Talina said, “Bring him a special. And what are you drinking, Cinque?”

“That stout?”

“It is.”

“That, then.”

“My tab,” Talina said, throwing a five-SDR coin out on the bar as an example for Cinque.

He watched Inga depart in her rolling gait. “Does she know who she was talking to?”

Talina leaned forward. “Learn something, soft meat: Compared to the people in this room, you have no skills, no particular worth. Sure, the Suharto name buys you a certain amount of protection. It would reflect poorly on Kalico if you got eaten or were shot dead by a local in a barroom fight. After word was carried back, your family might take umbrage and cause us all trouble down the road. Because it would be a pain in the ass, we’d just as soon avoid that.”

“What about Derek Taglioni?” Cinque shot her a look that she couldn’t read, which added another layer to those opaque black eyes.

“That why you sought me out?”

“I heard that you and he are close.”

“Yeah? What of it?” She felt the quetzal stir in her blood, knew her eyes were enlarging as the IR and UV kicked in.

Cinque seemed to ignore it. “I’d like to speak with him. Funny thing, he seems to be missing. Last I was aware, not even his sister had heard from him. Can you get word to him?”

“I can.” Talina took a sip of her stout.

“Tell him I’d like to discuss some business dealings with him.”

“I will.”

Cinque studied her, the only tell being a slight tensing of the muscles in his forehead. “How did Derek, being a Taglioni, prove his particular worth? Like me, he would have arrived being, how did you say? Soft meat?”

“The transit on Ashanti had already beaten the arrogance out of him.” Talina watched as Inga set a sizzling plate of chamois in red sauce with steaming squash before Suharto. Then scooped up Tal’s five SDR-coin before lumbering back down to where Sawyer was belly-up to the bar with Sheyela Smith.

Cinque picked up his fork, cut off a piece of steak, and tried it. After chewing, he nodded, smiled. “I guess that woman can use whatever tone of voice she wants with me. This is the best I’ve eaten since Three Spires.”

He appeared thoughtful as he ate, washing down the largess with healthy draughts from his mug of stout. Finishing, he shoved the plate away, shot her a black stare, and said, “I would learn. The same way Derek did. What will it take to get you to show me?”

“Dek beat the odds,” she told him. “He made it through sheer dumb luck, grit, and a willingness to surrender himself to Donovan. Somehow, Cinque Suharto, I suspect that’s a price you’re not going to want to pay.”