Dek managed a laugh, a grin, and picked up his beer with his hand shaking. He drank a sip without spilling ft. At least.
“Hey,” Sal said, “They got the whole UN Human Rights Commission asking to talk to your mama….”
“But if they get her out she’s not safe, Salazar’s people tried twice to kill me and got Jamil—“
“Cher rab, are they going to risk stirring things up now? They got their ass on the line. They want quiet, soon as they can hush this up, When the corp-rats get caught, they always want a real quick silence.”
He let go a sigh, shook his head.
Sal elbowed him. “Take you on, cher. Billiards or poker?”
Poker, it was. Ben pulled a chair back, set his beer down, said, cheerfully, “Deal me in,” and collected looks from his crewmates. He kept the smugness off his face—the reason was for Sal’s ears, for Dekker and Meg once the stuff went public—as would happen, he was sure, when Security found out what to do with the file that had landed in their laps.
Dekker asked, “What did they want?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Come on,” Sal said.
“Oh,” Ben said, picking up cards, “just a little tekkie stuff.” Good hand, it was. There were nights a guy was On, and this was it.
Damn, there was stuff going to hit the news tomorrow.
“Tekkie stuff, hell,” Sal said. “What was it?”
“Just a little advice.” And access numbers and a nailpolish-sealed card. He laid down chips.
Didn’t have to go to Stockholm to prove the Staatentek over the damned EIDAT, damn no. Elegant equipment, they had on that carrier.
“What advice?”
He smiled, thinking about the morning news, and MarsCorp, and Salazar’s personal memo file, and the wonderful, damning things it held.
“Don’t buy stock in EIDAT, Lendler or MarsCorp. Even at discount.”
“What have you got?” Dekker asked sharply.
Wider smile. “A winning hand, Dek-boy, odds are—a winning hand.”