Faz nearly choked on his fury. “No weapons in here! I being calling security!”
The young Human gave him a chilly smile, the line of temporary mood gem decals on his upper teeth flashing a dangerous yellow. “Coma-down, back-beak, it’s not a weapon,” he sneered. “it’s a scanner. Just making sure you’re complying with all the Plexis and Trade Pact regulations governing the trafficking of living creatures.”
“Not being your business, not being your business!” Faz screeched back. “I being calling security!”
The shouting was starting to attract a crowd, and Daniel shook his head in disgust. “Faz. Faz!” He banged his palm on the counter. “Rose’s discount!”
The Tolian snapped one eye around while keeping the other trained on the Human in the doorway as he sauntered a few steps into the shop, waving the scanner in the direction of the back room.
“Fine, fine!” Faz snarled, snatching up the plas sheet. “You being getting discount and going! You being telling Rose, I being having no more her hatchlings in here; no more!” He changed the amount and threw it back at him, panting in agitation.
The transaction complete, Daniel scooped up the parcels, depositing them into a bag on his shoulder before dropping a small cloth bundle on the counter. “From Rose. She heard your brood sibs were visiting and thought you might want something for your nerves.”
The Tolian snorted loudly, but the fluttering of his vestigial neck feathers noticeably calmed. “Sure, sure, nerves, frustration, temper, whatever,” he muttered. “They’ve gone home now.” But he scooped the bundle up anyway, breathing in the scent of bertwee oil with obvious pleasure. “Tell Rose there’s a big shipment coming in next week from Letis III. Good stuff. Many savings.”
“I’ll tell her. See you then.” Daniel left without bothering to acknowledge the person who was still waving his scanner about with an air of mock authority.
He merged effortlessly into the crowded concourse, avoiding half a dozen grav carts and as many bundle-laden servos weaving their way through the multitude of peoples before reaching a plain, gray pillar covered in plas flyers. As he leaned against it with a calculated air of bored indifference, the other joined him, the untied laces of his boots slapping against the floor announcing his approach before he appeared. He nodded amiably to a group of Turrned Missionaries handing out small plas tracts before vaulting over a line of scraggy bushes.
Daniel glanced over at him.
“Hey, Jack.”
“Hey, Dazer. S’all right?”
“S’all right as starlight.”
“You get it?”
“Oh, yeah. He was so novaed up by your little toy there that he totally miswrote it just like you figured.” He showed the plas sheet to his companion. “Twenty-five percent off. Rose’ll be happy.”
“Sonic.” Jack’s gaze suddenly focused on the concert imprint on Daniel’s T-shirt. His eyes widened.
“Thought you hated Soft Blast music?”
“Got four at seventy-five percent off at The Be There Shop. The band’s playing a one-day gig here next week, and the shop misprinted about fifty shirts.”
“I’ll say. They spelled After-BRNR wrong, and the Neblokan in the band doesn’t even play the keffleflute.”
“And the color’s putrid, too, but they were cheap, so . . .” Daniel shrugged. “What’s your excuse?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Jack’s shirt. “Thought you were a vegan?”
“Yeah, well. For them, I’d make an exception.”
“Any one in particular?”
“A few in particular, but I’ll let Wark explain it to you. He’s waiting for us back at Rose’s.”
Daniel glanced at the grim set of Jack’s jaw.
“Something’s happened.”
“Not happened and won’t happen.”
“Do we need to pick up supplies?”
“Later. Wark’ll have most of his shopping list ready by now, but like I said, I’ll let him explain it to you. I’ll just blow my jets again if I tried.”
“Fair enough.”
Daniel headed back into the crowded concourse, Jack falling into step beside him. Jack’s temper was legendary, especially if it involved what he’d called “the trafficking of living creatures,” but Daniel had seen the mood gems sparkling the pale blue of extreme distress and wondered if Jack knew how much they actually revealed about him. Probably not, and he probably wouldn’t care even if Daniel told him. Other people’s opinions about him meant nothing to Jack.
They ducked through a service door a few moments later; after ensuring that they were alone and that no vermin were lurking in dark corners, their glittering, red-eyed stare promising a nasty bite to anyone stupid enough to approach them, they followed a series of labyrinthine corridors swarming with servo transports, messengers, and tankers. Daniel paused now and then to check his tiny, hand-painted symbols on the walls and to ensure the security vids in the areas they were traveling were still in need of repairs before they swarmed up a ladder for three levels. Another maze of corridors, another ladder, and they emerged into an entirely new section. From there, they caught a ramp.
It took nearly half an hour to reach their destination; Upper Retail Level 104, spinward ¾. The concourse here was wider, the floors shinier, with delicate fountains and tall decorative shrubbery in heavy, silver-colored planters, and warm golden lighting creating areas of quiet privacy for shoppers who were, to Daniel’s eyes, also wider and shinier. The shops themselves were big and bright with invitingly open doors and neatly arranged racks of goods displayed on either side of genuine glass display windows.
Station security was also more pronounced here, but they purposely ignored them. Despite their appearance, Jack and Daniel traversed this level under the auspices of one of the richest merchants on Plexis, and security knew it. Weaving through the plants, they made for a large shop situated between an expensive wine seller and a high end art gallery. Above the opaque crimson glass doors, a beautifully hand-painted sign spelled out Rose Red’s Tree of Life Emporium.
Quiet music and the delicate odor of warmed spices wrapped about them as they reached the door. It opened soundlessly at their approach, causing an involuntary relaxation of Daniel’s muscles. He glanced over to see the perpetual scowl on Jack’s face smooth to one approximating relative peace. They were safe here. They were, as much as either of them could admit to it, home.
A trio of tiny bells sounded as they crossed the threshold, causing the soft portlights to brighten just enough for them to see inside. The front showroom was wide, taking up twice the floor space of most shops even on this level. Crystals, wind chimes, and small handwoven tapestries depicting trees and arcane symbols hung from the ceiling, while racks of caftans, scarves, wraparounds, and voluminous silk trousers took up the center. One wall held shelves of actual books and vids, while the other contained glass cases filled with all manner of candles, incense, incense burners, spices in colorful cloth bags, and ceramic bowls of potpourri. Tables scattered about displayed packs of cards, polished stones of various sizes and colors, and small animal statuary. Toward the back, several easi-rests were filled with customers of one species or another, all reading books and drinking steaming beverages from tiny porcelain cups. On the back wall, an alcove to the right contained various musical objects: flutes, finger chimes, shakers, and reed pipes on the upper shelves, with music stands, cases, and stacks of sheet music on the lower. The alcove to the left held old-fashioned art supplies ranging from real wooden brushes and pots of paint to hand-carved pens and tiny bottles of ink. Two central doorways covered in beaded curtains led to various back rooms, some open, some closed. Daniel glimpsed movement in the nearest and knew Terval’s Tee-Can-Do class was still in session. Near the front door, beside a basket of cloth bags decorated with the store’s tree symbol, stood a polished wooden counter; a state-of-the-art retail reader on one side, and a ra
ck of candy sticks on the other. The Human female behind the counter, her thick, curly white hair liberally streaked with neon pink, wore a garish orange sweater covered in holographic sequins and a multicolored pleated silk skirt. She was short and plump; her deep, honey-golden skin, some four shades darker than Daniel’s, was lined with fine wrinkles and dappled with flower tattoos. Her dark eyes, sparkling with the memory of a mischievous and joyful childhood, lit up still further when she spied the pair.
They ambled over, Daniel slipping behind the counter to deposit the packages underneath along with the two Emporium business airtags he and Jack had been using.
“Hey, Rose.”
“Hey, yourself, sweet-pie. And how’s my darling Jotherion today?”
Jack rolled his eyes, both at the endearment and at his given name, but smiled despite himself. “All right as portlights, Rose. You?”
“Sunny and centered as always, dear one.” She paused to accept payment for a small carved pipe and a packet of herbs from a Vilix customer, wrapping it carefully in one of the Emporium tote bags for him before returning her attention to them. “Everything go smoothly with Faziquan?”
Daniel nodded. “He squawked a bit, but it’s all starlight.”
“Good. I hope the bertwee oil helps. He’s always so unsettled when his brood sibs visit.”
“He’s over it. He mentioned the shipment coming in from Letis III. Looks like we’ll have first pick.”
“That’s very kind of him. Are you two hungry?”
In the process of tearing open a ration tube with his teeth, Jack grinned widely, his mood gems flashing a greedy, bright green. “Always.”
“The Leaf Basket Cafe held a workshop last night and there’s plenty of veggie pies left, unless Warren’s finished them all . . .”
Rose chuckled as Jack headed for the back immediately, but held out one beringed hand to forestall Daniel from following just yet.
“Warren’s got my storeroom covered with plas sheets and blueprints,” she said quietly. “Will I be having security knocking at my door today?”
Daniel frowned, remembering Jack’s grim expression. “Probably not, but . . .”
“Say no more for now, just keep me informed, okay?”
“Will do.”
Rose turned as a waft of nostril-burning . . . the closest comparison Daniel had ever managed was rotten potatoes dipped in Retian pond scum . . . drifted over to them. “Berle, put that down please. I’ve told you three times, it’s a Barsium egg; it’s not for eating.”
She brushed past Daniel, making for a Lemmick customer holding the object in question in one delicate hand.
Checking to be sure the air filters were on—Rose was notorious for forgetting to activate them when she opened the shop—Daniel followed Jack, careful to keep upwind of Berle.
Unlike the front, the Emporium’s storeroom was modern and well protected by a heavy door that was pass-code and palm-lock protected. Daniel didn’t manage to catch up to Jack before it snicked closed behind him. By the time he got in and reached the table at the far side of the room, Jack had piled most of the veggie pies onto a plate and was pouring cold sombay into a self-warming cup. Daniel grabbed the last two pies and turned.
“Hey, Wark.”
The last of their group, Human, same age but larger, was seated at a table covered in plas sheets. He waved distractedly at him. Tall and muscular, he was dressed in cutoff spacer trousers similar to the others, but rather than Jack’s retro T-shirt and Daniel’s cast-off concert misprint, he wore a plain sleeveless purple tank top that Jack had once accused him of wearing just to show off the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Warren hadn’t bothered to deny it. His hair was much shorter than theirs at the sides, with a stiff strip of bone-white bristles stretching from forehead to the nape of his neck and ending in a thick long braid, that threw his dark brown skin and glittering black eyes into sharp relief.
“Did you tell him?”
His mouth filled with food, Jack shook his head.
“Right.” Warren caught up a remote, pointed it at the viswall behind the food table, then frowned.
“Pull that plas ad down, will you, Dazer?”
Once Daniel had tossed the offending flyer for Plexis’ latest anonymous clinic, Jack called down the portlights, and Warren pressed the start button.
“YOUR LOVED ONES ARE IMPORTANT TO YOU, ESPECIALLY IN DEATH. SEND THEM OFF WITH A MEMORABLE TRIBUTE, TAILORED TO YOUR INDIVIDUAL NEEDS, BY THE CARING PROFESSIONS AT CARDALE, MORLON, AND PIX FUNERARY SERVICES!”
The ad-vid continued in slightly less strident tones, showing scenes of weeping peoples comforted by three somberly clad beings amid a variety of sites from grassy hills and small lakes to factory-style crematoriums and vast banquet halls.
“AND NOW, OUR NEWEST SITE LOCATED IN A PRIME UPPER LEVEL OF THE LEGENDARY PLEXIS SUPERMARKET, IS ABLE TO OFFER AN EXCLUSIVE SYMBOLIC EVENT GUARANTEED TO BRING SOLACE TO EVEN THE MOST BEREAVED FAMILY MEMBER!”
The viswall filled with the image of a luxury yacht with a group of apparently grieving beings huddled together before a wide viewport. While appropriately serious music tinged with a note of anticipation played in the background, a dozen searchlights suddenly illuminated the blackness of space, an air lock opened, and the group of beings gasped as a vast swarm of iridescent insects shot out to cover the viewport in a shimmering curtain of living color, then, one by one, burst apart in a spray of brilliant crimson, emerald and sapphire. The group gasped again, and one of them, a Human female with dark makeup about her eyes realistically smudged from tears, threw her arms wide in an outpouring of emotion.
“IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL!”
“CARDALE, MORLON, AND PIX; FULFILLING THE FUNERARY NEEDS OF THE GALAXY ELITE. CONTACT US TODAY!”
The vid froze on the faces of the three soberly clad beings, then shut off. The glow-in-the-dark tattoos on Warren’s face sparkled for an instant before he called up the portlights again.
“They’re Anisoptera,” Jack said, the flatness of his tone belied by the pale blue of his mood gems. “They’re native to every continent on Ladin V where they’re known as Rainbow-cloaks.”
“The funeral company called them Parvus-flies in their ad-vids,” Warren added quietly. “It means . . .”
“It means cheap, ignorable, unimportant!” Jack snarled. “The Ladin V Anisoptera can grow up to the length of my arm, with double wing pairs three times that length. They can live up to eighteen planetary years, camouflage their flight paths, migrate across entire oceans, and fly faster than an aircar with a nine G acceleration on sharp turns. They have incredibly complex life stages. They can eat half their weight in insects every day. They’re not unimportant! During mating flights, the clusters are so big they almost blot out the sun, covering the entire landscape in rainbows. They’re not ignorable either!”
He threw himself into a chair, panting with rage.
“And they’re being exploited and killed in the vacuum of space by three greedy waste-holes trying to suck as many creds as possible out of a bunch of elitist waste-holes,” Warren added.
Daniel glanced from one to the other.
“So when is this newest site opening, Wark?”
“In four station days.”
“Where?”
Warren caught up a plas sheet.
“Upper Level 231, spinward ¾,” he read. “They have four docks, one for deliveries, one for themselves, and two that link up to private corridors—one that brings clients to their facilities and one that takes them to that viewing yacht we saw in the ad-vid. It’s already here.” He tossed another plas sheet; a schematic of the level in question, across the table.
Daniel studied it. “Yeah, I know the site. It used to be an exotic catering company.”
“Chewy something.”
“Chew-able Luxuries. The CEO embezzled it into bankruptcy
and flew off to some non-Trade Pact planet.”
Jack made a rude noise.
“Have they got a first . . . event booked?” Daniel asked.
“In six station days.”
“Who’s the client?”
Warren shuffled through the plas sheets. “Lithe-Lime Athletic Wear. You know them?” he asked when Daniel whistled.
“Yeah. They have three retail stores here on Plexis plus their own delivery dock, a satellite office, a restaurant, and a host of expensive hotel suites.”
“They the ones with that stupid ad slogan?” Jack asked suddenly.
“Yeah. ‘Lithe-Lime, Your Life-line to a Better Life,’” Daniel sneered. “Seems to me I heard that some vice president of theirs kicked it. So, what’s the plan?”
“Stop Cardale, Morlon, and Pix from operating on Plexis,” Warren answered.
Jack nodded his agreement. “Stop ’em, crush ’em, and drive ’em out. Plus punch Lithe-Lime in the nose for being a bunch of elitist waste-holes.”
“That’s a pretty tall order. How?”
“We break it down, one job at a time as always. First, recon.” Warren pointed at Daniel. “I need to know when the Anisoptera are coming in, how they’re being transported—it’ll probably be in a tripbox, but I need to know its dimensions and where—” He made a face at the thought of repeating the long list of names, “—where C. M. P. are storing it. I also need the itinerary of both companies around the event and any other programming; how many staff, how long their shifts are and where, and if they’re operating on a daytime/nighttime schedule. I have an idea how to get the Anisoptera back to Ladin V, but I’m gonna have to do some more thinking about that.”
He pointed at Jack. “I need security personnel schedules and security tech. That’s part one.”
As if on cue, the room’s com buzzed. Jack reached up and hit the receive button.
The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis Page 8
