Pelquin's Comet (25 page)

“Never heard of either of them, to be honest” Pelquin said, echoing Drake’s thoughts and cutting short the driver’s throaty chuckle.

“Typical! Opportunity like that completely wasted. Now if
I
was going to this thing, ’stead of just ferrying folk to and from the door…”

Drake did his best to filter out the driver’s gabbling. The trip didn’t take long – no more than fifteen minutes – and it passed largely in silence once their cabby took the hint.

They avoided the busy urban centre, heading into leafier suburbs – all substantial houses with neat front gardens. The taxi climbed a steep hill stacked with smart residences before turning into a sweeping crescent drive, giving Drake his first view of the evening’s venue – the Settlement Hall. It was an imposing edifice; one of those mock classical buildings designed to evoke the impression of a bygone age. For once, the designers had paid attention to proportion. Here was a structure that actually managed to accommodate the columns guarding its entranceway without making them look wholly ridiculous. With its elaborate portico and ornate bay window bulging out at first floor level, the building managed to convey a sense of grandeur.

As they exited the taxi – the vehicle glaringly incongruous among so many sleek and expensive cars – Drake paused to grasp the lapels of his black tuxedo and adjust the fit of his jacket, just a fraction. Pelquin was already several paces ahead but Drake refused to be hurried, forcing the captain to pause and wait for him.

The tell-tale translucent shimmer of a caress curtain stretched across the building’s entranceway. Drake hated the things, considering the curtain a cheap and tacky gimmick, but he knew that he was in the minority. As you passed through the veil, your face and any other exposed areas of skin felt as if they received a feather-light fingertip caress – hence the name. The effect was intended to be sensual but Drake had always found the idea of being stroked by unseen hands discomforting, even a little creepy.

Beside him, Pelquin gave a small shudder and said, “Lovely.”

Both he and Pelquin accepted flutes of pale champagne from one of several waiters standing sentry on the far side of the curtain and paused to take stock of the room. What awaited them was glitzy, opulent, and entirely predictable. The cavernous room was already filling up with black suits, glittering dresses and gleaming smiles, and more people were arriving all the time. The room itself boasted a high vaulted ceiling and panelled walls – each panel featuring a heavy-framed portrait. Marching down the length of the ceiling was a series of ostentatious crystal chandeliers, which were merely the most obvious lighting system; variously sized spots and doubtless other devices were hidden artfully in the vaulting, offering hosts a choice of mood and effect. For now, the chandeliers blazed gloriously. The carpet was a rich, patterned red, and here and there around the perimeter of the room clusters of comfortable chairs had been sprinkled; by no means a sufficient number for all the guests but enough to provide some with temporary respite from the merry-go-round of circulating.

There were five doors other than the one they’d entered by, Drake noted. All were of dark wood and decoratively panelled. The two in the left hand wall were fairly close together and constantly swinging open and shut as waiting staff came and went with trays of glasses, full as they emerged from the door nearest him, empty as they retreated through the other. The three doors in the right hand wall were evenly spaced and presumably led to anterooms of some sort or, conceivably, may even have been mere dummies, there to provide the illusion of the hall being part of a far more substantial residence.

Initially, Drake stayed close to Pelquin, but quickly tired of the sheer banality of the ensuing conversations. He was out of touch with the celebrity culture here and had no interest in hearing about it. Pelquin, by contrast, was clearly in his element. Drake could only admire the deftness with which the
Comet
’s captain played the room. He clearly took to socialising like a solar sail to sunlight. Where Drake tended to stand back and observe, Pelquin dived straight in and immersed himself in the ebb and flow of interaction, switching with apparent ease between serious discourse and light-hearted frivolity as circumstance required. Not that Drake was in any way envious. Social finesse on this scale was a skill he’d never valued enough to cultivate, but that didn’t prevent him from appreciating it in another.

Pelquin had a certain charm, no question, which he played to shamelessly. The women in particular appeared susceptible. Most of the people in this room doubtless encountered each other at similar high-profile events throughout the year, whereas Pelquin represented that most valued of rarities: something
new
. He was an off worlder, a space captain, a charismatic adventurer whose flamboyance invited comparison to the rakish rogues so beloved of Trivies and popular space roms.

Despite his best efforts to keep at the fringes of things, Drake wasn’t completely immune to attention himself. The most persistent culprit was an eye-catching redhead who wore a figure-hugging diaphanous gown that danced with oranges and reds in mimicry of living flame, apparently taking its cue from the wearer’s hair, which tumbled to her shoulders in a cascade of curls that might have looked over the top in any other setting, but here suited her perfectly. All her features were artfully highlighted by subtle and well-chosen make-up, while her skin showed the flush of true youth – the product of nature rather than rejuve, he felt certain. She was quick to smile and, under other circumstances and on a different day, Drake might have been flattered and even interested, but as things were…

“So, you work for a bank?”

“Yes,” he said, his attention focused largely on Pelquin, who now stood at a slight remove behind the woman’s left shoulder. A rather lovely shoulder, he couldn’t help but note, left bare by the strapless design of her dress. “The First Solar Bank.”

Pelquin had just approached a ruddy-cheeked but distinguished looking gentleman who for once seemed immune to the captain’s charms. In fact, the stranger looked anything but pleased to see him. There was also something different about Pelquin: a hint of tension in his posture which suggested that this mattered more than the evening’s previous frivolities. Drake suspected this encounter was the reason for their being here; at this event and, indeed, on this planet.

“Laurena, by the way; in case you missed my name earlier.” She held out a slender, porcelain-skinned hand for him to kiss. Only then did Drake make the connection between the woman before him and the two celebs that the taxi driver had been fantasising about on the way here. Assuming this
was
the same Laurena, the man had better taste than Drake would have credited. There followed a frozen second in which Drake merely stared at the proffered hand with its chunky diamond cluster ring. He relented a split second before the woman could take offence, reaching out to take her hand in his own, bending forward to press his lips to its back. “Enchanted,” he said, drinking in her pheromone-laced perfume.

As he straightened, his smile was all for her, but his gaze met her own for just an instant before sliding sideways to where Pelquin still conversed with the same man.

Drake was an able lip reader but neither of the two subjects was ideally positioned and, besides, effective lip reading required a degree of concentration.

“So, what do you do at this bank of yours? Something very high powered, I would imagine.”

“Hardly,” he replied. “I’m a field agent.” He was able to make out occasional snatches of Pelquin’s conversation, but without context they meant nothing.

“Really? I wasn’t even aware that banks
had
field agents.”

“Well, I can’t speak for all banks but First Solar does; obviously – otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” Pelquin and the other man were moving away, and every step made it more difficult for him to join their conversation in any smooth and natural fashion.

“Touché. So what exactly does a banking agent do – spy on other banks? Fight opposing agents to the death?”

“Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. We do all manner of things: visit customers, promote the bank’s services, discuss options with potential clients, remind errant borrowers of their responsibilities…”

“Sounds riveting.”

“It has its moments.”

“I’m sure… And you say this bank of yours is based on New Sparta? So what brings you all the way to Brannan’s World?”

“It’s a small universe. First Solar has interests and customers on any number of worlds.”

“Even so, this is a hell of a long way to come just to remind someone they’re late with a repayment…”

“Ah, but that depends on how much and how late the payment is. Besides, I don’t make policy decisions. I just go where I’m sent.”

“Right, I see. So your presence all the way out here wouldn’t have a more… exotic explanation then? Only I hear New Sparta is the place to go if you’re looking to fund an expedition… Cache hunting, for example.”

Not stupid, this one; not stupid at all. “Well it would be, I suppose,” he acknowledged. “After all, that’s where the banks are.”

She laughed. “True.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t get involved in anything as exciting as that. I’m just a functionary: a tiny cog in the machine.”

“Hmm…” She leant closer, so that he caught an intoxicating whiff of her perfume as she whispered in his ear, “Now why don’t I believe that?”

Her hand brushed his elbow in an apparently innocent manner. He was acutely aware of that touch, even through his jacket and shirt. She really was gorgeous, and was proving impressively astute as well.

She stepped back, the half-smile suggesting that she was fully aware of the effect she’d had on him. Perhaps his earlier thought hadn’t been entirely honest; he
was
interested, and flattered, despite circumstances.

None the less, he forced himself to say, “Look, much as I hate to tear myself away from your delightful presence, there’s someone I really must go and talk to.”

Pelquin and the other man were most of the way across the room now and were clearly making for one of the doors on the far side.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” She looked offended. He imagined she wasn’t used to being rebuffed, no matter how gently.

“This isn’t a brush-off,” he assured her quickly, surprising himself. “I really
am
here on business and have to pursue this, whatever I might prefer to be doing.”

His words were evidently enough to assuage her wounded pride. She even smiled. “All right, then, I’ll let you off. If you mean that, how about I send you my perminal id?”

“Thank you. I’d be flattered.”

She touched her bracelet, which he hadn’t even realised
was
a perminal until then – far more elegant than the unit Pelquin habitually wore. He felt a small vibration from the inside of his jacket and knew she’d just pinged her contact details to him. It would be up to him to accept or reject the data package later.

“Thank you,” he said. Politeness should have prompted him to reciprocate with his own details, but he refrained. If his reticence offended her further she gave no indication of the fact. “I live locally in Victoria. Get in touch when this… ‘business’ of yours is concluded. I’d love to hear all the boring details.”

He hesitated, searching for a suitable response, knowing that the
Comet
’s stay on Brannan’s was set to be a short one and that he had no plans to come back this way. “I’ll see what I can do,” he temporised.

“Good.” With that, she leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t forget to call.”

He could still feel the ghost of her lips as he went after Pelquin, who was in the process of entering the right-hand door with his new friend. So, the trio of doors were definitely not dummies, or at least not all of them were. In a way this made it easier. Knocking and entering with an apology for being late dispensed with any pretext and made it very difficult for Pelquin to deny him.

The door wasn’t far, but crossing the now crowded room without bulldozing through conversational knots, bumping into people’s backs or colliding with liveried waiters bearing platters of canapés required more patience than he cared to spare. To make matters worse, he was halfway to the door when a voice said, “Mr Drake, isn’t it?”

Drake knew at once that he had never previously met the speaker – a man somewhat shorter than him, his head barely reaching Drake’s shoulder – though he was able to deduce several things immediately. This was an individual of some considerable means – the suit was handmade and expensive, though over-elaborate for Drake’s taste, with stitching forming an intricate filigree pattern on the lapels. Here was somebody who didn’t shirk ostentation. And he wasn’t a native of Brannan’s either, at least not a sedentary one – accent and dusky skin tone gave that much away – while he had recently been on New Sparta; his shoes bore the subtle but distinctive emblem of a fashionista designer Drake knew well, a woman who was very much ‘this season’. In addition, his naturally tanned complexion was washed with the indefinable pastiness bestowed by a good deal of time spent away from the natural light of any sun, while it also showed the smooth tightness of multiple rejuves, so he was by no means a young man.

All of which led Drake to conclude that their bumping into one other was anything but a coincidence. Since he had been a last minute addition to the guest list, very few people would know the banker’s identity and even fewer would be interested; only someone paying keen attention to Pelquin’s presence was likely to have noted such a detail. Recent events narrowed the field down to just one likely candidate.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Falyn de Souza…”

“And you work for the Jossyren Mining Corporation,” Drake finished for him. “Clearly in an executive capacity, so perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that a good portion of Jossyren Mining works for you.”

De Souza blinked several times, obviously taken aback, but to his credit he recovered quickly, giving an appreciative chuckle. “My, my… That
is
impressive.”