sight to say the least, the pride of Mare City’s sky line, headquarters of Cyrus Innovations, and mecca for the scientific renaissance.
Of course, that wasn’t actually where I was going. They wouldn’t let the likes of me just waltz through the front door, not in this day and time. I walked past the building and down two more blocks until I was standing in front of a homelier building. Still nice, but bare architecture and no names to speak of.
I recognized the bartending bodyguard from the bar resting on the building’s stoop. He was a rough looking man, with a strong jaw and the kind of permanent stubble a soldier developed. He was in a cheap suit, though still better than mine, his tie loosened around his neck. He was shorter than me, but heavy with muscle and a demeanor that told me he knew what to do with it. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, his eyes lazily taking in the view, not missing a thing.
“McDane,” he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Good to see you show up. Name’s James Baker, don’t think we got to introduce ourselves last night.”
“Aberland gave me the address,” I said, shaking his hand. “Anyone else here?”
“Most all of them,” he replied. “Go on up to the third floor, Lambros wants to meet you.”
“Lambros?”
He took a long drag from the cigarette. “Dr. Lambros, she’s the customs specialist Mr. Aberland told you about. She wants to meet you.” He paused. “I don’t know too much about you, but you seem alright to me. And Mr. Aberland seemed to think you were the man for the job. That’s really all I need to know, so I’ll give you a bit of advice.” For just a moment he took his eyes away from the street and met my own. “Watch your back around that woman.”
“I don’t know any other way,” I replied, making my way into the building.
There was no point in worrying about what was coming. I knew there would be some pushback from at least a few people. I was just grateful I’d made an impression on the muscle.
Dr. Lambros’ office was a h astily put together affair. A functional desk, several file cabinets, and more books than I could count filled the room, all neatly tucked away and sorted. A few degrees hung on the walls, a few photos of landscapes I recognized, some I’d seen personally and others I’d only heard about. Altogether, it was not what I expected from a team lead. It was too functional, too Spartan, too tidy.
But then, Dr. Lambros wasn’t exactly what I expected either. She was a beautiful woman with dark, olive colored skin and black hair that fell down her shoulders in thick ringlets. There was a harsh grace that spoke of the steel underneath the glamour, and sharp appraising eyes.
She didn’t quite sneer when the guard led me into the room, but the look she gave me held no illusion of friendship.
“You must be Virgil McDane. ” Her voice matched her looks, exotic and rich with just the hint of an accent. Greek maybe.
“I am .” I didn’t try to shake her hand, and no pleasantries were extended in return. “You must be the customs specialist.”
“Customs is just one of the things I handle . I have overseen all of Mr. Aberlands’s major international endeavors.” She leaned back. “I am more concerned with is what I have learned about you.”
That was quick. “And what exactly concerns you about me?”
“A great deal, I am afraid,” she replied. “I have been studying up on you since Mr. Aberland informed me of your hire. I am unimpressed. You don’t seem to have the skills, or experience, not to mention the judgment, of someone I would have selected. What makes you think you are qualified for this position?”
I smiled. “Well, perhaps when you were checking out my background you should have started with the present. I’ve already been hired. That’s a pretty good start, in my opinion.”
She didn’t look amused. “I was not consulted in the matter.”
I took one of the chairs and sat down.
Of course, that wasn’t actually where I was going. They wouldn’t let the likes of me just waltz through the front door, not in this day and time. I walked past the building and down two more blocks until I was standing in front of a homelier building. Still nice, but bare architecture and no names to speak of.
I recognized the bartending bodyguard from the bar resting on the building’s stoop. He was a rough looking man, with a strong jaw and the kind of permanent stubble a soldier developed. He was in a cheap suit, though still better than mine, his tie loosened around his neck. He was shorter than me, but heavy with muscle and a demeanor that told me he knew what to do with it. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, his eyes lazily taking in the view, not missing a thing.
“McDane,” he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Good to see you show up. Name’s James Baker, don’t think we got to introduce ourselves last night.”
“Aberland gave me the address,” I said, shaking his hand. “Anyone else here?”
“Most all of them,” he replied. “Go on up to the third floor, Lambros wants to meet you.”
“Lambros?”
He took a long drag from the cigarette. “Dr. Lambros, she’s the customs specialist Mr. Aberland told you about. She wants to meet you.” He paused. “I don’t know too much about you, but you seem alright to me. And Mr. Aberland seemed to think you were the man for the job. That’s really all I need to know, so I’ll give you a bit of advice.” For just a moment he took his eyes away from the street and met my own. “Watch your back around that woman.”
“I don’t know any other way,” I replied, making my way into the building.
There was no point in worrying about what was coming. I knew there would be some pushback from at least a few people. I was just grateful I’d made an impression on the muscle.
Dr. Lambros’ office was a h astily put together affair. A functional desk, several file cabinets, and more books than I could count filled the room, all neatly tucked away and sorted. A few degrees hung on the walls, a few photos of landscapes I recognized, some I’d seen personally and others I’d only heard about. Altogether, it was not what I expected from a team lead. It was too functional, too Spartan, too tidy.
But then, Dr. Lambros wasn’t exactly what I expected either. She was a beautiful woman with dark, olive colored skin and black hair that fell down her shoulders in thick ringlets. There was a harsh grace that spoke of the steel underneath the glamour, and sharp appraising eyes.
She didn’t quite sneer when the guard led me into the room, but the look she gave me held no illusion of friendship.
“You must be Virgil McDane. ” Her voice matched her looks, exotic and rich with just the hint of an accent. Greek maybe.
“I am .” I didn’t try to shake her hand, and no pleasantries were extended in return. “You must be the customs specialist.”
“Customs is just one of the things I handle . I have overseen all of Mr. Aberlands’s major international endeavors.” She leaned back. “I am more concerned with is what I have learned about you.”
That was quick. “And what exactly concerns you about me?”
“A great deal, I am afraid,” she replied. “I have been studying up on you since Mr. Aberland informed me of your hire. I am unimpressed. You don’t seem to have the skills, or experience, not to mention the judgment, of someone I would have selected. What makes you think you are qualified for this position?”
I smiled. “Well, perhaps when you were checking out my background you should have started with the present. I’ve already been hired. That’s a pretty good start, in my opinion.”
She didn’t look amused. “I was not consulted in the matter.”
I took one of the chairs and sat down.
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