He hung up. He followed the edge of the room, around the tables, not to leave the bar, but because he wanted not to be visible from the door. Traffic was moderate in the establishment. A group of spacers came in and went to the bar. He spotted a darkness about the patch. It could be Corinthian. He couldn’t tell from his vantage; and the man that was following him hadn’t shown. He thought he might just sit down in the corner and order a drink, but it wasn’t a table-service kind of place, you had to go up to the bar, and he wasn’t eager to go up there with the newcomers.
He took a look outside, a careful look-see, anxious whether there was any sight of Sprite personnel, or whether the man who’d followed him into one bar was still searching.
No sign of either. But he saw Marie, down the row, just standing in front of some shop, looking across the wide dock to Corinthian’s operations zone.
He could go back and call Mischa. He could lose her, that way. He stayed where he was, thinking Saja and his group could spot him that way, and thinking to keep Marie in sight.
But Marie started to walk along the frontage, still in the direction she’d been going, with consistent looks toward Corinthian’s area.
Stalking them. He stood watching, looked frantically for Saja to show up, and. saw Marie getting further and further away.
Screw it, he thought. Mischa knew where he was better than he was going to know where Marie was if he didn’t move. He started walking as fast as he could—he figured running would draw attention he didn’t want. He just tried to look like someone on business, without making the noise that would alarm Marie or drive her to cover down some service access that on some docksides you found unlocked.
She stopped and took something from her pocket, he was scared to death it was a gun; but it was an optic of some sort, maybe a camera, he wasn’t sure. She was looking toward Corinthian and he took the chance to run, as lightly and quietly as he could, in her direction.
She saw him at the last moment, spun about in alarm and then scowled at him.
“Dammit,” he panted. “What are you looking at?”
“Damn yourself. The answer’s Miller Transship, 23 green, no long distance from 10. They’re onloading. But that’s a Miller company transport. You’d know that son of a bitch was going to deal all inside.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s not hiring outside help. No freight handling by any outside party. He sells to Miller, he buys from Miller, Miller’s his transport, his commissioned supplier…”
“That’s not illegal, is it?”
“No, it’s not illegal. It does mean there’s minimal contact with people who might ask questions. God, I wish we’d been here just five days ago.”
“When he was offloading.”
“Damn right when he was offloading. The market’s just so smooth right now. Can you imagine a ship arriving and the market not showing a single change on the boards?”
He couldn’t. The market always reacted. “I don’t think so.”
“Bravo. You don’t think so.”
“So what do you think?”
“Oh, just coincidence. Corinthian just carries such a mix of average goods you just don’t get a tick at all. Goods Miller warehoused the instant that ship hit system. And you still don’t get a tick.”
“Why doesn’t station spot it?”
“Station may have spotted it. But it’s not illegal for Miller to hold a shipment off the boards, either. They’re a transshipper. They don’t have to declare in a free or a dutied port, not since the War. Transshipped goods are technically still in transit until they deliver them elsewhere.”
“With the cargo broken up and dribbled out in patterns that don’t make patterns.”
“Brilliant. You must have gotten deviousness from his side.”
“The hell I did. What are you going to do about it?”
“Just take a few pictures. “ Marie lifted the camera that probably, he thought, had a close-up function that meant business.
And a couple of Corinthian crewmen were looking their direction, maybe out of frame from what Marie saw.