Chimera

Damik's face lost all expression for several seconds. Then, slowly, a wide grin compressed his features. "You ass. Lanra! How are you?"

"Busy these days. But I thought I'd make time to talk to an old backstabber. How are your connections these days, gato?"

Damik laughed loudly and slapped the table once, sharply. "What are you drinking? I'm off-shift, so it doesn't matter."

"I'm not, so it does. Are you buying?"

"Of course."

"Nava."

Damik frowned briefly. "That's a Solarian drink, isn't it?"

Coren nodded. "Tastes like a good bourbon but without the alcohol. "

Damik grunted. "Very Spacer. Riskless pleasure. Spineless ninnies."

Coren shrugged. "Good drink, though."

"Expensive. " He gestured for a waiter and gave the order anyway, including a beer for himself. "What have you been doing, Coren? Still working for what's-his-name? Rega Looms?"

"I am."

"He pays you well enough to afford good food?"

"When I have time to eat it. What about you? You're not still counting canisters, are you?"

"Not by hand, no. They gave me my own department."

"They must be desperate. "

Damik laughed again. Their drinks arrived and he raised his beer in a mock toast. Lanra tapped his glass and sipped.

"So," Damik said. "Pleasantries aside, what do you need?"

Coren reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small hemisphere that looked like polished foam. He pressed the base with his thumb and set it in the center of the table.

Damik cocked an eyebrow. "Does Looms know you play with toys like that?"

"I take it you've seen one or two yourself, then. No, actually, if Rega knew what I use in the course of my job we'd probably have a serious policy disagreement. Fortunately, he's not the sort of employer that pries a lot unless things go wrong."

Damik thought about that. "Has anything gone wrong?"

"We don't have to be coy now, Brun." Coren pointed at the hemisphere. "Maybe Special Service has something that can unscramble the interference that's generating, but it would take longer than our conversation."

"You're not staying for dessert, then."

"I don't think I'm staying for a second drink. I asked how your connections are. I meant it."

"I got a promotion, didn't I?"

"I'm talking about your black market ones."

Damik grinned. "So'm I. What do you need?"

"I stumbled on a diverted shipment recently. You gimmicked a bay assignment all the way over in Petrabor, some stuff for Kysler. I'm assuming it was you, or someone in your office. "

"You 'stumbled' on it? How does that work?"

"Part of the job. Am I speaking to the right man?"

Damik shrugged. "What if you are?"

"Baley-running. How does that work?"

Damik stabbed a forkful of green leaves and pushed them around the plate listlessly. "How much are you offering?"

"Depends entirely on the quality of your data. "

"Hm. Well, the cheap part is the actual transportation. Refitted cargo bins are popular. Usually, they only have to support life for a day or two till they get turned over to the ship that's going directly to the colony of choice. Then it's no different than steerage class. Most baleys, I can't understand why they bother-they could go legally."

"You know that's not true. ITE screening sorts out 'undesirables' and denies them visas. That means anyone with a political opinion, technical skills above a certain level, and money they might take with them. That's about eighty percent of the people who apply. "

"If they're that well-off or that smart, why would they want to go?"

"I really don't care. Go on. "

"The expensive part is the bribery. You need a customs inspector, a set of transit permits, and enough to payoff a warehouse crew. You need another customs official on the other end. "

"At Kopernik."

Damik nodded. "But you knew all this."

"You left out the part I don't know. Who do you start the process through? Who fronts the credits and who parcels out the payments?"

"It's not that organized. We're talking about rats in the system, a few here and there. Whoever is taking money from the baleys themselves has to know who to talk to-"

"Not in every case," Coren said. "That might be true for small groups, but in the last two years the numbers have increased. There are shipments of up to three hundred people leaving in one group."

"That's a myth. Numbers like that, ITE would look totally negligent-or subverted-to let them through. No, the largest single group you'll ever see go through would be fifty or sixty. Even that's pushing it." Damik finished his salad. "So?"

"So that still means enough money to attract the people I'm looking for. Once they get a taste, they don't go away, they assume control."

Damik chuckled. "You never disappoint, Lanra. I can see why you left Service-those idiots wouldn't know what to do with a smart one like you. "

"I assume that means I'm right. So who?"

"Depends on the colony. Each one has a gatekeeper."

"Reporting to who?" Coren asked.

"I don't know. I imagine you're right, there is some person or persons at the end of the chain, but…"

"Okay. Then give me a gatekeeper."

"Which colony?"

"Let's say Nova Levis."

Damik's eyes widened fractionally, just for an instant. He shook his head. "You don't have that kind of credit."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're overdrawn now and we haven't even talked price. "

"I knew you were the right gato to talk to about this. I always appreciated your honesty."

"Ha ha. Your wit hasn't improved much."

"But my credit has," Coren said.

Damik regarded him skeptically. The waiter came and cleared away his salad plate, then set his dinner before him. Damik appeared to notice none of this, eyes fixed on Coren.

"Do you remember," Coren said as the waiter left, "all that business last year involving Clar Eliton and the assassinations at Union Station?"

"Lot of dead Spacers. So?"

"More than that -quite a few Terrans were killed or hurt, too. It was complicated. For a time, Rega Looms was suspected. In the course of doing my job-covering Rega's butt, technically-I learned a lot of details about a lot of people, mostly people I'll never meet and never deal with. But there've been exceptions. You, for instance."

Coren leaned forward, as if preparing to confide in Damik. "We knew each other for…what? Six years before I left Special Service?"

"Something like that."

"In all that time I never knew you were a Managin. Did you even know that yourself, or did you simply neglect to enter it in your file?" Coren spread his hands. "None of my business, really. Before last year, none of anyone's. But they turned out to be less than simply embarrassing to someone like you. They turned out to be-can you guess, Brun?-a security risk. Now imagine that. A bunch of fringe idiot anti-Spacer sociopaths an actual security risk. I'll tell you, Brun, I got a real laugh out of that when I heard it the first time. I thought, 'Don't those people at the Terran Bureau of Investigation have anything better to do than upgrade their lists of the possibly dangerous all day long? They should be after real criminals, real threats, real detriments to society.' "

"You thought all that, did you?"

"Yes, I did. I thought all that. But that was then. Today I thought, 'I wonder what the director of ITE would say if he knew his freshly-promoted chief of inspection at the Baltimor Station used to be one of those sorts?' And I decided to find out what you would think of it first."

Coren sat back and smiled across the table at Damik.

Slowly, Damik picked up a fork. "Is that all?"

"No, no, no. You were a real follower back then. I've got your name attached to at least four other groups like the Managins. But to be fair, only two of those ever got serious attention from the TBI. " Coren watched Damik cut a piece of his cutlet and fork it into his mouth. "So, how's my credit now?"

"Still not good enough." Damik grinned crookedly. "I'll tell you this, they're all corporate types at the high end. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the guy getting out from rehab this week is one."