by Zen DiPietro
“Tell me more about Nagali Freeborn.” Peregrine dropped her chopsticks into her bowl and pushed it away.
Back to that, then.
“What do you want to know?”
“Why did you marry her?”
Apparently, she was not averse to personal questions.
“Why does anyone get married? We had things in common. Things that mattered, or so I thought at the time. Our work. A certain approach to life. It seemed we would do well together, both personally and professionally.”
“Why would you think that, when she’s so unpredictable?” She ran a hand over her long ponytail.
He ignored his steaming teacup and clasped his hands together. How real should he be with her? He had to work with her, but he didn’t owe her any big personal revelations. On the other hand, he sensed that if he revealed nothing, she’d never let down her guard.
Sometimes you have to sacrifice something called a loss leader if you want to gain a customer. That might mean a free sample or free advice. In this case, it was a peek into his soul.
He wasn’t above selling his soul if it got him what he wanted.
“I thought her love for me would protect me,” he admitted. “That I’d never end up in her crosshairs, or be used as a pawn.”
“And it didn’t happen that way,” she guessed.
“For several years, it worked just fine. Burning me wasn’t worth the price she’d have to pay for it. Eventually, though, details lined up in a way that made the reward more enticing than the investment.” He spread his hands, palms-up. “It’s just business.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on the pad of her thumb. Cabot hid his surprise, but there it was. She’d revealed her first tell. That one little gesture was the first puzzle piece into figuring her out.
The loss leader had been well worth it.
“She sounds like too much of a risk. Her brother seems like a more worthwhile asset. Can we bring just him?”
“Unlikely. Omar’s fiercely loyal and protective of her, though he tries to pretend otherwise. Don’t worry about Nagali. We’ll keep her in line.”
“How do we prevent her from selling us out?” Peregrine asked.
“Easy. We make sure Omar’s safety depends on our success.”
“You’ll make your good friend into bait?”
He wouldn’t have characterized it that way. He’d have said that he was ensuring that Nagali’s interests aligned with his. It was the only way to prevent a knife in the back. But Peregrine’s interpretation wasn’t wrong. “Of course. He’d expect no less.”
She nodded slowly. “Good. I like that.”
“Really?”
“In some ways, what you and I do for a living is not so different.”
He’d beg to differ. “I’ve never knifed someone and left them for dead.”
She didn’t suggest she hadn’t. Cabot liked that. Instead, she said, “It’s just different currency, isn’t it? You deal in cubics. I deal in information and lives.”
It was a cold thing to say, equating money and lives. Cabot liked that, too. He wouldn’t know what to do if she were some bleeding-heart idealist who wasted time wallowing around in her feelings.
She was getting more interesting by the minute.
“If you can handle your end of this, and I handle mine, we might just get something done.” He cupped his hands around his teacup.
He endured another of her long looks, then she finally said, “We’ll see.”
THE RENDEZVOUS TO PICK UP OMAR AND Nagali two days later proved uneventful. The cargo ship they arrived in had little to recommend it, by all outward appearances. But Cabot didn’t care how they’d gotten there. He only cared that they could move on to the next phase.
Unfortunately, the next phase meant three weeks of having Nagali and Peregrine in close proximity. Cabot had seen the combativeness flare in Nagali’s eyes the moment she saw the other woman.
She looked past Peregrine to Cabot and sidled close to him, purring, “It’s been weeks. I’ve missed you.”
Only then did she raise her eyes to Peregrine and say, “And who’s this guy?”
Nagali pretending to mistake Peregrine for a man was ludicrous, especially for a half-Rescan woman. But it was the implied insult that mattered. The rudeness cloaked in innocence.
Omar groaned, drawing Peregrine’s attention. And holding it.
Cabot fixed Nagali with a cold look. “This is someone you don’t want to play your games with. But by all means, give it a go.”
Nagali glanced from him to Peregrine, and back again. She sighed theatrically. “I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap.” She glided away without looking back.
“I guess I’ll take her bag to her later,” Omar grumbled. He carried everything while Nagali had hauled only her giant ego on board.
“Joke’s on her,” Peregrine said. “Quarters are that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction of Nagali’s receding back.
Omar laughed.
“I’ll show you which ones are available.” Peregrine went the correct direction and Omar followed.
Cabot was left standing alone. He went to the cockpit, and let Omar and Peregrine get acquainted.
“WHAT’S HER STORY?” Omar asked an hour later.
Cabot sat on the only chair in his small quarters and gestured for Omar to sit on his bunk. The doors closed behind them.
“Same old story. Government thug, kills people for a living. Or so I assume.” Cabot shrugged.
“Really? Because that would be interesting.” Omar ran a hand over his stubbled jaw.
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know much, except that the person we’re working for trusts her to help us get the job done.”
Omar wasn’t as dumb as he sometimes pretended to be, and his face showed that he suspected Cabot knew more than he was saying. “Yeah. Your employer. Must be someone pretty important. PAC command kind of important. Maybe from Jamestown?”
Cabot raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Why would Jamestown ever hire me to do their work for them?”
Omar gave him a knowing look. “Because you can get it done.”
“If I were connected to anything like that, it would be the kind of scenario where you were better off not knowing the details. Don’t you think?”
Omar leaned forward. “The question is, what do you think?”
“I think sometimes, ignorance is bliss.”
“Then that tells me what I need to know.” Omar eased into a more relaxed position. “You might want to come up with a more detailed story for Nagali, though. If you don’t, she’ll dig and keep digging until we’re all in the shit with her.”
“You’re right about that. I’ll have to figure something out. Just play along with it.”
“That’s what I do.” Omar grinned.
Cabot envied Omar’s good looks and amiability. For a second. Then he came to his senses. Omar got himself into trouble with those qualities more often than they served him well.
Omar raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, though…Peregrine. Is there anything you can tell me?”
Cabot tried to think of what would be relevant and not sensitive. Omar wasn’t talking about her work history. “She’s still a puzzle to me, to be honest. She’s not much for idle chatter, isn’t prone to smiling, and I’ve never heard her laugh. Still, I’ve seen some humor in her. I think she’s slow to trust people, and is the kind of person who keeps things buried.”
“Any idea what she likes? Food, music, firearms? Anything?”
Cabot thought hard, but only came up with one thing. “Hendaya. She seems to have a preference for it.”
“Hm. It’s not much. But it’s a start.”
“What is it about her that appeals to you?” Cabot asked. “Or is it just a proximity thing, like Arlen?”
“Arlen was too young for me and we both know it.”
“Peregrine is only a handful of years older,” Cabot pointed out.
“You only have
to look at her to know she’s seen some major shit and knows how hard the universe can be. It’s not about years of life. It’s about experience.”
“So you’re attracted to her hard past. Or the mystery of her.”
Omar shrugged. “Something like that. Maybe I’m just curious. Think I’m being stupid?”
“That you’ve known her a whole ten minutes and think you know something about her? Nah, who am I to judge? I’m the guy who married your sister. Clearly, I know nothing.”
Omar laughed. “Clearly. I liked having you as a brother-in-law, though.”
“I didn’t hate it, either.”
Omar grinned. “I still have dreams of you reconciling with her and taking her off my hands.”
“And now you’re talking crazy.”
Omar chuckled. “Can’t blame me for dreaming of some peace and quiet. I think I’ll go back to my bunk now. I was up late last night, playing cards with the freighter captain.”
“So Nagali wasn’t lying about being tired?” Cabot had assumed the claim was a ploy.
“Nope. We won ten thousand cubics from the guy, but it took all night. Literally. I haven’t slept in two days.”
“Have a good rest, then.” Cabot didn’t rise to see Omar out. Not only did they know each other too well to stand on ceremony, but the quarters were so small that such a gesture would be silly.
“I’ll give it my best.”
Then he was gone, leaving Cabot with the thought of Omar trying to woo a Blackout agent.
It should be interesting.
“HE CAN TAKE A PILOTING SHIFT. Not her.” Peregrine sat on her bunk.
Cabot didn’t feel entirely comfortable being in her personal space, but there were only so many rooms on the small ship.
He saw no personal items on display, and nothing that could give insight into Peregrine. But an absence of personal effects said something, too. Either she didn’t want reminders, or she simply didn’t need them. Or, perhaps, she had items she kept stored out of sight. That, too, would say something about her.
Apparently a day of knowing Nagali had been enough for Peregrine to distrust her. Which showed good judgment.
“She’ll be offended,” he said. “But also relieved. She doesn’t really want to sit at the controls by herself for hours on end. She just wants to be allowed to. It’s typical behavior for her.”
“She seems like a real pain in the ass. Are you sure we need her?” Peregrine stood and leaned against the bulkhead, her arms crossed.
“Once we aim her powers of evil at our enemies, you’ll see the benefit of having her along.”
Peregrine nodded. “Fair enough. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I’m sure something will come up, though, with three weeks of travel ahead of us.”
“Keep me posted on those two. Anything comes up, I need to know about it. Understood?”
He wasn’t used to being subjected to such a direct, military-feeling order. But he gave her a polite bow. “Of course.”
He shook his head as he walked back to his quarters. Omar had his work cut out for him.
Entering his quarters, he stopped short when he saw Nagali sitting on his bunk, peering at an infoboard. She held up a finger. “One minute.” After a long pause, she set the infoboard down on the bed beside her. “Okay. What can I do for you?”
As if he had shown up at her quarters, requesting an audience with her.
“Not a thing, except leave and refrain from breaking into my quarters,” he replied, keeping his tone calm.
“Oh, come on, Cabot. Don’t be so dull. Remember that time on Caprica Two, when we broke into that governor’s office? Now that was fun. What do you do for fun now?”
He sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. We have different ideas of fun. Even back then. I didn’t think it was fun breaking into that office, but since you’d drugged him and left behind evidence of it, I couldn’t just let it be, could I?”
“You could have,” she argued.
“Not when I’d have been going to prison with you. No, that was not a good time for me.”
“Well, you did have fun later that night, when we—”
He cut her off. “So you’re just here for a trip down memory lane? Or is there something else? Because I really feel like you’re after something particular.”
“Well, now that you mention it…” She smiled at him from under her eyelashes.
“You know that won’t work on me. I know all your tricks.”
“Not all of them,” she argued.
Why did she always have to argue?
“Close enough,” he said. “Just get to the point.”
“I wanted to ask you to dinner.”
“I already ate.” He was telling the truth, but he would have lied if necessary.
“Tomorrow, then. Seriously. I want us to talk, like normal people. Remember before, when I said you had me wrong? I meant it, and still want to prove that.”
“I don’t know how you possibly could.”
“I proved myself on Briv, didn’t I? I even gave up a very valuable item just to help.”
He shook his head. “To save your own life, along with ours. And, do I even need to mention how illegal it was for you even have that Brivinium?”
“I was returning it to its rightful owners,” she insisted.
“Right.” He sighed. “You know, I don’t want to fight with you. Maybe once, it was fun for us to cheat and undercut one another, but the thrill is gone. Long gone.”
“I don’t want to fight either. I just want to have dinner. If you do, I promise not to come to your quarters again without invitation.”
If having dinner with her would keep her in line, it might be a price worth paying. “Not just my quarters. You have to steer clear of Peregrine. Do not cause her trouble.”
“That will make this ride much less entertaining. And it’s a long ride. But, if you promise to have dinner with me every night, I will promise to be on my best behavior.”
“No, I want you to be on my best behavior. I’ve seen what yours looks like. It fails to impress.”
She laughed. “Fine. Dinner every night, for your best behavior.”
“Every third night.”
“Every other. Last offer.”
Few people could bluff like Nagali, but he’d known her a very long time and saw nothing but steely determination. She meant it. “Fine. Every other night. And if you misbehave, I’ll tell Omar what really happened to his favorite jacket.”
“You wouldn’t!” Her eyes grew wide with delight.
“I would.”
“Fine. Agreed.” She stood and brushed against him as she went to the doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening here, in your quarters, for dinner.”
“The mess hall,” he countered. “My quarters are too small for a dinner for two.”
“I don’t mind being in close quarters.”
He ignored her flirtatious smile. “Besides, without a kitchenette, it really isn’t practical to have a meal here. Unless you’ll be happy with protein bars and ration packets.”
She sighed dramatically. “Fine. The mess hall. There’s no reason for us to dine like refugees.”
“Agreed. Tomorrow evening, then.” It took every bit of his self-discipline to say the words pleasantly.
4
The day after the deal Cabot had struck with Nagali, he was about to hold up his end of the bargain. He’d stuck two prepared packets of something called fish and chips in the heat-ex, where they sat waiting. He’d also pulled out an inexpensive bottle of Zerellian wine he knew she didn’t particularly like. A plain tablecloth stretched over the table closest to the heat-ex, and he’d set it with basic tableware.
He hadn’t promised a fantastic dinner.
She was late, which was typical of her, so he sat at the voicecom and perused the ISO markets for what people were looking to buy, as well as the LTS markets for what people wanted to sell.
Weaponry was always a hot comm
odity, but it was becoming increasingly so. Items usually in relatively low and steady demand but now seeing a spike in demand included protein packs, nutritive biogel, vitamin supplements, and the like. People’s stockpiling instincts had been activated. Cabot approved of such pragmatism.
He was more than happy to make a profit on someone acquiring vanity goods, or something they themselves intended to profit on. But he had no interest in doing so with people who just wanted to make sure they could live through the next year or two. Or five. There was no telling when, or if, the PAC would fend off Barony and get back to normal.
None of the current offers interested him, so he turned off the voicecom display and set it aside. Normally he’d spend time analyzing current events and projecting market chances so he could be ahead of trends, but he didn’t have the presence of mind for it today. Not when he had an evening with Nagali to get through. Perhaps afterwards, when he could relax in his quarters.
Peregrine hadn’t killed her, so he assumed Nagali was holding up her end of their bargain.
He wondered if he had time for a brandy before she showed up, but the chime sounded. A pity. He’d have to open that bottle of wine right away, then. He normally wasn’t that much of a drinker, but recent events had him weathering the storm with whatever means helped.
Nagali glided in with her lazy sashay. She wore a long red garment embroidered with tiny gold and blue designs. He wasn’t sure if it was a robe or a dress or a kimono, as it was long and wrapped, but she appeared to have a pair of pants on beneath. Some new fashion, probably. She loved wearing unusual things.
“Good evening,” he said pleasantly. “What a charming dress.”
She brushed her palms over the front. “Thank you. It’s an omantung. Latest fashion on Caravon.”
Of course it was.
Her gaze surveyed the room, and if the modest table setting disappointed her, she didn’t let it show.
“Have a seat. The food should be ready.” He gestured at the table and did not move to pull out her chair for her.
To his mild surprise, she didn’t complain about that, either. She sat and rested a hand on the bottle of wine. “Shall I pour?”