heard similar sentiments from my father, and I plan to ignore them now.”
“Why?” I said. “You know almost nothing about me. The one thing you do know is that I do the lowest jobs at the lowest pay on your father’s estate. That’s not exactly an advertisement designed to attract someone in your position.”
“Oh, I know more than that,” she said. “I know that when I’ve watched you work, your eyes never stop looking around, as if you’re always preparing for something bad to happen. I know you sit alone when you eat, preferring reading over talking. I know you don’t notice when women around the place notice you. I know you’re pretty and well built but don’t realize it.”
I looked at the ground and shook my head, my face hot as I blushed. I rarely spoke to women outside of work, and none had ever talked to me like this.
She laughed, but this time it was a smaller, kinder, softer laugh. “And now I know you blush, which is also completely adorable.”
I appreciated her compliments, but I was also beginning to feel like she was playing with me. I forced myself to look her in the eyes. “The way you’re talking about me, I sound more like a pet than a man. I’m not sure I like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not my intent. As you can probably tell, I’m used to saying whatever I want, getting whatever I want, and not encountering much resistance in the process. So let me try again.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Omani Pimlani. I’d like to get to know you. If you don’t want that, too, then say so, and I’ll leave you to your reading.”
I shook her hand. Her fingers were long and thin, her hand soft. I was conscious of how large and rough mine must have felt to her.
Screw Liam; I could always find another low-end job, and this one was doomed to end anyway when the Pimlanis finished their renovations.
“I’m Jon Moore,” I said. “I’d like that.”
24 days from the end
In orbit and in York City
Planet Haven
CHAPTER 15
Jon Moore
W e spent a day and a half making our very winding way to Haven. In the course of that trip, we jumped to a dozen different planets, occasionally leaving the jump gate area to go down to a planet’s surface, have Lobo reconfigure himself as a different type of ship, and then jump again with a new name and look. By the time we were departing the Haven jump gate for York, Lobo was a specialty transport ship bringing gems and other rare stones to a list of legitimate stores in that city.
“Is Pimlani still alive?” I said.
“To the best of my ability to tell,” Lobo said, “yes. That is largely a deduction from the absence of any signs of her death, however. I cannot find any evidence of her doing anything outside her home for more than two years.”
“Her family is too important for her death to go unreported,” I said.
“Agreed,” he said.
We flew toward a public landing area on the westernmost edge of the city, turned, and ran around the southern part of York as Lobo transformed his logo and some of his exterior features so he resembled a tourist shuttle. We joined in with the other shuttles cruising half a kilometer off the coast on the eastern, oceanfront side of the York. Unless someone had been carefully tracking us the entire time, we should now be as anonymous as we could reasonably be.
“There used to be a large outdoor market in the southwest area of York,” I said. “Is it still there?”
“Yes,” Lobo said.
“There also used to be a big park not far from the market, a park filled with fountains. Is that still standing?”
“Yes, it is,” he said. “From what I can gather from the historical records, the huge percentage of this city that is, was, and always has been under the control of a relatively small number of people has let them keep it roughly the same for quite some time, certainly for the short amount of time since you could have last been here.”
I ignored his unspoken
“Why?” I said. “You know almost nothing about me. The one thing you do know is that I do the lowest jobs at the lowest pay on your father’s estate. That’s not exactly an advertisement designed to attract someone in your position.”
“Oh, I know more than that,” she said. “I know that when I’ve watched you work, your eyes never stop looking around, as if you’re always preparing for something bad to happen. I know you sit alone when you eat, preferring reading over talking. I know you don’t notice when women around the place notice you. I know you’re pretty and well built but don’t realize it.”
I looked at the ground and shook my head, my face hot as I blushed. I rarely spoke to women outside of work, and none had ever talked to me like this.
She laughed, but this time it was a smaller, kinder, softer laugh. “And now I know you blush, which is also completely adorable.”
I appreciated her compliments, but I was also beginning to feel like she was playing with me. I forced myself to look her in the eyes. “The way you’re talking about me, I sound more like a pet than a man. I’m not sure I like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not my intent. As you can probably tell, I’m used to saying whatever I want, getting whatever I want, and not encountering much resistance in the process. So let me try again.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Omani Pimlani. I’d like to get to know you. If you don’t want that, too, then say so, and I’ll leave you to your reading.”
I shook her hand. Her fingers were long and thin, her hand soft. I was conscious of how large and rough mine must have felt to her.
Screw Liam; I could always find another low-end job, and this one was doomed to end anyway when the Pimlanis finished their renovations.
“I’m Jon Moore,” I said. “I’d like that.”
24 days from the end
In orbit and in York City
Planet Haven
CHAPTER 15
Jon Moore
W e spent a day and a half making our very winding way to Haven. In the course of that trip, we jumped to a dozen different planets, occasionally leaving the jump gate area to go down to a planet’s surface, have Lobo reconfigure himself as a different type of ship, and then jump again with a new name and look. By the time we were departing the Haven jump gate for York, Lobo was a specialty transport ship bringing gems and other rare stones to a list of legitimate stores in that city.
“Is Pimlani still alive?” I said.
“To the best of my ability to tell,” Lobo said, “yes. That is largely a deduction from the absence of any signs of her death, however. I cannot find any evidence of her doing anything outside her home for more than two years.”
“Her family is too important for her death to go unreported,” I said.
“Agreed,” he said.
We flew toward a public landing area on the westernmost edge of the city, turned, and ran around the southern part of York as Lobo transformed his logo and some of his exterior features so he resembled a tourist shuttle. We joined in with the other shuttles cruising half a kilometer off the coast on the eastern, oceanfront side of the York. Unless someone had been carefully tracking us the entire time, we should now be as anonymous as we could reasonably be.
“There used to be a large outdoor market in the southwest area of York,” I said. “Is it still there?”
“Yes,” Lobo said.
“There also used to be a big park not far from the market, a park filled with fountains. Is that still standing?”
“Yes, it is,” he said. “From what I can gather from the historical records, the huge percentage of this city that is, was, and always has been under the control of a relatively small number of people has let them keep it roughly the same for quite some time, certainly for the short amount of time since you could have last been here.”
I ignored his unspoken
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