Read Online April 8: It's Always Something by Mackey Chandler - Free Book Online
Authors: Mackey Chandler
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looked to see what was happening in sports. A lot of his Home workmates followed real football as they put it – soccer, so he tried to keep aware of what the important teams did. He still liked basketball, though he was far too compact to play it well himself.
"Mr. Bowman?" A carefully modulated voice called for his attention.
Kurt started a bit, and looked up. The blond fellow was leaning on the terrace railing, looking unnaturally relaxed.
"My apologies if I was rude," Kurt said. "I wasn't staring at you, my thoughts were far away, and I was more staring through you." About then his brain caught up with what he'd said, and he realized the man shouldn't know his name.
"That's the conclusion I quickly reached," the fellow said. "I checked the incoming passengers off the last shuttle to match your face and discover who you are. You're headed out on the next shuttle to Home and all your particulars match, so I realized you weren't here to cause me any harm."
"Yes sir. I'm just passing through and don't want to cause you any trouble," Kurt assured him.
"You aren't, but you are fresh from North America, aren't you? You might do me a service if you are inclined to do so. I was coming across to lunch when your gaze deterred me. May I buy you lunch and allow me to ask how you found things in North America?"
Free lunch? The man had no idea what a gift that was to him. "Sure, I'm happy to have some company. The news is too depressing to read more, and I have hours to fill before I can leave."
The fellow vaulted the rail, pivoting on one straight arm, with an ease that Kurt immediately noticed. He worked in zero G constantly with what amounted to a group of young athletes in prime condition. They moved with delicacy learned where a thoughtless movement could leave you with a crushed hand or a trapped finger. One didn't move like this man, without making a noise or having to readjust his expensive suit, unless you were extraordinarily strong and coordinated. He even sat opposite Kurt like...like a woman, Kurt realized with surprise. But there was nothing feminine about it. He'd just never thought before about how most men collapse gracelessly in their seat like a sack of potatoes.
His waiter almost beat the new fellow to the table with a cup and napkin. Kurt found out having him as a guest immediately upgraded them to a little silver platter with a few dates and little cookies on a paper doily. The waiter gave them both a splash of coffee and left.
"Why would you think me a danger?" Kurt asked.
"Oh, that's more about who I am than you. I'm Jan Hagen and I'm the security chief for this God forsaken pile of orbital junk. I could see you were North American, or trying to appear North American, and my relationship with the Norte Americanos has been tense of late." When Kurt just raised his eyebrows Jan elaborated. "Last year they had the temerity to snatch one of your countrymen off the very public corridor before us," he said, waving a hand to the way. "When they refused to hand him over we had to take him back from them. It was a huge bother let me tell you."
"And they are still sulking about it a year later? That seems childish," Kurt said.
"Well not here . They are petulant from afar since we put all of that former crew on a shuttle to dirt. They are sending note after diplomatic note demanding repairs and reparations. We did the basics to restore pressure to their section, because we wanted to be able to go in those spaces ourselves. Some of the damage was from the fellow they snatched, and it's hardly reasonable to expect he'd not object. If they want to make everything pretty again, and restore the few things that vacuum destroyed they can cover the expense. They brought the trouble entirely on themselves after all. They should be grateful we were so careful nobody died."
"Wow, I think that must have been right after I went back to Mobile. I can get around some of the blocking, but I never saw anything about that in
"Mr. Bowman?" A carefully modulated voice called for his attention.
Kurt started a bit, and looked up. The blond fellow was leaning on the terrace railing, looking unnaturally relaxed.
"My apologies if I was rude," Kurt said. "I wasn't staring at you, my thoughts were far away, and I was more staring through you." About then his brain caught up with what he'd said, and he realized the man shouldn't know his name.
"That's the conclusion I quickly reached," the fellow said. "I checked the incoming passengers off the last shuttle to match your face and discover who you are. You're headed out on the next shuttle to Home and all your particulars match, so I realized you weren't here to cause me any harm."
"Yes sir. I'm just passing through and don't want to cause you any trouble," Kurt assured him.
"You aren't, but you are fresh from North America, aren't you? You might do me a service if you are inclined to do so. I was coming across to lunch when your gaze deterred me. May I buy you lunch and allow me to ask how you found things in North America?"
Free lunch? The man had no idea what a gift that was to him. "Sure, I'm happy to have some company. The news is too depressing to read more, and I have hours to fill before I can leave."
The fellow vaulted the rail, pivoting on one straight arm, with an ease that Kurt immediately noticed. He worked in zero G constantly with what amounted to a group of young athletes in prime condition. They moved with delicacy learned where a thoughtless movement could leave you with a crushed hand or a trapped finger. One didn't move like this man, without making a noise or having to readjust his expensive suit, unless you were extraordinarily strong and coordinated. He even sat opposite Kurt like...like a woman, Kurt realized with surprise. But there was nothing feminine about it. He'd just never thought before about how most men collapse gracelessly in their seat like a sack of potatoes.
His waiter almost beat the new fellow to the table with a cup and napkin. Kurt found out having him as a guest immediately upgraded them to a little silver platter with a few dates and little cookies on a paper doily. The waiter gave them both a splash of coffee and left.
"Why would you think me a danger?" Kurt asked.
"Oh, that's more about who I am than you. I'm Jan Hagen and I'm the security chief for this God forsaken pile of orbital junk. I could see you were North American, or trying to appear North American, and my relationship with the Norte Americanos has been tense of late." When Kurt just raised his eyebrows Jan elaborated. "Last year they had the temerity to snatch one of your countrymen off the very public corridor before us," he said, waving a hand to the way. "When they refused to hand him over we had to take him back from them. It was a huge bother let me tell you."
"And they are still sulking about it a year later? That seems childish," Kurt said.
"Well not here . They are petulant from afar since we put all of that former crew on a shuttle to dirt. They are sending note after diplomatic note demanding repairs and reparations. We did the basics to restore pressure to their section, because we wanted to be able to go in those spaces ourselves. Some of the damage was from the fellow they snatched, and it's hardly reasonable to expect he'd not object. If they want to make everything pretty again, and restore the few things that vacuum destroyed they can cover the expense. They brought the trouble entirely on themselves after all. They should be grateful we were so careful nobody died."
"Wow, I think that must have been right after I went back to Mobile. I can get around some of the blocking, but I never saw anything about that in
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