2951-09-27 – Tales from the Inbox: The Councilor’s Trust
Drase was gone only a few minutes, but it was plenty of time for Nestor Palazzo to wonder if his suggestion had been somewhat less than wise. In truth, he didn’t want to get mixed up in the secretive doings of any of the Sagittarius xenos, be they Gilehdat, Kyaroh, or anything else. If Hoyr agreed to let him in on this supposedly important secret, it might bring all sorts of trouble far in excess of any pay.
When he spotted the slim, hooded figure slipping back across Lawrence’s dingy dining room, he was already hoping that she’d received a negative answer. The deliberate strut she’d used to turn every head and clear a path for Hoyr before was gone, now; she was gliding through the space like a ghost, almost without touching the floor, and with barely any eyes fixing on her.
“I was able to make Hoyr understand the problem.” Drase spoke without sitting down.
“Ah, well.” Nestor sighed. “There’ll be other jobs. Drase, I really appreciate-” Nestor stopped. Drase was still standing there, her glinting eyes boring into his. “What?”
“Had there not been these complexities, would you have accepted Hoyr’s task? Even if it meant trusting me with the navigation of your ship?”
Nestor shrugged. “If it were just a matter of you entering in coordinates without me knowing them? Sure. I could show you how to do it with the navcomputer in a couple hours.”
Drase nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly to communicate relief. “Then perhaps I will not come to regret vouching for your honesty.”
“Wait.” Nestor slid out of the booth to stand, towering over Drase. “He agreed?”
Drase nodded and held out her hand. When she opened it, he saw the Hoyr’s black token resting on her palm. “Take this.”
Nestor reached out to take the metallic disk, but before his fingers could close on it, Drase grabbed his huge hand in both of hers and pressed the token into his palm. “My fate is staked with this secret, Nestor.” She whispered, barely audible over the hubbub in the diner. “If it were to ever get out, you cannot conceive of the consequences for us both.”
Nestor shook his head. “If it’s too much a risk-”
Drase released Nestor’s hand and stepped back. “It was mine to risk, and it was risked.”
Nestor held the token in front of his face. It was heavier than it had looked, and covered in tiny symbols that he couldn’t possibly make out clearly in the dim lighting of Lawrence’s. “What now?”
“Hoyr will have the cargo at Macie Kurtz sometime next shift.” Drase turned around, reached up, and pulled Nestor’s hand down toward his pocket. “I will show you how to use this when we have departed this station.”
Nestor nodded. “What’s he paying?”
“Of your credits…” Drase paused and looked away for a moment. “One thousand times five hundred plus fifty. And there’s-”
Nestor steadied himself against the table. “Five-fifty thousand credits, Drase?” The sum was nearly half of the total value of Macie Kurtz, even with all the modifications he’d made to it over the years. Running back and forth from the Sprawl to the outlying stations, even with the most sensitive cargoes, didn’t pay that much in ten runs.
Drase nodded, unsurprised by Nestor’s reaction. “As I said, he pays very well. Your government issued the Kyaroh credits, so they spend them far too freely.”
“Clearly.” Nestor grinned, then reached back into the table to close out his tab with the diner, his tab still sitting at zero despite the drinks and food. “Come on. I was going to make this a surprise, but we don’t have enough time for me to sneak it back to the ship anymore.”
“You have ordered some amenities for my space aboard the ship.” Drase’s lips tugged upward into a smile. “I have known since the day you radioed ahead and placed the order, but I do appreciate the gesture.”
Nestor frowned as he led the way toward the exit. He had of course worried she might be able to guess that he was up to something, but he hadn’t expected her intuition to be so specific. “Are you sure you people aren’t mind-readers?”
As they stepped out into the better lit concourse outside Lawrence’s, Drase flicked her brown hood back across her shoulders. Her golden, almost cherubic face and hairless head shone in the harsh light, and the faint freckles below her huge eyes almost seemed to twinkle. Her appearance turned a few heads, but only a few – the Gilehdat had been a common enough sight on the Sprawl almost the moment it had been constructed.
When Nestor led her into the lift, Drase slid one slim arm into his and leaned against him. “Would you have preferred me to pretend to be surprised?”
Nestor shook his head, looking down at her. “You know what I think about white lies. People are easiest to deal with if they’re honest.”
Drase laughed, a crystalline tittering sound that, though pleasant, was nothing a human could possibly have made. “Then I will remain easy to deal with, as long as I am permitted to give no answer when all answers risk being misunderstood.”
“I know.” Nestor wondered why he knew this, but he did, and that bothered him more than being uncertain. He was only too aware of how easy it would be for her to manipulate him – but he was also confident that she would not do so.
As usual, Drase seemed to read Nestor’s thoughts. “You see why, but it eludes your active thought, so it passes upward as intuition.” She craned her head back and closed her eyes. “It is the seed from which the tutors coax our art, and it would make you mad if you were not a recluse.”
Nestor rolled his eyes. “I’m terrible at reading people. That’s why people drive me mad.”
“And yet, for your instincts, it seems my disposition is quite naked.” Drase opened her eyes into alluring crimson slits, and despite himself Nestor found that comparison arresting. “Do not ask me to teach you the art.”
“Because you aren’t a tutor?”
Drase shook her head, just as the lift doors opened onto Merchant’s Row. “It is not a matter of capacity. I do not wish to be so cruel.” With one motion that seemed too fluid to be the work of a limb containing bones, she extracted her arm from his.
Nestor frowned at this enigmatic answer, but something in her demeanor suggested that he wouldn’t get any more out of her on that topic, at least not then. With a sigh, he led the way toward the shop which had a crate of luxuries waiting for them.
This is, I am afraid, the end of Mr. Palazzo’s account, at least the part he sent. It makes sense that, if it is accurate, he would not detail any part of his work for the Kyaroh for fear of betraying their secrets, and if the account contains embellished elements, that he would leave it there for fear of betraying the fact that he did not in fact work with them.
The focus of his account is obviously on the relationship between himself and his erstwhile fellow spacer, the Gilehdat envoy Drase. Her suggestion that a human might learn the arts of the Gilehdat diplomats is interesting, though I’m sure their kind would deny that officially. If half of what is said of them is true, they are a potent weapon for the Grand Journey in its diplomatic endeavors which I’m sure this organization is not interested in sharing with the Confederated Worlds.
