Articles of the Federation - Keith R. A. DeCandido [126]
Esperanza gave him a sympathetic look. “They were defeated?”
Snorting, Jorel said, ” ‘Defeated’ doesn’t begin to cover it. They were massacred. And they wouldn’t have been if we…” He trailed off.
“You should tell Ozla that story,” Esperanza said in a softer voice than Jorel had ever heard her use.
Jorel nodded twice and got up. “All right. I’ll talk to her and get back to you.”
“Good. Oh, one other thing-I just got word when I got back, judiciary found in favor of B-4.”
Smirking, Jorel said, “So the android gets the right to choose not to get taken apart. Lucky him.”
“Yup. Let me know what Ozla says.”
Jorel nodded again and left.
“You know, the colors in this room are just soooooooooooo pretty.”
“Ozla, what’s the matter with you?”
Looking over at the viewer that hung on the wall of her apartment on Earth, Ozla Graniv saw the blurry face of her editor. “Sorry, Farik, wuzzat?”
“I said, what’s the matter with you?”
“Oh.” Somehow she had managed to sit up on her couch, but the effort was proving to be too much, and she fell back down into a supine position. “I’m drunk.”
“Why are you drunk?”
“‘Cause I’ve imbibed a substantial ‘mount of alcohol.”
“No, I mean, why’ve you been- “
“‘Cause I lied, Farik! Lied like a lyin’ stinkin’ liar. ‘M a reporter, ‘m not s’posed t’lie, but there I was! Lyin’ like a lyin’ liar lyin’ at Kant Jorel.”
“Ozla- “
She rolled onto her side and picked up the Saurian brandy bottle, only to discover that it was empty. Next to it, so was the Orion whiskey-a going-away present from Ihazs, amazingly enough, that had been waiting for her when the Balduks had hauled her back to her hotel-and the Terran scotch. “See, it’s this story I’ve got.”
“The one you won’t tell me about.”
“Right, ‘at’s the one. See, I tol’ Kant I had a source. Which was a big ol’ lie, ‘cause I ain’t got a source. I mean, I got a source, but’s a deep-background source.” She had decided on her way from Deneva to Earth that she would not tell Farik that Ihazs had threatened to kill her if she revealed his info without a corroborating source. Editors tended to get overprotective and annoying when they thought their reporters’ lives were in danger, so she decided that, as far as Farik was concerned, her source on the Zife/Tezwa story was deep background: could be used for background information, but not be quoted on the record. “So’f they don’ confirm it, I ain’t gotnee story. So I lied.”
“To somebody who’s lied to you dozens of times in the last two years alone.”
“S’not the point!”
“Ozla, why did you call me, exactly?”
To her surprise-well, not total surprise, given how drunk she was-Ozla had no idea what the answer to that question was. “Don’t ‘member.”
Then her house computer spoke. “Incoming message from the Palais de la Concorde.”
“Oh, goody, Kant’s gettin’ back t’me.”
For the first time since she lay back down, Ozla looked at Farik’s face on the screen. It was heavily lined and etched with concern. Or maybe it was just the way his spots looked in this light. “Be careful, Ozla, all right?”
And then his face faded.
Ozla struggled to make her legs work, but she only succeeded in falling off the couch. At least that accomplished her goal, which was to move from the couch to the floor. She had been hoping to do it with her legs underneath her, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Computer, hold call fr’m Palais.”
“Acknowledged.”
Using a footrest to brace herself, Ozla somehow managed to clamber to her feet. She felt like she was wobbling, but at least she was upright. Then she had to convince her legs to not just support her weight-at which they were only barely succeeding-but also to walk.
Taking slow, easy steps, using whatever furniture she could to brace herself where possible, Ozla slowly made her way to the bathroom, which was where she kept her anti-intoxicants.