by Stefon Mears
Cuthbert ordered grilled chicken with vegetables, which Jacobs considered a waste of the Ambrosia’s chef. But the chef had plenty to deal with among the rest of the orders, as the businesspeople ranged all over the menu for their orders.
Except Mancuso, who had to order off the menu. Jacobs wondered if that had been a calculated part of ordering last, a way of one-upping his contemporaries. He decided that he didn’t really want to know.
Instead, Jacobs tried distraction, using one of the ice-breaker questions Zoltan had given him back when Jacobs had complained that having to eat with the passengers every night meant trying to find something to say to a bunch of people who could not possibly understand the life Jacobs had lived.
Typical Zoltan. Ask him a serious question, get a pat, easy answer in list form. Jacobs had sometimes speculated that, as a little boy, Zoltan organized his toys daily depending on whether he expected to play by himself, with his brothers, or with various of his friends.
“One thing I do love about the Horizon Cusp is getting to dine at Ambrosia every night,” said Jacobs. “I don’t mind telling you that I’ve docked at many a strange port in my days as a sailor, and I’ve eaten many a strange dish. Some I couldn’t recognize. Some I wished I couldn’t.”
Jacobs had their attention now, and that last line even got a couple of smiles, though the widest, of course, was Mancuso’s. “But by far the strangest dish I’ve ever been served was a thousand year egg.” Jacobs shook his head. “Yolk black as deepest space and consistency like jelly. Or maybe jellyfish. Either way, the taste wasn’t so bad. Bit salty, almost like a cheese.”
“How did you end up eating one?” asked Cuthbert.
“When you’re a young man seeing new ports, you always want to try to local specials.” Jacobs smiled. “Some even a Georgia boy like me couldn’t stomach, but none stranger than that egg.”
Jacobs looked around the table. “I know I can’t be the only one here with a strange food story.”
“When it comes to my stomach,” said Mancuso, “I am risk-averse. I ate on the cheap until I could afford better, but once I could I never looked back.”
“This information has not gone public yet,” said Kianoush, “but we’ve discovered a species of animal native to Mars. Can’t be the only one, because it acts like a prey animal: skittish, eating something like vegetation, though I confess I don’t know what.”
Kianoush glanced around the table and seemed to warm to his audience. “One of my guards shot one with his crossbow, thinking it was a stray dog with mange, maybe a small golden retriever.”
Kianoush looked at his hands, fingers splayed on the table in front of him. Jacobs could not tell how the man felt about his guard shooting a “stray dog.”
“But when he got to the body, he saw that the legs were all double-jointed, the body hairless, and the head too conical, and full of teeth made for grinding.
“The guard brought it back in, and our alchemists began dissecting it.” Kianoush grimaced, as though at the memory. “We don’t even have an official name for it yet. We’ve only caught the one, and the alchemists keep referring to it as the jackalope.”
“Does it have antlers?” asked Jacobs.
“No. Is that important?”
“Only if they want the name to stick.”
“What did it taste like?” asked Cuthbert.
“Please do not say chicken,” said Saito.
“Not like chicken at all,” said Kianoush. “And I made them consult an imam before I was willing to try it when they grilled a section.” Kianoush studied the backs of his hands again, closing and re-fanning his fingers. “I would say it had the consistency of guinea pig and a taste similar to veal, but gamey.”
“Could prove popular,” said Montenegro.
“I guess the strangest thing I’ve eaten is haggis,” said Cuthbert. “But it’s better than you’d think. At least the way my grandma prepared it.”
◊
Everyone stared expectantly at Donal, but he wasn’t sure what to say.
“She used to say that the secret was not skimping on the heart, liver, and lungs, and that the difference between savory and disgusting haggis came down to loving the dish.”
Donal shrugged, a little embarrassed. “She said you need to put your own heart into the dish, not just the sheep’s.”
Donal half expected everyone to laugh, but during the moment’s pause after his last word, Mr. Saito drew breath and said, “There must be some psychological switch that takes place when the third generation arrives that lends importance to tradition. My mother was a poor cook until I had children. Then, suddenly, she made the best Nikujaga I have ever tasted.” He turned to Captain Jacobs. “Have you noticed a similar trend in your own family?”
“I lost my family during the fall of technology.”
Captain Jacobs said the words without noticeable heat or inflection, but they fell heavy on the conversation, creating a lull that grew until Mr. Mancuso said, “Well I’ve got about a dozen nieces and nephews and my mother still can’t cook.”
Mr. Mancuso launched into an amusing anecdote about his mother’s cooking, but Donal watched the captain. For a man with no discernable talent at thaumaturgy, he managed to seal himself tight enough to be as spaceworthy as his ship. Even shifting levels of consciousness, Donal could not spot any signs or traces of emotion in the man’s bearing. He merely sat and watched the conversation with sort of simple attention Donal could imagine him using to watch for sea storms from the deck of a sailing vessel.
Donal turned back to the conversation, still lead by Mr. Mancuso, who had managed to lighten the mood to the point that humor showed in the faces of his listeners.
Well, all except the captain and Donal.
Still, Donal marveled at the way this man seemed to steer these experienced businesspeople, directing them like a conductor. He did not seem to Donal like a man who had to murder to get what he wanted. In fact, Donal had begun to think that Mr. Mancuso would consider murdering to get ahead in business a type of cheating.
But Mr. bin Zuka had been on the brink of publicizing Red Sun’s theories about Mr. Mancuso trying to establish a shadow government when he suddenly dropped dead. And Mr. Montenegro implied concerns about how 4M did business, and so did that man who threatened Donal outside his own apartment.
Everyone seemed convinced that 4M was killing people. Convinced enough to try to pay off Li Hua so they could take their shot at killing Mr. Mancuso.
But Donal just could not believe it.
Chapter Sixteen
At least an hour had passed since the end of dinner, but Donal did not concern himself with the time. He stood on the Observation Deck in the aft of the ship, staring through the transparent hull at the space they had passed. The entire bottom and sides of the ship had been rendered transparent from the inside, apart from the dull gray walkways and the dull gray re-orientation room — a safe zone for those disquieted by the sensation of standing unprotected among the stars.
Right now great mists of red and green stretched across the sky to Donal’s right and though battling for supremacy. Ordinarily Donal enjoyed such sights as he stood as though he floated among the stars.
But this night the thought chilled him more than the air.
Donal stood beside Fionn, his thoughts and occasional words concerning the ship he had destroyed, the crew he had marooned without real hope of recovery, and the man some decks above him who seemed to be at the center of everything: Donatello Michelangelo Mancuso, CEO of 4M and de facto leader of several related companies.
“So you will not try to kill Donatello Mancuso?” said Fionn, in its thick brogue that managed to come across as neither Scottish nor Irish, but somehow both.
“I don’t see how I could. I’m not sure he’s guilty of anything except excellence in business. Well, I’m sure he can be a jerk, but that’s not a killing offense.”
“There have always been those who have been slain for their inability to
work within the boundaries of polite society.” Fionn flattened its ears and perked them again. “However, that is a decision for his societal equals, a category that does not yet include you.”
“You think it will?”
“This society seems to hold in high esteem its masters of the craft of the wise, as is proper. When you receive your doctorate, you will be among them.”
“Craft of the wise?” Donal felt a lopsided smile creep up the left side of his face.
The cú sidhe tilted its head in a canine shrug. “Not the fashionable phrase, but it has not lost its accuracy.”
“I’m not feeling very wise right now.”
“I did not say you had mastered the craft already.”
Donal turned a furrowed brow on his familiar, ready to say something about support, but Fionn chuffed a laugh and said, “And even the greatest wizards doubt from time to time.”
“Do they also kill people they don’t mean to?” Donal tried to keep the tremor out of his voice.
“I do not favor agreeing with Tai Shi Li Hua,” said Fionn, “but in this case I have no choice. She is right. You took the steps you needed to take to save your own life and the lives of others.”
“You agree with me?” said Li Hua’s amused voice behind them. “At last I can die a happy woman.”
Donal turned and saw Li Hua in a casual, lightweight dress of deep yellow that blended well with her reddish Martian-Chinese complexion. She wore matching low heels for a relaxed look that Donal had no doubt left her ready for a fight. She stepped in close and kissed Donal on the cheek.
“I had a feeling I would find you here. But I didn’t expect to find you morose.”
“Am I?” Donal tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it. “How long have you been watching me mope?”
“Fortunately only a moment. Though if you ever do want to take a crack at field work, you’ll have to learn to do your deeper contemplations alone in your room. If I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done so before you would have known I was there.”
“You could not have approached my master with such intentions and escaped my notice and warning.”
“True, but that’s not enough for a field agent.” Li Hua sighed. “I’d try to seduce you out of your bad mood, but clearly that didn’t work earlier. So let’s forget the past for a little while.”
She turned partway, extending one hand to Donal. “Come on. Here among the stars is a place for a romantic talk, not the kind I have in mind.”
Donal took her hand, curious, but aware that asking would not do any good until they stood someplace she felt was secure for their conversation.
But why did their conversation need security?
◊
Jacobs returned to his quarters, fully intending to call it an early night. He was due to work out after dinner, but these dinners themselves felt like work outs, with all the back-and-forth among the “guests” at his table.
Missing his routine one night would not kill him. He could get back to his book, calm his mind, and maybe get a good night’s sleep. Just as well. Jacobs would need all his wits about him tomorrow. They were due to pass near the zuglodon hunting ground in the morning and the military no-fly zone in the afternoon. Best to approach that day as rested and ready as possible.
Still, Jacobs couldn’t shake the feeling that his day was not yet over.
He stepped up to the comm pad on the table beside his reading chair, that marvelously comfortable recliner that had stayed with Jacobs through dozens of ships and scores of moves. He slapped the comm pad, but stayed standing lest the lure of the chair change his mind about the link.
A moment later Jefferson’s head appeared above the comm pad.
“What are you still doing on shift?” said Jacobs.
Jefferson had the grace to look embarrassed. “The whole bridge crew is, Sir. We know that, well, dinners on this ship get dangerous during charter flights, and we asked the ex oh’s permission to stay on duty until we were sure everything was going to stay calm.”
Jacobs snorted. He knew that not all of his crew had served in the military, but he tended to forget which had and which hadn’t until they called his attention to it. Like now. If Jefferson had served, she would have known better than to waste an opportunity for rest.
But then, Tunold should have known better than to grant the request.
Furthermore, Jacobs should have known better than to contact the bridge for a status report during the rare hours of the day he was not on duty. But in Jacobs’ case, he could excuse it. Jacobs had the experience to know when to trust his gut.
Then again, Tunold might have that much experience himself...
“All right, what has no one told me?”
“Linking you through to Mr. Tunold, Captain. One moment.”
Jefferson’s pleasant head morphed into Tunold’s narrow head.
“Captain, what can I—”
“Belay that, Mister. What have I not been told?”
“It’s nothing, John. I promise you.”
“Ex Oh, you are on the brink of insubordination. I suggest you take a step back from it and tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Sir, I assure you that I am not insubordinate. To the best of my knowledge, nothing threatens the ship, its crew, or its mission, which are the proper concerns of a ship’s captain.”
“Are you quoting regs to me, Mister?”
“No, Sir. I am reminding you of our agreement. I am not saying that there might not be an issue among the passengers that is mine to deal with as executive officer, but I am saying that if there is such an issue, I can promise you it will be in my overnight report and ready for your eyes when you come on shift at oh-six-hundred.”
“Very carefully said, Kris.”
“I do my best, John. Get some sleep.”
“If whatever you aren’t telling me gets me out of bed with no prior knowledge of what’s happening, you won’t like the end result.”
“Acknowledged, Captain.”
“Very well. Jacobs out.” Jacobs passed his hand through the image of Tunold’s head, severing the connection. Jacobs shook his head. He would go to bed, all right. But after a conversation like that, Jacobs was not sure how well he would sleep.
◊
Donal and Li Hua stood within the solid, gray cube of the Observation Deck’s relief zone. Donal estimated each side to measure about five meters, and the walls bore large landscape murals of Earth, Mars, and Luna. Little reminders of land for those disturbed by space, that also served to refresh the air in the otherwise confined space. Plush couches and chairs in browns and greens completed the scene, would reassure a troubled mind of the colors of home. And if they were not enough, each corner had a small restroom unit.
Li Hua had already paced the room and cast wards against scrying, and Donal, at her request, had returned Fionn to the silver faun pendant.
Fionn had not wanted to go, but Donal assured his familiar that he would share the whole conversation later, and that Donal would not commit to any long-term courses of action without consulting the fae deerhound.
Donal was now alone with Li Hua, staring at her across the rows of seating and low, dark wood tables. Donal could see excitement lighting her eyes, but that excitement did not bleed through to make her smile. Even her posture held something back, stayed formal instead of the relaxed sexiness Donal had grown accustomed to. Her reticence made him hesitate to approach, and reminded him of something else.
“Are you sure those wards won’t draw the ship’s mage into our conversation?”
“Perk of the new title,” she said. “I have license to ward whatever I want without question, anywhere 4M has business.” She waved her hand to designate the assembled couches. “Where shall we sit?”
Donal picked a deep, forest green couch in the center, and Li Hua settled in next to him, close enough to be friendly, but not so close as to start something that would distract them from their conversation.
She t
urned to face him, one arm along the back of the couch and one knee pulling up onto the cushion beside her, her yellow dress long enough to keep the movement modest.
“Reminds me of the first real conversation we had, over that lovely Morgan Syrah.”
Donal smiled. “I thought you were flirting, but you just wanted to talk about the people trying to kill us.”
“I was doing both.” She smiled, and Donal wondered if the evening might yet become something other than deep, serious conversation. The couch was quite comfortable...
“But before we get to that,” she continued, “there are some things we need to figure out, you and I.”
“About what’s going to happen when I go off to CalThaum San Luis Obispo?”
“Oh, that’s part of it.” She leaned forward. “But before we get to the Hierophant you will become, let’s talk about the Journeyman you are. You’re an odd combination, Donal.”
Li Hua shook her head with a slight smile. “You’d make a terrible field magician. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Field magicians need to maintain a constant sense of their surroundings, but you get distracted by every interesting new spell you find.”
“How can you not be? Opportunities to learn are all around us—”
“Let me finish.” She held up her hand in a placating gesture, and the slight raise of her eyebrows told Donal she meant no insult. “But you’ve got a gift that can’t be taught. Throw you into a pressure situation and you improvise spells on the fly better than anyone I’ve ever met. You proved it against the zuglodon, you proved it in your duel with bin Zuka, and you proved it again today.”
Donal felt heat rise in his neck, but fought the blush down by glancing away from the admiration in Li Hua’s eyes to the pastoral scene of rolling red Martian hills behind her, and drawing a single deep breath.
“But can you do that in the lab when the pressure isn’t on?”
