Mari’s skeptical look did not entirely fade. She pushed herself away from the wall. “Speaking of colonists,” she said, looking away from Quai to scan the room, “there’s a feeder here who wants to talk to you.”
“You let a feeder in here?” Quai was stunned. One of the other things Mari was famous for was her careful guest list.
“Yes,” she answered calmly. “Frezia Cheney. Do you know her?”
Quai thought. He subscribed to eight or nine shallow news services and hung around three or four of the deepwater ones. That made for a lot of names to forget. “I’ve heard of her,” he said finally. “A Lunar, isn’t she?”
Mari nodded. “And she’s got a reputation for fair and ruthless reporting all across the stream. We could use a few more like her.” She touched his arm. “Just give her ten minutes, and I’ll pull you out.”
“If she wants to talk about my relationship with my mother—” said Quai sternly.
“She won’t, Quai, I promise.”
Quai set his mouth in a straight line and favored Mari with one of his Grade A sour glares. Mari responded with a pitiful look that made the most of her big, brown eyes. Quai laughed and relented.
“Okay.”
Mari opened her mouth, but Quai pointed a finger at her. “Ten minutes, that’s it. After that, you come get me. I want to go see the cirque troupe, and I promised Eli we’d do some coordinating.”
“I swear.” Mari held up her right hand to promise and grabbed Quai’s wrist with her left. “Come on.”
Quai sighed inwardly and let himself be pulled along.
He had over the years become extremely wary of stream feeders. Only a few had ever actually wanted to talk to him. Mostly they wanted to talk about his mother. If they were pro-U.N., they wanted to know why he chose to damage her life with his outspoken causes. If they were separatists, they wanted to know why he didn’t denounce her timid politics more frequently.
This particular feeder sat in a wingback chair in a little parlorlike cluster of seats and tables. As Mari and Quai crossed the dampening field, the muted roar of the party fell away. Frezia Cheney was a fine-boned woman with pale copper skin and coffee-dark eyes. She was conservatively dressed for this party—loose gold trousers and a knee-length white tunic with gold embroidery around the collar and cuffs. A gold beaded cap covered her black hair, which had been pulled into a knot at the nape of her long neck.
“Frezia Cheney,” said Mari as the woman stood up. “This is Yan Quai. Quai, this is Frezia Cheney.”
“How do you do.” Quai shook Ms. Cheney’s hand. As he did, he noticed the clear plastic exoskeleton extending out of the woman’s tunic sleeve to cover her hand. Not only was Ms. Cheney a Lunar, she did not spend much time at all on Earth. If she did, her muscles would have been able to manage the gravity without help.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Yan.” Ms. Cheney withdrew her hand and sat back down a little hesitantly. The exoskeleton allowed her to move freely, but it could not disguise a Lunar’s mental discomfort with full gravity. “I am sorry about having to bring this to a social gathering. Would you prefer I made an appointment to meet you at your office?”
Two points for the appearance of consideration, anyway. “No, this is fine,” Quai said, casting a significant look toward Mari. “I understand having a crowded schedule.”
Mari patted Quai’s shoulder as she left Quai sat in the second wingback chair, which was turned so he was almost knee-to-knee with Ms. Cheney.
“Something to drink?” asked Ms. Cheney.
“Scotch, thanks,” replied Quai, and Ms. Cheney sent the table scooting away with orders for two.
“Now.” Quai crossed his legs and pulled out his best businesslike voice. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cheney?”
Ms. Cheney smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Yan. I have no intention of asking you about your mother.”
Not yet, anyway, thought Quai, but he kept his expression bland. “Well, that’s refreshing.”
Ms. Cheney gave him a knowing look. When he didn’t react, she just shook her head. “I’m much more interested in a little company called Biotech 24.”
“Biotech 24? And they are?”
“A little stream company that’s been giving money to various research projects out in the planets, including to a Dr. Meyer up on Venera Base so she can study what she thinks is microscopic life in the Venusian cloud banks.” The table returned, and Ms. Cheney handed Quai a short, stout glass.
“And why would you be interested in them?” Quai sipped his drink. One of the other things Mari did really well was catering. This was the pure stuff. No rapid distilleries for Mari’s patrons, no sir.