Chapter Three: The Demon of Babylon

The room is gorgeously adorned with hand-carved wood and various masterpieces hanging on the walls. In the center is a massive fireplace where flames lick and leap from coals to wood and back again. There, standing in front of the fire with his back toward us, is Cheever. He is wearing a lavish black and navy-blue suit with gold and silver accents of jewelry. His jet black hair is slicked back, and he is holding a crystal glass full of some form of liquor. Jurin immediately helps himself to a drink and plops down on the couch to my left. The room remains silent for several minutes, nothing but the sound of fire crackling in the background.

"Jurin tells me you're brilliant." Cheever’s charismatic voice kills the silence.

"Well, I suppose..," I say quietly.

"Do you suppose or do you know?" Cheever responds in a monotone fashion, still facing the fire.

I hesitate, trying to pick the correct words, then shoot a glance at Jurin for guidance, but he doesn't return the look. I guess I'm on my own here.

"Yes, I could say that," I state in the most confident tone possible.

"Jurin also asked me to do you a favor.” Cheever pauses. “He has asked me to arrange for you to be transported off-world. Is that what you want, John?"

"Yes, sir."

Cheever turns, and we exchange glances for several seconds. From where I was standing, I couldn’t tell whether his eyes were dark brown or completely black. "Well, I happen to have a one-way ticket off-world, but—" He smiles.

"But what?" I respond calmly, even though my insides are burning. Cheever's gaze penetrates so deeply that I feel like I've just been cut open and examined.

"But, I'm a successful businessman, and businessmen don't become successful by giving things away." He walks to his desk and sits, gesturing toward the seat opposite him.

I walk across the room and sit while Jurin joins me, and I can swear he looks just as concerned as I feel.

"Hey boss, I thought we talked about this. I'll make up what he owes you—you know I'm good for it." Jurin almost stutters on the last words.

Cheever flashes a pleasant smile, bringing his right hand up and resting it on the desk. My heart stopped, for it wasn't just his hand resting on the desk but also a large pulse gun.

"You know..," he says. "You are absolutely right, Jurin. We did talk about this." He stands and slowly makes his way around the desk in Jurin's direction. “Of course, that was before you lied about your little friend's talents!" He slams the butt of the pistol against Jurin's head, causing blood to spurt out. Jurin lets out a cry and falls to the ground. I quickly jump to my feet, but Cheever is already waiting with the gun trained on me.

"Why did you do that!?" I shout. Cheever rubs his temples with his free hand and glares at me.

"Because I hate liars and cheats. You'll find it’s a pet peeve of mine." He lowers his gun and glances at Jurin, still unconscious on the floor. "All I ask; is for a little bit of loyalty!" he yells at Jurin, kicking him several times. "You disappoint me, Jurin—you're a damn disappointment, do you hear me?!" He points the gun at Jurin's motionless body.

"Wait, stop!" I take several steps toward Cheever, catching his attention. He jerks his whole body around, gun included, to face me.

I feel my body freeze in panic. I look around for anything that could possibly be helpful. But if I try to fight, he will just shoot me. "Ok, listen, don't hurt him. He was just doing what I asked him to do." I take a step closer. "This is my fault entirely—not Jurin's." One more step, the blue glow of the pistol grows more intense the closer I get. "I'm willing to work out a deal, as long as you don't hurt him." Not much further. I can tell he is willing to hear me out.

"What kind of a deal?" he asks.

"The kind that keeps us alive. The question is, what do you want?" There’s no way he could resist an offer like that.

Cheever is silent for several moments, and although the gun is still pointed at my face, his skeptical look slowly fades into a more curious one. "What could you possibly offer me, the Baron of this great city, that I can’t get from some other random nobody?"

"First, put down the gun so we can talk freely." I avert my eyes, hoping he can't tell I'm bluffing, while I take another step closer.

"Sorry, that isn't how the game works. You tell me what you can offer me, and I'll consider losing the gun." He smiles maniacally.

Well, I guess he isn't as dumb as I assumed. "Alright, I can get you access to the Coalition Fleet’s Secure Network—"

Cheever pushes the gun against my forehead. "You think I’m stupid, boy! No one can do that!" he hisses.

I slowly move my hands up. "I’m serious; I can show you right now—I just need a net connection." I glance at his desk’s terminal. "Let me show you—please.”

Cheever smirks, finally removing the pistol from my head and waving it toward his desk. “You got five.”

I nervously move around the desk and sit at the display. Exactly ninety seconds later, I’m in New Horizon’s First Church of the Star’s network. Cheever was right. It’s impossible to break into the Coalition Fleet’s network without the right credentials or a quantum computer running a cracking algorithm nonstop for months. But he doesn't have to know that. I, on the other hand, am the one who set up the Church’s network, which makes accessing it a breeze; a few simple banner changes and some falsified deployment data and like that, the church’s network looks like what I imagined the fleet’s would. "There, come check it out," I say confidently.

The level of surprise and disbelief on Cheever's face meant he had bought the ruse. He hustles around the desk setting the gun on the edge, and hunches over to view the fake data I presented. The gun is well within reach now, and if I move fast, I could have it in hand and pointed at Cheever’s face before he even knew it. I can feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through my veins, anticipating my next move. I begin edging my hand in that direction of the pistol, bit by bit.

Suddenly the door to the room flies open. Cheever quickly grabs the gun and points it in the direction of the guard.

"Sorry, boss, we have a situation!" the guard screams both out of immediate alarm and self-preservation.

Cheever's face twists with frustration. "What is it!?" he shouts.

The guard takes a deep breath. "Sir, there was a fight between some miners and fleet squids." He hesitates. "The miner pulled a gun on the officer and killed him, so now we have a delegation from the Coalition demanding to speak with you."

"Well, you can tell this delegation to go shove it up to their neatly tailored asses. I'm responsible for the location and the merchandise, not the customers and their actions." He looks back down at the display but soon realizes that the guard has not left. "Was there something else?!" he says without looking.

The guard lets out a tense sigh. Apparently, nobody likes to give the boss bad news. "Actually, sir, the delegation will be here in a few minutes. They have an armed escort—" he is cut short by Cheever slamming his hand on the table.

"You worthless pieces of shit are good for nothing." Cheever stands, tucking the pistol in his waist band, and turns to me. "You stay put. After I finish with this, we will continue where we left off." Then made his way through the door with his guard following him closely.

That was an unexpected and welcome reprieve. I look back at the display, quickly bringing up the list of scheduled departures. Hundreds of names populate the screen, so I adjust the search criteria to passenger vessels only. The display updates almost instantly with what looks like about a four-dozen general transports heading to various locations in Jovian space. I place my left hand on the virtual display and download the data to my Aug just as Jurin starts to come to.

"What the hell!?" he moans as I help him to his feet.

"Take it easy; you got hit pretty hard..," I say, using my jacket sleeve to wipe away some of the blood on his forehead.

"Where—did Cheever go?" Jurin asks, looking around the penthouse.

"We still have a little luck on our side, but I suggest we leave now,” I say, dusting off his shoulders. “You know another way out of here besides the elevator, right?" Jurin sighs loudly while lightly touching the gash left by Cheever’s surprise pistol whip. "Jurin, focus. We need to get out of here!"

"Alright, alright. Jeez, let me think!" He squints at the bookshelf behind the desk. "I remember Cheever told me there used to be a set of stairs that were removed during the renovation he did years ago."

I turn and study the bookshelf. "Well, if I was a big-time drug lord, I’d have a secret escape route." We rush over to the shelf and attempt to move it, but it won’t budge. "Dang!” I take a few steps back. “Maybe there’s a switch or something."

Jurin shoots me a critical look. “This isn’t one of your mystery books, John.”

“Just shut up and look!” I order.

We search the room for anything that would stand out as a switch, but nothing seems to be working. Could we have been wrong about the secret passage? It certainly wouldn't have been the first time I overestimated Cheever and his cleverness—or maybe that's it; maybe I'm still underestimating the man.

I scan the room, finding my gaze gravitating to the fireplace. In this day and age, there is no need for a fireplace; they have become something only afforded by the rich. What better way to conceal a secret passage than with the gaudiest object in the room, which is exactly Cheever's style?

I whistle at Jurin and point at the fireplace. We both run over and begin obsessing over every centimeter of the mantle when Jurin lets out an exciting yell. “I found it!” He engages the switch, and the sound of gears immediately fills the room.

The fireplace slides backward, revealing a spiral stair case. Without hesitation, we sprint down them as if Death himself was chasing us. The further we descend, the darker it becomes until we reach a dimly-lit tunnel.

I notice the sound of rustling at the top of the staircase, and I can tell Jurin heard it as well because he begins racing down the tunnel with me closely following. We reach a split in the hall, with one path leading upward and the other plunging even deeper into who knows what. Without thinking, I begin running toward the path that leads up to hopefully the surface when I notice Jurin isn’t beside me.

I turn, seeing Jurin forcing a cabinet open with a rusty piece of metal. “Jurin, what the hell are you doing?!”

The cabinet’s lock gives way to Jurin’s prying. “It’s Cheever’s get-away stash!” he exclaims, pulling out a pulse revolver and a credit chip. “Holy shit, this is a hundred thousand creds!” he shouts, running toward me.

“That’s more than enough to get us both off-world,” I respond with unbridled optimism.

Jurin and I continue to follow the pathway when we reach a set of double doors with shards of light from the setting sun piercing the dusty glass. I kick them open and gain my bearing. We aren’t more than a hundred meters from the Miner’s Rest as we exit through one of the abandoned store fronts that flanked the club.

Before I can fully catch my breath, Jurin has already begun running down the street. I struggle to keep up with him, shouting for him to stop when he ducks into an alleyway. “What are you doing?” I gasp.

“We need to get to the docking hub as fast and discreetly as possible,” he whispers. “Before Cheever rips the city apart looking for us.”

I nod my head, bringing up a map of the local area. “We are about one and a half kilometers from the Maranda Docking Hub; you think we can make it?”

Jurin shoots me a serious look. “Yeah, cause if we don’t make it, then we’re dead.”

“Ok,” I say timidly. “Let’s go.”