"Why does someone need the entire depot?" asked Imala. "Do they have that many people in their party?"
"No," said the waitress. "There are jus
t the two of them. They docked a few minutes ago. They said they needed their privacy. I guess when you have that kind of money, you can do whatever you please."
"Who is it?" asked Imala.
"Lem Jukes," said the waitress.
CHAPTER 17
Transmissions
The supply depot was exactly what Lem had expected it to be: a dump. A sad excuse for an outpost that didn't appear to have been renovated since the first days of space commerce. The whole structure looked like it might break apart at any moment. There were metal plates crudely welded at random spots all along the inner walls, supposedly sealing off leaks or breaches that had occurred over the years. There were lines of grime where all the walls met, as if the mops they used to clean the place didn't reach the corners. There were several old neon signs for brands of alcohol or travel food that Lem had never heard of and that probably didn't exist anymore. None of the signs were turned on. Lem doubted any of them could.
All this gave the lobby a scarred, postapocalyptic vibe and made Lem more than a little uneasy. He was suddenly wishing he had come in a spacesuit just in case the whole thing split apart and dumped him and Chubs out into the black.
"Mr. Jukes. A pleasure to have you. Welcome. Welcome."
A thin, balding man was floating toward them from across the room. The proprietor. Lem disliked him immediately. He was the kind of person you could read in a blink. False expression, false demeanor, false cadence in his voice. Everything about him said dishonest.
The man's clothes weren't helping either. They had been fashionable at one point, years ago, but never together. The pants and shirt screamed at each other, fighting for attention, one fluffy and exploding outward with fabric, the other tight and form fitting. It was like he had won both in two different poker games and had convinced himself they were a matching set.
The man caught a handhold nearby and righted himself so that he had the same orientation as Lem and Chubs.
"Felix Montroose, Mr. Jukes. At your service. Welcome to Last Chance."
"The price we settled on over laserline will have to be renegotiated," said Lem.
Felix's face fell a little, though to his credit, he tried hard not to show it. "Oh? How do you mean, sir?"
"I mean I'm not paying you what I told you before. I was expecting a nicer establishment." He gestured to the room. "No offense, but I don't exactly feel safe here."
Felix smiled. "Oh, I assure you, Mr. Jukes. Last Chance is one of the most structurally sound outposts this side of the Belt. She was built in the early days, you know, back when ships were made by hand."
"Yes, and she should be dismantled by hand. I'll give you half of our original price."
Felix gave a sharp intake of breath and put a hand to his chest, aghast.
Lem suppressed a smile. He wasn't even sure why he was being a stickler about the money. It was hardly a large amount. Lem's investments had likely made that much in the time it had taken him and Chubs to dock the shuttle from their ship.
Yet Lem also hated it when people thought they could take advantage of him. It was silly, he knew, but he had always carried the belief that people assumed he was a less intelligent, weaker shadow of his father. And as such, he would be easy prey in a transaction. It made Lem more than a little shrewd. At the negotiation table he was downright deplorable, showing far less mercy even than Father at times. But it also made him a brilliant businessman and was largely the reason he had amassed such a large fortune independent of Father.
"That strikes me as most dishonest, sir," said Felix. "We had an arranged amount. We agreed upon the terms. I've ordered all other patrons off the depot to give you the privacy you requested. I will not settle for anything less than the predetermined sum."
"And I will not settle for anything less than a decent establishment. I suppose that puts us at an impasse. Good day to you, Mr. Montroose."
Lem turned on his heels and made as if to launch for the docking airlock.
"Wait," said Montroose. "Surely we can reach an agreeable amount. I remind you that we are the only laserline link with Luna. You can't get a message through any other way."
"My message isn't critical. I'm on my way to Luna now. I can wait to deliver it in person. Besides, from the reports I've heard in the Belt, your bucket-brigade system isn't as foolproof as you implied. I should expect heavy data deterioration."
Felix waffled then, seeing his sale slip away. He and Lem argued for a moment on the price, and when they finally agreed, Felix dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, as if he had just surfaced from a feverish bout with an enemy, which, Lem supposed, he had.
"And I have your absolute assertion that the ships in your bucket brigade will relay my conversation with Luna as promised?" said Lem. "I don't want my messages held hostage, Mr. Montroose. I assure you that a legal battle with Juke Limited attorneys would result in you losing everything, including your personal freedom as a result of the criminal charges they would place against you."
Montroose swallowed and checked his watch, as if this whole affair couldn't end soon enough.