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“I take it you aren’t here to try the special tonight.”
Eclectic had assumed he’d seen the spy first, but the man’s too casual when he approaches. It’s as if he’s had time to spot him, to absorb the idea, and to decide that he was pleased.
He must be pleased; his smile, to Eclectic, seems genuine, familiar even. Which means he’s recognized him. Not a great start to the night.
“Can’t. I’m on the job,” Eclectic responds.
The spy raises an eyebrow. “Are you,” he says, his tone walking a too-perfect tightrope between belief and doubt. Damn. He’s good at that.
Admittedly, Eclectic isn’t wearing a complicated disguise. It’s mostly made up of old clothes from his security job, before Leap, before even Reunion. It was remarkable how little the dress code had changed since he last wore it, and even more remarkable how much the wealthy settlers at this bar are trained to look past security- or, no, how fast the security assumed he was just the new hire. The spy may, in fact, be the first person to look Eclectic in the eye tonight. And he hasn’t broken his gaze, which is almost freaking Eclectic out.
But in this light he really does look like the pictures Eclectic found of Riah Connadine, tenured professor, whose classes Commander Garantine had once audited in her pre-HORIZON days. Actually, he should just cut out the doubt; Leap’s told him to do that. It was a good theory- even if it was Gucci who put him on the trail- and, looking at the man now, it’s been proven true. Riah Connadine, Kesh intelligence. It would explain a lot.
It also means Eclectic has to test his responses. He’d been told to trust himself, but this is uncharted territory.
“What is it?”, he tries, eyeing the plate in front of Connadine. “Lamb?”
“Some sort of plant-based dish, actually,” Connadine turns on the stool he’s sitting on. The bar’s kind of an odd spot to be eating an entire meal, Eclectic considers. “Are you-“
Eclectic interrupts him. “Is it good?”
“It’s- I’ve had better.” It’s hard to tell if Connadine is caught off guard. “You’re looking into our mutual interest, I assume.”
“I told you. I’m on the job. Pretty busy night, too,” Eclectic says, gesturing to the rest of the restaurant. There’s some sort of big match at Composure’s Coliseum and everyone else here is seated near the wide-screen televisions, gabbing over brussel sprouts and creamy pastas. Even the fancy spots need to rake in the dough to meet their quotas in City City.
It occurs to Eclectic that all of that makes Connadine stick out even more. There’s a smaller television here at the bar, but it’s playing the nightly news, hopping between pundits. The only thing notable about his placement is that he’s near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of the buildings- dimmed, as per regulation- dotting the view.
And directly in the middle of their sightline: the smokestack of one of March’s factories. Oh. Of course.
Connadine smiles at him, just a little wider. “Well, I’m sure we’ve both been busy as of late.”
“Says the guy who was quitting his job last time I saw him,” Eclectic quips, finding himself fidgeting with the keyring on his hip. “Or whatever you meant.”
“I meant that the planet was about to fundamentally change. Though it doesn’t appear you took my advice in that regard.”
Eclectic has an instant response to that- I can’t leave, I just got back!- but that’d be giving the game away. And interacting with this guy appears to be all about the game. Pirates did certain things; when he came here to investigate the factories, those things appeared to be counterproductive. A detective, on the other hand, was precisely the role that was needed. So here he is: Eclectic Opposition, detective. “Seems like I’ve got more than enough leads here.”
“I suppose you do,” Connadine says. “Like I told you- I’m sure whoever you’re with is better off for having you. You’d be an even better asset if they were putting you on the next ship off planet.”
“You’re still here.”
Connadine raises an eyebrow and looks away, glancing at the television for a moment. Maybe glancing through it. “To be honest, I’ve gained some new leads myself.”
Eclectic peers around the restaurant. When there’s no sign of any security in this section, and it’s clear the bartender is taking advantage of the slow moment to have a break, he sits down on the stool next to Connadine in as smooth of a motion as possible. Would a security guard do it that way? Well, Connadine knows that’s not what he is. He just knows he’ll be thinking about it later.
“I get to ask you a question, if you’re going to ask me so many,” he says.
“That seems fair.”
There must be a better way to word this, but Eclectic doesn’t come up with one before it comes out of his mouth. “Why are you just telling me stuff?”
“Giving over that paperwork, you mean.”
“Sure. But I keep thinking about-” Embarrassing. Eclectic doesn’t have to give away how often he’s thought of their rooftop encounter. “You didn’t have to tell me you were with the Paint Shop. You just threw that out there.”
Connadine yet again makes one of those facial expressions that Eclectic can’t read. Perfectly indiscernible, like everything else about him. A little worried, maybe.
So Eclectic continues. “I knew you wanted me to take the papers. And then you ended up giving me even more, which- thanks, I guess. But why?”
Eclectic watches as Connadine, in a rare moment of pique, flicks an olive on a toothpick sticking out of his drink. It rolls around the side of the glass. “We are at a moment where I...to some extent...believe in twisting many of the old rules,” He says, slowly. “Perhaps not disregarding them. But we may be required to rethink things in order to prevent the worst from occurring.”
“Palisade exploding.” Eclectic pauses. “Less literally this time.”
Connadine’s brow twitches. He looks up at the smokestack.
“I also believe,” he continues, “that the consolidation of power into a single set of hands- or a very small amount, I should say- has not benefited any of us. I suspect you’re aware it’s brought us close to ruin recently. And, unchecked, it would continue to do so. What we need is a new type of order. One with another perspective. Perhaps many different ones.”
Order prods at the part of Eclectic’s brain that still has Opposition in it. Too stringent of a word. But he doesn’t finish processing a quip in response before Connadine turns to him.
“You do strike me as someone looking for change. I’m not wrong, am I?”
Eclectic looked for change, he figures, when he hopped on that ship to join Leap’s crew years ago. So he can just be honest. “I’m looking to finish this job, first of all.”
“And what about after that?”
“There’s always another job.” Eclectic says, as gracefully as he possibly can. This would be the part where he’d light his cigarette, if that was legal here.
He looks over to see Connadine’s response to find the man is pushing his plate towards him. It’s got spinach and cream and definitely does look like lamb.
“You really should try it,” Connadine says. He puts a seemingly unused second fork next to Eclectic’s hand.
“It’s that bad?” Eclectic asks.
“Oh, it’s perfectly fine-”
“So fine you have to pawn it off.”
The side of his mouth twitching higher, Connadine says, “you realize that you’ve seen me eat it, so there’s no need to worry.”
Eclectic considers the divide between working a source and playing into someone’s hands. He picks up the fork. He stares at the food. Maybe the poison’s metaphorical in this case. Things like this always get portrayed as seductions in the Breka novels- they’re more charged than this, at least. Is this charged? Is it normal to think this deeply about how Connadine is reading his movements, his words?
Yeah, he tells himself. Obviously. That’s how it just is when you’re a detective.
“This is what I’m saying,” he decides to say, fork still hovering. “Giving me sources. Files. Now you’re giving me fake lamb. I don’t get it.”
“Our jobs require a certain amount of networking, don’t they? I’m sure you’ve done plenty to even get to this point. And I’m in need of an entirely different network than I had previously.” Connadine sips his olive drink, which is exactly the kind of color that lets Eclectic know he’d hate it. “I suspect the fact that we keep running into each other tells us that we’re on the same track. Perhaps this is a case where our methods could work in tandem.”
Eclectic, to give himself time to think, shoves a bite of the food into his mouth. It’s silky. Maybe it’s just that it’s made for humans, not delegates, but in any case he thinks he does a pretty good job keeping a straight face as he swallows it. “First of all- I think someone who wanted to work with me would not have cracked my face open the first time we met.”
“Fair. It’s healed well.”
Eclectic holds back the yeah, yeah he would’ve thrown at one of his old co-workers. “Second, you haven’t even told me who you work for. Third, this food’s-”
Connadine is checking his watch. He shifts his leg, like he’s about to get up and leave. Finally, Eclectic thinks he’s realized why Connadine was keeping him.
“I mean,” Eclectic asks, “What are we waiting for?”
He hears the explosion first. Then as he turns his head he feels it in the shaking of the floor, from the few excited yelps of people behind him as their chairs scrape across the tile. Finally he sees it, exactly where he expected it: near the top of one of the smokestacks, bright yellow turning orange.
Connadine has already slid off of his bar stool. He takes out a few bills from his front breast pocket and puts them on the bar with an effortlessly poised lack of care. Eclectic is immediately jealous- less of his wealth (okay, maybe a little) and more of how much he looks like the greatest spy on Palisade at this exact moment.
“You should get over there,” Connadine says. “Or whoever you’re allied with should. Although I have no doubts in your own ability to run into danger.”
“What- I- and you’re just going to bail?”
“Unfortunately. I’m not like you these days- I wish I was,” he responds. To Eclectic’s dismay, he looks like he’s having a little bit of fun.
Eclectic tries to get down just as smoothly as Connadine did and thinks he mostly nails it. He adjusts his jacket and scans the area. Many of the patrons are standing up, moving towards the window; Security should be here any moment. He knows Connadine is about to do exactly what he will, which is to take advantage of the chaos to slip away.
But for some reason Connadine still stands there for a moment, eyeing him. “You realize you’re a bit easier to talk to when you aren’t putting on the persona.”
Eclectic nearly sputters. “What persona? That’s an assumption.”
“Ah,” Connadine responds. “Well, you might need to wear a outfit that makes the Breka novel less obvious next time.”
Eclectic looks down. His copy of In the Cockpit of the Space Pirate Lord has shifted in his front pocket so that the top couple inches are poking out. Maybe not even an inch. It’s not that bad, he tells himself, but he suddenly feels completely exposed.
Thankfully there’s an easy way to turn this around, and it’s worked for him before. “So you’re a fan?”
When he looks up, though, Connadine is gone. One of the passing crowd bumps his shoulder roughly and he finds he can’t stop himself from mumbling “watch it”, but clearly they don’t hear him. The fire seems to be spreading to the factory’s next level and the people are watching in awe, like they don’t realize that this is their first taste of war on their doorstep. Before the manager spots him, Eclectic is down the stairs, out the door, and into the cool of the night. The explosion is a lead, and he feels supremely defeated.
He ought to call Brnine. When he picks up his communicator he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying, though. He’s thinking about what would have happened if he’d thought of a better line before he approached, if he’d realized what Connadine had planned for the factories before he sat down, and if he had put the book in a better pocket. This is going to be his next week, he realizes with a groan- running through their conversation over and over, like it was a bad date.
It wasn’t a date, though. It wouldn’t be. In a few minutes he expects to see Cori or Figure’s mechs bursting into the carved-open side of the factory. For now it’s his job to find the best route out of the City on foot. He could easily run into Connadine in one of the alleyways or fire escapes, but he doesn’t think he will. This doesn’t seem like the sort of game where the pauses end so quickly.