by Zen DiPietro
Fallon’s eyebrows rose at that assessment. “You barely know me.”
Nagali arched an eyebrow of her own. “I know enough to see that you’re good at your job. And that’s because I’m good at my job.”
The locking mechanism of the airlock unlatched and a green light indicated readiness.
Nagali didn’t wait for the owners of the ship to go first. She opened the door and went right through, hips swaying, not bothering to make sure Cabot and Omar followed.
Keeping his eyes on the prize, Cabot did.
Nagali was right about the outfit. He much preferred it to her high-fashion gowns, kimonos, and saris with their great volume and many yards of fabric.
The eight of them rode down the orbital elevator together. The presence of a dozen other people kept conversation at a minimum. They’d agreed that once planetside, they’d go their separate ways to pursue all possible sources of information. The only exception was Rigby, who would continue to shadow Fallon.
As soon as Cabot set foot on the planet, he felt like he could breathe more easily. Not because of the actual air quality on Sato, which was better than almost anywhere else thanks to its top-notch terraformed system of atmospheric condensers. He felt more at ease because he was in his element. Though a bit more rural feeling than most of Rescissitan, Sato did business the Rescan way, with a Rescan sensibility.
Plus, Cabot had lots of contacts, as did Nagali and Omar.
He assumed, or at least hoped, that Fallon and her team did, too.
The rest of them hopped into taxis or monorail trains to other parts of Sato. Cabot began his research at the transit station at the foot of the elevator.
Mendocino’s bar was a hot spot in the system for people looking for information or just looking to enjoy an evening of good drinks and card games.
People tended to network there, too, when they were looking to do some deals off the books. That was the real beauty and value of Mendo’s.
Cabot almost felt like he’d traveled twenty years into the past as he sat on a stool at the bar and punched in an order for Alturian whiskey.
Two minutes later, Mendocino himself appeared.
“Now there’s a face I haven’t seen in a few years. How’ve you been, Cabot?” Mendo, as close acquaintances called him, came out around the bar to grasp Cabot’s elbow.
“Fantastic and awful, and everything in between.”
Mendo stepped back behind the bar and poured the whiskey. “Sounds like everyone I know. What brings you here?”
“Looking for someone.”
“Well, I know it’s not Nagali,” Mendo joked, “but that doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?” He pushed the glass of amber-colored whiskey in front of Cabot.
“Actually,” Cabot hedged, lifting the glass.
Mendo stared at Cabot. “No. You can’t be looking for her.”
“Don’t have to,” Cabot admitted. “She came to Sato with me.”
“Ohhhh, you’ve got to tell me that story.” Mendo grinned from ear to ear. “Last I knew, you hated her with the passion of a thousand suns.”
“Another time. First, I have something to deal with. Do you know anything about a hospi-ship named Kuponya?”
“Sure, you missed it by a day. What about it?”
Cabot froze. “It was already here?”
Mendo frowned at Cabot’s reaction. “Yeah, docked for barely twelve hours and set off again. Didn’t even do any medical outreach. Must have been here for supplies or something.”
Cabot sighed. “I was hoping to catch up to it.”
“Sorry, mate.” Mendo looked sympathetic. “One of the Kuponya’s crew came in for a couple hours while it was here. Want me to reach out to the people who sat with her, see if they know anything about its business here or its next destination?”
“That’d be a big help. I need to catch up to that ship.” More importantly, he needed to catch up to Ditnya, but he couldn’t say that. Mendo was as trustworthy as the next trader, and that meant that for the right price, he’d sell Cabot out.
“No problem. You enjoy that whiskey so you can order another, and I’ll go put in some calls.” Mendo grinned.
Cabot laughed. “You get me a lead, and I’ll owe you more than the price of two drinks.”
Mendo pointed at Cabot as he left, reminding him of a frequent visitor to Dragonfire who liked to make finger-guns at people. Trin worked and lived aboard a different hospi-ship, and had been away from Dragonfire for much longer than usual.
It couldn’t hurt to send a message to Jerin, the captain of that ship, to see if she knew anything about the Kuponya.
“You’re in luck.” Mendo returned less than ten minutes later and poured Cabot a second whiskey.
He’d obediently drained the first one. “Three of my favorite words, right there.”
“A guy I know casually sat with that hospi-ship crew member. He says he might have some information that will help, but you have to go there and pay up front.”
“Is he reliable?”
“As far as I know. But I didn’t turn up anything else, so it’s worth taking a chance, right?” Mendo shoved an infoboard at him.
“If you think so, then it must be.” Cabot tossed back the entire whiskey, making fire shoot down his throat all the way to his stomach. “Thanks for checking into that for me.”
When Cabot grabbed the infoboard and stood, Mendo reached over the bar to put a hand on his arm. “Why such a hurry? You haven’t told me the story about you and Nagali.”
“I’ll do my best to stop back before I leave. If I can’t, I will make sure to tell you the story, either in person or on the voicecom.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a good one.” Mendo chuckled. “I look forward to it. Good luck.”
“I’ll need it,” Cabot muttered as he stood and smoothed out his tunic. “Luck hasn’t run my way very much lately.”
“You’re not dead yet, so you must be doing something right.”
It was an old adage, and summed up the Rescan way of life pretty well.
Tamati Parati’s shop sat just a couple blocks from the trendy part of the downtown area. A couple blocks made a big difference, though. In spite of being a stone’s throw from upscale eateries and shopping, the little storefront sat on the far side of an empty lot, away from any direct traffic. Judging from the scorch marks on the pavement, whatever building had stood there had burned down.
An actual metal bell stood over the door of the store, jingling merrily when Cabot opened the door.
“Be there in a second,” a voice called from somewhere Cabot couldn’t identify.
The small space was stacked high with crates and shelves, creating a disorderly chaos of randomly collected items.
Apparently, Mendo’s contact owned a junk store.
Cabot stepped slowly past seven stacked crates that leaned precariously to one side. Whoever this Tamati guy was, he clearly had no nose for business. A real businessperson wouldn’t throw their inventory around in such haphazard fashion.
Unless this storefront was, indeed, merely a front and the real business involved information.
Hmm.
“Sorry about that.” The man edged around a tower of boxes to approach Cabot, offering his arm in greeting. “My mother was calling on the voicecom, and she gets mad if I don’t answer. Tamati Parati.”
Cabot laughed, because Tamati was at least thirty years old, and far too mature to be expected to kowtow to a mother’s whims. “Your name’s a poem.”
Tamati sighed theatrically. “Like you’re the first person to ever notice that. Yeah, that’s my mom’s fault, too. She’s lucky I don’t put her in a home.”
They both laughed.
“I mean it, though,” Tamati said. “Anyway, what brings you here? I don’t get a lot of unfamiliar faces.”
“Mendo sent me. Said you talked to a female crewmember of the Kuponya.”
“Oh, right. Sure did. What are you looking to know? She wasn’t
your wife, was she? Because I never touched her.”
Cabot chuckled. The guy was a clown, full of a bunch of cliché lines. “Hardly. I don’t know her. But I am trying to find out where the ship was headed next. Did she give you any indication?”
Tamati eyed him. “If she did, what would it be worth to you?”
“Depends on how solid the information is, and how soon I could verify it. Payment would be held in a certified escrow account until validation. Standard protocol.”
“I see. Well, I know for certain where they were going next, because the lady didn’t want to go and complained rather bitterly. And you should be able to verify it in no time at all.”
Cabot pretended to mull over the question of how much information of that quality would be worth. “Five thousand cubics.”
“Ten.”
Cabot’s pulse increased. He loved few things as much as he loved haggling. “Six.”
“Nine.”
“Seventy-five hundred is the maximum I can do,” Cabot lied. “If that doesn’t work for you, I’ll have to find another hospi-ship.”
Tamati’s eyes flicked over Cabot. “You look like you can afford more than seventy-five, but you know what? I’m feeling generous. Especially since this information was just a right time and place kind of thing. It’s not like I made any investment, so it’s found money.”
“So where are they headed?” Cabot asked.
Tamati shook his head. “Escrow first.”
He reached for what Cabot assumed was an infoboard in his pocket, but Cabot got his out first. “Of course. First Rescissitan Group okay with you?”
“Sure.”
Cabot connected to the escrow company, created an account, and transferred money from his personal funds into it. He handed the infoboard to Tamati.
“Cabot Layne?” Tamati squinted at him.
Cabot realized he hadn’t mentioned his name. “Yes.”
Tamati frowned and rubbed his chin. “I could swear that name sounds familiar.”
“Of course it does,” Cabot said grandly. “My deeds and misdeeds are famous.”
Tamati laughed, erasing his frown. “Yeah, maybe Mendo mentioned you during a story at the bar one night. I bet that’s it.”
Tamati handed the infoboard back to Cabot. “There you go, signed and binding.”
Cabot tucked the infoboard back into his tunic, giving Tamati a pointed look.
“You don’t have far to go,” Tamati said. “They were headed to Rescissitan.”
“Any idea why?”
“A private hire. Something the woman didn’t like. She was first officer. Kept saying that this wasn’t what she joined a hospi-ship crew for.”
Cabot tried to imagine what Ditnya could have wanted that would make a hospi-ship officer unhappy. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think so, except that the woman likes Zerellian wine. The more she drank, the less coherent she became.”
“Hm. All right. Thanks for your help. I’ll initiate the escrow transfer when I’ve tracked down the Kuponya.”
“Normally, that might annoy me,” Tamati admitted, “but in this case, I have been one hundred percent truthful and have no worries.”
Cabot laughed. He kind of liked Tamati’s artlessness. He’d missed the casual shiftiness of his people.
“Good profits,” Cabot said in the first half of a casual Rescan goodbye.
“Good life,” Tamati answered, completing the ritual. “But hold the door for me on your way out, will you? I need to take some pottery supplies to my mom.”
“Pottery, huh?” Cabot remained at the door, waiting for Tamati.
“Yeah.” Tamati carried a large box that looked heavy, the way he was holding it. “Worst hobby ever. It’s messy, the clay weighs a ton, and she goes through a lot of it. And then she gives me all kinds of lopsided bowls and vases and stuff, and if I don’t put them out in my apartment and pretend to be using them, she yells at me about what a bad son I am.”
Cabot smiled and let the door swing shut behind them. Tamati would benefit from an upgrade to an automatic door, but from the look of the shop, he wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” Tamati asked. “My groundcar’s right across the street.”
Cabot debated. A taxi would be simpler, and he didn’t care about the cost. But Tamati would be more interesting company. “Sure. You could drop me at a monorail stop.”
He’d send a message to the others about knowing the Kuponya’s destination, then continue digging for any information he could find about who Ditnya had been dealing with in recent days.
“You bet. There’s one just up the street.” Tamati set the box in the backseat and gestured for Cabot to get in.
“Sure you don’t want me to take you straight to your next stop?” Tamati asked, starting the groundcar.
Cabot didn’t want the guy knowing where he went next. “Thanks, but—”
A deafening roar shook the ground and vibrated in his chest. The seconds that it took for him to turn his head and see that Tamati’s shop had just exploded ticked by like small eternities frozen in time.
Fire. Smoke. Debris raining down on the street, the empty lot, and the car they sat in. Pings and thunks sounded like small rocks were being dropped by the handful from far above.
Tamati’s mouth moved, but Cabot only heard muffled words too indistinct to recognize. In response, he pointed urgently at the road.
Tamati blinked, then nodded and began driving.
Whatever had happened, and whoever might have done it, they wanted to be far away from it.
Tamati knew a guy with enough medical knowledge to fix their hearing and give them an eye check. They’d holed up in a hotel room twenty kilometers from the blast site, and rented under a false name.
As soon as they could both hear and the medical guy had left, Cabot asked, “Have you had any contact with Ditnya Caine recently?”
“Of course not. Do I look like the kind of person she would call up for a chat?” Tamati looked at him like he was crazy.
Cabot wished he had pictures of Ditnya’s crew. “You said you don’t get many new faces. Have you had any other new ones in recent weeks?”
“Well, there was a Trallian. That was unusual.”
“A woman?” Cabot pressed.
“Yes. Why?”
“What did she want?”
“A particular type of clay. I didn’t think too much about it, since I’ve become a local source for that kind of thing, due to Mom’s hobby.”
“What kind of clay?” Cabot asked.
“A hard to get type from a Barony Coalition planet. It’s called R-4-E, and is tremendously conductive. You know, electrically.”
“What would you do with it?” Cabot didn’t know what Ditnya would want with clay.
“Artisans make lamps and novelty stuff out of it.” He shrugged. “It’s too expensive to use for much.”
“Super expensive electric clay. Okay.”
“Well, the clay isn’t electric, just conductive. You think that’s why my shop blew up, because I’d gotten in a big shipment?”
Cabot didn’t think it was coincidental. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Or you think it was that Trallian woman?”
“Again, I don’t know. Maybe.”
Tamati sighed. “Well, I hope it was arson or accident. I’ll get a nice insurance payout from either of those, much more than I could get if I sold that place. But if they decide it happened from neglect, I’ll get nothing.”
“If you need me to sign a statement or something, verifying that you were doing nothing hazardous at the time, I’m happy to do that.”
“Thanks, man. That’s straight up of you.”
Cabot hadn’t heard that phrase in a while, and it made him smile. “No problem. Are you cool? I’m going to have to get to my next destination.”
“Sure. Now that I can hear again, my mom won’t freak out when I tell her the store’s gon
e. She hated that place. Always said I didn’t have the nose for it.”
“Not everyone does,” Cabot said kindly.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll become a clay salesman or something,” Tamati joked.
“You never know which markets might be lucrative.”
As they left the room, Cabot said, “If you see that Trallian woman again, let me know, will you? And be sure to run the other way. Just in case.”
“Seems like fair advice.” Tamati waved as he went to his car.
Cabot doubled back to the room and began an aggressive voicecom search for any recent mentions of a Trallian woman on Sato.
Fallon was the last to arrive at the orbital elevator. She seemed tense, and Cabot didn’t like what that might mean.
They said nothing on the way up to the Nefarious, other than making casual observations and keeping up just enough basic conversation to appear normal to the other people riding up.
When they got to the ship, that immediately changed. “Meeting room. I want to hear everything.”
Cabot had sent her a basic message that indicated he knew the destination of the hospi-ship, so he proceeded to describe every detail of his encounters with Mendo and Tamati.
Fallon looked unconvinced. “So we’re to believe Ditnya wants this special clay? And why blow up that shop? Could she have rigged it for your presence? Or was that a coincidence?”
“Or,” Raptor said, “was it some rival who didn’t want her to have the clay?”
They fell silent.
“Oh, that’s good. I like him,” Nagali said.
“I got some surveillance video,” Raptor said. “It shows Pigie arriving in a shuttle, and leaving the same way. She came on her own.”
“When? Which dates, exactly?”
Raptor showed him on an infoboard.
Cabot thought back. “Those are the dates Pigie didn’t show up in meetings on the Bona Fide. She must have had one heck of a fast shuttle to get here and back before I realized she was gone.”
Omar spoke up. “I talked to some people who had seen some of the crew from the hospi-ship, but there was nothing useful.”
“Actually,” Nagali said, “he spent most of his time drinking and eating breakfast hash. He showed up at the restaurant where I met a friend, but I didn’t find anything helpful, either.”
