by Zen DiPietro
“It’s never been my kind of fun.”
“I know. You’re so structured. But since you’re stuck in this situation anyway, why not choose to see it as an adventure? It’s all about approach.”
“I suppose it’s just the high stakes that are getting to me. It’s one thing to have fun when you don’t have anyone depending on you. It’s another when there’s something important that needs to get done.”
“And what happens when you spend your whole life focused on those big things and forget about the small ones, like enjoying the moment?”
“Point taken.”
“Or maybe you just didn’t want to admit to me that you don’t know everything,” she needled.
“Perhaps that had some small effect.”
“Aren’t you cute?” she cooed. “Now stop being stupid. You don’t need to have all the answers.” She made a shooing gesture, as if she’d grown bored of him and his presence had become a burden.
He dropped by the mess hall to have some hendaya, and gave their conversation a good post mortem.
He’d gotten into the habit of giving Omar and Nagali minimal information. At first, that had seemed reasonable, given his distrust. But they’d proven their loyalty, at least for the time being, so why was he still holding back? He’d already realized they were a team.
He was being a jerk. There was really no other answer. He’d fallen back on his loner, on-the-fringes guy habits, and they no longer served him.
Things had changed, and he knew what he had to do.
When he returned to the bridge, Nagali blinked at him.
“Forget something?” she asked.
“Sort of. I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming. From now on, I’ll keep you informed of my plans and listen to your suggestions.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Wow. Okay, then.”
“What, no smart retorts?”
“Not at the moment. Probably later, though.”
He laughed. “I’d be disappointed if you lost your snark.”
“Me too.” She pointed at him. “But don’t start being a pushover all of a sudden. I’ll lose all respect for you.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” he drawled. “Goodnight, Nagali.”
“Sleep tight.” She’d already turned her back to him, pretending she didn’t care about what he’d said.
He knew she did.
CABOT KEPT HOPING for a lightning strike of information, like Fallon had come up with before sending him on this chase. Instead, this was the other side of that pendulum—the drawn-out, waiting sort of emptiness that stretched out into uncertainty.
They arrived at Levana Blue, the only planet not centered around the agriculture industry in some way due to its distance from the sun and poor growing conditions. Instead, Blue had become a sort of convention center for various trade negotiations. Its low value in terms of natural resources had made its land inexpensive, with less stringent building requirements to protect the environment.
Levana Blue consisted of an ever-growing complex of buildings, all connected by a skywalk that precluded the need to go outside. Doing so was possible, but the flat, mostly gray landscape did little for the senses, and the air was too thin to comfortably breathe for very long.
The indoors, though…
Cabot smiled when they emerged from the elevator into the transit station. Such a bustling hub of activity was like lightning in his veins.
“Ooh, this is exciting.” Nagali’s gaze swept from one side of the station to the other and back, taking it all in.
Omar nodded. “Even if our guy isn’t here, at least we got to swing by. I’ve always liked Blue.”
Cabot’s first instinct was to chide Omar for thinking they were on a fun field trip. But he was right. If they had to search a place fruitlessly, it might as well be someplace pleasant than some horrible rathole. “First we look for Markoban. But then, whether we find him or not, we’ll have some food and drinks. Deal?”
Omar grinned. “Deal! Point me in the right direction. Where does this dude hang out?”
“He’s got his own offices.”
“And you couldn’t just send a message asking if he was around?” Omar asked.
“No. He doesn’t advertise his presence like that. He brokers high-profile deals, and not everyone is pleased with the terms they end up agreeing to.”
“Ah.” Omar nodded. “If you leave a trail of disgruntled people, you never know when your office might blow up.”
“Exactly. Tracking him down is always a bit of a process. Usually, a person just sends a message and he decides if, and when, he wants to get back to you.”
“I assume you did that, and he hasn’t?” Nagali asked.
“You assume correctly.” Cabot scanned the crowd. “Let’s go to his offices and see if we can shake down his receptionist to let him know we’re here.”
“You mean he could be here, and know we’re here, and just ignore us?” Nagali scowled.
“Definitely.” Cabot pointed to the right and took off in that direction.
“That’s so annoying.” Nagali continued to make foul faces.
“Better quit that. Mom always said your face would stick that way,” Omar told her.
She rolled her eyes at him.
Cabot led them away from the busy commerce center, across the entire length of the building, then up to the skywalk.
Cabot loved Blue’s skywalk’s sweeping view. The sides and top were transparent, providing a lovely view of the nearby buildings. The sight was particularly striking at night, when lights showed off the sleekness of the modern architecture.
The floor had the same elegant synthetic tile look shared by most of the buildings. A casually corporate style predominated on Blue, which catered to people who were wealthy enough to appreciate quality simplicity.
The aesthetic matched Cabot's own.
A small sound from Omar indicated that he didn’t love the skywalk’s view as much as Cabot did.
“You okay?” Cabot asked.
“Fine.” Omar’s voice was tight. “I just always feel like I’m walking the plank up here, trapped between whatever shows up behind us and whatever shows up ahead.”
Not so much claustrophobia or agoraphobia, but a pathological dislike for being put in a vulnerable position.
Cabot could relate to that.
“People don’t get murdered here,” Cabot said. “It would be bad for business, so security is excellent.”
“Good to know,” Omar muttered as he continued to make his way across.
“And think of the mess,” Nagali added. “Can you imagine trying to get blood out of this tile? It would sink into the little grooves and they’d just have to be replaced.”
“Shut up, Nagali,” Omar growled.
“Aw.” She sounded abashed, but when Cabot looked at her, she was grinning like a child on her way to get ice cream.
Somehow it was comforting to know that her contrary, agitating personality was still in effect, and would continue to be a stabilizing force in his world. Something he could count on.
The idea amused him.
He led them into a complex warren of corridors, suites, and right-angled turns. Finally, he found the suite in question. It had no marking on the outside, just a room number.
The woman sitting at the desk smiled professionally. “Can I help you?”
She might have been the receptionist at a doctor’s office, an academic institution, or a fancy salon. Nothing about her or the reception room indicated the nature of the business.
“We’d like an appointment with Markoban, please. I’m Cabot Layne, and these are my associates, Omar and Nagali Freeborn. If you check my name, you’ll see I’m an established associate.”
The woman’s smile thinned and her eyes went to her voicecom screen. Since it faced away from him, Cabot couldn’t see the records she pulled up, but after a moment, the tightness around her eyes eased.
“I see your credential, Mr. Layne.
Would you mind verifying?” She handed him an infoboard.
An active DNA and fingerprint scan. Markoban was getting paranoid. Was he really afraid that someone would submit the DNA and fingerprint of a corpse just to get to him?
Markoban wasn’t that important. He was rich, but replaceable. He had delusions of grandeur.
Or maybe the scan was an attempt to make himself look more influential than he was.
He handed the infoboard back to the receptionist and waited.
She studied it with a frown, then nodded. “Verified. What’s the nature of your business?”
Cabot was starting to feel annoyed, but gave her his best benign smile. “A simple information exchange. Lucrative, but time sensitive.” He gave her a meaningful look.
“I see. I’ll contact Mr. Markoban and see if he can arrange a meeting. What’s your deadline?”
Cabot didn’t have one, but if he gave Markoban too much time, he’d think he could push Cabot around.
“Thirty-eight hours.” A standard day on Levana Blue. “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to find an alternate source. But since I’ve worked with Markoban before, I was hoping to do so again. You know how it is with unknown quantities.”
She gave him her own benign smile. It was darn good, too. “They can be so unreliable, can’t they? Very well. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll send the message off and contact you if I receive a reply in time. Where can I reach you?”
“Oh, we’ll be around, but just use my comport. The details should be on file.”
She nodded. “Very well. Have a nice afternoon. I don’t know if you’ve tried the ribeye steak at the Montmaison restaurant, but if you’re hungry, you don’t want to miss it.”
“Excellent. Thank you very much.” He smiled brightly, as if he loved nothing better than a massively overpriced steak.
Outside the suite, he sighed.
“Not so happy, boss?” Omar asked.
“Since when do you call me boss?”
Omar shrugged. “Trying it out. Like those old movies, with the head honcho and the henchmen. I’ve always thought it could be fun to be a henchman.”
Cabot shook his head, ignoring Omar’s weird little fantasy. “I’d hoped Markoban was in and would see me right away.”
“You think he’s not in?” Nagali asked. “Or do you think he’s playing hard to get?”
“Could be either. There’s no way to tell.”
Omar started walking the way they’d come. “Let’s get some food. That steak sounded good.”
“We can take the lift down to food. Unless you want to take the skywalk again,” Cabot said.
Omar did a quick about-face. “Let’s take the lift.”
“I WAS kind of mad about not eating steak,” Omar said, “but these things are damn good. What are they called again?” He took another big bite.
“Tacos and burritos,” Cabot said. “Earth food. You haven’t had them before?”
Omar shrugged. “You expect me to remember the names of all the foods I eat? I dunno. But if I have had them, they weren’t as good as this.”
Nagali was struggling a little, but not complaining. She hated to get her hands or face messy, but many types of Earth food were a hands-on experience.
He liked that.
Nagali took a dainty bite of her taco, causing the shell to splinter and plopping half its contents onto her plate. “What am I doing wrong?”
“It’s fine,” Cabot assured her. “It happens. Just eat the rest with a fork.”
She heaved a sigh of relief.
“How did you know about this place?” Omar asked. “I’ve never seen it.”
Cabot took a sip of water. “Just like everyone finds out about it. Someone introduces them to it. Otherwise you’d never find it.”
Unlike the highly touted Montmaison restaurant and other fancy places meant for impressing others, the nameless little taco shack hid away, ducking under the radar of many people. Located at the end of a long corridor no one but janitors and maintenance crews had any reason to visit, the place didn’t even have a sign on the door.
And yet, every seat was taken.
Good food spoke for itself. Cabot would take a couple of these tacos over an overpriced steak any day.
Nagali finished her food with dainty bites, enjoying it now that it was easier to eat. “Any word yet? The food’s good, but this place is kind of boring.”
Cabot dutifully checked his comport, though it would have alerted him if any messages had arrived. “Nope.”
She sighed. “Okay. What can we do for fun, then?”
He tried to think of what Nagali would call fun. “We could go back to the transit center, pretend to be hospitality hosts, and misdirect people.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
“No. That’s childish.”
She deflated. “But fun.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin, trying to come up with something that would be suitably fun for Nagali, but not too onerous for him.
“How about a contest?” he suggested.
She sat up straight again. “What kind of contest?”
“We go up to the shops and look for the most unfortunate items we can find. Each of us selects something for the others. Then we have to try to sell it to a stranger.”
“For how much?” she asked, her eyes gleaming again.
“Doesn’t matter. At least a cubic. The point is, someone has to give us money for it. Anyone who fails to sell their item loses.”
Around a mouthful of burrito, Omar said, “Sounds fun.”
“Let’s do it,” Nagali said.
A month ago, Cabot never would have agreed to such a plan, much less suggested it. But today, it sounded like a fun little adventure while they waited.
CABOT FROWNED at the infoboard in his hand, then turned that frown on the person who deserved it—Omar. Chances were poor that anyone coming to Levana Blue would want to buy Business Basics for Boneheads, and high that someone would punch Cabot in the face.
But he’d suggested the game, so he’d have to play.
After selecting a salt and pepper shaker set, Nagali presented it to Omar with a flourish. They’d all tried to figure out what the pair of odd shapes were supposed to represent, but had come up empty.
“But I don’t know what they’re supposed to be,” Omar protested. “How am I supposed to sell something I don’t understand?”
“That’s part of the challenge!” Nagali looked pleased with herself.
That left Cabot with the task of finding something truly terrible for Nagali. He briefly considered a personal massager, but not only would Nagali not be embarrassed, but she’d probably sell it within a minute with the suggestion of trying it out with the buyer. Not that she’d have to follow through on that offer. All that mattered was getting her item sold.
Nope. Moving on.
He looked over some souvenir knickknacks, a display of thermal hats, and some combs that were, for some reason, shaped like fish. All too sellable when paired with Nagali’s wiles.
Shaking his head, he moved on to the last shop. Nagali let out a loud sigh, obviously intended to communicate the fact that he was taking too long.
Too bad for her. He took competition seriously.
He looked past the last-minute personal items that people sometimes forgot or lost when traveling. Toothbrushes and deodorant might be amusing items for Nagali to offer to people, but were by nature necessary items and she’d probably find someone who needed them.
Unfortunately, he came up with nothing that would post more of a challenge. He’d have to settle for deodorant. At least he and Omar might get a laugh out of her suggesting someone smelled bad.
Then his eye caught on some packets that looked like single-serving tea bags, but not quite. He looked closer.
“What are these?” he asked the clerk.
“Remedies. Headache, menstrual cramps, diarrhea. You know. Things that happen to people sometimes when they travel.”
He picked up a yellow packet. “Why not go to the infirmary?”
“A lot of people don’t trust an unfamiliar doctor that isn’t in a PAC facility. They prefer a medicinal remedy.”
Cabot didn’t care for doctors he didn’t know, either, so it made sense, in a way. However, he didn’t think he’d trust the manufacturer of those remedies, either. There could be anything in there.
“I’ll take the…erm…stomach remedy.” He handed her the yellow packet.
“Good to be prepared,” she nodded approvingly. “Unusual food can really get to you.”
He stifled a laugh, thinking Nagali could suggest that as a selling point.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her the packet. He explained its purpose, but had to raise his voice halfway through when Omar caught on and starting laughing.
Nagali’s look of horror turned into determination. “Fine.”
As they entered the busy transit area, Cabot realized it must be some sort of rush hour. The influx of people from the docking bays was heavy enough that people could get separated if they weren’t careful.
“A sale only counts if at least one of the other two of us witnesses it,” Cabot added.
Nagali shoved Omar’s arm. “You first.”
Omar sighed, then squared his shoulders like a man marching off to war. It was beyond strange for him to try to peddle a pair of salt and pepper shakers in a place like this. Never mind that they didn’t know what they were supposed to look like.
Cabot and Nagali had a good time enjoying the uncomfortable looks, outraged looks, and just plain puzzled looks that Omar received. Once, it looked like the guy was going to start throwing some punches.
Omar switched to targeting only women after that.
When he started with flirting, then confided that he’d made a bet, he finally found a middle-aged Sarkavian woman who transferred five cubics for the salt and pepper shakers.
“Got her contact details, too,” Omar bragged as he swaggered back.
“What were those things supposed to be?” Nagali asked.
“She didn’t know. The guy that almost hit me said something about ovaries, though, so I’m guessing I was inadvertently making some sort of sexual suggestion.”