by Zen DiPietro
Nagali cracked up.
“You go next, Cabot,” Omar said.
Cabot didn’t really care what order they went in, so he shrugged, fished Business Basics for Boneheads out of his pocket, and started walking against the oncoming flood of people, searching faces.
He needed someone with a sense of humor. And he wasn’t going to skate by like Omar, revealing the bet and convincing someone to help him with it.
He intended to win on pure skill.
When he didn’t see the right mark, he circled the room and returned to his original position, where Nagali and Omar remained, looking like they doubted him.
He walked against the crowd again and finally saw the guy. Youngish, wearing expensive business attire but carrying a cheap bag. Someone on his way up.
“Excuse me, do you have the time?” Cabot asked.
“Uh, yeah.” The young man frowned at him, but paused, retrieved his comport, and relayed the time.
Cabot hissed in a breath. “Oh man, I’m going to be late. Could I…would you mind if I sent a quick message? I lost my comport on the transport and spent too much time trying to find it.” He put on his best beleaguered expression.
“Sure,” the man said. “Go ahead.”
Cabot accepted the comport, then held the infoboard out. “Sorry, can you hold this?”
With a bemused look, the man accepted it.
Cabot tapped in a quick message to Omar, saying he’d be late and to start without him. He handed the device back. “Thank you very much. I appreciate it.”
He held out his hand for the infoboard.
“Business Basics for Boneheads?” the man laughed. “Not sure if you want to be here, if this is what you’re working on.”
Cabot laughed with him. “I bring small gifts for all the people I meet with. You’d be surprised what an icebreaker this is. I buy them by the dozen.”
Cabot went to slip it into his pocket, but the man’s face had gone thoughtful. “Really?”
“People like someone who can make them laugh. Makes them trust you much faster, because they want to.” Cabot wasn’t lying.
“I’ll have to try it. You wouldn’t have any extras, would you?”
Cabot shook his head regretfully. “Sorry. Although…you did help me out. Tell you what. I’ll sell you this one for a cubic, since you helped me out.”
“A cubic?” The young man laughed.
“Sure,” Cabot laughed, too. “Why not?”
When Cabot rejoined Nagali and Omar, he smiled at her and said, “Your turn.”
Omar snickered.
“You two are so juvenile,” she muttered. Then she straightened, put on a regal look, and strode into the crowd.
Cabot had to admit, she looked fantastic. She walked like a fashion model, somehow making the full sleeves of her dress billow and her hair bounce with each step. People immediately noticed her, making room. Heads swiveled in her direction.
She continued on until she suddenly bent over at the waist, her hands going to her stomach, causing a man coming in the opposite direction to bump into her.
He stopped, bent, and said something. He was too far away to hear, but Cabot assumed he was asking if she was okay.
She straightened partway and leaned on the man, her hand on her stomach, her face a mask of distress.
The man’s arm went around her and he guided her gently a bit closer to Cabot and Omar, where he urged her to sit.
From this distance, Cabot could read some of the words as they spoke.
Nagali put her hand to her forehead, fanned herself, and began talking. She mimed a gesture that could only mean the eating of tacos, and then her hand pressed to her stomach again.
Way to sell out the taco shack.
The stranger reached toward his belt, probably for his comport, but Nagali rested a hand on his arm and said something that made him stop.
She shook her head and Cabot noticed the word, “scammer” on her lips.
They fell silent, and she wore a pitiful expression. Then she looked to the guy and shyly asked a question, her eyes cast down on her hands.
He nodded, jumped up, and patted her shoulder before hurrying away.
Cabot wondered if he should go ask her what had happened, but she made eye contact and shook her head. All traces of distress had magically disappeared from her face.
She was a fine actress.
A few minutes later, the man hurried back, carrying a water pouch and something else. He handed the items to her as he once again sat beside her.
She fumbled with her voluminous sleeve, then opened the pouch and took a sip. Then he saw what was in her other hand.
The yellow packet.
She opened it, tilted her head back, and raised the packet. She drank more water.
The man continued to talk to her, looking concerned, but a mere minute after taking the remedy, Nagali brightened, sitting up straighter.
“I feel so much better!” Nagali exclaimed. Though Cabot couldn’t hear the words, he read them on her lips. He could imagine exactly how she must sound.
The man’s mouth made the shape of, “Wow, really?”
Nagali rose, spoke quickly, and rushed away, leaving the man behind, looking bewildered.
“I think she wins,” Cabot told Omar. “That was definitely the most inventive approach. Though I did notice that both you and she relied on your appeal to the opposite sex, while I used only sales skill.”
“Method doesn’t matter. Results do,” Omar said as they walked in the direction Nagali had gone.
“In general. But we all succeeded, so the only thing left to distinguish is the skillfulness and inventiveness of the pitch.”
“Whatever.” Omar said. “That wasn’t in the rules. We only discussed what made for a loser.”
“Fair enough.”
They found Nagali in the doorway of a suite, bristling with enthusiasm.
“Hah! I totally pulled that off.”
“But you had to eat that remedy. Hope your ass doesn’t fall off or something,” Omar snickered.
She closed her eyes in an expression of long and painful suffering. “I didn’t actually eat it. I just pretended.”
“It was a pretty good scheme,” Omar admitted. “Though technically you didn’t sell him the remedy.”
“I did. I convinced him to buy something he wouldn’t have otherwise. He exchanged money for it. The rules didn’t state that I had to be the one to sell it to him. And besides, I did a switcheroo, and the one he saw me open was the one Cabot gave me. So, I get extra points for that.”
“No points system was agreed upon,” Cabot noted.
“Whatever. I win.”
“Technically we all win,” Omar said.
“Whatever.” Nagali smoothed her dress. “What now?”
Cabot’s comport sounded. He took a look at it.
Finally.
“Now, we go see what Markoban has to say.”
7
When Cabot, Nagali, and Omar returned to the discreet office suite, the receptionist’s mood had changed. She rose, greeted them with a warm smile, and offered a beverage.
“No, thank you,” Cabot answered.
“Nah. Thanks.” Omar waved her off.
“I’ll take Rescan breakfast tea. Very hot, with lemon and two spoons of syrup.” Nagali smiled brightly, but pointedly did not say please or thank you.
She had a way of letting people know where they stood with her.
The receptionist’s smile wavered only for a moment. “Of course. I’ll bring that in shortly. If you’ll follow me?”
She led them down a short hallway and right into a room with double-wide doors.
Markoban sat at the far end of the room at a table, leaning back and looking casual. “Cabot. It’s been a while. What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”
Cabot sat, wearing his customary benign smile. He and Markoban each knew of the other more than they actually knew each other. They were relative equals in
business, though they worked in very different markets.
All markets intersected at some point, though.
“Thank you. It’s been a while, but we’ve been enjoying the visit.”
“What brings you to Blue?” Markoban asked.
Nagali’s tea arrived. The receptionist set a small tray in front of her and hurried away again. Probably just to minimize the interruption. Probably not to get away from Nagali faster.
“Diarrhea remedy,” Cabot answered, straight-faced. “Seems there’s a sudden spark in the market for them. Is there something wrong with the water here?”
Markoban looked startled. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been that. “Uh, no, not that I know of.”
“You should ask around. You don’t want to get hit with something like that.” Cabot nodded to Nagali. “Like poor Nagali did. Dreadful.”
Omar’s forehead pulled down, which gave him a rather serious look. Cabot knew he was struggling not to laugh.
After freezing for a moment and sending him a look of horror, Nagali rallied. “It’s not something I recommend. I keep drinking tea, trying to rehydrate.”
Cabot laughed, but only on the inside.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Markoban grimaced. He’d been thrown entirely off-track.
Perfect.
“I’m trying to get in touch with Riki Chesring, but he’s proving to be elusive. Would you know how we could reach him?” Cabot jumped right in while Markoban was off-balance.
“Chesring? He hangs out with a couple of my low-level associates sometimes. He’s not an employee of mine, but someone must know how to contact him. What do you need him for?”
“I don’t, personally. But I know someone who’s looking for some no-questions-asked cargo hauling, and when I looked around to see who I might be able to connect with my associate, Chesring’s name came up, along with a couple others.”
Markoban frowned slightly. “Not my line of business.”
“Mine either,” Cabot said. “I’m just making some introductions. There’s nothing in it for me besides my associate owing me a favor.”
Markoban’s expression eased. “Must be a person worth having in your debt.”
Cabot shrugged. “You know how it is.”
The less he said and the more he let Markoban assume, the better.
Finally, the man shrugged. “My guy Veno would probably know. He’s in charge of details like that, and enjoys that kind of company. Want me to see where he is, and let him know you’re coming?”
“Yes. I’d appreciate that,” Cabot said.
Markoban smiled. They both knew he was giving very little. Not even an order to his employee to give Cabot what he wanted. And for this very small favor, Cabot would in turn owe something to Markoban.
It was just business.
Cabot didn’t feel too badly about it, though. He’d increased his connection to Markoban, who could be a very useful associate.
EVEN A PLACE as shiny and professional as Levana Blue had its shady underground. Cabot didn’t mind. He was as accustomed to shady underbellies as he was shiny meeting rooms.
Maybe more so.
Beneath ground level, a labyrinth of maintenance services made a whirlwind of activity, all hidden from visitors’ view.
Trash disposal, laundry service, recycling, power generation, and all the other details involved in making the tall, sleek buildings function happened here.
It was like seeing how a magician did her tricks. The reality behind the façade.
In a way, Cabot liked this part better than the areas he was meant to see. As he watched service workers going about their work, he felt respect for them. They did the real work around here.
No one gave them strange looks as they passed. They’d have been within their rights to—Cabot, Nagali, and Omar clearly didn’t belong in this network of activity.
But the workers ignored them. Maybe that was what they were instructed to do. Or maybe they didn’t want to have to smile and bow or whatever else might be expected if they met the gaze of a visitor.
Cabot found their destination just as Markoban had described. The yellow door at the end past Junction C.
He paused before touching the mechanism to open the door, exchanging a look with Nagali and Omar.
None of them had seen this side of Blue. This should be interesting.
Inside, the space was clean enough. It had some clutter here and there, food containers and the like, but nothing that a bit of tidying wouldn’t fix.
He’d been prepared for a smell, too, but that wasn’t in evidence. That was a small but pleasant surprise.
Nonetheless, the two dozen or so bodies gathered within the would-be storage space looked rough. Definitely too unkempt to go aboveground and mingle with all the dapper corporate types.
So why were they here? Cabot’s mind snapped to the obvious question. They wouldn’t be here if there weren’t something to draw them.
Was it simply a convenient hangout, a waystation between gigs? Or did people like these wait around to serve a purpose that the people above would not admit to having?
Cabot was intrigued.
Their appearance was noticed immediately, though no one stepped forward to welcome or challenge them.
Again, Cabot was left wondering what that meant. He’d put money on the idea that the people within were hoping he was there to offer employment.
Maybe he should do exactly that.
Give people what they expect. They’ll like you for it. That was one of Cabot’s rules of sales. Of course, the rule after that was: Don’t be predictable. People like to be surprised.
It was all about reading nuance.
With such a mix of species and ethnicities, there was no universal greeting that seemed most appropriate. Instead, Cabot lifted his hands, palms out, to indicate good intentions. “I’m looking for someone who can haul cargo, and doesn’t care too much what it is.”
They exchanged a few glances and spoke a few words too low to recognize. Cabot knew he had the group’s attention. Still, no one stepped forward. He’d have to get more specific.
“Markoban suggested Riki Chesring might be able to help me out. Is he here?”
Heads turned, and it wasn’t hard to figure out which one was Chesring.
A skinny Rescan in his thirties stepped forward, swaggering just a little too much.
He cared about what these people thought. Cabot could use that.
“That’s me.” The man stopped in front of Cabot, his demeanor halfway between belligerent and conciliatory.
Very contradictory. Cabot had a weird feeling about this guy.
“I have an offer, if you have space on your hauler.” Cabot made a show of looking Chesring up and down, critically.
“What are you offering?” Chesring asked, just a little too loudly. He wanted his friends to hear.
The others had gone back to flipping chits, which was a simple but skill-based game. They didn’t seem terribly interested in Chesring’s exploits. Cabot wasn’t there to talk to them, so they had little interest.
“It’s not me,” Cabot said, lowering his voice. “It’s someone bigger.”
The younger man glanced over his shoulder, then back. “Who?”
“That’s confidential, for now. But if you do well…” Cabot let the implication hang.
Chesring looked from Nagali to Omar. “These two your muscle?”
Cabot allowed a small smile to curl one side of his mouth. “Yes.”
The man stood for a moment, undecided. Then he shrugged. “What’s your offer?”
Cabot had him. “Not here. Let’s go somewhere more private.”
CABOT HAD A PROBLEM. They’d taken Chesring to the taco shack, under the guise of being someplace more private—and at that time of night, few people were eating tacos.
Letting the man chow down on tacos and burritos, Cabot had hoped, would allow for time to draw him out. Figure out the right combination of elements to get him to
tell what he knew.
It wasn’t that easy.
Chesring was smarter than Cabot expected. He’d sidestepped all Cabot’s leading questions, providing no opportunity to delve in deeper.
It was so much easier when they were dumb.
If Chesring was too smart to betray an employer to a stranger, then Cabot would have to become an employer to him, as well.
“Here’s the situation,” Cabot said. “I work on Dragonfire Station. I have a shop there. Check around. That’s easy to corroborate.”
Chesring nodded, stuffing the last of another taco into his mouth.
“Recent events have created some opportunities that I can’t take advantage of, due to PAC regulations. I need someone who can bridge the gap between me and the people I can provide things to, so long as I can arrange the goods they’re looking for. Understand?”
Chesring nodded. “Sure. I don’t need to know what I’m hauling. But I won’t carry volatile chemicals. I’m not about to let someone else decide that my blowing up is an acceptable risk. Other than that, I really don’t care what it is.”
Again, he was showing intelligence. A shame. It would make this tougher, and take longer, too.
“How soon can you be available?” Cabot asked.
“I’m free right now.” Chesring wiped his hands on a napkin, then tossed back a long slug of water.
Cabot gave him a long look, pretending to size him up. In reality, he was trying to figure out what dummy operation he could throw together at a moment’s notice.
When in doubt, be mysterious.
That wasn’t a rule of sales, but it seemed like a good idea at this particular moment.
“I’m going to have to run your name by my contact. Just to be sure you’re not on his naughty list.” Cabot stood. “Omar, I could use your help. Nagali, why don’t you keep Mr. Chesring company while he eats, and be sure to pick up the bill.”
Her eyes shone with delight. “I will.”
After he and Omar had gotten out of earshot, Omar said, “I hope you know what you’re doing. There’s no telling what trouble Nagali might get up to on her own.”