Stepping Up (14 page)

“Please do come to my corporate office in suite 3012, tower
13 at 8:30 tomorrow morning. There we can make all final arrangements, and I’m
sure we can come to an agreement. Boulder City, Swallows Down, North. Good
morning.”

I hear the click, but say, “Thank you, ma’am,” anyway.  The
Goliath maps we have on the casCom show that to be an accurate address. It is
in the very rich and reserved district of Swallows Down, the richest district
of Goliath’s Capital city, Sturne.

Night Searcher
establishes orbit high above
Goliath. The local sky is bustling with freighters as well as military craft of
all sizes.  Given our size, we are assigned a higher altitude, “above the
trash” as the lead navigator says when he thinks no one can hear him. There is
a launch at my disposal, ordered by the Captain. A brunette, tall for a girl,
with shoulder-length hair and a very fit body, meets me in the small craft bay.
She perks up as I approach.  I doubt there’s a scrap of body fat on her; she
manages to be beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

“Hi! Are you Chief MacTaggert? Sherri Watson. I’m ready to
go whenever you are. May I call you Sonia?” She has a backpack slung over one
shoulder.

“Hi, yes, Sonia is fine, unless we’re at one of those
hoity-toity functions.  But only if I get to call you Sherri.” She nods and I
say, “Okay, let’s go.”  We board the small launch, each of us stowing our bag
to keep it from bouncing around the flight cabin.  Mack’s body is in a Life
Tube in the cargo compartment. Sherri takes the pilot’s seat, so I sit in the
other. I found a number for a Hazardous Materials Incinerator near the
starport. They don’t typically cremate bodies, but when I explained the
situation, with a memo from Dr. Traynor, they agreed to burn the Life Tube with
him in it. They will pick Mack’s body up when we get there.  After ten minutes
of silence, my curiosity gets the best of me: “May I ask a personal question?”

“You may ask, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

“You’re a pretty girl.  Does that make life on
Night
Searcher
challenging? I mean, I have a brand new boyfriend. Is that going
to cause any problems? Another woman on the ship told me she stays in shape
doing bedroom aerobics.  I’m wondering…I like to think I’m not a prude.  I
guess I’m just sheltered.  Do you have a certain someone aboard? It seems like
half of the crew never sleeps in the same bed twice. Okay, I’m babbling.  I’ll
stop.”

“Oh, is that all?  It’s not that much of a challenge.  And
it’s one of the reasons the staterooms have opaque doors. I have two
semi-regular partners: one male, one female. My gate swings either way from
time to time. Occasionally at the same time, but that’s a different story.
There are those more promiscuous than me; there are those more reserved.  What
do people think? Who cares? It’s nobody else’s business. My partners and I
don’t blab. And, unless you make it an issue, it probably won’t become one.”

“Thanks for the explanation. I like you. Can we maybe hang
out? Do the double date thing from time to time?” 
But I bet neither of your
lovers has a parent on the ship.

“Oh boy, could we ever! You are an answer to my prayers!” 
Her exuberance and excitement are at once intriguing and frightening.  I’m
looking at her the way a Rison’s Beast looks at a MagTrain.  She explains:
“You’re straight. Not many of my female friends are.  I can relax around you
and not worry about being…compromised.”

We approach the starport.  All small craft are required to
run through a ten-second scan.  Upon landing, we’re told that it checks for
explosives, and detonates whatever it finds.  It saves time that way. There’s
no need to find the pesky thing. I negotiate with the local garage for
berthing.  Calculating on the side of caution, I opt for the full forty-eight
hours.  Sherri expertly maneuvers the small craft into the berth.  In a few
minutes, we are outside and the doors to the launch are closed.  There’s a
ground transport waiting for us.  We transfer Mack’s body from the launch to
the truck.  The driver tells me he’ll have the ashes to us tomorrow.  I make
sure he understands why Mack’s body is in a Life Tube.  “I’ve been briefed,
ma’am.  You do understand the tube will be destroyed in the process? 
Protocol.” 
Makes sense.

I dial the contact number I downloaded earlier.  I get the
receptionist, and she tells me that my appointment has been moved from 8:30 to
noon.  I’m not happy, but it can’t be helped.  I tell Sherri, “I guess we can
do a bit of shopping after all.”

We hire a gravity cab to Boulder City.  It’s a hot day and
the air is thick with pollution.  The air conditioner in the cab doesn’t appear
to be working, and with the windows barely open, I can feel the sweat, and I’m
only too happy when we arrive at our destination after a thirty-minute ride.
Sherri peels some notes off the wad in her pocket and hands them to the driver.
“You can get the next one,” she assures me.

It seems the cabbie may have other ideas; he tips his cap to
us.  “Thank you, ladies.  Your next trip is on me.”

We smile, thank him, and watch him drive off. “You know he
couldn’t keep his eyes off you, right?” Sherri says, as we walk towards the
door to the shopping mall complex.

“Me?” I counter. “Which of us has a tank top under her
flight suit, and which is freeboobing with her zipper poised an inch above her
solar plexus?”

Sherri grins. “Okay, you got me there.  But, since I got
’em, I’m gonna work ’em.  That’s probably why that goober didn’t have the AC
running.  He was hoping it might go lower.”

We don’t really look for anything other than a way to pass
three hours.  Later, while we’re sitting at a snack bar enjoying a cold icy
beverage,  I happen to note Sherri’s hand on her tumbler. Then I look at my
own.  “I have an idea.  Let’s reawaken our feminine sides. Care for a manicure?
My treat.”

“Make it a mani-pedi, and I’ll be on it like a doctor on an
engineer.”  She winks and grins. 
What has she learned since yesterday?

“If you’re going to be snarky, forget it.”

“You forget how small a starship really is.  Let’s play with
their heads.  You buy the manicures, and I’ll buy the pedicures.”

“Deal.”

At 11:30, I call Ms. Gray’s office back. “I’m terribly
sorry,” the receptionist says, “but Ms. Gray has been called into an emergency
meeting and will be unavailable until four o’clock.  I was just anticipating
calling you.” Click.

I relay my conversation to Sherri.  “Well that’s a crock o’
crap.”  She looks around.  “Movie?”  We agree on a romantic comedy.  It’s good
to laugh, cry, all that stuff.  As we walk out to the cabstand, I pull out my
perCom.  Sherri puts her hand on it. “Don’t call them.  We’ve gotten the
runaround twice.  Let’s just show up.  It will be harder for them to give us a
brush off in person.”  I can’t argue with her logic, but I’m not certain of her
conclusion.  I’m just anxious to get out of this insufferable heat. 
How do
the locals stand it?
  All of the men are wearing ties and jackets, the
women, full length dresses with long sleeves.  It must be something to which
one becomes accustomed.

Our cab ride takes us to our destination.  True to her word,
Sherri lets me pay for this one.  It is easy to find tower 13. It is the middle
tower in a circle of twelve and is twice their size. Suite 3012 is on the 30th
floor.   “Marginally phallic,” Sherri muses.  “Sonia, I’m not trying to be
overly critical, but we aren’t exactly ‘fresh,’ if you know what I mean.”

I fix my “who cares” face on her. “I don’t know about you,
but I’m stickier than yesterday’s glazed doughnut, and I couldn’t care less. 
I’m here on business, not to win a popularity contest or a beauty pageant. 
And, after the runaround we’ve gotten, these people
deserve
to be
offended, my trusty, husky, musky companion.”  I push the button for the lift. 
When it comes, we board and ride to the 30th floor. 

“‘Trusty and husky’ okay, but … ”

I look at her balefully. Sherri lifts her arm and sniffs an
armpit.  “Okay, I’ll give you the ‘musky’ also.”

Suite 3012 isn’t hard to find.  I tell the receptionist,
“Sonia MacTaggert to see Miss Gray, please.”

“Certainly, madam, may I ask the nature of your visit and
the identity of your…” she looks at Sherri with obvious distaste,
“…associate?”  The office is tastefully decorated in muted tones. The carpet is
very pale beige, almost white.  The furniture appears to be real wood.  The
receptionist looks at us as if we’re the people she called to clear the clogged
toilet.  Sherri absentmindedly wipes the sweat from her brow and flings it to
one side.  The receptionist glares at her.

“I am tending to the treatment and care of Catherine
Elizabeth Sinnair on behalf of her late father, Doctor Mactavius D. Sinnair.
This is my associate, Miss Watson.”

“Please, ladies, have a seat, and I’ll let Miss Gray know
you are here.  Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, black with two sugars,” Sherri replies.

“Tea, please.  Thank you,” I say. “Oolong if you have it.”

She disappears into the inner office, and emerges in less
than a minute to usher us in. The architecture and arrangement of furniture is
meant to be imposing.  The desk is on a dais about eight inches above the
floor.  There are two chairs in front of it.  Seated, someone would have to
look up to Miss Gray. She looks up, lays down her pen, and says, “Good morning,
ladies, please have a seat.”  The receptionist leaves, closing the door behind
her.

“Thank you for seeing us, Miss Gray.  I represent the late
Dr. Mactavius D. Sinnair.  His daughter, Catherine, is a patient here.  My
instructions are to provide this institute with a prestigious sum of money to
be used for her care.  I intend to set this up as a trust fund that will pay
into her account here on a regular basis.  What I need from you is to know how
much and how often that needs to be.  I will not just hand it over to you
because I want it to be in some sort of account which will generate interest,
which will help it to last longer.”

“I see.  How prestigious?”

“Very.”  Our eyes lock.

She leans back in her chair. “I must act in the best
interests of both Miss Sinnair and her grandmother, Madelyne Sinnair. Referring
to the latter, it is she who must entertain and give consent to such an
arrangement. She currently resides at 400 Weatherford, Longcashire,
Downfellows, 0900666. That is, of course, on Atlas.  Please come back to see me
when you have that permission signed in Quadruple Authentication and notarized
by the Atlan court. Good day.”

The door opens.  Gray picks up her pen and looks back to a
collection of documents on her desk.

What is going on?
“But...wait...I...”

She looks up long enough to say, “Good day, Madame.”  Then
goes back to whatever she was doing.

We stand and walk towards the door. The receptionist is
standing there with two capped paper cups, one with the string of a tea bag
hanging from it.  She hands them to us and takes her station behind her desk as
the door closes. She is doing her best to pointedly ignore us.  Sherri speaks
first: “Wow! That is one cold bitch.” The receptionist continues to eye us
without being obvious about it.

“You got that right.  Downfellows is on Atlas, which is on
our route, but the gods alone know when we’ll be back this way.  Let’s hit that
coffee shop we passed in the lobby.  I do my best thinking with a steaming mug
in my hand.  Or a frosty mug for that matter.”

“But I have coffee; you have tea.” 

“Yeah, but it’s cold.”

“No, it…” I take her cup from her. “What are you…” With
either thumb, I flick open the lids that are covering them and toss a cup to
either side. The tea splashes onto the sofa, and the coffee splatters across
the carpet, stark in its contrasting color.  The receptionist yelps and leaps
to her feet, stabbing a button on her communication console.

I smile at her, “Oops, clumsy me.  Good day.”  We leave. 
With Security probably looking for us, we ride the lift to the 4
^th
floor and take the stairs to the ground floor.  Good thing the stairwell has a
door that leads to the street as well as one that leads to the lobby.  As we
exit the building, I say to Sherri, “What do you know?  It really
is
wired to trigger the fire alarm.” She holds her hand out, palm up.  Her fingers
curl in the universal “pay up” sign.  She had seen the sign reading “Do Not
Open. Alarm will sound.”  I had wagered it was just a sign without basis in reality. 
I lost, so I put a one credit note in her hand as we briskly walk away.

“Sonia, the sun is below the yard arm somewhere.  Did you
have your heart set on tea, or could I twist your arm to consider that bar
across the street and down the block instead?”

“Ow. Stop.  Must you twist my arm so? That hurts. Spoken
like a true negotiator.  Lead on.  But let’s get a little more distance first.”

Almost a half-mile away, we enter The Rusty Musket Bar and
Grille.  We belly up to the bar and begin scheming. The place is pretty empty,
but apparently as the day goes on, the hours get happier, and we develop a
plan.  “What I see is that the local legal beagles want me running back and
forth between Goliath and Atlas to care for Miss Sinnair.  Mack’s will didn’t
say anything about any grandmother.  I did come across one of his grandfather’s
names—I forget how many ‘greats’ are involved—who worked for a guy who started
a shell company here.  It was built just as a way to launder money, (what was
it called? WC something.”) I dig into my digital copy of Lady Sarah’s book.
“Here it is.   WCH: Weill, Cheatham and Howe.”  I switch my perCom to localized
search mode and access the local directory.  “If they aren’t still around—and
they don’t appear to be—I suppose I could hire a local attorney to do all that
ancillary foolishness for me.  I hate to pass the buck like that, but I don’t
know what else I can do.”