Phule added the note to a list of questions for Sodden. He’d scheduled a meeting with the investigator for the next day. The list was already on its second page. Maybe all these questions would turn out to be superfluous. Maybe Beeker would answer his email. Or maybe Sodden would appear for the meeting with exactly the answers Phule was looking for, and then he could go meet Beeker and convince him to end this silly escapade and return to Zenobia and start doing his job again.
But it didn’t hurt to prepare for the possibility that Sodden had had no more luck than Phule. Phule took a sip of his drink, rolled his shoulders to fight the tension in his muscles, and stared at the Port-a-Brain’s screen once more.
It was late by the time he turned out the lights.
10
Journal #813-
My employer, for all his dedication to the military life, was at bottom a businessman. In that, he resembled his father. He also resembled that gentleman in a firm conviction that his own view of the world was fundamentally accurate, and that others who did not share it were in need of correction. Unlike his father, he was at least willing to let those others find their own way to correction…
“That was awesome,” said Do-Wop, shaking his head. “I knew you was a con artist, but I never seen you fool that many people at once.” The two of them were ensconced in the guest room of a suburban home belonging to one of the ringleaders of the demonstration Sushi had inserted himself into as head agitator. It was early morning, planetary time, and outside the blinds the artificial lights of Rot’n‘art were slowly working up to their daytime peak intensity.
Sushi was still exhausted despite a sound night’s sleep. Taking over the demonstration had required all his energy, physical and mental, before the crowd had lifted him to its shoulders and carried him away in triumph. “If you ever see me about to try that again, remind me not to,” he said. “I kept worrying that the cops would decide to make a charge. I think it was pure luck that they backed down…”
“Nah, you had ‘em fluffled,” said Do-Wop, admiringly. “If I had me some money to invest, I’d have put it in that greebfap you was sellin’ the crowd. What is that stuff, anyway?”
“You tell me, and we’ll both know,” said Sushi. “All I knew is, our best chance to get out of the place without major damage was to throw in with the biggest gang we could find. Thank Ghu it worked.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it when they all carried you off ~ like some kind of hero,” said Do-Wop. “You’re a genius, Soosh.”
‘Thanks, I guess,“ said Sushi. ”Only problem is that my face is going to be all over tri-vee. If Beeker or the captain sees the local news, they’re likely to figure out what we’re doing here. And if the wrong cop happens to spot me, I could end up in some back room figuring out how to answer hostile questions about greebfap.“
Do-Wop scoffed. “No problem, we disguise you, is all. A fake beard and some dark shades oughta do the job… or maybe some kinda big hat…”
“Yeah, right, I carry that stuff with me all the time. What are you going to do, go out to the local disguise store? I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops have your face in their files, too. They had robots taking pictures all during that riot. And unless they’re really stupid, they’ll be running comparisons with the passport pictures from spaceport arrivals. They probably already know exactly who we are.”
“No freakin‘ way,” said Do-Wop. “My passport pic don’t look anything like me, and I bet yours don’t, either.”
“Mine’s a lot uglier than I am,” agreed Sushi. A tired grin came onto his face. “But yours couldn’t possibly be…”
Sushi ducked as Do-Wop took a swing at him. “OK, sorry,” he said. “Still, we’ve got this problem of suddenly being way too visible. And we still need to figure out where the captain is, so we can keep him out of trouble-and help him find Beeker, so we can go back to Zenobia.”
“Well, one thing we know about the captain-he ain’t cheap. Just find out what the best hotel on the planet is- I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that’s where the captain’s staying.”
Sushi’s mouth fell open. “Partner, you just earned yourself a whole basket of donuts. That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. And it wasn’t even mine.”
Do-Wop grinned evilly. “Yeah, well, I’ll pass on the donuts. Just remember this the next time you think you can diss your buddy. When they handed out the street smarts, us Italians was standing right by the flagpole. And you can tell that to the Marines.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Sushi. “So why don’t we go downstairs and see if our host will feed us breakfast-and maybe tell us about the local hotels?”
“Now you’re comin‘ up with the good ideas,” said Do-Wop. “Lead the way, Soosh.” Together they headed out the door; somewhere downstairs they could already hear a cof-feemaker bubbling away. It was shaping up as a good morning, after all.
Just before noon, Phule took the dropshaft down to the lobby and entered the hotel bar, where he had agreed to meet Perry Sodden, tracer of missing persons, for business-and lunch. He took a corner booth away from other customers and ordered a pint of Old Rot’n‘art IPA, which the locals firmly believed to be the finest beer in the galaxy. Phule knew better, but ordering anything else was practically guaranteed to start an argument with the robot waitress. He didn’t need the attention, so he took a sip of the thin, sour-tasting brew and suppressed a shudder. If anything, the home brewery’s product was worse than the export version. Just as well; he needed to keep a clear head, anyway, and the taste would discourage him from drinking much of it.
After a few minutes, Sodden slid onto the opposite bench of the booth. “You’re in luck,” he said, out of one side of his mouth. “I’ve already got a solid lead on the rascal you’re after.”
“That’s great news, but don’t think I’d call old Beeker a rascal,” said Phule. “He’s just taking a sort of unofficial vacation-with a lady friend.”
“Know just what you mean, Captain,” said Sodden with a wink. “Say, how about buying a fellow a drink? Talking’s thirsty work, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Phule, signaling for the waitress. Sodden ordered an Old Rot’n‘art, and when the waitbot went to fetch it, Phule said, “Now, what are the chances of catching my man before he takes ship to the next planet? This is the third place I’ve followed him to, and I’d really like to get him back on the job.”
“If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a thousand times,” said Sodden. “Midlife crisis kind of thing. One minute, your fellow’s a sober citizen, and the next he decides it’s time to stop and smell the roses, and the next thing you know he’s halfway across the galaxy, driving a little red hovertible. Funny how the best roses are always on some other planet. But not to worry, Captain. Soon enough he’ll run out of spending cash, and then you’re like enough to see him back at your door, his hat in his hand.” The beer came, and Sodden paused to take a deep sip.
“I can’t imagine Beeks in a hovertible, red or any other color,” said Phule, toying with his. glass. “And I sure hope I don’t have to wait for him to run out of money-the old fellow’s as frugal as they come. I think it’d take him quite a while to spend all his savings, even with the lady friend helping him out.“
“You’d be surprised,” said Sodden. “I used to go with this girl from Varleigh…” He shuddered, then knocked back his drink and signaled for another before turning back to Phule. “Anyhow, he’s bound to leave a trail an experienced investigator like me can follow. And like I told you, I’ve got a solid lead. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days before I’ve got him.”
“He could be off-planet and on a ship to who knows where by then,” said Phule. “I hope you aren’t taking things for granted.”