Old Mars

Few satisfactions equal the excruciation of those who have antagonized or superseded you. Indulge spite and envy! Our specialists …

“It’s not the differences that are really disturbing, it’s the goddamned similarities,” she muttered, avoiding the helpful illustrations. “Or maybe it’s both. We do the same stuff, but they’re so fucking up front about it.”

Satemcan had his ears laid back as they entered; he must be getting a snoutful of unpleasant scents far too faint for human or Martian nostrils.

“Apprehension,” he whined. “Fear.”

“Did they come through here?”

“That way,” he said, pointing with his nose.

That way was effectively the receptionist’s desk, the one with a helpful sign:

Past This Point Those without Authorization Will Be Killed without Warning.

“You wish?” the receptionist said.

Then he took in Teyud, and Sally could see his pupils expand. He brought his hands out of his sleeves and laid them carefully flat on the table.

“You wish, most refined of genome?” he repeated—this time using the honorific mode.

Three Coercives in black robes stood behind the slab of gray smooth stone, and she thought there were probably more in the offing. This was thug central. It was some consolation that their eyes were traveling between her and Teyud with a certain nervousness; she’d been here long enough to read Martian body language well. It gave her an advantage, since the locals she dealt with didn’t have nearly as much experience with Terrans.

It’s bullshit that they don’t have emotions, whatever those Far Frontiers episodes say. They’re just less self-reflective about them.

Sally took a deep breath; she wasn’t entirely confident of getting out of here alive, but the odds would be much worse without Teyud.

“My residence was attacked …” she began.

When she had finished, the receptionist blinked at her and bent to whisper into a grille. Teyud’s ears pricked forward; so did Satemcan’s. A tendril extended and the receptionist plugged it into his ear. The conversation that followed went entirely silent; he nodded several times, then extracted the intercom thing (or possibly data-retrieval thing) with a plop and spoke:

“Three independent Coercives contracted with a third party for the operation you mention four days ago, through our employment placement service, with the usual finder’s fee. They also purchased tactical information on your habitual schedule. Early this morning they returned here with a vas-Terranan prisoner, whom they turned over to the third party. They then purchased fairly extensive medical care for bone fractures, burns, and canid bites and departed Zar-tu-Kan bound for Dvor-il-Adazar. We will not sell you their identities because their affiliation contracts contain a nondisclosure clause.”

International Union of Thugs, Local 141, she thought bitterly. They’ve had a long time to come up with rules to cover every contingency.

The receptionist blinked; evidently Sally’s expression was showing more than she wanted. Earth-human body language wasn’t exactly the same as Martian, but it wasn’t impossibly different either for basics like humor or anger. The problem was that each species found the reasons for the other’s emotions weirdly opaque. Add in that Martians had only one language and one set of social rules and hence were unaccustomed to dealing with different reactions, and crossed wires were more common than not.

There was more cultural variation in San Francisco than on this entire planet. She made the muscles of her face relax one by one.

“The nondisclosure policy is not negotiable, by permanent directive,” the receptionist said cautiously. “Killing or excruciating myself or any of our other associates here will not alter this; the policy is set at higher levels, to whom we are of little consequence.”

Sally schooled her face and glanced aside at Teyud. The Thoughtful Grace made a very small gesture with two fingers of the hand resting on her sword hilt: Don’t push it.

“I’m more interested in the person who employed the three … associates of your cooperative,” Sally said grimly.

“We will inform you of the identity of the third party for a fee of 2,750 monetary units, with financing available on the following terms at an interest rate of …”

“No nondisclosure clause?”

“No, none was purchased. This was an imprudent excess of thrift that increases the probability of suboptimal results from the client’s perspective! Note that we will include a nondisclosure agreement with you for a modest additional fee of—”