by Robert Culp
“I am tending to the treatment and care of Catherine Elizabeth Sinnair on behalf of her late father, Doctor Mactavius D. Sinnair. This is my associate, Miss Watson.”
“Please, ladies, have a seat, and I’ll let Miss Gray know you are here. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, black with two sugars,” Sherri replies.
“Tea, please. Thank you,” I say. “Oolong if you have it.”
She disappears into the inner office, and emerges in less than a minute to usher us in. The architecture and arrangement of furniture is meant to be imposing. The desk is on a dais about eight inches above the floor. There are two chairs in front of it. Seated, someone would have to look up to Miss Gray. She looks up, lays down her pen, and says, “Good morning, ladies, please have a seat.” The receptionist leaves, closing the door behind her.
“Thank you for seeing us, Miss Gray. I represent the late Dr. Mactavius D. Sinnair. His daughter, Catherine, is a patient here. My instructions are to provide this institute with a prestigious sum of money to be used for her care. I intend to set this up as a trust fund that will pay into her account here on a regular basis. What I need from you is to know how much and how often that needs to be. I will not just hand it over to you because I want it to be in some sort of account which will generate interest, which will help it to last longer.”
“I see. How prestigious?”
“Very.” Our eyes lock.
She leans back in her chair. “I must act in the best interests of both Miss Sinnair and her grandmother, Madelyne Sinnair. Referring to the latter, it is she who must entertain and give consent to such an arrangement. She currently resides at 400 Weatherford, Longcashire, Downfellows, 0900666. That is, of course, on Atlas. Please come back to see me when you have that permission signed in Quadruple Authentication and notarized by the Atlan court. Good day.”
The door opens. Gray picks up her pen and looks back to a collection of documents on her desk.
What is going on? “But...wait...I...”
She looks up long enough to say, “Good day, Madame.” Then goes back to whatever she was doing.
We stand and walk towards the door. The receptionist is standing there with two capped paper cups, one with the string of a tea bag hanging from it. She hands them to us and takes her station behind her desk as the door closes. She is doing her best to pointedly ignore us. Sherri speaks first: “Wow! That is one cold bitch.” The receptionist continues to eye us without being obvious about it.
“You got that right. Downfellows is on Atlas, which is on our route, but the gods alone know when we’ll be back this way. Let’s hit that coffee shop we passed in the lobby. I do my best thinking with a steaming mug in my hand. Or a frosty mug for that matter.”
“But I have coffee; you have tea.”
“Yeah, but it’s cold.”
“No, it…” I take her cup from her. “What are you…” With either thumb, I flick open the lids that are covering them and toss a cup to either side. The tea splashes onto the sofa, and the coffee splatters across the carpet, stark in its contrasting color. The receptionist yelps and leaps to her feet, stabbing a button on her communication console.
I smile at her, “Oops, clumsy me. Good day.” We leave. With Security probably looking for us, we ride the lift to the 4th floor and take the stairs to the ground floor. Good thing the stairwell has a door that leads to the street as well as one that leads to the lobby. As we exit the building, I say to Sherri, “What do you know? It really is wired to trigger the fire alarm.” She holds her hand out, palm up. Her fingers curl in the universal “pay up” sign. She had seen the sign reading “Do Not Open. Alarm will sound.” I had wagered it was just a sign without basis in reality. I lost, so I put a one credit note in her hand as we briskly walk away.
“Sonia, the sun is below the yard arm somewhere. Did you have your heart set on tea, or could I twist your arm to consider that bar across the street and down the block instead?”
“Ow. Stop. Must you twist my arm so? That hurts. Spoken like a true negotiator. Lead on. But let’s get a little more distance first.”
Almost a half-mile away, we enter The Rusty Musket Bar and Grille. We belly up to the bar and begin scheming. The place is pretty empty, but apparently as the day goes on, the hours get happier, and we develop a plan. “What I see is that the local legal beagles want me running back and forth between Goliath and Atlas to care for Miss Sinnair. Mack’s will didn’t say anything about any grandmother. I did come across one of his grandfather’s names—I forget how many ‘greats’ are involved—who worked for a guy who started a shell company here. It was built just as a way to launder money, (what was it called? WC something.”) I dig into my digital copy of Lady Sarah’s book. “Here it is. WCH: Weill, Cheatham and Howe.” I switch my perCom to localized search mode and access the local directory. “If they aren’t still around—and they don’t appear to be—I suppose I could hire a local attorney to do all that ancillary foolishness for me. I hate to pass the buck like that, but I don’t know what else I can do.”
“You know what? If it were me, I’d do just that. I’d pay a lawyer to handle that stuff and be done with it. I hear we are going to Sector 002 next, so it may be a while before we are back this way. Unless you plan on leaving the ship, and I hope you aren’t thinking of that.”
“Excellent idea—hiring the lawyer, I mean. I’m going to make a few calls. Do you mind sharing a room at the hotel tonight?”
“Why, Miss MacTaggert, are you hitting on me?”
“You think I haven’t figured out you always let me walk through doors first, so you can check out my curves?”
“And watch you waddle.” We both giggle a bit. “I won’t go there, darlin.’ I told the boss I would keep it professional while working with you. But I will be off duty in,” (she consults the clock on the wall,) “thirty-two hours, and then you’re fair game. That sounds like a great idea. I’m guessing you mean one room, two beds? That’s fine with me.”
I respond with a full-throated laugh, accompanied by a snort or two. “I haven’t had those thoughts since junior high. Let’s work on ‘friend’ first; fair enough?”
The bartender approaches. The shift must have changed; this is a different fellow from who brought us tea and coffee. “What will you two fine ladies like?”
Sherri looks at me, turning on her “flirt” face: “Of course, one room with one bed is okay too—sugar pants.” I can feel the color rushing to my face. To the bartender she says, “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” The bartender stares intently at the bar. He probably can’t decide if he wants to laugh or go blind.
Oh, she is SO going to pay. “Stout, room temperature.” With a wink and a grin, the bartender is gone.
“Do people really drink it that way?” Sherri looks at me in horror.
“Mister bar dude! A sidecar of your darkest rum with each, please!” He gives me a thumbs-up. Sherri looks as if she swallowed a toad. Or would prefer to.
I pull out my perCom and start researching. I make us a reservation at a nearby hotel. The Holiday Rooster is a reasonably priced and moderately safe hotel for sixty credits per night—one room with two beds. I also find a nearby estate lawyer’s office and give them a jingle. To my delight, I actually get a person. And it’s the lawyer, not a receptionist.
“Hello. This is Jules Rickerback; how may I help you?”
“Mr. Rickerback, Sonia MacTaggert, Lead Engineer of Night Searcher. I need to make an appointment to secure your help with executing a will.”
“Of course, Miss MacTaggert. Will tomorrow morning, around 9 a.m. work? My office is at 45456 Mackenzie Circle.”
“Nine will be fine; I’ll see you then.” I break the connection.
The bartender arrives with our drinks. Two tall glasses filled with the opaque, warm stout, a sidecar hanging on each. A tan froth caps each glass. I pay for the drinks and tip the bartender. Sherri marvels at the drink sitting before her, “Wow, you have a
high opinion of my tolerance. Or you’re trying to get me drunk and get into my pants. Which is it?” She giggles. “I kid you, of course.” I just grin wickedly at her.
We tink our sidecars and shoot them together. I ask the bartender, “Any chance you have anything to eat? Potato skins, mushrooms, chicken wings?”
A guy comes in and sits on the other side of Sherri. We hear him order a double Scotian. He tries to act like he isn’t checking both of us out in the mirror. He looks like he hasn’t slept—or bathed—in at least a week. I have to keep reminding myself how hot it is outside. I don’t want to be judgmental, but the man really skeeves me out.
“Rison’s tenders and stuffed Atlantean Crab Claws hit happy hour prices in five minutes. Both are the warmed up frozen stuff, but not fatal. For you two lovelies? Samples of both on the house.”
“Well, aren’t you the generous one?” I say. “Tell you what. Bring us an order of the crab claws. I’ll pay for those. If you want to put the Rison tenders with them, I won’t gripe about it.”
Note to self: buy a wedding band.
“You got it, m’dear. Another round?” The bartender leans in to Sherri and adds, “On the house.”
“Give these beautiful ladies anything they want, and put it on my tab,” says the creepy guy.
I coldly meet Mr. Creepy-Krawley’s gaze in the mirror and send a “please go away” vibe. Sherri leans toward me and says, “Get a load of frickin’ Jack the Raper over here. Shall we empty these glasses and find another place?”
Our perComs bleep. We have received secure text messages from Aria: Complete your business in twelve hours. We must leave system sooner than expected. Acknowledge. We each thumb the ACK buttons on our perComs.
“I like the way you think. Our activity window just got narrower. I’ll call the lawyer back and see if he can meet us at the inn.”
Sherri asks, “Mr. Bartender, sir, can you make that order to go? And add two bottles of the stout in the bag, if you can and will. Many thanks!” She likes warm stout now? A convert!
I look at the street guy. “Your offer is appreciated, but we have an expense account we’re draining. So thanks—but no thanks; it’s coming off of Mr. Tedwether’s credit chip.”
The band has started up, so I step towards the ’fresher to call Rickerback. He answers on the third chime. “My time window has shortened dramatically. Can you meet me in the lobby of the Holiday Rooster in an hour? I understand it’s after normal hours, but, as I understand things, it’s still billable time, and the rate is a bit higher after hours.”
“That’s not entirely accurate, but it’s not a problem. I’m tying up a loose end here, and that’s just around the corner from my office. I can be there in ten minutes.”
“You may get there before we do. But we’ll see you then.”
I get back to Sherri just in time to hear the creepy guy ask her if she wants to step into the janitor’s closet, so they can have “good clean sex.” I’ve never heard a troll laugh, but I’ll bet it sounds like what he just did.
I tap her on the shoulder. “Good news. The guys got off shift early. They’re waiting for us at the Silver Saber.” At the mention of the alleged “guys,” old creepy slithers away. I can hear him ask someone where the Silver Saber is. I don’t know there to be such a place, but I sort of hope there is. And I hope it’s an alternative lifestyle bar.
“Mr. Bartender man, is that to go order ready yet?” I have my credit chip in my left hand with my right near my pistol, just in case Creepy decides to come back.
“Hold your horses, sugar. We’re just a little busy. Here it is. Twelve credits.”
“Thanks, Mac. You’re an ace. Take an extra two for your trouble. By the way, is that guy a regular? You may want to keep an eye—and a cricket bat—out for him.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Watch your pretty ass, lady.” Sherri glares at him. I swear I feel the temperature drop. “I meant to say, ‘watch your ass, pretty lady.’” He recovers quickly.
The evening has cooled the day. It’s still warm, but we decide to walk to the Rooster. It’s only a few blocks. As we enter the lobby, we see a kid wearing a black suit and tie and holding a briefcase. He looks as if he is fresh out of college. Or he raided Daddy’s closet and is playing dress up. We approach.
“Mr. Rickerback? I’m Sonia MacTaggert, and this is my friend Sherri Watson.” We extend our hands.
But instead of shaking them, he kisses them, and says, “Oh mercy me, I didn’t know my clients were such heavenly creatures. Please, sit down. What can I get for you?” We each ask for a glass of ice water. He orders three of them from the wandering waitress. We all sit around a coffee table.
I give him the thumbnail version of the situation regarding the inheritance and Catherine. I end with the institution’s unwillingness to work with me. “So what it comes down to is that I need you to either find the grandmother and work things out with her or set up a trust fund type vehicle which will be used to pay the daughter’s expenses—whichever option is more cost effective for the inheritance. I’m supposing that since I’m paying you by the hour, you’ll be able to set up the fund quicker? As to the house, Mack said it goes to her, but if she’s unable to occupy, what’s the point? Sell it and put the funds in the account.” I kick Sherri under the table. She’s making “I must have you” eyes at the lawyer. To his credit, if he sees her salivating at him, he doesn’t respond.
Rickerback looks at the table for a second. “I see. Let’s do this. How about you set me up on retainer, and I do some research and footwork for you? I will not charge any fees until there is an adequate resolution that we agree on. These frog dog institutions are hard to deal with. They are usually set up by the State and well guarded by law. I’ll investigate the house and see what’s what with it. I think I may have to make a few trips to Atlas, but there are relatively inexpensive shuttle trips that do that.”
“A fine idea except I’m leaving the planet in less than twelve hours, and I have no idea when I’ll be back. I’ll bring the chip to your office in the morning. I appreciate that this will be a lot of work for you, so I’m anticipating you deducting your fee from the principal deposit.”
“We can work it that way. I’ll actually set up the trust fund so that a portion of the interest it generates will pay me a regular stipend. The fund will continue to grow, but not at monstrous rates. I will send you a certified agreement and certificate of deposit before you leave orbit, I hope. If not, I’ll send it to your ship’s destination.” He gives me a business card chip with his certifications and contact numbers. Right now I have no reason to believe he’s a shyster of any kind. I suppose he could be a very sophisticated thief. Granted, it’s not my money and I’ll probably never see the girl or her grandmother, but it would be a disservice to Mack not to do any diligence. We part company for the evening.
Once he’s gone, Sherri says, “Okay, Friend-Girl, let’s hit the room, chow on some crab, and hit the hay in a big bed before we go back to the ship. What say you?”
I imagine I’m a bit tipsy from the enormous drink I ordered at the bar. Did the bartender put enough in the bag to send me into a nice, cozy stupor? I hope so. “Roger that. I could use some rest.”
13 BATTLE STATIONS
Before we tuck into the munchies and suds, I set the alarm for 0700. We spend a few hours talking, noshing, giggling, and drinking. At 0130, I make the command decision: lights out. And, of course, Sherri gets the giggles. I consider putting a pillow over her face. Fortunately, it never comes to that, as I’m not sure I could take her.
The alarm chirps at 0700. I knock the perCom to the floor looking for it, and then wipe a hand over my face. “Sherri, you want first shower?”
She answers with a muffled string of words that I’m probably happier not understanding. So I get up and make my way to the ’fresher to take a shower. I’m halfway through my hair when the door opens. I peek around the curtain, just to be sure. Sher
ri is sitting on the toilet, at least seven-eighths asleep, still in her oversized tee. The neck opening has slid down to expose one shoulder. I snicker to myself and go back to washing my hair. Having minimal boundaries must come from living in a barracks environment. I hear the toilet flush. All’s well until the curtain moves aside. Talking trash is one thing. Making a move is different. I splash a handful of water on her face. That gets her attention. “Oh crap, sorry, girl,” she says. “I thought you’d be done by now.”
I can only laugh. “I’ll be out in a few.” I rinse my hair and look around the curtain at Sherri again. She is sitting back on the toilet, as naked as the day she was born. It’s all I can do not to stare. I was right—there’s next to no body fat on her. I’m very jealous at how well defined her musculature is. Her head is leaned back against the wall. She is fast asleep. I rinse off, and step out to dry, leaving the water running for her. “You’re up, sweet cheeks,” I tell Sherri. She mumbles incoherently. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t move. “Stand to, Trooper!” I yell, and smack the counter with the flat of my hand. Her eyes widen and her whole body twitches. “We have a schedule to keep,” I add quietly.
“Alright, alright. I was just admiring the view.” She steps toward the shower. I’m toweling my hair when she pokes the side of my breast with one finger. “Firm. Are they real?” I push her away, laugh, and finish drying. I step out of the ’fresher. Then step back in and spin the hot water tap to ‘off.’
“Bitch! You will pay!” Sherri howls in rage.
I howl in laughter and peek around the curtain. “Awake now?” She cocks her arm to throw a punch at me, but I move away before she can.
When Sherri is finished in the ’fresher, we pack up and head downstairs for a continental breakfast, and then we’re off to the lawyer’s office. It’s another hot day. Ten minutes outside and we both need another shower. Sherri continues to act like someone licked all the red off her candy. We hail a cab. We aren’t going far, but with the heat we don’t want to lug our baggage. The cabbie agrees to take our luggage to the Ship’s Boat terminal. Sherri gives him the entry code for the cargo compartment. He’ll be able to stack our bags there but not access the inside of the boat. When the driver delivers us to Rickerback’s office, I pay the fare, the fare for the baggage drop, and tips for both trips.