I quickly evaluated my options. The man was almost my height and considerably wider. His stance was perfect: feet spread at shoulder width, one foot a bit in front of the other, weight mostly on the harder to reach rear foot, knees bent. He held the gun with a casual confidence, but it never wavered from the center of my chest. In every detail I could spot, he was a pro. I could attack him and hope the person behind me would hesitate long enough to let me turn this guy into a shield; yeah, right. I'd be lucky to touch him before he shot me, and there was no way I'd be fast enough to avoid both him and his partner. I could dive, pray I was quicker than both their trigger fingers, and bet that they would catch each other in the crossfire; another brilliant idea. If I moved or attacked, they'd shoot me. If it was a body shot, the nanomachines should be able to repair me. If the rear assailant was targeting my head, however, my guess was that I'd die, and I was far from ready to do that.
"I certainly understand your desire for reflection," the front man said, "but we must move along. It would be rude to do otherwise, and my employer detests rude behavior." The man nodded slightly to his right, and I heard the one behind me take a step. The man leaned close enough to me that when he spoke he was whispering in my left ear. "Don't mistake the fancy talk, mate: I'd as soon shoot you as look at you. It's himself who makes us play these games." He stepped back again and waved me forward. "You may even keep your pack, provided, of course, that you refrain from opening it."
"After you," I said.
"Of course," the man said. "My colleague will insure that you do not lose sight of me."
"Move slowly," Lobo said over the comm unit, "and I may be able to reach you before they force you into the building."
I was tempted to try to stall, but learning what was happening was worth the risk of playing along. Besides, if they'd wanted to kill me, they'd have done so already. "No," I subvocalized.
I followed the man to the end of the block and around the corner. I heard the cables withdraw as we stepped away. I glanced at the upper floors of the buildings as we walked and glimpsed two windows closing, but I didn't spot any observation posts. That didn't mean anything, of course; a good sheet of insulated camoglass will let a building present a seamless and IR-neutral façade while its occupants enjoy a clear view of the outside world.
"I now can't reach you before you enter the building," Lobo said. "Should I attack it?"
"No," I subvocalized, covering my mouth and coughing slightly as I did so.
After about ten meters, a door slid open on our right. We entered a large black chamber illuminated only by the soft red glow emanating from a series of three arches. The owner clearly loved theatrics as much as formal language. I followed the lead man through the arches. He stopped after the final one and waited before a blank wall. "Rats," he said, "a nice touch. Custom or off-the-shelf?"
I said nothing.
"Of course," he said.
Two sections of the wall parted, and we stepped into an elevator. The trailing guard followed us in, and I got my first look at her. She was maybe ten centimeters shorter than the lead and considerably lighter, but in all the ways that mattered—stance, gun position, focus—she was his twin.
The elevator opened on the side opposite the one we entered, and the lead man stepped out. I followed him, my eyes tracking his gun as he temporarily turned his back on me, but the trailing guard played it smart and immediately took up position at my seven. If I attempted anything aggressive, she could shoot me cleanly and quickly.
I abandoned the idea of engaging them and looked for the first time at the room around me.
I closed my eyes, then opened them and stared for a second time.
Nothing changed.
I'd entered a storybook, maybe a museum exhibit or the hobby room of a wealthy re-enactor. One of the constants of the many types of jobs I've held is a lot of time alone. I've filled that time soaking up whatever inputs I could obtain: text, audio, video, holoplays, anything and everything both old and new. I lacked any formal education—Pinkelponker's government didn't invest in the mentally challenged or, for that matter, any but those it considered elite—but I'd spent a lot of time learning for the pure pleasure of it. As best I could tell, I was standing in a gentleman's club from Earth circa nineteenth or twentieth century.
Dark wood paneling covered the walls. Lighter planks with a matching grain formed the floor. Rich, thick, patterned brown carpets lay atop the wood here and there throughout the large space. Clusters of overstuffed leather chairs created multiple conversation nooks, each chair the rich black of the freshly tilled soil I'd worked as a child. Portraits of men with large sideburns and thick, gray hair adorned the walls. A fire—from the smell of it, real wood burning and drafting up a real chimney—threw heat from a fireplace tall and wide enough to hold several children standing side by side. The viscerally pleasing tang of a nighttime blaze suffused the air. Two manservants, each wearing the black and white formal server attire of the period and carrying a silver tray, stood at either end of the room. Books, actual bound paper as best I could tell, stood on shelves on either side of the fireplace and sat on some of the dark, three-legged tables that separated pairs of chairs.
As I examined the room more closely, I realized that the owner, though clearly infatuated with the period, wasn't willing to suffer or take undue risks for his passion. Quiet fans and masked vents prevented the fire's heat from exerting undue influence on the room's comfortable, almost constant temperature. The same air-handling system kept the room smoke-free but rich in the fire's aromas. The portraits morphed from time to time, displays with convincing surface textures but definitely not original art. Each servant held a small handgun discreetly at his side.
A door opened in the far left-hand wall. A man bustled in. No one said a word, but the posture of all of the staff straightened immediately; the boss had arrived. He was about fifteen centimeters shorter than I but almost as broad. He wore a version of the same suit as the manservants but with a shorter coat. He studied me as he approached, then smiled and stuck out his hand.
"Good of you to come, Mr. Moore," he said.
I shook his hand. He controlled the situation completely, so I saw no viable options other than playing along. Though I might well be able to form a nanocloud to destroy him and everyone else in the room, I didn't want to kill anyone, and I had no good non-destructive options beyond listening and hoping to learn something useful.
When I didn't speak, he continued. "I gather from your reaction, sir, as well as from your taste in food—and who cooks better than Joaquin, eh?—that you are a man who has the capacity to appreciate my little club."
He obviously wanted me to talk, so I told the truth. "It is impressive indeed. I've never been anywhere quite like it."
"More's the pity that, isn't it, Jon? Do you mind if I call you Jon?"
I shrugged. "Of course not, Mr. . . ."
He smiled. "Chaplat, Bakun Chaplat. At your service."
"I would say that I appear to be at yours."
He laughed. "Quite so, quite so." He turned and spoke to the lead guard. "As I've explained so often, in business as in all things, class will out." He faced me again. "I trust my two colleagues were not too coarse in their greeting."
I kept my focus on Chaplat, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the man stiffen. I learned long ago that it's good to have friends on the front line, particularly if they're on the other side of the line, so I raised an eyebrow and said, "I'm afraid you have me quite mystified. They were perfectly pleasant, given the situation, of course."
The guard relaxed visibly. "Well done," Chaplat said to him.
Chaplat put his arm around me and led me to a pair of chairs facing the fire. "The hour is growing late, so I propose we have our chat and send you on your way." A servant appeared behind the table between our chairs. "A drink, perhaps, or a snack?" Chaplat said.
"Thank you, but, no."
"I appreciate your caution, Jon," he said, "though I assure you that it is unnecessary." He waved away the server. "To business then."
He settled back, adjusted his trousers, and stretched his arms along the chair's arms, the very picture of a relaxed, non-threatening gentleman. The movements were too conscious, too practiced to be convincing, but I stayed in my role and sat back similarly.
The chair amazed me. Firm enough to provide good support but soft enough to make me want to stay, it could have been made for me. I glanced around the room and noticed that all of the chairs varied slightly in both height and depth. Chaplat had chosen one that was perfect for me. Without even thinking I ran my fingers along the chair's arms. The leather—and it was leather, real animal hide—had been worked until it was as soft and inviting as sleep on a bed after a hard day's march. Few buyers are willing to pay for real leather, and fewer still are willing to risk offending the many people who consider the material to be an abuse of animals, but when you encounter a piece as beautiful as the cover on this chair you immediately understand why some people won't give it up. The subtle smell and the texture carried me in an instant to my childhood, to those rare cold nights when Jennie and I would sit together under a leather cover and watch through our hut's main window as the stars and the moons transformed the night from dark menace into magic.
"Another taste we share," said Chaplat, studying me as he spoke. "Very good. All too few men take the time to appreciate the pleasures available to them. Pleased as I am, however, we must, as I said, get to the topic at hand."
"Of course," I said. I put my hands in my lap and pushed away the memories.
Chaplat smiled and continued. "My organization operates a variety of concerns that share a single overriding goal: to facilitate trade on developing worlds. In the years, sometimes many years, between early colonization and the transition to full and effective planetary government, we provide such services as business interruption insurance, diversions for hard-working pioneers, third-party arbitration, negotiation, and, to those unable to obtain it elsewhere, capital." He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. "It was for this last service that your friend Jack approached us."
"Jack?" I said.
Chaplat's expression tightened. "We know Jack, know him well enough that some of our associates were trying to catch up with him before he ended his stay on Mund. We also know Joaquin, who after a bit of persuasion mentioned Jack's visit and spoke rather highly of you." His tone changed, flattened. "Please do not mistake civility for softness. Our interactions thus far have been remarkably pleasant. I see no reason they need to change. Do you?"
The two guards edged closer.
"No, of course not," I said. "Jack was a business colleague many years ago, and I had not seen him since I," I paused, searching for the best way to be both accurate and vague, "chose to leave our joint venture. I can assure you that I was not expecting him to join me at lunch, nor to see him at all, for that matter."
Chaplat nodded in satisfaction. "If I may presume on our growing relationship," he said, "may I ask the reason for Jack's unexpected visit?"
This time I was ready and didn't hesitate. When you have to lie, the best lie is the one closest to the truth. "He was seeking my assistance on a project, a project much like some of those in our previous venture."
"What sort of project?"
I smiled. "Wealth redistribution. While Jack handles many classes of interactions quite well, certain more basic functions are not his strong point. In our previous enterprises, those functions were mine to manage. He wanted the same sort of help here."
"And your response to him?"
"I said I was uninterested, wished him well in finding a partner, and left." If Chaplat's data came from Joaquin, that story should fit well with what he saw.
"I can certainly understand your reluctance to do further business with Jack," Chaplat said. "Our experience in providing him capital has certainly not been successful—at least not so far. I have to inquire, however, about the motivation for your visit to the Followers' warehouse if you are not working with Jack."
For a moment I wondered just how much money Jack had borrowed for his poker game or whatever real purpose he hadn't told me, but I couldn't let the thought distract me; any delay in my response would alert Chaplat. "Jack could not meet his objectives without me," I said. "I didn't plan to work with him, but on the off chance the opportunity might be large enough to justify extending my stay here, I was conducting some preliminary research."
"And your research showed?"
"That Jack was aiming at the wrong target. The place is nearly empty, and what stock it holds is primarily Pinkelponker souvenirs."
"Surely there are artifacts?"
I nodded. "Some, but nothing I recognized or could use."
"Too bad," Chaplat said. "We also conduct a brisk trade in art and artifacts." He rubbed his hands on his pants legs. "But, no matter. We still have the issue at hand: Jack. His rather sizable debt to us remains unpaid, and we'd like your help in fixing that problem."
Finally. I paused long enough to appear to be deliberating the matter. "Though I appreciate your problem, it is just that: your problem."
The woman stepped close enough to rest her hand on my chair just behind my head.
Chaplat acted as if she were invisible. "Given the circumstances," he said, "it might not be unreasonable to consider adopting the issue as your own concern." He finally glanced at each of the guards in turn and then stared again at me. "I assure you that my associates are not always so well behaved."
"Nor are mine," I said.
Chaplat laughed. "Threatening me from the comfort of my own club's chairs? I do admire your moxie." Chaplat paused and turned completely serious. "But such bravado is also quite dangerous."
I didn't want a fight, but Chaplat wasn't going to let me go if he wasn't happy. I decided to turn this into something he would understand. "I do provide services, as I noted earlier, but at a price."
"And that would be?"
"Twenty percent of whatever Jack owes you."
"That's outrageous," Chaplat said, though his expression relaxed. "And you don't even know the amount."
"If I collect it for you, I'll know how much it is. As for being outrageous, I'm sure it's only a small part of the interest debt he's accumulated."
"And if we were to reach an accord, which would most certainly never be twenty percent, what guarantee would we have that you would perform the service?"
"None, of course, but I would be motivated, because I wouldn't receive any payment until I found and delivered him."
No one who built this room lacked an understanding of greed. Chaplat nodded. "Five percent," he said.
"Fifteen."
He stuck out his hand as he spoke. "Eight, and one of my associates accompanies you."
I didn't move. "Ten, and I report back here when I have him. If you follow me or try to make someone stay with me, Jack will spot the coverage and vanish." I paused, then took the slight gamble. "As he had already done until you got lucky and he sauntered into Falls, completely unaware that Choy was also a client of yours."
Chaplat stood and extended his hand again. "Deal."
I got out of the chair and shook his hand, not because I wanted the formal agreement or because I meant it, but because I had to make the gesture. He squeezed mine hard enough that I had to work not to show any reaction. I could have squeezed back harder and hurt him more, but my goal was to exit there intact, not to win a contest, so I took the pain. I couldn't stop myself, however, from the indulgence of not letting him know it hurt.
"I strongly suggest that you not disappoint us," he said. "If you do, no planet in this sector will be a good place to holiday." He dropped my hand, turned, and walked away. "My associates will show you out."
"What happened to you?" Lobo said. "That building's shielding was top-shelf; I couldn't pick up anything."
"Later," I said. "Backup site." Though Chaplat's team had left me alone on the street, I had to assume that I was under surveillance until I could convince myself otherwise. Chaplat didn't appear to know about Lobo, so I wanted to keep him a secret as long as possible. I now had to chart a jagged counter-surveillance course to our backup site, a small tourist shuttle landing zone down the coast from the warehouse district. I covered an extra couple of kilometers simply to make sure I was alone.
As I walked, I focused most of my attention on my surroundings. I kept my vision on IR and this time checked not only the roads but also the buildings for signs of activity. I didn't spot any, but that didn't mean I was clear; Chaplat might have owned multiple shielded buildings. It was unlikely, however, that his properties stretched contiguously along my entire route, so as long as neither Lobo nor I spotted any watchers, I was probably okay.
Despite my largely external focus, however, I couldn't help but ponder my situation.
Chaplat wanted Jack. Jack traveled with Manu. I had agreed to make sure nothing happened to Manu. To do that, I would also have to protect Jack. Lovely—and almost certainly exactly what Jack had wanted.
On the other hand, Jack had lied, so all bets were off. I could climb in Lobo and head for the jump gate. End of problem.
Except, of course, that if I left, I'd be breaking my commitment to Manu. I wouldn't do that. I would stay simply because I'd said I would. The notion that keeping one's word matters may be as old as the gentlemen's clubs that Chaplat was emulating, but I had always held to it.
I needed to be sharp tomorrow, because Manu required protection now more than he had before. Dougat might behave perfectly, but if one of Chaplat's people spotted Jack at the Institute and tried to take him there, Manu could end up as collateral damage.
I couldn't let that happen.
I now also had to deal with Jack as soon as this was over. I could return him to Chaplat and collect my payment, but as angry as I was at Jack, we had been partners once, and I didn't relish the prospect of turning him over to a gangster who would almost certainly hurt him badly. If I didn't, though, I'd definitely have to jump after tomorrow's meeting.
And then there was the matter of Dougat's hidden arsenal. At one level, it wasn't my problem; organizations of all types accumulate weapons all the time. Still, my experience with armed religious groups was bad enough that I had to consider whether I wanted to leak the information to the local EC office.
The rendezvous site was shut for the night when I reached it, but the gate recognized me from my rental agreement and let me in. Lobo flew in fast and hovered over the area I'd rented. I hopped aboard, and he took off. I collapsed into the pilot couch, and Lobo accelerated.
"Spend the next hour checking for surveillance and running evasive patterns," I said."
I closed my eyes and leaned back.
"So will you now tell me what happened?" Lobo said.
"Tomorrow just got a whole lot more complicated."