The Human Edge

I've been playing with the idea of writing an Infinity serial for quite some time now.  If this first bit gets a good reception, I might continue with it.  If not, I'll try other avenues!

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I.

Antonio Botella looked out through the window, lifting a steaming cup of tea to his lips with his left hand.  Distant stars formed a backdrop for the countless ships moving sluggishly through local space, each waiting their turn to dock.  Trails of light streamed from clumsy, box-like vessels probably used for the repair or surveillance needs of the massive station.

Under his right hand rested a small black box.

In the window’s reflection, he could see the waiting area in which he sat.  Past his mirror image, a young waitress moved quickly from table to table, weaving around the few others waiting to board.  A pair of olive-skinned men watched her move, obviously O-12 by the poor fit of their mass-produced grey uniforms and the rifles they had slung over one shoulder.  Their conversation was blotted out by the blast of the latest Go-Go Marlene Mayacast, its image project over the far wall of the boarding area.  By the distracted looks on their faces, Antonio guessed that they were on token guard duty and bored as hell.  Good.

            “Would you like anything more, sir?” The waitress came to a stop next to his table.  She was a petite thing, dark-skinned like Antonio, and wore her hair in the coronet fashion that Go-Go had popularized.  He found himself imagining that her hairstyle and the faint tattoos on her jaw were her little ways of rebelling against the drab station uniform.  At least that’s what Francesca would do.

            “I’ve decided against tea for the time being.” Antonio replied evenly, and in Spanish.  “Would you mind bringing over a glass of real rum?  Preferably Ro Cavagne, if you have it.”

            She raised her eyebrows for a short second, then nodded with a smile.  “Of course, sir.  It will take a minute or two; I hope you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all.”

            He watched her go.  Even something in her reactions reminded him of Francesca.  That surprised tilt of her head when he ordered real rum, and in Spanish no less; that quick easy smile.  It was the same look his daughter had given him when he had told her that he was coming home for good.

            He blinked and realized that he had been staring.  Not wanting to seem rude, he let his eyes scan the room.  He had been waiting there for hours, but it had never occurred to him to look at his fellow passengers.  It was hard for him to block faces out of his memory, especially because of all the travelling he had been required to do.  So, he had trained himself not to look.  It was easier that way.

Now, though, taking the time to focus on them would be a welcome distraction.

            The first man sat alone, nursing a tall glass of something or another and cycling through a holographic display of the most recent Aristeia matchups on the table’s display.  He was short and balding, the former of which meant that his parents didn’t have any money, the latter of which meant that neither did he.  The man wore coveralls, which probably meant that he was either embarking on a service trip or just coming back from one.  Either way, technicians knew how to keep to themselves and not disturb passengers, which suited Antonio perfectly.

            He cast another look at the two O-12 men before moving on.  They ignored him.

            At the next table over, a tall man sat with a young woman who was shorter than him by more than a head.  He wore a long blue coat and sported pronounced facial tattoos and piercings, his scruffy hair an obnoxiously bright shade of green.  He had his arm around the young woman, but her head was turned away, looking like she was trying to ignore his chatter.  A member of the Nomad nations, Antonio thought.  Probably so loaded with active wet-ware that he would set off any scanner in the area.  That could be trouble.

            “Someone sitting here, my friend?” Antonio started as he heard a voice from just behind him.  Almost by reflex, he pressed his hand firmly down on his small black box.

            “I’m sorry,” He said, turning his upper body to look at the new arrival.  It was a subtle technique that made one look more confident, more interested.  Defaulting to his training also helped him to quell the panic rising in his chest.  After days of avoiding unwanted attention, this man had seemed to move straight for him.  Did he know about the box?

“I was just wondering how my bets were faring.” Antonio suppressed his fear, waving vaguely at the projected screen which had transformed into the same Aristeia scores that the technician had been looking at a minute before.

            “Who is your favourite to win?” The man smiled, extending a hand toward the chair opposite Antonio.  “May I...?”

            “Please.  I could use the company.”

“Thank you.” The man smiled, bowing slightly.  He was obviously from Yu Jing, PanOceania’s chief competitor in all things economic and political.  This far out, though, it hardly mattered.  Sichuan Chinese and NeoTerra Spanish were all the same in the eyes of the Human Edge’s Nomad population.

            “Khan, to answer your question.  I understand that he was a warlord at some point in history.” Antonio offered.  The other man was clearly well-dressed, and his com-log was an understated – but tremendously expensive – piece of work.

            “Ancient history.” The man returned with the slight trace of a smile.  “He brought together the warring tribes who fought over the land that would eventually become my homeland.  But please, don’t think we are all like that butcher.” He laughed, and Antonio had to remind himself that relaxing was not something he could afford to do.  “I am Xu Huang, and I represent certain commercial interests in the Human Edge.”

            “Antonio Botella.” He half-stood from his chair, extending a hand to the man from Yu Jing.  His other hand rested firmly on the small black box.  “And who is your favourite to win?”

            “I have a little something on Rezia.” Huang replied, taking the offered hand with some strength.

            “Her surgeons’ nanomachines work miracles, I hear.” Antonio nodded, “Don’t they call her the cherub?”

            “Something like that.”  Huang smiled.  “On account of her incredible healing.  Some say she’s an lhost.”

            “But she doesn’t fight in the designated lhost matches.”

            “Exactly.” Huang winked, “Now then, shall we drink to pleasant meetings had so far from home?  I'm quite thirsty after having to spend so much time in cold, featureless vessels."

            “I’ll have the waitress bring a second glass.  How are you with rum?”

            “Perfect.” Xu Huang smiled, reclining in his chair as though it was a fine sofa.  “Let us enjoy our creature comforts before we board.  I do hate discount travel.”

---

“The Everest is now docked and accepting passengers.”  Chimes sounded in the boarding area, barely audible over the Mayacast’s third repeat of the Aristeia matches scheduled for the next few days.  Over his glass of rum, Antonio Botella watched the other passengers take their places in line.  The technician.  A tall woman with a smoky-eyed beauty that was so common among the rich.  The green-haired man and his companion.  He was still trying to talk her ear off, Antonio noted, and she still seemed disinterested.

“She may be several years his senior, but look at her style and how much she has spent on her clothing.” Mr. Huang whispered over Antonio’s shoulder.  They both slowly moved to their places in line.  “She may be feigning disinterest, but she is undoubtedly interested in something he has to offer.”

            Xu Huang spoke candidly, which was uncommon in Antonio’s line of work.  He welcomed it, but he remembered to stay guarded.  After all, the little box he had tucked into his pocket was the only thing that mattered.  He had to keep it out of the wrong hands and put it into the right ones, and he had to do it discretely.

            “I agree.”

            “And what do you make of the woman?” Huang pushed, and for a moment, Antonio seriously considered that he might have been an O-12 spy.  After all, the man looked young, but there were fine crow’s feet around his eyes when he smiled, indicating age treatments that only military personnel and corporate magnates could afford.  The man could have been in his sixties or seventies, for all Botella knew.

            “Off-the-shelf beauty, exaggerated affectations and gestures.  She has money, though she’s not wealthy enough to buy something original.  Her mannerisms suggest that she is looking for attention.  She’s not with anyone, but that doesn’t mean anything.  There might be someone waiting at the other end of the voyage, or aboard the ship itself.  Or she might be alone, as we are.”

            Mr. Huang nodded, his eyes sparkling.  Little crow’s feet creased on the face of a twenty-something-year-old.

            “Delightful.  What is it you do for a living, Mr. Botella?  You must tell me, so that I may entice you to come work for me.  Your cold readings would be of great benefit to the both of us.”

            “I work in Negotiations.” Antonio said, and left it at that.  “And you couldn’t afford me.”

            “You might be surprised.  Every man has a price.” The other man smiled as the technician stepped through the security gate, such as it was.

            “I would be lying if I said I thought that was false.” Antonio thrust his hands into his pockets, and felt  the small box resting in one of them.  He pulled his trip fees out of the other.  “But you can’t afford mine.”

            He looked over at the O-12 grunts one last time.  They had moved to the security gate and were now in the process of initializing the scanners.  The Mayacast screen had gone blank, leaving the boarding area in an eerily quiet half-light.  He hoped that this was the extent of the security on this trip.  If it wasn’t, he might very well be caught, and being caught would end him.  it would end everything.

            He forced what he knew to be a very convincing smile and presented the attendant with his trip fees.  Behind him, Mr. Huang waited patiently, like a hawk on a branch or an alligator just beneath the surface of murky water.