First’s hand pressed against the Junktion medical isolation ward’s window hard enough that her knuckles turned white and left a condensation outline.
“She’s going to be okay?” First pleaded, never taking her eyes off Sheer as she lay motionless in her recovery berth hooked up to feeding tubes and health monitors.
“She lost a leg when she crashed into the back of the cargo bay,” Loritt said gently. “But it’ll regenerate. She’s got five more in the meantime. She cracked the bottom plate of her carapace, too, but it doesn’t matter because the doctors decided to put her into a chemically induced molt. Her shell was so thoroughly irradiated, they felt it best in the long term if she shed it early.”
First stared through the glass, indifferent to her own injuries. Her chest was bound up in a flexcast that would protect her until the Boneknit did its work on her broken ribs, but she barely paid it any mind.
“She’s getting full-time pay through this, right?” First said. A demand, not a question.
“Of course,” Loritt said. “With the payday we just landed, I can pay you all for cycles. I take care of my people first, First.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“She’s sedated. As I understand it, forced molts are not a pleasant experience for Ish.”
Streaks of water erupted from First’s eyes and ran down the human girl’s face, a sign Loritt had come to recognize as emotional distress in her race. First held out a small box.
“I brought her some cured fish, for when she’s sick of hospital food. The Ish deli said it’s the finest on the station. I don’t really know because it all smells like week-old buffet shrimp to me, but … will you see she gets it?”
Loritt took the care package in hand with reverence. “With your compliments.”
First gripped the box of rancid fish for a rakim until she was sure her intention was understood, then let go and departed for the exit. Hashin, who had innocuously hidden himself on the other side of a nearby privacy screen, as was his habit, stepped into view.
“Such a remarkable species,” Loritt said, staring down at the box First had left in his care. “So self-centered. Yet so selfless. Hell of a trick. I don’t fully understand how they manage it.”
“They fervently believe they’re the center of everything,” Hashin said. “But they’re so willing to bring anyone who’s shown them the slightest loyalty into their understanding of ‘they,’ that they forget where the center even is.”
“Sounds like just the sort of people an Assembly of Sentient Species needs to keep itself glued together in the long term,” Loritt said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It would be a first, that’s for sure.”
“Was that a pun?”
Hashin ignored the question. “You asked me to remind you when your appointment with Vitle was coming up. Well, it’s in a larim.”
Several parts of Loritt sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose it can be postponed?”
“You’ve already pushed it back twice. He is your lawyer, you know.”
“I know, I know.” Loritt straightened one of his shirt cuffs. “But he’s just so, so…”
“Cyborgs usually are,” Hashin said, saving Loritt from saying it out loud. “But it’s also why he’s never forgotten a single line of statutes or precedent since law school.”
“How long ago was that for him again?”
“A hundred and thirty cycles.”
“You’d really think he’d have gotten a partnership by now,” Loritt mused. “No matter. I should go and prepare.”
“You mean get to Horloth’s early and have three stiff drinks before he arrives?”
“Precisely.”
Loritt arrived early and made good on his plan, ordering a drink for each primary hand, so as not to throw himself off balance. That would come naturally once they were empty. The waiter took his appetizer order, blue fern salad tossed in a light vinaigrette with live qalns, and left Loritt to lubricate himself.
Half a larim later, his lawyer rolled in exactly on time, quite literally in his case. He’d had high-torque electric servos and small-diameter synthetic rubber wheels installed in his three feet some decades earlier to “speed up the commute.”
Loritt stood and offered his hand. “Prudanse, good of you to come—and punctual as always.”
Prudanse Vitle shook Loritt’s hand with carefully practiced and calibrated force. The first day with his biomechanical hands thirty cycles earlier, he’d accidentally gotten himself sued when he crushed all the bones in a prospective client’s palm at the start of their consultation. He’d learned quickly from the experience. Vitle eyed the twin drinks on the table. One empty, one two-thirds of the way there.
“I see you decided to get a head start, Mr. Chessel.”
“Just visiting an employee in the hospital. It’s been a day.” Loritt knew better than to offer Vitle a seat, as the cyborg preferred to just squat down and lock his knees in place, a trick made easier with three legs and artificial joints.
“Your people have an above-average rate of morbidity and mortality, did you know that?”
“We are blessed with the gift of being able to swap out parts,” Loritt said. “Not really that different from yourself. Can I get you a drink? Wine? Something stronger?”
“I’m on the clock.”
“A pliers for the stick, then?”
“Just a mineral spirits flush, please.”
“Any vintage in particular?”
“Har. May we begin?”
Loritt sighed, then signaled the waiter. “A glass of your lightest paint thinner for my friend.”
“Right away, sir.” The waiter evaporated again. Loritt wasn’t sure how he did it.
Loritt leaned back in his chair in defeat, then waved a hand in Vitle’s direction. “Begin.”
“Thank you. First, my retaining fee is a week overdue.”
Loritt took another swig from his remaining drink. “Yes, it is, and I apologize for that. There was a temporary lapse in the company’s revenue stream due to conditions beyond my control, of which you are only too well aware, as they relate directly to one of the cases you are, presumably, working on for me at this very moment.”
“I mention it as a courtesy,” Vitle said emotionlessly. “It is the firm’s policy that work on accounts more than two weeks out of date are frozen until payment is made.”
“Oh, don’t give me that ‘the firm’ glot. It’s you, a rotating unpaid paralegal intern, and an elderly Lividite secretary answering the links in your office.”
“Yes. They’re my firm.”
Loritt’s jaw tensed. “And a fine firm it is. We’ve just docked two cruise liners on contract worth almost half a billion credits each. Once they’re auctioned off in a month or so, cash flow will not be an issue. So I’m asking you, as a favor, to float me your services until then. Consider it a loan from your firm to mine. You can even charge interest.”
Vitle’s face went blank, which most people would assume meant shock, but Loritt knew meant only that he was computing something.
“Twenty-five percent interest,” the cyborg said after a pause.
“Twenty,” Loritt countered.
“Compounding.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
Vitle’s face went slack for a moment again before, “The terms are acceptable.”
“Good. May we continue?”
“There are two weighty matters we must discuss immediately,” the cyborg started again. Loritt found himself staring at the eyes. They were synthetic, which was common enough. Nelihexu had the advantage over other species in that as they aged, they could always cycle in new organic parts. He was on his third set of eyes himself. All that was lost was another tiny slice of their ever-evolving soul.
Cyborgs felt different, somehow. Jrill had synthetic eyes as part of the standard kit the Turemok military had outfitted her with after basic training. But Loritt could still tell Jrill was a Turemok just by looking at her. So much of Vitle had been replaced with machinery, Loritt had no idea what species the man had started life as. Did he have three legs at birth, or was that a design concession? Somewhere, he’d rolled straight across a line, probably without even recognizing it was even there.
Was it bigotry to think so?
“Mr. Chessel, did you hear me?”
Loritt shook his head clear and refocused on the task at hand. “I apologize again, old friend. There’s been a lot on my mind, and I don’t have that enviable internal filing system of yours.”
Vitle grimaced as if the act of rewinding his monologue was physically discomforting, then began again. “I was saying, the matter of the sex trafficking investigation surrounding the Pay to Prey has attracted significant attention, especially in the local media. There’s really no chance we can avoid a deposition at this point. You’ll have to answer why you didn’t immediately report the matter to station security.”
“Oh, heavens.” Loritt leaned back in his chair as if he’d been physically struck. “Is that what people are saying? No, no, that’s not right at all. As soon as the Prey was tied off and I was briefed by my people of the dreadful situation they’d uncovered on board, I, ever the conscientious citizen, delegated one of them to make a full report to security while we arranged temporary housing for those poor, exploited souls.”
Vitle stared back at him like a jaded student taking notes. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“Of course. It’s the least we could do for them.”
“Right. And so what happened to this ‘report’ you ordered submitted to station security?”
Loritt held his hands open in concession. “Regrettably, with the swell of activity and emotions surrounding the discovery and resettlement of the Prey’s victims, the subordinate assigned to file the report … neglected to. An honest and understandable lapse, given the circumstances. Nevertheless, they have been appropriately and adequately disciplined for the oversight.”
“And the identity of this neglectful employee?”
Loritt clasped his hands. “I’m afraid that’s an internal company matter and, due to confidentiality concerns, isn’t something we’re willing to divulge to the courts at this time.”
“You’re not giving me a whole lot to work with here.”
“Which is why I’m paying you a whole lot to work with it.”
“You promise to pay.”
“A promise costing me 20 percent interest.”
“Compounded.”
“Fine!” Loritt said just a little louder than he intended. He waved at a nearby table, then cleared his throats. “That’s fine, if you can make it work.”
The waiter, sensing a pause in the conversation/confrontation, appeared out of the ether to deliver Vitle’s glass of mineral spirits and Loritt’s salad.
“Are we ready to order, gentlemen?”
“Let us finish this round, Alconz,” Loritt said without breaking eye contact with his lawyer.
“Very good, sir.” Poof, gone.
They both took long swills from their glasses.
Loritt continued. “Really, Prudanse, I don’t know how you drink that stuff.”
“It keeps my joint seals from drying out.”
Loritt raised his glass in toast. “To your seals’ good health, then. Now, what was the second ‘weighty matter’ we need to discuss?”
“The unwitting doormat your newest piece of office sculpture pressed into the floor of their previous apartment.”
“Ah yes,” Loritt swallowed the last remnants of his second drink. “That nasty business.”
“‘Nasty’ doesn’t quite encompass the totality of that episode,” Vitle said. “I reviewed the crime scene holos. I’ve seen industrial waste compactors with more finesse.”
Loritt pressed his palms into the white linen tablecloth. “It’s really very simple, my good chum. A misguided youth broke into the victim’s apartment and—unknowingly, I’m sure—endeavored to leave their gang tags on what turned out to be a Grenic caught in midstep, who naturally toppled over under the sudden imbalance.” He held his hands up to the ceiling in consternation. “It only follows.”
Vitle crossed his arms. “And which Junktion gang’s motto begins with WATCH YOUR BA?”
Loritt shrugged. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask around in the underworld, which we both know I have no connections to or familiarity with.”
“Naturally,” the cyborg said flatly. “Lawyer-client-privilege time, Loritt.”
“Oh, we’re at Loritt now?” The Nelihexu perked up in his seat. “This should be fun. It’s been a long time since you called me by my unified name.”
“Only out of respect and confidence. The human girl shacking up with the Grenic? Nobody rooms with a Grenic.”
“First does,” Loritt said, not intending to sound so defensive, but oddly not sorry that he had, either.
“Yes, Firstname Lastname. I’ve read her immigration documents. What’s her real name?”
“That is her real name as far as the Assembly bureaucracy is concerned. Her papers are in order, and that’s good enough for me.”
“Loritt,” Vitle said politely, but with the authority of his profession. “I cannot protect you from lines of attack I’ve not been briefed on. Rumors about this human girl have swirled enough to reach even my audio receptors. There are still only a handful of them on the station. They defeated the Turemok flat out at their own game only five cycles earlier in a galaxy that has been trapped under Turemok talons for a millennium. They’re virtually celebrities, wherever they are. Their comings and goings don’t go unnoticed or unreported. So I’ll ask again, as your lawyer, who’s the girl?”
“A technical consultant,” Loritt said reflexively. “She’s been advising me on security vulnerabilities. She came highly recommended.”
“Doubtless from the underworld you have no connections to or familiarity with,” Vitle fed Loritt’s words back to him.
“Doubtless.”
Vitle sighed and pushed away from the table, rolling to a stop in the walkway. “Fine, keep your secrets. It’ll cost you extra in the end, billed from me if you’re lucky. From the judge if you’re not. They’re going to want to interview her. There’s nothing I can do to prevent that, so get her prepared. Two weeks is your extension, compounded interest. Oh, and you’re buying my drink.”
“I assumed that as a given, between friends,” Loritt said. “It was my turn, after all.”
“It’s always your turn. Bit of advice: find a hole to throw that girl down for a couple of months until this blows over.” Vitle bowed the bare minimum decorum would permit, then spun around on three heels and rolled out of sight just as the waiter returned.
“Just one for dinner after all, sir?”
“Actually, Alconz, I think I’ll just take the bill.”
“Very good, sir.” As the waiter disappeared again, Loritt swirled the dregs of his second drink.
“Trouble with the little missus?” a voice as familiar as it was unwelcome came from the table behind him. He turned around to confront the interloper.
“Soolie.” Loritt exhaled the name like someone trying not to breathe in a foul odor. “I didn’t see you come in. In fact, I could’ve sworn you were disinvited from the guest list at this establishment.”
“What can I say?” Soolie shrugged. “You don’t have to jump the velvet rope when you can just walk under it. Sounds like you’ve got quite the problem brewing in the ranks. That human girl again. Always seems to come back to her, doesn’t it?”
“Purely coincidence in this case. Some poor fool thought to take a crack at her Grenic roommate and ended up donating blood to the carpet.”
“Hmm, tough to kill, those Grenic. You gotta know the fault lines. Then, they cleave like a gemstone. Anyway, I hope your little human pet holds up under questioning by security. Sure would be a shame if something explosive came out under pressure.”
“Thanks for your concern, Soolie. This place suddenly feels a little claustrophobic for me.” Loritt stood up from his seat and looked down at the mobster. “It’s more your size, I think. Good night.”
Alconz caught Loritt just as he reached the door. “Sir, your bill.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m in a rush. Please put it on my tab and I’ll settle up at the end of the week.” He nodded to Soolie the Fin. “And if that Umulat seated behind my table is still here in a quarter of a larim, have the doorman throw him out on the street by the dewlaps.”
“The front or the back door, sir?”
“One and then the other.”
In moments, Loritt was safely ensconced inside his Proteus, alone with his thoughts. Chief among them was First and why he’d held back on what he knew about her, even to a trusted ally. Then defended her again from a longtime enemy. She’d gotten to him somehow. He felt … protective toward her. Almost paternalistic. Which was insane. He’d known her for less than two standard months. And yet, he knew she would do it for him …
“Hell of a trick,” Loritt said as he pulled out of the parking hangar.