Zagrando knew he looked no better.
He wanted to ask if there was a place to shower nearby, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what kind of security the Emzada had.
Still, they had managed to make an exchange. Zagrando had paid half of the upfront fee for delivery of the clones. He and the Emzada, using Whiteley as an intermediary, had set up a meeting place to work with the clone provider.
Zagrando was supposed to bring his client. He might need assistance with that, because he suspected he was going to meet with another intermediary. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about this.
He would have to talk with Whiteley.
They climbed the stairs, both men breathing shallowly on purpose.
When they were halfway up, Zagrando said through his teeth, “You could have warned me.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d go into an Emzada Lair,” Whiteley said. He didn’t try to keep the conversation quiet.
Either that meant they had moved past the surveillance or Whiteley didn’t care if the Emzada knew about this conversation.
If Zagrando had known about the Lair, he would have dressed for it. He might even have worn a nearly invisible environmental suit to prevent this kind of contamination.
“You should have asked,” Zagrando said.
“And spoil the fun?” Whiteley asked.
“How come you didn’t wear some kind of protection?” Zagrando asked.
“It insults them,” Whiteley said, looking up this time. So the surveillance continued. Whiteley simply hadn’t cared until now.
Whiteley was very familiar with this place and he didn’t seem bothered by the skin-cell sloughing. Which meant he had experienced it enough to have developed an internal coping mechanism.
“You got a finder’s fee for this meeting, didn’t you?” Zagrando asked.
“You didn’t expect that?” Whiteley increased his pace on the stairs. He clearly didn’t like having this part of the conversation here.
“I expected you to get a finder’s fee when we met with the dealers, not their broker.”
Whiteley shrugged. “I make my money in a variety of ways.”
Meaning he was going to get even more fees as this transaction went on.
If this transaction went on.
“So you’re going to cart me to the meeting with the brokers?” Zagrando asked.
“Someone has to,” Whiteley said.
“I know where it is, and in theory, I’m bringing my client. I’d prefer it if you don’t accompany us.”
Jealousy among arms broker wasn’t just a formality, it was a survival skill. If Zagrando had been a true arms broker, he would worry that Whiteley would poach his clients. So Zagrando needed to act as if he did worry about it.
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want me along.” Whiteley reached a landing and stopped. He looked down at Zagrando. “But, in the spirit of honesty, I know where the meeting is, so I’m going to be there whether you want me or not.”
And maybe with a few of his friends.
Zagrando’s stomach, which had settled slightly, rolled again. A real arms broker would kill Whiteley for making that statement. And Whiteley probably knew it.
Was this some kind of test? If so, it was a stupid one, because it would cost Whiteley his life.
Unless he knew that the Emzada would protect him.
Whiteley had already made it clear that the Emzada was watching some kind of security feed.
Zagrando reached the top of the stairs, then clapped a hand on Whiteley’s shoulder, wincing at the gooey feel of his shirt. Whiteley was gambling that Zagrando would do nothing, afraid of screwing up the meet. But Zagrando had to do something, or the Emzada would not take him seriously.
He wondered if Whiteley had thought of that.
“In the spirit of honesty,” Zagrando said loud enough that his voice would appear on any security feed, “I should kill you for that.”
Whiteley grinned at him, apparently satisfied that Zagrando understood. “You should,” Whiteley said. “But you won’t.”
“You really do trust me,” Zagrando said with just a touch of surprise.
“Naw,” Whiteley said. “I’ve watched you. Killing’s something you let someone else do.”
With one quick move, Zagrando slid his hand down the side of the pack that Whiteley carried, and pulled out the laser pistol that Whiteley always had in the outside pocket.
He shot Whiteley in the right leg. Whiteley screamed, so Zagrando shot him in the left leg for good measure.
Then he wrenched the pack off Whiteley’s back.
Zagrando made himself smile.
“Nice to know you’re right, isn’t it?” he asked Whiteley, who was rolling and grabbing his legs in extreme pain. “I always let someone else do the killing. Unless, of course, there is no one else. And even then, I prefer the maiming method to the death method. I use it as a warning. People should know better than to screw with me.”
Zagrando ran up a few steps, then turned.
“I hope for your sake that the Emzada doesn’t mind you fouling his Lair or attempting to screw up such a lucrative deal. I also hope he doesn’t realize that he can get his finder’s fee back if he just lets you die.”
“Hey!” Whiteley moaned. “Hey. You—me—we’re friends.”
“What man can know what’s in another man’s heart?” Zagrando said and continued up the stairs.
As he rounded the next corner, he heard Whiteley shout, “You’ll never get the ship started. It’s coded to me.”
“I disabled that part of your ship when I dropped off my supplies,” Zagrando said. He had always made it a policy to travel only on ships that he could pilot in an emergency. And if the ship’s owner wasn’t willing to make that easy for him, he always did it for himself.
Then he hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, not sure if he would run into some resistance. Whiteley yelled behind him, voice growing fainter as Zagrando reached the top of the stairs and the outer doors.
He pushed them open and stepped into what passed for daylight in Abbondiado. It felt like he had been below ground for days.
That hum had returned, but it didn’t unsettle him. His adrenaline was pumping; nothing could unsettle him at the moment.
He adjusted the pack on his back, hoped that no one noticed or cared about the thin film of gray goo coating him, and made his way—as cautiously as he could—back to Whiteley’s ship.
And onto the next stage of this rather horrible journey.
Eleven
Miles Flint arrived at the law offices of Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek a few minutes late. If pressed, he wouldn’t have been able to say that he arrived late accidentally or by design. He had had second thoughts about this meeting with Luc Deshin all afternoon, but he hadn’t canceled it.
Flint simply wished he could avoid it. But he felt that way about almost everything to do with his post-Anniversary Day work.
He had left Talia at the Security Building mostly because he didn’t want her to get into trouble. He knew she would research the bombings; she had been working hard on various theories. He wanted her to do it from a safe computer system.
No matter how many times he explained to her that even the simplest search from an open network put her (and others) in danger, she didn’t quite understand it. She felt if she looked up something that seemed unrelated, no one would flag the search.
She had gotten into trouble a year or so ago doing the same thing, so now, rather than take the lesson that she had to avoid open networks, she simply believed she could do only obscure searches from a public place. He had mentioned that to DeRicci once, and she had laughed at him.
You have a teenage daughter, Miles. She’ll be smart one minute and stupid the next. Deal with it.
He had thought DeRicci a bit cynical until he talked with parents of teenagers, particularly girls. He used to think that he understood teenagers—after all, he had been one once—but now he believed that either he had b
een the best-behaved teenager ever or he misremembered almost everything about that period of time. His parents were no longer around to ask, even though he had a hunch what their answer would be.
At least Popova was at the Security Office to watch Talia, and if something went wrong, an entire security force could guard her.
He couldn’t ask for anything else.
He certainly couldn’t bring her here.
Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek was one of the richest law firms on the Moon, with branches all over the Earth Alliance. Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek was not the most prestigious firm: it handled too many known criminals for that. But the firm was known for winning the bulk of its cases.
It was not only one of the wealthier firms in the Alliance, but it was also one of the most powerful.
Flint preferred working with Maxine Van Alen, but he had ended up with Celestine Gonzalez of Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek during Talia’s adoption proceedings. Talia’s mother—Flint’s ex-wife Rhonda—had hired Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek to handle her criminal case, and had instructed Talia to contact them should anything bad happen.
Then Rhonda got kidnapped and Talia had followed her mother’s instructions. By the time Flint came on the scene, Gonzalez already had the case well in hand.
Flint liked her. She was honest and smart, just not quite as crafty as Van Alen was. Gonzalez had done good work for her firm in the past few years. She was now a partner, with a bigger office and a lot more clout.
Still, she had made time for this meeting. But Flint wasn’t certain if she had done so because of Flint or because of Luc Deshin.
Gonzalez had a corner office on the fifteenth floor of the Oberholtz, Martinez & Mlsnavek Building. She had spent a small fortune decorating the room with imported silk rugs and matching silk drapes, clearly not made on the Moon. The desk, though, was old and scuffed, and made of faux wood like so much Moon-based furniture.
Flint suspected the desk had sentimental value. He had never seen Gonzalez behind it. She liked to conduct her work from an overstuffed chair positioned with its back to the corner where the windows met. She used a handheld pad to record the meeting and to make her notes.
Although on this day, she wasn’t doing that. Instead, she was standing in the center of the room with Deshin himself. She wore silver platform shoes that made her almost as tall as Deshin. The shoes matched her silver-and-black suit, but even it couldn’t hide the fact that she had put on weight in the intervening years. She now looked matronly instead of young and eager.
Flint liked the new look, not because of her size, but because of what it suggested. It suggested that she cared more about the work than she did about looking like some kind of feminine ideal. Besides, looking like a strong woman gave her a lot more power in the courtroom than any kind of youthful beauty would.
“Sorry I’m late,” Flint said as he came in. He started to shut the door, but Gonzalez waved him off.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m giving you the office for an hour or two. I’m late for dinner. I want you both to know that all recording devices are off and that you don’t need to worry about me or the firm knowing what you have discussed. I’m assuming you will leave shortly after I do. If you end up talking, then that’s your issue, but there’s no one else on this floor. So you needn’t worry that anyone will see you both together.”
Her words made Flint’s breath catch. She had given this some thought. Plus, it seemed like she was used to doing these things.
For Deshin? Or for other clients?
Deshin didn’t seem as uncomfortable as Flint was. Deshin probably did things like this all the time.
“Thank you, Celestine,” Deshin said, then put his hands on her shoulder and bussed her cheek. “I appreciate the fact you set this up on such short notice.”
“The dinner date precedes the meeting. You just picked a good time,” she said. Then she wiggled two fingers at Flint, grinned at him as she passed, then went out the door, pulling it closed behind her.
“You’re going out of your way not to be seen with me,” Flint said as he moved away from the door.
Deshin nodded. “Believe me, that benefits you more than it benefits me.”
Flint actually didn’t think it mattered. He had no real reputation that could be harmed, not the kind Deshin was thinking of. Either Deshin didn’t understand that, or he tended toward the grandiose.
But his comments did signal that the meeting had started in earnest.
“Before you tell me anything,” Flint said, “remember that I used to be a police officer and I’m working with the Security Office.”
Deshin smiled. “You’re a Retrieval Artist now, Mr. Flint. We both walk on the wrong side of the law when it’s convenient.”
Flint didn’t like that characterization. Yes, Retrieval Artists sometimes worked outside the law, but he didn’t avoid the law when it was convenient. He had enforced the law when he worked for both Space Traffic Control and for the Armstrong Police Department. There he had learned that he didn’t like turning children over to other species to satisfy some law that made no sense in human terms.
That wasn’t convenient. That was damned inconvenient, at least in Flint’s opinion.
“You disagree with me,” Deshin said.
Flint realized he had been quiet too long.
“We’re not going to get into a philosophical argument about how we characterize our work,” Flint said.
“Believe me,” Deshin said, “I consider myself a businessman, and as such, I don’t view business as philosophy. The difference between me and the corporations you used to have to defend when you worked for the Armstrong Police Department is that I run a small organization. Instead of tens of thousands of lawyers and a shell company Disappearance service, I have a handful of lawyers and I try to avoid working with other species whenever possible.”
Deshin was trying to justify himself to Flint? That made Flint more uncomfortable than the characterization of his work as a Retrieval Artist.
“I am a former police officer for a reason,” Flint said. “I don’t like how the corporations or the Earth Alliance do their business.”
“Neither do I,” said Deshin. “But that’s not important. Like you said, we don’t need to have a philosophical argument. Instead, I’d like to help you.”
Flint still had trouble with that. He believed there was a catch.
“You want to help me,” Flint repeated. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I told you,” Deshin said. “I lost friends and family on Anniversary Day.”
“The fact that you lost people on Anniversary Day,” Flint said, knowing he had to be ruthless to get his answers, “that makes you think I’ll believe you’re a good guy now?”
Deshin tilted his head slightly. His eyes had grown cold. Flint finally saw the man who controlled the largest criminal empire in the city.
“Of course not,” Deshin said. “You’re not naïve, Mr. Flint. These attacks happened in my city, on my turf, to my people.”
“I didn’t think you cared about the mayor,” Flint said, knowing he was probably pushing Deshin too hard. “Or did someone else close to you die in Armstrong that day?”
Armstrong had had very few casualties, and only two had made the news: Mayor Arek Soseki and his assassin.
Deshin opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes grew even colder.
“Fair enough,” he said. “You want honesty? Here’s honesty. It disturbs me that this investigation had gone on for six months with no obvious leads. It bothers me that no one knows what, exactly, happened that day. It really upsets me that we don’t know why, because if we don’t know why, then the attack could happen again, and this time, we might lose the entire Moon.”
If Deshin thought he was going to insult Flint, he was wrong.
“I worry about the same things,” Flint said.
Deshin nodded. “Then I will tell you what you need to know to stop this. I will tell you a
bout things I know, things legal and illegal. You will probably assume I know these things because you people believe that I run a criminal organization—”
“You people?” Flint asked.
“You still have a police attitude, Mr. Flint. You’re working for the security office at the moment. You may break the law when it suits you, but you tell yourself that you do it because you’re following some higher morality. You’re not following a higher morality. You just assume that the human way is the best way. Frankly, Mr. Flint, that’s bigotry.”
Flint’s breath caught. He’d heard the argument before. It was an argument against Disappearance Services, and had been around since the first human used a service to disappear. It was, oddly enough, an Earth Alliance argument.
But no one had ever said it to Flint’s face before. It surprised him that the statement stung. He didn’t think of himself as a bigot, merely a man who had the welfare of other human beings at stake. He never did anything that would deliberately harm another species, although he had occasionally done things that had circumvented their legal process.
Deshin shoved his hands in his pockets. The movement made his entire body seem tense.
“So,” he said, “I figure you’re here because you believe that I can tell you things you don’t know. I figure you’re here because you’re stuck. Am I wrong?”
Flint knew that Deshin was trying to provoke him like he had been trying to provoke Deshin.
“Unfortunately,” Flint said, “the investigation of a crime is harder than the commission of it. Sometimes it takes years to know what happened. And we’re hampered by the loss of authority in various communities, by inadequate law enforcement organizations in others, and by the fact that a lot of the evidence got obliterated in the dome destructions and in the bombings. So, no, we’re not stuck, but we’re certainly not moving as quickly as any of us would like.”
Deshin nodded, the movement of a man in charge giving up a point to an inferior. Flint had pushed him; now Flint saw the real man.
“All right,” Deshin said, “I’ll give you that. I have a personal and financial stake in getting the Moon back to normal. Because of that, and because you people can’t seem to find your asses with a detailed map, I’ll tell you things that would probably get me arrested if you were still with the Armstrong Police Department.”
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