B00BFVOGUI EBOK (11 page)

The Dragon’s Depot was really
taking shape, Bridget thought. She and her team had returned to Sigma Draconis from Baghula to find the
cavernous Shaft at the station’s center beginning to look like what it was
supposed to be: a shipping terminus.

She’d once visited a century-old
automobile delivery silo at Autostadt in Germany.
This looked like a zero-gravity version of that: ring after ring of storage
receptacles on the inside walls of the cylindrical Shaft. Bangboxes
imported from the whirlibangs would stay here,
plugged securely in, waiting for their next destinations.

The first batch of inventory was already in,
relocated from ASPEC. It filled barely a twentieth of the storage space: the
Dragon’s Depot was that large. Some of it would be leaving soon. Now that the
trail had been blazed and the deal had been brokered, Administrator Falcone’s fulfillment crews would be taking material to Baghula to start Earth’s first interstellar teddy bear
factory. The trade would make a sizable profit for the expedition, and the Zazzy rights holders would surely wonder where all the
sudden licensing money was coming from.

And the outer levels of the
northern drum were beginning to look livable. Bridget complimented Trovatelli as their tour ended. “You’ve been busy,” she
said.

“Sounds like you had some
excitement,” the technician responded.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. But
we could have used our Q/A. If you’re done here, I want you on the next
mission.”

Trovatelli seemed apprehensive. “I was
hoping to spend some more time studying our squatters.”

Bridget shook her head. She
hadn’t forgotten about the armored intruders, but a surge team needed its
engineer. “Bring the data you’ve collected — you can review it on the trip.”

If Trovatelli
was disappointed, she covered it well, giving Bridget a jaunty salute before
heading off. Bridget turned and walked into the trading hall, beyond which Falcone’s chosen office lay. Bridget slowed her approach as
she heard raised voices inside.

“…how serious this is, Falcone. Everyone in the company is watching!”

“Relax, Bouchard. You’ll have
another heart attack,” Falcone said from behind his
desk. He spotted Bridget outside and waved her in. Bridget quietly found a wall
to lean against.

“I can’t relax,” René Bouchard
said. The balding auditor was just in from Quaestor’s
offices back home. “There’s a hundred billion dollars in inventory that went to
your surge team’s warehouse. A hundred billion requisitioned — everything from
accordions to zirconium!” The Quebecer’s voice cracked with indignation. “What
was it doing there?”

Falcone didn’t answer. His eyes locked
momentarily with Bridget’s — and Bouchard noticed. “You!” he said, waving his
handheld isopanel at her. “What the hell did you do
with seven metric tons of guacamole?”

Bridget shrugged. “We were
planning a party?”

Bouchard’s white eyebrows shot up — and
then he turned and slammed the isopanel on the desk.
“We
told
you not to hire her! She’s
already a public relations disaster. And now — this!”

Falcone clasped his hands together. “I
told you, René. There’s just been a clerical error—”

“A damned big
error! Your
expedition is responsible for the return of that material.” He looked around
the office. “Does it even exist? We know the Spore struck the Altair barracks.
The material’s gone, isn’t it? Digested!”

“Nonsense,” Falcone
said, wiping his nose. “The material went to us, yes — for whatever reason. But
we shipped it all out again when the Spore threatened—”

“Where? He grabbed the isopanel back. “Tell me where the goods are, then.”

“Other star
systems. Other depots. I can’t tell you just now — we’re just settling
in. But it’ll all be accounted for at the end of the quarter, I guarantee.” He
pocketed his handkerchief and stood. “I don’t know why we had all that
merchandise — I’m still investigating that. But we got it all safely out, and
we’ll get it back here soon. Then you can have it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or
you can let
us
sell it. Sigma Draconis is going to be a big earner for the company!”

Bouchard laughed. “A base on the edge of nothing! What kind of sales do you
really expect to—”

“One of our new traders has just
brought back a lucrative new contract,” Falcone said.
He stood by Bouchard’s chair. “It’s going to be a great quarter.”

The auditor looked up at him, newly
suspicious. “What new trader?” He touched a key on his isopanel.
“What’s his license number?”

“I don’t have access to my files
just yet — as I said, we’re still settling in.” Falcone
forced a smile. “Really, René — one old goat to another.
It’ll be fine. Just let me get things sorted out here.”

The auditor stood. “A hundred billion dollars, Leo.”

“Fine, I tell you.” Falcone slapped Bouchard’s shoulder and guided him out the
door.

When he turned back inside,
alone, Bridget was standing near a counter. “That was close,” she said.

“They’ll get closer,” Falcone grumbled. “We need to get your people moving again,
pronto.” He looked at her. “Does Sturm have the dossier on the next stop?”

“I gave it to him,” she said. “I
have no idea if he read it.” The man made no sense to her. Jamie knew the
stakes — he was the reason they were there, after all! — and yet as far as she could
tell, he still hadn’t bought in on the urgency of the mission. Yes, he’d crowed
about his sales success on Baghula — naturally omitting
mention of his panic attack on the shuttle, which Stubek
had described for her. But when Bridget had told him another mission was coming
up, Jamie had looked at her as if she’d put a bullet between his eyes.

Conniving
and
a coward. She didn’t have any use for
that.

And yet there was that report
from Welligan that Jamie had acted to save the Baghu from being killed. Where did
that
fit in? He probably only did it so he could make the sale, she
thought. Was doing the right thing accidentally still doing the right thing?

She wasn’t going to figure it out
now. She began walking out of the office, pausing only to gesture to a potted
object on a counter. “Cute little tree,” she said of the miniature sapling. “Looks like it needs water.”

“It came with the office,” Falcone said, shrugging. “Now let’s find your trader before
Bouchard does!”

Jamie sat on the stool at the bar
and watched the world go by. The bartender and the manager were bickering
again, and occasionally the curly-headed barmaid would amble past and sneer at
him. They had never actually served him a drink, but he’d been going there to
unwind since his midteens.

“Where the hell is he?” he heard Falcone say somewhere outside the front door.

“If anyone asks, I’m not here,”
he mumbled. No one at the bar took note, but then, they didn’t exist. Jamie
turned up the volume on his immerso unit, shutting
the world out.

Holography outside a solid medium
had never progressed very far, but isopanels were in
use everywhere. Tiny processors inside them made still or moving images appear
within transparent polymer sheets. When used in armor faceplates or eyeglasses,
isopanels could insert images that appeared to the
viewer’s eyes as part of the real-world setting outside.

That was good enough for armor
duty and the odd person-to-person call, but Hollywood had taken things a step
farther with the immersos. Old two-dimensional entertainments
had been converted into three-dimensional environments, with some programmed to
integrate the viewer into the action. Jamie preferred the old classics. He’d
been lucky to find a fully loaded immerso headset in
his sales goods; it had most of the programs that helped him turn his mind off
and relax.
Virtual
unreality
.

Reality, sadly, returned. “Here
he is,” Bridget said, leading Falcone through the
door. She saw Jamie wearing the goggles. “Oh, Lord. Where are you now?”

“I’m in a bar in Boston in the
twentieth century,” he said. “There’s a mailman pontificating near where you’re
standing.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the wisecracking
stockbroker.”

“Creative casting,” Falcone said. “Now get that thing off.”

Jamie sighed. The immerso unit neatly integrated real and unreal things — you
didn’t want to trip over a real chair while lurking in a Korean War operating
theater — and as he removed it, Bridget remained, but the actors disappeared. His
bar was once again the food prep table in the back room of a space station’s
kitchen.

“How long have you been hiding
out here?” Bridget asked, growing agitated.

“Not long enough. This was the
only place with stools,” he said. “Don’t sit on that one,” he warned, pointing.
“Norm gets testy.”

Bridget looked flustered. “We
don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be going over the briefing for the
next mission!”

Jamie looked back at her blankly.
“I read it.” He looked at the digital display on his hand. “Took
me — oh, eight minutes and a few seconds.”

“The whole
file?”
Bridget sputtered. “And the financial data?”

“That was the few seconds,” Jamie
said. “Relax. Auction on Leel, got it. I’ve got all the
angles memorized.”

“You’d damn well better hope so,
hotshot!” Falcone said.

“Nice to see you, too, Leo.”
Jamie slid off the stool and pocketed the headset and goggles. He hadn’t seen Falcone since he returned. “I figured you’d want to
congratulate me about Baghula.”

“I’ve been too busy cleaning up the
rest of your mess,” the administrator said. “And one sale isn’t going to get us
anywhere.”

“And you kind of blundered into
that one,” Bridget piped in.

Jamie glared. “You weren’t
exactly much help,” he said. He turned on Falcone,
remembering the list of grievances he’d compiled since Altair. After Baghula, he recalled his arrival on Sigma Draconis. “She left me alone with Welligan
when we got to the depot — and when
they
ditched me, that was when the aliens got me!”

“Aliens?” Falcone
shook his head. “Your Q/A said they were humanoid. Squatters. I’ve seen the video—”

“I met them,” Jamie said,
flustered. “These things were brutes. I don’t know what they were, but human
they weren’t.” He spied Trovatelli passing through
the hallway outside the door. Jamie pointed. “Hey,
she
believed me!”

“Don’t drag me into this,” the
Q/A said, ducking past. A second later Michael O’Herlihy
entered, making a beeline for a refrigeration unit and gathering up an armload
of packaged food.

“I’m losing my bar,” Jamie said,
sadly.

“You’re going to lose more than
that.” Falcone stuck a finger in his face. “I’ve got
an auditor from Quaestor here. I can’t keep this
cover-up going unless you get us more cash flow — now!”

Jamie flinched. “I just got
back!”

“And you’re just about to leave
again.” Falcone turned on Bridget. “And you had
better stow the disdain and help this guy out this time, or we’re all done.”

Bridget objected. “Leo, he’s
antagonizing everyone we meet! He’s no salesman—”

“And you’re no bodyguard,” Jamie
snapped. “Unless you call nearly getting yourself drowned protecting me.”

“Drowned?” Slightly taller than
the trader, Bridget glowered down at him. “I wasn’t in any danger at all. And
neither were you, if you’d kept your mouth—”

“
Enough!
” Falcone pointed to the exit. “I
want you all off my station within the hour. You’ve just got time to make the
auction at Mu Cassiopeiae — if you’ll shut up and
move!”

He turned and stormed out.

Bridget sighed in aggravation. “Fine. Mike, round everyone up. We’ve got a job to do.” She
turned toward the door.

“Try to actually do it this time,
Yang!” Jamie yelled at the back of her head. “I’d like to actually get home one
day!”

She stopped in the doorway and
looked back, eyes frosty. “I can send you back to Earth at any time. In a body bag.”

O’Herlihy guffawed as she vanished. “She
got you!”

“Oh, shut up,” Jamie growled. “Go
back to stuffing your face. You’ll need the energy when she screws up again.
Maybe you’ll
all
be buried alive this
time.”

The soldier chucked his garbage
into the incinerator and sauntered back through the kitchen. He paused long
enough to loom over Jamie. “I’d be careful there, Wall Street.”

Jamie didn’t budge. “What, are
you gonna play big brother now?”

“No,” O’Herlihy
said, walking to the exit. “Bridgie can take care of
herself.” He paused in the doorway, looked down the hallway and smirked. “You
know, she killed her last boyfriend.”

“I’m sure he didn’t die with a
smile on his face,” Jamie sputtered. “Or maybe he did — if it meant getting away
from her!”

“I don’t know about the smile,” O’Herilhy said, his face serious. “They couldn’t find the
guy’s face after the bullets went through.”

Jamie blinked. O’Herlihy turned and left.

They’re
such liars
, he
thought, reaching for his goggles.
I’m
going back to the bar
.

The being floated on the frigid
air, looking not much more substantial than the plastic bags Jamie’s dry cleaning
came wrapped in. Only this plastic bag was intelligent, or so he’d been told. Another day, another system, another freak of evolution. It
was becoming strangely routine for Jamie.

Mu Cassiopeiae
was his fourth strange star since leaving Earth — fifth, if he counted the paired
subdwarf wheezing its last in the distant reaches of
the system. Leel was the only body of significance
around the main star, and even that he found debatable. The almost-comet ice ball
hurtled along on its oblong orbit, with its natives coming out to trade only
when it approached perihelion.

And such natives! Looking more
closely, Jamie could see a hint of color in the drifting pouch as it headed for
the icy rostrum. Brain? Organs?
What it ate for breakfast? He had no way of knowing. He’d consumed the financial
data, just as he’d said. But his eyes always glazed over in exobiology class,
and they’d done so again after they gave him the jacket on Leel.
It was enough to know that, the Signatory powers knew plenty about the Leelites and their proclivities — as compared to the Baghu, which they knew little about. The Leelites were regarded as possibly the most harmless
species ever to achieve sentience. He’d hit that part in the dossier and gone
back to his immerso.

Still, being in the actual place
was just another in a series of strange experiences. Jamie shivered as he
looked up in the ice cave. The system in his SoftSHEL
space suit immediately responded, warming him. It didn’t help. The place was
enormous — almost a coliseum in crystal, with a massive star-shaped light fixture
at the top. Wouldn’t the place crack open like an egg once the body approached its
sun?

Bridget and her teammates didn’t
seem worried. Her fellow troops were scattered across the frozen floor,
admiring the architecture. They were in their lighter armor today, carrying
their rifles but not expecting trouble. She’d brought the B team to guard the
ship this time, led by Victor Gideon, a tall African man who hadn’t said a word
to Jamie ever.

Also outside with
Indispensable
was the lovely Lissa Trovatelli. Jamie hated
being here, but he was glad she was along.

But while the icy atrium seemed
to be designed to host hundreds — or thousands, if you were a floating garbage
bag — the humans were the only visitors here. “Didn’t Falcone
say this was an auction?”

“You don’t read,” Bridget said,
shaking her head. “This is the Leel market. It opens
only once a decade.” She pointed to the aperture at the far wall, behind the
rostrum. Several other Leelites floated from it into
the big room. “Those are the dignitaries, I think. It’s a big deal.”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Jamie
vaguely knew that the Leelites produced something,
but he didn’t know what.

“Just listen,” Bridget said.

The first wispy being he’d seen,
after consulting with the other creatures, floated up to a podium. A knowglobe sat next to it, identical to the one O’Herlihy and the humans had brought in.

“Greetings, gentle beings,” the
alien said. “I am Vremian, your auctioneer.” Jamie
didn’t hear the Leelite’s words — while the place was
pressurized, the aliens communicated through some other manner — but his audio
system translated, giving Vremian the voice of a posh
British butler.

Vremian waggled one of his hanging
shreds in their direction. “I hope you’ve all had the chance to look around and
enjoy Leel and its many amenities.”

Jamie whispered. “It’s an ice
cave!”

“Hush,” Bridget said. “He’s proud
of his home.”

“And I’m so pleased to see the
turnout for this season’s auction,” Vremian
continued. “My people have spent a long time crafting wares for this event. I’m
sure this will be our most successful market day ever!”

Jamie looked around, unsure if he
was missing something. “It’s just us!”

Bridget stomped on his foot.
Jamie didn’t feel it through his suit, but he got the message.

Vremian waited for a full minute, as if
expecting someone else to arrive. When no one did, the Leelite’s
wispy streamers went into motion again, and the great light above grew dim.

“Look!” Bridget said, pointing to
the floor.

Jamie looked at the image that was
projected there. “Looks like a totem pole.”

“That,” Vremian
said, “is Leel’s specialty, for which we are known
throughout the Orion Arm. In the rings of every transit station you’ll find
superconductor columns like these. And yet not like these — because Leelite columns are crafted by talented artisans, lovingly
etched by our appendages. The work of an entire race, locked away from the
outside world for all but one day each orbital cycle.” His sales pitch reached
its crescendo. “It’s no wonder that so many other species wait for this date,
traveling far to participate in the our famous
auction!”

Jamie looked around. He was still
the only buyer there.

From the stage, he heard what
almost sounded like an uncomfortable cough from one of the other Leelites.

“This is nuts!” Jamie whispered.

“This is Leel,”
Bridget said. She rolled her eyes. “I actually read the report from the last
people who participated. It gets stranger from here.”

Vremian waited a long time before
continuing. “All right, the big moment is here. We’ll start with the
eight-meter models. We have nineteen for sale. As always, bids are denominated
in tons of bauxite.”

“That, we’ve got,” Bridget whispered.
Indispensable
was a two-by-two-by-two
cube this time, including seven ’boxes of the stuff.

“They probably burn it for
warmth,” Jamie said.

“I’ll start the bidding at one
ton,” Vremian said. “Please, all of you, speak clearly, and not all at once.”

Jamie looked around again. Still
no one else there — but Vremian seemed not to be aware
of the fact at all. Did Leelites have eyes?

“One ton,” Vremian
said. “Anyone? Anyone?”

Apprehensively, Jamie raised his
hand. “Uhh…one?”

“One ton is bid! One ton for these wonderful superconductor columns. Now am I
bid two? Anyone? Anyone?”

Jamie looked around for a third
time. Was this some kind of joke? “What the hell?”

For a full minute, Vremian held the auction open, asking in vain for help from
nonexistent bidders.

“Is he expecting me to outbid
myself?” Jamie asked.

“Just go with it,” Bridget said.
“Quaestor’s building whirlibangs
all the time, and the price is right. Just get them so we can go.”

Vremian finally gave up on his calling. “Sold, to the — uh —
human being
there in the crowd.” A polite murmur rose from the gathering behind him.

“Great,” Jamie said. He looked
again at the image of the totem pole–sized column. “Do you bring them out to
us, or what?”

“Oh, dear, no.” Vremian
chortled — or at least, that was the sound that came from Jamie’s earpiece. “We
can’t lift them. That’s up to the buyer!” He flipped a shimmering shred in the
direction of the big doorway. “All the merchandise is stored deep within our
home.”

“Cash and carry?” Jamie was flummoxed. “How big
did you say those things were?”

“They are large,” Vremian said, “but over the generations we’ve carved some
nice stairs for beings of your kind. About five hundred of
them. I hope they won’t be too taxing!”

Bewildered, Jamie looked at
Bridget. “Well, now we know why no one bothers with this place.”

“I thought you read the
briefing,” Bridget said, annoyed.

“I did — this part, anyway. Whoever
compiled it didn’t say anything about carrying cargo by hand. I guess the other
customers brought their own bearers.” He looked back at her troops. “Er, are you guys up for…”

Rifle still slung over her
shoulder, she raised her hands. “Oh, no! We’re here to
guard you. We’re not manual labor!”

The light flickered again, and a
new image appeared on the floor. Vremian was back at
the podium. “Next, we have some of our fine ten-meter models. Very nice indeed. We’ll start the bidding at three tons,
shall we say?”

“I’ll double whatever the human
offers,” boomed a deep voice from behind Jamie’s party. “And if he offers more,
I’ll double that!”

Bridget turned, hands on her
weapon. Jamie did, too — to see the figure in black armor who’d
kidnapped him at the Dragon’s Depot days earlier. And this time he was flanked
by a dozen warriors outfitted just as he was. Massively built bipeds all toting
hefty versions of the hand-cannons he’d seen them tote before.

“I am Kolvax
of the Xylanx,” the leader said. “And there’s no way
the humans will beat us — and live!”