My mother would never let me do such a risky deal, but once I show her the profit I make, she’s sure to be impressed. Shey’s mother, on the other hand, would certainly have me put to death if she found out… but Shey’s wallet makes it worth the risk. The pretty face doesn’t hurt, either, though for the sake of our business relationship I still haven’t tried for that kiss yet.

“Pleasant travels?” she asks. My mind flashes to Fortuna crashing into the landing zone and the law-enforcers leaving with my mother.

“Nice and smooth. You have any trouble getting here?”

“Not at all.”

We’re both good enough liars that the answers mean nothing. But I brush that off and gesture at the stools. I wait for Shey to sit first; that’s a Gaian custom I know, mostly because Shey was shocked I didn’t wait the last time I met her. Once she’s settled, I sink onto the opposite stool.

We’ve barely seated ourselves before the old man is there with two glasses and a pitcher of iced water. That, at least, is something Gaians have plenty of—not like Titan or Pax, where I have to carry my own around. He sets them down on the table, bows his head toward Shey, and leaves us.

There’s a long pause as I decide whether or not to jump right into business. I’m aware of every second ticking by, but not so keen on ruining my relationship with a good client, either.

“Uh, so… how’s work?” I venture. Shey frowns at me.

“Classified, as usual,” she says, her eyebrows arching, and I mentally kick myself. Of course. Shey does government work studying the Primus, and she’s never keen to give any details about it.

“Right. Well. Just making small talk,” I say.

Shey says nothing, but sits with her shoulders very stiff and her lips very firm. It could be because of my question, but it probably means I’m doing something else wrong. After a moment, I make a guess and grab the pitcher. Shey immediately slides one of the glasses forward. I pour for her and allow her to take the pitcher and pour me a glass as well.

Fucking Gaians, I think. The water is refreshingly cool on my tongue, but I can’t help but wish it was something with more bite. Some hair of the dog would help with this swiftly developing headache.

“I don’t come to this part of town often,” Shey says. She sips her water delicately, holding the glass with both gloved hands. “I hope you have something that makes it worthwhile.”

“Well, I don’t often sell illegal goods to the daughters of presidents,” I say, “so I can promise you that it is.”