Waypoint Kangaroo

by Curtis C. Chen

The squinting continues. “We wouldn’t want to waste your talents.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Ellie chuckles. “So. Evan. How long have you and Andie known each other?”

  “What?” Jemison and I say in unison. We exchange puzzled glances, then look back to see if Ellie’s joking. She’s not.

  “We don’t,” Jemison says.

  “We just met,” I say, overlapping her.

  “Yesterday,” Jemison adds.

  “Oh,” Ellie says. She seems disappointed.

  “Why would you think—I mean, no offense, Chief, but why would you think that?” I ask Ellie.

  She shrugs, and she makes even that tiny motion look cute. “It’s just the way you two talk to each other. It feels like you’ve, I don’t know, been through something together.”

  Normally, I would be panicking now. She’s just made me, seen through my cover to something real underneath, and that usually means I’ve been compromised and need to get the hell out of the situation.

  But instead of panic, I feel … unburdened. Ellie just gave me permission to relax my disguise.

  “You know what it is,” I say. “It’s because we were both stationed on Mars for a while. Before the war.”

  We weren’t there at the same time or anywhere near the same place, but I hope Jemison plays along. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her hand curling into a fist under the table.

  “Stationed?” Ellie raises an eyebrow. “As what, a street urchin? Were you even out of school before the war?”

  “Absolutely.” It’s not a lie. “I’m older than I look.”

  “And I didn’t know you were on Mars, Andie,” Ellie says to Jemison.

  “I don’t like to talk about it,” Jemison says. There’s an edge in her voice.

  Ellie nods and turns back to me. “So what were you doing on the red planet, Mr. State Department Trade Inspector?”

  There’s a lilt in her voice. She expects me to be evasive, too.

  “Spying,” I say.

  Ellie bursts out laughing. “No, seriously.”

  “I am serious,” I say. “What, you don’t think I could be a spy?”

  Ellie shakes her head, smiling. “Evan, I think you would be the worst spy in the entire Solar System.”

  I force my own smile to remain in place. Does this mean I’m doing my job really well or really badly?

  I turn to Jemison and ask, “And what do you think?”

  She’s been frowning and pursing her lips this whole time, but now she loses it, doubling over with laughter. Ellie starts laughing again too.

  “Okay, yeah, that’s hilarious,” I grumble. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Sorry, Rogers,” Jemison says, recovering her composure. “It’s just such a ridiculous thought, you know?”

  She wipes some post-guffaw tears from her eyes and grins at me. I chew my food and give her a blank stare.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellie says. “I didn’t mean to destroy one of your childhood dreams.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I turn toward Jemison. “People underestimate me.”

  “I can believe that,” she says, chuckling.

  Ellie reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. I do my best not to stare, but my heart rate shoots up, and the display in my left eye pops up a medical warning, just in case I didn’t notice my pulse skyrocketing. I twitch my other fingers—the ones not being held by Ellie—and turn off the display.

  “She does this with everyone,” Ellie says, patting my hand. “It’s nothing personal.”

  I feel lightheaded. “Thanks,” I manage to say through my happy haze.

  “Have you been to Mars recently?” Ellie asks. “Since the war, I mean?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve been pretty busy elsewhere.”

  “Sometimes,” Ellie says, and stops. She lowers her voice. “Sometimes I feel very glad that US-OSS discharged me before the shooting started. Is that wrong? Is that selfish?”

  “No,” Jemison says. “You should never feel bad about staying out of a war.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Ellie’s wristband beeps. “Oh, boy. Are you seeing this, Andie?”

  Jemison raises her wrist and frowns. “Seriously? Where are the parents?”

  Ellie stands up. I reflexively do the same. “Sorry to eat and run, Evan, but I need to go take care of this.” She smiles. “It was nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” I say, hoping she’ll offer to shake my hand. She doesn’t.

  “We should go, too,” Jemison says. “Get a box for that, Rogers.”

  “Where are we going?” I watch Ellie walk out of the mess hall, admiring how the uniform flatters her figure.

  “I’m going back to work. You’re doing whatever you want.”

  I turn back to Jemison. “I thought you wanted my help.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re on vacation, Rogers. Enjoy it.”

  I lean close to her and lower my voice. “We need to talk about David Wachlin.”

  “Don’t worry about him. We’re dealing with it.”

  “I can help.”

  “I’ll tell you if we need your help.”

  “I have tools that nobody else on this ship has.”

  “And we don’t need any of them right now. Go. Have fun.”

  I don’t know how. “Okay, well, how about the radiation thing? I can use my eye—”

  “What part of ‘go away’ do you not understand? We actually do know what we’re doing around here, Rogers. I appreciate the offer, but it’s going to be more trouble adding you to the mix than just letting the crew do their jobs. Now come on.”

  She picks up both our trays and heads for the exit. I follow her reluctantly.

  It’s pretty clear I’m not going talk Jemison into deputizing me to help with anything. But there is someone else I can talk to. Someone who can get me back into Jemison’s good graces after I demonstrate my usefulness on another task. Someone who ought to care a lot more about radiation hazards.

  Someone who’s having dinner with some VIPs tonight.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dejah Thoris—Deck 10, Promenade

  4 hours before Ellie’s VIP dinner

  I say good-bye to Jemison at the elevator, go to the excursions booking desk on the Promenade, and flip through the offerings on the automated kiosk. I don’t see any listings for a VIP dinner with the chief engineer. Maybe it’s a private group.

  I step away from the kiosk and into the actual booking area, a small niche with a wraparound vid wall and a single work desk. The wall shows an undersea reef scene with various colorful aquatic creatures. I walk up to the desk and sit down in one of the two cushy chairs in front of it. The crewman behind the desk stops working on his computer and turns to greet me. I don’t recognize him until it’s too late.

  “How may I help you today, sir?” Ward says. “Oh. Hello, sir.” His grin only falters for a split second. I have to admit, the kid’s a professional. “Good to see you again. Did you enjoy your tour of the engine room?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Will the booking agent be back soon?”

  “I am the booking agent, sir.”

  “I thought you—never mind.” I lean forward. “I have kind of a strange request.”

  “I will do my best to assist you, sir.” He makes it sound like I’m seeking psychiatric help.

  “I was talking to someone at the bar,” I say, “and he mentioned there’s some kind of VIP table at dinner tonight? Like the Captain’s Table, but with some of the engineering officers?”

  “We offer several types of hosted dining sessions,” Ward says. “Would you like me to check?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  He turns to his computer and taps at the keyboard. “Ah, yes. Our chief engineer will be dining at the five o’clock formal dinner tonight.”

  “That’s right,” I say. “Are there any
more seats available at that table?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Ward says, allowing his smile to evaporate, “but this particular table has been reserved by a private group.”

  “Oh, I know.” I am totally making this up as I go along. “My friend from the bar? He’s one of them. He invited me to join them.”

  “I see.” Ward nods. “And what is your friend’s name?”

  “Shit. I knew I forgot something.” I force a laugh. “Didn’t get his name. Listen, maybe you could just switch me to that table for tonight’s dinner? I’m usually at the Captain’s Table, but you know. I’ve already heard all his space stories. Could do with some new company.”

  Ward doesn’t answer right away. He appears to be savoring this moment of power. If I were drunk, I’d be thinking about smacking that smug expression off his face.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” he says. “Only the guest who made the original booking is allowed to change the reservation. Perhaps you could ask your friend to make the request.”

  “Right. Sure.” I stand up. “Thank you. I’ll just go see if he’s still at the bar.”

  “Of course, sir. Have a wonderful day!” Ward smiles and waves as I retreat.

  I walk around the corner and halfway down the Promenade before doing a brief frustration dance, punching the air with both fists and jumping up and down.

  You have years of training with a first-world intelligence agency, Kangaroo. Did you really just get outmaneuvered by a fucking travel agent?

  No. No, I didn’t. I have options. There are always options.

  It’s too bad I can’t solve this problem with my fists. People say violence is never the answer, but learning how to beat down kids twice my size sure helped me out when I was younger.

  That was before I met Paul. Before he showed me that people can be manipulated without physical contact, as long as you have access to the right resources. You just have to figure out what your target wants.

  Well, I’ve got some stuff in the pocket. So what does Ward want?

  Ward works on commission.

  I find the nearest restroom, hide in a vacant stall, open the pocket, and retrieve a small bundle from my emergency equipment reserve. Then I walk back to the excursions desk.

  “Hello again, sir,” Ward says. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  “I remembered my friend’s name,” I say, sitting down. “It’s Jameter Maitland.”

  I lay a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the desk and slide it forward. A holographic bust of the late President Maitland shimmers from the surface of the banknote.

  Ward, to his credit, doesn’t react visibly to my bribe attempt. He looks past me to the Promenade, his eyes scanning left and right, then fixes me with a stare.

  “I think he had a twin brother,” he says, “didn’t he?”

  I was prepared for this. I peel another hundred from the roll in my other hand and slide it across the table.

  “Actually,” Ward says, “I’m pretty sure there were three brothers.”

  I frown. “Really?”

  He nods. “Really.”

  I pulled that second bill too soon. This is what happens when you don’t rehearse the play. But hey, it’s not my money. I drop a third Maitland on the desk. Ward reaches for the bills, but I don’t let go.

  “So you can help me with this request?” I ask.

  He nods, retracts his hand, and turns back to the computer. After a moment of typing, he says, “I can’t seat you with the VIPs, but I can place you at a table right next to them. You’ll have a clear view. Good enough?”

  I was hoping to talk to Ellie during dinner, but I can at least catch her before she goes back into the crew sections. Still better than breaking in and risking Jemison’s ire. “That’ll do.”

  I lift my hand. Ward sweeps the cash away in one smooth motion. “Are you all set for formalwear, sir?”

  “You guys aren’t that strict about the dress code, are you?”

  I really don’t like Ward’s smile.

  * * *

  I didn’t read all of the Princess of Mars Cruises introductory documents before boarding this jolly vessel. I was in a hurry. So I failed to pack appropriate attire for the formal dinners. And the agency does not consider a tuxedo important enough to qualify as always-in-pocket emergency equipment.

  The good news is, there’s a tailor shop on the Promenade, which Ward is all too happy to direct me toward. And I’m not paying for this holiday.

  The tailor takes my measurements and tells me to come back in an hour. After pausing in front of the barbershop next door and deciding I don’t want to mess with my hair right now, I go back to my room to shower and shave.

  The mirror in my bathroom must have some kind of high-tech defogging mechanism, because it’s not even clouded when I step out of the shower. I have a very clear view of my average body and nondescript face as I approach the sink.

  Paul really lucked out, finding a brown kid with a superpower who would do his bidding. In additional to implanting my bionic left eye, the agency re-cut my face before I went into the field, to make me look as unremarkable as possible. Shallow chin, flat nose; not too handsome, not too ugly. I can blend into most any crowd, and as long as I don’t open my mouth, people can mistake me for a local pretty easily.

  The agency gave me a new identity, a new life, and all I had to give up was my face. I was okay with that. I didn’t want to be a scared kid anymore. I wanted to leave everything behind. I wanted to be somebody else.

  So who are you going to be tonight, Kangaroo?

  This self-cleaning mirror is so clear, it’s a little disturbing.

  I finish up in the bathroom, throw on some clothes, and return to the Promenade to try on my tuxedo. I stupidly insisted on getting an actual bow tie, which takes several minutes to attach to my neck without choking me. After a quick trip back to my room to drop off my street clothes—during which I get several appreciative nods from other passengers—I head down to the main dining room.

  It’s 1710 hours when I get there, and people have already started eating. The dining room staff stationed every couple of meters ask for my table number and point me toward the large staircase at the rear. Ellie’s table is directly in front of the stairs, working on their appetizers.

  The VIPs in question are a group of teenage girls and two adult women. When I get closer, I notice they’re all wearing matching blue-and-gold logo pins. I don’t recognize the design. I snap a picture with my eye and then power up my comms dish to start an image search.

  My table—right next to Ellie’s, just as Ward promised—is half full when I sit down. The small talk isn’t quite as scintillating as my first night at the Captain’s Table. I’m seated with two couples, both on vacation. One of the couples are regular cruisers and trying to convince the other couple to try longer sailings to other planets. I let them guide the conversation, happy that I don’t have to participate much. It gives me more time to observe Ellie.

  If she’s noticed me sitting over here, she hasn’t shown it. Her attention is focused on the teenagers at her table, who seem to be asking a lot of questions. The dining room’s noisy enough to prevent eavesdropping. I could turn on my long-range microphone, but that feels like cheating.

  As if on cue, my image search returns a match on the logo pins: National Science and Technology Council. Federal education program. I thought it looked familiar. Maybe I can use that to start a conversation later. When I accidentally-on-purpose bump into Ellie in the hallway.

  I wave off all offers of alcohol from the servers. I want to stay clear-headed tonight.

  The VIP table finishes eating before mine does. I don’t feel too bad about abandoning my dining companions to catch Ellie just as she walks out the front doors of the dining room.

  “Well, hello there, Chief,” I say, waving.

  She looks up from her wristband. “Oh, hello, Evan.” Her startled expression relaxes into a smile. “That’s a nice look for you. Did yo
u enjoy your dinner?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” I debate for a moment recounting the story of my last-minute tailor shop expedition, but decide I don’t want to be that guy tonight. “Are you headed back to work?”

  Ellie gives her wristband one more tap and lowers her arm. “Not until midnight. Plenty of time to change.” She shrugs. “I was going to check on the cleanup crew, but it sounds like they’re almost done. No need for me to suit up and go in again.”

  I couldn’t have manufactured a better segue. “So how did that go? The cleanup, I mean?”

  She looks around at the passengers strolling past us. “We probably shouldn’t talk about it here. What’s your interest anyway?”

  “Oh, you know, professional curiosity. I’m an interplanetary trade inspector.”

  “Yeah. You did mention that.” She seems dubious.

  “Radiation’s a big issue for outer space commerce. I’d love to hear more about Dejah Thoris’s radhaz procedures. In a more private setting. When you have some free time.” She’s grinning at me. “Did I say something funny?”

  “Evan, if you want to ask me on a date, you should just ask me on a date.”

  “That’s not,” I say. “I wasn’t.” My brain seems to be vapor-locked all of a sudden.

  “Liar.” Ellie hooks her arm through mine, and I swear a tingle literally goes down my spine. “Let’s take a walk. You know how to get to the arboretum?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dejah Thoris—Passenger elevator

  3 minutes after Ellie changed my plans

  It’s a long elevator ride up to the arboretum. I have plenty of time to contemplate how I’m going to deal with this new scenario. I was prepared to talk engineering and radiation and space stuff, to lure Ellie into a conversation; I didn’t expect her to want to come with me. So what’s my play now? How do I regain control of the situation?

  Or do I maybe just enjoy her company for a while?

  David Wachlin’s in custody. The radiation danger is contained. I’m just doing follow-up now, and honestly, my hunch about something more sinister going on here could simply be me itching to work because it’s the only thing I know. Maybe I’m more scared of being a genuine human being than fighting bad guys.