Unification - Jeri Taylor [47]
“He was nice to me,” she burbled. “He said I was p-p-p-pretty,” and then she dissolved once more in tears. Riker realized his curious question had unlocked more than motivation, and Gretchen realized the same. She flicked her eyes toward Gelfina and backed away. Riker moved forward and sat in front of the miserable Zakdorn woman.
“Gelfina,” he said softly. “I know this is hard on you. But we need your help. I think someone has taken advantage of you. Can you tell me who it is?”
She wiped large hands across her porcine face, and struggled for control. “He didn’t take advantage of me… he cared about me. He understood me. He was the only one who ever treated me that way… and now he’s dead!” That brought on another episode of wailing, and Riker waited patiently until she could continue.
He reflected on the scenario that was unfolding. Gelfina, a squalid, torpid creature whose job as a computer technician was probably all she could ever look forward to, was easy prey for a seducer. A few soft words, a compliment, an understanding ear… and a grasping man could have just about anything he wanted.
“He was on the ship that exploded,” Riker deduced, and Gelfina nodded, rubbing the backs of her hands across her eyes, which were now red and swollen. “What was his name?”
“M-M-Melcor.” She shuddered, as though to say the name would undo her again.
“And he asked you to configure the computer system so everyone would think the Tripoli was still docked in its space?” Another nod. He sensed that Gelfina was becoming sullen again. “Do you know why he did it? What he did with the materiel he stole?” An emphatic shake of the head.
“Do you know whom else he dealt with?” Another no. Riker leaned in close, and took her now wet hand in his. “Gelfina,” he said gently, “you’ve been very brave. I’m going to recommend that the Zakdorn authorities treat you with understanding. But I would very much appreciate it if you could tell me the name of even one other person that Melcor knew.”
At this her head snapped up and her round moon face took on a furious look. “Amarie,” she snapped. “His fat, stupid, worthless, lazy, uncouth ex-wife.”
Amarie sucked a salt stick with one hand as she played the keyboard with the other three. She’d been swearing she’d give them up for months, and once she’d gone as long as four days without one. But the cravings became so intense that she found herself holding a stick with trembling fingers, licking it desperately, without remembering any conscious decision to do so.
After that, she gave up. What the rune, anyway? So she lived a few months less. The way her life was going she wouldn’t miss those months, and maybe be glad to check out sooner rather than later.
Amarie sighed and put down the salt stick, joined her fourth hand to the keyboard. This was what the customers at Shern’s Palace came to hear: all four hands blazing away on the keys and Amarie’s ample girth jiggling to the beat of her music. Although, as she looked around, she realized not many were coming anymore. The bar was nearly empty; only a few jaded regulars sat at tables and mostly they ignored her music.
Who could blame them? They’d heard it all before. There were no new customers; the only ones who came here any more were those with nowhere else to go. Shern’s Palace, indeed. Some palace. It was a tacky, overblown hideaway that had already seen its glory days. The decor was pure Zakdorn, even though Shern was a Filimase: lots of red panels, with ropes and nets and chains and—did anyone still do those? —stone shriva birds at the entrance.
Amarie had long since found she could do an evening’s set at the keys without her mind ever being engaged in the music. It was rote to her by now, her repertoire so extensive that she could segue from piece to piece without having to direct her conscious mind to the process. Unfortunately, that gave her a lot of time to think. Thinking wasn’t something she enjoyed much these days; too much in her life was disappointing. All the wrong turns