“I’m learning.”
“That’s because you’re sharp, Joe. Damned sharp.”
Joe lobbed the compliment back. “So are you, Frank. That’s why I have to wonder why your gatherers keep trespassing on the Coverture.”
Testa chuckled. “I may be a grade A site ramrod, old boy, but those machines aren’t very bright.”
“Their onboards may be limited, but we both know they use the minisat for navigation and can plot their position to the nearest square meter. Bull and his people aren’t very happy about these incursions. I told him I’d lodge a complaint.”
“And now you have.” He stroked his mustache as if in thought. “But I bet he wasn’t as paffed about it as last time, was he?”
“No, not really,” Joe admitted before remembering that honesty wasn’t always the best policy. “Still, he’s very concerned about the treaty being broken.”
“It hasn’t been.” Testa waved his free hand as if shooing away the Guys’s concerns like annoying insects. “Oh, it might get dinged up a bit here and there, but that’s all. None of our gatherers have gone more than a klick or so onto their precious Coverture. You know that.”
“I’m not sure the Guys would understand the concept of their treaty just getting ‘dinged up a little,’ Frank,” Joe replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Look, old chap,” Frank said in a paternal tone, pulling his feet off the table and sitting up straight. Joe knew this meant he was going into ‘fatherly advice given man to man’ mode, and would try to make him feel like an uncertain neophyte. Which he was. “I know this is your first time in charge and you want to do it up right.”
“I want to do right by my charges.”
“Well, you are. Trust me, I’ve been doing this for over twenty-five years now, both on and off Earth, and this is the way things always work out here in the field. We strike a deal with the natives to get the ball rolling, then we do a bit of adjusting for windage to make sure it’s headed toward our goal. Like here. I wasn’t happy about letting such a large tract be declared off-limits, but they didn’t seem to want to budge so I let it slide. The treaty says we can’t go in there to gather, so we don’t.” He lowered his voice to a conspirational level. “But if one of our ’chines kind of accidentally nibbles its way onto the edges of all that land sometime, well, what’s the harm?”
Again he was as much as saying it was done on purpose without actually stating it flat out. Testa was, as Joe’s mother used to say, slicker than snot on a mitten. “They see it as a violation,” Joe answered stiffly. “Which it is.”
Frank shook his head, his expression pitying. “Look, just because they yell about it doesn’t mean a bloody thing. This is all a game, Joe. They bitch. We slip them a few extra goodies to make nice. After it’s happened a few times we go to them and say, ‘Sorry chaps, but we just can’t seem to follow that line. Deuced nuisance, I know. What say we redraw it to save us all some trouble?’ By then they’re so used to us going over the line anyway, they’ll figure their best bet is to get a good price for letting us have what we’re already taking.” He spread his hands, blue eyes twinkling in triumph. “Everybody wins.”
Joe didn’t know if he was supposed to argue against this version of operating procedure, or how. This was only his third posting, and his first as something more than a minor underling in a large office on a heavily populated planet. His rather loosely defined mandate was to act as an advocate for the natives and a buffer between them and BCT, and the only enforcement power he had was the ability to write a strongly written censure that would take months to get back to the Agency.
Most of his experience working in the bureau agreed with Frank’s assertion that treaty terms were to some degree mutable. It seemed the best he could do was continue on the way he had so far—trying to keep the aliens happy while trying to keep from alienating Frank. He had the feeling that as an enemy, Testa would be serious.
“Everybody wins,” he echoed. “I guess I can see that.”
Frank beamed at him. “Stunning. Like I said, you’re one smart chap.”
“But maybe you shouldn’t try to play the game so fast,” Joe continued, playing this round of the game to manage at least a draw. “Bull and the others are at least as smart as we are. What you see as clever maneuvering they may well perceive as an insult to their intelligence.”
Testa’s grin stiffened, a spark of irritation, maybe even anger lighting in his eyes and then being pinched out. Joe knew he considered the Guys to be little more than smart animals, and he didn’t like the implication that they might be smarter than he was. “Sure, Chief. I get the picture. Slow down the foreplay.”
Joe found that an odd turn of phrase. It seemed to imply that sooner or later someone was going to get screwed. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
Testa grinned and spread his hands. “Then call me Mr. Slow and Easy.” He stood up and headed for the door. Halfway there he stopped, snapped his fingers, and turned back. “Ah yes, I was wondering if you could do me a smallish favor.”
“Depends on what it is,” Joe answered cautiously. Now he’d see what kind of strings were attached to that pack of tlat.
“Oh, it’s nothing that’ll compromise your position, don’t worry about that. You know we have a supply ship coming, the Tahiti. It’s already insystem and should make orbit sometime this evening.”
“I knew that.” So far so good.
“Well, guess who’s aboard? It seems that Serena Caltefores herself is coming to check out our little operation.”
Joe frowned at the name. “Is she—”
Frank nodded. “That’s right, she’s the daughter of and heir to Ramon Caltefores, founder, CEO, and chief stockholder of BCT.”
“Why’s she coming here?”
Testa rolled his eyes skyward. “Probably to be an utter pain in the ass—boss’ darling daughter and all that rot. The thing is, I’m going to have my hands more full than a blind strip club owner auditioning topless waitresses, and was wondering if mayhaps you’d give her a tour. You know, keep her out of my hair for a while.”
Joe asked the obvious question. “Why me?”
“My people are going to be busy with incoming and outgoing shipments. You know this place as well as anybody, and a hell of a lot more about the Guys. All you have to do is squire her around a bit.” He leered and winked. “Hey, this may not be a hot date with a sure thing, but what the hell? I’ve heard she doesn’t look like much, but she is filthy rich. In my book a tart with that much jam in the bank could look like a bloody Guy—and I mean the kind that live here—and still be worth bush-hogging.”
While Joe found Frank’s tone and attitude offensive, it had been almost seven months since he’d spent any time with an unattached woman. He doubted that a rich, almost certainly spoiled rotten heiress like Ramon Caltefores’s daughter would find an underpaid civil servant like himself particularly interesting. Still, a woman in her position must have some clout, and maybe he could convince her to make Frank take the Guys’s borders more seriously—and wouldn’t that roast Testa’s ass? Besides, other than some paperwork, what else did he have to do tomorrow?
“Sure, I guess so,” he said with more reluctance than he felt.
“Stunning! I owe you, Chief. We’re supposed to get a full load of mail and supplies I need for prepping my shipments tonight. Her highness plans to descend sometime tomorrow morning. I’ll have Mabel give you a ding when I have an exact time.” He consulted his complet. “Speaking of time, I’ve got to run.”
“Sure, Frank,” Joe said, standing up and pretending that he too had just remembered something. “Oh yeah, don’t forget you owe the Guys reparation for violating the Coverture.”