The Ultra Thin Man

by Patrick Swenson

  TRANSWORLD TRANSPORT, the posters announced. Then: WORLDS APART AND COMMITTED TO UNION. Just palm the posters and you’d get more information, or even book flights.

  I stood up and found a drinking fountain. It actually had a handle—no sensors. I drank, then sighed. A backwater planet in many ways. Tourism kept it on the map, though. A brochure station next to the fountain had dozens of pamphlets advertising the various hot spots, including the Flaming Sea Tavern.

  I returned to my seat and sent a message to Brindos from Neil Ryan. I was here. Be careful. Let me know what was going on. Were we fooling the NIO with all of this? Probably not. Messages from all over the Union poured in and out of Aryell every day. I hoped we could hide amid the chatter.

  I hoped he’d seen my reports on the ultra thin files. Hoped he was okay and that my previous message had slipped past the NIO data hounds. From here on out, with the encryption program in place, we could use our code cards to communicate. We might be safe from NIO cobweb monitoring, hidden in the many jump slots between here, Temonus, and Earth, but NIO agents working locally, at least those with the expertise, could intercept messages.

  No immediate response came from Brindos and I frowned. Too early to be worried, but nonetheless, disconcerting.

  I had plenty of credits data e-locked in my code card from my Neil Ryan account, so I slipped over to the Monetary Services desk. An elderly woman helped me exchange credits for Aryellan paper currency, more than I’d possibly need, but I didn’t want to do an exchange more than once because the NIO would trace it to me and know I was on Aryell now.

  The ground bus arrived a few minutes later, and everyone crowded on. As the bus drove into Kimson, Cara’s image dominated my thoughts. I thought about the first time we met at the Flaming Sea. Doing the Flaming Limbo on her breaks; after hours, traipsing off to the all-night diner on the corner opposite the tavern; sipping spiced coffee and nibbling homemade biscuits.

  I stayed up late with Cara one night after Alan had left for the hotel. We talked, had wine, then watched the vid, me on the couch, Cara on the floor in front with her back to me. Her soft breath rose and fell like wind in the trees, and at some moment I touched her, not sure if she was asleep. Touched her neck. Traced a line down along her back. She turned around, a sudden request in her eyes, and that’s how it all started.

  I’d left Cara because the NIO had contacted me about working with them, and in my heart, I didn’t believe I could really love her. That she could love me. It was all too fast. The thought of being paid more frequently contracting through the NIO, instead of waiting for cases to investigate on my own, had a lot of appeal. But now I was back, running from that job, from an agency I’d trusted, and in no position to see if loving Cara could ever happen.

  Most of the passengers on the drop shuttle had boarded the ground bus. Most of them were human, but I didn’t know which ones might be Aryellan colonists. Not many, I imagined. A few rows up from me I spotted the only Helk. Second Clan by the size of him. I didn’t recall seeing any Helks on the drop shuttle. Had he boarded the bus at the terminal? I stared at the Helk’s back; soon, he glanced back at me. It made me feel more than slightly uncomfortable. I smiled politely and turned to my window.

  It was evening. Blocky stucco homes appeared along the road. The homes occasionally gave way to fields of stubby brown plants, the equivalent of Earth’s native wheat. The earlier snow had dusted the broad limbs of the infrequent green trees. The famed Baral Mountains loomed in the distance. Some of the passengers around me chattered about the skiing, pointing out the mountains they thought might have the best terrain.

  The bus rounded a bend, and Kimson rose up to meet us. A few pedestrians shuffled along the sidewalks. A handful of passengers got off on the second block, home to a number of hotels, and I kept track of who left, who stayed. Several folks got on. The Helk, his back still to me, remained in his seat.

  The bus turned onto Amp Street and proceeded two blocks before grinding to a halt a block away from the Flaming Sea Tavern. I got out through the side door, hoisting my luggage to my shoulder. A dozen others left with me, but the Helk stayed aboard. A block down, the sign of the Flaming Sea beckoned to me, as if daring me to come closer. The bus powered up, rejoined the meager traffic, cruised past the tavern, then turned right, and disappeared around the corner.

  I dropped my bag so I could rub my hands together. Again, I wished I’d had a jacket. Perhaps inside I could still buy one with a Flaming Sea logo on it. The melting snow made the sidewalk a bit slippery. I heard the buzz buzz of the sign as it flicked back and forth from 3-D LED blue and white waves to red and orange flames rising out of a hint of green sea. The words FLAMING SEA glowed a steady yellow in an arc over the landscape. Quaint, as always. Sometimes backwater sensibilities were attractive.

  A good number of the tavern’s patrons milled about outside, their raucous laughter setting my teeth on edge. I picked up my bag again and walked toward the tavern. Within a half block the sidewalk cleared of snow.

  Just as it had been on the bus, people loitering outside the tavern were mostly human; whether they were local, or came from Earth directly, or from colony worlds, I couldn’t tell. I took a deep breath and made for the tavern’s wooden door. The design mimicked that of a captain’s door on an Aryellan keelhull. I shouldered past the one Memor in the crowd, his long orange hair tied back in a ponytail. He frowned at me with his thick lips and pronounced cheekbones.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered.

  “Glag-a-doik,” the Memor spat. Emphasis on the doik. I knew enough Memor to recognize an insult, but I left him alone. Memors were lovers most of the time, not fighters, but I didn’t want to test that right now. Memors had the toughest time communicating their needs, and often found themselves at odds with other governments. Governments of the human worlds such as Aryell, Barnard’s, Ribon, Orgon, and Temonus, all colonized by the Union during its outreach from Earth, did their best to humor Memors and Helks when they felt the need to complain, even though humans would’ve remained in the dark if it hadn’t been for the Memors and their jump slot technology.

  Most Memors preferred anonymity over ostentatious displays bragging about their jump slot know-how. They tended to stay home, on Memory, and it was rare to see one of them elsewhere in the Union.

  Which is why the article I’d given to Brindos about Lorway, the Memor scientist of the Science Consortium, had impressed me. She’d stepped into the spotlight with the Conduit project, but how much prompting had she needed? Only now, post-Coral and -Conduit disasters, she’d gone quiet with the rest of the Consortium.

  The Flaming Sea opened up and I found myself pushed inside as four locals tried to get by. A hand gripped my shoulder.

  “Pay,” said a short bald man with gigantic shoulders. “Twenty squid.”

  I barely heard him over the noise in the tavern. A free-pop band played in a lighted cage suspended high over the dance floor, but one of the speakers sat right near the moneyman.

  I handed him a couple of ten-squid notes. He produced a nanowand, pricked my hand with it, and said, “You’re good until sunrise.”

  I didn’t see a mark, but he had something behind his little stand that could read it, giving me in-and-out privileges. Of course, most of the patrons in here would pay a lot more for in-and-out privileges before the night was through.

  He pointed to my carry-on bag. “Can’t bring that in.”

  I smiled politely. “Yes, but I haven’t checked into a hotel yet and—”

  “We’ll store it in the back. Squid and a half until sunrise. Squid per hour after.”

  Reluctantly I nodded, and the man took it, gave me a claim check, and motioned me out of the way so he could get to his next customer. I went up to the counter and got the attention of the bartender.

  “Cara?” I yelled.

  He pointed toward the end of the counter. An older woman sat in a sphere of glass. She spoke with clientele, a couple of humans, taking their money and m
otioning for them to head in different directions. As they left, others lined up to take their places.

  Well, this was different. The management had done some remodeling during the past three years, added some new procedures. I got in line, suddenly feeling very nervous about seeing Cara again.

  “I need to speak with Cara Landry,” I said when it was my turn. A sensor picked up my voice and spit hers back at me.

  “Cara’s busy,” she said in a flat voice.

  “Who’s she working for these days?”

  “Kristen,” the lady said.

  “Don’t know her.”

  “Only been with us a few months, but very popular.” She glanced left, and a glow from the appointment board colored her face with a sickening green. “You want some action? You can have Kristen if you like. Or I’ve got Talmis in Six-F, or Sundy, ground-floor suite. Take your pick, sweetie.”

  “I just want to talk to Cara.”

  “Sure, hon.” She leaned toward the glass. “You want to see Cara, you’ll have to get on Kristen’s list. If Cara has time to chat, then fine. You want on?”

  “How long?”

  “Three paying customers ahead of you. Hour and a half.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You’re set, sweetie,” she said, not looking at me, punching a holo-board with her long green fingernails. “I’ve left a note that you want to talk to Cara, not Kristen. No charge. Name?”

  “No.”

  “Need to leave a name, in case we have to call for you.”

  I hesitated a moment, then said, “Aaron Lancaster.” Cara wouldn’t know it, of course, but I couldn’t very well put Dave Crowell up on the list, and Neil Ryan needed to stay on the down low as well.

  The next guy in line pushed me rudely out of line as I turned, and I swore under my breath. I noticed a seat at the counter just as one of the Sea’s gals left it. She smiled as she passed, her face painted a light green, lips ruby red, tiny sequins on her forehead. A white flashstick, its holo-mist curling in multicolored patterns toward the ceiling, sat beside a glass half-full with a ruby-colored liquid. Lipstick marked the rim of the glass. I didn’t understand flashsticks, which were more for show than anything, the stimulants the manufacturers built into them relatively begnin and hardly a reason to suck on them.

  I sat down, ordered a beer, an Earth import, and the bartender plopped it down in front of me. I paid for it and waited for the time to pass.

  The free-pop band, called Suzy and the Poppers, came back from a break and opened with a Zed Tomlin classic. The dance floor seethed with bodies swaying to the music like enchanted snakes. The tables were jammed. Seagals and Seaguys floated from one table to the next, taking orders, returning to the counter, piling drinks on their trays, and vanishing into the melee once again. I’d never seen the Flaming Sea so busy.

  The band finished its set, and the glass cage lowered to the floor. The band piled out, and a man in black leather took a spot in the cage, prompting the crowd to applaud with wild abandon. I knew what was coming and smiled as the memories flooded back. The cage lifted above the heads of the crowd, and canned music started.

  “Hehhhhhh-loooohhhh!” the man in black leather screamed.

  The crowd yelled back in unison, “Hey-O … Daddio!”

  “This is the place, this is the time, folks, and I am Daddio, your host for the Union-famous, Flaming Sea original!”

  The noise in the place increased. A man next to me whooped right in my ear. I gave him a dirty look, but he ignored me, keeping his attention on Daddio in the cage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Daddio chanted, “it’s the Flaming Sea Limbo!”

  Raucous music thundered in the room and about eighty people crammed onto the dance floor, squishing themselves into a knot of arms and legs right underneath the cage. Somehow, they managed to dance a little, if nothing more than hopping up and down, bending, twisting. The canned music intensified, and the cage cranked lower.

  Slowly. Very slowly. People were ducking now, avoiding the bottom of the cage. Down came the cage another notch, and the dancers all bent at the waist. Feet on the floor, nothing else; that was the rule. People were forced out when they lost their balance and fell. Those still up made sure the guilty ones left the shadow of the cage.

  “C’mon, you can do it!” Daddio screamed.

  The music continued, the heavy bass booming like ground explosions. The cage lowered, and soon only ten people had managed the contortions necessary to remain on their feet. Then six remained. Then three. Then two.

  One man in shorts and a Flaming Sea T-shirt stood an instant longer than a woman in a long white dress, and the crowd cheered and came over to acknowledge the man’s dexterity, taking him out of the way as the cage lowered all the way to the floor. They took him to the bar for his free drink and coupon good for fifteen minutes free with the girl of his choice. The applause died down and Suzy brought her Poppers back in to do another set.

  I shook my head. When Cara had taken Alan and me into the middle of that mass of people, I had tried to get out of it. I was one of the first ones out. They did the Limbo three times a night at the Flaming Sea. On the third try of the night, I stayed up with the last group of fifteen people. Alan fell early and got his face stepped on.

  I smiled to myself, remembering Cara’s kiss after I’d managed to drag myself back to our table.

  The Poppers kicked off the set with a Golden Oldie—a cut from Taz Monsoon’s last disc. I pursed my lips and moved my shoulders to the drummer’s pulsing back rhythms, tapping the bottom of my glass on the bar. I glanced casually down the bar and saw the Helk that had rode the ground bus with me. He wasn’t paying any attention to me, just slowly sipping his drink through a straw. When had he got off the bus? I turned back to face my own drink and wondered if he was following me.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” a voice behind me said.

  I turned, knowing it was her. My heart started beating faster than the Poppers’ bass drum. She was dressed in a red blouse, gray blazer, and a long black skirt. Her auburn hair hung loose and thick over her shoulders. I hugged her tight, her breasts pushing against my chest. “Cara. God, it’s good to see you.”

  “Hello, Dave,” she said, breaking our embrace and giving me a quick look with her hazel eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither.” A lump formed in my throat, and I wanted to explain right then and there why I’d stayed away, why I hadn’t contacted her—why I hadn’t told her I loved her—but the words stuck in my throat.

  “You didn’t write,” she said.

  Since arriving on Aryell, I’d thought about what I’d say to her. I said nothing to her now, not even “I’m sorry.” I met her eyes, and I was sure she was just humoring me.

  She glanced down the counter, avoiding my gaze. “Where’s Alan? You bring him along?”

  “No. He’s slaving away as usual. You busy?”

  “Always am.”

  “Don’t doubt it. Business is booming, I see.” Cara pulled down good money working for the Sea, checking clients in and out for her boss, taking their tips, scheduling off-duty appointments for twice the price. “The place has gone nuts since I was here last. Where did all these people come from?”

  “Tell you later. Shall we go?”

  “Kristen give you a break?”

  “Yeah, well, sorta.”

  “You like her? She’s new, right? What happened to Lexy?”

  “Sexy Lexy left one night and never came back. Heard from her a month ago. Said she was settling down with a guy from Ribon, starting a family and all that.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Cara,” I said, thinking about the disaster on Ribon. I wondered if Lexy had been one of the lucky ones to get off planet before Coral slammed into it.

  “I started with Kristen soon after Lexy left. More beautiful than Lexy, a better, um, bedside manner, I guess you’d say. Better money for her, better money for me.”

  “And she’s okay to work for?
”

  “Fine.” She smiled and took my hand. “C’mon. I saw this name I didn’t recognize go up on the board, someone who wanted to talk to me, and I soon spotted you in the monitors at my desk. Kristen owed me one, so I checked out for the rest of the night. Let’s get out of here.”

  “My bag—”

  “DNA-locked, right? Like always. We’ll get it later.”

  The night had cooled further, and I wrapped my arms around my shoulders. We left the Flaming Sea behind, until we could no longer see the sign’s flashing reflection in the snow on the sidewalk.

  “Came to Aryell this time of year without a jacket?” Cara said.

  “Yeah, I know. I was in a bit of a hurry.”

  I turned around to see if the Helk was following.

  “What’s wrong?” Cara asked.

  I smiled calmly. “Nothing. Just thought someone might be following us.” I glanced one more time over my shoulder, but I couldn’t see anyone.

  “You in trouble?”

  “You see a Helk hanging around the tavern?” I asked.

  “Tonight?”

  I nodded. “This one’s Second Clan. He was on the bus from the spaceport, and I saw him again inside the Flaming Sea.”

  “Don’t see many Helks around here, so I guess I would’ve noticed him. What’s going on?”

  I couldn’t tell her much. I had no idea what information might put her in danger. I also had to make sure whose side she was on. It’d been three years after all. “A new case.”

  “Searching for Terl Plenko.”

  I stopped walking, surprised at her mention of the Movement leader. When we’d first met, I was a PI; I hadn’t yet received my NIO contract to work on Movement operations.

  “Hey, don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I know that much from watching the vids. Plenko and the Movement hog most of the U-ONE news broadcasts. Naturally the NIO would be after him with everything they’ve got.”

  I glared at her. “So?”