Fortune's Light Part 8

But Teller had subtly placed his hand on Riker's. He was standing up.

"Thank you," he told Larrak, "for your time and your attention."

The first official inclined his head ever so slightly. The movement emphasized the waspishness of his appearance.

Following Teller's lead, Riker stood too. His friend knew these people better than he did; he'd figured that out days ago. With a smile, Riker turned and fell into line behind Teller.

The isak looked up at them hungrily. Saliva dripped from its ma.s.sive jaws, leaving little pools on the floor.

To Riker's surprise, Teller didn't go through the open doorway. Instead, he knelt beside the isak.

The thing's eyes went wild. It made an ugly sound deep in its throat, but it held its ground.

"Beautiful animal," observed Teller, showing no sign of fear. "Did you train him yourself?"

"I did." Larrak eyed Teller curiously. "I have seldom seen anyone get so close to him. Even trained isakki are unpredictable sometimes-or didn't you know that?"

Teller rose. "I knew," he said. "Good day, First Official."

"Good day, Lieutenant Conlon."

As they made their way down the hall to the front door, Teller elbowed Riker in the ribs. "Impressive, huh?"

"Crazy, if you ask me. You could've lost half your face. Or worse."

A retainer was waiting in the foyer to show them out. He opened the door for them; they turned up the collars on their Impriman tunics, which weren't nearly warm enough to stave off the frigid weather.

The gate was about twenty paces away. There was a retainer there, too.

"I took a chance," Teller went on. "I showed Larrak I trusted his training of the isak-that I trusted him. And that should show him the extent of our commitment, how much we want this trade agreement, and that we're operating on the level."

Riker shook his head. "I would never have thought of all that. And even if I had, I don't think I'd have had the nerve to pull it off."

"Sure you would," his friend a.s.sured him. "Thought of it and done it. Or maybe you'd have found something even better."

"I doubt it."

The retainer at the gate swung it aside at their approach. As they made their exit, Riker had a funny feeling. Turning, he saw Larrak out of the corner of his eye. The first official was standing at the front door, watching them go.

"Don't look now, but our host is seeing us off."

"Guess it worked, then. Though that's no guarantee that he will vote us in. He's still risking an awful lot if he breaks his ties with the Ferengi-and the promise of greater profits with the Federation could just be pie in the sky."

"On the other hand, he seems to have no great love for Rhurig. And Kelnae would just hate it if Larrak sided with the Federation."

"Good point," said Teller.

An ascetic was sitting just outside the gate. A female, Riker thought, though the shapeless brown robes didn't give him too many clues.

Before he knew it, Teller had dug into his tunic and produced a chit. He went over to the ascetic and held it out. A moment later a slender hand emerged and accepted the offering.

Riker looked back. Larrak was still watching them.

They began walking again, away from the estate of Madraga Terrin and back toward more familiar precincts.

"Another gesture?" asked Riker.

"Huh?"

"That bit of charity. To impress Larrak?"

His friend grinned as he began to understand. "h.e.l.l, no. A reflex." He paused. "But if it impressed Larrak, so much the better."

"Daydreaming again, Riker?"

"Thinking."

"About what? Your friend?"

Riker looked at her as they approached the doors of the Golden Muzza. "As a matter of fact, yes. Is it that obvious?"

She shrugged, opening one of the doors. "After you," she said.

He went inside, and she came after him.

All the way here, Riker had been at odds with himself, alternately hurrying and dragging his feet. He wanted to hear what Bosch had to say-but at the same time, he dreaded it.

Because if what the Pandrilite had told them was true, it opened up some pretty dismal possibilities. First, that Teller had been involved, in some way, with the theft of Fortune's Light. Second, that Riker had perhaps not known his friend as well as he thought.

And Reggidor Bosch would tip the scales one way or the other. Either he would confirm the fact that Teller was a smuggler or he would reinforce Riker's belief in the man.

The desk clerk was of mixed blood-part Impriman, part Tetracite, part something else as well. It was an uncomplimentary combination.

And they soon found out that, at least in this case, it was possible to judge a book by its cover.

"Maybe he lives here and maybe he doesn't," the clerk told them in a whiny, high-pitched voice. "Who wants to know?"

"That's none of your business," said Lyneea. She reached inside her tunic and plunked down a half-dozen variously colored chits on the counter-chits from various madraggi so, as in the tavern, no one would link them with Criathis in particular.

The clerk looked down at the chits, a little surprised. Apparently they didn't get too many big tippers at the Golden Muzza. Gathering up the pieces of plastic, he put them away below the counter.

"He's in three-oh-three. Two flights up. But ..." He paused, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "What do you want with him?"

Lyneea produced two more chits.

The desk clerk grunted. "Have a nice day."

The lift was in need of repair. It jerked as it came to a halt at the third floor, and the doors opened on completely different sequence schedules.

Bosch's suite was to the left and all the way down the hall, which gave them a chance to sample the threadbare imitation Andorian-weave carpet. At one time, Riker knew from his last stay on Imprima, the Golden Muzza had tried to affect an offworldly kind of splendor. It had long since faded.

He knocked on the door, an elaborately embellished version of the sort found on ancient Earth. It sounded hollow.

For a moment or two, nothing. Then, "Who is it?"

"Room service," said Lyneea.

The door swung open a crack, and a slice of Impriman features appeared in the opening. "I didn't order any-"

By the time the Impriman realized that it wasn't room service, Riker had inserted his boot between the door and the jamb. Lyneea pushed it open the rest of the way.

The occupant retreated a couple of steps and stared at them, fear etched on his narrow face. Riker felt sorry for him. Obviously this kind of thing didn't happen to him very often, despite his line of work.

Lyneea closed the door behind them gently, so as not to scare the fellow any more than he was already scared.

"What ... what do you want?" asked Bosch.

"Not what you may think," said Lyneea. "We're not here to rob you." She smiled-a rare expression for her, but one she was quite good at.

"We're friends," said Riker. "Friends of Teller Conlon." He glanced sideways at his partner. Well, it was half true. "We haven't seen him in a while, and we're worried. He mentioned your name a couple of times; we thought you might be able to put our minds at ease."

Bosch shook his head. "I don't know who Teller Conlon is. I've never heard of him."

Lyneea chuckled. "Of course not. You're not his outside player, right?" Her tone was mild but a.s.sured. "You've never taken a commission from him-is that correct?"

Bosch looked from one to the other, then gave a nervous half smile. "All right," he said. "I admit that I've done some business with him."

Riker cursed silently. "When was the last time you saw him?"

The smuggler's agent shrugged. "A month ago. Maybe more." He put his hand to his head, s.h.i.+vered a little. "Listen," he said, "give me a moment, will you? I need to take my medication."

"Medication?" echoed Riker.

The smuggler's agent lifted his chin and pointed to his jawline, where he bore the scars of korrus fever. They were faint, but they were there.

The first time Riker visited Imprima, korrus had still been fatal. When he'd heard about the cure a couple of years ago, he rejoiced-with a toast in Ten Forward to the researchers who'd made it possible, some of whom were Federation personnel.

Of course there were still some lasting symptoms of the disease-like the involuntary muscle tremors Bosch was experiencing now-and, if left unmedicated, some rather grisly seizures.

"Sure," said Lyneea. "Go ahead. Don't mind us."

Bosch crossed the room to a chest of drawers. But the closer he got, it seemed to Riker, the less he trembled.

Covering the room in three strides, Will arrived just in time to grab Bosch's wrist as he started to open the top drawer.

The Impriman looked at him. "I thought you said you were friends."

"We are," said Riker. "But we've got to be careful. You know how it is."

Lyneea was giving him a look of disapproval: We're trying to gain his confidence, Riker, and you're not exactly furthering the effort.

Maybe he had jumped to a conclusion. He released Bosch's wrist.

As the Impriman opened the drawer, Riker saw the vial of tablets inside.

See? You're getting paranoid.

He started to turn away, to return to where Lyneea was standing, so Bosch could have some privacy.

But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of something that was definitely not medicine. He whirled and kicked-and sent a blaster flying out of Bosch's hand.

Lyneea was quick to recover it. She held it up, looked reproachfully at her fellow Impriman.

"What did you expect?" he asked, ma.s.saging his hand. "You say you're Conlon's friends, but I never heard him talk about you, not once. And you come barging in here-how do I know what you're really after?"

"Just what we said," Lyneea told him. "We're looking for Conlon."

"To help him," added Riker.

The smuggler's agent looked at them again. Finally he seemed to accept that there was no more to it than that-or very little more, anyway.

"Conlon's in some kind of trouble," he concluded. "Isn't he?"

"We think he might be, yes," said Lyneea.

Bosch cursed. "Look-I don't know anything about Conlon disappearing, truly. But if there's something I can do, just tell me." He swallowed. "You've got to understand that Conlon's my livelihood. Not part of it-all of it. And it's not easy to pick up new clients these days. Too much compet.i.tion, too many aliens out there crowding the field."

Suddenly Riker found he had a bad taste in his mouth. But he believed that Bosch knew nothing of Teller's whereabouts. Lyneea was of the same mind. Her expression confirmed that.

"When I find our friend," he told Bosch, "I'll inform him of your concern."

In the meantime, Lyneea was removing the battery from the blaster. She tossed both components to Riker, one at a time.

Riker replaced them in Bosch's drawer. Disconnecting the battery had rendered the weapon useless, and it would need a minute or so to recharge after it was connected again.

Just in case.

"Watch where you take that thing," Lyneea said as she opened the door. "There's a carnival on, you know. High-tech ban and all that."

Bosch nodded. "Thanks for reminding me." He turned back to Riker. "You going now?"

The human nodded. "Yes." Crossing the room, he followed Lyneea out the door.

"Don't forget," said the smuggler's agent, his words trailing them down the hall. "I really do want to help. Honest."

"Subject?" queried the computer voice, silken and female as ever.

"Baseball," said Data, confronting the monitor in his quarters. "Specifically, the state of the professional game in the year 2026 Old Earth Time."