Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  Starting the very next day, Samson found reasons to keep Cut near him at all times. He called him into his office for little things he could have messaged for, and when he had business to attend to outside of the building, he brought Cut along when before he would have gone alone.

  They’d been careful until now—their session in the conference room not withstanding—but this sort of attention was certain to turn heads. ”Aren’t you afraid someone’s going to suspect something?” When Cut began his position, there had been rumblings about how he’d gotten it, alleging a preexisting relationship with Samson, but they’d had no proof, so they remained rumors. The sudden uptick in interaction might give some credence to those claims.

  Samson shrugged. “You’re my assistant and I need your help more than usual. That’s all it has to look like from the outside. There’s no reason for anyone to question it. And they certainly aren’t going to come to me about it. Sometimes it’s good to be the boss.”

  It seemed what Samson asserted was true. No one gave Cut weird looks. The few people that spoke to him before continued to do so. As long as no one filed a complaint citing nepotism, they were in the clear.

  Cut didn’t mind the new arrangement. He got to hang around Samson more than he normally did, was brought in closer on Deyaa’s daily goings on, and he got to visit places he didn’t even know existed on Izanami, like Komatsuna Corp. Several seed farms had cropped up in the last few years, though none of the others were on the scale of the one they visited.

  Izanami’s leadership encouraged its citizens to try their hands at amateur horticulture to relieve some of the load on the oxygen plants and grow beds for produce. Most seed farms offered, small easy to care for things that didn’t take up much space. Komatsuna Corp specialized in produce that interested food manufacturers.

  Cut and Samson walked through, gawking at the set up. At the front of the building, the structure’s tall domed roof was filled with vertical catalogs of seeds inside, each with an image hovering in front of what the contents would yield. Corn, tomatoes, wheat, and many plants Cut didn’t know the name of were arranged in neat rows. The building felt cavernous, despite the drawers of product stretching towards the vaulted ceiling. Workers wearing scrubs checked inventory or transferred seeds to little vials and jars, but they were too busy to pay them much attention.

  They didn’t have to wait long for a representative to approach them. Unlike the others, this person was wearing a dress suit, not a clean suit.

  “Mr. Ba? We’ve been expecting you.” She extended her hand to Samson who shook it. “I’m Gija Khuu. I believe we spoke remotely.” When Gija was done with him, she moved on to Cut. “And you are?”

  “Jones. I’m Mr. Ba’s assistant.”

  “A pleasure, Jones.” She consulted her pod and ticked something off. “Alright. If you both follow me, we can start the tour.”

  Gija took them through the facility from the shop front to their grow beds on a lower level. In containment rooms mechanical arms hovered over soil filled troughs several yards wide, seeing to the fledgling plants while human workers supervised.

  “Much of the produce purchased from outposts or boutique grocery stores comes from facilities like this. We offer seeds as well as saplings primed for implantation. All our products are cultivated for longevity, hardiness, and maximum yield. Komatsuna has also provided companies on other colonies with successful seedlings and seeds.”

  Samson stared at the grow beds and their mechanical caretakers as she spoke. “Are they able to germinate in native soil? But in a contained environment, like, say, a dome and not a set up like this?”

  Gija consulted her pod again. “I don’t see why not as long as the nitrogen levels are acceptable and it’s sufficiently aerated and irrigated.”

  “What about in the new dome? Tiamat?”

  “Technically, as long as the land is prepared beforehand.” Gija spoke carefully.

  “And do you offer preparation as a service?”

  “Pardon my saying so, but I don’t enjoy speaking in the abstract, Mr. Ba. Where are you going with this?”

  Samson stepped close to the glass separating them from the grow beds watching the machines tend the nursery. “I’m looking to acquire a sizeable plot of land in Tiamat, but I don’t want to end up with something I can’t use.”

  Gija maintained a professional veneer, but they were talking serious amounts of money. Inside, she must have been doing cartwheels. “We’d need to do a survey, get some samples to see which plot is capable of the best yield if we were to invest the time into it. We do offer those services, though clients rarely inquire about them. We can bundle them in with the rest of your order when we draw up the contract.”

  “Then we’ll do that,” Samson said. “Now what do you offer in the way of meat fabrication and processing? I was told there was someone I could talk to regarding that?”

  “Of course. Let me pass you off to my colleague. She works at our sister division. We don’t have those facilities on site, but she’s here today to meet you and save you some travel.”

  Gija led them to a conference room, the only one in the building, and asked for their patience as she went to retrieve her colleague.

  Posters lined the conference room walls emblazoned with the company’s logo, the silhouette of a sprout just starting to push up through the soil with a circle around it, as well as slogans for the company. Things like “Fresh, not flash frozen!” and “Just like Mama Earth used to make!” Cheesy, but they had probably swayed more than a few potential customers.

  This was all moving so fast. They started talking about this not long ago, and now Samson was making it real. Cut assumed they had weeks ahead of them before things started moving. He was used to endless planning that went nowhere. That those plans were being set in motion freaked him out.

  Cut paced the room, looking at all the posters, but his mind was elsewhere. Samson was making so many changes, not all for Cut’s benefit, but he was the catalyst. He felt guilty and useless. He wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “What’s on your mind?” Samson sat at the head of the table, unphased and in control. How could he be so calm?

  Cut stopped in front of a poster with a pair of goofy looking kids falling over themselves in a field of grass, smiles broad and gap-toothed. He wasn’t trying to make Samson second guess himself, but he didn’t want him rushing into this for the wrong reasons.

  He went to Samson’s side, pulled out the chair, and sat. “I know we’re in a bind, but you don’t have to move up your timetable because of me.”

  Samson laid a hand on top of Cut’s, the gesture familiar and calming. “This is definitely something I have to do. I’ve been looking to get out from under my father’s thumb before I ever got the idea for Family Kitchen. I’ve been taking small steps to become autonomous for years. I was just lucky Komatsuna could see me so soon.”

  That made Cut feel a little foolish. Of course it wasn’t just for him. He wasn’t so important.

  Samson gave his hand a squeeze. “This is a lot to deal with, for both of us, but I’ve done my research on this. We’ll be OK.”

  “But it’s not a small amount of money.”

  “I won’t have to pay it all up front. Even if the sales at the Family Kitchen machines fall off, it’ll be awhile before we’re in dire straits. I can sell off everything we buy today if it comes to it. Have faith in me.” He squeezed Cut’s hand a little harder. Cut wasn’t sure who Samson was trying to convince. Having faith in someone else didn’t come naturally to him, but he’d try.

  Gija returned shortly after that, accompanied by another well-dressed woman about the same age.

  “This is Yun of Tsukune. She can answer any and all questions you might have about our protein manufacturing division.”

  Gija took a seat, and Yun took over. The lights in the conference room dimmed, and Yun launched into her presentation. Cut learned so many things about how protei
n was produced out here and the different sources they used. He was definitely going to need a break from eating it after this.

  At the end of the meeting, they’d set a date for the survey and signed the contract. Samson sounded so sure, but for Cut, it felt like they’d crossed a line, and there was no turning back.

  On their way back to the office to pick up his bike, Cut turned the sound on and his pod buzzed to life with the messages he missed. All of them were from Rami.

  Do you have an answer yet?

  I think I’ve been more than patient.

  It’s been 4 days! And I’ve been at work, you clown.

  Cut rethought the clown comment and deleted it, but did Rami really not understand how normal people operated?

  Right, right, so that means you aren’t working now?

  They’d agreed that Cut had to stall him, but he didn’t think he’d have to start right now!

  Cut’s sigh made Samson look over, a brow raised.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. Nothing at all.” Cut quickly typed up a response.

  No I’m not working.

  Then that means you’re available for a drink?

  Cut tightened his jaw. A drink with Rami was the least appealing thing he’d been offered in a long time, but… Samson had said he should appease him. What better opportunity would he get than this?

  One drink. Tell me where.

  “I’ve got an errand to run, but I’ll be by later?” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. He’d tell Samson afterwards, so it was more like, an omission. This was going to be unpleasant, but it had to be done. Samson was already doing all he could for them. It was Cut’s turn to pick up the slack.

  The car stopped at the side of the building where Cut’s bike was parked, and he got out. Samson nodded and gave him a tired smile. “Sure. See you soon.”

  The car took off before Cut could respond, courtesy of Gray behind the wheel. Normally, he’d be upset by that rudeness, but he was just thinking of the job ahead of him.

  Chapter 19

  T

  his was not a date. Cut refused to treat it as such. He went back to his apartment to change out of his work clothes for his comfort. He wasn’t out to impress anyone, least of all Rami.

  While he was there, he packed some clothes in a bag and readied his plants to survive without him. With delayed release watering bulbs and a timer on their sun lamps, they could survive for weeks. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he wasn’t naïve or optimistic enough to believe anything that happened tonight would appease this spoiled man-child. But if showing up bought them one more day of peace, he had to go along with it.

  He stopped in the lobby on his way out and checked the mailbox. There was only one item, squished and shoved deep into the narrow slot. He stuck his arm in almost up to the elbow, but he finally got it. The postage said it came from Antigua. This had to be the collar. At least one thing was going his way this evening.

  Cut loaded up the saddlebags on his bike and headed to the address Rami sent. It was in Marigold District, which took some time to find it, but when Cut did, it wasn’t what he expected. He idled his bike outside a residence much like the one Samson lived in, but further from the Burrow and everything Cut knew. He called Rami, ready to hear something he wasn’t going to like.

  “Is that you out there?” As Rami spoke, the shutters on one of the windows parted, revealing his silhouette. Thank Izanami he had clothes on. He waved.

  “This isn’t what we agreed on, Rami.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I agreed to meet for drinks. This doesn’t look like a bar to me.”

  “Who said you have to drink in a bar? I’ve got plenty of booze.” Rami disappeared from the window and reappeared with a bottle in his hand for proof. “You mixed drinks for a living? We’ve got ambiance. What more do we need?”

  There was more to a bar than lighting and liquor; you needed music, sounds of the street, but most of all, there were other people around who’d notice if something was amiss. Though, being in public was far from a guarantee of Rami’s good behavior. They were off to a bad start already, but it was too late to back out.

  “Are you in there alone?”

  Rami snorted a laugh. He sounded like he was already deep in his cups, well past the point where any bartender would have stopped serving him. “Who else were you expecting? If you’re afraid of being alone with me, I can have someone join us. A boy? A girl? Someone else? I could always try my brother and see if he’s up for making the trip if that makes it easier for you?”

  “You trying to make me leave?”

  Rami laughed again, satisfied that he’d gotten under Cut’s skin. “I want you to make me a drink. Park that thing and get in here.”

  If he was as drunk as he sounded, he’d pass out after another drink or two. Cut could survive that long. He went to the side of the residence, parked the bike, went to the door, and rang the bell.

  The door opened after three rings, and Rami teetered back from it, regarding Cut with glazed over eyes. “Took you long enough.” He pulled his oversized cardigan back on his thin shoulders. It slid back down, artfully draping across his arms. If he wasn’t so tipsy, Cut would have thought he’d done that on purpose.

  Rami was shallow and rich, so the place he stayed was expected to reflect that. Yet, there was nothing inside but a few bland pieces of furniture and the same stale smell that had been in Samson’s spare room, like no one truly lived here. He might have rented it as is. According to Samson, he and their father lived on Earth, but he’d been here for weeks, more than enough time to make this place speak of Rami, if only with something as simple as a cheap trinket he’d seen and had to have.

  Rami swayed on his feet as he led them into the living room. Cut watched him, undecided on whether or not he’d catch him if he lost his footing. An opened bottle of vodka and glass sat on the living room table. There was a movie on that Cut had seen before, but he doubted either of them would be watching it.

  “Looks like you started without me.”

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up to begin with. I figured, why waste the lamplight?” He flopped down on the couch, his legs going out from under him.

  He didn’t offer to take Cut’s coat, hadn’t given any proper greeting. And he dared to talk down to Cut and Samson about their manners? Cut continued to stand—and not just because he hadn’t been offered a seat—on the opposite side of the coffee table. He folded his arms over his chest.

  “You’ve got me here. What do you really want?”

  “We can start with that drink and go from there. Make it something good. Something sweet. And make yourself one too. Liquor’s is over there.”

  He shook out of his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. A minibar was nestled under the window Rami had waved to him from at the front of the unit. Cut crouched at its doors and started to plunder. For something so small, it was well stocked. Cut mixed them some whiskey sours, though his was more sour mix than anything else. He was counting on Rami being too drunk to question why the color of his was off.

  He handed Rami his glass, pulled a chair up to the table, and sat. Rami tasted his drink and frowned.

  “I could have made this myself.”

  “But you didn’t. You asked for a drink. You didn’t say it needed to be complicated. It’s still better than anything you’re able to make.” Cut sighed, reining in his exasperation. “Sit with it a minute. Really taste it.”

  Rami fixed him with an unfriendly glare, but did as he was told. He gulped down a quarter of the glass in seconds. “Not bad.” He licked his lips. “I’m impressed.”

  Cut didn’t answer. He went back to his position by the coffee table, waiting for Rami’s next demand so they could be finished with this.

  “I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m torturing you. This is far from the worst thing you could be doing. I’m sure you’d rather be
up under my brother, but I’m going to have to satisfy for now.”

  He was right, as much as Cut hated to admit it. He shifted the chair that held his coat, getting ready to sit in it, when Rami spoke. “Not there.” He moved over to one side of the couch, the empty space an unspoken invitation.

  Rami excelled at pushing his buttons, but Cut was finally in his wheelhouse. Rami was being a drunk shithead, and Cut knew how to deal with those.

  During his bartender tenure, Cut figured out that two kinds of people came to Hole. Those who simply didn’t want to be alone made up the bulk of their patrons, but then, there were folks like Rami whose main goal was to find someone to stroke their egos. They needed people to look at them to feel valid, to listen to their inane stories and tell them how great they were. They need attention. Cut hadn’t met many people like this, but they all operated the same. Cut took the seat beside him and kept as much space between them as it allowed. He sipped his own watered down drink.

  “I’m really surprised it’s just the two of us here. You strike me as the type that’s never alone.”

  Rami’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Oh, had he struck a nerve?

  Having an audience to his current degradation wouldn’t have surprised Cut at all. People like Rami, especially ones with money, tended to be swarmed by hangers on. And who didn’t love a show?

  “Someone like you, I bet you’re real popular on the club circuit. I’m sure they flock to you at your regular place, right?”

  Rami huffed, shook his head. “You think I’m some fucking club kid?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  All the signs were there. Loner, tons of disposable income, indulgent, spoiled asshole. That profile matched the club kids Cut knew perfectly.

  “You sound like my father,” Rami grumbled. “I’m not a sleazy burnout like them. I’m… never mind. Doesn’t matter. Don’t associate me with them.” He downed the rest of his drink and rattled the ice in his empty glass. “Refill. Make me a complicated one this time. And take off your shirt.”