Port Casper

Chapter Nineteen

Martin reclined in his chair, stretched his arms behind his head, and put his feet on the desk. He would be off-duty in five minutes. It had been a long day, longer still after the two-hour bull session with Mrs. Galena. Did she really know every species of desert flower? He was willing to believe it now.

His ptenda beeped. Martin glanced at the display and saw ITB's newest protector striding down the hallway toward his office. Martin smiled. Much better than Mrs. Galena. He straightened his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair.

He looked up as Grace Donner turned the corner and entered his office. He started to rise, hand extended.

She bridged the distance rapidly, holding blackened metal aloft, and released it on his desk in a cascade of mechanical bits.

Had she smashed something in her apartment? Oh well. It wouldn't be the first time a cloister-bred freaked out at mechanized life. He dropped his arm and eased back into the chair, professionally calm. "May I help?"

"This broke into my place last night," Donner said. "How in the hell did that happen?"

Martin studied the garbage on his desk. No, not garbage. Wreckage. A loafer. There wasn't much left.

"My friend says it belongs to ITB. Is that true?" She stood at attention, demanding.

Martin shuffled the pieces into a tidy pile.

"Your friend is correct. ITB uses loafers to patrol its buildings. And, these days, employees. Haven't you read your contract?"

"People should stop asking me that." She sat in a chair but failed to relax. "You mean this is standard ops?"

"Probably." He turned the green egg over in his hands. "Why'd you destroy it? You could be slapped with wanton destruction of property, you know."

"Me? What?" Her eyes opened wide as her back stiffened. She was tightly coiled, ready to lash out. "I didn't smash it. It was suicidal. Exploded in my bedroom."

"A newer model, then. ITB has increased surveillance over the last month," he said. "Everybody's upset about the scrutiny. Including me."

He looked across at Donner. She stared at him.

Martin sighed. "So what do you want to do? File a complaint?"

Donner shook her head. "I want to find the people responsible and make them stop."

Martin crossed his arms and sat back. "Look, Grace. May I call you Grace? I like you. You seem like a good kid. But you really don't want to go digging any deeper. There's trouble."

"What trouble?"

Martin's ptenda beeped. Finally.

"I'm off-duty now. You want a cup of coffee?"

Grace looked confused, then returned a little smile. "Sure, thanks."

They left the office and took the lift to the lobby. As they exited, Grace pointed to the coffee shop to the right of the lift. "Want to go there?"

Martin shook his head. "Awful coffee." And still too close to home. Somebody might be listening. He looked around. Or watching.

They kept walking. As they neared the curb, Martin pointed across the street to the only proper coffee house this side of town.

"Café Mongrel?"

"Mutts are best," he winked.

Having worked with cloisterfolk, Martin wasn't surprised at the way Grace crossed the street. She sprinted across three lanes, paused for a few seconds in the middle, and then leisurely walked the rest of the way. Martin kept pace, amused. There were crosswalks on either side.