He also failed to notice the man at the far end of the bar who had been quietly observing him. It was subtle enough that it likely would have slipped past Lex even if he had been sober, but a particularly paranoid individual would have quickly become aware of the way the quiet, plainly dressed man followed, with a limp, every time Lex moved to a different part of the hotel lounge. Over the course of a few hours the crowd began to dwindle, the men and women looking for pictures and handshakes got what they were after, and Lex settled into one of the softer chairs in the lounge to nurse what was likely to be the last free drink of the night. It was a ridiculous concoction, with paper umbrellas, fruit wedges, and colors never intended to exist in nature. It was like drinking a five-year-old's birthday party, and if it wasn't the eighth or ninth drink of the night, he probably would have been embarrassed to be seen with it. He was well beyond the point of embarrassment now, though. His chief concern right now was drinking the syrupy sweet beverage without poking his eye out on one of the skewered cherries. He was only moderately successful.
"Honestly, whose idea was it to combine alcohol and pointy things," he groaned, blinking away some pineapple juice from a wedge that had found its way into his eye.
"You are the hero," said a voice.
Lex turned to see the quiet gentleman from the edge of the bar. "Yeah, one of 'em."
His latest admirer took a seat. "Did I hear you say that you were a former racer?" he asked.
"I might have said that once or twice or thirty times. Seems like people weren't too interested in that," Lex slurred.
"I'm sort of a ship fan. I figured a former racer might have an interesting ship. You did come here on your own ship, didn't you?"
"Oh yeah. A one of a kind one, too. Let me tell you, if you are a ship buff, you'd get a kick out of old Son of Betsy."
"What kind?"
"One of a."
"Yes, but... what make and model?"
"It is an interceptor. Black. Looks stock. Is extremely not stock. I think it is officially a Cantrell Aerospace Intrasystem Interceptor, Type D. Heh. Type D."
"Why is that funny?"
"It isn't. It's funny that he thinks it's funny."
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter," Lex said.
"When did you arrive, and where?"
"Uh... Man, was it really yesterday? I went to one of those shipyards on the edge of town."
"Which one?"
"East Side... something or other. Why do you care?"
"Just curious. Thanks for talking to me," he said, standing and limping away.
"Uh, yeah, no problem," Lex said, adding beneath his breath, "Weirdo."
The night crept on, and the lounge continued to empty out. After a few hours, Jon showed up in the lounge. He was looking thoroughly exhausted. When he spotted Lex, he made his way over and plopped down beside him.
"That woman is inexhaustible!" Jon said.
"That's very true. It can be fun, sometimes."
"Not when you work for her. She sent me for food while she picks apart another one of those loose threads from that guy you guys talked to. I think the kitchen is going to mysteriously take about twenty minutes longer than we expected. I think I'm also going to have a drink. That looks good. What is it?"
"Cap'n McKenzie's Azure Mai Tai," he said. "But it tastes more like liquid cotton candy."
"That's my kind of drink," Jon said, flagging down the nearest waiter and placing an order. "So. What's next for you?"
"Oh, I don't know. I've got to get back to Golana before too much longer. In my businesses, if you aren't around for long enough, clients start looking elsewhere. What about you and Mitch?"
"Ugh. Don't get me started. She's booked at least three face to face interviews. We are going be be globetrotting for weeks."
"Great... You know something, Jon? It is getting hard to tell the difference between Mitch and me as a couple versus Mitch and me broken up."
"Sorry to hear that, Mr. Alexander. You'll work it out, though. I mean, you're both insane danger addicts with little regard for your own safety. You can't find compatibility like that on a dating site."
"Yeah, maybe. Oh well. Women, am I right?"
"You're asking the wrong guy," Jon said.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Well, let me give you the rundown. Women are like a drug. When you're first getting started, it is all about feeling good. You convince yourself that it is just something you're doing for fun, something to make yourself feel good. Physical stuff, nothing serious. Before long, though, she gets her claws into you. Works her way into your brain. You realize you just don't feel right without her. You know it isn't good for you, that it is driving you insane, but even the insanity feels right. You just want more of it. Can't get enough."
"Gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love," Jon said, raising the glass.
"... Where is that from?"
"I don't know. Some folksong, I think."
"Well, whatever it's from, it's true. Seriously. And it does permanent damage, too. Before long, all of the stuff you complain about them doing, you're doing. Fixating on the relationship. Getting clingy and needy. Honestly, love is like contagious insanity."
"Beats the alternative."
Lex grunted in agreement. "Women. Can't live with them, can't live without them."
"Once again, speak for yourself. But if it is any consolation, men can be just as bad."
"Well that's good to know. I'd hate to think you guys had somehow found a loophole out of the madness."
"Rest assured that such is not the case."
"... Well, this conversation has suddenly made me feel incredibly uncomfortable, so I think I'm going to call it a night." He looked out the lounge window to see that the sun was still out. "I guess make that call it an afternoon. How long are the days on this planet."
"Too long. Lucky they've got the convention running on GST, or the shuttle lag would have killed me by now."
GST, or Galactic Standard Time, was the way the various settlements tried to keep themselves lined up on the same schedules and calendars. Since different planets had different length days and years, there had to be some common ground. Much to the chagrin of the Orionians and Teekers, that standard ended up being Earth days and Earth years, all lined up with Earth's Prime Meridian.
"What'd she send you to get, by the way?" Lex asked, "No, let me guess. Mac and cheese, and a hot cocoa with a double shot of espresso in it."
"Yep. Is that a regular for her?"
"That's her 'burning the midnight oil' meal. I'll bring it up, then I'm calling it a night. I intend to use all of my masculine wiles to convince her to call it a night as well, so knock before you try coming in."
"Do masculine wiles even exist?"
"I guess we'll find out in a minute."
"Well good luck to you. Success for you means a few hours sleep for me. You coming to the keynote tomorrow?"
"Yeah, but then I'm heading out."
"Alright, see you tomorrow, Mr. Alexander."
Lex cleared enough of the dangerous beverage ornaments out of the way to finish his drink, then stumbled over to the catering area to place an order. It turned out that they didn't have mac and cheese. They did, however, have 'Fresh made genuine Dakota durum pasta, prepared casserole-style in an extravagant aged Tillamook cream sauce and topped with sage and crumbled brioche." A bit of effort managed to track down a grilled cheese sandwich, which was masquerading under the alias 'Tillamook panini.' As a to-go platter was assembled, Lex made a mental note to find these Tillamook people and demand that they tell him what they did with all of the other cheeses. Getting the over-dignified comfort food to Michella's room while heavily under the influence of his under-dignified cocktails proved difficult, but before long he was finagling his slidepad out of his pocket and bleeping the door open.
"Room service," he said.
Michella looked up. The hours of arguing, scraping, digging, researching, and bargaining were showing all over her fac
e. A few stray locks of auburn hair had escaped her ponytail and were dangling in front of her face, her glasses were in danger of slipping off the end of her nose, and all around her was an explosion of hand written notes on torn out notebook pages.
"Trev," she said, brushing the hair out of her eyes and removing her glasses to give the lenses a polish with the hem of her shirt. "What happened to Jon?"
"He managed to chew through his own ankle and make a break for the border," Lex said, placing down the tray and removing the lid. As Michella grabbed the chocolate and coffee concoction and eagerly breathed in its aroma, Lex grabbed the cheese sandwich and took a bite, adding through a mouthful of gourmet ingredients, "You make any progress?"
"Some, but I hit a wall. I really hate working the military for information. Even the janitors have had security training."
"How far did you get?"
"Far enough to know this Garotte guy is the real deal. I've dug up at least six different names he's used, and I'm pretty sure none of them are his real name. He's... He's not the kind of person you want to be dealing with, Trev."
"A bad guy?"
"A guy that usually shows up right before something terrible happens. There are eighteen global governments who swear he doesn't exist, and a dozen more who really wish he didn't exist, and at least four who are actively trying to make sure he doesn't exist for much longer."
"Great. So it may not have been a good idea to give him a hand."
"I'm not so sure. Most of the people I talked to who really want him dead seem to be from the remnants of some pretty nasty governments and corporations and such. I don't know, though. At this point my mind is mush," she explained, sipping her drink and scooping up some of the mac and cheese.
"Any chance you'll be getting sleep any time soon?"
She shook her head.
"What if I ask nicely?"
"Loads to do still."
"What if I use logic?"
"Like?"
"Like you're giving a big speech tomorrow, and you get ugly circles under your eyes when you don't sleep."
She scowled at him.
"I would like to point out at this time that I've had some cocktails and may not be my usual discrete self."
"Keep it up and your usual discrete self is going to wake up on the couch tomorrow."
"Hey. Back home I sleep on the couch every night, so you'll have to try harder than that."
She sighed. "Once the espresso wears off, straight to bed, I promise."
"You better. And out of curiosity, is any of this digging going to put a bulls eye on your back?"
"Have your escapades put one on yours?"
"I don't think so..." Lex said with more than a little uncertainty in his voice.
"Well then neither do I."
Lex dropped down on the couch. "I'm starting to think that if you combined all of the common sense and rational thought between the two of us, there might be enough for one sane person."
"We're just committed, that's all."
"Either that or we should be committed."
Chapter 23
Lex had planned to stay up until Michella turned in, but a belly full of booze and grilled cheese decided sleep was a better idea. A wake-up call got them both out of bed, him with a vicious hangover, her with about two hours sleep, and each with less than an hour to get ready and get to the keynote. The haze of sleep and residual inebriation blended the first few hours of the day into one big blurry blob of activity. He was reasonably sure that he'd attended and enjoyed the keynote. There might have been some sort of mixer afterward where he shook a few hundred more hands and smiled a lot, too. The only thing that really stuck in his mind was returning to the hotel, gathering up his things, and saying his goodbyes to Jon and Michella as they got ready for their flight. Things didn't start to clear for good until he managed to get his hands on some Sobrietin, a hangover cure that he vowed never again to be caught without.
"I trust you enjoyed your stay in Rackton, and be sure to visit again," said the gate agent at the shipyard, mechanically.
Lex considered asking if the chipper young agent was aware that there had been a terrorist attack the previous day, and if perhaps the standard script might not be appropriate on a day like this, but he decided to just nod and step onto the lift that would sweep him at dizzying speed to his ship's storage bay. The electric motors hummed to life and zipped him along the rails as a dozen ships whisked by, gradually slowing as he approached the SOB's temporary home. As it aligned with the platform, he found that the lights in the bay were already lit, and that a uniformed maintenance man in gloves and a dust mask was just stepping out from under his ship.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Lex asked.
"Rackton Transit Authority. Security sweep," said the man tersely.
"Why?"
"Rackton police special mandate. Security sweeps on all ships with recent off-world activity. You're clean."
"Oh. Good to see someone is acknowledging that there was a terrorist attack yesterday. Seems like the whole city is trying to ignore that it even happened."
The maintenance man made a vague grunt of agreement as he limped onto the platform and left without further comment. Lex watched the platform leave, trying to shake a nasty feeling of suspicion. To satisfy his inner paranoid delusional, he gave the ship a thorough looking-over before finally climbing into the cockpit. He performed the well-practiced contortionist act of putting on a flight suit while in the cramped confines of the ship, then submitted the ship to the automated takeoff queue. Because old habits die hard, worked his way through the standard takeoff checklist manually.
"Engine Power-up Self Test, Successful. Deflector Array Diagnostic, Successful. … Spend some quiet time alone with Mitch … Failed. Star Chart Pre-Calibration, Successful. Figure out how this stupid relationship is supposed to work … Pending."
To their credit, Rackton and Tessera had managed to get the backup automation node up and running already, the previous day's attack having utterly destroyed the primary node. Any other planet that had suffered an attack like the one that this one had would have still been working out how to get the ground traffic flowing again, let alone handling the departure of starships. The city planners and engineers in charge here had managed to get things functional to the point that there was barely a delay. In less than an hour his ship was in the final automated departure steps, counting the seconds until the control of the ship was handed back to him. Lex fidgeted in his seat like a puppy waiting for someone to open the door to the backyard. Finally the autopilot light clicked off and he pounced on the controls.
"About time!" he grumbled, taking the controls and guiding the ship toward the nearest VectorCorp route. "Okay, now to do a few on-the-books jumps, just in case the Rackton cops are feeling skittish, then fly around until I stop feeling stir crazy."
He fell into line with the other ships, handling the maneuvering himself, for no reason other than because no one was telling him he couldn't, and jumped to FTL. At each transfer station he took the least popular route until his sensors told him that there were only a few ships nearby, then quietly dropped off of the beaten path and decided to blaze himself a new trail. After scouting out a stretch of space he felt probably wouldn't kill him, he jumped to FTL again.
"Okay, should be about two hours, and I'll come out here," he said vaguely to himself, "That array looks like a good place to shake anybody that might follow me... Like that guy."
He looked down at the monitor, where there was a single, steady blip on his gravitational sensor. As the only long range sensor that worked at FTL, it tended to get his full attention when it made noise at a time like this.
"Exact same speed, exact same course, and much bigger than me," he said. "So there are two possibilities here. This is a freelancer with a heavy load trying to steal a safe route, or this is somebody trying to arrest and/or kill me. I can't imagine which one it is."
Slowly, Lex dialed up the speed. A h
appy consequence of the way that scientists had found to sidestep the peskier aspects of the laws of physics was that one set of equipment did all of the work for Faster Than Light travel and conventional speed travel. That meant that the SOB, which had an engine overpowered enough to outrun just about any other ship at sub-light speed, would have the same advantage on the other side of the light barrier. He had been running at 80%, which was usually enough to leave pursuit craft in the dust while not putting too much stress on the engine. As the engine power ticked up past 90%, the ship behind him started to drop away.
"Okay... well, that'll buy me a few minutes once I show up," Lex said.
He pushed it to 100%, the maximum safe rating, and the blip on the sensor screen fell further back. Just for the extra breathing room, he pushed further, inching his equipment past the red line. By the time he hit 110%, the dot finally dropped out of range, but it was time to slow down again. Not because he was afraid his engine would blow, but because if he cranked it up any further he'd hit the end of his carefully selected FTL run before he could slow down.
Unstable Prototypes Page 34