Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [36]
There was a breathfiltered cough behind her. Anji swung around to see a lithe figure leaning against the doorframe, dressed in an identical suit to hers. She recognised Mirasos sparkling eyes behind the visor.
Checking on the progress of your friends sample? asked Miraso, nodding towards the miniature apple tree. Our scientists tell us the growth is progressing well, without mutations. Well be ready to plant by the end of tonight.
Miraso stepped across the room, and Anji couldnt help noticing how tall Miraso was compared to her.
So you can safely leave this one to grow on its own, cant you? said Miraso, firmly but without undue threat. Besides, Im sure we can find you a more profitable way of spending your time.
Anji didnt like the sound of that.
Pazon, Fitz thought, was exactly the kind of untrustworthy, shady friend he needed right now. The market place was quieter in the afternoon, and so Fitz sidled up to the mans stall and ordered a mildly unpleasantsounding soup. Pazon ladled out a thick broth into a metal jug, and accepted one of the tokens Fitz had picked up at the Silver Palace in return. They were officially gambling chips, but according to one of the Palaces staff members they acted as valid currency almost anywhere on Endpoint. The slashed S logo Silver used made the chips look like cartoon dollars.
Fitz sipped his soup; it tasted all right, with a faintly vegetable taste. He decided to try to draw Pazon into his confidence, engage him as a source of information.
Having a good day? Fitz asked.
Bloody awful, whined the ratfaced man, scrubbing his pots with a dirtylooking cloth. Why do you ask?
Fitz shrugged. No reason. Just making polite conversation.
Pazon swivelled around, fixing Fitz with his beady little eyes. You really must be from out of town.
Yes, said Fitz. Conversation is a strange custom unique to my people.
Pazon made a throatclearing sound in reply.
Dont you have anything to say? asked Fitz.
Pazon shrugged. Not unless youre paying for the conversation.
Fitz gave up on the subtle approach, and slapped another chip on the bar. Lets talk.
To Anjis surprise, Miraso had taken a great interest in her work. Once Miraso had gained an appreciation of what Anji used to do for a living, she had dragged Anji over to the accounting offices, where Anji had spent the rest of the day discussing various local markets, getting a grip on the vital resources and the trading that took place on Endpoint. It had been mentally exhausting, trying to stretch her head around a whole new economic system, and by the end of the day all she wanted to do was stare into space. Which was fortunate, as neither of her companions really needed her company. So she sat at a table in the Palaces main hall, and watched them at work.
In one corner, Fitz was singing in what, to Anjis uneducated ear, seemed to be Chinese. The people around Fitz seemed to be enjoying it, drunkenly trying to sing along to something they had never heard in their life before. At another table the Doctor was deep in discussion with Powlin, the sour faced militiaman, poring over various papers and printouts. Anji had joined them briefly, but the images of gruesome crime scenes they had been flicking through had put her off.
Her thoughts drifted back to that afternoon, to her conversations with Silvers accountants. Something didnt sit right. There hadnt been anything beyond her understanding if anything the rational, resourcebased nature of supply and demand on Endpoint was easier to comprehend than a complex consumer society like twentyfirstcentury Earth, with its disposable incomes and disposable resources. No, it was something slightly more fundamental about the questions they had asked. The perspective from which they addressed economic questions.
It was as if they werent following market forces at all, that they werent interested in predicting economic patterns. The questions