Weigh the Odds

​1: JOSHUA

Seb is here . In Exception City.

I stare at the unfamiliar yet familiar Habitat Vehicle as it backs into a position across the ’Vi-park from my own HabVi.

What do I do?

Go over and speak to him, I guess. It’s the last thing I wanna do, but it’ll look too weird if I don’t. He can’t guess that I know anything more about him than I found out during the month we spent in prison together.

Or does going over there look like I’m trying too hard? He knows I don’t like him, and he sure never pretended to like me, though we kept things civil. Just about.

But I’m his co-owner, now, even though I’m a sleeping partner. Ignoring him seems odd.

Why is he even here? This ain’t his usual patch. I can’t see no sign of no one else in the cab. Is he alone, or is his assistant in the back for some reason? His new assistant. Since he left Wilhelm in prison serving the time for Seb’s own hit and run.

If only that were the worst thing Seb’s done.

I glance around the empty ’Vi-park. On second thought, I ain’t gonna go out there while we’re alone. Another ’Vi or two will be along before dark, almost certain. For now, I’ll sit tight. My turret windows are polarized, he won’t know I’m sitting up here watching him.

Well, not unless he points a heat scope my way. The windows won’t block that a hundred percent. Mebbe I should go downstairs so I can pretend I ain’t noticed he’s arrived without him catching me. I wanna put a sweater on, anyways. This day ain’t getting no warmer—a good excuse to leave my shutters closed. No reason he should recognize my ‘Vi, right? He ain’t never seen it.

I pass an uncomfortable hour in the living area distractedly checking cupboards and putting everything in order after my forced nine-month absence. Not being able to see Seb’s ’Vi makes my back feel like ants are crawling up it.

I clean, too. I don’t want no strange moldy smells drawing nosy predators. I give the head a real good clean too, even picking out and sanitizing the hinges of the fold-down toilet bowl with my deep-cleaning kit.

It’s a good feeling when I’m done, like the ’Vi is mine again. Even though it always were.

I’m just checking the console—still no storm warnings, it’s just my nerves setting me on edge—when the sound of an engine announces another vehicle pulling into the park.

Finally!

I call up the camera feeds and take a look. Elder Harman’s ’Vi is maneuvering into position a little way along from mine. It’s only when my guts relax that I realize how tightly they’ve been knotted up.

Although...

Harman ’Vi to Wilson ’Vi, comes from the interCar radio. Joshua, you there?

There goes any possibility of lying low in here and hoping Seb goes away without realizing this is my ’Vi. Reluctantly, I press the talk button, knowing Seb can hear me too. Hello Harman ’Vi. Joshua here.

It’s good to hear your voice, cub. City-folk finally let you out, did they?

Sure did. Thanks be to Saint Des. The city-folk accepted that running away in the ’Vi to work for me were all Darryl and Harry’s idea, but because I were eighteen when we lit out, and Darryl and Harry weren’t, they still locked me away for nine months when they finally caught up with us. But I don’t think they ever really believed that Darryl and Harry’s dad had been kidnapped, not just et by a raptor the way Seb made it look.

Elder Harman, his son, and his assistant are soon at my door carrying their folding chairs and fire-making materials, along with a stack of meat packets and other promisingly tasty-looking items.

C’mon. Elder Harman nods toward the shelter. Let’s get a fire lit and celebrate, cub!

I don’t bother trying to remind an elder that I really am a man now. Twenty’s still plenty young, to him.

Whose is that, by the way? asks Elder Harman, jerking his head toward Seb’s ’Vi. D’you know ’em?

Er, yeah, I guess I do.

Wanna go invite ’em to join us?

No.

Sure. Now that we’re gathering under the shelter it really will look bad if I don’t speak to Seb. Guess I can’t put it off no longer.

Taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders—I hope you’re got my back, Saint Des—I walk across the worn pavement toward the ’Vi I technically own twenty-five percent of, even if I ain’t allowed to benefit from the share while Seb is alive. I reach up and rap on the side door. Mebbe he’s gone off somewhere on foot while I were hiding behind my closed shutters.

No such luck. With a hiss, the door slides back. A slender man with sun-browned skin leans in the doorway, the familiar thorny rose tattoo winding up the side of his neck. He stares down at me.

Well, well, cub. Imagine meeting you here. I see they let you out.

He sounds as insincere as usual, and I eye him closely. Did he already know I’d been released the other day?

I try to speak casually.

Just figured I’d come say hi. We’re having some food. I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at the shelter. Mebbe he won’t wanna come. Uh...you know about...about Wilhelm, right?

Of course he does. He’s received the letter about the will, about me being his co-owner now. The prison offered him Wilhelm’s remains, too. But since Seb and Wilhelm were co-owners for eight years it seems too weird not to mention it.

Seb’s lip curls in that unpleasant way I remember too well. Sure do. He stares down at me. I hear you got special permission to be at the hospital with him when he died.

My heart gives a nasty thunk, and I fight harder than ever for calm. The last thing I wanted Seb to know were that Wilhelm mighta had a chance to talk to me at a time when he knew nothing he told me could hurt him no more. But Seb already knows. Some city-guy from the prison he’s kept in contact with? Billy and Ku wouldn’t be communicating with him, right?

Yeah, the prison thought someone should be with him. I fight harder than ever to play it cool. There weren’t really nothing I could do, though. But he were able to see the chaplain, get everything straight.

Made very sure he got everything straight, did you? Seb’s narrow eyes harden.

Aw, misfire. Does he think I had something to do with Wilhelm leaving me the share of his ’Vi? Didn’t think of that.

Only with the chaplain. The hospital had sent him a will-writer already. They were very on top of things.

Bet he wished you’d never turned up when you sicced some priest on him.

I shrug. He spoke to him for ages and seemed happier after, so I dunno. I were waiting outside. Yeah, hopefully Seb will think Wilhelm spilled his secrets to a priest, not to me. Even Seb understands about the Seal of Confession, right? Or does he?

I clear my throat. I really, really don’t wanna say this, but I feel like I have to give Seb one last chance to do the right thing. The prison warden gave me Wilhelm’s urn. Y’know, with his ashes. Do you, uh, wanna take charge of ’em?

Seb sneers outright, at that. He was little enough use alive, he’s no use at all dead. You may as well just empty it down the head.

I clench my fists, a strange buzzing in my ears, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to grab Seb by the ankle and yank—then stamp him into the pavement. I force myself to breathe out. And in. And out. Finally, I manage to say,

I’ll take care of it, then.

Of course you will. Perfect little cub that you are.

I manage something that’s more a tight grimace than a smile, and turn away.

Oh, cub?

I turn back. What, old man? Though Seb ain’t much older than dad woulda been.

He just smirks, of course. Do you play poker?

Only for knick-knacks and pocket change.

Seb smirks even harder. Yeah? Shame.

I turn and walk away, my back prickling. If he’s saying I’m easy to read, then...what did he read, just now, as we talked?

Does he know I know?

Mebbe I shouldn’t have gone to speak to him.

Only that woulda kinda told him the same thing, wouldn’t it?

+

By the time I get over to the shelter, delicious savory smells already sizzle up from the grill tray over the fire pit. Prime Triceratops burgers, I’d say. My mouth, uncomfortably dry after the conversation with Seb, begins to water.

Agh, I ain’t tasted nothing this good for...for almost a year, I say, through my first huge mouthful.

Elder Harman claps me on the shoulder. Eat up, then, cub.

I’m on my third burger when Seb saunters up at last. He accepts a burger from the Harman son wielding the spatula, and deposits his folding chair just on the other side of Elder Harman, who he immediately starts talking with—all charm, of course. Makes me wanna vomit.

I strike up a conversation with the Harman assistant, Melki, who’s sitting slightly further away on the other side of the fire, and use that as an excuse to casually move my chair around to join him. Having Seb so close makes me feel like the skin is gonna crawl right off me. At least sitting here with my back to the ’Vi-park means I don’t have to look out at that misfiring vehicle that ties the two of us together.

I try to concentrate on what Melki is saying—and on my burger. But it don’t taste so good, no more.

What is Seb doing here? Since I’m a sleeping partner, I’d assumed he’d just stay in his usual patch and do his thing and pretend I didn’t exist, since for all practical intents and purposes I don’t. Pretend he were a sole owner, just the way he wants.

Is he gonna offer to buy out my share? Heck, I’d give it to him, just to be free of him, ’cept Wilhelm coulda left it to him, if he’d wanted Seb to have it. And Seb of all men don’t deserve to get some’at for nothing.

Melki’s waiting for me to reply. What were he talking about? But before I have to respond, footsteps crunch over the pavement behind me and a booming voice calls,

Josh! We can hardly believe the news! Their dad’s alive? After all this time!

Darryl and Harry must be on top of the world, adds a softer voice.

I spin around, almost toppling my chair, my heart rate kicking up as several emotions strike me all at once.

Delight—to see my almost-uncles from Technicolor ’Vi, who I ain’t seen since the city-folk locked me away.

Dismay—that Seb now knows that Darryl and Harry’s neighbor Maurice (who