Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

fashion. The process is random, however. They are like diamonds, you see. Rare and valuable. We usually find them buried somewhere, identifiable only by their pristine state. But occasionally a new one is made.”
    “Why don’t you manufacture a thousand objects by creating rips in space over and over until you get one?”
    “The process is far from certain. We’ve tried to do it deliberately, but it never seems to work that way.”
    “So any rip can create one by accident?” I asked.
    “Actually, when the Gray Men create a vortex they do it differently. The odds an object is made seem far greater.”
    I thought about his words, and a dark suspicion began to take root in my mind. The idea grew there like an evil fungus. Finally, I had to voice what I was thinking.
    “I get it now,” I said. “Your motivations have suddenly become clear. All along, I’ve wondered why the Community hadn’t formed a coherent defense against the Gray Men. Why let these attacks go unchallenged? The only effort I’ve seen is from one guy, Detective McKesson, running around picking up the pieces. He covers up the messes, but doesn’t seek to stop them from happening.”
    “Does this list of complaints have a point, Mr. Draith?”
    “Yes. Rogues such as I, people you despise, we are doing more to battle the Gray Men than the entire Community. That’s because you aren’t interested in stopping them at all, are you? No, the Community sees this as some kind of gold rush. Objects are popping up at a much greater rate. You, Meng, and the rest don’t care what the Gray Men do as long as they keep finding more objects. If they come here and perform an anal probe or two, what does it matter? You’re like fishermen with a big net. All you have to do is let the Gray Men keep coming. If they want to kill rogues, so be it. Just let us run around and die, and then collect the fresh objects, tossing them in your vault afterward.”
    Rostok cleared his throat and shifted his bulk in his chair. “It is nowhere near as cold a process as you describe. We’ve gained a few items here and there, yes. But it seems you have gained more than I. You, a clueless rogue, have gathered a powerful set of objects. Enough to defeat Meng and give me pause. I don’t like that development. Perhaps we’ve looked at this the wrong way. Perhaps a scarcity of objects is what we want, in order to retain our relative positions.”
    “What do you do with all these objects? Just lock them away?”
    “No,” he rumbled. “We use them. Let rogues check them out for missions—even trade with them. Once you are involved in this game, smaller matters such as money have little value. Barter is everything among the members of the Community. And there is only one currency that we all value.”
    I sipped my drink as we paused for several long seconds. I thought of all the people who’d died. The Community had the strength and the knowledge to face the Gray Men, but they’d seen fit to sit back and collect scraps. From theirperspective, they were becoming rich even as lesser people died. I wouldn’t soon forget that.
    “What do you know about
me
, Mr. Rostok?” I asked, breaking the silence. “Do you know my past? Do you know if Quentin Draith is even my real name?”
    “Worthless information. I don’t trouble myself with what people did before they gained an object. It does not matter. What matters is how a man plays the game once he has begun.”
    I was disappointed. My history was still a blank to me, an empty void I’d like to fill some day.
    “One more thing—” I began.
    “No. You have milked me like a cow, and I must put a stop to it. Now you will answer
my
question. I have only one. Will you join my house or not?”
    I looked at his bulky outline in the darkness. “I will not, at this time. I would prefer to remain like McKesson. Helpful, but independent.”
    Rostok generated a rumbling laugh. “Independent? There’s no such thing. You’ve been working for Meng all this time, whether you knew it or not. You’ve been bird-dogging fellow rogues for her for years.”
    For years.
I let that thought sink in, and I didn’t like the feel of it.
    “McKesson isn’t independent,” the old man continued. “He works for all of us collectively.”
    “All right,” I said. “I’ll take that route. Just as long as we are all on the same side.”
    Rostok hawked and spat. “You can’t play me like this, Draith. You must be more careful when you