The Lost Ship of the Tucker Rebellion - Marie Sexton Page 0,29
where the picture would normally be. “Subject: Samsen. No other name on file. Unknown sex, age, or ethnicity. Samsen only does business remotely, either via rotating computer stations within Titan X or secure, nonestablished drop locations for hardware. To leave a message with Samsen inquiring about a problem and/or price, post a description and a hundred-credit earnest offer to your personal account earmarked ‘Samsen.’”
Laramie whistled. “Well, that’s as shady as the far side of Titan. An earnest offer marked up within our account? That means this person has unlimited access to the credit system.”
“Or has a hack in place that alerts them to any mention of their name,” Marit said.
“The hack wouldn’t be enough. They have to be able to transfer the credits into their own keeping. They could be really fucking official. Like, Martian-level official.”
Both Laramie and Marit looked at Denver, who shrugged tiredly. His brother was right, but what other option did they have? He shrugged. “This is who Poppy pointed us to. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t send us to someone who was just interested in jailing us.”
“No,” Marit said. “Just someone we can’t identify and who gets to know all about us. We’re basically paying him for the privilege of being a fucking snoop.”
“It’s not perfect,” Denver admitted. “But it’s what we’ve got to go on. Maybe the other contact looks better. OPAL, show us the next person.” The picture changed, and Denver grimaced.
“Subject: Gru Whittemore. Male, one hundred twenty-two years old, originally of the Lunar Colony.”
Marit scowled. “A Luny. Brilliant. Just what we need.”
“Old enough to remember the invasion too.”
Thanks to the Li’Vin, the Lunar Colony had been well-established by the time the Arulai appeared, with close to a hundred thousand inhabitants. After Earth was destroyed, the colony opened its doors to refugees, only to be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Earthlings trying to land in their sole city. Supplies ran low, vicious brawls broke out between colonists and refugees, and eventually a terrorist attack blew out the city’s major oxygenator.
Two-thirds of the inhabitants died instantly, and everyone who had a ship fled as quickly as they’d come. Relations between the new Martian colony and the shattered remnants of the Lunar colony were still poor, and to say that Lunies were a paranoid people was a potentially fatal understatement.
Gru Whittemore had the body of a born Luny, his limbs long and thin from an early life spent in gravity lighter than Earth’s. Old age hadn’t been kind to his physiology; his height was almost halved by the way he hunched in the photo, joints blanched and swollen. His eyes glittered with ancient silver insets, a popular trend at the end of the last century. His hair was thick and white, his beard separated into five thick points that curled like tongues on the bottom of his chin.
“He looks like a skinny, evil Santa.”
Marit raised an eyebrow at Denver. “Who?”
“Santa.” He glanced at his brother incredulously. “You don’t know about Santa Claus?”
“Never heard of him. Is he another fence? I’m all for him if he’s less evil than this guy,” Marit said hopefully.
“He’s… no, he’s not a fence. He’s an old Earth legend. He brings people presents on Christmas. You really don’t know this story? It was hugely popular.”
“What, some guy who brings you stuff for free?” Marit snorted. “Yeah, of course it’s a popular idea. Stupid, though. That’s not how the universe works.”
Denver ignored them and scanned the rest of the dossier. “Whittemore has a berth in the bottom of the Eyrie.” The Eyrie was a residential tower on the other side of the station. Five years ago, it had been packed with families and shopkeepers. Now, though…
Marit frowned. “Bad place for somebody with an interest in biologicals. That’s well within the Scab. He can’t be getting a lot of power out of that nanotech anymore.”
“Maybe he’s siphoning. Or maybe he keeps his plants somewhere else.”
“Special note: travel in a group, but without visible arms,” OPAL said. “Audiences are welcome, but any overt displays of aggression will prompt an uneven and violent response. Consider Gru Whittemore and his companions armed and highly dangerous. Susceptible to flattery, in favor of disrupting the status quo. Has supported armed insurrection against Martians on three different stations before fleeing to Titan X. Any positive association with station personnel will end negotiations.” There was a blip, and then OPAL added, “Poppy messaged him personally to vouch for you. He’s expecting you this morning.”