Waypoint Kangaroo (16 page)

I step away from the kiosk and into the actual booking area, a small niche with a wraparound vid wall and a single work desk. The wall shows an undersea reef scene with various colorful aquatic creatures. I walk up to the desk and sit down in one of the two cushy chairs in front of it. The crewman behind the desk stops working on his computer and turns to greet me. I don't recognize him until it's too late.

“How may I help you today, sir?” Ward says. “Oh. Hello, sir.” His grin only falters for a split second. I have to admit, the kid's a professional. “Good to see you again. Did you enjoy your tour of the engine room?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “Will the booking agent be back soon?”

“I am the booking agent, sir.”

“I thought you—never mind.” I lean forward. “I have kind of a strange request.”

“I will do my best to assist you, sir.” He makes it sound like I'm seeking psychiatric help.

“I was talking to someone at the bar,” I say, “and he mentioned there's some kind of VIP table at dinner tonight? Like the Captain's Table, but with some of the engineering officers?”

“We offer several types of hosted dining sessions,” Ward says. “Would you like me to check?”

“If you don't mind.”

He turns to his computer and taps at the keyboard. “Ah, yes. Our chief engineer will be dining at the five o'clock formal dinner tonight.”

“That's right,” I say. “Are there any more seats available at that table?”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Ward says, allowing his smile to evaporate, “but this particular table has been reserved by a private group.”

“Oh, I know.” I am totally making this up as I go along. “My friend from the bar? He's one of them. He invited me to join them.”

“I see.” Ward nods. “And what is your friend's name?”

“Shit. I knew I forgot something.” I force a laugh. “Didn't get his name. Listen, maybe you could just switch me to that table for tonight's dinner? I'm usually at the Captain's Table, but you know. I've already heard all his space stories. Could do with some new company.”

Ward doesn't answer right away. He appears to be savoring this moment of power. If I were drunk, I'd be thinking about smacking that smug expression off his face.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” he says. “Only the guest who made the original booking is allowed to change the reservation. Perhaps you could ask your friend to make the request.”

“Right. Sure.” I stand up. “Thank you. I'll just go see if he's still at the bar.”

“Of course, sir. Have a wonderful day!” Ward smiles and waves as I retreat.

I walk around the corner and halfway down the Promenade before doing a brief frustration dance, punching the air with both fists and jumping up and down.

You have years of training with a first-world intelligence agency, Kangaroo. Did you really just get outmaneuvered by a fucking travel agent?

No. No, I didn't. I have options. There are always options.

It's too bad I can't solve this problem with my fists. People say violence is never the answer, but learning how to beat down kids twice my size sure helped me out when I was younger.

That was before I met Paul. Before he showed me that people can be manipulated without physical contact, as long as you have access to the right resources. You just have to figure out what your target wants.

Well, I've got some stuff in the pocket. So what does Ward want?

Ward works on commission.

I find the nearest restroom, hide in a vacant stall, open the pocket, and retrieve a small bundle from my emergency equipment reserve. Then I walk back to the excursions desk.

“Hello again, sir,” Ward says. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

“I remembered my friend's name,” I say, sitting down. “It's Jameter Maitland.”

I lay a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the desk and slide it forward. A holographic bust of the late President Maitland shimmers from the surface of the banknote.

Ward, to his credit, doesn't react visibly to my bribe attempt. He looks past me to the Promenade, his eyes scanning left and right, then fixes me with a stare.

“I think he had a twin brother,” he says, “didn't he?”

I was prepared for this. I peel another hundred from the roll in my other hand and slide it across the table.

“Actually,” Ward says, “I'm pretty sure there were
three
brothers.”

I frown. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

I pulled that second bill too soon. This is what happens when you don't rehearse the play. But hey, it's not my money. I drop a third Maitland on the desk. Ward reaches for the bills, but I don't let go.

“So you can help me with this request?” I ask.

He nods, retracts his hand, and turns back to the computer. After a moment of typing, he says, “I can't seat you with the VIPs, but I can place you at a table right next to them. You'll have a clear view. Good enough?”

I was hoping to talk to Ellie during dinner, but I can at least catch her before she goes back into the crew sections. Still better than breaking in and risking Jemison's ire. “That'll do.”

I lift my hand. Ward sweeps the cash away in one smooth motion. “Are you all set for formalwear, sir?”

“You guys aren't
that
strict about the dress code, are you?”

I really don't like Ward's smile.

*   *   *

I didn't read all of the Princess of Mars Cruises introductory documents before boarding this jolly vessel. I was in a hurry. So I failed to pack appropriate attire for the formal dinners. And the agency does not consider a tuxedo important enough to qualify as always-in-pocket emergency equipment.

The good news is, there's a tailor shop on the Promenade, which Ward is all too happy to direct me toward. And I'm not paying for this holiday.

The tailor takes my measurements and tells me to come back in an hour. After pausing in front of the barbershop next door and deciding I don't want to mess with my hair right now, I go back to my room to shower and shave.

The mirror in my bathroom must have some kind of high-tech defogging mechanism, because it's not even clouded when I step out of the shower. I have a very clear view of my average body and nondescript face as I approach the sink.

Paul really lucked out, finding a brown kid with a superpower who would do his bidding. In additional to implanting my bionic left eye, the agency re-cut my face before I went into the field, to make me look as unremarkable as possible. Shallow chin, flat nose; not too handsome, not too ugly. I can blend into most any crowd, and as long as I don't open my mouth, people can mistake me for a local pretty easily.

The agency gave me a new identity, a new life, and all I had to give up was my face. I was okay with that. I didn't want to be a scared kid anymore. I wanted to leave everything behind. I wanted to be somebody else.

So who are you going to be tonight, Kangaroo?

This self-cleaning mirror is so clear, it's a little disturbing.

I finish up in the bathroom, throw on some clothes, and return to the Promenade to try on my tuxedo. I stupidly insisted on getting an actual bow tie, which takes several minutes to attach to my neck without choking me. After a quick trip back to my room to drop off my street clothes—during which I get several appreciative nods from other passengers—I head down to the main dining room.

It's 1710 hours when I get there, and people have already started eating. The dining room staff stationed every couple of meters ask for my table number and point me toward the large staircase at the rear. Ellie's table is directly in front of the stairs, working on their appetizers.

The VIPs in question are a group of teenage girls and two adult women. When I get closer, I notice they're all wearing matching blue-and-gold logo pins. I don't recognize the design. I snap a picture with my eye and then power up my comms dish to start an image search.

My table—right next to Ellie's, just as Ward promised—is half full when I sit down. The small talk isn't quite as scintillating as my first night at the Captain's Table. I'm seated with two couples, both on vacation. One of the couples are regular cruisers and trying to convince the other couple to try longer sailings to other planets. I let them guide the conversation, happy that I don't have to participate much. It gives me more time to observe Ellie.

If she's noticed me sitting over here, she hasn't shown it. Her attention is focused on the teenagers at her table, who seem to be asking a lot of questions. The dining room's noisy enough to prevent eavesdropping. I could turn on my long-range microphone, but that feels like cheating.

As if on cue, my image search returns a match on the logo pins: National Science and Technology Council. Federal education program. I thought it looked familiar. Maybe I can use that to start a conversation later. When I accidentally-on-purpose bump into Ellie in the hallway.

I wave off all offers of alcohol from the servers. I want to stay clear-headed tonight.

The VIP table finishes eating before mine does. I don't feel too bad about abandoning my dining companions to catch Ellie just as she walks out the front doors of the dining room.

“Well, hello there, Chief,” I say, waving.

She looks up from her wristband. “Oh, hello, Evan.” Her startled expression relaxes into a smile. “That's a nice look for you. Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Yes. Thanks.” I debate for a moment recounting the story of my last-minute tailor shop expedition, but decide I don't want to be that guy tonight. “Are you headed back to work?”

Ellie gives her wristband one more tap and lowers her arm. “Not until midnight. Plenty of time to change.” She shrugs. “I was going to check on the cleanup crew, but it sounds like they're almost done. No need for me to suit up and go in again.”

I couldn't have manufactured a better segue. “So how did that go? The cleanup, I mean?”

She looks around at the passengers strolling past us. “We probably shouldn't talk about it here. What's your interest anyway?”

“Oh, you know, professional curiosity. I'm an interplanetary trade inspector.”

“Yeah. You did mention that.” She seems dubious.

“Radiation's a big issue for outer space commerce. I'd love to hear more about
Dejah Thoris
's radhaz procedures. In a more private setting. When you have some free time.” She's grinning at me. “Did I say something funny?”

“Evan, if you want to ask me on a date, you should just ask me on a date.”

“That's not,” I say. “I wasn't.” My brain seems to be vapor-locked all of a sudden.

“Liar.” Ellie hooks her arm through mine, and I swear a tingle literally goes down my spine. “Let's take a walk. You know how to get to the arboretum?”

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dejah Thoris
—Passenger elevator

3 minutes after Ellie changed my plans

It's a long elevator ride up to the arboretum. I have plenty of time to contemplate how I'm going to deal with this new scenario. I was prepared to talk engineering and radiation and space stuff, to lure Ellie into a conversation; I didn't expect her to
want
to come with me. So what's my play now? How do I regain control of the situation?

Or do I maybe just enjoy her company for a while?

David Wachlin's in custody. The radiation danger is contained. I'm just doing follow-up now, and honestly, my hunch about something more sinister going on here could simply be me itching to work because it's the only thing I know. Maybe I'm more scared of being a genuine human being than fighting bad guys.

Ellie's been oddly silent this whole time. What is she thinking about? Should I ask? What would a normal person do?

“So how were your VIPs?” I ask.

“Oh, not too bad. It was a school group. I always get nervous when I have to talk to kids,” Ellie says. “The pressure of being a role model, you know.”

“I wouldn't.”

She laughs and pats my arm. My heartbeat flutters. Should I talk more about kids? I don't know anything about children. And is that really what a woman wants to talk about on a first date? Does she think this is a date?

The elevator doors open to bright yellow light shining through a stand of leafy trees. I make some kind of gurgling noise and put up a hand to shield my eyes. “Is that actual sunlight?”

“What are you, a vampire? Come on.” Ellie takes my hand—causing my heart rate to shoot up—and leads me out of the elevator and down a paved path through the trees. “Yes, it's real sunlight. Plants need it to perform photosynthesis.”

It smells like nature in here—dirt, grass, wood bark. I could almost imagine we're strolling through the countryside. “We must be above the cargo sections, then.”

“Very good, Evan.” She pokes my arm. “You get a gold star.”

“I had a good tour guide yesterday. I didn't realize you were a teacher, too.”

“I'm not,” she says. “I volunteered for chaperone duty once back in US-OSS, showing some grade school kids around base. The guy from the Department of Education liked me, and he's been haunting me ever since.”

“Did he like you, or did he
like
you?” She's not wearing a ring, but does she have a boyfriend back home? A girlfriend? More than one?

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I think you have me confused with the teenagers.”

I refrain from complimenting her youthful appearance. That's backfired on me too often. What else can I talk about? I'm drawing a blank.

“So this arboretum is nice.”
That's brilliant, Kangaroo. At least you didn't mention the weather.

“Trees from all over the world,” Ellie says. “Six different sections, each one representing a different Earth climate.”