How to Steal Blade

Excerpt From: How to Steal Blade

Deminic stretched his long legs out and leant back into the ultra soft, creamy synth-leather bench seat. Travelling between engagements in the smooth, completely soundproofed hover-limo certainly had its advantages. In fact, lately it seemed the only place he could truly relax. Between meetings with sycophantic business owners, dinner functions with fawning hostesses, and the endless appointments with toadying charity organisations all just wanting ‘one moment of his time’, he was worn down to his very last nerve.

Letting out a deep sigh of frustration, he turned his head to gaze out of the dark tinted glass into the bustling heart of Mebian 7’s elite business district. He watched as crowds of the upper-class, the only ones permitted on this level, flocked to the brightly-lit shops like insectoids. All would be enjoying a few fabulous purchases before going home to their perfectly styled apartments and sitting down to their exquisitely prepared meals. He was so sick to death of the whole pristine, sterile lot of them.

For a moment he wondered whether it might be time to move on again. He had been on Mebia 7 Prime, the core planet of the Mebian system, for nearly four standard years now. The cut-throat business world in this system should have been the perfect place to find what he was looking for—namely a challenge.

Starting off with a very modest investment and a razor sharp desire to find just what was missing from his life, he had wheeled and dealed his way through the business sector like a dervish. He had overcome every hurdle, surpassed every expectation. Now, in a system where money was almost a religion, he was very nearly a deity. The last time he had checked his current personal credit chip it was even more obscene than the one he had left behind with his multi-billion credit business on Centre.

Damn it, he fumed silently. Now he had two huge credit portfolios and was still no closer to figuring out what was missing in his life. He had thought he would find it in the thrill of achievement against the odds, the exhilaration that only came with a job well done, and the sheer, bone deep satisfaction of conquest. Apparently he had been wrong.

Pushing back a hank of his jet black hair that had somehow escaped his braid with a strong, teak coloured hand, he scowled out at the street. He considered the people milling and scurrying around. There were whole crowds, like shoals of little fish, hurrying on to no particular end. He realised that these were the sorts of people he met and dealt with every day of his life in his drive to remain always at the very top, both personally and professionally. But they didn’t really interest him. They didn’t stimulate or challenge him. Perhaps that was truly at the heart of all his problems.

He wondered irritably where the real people were. The ones that actually thought about more than what brand of shoes might go best with this or that particular outfit. The ones whose realities didn’t simply revolve around who had been seen where, or what cocktail functions to attend next week. Where were the people whose entire intellectual capacity wasn’t always focused on ostentatious displays and grand, but meaningless, gestures? He desperately wanted to meet some people who actually strived to make a difference in the universe and lived in the real world.

Hearing his chauffer tactfully clear his throat, he turned his head to face forward again, carefully schooling his features to give nothing of his inner turmoil away.

“Will Sir be requiring the town car this evening to go visiting?” Rejinald asked in his meticulously polished, polite voice.

It was code. Rejinald could no more have asked if he was going to be visiting The Dungeon than ask if he would like fries with that. It simply wasn’t in the man’s make-up to ask such apparently distasteful questions. He wasn’t sure which the man thought was more distasteful, prying into his master’s activities or his master’s predilection for the darker side of sexual expression. In truth, Deminic really didn’t give a flying fuck, as long as his staff knew to keep their damn mouths shut. He had quite enough experience with the mayhem certain sorts of gossip could cause in his life.