And the outer levels of the northern drum were beginning to look livable. Bridget complimented Trovatelli as their tour ended. “You’ve been busy,” she said.
“Sounds like you had some excitement,” the technician responded.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. But we could have used our Q/A. If you’re done here, I want you on the next mission.”
Trovatelli seemed apprehensive. “I was hoping to spend some more time studying our squatters.”
Bridget shook her head. She hadn’t forgotten about the armored intruders, but a surge team needed its engineer. “Bring the data you’ve collected — you can review it on the trip.”
If Trovatelli was disappointed, she covered it well, giving Bridget a jaunty salute before heading off. Bridget turned and walked into the trading hall, beyond which Falcone’s chosen office lay. Bridget slowed her approach as she heard raised voices inside.
“…how serious this is, Falcone. Everyone in the company is watching!”
“Relax, Bouchard. You’ll have another heart attack,” Falcone said from behind his desk. He spotted Bridget outside and waved her in. Bridget quietly found a wall to lean against.
“I can’t relax,” René Bouchard said. The balding auditor was just in from Quaestor’s offices back home. “There’s a hundred billion dollars in inventory that went to your surge team’s warehouse. A hundred billion requisitioned — everything from accordions to zirconium!” The Quebecer’s voice cracked with indignation. “What was it doing there?”
Falcone didn’t answer. His eyes locked momentarily with Bridget’s — and Bouchard noticed. “You!” he said, waving his handheld isopanel at her. “What the hell did you do with seven metric tons of guacamole?”
Bridget shrugged. “We were planning a party?”
Bouchard’s white eyebrows shot up — and then he turned and slammed the isopanel on the desk. “We told you not to hire her! She’s already a public relations disaster. And now — this!”
Falcone clasped his hands together. “I told you, René. There’s just been a clerical error—”
“A damned big error! Your expedition is responsible for the return of that material.” He looked around the office. “Does it even exist? We know the Spore struck the Altair barracks. The material’s gone, isn’t it? Digested!”
“Nonsense,” Falcone said, wiping his nose. “The material went to us, yes — for whatever reason. But we shipped it all out again when the Spore threatened—”
“Where? He grabbed the isopanel back. “Tell me where the goods are, then.”
“Other star systems. Other depots. I can’t tell you just now — we’re just settling in. But it’ll all be accounted for at the end of the quarter, I guarantee.” He pocketed his handkerchief and stood. “I don’t know why we had all that merchandise — I’m still investigating that. But we got it all safely out, and we’ll get it back here soon. Then you can have it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or you can let us sell it. Sigma Draconis is going to be a big earner for the company!”
Bouchard laughed. “A base on the edge of nothing! What kind of sales do you really expect to—”
“One of our new traders has just brought back a lucrative new contract,” Falcone said. He stood by Bouchard’s chair. “It’s going to be a great quarter.”
The auditor looked up at him, newly suspicious. “What new trader?” He touched a key on his isopanel. “What’s his license number?”
“I don’t have access to my files just yet — as I said, we’re still settling in.” Falcone forced a smile. “Really, René — one old goat to another. It’ll be fine. Just let me get things sorted out here.”
The auditor stood. “A hundred billion dollars, Leo.”
“Fine, I tell you.” Falcone slapped Bouchard’s shoulder and guided him out the door.
When he turned back inside, alone, Bridget was standing near a counter. “That was close,” she said.
“They’ll get closer,” Falcone grumbled. “We need to get your people moving again, pronto.” He looked at her. “Does Sturm have the dossier on the next stop?”
“I gave it to him,” she said. “I have no idea if he read it.” The man made no sense to her. Jamie knew the stakes — he was the reason they were there, after all! — and yet as far as she could tell, he still hadn’t bought in on the urgency of the mission. Yes, he’d crowed about his sales success on Baghula — naturally omitting mention of his panic attack on the shuttle, which Stubek had described for her. But when Bridget had told him another mission was coming up, Jamie had looked at her as if she’d put a bullet between his eyes.
Conniving and a coward. She didn’t have any use for that.
And yet there was that report from Welligan that Jamie had acted to save the Baghu from being killed. Where did that fit in? He probably only did it so he could make the sale, she thought. Was doing the right thing accidentally still doing the right thing?
She wasn’t going to figure it out now. She began walking out of the office, pausing only to gesture to a potted object on a counter. “Cute little tree,” she said of the miniature sapling. “Looks like it needs water.”
“It came with the office,” Falcone said, shrugging. “Now let’s find your trader before Bouchard does!”
* * *
Jamie sat on the stool at the bar and watched the world go by. The bartender and the manager were bickering again, and occasionally the curly-headed barmaid would amble past and sneer at him. They had never actually served him a drink, but he’d been going there to unwind since his midteens.
“Where the hell is he?” he heard Falcone say somewhere outside the front door.
“If anyone asks, I’m not here,” he mumbled. No one at the bar took note, but then, they didn’t exist. Jamie turned up the volume on his immerso unit, shutting the world out.
Holography outside a solid medium had never progressed very far, but isopanels were in use everywhere. Tiny processors inside them made still or moving images appear within transparent polymer sheets. When used in armor faceplates or eyeglasses, isopanels could insert images that appeared to the viewer’s eyes as part of the real-world setting outside.
That was good enough for armor duty and the odd person-to-person call, but Hollywood had taken things a step farther with the immersos. Old two-dimensional entertainments had been converted into three-dimensional environments, with some programmed to integrate the viewer into the action. Jamie preferred the old classics. He’d been lucky to find a fully loaded immerso headset in his sales goods; it had most of the programs that helped him turn his mind off and relax. Virtual unreality.
Reality, sadly, returned. “Here he is,” Bridget said, leading Falcone through the door. She saw Jamie wearing the goggles. “Oh, Lord. Where are you now?”
“I’m in a bar in Boston in the twentieth century,” he said. “There’s a mailman pontificating near where you’re standing.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the wisecracking stockbroker.”
“Creative casting,” Falcone said. “Now get that thing off.”
Jamie sighed. The immerso unit neatly integrated real and unreal things — you didn’t want to trip over a real chair while lurking in a Korean War operating theater — and as he removed it, Bridget remained, but the actors disappeared. His bar was once again the food prep table in the back room of a space station’s kitchen.
“How long have you been hiding out here?” Bridget asked, growing agitated.
“Not long enough. This was the only place with stools,” he said. “Don’t sit on that one,” he warned, pointing. “Norm gets testy.”
Bridget looked flustered. “We don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be going over the briefing for the next mission!”
Jamie looked back at her blankly. “I read it.” He looked at the digital display on his hand. “Took me — oh, eight minutes and a few seconds.”
“The whole file?” Bridget sputtered. “And the financial data?”
“That was the few seconds,” Jamie said. “Relax. Auction on Leel, got it. I’ve got all the angles memorized.”
“You’d damn well better hope so, hotshot!” Falcone said.
“Nice to see you, too, Leo.” Jamie slid off the stool and pocketed the headset and goggles. He hadn’t seen Falcone since he returned. “I figured you’d want to congratulate me about Baghula.”
“I’ve been too busy cleaning up the rest of your mess,” the administrator said. “And one sale isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“And you kind of blundered into that one,” Bridget piped in.
Jamie glared. “You weren’t exactly much help,” he said. He turned on Falcone, remembering the list of grievances he’d compiled since Altair. After Baghula, he recalled his arrival on Sigma Draconis. “She left me alone with Welligan when we got to the depot — and when they ditched me, that was when the aliens got me!”
“Aliens?” Falcone shook his head. “Your Q/A said they were humanoid. Squatters. I’ve seen the video—”
“I met them,” Jamie said, flustered. “These things were brutes. I don’t know what they were, but human they weren’t.” He spied Trovatelli passing through the hallway outside the door. Jamie pointed. “Hey, she believed me!”
“Don’t drag me into this,” the Q/A said, ducking past. A second later Michael O’Herlihy entered, making a beeline for a refrigeration unit and gathering up an armload of packaged food.
“I’m losing my bar,” Jamie said, sadly.
“You’re going to lose more than that.” Falcone stuck a finger in his face. “I’ve got an auditor from Quaestor here. I can’t keep this cover-up going unless you get us more cash flow — now!”
Jamie flinched. “I just got back!”
“And you’re just about to leave again.” Falcone turned on Bridget. “And you had better stow the disdain and help this guy out this time, or we’re all done.”
Bridget objected. “Leo, he’s antagonizing everyone we meet! He’s no salesman—”
“And you’re no bodyguard,” Jamie snapped. “Unless you call nearly getting yourself drowned protecting me.”
“Drowned?” Slightly taller than the trader, Bridget glowered down at him. “I wasn’t in any danger at all. And neither were you, if you’d kept your mouth—”
“Enough!” Falcone pointed to the exit. “I want you all off my station within the hour. You’ve just got time to make the auction at Mu Cassiopeiae — if you’ll shut up and move!”
He turned and stormed out.
O’Herlihy leaned against the wall, chewing on a sausage stick. “Don’t need an immerso around here with this floor show going on.”
Bridget sighed in aggravation. “Fine. Mike, round everyone up. We’ve got a job to do.” She turned toward the door.
“Try to actually do it this time, Yang!” Jamie yelled at the back of her head. “I’d like to actually get home one day!”
She stopped in the doorway and looked back, eyes frosty. “I can send you back to Earth at any time. In a body bag.”
O’Herlihy guffawed as she vanished. “She got you!”
“Oh, shut up,” Jamie growled. “Go back to stuffing your face. You’ll need the energy when she screws up again. Maybe you’ll all be buried alive this time.”
The soldier chucked his garbage into the incinerator and sauntered back through the kitchen. He paused long enough to loom over Jamie. “I’d be careful there, Wall Street.”
Jamie didn’t budge. “What, are you gonna play big brother now?”
“No,” O’Herlihy said, walking to the exit. “Bridgie can take care of herself.” He paused in the doorway, looked down the hallway and smirked. “You know, she killed her last boyfriend.”
“I’m sure he didn’t die with a smile on his face,” Jamie sputtered. “Or maybe he did — if it meant getting away from her!”
“I don’t know about the smile,” O’Herilhy said, his face serious. “They couldn’t find the guy’s face after the bullets went through.”
Jamie blinked. O’Herlihy turned and left.
They’re such liars, he thought, reaching for his goggles. I’m going back to the bar.
19
The being floated on the frigid air, looking not much more substantial than the plastic bags Jamie’s dry cleaning came wrapped in. Only this plastic bag was intelligent, or so he’d been told. Another day, another system, another freak of evolution. It was becoming strangely routine for Jamie.
Mu Cassiopeiae was his fourth strange star since leaving Earth — fifth, if he counted the paired subdwarf wheezing its last in the distant reaches of the system. Leel was the only body of significance around the main star, and even that he found debatable. The almost-comet ice ball hurtled along on its oblong orbit, with its natives coming out to trade only when it approached perihelion.
And such natives! Looking more closely, Jamie could see a hint of color in the drifting pouch as it headed for the icy rostrum. Brain? Organs? What it ate for breakfast? He had no way of knowing. He’d consumed the financial data, just as he’d said. But his eyes always glazed over in exobiology class, and they’d done so again after they gave him the jacket on Leel. It was enough to know that, the Signatory powers knew plenty about the Leelites and their proclivities — as compared to the Baghu, which they knew little about. The Leelites were regarded as possibly the most harmless species ever to achieve sentience. He’d hit that part in the dossier and gone back to his immerso.
Still, being in the actual place was just another in a series of strange experiences. Jamie shivered as he looked up in the ice cave. The system in his SoftSHEL space suit immediately responded, warming him. It didn’t help. The place was enormous — almost a coliseum in crystal, with a massive star-shaped light fixture at the top. Wouldn’t the place crack open like an egg once the body approached its sun?
Bridget and her teammates didn’t seem worried. Her fellow troops were scattered across the frozen floor, admiring the architecture. They were in their lighter armor today, carrying their rifles but not expecting trouble. She’d brought the B team to guard the ship this time, led by Victor Gideon, a tall African man who hadn’t said a word to Jamie ever.
Also outside with Indispensable was the lovely Lissa Trovatelli. Jamie hated being here, but he was glad she was along.
But while the icy atrium seemed to be designed to host hundreds — or thousands, if you were a floating garbage bag — the humans were the only visitors here. “Didn’t Falcone say this was an auction?”
“You don’t read,” Bridget said, shaking her head. “This is the Leel market. It opens only once a decade.” She pointed to the aperture at the far wall, behind the rostrum. Several other Leelites floated from it into the big room. “Those are the dignitaries, I think. It’s a big deal.”
“It doesn’t look like it.” Jamie vaguely knew that the Leelites produced something, but he didn’t know what.
“Just listen,” Bridget said.
The first wispy being he’d seen, after consulting with the other creatures, floated up to a podium. A knowglobe sat next to it, identical to the one O’Herlihy and the humans had brought in.
“Greetings, gentle beings,” the alien said. “I am Vremian, your auctioneer.” Jamie didn’t hear the Leelite’s words — while the place was pressurized, the aliens communicated through some other manner — but his audio system translated, giving Vremian the voice of a posh British butler.
Vremian waggled one of his hanging shreds in their direction. “I hope you’ve all had the chance to look around and enjoy Leel and its many amenities.”
Jamie whispered. “It’s an ice cave!”
“Hush,” Bridget said. “He’s proud of his home.”
“And I’m so pleased to see the turnout for this season’s auction,” Vremian continued. “My people have spent a long time crafting wares for this event. I’m sure this will be our most successful market day ever!”
Jamie looked around, unsure if h
e was missing something. “It’s just us!”
Bridget stomped on his foot. Jamie didn’t feel it through his suit, but he got the message.
Vremian waited for a full minute, as if expecting someone else to arrive. When no one did, the Leelite’s wispy streamers went into motion again, and the great light above grew dim.
“Look!” Bridget said, pointing to the floor.
Jamie looked at the image that was projected there. “Looks like a totem pole.”
“That,” Vremian said, “is Leel’s specialty, for which we are known throughout the Orion Arm. In the rings of every transit station you’ll find superconductor columns like these. And yet not like these — because Leelite columns are crafted by talented artisans, lovingly etched by our appendages. The work of an entire race, locked away from the outside world for all but one day each orbital cycle.” His sales pitch reached its crescendo. “It’s no wonder that so many other species wait for this date, traveling far to participate in the our famous auction!”
Jamie looked around. He was still the only buyer there.
From the stage, he heard what almost sounded like an uncomfortable cough from one of the other Leelites.
“This is nuts!” Jamie whispered.
“This is Leel,” Bridget said. She rolled her eyes. “I actually read the report from the last people who participated. It gets stranger from here.”
Vremian waited a long time before continuing. “All right, the big moment is here. We’ll start with the eight-meter models. We have nineteen for sale. As always, bids are denominated in tons of bauxite.”
“That, we’ve got,” Bridget whispered. Indispensable was a two-by-two-by-two cube this time, including seven ’boxes of the stuff.
“They probably burn it for warmth,” Jamie said.
“I’ll start the bidding at one ton,” Vremian said. “Please, all of you, speak clearly, and not all at once.”
Jamie looked around again. Still no one else there — but Vremian seemed not to be aware of the fact at all. Did Leelites have eyes?
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