The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal

Author:Mary Robinette Kowal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group

SATAN’S WHISKERS

1 oz gin

.5 oz Grand Marnier

1 oz dry vermouth

1 oz sweet vermouth

1 oz orange juice

2 dashes orange bitters

Shake ingredients over ice for 15 seconds. Strain into coupe.

“Hi. Did you want this personalized?” Tesla smiled at the eleventh person to approach her in the fifteen minutes since they’d been herded into the Olympus Mons Lounge on the Martian level with the other witnesses. She took the offered ship newsletter from a stylish passenger wearing a white asymmetric skirt with teal crocheted edging and a matching capelet.

“To Nora. And I just wanted to say that my parent has Parkinson’s and uses a mini-PAMU, and having mobility again made all the difference in their life and thank you so much. I know how much developing it cost you personal—”

“Thanks.” She jotted the name above her signature and kept her smile in place through long practice. The first person she’d tried to put off because she didn’t have a pen, but a ship crew member had “helpfully” provided one. At least she could try to use the time wisely. “So … where did they collect you from?”

“Terran level. They passed just over my head. I thought it was part of the show at first and then…”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.”

Tesla shifted in her chair, trying to ease the tension in the base of her spine. And by tension, she meant pain, and by pain she meant red webs of anger that spread out like a spider’s revenge. These had to be the solar system’s worst chairs, and she had to leave the safeties in place so she knew which positions would do the least damage. She hated everyone.

Tesla kneaded her fists into the tightest spot, trying not to grimace too visibly, since it felt like half the lounge was staring at her. The security team had rounded up anyone who was in the spoofer fields that Tesla had spotted. Or rather, they’d rounded up the people they could identify, but there was no telling who had slipped away before security got there.

Shal slid his arm behind her and took over. “You okay?”

“For God’s sake, who designed these chairs?”

At her feet, Gimlet whined and bumped her head against Tesla’s calf. She bent down to scratch the little dog’s head, bracing herself with a hand on her other knee. It helped stretch her back out some, but not enough. Still, it meant that she could plausibly delay addressing the next person in her impromptu signing line.

The urge to ask for a manager was very, very strong, but would not actually do a lot of good. And she’d tried that already. The staff had set up blockers through the Olympus Mons Lounge so that no one had access to the network while they were investigating. “As a temporary measure,” since they were clearly and obviously not preventing anyone from speaking to their legal counsel before answering questions. This was “just to keep communication lines clear.”

The next passenger had a souvenir T-shirt in their hand and held it out.

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