Jackpot Kingdom Read online

  Jackpot Kingdom

  Sean Monaghan

  .

  Copyright © 2022 Sean Monaghan

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Triple V Publishing

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  Cover illustration

  © Ian Good | Dreamstime (Flis)

  © Bertandb | Dreamstime (background)

  * * *

  Discover other titles by this author at:

  www.seanmonaghan.com

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.

  * * *

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, except for fair use by reviewers or with written permission from the publisher. www.triplevpublishing.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  About the Author

  Also by Sean Monaghan

  Chapter One

  Flis Kupe stared at the crack in the glass in the tiny, underground restaurant. The glass had to be a good three centimeters thick. As if designed to be underwater rather than underground. As if meant for a spaceship.

  A crack couldn't be good.

  The glass had the faintest amber tint to it. It wouldn't be a surprise to find an insect trapped in it. Whether for real, or as a kind of a joke. Fifty million year old tree sap that had rolled over some hapless mosquito or ant, preserving it through the eons.

  The window looked out into a narrow kind of courtyard just a few meters across. There were a couple of tables out there, one occupied by a young couple having a near-silent argument over the menu. Female-male. He had a cheap prosthetic arm. Obvious in the jerky motions of the fingers. She was wearing a black skullcap that ran just above her eyebrows, around halfway over her ears and around the back of her head. Two wires hanging down there, like shortened rat tails, one sky blue and one blood red. Almost lost in her tangle of dark curly hair.

  They were eating the bread from the basket, sipping from the water.

  Beyond their table the restaurant's access stairway led to street level. Railings allowed the passersby to see down. A hovering sign displayed prices and menu items, and sometimes an animation of the chef preparing the food. It looked kind of kooky from Flis's angle.

  The place was called Gombolli's Fry and Pasta. Ordinary place, really.

  Flis's table was made from genuine wood. Teak, perhaps, or more likely walnut. Two antique-style seats, one either side, made from the same wood.

  There were huge farm groves of the stuff out to the west, beyond the lake country. The table top was circular, less than a meter across. Chips and gouges in the edges where people had slipped with their knives or banged their buckles or bag straps.

  In the middle was a tiny automatic slot where her chosen condiments, and napkins and cutlery would arrive when she'd ordered. A tiny projection of the menu scrolled across the table's glowing surface.

  The salmon looked good. But so did the venison. Seared the menu said with dill and rosemary, over an open flame. Succulent.

  Around her the restaurant hummed.

  There were more than a dozen tables, most bigger than her own. About half were occupied and there was only one other person on their own. A man in his nineties, wearing spectacles and with his gray hair in a bun. Unlike Flis, he didn't appear to be waiting for anyone. He was tucking into a bowl of pasta.

  The lighting was dim and the decor was dark. One wall had a vast, floor to ceiling painting of the ocean depths. A giant tentacled creature wrapped around a struggling submersible. It wasn't exactly relaxing, but it did bring a certain feeling to the restaurant's ambience.

  Opposite the painting, the back quarter of the restaurant was occupied by a long bar counter. Six stools, all unoccupied. Racks of fermented beverages behind. Some in glass bottles, some in steel and some in wooden flasks. A couple that were ground gray-white stone, with odd pictograms etched into the face.

  Expensive stuff.

  From the corner of her eye, Flis glimpsed someone starting down the stairs from street level. A man. Long coat, broad-brimmed hat. The woman looked his way and waved.

  He waved back. Joined the pair at the outdoor table.

  Not the person Flis was waiting for.

  A cherry-red light flared on Flis's table.

  Time to order. Like a few restaurants in Turneith, Gombolli's tolerated patrons delaying their orders. But like all, only for so long. Even with empty tables, they still encouraged you to at least order something.

  She tapped at the projected menu and ordered a bread basket with dips.

  Should hold them off for a little while.

  Besides, she was a little hungry. Early afternoon and she hadn't eaten since breakfast.

  Someone else started down the stairs. Woman, maybe early twenties. Blonde hair up in liberty spikes, and a tight swirl of a dress changing colors in slow motion. She stopped just a few steps down. Touched the side of her head and stared out into space.

  Perhaps she was chipped.

  No. She had a very slim curved wire across her ears and nose. Looking into a retinal projection.

  A moment went by and she turned and headed away up the stairs. Lost in the maelstrom of the Turneith foot traffic.

  The slot in Flis's table's center opened and a canister wound up and tipped over with a quiet clatter. The end opened, revealing the little package of napkin, cutlery and tiny condiment packs.

  The restaurant's sole waiter strode from the corner, carrying a tray. He had to be under twenty, with a tawny fuzz around his cheeks and chin and upper lip. He regarded her with dark eyes as he placed the basket of bread next to the cylinder.

  "Thanks," Flis said.

  "You're welcome," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

  After a couple of seconds, she said, "Was there something else?" Perhaps he thought he recognized her from somewhere.

  "There," he said, turning his head to look into the restaurant's back corner.

  Flis followed his gaze. Right against the screws on the unfortunate submersible another woman sat at a table.

  Flis hadn't noticed her before.

  Odd.

  "Shortly," the waiter said, "I will bring you a Nzaxta coffee. That customer has paid for it and asked me to deliver it."

  "And tell me?"

  "Yes. This is part of my instructions. She's tipping very well, but I think she also knows the restaurant's owner."

  "Gombelli?"

  "Frans Gombelli is long dead. Coda Enthast is the current owner."

  Flis tucked away that piece of information. You never knew when something might prove useful.

  "The significance of the coffee?" Flis said.

  Nzaxta coffee was a rare delicacy. Ancient beans now grown in highlands in a few remote locations. As far as she knew, there were no locations here on Paulding. Everything was imported from off world.

  It had to be ten years since she'd drunk a cup. Depending on supply, a single espresso could cost as much a meals for a whole family. Including dessert.

  "It will have a nanite. A probe that will interact with your arlchip and transmit all the data, connection and information required to convey the reason you were asked here."

  Flis licked her lips.

  "My arlchip is non-functional," she said.
/>
  A half-truth.

  Ex-military, with years of off-world fighting, she'd had the arlchip--an analysis capacity enhancing brain implant--partially removed before she'd returned home to Paulding.

  With the job done off-books in a back alley, the success had been limited. The arlchip still communicated with her, but it was sporadic and unreliable.

  If she was honest, she probably preferred it that way to not having it at all.

  "The condition of your arlchip is beyond the scope of the information I was asked to convey," the waiter said. He seemed a little nervous.

  "You just mean that she didn't mention that. You're just delivering a message."

  He nodded.

  "Well," Flis said. "I look forward to receiving this coffee. Especially since I'm not the one paying."

  Chapter Two

  From above the restaurant, up on the street, came a squeal and the blare of a klaxon. Some glitch in the traffic management systems and someone had cut someone off. The traffic in Turneith could get dreadful. The city was sitting at around ten million population, but had a design for over twenty million.

  Tall looming structures that from a distance made the central area look like a clump of boda grass. Vast networks underground, and a remarkable, complex canal system.

  Sitting near the ocean at the edge of the rich Karnth plains, with the river running alongside, Turneith was one of the biggest cities on Paulding. At one time the planet had been home to almost a billion, but that was down closer to a hundred or two hundred million, depending on who you spoke with.

  The diaspora following the wars, where hundreds of new planets opened up, had been rapid and surprising.

  Flis picked up one of the bread slivers from the basket on her table. A triangle cut from flatbread. There were two dips, a white togdash and a creamy-tan hummus with inclusions. Were those miniature peppercorns?

  It didn't matter. She dipped and took and bite and it was delicious.

  She tried not to glance again into the restaurant's back corner. At the woman sitting there by the unnerving painting of the vessel and denizen of the deep.

  Flis smiled to herself. The painting was doing its job. Keeping her amused and keeping her in the restaurant. It was unnerving in a good way, really.

  The waiter approached again, carrying a wide saucer with a large curved cup. Not quite a bowl, but close to it.

  If an espresso was worth five meals, with dessert, how much was this lake worth?

  "Compliments of our other guest," the waiter said. "Would you like something else? The trout today is very good. Or if you'd like a sweet, there's a fresh batch of tiramisu and I would love to serve some, since otherwise I'm going to end up eating too much of it myself."

  He was smiling. Quite the charmer, and salesman.

  Flis looked into the coffee. The surface was a foamy mix of white and soft brown. There were sprinkles of cinnamon across the top. It looked quite delicious.

  "Did you have simple bos steak?" she said.

  "Vat-grown, not once live. We can do rare or medium, but chef's fussy about well-done."

  She was just putting off drinking the coffee.

  A nanite within.

  Why was she worried?

  "Seasonal vegetables?" she said.

  "Or off-season. The strip broccoli is every good. Sautéed with dill and rosemary."

  Flis smiled at him. Wasn't that one of the things the claimed to be very good at?

  "All right," she said. "A vat-grown bos steak, medium-rare, with unseasonal vegetables."

  "Coming up," he said. "I'd ease up on the bread, though, this steak can be filling, and you'll want to eat the vegies. Chef does them to perfection."

  "Sounds fabulous."

  The waiter departed and Flis picked up the cup. Put it to her lips.

  Decorum.

  She needed to at least appear unconcerned.

  Trouble was, what exactly was the nanite? How small? People tended to bandy the term around, meaning any machine from microscopic right up to the size of the thumbnail on a pinky finger.

  She didn't have anything that could properly examine the coffee to determine what the nanite's make up was. If her arlchip was fully functional, it might be able to make an analysis through her optic nerve.

  If she'd brought along a rippletalk, she could have dipped the corner in and gotten a full analysis right away.

  Flis was wearing dark blue leggings with a pair of blended walking boots. Both extremely comfortable. Really good for striding around the streets of Turneith. Above, a simple white shirt, with a smart jacket over the top. The thing could lengthen and exude a hood in case it rained. A good thing, given the frequency of rain in Turneith.

  In one pocket, she had a simple flattalk. Like a rippletalk's little brother. Very little brother. A square, slim card that was pretty dumb on its own, but could connect, through the jacket, to the system back at the investigative office she shared with Grae Sinder.

  Kupe-Sinder Investigations. Pretty straightforward really.

  She slipped the card out and leaned it against the coffee cup.

  "You don't need to do that," a voice said.

  Flis looked around.

  The woman from the back of the restaurant. She was standing just a couple of feet away.

  Not looking at Flis. Rather, she was staring at the painting.

  "Quite evocative, don't you think?" the woman said.

  "Why am I here?" Flis said. "Why don't I need to check what it is you want me to swallow?"

  "I think the artist has fabulously captured the drama of the situation without getting too depressing, yet neither becoming too cartoonish."

  "We can just talk," Flis said. "You don't need to implant something in me. Infect me with something."

  "Oh," the woman said. "But you're already infected."

  Chapter Three

  Flis sat staring at the coffee on the circular walnut table. The basket of breads was still there. Triangular and long and circular. Some flat, some well leavened. The idea was to sample different things.

  The waiter had suggested that she go easy on the breads. That the steak and vegetables would be enough.

  She would want to eat all the vegetables, apparently.

  She looked up at the woman again.

  "When you picked up the cup," the woman said. "The nanite was on the exterior, keyed to your DNA."

  So that it attacked her, but not the waiter.

  "You've tricked me," Flis said. She needed to get back to the office and get a medical diagnosis. They had sufficient systems in place for that.

  Grae could run it.

  She needed to call him.

  Outside, the woman with the skull cap was arguing with the two men. The tendrils of wires at the back of her cap twisted and shifted like angry snakes.

  "Would you have agreed to the job otherwise?" the woman at Flis's table said.

  Flis gave the smallest shake of her head. "Most likely, yes."

  "You're my last shot here. I think you would have walked away."

  "So, you resort to manipulation and blackmail as your strategy?"

  The woman shrugged. "Excuse me, but the circles I move in, that's de rigueur. Eat or get eaten."