Curiosity killed the cat, but for a while I was a suspect.
- Steven Wright
The offices of Small Moon Transportation were located on the rim of the station about opposite to the hotel sector. It kept the two main traffic streams, vacationers and suppliers, from interfering with each other. While technically speaking there is no 'back' to a rotating station, the industrial sector of the station was usually referred to as its 'back-door.'
Housing the station's loading docks and transfer zones, it was just as functional, and much safer, than the visitor side with its hotels, businesses, guests and accompanying thieves and thugs. Nevertheless it had a reputation for being a rough place to live. Mostly because these honest, hardworking people who made their living here had little time for the vapid frippery of vacationers with too much alcohol and not enough sense.
The crime on this side of the station, what there was of it, was the petty padding of lading bills and short weighting of goods. Since it was perfectly permissible to ship anything there was a market for, the actual contents were of no matter. The money that was to be made was in specialization. If you wanted to ship something small and very expensive, you would stick to the hotel sector and grab one of their delivery services. If you wanted to transport anything in bulk, from raw ore to hundreds of people, you came here. Where and how far you were willing to go was what differentiated one transport company from the other.
It would take me about an hour or so to make the trip around the rim to the other side, so I stopped off at a few shops and pick up some supplies. I bought another flechette gun, just in case. It wasn't the same quality as the one I had lost planet side, but I hoped it would do in a fight. I also stopped by a charging station to bring my mobile up to full charge. The rim-train had a dining car so Darwin and I both had something to eat on the way. It was a shame that the first real meal I had eaten since the semi-liquid fare of the hospital wing was the equally insipid fast food available on public transport.
When designed, both sides of the station, as well as the residential sectors between them probably looked identical, the only difference being that where the hotels had massive high ceilinged lobbies, the industrial sector had huge loading docks. The residential sectors used their spaces for parks and communal spaces. I was hoping that Markham and Joy were making better progress. I probably shouldn't have shuffled them off. We should have stayed together and worked as a team. I have been so used to working alone, that it was my default position. It was comfortable, and it put the fewest number of people at risk.
Most of the shipping and transport companies were built in rings around the loading docks, so that the offices could look down and watch their goods being brought in or out. A few others had private loading docks of various sizes. I was surprised to find that Small Moon Transport was one of the latter.
I had studied the station layout fairly well on my way up here so I was pretty sure that the simple door with the standard lettering leading to the Small Moon reception desk was a deliberate choice. They were a very private concern, judging by their reception area.
The surprise that registered on the receptionist's face as I walked in testified of the rarity of visitors. His main job was likely administration, a task he did without the interruption of uninvited guests walking through his front door. Most of his clients came in through the service entrances that faced the loading docks. The workers, such as there were, would use the employee entrances down toward the rim's edge. If I were to be more accurate, this 'front door' to Small Moon was treated more like a rarely used access hatch to a pointless hallway.
"Uh." was the first thing he said as I stepped through the door. He followed this greeting with a pause as he tried to shift his mind from his work to this completely unexpected intrusion.
The second attempt at a formal greeting fell equally flat. "You..." I stood at the door, waiting to see if this was going to go any further. His laconic approach to customer intake wasn't giving me much to work with.
I decided to take over the usual interplay of guest and host. "Hi there, I am looking for transport." I followed this statement of the obvious by walking fully into the room. His facial expressions rearranged themselves several times before settling down into a look of polite interest. It was his job, after all, to greet visitors. It wasn't his fault that it was something he rarely had the opportunity to practice.
"Hello, welcome to Small Moon Transport. How can I help you?" There was an awkward pause as he realized that the standard greeting had been reversed and that he had already received his answer.
"Um... yes." He caught himself again. "Will this be your first shipment with Small Moon?"
"Yes, actually, I thought I would give different company a try. Do you ship out daily?"
"'Round the clock, sir!" he said, finally comfortable speaking on a topic he was familiar with. "Let me just pull up the right forms here."
He worked through his terminal until he found the correct paperwork. "Here we are. So before we can set up an account, we need to assign a division. Will you be shipping large, medium or small loads?"
"How much is small?"
"Under 500 pounds."
I patted my sides, "Well under 500 pounds I would say."
The receptionist, still engrossed in his form, continued to key in my responses. "And dimensions?"
"About six feet. And, what you would say, about a 36 waist?"
He looked up. "Excuse me?"
"Do I look like about a 36 waist? I've been ill lately, so I may have lost some weight."
He seemed a little puzzled, then put down his terminal. "Oh, I see. I am sorry sir, but we are goods transport service. We don't move people. You may wish to try some of the cruise liners on the hotel side."
At that moment the door behind me opened again, and Darwin waltzed through. The receptionist looked around me, then down at the large cat. His eyes grew very wide and he slowly rolled his chair back.
"Sir, don't be alarmed but there's a..."
Darwin came up to my leg and rubbed up against me. I reached down and absently scratched his head. Darwin started purring loudly. He was exactly on time and performing beautifully.
I looked back over my shoulder at the closing door. "There's a what?"
The receptionist paused a moment, then his shock turned to wonder. "Is he your cat?"
"Well, not exactly. Darwin is his own cat." I replied conversationally. "You don't really own a cat, do you? It's more like you share a space."
He smiled. It was a gamble, but I was hoping that he had once owned cats, if he did not now. Their complete independence made them ideal pets for space stations.
"So true. He is magnificent isn't he?" Then he paused. "Do you think he would mind if I pet him?"
"You would have to ask him. He decides who enters his personal space. He is very polite about it, usually."
I was hoping Darwin was ready for his next move. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my mobile.
"I am sorry, do you mind if I deal with this?" I asked, waving the mobile around vaguely.
Completely distracted by Darwin, the receptionist waved and said "Of course, please feel free."
He then got up and came around the desk. He knelt on one knee in front of Darwin. "Hello, sir. Darwin? You know," he said to me without looking up, "they say the modern cat is descended from an ancient giant that once ruled entire jungles."
"Is that so?" I said, feigning distraction. Darwin moved to position himself on the receptionist's left, still purring.
Hesitantly, the receptionist reached out his left hand to pet Darwin. Darwin leaned away a little, then the purr mutated into a growl. The receptionist had missed the clue and kept reaching forward. Darwin hunched back and started to hiss. In that instant he raised a forepaw and extended his claws.
I reached down, mobile still in my hand and quickly pushed the receptionist's left hand away with it. Darwin's paw passed harmless through the empty air.
"Darwin!" I said, chastising him. "That was very rude."
The receptionist was still in a trance. "Did you see those claws?" he whispered. "Magnificent!"
"I really must apologize. He has been out of sorts lately. I don't think Station life agrees with him. It is why we are trying to get home ahead of the tour group. He is in a bad mood all the time, and I don't really want to deal with the problems if he ends up hurting someone."
"Not at all!" the receptionist said. "I am just glad to have seen him! Let me guess, you are with Solar Winds tours?"
I looked surprised. "How did you know?"
"George Miklos is a skin-flint. Won't spend a pinch if it doesn't get him a pound in return." He returned to his desk and rifled through a drawer, pulling out several cards.
"Here," he said, handing them over. "You go see one of these folks. Tell them that Marcus Alexi sent you. They should give you a discount and get you on the first flight out."
"Thanks so much," I said. "You have probably saved Darwin's life, not to mention someone's hand!"
The receptionist looked reflexively at his left hand. "Indeed." he said.
"We'll be off then. Thanks again!"
"No problem at all," the receptionist said.
As the door was closing behind us, I could hear him say to himself. "Magnificent. Simply magnificent."
Darwin and I headed to a worker's cafe nearby. Because it was late afternoon, we had missed the midday crowd and were before the evening meal, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. I occupied myself with the appearance of searching up the cards that Marcus has passed to me.
What I was actually doing was working through my terminal to modify my chip scanning program so that it would send the scan back out. This was the key I was hoping would unlock the door to the office. I wanted to have a look around without the benefit of an escort.
The dinner crowd came and went and the hour grew late. Sam would be finishing her shift in a couple of hours. If it wasn't too late, I thought I would drop by for a cup of coffee with her, and share what I found, if anything. All this subterfuge could simply be a fool's errand. But the thunder in my ears informed me otherwise. I sighed and Darwin looked at me.
He was right, of course. This was no time to feel sorry for myself. There was no point in delaying any further, so I made my way back to the corridor where Small Moon let out. It was deserted.
I turned to the front door of Small Moon shipping. I keyed up Alexei's chip signal and set it to broadcast, then passed my mobile over the lock. The door slid smoothly open and I stepped through. I took one look at Darwin and signaled him to come with me. He took one hesitant step forward, but before he could enter, the door slid closed behind me. I tried to find the scanner to open the door, but in the dark I somehow kept missing it. Darwin and I were now on opposite sides of a barrier neither one of us could cross. I had a very bad feeling about this.
The little troublemaker had better still be there when I came out, I thought. I stopped and listened, letting my eyes adjust to the black. The room was mostly in darkness, with only soft lights glowing from various consoles. There was nothing on this side of the desk, so I worked my way around to Marcus' chair. The drawers were locked, probably automatically. There was another door exiting the reception which likely led to other offices, where I might find more information. This was looking like a fruitless endeavor. I walked over to try the door again.
I heard it before I felt it. The soft 'shush' of a flechette was easily recognizable in the silence. I pitched forward into the door, smashing my head against it. But I didn't feel the pain of the contact, because my right shoulder exploded. In the dim light I could see the blood splatter on the door. I spun with the force of the shot, sliding down with my back to the door.
Out of the gloom I could just see a hand holding a gun. I wanted to say 'Who are you?' but through the pain, I only managed the first syllable.
A face leaned out of the darkness, long stringy hair, skin pale even in this faint light.
"Hello again, Finder."
"Singer," I said, the delirium of the pain in my already weakened state chasing away my sanity.
"Singer's dead," he said, "like my brothers. Like you would be if my client hadn't ordered you delivered alive. Fortunately for me, he said nothing about healthy. A tragic oversight."
I fumbled with my left hand to open my bag. Perhaps if I could retrieve my gun.
He casually walked over and kicked it out of my reach. Then leaning down, he looked me in the face and grinned. He placed the gun against my temple, then with his right thumb dug into the shattered remains of my shoulder. I think I screamed before I passed out.