The Musashi Flex (6 page)

The pause for these thoughts was short, broken by Randall: “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “We are willing to overlook, um, the
irregularities
concerning the CDA protocols of this new pharmaceutical. But we would like to be kept up to speed on its development.”

“You don’t slap me on the hand and you get first shot at it,” Shaw said.

“Just so.”

“And when it is perfected, if you like what you see, you will grab it for the Confed military in an exclusive run.”

Randall smiled, leaned back in the form-chair, and sipped at his tea.

For the sake of form, Shaw knew he had to protest. Such was expected. He was rich and powerful, and if he didn’t kick, Randall would be quick to wonder why. “This drug could be worth a great deal of money to my company.”

“If it works, it certainly shall be. But you won’t miss a meal if it never turned a demistad. And we would want to keep the production limited to those who would not misuse it.”

“Which, of course, the Confed would never do.”

“Oh, of course not.”

They both smiled at that one.

“And if I decide to stand up for my rights to the free market, I suppose my CDA approval might be particularly taxing. Might not be forthcoming at all?”

“It is always a pleasure to deal with a man of the galaxy about such matters.” He sipped more tea. “What are you calling it again? The drug?”

If he knew about the rock apes, he fucking well knew the name, but there was no point in being ungracious. Randall thought he had the upper hand; let him continue to think so. “Well. We haven’t decided on a marketing strategy, it’s much too soon. We’ve been calling it ‘Reflex,’ though that’s just a working name.”

Randall nodded. Nothing new to him. “My. Look at the time. I must be off, my spouses will be wondering where I am. So good to see you, as always, Ellis.” He stood.

Shaw stood and gave the man his best fake high-wattage smile. “And it’s good to see you again, Newman. My best to the family.”

After he was gone, Shaw said, “Cervo.”

The bodyguard seemed to materialize from nowhere, though he had actually been watching through a one-way panel from a hidden room behind Shaw’s desk. “Sir?”

“You heard about the spy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out who it is. Don’t do anything to them yet, just find out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cervo left, a human tank in whose path you did not want to step.

He had to do that, it would be expected, and the fucking Confed would try to slip somebody else in to replace the spy, even though there was no real need. Besides, he might get some good use from the spy, whoever it was.

As for the Confed, it could take all the Reflex it wanted. He’d still make a profit, and all he needed was a personal supply and exclusive use of it for long enough to achieve his goal. That wasn’t going to be a problem. He owned more than half of the company. When he said “Jump,” there was a thundering chorus of “How high?” in return. This was as it should be.

He would have his drug. The Confed wouldn’t start bleeding it all over the galaxy until human protocols were finished, at least a couple of years, so that was plenty of time. Assuming, of course, the rock apes stopped dying. And that the humans brought in for the next round of tests didn’t themselves
start
dying.

The Confed could be a pain in the ass, but for men like Shaw, the balm of great monies could soothe things. What the poor people did when the Confederation slapped them? Well, life was unfair. That wasn’t his worry.

 
Sola, feeling hot and irritated, made it back to her hotel room and fell on the bed. She was sure Mourn hadn’t spotted her. It was just bad luck she had lost him. Damn! That was twice now she had fuzzed an opportunity to get material that would focus her project. She might be able to cast around and find Mourn again—it was a big city, but she might be able to run him down.

Or not. If she couldn’t, something else would turn up. She was too close to victory to lose. Something would turn up.

But before she did anything else, a cool shower would be good. Fresh clothes, something to eat, a glass of wine, and she would be a new woman, ready to kick the planet’s ass, by Jesu!

She stripped, chucking the sweaty shirt and pants into the hamper for the maid, and headed for the shower. They had pretty good water pressure here.

She passed in front of the mirror and took a critical look at her nude body. Not too bad, she decided. She could lose a kilo or two from her hips, which had always been a trifle wide. She did enough walking and gym work to keep pretty toned. She was a little taller than average, maybe 170 centimeters, and probably went fifty-eight, fifty-nine kilograms, and none of it too jiggly.

She turned around, looked over her shoulder at her rear end. Definitely needed to drop a kilo and tighten that part up, though. You couldn’t let fat get ahead of you. She had been chubby as a little girl, and had worked hard to slim down. It was a lot easier to maintain shape than it was to get there in the first place. Well. When she got rich from selling her documentary, maybe she would hire a good-looking trainer to travel with her, to keep her fit. She grinned. Another pleasant fantasy.

 
She spent ten minutes enjoying the needle spray and emerged feeling much cleaner. She dried herself, wrapped the towel around her hips, and went to find some clean clothes.

She jumped and almost screamed when she saw the man sitting in the chair in front of her computer. The holoprojic image above the unit showed a pair of men facing each other with a jungle backdrop. Footage she had shot on Rift? Or was it Lee?

“Nice work, Fem Sola,” Lazlo Mourn said. He looked at her and smiled. “Nice shape, too.”

She was aware that she was bare from the waist up, but having him see her half-naked was the least of her worries.

“What are you doing here?”

“Watching part of your documentary,” he said. “Waiting for you to finish your shower so we could talk.”

She shook her head.

“You aren’t going to call security and have me thrown out?” He gave her a small grin. A smile that said he was very much aware that there wasn’t enough security in this hotel to remove him if he decided he didn’t want to go.

“Asshole,” she said under her breath. Louder, she said, “Wait right there.” She went to the closest, found a robe, slipped it on and crowed it shut, then wiggled out of the towel and came back to face him. Well. She wasn’t slow. He had spotted her, turned the tail around, and followed her, and he already knew who she was and what she was doing. Sola didn’t much like any of that, but it was what it was. You had to admire his skill.

“You wanted to put me in this?” He waved at the image, now frozen into small statues in the air.

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I think maybe you’re not so easily flattered, M. Mourn.”

“Well, if truth must be told, no.”

She nodded.

“Generally, it’s not a good idea for players to be
too
well known. I’d hate, at my age, to have to start wearing a skinmask everywhere I went. Why would I want to be in your entcom?”

“I could pay you when it sells.”

He smiled again. Had a lot of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. No surgery to look younger that she could tell. He said, “I have a fair amount of stads tucked away I’m not using. See this?” He pulled a hand wand from his pocket and waved it. “The maker of this little toy pays me a couple thousand a month to endorse it. I also have armored clothes, slap-caps, blades, and a particular medical service I use when I can, all of whom also pay me so they can put my name in their ads. Just my name, not my face. There are a few big-time gamblers who cover the matches that like me enough to let me in on their action. I actually do real well. Probably a lot better than you.”

She knew that. “How about my undying gratitude?”

He laughed. “There was a time what an offer like that from a beautiful woman would have been irresistible.”

“Not now?”

“Not for a while, no.”

“What would it take?”

He smiled again. He stood, moving with the grace of a professional athlete.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I found out what I came for. Good luck on your project, fem.” He started for the door.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

He paused. Raised an eyebrow.

She looked at him. He was an attractive enough man, she was an adult. She started to make the offer: “What if I . . . ?” She stopped. Shook her head.

He chuckled.

“You knew what I was going to say?”

He shrugged. “I believe so. Why didn’t you finish it?”

“Would it have done any good? Offering to sleep with you?”

“I expect not.”

“That’s why I didn’t say it.”

He nodded. Started to turn away again. He didn’t need money or fame. A man like him wouldn’t have any trouble finding company for sex. He had traveled the galaxy, seen its wonders, pitted himself against men and women in hand-to-hand combat, won many times, and lost a few—so what could she offer him that he didn’t already have?

“I’ll tell your story,” she said.

He looked at her. “For your own ends.”

“Of course. But for yours, too.”

“Why?”

“Because it matters.”

He stood there for what seemed a long time. “You think?”

“Yes.” She smiled. She had him!

Then he laughed softly. “This one work for you a lot?”

She had to smile in return, despite herself. “Well. A couple times it has.”

He nodded. “You sounded almost sincere.”

“I almost was. You don’t think people would find your story interesting?”

“Actually, I expect that many would. I’m just not interested in telling it. Nice to have met you, F. Sola. Have a nice life.”

Aw, shit,
she thought, as he left.

The trip to Wu’s orbit from Tatsu’s was fast and uneventful. Azul caught a boxcar for the drop from the orbital station, and that was just as dull. Half an hour later, she breezed through the checkpoint, courtesy of her priority alpha visa stamp. The ID was as real as anybody’s, given its source, but under a different name with a thick, fake background. She smiled as the clerk saw the shimmering hologram appear over his cube reader, watched him raise an eyebrow. They called it DFWM, the stamp. What that meant was, “Don’t Fuck With Me,” and they didn’t give it to you unless you had mondo clout, big stads in your wallet, or high Confederation connections. Sometimes all three. A small perk, and she enjoyed it. Not that she had any such desire, but if she wanted to smuggle sunstones or psycho-erotic drugs, she could, because no customs agent in his or her right mind would dare stop somebody with the stamp. Whoever you were, you had to be important to rate it, and fucking with important people could easily cost you your job. Or worse.

She was ten meters past the checkpoint when an op approached her. He was tall, handsome, probably her age, and built like a gymnast. Nice.

He handed her a marble-sized info ball, smiled, and walked away. Never said a word.

She pocketed the ball. Soon as she found a private spot, she’d pop it into her reader and see what was so fucking important.

But: She saw something that gave her pause. There was a thin, small woman to her left, trying to be invisible.

You couldn’t really
be
invisible, not even in one of the state-of-the-art shiftsuits—in those, you could blend into the background pretty damned well, but somebody really looking could spot you, and any decent LOS motion sensor would point right at you. With the right mind-set, however, you could become effectively harder to notice. People’s gazes would slide past—sure, they’d
see
you, but they wouldn’t pay any
attention
to you, and that was almost as good as being invisible, at least in some circumstances.

The little woman was trying to project that energy, and Azul knew it because it was one of her own tricks.

Now, maybe the little woman didn’t have anything to do with her; maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe she had been set to collect somebody else, but Azul didn’t put much stock in coincidence. A top UO blows into port, and there’s somebody who is, if you know how to look, a watcher, just standing there?

You might not get to go home if you let one like that slide more than once or twice in your career.

So, assume the little woman was here for her. Okay, no problem, she’d been tailed before, and probably would be again, but the bigger question was, who had sent her?

Not her people. Pachel was a dickhead, but he knew that if he got caught spying on his own, it would be bad. In her case, she might not be able to pack it in and walk away, but she damn sure could drag her heels on whatever assignment she was on and do it in such a way they’d never be able to prove it for sure without a brain strain. At this point, she was worth more to the Confed with her mind intact, and she knew it, so past a certain point, they wouldn’t fuck with her.

So. Who
had
sent the surveillance? And why? Get one, she’d get the other, but she needed to figure that out before she moved too far along in her assignment.

Could be the watcher was from the Confed’s Planetary Representative, though that didn’t make any sense either. Why bother? She was here by his call, it wasn’t as if she was gonna turn around and walk away. The handsome op who’d delivered the info ball was enough. He could have crooked his finger, and she’d have gone with him.

Who did that leave?

Nobody else on this world ought to know who she was. None of the six names for which she had IDs were more than a couple days old, and the newest one she was using for herself? She’d never spoken that one aloud. She was a nonperson to anybody outside CI, and none of her tags should draw any interest at all.