Trouble Magnet (18 page)

He knew how to break into buildings, and how to fool respectable citizens, and how to simulate beggary when times grew truly difficult. He even knew how to deal with offworlders and one or two nonhuman Commonwealth races. But for the life of him, he was sure that he would never come to an understanding of the opposite gender of his own species.

Reflecting his newly won wealth, Chaloni’s custom-cut outfit was flashy and fashionable enough to draw the looks of the ladies but sufficiently subdued so that he would not stand out aggressively in a crowd. He had chosen it to attract attention but not a mob. It gave a lift to his gait. Literally, if one factored in the handcrafted glide shoes that added centimeters to his height while simultaneously easing his stride.

Parking his personal scoot several blocks away from his destination, he checked to make sure the autolarm was activated before turning and heading up the street. He was feeling very good about life, and about himself. As well he should, given the several days of splurge he and his friends had enjoyed. It was astonishing how fast, he reflected, a significant amount of cred could be spread once it was split six ways, even if he had kept the largest share for himself.

Well, no matter. He would have preferred to wait awhile longer before making another sale, but he had agreed on a date and it was not wise to keep an important connection waiting. The old woman would be glad to see him, he knew. He still remembered the look in her eyes when he had laid the ancient paper sporting booklet and its accessories out on her counter. He shifted the weight of the pack against his back, anticipating her reaction when he unburdened himself of its contents. Given her response to his first tender, he could only hope she did not go into cardiac arrest when she saw what he had brought for her this time. He did not quite lick his lips in expectation. The cred from the initial sale of goods taken from the scrimmed storage facility was nothing compared with what he and his friends were going to obtain today.

The shop was unchanged and exactly as he remembered it from the previous week. There was nothing to indicate the true nature of its core business: fencing stolen property.

Its owner was also as he remembered her: pleasant, matronly, and welcoming. She was perusing a holovit when he entered. As soon as she recognized him, she smiled and waved the projection into oblivion.

“Wellup and wellfound, young Mr. Puol.” Eyeing him up and down, she barely repressed a smile. “You did not have to dress so flare just to come and see me.”

He sat down opposite the counter, this time without waiting to be asked. As soon as he removed the backpack, his chair morphed to conform to his back, buttocks, and thighs. “I picked up a few things since I saw you last week. Fine clothes unworn aren’t fine; they’re just rags.”

“A philosoph as well as a sagacious seller.” Heavily made-up eyes glittered both literally and figuratively as they fixed on the backpack on his lap. “What nicey-niceties have you brought me this time?”

He worked slowly to unfasten the pack, marking time with the special seals, taking pleasure in making her wait. Watching intently, she offered a casual query.

“Where’s your little brother?”

So intent was Chaloni on enjoying the moment that he was nearly caught off guard. “My bro…?” He recovered in time. “Oh, Vione couldn’t make it. Life studies class.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied. And caught her breath as he removed several objects from the pack and set them on the counter.

One related tangentially to what he had sold her the previous week. It was a small, white ball used in the precursor to a modern game. Though the sphere, fashioned of organic materials, was well-worn, several signatures were still visible on its curves. Alongside this Chaloni placed a couple of garishly decorated plastic cups that at first glance featured the unlikely commingling of heroic figures and cheap food, a ring made of silver and turquoise whose provenance as genuine Terran would have to be established by proper cesium dating, a handmade woman’s blouse featuring florid threadwork and sewn-in inserts of small mirrors, and to top it off half a dozen bottles of simple sand glass that not only remarkably still held a portion of flavored sugar syrup, but were contained in the original paperboard carrier.

Chaloni relished the look on her face. An expression like that was not the best one to adopt when preparing to enter into bargaining. It made him feel like he could name his price.

“Well?” he finally asked.

It broke the spell. She looked up at him, back down at the goods arrayed on the counter, and then pushed back in her chair. “Wonderful. Marvelous. That such objects should turn up for sale on a newishly settled world like Visaria is something of an inspiration. It speaks well for what others think of our future prosperity.” She took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, childman, I cannot buy them from you.”

Despite his preparations, Chaloni did no better at hiding his shock at this response than she had her desire when looking upon the merchandise. “You can’t…,” he sputtered, concluding with a helpless, “Why not?”

“Because they aren’t yours to sell, poor, poor, laddieyouth.”

Two figures emerged from the shadows behind her. One of them would have made two of Chaloni. Or maybe three. Aside from unmissable massiveness, the man was toothy and blond and unsmiling. His companion was—his companion was just plain scary.

And alien. Very, very alien, representative of a species unknown to Chaloni. More than two meters tall and exceedingly slim, the creature’s short, dense fur was a dark gray streaked with several shades of brown. The eyes were small, dark, intense, and covered with at least one, maybe two, nictitating membranes. Flexible pointy ears thrust out to either side of the head before angling upward to terminate in small furry tufts. Decorative strips of inscribed and burnished metal dangled from both of the extended hearing organs. Not only did one expansive cheek sac bulge impressively, but a frightened Chaloni had the impression something snake-like was moving within it. As the being came nearer, he could see that it was chewing methodically on something unseen. He caught a faint whiff of something offworld and unfamiliar.

Its garb was a clashing couture of multiple flexible bands and gear straps to which were attached hitech instruments that alternated with idiosyncratic primitive carvings and alien embroidery. It was as if the wearer, like his attire, was caught between the primitive world of his origin and the recklessly forward-thrusting society of Visaria and the greater Commonwealth.

Backing toward the doorway, Chaloni struggled to divide his attention between the pair of menacing newcomers and the fence he had been assured was independent and clean.

“What is this, Ms. Belawhoni? Who are these
tskoms
?” No matter how much he waved his hands over the activation panel, the door behind him remained resolutely shut.

Coming around the counter, the man put a hand behind Chaloni’s lower back and urged him gently, but implacably, back into the room. Unable to flee the shop but with no weapon pointed in his direction, Chaloni let himself be guided. Not that he had much choice. The hand in the middle of his back that was compelling him forward was as relentless as a metal piston.

“Watch your language, scrim. And take it easy. We just want to talk to you.” Once all three of them were behind the counter, the man removed his hand from Chaloni’s lumbar and stepped back. That was a good sign, Chaloni decided. The fact that Ms. Belawhoni had vanished into the depths of the shop was not. As he was contemplating the possible ramifications of her disappearance, the heavy hand returned to shove him down into her chair.

“You can call me Corsk.” Removing his fingers, the man moved around in front of Chaloni and leaned back against the display counter. It creaked beneath his weight. “This is Aradamu-seh. Arad is a Sakuntala, from Fluva.”

On his guard and trying to shrink back into the chair, Chaloni shook his head. “Never heard of it. No offense,” he added, with a hasty glance in the alien’s direction. Those tight, fiery eyes were focused unblinkingly on him.

Corsk laughed. “Hear that, Arad? Little scrim’s never heard of your world.”

“That is your people’s name for it, not ours,” the alien remarked calmly.

“Never been there myself,” Corsk commented conversationally. “Hear it rains there all the time.
All
the time.” Leaning forward, he whispered conspiratorially to Chaloni, “Arad doesn’t like humans.”

“You interfere in our lives,” the alien declared. “Your presence distorts our culture. You favor the unmentionable Deyzara. Those of us who want no part of your Commonwealth have no choice in the matter. We must participate, or wither.”

Corsk was nodding knowingly to himself. “Pretty tough folk, these Sakuntala. Still have a thing or two to learn about cred-based economies. A few of the smart ones have realized they can make more hiring themselves out to perform certain services than they ever could stuck on their soggy, backward homeworld.” He smiled at his partner. “No offense.”

Aradamu-seh’s nonhuman expression was unreadable. “Accumulate cred,” he murmured. “Also
mula
.”

They were playing with him, Chaloni realized. Well, if they were trying to crack the veneer of innocence he’d worn to the shop, they were going to have to do better than that. “I still don’t understand what this is about. What kind of questions do you want me to answer?”

“Oh, we don’t need the answers.” Corsk leaned closer. “It’s our employer who wants answers.”

As best he could, Chaloni held his ground. “Who’s your employer?”

The big man gestured casually behind him, toward the precious antiques Chaloni had carefully laid out on the countertop. “The owner of those wares. He wants them back.” Corsk’s voice dropped ominously. “He wants all of them back.”

Chaloni shrugged diffidently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My brother brought home a whole crate of that stuff. Crate was all banged up, like it had fallen off a skimmer or something. Said he found it in a serviceway. Being younger than me, he asked if I’d try to find out if it was worth anything. So I asked around, it was recommended I try here, and sure enough, I sold a few pieces last week.” Turning slightly, he looked back into the silent shadows that cloaked the rear of the shop. “Ms. Belawhoni paid a lot for them. If I’d known they were that valuable before I sold them, I might have tried to find the original owner.” He mustered a smile. “You know—for a reward, maybe. But there were no markings on the crate, and you put out the word, pretty quick there are fifty
tshonds
claiming ownership rights.”

Corsk had been nodding patiently while listening to the youth in the chair. Now his head stopped bobbing. “Nice story. The lady who runs this establishment would have been a good choice—except that she values her relationship with our employer more than she does the opportunity to market his stolen property. There’s a reward for its return, all right, but she’s the one in line to get it, not you, you miserable little lying
yibones
.”

Taking offense, Chaloni started to rise from the chair. “
Thoy,
why you calling me that? I be linear with you…!”

A massive hand slammed him back into the seat so hard it nearly overloaded and broke the chair’s spinal adapter. Corsk didn’t care. He was certified to damage property.

“Sure you are,
yibones
.” From a breast pocket of his slicksuit, he withdrew a security sensor tridee freeze. Unfolding, it showed several figures inside a nondescript warehouse loading a variety of antique items into a transport. “Recognize any of these cheerful scrawn?”

Heart thumping, Chaloni made a show of examining the freeze. “Never saw any of them, don’t know any of them.”

Corsk nodded, still patient. “Of course you don’t. How about these?”

One by one, several additional freezes were presented to the youth in the chair. His reaction was unchanged. None of them looked like him. He was secretly thankful. The costly disguises had proven their worth.

“Sorry. Can’t help you.” His expression turned guileless. “Are these the scrims who originally stole this stuff?”

Corsk’s tone was mollifying. “Indeed they are. Recognize any of them now?” Running his thumb across the back of one freeze, he enlarged a portion of it until the three-dimensional figure he had isolated filled the entire framing square. It was Chaloni. As he stared at the image, he gave thanks to the invisible powers in charge of Malandere Utilities that it was cool in the front of the shop. Otherwise, he might have started to sweat.

“Don’t know the scrim, I told you. I could tell that before you bumped it.”

Corsk nodded understandingly. His thumb moved again. “Please. Try just one more time.”

Floating in the space between them, constrained by the freeze borders, was a close-up of a portion of the isolated figure. It showed only the side of the individual’s head. An utterly nondescript image, except perhaps for the simple triangular earring that punched one earlobe. Held in place by a permanent charge in the exact center of the triangle was a very small synthetic red diamond. Chaloni had worn an earring like that for years. Had worn it day in and night out while zlipping and shopping, while showering, and while making love. Had worn it for so long that it had become a part of him.

A part of him he had forgotten to remove when donning his disguise prior to infiltrating the ransacked storage facility.

Smiling, he reached out to take the freeze, the better to have a closer look at it. Corsk let him take it. As soon as it was in his hand Chaloni brought it closer to his face, frowned—and shoved it straight at the big man’s right eye. Letting out a yelp, Corsk stumbled backward, grabbing at his face with one hand while striking out blindly with the other. Fast and agile, Chaloni exploded out of the chair in an instant. He didn’t try for the front door, which he already knew had been locked against any possible flight. Instead, he flung himself toward the back of the shop. There had to be a rear entrance. The two scrims had used it to enter without him seeing them, the double-crossing Ms. Belawhoni almost certainly used it to bring in merchandise, and with any luck it would be unlocked and he could use it, too.