Eleven
Kit’s Sixer bounced down Eden’s mud main street while I stared at her. ‘‘Born, what did I ever do to you?’’
‘‘Not to me, Parker. The Legion served the secessionists in the Marin Suppression on Bren. Torture and genocide don’t charm me.’’
I shook my head. ‘‘You don’t know—’’
Kit raised her fingers from the wheel, and stared straight ahead. ‘‘I know soldiers, Parker. I don’t need your excuses. I do need to be your guide. Let’s leave it at that.’’
Eden’s Main Street is the length of a fixed-wing forward airstrip, and as muddy. Kit stopped in front of another entry domette, this one painted faux brick, which announced over its door,
EDEN HOUSE HOTEL AND RESTAURANT IN-ROOM GUN LOCKERS
YOUR STAY LEMON BUG FREE, OR BREAKFAST’S ON US
The Eden House lobby would have fit in any closet of any home Cutler owned. A hand-lettered sign flapped slowly beneath the turning ceiling fan. The sign announced that the lobby hosted Libertarian amateur stripper night monthly, ‘‘all genders welcome.’’
It seemed to me that ‘‘both’’ would’ve been Libertarian enough. First prize was a Claymore mine.
Kit rolled her eyes as she passed beneath the sign. She didn’t pick up an entry form.
Bartram Cutler stood up from a worn plastek chair when we entered, then laid his Reader back down on the chair seat. Six feet three, square of jaw, clear of eye, as perfect as Earth genetics and plastics could make a man.
He looked Kit up and down from her scuffed boots to her slouch hat, with a quick stop at They Which Must Not Be Mentioned, and frowned.
I said, ‘‘Aaron Bauer, the guide you hired through Eden Outfitters, is dead, sir.’’
Cutler’s eyes widened. ‘‘Bauer? Dead? How?’’
Kit said, ‘‘He was a Line Wrangler. Best guess is a grezzen got him, earlier this year.’’ She extended her hand to Cutler. ‘‘I replaced him.’’
Cutler frowned. ‘‘As a wrangler or as our guide?’’
She said, ‘‘Both. If you approve.’’
He kept frowning. ‘‘I hired Mr. Bauer more for his unique knowledge of grezzen than as a guide. Do I even need you, Ms. Born?’’
She shrugged. ‘‘Only if you want to live through this.’’
Cutler snorted. ‘‘What I want is a grezzen. Can you find me one?’’
Kit said, ‘‘Your problem won’tbe finding grezzen. It will be finding grezzen before they find you.’’
Cutler rolled his eyes. ‘‘What’re you going to cost me?’’
‘‘Nothing, unless you come back with your grezzen. I told Eden Outfitters I’d take the job on that basis.’’
Cutler rubbed his chin. ‘‘My people didn’t bargain for a guarantee. Why would you sweeten the deal?’’
‘‘Let’s say I’m civic minded. A dead Trueborn would hurt the tourist trade.’’
Cutler eyed the deserted room. ‘‘What tourist trade?’’ Then he sighed. ‘‘All right. Parker, see that she doesn’t report for work with the smart mouth and the wet T-shirt.’’ He flicked his eyes at the flapping contest sign as he turned away. ‘‘This is her new job, not her last one.’’
Kit snatched Cutler’s Reader off his chair, cocked her arm, and aimed the Reader at the back of his head.
I clamped her wrist with my hand, froze it as she wound up, then said, ‘‘Mr. Cutler!’’
‘‘Yes, Parker?’’
As Cutler turned back toward us, I pushed Kit’s hand and the Reader down and forward, while I said, ‘‘Don’t forget your Reader, sir.’’
He wrinkled his forehead, reached out and took his reader, then turned away again.
I hissed in Kit’s ear, ‘‘You said you need this job!’’ I knew I did.
Cutler disappeared down the passage to the guest rooms.
She said, ‘‘He called me a stripper!’’
I shrugged. ‘‘Let it go.’’
Compared to merc’ing, stripping was an honorable profession. I had found strippers as a class to be better spoken than jarheads and less girly than squids.
Slowly, her stiff back softened.
I said, ‘‘Welcome to my world. No, he’s not always such a prick. Usually, he’s worse.’’
She turned on me with eyes as cold as they were beautiful. ‘‘Parker, I don’t like Cutler. I’m pretty sure I don’t like you. But I always do my job. Here’smy first local guide tip: When you’re in town, where you can do it safely, do outdoor work at night. It’s cooler. Clean up, eat, get started. I’ll stop by later.’’
She turned and walked back to the up stairway that led to the street.
I sighed as I watched her walk away. Well, she was only pretty sure she didn’t like me. It was a start.
I checked in, showered, then slept until my Handtalk woke me. Zhondro’s voice crackled in my ear. ‘‘Shall we dine together, downstairs?’’
I checked my ’puter. Six P.M., local.
Zhondro asked, ‘‘Did the guide business end well?’’
I sighed. ‘‘See you in ten.’’