by David Drake
“Whatever,” Yates said aloud. “I ordered you one - same Savik Row tailor, same material, close as the guy could come, anyhow. Said he didn't have just the same bolt, but he had something you'd liked that was similar. I had him ship it up here, since I knew where your office was.”
McLeod smiled politely, this time meeting Yates' eyes. Sam Yates sat up straight. You didn't mess with somebody who looked at you like that, not unless you had a damned good reason.
And Ella wasn't saying a word, just sitting there watching her hands in her lap.
McLeod replied, though, in a confidentially low tone of voice: “Nice detection on your part, Supervisor Yates - finding my tailor. But really, you needn't have bothered. Returning the one Ella loaned you will do - “
“One she loaned me's got blood and serum stains that aren't going to come out of merino wool, I've been told by experts. Let's cut the small talk. What do you want with me - us?” He shot a look at Yesilkov.
Ella put her folded hands on the table, and Sam Yates noticed a ring she hadn't worn before. Then he knew what they wanted here - or hoped he did.
Before Taylor could comment about the bloodstains, Ella said, “Sam, Ting - Taylor and I - are announcing our engagement next week. We wanted you to be the first to know.” She smiled wanly.
Sam Yates wanted to ask if it was his fault if she wanted this guy, or was just paying off for everybody's mess: Yates', Yesilkov's, her own. But he couldn't do that.
“That's great. Congratulations. I guess that means you'll be leaving the Moon for greener pastures.”
In the awkward silence only Yesilkov laughed, an explosive little burst.
“It means nothing of the sort,” Ella Bradley said archly, with a glint in her eye. “We'll be working here, both of us, until the wedding next year. And probably thereafter.''
“So,” said Yates, nodding his head. “I don't know if you want or need any assurances from me, McLeod, about how closely held the truth is - “
“I don't need any such thing, Yates,” said Taylor McLeod, stressing a form of address he obviously considered inappropriate. “But Ella wanted you two to know in no uncertain terms that we've got matters well in hand. There's no need to be concerned or to follow up in any way. I suppose, although it's irregular, it's our thank-you gift to you two. You just go about your business as usual, and there will be no repercussions. You have my word on it.” Taylor McLeod stood up and again offered Yates his hand.
The USIA man's grasp was as firm and dry now as it had been previously. Ella's, when she offered it, was moist and cold.
He looked hard at her and said very softly, “You okay, babe?”
She nodded, and again he caught the twinkle in her eye. She said good-bye to Yesilkov politely, and she and McLeod walked back to their car.
Yates waited until he'd seen McLeod take her hand and help her decorously into its rear seat before he took another breath. The car door slammed and the big machine moved off into traffic.
“Chrissake,” muttered Yesilkov, “I feel like I just been interrogated.”
“Vetted, more like,” Sam Yates murmured, easing down in his own chair to prod his greasy pizza. “But it's nice to know they aren't going to try and hang this mess on us - not soon, not someday, not ever.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sony a Yesilkov with laughter in her voice. “And it's nice to know that your girlfriend's plannin' on seein' y' now and again, even though she's landed her an upscale husband.”
“Nah, that's not why she came. You're wrong. That one gets married, she'll be married . . . like you and me don't know how to - “
Yesilkov cocked her head at him and made a derisive noise that caused Yates to recall the odd look Ella had given him. Promise or apology, surely. But he was damned if he knew which.
Then Yesilkov started to laugh teasingly, and he found himself joining in, protesting, “Look, get off my back, Sonya. Knowing the McLeods 'socially' has got to be better than Leavenworth. Not only did we come out of this alive, but we've still got our jobs and each other. And friends in high places ...”
You couldn't get much higher than the Moon.
