---

Bishop’s Opening (Part 3 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

(Continued from Part 2…)

The Pawn was seated at the table with arms outstretched along its surface. Metal restraints held their forearms and wrists immobile. They had been stripped naked and their mask removed. Their neck and torso were fastened to the chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Bishop took the clear plastic robe Second Rook held out to him and wrapped it around himself. He strolled to the other end of the rectangular table, which had deep grooves around its edges. Sitting, he placed his left ankle on his right knee, gripping it lightly with his fingers.

The two Rooks stood on either side of the door as he studied the Pawn. Studied the even rise and fall of their pale brown chest and the smooth, emotionless face with its dark, angry eyes.

He gave himself time to bring his focus back to the task before him, instead of the swirl of conflicting emotions he’d left in the cabin, along with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“No lies,” Bishop said. “Or there will be consequences. Unlike some, I keep my word.”

The Pawn lifted their chin but said nothing.

“Name. Rank.”

“Lula. Black Knight.”

Bishop sighed and closed his eyes for a second. A mistake. His mind went immediately to a warm smile and the press of his mask against his skin as a hand stroked his cheek. Irritation at his wayward brain prickled his skin with heat. He snapped his eyes open.

“That,” he said. “Was a test. You failed.”

He glanced at the Rook to his right. First Rook stepped forward and pulled a metal knife from his utility belt. Without hesitation, he began to saw at the fingers on the Pawn’s left hand, severing them at the knuckle, one by one. The Kingston preferred old fashioned methods to humane ones. Lasers ended the pain too quickly. Bishop did not think torture was as effective as the Kingston believed, but he had learned to work within the Grandmaster’s rules.

It was that, or death.

What his Rooks had found out about Sebastian and his friends made him believe they were not likely to be assassins. But this Pawn might be the first salvo in a war he had no intention of becoming a casualty in.

When the screams had died to heaving groans and choking gasps, and Second Rook had stopped the bleeding enough to continue, Bishop leaned forward.

“You are no Knight. A Knight would not have screamed. A Knight would not have been caught. So.” He leaned back. “No more lies.”

The Pawn was dripping with sweat, grimacing as they tossed their head from side to side. Bishop nodded at Second Rook. She produced a syringe and gave the Pawn a shot of adrenaline to keep them conscious. They jerked against their bonds with a huge intake of breath, eyes wide, muscles rigid. The stumps of their fingers had been seared with a laser. The blood that had pooled beneath the hand ran down the sides of the table, gathering in the grooves and flowing into the closed metal pipes of the floor-bolted legs to the catchpit beneath the floor.

The salt-stink of blood and sweat and piss rose above the sweetness of vine perfume.

“Name. Rank,” Bishop repeated, his voice soft his body weary. He wanted this over with, but the Kingston’s Queen and the Grandmaster Kingston himself would expect thoroughness.

The Pawn stared at their hand, trembling as they tried to take one breath after another.

Bishop tilted his head, curious. “Did they not warn you of the price of this Game?” he asked. “The price of an attempt on a Grandmaster’s life?”

The Pawn’s eyes flashed.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I know I was not the target. It would be wise of you to avoid testing the limits of what I know. You are grist for the mill of whatever Sept sent you. But you do not have to let them decide your fate. Answer me honestly, and you may yet live. Fingers can be reattached. Wounds healed perfectly. But I won’t ask again. Name. Rank.”

The Pawn clenched their uninjured fist. Then they blurted out, “Pawn. She/her.”

Pawns had no name. You earned a name by attaining the rank of Bishop or higher. A good truth to start with, even if it was not his own. He had been born with a name, after all.

It was also a reminder to keep his mind on what had to be done. He could not allow one man’s inexplicable act of compassion to sway him from a lifetime of ambition and his mission to claw his way back into the Grandmaster’s favour.

He needed to be trusted again, so he could break that trust and gain his revenge.

“You have made a wise choice,” he told the Pawn. “Silence is better than lies. But I warn you. No one is ever silent in here.”

He tightened the plastic around him, snapped his fingers, and stood as First Rook stepped forward again and handed him the knife from his belt.

---

“What are you doing?”

Olly answered for Reece as he ran his hands along the irregular bumps of the walls on either side of the doorway. “He’s getting us out of here.”

“Is that really the best thing?” Sebastian frowned. “I don’t think we’re in danger.” He sat on the bunk, elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees, as Olly stopped pacing to stare at him with raised eyebrows.

“Tell me you realise that man is not to be trusted.”

“He hasn’t really done anything–”

“He put his hands on Olly,” Reece said, straightening to run hands along the top of the metal door. “And there’s the way he looks at you.”

“To be fair, Olly tried to punch him. And he’s masked. Who knows what he’s looking at?”

Reece shot a glare at him over his shoulder. “I know.”

“And protecting you? From us? Really?” Olly said, hands on her hips.

Sebastian licked dry lips and tried to ignore the sudden heat in the tips of his ears. Olly sighed, “Oh, Bas.”

“Oh, Bas, what?”

“You actually do see the best in everyone, don’t you?”

He sighed, tilting his head back to look up at her. “He saved my life. We should try to talk it out. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Only trouble will be if they try to keep us here,” Reece said in a grim voice. He paused, his body tense as he stared at Sebastian. “Olly and I are getting out of here. Are you with us this time, or not?”

Sebastian cursed. “Don’t start. I just didn’t want the guard to hurt you. You know I’m with you. But I think there’s a better way.”

“We can’t rely on a Valencian’s good graces, Bas,” Olly said.

There was a faint click beneath Reece’s searching hand, and a small section of wood pushed inward and lowered, revealing a panel.

“Control panel?” Olly asked.

“Better.”

Seconds after Reece activated the alarm he’d found, three guards came in, weapons at the ready. Sebastian didn’t even get the chance to stand up. Olly and Reece had come up together on some of the roughest corporate stations in the system and they’d learned to scrap with the best of them. This time, the guards didn’t have the numbers to overpower them. Sebastian stepped over the unconscious bodies into wide, low hallways where red light streaked along veins in the walls and sirens blared overhead.

They moved through the corridors swiftly, hiding in corners and empty rooms from running crew on two occasions. “You even have any idea where we’re going?” Sebastian whispered.

Reece nodded, gaze focused on the way ahead. “We’re a few levels down from the docking bay. Once we get to the lifts, we’re good.”

They were almost to the lift junction when they heard harsh voices and multiple boots. Sebastian spun in place as Olly and Reece backed up toward him. The only doors nearby were to their right; massive floor to ceiling things, carved out of the same petrified material as the walls and etched all over with designs. It had a clearly marked control panel though, and he figured anything that big would lead to a part of the ship large enough to get lost in. He was bringing his hand down to hit the transparent panel when the doors opened.

A gust of perfumed air swirled around them, but he was initially blinded by the blaze of light that escaped into the corridor. Stumbling back, he averted his eyes from the glare.

There was a loud crash, and heat splashed the back of his palm. He hissed and bent over his arm, shaking it out. A golden spreading puddle of what smelled like the most delectable soup slid along the floor toward his shoes. He stepped out of the way and looked up as the doors closed.

The figure in front of him was dressed in a drab brown jumpsuit and apron and wore a plain grey mask that covered their entire face. A huge metal pot had capsized at their feet, spilling food everywhere.

Olly and Reece were facing the junction in front of them, where several guards had come into view, spears activated. At their helm stalked Bishop. Sebastian cursed under his breath. This was the very situation he’d wanted to avoid.

Reece and Olly came alongside him. He took a breath in the tense momentary silence, intending to reason with Bishop.

“Olympia?”

Olly’s head snapped around and she took in the frozen figure to their right for the first time. “Do I know you?”

A trembling hand reached up and removed the mask. The face that appeared looked dazed but intensely joyful, and Olly’s breathing stuttered beside him.

“It’s me, Sticky. Your father.”

---

Bishop strode to his quarters with rage an iron taste in his mouth and molten heat in his veins. He went to his office without a backward glance–his men knew better than to follow him in–but after he dragged a private comm bracelet from his desk and turned, he found Sticky waiting with a bowed head and nervously twisting fingers.

“Please, Bishop,” he pleaded.

Bishop’s lip curled in derision. “Please what, Cook?” he asked, just to remind him of his place. To remind him that their customary ease with each other would hold no sway here.

Sebastian and his lovers had lulled him into thinking they could be easily manipulated. He had been careless. Distracted.

A pretty face and fine words, that was all it had taken. If the King or the Queen found out, they would prevail on the Grandmaster to promote a Knight immediately. Shame ate at him. Shame…and a burning emotion that had responded to the desperately apologetic look on Sebastian’s face.

You are halfway to being a fool again, he thought angrily. And this isn’t the time. He is not the one.

Once, long ago, he’d thought the Valencia might be the one. Might be a true friend. He’d risked everything to help him.

And he had paid the awful price when the Valencia’s plans failed.

Sticky went to his knees and raised his hands in supplication, his head still bowed.

“They don’t know. They don’t understand.”

Bishop touched the drawer shut, then took a breath and calmed himself. “Our harvests are down. The Greatwood sickens. Ships go off course and strand my Grandmaster galaxies from his route. Septs attempt to take advantage of the chaos and send assassins. My King and Queen are stretched and have no patience for mistakes. What would you have me do, Sticky?”

Sticky’s shoulders rose and fell with his breathing for long moments. Then he said in a low voice, “She’s the daughter I told you about.”

The daughter he’d spoken of so many times, the Kingston had ordered Bishop to find her long ago, to use as leverage. He had had not helmed the search as he should, telling himself he had other pressing priorities.

The same daughter had attempted to hit him, her anger and pain lashing out at him in ways he related to but could not afford to care about. She would clearly risk anything to protect the man that had no fear of him. The man that had no fear, period.

It was disturbing how difficult it was to stop his thoughts from going to Sebastian Carver and his effortless smiles and expressive face.

“I am aware,” he told Sticky. “That means nothing to me.”

“But everything to me.” Sticky raised his head and Bishop refused to flinch at his open, pleading expression.

“They’ve attacked my men twice now.”

“They don’t trust you,” Sticky replied. “It is natural.”

“They abused my goodwill,” he snapped, thinking of Sebastian. The touch of his hand on his cheek. Only one other person had ever touched his mask like that. He’d been betrayed then too.

“They were escaping a confinement they don’t understand.”

“Do you?” He folded his arms, comm bracelet dangling from his fingers as he leaned back against the desk. “Understand, that is?”

Sticky’s words, when they came, were halting. “They made a mistake. But they were not part of the attempt on you, were they?”

Bishop took a breath. Let it out. “No.”

“Then I would ask something of you.”

Bishop’s fingers caressed the bracelet in his hand. It was not safe to speak of King Bartica’s warning if he was not face to face with his Queen, but he had decided to inform him of the attack. It was proper etiquette to let him know of Bishop’s investigation into whether the Bartica had betrayed the Kingston, if another Sept had led the attempt, or if Bartica was working with another Sept to attack Sept Kingston.

But once the King and Queen knew all the details, the Grandmaster would know. And once the Kingston knew, there would be no saving them. No saving Olly, Reece…or Sebastian. Their innocence would mean nothing to the Kingston. They had seen too much.

Despite his anger, he did not want their suffering. He suspected he would not be as numb to it as he was to everything outside of his mission to regain true power.

“Say what you must,” he said.

Sticky’s eyes went to the bracelet. “Do not hurt them. Let me see her. Talk to her.”

He narrowed his eyes on Sticky, thinking.

“If that is truly what you want, I will have a request of you in return. Are you prepared for that?”

Sticky hesitated. “Yes.”

Ah. Then Sebastian, Olly and Reece might prove useful after all. The Kingston would be pleased enough to overlook many things, if he played this right.

“There is only one thing I would be interested to bargain with, Sticky. One thing you can offer me.”

Sticky swallowed, but determination hardened his gaze. “I know.”

“Then may I tell the Grandmaster we have an agreement?”

“If you grant my request. There are…conditions.”

There would have to be, given the price Sticky was willing to pay. But then again, he knew what they were. Had already considered all facets of this plan and found them worth the risk.

Though after everything that had happened, he could not be sure why. All he knew, as he fingered the cold metal of the bracelet, was that he could feel that hand against his mask. See that trusting, unafraid smile.

He must have looked like that once.

“Tell me,” Bishop said.

---

“So, you’re not going to speak to me?” Olly asked.

Reece’s fingers tightened on Sebastian’s bandaged hand for a second, but he didn’t look up as Olly spoke. Sebastian met her gaze as she paced instead.

“Now you want to talk?”

She stopped, biting her lower lip as she considered him where he sat on the bunk. “There wasn’t a good time before.”

“Really?” he said sarcastically. “Not any of times you told me stories about him? You let me believe he still had a stall in the Basement. You could have told me the truth instead of leading me on. You could have said, ‘Hey, Bas, by the way, the reason I know all this stuff about Sticky and his awesome cooking is because he’s my father.'”

“There was a good chance he was dead,” she said. “And I didn’t want to get into everything that happened if I didn’t have to.”

“He seemed real damn alive a few minutes ago.” He took his hand back from Reece and flexed it, too angry to feel much pain. “Is that why you didn’t want to come to this part of the station? In case you ran into him?”

“I didn’t want to come here because of the memories. This is where my mother died.” She folded her arms. “He abandoned me after she passed.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened as he took in her carefully blank face. “Olly,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you say?”

“It was too painful to explain. Not everyone has loving families who support them no matter what, Bas. Not everyone is good with every part of themselves.” She frowned and caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “Some of us just want to move on from the shitty bits.”

Sebastian stood and folded her into an embrace. “No part of you is shitty.”

Her laugh was muffled against his shoulder. “I hurt you. First by not telling you the truth, and then by walking away.” She leaned back to look up at him, and he saw her fear and worry. “You could have died.”

“I’m fine. And you’re telling me the truth now.” He cupped her cheek. “If there’s more, this is the time.”

She sighed. “Nothing that matters. And honestly, when we talk, I don’t want it to be while we’re being held prisoner.”

“Prisoners don’t get med kits.” Sebastian wriggled his hand.

“We hurt his guards. How many times is that now?” Olly groaned. “Trust me, we’re in the shit.”

“He dumped us here again, no increased security,” Reece pointed out. “That was hours ago. Something’s–”

The door opened to admit an unarmed guard, hands clasped behind their back. “Your presence has been requested,” the guard said, but they looked only at Olly.

“I’m not going anywhere alone with you,” Olly retorted, hands braced on her rounded hips. “We stay together.”

Sebastian bit back a pleased smile at her statement, but the guard stood motionless for almost a minute. Then they nodded firmly. “Come.”

They followed the guard back to the doors Sticky had emerged from. Bishop stood there with a small tool in one hand. He wore the green half-mask, and his melodious voice was mild when he said, “I sent for Olly.”

“She stays with us,” Reece said as Sebastian took Olly’s hand.

“You are my guests. You have my word she will not be harmed.”

“Fuck your word.”

Bishop tilted his head. “Where we are going, you may not, Horace Reece.”

“I go wherever she goes.”

“You don’t understand.” Bishop’s voice was slow and careful. “This is not a threat. It is a warning. I know your history, Horace Reece.”

“Then you know you can’t stop me.”

“I know your background. I know why your Kiskadee has no AI interface.”

“Get to the fucking point,” Reece said.

“If you try to follow her, you’ll die. Not because of me, but because your lineage wasn’t augmented for space travel the way Olympia’s and Sebastian’s were. You would reject the seedling needed to enter the vineyards on Valencia.” He paused. “It would not be a good death.”

“Valencia is nowhere near here.”

“Valencia is all around you. Don’t you see it? Smell it?”

Reece studied him then raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious.”

“Always.”

“You have a way to go between Valencia and this ship?”

“Instantaneously.” Bishop held up the syringe gun. “The vineyards of Valencia and the Arbors are linked to each other. All you need to enter is to become part of them.”

“She’s not becoming part of some vineyard. And she’s not going to Valencia.”

Bishop’s masked face turned to Olly. “You have questions. Your father has answers. He wants you to meet with him in the vineyards.”

Despite the tension in the silence that followed, Sebastian had to force himself to swallow his excitement. This was Olly’s choice, but he wanted to see those vineyards. He wanted her to say yes.

Get a grip. You’ve never heard of this technology. He could be lying to get Olly somewhere to do God knows what to her. But even as he thought it, he knew he didn’t really believe it. And in any case, there was no way Sebastian would let anything happen to her.

“What if I don’t want to talk to him?” she finally said.

Reece threw her a look. “Olly–”

“I would escort you all off this ship, and you would never have to see me or your father again, if that is your wish. I have no interest in forcing a family reunion.”

“What is your interest?” Sebastian asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because Sticky asked it of me,” Bishop replied. “And he has never asked for anything.”

Sebastian pondered that, then turned to Olly. “What do you want to do?”

Olly was breathing hard as she looked at Reece.

“Whatever you want, Olly,” Reece said, his voice gruff. “I told you back at the junction. You need to deal with your past, not run from it. But Sebastian knows now. We can go back to the Kiskadee and talk. Forget the rest of this ever happened.”

Olly blinked rapidly. “Thanks, Reece.”

“Anytime.”

She took a breath and met Sebastian’s gaze. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” Sebastian said without hesitation. “Don’t worry, Reece. I have this.”

Reece narrowed his gaze on Bishop. “I’ll wait right here.”

“You are free to do so,” Bishop replied.

“Anything happens to them–”

“I find threats tiresome, Horace Reece. Let’s just assume you bear me eternal ill will and dispense with the rest.” He turned to Sebastian. “The transition might cause a few moments of upset and you were recently injured. I cannot guarantee it will be painless.”

“I’m fine.” Sebastian flexed his hand. “I can do this.”

“Hold out your arms.”

There was slight sting, then lingering heat, and he rubbed at the ache as Olly received her seedling. The guard stepped up and offered them grey masks with red pinhole speakers. Once they donned them, they tapped the small squares on the side of their necks and oxygen filled the masks.

The doors opened and through the filtered visors, Sebastian could see flowering, shimmering vines swaying gently from above, hanging low to almost knee-high grass. Bishop handed the tool to the guard and strode into the sparkling vista without a backward glance.

Warm tendrils brushed Sebastian’s face as they moved. The ground beneath their feet went from flat and predictable, to uneven with the slightest give. His limbs felt heavier for a moment and that made him stumble, his world tilting before arms caught him. The vines were thinner here, and he was fumbling at his mask, hands helping him rip it free before he vomited onto the ground at his feet.

His ribs were aching when he straightened. Olly was on one side of him, her right arm around his waist and both their masks dangling from her left hand. “Okay?” she asked, concern wrinkling her brow.

He nodded. “Sorry about that.”

“Understandable,” Bishop said close to his other ear, and he realised there were two arms around his waist. Heat spread through his body as he quickly stepped out from the shared embrace. A row of opaque panels hung from a doorway in front of him. He pushed through it, blinking at the sudden reduction in light.

A large circular room curved away from him. Gilded walls and doors glowed under huge light sources; they hung from arched ceilings etched with colourful frescos. The floor beneath his feet was burnished, golden wood, and statuary decorated the many alcoves. Between those alcoves, massive, tinted windows looked out on the brilliance of a swaying vineyard.

In the centre of the room was a beautifully set table for two, and Sticky. He’d changed out of his jumpsuit into the flowing, sheer pants and thigh length tunics Bishop wore, only his were black, with silver threading. No mask hid his cropped hair and the crinkles around his eyes.

“Shit,” Sebastian said weakly. “It’s real. We’re…not on the ship anymore.”

Olly came alongside Sebastian, her gaze taking in everything before settling on Sticky. She set off toward him and Sebastian followed. Bishop strode behind them, a silent commanding presence.

“What is this?” she said to Sticky, hands on her hips.

“I thought we could talk over a meal–”

“It’s a little late for that, Sticky.”

The skin under his eye twitched. “You never used to call me that.”

“Yeah? You used to be around. Things change.”

“I didn’t bring you here to fight, Olympia–”

She slammed her hands down on the table, rattling dishware and tumbling a water glass. “My name is Olly. Olympia Richardson died when Gran did.”

Sticky closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before opening them again. He snapped his fingers and a door opened at the far end of the room. Two bare-chested masked persons in identical green and white pants entered. Sticky waved a hand at the table, and both disappeared. “I wanted to talk, but if what you need is for me to listen, I can do that.”

Olly leaned back as the attendants returned. They set up a larger table and more chairs with surprising speed and grace before clicking the door shut behind them.

“I thought you’d want this to be kept private,” Sticky said, glancing at Sebastian.

Olly studied him, fists clenched at her side. “He and Reece are family.”

Sebastian stepped forward and offered a hand. “Sebastian Carver, but Olly calls me Bas.”

The hand that gripped his was dry and rough. “James Richardson. Call me Sticky. Reece is the other one who was with you?”

“Yes, but he couldn’t make the trip.”
Understanding swept across Sticky’s face. “The seedlings. He’s unaugmented then?”

“Why did you do it?” Olly said, her voice hoarse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Bishop withdraw to an alcove. He was studying the sinuous line of abstract stone with his hands behind his back, one wrist clasped in the fingers of the opposite hand.

“Olym…Olly.” There was a sheen to Sticky’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

Olly drew in a breath as if she’d been stabbed. “Best for me? It wasn’t much, seeing you only when Gran could sneak me to the food stall, but it was all I had. Why did you take that from me?”

“I was trying to save your mother.”

Olly took two steps back, shaking her head. Astonishment carved harsh grooves in her face. “What the hell are you talking about? After her…after the Blowout, you disappeared. Now I find you here, decades later, living it up with some fucking Valencian.” She pointed a shaking finger at him. “Did you know they were right there when that door failed? They watched that cargo bay depressurize. And they wasted precious time waiting for the Station Agents to ask for help. Because it wasn’t their business.”

Sebastian stepped behind her and rubbed her upper arms soothingly, letting her know he was with her without interrupting. She didn’t react, her accusing gaze focused on her father. Sticky looked as upset as she, but there was a tenderness there. And so much regret.

“Please,” he said. “Sit. Both of you. I’ll explain everything.”

---

None of them noticed when Bishop stepped through the concealed door in the alcove into the passageways that honeycombed Sept Kingston. They were too caught up in the venting of many tempi of anguish and regret.

He could not have stood witness to that a moment longer, even if he had not had pressing business to take care of. Business that had made Sticky’s request to return very convenient indeed.

He strode through the curving golden passageways, exiting into the Septhold proper and pausing only to confirm from one of the Pawns where his White Knight could be found.

He entered the wing that housed the Senior Quarters and went straight to the largest chamber, opening the door without knocking. The White Knight rose from his bed, spear already in hand. He relaxed as he recognized Bishop. Lowering his spear, he bowed, then straightened and opened his mouth.

Bishop drew two knives from hands hidden behind his back and stabbed him with one, making sure to nick the Knight’s left femoral artery.  He followed the Knight down to the floor as he dropped, the spear clattering alongside him. He held the other knife to the Knight’s throat while he kept the one in the Knight’s leg steady. Blood welled, soaking through the Knight’s pantaloons in seconds.

“Who else?” Bishop asked. “Who else helped Sept Marigot?  You knew the Grandmaster was to be in Greater Paradise. But you could not have known when I decided to leave. Someone with me on Greater Paradise told you that and you tipped off the Pawn.”

The Knight breathed harshly as he stared at Bishop with cold eyes. “I am already dead. Why should I help you?”

“I have not severed your artery. The doctors can still save you. The more valuable the information, the more likely the Kingston will spare you and demote you to the Lesser Games. You can survive this if you tell me no lies.”

“Will you promise me my life, Bishop?” the Knight asked in a bitter, strained voice. “You have always kept your word. Give it to me now, and I will give you the answers you seek.”

Bishop studied him for a moment, then sighed and slit his throat. Warm blood stung his skin as he stood, yanking both knives free.

“I said no lies,” he told the corpse.
He was halfway to his rooms when a Pawn saw him and halted, eyes wide. Bishop gestured to the trail behind him.

“Clean this up. The White Knight is in his room. Arrange for a traitor’s disposal. And send the Black Knight to my quarters in fifteen minutes. Where is the Queen?”

“In the Audience Hall, Bishop,” the Pawn replied with a fist over their chest.

“Send a messenger to request a meeting with him once the Audiences are over. And Pawn, you will tell the guards no member of this Septhold is allowed to leave for any reason unless I personally escort them.”

“Yes, Bishop,” the Pawn said, and kept his head lowered as Bishop walked away, leaving bright red drops of blood on the golden floor.

(Continued in Part 4…)

---

Host Commentary

By Valerie Valdes

Once again, that was part three of Bishop’s Opening, by R.S.A. Garcia. It will conclude with part four next week.

It’s always fun to find stories with novel methods of interstellar travel, and walking through flowered vines and tall grass is certainly different from warp drives and wormholes. While the focus of this novella is on Sebastian and Bishop, some of the mystery of Olly’s past is now explained, her old feelings dug up like weeds in a garden. As this personal drama unfolds, so does the larger political conspiracy swirling around Bishop. How will the endgame of this chess match play out? Stay tuned for next week’s conclusion.

Escape Pod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license. Don’t change it. Don’t sell it. Please do share it.

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Our opening and closing music is by daikaiju at daikaiju.org.

And our closing quotation this week is from Tananarive Due, who said, “Your past is your shadow. It has form but no substance, except in the places you allow it to touch you.”