Divan never breaks eye contact. “Indeed they are. Cervelt. New Zealand deer fiber, a bargain at a thousand dollars a pair.” He returns Connor’s smile, leaving Connor feeling far less satisfied.
“Skinner! Bring Connor something to drink. Lemonade.”
Argent, dusting a piano keyboard flinches and hits a few of the keys. On the wall behind him three adjacent faces open their mouths and voice a dissonant chord. Connor swallows, and tries to convince his rational mind that he didn’t just see that.
“I’ll confess,” says Divan, “I was hoping to spend perhaps a week to build hype among my customers for your auction . . . but now, in light of your interference with Mr. Starkey, I just want to be rid of you.”
He gestures to the boeuf and the medic to take him away, and they step forward, grabbing him. “Where’s Risa?” demands Connor. “I want to talk to her. If you’re going to unwind me, at least let me say good-bye.”
“Unwise,” he says. “No need to compound her grief.”
Argent brings the lemonade but is literally blindsided by a chair. Bumping into it, he drops the glass on the floor, which calls forth a long-suffering sigh from Divan.
“I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry!”
“Apologize to Connor; it was his drink.”
“I’m sorry, Connor.”
“It’s all good, Argent,” Connor says. “All good.” And he turns his head just enough to hide from Divan the wink he gives Argent.
Divan orders that Connor be not only restrained but kept in isolation.
“Should we now to tranq him?” asks the boeuf in something resembling English, with an accent much stronger than Divan’s.
“No,” Divan tells him, “I can think of no greater punishment than leaving him alone with his own thoughts.”
48 • Argent
In his twenty years on this earth, Argent Skinner could never connect his life’s aspirations to anything real. As a child, he wanted to be a football star, but lacked the physique, so he lowered his expectations and became a vocal spectator. As an adolescent, he wanted to be a basketball star, and although he had some talent, he lacked the drive to see it through. So he lowered his expectations and accepted the chance to warm the bench for the one season he actually made the team.
It was more than two years after almost finishing high school that Connor Lassiter showed up in his checkout line. During that time, Argent had gotten no closer to his adult life goals than he ever got to his childhood goals. Argent wanted to be rich. He wanted to be respected. He wanted to be surrounded by beautiful women who adored him. But as with everything else, he lacked the vision required to manifest these things, so once more he lowered his expectations. Now all he wanted was a job that gave him enough money to keep his car running, and enough beer so he could hang out with other low-expectation friends and bad-mouth the types of people who got a piece of their dream.
Then Connor showed up, and Argent truly believed, if he could only win Connor over, he could hitch himself up to Connor’s shooting star, and blast himself out of mediocrity.
It didn’t work out.
Then Argent figured hitching himself up with a seasoned parts pirate might provide him with a life of intrigue and purpose. After all, he’d already been doing some under-the-table dealing with groceries he’d been pilfering. That could be considered black-market experience, couldn’t it? His hopes were high for a future in parts pirateering.
That didn’t work out either.
And now he’s here. He supposes there are worse things than being in domestic service to a wealthy flesh trader, and once Argent regains face, perhaps Divan will promote him to a less thankless position. But who is he kidding? He has watched Divan and knows how he operates. If Argent screws up badly, he’ll be unceremoniously unwound. Otherwise, Divan will do the honorable thing and deliver what he promised Argent—but no more. He’ll be left, after his indentured servitude, at some airport somewhere with a new face, a handshake, and the same lack of a future he began with.
How amazing, then, to think that his entire life could change with a single wink.
He was terrified when Connor was brought in to Divan, and was certain that Connor would point the finger at Argent for having woken him in the first place. After all, that’s what Argent would have done: deflected the blame. Spread the misery. At first he didn’t understand Connor’s choice to protect him. He thought it might be a setup for something worse.
Then Connor winked at him as he was being led out, and the wink explained it all. Argent had dreamed of teaming up with the Akron AWOL. He thought there was no hope of that, but that wink says otherwise. It says that they aren’t just a team, they’re a secret team, and that’s the best kind. In that instant, Argent went from a flesh dealer’s valet to being the inside man! A high-level spy disguised as a flunky! I need you, Argent, that wink said. I need you, and I’m trusting my life to you.
In that wink, both Argent and his hero were redeemed.
Argent carries on his duties for the rest of the day with an uncharacteristic spring in his step, because he knows something that Divan doesn’t. He’s part of something even larger than this massive aircraft.
As much as Argent hated Connor Lassiter for ruining his face, now he loves him like a brother—and if Argent plays this right, his life, his story will be forever intertwined with Connor’s. That’s certainly enough for Argent to risk everything!
49 • Broadcast
“This is Radio Free Hayden on the air for your listening pleasure, broadcasting from somewhere where the farm smells are pungent.