“Is that so?” Hawkins said with a look of shock. “Hard to imagine, wouldn’t you say, Elwood?”
“Astonishing,” Elwood said with some effort.
“I’m sure you’ll be picked up faster than a slow mouse in an open field with a hungry owl on the loose.”
“What?”
“He’s saying that there will no doubt be a young man that will find your beauty such that he will shower you with affection until you succumb to his advances.”
Hawkins gave Elwood an appraising glance. “You’re catching on, son.”
“I have my moments.”
“Miss Dardenella...”
“Vera.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Hawkins said, clasping his hands to his chest. “Vera,” he continued, “I was wondering if you could help an old friend find some information on the shipments and receivables of a particular company. Me and Elwood here is on an investigation.”
“Oh,” she said, scanning the area. “We’re not supposed to do that, Mr. uh...”
“Hawkins,” he said with a bit of hurt on his face. “I thought sure you’d remember me, ma’am. But I understand. I’m not the looker that you is. Name’s Tucker Hawkins, ma’am.”
Vera’s mouth dropped open with a look of someone that just asked a non-pregnant, overweight woman how many months she had before delivery.
“I didn’t remember your name,” she said pitifully. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No harm done, Miss...Vera.” Hawkins stepped around to her side and knelt down, brushing his stomach along her desk as he did so. “I just need a couple of pieces of information, Vera. If you could help out an old friend, that is.”
“Okay, okay,” she said worriedly. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but if it’s just a few things...”
“For an old friend.”
“For an old friend, yes,” she added.
“And remember that I work for the IIB anyway, so I know how to keep the data locked up tighter than a squirrel keeps his stash for the winter.”
“What?”
“He’ll put the information in a tree,” Elwood translated.
“Close enough,” Hawkins said. “Close enough.”
DAPLACE
CLEB AND PAT tried to look inconspicuous.
It was easy enough for Cleb since they were sitting in DaPlace, a club that was the hangout for larger races. Uknarians were the most prominent frequenters. Yetians, those high-minded scientific types that looked to Cleb like tall hairy primates with overly large feet, came in second. Nooquats, the ultra high-minded types that were rail thin, had normal sized feet, who enjoyed standing in the corners with umbrella-topped fizzy drinks as they prattled telepathically with each other from across the room, were a distant third.
Pat, being Human, was completely out of place, especially since she was a female. The male to female ratio in DaPlace was skewed to the male side, so any female, regardless of race, including Neflirians, were considered a commodity.
“Who are we looking for, again?” Pat asked, seemingly oblivious to the stares she was getting.
“I don’t know,” Cleb answered while he continued to scan the bar, “but supposedly we’ll know da guy when we see him.”
“Is he a Mechanican?”
“All I know is dat Truhbel said dat dey got a message dat some guy was gonna be here wif some intel. You know dees fings never pan out.”
“I think he’s a Mechanican,” Pat said.
“Let’s just mosey around and see if he finds us.”
Cleb started off through the crowd as he wondered when the word “mosey” had shown up in his vocabulary. It had to have come from too many interactions with Hawkins. Many people already thought Uknarians were dumb because of the way they talked, the last thing Cleb needed to do was add to that misconception. Picking up on Hawkins’s colloquialisms would not help this image. Saying words like “colloquialisms” would, if only Cleb were able to say words like “colloquialisms” instead of just think them.
In most instances, Cleb could part through people with relative ease. But these patrons were densely packed and statistically large bodied. After about twenty feet he turned back and noted that Pat wasn’t with him.
He cut back through and found her standing at the table where he had left her, and she wasn’t alone. One Yetian, who had no chance at all, and a group of Uknar, were chatting her up. Cleb shook his head and listened in on a few of the comments.
“...and dey told me der was no sunshine on da CCOP,” a fellow with green hair said.
Pat rolled her eyes at him.
“Are dem shoulder blades?” one of the shorter Uknar said. “I fought dey was wings.”
Pat just looked at him.
“You know,” the guy explained, “cause you is an angel type.”
“Right,” Pat said and then turned to the next one with her eyebrows up.
“Um,” the fellow she was looking at said, “I’m new in dis area, could I get directions to your place?”
“Wow,” Pat replied.
“Your turn,” Pat said to the Yetian.
“You know that we have formally met already, I do assume, yes, hmmm?” He had a musical voice that betrayed his ferocious visage.
“We have?”
“Oh, most assuredly. You may recall having a dream where you were faced with your perfect mate? Well, I was the gentleman standing next to him.”
Pat smiled and then laughed. It was a laugh that Cleb had rarely heard. A laugh that made him avoid, at all costs, sharing anything that he thought could trigger it. Snorting, hacking, and hiccups all rolled into one flew out of Pat Whittaker whenever she heard something that she deemed hilarious.
By the time she pulled herself together and wiped the snot from her face, Cleb was the only male remaining.
“Where’d they all go?”
Cleb shrugged. “I guess I scared dem off. Sorry.”
“That one guy was funny,” she said.
“Yep, funny,” he said, somewhat shocked that the Yetian turned out to be the only one who did have a chance.
Cleb grabbed her by the arm to make sure he wouldn’t lose her again.
“Why did you say you fink dat da guy we’re supposed to meet is a Merchanercan?”
“Because,” she said as they ducked and weaved through the mass of drunken patrons, “the one standing over there has the word ‘Snitch’ written across his shirt.”
Cleb snorted, assuming it was just Pat being Pat. Who would be stupid enough to wear a shirt that says “Snitch” on it? Then his eyes landed on the Mechanican Pat had mentioned. Not only was the word blazingly emboldened on the poor thing’s shirt, it was cycling through a rainbow of colors.
“I’ll be damned.”
The Mechanican seemed jittery. He kept pulling up his VizScreen and was edging toward the door. Cleb got in his way before he made his escape.
“You da snitch?”
The Mechanican froze. “Um, yes,” he said. “That’s what my shirt says.”
“Yeah, I saw dat, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“Why not? That’s my name.”
“That may be, but you didn’t have to wear dat as a sign around your neck.”
“How else would you have known who to look for? I had to stand out in the crowd.”
“Look around,” Cleb said. “See all dem Uknars and stuff?”
“Certainly. I also see Yetians, and—”
“Right,” Cleb cut him off. “See any Merchanercans?”
“Of course not,” Snitch said as he waved his hand at Cleb. “No Mechanican would frequent this place unless he were working here.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cleb wanted to pop the thing’s noggin off. “You coulda just said you was a Merchanercan!”
“Oh,” said Snitch after a moment. “I didn’t think about that.”
There were a few sets of eyes watching the exchange and a few more sets looking Pat up an
d down. Cleb pulled the bot into one of the corners, pushing an unhappy Nooquat out of the way.
“Dat’s an odd name anyway. Snitch.” Cleb said it like he was rolling it around his teeth. “Who names der kid Snitch?” Then Cleb remembered he was talking to a bot. “Or whoever names Merchanercans, I mean.”
“I got my name at the military complex where I was created,” Snitch explained. “I was created for the intelligence group on Spaker-27, during the war of 111. They designed me to be an Informant. And that’s what they called me...among other things that I dare not repeat.”
“So your actual name is Informant?”
“More of a designation. Spaker-27 is not known for giving rights to Mechanicans. When the war was over they began gathering us all up and putting us into the grinder. I was one of the lucky ones that escaped. I boarded a cargo ship heading toward the CCOP and got a job working in the sewers.”
“That must stink,” Pat said.
“Literally,” Cleb agreed.
“Better than being caught up in a grinder,” Snitch said. “Anyway, nobody felt comfortable calling me ‘Informant,’ so one of the workers...one of her type,” he motioned toward Pat, “started calling me ‘Snitch’ instead.”
“Dat makes sense,” Cleb said. “And it looks like dat you’re still carrying on da name’s purpose too.”
Snitch’s eyes dimmed and he crossed his arms. “It’s part of my base programming.”
“So what’s dis information you got?”
Snitch checked the area and leaned in.
“The two Mechanicans that died today,” he said, “were both laid off by the manufacturing division.”
Cleb caught the focused sound. He could tell because it was almost like listening to someone talk through a small tube. It was muffled and tinny. Nobody else would be able to pick up what the bot said. Except Pat, who had a talent for hearing most anything.
“Yeah, we know dat already,” Cleb said, now realizing that this was a ruse.
“You do?”
“Yeah, but why do you fink dat’s important?”
“Because,” Snitch said, his hands flailing, “it shows correlation!”
“Dey was laid off weeks apart,” Cleb pointed out.
Snitch shuffled for a moment, looking around. “Okay, but did you know that Mr. Jones was seen at the docks talking to his boss, a guy named Pezder, shortly before he died?”
“Didn’t know dat part,” Cleb responded, even though he did know it. To sell the lie a little better, he quickly jotted down a fake note before looking back up. “And why do you fink dat is important?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Maybe,” Cleb said, not looking up from his paper. “Still wondering what you’re finking about it.”
“This is very strange behavior,” Snitch responded in his directed voice. “My programming dictates that I gather information and deliver it. There is nothing that imports my having to provide color commentary.”
“If you don’t have an opinion,” Pat said, stepping in, “why not just send a message instead?” She turned to Cleb. “Why are we here, again?”
“To talk to dis guy about intel,” Cleb responded patiently.
“Oh, right,” said Pat, and then she winked at a couple of Uknar standing at the bar.
Cleb sighed and shook his head.
“How did she hear what I’d said?” Snitch asked Cleb.
“Good hearing.”
“But I used a direct tone so only you could hear me. She should not have been able to hear that!”
“Well, I did,” Pat replied, nonplussed. She looked at Cleb. “Should I rough him up?”
“No,” Cleb said, placing an arm between the two and then leveled his gaze at Snitch. He’d thought about arresting the bot, mostly for its own protection. The likelihood of it surviving was low, but Cleb had nothing to warrant an arrest at this point. “You got nuffin’ more den dat?”
“That’s all I know,” Snitch answered frantically. “Honest. I thought it would be helpful. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“I don’t fink you’re sorry,” Cleb said. “I fink you was told to waste our time. You did good too. Maybe you should change your name to Waste...suits your job better too.”
“Yeah,” Pat said as if she knew what was happening. “You wasted my time too. Didn’t he, Cleb?”
“Dat’s right, Pat. He did.”
Cleb lifted his arm and let the Mechanican drift out into the streets. Chances are the poor bastard wouldn’t survive the night, assuming his boss was the same guy that had Walter and Bob off’d. If Snitch had any brains, he’d run back to the sewers, change his name, and try to blend in with the sewage until this all blew over.
“Let’s get outta here,” said Cleb as he dragged Pat toward the exit.
“Excuse me,” a rather bulky Uknar said to Pat on their way out.
Pat shook free of Cleb’s grip and he stopped with a sigh.
Cleb knew damn well that she wasn’t about to bed down with any of these males, so she was just enjoying the attention. Not that he could blame her since he would be the first to admit not wanting to leave an establishment where there were many females vying for his attention. Sadly, he’d not found such a club as yet.
“Yes?” Pat said.
“Dat’s a nice shirt you got on der,” the Uknar said.
“Oh, you like it?”
“Can I talk you out of it?”
Pat looked him over and scoffed. “I don’t think it would fit you.”
“Huh? No, I meant like—”
“I think he’s more your type, Cleb,” Pat said over her shoulder.
Cleb blinked a few times wondering what she meant by that. Just as he was about to ask for clarification, another Uknar stepped up.
“I have dis magic watch right here,” the Uknar said as he held up his wrist to show a flashy, diamond-jeweled timepiece, “and it’s saying—”
“What’s a watch?”
“Um,” the Uknar paused and gave her a funny look. “Well, it’s dis fing that tells you what time it is.”
“Why not just use your VizScreen?”
“I got one of dem too, but dis is decorative.”
“Oh,” Pat said, studying the watch. “It is rather interesting, I’ll admit.”
“Like I said, it’s magical too.”
“Magical? How?”
He held it up to his ear. “It’s saying dat you’re not wearing any underpants. Is dat true?”
“No,” Pat replied, putting her hands on her hips.
“Oh wait,” the Uknar said, tapping the watch, “it looks like dis stupid watch is a running fast again.”
“Cute,” she said. “Very cute.”
“Dat’s da only way I know how to be!”
“I’m sure it is,” she said as another one approached her.
This Uknar pushed watch-boy out of the way, polished off his drink, and looked Pat square in the eye. “I’ll bet you fifty credits dat you won’t sleep wif me.”
She shook her head and with a tight smile, said, “I don’t gamble.”
The next one to approach her looked nervous. His eyes kept darting about and Cleb was starting to worry. Slowly, he moved in closer.
“Listen,” the Uknar said to Pat, “Local Aufority is trying to confiscate my manhood.”
Pat’s brow furrowed. “Your what?”
“Manhood,” the guy said and then caught that she didn’t know what he meant. “Um, you know, my penis.”
Pat eyes widened. “Oh! Local is trying to take that away from you? Really?”
“Yep,” the Uknar replied seriously. “I don’t want to lose it, so I was wondering if I could hide it inside of you?”
Cleb grunted and covered his eyes. He knew the laugh was coming and he couldn’t bear seeing it twice in one night. On the plus side, at least they’d have a wide berth at getting out of the DaPlace when she was finished.
BELLS AND WHISTLES
ALL ZIMP HAD
to do was act like he was interested in joining The Starliner cult, find out as much information about it as he could, and report back to Prime Dresker.
Zimp had read thousands of books on undercover operations and he’d seen countless VizFilms on espionage.
But all those stories were fiction.
This was real.
There was nobody to yell “cut” if things went wrong. If anyone yelled “cut,” it probably meant something entirely different, and Zimp had no interest being on the receiving end of that alternate meaning.
He was worried and his chips were buzzing with fear, but Prime Dresker’s words came back to him: “If you want to be a member of this team,” he had said, “you have to be willing to take the same risks that we all have to take.”
After building up his courage, Zimp stepped out of the shadows and approached the guard.
§ § §
For the first time in the year that Telian had been part of The Starliner, she didn’t want to be in the office.
There was only one day left before The Captain came back and, while she wished the moment were now, she wanted to experience as much of the CCOP’s city life as possible before they departed.
The Leader had forbidden it. He had made his point clear that he expected no more risk-taking.
Still, she vowed to at least have one, or maybe even two, more flings with her new Uknar friends before The Captain returned.
Telian knew The Leader cast a judging eye on her promiscuity, but there was nothing in the writings that said she couldn’t enjoy herself, regardless of whom she chose to bed down with. No matter how much she told herself this, though, she still felt pangs of guilt and frustration that The Leader viewed her programming as flawed.
Telian had been created as a SensualBot, and everyone within viewing distance knew that. Her core instructions craved physicality and sensual pleasures. To remove this data was to remove her from the equation of who she was.
She looked out over the city. She would miss the CCOP. It wasn’t a perfect place, no, but it had character. There were no two buildings alike. Similar, sure, but each had its own color or shape or shine, much like the varied races, cultures, and creeds that swarmed over the floating city day and night. It was a sociologist’s dream world.
Starliner (The Intergalactic Investigation Bureau Book 1) Page 18
