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Her Instruments, Book 1
Episode 41
“I’d like to meet your boss,” Reese said.
The man on the other side of the screen grinned. “You’ve decided to take the job?”
“If no one else has taken it yet, sure,” Reese said. “The climate here doesn’t agree with me.”
The man guffawed. “Yeah. Harat-Sharii: you either like it or you don’t. I’m zapping you a contract. You sign it, I’ll connect you with the boss and he’ll explain what you need to do.”
“All right,” Reese said.
Her mail chirped a moment later, and Reese spread the contract. Excepting the clauses about the acceptable delivery of cargo, it didn’t resemble anything she’d ever signed before. Granted, she hadn’t signed many contracts in her life; most of the time she bought up what looked cheap but profitable and tried to sell it elsewhere. This document had clauses about whether she could talk about what they were doing, whether she could question what she was asked to do, who she was allowed to contact after signing it for more details…it even included encryption keys for later information drops. Reese groped for her glass of water and read. And read.
After half an hour she decided the document sounded like the work of a paranoid merchant but not a pirate, so she signed it and sent it back.
Within minutes, the man reappeared. “I’ll build the call for you.”
“Thanks,” Reese said.
The screen blanked for a sector map with a connection status bar; some kind of encryption protocol, but Reese didn’t recognize it. The Riggins scheme dominated the high-security real-time transmission market. No one with any money or power used anything else. Reese suspected that most of the successes claimed by the lesser schemes were the result of no one being interested enough in the contents of their calls to intercept them. Which, in itself, was a form of security.
The man now facing her was human with sallow skin and dark eyes rimmed in a webbing of flesh and shadows. Reese disliked him on sight.
“Captain Eddings,” he said in a thin tenor. “So glad to have you on board. Now that we have your signature, please proceed to Sector Tau, to the solar system designated in the file I’m sending you now. Once you’ve arrived, you’ll go to the planet there to fetch no less than two hundred pounds of crystals and no more than two hundred twenty. Use the instructions in the file to properly remove and store the crystals, then send a call to inform us that you have completed the objective. We will transmit a location for your drop-off. Is that clear?”
Startled by the recitation, Reese said, “Fairly.”
“If you have questions, you may use the contact address specified in the contract.”
“I won’t be able to lift off immediately,” Reese said. “I have repairs to finish on Harat-Sharii.”
“We don’t care when you leave so long as you deliver the crystals within the contract window.”
“Right,” Reese said. “Who am I talking to?”
“Pardon?”
“Your name,” Reese said. “In case I need to talk to you again.”
“Your contract is with Surapinet Industries,” the man said. “That should be sufficient. We look forward to seeing you within three months.”
Before Reese could object, the screen blanked and her mail chirped again. She grumbled as she flipped to the box and spread the message: a bank statement. A bank statement now much, much larger than she anticipated. She stared at it for several minutes, trying to grasp it, then shook herself out of her trance.
“Nothing talks like money,” Reese muttered, and placed a call to the repair shop on Harat-Sharii. By the time the shuttle brought them back to the crew she’d have good news for them.
Returning to Harat-Sharii did not disturb Hirianthial’s re-won equilibrium until Zhemala found him in his borrowed chamber.
“Would you mind seeing me in the Moon Patio? I’d like to discuss a possible single-service contract with you and Captain Eddings.”
“Of course,” Hirianthial said, when what he wanted to do was to send her away. Still, it was not his to do, so he found his way to the Moon Patio and set himself on a stool to wait. Slaves brought meat-and-cheese rolls and milk; not long after, Zhemala appeared with Reese.
“Have a seat,” the Harat-Shar said.
Reese sat on the bench, her aura a suspicious green.
“A drink?” Zhemala asked, pouring herself a cup.
“What is it?” Reese asked.
“Milk,” Zhemala said. “A morning drink.”
Reese eyed the spiraled rolls. “And you usually eat this heavily for breakfast?”
She laughed, showing off pointed eyeteeth. “We are part carnivore. And we work hard. We need the food. Now you,” she said, turning to Hirianthial. “There’s a loose end here that we’d appreciate you tying.”
“What do you mean?” Reese interrupted. When Zhemala glanced at her, she said, “I’m in charge, right? So I’m asking the question. What loose end?”
Zhemala stroked the top of her nose, wrinkling the fabric of her veil. “I asked your doctor to look over a pregnant co-wife.”
“And she miscarried. I heard the story,” Reese said, and the sudden spikes of scarlet anger leaping from her aura made her scowl seem mild in comparison. “You’re not pinning that on him, are you?”
“Should I?” Zhemala asked.
“You only hired him for three hours a day!” Reese exclaimed.
“He could have prevented it,” Zhemala replied.
“He may be as arrogant as a god but he doesn’t have magical powers,” Reese said acerbically. “If he’s not there, he can’t help.”
“A good doctor would have seen the signs,” Zhemala said.
Reese turned to him, and through his numbness he wondered at the indignant prickles that traveled her aura. Why was she defending him? His negligence was indefensible.
“Well?” Reese asked. “Were there signs you could have seen a day in advance?”
“Often,” Hirianthial replied.
Reese’s eyes narrowed. “How often? And what kind of signs?”
“Often enough,” Hirianthial said. “Bleeding accompanied by cramping and pain. A cervical examination would have demonstrated whether a miscarriage was pending.”
“So either it happened very suddenly, someone forgot to inform you about all these symptoms…or there were other factors,” Reese said, aura flattening. She looked at Zhemala. “You wouldn’t happen to know about other factors, would you?”
Zhemala’s ears pressed against her head. “I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain…but your point is taken. You would agree that the situation is irregular?”
“Only if you agree that a doctor on call for only three hours out of a day can’t perform miracles if no one tells him there’s something wrong,” Reese said.
Zhemala turned her cup. “I suppose we might agree.”
Reese folded her arms. “Fine. Now tell me why you called us here.”
“We’d like your doctor to perform an operation for us.”
“What kind of operation?” Reese asked.
Zhemala glanced at Hirianthial, her eyes sly. “We’d like him to sterilize Salaena.”
One has to understand the environment Zhemala lives in to see how it might have produced her. But yes… this conversation is going right where you (and suspicious Reese) thinks it is…
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