Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Azure Crane was an odd place. It was gaudy and loud, with a wide dance floor Connor couldn’t actually see the end of from where he sat. From the moment he’d entered the place, he’d felt alien. All the dancers were youthful and wore a rainbow palette of showy outfits that must have been custom designed and printed. Just seeing so much young flesh gyrating energetically made him feel old.

And the eyes of those young dancers, intermittently flashing then disappearing in the strobe lights timed to the bone-deep thudding music…

Those eyes warned darkly that Connor and Selen were outsiders.

The glares spoke even louder of the gulf in years than the music and the clothes.

Mosiah Young, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly have seemed more at home among the revelers. Well, it was more realistic to say that he couldn’t possibly have been less concerned that he wasn’t.

His white hair changed color with the lights. Those lights transformed his sunburned skin to different, darker shades. Rather than the youngsters’ sweet perfumes and colognes, the old man smelled like he’d been working outside. His body—sprawled back in a padded chair—seemed anchored and permanent.

Still, his eyes scanned the dancers appreciatively.

So he was human.

The old man had told them to order a drink when they’d sat down, so Connor had tried a highly rated beer. It had turned out to be citrusy and sharp.

Selen had scowled. “I’m broke.”

Mosiah’s laughter boomed over the shuddering bass line. “It’s on me.”

She’d ordered the most expensive drink on the menu at that point—something that glowed a fluorescent gold and swirled glittery of its own volition.

Twenty minutes later, it was still keeping her occupied.

Connor’s gut was tight with tension. Twenty minutes. Another ten minutes to get down to Meadows and into the establishment. Probably another ten to get back to the Lucky Sevens.

Time was the enemy. The Directorate’s dragnet was closing.

None of that concerned Mosiah. The old man hadn’t said a word since the drinks had arrived. Instead, he studied the young women.

Finally, he leaned forward, emptied his own beer mug, let out an appreciative belch, and smiled. “I miss my youth.”

Selen snorted. “How can you even remember that far back?”

“Some memories never leave you. A few are even pleasant.” He smirked at Connor. “That’s how regrets come to dominate us.”

The old man knew. He knew!

Connor sipped his beer, then wiped foam from his lip. “You said something about a job?”

“I did. It’s an important job. The job of a lifetime.” Mosiah grunted.

Why wouldn’t Selen engage this guy? Connor tried to figure out which dancers had drawn the old man’s attention and quickly spotted them. They were the sort to draw the eyes of men of all ages.

But they couldn’t distract Connor from the moment. He had to move the negotiations forward if Selen wouldn’t. “We’re a pretty experienced team.”

“You are.” Mosiah steepled his fingers. “I’ve researched you.”

Selen’s head came up from staring at her drink. “I bet you have.”

“You did great work for me. I don’t know if anyone else could have saved my life like you did.”

“You mean would have. No one else that knew about you would have.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Mosiah breathed in deep.

Connor sensed the tension building. Selen was trying to torpedo the opportunity. He rubbed his hands together. “So let’s talk numbers.”

Mosiah’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Numbers?”

Was he planning to drag it out long enough for Connor to be arrested or killed? Without the threat of that, without Connor dragging the team down, Selen would have more options. And she’d have even more reasons not to work with the old man.

So that wasn’t it.

It hit Connor then: Mosiah didn’t know! The delay wasn’t a negotiating ploy but…nostalgia?

Selen didn’t seem to realize that. She didn’t seem to care.

But Connor had to care. His internal clock was ticking as loud as the music.

He swirled his beer for a moment, trying to act casual. “Do you have a ballpark? An estimate of what you’d think this sort of job would entail. What sort of expenses are we looking at? Is there travel? Are we going to have to bribe authorities. Do we need to buy special gear? That sort of thing.”

“Oh. That.” The old man chuckled. “No. I hadn’t really thought of that.”

Once again, the old man didn’t seem to be playing a game, dragging the negotiations out or being coy. His eyes twinkled as they settled on the young women.

It wasn’t just an old geezer being creepy. That sense of regret and lost opportunity—Connor felt empathy at that point. The women weren’t merely salve for a decrepit libido. They represented what Mosiah had said: regrets that now dominated him.

Connor preferred regrets to a bullet tearing through his head, though. “Mr. Young, if—”

The old man held up a hand. “Nothing formal. Mosiah’s the name I prefer.”

“Mosiah, if you could give us an idea of the scope of the job. Is it an extraction? An insertion? IP theft or corruption? That would help.”

“Help?”

“We need to get a range, even if it’s just a loose one.”

“For the bid. Right.” The old man took his eyes off the dancers with some effort. “Like I said, I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

“But it’s how we operate. And with all the things going on right now—”

“Things?” Mosiah sat up, suddenly alert. “Like what?”

Selen seemed incapable of anything more than glaring at the old man, so Connor plunged on. “There are a lot of problems here on Mara. The prices are going up, for instance.”

“Oh.” The old man relaxed. “I guess.”

What had he been so concerned about? Connor would need to ask Selen about that later. For now, the deal seemed to be moving forward. “So, about the ballpark? To help with the estimate?”

Mosiah turned back to the young women who represented something deep and dark to him, but only for a moment.

Then he pushed his chair back, stood, brushed crumbs off his shirt, and closed his eyes. “How’s this for an estimate? I cover your expenses—refuel, repairs, restock. We’ll need to head back toward Coil Sector. Then I pay your standard rate. When you’re done, I tack on a completion bonus. Let’s say fifty percent on top of your standard rate.”

Connor nearly lost his grip on the beer mug. “That—”

Selen finally snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in. Her eyes narrowed. There was an unmistakable warning there: Don’t do it.

But Connor had to. They needed the job, and they’d never had a job like this.

He smiled weakly. “When would you be ready to leave?”