Jan walked at a jauntier than necessary pace down the empty hallway, around the only corner it presented, and stopped as he found the same bearded Advanced from the airlock waiting by a sealed door. His captor wore a gun belt now, with what looked to be a needle pistol ready to draw. That seemed smart, given the spaceship. Bullets tended to punch holes.
“When my employer arrives,” the man said, “you will wait for her to speak, answer her questions only when she asks them, and try not to be an absolutely insufferable ass.”
Jan inclined his head. “I am quite charming.” He searched the man’s suit for a name tag. “What shall I call you?”
The man watched him for a moment, then probably decided refusing wasn’t worth the annoyance. “Bharat.”
Jan smiled. “A grand name. Were your parents proud of their old Earth heritage?”
Bharat cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve studied Hindi?”
“I’ve studied many things.” Jan evaluated the hallway behind this man and the most likely path to the bridge, and judged the whole ship couldn’t be more than a half-block long. “The ancient languages of old Earth are a particular favorite. It’s fascinating to think there were once so many people that they spoke over two thousand different languages, isn’t it?”
“It’s fascinating you wasted your time learning what they did on a random planet a thousand years ago.” Bharat looked tense, as if he expected Jan to jump him at any moment. “I suppose there’s not much to do in prison.”
“Oh, my passion for languages came before prison. In prison, I merely pursued my doctorate.”
Bharat’s brow furrowed. “In what, exactly?”
“Pharmacology.”
“And just how did you plan to use a doctorate in pharmacology in an orbital prison, Sabato?”
“Ah,” Jan said, “you must understand, when many are stuck in a repetitive environment for an extended period, those who can safely mix available compounds into substances that relax the mind can do well for themselves.”
Bharat rolled his eyes. “You studied pharmacology so you could become a better drug dealer.”
“I prefer the term ‘pharmaceutical enthusiast.’”
Bharat’s head tilted as if he’d gotten a call. “I’ll give you this, Sabato. For a somewhat infamous smuggler who went to prison on two dozen charges between the Supremacy, Ceto’s laughable new government, and eight municipal precincts across two planets, you’re a depressingly ordinary man.”
“I’m also extremely talented in bed.”
Bharat scowled as the sealed door to their right opened itself. “In a moment you’ll meet Senator Tarack, a woman who could buy and sell you, your house, and the town where you grew up with the interest in her bank account. Please, don’t hit on her.” Bharat motioned with a tilt of his head. “Inside.”
So his new employer was a sitting Supremacy senator. Tarack wasn’t a name Jan found himself familiar with, but he hadn’t bothered himself with the names of the two hundred governing Advanced before he went to prison for five of what was to be forty very long years. Jan marched himself inside.
The roughly circular room beyond the door had no windows, more brownish plastic walls, and a round white table flanked by comfortably upholstered high-back chairs. Jan strapped himself into the chair facing the hall. Once he’d done so, Bharat drifted inside and took up position beside the door.
Senator Tarack — Bharat’s employer, and likely the owner of this very expensive spaceship — arrived wearing a flight suit similar to Bharat’s, over which she’d donned light blue senatorial robes. Robes seemed impractical in a zero-gravity environment, but this woman was a senator, so telling her not to do stupid things was probably ineffective.
Jan evaluated his prospective employer and/or murderer in silence. Like all Advanced, Tarack’s skin was a genetically fixed shade of tawny brown, and she wore her impressively blond hair in a bound topknot. She was full-figured, muscular, and attractive, but all Advanced were ridiculously attractive — it was built into their custom-designed DNA.
Her blond hair was something, though. Blonds always reminded him of Fatima, which reminded him of why he was in prison, but he wouldn’t hold this woman’s hair color against her. Unlike Fatima, this woman hadn’t actually betrayed him.
Yet.
Senator Tarack strode into the room at an unconcerned pace, the hem of her robe drifting. She strapped into the chair across from Jan in the bored, unhurried manner of a person who expected the world to run on her timetable. Bharat floated not strapped in by the door, ready to pounce if Jan tried something inappropriate. Bharat also didn’t close the door, which suggested the three of them were alone on this ship. Good.
Senator Tarack was obviously wealthy, judging from the tailoring of her robe, and obviously paranoid, judging from the body armor she wore beneath it. Given she had a bodyguard in the room with him, and she could probably snap him in half with her Advanced super-strength, body armor seemed ... excessive.
Tarack crossed her legs and frowned. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sabato, but I prefer honesty, so I won’t begin our prospective relationship by lying to you. I detest thieves.”
Jan half-floated in his very comfortable chair. “And I detest liars, so honesty is welcome. However, to ensure there is no misunderstanding, I am a smuggler, not a thief.”
“These are different how?”
“Thieves steal objects,” Jan said. “I move objects from place to place, discreetly and, often enough, legally.”
“Fine, whatever.” Tarack waved the matter away. “I don’t care what you call yourself, so long as you deliver results.”
“This, I do. What result can I deliver for you?”
“Something priceless has been stolen from me, and Bharat” — Tarack tossed a glance at her impassively standing bodyguard — “has assured
