"It is a good plan," Number One said. "The work will require a lot of effort, and it might exhaust us, but we are more than willing to undertake it."
More than willing. The eagerness was unmistakable, and it snagged on something in Losham's mind the way a thread snagged on a nail.
The compulsion rounds he was suggesting were tedious work. It was the mental equivalent of manual labor—repetitive, draining, and unglamorous. They shouldn't be so eager to do it. He had expected dutiful acceptance or a reluctant compliance, but not enthusiasm.
"You seem keen," Losham said.
"We appreciate a challenge," Number One said.
It was a reasonable explanation, and it had been delivered with the same flat sincerity that characterized all of Dave's communications.
It might even be true.
Dave would interact with thousands of warriors, assessing their loyalties, their vulnerabilities, their potential usefulness for Dave's purposes, not Losham's. And he would do it all with Losham's explicit blessing.
But what choice did he have? He needed the compulsion rounds. His brothers were circling, and without his father's ability to keep them in line, Losham's grip on power grew weaker with every passing day. Dave was the only tool available to him, and a tool that was eager to be used was better than one that had to be forced.
Even if his eagerness raised questions.
He filed the thought away.
"We will need a vehicle," Number One said. "Large enough to accommodate all eight of us."
"It will be delivered."
"Thank you." Number One inclined his head. "When would you like us to begin?"
"Today."
"Today, then."
The Eight filed out of his office in the same ordered formation in which they had arrived. Losham watched them go, and the thought that had been circling his mind all morning crystallized into a certainty.
Dave was plotting something.
But what?
His survival depended on the enhancement drugs. The drugs depended on the scientists. The scientists depended on Losham's continued protection. The chain of dependency ran in one direction, and it ended at this desk. There was no logical reason for Dave to undermine the one who kept the entire chain intact.
Unless there was something Losham didn't know. A variable he hadn't accounted for. An angle he couldn't see because the internal cameras were dark and the conversations in that lab were private.
He'd traded secrecy from his brothers in exchange for blindness about the lab. It had been the right call, but the blindness chafed.
Losham turned back to the excavation report and read it for the third time.
Four meters to the void. One week, maybe less.
The clan wanted their people back. Losham wanted answers about what his father had hidden and what these bodies were worth, and most importantly why the clan cared so desperately about a handful of immortals in stasis.
Something about those chests made them extraordinarily valuable. Losham did not yet know what it was, but he intended to find out. And when he did, he would decide for himself what the appropriate price should be, regardless of what the compeller on Lokan's phone demanded.
The compulsion was strong, but Losham was patient, and patience had a way of finding loopholes even in the mostpowerful commands. He had millennia of experience finding holes in his father's much stronger compulsion.
He picked up his phone and dialed Rami. "Have a vehicle delivered for Dave. Something large enough for eight."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"That will be all."
