by S. H. Jucha
Lucia sent privately to Jess.
Jess managed to send.
Jess glanced in alarm at Lucia, whose eyebrows rose in surprise. He waited for Mickey to object to his partner’s participation in the investigation. Hearing nothing, he presumed their conversation was private.
Mickey knew his objection was poorly phrased. Worse, he had no grounds for an argument. So, he sent the only thought that mattered.
Pia packed her duffel, sent Jodlyne a message, and made her way to a lift. On her way down station, Pia received the same link, as had Jodlyne. It guided them on how to journey to the connecting dome.
4: Darter
Candace Weller sidled up to a table of Restosians, who were busy devouring the food on the table.
A Restosian picked up a cloth with a scaled hand and wiped its jaw. “Are you buying or selling, Pyrean?” the leader asked.
“It could be both,” Candace replied, her ear comm handling the translation. “It depends on what you have to offer.”
“We don’t deal in small jobs,” the Restosian replied. “Whom do you represent?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Candace replied. “I’m not here to employ you. Your outfit isn’t big enough for what my benefactors desire. Right now, I’m looking for information.”
The Restosians stopped eating, wiped their mouths, and placed their hands under the table.
“Don’t bother,” Candace said, laughing. “Use those shock ticks on me, and you might not leave this hall alive.”
The Restosians surreptitiously glanced around the eating hall trying to locate the danger. Many races were present. Some docile; some aggressive.
“Well,” Candace demanded. “Are we going to talk or are the four of you going to sit and finger your private parts?”
The Restosians grumbled at the accusation. It was a common slur against their race for the way Messinants had engineered them. The entire species was hermaphroditic.
At the same time, Candace’s remark demonstrated her disdain for their implied threats.
The Restosian leader shoved the plate away, climbed off the chair, and pointed at an exit. “Let’s talk, human,” the leader said.
Candace followed the meter-and-a-third-tall alien toward the doorway. She noted that, like every other Restosian, this one carried a heavy shock stick slung on a web around slender shoulders. The tip nearly touched the floor. Despite the weapon’s size, the agile Restosians unslung their sticks with considerable speed, and the weapons carried healthy charges, designed to fell the largest enemy.
The planet was home to the Lemgarts, who had a checkered past with the alliance races and the Tsargit. The individuals who journeyed here sought the lax regulations that fostered open competition. Unfortunately, those competitions frequently got out of hand and resulted in discreditable incidents that the Tsargit used as reasons for preventing the Lemgarts from joining the organization. The Lemgarts repeatedly claimed to have made the requested changes, but Tsargit investigators found them to be insufficient or nonexistent.
Outside, the Restosian stepped into a security bubble. It was a handy enclosure for private conversations, providing it was swept by a sophisticated detection device. Every Restosian carried one.
Digging in a bag slung over the shoulder away from the shock stick, the leader pulled out a small instrument, scanned the bubble, and located a tiny listening device near the base. With a stream of expletives, the leader pulled the bug from under the ledge that attached the bubble to the walkway and then handed it to Candace.
Candace examined it, set it on the floor, and stomped on it.
“Now, we can talk, human. I’m called Darter by friend and foe alike.”
Candace knew Darter wasn’t the leader’s real name, but she was prepared to feign ignorance.
“I’m known as Candy,” Candace replied. Actually, that was her nickname. She had tousled blonde hair, blue eyes, and a youthful, heart-shaped face. The nickname had been applied by her schoolmates, and it had stuck.
“What is it you wish to know, Candy?” Darter asked.
“Some on this planet, with or without the Lemgarts’ knowledge, are supplying material to a group of Usaanans for a contract with the Pyrean outpost,” Candace replied.
“You believe this, or you know this?” Darter asked, eyeing Candace carefully and watching for a lie.
Candace stared quietly at Darter. She wouldn’t be telling the Restosian any more than was absolutely necessary. Any Restosian on Lemgart wasn’t to be trusted.
“What’s it worth to you, Candy?” Darter asked.
“Don’t play with me, Darter. You know how this works,” Candace shot back.
The Restosian tensed, setting a scaled hand on the hilt of the shock stick.
“You tell me what you know, and I judge the value of what you have to share,” Candace continued. “But know this. If your information proves false, you’ll wear that stick where it hurts.”
Darter adjusted opinions about Candace. On first glance, the Restosian leader had considered her a neophyte — a human who would prove to be an easy target. So much for an easy win. Darter had to be content with earning a fee but admitted that there wasn’t much to give.
“All I know is that there is a source of material on this planet for some Usaanans. A transport leaves here for the dome about every ten cycles,” Darter said, eyes pleading for understanding of the meager offering.
“The same transport each time?” Candace pressed.
“Random. Whatever is available,” Darter replied.
Candace fumed. The Restosian was one of the best leads, and it wasn’t panning out. “Do the parts originate here?” she tried.
“Unknown,” Darter replied. “I only know of the regular shipments.”
“Exactly ten cycles or about that number of cycles for the shipments?” Candace asked.
“About. The last one was only nine cycles,” Darter answered, fidgeting, a hand twitched to grip the shock stick again. Deliberately, Darter kept it still. The human was too close, and she was taller and stronger.
“I need more, Darter, if you want some credits,” Candace said impatiently. She’d run out of questions to ask and was hoping to squeeze the Restosian.
The privacy bubbles were made of clear view plates, and Darter glanced around to see who might be watching.
“You must not use this information with my name,” Darter said, defiantly adding, “I must have your word.”
“Why should you trust me?” Candace inquired.
“I can’t, but I’m asking for your consideration. If you use my name, I’ll have an accident within cycles,” Darter replied.
“I’ll protect your name, Darter, but I encourage you to journey from this planet, as soon as possible,” Candace said.
“I have one name, but I don’t know if this individual is a connection to the operation you seek,” Darter explained. “However, one Lemgart controls much of the transport loads to and from the dome.”
“Who?” Candace demanded.
“Fystal jer Hathwa,” Darter replied. “Most illegal loads sail on his transports.”
Candace eyed Darter. The Restosian appeared deflated, empty of information.
“Slate,” Candace directed.
When Darter presented the slate, which was embedded in a sleeve, Candace selected a transfer app on her slate, entered a quantity of credits, and
touched her slate to Darter’s to complete the transfer.
Darter eyed the amount and nodded gratefully at Candace.
“Don’t sell our conversation,” Candace warned. “My benefactors will not react well.”
“Your credits have ensured silence,” Darter promised, which Candace knew was worthless.
Darter released the bubble’s enclosure, exited, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
The planet’s star had set, and Candace decided that more research was needed before the next contact. She stepped aboard a public transport, selected her destination on her slate, and sent it to the vehicle’s auto-controller.
A half hour later, Candace’s slate buzzed, and she was directed to exit the vehicle. The controller had transferred her destination to a second vehicle. Soon, her slate buzzed again, and she pushed her way onto a crowded transport. Her action generated growls, chirps, and bleats of indignation.
Ten minutes later, Candace received a notice to exit. This time, she recognized her location, and she made her way to a small sleephold. Sweeping her slate in front of the ID panel allowed her entry.
There was no lobby. Inside the front door was a tiny lift that could accommodate one large alien or four or five Restosians.
The lift whisked Candace to the eighth floor. It swiveled to present the door to her compartment, and then it opened.
“I was getting worried about you, Lieutenant. It was getting late,” Sam said, as he tucked his shock stick under the pillow on his cot. “Anything useful?” he asked.
While Candace closed the heavy metal door and added its privacy notification, she nodded. Partly, it was a reply to Sam’s question, and partly, it was an affirmation of the rules. She was always lieutenant, and he was always major, while they were on assignment.
When they were on downtime, especially if Kasie was present, Sam called her by her nickname. The assignment rule was one of Sam’s safeguards against personal interactions.
Candace flopped on her cot, which was barely a meter from Sam’s. She’d been on her feet since star rise, and it was now late evening. She was hungry and tired.
Sam and she were holed up in a shabby sleephold in a seedy part of the Lemgart capital to keep a low profile.
While Candace lay there, she sent Sam the recording of the conversation with Darter. She noticed that, as usual, Sam averted his gaze while she lay on the bed. She understood his tendency.
Pyreans had constantly remarked to Candace about her beauty. She knew men were attracted to her at first sight, but her looks belied a sharp, inquisitive mind.
After university, Candace applied for a position in Pyrean security. Her aptitude tests placed her in the investigative unit. Thereafter, she rose swiftly, obtaining a lieutenancy in six years.
When Sam contacted the Pyrean commandant, Ophelia Tuttle, for recruits, she sent him to Major Paul Lindstrom, who was the head of the system’s investigative unit. Most of their operations took place on the three Pyrean stations that orbited the home world.
Candace was excited about the prospect of working for outpost security, but she was concerned that she wouldn’t be taken seriously because of her appearance. When she learned that the Omnian major in charge of outpost security had a relationship with an empath, Kasie Cinders, she relaxed. No empath would be involved with a man who couldn’t be trusted.
“This is all?” Sam grumbled, after listening to Candace’s entire exchange with the Restosian.
Candace sat up so that Sam could focus on her. Their knees almost touched. “I’m sure that’s all Darter had. The Restosian desired the credits.”
“Three weeks in Hoorat Town,” Sam said with frustration, “and we’re not any closer to finding out how the Usaanans are able to undercut the pricing of other races for delivery of their material. I know they’re dealing underhanded.”
Candace snickered at the image of Usaanans acting as Sam intimated. The species, who were also called sand serpents, had a pair of foreshortened manipulating arms. Otherwise, their long bodies were devoid of limbs.
Sam accessed his slate and searched for information about the Lemgart, Fystal jer Hathwa. He didn’t have to work hard. Information was readily available about the successful owner of a major transport company. Thirty-eight small company ships plied the space between the planet and the moon, which hosted the system’s dome.
Three weeks ago, Candace had arrived via the dome, and she rented the sleephold unit. Sam was second to make the journey. He was her backup, but he couldn’t be seen with her.
As a Pyrean, Candace could appear as an alliance member engaging in information purchasing.
Sam’s New Terran heavy-worlder body betrayed him as an Omnian. No one on the planet would talk to him. Not for any number of credits. If they did, they would meet with an accident, as Darter had intimated.
Shutting his slate search down, Sam halted the words in his mouth. He’d heard Candace’s deep breathing. He let her sleep for a few hours until hunger drove him to wake her.
Candace felt the tap on the bottom of her boot, and she struggled awake. “Time to feed the beast?” she asked groggily.
“Best we take care of it before I start alarming the neighbors,” Sam remarked.
“Yum, Lemgart fare,” Candace said, as she sat up and collected her thoughts.
“The joys of undercover work,” Sam retorted, “but there might be relief for us by tomorrow evening.”
“Tell me,” Candace requested.
“Fystal jer Hathwa frequents a popular club in the evening,” Sam replied. “It’s known to be a rendezvous spot for the wealthy.”
“You’re not thinking of accompanying me, are you?” Candace inquired. As a response, she received Sam’s narrowed eyes. “Sorry,” she quickly added, “tell me the plan.”
This was only their second undercover operation together, and, by far, it was the more intense. This meant she was still learning Sam’s thought processes and methods. It was an understatement to say that he worked differently from any Pyrean she knew. Then again, he wasn’t Pyrean.
Candace believed she’d passed Sam’s initial tests the first time she’d worked with him. They’d uncovered an attempt to bypass the outpost’s pricing protocols through the use of an internally placed employee. Sam had paired her with a Pyrean empath, and the three of them had paid a visit to an alliance planet to successfully search out the instigators.
“Tonight, we dine on local food,” Sam explained. “Tomorrow, we make preparations. The club is on the other side of the capital. That will require us to relocate. In addition, the upscale club requires we change your appearance.”
“What happens after we set up?” Candace asked.
“You take a private vehicle to the club,” Sam continued. “You investigate the place. Try to spot Fystal jer Hathwa. I want you to become a fixture in this place. Have a couple of drinks while you establish your presence, then leave.”
“For tonight, do you have any preferences?” Candace asked, as she rose and stretched.
“Anything but those crunchy items,” Sam said, visibly shuddering. He stepped aside to let Candace pass. Then she quickly exited their sleephold.
A half hour later, Candace returned with a bag of food. She sat at a tiny table to unpack their meals, and he waited on the cot. The small seats couldn’t accommodate his bulk.
Neither of them drank the local brews, and Candace drew water from the filter spigot.
The food’s fetid odor filled the sleephold, which did nothing to whet appetites. Nonetheless, Sam’s belly grumbled in protest at being denied for so long.
“I think we could feed the beast anything,” Candace remarked. “At least, if it was full, it’d be quiet. Does Kasie wear earplugs at night?” She’d deliberately kept her head down, appearing to be intent on distributing the food from the containers.
“I’m beginning to sense a reduction in rank for a lieutenant,” Sam replied, and Candace burst out laughing.
As soon as they were full, Candace packed up the remainders.
An elderly Lemgart lived on the second floor. The old female Lemgart had shared access to her sleephold with Candace when they met. Every evening, Candace used the old female’s ID to take the lift to the Lemgart’s sleephold and deposit the food at the door. Then she would rap softly and exit before the elderly female responded.
When Candace returned, she lay on her cot and asked, “What will I need for this club?”
Sam sent images from his implant that he’d recorded off the slate.
“Are you serious?” Candace asked. She’d kept her eyes closed, while she examined the images. She’d had her implant for less than half an annual and wasn’t as practiced as the Omnians.
“Undercover work has its demands,” Sam replied, chuckling. When he saw the outrageous attires worn by the club’s patrons, he’d waited patiently to surprise Candace.
“Just where am I supposed to buy things like these?” Candace asked. Then she received images of a shop that offered artistic tailoring for Lemgart’s avant-garde clubs.
“You’ll want to carefully interrogate the shop’s purveyors,” Sam recommended. “For instance, can you wear the same apparel more than once or is that gauche?”
“And this is your best idea to further the investigation?” Candace grumped.
“What? You’ll look great wearing ... wearing whatever you want to call some of these things,” Sam replied and burst out laughing. He received Candace’s short response via sign language, and he chuckled, as he lay on his cot.
Triggering his slate, he shut down the sleephold’s twin bare lights.
5: Tailors
The next morning, Candace caught several public transports to work her way across the Lemgart capital. On the final transport, her slate buzzed, indicating she’d reached her destination.
As Candace had traveled, changing transports along the way, she’d noticed an ever-growing quality in the dress of the other riders. By the time she exited the last transport, it was obvious that she was out of place.