by S. H. Jucha
A second drink swiftly arrived, which gave Candace her excuse to continue to wander among the club members. It seemed that many were doing the same thing — searching for contacts.
With the second drink nearly finished, Candace was about to call the evening a loss, when she was notified by her implant of a match. She surreptitiously swung her head in the direction of the contact.
Fystal jer Hathwa had entered the main room through a projected waterfall. He was accompanied by another Lemgart, and, of all individuals, a Usaanan.
The Usaanan immediately spotted Candace, and he made directly for her.
Candace sipped on her drink and waited for the sand serpent, who slithered silently and quickly through the crowd.
“Why are you here, human?” the Usaanan hissed, without introductions.
“That wouldn’t be any of your concern, Usaanan,” Candace replied cordially, “unless you have some business to offer me.”
The Usaanan’s head drew back. The reply was unexpected. “You seek opportunities?” he hissed.
“I seek valuable investments,” Candace replied. “Don’t we all?” she added, motioning languidly around the room with her drink.
“Who knows you?” the Usaanan asked.
“Whom do I need to know?” Candace retorted. “I’m well known on Pyre.”
“Are you familiar with the outpost?” the Usaanan inquired.
“Not with the leaders,” Candace replied cagily, “but I find it’s more important to know middle management.”
The Usaanan briefly eyed Candace, tipped his head to her, and said, “Perhaps we’ll see you again.”
Immediately after the Usaanan’s exit, Fystal jer Hathwa approached Candace. “Pyrean,” he said. “I’ve not seen you before.”
“Nor I you,” Candace replied. “Do you wish something?”
“Do we have a mutual acquaintance?” Fystal asked, indicating the direction that the Usaanan had taken.
“That’s a most indiscrete inquiry,” Candace riposted. “Is this how you conduct business?” She paused momentarily and then made to turn away.
“Apologies, Pyrean,” Fystal said hurriedly. “No insult was meant. I thought that if you knew our mutual acquaintance, you might have need of my services too.”
“You mean would I require transport to and from this planet, Fystal jer Hathwa?” Candace replied.
“My reputation precedes me,” Fystal said, baring his teeth. “How may I be of service?”
“That depends on many things,” Candace replied. “It’s getting late, and I’m tired.”
“Allow me to share my information with you, Pyrean,” Fystal said, and he offered his sleeve slate.
Candace hesitated, as if she was unsure whether to make contact. She could see the hunger for a new opportunity in Fystal’s eyes. Greedy, she thought. Almost reluctantly, she accepted the data transfer. She’d ensured that her slate gave Fystal nothing.
Fystal was disappointed to see that he hadn’t received the Pyrean’s information, but that bolstered his confidence that she was a potential investor, who was carefully cultivating contacts.
“May I compliment you on your display?” Fystal said, waving a hand at Candace’s ensemble. “Myseth mya Jaknas’s work, I presume.”
“I heard she was the best,” Candace replied nonchalantly. Then she sipped on her drink.
“Her reputation is deserved,” Fystal allowed. “I look forward to hearing from you ...” He paused to allow the human to introduce herself. Instead, he heard, “Good evening,” and watched her walk away.
Fystal spent the next hour casually wandering the room and asking acquaintances if they’d met the Pyrean. Many said yes, but further investigation revealed that they’d merely said hello. No one knew her, which meant to Fystal that he could be her first business partner. The thoughts of credits filling his accounts excited him, and he celebrated with one of his favorite stimulants.
As Candace headed for the club’s exit, she triggered the icon on her slate. By the time she stepped off the mover, the vehicle was waiting, with its rear door open and the ramp down.
The enclosure cradled Candace, and she welcomed the relief from standing. It had been a long and busy day.
Returning to the new residence, Candace was escorted to the suite by the stylist and the dresser, who carefully removed the garment, the makeup, and the adornments.
“Will you require our services for tomorrow evening?” the stylist inquired.
“After I speak to my partner, I’ll inform you of my needs,” Candace replied.
“Be assured that we will be at your service,” the dresser replied, and then she hesitated.
“Yes?” Candace asked, with a lift of an eyebrow.
“Our mistress will inquire if you found your attire suitable,” the dresser said.
When the Lemgart spoke, she tilted her head and a fall of luxuriant fur swept over one eye. To Candace, it intimated at more than curiosity about her ensemble. “You may tell your mistress that I found her creation exquisitely decorative and useful,” she said.
“Our mistress will be pleased to hear that,” the dresser replied. After which, the Lemgarts quietly exited the suite.
Wrapped in the residence’s offered lounge attire, Candace walked into the salon and flopped heavily on a couch. She closed her eyes and sent her lengthy recording to Sam, who waited in a chair.
After the initial shock of the club’s interior, Sam hurried through the recording, searching for relevant information. The moment he saw the Usaanan, he slowed the vid. He had an image of the Usaanan who had negotiated with Jess for the outpost contract, but the markings on this sand serpent didn’t match that one. An intermediate, Sam thought.
When Sam finished the recording, he glanced at Candace, who was sound asleep. He laid a coverlet over her and retired for the evening.
* * * * *
“What do you know of the Pyrean?” the Usaanan who had met with Fystal demanded.
The conversation took place in the early morning by remote communication. The Usaanan wasn’t happy about the seemingly innocuous encounter.
“Nothing,” Fystal replied. “That was the first time I saw the human. Had you seen her before?”
“No,” the Usaanan hissed. “I don’t like the coincidence.”
“Did you note her display?” Fystal inquired.
“What do I care for the pretenses of the Lemgarts?” the Usaanan replied testily.
“If you’re going to continue to do business on this planet, you should pay attention to our culture,” Fystal remonstrated. “The Pyrean was adorned by Myseth mya Jaknas.”
“And this means what to me?” the Usaanan shot back.
“Your ignorance of the race who supplies you with the material to make your illegal profits galls me,” Fystal said angrily. He was tired of the Usaanan’s superior attitude. Yes, they’d made enormous profits together, but that didn’t mean he had to like the sand serpent, who represented a powerful group based on the Usaana home world.
“Myseth mya Jaknas is the premier supplier of ensembles for those who visit Torque and the capital’s other clubs,” Fystal explained. “Her services cost enormous credits, and she frequently turns away business for many reasons. If Myseth chose to supply the Pyrean, then she was tacitly approved to be present at Torque.”
“Just because a Lemgart tailor likes the Pyrean means nothing to me,” the Usaanan hissed. He didn’t like Fystal anymore than the Lemgart regarded him, but the credits generated by their relationship were too enticing to pass up.
“You spoke with the Pyrean,” Fystal said in a more moderate tone of voice. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing consequential,” the Usaanan replied. “She intimated she was an investor.”
“That’s the impression I got,” Fystal said. “She knew who I was and hinted that I could be of value to her.”
“I still don’t like it,” the Usaanan repeated. “The Pyreans, the Jatouche, and the Omnians
are in a cooperative venture. A Pyrean, no matter how wealthy, would be foolish to risk outpost security discovering her illegal ventures.”
“You mean like the Usaanans,” Fystal offered, which earned him an elongated hiss. Fystal bared his teeth, pleased that their conversation was audio only. To calm his partner, Fystal added, “I’ll meet with the Pyrean and investigate her background and offer. In time, I’ll discover whether she’s legitimate or not.”
“And if she’s security?” the Usaanan inquired.
“Then we can arrange an accident,” Fystal replied.
“It can’t be one of your simple runover-by-a-transport scenarios,” the Usaanan objected. “Lemgarts might accept them as a routine way of conducting business, but Pyrean or outpost security won’t. It’ll have to be extreme. I suggest you lose a shuttle.”
Fystal paused to consider the enormous loss of a transport shuttle. “If you want that type of accident, then your group must be prepared to make reimbursement,” he said.
“I’ll discuss this with my partners, and we can come to some arrangement, if an accident is necessary,” the Usaanan replied and ended the call.
Fystal reviewed the conversation. He thought he’d handled it well. His intention was to meet with the Pyrean, while he investigated her. However, if he saw value in a relationship, then he was determined that the Usaanan wouldn’t learn of it. He’d make some excuse that she was indeed a wealthy Pyrean, but he wasn’t interested in her offer. Now, he had to wait for the human to contact him. In the meantime, there were shipments to monitor and visits to the manufacturing locations scattered across the planet.
* * * * *
“I could get used to this,” Candace said, as she finished the last bite on her plate, which was silently removed by a server.
Soon after the morning meal, the chef, the prep cook, and the server rolled their carts from the suite.
“We’re paying enough for the service,” Sam grumped. “My only defense to Commander Cinders will be a successful investigation. At least your foray to Torque turned up a solid lead.”
“Working up the line,” Candace commented. “The few credits to Darter paid off. Did you recognize the Usaanan?”
“No, I didn’t,” Sam replied. “I wish I had access to the outpost’s database.”
“Undercover was the only way this investigation could have proceeded, Major,” Candace offered. “This planet is a hotbed of complicity. Individuals form temporary alliances and betray each other for the right number of credits.”
“Speaking of credits, Myseth seemed to have been worth hers,” Sam opined.
Candace chuckled. “Quite the outfit, wasn’t it?”
“And then some,” Sam allowed.
“I have to admit I thought the entire idea of dressing up to enter a club was ludicrous,” Candace said. “That changed when I entered Torque. I felt over my head. Those members were the elites of many races. It was only Myseth’s artistry that allowed me to pass.”
“Am I missing something about her?” Sam asked.
“I think her dresser gave something away last night,” Candace replied. “She wanted to be able to tell her mistress if I was pleased with the preparations.”
“An appropriate question,” Sam said, shrugging lightly.
“Have you noticed when Lemgarts cock their heads to the side and a length of top fur drapes across one eye?” Candace asked.
“I haven’t had the number of interactions you’ve had,” Sam noted.
“Understandable,” Candace replied. “I believe it’s a way of communicating that there’s an undertone to the request or question. It gives them a way to communicate something without saying it.”
“What do you believe the dresser was trying to communicate?” Sam asked.
“That Myseth is curious about us, and she wishes to know if she’s been of value,” Candace replied. Then she finished the last of her morning juice.
“Is that a dangerous thing for us?” Sam asked.
Candace considered the question. This was too important an opinion to get wrong. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “On the way to the lift, Myseth coached me about the way to handle myself at Torque. At the end, she said, and I quote, ‘That is how you will accrue influence and learn the information that you seek.’ Now, she could have been speaking in general terms, but she did that fur drop thing that I was talking about. In this case, the human equivalent would be a conspiratorial wink.”
“Well, we need her if we’re to proceed along this path of the investigation,” Sam said. “Let’s talk about the next step. Did Fystal get your information?”
Candace chuckled and replied, “I left the Lemgart dangling. I’ve his information though. He was anxious to give it to me.”
“Good,” Sam replied, joining Candace’s laughter. “So, Fystal is waiting for your contact.”
“When should I reach out to him?” Candace inquired.
“You won’t,” Sam replied. “This is the only worthy lead we’ve uncovered. That you saw a Usaanan in Fystal’s company means we’re close to their operations, and that means we’ve got to be careful. I think you’ll visit Torque again tonight. Maybe you’ll chat with a few discerning individuals about business opportunities. Nothing specific. Keep it vague.”
“Oh, wonderful, more dress up,” Candace grumped.
“I thought you liked your appearance after Myseth’s individuals finished with you,” Sam said.
“I would have never thought it possible to look like that,” Candace replied. “But the bits during the dressing and the transport to and from the club are pains in the you-know-what.”
“Who knew undercover work had such pitfalls?” Sam asked, laughing and heading for his room.
7: Lost in Transit
Alain de Long snapped alert, his dream dissipating like fog in morning starlight.
Alain’s mind raced. If it was a comms problem on the part of the aging freighter, and he dropped his ship out of transit, the freighter might sail ahead. Then again, the Transit captain, Kara Walton, would be wondering the same thing. Either of them could make the wrong decision if the thought was a loss of comms. In the time it took to wake either captain and diagnose the problem, an enormous distance could separate the two ships.
While Alain thought, he’d dressed and ran to the bridge. In the meantime, Becca had woken several people, and they arrived soon after Alain made the bridge.
Becca communicated to the controller, which executed her directions.
“Thoughts, Hermione,” Alain requested of the SADE, who stood quietly at the rear of the bridge.
“In this case, Captain, I find your judgment to have deduced the greater probability,” Hermione replied. “Considering the age of the Transit, it’s more likely that the freighter has suffered engine failure.”
“Which means the ship would have dropped out of transit and be maintaining velocity,” Alain reasoned.
“Captain, could the Elvian drone have interfered with the freighter’s controller?” Lieutenant Nata asked. Lieutenant Neffess and she stood beside Hermione.
Alain gazed at the SADE.
“Unknown, Captain,” Hermione replied. “To keep the Elvian drone nesting over its cradle, a connection to the freighter’s controller where the Elvian control module resides was necessary. Theoretically, there could be feedback from the drone, but the probability is low. More than likely, an imminent engine-failure signal sent to the controller would have been responsible for the freighter dropping out of transit.”
“We’re at the point of final contact,
Captain, with zero velocity,” Becca reported.
Alain nodded, while he continued to analyze the problem. He had an urge to laugh but refrained. His partner, Fleet Admiral Tatia Tachenko, had been thrilled that he’d received an escort run and would be out of the way of future fleet frays. The escort duty should have been simple — deliver an alien drone to Mickey Brandon. It should have been a long, boring transit.
“Hermione, if the freighter lost engine power and dropped out of transit, wouldn’t we eventually receive a comm signal?” Alain asked.
“With class one through three freighters, we would, Captain,” Hermione replied. “The Transit is a class four intrasystem freighter. Many modifications were made to make it transit capable. It’s unknown whether a backup power system would have been installed in the case of primary engine failure.”
Alain let his hands fall to his sides. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, while he steadied his thoughts. It was critical that he make an optimal decision. Otherwise, the Transit might be sailing the dark forever.
“All hands to emergency stations,” Alain said, and Becca sent the call.
Neffess and Nata turned and dashed off the bridge. They would be reporting to their travelers and preparing to launch.
Ude continued.
