-=0=-***-=0=
Alicia retina-printed the last document and watched Oscar Quintana's secretary carry the paperwork from the palatial office. The merchant pushed his chair back and rose, turning to the well-stocked bar opposite his desk.
"A rapid and satisfactory transaction, Captain Mainwaring. Now that it's out of the way, name your poison."
"I'm not too particular, as long as it pours," Alicia replied, glancing casually about the office. "I don't see any obvious pickups," she thought at Tisiphone. "How about you?"
"There are none. Quintana does not care to be spied upon in his own lair—that much I have obtained from him already."
"Think we've got enough time?"
"I know not, but sufficient or no, this may be the only time we have."
"Then let's go for it," Alicia said. She rose from her own chair and walked across to Quintana. He glanced up from the clear, green liqueur he was pouring into tiny glasses, then capped the bottle and smiled.
"I trust you'll enjoy this, Captain. It's a local product, from one of my own distilleries, and—"
His voice chopped off as Alicia touched his hand. He froze, mouth open, eyes blank, and Alicia blinked in momentary disorientation of her own as the flood of data poured into her brain. Their earlier handshake had been sufficient to confirm their quarry but too brief for detailed examination of Quintana's knowledge. They'd dared not probe this way then, lest one of his bodyguards notice his glaze-eyed stillness and react precipitously.
It was still a risk, but Alicia was too caught up in the knowledge flow to worry about someone's opening the door and finding them like this. If it happened, it happened, and in the meantime ...
Images and memories flared as Tisiphone plucked them from Quintana. Meetings with someone named Alexsov. Credit balances that soared magically as loot from pillaged worlds flowed through his hands. Contact times and purchase orders. Customers and distributors on other Rogue Worlds and even on imperial planets. All of them flashed through her, each of them stored indelibly for later attention, and again and again she saw the mysterious Alexsov. Alexsov and a man called d'Amcourt, who listed and coordinated the pirates' purchases, and a woman called Shu, who frightened the powerful merchant noble, however he might deny it to himself. Yet both of those others deferred to Alexsov without question. There was no doubt in Quintana's mind—or in Alicia's—that Alexsov was one of the pirates' senior officers, and she wanted to scream in frustration at how little Quintana knew of him.
But at least she now knew what he looked like, and ...
Her green eyes brightened as the last, elusive details clicked. Alexsov due to return here soon . . . and Quintana's own constant need for dependable carriers.
Her hungry smile echoed the Fury's hunting snarl, and she felt Tisiphone reach even deeper, no longer taking thoughts but implanting them. A few more brief seconds sufficed, and then Quintana's eyes snapped back into focus and his voice continued, smooth and unhurried, unaware of any break.
"—I highly recommend it."
He handed her one of the glasses, and she sipped, then smiled in unfeigned enjoyment. It was sweet yet sharp, almost astringent, and it flowed down her throat like rich, liquid fire.
"I see why you think highly of it," she said. He nodded and waved at the chairs around a coffee table of rich native woods. She sank into one of them, and he sat opposite her, peering pensively down into his glass. "Lewis said you have a charter on Cathcart, Captain Mainwaring?"
"Yes, I do," Alicia confirmed, and he frowned.
"That's a pity. I might have a profitable commission for you here, if you could see your way to accepting it."
"What sort of commission?"
"Very much like the one you've just discharged, but with a considerably higher profit margin."
"Ah?" Alicia crooked an eyebrow thoughtfully. "How considerably?"
"Twice as great—at a minimum," Quintana replied, and she let her other eyebrow rise.
"I suppose you might call that 'considerably higher,'" she murmured. "Still, Cathcart is a bird in the hand, Lieutenant Commander, and—"
"Oscar, please," he interrupted, and she blinked, this time in genuine surprise. From what she'd seen of Quintana's mind, he didn't encourage familiarity with his employees. On the other hand—
"On the other hand, Little One," a voice whispered dryly in her mind, "you are a handsome woman and he is a connoisseur of women. And, no," the voice added even more dryly, "I did not instill any such notion in his mind!"
"Oscar, then," Alicia said aloud. "As I was saying, I know I have a cargo on Cathcart, and the port master will slap me with a forfeit penalty if I don't collect it as scheduled."
"True." Quintana pondered a moment, then shrugged. "I can't guarantee the commission I'm thinking of, Theodosia—may I call you Theodosia?" Alicia nodded and he continued. "Thank you. I can't guarantee it because there are other principals involved, but I believe you and Star Runner would be perfect for it. I'm reasonably confident my colleagues will agree with me, and even if they don't, I have other consignments for a discreet and reliable skipper, so I have a proposal for you. I anticipate seeing one of my senior colleagues in the near future. Starcom your regrets to your Cathcart contract, and I'll introduce you to him when he arrives. If he accepts my recommendation, you'll make enough to cover your forfeit and still show a much higher profit than on this last shipment. If he chooses to make other arrangements, I will personally guarantee you commissions of at least equal value."
Alicia let herself consider the offer carefully, then shrugged.
"How can I pass up an offer like that? I accept, of course," she said ... and she smiled.
Chapter Twenty-six
The small, well-dressed diner accepted the proffered chair with distracted courtesy, then reached into his jacket for a micro-comp. He set it beside his plate, punched up a complicated list of stock transactions, and studied them intently. Only the most suspicious might have noticed the way he set it down, and only the truly paranoid would have suspected the ultra-sensitive microphone concealed in the end pointed toward a nearby table.
Ben Belkassem spread a small sheaf of hard-copy on the table, then punched more keys and brought up yet another layer of meaningless sales while he uncapped his stylus. He scribbled notes on the hard-copy, frowning in concentration as the tiny ear bug from his computer whispered to him.
-=0=-***-=0=
"... derstand, Captain." Oscar Quintana sipped wine and blotted his lips, eyes gleaming with sardonic amusement. "It's regrettable, of course, but a certain ... wastage must be anticipated in any transaction."
"Precisely. But the object is to make certain the wastage is suffered in the right place." Gregor Alexsov's own wine sat untasted, and Quintana smothered a mental sigh. The man had done wonderful things for his credit balance, but there was no lightness, no sense of what the game was all about, in him. Those hard, brown eyes swiveled over his face like targeting lasers, and the thin lips wrinkled in what was obviously intended as a smile.
Sad, so sad, but that probably represented Alexsov's best effort. Well, a man couldn't be good at everything, Quintana supposed. "If you'll give me a list of what you want wasted and where, I'll see to it."
"Thank you." Alexsov's eyes moved away, scanning the crowded restaurant, and his mouth tightened with disapproval. "I'll have it for you by the time we reach some less public place."
"I applaud your caution, Captain Alexsov," Quintana said, ignoring the way his guest winced at the use of his name, "but it's unnecessary."