Page 12 of Skinwalker's Bane
“You don’t have to explain it to me, Bishan. I know that perfectly well.”
“I just wanted to look you in the eye and make sure. We’re on the last lap of this round. I get paranoid, at this stage, that’s all. I’ll leave you in peace. Are you working on the spurt speeches?”
After reassuring him she was, indeed, working on the tiresome “off the cuff” remarks he made her write, revise and memorize, to trot out whenever anyone asked her about her opinion on a staggering number of subjects, Bishan hurried away again.
His visit was warning enough. TheEndurancewas far too small and enclosed for her to take any risks with her career. She had already decided that she would never speak to Adam Wary again. Now she had confirmation that she had been right to sneak into the Esquiline via pod, instead of the train and to hurry back just as quickly, even though she had been forced to walk.
WhathadLincoln’s last message been to her?
* * * * *
On his first day back on outside rotation, Adam found a message waiting for him, flagged for the Institute, rather than his private code. The sender, Tineke Trapani, was unknown to him, which explained why the message had come to the Institute. Just as people like Devin Bronson did, skinwalkers had learned to keep an invisible shield up between themselves and the rest of the ship. Every kid on the ship grew up wanting to be a skinwalker and if they didn’t make the cut, they wanted to rub shoulders with them, instead. Hell, even Adam had dreamed about living the glamorous life of a skinwalker. Now he was one, he knew better how much of the glamour was real. He’d also learned that in the first years the skinwalkers had been working outside the ship, there had been a number of incidences where exuberant admirers had stepped over the line—following skinwalkers home and sending them inappropriate messages.
Adam left his personal address public, because a few boisterous fans weren’t a problem, as far as he was concerned. When he had received a direct message from a woman he had spent a night with, threatening to suicide if he didn’t devote himself to her, Adam had arranged for the Institute to scrub messages from strangers before passing them on. Messages from people he knew came to his very private, direct code.
The message from Tineke Trapani came with an alert.About Lincoln Amos.
Adam glanced at the time. He had only a few minutes before heading to the ready room. They were due at the airlock in less than an hour and he had to prep the crew first.
He connected impatiently, knowing it would eat at him if he didn’t.
The first surprise was that Tineke Trapani was a woman. The name was gender neutral and he had assumed it was a man. However, Trapani wanted to talk to him about Lincoln, so finding she was a woman shouldn’t have been a surprise. Lincoln always had leaned more toward women. Except that Trapani looked to be in her seventh or eighth decade. Not that age had ever been an issue for Lincoln either…
Adam mentally shook himself. “Tineke Trapani? You left a message for me. About Lincoln Amos.”
She nodded, but didn’t smile. “You are Adam Wary, then? You don’t look like your profile image.”
“Does anyone?” he asked, giving her a polite smile. “I’m on a public terminal screen, too.”
She waved, dismissing the matter. “It has taken me some days to learn who I should speak to about this. I’m told you shared an apartment with Amos and you were his supervisor, too.”
Amos. Everyone had always called Lincoln by his first name.
“Crew boss,” Adam amended patiently. “Crew Chief, if we’re being formal. Can I ask what this is about? I’m due outside for a shift.”
“I hold Lincoln Amos’s promissory note. I want to know who is going to pay it back, now that he is dead.”
Adam gaped at her. “He…owed you money?”
“That is the meaning of a promissory note,” Trapani assured him.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said quickly. “I know what one is. I’ve just never heard of anyone using them. I thought they had been outlawed, or something, when money was introduced.”
“Not outlawed, although the practice of usury has always been discouraged,” Trapani said. “I do not, however, charge interest. Not pecuniary interest, at least. Now that Amos is dead, I would settle merely for the return of the credits borrowed.”
“How many credits are we talking about?” Adam asked, pulling from memory the balance of his spreadsheet.
Trapani gave him the amount in a calm monotone and Adam squeezed the edges of the screen, fighting not to show his shock. The amount was more than a year of his salary,includingthe bonuses. “Why would you lend someone that much money?” he asked Trapani.
“Oh, the initial sum was much more than that. Amos has paid off most of it. This is just the balance.”
“How did he…pay it off?” Adam asked. His voice was hoarse. Lincoln had only been deputy chief and hadn’t earned as much as Adam. How had he paid off most of the note? And why had he taken the loan in the first place?
“That was a private arrangement between me and Amos,” Trapani said evenly. “Only the balance of the note needs to be dealt with today.”
Adam leaned his head against the top of the screen, thinking hard. He asked Trapani to send him a copy of the note, then forwarded her initial message to the Institute, flagged for Noa’s attention. When the note arrived, Adam studied the signature and thumbprint. He didn’t know Lincoln’s thumbprint, yet the signature looked authentic. He forwarded that to Noa as well, then hurried to prep for the shift.
As he changed and settled into the ready room to walk his crew through the targets for the shift, Adam found his thoughts pulling back to Trapani, then on to Devin Bronson. Both of them were hidden aspects of Lincoln’s life. He had thought Devin was the only secret. Now, here was another one.
