Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
29 January 3133
My previous comments about the tradecraft of leaving threads in doors and the like, and the futility of doing that because the others in the craft know to look for such things, came around full circle as I returned to my room in the Grand Germayne. When I’d left my room, instead of trapping a thread between door and jamb, I just left one on the floor close to where it might have fallen were the door opened. The careful sneak subsequently entering my room would notice it and would likely believe that housekeeping or someone else had opened the door, knocking the thread loose. They then had to decide if they would leave it there—which they would if they wanted to get in and get out, since I would blame housekeeping for the intrusion—or replace it.
The thread had been trapped just below knee height, which is the recommended area, since no one ever looks there. The only reason for putting the thread back was because they wanted me to think things were normal in my room. They wanted to surprise me and, while I was getting used to the idea that I might as well not even have a door on my room, surprises I could do without.
Being unarmed at the moment, the dodge of pretending to be room service, or a valet, really wasn’t going to work. Instead of opening the door, I backtracked to the lifts and used the house comlink to call my room. I let it ring four times and got no answer. I called again, waited for four rings, and hung up. I did that three more times and finally got an answer.
It was a female voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Sam. You’ll be a long time waiting for me to join you.”
My comment met with momentary silence, then she growled. “Gypsy sent me to fetch you.”
“Gypsy?”
“You know him. He’s quite handy.”
I nodded and her voice clicked into place. I’d not recognized it because she was speaking without her jaw wired shut. “Ms. Elle, so glad you escaped Aunt Helen.”
“We shouldn’t talk over this line.”
“Fine, meet me in the lobby and we’ll go for a walk.” I hung up the phone, punched the button for a lift to head down, then opted for the stairs. I descended quickly and reached the lobby, but didn’t find her there. This I took as a good sign, as it meant she’d not rushed out to try to find me, which would have been stupid. She’d taken her time, looked around, made sure I wasn’t going to ambush her, then headed out.
She was easy to recognize with that shock of red hair. It had been cut shorter, darkened a bit and styled nicely. Her clothes, unlike mine, were not dated and she wore them very well. Heads turned, and as she found me and smiled, men young and old glared pure hatred at me. They all wanted me dead so they could console her at my loss.
“Shall we talk of old times, my dear…?”
“Elle will do fine. Gypsy was surprised to learn you arrived early.” She steered me out a side entrance of the hotel, and we started walking south through a district that was full of galleries, antique stores, smart little bistros and the ubiquitous Javapulse Generators. “We got your message and were preparing for you to arrive next week.”
“I know. That’s what I wanted you to think.”
She nodded. “Gypsy figured that out. He assumed you were still wary about the way things ended with dear Aunt Helen.”
I patted her hand. “And did he think it was okay for you to let me know you’ve got someone working spaceport security who reported my arrival?”
A little jolt ran through her, but she covered her reaction with a dazzling smile. She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “We’ll keep that between us, shall we, Sam?” I couldn’t see her expression as she whispered, of course, but the look on the face of a couple walking toward us suggested they would have been grossly surprised by the benign nature of her murmur.
I faced her, our lips centimeters apart—close enough that I could feel her breath on them. “Your secret is safe with me.”
We stayed that way for a second or two longer than we probably should have, then she turned away and guided me toward a JPG shop. We ordered and then took our drinks to a small table on the sidewalk. Both of us turned our chairs so our backs were to the building, giving us a full view of the street.
I noticed nothing of merit, but I kept watching as I spoke. “How did you leave it with Aunt Helen?”
“Things were very tricky. I was thinking I might never get out of there. You know how she is. I fantasized about shaving my head and disguising myself as a Buddhist Monk, but saffron robes are so not my color. Still I would have done anything to escape and finally I did.”
Glancing over, I measured her hair with my eye. It was a couple of months’ growth, so it seemed conceivable that she might have made it out that way. “And Gypsy?”
“I think he wanted to tell you himself. It’s a surprise.”
“He’s like that, isn’t he?” I sipped my coffee-flavored chocolate beverage. “He’s not worried that I would be holding a grudge, is he? He paid me what is due me. I do understand how the business can run.”
Elle rested a hand on my arm and gave it a little squeeze. “Ah, but you’re a professional, and so many others are not. Gypsy believed this and that is why he sent for you. He liked your arriving early. He said it showed you had even more intelligence than he’d given you credit for.”
“Good.” I smiled and groaned inwardly. The last thing you want someone who is into conspiracies and making odd things happen thinking about you is that you’re smart. That makes him think you’re a player and a plotter. The problem was that there was no way to reverse that assessment. The damage had been done and there was really only one way to repair it. Because Gypsy now would believe I was someone he couldn’t trust, I had to make myself into someone he found it vital to trust.
We chatted about my escape and what I’d been doing as we finished our drinks, and then she hailed a hovercab. We got in and from the first it was apparent to me that the driver was in Gypsy’s employ. Elle gave no directions and I was fairly certain she didn’t know where we were going herself. This meant someone had been watching the JPG and, after we arrived, had brought the hovercab in on standby, with Gypsy telling the driver where we were supposed to go.
We headed north, but on the west side of the river this time, and to a small office complex with about half the units rented. Suite 301 still looked vacant. The name of the previous firm—a travel agency by the looks of the leftover graphic—had been scraped from the glass, and paper had been taped up over the windows. A sign read, “Coming soon, Basalt Astrology: By us, for where we are now.”
Gypsy opened the door as we arrived. He’d changed a lot. His hair had grown out and had been colored jet-black. Either he’d gotten a lot of sun, or had spent a lot on a good skin darkener, for he had the healthy glow of someone who spent leisure time on the beach. In fact, had he been the poster child for the previous agency, I doubt it would have gone out of business. His clothing, I noted, was as nondescript as mine.
“Good to see you again, Sam.”
“And you, Gypsy.”
“Please, come in.” He stepped aside from the door and let me through, then Elle followed and locked the door behind us. Gypsy took up the lead again and I trailed him down a corridor and to a conference room large enough to easily allow meetings of groups of eighteen or more booking expensive junkets to Solaris or some other hot spot.
And Solaris looked about right as a destination that would interest the crew gathered there. Not counting Elle and Gypsy, we were twenty, which was roughly enough people to command a pair of battalions with a couple left over. Men and women, they all looked hard and nasty—all-star survivors from every corner and culture of The Republic. A couple had replacement limbs and one a glowing red eye. I didn’t see any Lament tattoos, but there were a scattering of mercenary designs on shoulders or necks, and more than enough scars to make a cosmetic surgeon drool.