by L.H. Thomson
***
As Granger was walking us back to the cruiser, a pair of familiar faces were headed in the other direction, into the house.
Evgeny still had Hanna Dow by the elbow. I said, “Don’t tell me we got here before you? What kind of junker are you flying these days?”
“Huh,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he wanted to see you two. At least he didn’t have me bring you in, like with this one.”
Jayde giggled, “Watching you try would’ve been funny. We’d have smoked you like an ounce of Perthenian stinkweed, but it would’ve been funny.”
Evgeny said, “I don’t argue with children.”
Jayde ignored him and nodded towards Hanna. “You OK?”
She looked a little better than yesterday, stronger. “Don’t know yet. I guess. Your friend has been a total gentleman so far.”
My turn to chuckle. “He’s never been a total gentleman in his life.” And then to Evgeny, “You taking her to see Cardale?”
He nodded. “Yeah, he wants to grill her about some secret her boss had.”
I said to Hanna. “He’ll probably offer you food. I’d take it. His cook makes a hell of a breakfast. Real eggs.”
They both looked surprised. “Real eggs?” said Evgeny. “I got to work for this guy more often.”
Hanna Dow said, “What about you, Mr. Smith. Will you and your colleague continue pursuing your money?” She made it sound like an accusation.
I shrugged. “Got any better suggestions?”
She smiled, but did not elaborate, and a moment later, they were gone.
Back in orbit later that day, Jayde set about investigating who might have known of the drive in the first place.
“Aside from the Archivist and Cardale, I think we can rule out the Followers and the Prognosticator, as they didn’t have any idea of what we were actually looking for.”
Maybe, I said. And maybe he was just playing his cards tight. “I don’t think we can make any assumptions yet,” I said. “But yeah, the Prognosticator seemed a bit clueless.”
Jayde was perched on the edge of the leather pilot’s chair, the vastness of space spread in front of us through the ship’s Plexinum bubble.
“You’re not buying that line from Cardale about how this is all for the good of the Jofari, are you?”
I shrugged. “Whether that’s his intent or not, you know what that engine would mean. Who cares if Robert Cardale gets a little richer doing it?”
She thought about that. “Yeah, I guess. Seems wrong, though, working for the Millennium Man, playing one client off against another.”
“I suppose. But I’m a Smith. You’re an RDH. Somehow, you can pretty much be sure we’ll get the short end.”
She used the touch sensors to run through a list of names, everyone we’d talked to about the Archivist in the preceding few days.
“The Prognosticator, he said something about the Archivist being afraid because of a colleague’s death, on G’Farg.” She brought up virtual keys and began tapping furiously. “Here we go: holo news from about six weeks ago. Dr. Sanford Santiago, a ... professor of mechanical engineering?”
That had to be our guy. She kept reading.
“Looks like he was killed by a protester outside the university on the terraform, someone angry at working conditions.”
The story’s multimedia kicked in, and the holo from the funeral, complete with voiceover, floated just above the dashboard.
“Hold it!” Jayde hit pause. “Check out who’s sitting among the mourners.”
Second row center. The Archivist.
“Fire up the Quantum engine, Jayde. We’ve got some Short Space ahead of us.