“I usually kill people for less than that,” Allie said, and Pennington looked up to see her eyeing him with a wicked smile via the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She stepped back to the bar, tilted the glass, and began pouring into it the contents of the bottle. “I only give you a pass because you’ve never tried to grab it, but don’t push your luck.” She filled the glass to the three-quarters point and handed it to him.
Holding the glass up in salute, Pennington smiled. “I would never dream of doing so, my dear.”
Allie moved to another section of the bar, took a cleaning cloth from a shelf, and began to wipe down the polished wood. “So, where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much lately. Seeing someone behind my back?”
“That explains a bit of it, yes,” Pennington replied, sipping his beer. It was only partially a lie. The relationship he had struck up with Vanessa Theriault, the adorable redheaded ensign from the U.S.S. Sagittarius,had been enjoyable for its first few days, cooling a bit once Pennington’s stories about the truth behind the Taurus Reach and the arrest of Commodore Reyes began to take hold.
“I guess if I were in your shoes,” Allie said as she continued the time-honored tradition of wiping down the bar, “I might keep a low profile, too. I can’t imagine it’s fun with everyone blaming you for everything that’s going on around here.”
No one had actually come to him to express displeasure at what he had written, but Pennington knew the sentiment existed. On a rational level, he did not begrudge the reactions his stories had generated among the station’s crew members, many of whom held Commodore Reyes in high regard. Likewise, he could not in good conscience blame Theriault for keeping her distance. She was Starfleet, and in the eyes of many of her fellow officers, Pennington had attacked them and perhaps everything for which they stood. He did not see it that way, of course, just as he did not see Diego Reyes as a villain and had avoided portraying him as such. If anyone saw the commodore in that light, it was Starfleet—or a handful of people at its highest levels of power, at any rate.
“Can’t say as I blame them,” Pennington said, thinking of the reactions that had come about in the hours and days immediately following the Federation News Service’s publication of the story he had written after the Jinoteur incident. The threat he had revealed about the mysterious aliens and the ramifications it held for this part of the galaxy, if not the entire Federation, were staggering. Was it hyperbole to say that the very nature of humanity’s place—along with those of the inhabitants of many planets who had become allies in the century or more since Earth had fled its cradle and raced faster than light to the stars—was in question? Was all of that simply to be wiped away should this powerful new face emerge from whatever hole they had hidden themselves in, enraged and bent on vengeance?
As for Theriault, she had not said anything to make Pennington believe that their relationship was over and, in fact, had seemed to accept his explanation that Reyes himself had authorized the writing of the FNS stories and even helped in getting them transmitted to the news service, rather than acting in his expected role of censor as a means of facilitating internal security. As far as Pennington was concerned, Diego Reyes was a man of courage and principles, who had sincerely believed he was doing the right things for the right reasons, until it became clear—in the commodore’s eyes, at least—that such was not the case. The actions taken by the seasoned officer after that realization could only be described as heroic. In his heart, Pennington wanted to believe that even those in Starfleet who soon would decide his fate felt the same way, even if the letter of the law forced them to view Reyes as a criminal.
“Oh, by the way,” Allie said, snapping her fingers, “I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you.” Looking between the bar and the counter and back again, she frowned as she searched for something Pennington could not see. “It’s around here somewhere.” After a moment, she grunted in satisfaction, reaching beneath the bar. When her hand reappeared, it held what Pennington recognized as a standard blue computer data card. “Your buddy Quinn left this for you.”
Pennington frowned, puzzled. “Quinn? Is he all right?”
“Seemed okay when I saw him last night,” Allie said. Then her brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, though, he has been a little off the past couple of weeks. I hate to admit it, but I think I liked him better when he was drunk all the time. At least then he was predictable.”
Pennington chuckled at that. His unlikely friend and traveling companion, Cervantes Quinn, had indeed undergone some kind of change in the time since their joint and very memorable venture to the Jinoteur system. They had done good work there, as makeshift rescuers of the besieged crew of the Sagittarius,which had sustained massive damage while reconnoitering the system’s fourth planet. In payment for their good deeds, Lieutenant Commander T’Prynn had dissolved the debts Quinn owed, not only to her but also to the ruthless Orion merchant prince Ganz. While Pennington hesitated to think of Quinn as a “new man” thanks to these developments, he liked to believe that the wayward scoundrel might well have taken the first few steps along the path to some form of a better, more fulfilling life.
It occurred to Pennington that he had not seen Quinn since early the previous day. He had been in the midst of inspecting the Rocinante,the dilapidated hunk of scrap metal and baling wire he proudly called his ship. When Pennington had asked if Quinn was preparing the tramp freighter for some new job he might have taken, the freelance cargo hauler had replied that it was always prudent to be ready, particularly in his line of work.
Reaching across the bar, Pennington took the data card from Allie. “Thanks. Mind if I use one of the comm stations?”
Allie shook her head, gesturing toward the back of the bar with her free hand. “Knock yourself out. But hey, if he died and left you everything in his will, you’re cutting me in for a slice, understand? I figure it’s the least he owes me after all the pawing he’s done since he showed up here.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Pennington replied, pouring the last of his beer from the bottle to his glass. Holding up the now-empty bottle, he asked, “Put this on my tab?”
“Count on it,” Allie replied, without looking up from where she had busied herself with something beneath the bar.
At the back of Tom Walker’s place was a quartet of personal communications vestibules, each ensconced within its own shell of opaque, soundproof glass. None of them was occupied, and Pennington chose the one farthest from the bar’s main room. He closed the compartment’s door behind him and settled onto the backless stool in front of the compact audiovisual communications unit. The unit itself was a simple design, featuring a compact viewing screen, a keyboard, and a data card slot. Pennington took the card Allie had given him and inserted it into the slot, then reached for the pad next to the viewer and touched a control to read the card’s contents.
An instant later, the grizzled image of Cervantes Quinn filled the screen. His black and gray hair had been cut, washed, and groomed into something resembling a presentable style. The beard stubble that habitually darkened his cheeks and jawline was gone, and there was an alertness to the man’s eyes that Pennington had only seen on rare occasions since the pair’s improbable friendship had formed.
“You look almost human, mate,” Pennington said to no one, his voice echoing in the cramped vestibule as, on the screen, Quinn began to speak.
“How’re they hangin’, newsboy?”he said, breaking into one of his trademark leering grins. “I know this probably comes off lookin’ a bit like a Dear John letter, but rest assured, I haven’t dumped you for a younger reporter.”
“As if I had reason to worry,” Pennington quipped.