“I’ll consider myself forewarned and forearmed.”
“So tell me about you then.”
“I’m from Earth, I studied at the William Allen White School, and I’ve been freelancing for a couple of years now.”
“A couple? I’m not wanting to be rude about things, but just how old are you?”
“I’m twenty-six, if it matters.”
“Only to my growing sense of my spent youth. And you say you have wanted to meet me. While I appreciate the flattery, I can’t imagine that you made your way from Earth in a week to talk to someone who for a fleeting moment happened to become as big as his story.”
“Of course not.” I must have winced visibly because her response was quick. “Don’t be offended—”
“I’m not,” I interrupted to say.
“Um, could have fooled me. What I meant was that the timing of your story about the Shedai and the commodore was simply circumstantial as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been reading your coverage of the Taurus Reach since I first found out about Vanguard Station, and I finally got myself together to see it for myself. It took me several weeks to get here.”
“To talk to me?”
“Yes.”
“They have this wonderful new invention called subspace radio, and you can use it to communicate with people from across the quadrant.”
As I looked across at Amity, she crossed her arms in front of her and hung her mouth slightly open in one of the most impatient looks I had received in some time. Well, from someone who was not my editor at the time, at least. She narrowed her deep brown eyes into a glare that made my mouth go dry. “Are you about done playing with me, Mister Pennington?”
“I apologize.”
“I’m serious about coming quite a ways, and this whole self-effacing and petulant thing of yours wears pretty thin pretty quick.”
“Sincerely, I apologize,” I said, taking a sip of water as I paused to regard Amity with a new seriousness. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone in the business who either wasn’t gunning for my story or chewing me out for something.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Subspace radio. Would you even have taken my call? Better yet, if you were me, would you have thought about simply making a call, even for a minute?”
I did not need to ponder that answer. “No chance.”
Her broad, white smile returned. “I knew we were kindred spirits, Mister Pennington.”
“Please. Just call me Tim.”
“All right then. Tim.”
Amity held my gaze a moment before digging into a handbag slung over her shoulder. “I did drop by unannounced, so I don’t want to take up more of your time tonight.”
“After a trip such as yours, I can understand your enthusiasm to track me down.”
She looked up from her bag. “Tim, I’m not fresh off the transport. I’ve been on Vanguard for nearly a month.”
“And you’re just finding me now?”
“I wasn’t ready to talk until now.” Amity pulled a light green data card from her bag and passed it to me. “Here are some clips—audio, video, and text—so you can get an idea of who I am and what I’ve been doing. I figure it’s only fair, since I’ve been reading you for a while.”
“So, once I read up on you, then we talk?”
“Something like that. I have a proposition for you.”
“See? I knew it. It’s the charm of the newsprint. Irresistible.”
Amity dropped her chin and looked up at me with an overly pained expression that I knew I deserved. “Tim, please. A little professional courtesy.”
“Certainly,” I said as I accepted the card. “And how shall I contact you?”
“You’re not hard to find. I’ll track you down tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it already.”
“And Tim,” Amity said as she slid from the stool. “Be ready to work.”
5
I had not intended to be stealthy as I crossed the metal-walled hangar bay toward the squat, discolored Mancharan starhopper that had pulled my fat out of the fire several times over, but any noise of my footsteps had been effectively neutralized by the clanging of tool on hull plating as the craft’s owner and pilot, Cervantes Quinn, sat cross-legged on the ship’s port wing and undertook what I could only assume was some sort of repair work near one of its warp nacelles.
“Baaah!” Quinn let out his exasperation physically as well as vocally by putting a little too much energy into tossing the tool he held toward a handled tray of other implements perched on the ship’s wing behind him. The impact of the tool slid the tray just enough from its somewhat precarious perch to send it off the wing’s edge and clattering to the deck.
“Quinn!” I decided to announce my arrival as soon as the din subsided so as not to startle the man. He turned, his brow and white hair showing the first signs of sweat from his labors, and on seeing me it seemed some of the tension left his face.
“No scoop here, newsboy,” Quinn called out as I closed the gap between the Rocinanteand me. “Just a rogue and a ship and they’re both pretty beat to hell this morning.”
“Differentiating the morning from your typical routine precisely how?” I swung my left arm to lob in his direction the small white paper bag I had been carrying. If he had been drinking the night before, something I had assumed from his remark, his reflexes showed no ill effects as he snatched the bag from the air with ease.
“What’s this?” He opened the bag without waiting for a response and squinted to peer inside. “Oh, look. It’s a biscuit.”
“It’s a proper scone, you damn savage. Thought I would bring you breakfast.”
“He brings me a biscuit without any coffee,” Quinn said to no one, “and I’m the savage.”
“I’ve seen you drink coffee a grand total of once. I bought it for you, and for my trouble you punched me in the jaw and chipped two of my teeth.”
“Things change.” Quinn bit down on the bag and it swung from his mouth as he made his way down from the wing and onto the deck. He spoke again through clenched teeth. “Thanks for this.”
“Enjoy,” I said as he tugged the bag from his mouth and grabbed its contents. “How goes it?”
“You’re looking at it,” he said between bites. “Just getting her ready for the next run.”
“What have you got lined up?”
“A couple of prospects, nothing certain.” Quinn squared his shoulders against the Rocinante’s hull and leaned back. “You’re not asking to tag along, are ya?”
“As much as I might enjoy another opportunity to nearly get killed, it’s probably in my best interests to stay behind and get some work done.”
“Suit yourself. That’s probably the better idea, anyway. Quit resting on your laurels of fame and get back to the job of digging up stories to write.”
I laughed despite myself. “I’m resting. Right.”
“What’s the latest with the commodore? Talked to him?”
“I should think not. Starfleet has him locked away in a cell under limited access. Even if Reyes himself said he wanted to see me, I can’t imagine I would have a chance to talk to him until the court-martial proceedings conclude. And should things go bad for him, I doubt I’d get a chance at all.”
“Hmm. Guess you’ll be asking someone else about him then.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Quinn,” I said a little too sharply. “And I don’t suppose you have any suggestions who.”
“Damn,” he said. “I hit close to the nerve?”
“Sorry. I’ve been getting pressure from the boss about following up my Jinoteur report as well as my Reyes report, but no one is talking to me. It’s a bit of a surprise if I get even the courtesy of a hello from someone in a Starfleet uniform who just happens to pass me by.”
“That’s no good. I would think someone out there would be willing to at least point you in a direction for a story.”
“Not that I’m aware.” I paused and looked at Quinn. “But maybe you are?”
“Maybe.”
Quinn simply looked at me and took another bite of the scone.