Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (11 page)

“Well,” said Epcott, glancing at his companions, “my friends and I were on our way to dinner, but I suppose I could answer a couple of questions.”

“Thank you,” said Deso.
 
“You were released from the hospital a few days ago.
 
How is your recovery progressing?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Epcott.
 
“Completely recovered.”

“Were your injuries from the assault very severe?”

Epcott chuckled.
 
“Oh, I wasn’t injured in the assault.
 
I had an unusually strong reaction to a sedative I was given at the scene.”
 
He laughed.
 
“It knocked me out for four days.”

Deso plastered a smile on her face.
 
“You look well rested.”

“Thank you,” said Epcott.
 
“Now, if you’ll excuse us. . .”

“But . . . .!”

“I’m sorry,” said Epcott.
 
“But we really must go.
 
If you’d like to arrange a more formal interview, miss, you can comm me and we can set up an appointment.”

Deso was about to protest, but Epcott had turned away.
 
His companions had already claimed a groundcar and were waiting in it, the door open.
 
He slid inside, turning to wave goodbye to Deso as the door sealed.
 
A moment later, the groundcar pulled away from the sidewalk.

“Wastes!” swore Deso.

“At least he offered to do a more formal interview,” said Som.
 
“That’s something.”

Deso scowled at the older reporter.
 
“I can’t do a newsbit with just two questions!”

“Then stop scowling, dear girl, and come along,” said Som.
 
He walked to the next groundcar and climbed inside.
 

Deso frowned.
 
“Why are you being so helpful?
 
We’re competitors.”

“Even competitors can collaborate when it’s in their best interests.
 
Now, are you getting in or not?
 
I don’t think I’ll lose the signal, but. . .”

“What signal?” asked Deso, climbing into the car.
 

“I programmed one of my drones to follow Epcott while you were talking to him.”

Deso stared.
 
“It’s inside their car?”

Som rolled his eyes.
 
“No, silly.
 
It’s attached to the top of the groundcar.”

He handed his PIN to Deso.
 
She stared at the screen, saw a map of the area streets with a flashing dot moving along them that obviously represented Som’s camera.
 

“Let’s go.”

He reached forward and touched the auto-driver controls.
 
“Destination, please.”

“Switch to manual control,” ordered Som.

“Please provide your name and personal ident-code for license confirmation,” said the auto-driver.

Som rattled off his name and personal ident-code like a machine.
 
The auto-driver chimed softly and announced, “License confirmed.
 
You have manual control.”

“Now,” said Som, taking the groundcar’s controls, “where are we going, Deso?”

* * * * *

 
The Alien Sector blazed after dark, its restaurants and nightclubs offering new experiences to the more jaded members of the Junian public.
 
As their groundcar slid along the streets, Vesu peered out the window with interest.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“I lived here for a few weeks after I first arrived on Juni,” said John.
 

They were on the edge of the Sector, where it brushed up against one of the major commercial districts.
 
Here, the streets were thronged with people.
 
Only as the car slid deeper into the Sector did the pedestrian traffic lighten.

“It’s not a bad neighborhood.”

The groundcar came to a gentle stop.
 
John grinned and opened the door, climbed out of the vehicle.
 
Vesu and Olu followed him, found themselves standing outside a busy restaurant.
 
There was a line of customers waiting to get inside.
 
Olu noticed that it was a mixed crowd, Junians and various offworlders.
 
There were several Zerraxi present, as well as a tall Burjan, a white-furred Juxxan and a pair of Jurkuroi.

Vesu was squinting at the front of the line.
 
“Is that a Groivan?”

John flipped back the hood of his over-robe, and followed Vesu’s gaze.
 
“Probably.”

The three of them attached themselves to the end of the line, behind a Junian couple.
 
The woman wore the green and black uniform of the Junian Guard.
 
Her male companion wore a pale orange cloak over a sheer blue tunic and blousy green trousers.
 
The man turned and nodded, then blinked in surprise at the sight of John’s dark hair.
 
John saw the recognition appear in the man’s gaze.

“Excuse me,” said the fellow. “Are you John Epcott?”

John plastered a smile on his face.
 
“I am.”

“Oh!” The man’s eyes widened and he touched his companion’s arm.
 
“Tonu, look! It’s John Epcott!”

The woman shot John an apologetic look and glowered at her friend.
 
“Yes, Eja, I can see that.”

“I’m a great admirer of yours, Mr. Epcott!” gushed the man.

“Thank you.
 
Mister?”

“Oh!” Hastily, the man made a proper greeting, pale hands flashing from his shoulders outward. “I’m Eja Zef!
 
And this is my friend, Tonu Nozelu!”

John brushed Zef’s palms with his own hands, nodding at Tonu.
 
“A pleasure to meet you both.
 
These are my friends, Olu Teneso and Vesu Oza.”

Polite greetings were exchanged among the group.

“Have you been here before, Mr. Epcott?” Nozelu asked, indicating the restaurant.

John grinned.
 
“I’m a regular.”

“Was this where you were attacked?” Zef asked, a bit breathlessly.

“Eja!” Tonu Nozelu snapped at her friend, whose face had gone quite pale as he realized he might have committed a serious gaffe.
 
He actually tucked his hands, fingers red as blood, beneath his armpits in mortification.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t think! I. . . .”

“It’s all right,” said John.
 
“The attack happened a few blocks away.”

“It must have been awful!” said Eja Zef.

“Well, it certainly was for the attackers,” said John, mildly.

Zef’s eyes widened with amazement, while a look of startled amusement flashed across Nozelu’s face. Behind him, John heard Olu trying not to laugh.

John glanced at Nozelu’s uniform.
 
“How long have you been in the Guard, Miss Nozelu?”

“Fifteen years.”

“You’re a Ninth Officer?” asked John, glancing at her shoulder insignia.
 
“A science specialist?”

She nodded.
 
“Ecological Science.”

They chatted amicably until they reached the front of the line.
 
John was vaguely aware of the people around them listening, but no one else attempted to join their conversation.
 
Patrons exiting the restaurant glanced at them, as they passed.
 
A few of the Junians stared, and John thought one woman might have damaged her neck, when she jerked her head around in a comical double-take.
 
Then their group reached the front of the line.
 
Nozelu and Zef said goodbye and were ushered into the restaurant.
 

Suddenly, John found himself caught up in a powerful hug, and smothered against Taiaxa’s impressive bosom.
 
“Aha!” crowed the Zerraxi woman.
 
“John Epcott! I told everyone you’d be back, but didn’t think it would be this soon!”

Laughing, John returned the hug as best he could.
 
“Well, if I’d known I was going to get a greeting like this, Tai, I would have come back even sooner!”

She laughed and stepped back, gave him an appraising look.
 
“You certainly don’t look any worse for your experience with those
toznitsati
scum!
 
You are well?”

“I’m fine,” said John, gripping Taiaxa’s arms.
 
He grinned at her.
 
“And I’ll be even better with some of your good food in me!”

“Still the flatterer!” But her eyes glittered with warmth.
 
“Your usual table?”

“Actually,” said John, turning to indicate his friends, “we’d like a table for three.
 
Somewhere up front if you’ve got something available.”

Taiaxa’s heavy eyebrows rose in surprise.
 
“Up front?”

John nodded.
 
“Up front.
 
Where everyone can see.”

“Ah.”
 
Taiaxa tilted her head. “I understand.”
 
She inclined her head in a graceful, almost formal, nod, then gestured them into the restaurant.
 
“This way.”

The restaurant was busy, the long communal tables filled from one end to the other, and most of the private tables also occupied.
 
A trio of older Zerraxi males occupied a small stage, playing drums and woodwinds.
 
Taiaxa led them to a table near the stage, clasped John’s shoulder and hurried back to the entrance.

Olu gave John a speculative look.
 
“You seem to have an affinity for Zerraxi women.”
 
She glanced after Taiaxa, smiling a little.
 
“Not that I can fault your taste.
 
Your friend is very impressive.”

John chuckled.
 
“Taiaxa is a force of nature.”

A young Zerraxi male appeared, his dark hair twisted into long braids.
 
He deposited glasses of water and menus.

“Welcome back, Mr. John.
 
Your usual?”

John chuckled.
 
“I think I’ll try something different tonight, Riki.
 
How are things going with the lovely Joneza?”

The Zerraxi youth lowered his head and smiled.
 
“Things go well, Mr. John.
 
I’ll be back in a few moments to take your orders.”
 
Head still bowed, he rushed away.

“Do you know everyone on the staff here?” Vesu asked, amused.

John grinned.
 
“Well, I have been coming here for a while.”

Olu was studying the menu.
 
“What do you recommend?”

“I’m partial to the steaks myself,” said John, “but I think you’d enjoy the grilled fish with spice sauce. Oh! And you have to try the candied eels for desert.
 
They’re delicious!”

Riki returned a few moments later, and they placed their orders.
 
The youth assured them their meals would be ready in a few moments, then vanished to attend to other customers.
 
While they waited, the three friends chatted.
 
Vesu reported on his day, prior to his encounter with Ito Nop, and he and Olu both bemoaned recent decisions made by the university council.

The discussion about the university ended after their food arrived.
 
All three tucked into their meals with gusto.
 
Taiaxa wandered over shortly afterward.

“How are your meals?”

“This vegetable stew is excellent,” said Vesu.

“I’ll pass on your compliments to the cook,” said Taiaxa.
 
She drifted over to John, and lowered her voice.
 
“I thought you might want to know that you’re being followed.”