by J. N. Chaney
After fifteen minutes, the other man started to get antsy. I’d occupied myself by watching the guests entering and leaving the lobby and I had recognized the engineering couple from the buyers’ meeting. They seemed mostly aloof. I wondered who Velio could be holding that would have any impact on them. It occurred to me that it didn’t necessarily have to be a who and could just as likely be a what. Their data stores would make a suitable and irreplaceable bargaining chip.
When Leon couldn’t take it anymore, he stood and paced impatiently in front of me. “This is beyond getting ready time. We need to check the room. I knew we should have been more prepared for a second kidnapping.”
I nodded, bemused by his lack of patience and awareness. “Probably grabbed her the moment Dorian left the room just over an hour ago. Likely they’ve been watching us since we came back.”
Leon paced more frantically, nearly wringing his hands. Beyond his pacing, I locked eyes with Marcella, who had stopped to meet someone at the bar. She had been there for the last ten minutes nursing a brightly colored cocktail and laughing very convincingly.
The woman she spoke to had her back to me and I couldn’t see her face to read her expression, but I had a clear view of Marcella’s. Her laugh carried through the lobby, but I couldn’t make out any words. At times, her smile was genuine, but I could tell when she steered the conversation in a specific direction because her movements would become jerkier, almost rushed.
At last, the chat seemed to be winding down when Marcella stood and gave the other woman a hug. Her features were a combination of satisfaction and uncertainty, and I couldn’t determine if she’d gotten any answers.
I didn’t blame Leon for missing her—she had changed her hair. It was now a smart bob rather than the cascade of tresses he had seen before. She was also wearing a dark maroon coat and looked significantly cleaner. Seeing Leon worked up made me think I should have alerted him to her presence earlier, and I made a note not to let him get worked up again.
Before the retired fighter could make a break for the lifts, I stood up and walked toward the revolving door. I nodded at Marcella as I went, and Leon, following my gaze, stopped his huffing and puffing and frowned. “How long?”
I couldn’t keep myself from grinning. “Long enough for you to be more than a little embarrassed.”
He looked concerned for a moment, then angry, then settled on befuddled reluctance. “Just go ahead. Tell me which direction. I’ll hang back a few.”
I nodded, still smiling a bit. “See you on the other side.”
I joined up with Marcella at the revolving door and passed her the earpiece as we rode it through. “You ready to find some answers?”
She smiled and put her arm through mine. “I think we’re going to have lots of fun on our date today.”
I kept an even stride, conscious of the crowd and moving right and left to help her avoid bumping into people. “Is that what you want to call it?”
She stopped, turned around, and then grabbed my arm as I caught up. She hugged herself against my left side. “I’d rather pretend we’re out having fun. It keeps my mind off what’s possible. Can you give me that for now?”
I felt a tremble in her grip, a falter in her step as she clung tighter to me. “We’ll make it work.” Then, to keep her on mission, I asked, “What did you find out on your little adventure at the bar?”
As I’d intended, she took the bait and her features took on a serious edge. “The relic hunters hang out in a bar downtown called the Bad Prospects.”
I repeated the name for Leon’s benefit. “Bad Prospects. Something of a sense of humor from these relic hunter types?”
Marcella smiled, a bit more skip back in her step. “I think it works like actors. You gotta be upfront with the bad luck to hope in secret for the good.”
It was a valid point, if somewhat superstitious. Simple, well stated, a bit of whimsy mixed in the truth of it. “What are we expecting when we get there?”
The first signs of frustration replaced the bright smile and she stared straight ahead as we walked. “This particular place is relatively low on the chain. I got the name of the bar, no problem, but she also gave me a clue. To get in without being flagged, we need to tell the barkeeper the answer.”
“You didn’t get the answer,” I said, more statement than question.
“No. She said it would get her kicked out. So, we have to figure it out.”
“Okay, what’s the clue?”
Marcella took a deep breath, then began to recite. “I declare, in order to raise the bar and drink with the gods, you must first go blue in the face.”
It sounded like gibberish to me, but it clearly meant something. “That’s all she said?” I asked.
“Yes. Well, no. She also said to order a drink, but it’s a bar. We’d look out of place if we didn’t. The hunter networks keep their information vague. Nobody wants to give away too much, but they all need to rely on each other to get anywhere. We’ll hit the place and maybe you can do your thing.”
She left that open-ended, so I felt compelled to follow up. “My thing?”
She giggled. “Don’t hide it. I’ve been watching you get through situations for a few days now. You and your uncle seem pretty good at getting in and out of binds. He does it through years of experience, you do it by seeing through people.”
I gave her a sideways glance as we turned uptown and hit a denser body of foot traffic. She didn’t seem bothered by my ability and for some reason that made me feel lighter. “People tend to mean more than they say and say more than they mean. I just sort through the noise to find the underlying bits. Like a prospector sifting for the good ore in the dirt.”
She laughed, amused at making her point. “See, right there. Not only did you not answer the question, but you did it in the context of the group we’re talking about. I find it fascinating.” She unhooked herself from my arm and sped up. “But if you’re not going to give me straight answers, I can always do this by myself.” The sudden shift in her attitude threw me off balance.
Then Marcella was gone, disappearing in the crowd with aplomb. I hastened to catch up, trying to keep her in sight or to at least spot her taking any turn down a side street or corner. If nothing else, she would still be heading to the Bad Prospects, so I could catch her there. I frowned, dismayed that I would have to put in the effort and upset that she had taken off.
No sooner had I resigned myself to the horror of trying to find her and explain how I lost her in the first place than she popped up behind me. She shoved me in the back and giggled. “You gotta lighten up, Alphonse. Go with the flow a bit, stop overanalyzing. You have instincts. Use them.”
I wanted to freeze in place, to take in the enormity of what she had just said about me. Was that how she thought of me? Instead, I shook it off and kept walking. I fixed a smile on my face. “Marcella, I think we are going to have a very productive day.”
The exterior of the Bad Prospects had a rustic flair to it and wove a fine line between looking like an archeologist club and ravager bar. Flat steel panels with all manner of antique memorabilia tacked up on the sides that spelled out the word “Bad,” while “Prospects” was done in a splash of rust-colored paint.
The interior of the bar matched its exterior in mood but shattered any illusion of comfort. A small collection of industrial sluice grate-topped tables adorned with faux-leather chairs and a ring of booths looked worn and cracked. The air was hazy with an electric scent.
Marcella stood out among the rest of the patrons who wore tattered, sun-bleached clothes over dirty, heavy canvas jumpsuits. These were people used to living in the weather and clinging to rocks with little food or water. Their haven was a place removed from the sun, where vices could be purchased at a whim and their attention to personal details was no longer needed.
We set a course for the bar. I took a moment to grab the attention of a worker—a slim, young girl in a green top and dirty hat.
She walk
ed over and handed me an order pad disinterestedly before walking off again.
While Marcella scoped the space out, I swiped through the menu options on the pad. Nothing looked particularly appealing and they didn’t feature tea. I noted the prices were reasonable, save for one.
A drink called Darius’ Grail went for an astonishing fifteen billion credits and came served in a neutronium cup. I’d never heard of the alcohol, something called Clare Whiskey, and a side tube filled with another blue alcohol sat on the rim.
Beside me, Marcella muttered to herself, still trying to figure out the riddle. “Blue in the face… asphyxiation? No. Being cold? No.”
“Marcella,” I said quietly, staring at the menu.
“What?”
“Look. I think we have to order this.” I handed her the menu and watched as her eyes widened with shocked understanding when she read the quote under the drink description like I had.
“It makes sense,” she said, excitedly. “Darius Clare is something of a celebrity among relic hunters. His grail quest—”
“His what?” I asked, not understanding the term.
“Every hunter has a quest, the most important artifact to them. Usually impossible. It comes from an old legend about our ancestors. They believed a cup to have all the answers to the universe. Which is silly, because, well, it’s just a cup. Anyhow, they called it the Holy Grail. So, hunters call their impossible quests a grail. For Darius it was discovering where we came from.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try it.”
Marcella shrugged. “Here goes nothing.”
She input the drink and her account information, then completed the order. Almost instantly, the pad beeped a warning.
“Damn, insufficient funds. I don’t suppose you have fifteen billion credits, Alphonse?”
“Not even close,” I told her. “Let me see.”
She handed it back and I tried to put the same request in, studying each screen before moving to the next. On the last page to pay, a discount option appeared. Curious, I opened it. And smiled.
“The riddle isn’t just the drink,” I told her, then pointed to the pad again. “It says ‘discount code,’ so I’m assuming we have to decipher the clue to get the code.”
Before she could respond, I typed in an answer. The pad chirped again, but to let me know the discount had been applied and the drink was now free.
Marcella’s mouth dropped open. “How the hell—”
“The first part of the quote. That’s not an I, it’s a one. And declare was spelled using Darius Clare’s first initial and last name. I initially mistook those to be errors.”
The bartender returned then and smiled at us.
“I’ll take you to the back,” she said in a friendly tone, then came around the side of the bar.
We followed the short distance in silence until we came to a door. It slid open and the woman gestured us inside. As soon as we were through, the door closed behind us with the bartender on the other side.
“It must be a puzzle,” Marcella said.
“Or she’s called for backup,” I replied.
The room was empty except for a data pad on one wall. When we walked over to it, the device blinked on and a wheel appeared on the screen. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was three wheels, each a portion of a different picture.
“I know what this is,” I said, recognizing the style. “It’s a pictopuzzle. You have to turn them each in a different direction until they all line up.”
“That sounds too easy,” remarked Marcella.
I happened to agree with her. She picked it up first and began twisting the pieces. When her finger touched the screen, a countdown timer appeared in the top right-hand corner of the display.
“Dammit, when I move one, the other two go in opposite directions,” she complained.
“Let me try,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’ve done these before. I don’t want to find out what happens after the five minutes are up.”
She passed it back reluctantly.
It didn’t take me long to figure out the pattern of the cypher. I moved each wheel once to determine how the other two wheels changed. From there, it was simple math and a little planning to get the rest.
I completed the puzzle with a minute to spare.
Returning the pad to its resting place, I found that it fit like a key into a lock. There was a deep click, then the wall swung outward to reveal a corridor.
Marcella looked slightly annoyed that I had figured out the problem, but that began to fade when we left the room. The walkway was sleek and clean, but bare. Simple lighting illuminated our way and I could feel her excitement growing as we went deeper into the building. By the time it emptied into a large hall filled with people that I assumed to be relic hunters and the like, she could barely contain herself.
“We did it!”
“What now?” I asked. “Surely it would be odd to just walk up and ask sensitive questions?”
She nodded. “You’re right. Oh, wait. I know that man over there. He’s a client. You ready to do your thing?”
I could tell by the way her words tumbled out that she was nervous. I put my arm through hers and squeezed gently to reassure her. “I’m ready.”
The man grinned when he saw Marcella and I approaching and threw his hands wide in a friendly gesture. She let go of me to hug the older man and pecked him once on each cheek. “Geoff! It’s been ages. Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague, Alphonse Malloy.”
Geoff stuck his hand out and I shook it. He looked relaxed and clean cut compared to some of the other patrons, and I judged him to be genuine.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“How are you, Geoff?” Marcella cut in, obviously impatient. “I’m here because I need information about an upcoming sale next week.”
Geoff’s demeanor changed at the mention of the auction. His face went emotionless and his body grew stiff. The man definitely knew something. “That is unfortunate, dear. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”
Marcella’s eyes went glassy. “It’s my father. He’s gone missing. The last I heard, he went to meet a seller with a business proposition. No one has seen him since.”
Geoff visibly relaxed. “Ah, I see. Marcella, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Maybe I can help after all. Since this isn’t about the sale.” He laid a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Let’s have ourselves a chat.”
16
Hours later, we arrived at a large business built to imitate a sleek tower.
The clue given to Marcella by Geoff had been three letters. DTC. It had sounded familiar to me, but she figured it out first, much to her smug satisfaction. DTC referred to Dinesian Trading Company, a direct competitor of Velio’s.
We’d gone to The Prime Lady to decipher the meaning where, again, Marcella figured it out first. She’d surmised that though they had offices all over the planet, their headquarters were in Celtan. It didn’t take long to find the location on the gal-net and obtain a directory of the businesses there.
It had almost been too easy. Desert Rose Restorations and Appraisals, located on the 33rd level of the building.
We exited the transport. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leon getting out of another at the far end of the street. I wondered if he had gotten a kick out of saying “follow that transport,” or if he had been more subtle about it.
Dorian had already sent a message to my wrist unit to tell me that he’d spotted a tail.
Don’t let your guard down. Have eyes on me. Contact after following your leads.
I opened both comms. “We’re in the vicinity. If our man is here, he will be on the 33rd floor. I don’t know what kind of security we’ll be looking at. Current plan is to get in from above. Be ready for a quick extraction.”
After reviewing the floor plan options above level 33, we’d discovered one that looked promising. There was a “coming soon” listed on 37. That would be our way in.
/> The plan involved Marcella and I posing as a couple with too much time and money on our hands. I found that getting into character had become quite easy for me and I hooked my arm around Marcella’s, then gestured at the lobby doors. “Shall we inspect our new business venture?”
She pressed easily into my embrace. “How will we ever find a way to spend all this money? I want to just decorate and then throw it all out and decorate it all over again.”
We were already past the doors and headed to the lift. The light banter turned the lobby securities’ initial glares into headshaking dismissal. Nobody liked hearing rich people talk rich-people nonsense. Least of all poorly paid guards.
Once in the lift, I tapped the touch pad for the 37th floor and the elevator took off smoothly. It only took a few seconds to reach our destination and we exited onto the floor to see a locked door and a variety of the usual construction paraphernalia—tarps and tools, as Dorian would say.
The lock took little work to open with a clicker. It took me back to my time on Meridian, working with Remi to do Evelyn’s bidding. Marcella didn’t ask any questions as I worked the device and passed through the doorway. She just kept a few steps back with a look of doubt across her beautiful features. There was a quiver, though, as I opened the paneling into the duct system. Not a fear of heights or enclosed spaces; we had already been through those. It was a touch of fear of meeting the man who might be her father, a rare emotional burst through her normally carefully controlled exterior.
I reached out a hand. “Whoever we find down there, know that you have outgrown the need for a parent. This is just you finding the key to your puzzle. Right?”
Marcella nodded and took my hand. She pulled herself into me for a quick hug, which took me slightly off guard. “Thank you for bringing me here, for showing me you had it in you to be what I needed.” She pulled herself back from the embrace and then pulled a pair of magsliders out of the gear bag. “Race you down!”