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Profiteer

After Tetsami had spent an hour explaining things, Ivor said, “To think, when you were six, I thought you were cute.”

“And I thought you were dashing, Uncle Ivor—you’re evading the question.” Tetsami wasn’t sure what answer she wanted to hear.

“You know I’ve got commitments—”

“Hauling produce up to Jefferson? Come on?”

“Don’t denigrate an honest living.”

“You never worked an honest day in your life.”

Ivor stood up and paced, running large hands through white hair. “You know I hate this, don’t you? The only family I’ve had since I landed on this rock—do you go out of your way to put yourself in these scrapes? You’ve driven my hair white, you want me to go bald as well?”

“You had white hair ten years before I was born.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Neither is your hair.”

Ivor sighed and stopped pacing. “You know you’ve sold me, don’t you?”

Tetsami nodded slowly, feeling relieved and disturbed at the same time.

“But only to keep an eye on you,” Ivor finished.

“Of course.”

After that, the conversation drifted into safer channels. It had been close to a year standard since they’d seen each other, and there was a lot of catching up to do. It took Tetsami a little while to get Ivor to admit that the produce run was a scam; he was really smuggling propaganda out of Jefferson City to the outlying communes that supplied it with food.

“What’s the point?”

Ivor shrugged. “The Jefferson Congress decided that if some of the communes went democro-capitalist, they’d get a better deal on the food. I think it’s revenge. Those fanatic Americans really don’t like it when they’re called the Thomas Jefferson Commune.”

“But they are one, aren’t they?”

Ivor laughed. “Just don’t tell them that.”

“I mean, if they ain’t a commune, and they ain’t a corporation, then they’re a State, and someone would have to do something about that—”

The door to the waiting room slid aside, revealing a man wearing a blue one-piece cleansuit. His face was hidden behind a plastic mask that turned his eyes into tiny optical cameras and his mouth into a speaker grille. He asked, “You are waiting for patient D5/789/3467?”

Tetsami nodded.

“You can see the patient. The injuries were not as extensive as first expected. The remaining balance of your security deposit was refunded to your account.”

Tetsami stood up, tugged Ivor’s elbow, and followed the doctor.

The two of them walked through wood-paneled corridors, across plush carpets from the Protectorate. Ivor faded back behind her and whispered, “Patient D5-slash-78-whatever? Doesn’t your marine have a name?”

“As far as these exec docs are concerned, no.”

The room Shane was in did its best to look like a hotel room.

Shane looked undiminished by her experience. She was sitting up on the edge of the bed; the gown they’d given her resembled a kimono more than the paper hospital thingie Tetsami expected. The only sign of injury was a purple bruise surrounding a sealed gash that ran down the right side of her face. Shane looked up at Tetsami and gave a little half-smile. “This has got a shipboard infirmary beat all to hell.”

“How’re you feeling?” Tetsami asked.

“Well—physically.”

“Up to getting out of here?”

Shane nodded. ‘They said I’m fine. They didn’t even need to cut me open. Though—” She looked in Ivor’s direction. “Unless I scrambled my brains more than I thought, that is not Zanzibar.”

“Oh, yes. Kathy Shane, Ivor Jorgenson.”

Ivor extended a hand and gave Shane a beaming smile, “Pleased.”

Shane managed to find a full smile of her own and grasped his hand. “So, are you an innocent bystander, or are you one of Dominic’s nutcases?”

Ivor shook his head. “Neither.” His smile never wavered.

Tetsami stood. “Well, get dressed and we’ll go down to the warehouse—”

“Uh, this is it. The doctors trashed my jumpsuit.”

Tetsami looked Shane up and down. “Kind of drafty. Sheesh—” she shook her head. “I didn’t salvage any luggage—all I got was your case of armor and a few weapons. Damn.”

Shane shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Here,” Ivor shrugged out of the pseudoleather jacket he was wearing. He held it out. Shane wasn’t much taller than Tetsami. Despite her being built like a weightlifter, Ivor’s jacket draped her like a tent.

“Thanks—” Shane slipped her feet into a pair of hospital slippers by the bed. “Let’s go.”

Tetsami shrugged and led them out of the building.

Behind her she heard them talking.

“Tetsami told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I know how it feels when your own people turn on you.”

“I turned on them.”

“I know about that, too.”

As they got to the exit, Tetsami asked, “Ivor, how’d you get here?”

He pointed out the window across the parking lot, “My rig’s over there.”

“Good, we have to empty out the truck I appropriated. I burned the transponder on it, but someone’s going to trace it eventually.”

“Appropriated?” Shane asked.