Meat charred with an audible sizzle on the platter before Executive Reynolds. Cain had disabled his olfactory inputs before entering the man’s office. Having met with this particular Executive before, Cain knew what to expect.

  “How can Allied Agrinomics help Telepersona?”

  “Thank you for asking, Director Reynolds…”

  Reynolds stuffed a piece of the grilled flesh into his mouth, moaning and purring as he did.

  “You simply must try this. It is superbly fresh, and carefully fed. Supple as veal.”

  Giggling and dancing as he cut another piece of cooked meat off, he held the fork over to Cain.

  “No thank you.”

  “Mustn’t let it grow cold now,” Reynolds rolled his eyes and directed the morsel to his own mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed. Mouth still full, he said, “what does the Chief of Security for your tiny little company want with the director of the largest food purveyor this side of Neptune?”

  Cain stilled. The food, the posturing, he’d anticipated all of it. But even the best hunter could not stave off the hope that this particular meeting would proceed differently.

  After waiting an appropriate amount of time, he said,

  “We pursue a piece of our corporate intellectual property through part of your waste processing fields.”

  Cain laid a virtual map over Reynold’s desk. The man’s eye twitched as the projection covered his personal grill and the small plate of sliced raw meat next to it.

  Reynolds grunted and said,

  “I heard you lost an important piece of experimental equipment. That is a shame.”

  Prepared for this part of the battle as well, Cain rolled up his legal arsenal. He sent the summary court judgment to Reynolds.

  He glanced at the document and said,

  “We could challenge this in court and tie up this matter for weeks. Maybe months. During that kind of time, well I wonder where your property might get off to.”

  “You could. But I notice you did not say you would.”

  Reynolds laughed and stood from his chair. He lifted a long fork and lifted several pieces of meat through Cain’s map and onto the grill, sending smoke and steam into the air. Sticking his face in the updraft, Reynolds took a deep breath and said,

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  “You only want the metal. Give us the meat. And I want a closed bid on whatever tech this woman stole from you.”

  Without giving any outward sign, Cain signaled to Bernie. In seconds, he relayed the Director’s approval of the deal, with room for discretion on Cain’s part.

  “And you will tell me where she is and let me track her down through your territory? Most importantly, you will let us retrieve our property unmodified and undamaged?”

  “Of course.”

  “Done. I have another matter I would like to settle with you.”

  “Yes?”

  Reynolds flipped the pieces of meat on his grill, he still stood, leaning in over the grill and towards Cain.

  Sending the picture of the chop shop doctor who helped Althea Thompson to Reynolds was something of a risk. Cain accepted the sacrifice of intel as necessary.

  The return came in the form of recognition on Reynold’s face.

  “Oh her.”

  “You know her then?”

  “I do. She’s a nuisance. If she’s in our territory, I intend to mobilize a response anyway.”

  “Tell me about her and where they are. I would like to accompany your response team.”

  Reynolds lifted an entire smoking piece of meat to his mouth and chewed.

  He used the fork as a stylus to move the map toward the outer eastern edges.

  “About three decades ago, we lost a small slice of the Eastern shelf to a group of newcomers who staked a squatter’s claim. The previous Director let the battle against the squatters destroy him. Among other things, I chose to cede their claim when I took charge. It’s been a profitable decision in so many ways.”

  Cain nodded, understanding the depths of the man’s words. Reynolds continued,

  “It gives runaways a clear place to flee. Your property and my intriguing future meal are both in Boris’s Shelf.”

  He tapped the map with his fork. The area he indicated occupied just over four hectares of land. About three city blocks. Unlike the surrounding area, Bori’s Shelf possessed intact high rises and even a few modern buildings.

  A third of the land appeared to have a large tongue-like rock face extending from it. Cain revised his assessment immediately as he focused in on the monolith.

  “Bernie, what is that? Why couldn’t we see it on our own sat-view?”

  Bernie processed the object while Reynolds answered the question.

  “That big goddamned thing is why we’ve never driven them out of there. It’s a ship. Or the remains of one. Have your AI search the old pre-Core records.”

  Bernie caught up with the information as Reynolds laid out the hint.

  “That’s a Surge-ship, Master. Or at least the fore of one. Based on Reynold’s information, that ship is somehow scrambling satellite probes. Allied Agrinomics uses spotters and direct view drones in the area.”

  “What is the ship class?”

  “Still searching, Master.”

  “Don’t bother then.”

  Aloud, Cain said,

  “It’s armed? And their people live there?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Core knows about that ship?”

  “They do. And we have permission to fire on it when our strike force engages.”

  Cain studied the map and considered their options.

  “Firing on it would destroy our property.”

  “It is a last resort. Surely you’re prepared for the possible necessity of destroying it?”

  This was one of the many reasons he hated working with other Executives. They possessed the same enhancements he did. And the same ability to synthesize information.

  “Yes, but let’s consider that an emergency scenario.”

  “Of course. I would lose my meat otherwise.”

  Swallowing his disgust and a reply motivated from the same, Cain said,

  “Tell me about that hooded woman.”

  “Yes, Erie. You can’t find anything about her because she has a CoreSec black file. Tell me, Security Chief. You didn’t send a flight of hunter drones through my territory without asking, looking for her did you?”