led a street kid from the Perrier Dockworks to dining with the highest echelons of corporate society. Odiye have a her a gentle nudge with one elbow, sending an electric crackle across her skin.

"Go slow," he advised with a wry smile. "If you are not used to it, it will turn your stomach upside down."

"Not your style?" she countered, picking up the obsidian black knife and fork that had been provided.

"I've gotten used to it now," Odiye said, "but when I first joined Code Vector – and AmpCore – it was not my... usual diet."

"What was the usual?"

"My parents are Carthage-born. They brought a little bit of home with them when they emigrated here." He smiled, but should see a twinge of sadness behind it when he spoke of his parents. She'd never asked outright what became of them, but there had been some fairly ominous comments about people asking questions they shouldn't have.

Piper could take some guesses. Probably they were just two more people who'd tried to play Hadrian's game and gotten torn up the rules. But they'd left a quandary like Odiye behind. He really did seem like a man clamped between two worlds, understanding the corporations and even thriving among them, while retaining a stubborn streak of empathy that most people got sand-blasted off of them after a lifetime of the evergrind.

He shrugged, popping a small forkful of what looked like some kind of cured, shredded meat into his mouth and chewing with relish. "Toran's right, though. You should enjoy it while you can."

Questions lingered on her tongue, but she buried them for now. Maybe later, and maybe somewhere a little more... private. The thought sent a delicious shiver through her implants. Boxing those images away for another time, she followed his lead and took a delicate mouthful of the meat. It seemed to almost dissolve on her tongue, a crisp, salty sensation tingling her gums, detonating with too many flavours to count.

The first two courses passed with in an eerie bubble of good natured conversation that made Piper's head spin. She watched it all, almost admiring how these people – people who she had no doubt despised each other from head to toe – could turn on a pin to talk like this to one and other. Growing up on the docks, you held a grudge, and you didn't make nice until someone had lost a few teeth to a fist.

Evidently those rules didn't apply to the heights of civilisation.

A bell-like ding echoed through the room, pulling her from her thoughts and sending her attention to the head of the table where Mazvinar Karga sat. His hand hovered near his sapphire goblet, a gleaming fork held daintily between finger and thumb. The hum of chatter ceased instantly and all heads turned.

"I thank you all for attending," Karga said, speaking warmly into the intervening silence, like he was at some kind of screwed up family reunion. "I know tensions have run high of late, and I welcome this opportunity for cooler heads to prevail."

The snort of derision was out before Piper could stop it. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, but far too late to hide it. Karga's gaze flickered impassively across her for a moment; other eyes turned on her with a mix of anger and disgust. Some of the more senior figures from Wayfinder and Gammaton looked at her like she was something that had crawled up out of a drainpipe. Lenor Karga's glare could have cut steel.