Page 44 of Mongrels United
Better to get back to work. At least he could demonstrate he knew how to work hard. It was something.
Chapter Eighteen
As Grady had anticipated, the Captain’s office suite was empty.
She returned to the little meeting table but didn’t invoke the privacy cone, which would allow her to work on network files. And now that she had eaten, she could concentrate once more. She had been forced to stop because her attention had begun to drift out of focus and she would find herself tracing Nash’s jaw with her gaze as he spoke. Or peering into his silver-grey eyes and not listening to what he was saying.
Or looking at his lips as they moved, following the curve of the top lip, and the fullness of the bottom one.
Now she wasn’t hungry, she could force herself back to the task at hand, the one that Nash wanted to be done with.
Grady flipped open her notebook as she settled on the chair, and pulled her pad toward her. “Let’s figure out a list of people we can speak to about your father. People who knew him in the years after the Skinwalker project shut down. I think we’re stymied until we learn about whatisn’tin his records, and only those people will know.”
Nash rubbed his jaw and she heard his bristles scratch across his fingers. “I don’t remember him having any friends.”
“Not just friends.Anyonewho knew him. There are only five thousand people on theEnduranceat any one time. Even the stall owners where he bought his coffee would be able to shed some light.”
“That’s just it. He didn’t buy coffee at stalls. He didn’t go out. Hyram, when he was there, would go out to fetch things if they couldn’t be printed. And he went to work each day. But not Nason.”
“And you were just a child,” Grady said smoothly. “It’s possible you don’t remember his friends, or all that he did when you weren’t there.” Her pad beeped an alert. She ignored it. “We can write a list of people that were alive and living in the Esquiline and the Wall district when you were a kid, through to your emergence. Start with the oldest of them who are still alive and ask them what they knew of your fathers.”
Nash stared at her as if she had said something startling. “That could take… You mean, just walk up and ask them, flat out?”
Her pad beeped again. She turned it over so it wouldn’t voice an audible alarm anymore. “You have a problem with that?”
Nash rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I have a problem with it. We’re trying to dig up information about Bellish, a pharmaceutical that, since its development, has been traded via the subroutes on the ship. Whoever we talk to who happens to know about the stuff is going to lie, Grady. They’ve been lying for decades…for nearly a century. They’ll just lie some more. Then they’ll react, because now the Bridge itself is asking the wrong questions. And these people don’t fool around. If they weren’t ruthless about covering up their business, you would have learned about this a long time ago. And so would I, and maybe Nason would still be alive.”
Grady considered. He had a point. “How do you think we should go about it, then? You’ve got the hazy background, Nash. You deal with people like this all the time.”
He grimaced. “That sounds ugly, coming from you.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. But you do move among a different set of people than me.”
“The political Must-Haves. I remember.” His voice was dry. “You seem to have a dark opinion of my business affairs.”
“Tell me you’re not running gambling at the back of your tavern, and I’ll retract my opinion,” Grady shot back.
He remained silent.
“And that’s just whateveryoneknows about you,” Grady added. “I’m sure there’s a lot more going on with you that not everyone gets to see.”
His mouth settled in a hard, straight line, the lips thinning. “That makes me the best person to talk to these people.”
Alarm speared her. She opened her mouth to protest, but Nash pointed at her pad. “It’s flashing. I can see the green light reflecting against the table top. Shouldn’t you deal with that, if it’s going to be so persistent?”
Grady could feel her cheeks heating. “It’s nothing. A personal thing.”
“A personal thing that’s practically tugging your arm for attention. Deal with it. I’ll wait.” Nash sat back.
“It’s not what you think,” she said airily, even though she could feel the need to shift on her chair. “The game is about to start, that’s all.”
Nash’s mouth widened, the corners lifting. “You’re a tankball fan.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not exactly,” she added.
Nash grinned fully. “It’s a Grey Team game.”
Grady reacted to his teasing note by putting her hand on the pad. Defensively. “I like to have it playing while I work, that’s all.”
