Brevan raised both hands, palms out. “Evening. I’m with her.” He nodded toward me. “She’s vouching for me. Right?”
Every eye turned to me.
I could walk out. Let him explain to Tarsus why he’d followed the pet curator into staff areas and gotten a door slammed in his face.
But walking out meant losing control. And control was the only thing I had.
“He’s fine,” I said. “He won’t cause problems.”
The room didn’t relax, but the Nazoks returned to their game. The Poraki resumed his work. The Merrith went back to their conversation, voices lower now.
Brevan approached the bar. “What do people drink down here?”
“Whatever they can afford.” I followed, Flinx still on my shoulder. “Usually recycled ethanol and synthetic flavoring.”
“Sounds delightful.” He caught the bartender’s attention. “Two of whatever she’s having. And a round for everyone here.”
The Poraki blinked. “A round?”
“For everyone.” Brevan set a credit chip on the bar. “Whatever they want. My compliment to the excellent work keeping this place running.”
The bartender scanned the chip. His skin shifted from pale to mottled blue-green. “That’s generous.”
“I appreciate good work.” Brevan glanced around the room. “And privacy. Which I imagine is valuable down here.”
“Very valuable.” The Poraki poured two drinks. Clear liquid in battered glasses. He slid them across. “You want privacy, you got it. But you cause trouble, I don’t care what you paid. You’re gone.”
“Understood.” Brevan picked up his glass. “To privacy.”
I took my drink but didn’t toast. “What do you actually want?”
“Direct. I like that.” He sipped and managed not to grimace. Impressive. Recycled ethanol tasted like industrial solvent. “I want to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“The kind that benefits both of us.” He set his glass down. “You’re planning something. Don’t insult me by denying it. I’ve been in enough places like this to recognize when someone’s building an exit strategy.”
Flinx sent.
“You’re making assumptions,” I said.
“I’m making observations.” He leaned against the bar. “You know this villa too well. The blind spots. The patrol routes. The maintenance access points most curators would never need to know.”
“That’s my job. Security cleared me for?—”
“And you have a supplier.” He glanced toward where I’d come from. “Someone who gets you components that aren’t on any official inventory list.”
My hand tightened on my glass. “Careful.”
“I’m being careful. I’m also being honest.” He met my eyes. “I need access to something Tarsus has. Something I can’t get to on my own. And I think you might be able to help me.”
“Why would I help you?”
“Because I can offer you something you need. Transportation off this planet.”
The words hung in the air. Simple. Direct. The one thing my plan was missing.
Flinx sent.
