Moving Target

by Melissa Good

  "Nice outfit." Michelle complimented her.

  "Thanks. You too." Kerry replied, with automatic graciousness. "We got a call from your partner."

  "So did I." Michelle didn't miss a beat. "Did you arrange all that?"

  Graham was merely watching them, his eyes flicking from Kerry to Michelle with interest.

  "Sad to say, no," Kerry said. "We were as surprised as you probably were."

  "I wasn't."

  Kerry's eyebrows twitched. "You weren't?"

  "No. I mean..." Michelle backed up hastily as she saw Kerry's expression change. "What I meant was I wasn't surprised when I found out she'd gone on your ship to try and screw you over. Not that I knew she had."

  "Ah."

  "Don't start throwing things at me." Michelle warned, with a wary grin. "This suit costs a fortune to dry clean."

  Kerry had to grin a little at that, lifting a hand and half shrugging to acknowledge the jibe. "We're just a bunch of radicals at ILS, what can I tell you? I do have to admit I wasn't expecting our admin staff to turn into culinary terrorists." She glanced aside as Dar returned with two cups. "Thanks."

  "So, have you decided what you will tell them, Dar?" Graham asked, with a remarkable lack of artifice. "That's what we were discussing before you arrived. What lies we came up with."

  Dar shrugged. "More or less." She turned to Michelle. "You going to tell them about Shari?"

  The smaller woman's face scrunched up. "I'm on the fence."

  Just then the red light went off, and they all turned as the big door opened. A slim, blonde woman with a pony tail and a huge clipboard looked out. "Okay, we're about ready to start. Everyone here?"

  The front door shoved open, and a sweating Mike joined them, a look of overbearing aggravation on his face. "Traffic sucks." He announced crisply. "Sorry."

  The pony-tailed woman looked at her clipboard. "Are you Mike?" She asked. "You're first."

  "Figures." Mike dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. "This won't take long. Keep a beer cold for me." He edged past them and approached the woman, tugging the sleeves straight on his chocolate brown business suit.

  The door closed behind him, and after a few moments, the red light went on. The rest of them lapsed into a pensive silence, standing in the middle of the depressingly dark stage.

  SHARI JOINED HER new friend, Talley, at a Formica table, setting her tray down with its dish of god only knew what, and a glass of chemical punch, and taking a seat. The crew mostly ignored her and chattered to each other as they relaxed together.

  Most were young, but some weren't, and there was a real mix of nationalities. In fact, Shari discovered, Talley was one of the very few Americans aboard.

  "We don't like hard work." Talley explained, when asked about that. He selected a piece of mystery meat from the stew and ate it. "Americans don't like working seven days a week with no time off, and a crappy salary."

  "I doubt anyone does." Shari offered, reasonably. "So why do it?"

  "Travel," Talley said. "Different place every day, different people." He took a sip of the pseudo juice. "They give you room and board-- such as it is--so you can save money and put it away if you want to, or buy yourself stuff at every port."

  It almost sounded appealing. "No attachments." Shari mentioned.

  "Exactly." Talley nodded. "Which is why I think this whole hotel thing sucks so badly."

  "Yeah." A young, willowy woman sat down next to him. "It's nasty."

  "So you don't think it's a good idea?" Shari asked.

  Both young people shrugged. "It's better than scuttling the ships, I guess," Talley said. "And we get to keep our jobs, which is more than the deck and engine guys got. They're pissed."

  "They're weird," the girl said, her Australian accent rolling the words out. "But they'll go off and find some other bucket of bolts to cruise round in--you know it."

  "Rather than working for--who was that?" Shari fished gingerly.

  "Intercontinental Holdings, yeah." Talley supplied promptly. "I guess they'll be okay. Pretty good benefits."

  "Yeah, those guys," Shari said.

  "For me, it's good," the girl said. "I've wanted to move shore side and get in with these people, they've got a lot of good properties all over the continent."

  "Hm." Talley nodded. "I guess. I'll just miss being at sea."

  "Join the Navy." Shari suggested. "I hear the food's better."

  The two looked at their plates, and then at her, and then at each other. Talley sighed. "Boy, I miss those IT guys. They really knew how to lay it on." He lamented. "It was nice to be treated like human beings for a change, wasn't it, Mandy?"

  "It was." Mandy agreed. "I liked that lot. Clever boys and handsome girls. Wish they'd stayed on and I'm terribly mad at you all for letting them be tricked like that--with the staff."

  Talley had the grace to look guilty.

  Shari bit her tongue to keep from giving her opinion of Dar and her staff. She needed information right now more than the satisfaction that savaging the old bitch would give her. "So...Intercontinental--they a big outfit?"

  Talley turned to her in relief. "Pretty big, for over there I guess. They've got a lot of unique places all around--castles and stuff like that. Exclusive."

  "Yeah?"

  "Maybe we'll get staying privileges." Mandy elbowed him. "Do a tour on time off and stay in a castle. I'd like that."

  "I think they're going to do up each ship in a different era, or culture or something," Talley said. "Sounds pretty cool."

  It did, actually. Shari felt a grudging appreciation for the idea.

  "So are you part of Mr. Quest's company?" Talley suddenly asked. "I thought you were, but if you don't know about the new people."

  Crap. "Nah. I'm from one of the other ships," Shari said. "I was just bringing something on this one when you all just up and left. I got stuck here."

  "Oh!" Mandy looked concerned. "My gosh. Are you staying on the crossing? Don't you have clothes or anything? That's horrid!"

  "Yeah, well, that's the breaks." Shari got up, picking up her mostly untouched tray. "Thanks for the company. See you later." She deposited the congealing food onto a dish cart and strode purposefully for the door, an idea growing in her mind that made her smile.

  DAR HAD TIRED of standing around bullshitting, and she'd hunted around the big, empty stage until she located a few old folding chairs stacked against one wall. She called the others over, and they set up the chairs in a circle, near enough to the long table to replenish themselves when they wanted.

  "Excuse me, we didn't rent those." The girl behind the long table cautioned them.

  "You should have." Dar told her. "Just be glad we didn't come over there and sit at your table."

  The girl retreated, reseating herself meekly behind the catering.

  Kerry tucked her feet under her chair and let her hands rest on her knees. The big room was well air conditioned, at least, and with any luck they'd be done soon and they could get out of here. Her social gene prodded her, and she cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. "How about we all go grab some dinner and end this project on a civilized note?"

  "You, civilized, and dinner scares me," Michelle said, but with a smile. "But I'll risk it. Graham?"

  "Surely." Graham placidly answered. "My company is already sending hit men after me and I doubt I will survive Monday, so why not get a dinner out of it at the least? Perhaps we can all pass around resumes."

  "Ah, yes." Michelle winced. "Isn't that the truth? Not all of us have as understanding an upper management as you do, Dar. That was a pretty impressive performance by your CEO." She took a sip of ice tea. "You have him very well trained."

  "Alastair's not trained." Kerry hastily spoke up as she sensed the stiffening of Dar's body next to her. "He just trusts Dar implicitly."

  "Hm."

  "That is what I have heard." Graham said. "In fact, to be perfectly frank Dar, it's quite advantageous to your boss that your preferences are
so explicit, otherwise many would assume something quite salacious between the two of you."

  "They have." Dar shrugged. "He and I joke about it sometimes." She pulled her PDA out and checked it, then returned it to her purse with a sigh.

  The rotating light went off, and the door opened. Mike came out, looking as though he'd drunk sour lemonade.

  "Ah Graham?" The pony tailed girl asked, peering politely at them. "You're next, please."

  Mike came over and took the chair Graham vacated, sitting down in it with a creak of protesting metal. "Hope you've got a cup on." He advised Graham.

  Graham paused, made a face, then continued on, shaking his head as he walked through the door.

  "Do they make cups for women?" Mike asked. "Cause I think there's a Wal-Mart nearby if you want to run out and get some."

  Dar, Kerry, and Michelle exchanged looks. Kerry cleared her throat gently. "Are they wearing cups?" She indicated the now closed door.

  "I'm wearing pointy shoes." Michelle displayed her fashionable stilettos. "This could be fun."

  SHARI BROWSED THE internet, searching out details. She'd found Intercontinental's website easily enough, once she'd paid off the communications officer to give up his laptop for a few minutes. The man hadn't wanted to, and after she'd taken a quick look at his browser history, she could see why.

  No wonder they had liked Dar. She gave them freaking internet. None of the others had done it, and they sure hadn't, since that would have cost money she wasn't about to spend on this shit ball bid. "Wonder if they even had any clue how badly they'd have lost this." She shook her head.

  Intercontinental's site was boring as hell. She scrolled through pages and pages of bullshit, maps, site plans, and marketing crap so bland even she couldn't get through it. The one thing that didn't seem to be there was a contact number and address.

  Figures. Shari kept hunting.

  "Madame."

  "Here." Shari held out another twenty dollar bill without looking. "Go away."

  The bill was removed from her fingers, and a moment later, the door closed. Shari drummed her fingers on the keyboard, then thought of something else, and opened up a search page. "Don't want riff raff to call you, huh? Well, you issue stock, so you've got to have an address somewhere, baby. C'mon."

  She ran a search against public companies, and found nothing. Then she tried against the SEC database, and finally, finally, there was something. She scanned the results, and leaned forward. "Ah hah." The company's officers were listed, most of whom were not familiar to her.

  "Sir Melton Gilberthwait." Shari rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break. Sounds like a cartoon character from Rocky and Bullwinkle." She pulled out a pen and wrote it down nevertheless, and copied down the telephone number beside it. "Okay, old boy. I'll just give you a ring, and see if I can't make you a deal you can't say no to."

  She checked her watch. "Well your office hours say 6:00 a.m., so I hope that's not bullshit like the rest of your website is." She put the piece of paper away, and closed the browser. With a glance at the door, she walked over to the rack of computer equipment and looked at it.

  A smoked glass door obscured the contents, and on the front was taped a sign off sheet verifying that the gear behind the door was operational.

  It listed all the components. Shari scanned it, not really recognizing most of the individual pieces of machinery, but knowing the major parts from things Michelle had said. It was expensive stuff, and she had fought tooth and nail with Michelle to get her to order the cheaper components she'd found on the internet instead of the kind Dar had used.

  Michelle had flat refused. She should have known right then it was all bullshit. It had nothing to do with competing with ILS, and everything to do with impressing Dar. And Michelle had called her fixated? What a blind fucker she'd turned out to be.

  Shari got to the end of the list, and the signature line where ILS's installer had guaranteed the install.

  The name was familiar--a firmly scrawled D. Roberts. Shari stared at the name for a long time, her lip curling up into an unconscious snarl. She reached out and her fingers tensed against the paper, on the verge of crumpling it.

  Then she dropped her hand, and just spat on it instead. "I am going to beat you." She told the page. "And you are never, ever going to forget it."

  DAR WALKED UP and down the cracked sidewalk outside the studio. It was getting late, and the traffic in front of the building had settled down to a steady trickle. The orange streetlamps were bathing everything in an annoying color that strained her eyes to look at it.

  She checked her PDA again, finding nothing in the in box. Hell, Hans was probably out at the local pub. Dar checked her watch. No, Hans was probably sleeping, without a care in the world for her anxieties on this side of the planet.

  She could bullshit the television producers, but there was a warning bell ringing in the back of her head that reminded her that Meyer was the type who'd pick up the phone and call the Europeans to find out if she was lying or not.

  That she didn't want to deal with. Dar paced down the walk, dodging past two women jogging as she tried to work off some of her nervous energy. It wasn't easy. She really felt like doing some sparring, and she felt bad about having left Kerry inside making small talk.

  She stopped near a bus bench, and leaned against the telephone pole next to it.

  What could she do? Dar sorted through her options. Maybe she could tell half truths, and just gloss over any specifics. Say they were working on a deal, which was true. Say she was working with a transcontinental partner--which was almost true since she had no real agreement with Hans.

  But she was aware that this was going to be filmed, and that meant it could come back and bite her in the ass big time, if everything fell through or worse, if Hans found some European partner and they cut her out of it. She would look like an idiot.

  Dar hated looking like an idiot. It might even be said that she'd made up the story just to make the company look good, and since that would affect the stock, there could be legal issues for her with that.

  She was, as she found herself being reminded recently, a corporate officer and they were a public company.

  "Hey lady."

  Dar turned, to find an old woman taking a seat on the bench next to her. "Yes?"

  "Is this the G bus?" The woman peered at Dar fuzzily, squinting through a pair of glasses with lenses at least a half an inch thick.

  Dar straightened and looked around, spotting a sign tacked to the telephone pole. It bore a legend that probably required most of Dar's years of schooling to decipher and went a long way to explain why so few residents bothered using the transit system. "Yeah," she finally said. "Where are you going?"

  "Hallandale."

  Of course. "Yeah, that's the bus." Dar agreed.

  "Good. Now if the stupid thing comes, it'll be a good thing. Are you waiting for the bus? You could sell that nice jacket and take a taxi, y'know."

  Dar had to smile. "No, I'm not waiting for the bus."

  "So why are you standing there? Go home!" The woman scolded her. "It's late! Does your mother know you're out here?"

  Dar's jaw dropped a little, and she clicked it shut. "She does."

  "She should be ashamed. Go on home, young lady."

  Bemused and defeated, Dar left the safety of her telephone pole and escaped back down the sidewalk toward the studio. She got back to the door without any clearer idea of what she was going to do, but she was glad enough to trade the muggy night heat for the cold blandness inside.

  Kerry looked up as she entered, and gave her a wry smile. She was sitting with Mike and Graham, and apparently Michelle was now undergoing the grilling.

  Of course, Kerry was depending on her too. Dar felt the added weight on her shoulders. She didn't want to disappoint Kerry, or Alastair, or the board, or the company or her parents...

  Jesus. Dar went back to her seat and dropped into it, feeling silently overwhelmed.

  Kerry r
eached over casually and circled Dar's arm with her fingers, rubbing gently with the edge of her thumb. "Graham just told me they're being pretty brutal in there."

  Dar lifted her brows.

  "I think we should just keep our cool, and relax."

  Sure, easy for you to say. Dar scowled silently.

  "Actually I think we should tell them we bought the ships." Kerry continued blandly. "You know I had that budget I had to use or lose for this quarter."

  Graham snorted wearily.

  "Tell them your dad is going to re-commission them as a coastal defense."

  Mike rolled his eyes, but laughed anyway.

  A grudging smile appeared on Dar's face, as she looked into her partner's eyes. "He'd make a damn good Admiral," she said, understanding the banter for what it was. "Think you could keep a straight face if I pulled that on them?"

  "No." Kerry admitted, with a grin. "But I'm sure you'll think of something, and if not we can start kissing each other. That should distract them."

  Both men started laughing, mostly at Dar's expression. Finally, Dar started laughing too, because with the tension she was feeling, she needed to do something.

  As Kerry had said, she'd figure out something. Dar took Kerry's hand in hers and squeezed it. And if not, well then, Plan B had its merits, too.

  SHARI DUG MORE bills out of her wallet, glad like hell she'd stopped at the bank before she'd headed for the pier that day. She'd figured the last minute crap was going to cost, and she knew better than to trust in the altruism of her staff or the good will of the dock workers.

  None of that, of course, would have been figured into the bid. She hadn't even been sure she was going to tell Michelle about it if she'd paid anyone off, though she knew her erstwhile partner had no real moral objection to the practice.

  It was get it done that was all. That's what they'd decided to do when they'd gone into this whole rigmarole--to do whatever it took to win the contract--Shari counted out her money--to win the contract and beat ILS.

  She thought Michelle was on board with her on that. Things had been going great for them, right up until fucking Orlando. They'd had it all planned out--starting with making a star appearance at the convention.