by Neely Dobbs
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Slipping quietly through the pub's back alley entrance, Pezzer paused only a moment to let his eyes adjust; the dim glow inside was barely brighter than the dark night outside the door. He eased over to the burly barman, covertly revealed a glittering coin and asked, "Is he here?"
The man nodded curtly toward the back corner as the bribe disappeared. "He stopped ordering drinks over an hour ago."
Squaring his shoulders, Pezzer moved more confidently than he felt. Encounters with his father were often memorable, but rarely satisfying. He tapped the wall-speaker near the translucent privacy field and nervously tugged at his jacket.
An imperious voice bellowed, "Who is it and what do you want?"
"It's Pezzer, Father. May I join you?"
"I already said 'what do you want'. Can't you hear, boy?"
"Er... I... uh... need to..."
"Do you even know why you're pestering me? Spit it out!"
"Yes, Sir. But we need to speak privately."
"Haul your scrawny butt in here— and you'd better not be wasting my time!"
Pezzer stepped briskly into the booth, sat across from his father and peered around nervously as privacy was re-engaged. "Opaque the privacy field, perhaps?" he suggested.
"You ungrateful cub! Gettin' too big for your britches? So what if I'm just the second son of the late and oh-so-esteemed Grandfather Braang's third son... are you gettin' too proud to be seen with your own father?"
"Of course not, Sir. But this needs to be..."
"This what?"
Pezzer leaned forward conspiratorially and barely whispered, "I have information. Information that can... help you."
" Slizzle, son! The privacy field is active— speak up!"
Frustrated by years of his father's berating, Pezzer almost shouted. "I have information that can help you!" He tapped his jacket pocket. "Important information."
"What is it?"
"Father, you have always said that information is valuable..."
"No," Pzorren snapped. "As usual, you only hear what you want." He snorted derisively. "Hear me and remember: Power may be gained through the use of valuable information."
Pezzer nodded. "And that's what I have brought you— valuable information."
Pzorren's head tilted and his eyes narrowed. "And what is the nature of this tidbit you've stumbled across?"
" Information known only to Ptoriil and FSO Laytonn... and me. And you know how they conspire against the MAC. I have information that will help you expose Lord Ptoriil's abuse of power. Valuable information that—if you act on it quickly— will weaken Ptoriil and bring honor to you, to House Braang... and to me."
Pzorren leaned back, considering. "Perhaps... if it is of real value. And what, my son, would be your reward?"
"The power it brings House Braang! And, perhaps, you might whisper a word to rid me of my sham Special Aide title. Perhaps, instead... an official position as one of your honored advisors?"
"Oh, ho," Pzorren hooted. "The runt has ambitions after all! So, youngster, time to lay your cards on the table. Is your hand as strong as you claim? What have you?"
Smiling slyly, Pezzer slipped the clandestine report from inside his jacket. "The very first signs of a future system capture!" Pezzer's words raced out as Pzorren scanned the report. "I discovered it, and I compiled this initial summary myself. I'm sure they'll try to hide it... withhold it... from MAC as long as possible." Pezzer finished in a near frenzy, "You can expose their duplicity, their conspiracy— maybe even topple Ptoriil and have House Braang gain the MAC chairmanship!" He beamed with pride.
Pzorren slapped the table and laughed. He reached for his pad, activated it, found the desired file, and spun it around for Pezzer to see. "Clearly, you are ambitious. And," he sneered, " just as clearly, you are a fool! Look! Not only did Laytonn and Ptoriil report the find to the MAC members an hour ago, but their advisory provides considerably more detail than yours— including their request for MAC's approval of specific measures needed to make this capture within one week!"
Pezzer saw it was true. "But... but Laytonn must have spent hours— the entire day— doing the extra analysis and planning herself, and then sent this out while I was searching for you, Father. I tried..."
"And," interrupted Pzorren, "as usual, you have failed. You did not fully analyze the situation. You sent Ptoriil the report too soon. Then you acted too slowly in bringing me your report." His words slashed at Pezzer. "You have wasted an opportunity. And you have wasted my time! You have again proved you are the disappointment I have always feared you would be. Slizzle! Leave me, brat!"
Pezzer fled the tavern, his hopes dashed, humiliated and angry, making promises to himself. One day I'll show you, Father! My chance will come. Someone will recognize my true value... and then— old man— you will curse me no more!"