Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

Honest Al's stomach returned to its original location. "How foolish of me!" He motioned to the little man, who attended him once again at the control board. "This device here—we manipulate it so. Now look."

The customer did as he was bid and, upon discovering that the exterior was now a brilliant yellow, grinned like a boy.

"Do you find that color pleasing?" Al asked hopefully.

"Let me speak with the T'caraisiana'ab." He moved away to where that person still stood gazing absently at the vehicle under discussion.

"We are almost decided, brother," Val Con said, switching to a liquid mix of Clutch and Liaden, "and I thank you for your kindness in accompanying me. Would you now care to watch the exterior of the vehicle and tell me when it has achieved a color that gives you pleasure?"

Handler rested his large eyes on the small form of his now-youngest brother. "I to choose the color?" he cried, gladdened. "It is you who are kind, brother, and I who am honored. I shall, indeed, watch and call out to you when the shade pleases me."

The little man came back to the car, throwing a smile to Al as he passed, and sat in the driver's chair. He manipulated the proper device.

The exterior of the car faded from bright yellow to gold to amber to bronze to tan to brown to sienna to—

A big voice boomed in a tongue Al did not understand, startling him out of his stupor. The vehicle before him was of a hue known to antiquarians as "fire-engine red."

The little man climbed out of the driver's chair and beheld what he had wrought, eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were staring into too bright a light. His gaze caught Al's and he shrugged.

"Ah, well. We will rent this car," he said, coming to Al's side and taking his arm. "The Mission is to be on-world for one local year. Let us pay you now for two years' rent, so that you have security on your investment. Is that satisfactory?"

Honest Al blinked, letting himself be gently guided back to his office. "Oh, yes," he managed. "Very satisfactory."

"Good. I am right in assuming that you will be able to adjust the emitting device now, so that we may drive the vehicle away?"

Al nodded, bereft of words.

"Excellent," the little man said amiably. "Now, about your fee. Would you prefer Terran bits or Liaden cantra?"

* * *

JUSTIN HOSTRO HAD a nice operation, Miri thought. His office was nearly as classy as Sire Baldwin's, though the taste in wall art and knickknacks was different. More cosmopolitan, she thought. Baldwin had been a devotee of the Art Terran, primarily, though an original Belansium had hung in his library.

There were two Belansiums in Justin Hostro's inner office, each depicting a planet seen from space. The quality that made each a treasure was the evocation of the feeling of actually being in space, with this world hanging before you, filling the big window on the obdeck.

Miri moved her attention from the paintings to Justin Hostro, seated comfortably behind his rubbed steel desk.

"This is the sum we have agreed upon. Please count it and be certain that we have not misunderstood each other," he was saying.

Edger complied with this request, opening the pouch he was offered and removing the clear plastic rolls of coins. Liaden money, Miri saw, keeping control of her face. A bloody fortune in Liaden money. And this was just the fifty percent up front. For knives guaranteed to break.

Edger split the rolls into piles of seven each and brushed each pile back into the carrying pouch. He inclined his head. "The sum is correct in that it is the first half of the total agreed upon."

"Good." Mr. Hostro smiled and slid a sheet of printout from the folder before him. "This is the list of locations for the first shipments. I desire that three hundred go to each site, for a total first shipment of 3,000 blades. To aid you, the document lists each location by its Trade designation and by the local name." He passed the sheet to Edger, who took it carefully and scanned it.

"This shall be done," he said, folding the sheet and placing it in the pouch with the money, "within the next year Standard, as we discussed. The first shipment is required at the first location within three months Standard, is that correct?"

"That is correct," said the man behind the desk.

"Then," Edger said, rising and inclining his head, "we understand each other very well."

Mr. Hostro stood also, bowing his royalty-to-royalty bow. "I am pleased that it is so. It is rare to find camaraderie in business dealings. May we deal long and profitably together."

"May we so indeed," Edger replied. "It is very pleasurable, doing business with you. I hope in the future we shall deal as well." He began his turn and Miri, in her role as aide, moved to the door, going through first to check the hallway. Edger came after, and the door closed behind them.

Justin Hostro sat down behind his desk, the tiniest of lines between his fine brows. "Matthew."

His aide approached the desk. "Yes, Mr. Hostro?"

"That woman, Matthew. I feel that I have seen her face before. Perhaps in our files?" He made a steeple of his impeccable fingers. "Yes. In our files. Recently. Find out who she is, please."

"At once, Mr. Hostro." The aide removed himself to the file station in the corner of the room and began the search.

* * *

THE MANUAL WAS old and hard to read. Al squinted at the screen, trying to make out the index. White letters wavered on a flickering gray background, defeating his eyes. He sighed and looked apologetically at the little man, glad that the turtle had remained outside.

"Perhaps I'd better call the Registration Office. My eyes aren't as young as they used to be."

The little man was all concern. "Trouble, sir? Here, let me see if I can make it out. Of course: 'Diplomatic Uses, Y'" He manipulated the advance. "I'll have it in just a moment, if you would care to write it down."

Honest Al scrabbled under the counter and came up with a piece of torn pink cardboard and an age-old stylus.

"Here it is," his customer said. "Much easier than bothering the Registration Office, don't you think? The code we need is: DY3"

"DY3," Al read back, "9736"

"Correct."

"Well, that's fine. I'll just go out and program the emitter and you're on your way. Another five minutes, sir." He paused and made as much of a bow as his paunch would allow. "Thank you, sir, for your help."

The little man smiled. "It was no trouble," he murmured, turning off the manual. He waited until Al was safely outside before he spun the wheel back.

* * *

"Edger, I'm gonna leave you here, if that's okay. Got some business to take care of."

"It is permitted," Edger replied. "When will you return to us?"

Miri shrugged. "In a little while, I think. Nothing complicated, but it's gotta be taken care of."

"I understand. Go and resolve your business, young sister. I look forward to the time when we shall see each other again."

She grinned, shaking her head, and moved off across the street. She turned around once to wave, but Edger wasn't looking.

* * *

THE BRIGHT RED car pulled against the curb half a block ahead and discharged its passenger.

Charlie pulled off to the side and likewise discharged his partner, reminding him that his only job was to keep the turtle in sight and stay out of sight himself. Then it was time for Charlie to be after the red car again.

The driver of the car did not seem to be aware that he was being followed. He drove safely and within the speed limit to a self-service lot in the seedy edge of town backing onto the hyatts. He chose a parking space facing the exit and got out to deposit the proper number of bits in the box.

Charlie pulled the cruiser across the nose of the red car and popped out. By the time he got around to the front, the driver of the other car was leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.