by Watts Martin
Gail bites her lip, then shakes her head. “No, we should at least check on him.” She heads in before Ansel has time to muster a plausible counterargument.
Jack doesn’t look up as she approaches, but his brows lift, just a hair.
“Hey. You kinda disappeared.”
“Were you worried about me, or worried I’d gone off to report to my secret masters?” His voice is amused, not bitter, but sad. He sips whatever’s in his mug. It’s not just coffee, but it doesn’t smell alcoholic, so at least he’s not gone to before-noon drinking.
“I dunno. So far you’ve been pretty up front about reporting to your masters. And about avoiding them. Hey, is that a Café de Olla?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t had one of those in years. Are theirs good?” Mom didn’t let her drink coffee at all, and Sky worried—with good cause—that the blend of strong coffee, cinnamon, and dark brown sugar could lead dangerous places when mixed with hyperactive young rat girl.
“I like it. I’ve never had one before, though, so I don’t have anything to compare it to.” He takes another sip, then sets down the mug. “Anyway, as of today, I don’t have masters, secret or otherwise. Interpol’s put me on suspension.”
“What? Jesus.” Her ears lower. “That’s Captain Spitty’s doing, isn’t it?”
“Captain…” He smiles faintly, looking down. “I’m sure his recent reports haven’t helped my standing, but it wasn’t his call. And I can’t say I blame him. In the process of conducting my own investigation, I’ve done multiple end runs around his department, stretched the chain of custody past its breaking point, knowingly violated the spirit and possibly the letter of my orders, and seriously strained Interpol’s relations with both the FBI and the PFS.”
She takes a seat by him unbidden. “So now what?”
“Now I kill time until the next ship back to Earth. At least I’m suspended with pay. For the time being.”
Ansel crosses his arms, looking sour. “So your job is at risk because you’ve been trying to do it too well?” Apparently the way for the agent to finally earn the fox’s trust is to lose the trust of his superiors.
“Go along to get along.” Jack lets out a short, humor-free laugh, looking out the window rather than at them. “During one of our last big fights, that’s what Claudia told me I always did. My defining character flaw.” He furrows his brow, shifting his gaze to look into the mug like it was a scrying pool. “I joined the FBI, and later Interpol, because I believe in the job. But going after drug traffickers is one thing, going after politicos and corporations is quite another.”
Gail nods. She sees the shape of this now. “This time you didn’t go along.”
“This case—after questioning you that first time, I started to see it wasn’t the simple theft it was being presented as. The more I learned, the more the PFS seemed to be trying to deflect me instead of helping me, the more insistent I got about not just going along this time.”
She lets out a sigh, scratching the back of one ear, then looks to Ansel. “It looks like they do counter service here. Can you get me a Café de Olla? And a pastry or something so we’re actually eating.”
Ansel looks momentarily shocked that he can’t just order off the viewcard, but nods. “Sure. I’ll get us some real food. I imagine you could use some too, Jack.”
Jack grunts.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The fox heads to the counter.
“So what do you do until the ship home? Stay on New Coyoacán, or head back to Panorica?”
“I don’t know yet. I think I’m expected to go back, but Sky may still want me at the tribunal, even if Captain…Spitty objects. And I like New Coyoacán more than Panorica, even though I’m not as comfortable here.”
“That sounds like something I’d say, except without the liking it more part.” She grins.
“You’re uncomfortable here because of your past, and because of your unwanted celebrity. Everywhere you go, someone’s looking over at you, wondering if you’re Gail Simmons. I’m sure there’s someone here wondering that right now.”
Her ears splay and she sinks down a centimeter or two lower in her seat. Thanks for calling attention to it. “So why are you uncomfortable here?”
“Because I don’t have fur.”
Inappropriate jokes leap to mind. Hey, I can get you a coat! There’s a good clinic a few blocks over that might be running a special! But she’s learned some of Jack’s expressions by now, and that isn’t the little smile of sly joke, it’s the little smile of wry truth. “You’re not telling me you’re feeling discriminated against, are you?”
“People have been perfectly nice to me, and if anyone’s muttered ‘prim’ under their breath they’ve done it too softly for this prim’s ears to pick it up.” That’s more of the sly joke smile, although hearing him use prim even in jest makes her squirm. “But there’s at least one person everywhere I go looking over and wondering just what I’m doing here. Do I want to be transformed? Am I a tailchaser? Am I just here to gawk at the strange animal people?”
“That’s not really fair to us.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not a criticism. They’re all reasonable reactions. It’s just that I feel like I’m traveling in a friendly country where everyone else speaks a language I don’t, and it’s a language that’s literally impossible for me to learn without changing myself.”
Ansel reappears, setting down a tray with two more steaming mugs on it, as well as a plate with six sopaipillas and dishes of honey and sour orange marmalade. “It sounds like you just haven’t been around many totemics before.” The fox grins as he takes a seat.
“I suppose only one or two at a time. Totemics are a minority everywhere but the Ring, and they’re a small minority in the inner system. But there was a full transform raccoon and two partial transforms—both feline, if I’m remembering right—in my class at the FBI Academy. I’ve been paired with a cacomistle agent for an assignment. For a few years I worked out of a field office whose secretary was a jackal.” He looks at the pastries. “I’ve never seen those before.”
Gail takes one and spoons some of the marmalade on top, smearing it a bit. “Really? Sopaipillas? I know they’re from the Americas. They’re delicious.”
He picks one up, too, and carefully adds a little marmalade. “‘The Americas’ is a very big target area. As much cross-cultural pollination as there is, not everything in Mexico is known in Philadelphia and vice-versa.”
Ansel laughs, taking one and drizzling honey over it. “Yes, we know, Earth is big and not one country. Isn’t the River still more diverse, overall?”
“I don’t know. There’s more countries on Earth than there are independent platforms out here, but there’s more…hmm. More experimentation here. We have a long history of first fighting against diversity, then fighting to expand it. You don’t have that history, but it’s because you started from a more idealistic place.”
Gail chuckles. “Is that actually a compliment?”
He takes a bite of his sopaipilla, finally. “Wow, these are terrific.” After another bite, he looks back to Gail. “I admire the idealism, but I don’t admire all the ideals.”
“You don’t understand them.” Ansel shrugs. “You work for a state.”
Her first sopaipilla’s already gone. She picks up another one, hesitates, then tops it with both honey and marmalade. Why the hell not. “If you don’t get reinstated on the secret agent gig, maybe you and Ansel could do a political debate show together.” She waves the pastry around. “But I want to bring the conversation back to what you’re going to do for the next few days. Is Interpol still paying for the hotel suite?”
“The tab is on my account, not theirs. I can’t be sure whether they’ll reimburse me now. Given the way this has played out they may not reimburse me for anything on New Coyoacán.” He sighs. “Maybe we should be looking for cheaper accommodations.”
Well. So much for going back to the hotel tonight. �
�That’s fine for me. I can keep staying with Sky.” God, she needs to leave before this place feels too much like home. Not that she can leave without paying Kismet’s repair bill. Not that she can do that until she calls her bank. Again. Which she should have done several hours ago.
Jack nods, sitting back in his chair, wriggling once. Maybe it’s uncomfortable if you don’t have a tail? No, that doesn’t make sense. Does it? “All right.” He looks over at Ansel. “If you’re staying on New Coyoacán, you may need to start footing your own bill from this point on.”
“As much as I hate to say it, I want to stick around to find out how this all ends.” He leans forward. “This might be a touch indelicate, but I still do expect to be paid for my time up to this point.”
If Jack had the right ears for it, they’d have just gone down. “We’ll talk about it.”
“So it sounds like you’re both deciding to stay here, not go back to Panorica?”
When they both nod to her prompt, it relieves her more than she’d expected it would.
“I might try and see more of the Ceres Ring, though,” Jack adds. “I’d like to ride the trans-ring rail. It’s not underground the whole trip, is it?”
She chuckles. “No, it’s elevated most of the time. The rail’s on the Ring’s north rim. I remember riding it sometimes just for the view—it’s amazing nearly all of the way. Cities, forests, fields, hydroponic farms. Even the industrial sections are pretty cool. And there’s some great places to take a day trip to.” She scratches her ear. “Although I think New Coyoacán has the highest cisform population of any of the Ring cities. Some of the smaller towns are entirely totemic.” Coming right out and saying so you might be uncomfortable sounds weirdly prejudiced, but, well, he might be uncomfortable.
“I’ll make do. Maybe I’ll spend a day canoeing with the otters, too.”
She smiles. “That sounds neat. Uh, this may be weird to ask, given our whole suspected thief and arresting officer relationship. But I hope you’ll come to the tribunal even if Sky isn’t requiring you to be there.”
“I’ll do what I can, then. Let me know if the schedule changes, so I know when to come in.” He finishes his Café de Olla. “And I’d like to be there one way or another. I want to stick around for the ending, too.”
Now that she’s finally trying their mixed drinks, it turns out the hotel bar is pretty good. Expensive, but Ansel—Mara hold him—covers her this afternoon as they sit waiting for Nevada to meet them.
Gail’s let him drag her into trying to explain the difference between the Ceres Ring’s medical insurance pool and an income tax. She’s not doing a good job. She’d like to blame that on her being well into her third drink, but the truth is she probably couldn’t have done it sober.
“I’m not saying it’s an income tax, I’m saying it amounts to the same thing.”
She looks at her glass. The limelo-infused martini’s strong, but she bets the nitrogenated marasca sour is the one that really kicked her ass. “No…no.” She holds up a finger. “It’s like, every platform other than here—since here isn’t a platform—has, has resource fees. Right?”
“Right, but the Ring rolls that into its crazy land fees. It’s just a different name. But insurance isn’t the same. You and I can choose how much coverage to get and who we’re going to buy it from. Sky doesn’t have a choice and she has only one insurer.”
“You can buy extra private insurance here if you want.” She looks toward the hotel lobby as she speaks. “And I can only choose the insurance I can afford, which is pretty…” She sets down her glass, leaning forward. “I think that’s Nevada.”
“Where?” Ansel looks, too.
He’s never met her, has he? Neither in this life nor her previous one. “There. The vixen.” She stands up and waves broadly.
The vixen’s gaze sweeps past her, then returns to the rat. She waves back, breaking into a smile, and hurries toward the bar area.
“Gail! I’m glad you could meet me. Is this where you’ve been staying? It’s lovely.”
“Yeah, well.” She laughs. “Sky shanghaied me and I actually never got to sleep here, and we’ve already checked out. But I’m glad we found the place. I know this didn’t exist when I used to live here.”
The vixen nods. “I think it’s about twelve or thirteen years old. It was here when I moved to New Coyoacán, but I’ve never been in the hotel before.” She turns toward Ansel.
“This is my friend Ansel Santara. He came with me from Panorica. Ansel, this is an old friend of mine, Nevada Argent.”
Ansel’s already holding out his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Nevada.” He smiles brightly. It’s a shame Travis hadn’t come with his wife—she’d like to see if he left Ansel even more tongue-tied than he leaves her.
He motions to the table. “Pull up a chair. Gail was just arguing for how wonderful everything is around here.”
She pffts. “That’s not what I’ve said at all.”
Ansel ignores her protest. “I have to say, she’s made quite a turnaround from the way she’s talked about the Ring over the last decade, in only…” He makes a show of checking his wrist display. “Forty-six hours, give or take?”
Nevada laughs, but her gaze focuses on the rat as she sits down. “I do remember Gail being more ambivalent about New Coyoacán when we knew each other on Panorica. She’d make it sound like the nicest place on the River until I asked why she left.”
“And then suddenly it would be hell incarnate.” Ansel smirks. Nevada laughs.
Gail tries not to sink under the table. “Ha ha. I’ve had my problems with the place, but they’re more, you know, personal history. Objectively, it’s like any other place. Good parts, bad parts. Not too different from Panorica.”
“Which one do you think of more as home?”
“Neither.”
Nevada tilts her head, smiling. “All right, then, if you were asked where you were from, which one would you answer?”
“I’m…” She sighs. Great, she’s drunk and she’s being ricocheted from political debates to personal prying. “New Coyoacán. I mean, what else could I say? Around here, everyone would answer that for me anyway.”
Nevada’s ears flat.
Gail puts her hand over the vixen’s. “Sorry. I don’t wanna sound like I’m upset with you. It’s just been…kind of a rough week.”
The ears go up again, and she nods sympathetically. “You didn’t answer when I asked if you were in some kind of trouble, but I could tell. Is it anything you can talk about?”
She takes another sip of the martini. “I don’t honestly know. The longer this goes on the crazier the truth sounds.”
Nevada lowers her voice. “It doesn’t involve Purity, does it?”
“It involves the company that created totemics and the son of someone who died with my mom, somehow connected through a think tank which increasingly sounds like Purity shoved in a nice business suit.”
The vixen’s ears lower once more and her eyes get wide.
“I told you it was crazy.”
The waiter, a handsome tiger who looks to be a few years older than Gail, comes by before anyone else speaks. Picking up Ansel’s empty glass, he exchanges it for something pale purple in a stemmed cocktail glass. She didn’t see the fox order anything new, but he’s pretty fast.
Nevada points at the drink. “What is that?”
“It’s an Aerospike, miss.”
“I’ll have one of those.”
“Very good, miss.” He heads off.
The vixen turns back toward Gail. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you must let me know.”
“I appreciate it, but I can’t ask—”
“You saved my life, Gail.”
She looks away, fidgeting, then picks up her martini.
Ansel stares. “She did what?”
“I was working at Emerson Salvage, off Solera, and the owner…recognized Gail when she came in, I guess.” She looks down at the table. “I�
�d heard him talk about Purity occasionally, but I didn’t know he was that involved with them. He tried to kill Gail, and later went after me.”
Gail clears her throat. “She’s leaving out that they were going after her because she kinda rescued me first.”
“It ended in a gunfight.” Nevada lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between the owner and Gail.”
Ansel’s muzzle has been open for several seconds at this point. “Oh my God. How come this is the first time I’ve ever heard about any of this? And how come Purity keeps coming after you? I’ve never even met someone in Purity, at least who admits it.”
“I shot the owner she’s talking about, I didn’t kill him, and I haven’t heard a peep from Purity after the suit he tried to file against me got bounced.”
Her glass is halfway to her muzzle, but the vixen sets it back down again without taking a drink. “Charles Emerson tried to sue you?”
“Yeah, he claimed I stole the tow engines. Which I didn’t, technically. My judiciary pretty much told him that he could consider the engines payment for me not going after him for trying to kill both of us, or we could both go after one another and he could spend way more money to lose both cases.”
Nevada bites her lip. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine him even daring that. I’m surprised you didn’t go after him.”
Ansel studies the vixen a moment, tapping his chin. “You grew up cisform, didn’t you? I know that’s indelicate, but a Purity follower wouldn't hire you. The you you are now, I mean. You were cisform when you worked there.”
Her ears drop, and she gives an almost imperceptible nod.
“Ah.” He grins wryly. “That’s why you can’t imagine it.”
Her expression grows uncertain.
“Have you ever had the experience of seeing someone just on the edge of your vision giving you a nervous glance or making a mocking face? The funny-not-funny jokes about fleas and shedding, the ‘small talk’ with the undercurrent of ‘what kind of crazy person makes himself look like an animal?’”
As Ansel goes on, Nevada squirms in her seat. “I didn’t run into that on Panorica.” The worry that maybe it was there and she just didn’t notice shines like a distress flare in her eyes.
