“It’d be easy to disappear out here,” the cabbie had commented, tilting a head at the blurring landscape beneath us.
“Sure, we seen our share of tourists. Them’s with money to burn got’s little to worry for. Enter through the giftshop, exit through the giftshop. Complimentary draughts of Neon Nightmare to further loosen th’ pursestrings. But if ya turn your back on all that glitz ‘n glamor and start to walkin’, don’t take long to recall you’re still at the System‘s fringe.
“An’ that’s just the surface, to say nuthin of what lies beneath it all. Them olde Hyperians are a mystery to us, for all our grandstandin’ atop their shoulders. ‘Cept for a few relics bought up by the corps, centerpieces for their parks, ya could go a lifetime without layin’ yer peepers on genuine Hyperiana.
“No money in excavating, I reckon. Not on a trading outpost.”
• • •
The bar’s absinthe was bluer than my parents’ blood. I blasphemously stuck a straw in it to keep my teeth from mimicking its neon coloration, swirled it in place of a spoon to further dispurse the sugar-cube dissapting milkily in its depths.
It’s hard to savor anything whilst shoulder-to-shoulder with a few thousand of your new best friends, most of them so drunk that only their rotundity keeps them vertical. I was halfway through the second glass before I recalled that I shouldn’t be drinking while armed. The weighty iron at my left ribcage ached like a guilty conscience. But I hadn’t noticed any detectors. Let’s face it, I’m not the first nor last to disregard Meridian civility at an outpost. You never know who you’ll run into out here.
“Professor!” my contact shouted, but I wasn’t aware of his existence until he took the chair across from me.
“Apologies,” I murmured as I set aside the glass and extended a gloved hand. “Cera.”
“Milo,” he responded, shaking hardily. His calluses were frictive against the leather of my glove. The hands of a field archeologist.
“They say you’re the go-to-guy when it comes to Hyperiana?” I ventured.
He squinted, making out only a few of my words, then grinned. “Want to get out of here?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly,” I mouthed.
He was handsome in the moonlight. The garishness of the restaraunt had obstructed that. He had the wiry brawn you find on chain gangs—a man familiar with a pickaxe.
“Professor…” he began again, once we were outside of the audible blastzone, “I asked you out here because we’ve found something. Something we didn’t expect. I know you need to justify your grant expenditures to Bharvale, but it’s…” His voice lowered even further. He placed a heavy hand upon my shoulder and leaned down to my ear, brushing the brim of my hat. “…It’s not safe to discuss. Not yet. Not here.” His breath was hot on my cheek.
We were almost to the hotel before I made our tail. State-of-the-art AR goggles. Broken-in boots. Brand-name trenchcoat—with urban artillery underneath?
The archeologist smoothed his collar self-consciously as we crossed the threshold and read our room number upon the screen-wall.
Room, singular.
I smirked. “What kind of girl do you take me for, Milo?”
“No, no, Professor,” he apologized, almost blushing. “You’ll—see.”
I would indeed.
After checking that the hall was clear, he unlocked our door and moved aside for me to take a peak. The ever-present hum of a closed-loop portal array vibrated the room like a growling throat.
“Ye gods,” I breathed. “Those things cost a fortune.”
“A fortune we didn’t have, until a Hyperian week ago.”
We stared at one another in the hallway, and I momentarily debated walking away. “You’ll defray all my expenses. And the Academy gets 10%, in addition to first publishing rights.”
He swallowed. “Deal.”
As he went to his knees before the array to attune it to our destination, I couldn’t help but flinch at what he uttered absentmindedly. “Stay close. It’d be easy to disappear out here.”