fist holding something the entire time he was approaching the rail station’s retinal scanners. When he bent over to put his eye up to the machine, he used the closed hand to help lift his head, as if he were too old and weak to raise it without aid. Sick as he was, I hadn’t found him to be that crippled in the Molten Crater. When the scan was complete he simply limped into the maglev train’s passenger car without any trouble and disappeared.
I shot a glance over to Zhaff. He nodded, confirming my unsettling assumption.
“Send a note to USF security to keep a lookout for Mr. Fletcher,” I ordered. “And while you’re at it have a patrol sent to his residence. I have a feeling he won’t be there, but wherever they find him he’ll be missing at least one eye.”
The color drained from the security officer’s cheeks. He swallowed hard and then started to draft a message.
I interrupted him. “Before you do that, where was the train headed? Can we have it stopped before it reaches its destination?”
Before the security officer could move, Zhaff reached in front of him and rifled through information on his console. In barely a few seconds he had an answer. “Express to Glazov station, Old Russia,” he said. “It arrived there ten minutes ago.”
“Damn. Looks like we know where we’re heading, then.” I placed my hand on Zhaff’s shoulder and grinned. His head instantly snapped around. His expression didn’t change, but his eye-lens focused on my face as if it was searching for answers.
Once I removed my hand, Zhaff said, “We should wait to hear back about Mr. Fletcher from the patrol first.”
“You’re welcome to stay.”
I set off toward the exit without looking back. It wouldn’t be long before other collectors saw what Zhaff and I had, so there was no time to waste. After a short moment of hesitation Zhaff followed, which made me feel a little better about the whole partner situation. He couldn’t be further from Aria, but as far as I knew Cogents were supposed to dutifully serve their superiors. Zhaff following me, despite his reservations, meant that at least for the moment I was in charge.
With that realization, and a solid lead to follow, I was feeling confident. If I chased down every offworlder who tried to falsify their identity to move freely around Earth I would’ve been out of a job ages ago, but I’d seen the ire in the Ringer’s face when the advertisement for migration to Titan came on. If thirty years as a collector had taught me anything, it was not to believe in coincidences.
I stepped out of the surveillance center with a new bounce to my step, and then my mood came crashing back down when I bumped into someone’s back. He was a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a fedora that looked like it belonged in ancient Earth. A few curls of wheat-blond hair wisped across his forehead as if he were perpetually posing for a picture.
“Malcolm Graves,” he said after he turned around, wearing a wry grin. He was Trevor Cross, a collector working for Venta Co. They’d been Pervenio’s chief corporate rival in Sol since the Great Reunion with Titan. They were always after a stake in the Ring, but recently had turned their attention to developing the moons of Jupiter in order to compete. He and I had a similar relationship when we happened upon each other. He’d only been a collector for around a decade, but there were very few people I wanted to punch in the face more. It didn’t help that he used a pistol identical to mine.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Trevor continued. He positioned himself in my way so that I wouldn’t be able to pass without shoving him over.
“Venta Co’s still got you buying their groceries?” I replied. “Cute.”
“Always with the jokes. Last I heard you were on vacation. Figured you’d be spending it with that Ringer bitch of yours, not here. What was her name? Ma—something?”
“Not for years. Besides, somebody’s got to
I shot a glance over to Zhaff. He nodded, confirming my unsettling assumption.
“Send a note to USF security to keep a lookout for Mr. Fletcher,” I ordered. “And while you’re at it have a patrol sent to his residence. I have a feeling he won’t be there, but wherever they find him he’ll be missing at least one eye.”
The color drained from the security officer’s cheeks. He swallowed hard and then started to draft a message.
I interrupted him. “Before you do that, where was the train headed? Can we have it stopped before it reaches its destination?”
Before the security officer could move, Zhaff reached in front of him and rifled through information on his console. In barely a few seconds he had an answer. “Express to Glazov station, Old Russia,” he said. “It arrived there ten minutes ago.”
“Damn. Looks like we know where we’re heading, then.” I placed my hand on Zhaff’s shoulder and grinned. His head instantly snapped around. His expression didn’t change, but his eye-lens focused on my face as if it was searching for answers.
Once I removed my hand, Zhaff said, “We should wait to hear back about Mr. Fletcher from the patrol first.”
“You’re welcome to stay.”
I set off toward the exit without looking back. It wouldn’t be long before other collectors saw what Zhaff and I had, so there was no time to waste. After a short moment of hesitation Zhaff followed, which made me feel a little better about the whole partner situation. He couldn’t be further from Aria, but as far as I knew Cogents were supposed to dutifully serve their superiors. Zhaff following me, despite his reservations, meant that at least for the moment I was in charge.
With that realization, and a solid lead to follow, I was feeling confident. If I chased down every offworlder who tried to falsify their identity to move freely around Earth I would’ve been out of a job ages ago, but I’d seen the ire in the Ringer’s face when the advertisement for migration to Titan came on. If thirty years as a collector had taught me anything, it was not to believe in coincidences.
I stepped out of the surveillance center with a new bounce to my step, and then my mood came crashing back down when I bumped into someone’s back. He was a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a fedora that looked like it belonged in ancient Earth. A few curls of wheat-blond hair wisped across his forehead as if he were perpetually posing for a picture.
“Malcolm Graves,” he said after he turned around, wearing a wry grin. He was Trevor Cross, a collector working for Venta Co. They’d been Pervenio’s chief corporate rival in Sol since the Great Reunion with Titan. They were always after a stake in the Ring, but recently had turned their attention to developing the moons of Jupiter in order to compete. He and I had a similar relationship when we happened upon each other. He’d only been a collector for around a decade, but there were very few people I wanted to punch in the face more. It didn’t help that he used a pistol identical to mine.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Trevor continued. He positioned himself in my way so that I wouldn’t be able to pass without shoving him over.
“Venta Co’s still got you buying their groceries?” I replied. “Cute.”
“Always with the jokes. Last I heard you were on vacation. Figured you’d be spending it with that Ringer bitch of yours, not here. What was her name? Ma—something?”
“Not for years. Besides, somebody’s got to
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