The Tejano Conflict (4 page)

“If they do, they don't want to admit it.”

“How interesting,” Kay said. “The human capacity for denial sometimes seems to be quite large.”

“Ain't that the truth.”

The caller was in San Antonio, and after Jo and Kay got cleaned up, they arranged to meet him that evening. Gunny and Singh were backup, in a following vehicle, just in case the opposition was trying to be cute.

The trip was uneventful, if slow. The traffic-control autodrive notwithstanding, there was only so much the TCA computers could do once the carts and lorries and assorted scooters climbed past a critical density on the road. Plus, there were always drivers who got around the rush-hour controls and elected to do it manually. Despite strict licensing requirements that demanded public-vehicle operators be skilled and knowledgeable, there were always idiots who somehow slipped though . . .

Jo herself preferred manual, she didn't like to give up the control, but of course, she was an expert operator, and her augmented reflexes gave her an advantage. In a situation where the traffic was bumper-to-bumper, there was no point in doing it yourself—less stressful to let the TCA pilot.

She tooled the wheeled cart into the hotel's underground parking. The air had that city smell, hot concrete, dust and mold, leaked cart lube.

Welcome back to civilization . . .

– – – – – –

Gunny parked the cart, and she and Singh alighted, to follow Jo and Kay into the hotel.

The place was designed to look as if it had been built in the . . . seventeenth—eighteenth?—century. There was a baroque look to it; there were faux oil paintings of men cradling shotguns and servants holding up small, dead animals; more images of women in long dresses and bearing baskets, surrounded by children who seemed miniature adults. Some of the paintings were life-sized, all had ornate, gold frames, and though well lighted, had a dark tone to them. The hotel's walls were patterned in muted colors, flowers here, geometric designs there. The floors were beset with Oriental carpets. There were overstuffed couches and chairs perched on carved wooden legs, made of leather or what appeared to be crushed velvet in deep shades of red or green.

The staff wore period costumes: odd-looking trousers that ended just below the knees and long stockings, squared-toed shoes and brass buckles, with frock coats and frilly shirts for the men; long dresses with some kind of hoops under them for the women. All of the clothes were in bright colors, reds, greens, blues, with buttons made to look like shiny brass or bone.

Must have spent a small fortune on this ornate crap.

She thought it looked silly, and said as much to Singh.

“But very posh,” Singh said.

“What exactly does that word mean?”

“It is a term used on my homeworld, originally from Terra. As I understand it, in the days when oceangoing ships were powered by wind, predating electric engines and air cooling, the voyages on such vessels from the colonizer country of Breetan were long and slow, and the trips were often in tropical waters.”

“Okay, so?”

“The heat was greatest on the side of the ship that mostly faced the sun. Traveling to India, that would be the starboard side, and returning from there, the port side.”

“Ah'm still with you, but you been talking too much to Gramps, you are starting to sound like him.”

Singh laughed. “Sorry, sah. For reasons of comfort, passengers apparently preferred to travel on the shadier side of the ships, so if given the choice, they elected for port-out-starboard-home, which gives the acronym p-o-s-h. It has come to mean luxurious, upper-class.”

“Is that true?”

“Who can say? It might be, and it makes a good story.”

“You really need to stay away from Gramps, the man is going to infect you with his babble.”

They followed Jo and Kay to the elevator, paying attention to the patrons of the hotel, several of whom were obviously startled by Kay's appearance.

Gunny had tuned that out long ago, and you tended to forget something you became acclimated to after a while. There were still people who had never seen an offworld alien up close though you'd think in a big city, that would be unlikely.

Of course, Vastalimi were rare away from Vast, and they had a reputation for danger that was, if anything, understated.

“Nobody steps into Kay's path,” Singh observed.

“Ah see that.”

“I confess when I first met her, I was myself somewhat nervous. She appears formidable just standing there.”

“She does that. Because she is.”

“Do we follow them up?”

“We catch the next elevator, find a spot where we can watch the room they go into.”

– – – – – –

Jo marked Gunny and Singh as they entered the hotel lobby behind her.

If the period piece they had stepped into bothered Kay, Jo saw no indication of it.

Fascinating what people will spend their money on.

Kay got a few stares as they crossed the lobby to the lift.

Along the way, they heard the whispers nobody knew they could hear:

“Look, Mama, a Vastalimi!”

“I never saw one in person before!”

“Man, that's an ugly-ass critter! Look at that face!”

Kay ignored the whispers.

They achieved the elevator. Although such things would not have been found in a hotel of the period represented, it being pre–Industrial Revolution, it had been made to match the decor: There were wrought-iron gates that slid back to allow entrance to the elevator cage, a space large enough to hold a score of people. The inside was carpeted, some floral design, with plush red velvet, pleated into a tuck and roll on three of the walls. There was a mirrored ceiling.

A man in colorful livery stood to one side, by a mechanical device, brass and dials, that looked like it belonged on an ancient ship's wheelhouse. He smiled at them. “Floor?”

“Fiftieth,” Jo said.

The man cranked a lever on the control, and the elevator started to rise. With nothing but ornate bars blocking the entrance, one could see out of, or into, the cage as it passed each floor, and it was moving slowly enough to give good views either way.

A few floors up, a mother and a little girl of maybe three got onto the lift. The child lurched closer before her mother could stop her. She put out a tiny hand to touch Kay's leg fur.

“Soft!” the little girl said.

Kay smiled at her, an expression that made the mother's eyes go wide.

“Come here, Darla!”

“She won't bite,” Jo said, but the mother pressed herself against the elevator's far wall and got off at the next stop.

Kay waved at the child, who smiled and waved back. “Bye!”

There were a pair of guards in civilian clothes outside the room, but they opened the portal without speaking or asking for weapons. Just as well; Kay's weapons were biological, and Jo wouldn't have given up her flat-pack pistol if they'd asked for it, even though she did have a one-shot electrical zapper built in.

Inside, the rep who had called was waiting. He smiled at them.

“Fems, come in, come in! I am Dhama, delighted to meet you!”

There was an almost inaudible hum in the background, something electrical, and the air was overfiltered and lacking any real scent.

Single-name Dhama had the look: tall, well made, handsome. Black hair, a few streaks of gray at the temples, a four-day stubble of beard. He had a firm jaw, perfect teeth, green eyes. Old enough to look as if he knew what to do, young enough to look as if he could do it. He wore a perfectly tailored uniform, understated in gray silk, a holographic Dycon patch over the right breast pocket, his name shimmering over the left pocket. He sported handmade boots of some kind of patterned, mottled leather Jo didn't recognize. The Willis 4.4mm pistol holstered on his right side had grips of what looked like ivory and rode in a holster that matched the boots.

If he was as good as his clothes, he would be formidable.

According to her radiopathic pickups, her olfactories and otics, he had several augs running, nothing esoteric she could tell.

Right out of an entcom vid casting director's top choices for a soldier-of-fortune officer; couldn't miss him.

Jo was not one to put a lot of stock in looks, however, and while Kay could tell the difference between humans visually, she wouldn't be impressed by anything so superficial, either.

“Fems, this way.”

He turned to lead them down the hall.

Kay subvocalized quietly: “He does not move well.”

Jo responded in the same way: “No. Though he looks as if he should.”

“Bukvan,”
Kay said.

Jo didn't know the term, but before she could ask, Kay continued:

“A preener. We have them on Vast. They make themselves appear better than they are.”

“You just described most of the human race.”

“I am aware of this.”

Jo chuckled.

They arrived at the conference room, a large space with a small oval table and three chairs, no other furniture. Dhama gestured. “Please, sit.”

Kay and Jo sat on opposite sides, to be able to watch each other's back. Not that such was likely to be necessary, given their hearing if somebody tried to sneak through the walls, but better safe than sorry.

Dhama sat at the head of the table, accompanied by a creak of his holster leather. He leaned back in the chair, affecting a relaxed pose. He smiled but didn't speak.

We are beings of the galaxy here, ho-hum.

Jo returned the smile and the silence. He had asked for the meeting, let him offer the reason.

After a few seconds, he said, “Well, I'm sure you are wondering why I wanted to speak with you.”

Jo and Kay said nothing, waiting.

His smile faltered just a hair. “We at Dycon Limited seek to represent the best interests of our employers. There are ways, and then there are . . . ways . . .” He gave her another of his shiny smiles.

Jo waited. She knew where this was going; she had done it herself a few times. Wars were expensive. Sometimes a client would make out better by channeling the money into bribes or payoffs to achieve the same results as a battle. For the cost of a few missiles, a key opposition figure might be socially engineered to look the other way at the right moment, or maybe forget to enter a coordinate into a targeting computer. Even Monitors might be influenced though that was tricky. As a result, the bribed could walk away richer, and one's client would save a lot of money and grief.

“I don't think we can help you there,” Jo said.

“You haven't heard what I have to say.”

She shrugged. “Doesn't really matter.”

“We are prepared to be extremely generous to our friends.”

“Not how we do things at CFI.”

“Never?”

“Not so far.”

“How would three million New Dollars sound?”

“Like a lot of money,” Jo said.

He smiled. “It is.”

A bribe offered without actually offering anything.

“Thank you, but, no.”

“Four million.”

“You have deep pockets.”

“And full ones. My clients want this to go their way.”

“We'll pass.”

“Six.”

Skipped right over five.
Jo stood. “Thanks for the meeting, we appreciate it.”

He looked entirely nonplussed. He frowned. “Seven.”

Probably as much as either side would spend on ammo and then some.
“Save your breath. Like I said, that's not how we do business.”

He stood. The holster and belt creaked again.
Some kind of reptile skin, maybe? Lizard? Serpent?

His puzzlement shaded into a controlled, but apparent, anger. “You are making a mistake.”

“Possibly.”

He stepped closer. She could smell his hormones roiling.
Yep, definitely pissed off.

Jo stood her ground. She wasn't worried. He might be augmented so he was stronger, but he wouldn't be better than Formentara's tweaks, and he was within reach. He blinked crooked, she would deck him.

Kay came up like hot smoke on a cold winter's day.

Dhama glanced across the table at her motion.

She gave him a wicked smile though he probably didn't recognize it as such.

The sight of the Vastalimi and augmented human warrior focused on him must have finally arrived. Caution kicked in. He edged back a hair.

Which was the smartest thing he had done so far.

“Fems . . .”

“We don't fault you for seeking to help your clients, M. Dhama, that's what you are supposed to do, but you have asked, and we have answered, and we are done here.”

She could smell his sweat, which now had a sharper odor than before.

When Jo and Kay entered the elevator, Gunny and Singh joined them. Nobody spoke as the lift descended. It might look like something from a long-past century, but Jo knew the building was modern, and she could feel the surveillance cams looking at them.

They trooped across the lobby, accompanied by raised eyebrows and furtive looks from the staff and patrons of the hotel.

They split up for their separate carts in the parking area.

Back in the roller, Kay said, “He thought we would accept his offer. It seemed to surprise him that we did not.”

“That's a bunch of money, many people would have gone for it. It's kind of fun to think about what a small fortune can do, a nice fantasy, but that's all it is.”

“It would not be honorable to deal with such a person,” Kay said.

“Nope.”

Kay was silent.

Jo said, “What?”

“I am reminded now and again of something Em said recently: that we chose the right group of humans to associate ourselves with.”

“Yeah, I suppose we could have done worse on the Vastalimi front, too.”

Kay whickered.

– – – – – –

The warmth of the semitropical afternoon lay over the camp like a damp blanket. The ferrofoam stink from the buildings was something you tended to tune out after a while, but you noticed it after you were gone and came back. It would fade away eventually, but they wouldn't be here long enough for that to happen.