A Thief By Any Other Name
by Violette Malan
I KEPT MY eyes on the cup of sombay I was turning around with the fingers of my right hand. I kept my left in plain sight on the table. Scats like to see both hands. When I thought enough time had passed to make it look like I’d given his proposition a decent amount of thought, I looked up.
“I’m a grifter, not a thief,” I pointed out as politely as I could. I carry a small force blade, but I’m not fast enough to beat a Scat. I hear that lizards and other reptiles, get slow in the cold. Maybe Scats weren’t as reptilian as they look, or maybe it’s not cold enough onstation.
“You are Human. A Human has the best chance of getting near our target.” Petreck must have had surgery; he didn’t hiss like every other Scat I’d met. Good for blending on Plexis, but I doubted it scored points with his kind.
“I see.” I nodded, as if I thought this made sense. “No disrespect intended, but wouldn’t it be easier to boost this item while in transit? I know a good scheme to switch grav sleds—with a couple of friends to—”
“No. It must be done by one person only. By you.”
“Again, no disrespect meant, but why me, exactly? I’m sure you have plenty of skilled Human employees, so why come to me?”
“You are, as you say, a grifter. You persuade people that you are what you are not. This is your great skill. No other Human can persuade the owners of the establishment that they can wait upon tables. For you, it would be of the simplest.”
“You want me to pass myself off as a waiter? A Human waiter? Only the Claws & Jaws uses Human waiters.” Well, they use live waiters, but that does include Humans. “And I’m not sure how good an idea it is to run a scam on a Carasian.”
“Fear not. The Galaxy Room is vying for custom with the Claws & Jaws. They have begun to hire your kind.”
“I see.” I gave my best, gosh-I’m-sorry smile. Petreck and his crew weren’t the kind of beings you worked with if there was any way out of it. That’s why we were meeting in this nice, public café. “I’m afraid I’m just now in the middle of something very delicate, very time sensitive. I won’t be able to help you.” I’d have recommended someone else, but I didn’t dislike anyone that much.
“You have a father, Fem Graine. He is much in debt to the Spacer’s Haven on Pocular. We have purchased this debt. He has, as you may know, no realistic expectations of paying this debt. If you perform this favor for us, this debt will cease to be.”
“I see.” This was exactly the reason Mum had left Dad in the first place—gamblers and grifters don’t make the most stable couples. But it was the first time a streak of bad luck for him had ever bounced back on any of us. “I don’t suppose you have any proof of what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” The Scat at the next table brought out a portable reader with a vistape up and ready to view. I managed to take it from him without coming into contact with his scaly hands.. The person in the tape was definitely my father. He was laying out four hands of Stars and Comets, studying each hand in turn before gathering up the cards again. Another Scat, like the one who gave me the reader, only bigger and uglier, stood in one corner holding something I didn’t recognize, but was clearly a weapon. Dad looked unworried, but that’s Dad. Hom Optimism.
“I see.” I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “Looks like I don’t have much choice.”
“We believe not. The reputation of your family will suffer greatly if you leave your parent to die.”
Mum wouldn’t be all that happy, either. She couldn’t live with him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him.
“So. What is it you want me to steal?”
“It is a package, this size by that size.” He moved his clawed hands apart, indicating something about the size of a box of blank vistapes. “Its contents are no concern of yours.”
“Is it alive? Can I turn the package upside down? Expose it to vacuum? Freeze it? Drop it? Submerge it in liquid—?”
The claw on the finger he held up looked almost too long to be real. “We understand. It is foodstuffs. The Galaxy Room seeks to prepare a new and unique dish. My client wishes that the main ingredient become unavailable.”
Which certainly implied that the “client” was none other than Huido Maarmatoo’kk, proprietor of the Claws & Jaws. The idea wasn’t totally incredible, but from what I know of the Carasian, he was more likely to shoot a rival than rob him.
“And when do you need this package?”
“We will alert you when it arrives. Take this time to establish yourself as an employee.”
I didn’t need Petreck to tell me my job. I know better than to turn up the day before an item went missing and disappear the next day.
Great, I thought. I’m going to be a waiter.
Customers don’t usually think about it, but there are plenty of people like me who live on Plexis Supermarket full time. Well, maybe not exactly like me. There’s every kind of sapient you can think of—and some you can’t.
That includes my new “employer.” Scats are more commonly spacefaring pirates, but a few of the smarter ones do set up planet-based crime rings. Petreck has the only one onstation, and everyone not strictly on the up and up pays his agents a percentage to run their businesses in his territory. I’d never met the boss before, and I wasn’t happy to meet him now.
Theoretically, his little job was easier than what I normally do for a living. All I had to do was find a way into the storage room of the restaurant, locate a package, and find some way to walk out with it. Considering the chaos of a place still in its opening days, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. It’s way more complicated to con someone out of their hard-earned credits, though I have to admit that working in a place as big as Plexis Supermarket, with its continuously changing throngs of customers, makes it easier than most.
As huge as it is, Plexis isn’t big enough for many of the long cons—I mean it’s thirty-plus levels and more if you believe some people. But while that’s huge for a supermarket, it’s small for a planet, and short cons, directed at transient shoppers, are much safer than the risk of running into your marks a month after you’ve cleaned them out of all their disposable credits—and sometimes their indisposable ones. Some of the classic short cons, like the velvet slipper, the pigeon drop, or the lingering odor, work best on Humans. Since aliens don’t always react to the same stimuli, you’d think they’d be harder to con, but greed seems to be a universal failing, and another sapient’s greed is the basis of any good grift, long or short.
All right, sure, we’re stealing. But, as you may or may not know, that’s not technically illegal on Plexis. Not many things are. Marks and victims can complain, but local Jellies tend to look the other way for long-time residents, especially those of us who make regular donations to the, ahem, “Constables’ Social Club.” We’d be left alone, so long as we weren’t stealing enough to discourage future shoppers. And with the best scams, the mark usually doesn’t know he’s been stung.
Trade Pact Enforcers are a different bowl of creteng, but how could an artist like me get involved with Trade Pact violations?
I haven’t gone to many job interviews—make that none—but even I could tell I was hired quickly, and without much vetting. They didn’t even ask to see my ident card, which was a shame, because it was a work of art. The manager of the Galaxy Room replaced my renewable blue airtag (fake) with a permanent one (real, I hoped), charged against the restaurant’s account. At first I was worried that I’d get recognized, but I soon found that no one really looks at their waitbeing, not even living ones. I filed away that knowledge for future use. You never know what might become useful in a profession like mine.
On the other hand, it didn’t take me long to figure out this wasn’t just a restaurant.
The kitchen staff called the storage room the “freezer,” though the space contained more stasis boxes than actual frozen stuff. On the other hand, it was surprisingly chilly in there. So much so, that some of the more temperature-sensitive among the staff were quite happy to let me fetch things for them, and soon it became part of my regular duties when I wasn’t needed front of house. That’s how I figured out that the Galaxy Room was a front for smugglers—which might seem odd considering that Plexis Authority didn’t care what you brought in as long as you paid them their “duty,” but that didn’t mean people didn’t try to avoid doing just that.
From what I could make out, most of the goods were legitimate, but interspersed among them were boxes, crates, and vacuum containers I was never asked to fetch out. That, and the fact that I never saw these items either arriving or leaving supported my theory. Which meant the whole rival restaurant nonsense was just that, and that Petreck was trying to run a scam on me.
I reminded myself to be professionally insulted as soon as it was safe.
At the end of my seventh nightshift in a row, I got off the ramp on level five as usual, and headed toward my crib, slowing as I came to my corridor. I was considering and discarding various ideas on what I had really been “hired” to “steal,” so I wasn’t paying as much attention to my surroundings as I should have. The hiss made me jump, and I didn’t appreciate what I assumed was chuckling. I recognized him immediately, of course, from the nick on his left head frill. He was the Scat who’d handed me the reader.
“It’s arrived, then?” I asked, once I knew my voice wouldn’t give me away.
“Yess-ss. But I am giving you new inss-structions-ss.” Whoever he was in the organization, he didn’t have access to the same tech as his boss.
Which didn’t make what he’d said any more palatable. I had the sting going, and changing the play midstream is never a good idea. “Your boss decide he doesn’t want the item, after all? That’s great! Good to meet with you.”
If I could read his expression—and I could, that stiffening in the snout is a dead give away—he wasn’t impressed by my attempt at humor. “You are to make delivery to me. I will overs-ssee transs-sport to the boss-ss.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t finding anything funny, either. “Hom Petreck was quite clear. I’m to let him know when the item becomes available and deliver it to him myself.”
“No. You will bring it to me, and the credit will be mine.”
Sure. Only Petreck would be expecting me to follow orders. Which made it far more likely this guy was going to pocket the item himself, put the blame on me, and the credits in his pocket. And where would that leave me? To say nothing of dear old dad.
“Maybe I’ll just check with him myself,” I said, bringing out my pocket com. “Tell him how conscientious you—”
All right, I really didn’t want him to smile. Really not. I’d managed to forget the teeth.
“I am the mate of his-s lates-st female egg. Who do you think will be believed?”
Wonderful. Scats had sons-in-law.
I snapped my com closed again. “Then I suppose you’ll be hearing from me.”
“That is-ss s-sso, Ss-oft Fless-sh.”
I stood there waiting for him to go. To access my corridor I’d have to turn my back on him, and I just didn’t want to do it. Thankfully, a gaggle of fledgling Tolian shop clerks, each one taller than the last, came bumbling toward us, all of them arguing with plenty of limb-waving and beak-clicking. With a little fancy footwork, I managed to get them between me and the son-in-law, and contrived to spread us more, moving as they did. Temporarily defeated, the son-in-law fixed me with a meaningful glare and let me go.
I wasn’t stupid enough to think this was over.
I spotted the item the first time I went into the storage room during my very next shift. I didn’t touch it then, but on my third trip I moved it to a different spot in the storeroom. I wanted to know who would notice, and when.
Hey, I said I wasn’t a thief, not that I didn’t know how.
I admit, I have my share of curiosity. What was in the box? What made it so valuable to a restaurant in competition with Claws & Jaws? So the next trip into the storeroom I examined the box more closely. Suddenly, I felt like I really was in a freezer. The labels were wrong. I know labels. My work often involves the creation of false documents, idents, and labels. These were wrong for food.
Whatever was in the package was alive. Not so strange, you think? Lots of sapients preferred their cuisines living. But like I said, these weren’t food labels. They were for medical stuff. Living medical stuff.
I have a friend whose business is transporting. He always says that the first rule is “never look in the package.” Maybe he needed to amend that to “don’t even look at it too closely.”
Right then there was nothing I could do but go back to the floor with a smile on my face. I managed not to drop a single plate or drip any sauces on any clients.
Medical. That complicated things in a whole new way. Some sapient somewhere probably needed whatever it was pretty desperately. These Scats were using me, and I didn’t like it. No matter who came out on top—Petreck or his son-in-law—they’d be left with the notion that I could be used again. I admit, I was still scared, but I was angry, too. So angry that I didn’t even want to give them the package. All I needed was a way out of this that left my reputation intact, my dad free, and the bad guys empty-handed.
More or less in that order of priority.
Frat, I was looking forward to the haven of my own rooms and a nice long relax in my luxury fresher! In fact, I only got as far as the intersection of corridors eleven and nineteen. A family of Whirtles run a mail drop there, where sapients without tech of their own can buy, send, and receive image disks. The Whirtles are friends of mine. That and the few credits I slipped into their tentacles from time to time were enough for them to act as lookouts for me. A red plaque fastened to the wall meant someone had come looking for me. A blue meant someone was still there. Both together, like now, meant I knew the person, and it was safe to proceed.
Still, I opened the door quietly, and my breathing only returned to normal when I saw “someone” was my brother. I didn’t even know he was onstation, since he served as cargomaster on the trade ship Gamer’s Gold.
“A message from our mutual parent was waiting for me as soon as we docked. Thought I’d see if you needed any help, and did you know you’ve got nothing to eat in here?”
Fortunately for both of us, there’s a food and relax center only a few corridors away. Once we were seated with a meal and beers in front of us, I filled him in. It didn’t take long to bring him up to speed. It helps to be talking to someone who understood the game.
I was still pushing my sandwich around when he finished chewing. “I don’t like the implications, and I don’t like the threats.” He took a sip of his beer. “What are you planning to do?”
“I’d like to be safe, off their hook completely, and dad along with me. And I’d like to rip them off. The first two are vital, the last one’s a bonus.”
I looked around, caught by movement in the corner of my eye. Two beings, one a tall Tolian, the other definitely Human, thickset and tough looking.
“Don’t stare,” my brother said. “Trade Pact Enforcers. Their ship’s docked just down from ours.”
“Are they?” I pretended to be studying my nail paint. “Have you ever noticed how one Tolian looks a lot like another?”
“Except to other Tolians, I imagine. Why?”
“I’ve got an idea.” I stood up. “Come on, there are people I need to find.”
Stealing the item turned out to be easy. As a distraction, fire is a wonderful thing. Of course, there are all kinds of safety features onstation to put fires out and prevent them from spreading. But I didn’t need it to spread, I only needed the immediate chaos and panic. I needed a lot of beings running out of the place carrying things.
I’d told the son-in-law to meet me in a small bar with outside seating just inside the night zone. You could almost make out the loud sign over the double doors of the Claws & Jaws.
The Scat had the item in one hand, and my arm in the other, when Petreck arrived. Right on time, thanks to a com message arranged by my brother. The son-in-law had to drop me quick, and rush to explain how—and why—he’d gotten here ahead of his boss. Petreck was obviously unsatisfied by the explanation, and I had to focus really hard to look surprised, and not burst out laughing. Once again, the son-in-law was waved to a seat at the next table, the item between his feet, while the boss and I sat down. The look he was shooting me over Petreck’s shoulder promised me I wouldn’t live to see the start of my next day. I admit, it made the hairs on my arms stand up. My plan had better work.
“And my father? When will he be released?”
“All in good time, Fem Graine. I must examine the merchandise.”
“Wait right there. You didn’t say anything about having to . . .” I let my voice trail away as I saw what were unmistakably enforcers insinuating themselves around the edges of the seating area, covering obvious exits. A drop of sweat trickled down my back as the boss turned a look almost identical to his son-in-law’s on me.
“Relax.” I had to cough to loosen my throat. “Order something.” I tapped the menu in the tabletop, relieved when the Scat started doing the same thing. “Those are Trade Pact Enforcers. That Tolian over there was pointed out to me just the other day. They can’t be here for us. They don’t care about a little restaurant rivalry. We’re just a couple of wealthy customers having a drink and enjoying the night life.” I tapped the gold tag on my cheek before I turned around to move the servo cart carrying all my packages and bags out of the Tolian constable’s way.
I hoped my smile wasn’t as stiff as it felt. The Tolian came through the tables, his badge displayed in his hand, nodding pleasantly at the people he passed. His Human partner, standing at the main entrance to the terrace, looked almost as surly as the Scat. The Tolian walked right past us, and my shoulders were beginning to relax, when he turned back to the son-in-law’s table, right beside the end of my servo cart.
“Commander Bowman? Over here.” His voice trilled like birdsong, but he wore a translator and what came out of it was perfectly understandable Comspeak.
A vigorous looking Human female appeared quickly. She indicated the box between the son-in-law’s feet with the toe of her boot. “Good work, Constable ’Whix. Take this Scat in.”
“That’ss-s not mine,” the son-in-law’s head frills were flicking from rigid to flat and back again. “It’ss-s theirs-ss.” He pointed specifically at me. “It fell off her s-sservo when she moved it just now.” A nice save, but his father-in-law was going to remember he’d said “theirs.”
Commander Bowman turned to us. Her eyes were hard as diamonds, and there were absolutely no soft lines in her face.
“How ridiculous.” I used my best rich-person tone, and let me tell you, it’s good. “Imagine! Just because Hom Petreck and I happen to be sitting here.”
“Indeed. I’m Commander Lydis Bowman, Trade Pact Enforcer.” She flashed a badge. “May I see your idents, please?”
“Well, I really don’t see—”
“Just routine, Fem.”
You never saw two idents come out faster.
While the Commander looked them over—I don’t know about Petreck, but mine would pass inspection by any sapient or machine—I decided I should keep playing the giddy tourist with more credits than brains. I chirped up, “Why, Chief Inspector, whatever is happening? Whatever is in that box, and however did you know where to look?” I hoped she’d give some kind of answer. I needed the boss to know it wasn’t me who’d tipped them off.
“Their insider on the transport ship got cold feet and gave us the tip.” The commander flashed the coldest smile I’ve ever seen. “Too bad thieves can’t trust each other. Have a good day, Fem, Hom.” She nodded at us in turn and then left, signaling to her constables to bring along the package and the son-in-law.
I leaned back in my seat and heaved a sigh of relief. I hoped my face paint—carefully applied to make me look older and richer—wasn’t being wiped away by the cold sweat forming on my brow.
“I can’t believe that!” I said, breathless. “How long has that guy been working for you? I can’t believe he just threw you to the enforcers like that.”
“Indeed. My youngest female egg will be seeking a new mate soon.”
“Will she . . . Will she be very upset?”
“Naturally. However, she knows how the Gentek is skinned.”
“Still, it’s a setback.” I drummed my fingers on the tabletop. What did this do to our agreement? Then I brightened. “But then the Galaxy Room still doesn’t have their exotic foodstuffs, so I suppose technically your client,” I tilted my head in the direction of the Claws & Jaws, “will be satisfied.”
The look on Petreck’s face was so blank I almost had to nudge him. For a minute there he’d forgotten what story he’d told me. He’d make a very poor grifter.
“So,” I licked my lips and tried to keep my hands from shaking. “While I didn’t actually get you the item . . .” I waited for what seemed a very long time.
“Our ends have been achieved, as you say, Fem Graine.”
I managed not to weep with relief.
“Your father is released as we speak.” He hesitated, and I knew the next words were hard for him. “You spoke for me to the Trade Pact Enforcers. I am in your debt.”
I bowed in acknowledgment. That was one debt I had no intention of collecting.
Once he’d gone, it took me three tries to get to my feet. Even then, I’m sure it was only my brother’s hand under my elbow that kept me there.
“That was not Commander Lydis Bowman, Trade Pact Enforcer.” His voice was dry as sand, but he was laughing underneath. “I’ve met her, and that was not she.”
“I know that, you know that. Petreck doesn’t. Not yet.” I nodded my thanks as the couple from two tables over gathered up my servo cart and sauntered off with it.
“And the item?”
“On its way to the real Bowman, who’ll take an interest in Petreck. I know someone who knows someone,” I tapped the side of my nose when my brother raised his eyebrow. “And the son-in-law’s going to be left in what looks remarkably like the brig of the enforcer’s ship. It’ll take him a while to get out, and in the meantime, someone will tell his ex-father-in-law where he can be found.”
My brother tucked my arm in his. “And now?”
“Time to go pick up dear old dad.”