The Reporter (The Galactic Football League Novellas)

by Scott Sigler

  “I just want some change,” he said. “Wow, this is a nice place.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not a bum. A bum couldn’t get through Tarat’s security systems. Who sent you?”

  The man looked at her. His fear vanished, and he smiled. “Who sent me? None other than Uncle John Tweedy.”

  This was the guy that John knew? “You don’t look well,” Yolanda said. “In fact, maybe you shouldn’t come near me.”

  The man suddenly stood up straight, as if his bad back had magically vanished. “Oh, the pustules?” he said. He reached up and peeled one off his face, revealing damp-but-healthy skin beneath. He held the pustule up and licked it.

  “Ew,” Yolanda said.

  “Chitin membrane skin filled with sugar gel,” he said. “Delicious. Want some?”

  Yolanda’s face wrinkled, and she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  The man pulled a towel out of his bag and used it to rub vigorously at his face. In seconds, the diseased look vanished. In its place was a handsome man with piercing eyes.

  “Ta-da,” he said. “My touch healeth the sick.”

  Yolanda clapped lightly. “I’ll hand it to you, that was pretty convincing.” The man bowed with a flourish. “Frederico Esteban Giuseppe Gonzaga, at your service, courtesy of one Uncle Johnny Tweedy. Just call me Fred.”

  “You sure know how to make an entrance,” Yolanda said. “How do I know you can do the job?”

  “I get paid to find people,” he said. “This time, I had to find a person to get paid. I found you here — do you really need my resumé?”

  Had Tarat given John the information? It didn’t matter; Fred had found her, true, and it wasn’t like she had any other options.

  “Fred, can we talk privately?”

  Fred nodded. “Wherever you like.”

  She led him to Tarat’s study. Once inside, Fred looked around. He smiled at the various holos and ran a hand across the ’72 Galaxy Bowl trophy.

  “Wow,” he said. “Someone thinks quite a lot of themselves, it seems.”

  Yolanda laughed. “You have no idea. I appreciate you coming all this way to talk with me.”

  Fred shrugged. “Uncle Johnny the Awesome has brought me a lot of business. When he says something is important, it’s worth a trip. Don’t worry, if I take the job, I’ll bill you for the flights. So you need to find someone?”

  “Not someone, recorded video of Ju Tweedy.”

  “Time frame of recordings you need to search?”

  “About a two- or three-hour block,” she said. “If I can find where he was at a very specific time, that’s the goal, but if I can’t, I need to establish where he was before that. If he was, say, twenty minutes away from the murder scene ten minutes before the murder, then it would have been impossible for him to do the crime, and that proves him innocent.”

  Fred nodded. “It can be done, but only if you’re not looking in too big of an area. A few blocks, doable. Bigger than that, and you have no chance of succeeding. So how big of an area are we talking?”

  Yolanda’s heart sank. They’d been so close.

  “How big?” she said. “All of Madderch. You might as well go home.”

  Fred shook his head and smiled. “It’s your lucky day. Seems John had a conversation with his brother and managed to get the day’s itinerary without Ju realizing he was being grilled.”

  Yolanda stared at the smiling man, disbelieving, then reached out and hit him in the shoulder. “You already knew the search area? You were screwing with my head and you don’t even have the job?”

  Frederico laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “Oh, please, we both know I have the job.”

  The hopeless feeling vanished, replaced by another round of optimism. She had just met this man but almost immediately felt like he could pull it off.

  “So you can do this? You can find video of Ju Tweedy? That just seems so … well, so impossible.”

  “Oh, it can be done,” Fred said. “In modern society, people have to remember there are cameras everywhere. No matter how private you think your city is, somewhere there is a device recording you. I write a body- and face-recognition program, figure out how to enter that into public databases and as many private ones as I can access, then you let it run. If all goes well, the algorithm finds instances of that person and sends me an encrypted message. Then you go talk to the sentient or company that owns the recordings and make a deal. You follow?”

  She nodded, but slowly. “I think so. So you’re not copying the recordings and sending the copy to yourself?”

  Fred let out a low whistle. “Not on Madderch, cupcake, not on your life. They take piracy real serious here. They would call that stealing, and you could wind up with a big fine, in jail or worse. Sorry.”

  “No, this is better. I need to keep this legal.”

  Fred winced a little, then held out a hand, fingers splayed, and waggled it right to left. “I didn’t say it’s legal, I said it’s not piracy. Any time you dive into another sentient’s data, you’re invading their privacy at the very least. Sure you want to go through with it?”

  She rubbed her face. If she did this, was she any better than Tarat? Yes, yes, she was. This wasn’t installing a camera in someone’s bedroom — Yolanda just needed to find evidence of a man’s innocence.

  “Let’s do it,” she said. “How long will it take?”

  “I’ll be honest, I’m moonlighting here,” Fred said. “Another client has me tied up. So here’s what I’ll do. I have enemies on Madderch, so I won’t stay here more than two days, max, then I have to get back on my primary case. So I’ll find your information in two days. If I don’t, you don’t have to pay me. If I do, however, you pay me, and you pay me well. Let’s talk budget. Is this personal or business for Galaxy Sports Magazine?”

  “You charge a different amount depending on who is paying?”

  Frederico nodded. “Of course. Think of it as a variation on whatever the market will bear. Again, is this personal, or is this for Galaxy Sports?”

  Yolanda felt a growing glow of satisfaction. “What if it’s neither? What do you charge if this is being paid for by GFL Commissioner Rob Froese?”

  Fred’s smile widened. “Well then, I’m sorry to say that this is going to cost an awful lot of money.”

  • • •

  Fred’s two days — max — turned into three, then four. He’d sent periodic messages covering his progress, which was no progress at all. Yolanda couldn’t leave to help, and even if she could, she didn’t know how to do video-algorithm-whatever. She did, however, know how to write; she spent her time turning the short interview with Ciudad Juarez into a thoughtful and well-researched piece on what it would be like to have a legacy as the most lethal player in the history of the sport.

  She did most of her work in Tarat’s study. She’d spent almost three weeks with Whykor, including over a week cooped up together in Tarat’s place. Their ability to share space without saying a word was great, but they both needed alone time.

  When the apartment computer announced a call had come in from Frederico, Yolanda all but sprinted into the living room to answer it. Whykor was standing near the tank, shifting from foot to foot, his eye swirling with the yellow-orange of excitement.

  She stood in front of the tank and took a deep breath. “Computer, put the call through!”

  Frederico’s face appeared. He appeared to be in an office with no one else around. His eyes were hidden behind a bulky pair of analytics goggles, the kind techs used to work on electronic systems.

  “Well it’s about time,” she said. “Tell me you found something.”

  “I found something,” he said. “Across the street from McDermot’s building.”

  “Is it video of Ju?”

  He shook his head. “I told you, it doesn’t work that way. The program found facial-recognition patterns that match Ju. So there is probably a recording of him in the place, but I can’t be sure.”

  It was h
ard to contain her excitement. “What is the place?”

  “A little convenience store,” Fred said. “It’s run by an old Leekee. I went in there to shop a little, get a feel for the place. The owner’s name is Barnacle Scraper. Love those Leekee names. He seems like a nice enough old fish.”

  “Great,” she said. “What’s the address?”

  “The address is across the street, Yolanda. Not hard to find.”

  She nodded. “Sure, right. I’m going to go right there. Can you join me?”

  Fred shook his head. “I’ve spent too much time here already. I have to get back. Besides, the way privacy laws work on OS1, it’s best if I’m not here when you bring this up with the shop owner. I already booked a flight out, so I’m taking a shuttle into orbit in thirty minutes. So where should I send my bill?”

  Whykor took a step forward. “Send it to me, Mister Gonzaga. I will see to it personally that you are paid promptly.”

  Fred nodded. “Good luck to you both. Call me if you ever need my services again.”

  “Thank you, Fred,” Yolanda said.

  The holotank winked out.

  Whykor was shifting from foot to foot. “We have almost done it,” he said. “If you can talk this shop owner into giving you video of Ju, then Ju is proven innocent.”

  “If,” Yolanda said. “If Ju is on that video, and if he’s on at a time that proves his innocence and if the shop owner will part with it.”

  “Are we leaving now?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Hopefully Tarat won’t mind if we take his car.”

  A bit of red danced across Whykor’s cornea. “But we will be across the street from a building owned by Anna Villani. That is a risk.”

  He was right. Odds were they wouldn’t be seen, but that close to Anna’s building, there was still a chance. “Well, as soon as we get that video, we can call for a team to take us up to the Regulator.”

  “If the team can reach us in time,” Whykor said. “Until they arrive, we will be in danger. And there is the problem of Parmot the Insane. If Mister Gonzaga found you, so, too, can another sentient.”

  Yolanda smiled. “Then I guess we need some protection. Police protection. Call Joey Clark. Tell him to meet us at this convenience store. If all goes well, we find evidence of Ju’s innocence, turn the data over to Clark and take our own copy up to the Regulator. If all goes well, we’ll be writing the story tonight, and it will run tomorrow.”

  • • •

  Yolanda had wanted to drive, but Whykor insisted that he have the honor. She had let him do so just to placate him, but after nearly an hour in the insane traffic of Madderch, she was glad she had done so. Even flying at the second level, other cars banked and swerved, coming so close she had shut her eyes tight and expected a crash at least a dozen times. The crashes never came because Whykor would make a slight course adjustment, hit the gas or work the air breaks to stay clear.

  Whykor suddenly angled Tarat’s car down into an open space in the far-left ground lane. A wheel-truck cut over from the right; Yolanda hissed in a breath as she covered her face in her hands, but — as usual — there was no collision. Horns and sirens blared, joining the endless noise of whining lev-drives and growling combustion engines.

  “Miss Davenport, I assure you, I am an experienced driver.”

  She opened her eyes. They were moving along without incident. “You sure are. Where did you learn to maneuver like this?”

  “Training from Commissioner Froese,” he said. “My shamakath felt it was prudent for me to be trained in several duties, driving included. I took driving classes usually reserved for bodyguards.”

  Yolanda saw Grace McDermot’s building coming up on the right. She gripped the dashboard as the black car suddenly cut right. She felt foolish when she saw they were driving into a parking ramp. Whykor parked, and they got out.

  She looked at her assistant. “If this works and we get the video, I want that team here as soon as possible.”

  “As I mentioned before, it would be prudent to bring them down now. Even if you don’t obtain the evidence, they can simply return to the Regulator.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t want to bring down an extraction team unless she had what she needed. “How long will they be in transit?”

  “It is a typical shuttle run,” he said. “Thirty to forty-five minutes. If things go well, they might arrive shortly after you talk to the shop owner and obtain the video.”

  “All right, call them,” she said. “But I warn you, that kind of thing will jinx us.”

  “Jinx?”

  She smiled. “It will cause us to not get what we want. It’s kind of the opposite of luck.”

  “Ah,” Whykor said. “The opposite of luck, which does not exist. If it will please you, Miss Davenport, I will be very nervous that my actions will jinx us. I feel afraid already.”

  She rolled her eyes. “For a sentient that claims to not know what a figure of speech is, you sure have smart-ass down cold. Let’s go.”

  They made their way back to the street. There was Grace McDermot’s building, all fifteen stories of it. And to the left just a few buildings away was the convenience store. The two layers of traffic rushed by in front of them.

  They started to walk, working their way through the other pedestrians, then something blue caught her eye. She grabbed Whykor’s pedipalp arm and yanked him toward a big refuse chute at the sidewalk’s edge.

  “Miss Davenport, are you assaulting me?”

  “No, you dummy. Get down!”

  They crouched behind the refuse chute. It smelled awful.

  She leaned in and whispered. “I think I saw Parmot the Insane!”

  Wiggles of pink danced across Whykor’s eye. “Are you certain?”

  “He was across the street. Look for yourself.”

  Whykor slowly peeked over the chute, then dropped back down. “Yes, that is Detective Parmot.”

  “Great. He’s following me.”

  “Then did he know we were at Tarat’s residence?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s not coincidence that he’s here.”

  “Could he be looking into the McDermot case?”

  “That case is a year old,” Yolanda said. “He’s here for us.”

  “Perhaps he is with Joey Clark?”

  “Did you see Joey Clark? Because I didn’t. Parmot was following me the other night, and he’s following me now.”

  The pink on Whykor’s eye increased in saturation. “So what do we do?”

  Yolanda thought, feeling the pressure of the situation cloud her ability to process. “I guess we have to get out of here.”

  “But Miss Davenport, we are so close!”

  “He’s here, he’s following us, we can’t risk it. He’s a killer.”

  “If he knew where we were going, would he not wait for us in the convenience store? He is across the street, and it looked like he is searching for us. If I may, Miss Davenport, I could distract him while you talk to the store owner.”

  Whykor was clearly afraid, but he would do that anyway? No, she couldn’t have him risk his life.

  “Forget it,” she said. “We can try again later.”

  Whykor stared at her. The pink slowly faded from his eye. “Miss Davenport, we have to try now. The extraction team is on the way. If you find the video, we will have people coming, and Parmot will not be able to easily be rid of us. Please, let me distract him. You talk to the shop owner.”

  She tried to control her breathing. She wasn’t afraid for herself as much as she was afraid for him. “We shouldn’t split up. What if I get attacked and I need you?”

  He reached into a pocket and held up Miriam’s LifeLok wand. “I have this. I will confront Detective Parmot and keep him occupied. Therefore, you are safe. If you are attacked in any way, this device will tell me, and I will come right away. Please, Miss Davenport — I have no wish to put myself in danger, but if we do not get the information now, I fear we neve
r will.”

  What he said made sense. She didn’t know why Parmot was following her, but it was probably because he worked for Villani. If Parmot figured out where she was going, he might delete the data from the shopkeeper’s servers. Frederico had already left the planet, and this was the only lead he’d left her — without the shopkeeper’s video, there was no way to clear Ju. The whole trip would have been for nothing.

  “All right,” she said. “But be smart, don’t try and be a hero.”

  “If you are suggesting that I do not intentionally provoke a police officer who has shot and killed multiple sentients, I would like to think you know I am smarter than that.”

  She grabbed him and hugged him. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “I will. Let me cross the street and draw his attention, then you go. I will say this once and once only, and you will never tell anyone — good luck, Miss Davenport.”

  He stood and walked to a crossing zone. She peeked over the chute and watched. As Whykor crossed the street, Parmot locked eyes on him. Whykor saw this and walked quickly in the other direction. Parmot followed.

  When the blue-furred detective’s back was turned to her, she stood and fell in with pedestrian traffic. Seconds later, she entered the store.

  • • •

  When she walked in the door, a soft chime sounded. She looked around — no one behind the counter to her left, and the store was empty except for one stumbling Worker who smelled of gin. The main aisle led from the front door to a hall that led into a back, employees-only area.

  She and the drunk Worker weren’t alone for long, though; a Leekee came out of the back hall and walked toward her. All Leekee walked hunched over, as they were more at home in the water than on land, but this one was exceptionally so. The ridge-line of spikes that ran along his spine looked floppy, as if the spikes were no longer as rigid as they once were. His skin wasn’t the bright blue she’d come to expect from the species, but more of a pale gray tinged with blue, so faded it blended in with the black stripes that ran from the spine down each side. His yellow eyes looked clear, however.