by J. F. Holmes
Corwin scratched his arm. “You’d think with this many centuries of development, we’d have comfortable dress shirts.”
Arwen finished with his tie and looked up at him. “We do, you just need to get used to wearing one. Come on, you’ll be fine.”
As they got a final check of everything before they left for the meeting, Julian was on the couch, surrounded by rabbits. He appeared to have one that was determined to perch on top of his shoulder in order to see the world better, while another one kept trying to find a way through the playpen he’d set up to keep them all in. The whole time he made sure to keep an eye on each of them and tried to interact with them. Something about socializing them making them better pets.
This batch was royal blue and neon green, which was apparently the colors of the local high school sports team, which had just left for a tournament off planet.
Julian nodded at his departing mother and looked Corwin in the eyes. “If you get her killed, I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting you down, and the only reason I won’t turn you into the authorities will be in order to torture you to death myself.” Gently, he scratched a rabbit behind the ears as it nestled on his shoulder, snuggling into his neck. “Have fun.”
Corwin opened the door for Arwen and gave Julian a wry smile. Over the last week he’d been there as a somewhat expected permanent houseguest, he’d learned that Julian loved his mother a great deal and was very protective of her. He actually meant what he said, but thankfully in this case, it was mostly for humor value.
Arwen rolled her eyes where Julian couldn’t see them and walked through the door. “Come Corwin, and save me from the people I’ve gotten you involved with. And make sure we stay out late enough that Julian’s girlfriend, who he doesn’t think I know about, will have time to come over and hang out with him.”
Julian turned bright red enough it was easily visible with his cream and coffee complexion.
Arwen waited until Corwin had stepped outside with her and closed the door. She grinned wickedly at him. “He means well, but I’m his mother, and it would do him well to remember that.”
Corwin considered the interactions he’d seen between Arwen and Julian, remembering she’d dropped absolutely no hint until now that she’d known about this hidden girlfriend. He added that to his mental list of reasons never to upset Arwen. It was a rapidly expanding list, and hadn’t been getting any shorter as time went on.
As it turned out, it was fairly easy to obtain an appointment with the local mob boss. One simply had to show up at his restaurant, ask to speak to the manager, and explain that they had a business proposition. Once the manager understood that this was business that went above his head, they were referred to a secretary who set the actual appointment.
It was remarkably efficient. Apparently the line between Legitimate business man and crime lord got a little fuzzy out here sometimes, down to the fact that most of the local organized crime syndicate had gone to the same fraternity as the current owner of the corporation that had founded the colony.
Corwin was expecting this to go about like all the other business meetings he’d ever attended. He’d keep his mouth shut and let the people who knew what they were doing do the talking, only occasionally giving input or being asked to run for coffee. As soon as Arwen found out he wasn’t expecting to participate, she gave him a thorough explanation of why that was a bad idea that included such phrases as “your neck will be on the line” and “If you do that, I’ll neuter you with a spoon”.
The more he interacted with her, the more Corwin was convinced she was absolutely serious, and fully capable of doing so.
Dodging around an obscene collection of knee-high statues that appeared to be recreating the nativity, Corwin mentally reviewed the checklist of conversation topics they needed to cover.
“So are we asking about the filters directly, or do we just give that to him with the list of supplies?” he asked lifting his briefcase in suggestion.
Arwen shook her head. “We need to let him know that we need the supplies, but not how hard they are to get. I think we’ll be in a better bargaining position if we can convince him that, while difficult, none of these would be impossible for us to get.” She adjusted her purse and checked its contents. “Which is true, if not in its entirety.”
As they walked, they discussed plans. After the first night, Corwin had half expected to be seized by secret police, or at least the local intelligence branch, given his indiscretion of talking about things in public. Arwen had explained that there were very few places that were actually monitored, even by AI on this colony. The places that were monitored were mostly limited to life-support functions and such instead of tracking residence. It was actually part of what had drawn her to the colony in the first place, and was more common on the edge of space than most people realized.
“So do you know what we want to eat?”
Arwen thought for a moment and shrugged. “I’m fine with whatever. I’m really not that hungry.”
Corwin made a mental note to order an extra appetizer, and possibly an extra drink if they weren’t bottomless. Her taste ran toward beef, from what he could tell, and he planned to get a large meal to go with that. He might even get a dessert, if she was feeling like it.
They continued to chatter mostly about inane things as they got closer to their destination. It turned out Arwen was just a bit lonely, and had missed adult conversation with somebody other than her son. They even shared several interests, the sports they enjoyed, colonial history, classic starships, and as it turned out – fish. Specifically, quite big fish.
“You know, if I had the money, I’d love to visit an aquarium with one of those giant sunfish.” Arwen looked wistful as she glanced into the distance, a little lost in thought.
“I always thought it was crazy that they could produce these millions of little babies, and only a few of them would grow to adulthood.” Corwin shook his head in amazement. “Just imagine if humans did that.”
The door to the establishment was plain and unmarked. It had a sign telling drivers to go around back and the hours it was open for deliveries, but there was nothing else on the door. Most people who frequented the establishment either thought of it as a hole in the wall you had to know about in order to find it, or were doing underhanded deals and found it a convenient place to work. Corwin had a strong suspicion the majority of the clientele was both.
On a positive note, the food was reportedly excellent. He hadn’t once heard someone complain about the quality, and Julian, who’d eaten there several times, tended to be a fairly harsh food critic.
There was probably something inspiring to the chef when your average client had a nonzero chance of getting angry and killing you.
And it didn’t hurt that the person who bribed the inspectors to let things through port owned it, or that the inspectors ate there. Vegetables from off planet got through quarantine much more quickly for that particular establishment.
The interior however, was completely different.
The fixtures looked like wood. Not plastic painted to look like wood, but honest to goodness, it’ll splinter if you hit it too hard, requires maintenance, imported from old Earth wood.
You could tell, in part from the fact that it looked worn. The lacquer was beautiful, showing off the grain, but in little spots, here and there, it had worn through. This colony wasn’t old enough to have a well-established restaurant like this where things had worn down. Someone must have paid a lot of money to have it imported some time ago, probably from an old restaurant on Earth. Possibly even as part of the original colonial package, so the weight cost was subsidized. If it had been artificially aged, it was done masterfully. It looked like the kind of genuine wear-and-tear you got from regular use, not from artfully distressing it.
The restaurant seemed dark. Not because it wasn’t well lit – it certainly was – but because all the hushed tones and dark surfaces combined with the little nooks and crannies that seemed buil
t into the booth layout to give that impression. The colors of the seating came in two colors – red and black. Most of the booths had red vinyl (leather? Given the place, it was hard to tell) with black piping along the seams. It was all rich, candy apple red that looked tinted toward burgundy as you moved. On closer examination, it looked like an effect of the lightning. It felt like being on a movie set.
Further back, there were black seats with red piping. These weren’t standard restaurant chairs, with no soul or decoration of their own, but instead were works of art with flourishes built into the woodwork. They had large, comfortable looking cushions on them, and generally had lower backs, though there were a few chairs at the tables that had high backs and ornate armrests. The chairs sat around large tables that used the same dark lacquer on the wood as the ornamentation. Sturdy legs held up thick tabletops that looks like they could withstand a shotgun at close range.
The walls had artwork. Not of people, but of places, things. Great castles across the medieval countryside with orchards in front of them. Dockyards without their workers, but as if someone had taken all of them out of the painting in the middle of their work.
The host was dressed in a not quite tuxedo. He looked like he’d fit in with the staff of any fancy restaurant, yet somehow maintained an aura of being half waiter and half bouncer.
Arwen stepped forward and announced them. The man looked down at an actual printout – good heavens, who had a printout for something like this, it seemed like such a hassle – and gestured for them to follow him.
Corwin followed a step behind Arwen. Everything was uncomfortable; even the shoes he was wearing were brand-new, since he hadn’t had anything Arwen had deemed “acceptable formal wear”. There was still no news of his luggage, and given the circumstances under which it had been lost, he would be very surprised if he ever saw again at this point.
They followed the waiter back, and found themselves at a booth that was invisible from the doorway. It was upholstered in black with forest-green piping. The table was unornamented, and had only a single central leg that split out at the bottom. It was as if somebody had made a classic diner and painted it black.
The waiter took their drink orders and returned momentarily with menus. The food all appeared to be some variance of either pasta or steak. Even for a restaurant that was on a colony, the prices were daunting.
Eventually he ordered, keeping in mind Arwen’s declaration that she really wasn’t hungry, and adjusting his order to reflect it. The woman seemed to eat as much as her teenage son, which would seem to violate physics, since he was absolutely certain you couldn’t pack that much into so small a space.
They waited in nervous silence. The instructions they’d been given were to come to the restaurant, order food, and wait at a certain time. They were supposed to be met by someone who would then join them for dinner.
Before too long a man joined them. He was obviously important, you could tell from his tracksuit and the two bodyguards flanking him, who were wearing more traditional business attire. As they sat down, Herman gave Corwin a toothy grin and waved.
“Hello, Mrs. Arwen and Mr. Corwin. My name is Ivan Ivanovich.” He leaned forward over the table, extending his hand and giving them what he must’ve thought was a friendly smile.
Corwin hesitantly shook his hand and looked over to Arwen briefly. She looked as if she trusted this man sitting across from them roughly as much as an unsupervised toddler who’d been given a brand-new set of finger paints and left in a room with white carpet.
“And what can we do for you, Mr. Ivanovich?” Arwen was taking the lead in this conversation, since she had much more experience with the local “businessman” they were dealing with.
“So quickly down to business.” Corwin genuinely couldn’t tell if the man’s laugh was genuine, or faked. “You will not ask me how I got here?”
Arwen’s face took an expression of concern. “I thought you were the replacement for the last representative I did business with.”
Ivan shook his head in the negative with an amused expression. “That is true on the surface, but that is not all there is.” He shook his head to indicate his guards. The men dwarfed him, despite him being what looked like an above average height – it had been hard to tell from the very little time Corwin had seen him before he sat down. “I am a replacement because the last one was skimming,” he rubbed his fingers together, “and it did not please the men both of us work for.”
Somehow, the fact that the chuckles that came from the guards seemed genuine just managed to make Corwin even more nervous.
“After Uncle Boris had me remove him and most of his lower associates, I did an audit of his books.” At this point the waiter came back with drinks, and Ivan smiled at him and said something in what sounded like Russian. The waiter smiled in response, bowed slightly, and left.
“What I found at that point, among other irregularities, was you,” he said, gesturing toward Arwen, “and the loan he had made you, which is a considerably higher amount of credit than you would normally receive.”
Arwen stiffened at that. Apparently this was news to her.
Ivan held a hand palm out placatingly. “There is no worry, I have a solution. You are a genetic engineer, yes?”
Arwen blinked. There was a list of things a genetic engineer could do that were quite illegal, several of which would interest organized crime, but there were very few of them she could do in the position she was in. If nothing else, she lacked the necessary gestation equipment to make high-end human bio-mods.
“I am.”
Ivan grinned fit to split his face. “Are you familiar with wake-up?”
Arwen nodded slowly. She glanced over and saw the confused look on Corwin’s face. “It’s a drug that’s fairly popular with people who have to stay awake and alert for long periods of time, while paying attention to very boring things. It was issued as a combat drug until they found out that the long-term side effects included being unable to concentrate on almost anything. In small doses it’s fine, but over long periods of time or in large doses, it can utterly destroy parts of the brain.”
As Corwin nodded in understanding, Herman spoke up, “Asteroid mining keeps you busy – it means that you have to pay attention the whole time, and stay alert, because things are always changing. Larger asteroids, small moons, and gas mining from gas giants like the ones we orbit around simply require someone to pay attention for long periods of time while the initial mine is being set up, and then it is automated. Wake-up is popular among the local miners precisely because of that.”
Both Corwin and Arwen were staring at him. Corwin had assumed he was a bodyguard and general errand boy, and probably not that important.
“My PhD is in mining engineering, and my Master’s is in planetary geology. Uncle Boris felt this was the best place for me to be to use my skills for the family.” Herman shrugged. “And I am a practitioner of Sambo.”
Corwin blinked. He was more than met the eye.
“Since you are familiar with wake-up, you may be familiar with what I want you to do.”
Arwen’s eyebrows rose. “What exactly are you asking me to do? Please forgive me, just spell it out.”
Ivan pursed his lips and nodded. “Certainly. I want you to produce a microbe that will convert amino acid feedstock into wake-up. And I need you to do it in the next six months. Preferably in the next three.”
Corwin was doing the mental math. He wasn’t the experienced genetic engineer that Arwen was, but she’d walked him through it enough that he could get a general idea of how long a lot of things would take. She had a list of what she wanted to be able to produce for the colony, and had a time estimate for how long it would take to produce a working prototype version. If everything went just right, it would take her between three and four months to do. From the sounds of it, Ivan had a fairly good idea of how long it should take to make what he wanted and was going to press her to the limit to produce his microbe.
> “If you do this, I will forgive half of your debt and all the interest for the next year and a half.”
This time Corwin’s eyebrows rose. That was not a small amount, and in fact was enough to knock years off of Arwen’s debt.
“I leave it to you to think about what will happen if you do not do this. I need this, and I need it immediately before Uncle Boris sends someone else to do this bit. I have to prove to him that I can do this.”
“We’ll need consumables.”
Ivan nodded. “I expected as much. Get me a list of what you need, and as many things as you can think of that make acceptable substitutes, and I will have them delivered.”
Ivan looked Corwin in the eyes. “I can see that your partner does all the talking. And what are you for?”
Corwin returned his gaze. “Customer service.”
***
Ivan and his two flanking men had left them, and Corwin and Arwen had eaten dinner alone. Ivan had charged the meal to the house, and ordered a bottle of wine for them.
As Arwen had pointed out, nothing from that man was actually free.
***
A month later, the first shipment arrived.
Or at least it was supposed to.
“So you are telling me that my bottle of fish tank cleaner,” Corwin gestured at the large plastic container labeled oh so suspiciously as “fish tank cleaner”, “and my fifty-pound bag of bird seed are suddenly a threat to the station?”
The customs inspector pressed his glasses up his nose. It wasn’t like he needed them to see, since vision correction surgery was so inexpensive and common, but it was an easy way for him to show off how important he was, since he had to wear a display screen all over the place instead of just using a tablet like everyone else. Corwin had seen it at college – it was a way to show off how geeky someone was, that they’d spent the time to train a neural link for commands on one of the pairs of glasses.
Despite considering himself a geek and never having found them irritating before, Corwin was starting to understand why hundreds of years ago athletes had apparently built a reputation for beating up people who wore glasses. He was certainly acquiring a desire to punch someone.