Half Share by Nathan Lowell Read Free Book Online

Ishmael?” Bresheu said. He slipped a business chip out of a sleeve and inscribed a single letter B on the case. “When you get to Dunsany, present this chip at the establishment of Henri Roubaille. If by the time you get there you know who you are, then Henri will be able to fit you.”
    “Merci, Bresheu,” I told him. “My apologies for taking up your valuable time.”
    He shook his head. “But why else am I here? Please do come and see me the next time your travels bring you to St. Cloud.” He offered his hand and a warm smile in parting.
    I took the hand and gave my own smile in return. “I’ll be sure to visit you sooner next time,” I told him.
    Just then, the warning pings sounded to let the shoppers know that the flea market was closing. I saw Brill still standing by the mirror and we joined the stream of people leaving the flea market.
    “Why didn’t you get it?” she asked. “It was exceptional. You looked good enough to eat,” she said in a tone that took me off guard.
    I chuckled. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right. I’m not that showy.”
    “I can appreciate that,” she said. “But, still it was very yummy.”
    Concerned with where this conversation was heading. I suggested we go find some food.



Chapter 4

ST. CLOUD ORBITAL
2352-FEBRUARY-19

    End of day shoppers crowded all the restaurants that catered to the flea market and did not offer the best choices, so Brill and I went down a couple of levels. We found a seafood restaurant that specialized in local St. Cloud fish that looked good. A sign in the window proclaimed, “The fish you eat today, slept in Starvey Bay last night.”
    Brill and I both laughed. “Is that just a little too much information?” I asked her.
    “Yeah, it’s a little creepy, but I guess it’s better than the alternative,” she agreed.
    The hostess was good. She took only one double take at Brill’s height and then seated us at a very pleasant table close to the kitchen but not in the main traffic pattern. Unlike a lot of the orbital restaurants, this one did not have every square meter jammed with tables, which made it feel open. The walls were adorned in lifesize digital murals of various seascapes—probably from St. Cloud itself. All in all, it was a very tasteful display in spite of the rather tacky commentary on the fate of our soon-to-be dinners.
    “Thanks, Brill,” I told her when the drink orders were placed and we had settled in.
    “For what?” she asked.
    “Well, I was feeling a little—displaced—that’s not the right phrase, but something like that.”
    “Displaced?” she prompted.
    “Yeah. When you found me, I’d just finished moving and felt a bit lost. There wasn’t anybody in deck berthing when I left and nobody in engineering when I got there. I felt like—I don’t know—suddenly disconnected somehow. Does that make sense?”
    “Oh yeah, I can see that.” Our drinks arrived—a nice bottle of white wine from a Dunsany vineyard—and interrupted our conversation with the rigmarole of uncorking and tasting. The wine was smooth, dry, and had a nutty aftertaste. “It’s funny how you get attached to a bunk like that. I know when I moved out of engineering and into chief’s quarters I almost cried. It felt like I was leaving home.” She smiled wistfully.
    “Well, anyway when you came in, and asked me to come out with you that meant a lot. So, thanks,” I told her awkwardly.
    The server returned to take our orders and I picked a grilled abo-iba steak and Brill went for the munta fillet. The abo-iba is a large, deep water fish—a fast swimmer and very streamlined. The flesh is dark and has a texture that is more fibrous than flaky. Munta is sort of a cross between salmon and sea bass. The restaurant began to fill up slowly around us as the evening crowds began filtering in.
    “So? Why didn’t you get that jacket?” Brill asked after a small pause. “You didn’t even ask how much it cost.”
    I shrugged. “It