Rachel took her place at the poshly appointed card table. This game was cut off from the noise of the party hall, in an octagonal room swimming with art objects that would have been tasteful enough, had they not all been crammed together. She'd met the rest of the players when she came into the room—all men, all over fifty, and all ying you jin you bao jin rich, by the look of things. Most of them had seemed coolly amused that a woman, let alone a young, beautiful woman, would be playing with them. That meant they would underestimate her, which was good. She could focus her attention on beating Hobenson. Sir Anderson and Daphne stood behind Rachel, mainly to give her the appearance of propriety—everyone else had at least one servant standing by, crammed into the limited space behind their chairs. Although, Rachel thought with chagrin, the presence of the half-dressed Companion probably wouldn't hurt if it came to distracting the other players. Their host entered last, followed by his entourage, which quickly took up what remained of the space in the tight card room. That entourage, which she had only seen in passing when she had met the man, consisted of two large men in dark suits (obviously bodyguards), a younger fellow whose dress and shun cong manner suggested a secretary or assistant, and two young women, swathed in silk and fur, who Rachel guessed were only there to look pretty. Hobenson bowed slightly to his guests, then took the large carved chair nearest the door. "Gentlemen…" he shot a pointed glance in Rachel's direction, "…lady…welcome to the big game." Without any further ceremony, Hobenson grabbed a deck of cards from the center of the table and began to deal. "Standard long pai, Chun Jie draw rules. One-spots are wild in suit. Ante." Rachel absentmindedly tossed a white chip into the center of the table and picked up her hand. The cards were exquisite, platinum-plated at least, probably solid, and covered in delicately etched designs that amazingly did nothing to obscure the numerals or suits. So far, they were the most tasteful thing about Hobenson. Hobenson flipped over the top card of the tall deck. "Apple. Apples are tall." The first bet went around to thirty credits, then the draw. By the time the discard got to Rachel, no one had taken the tall card. She glanced down at her hand—she had three apples, the six of plums, and the one of peaches. If she took the tall, she could have five sixes. She slipped two cards out of her hand and slid them face-down across the table—the five and tortoise of apples. "Two." Rachel kept her face expressionless as she picked up the cards Hobenson dealt—the four of bananas and the one of oranges. That left her with a pair of ones. She called the second bet with a show of hesitation and they all dropped their cards. She'd lost by a wide margin; several of the men snickered or glanced at each other as if they'd expected as much. As the man sitting to the left of Hobenson raked the chips toward himself with a self-satisfied grin, Rachel smiled inside. She'd lost for the same reason Hobenson had—because no card shark worth his chips would ever do something so stupid as winning the first hand. As the man who'd won the last hand dealt out the next hand, Rachel let out a calm sigh. This might just be easier than she'd thought. Saul pressed his ear closer to the wall, tapping the drywall at seemingly random intervals. Finally, Mona couldn't take it anymore. "All right, I give up. What are you doing?" Saul didn't look at her, but kept working. "Tryin' to find secret panels." "Uh…why?" He shot the teenager an annoyed glance. "'Cause if you have to keep things hidden as often as someone with Hobenson's rep does, you fix things up to make it easier. Same reason there're smuggling nooks on Artemis." "But…if he thought someone was gonna come lookin' for her, wouldn't he know that they'd figure that he'd hidden her, so wouldn't it make sense for him to put her somewhere real obvious?" Saul sighed. "No, because he'd know that they'd think that, so he'd hide her knowing they'd check the obvious…I can't believe I'm having this argument, just go check somewhere, anywhere." Mona pushed off from the corner of the narrow hallway that had made a hard right turn away from the gallery. "Okay, okay." The pilot began sliding along the wall sulkily, tapping at various spots that seemed like appropriate places for a secret door. She'd gone a few meters along the wall before she spoke again. "I take my job seriously, you know." Saul looked up. "What you said earlier. I understand how important this is. But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be a kid every once in a while." Mona separated from the wall. "I'm gonna go check some doors." Dex glanced down. He'd won almost six hundred credits, enough to keep the steamer fueled for a month, but with each passing round he was less and less sure it was worth it. The more he won, the more the grinning nobles would bait him. It almost seemed less like a game of cards than like they were paying him for the privilege of being their personal punching bag. "So, tell me, Mr. Dexter, where exactly were you born?" Dex frowned. "Beaumonde." The hawkish, skeleton-thin man in the pinstripe suit who had asked the question—and done the great majority of the heckling that night—let out a soft chuckle. "I own some property on Beaumonde. If you ever feel like settling down, one of my factories could use a shop foreman." A low chuckle rose from several of the other nobles at the table. Dex gulped and the red in his cheeks deepened. Even on the most favorable terms, he had trouble talking to people. He'd barely been able to say a word so far without either stuttering or embarrassing himself further. "Well, I…if-f-f…" The hawk-nosed man let out another cutting laugh. "Excuse me?" Dex's eyes bolted up to see Leo leaning his chair closer to their table. "Lord Crane, isn't it?" The hawk-nosed man smiled thinly. "Owner of Crane Metalworks?" The man nodded. Leo held out his hand. "Dr. Leonard Gustavson, at your service. It's a genuine pleasure." Crane nodded. "Good to meet you, young man." Leo pushed his chair forward again. As Crane was about to deal the next hand, the doctor leaned his chair back out. "Say, now I know where I heard your name. Weren't you sitting at Mr. Hobenson's game the last time you came to one of these?" Crane bristled and shot Leo a glare. The doctor grinned. "And now you're out here instead with everyone else." Leo shook his head ruefully. "Some people can just be so petty can't they?" Leo grinned again and nodded his goodbye with a parting wink at Dex. When the mechanic turned back to the table, the other men were smiling—apparently he wasn't the only one who had enjoyed watching Crane get knocked down a peg. Dex leaned back, raised his cards, and smiled. "Saul." The cook turned to where the young pilot was kneeling in front of the control panel on a door, grinning. "Found a locked one." Saul nodded appreciatively. "Good sign. Can you get it open?" "As we speak…" Mona had already forced open the faceplate, and was in the process of rerouting the wires that ran across the surface of the chip. With a click from the mechanism and a triumphant smirk from the operator, the door slid ajar under Mona's weight. "Fu ruo yi." Mona cracked the door open and let Saul squeeze through. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a small Cortex screen reading "Out of Order." The room was small, but almost pitch black, and it took Saul a moment before he heard it over the screen's constantly repeated message that it was out of order and needed to be checked immediately. He got low to the ground, Mona following suit at the door, and began to edge toward the sound. When he found the source of the whimper, his eyes bulged. With uncharacteristic care, Saul stripped back the sealing tape stretched across the blonde's mouth, freeing a frightened gasp as her eyes shot around the room. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay. Are you Amelia Chafee?" The girl nodded, barely restraining herself from crying. "Your dad sent us here to get you out of here, okay? We've got a plan, but in case it doesn't work, you're going to have to be ready to move. Can you do that?" The girl swallowed. "My hands…they tied…" She was still too distraught to speak. Saul nodded and forced his nails under the knot that bound her wrists together. When the fiber rope was off, Saul guided Amelia to her feet, throwing her face into stark relief against the blue glow of the screen. Saul's breath caught in his throat as his eyes traced the Chinese characters running down the girl's left cheek—Ju Liu Hu Ben San Zhan You Ci Biao. Julius Hobenson owns this prostitute. "Oh my God." Mona was close enough now to read the characters in the blue light, black against Amelia's pink face. The girl looked like she might cry again. "He said I had to pay off the debt." Anger was tying a knot in Saul's stomach. This girl was no more than twelve years old. "Bi go neong yung duh, wo jiang hui chai jue hou!" Mona tugged at Saul's sleeve. "Hump the plan. Let's get her out of here! I'll tell Rachel." Amelia gulped. "I…I think they'll probably do it for you." Saul and Mona turned to follow the girl's gaze, and ended up staring right down the barrels of a pair of Newtech assault rifles. Saul sighed. This was not shaping up to be his best day ever.