Bay wished Song had waited until after closing to come harass her.
“Yue needs to pay. The full amount. Now.”
Song leaned on the glass counter and hammered her fingers on the Cloud Canopy Cafe menu for Septembris IV, 1220SE. Still in a three-piece suit (and still a little high strung) from work, Bay’s novia had been following her around as she dropped off dishes, half the time humming and hawing over what to order, and half the time criticizing Bay’s life choices. At least she troubled to lower her voice. “If you don’t confront her by the time I’m done eating my cazuela—”
At least she troubled to walk with Bay and order at the counter, rather than shouting up at her from a moonlit table for two.
Every table in the Cloud caught a little moonlight — since the levitating restaurant’s dome ceiling let in the glow. A little starlight, too, even on unclear nights, because technically radiant energy from the stars fueled every lamp on every table.
Bay tapped the screen of the Stellar, a brand new magical register device, and avoided looking up to make eye contact. “I’ll talk to her right after I bring your iced Cha. Tap sign here.” The magic tablet flashed brighter than the cafe’s mood lighting; Bay hadn’t figured out yet how to dim the screen. It blinded her — and, without looking up, she imagined its blank gleam highlighted Song’s angular face and her serious glower.
Gaze on the Stellar, she could see that Song wasn’t tapping. “Use your finger.” Bay twitched her index.
“I’m serious, woman.”
“I’m serious too. I’m going.”
“How do I know you’re going to do it?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No, because you always say you’re going to stand up to her, and you never do.”
“This time I’m going to.”
“Baby, you have two choices. Never complain to me again when I pay the greater portion of our rent, and never complain again about how you can’t afford tuition without becoming financially dependent or whatever, and how you can’t afford to go back to magician’s college. Or you can talk to Yue right now.”
“I hear you. I’m listening. And I’m going.”
“How do I know you’re actually doing it this time?”
“Please. You’ll hear the shouting.”
Song leaned in and hushed, “She’s going to shout at you? Has she been shouting at you? You know what — “ she leaned out and swept her arms wide “ — I don’t even. I don’t even want to know. How much is it?”
The bright Stellar screen had displayed the bill the entire time: 2100S. “Hey, on second thought, why don’t I get it?” Bay imprinted her fingertip where the screen hung in midair. Song comes in here with her magic pressed collars and animated ties — today diamonds that fill from the inside with blue, then silver, then white, like ice in pitch black shadow being lit up . . . Bay could afford to treat her to a meal. And she could even get her a leche fritta with the ‘employee discount.’ Order, deliver, reimburse. If anyone asks, the postre order was placed by accident.
But no one ever asked.
“If you insist. I’m going to grab that table by the window. Facing the view downtown. Far, far away from the kitchen.” Over her shoulder as she walked away, Song tossed back, “I better not hear any shouting.”
Now Song was too far away to hear a discreet response. Bay wished she could mental link so she could whisper straight into Song’s mind, “I wish you would stop undermining me and let me solve my own problems.”
Then an error message drew her eyes back to the Stellar: “Transaction failed.” Shouldn’t it make a sound? Or flash?
Maybe it was better that it hadn’t. Maybe Song didn’t need to know that the situation was so bad her credit was bouncing.
“Can you cover my tables for a minute, Impala?”
“Make Jaya.”
“Jaya didn’t show up for aer shift.” Which was odd of aer. “Probably quit after Laotong did. Or maybe it was after Goya.” Bay whispered, “One defection can lead to an exodus.” Aeh had been over this job for a while now. Always running late, always running a hustle, never staying to shift end. When Yue started withholding backpay and skimping on overtime, there wasn’t a lot of reason to show up to this job.
Fuck the iced Cha, Impala could bring it. Clapping invisible dust from her palms, Bay stormed the kitchen. Magician chefs were conjuring invented dishes while prep cooks linked in supremely fresh ingredients to be high heat seared, braised, fried. The date syrup encrusted blue string beans always made Bay’s mouth water. Yue’s patent marble-sized artichokes (in rayu chili oil) and purple peppers (in fermented lemon butter) smelled best while too hot to eat without burning your tongue. Steam in the air diffused the stink of pork salsiccia, fatty and spicy, with bright, pungent, peppery, acidic and umami scents. Bay’s stomach was melting by the time she made it to the back.
Yue was inside her office, beyond a lillacwood door. Bay closed it behind herself. “I know I know, it’s not my break.” Hands held up defensively. “We need to talk.” Amazing how much easier it became to stand up for yourself with a partner’s displeasure at stake. “My account is bottomed out, and I need my backpay. I can’t continue to labor until we’re settled up — “
“All backpay is being held pending the results of the theft investigation.” Yue came out from behind her desk with the interruption. Suited up, not unlike Song, in animated threads with pastries crumbling on her hatband, Yue was tall and painfully slender, as if she’d never tasted sugar crusted croissants in her three centuries of living. Pearl white stilettos lifted her even higher into the sky. Her creaseless face, which got exactly the amount of sun you wanted and not enough to damage the skin, still looked sixteen. She said her secret was a half hour walk after meridies, but Bay thought she shelled out for stellar tanning. “I need to determine which employees were involved or complicit in the slew of free handouts and thefts from the register.”
Bay swallowed the litany of supporting arguments. That Yue was a month behind on OT; that when she did pay out it was in cash and short thousands of solidae; that everyone knew Yue was at risk of losing her business license — it had been suspended in 1217SE.
Unfortunately, Bay realized what Yue was about to say just as she said it. Jaya.
“I let Jaya go. The losses have set me back millions this year, and I’ve been unable to make rent payments. You were on shift yesterday while Jaya orchestrated her final scam. Not only is the register short in cash, aer friends dined with us at a staggeringly low bill of 2900 solidae. They tipped well, obviously. Do you know what 2900 solidae gets you on our menu? You’ve worked here long enough. You should be able to get the picture. Maybe they shared a liter of vinum and two or three piatti. Or perhaps they joined us to split a dessert with coffee or cha. Let’s see…”
As a licensed magician, Yue didn’t need a Stellar to call up surveillance footage. A growing view of the cafe from a partially overhead angle spread over the office wall. It looked like a portal to the front of restaurant Bay had just left. Yesterday evening’s events were put on repeat using a form of time travel magic. From overhead, Bay counted eight diners at a table set for nine. Four carafes of nero and four of bianco. A small plate of salsiccia, and the sea bass. The pheasant platter. Side dishes of every color, including the patent purple peppers and marble-sized artichokes.
Through the surveillance link, time moved at double speed, and occasionally Jaya would take the ninth spot at the head of the table — recognizable, despite the beret that hid aer face, from aer dusk blue apron and nails painted starry sky to match. Aeh would ask to be passed the lobia masala green eyed peas or the blue date syrup beans, take a few mouthfuls, and return to aer shift.
Most incriminatingly, Bay had been managing the Stellar register in the corner — just visible from the angle at which Yue had pointed the surveillance link — the whole time. If Jaya had given her friends an ‘employee discount,’ by adding each item ordered by another table twice ‘by accident’ and sending the extra dish her friends’ way, it looked unlikely that Bay wouldn’t have known about it.
“Would you like to see dessert?”
Bay had no desire to. That would be the most incriminating part for her. She could still taste the hot honey drowning the gulab jamun and the cinnamon lemon zest of the leche frita. She wanted to be teleported back to yesterday — for more than one reason.
The surveillance feed sped up. Dishes eaten at hyperspeed, plates speedily recovered, dessert orders placed and delivered in a blink. Out came multi-colored mochi and crepe cakes topped with helado. And there was Bay, caught red handed, leaving the Stellar to sample a bite of each postre.
“You can have your backpay once I determine how much of it you’ve spent on treats,” said Yue. “I also need to know who else is stealing from me. The audit would involve watching hundreds of hours of surveillance footage — or paying someone to. Who should foot the bill for those hours of labor?”
“Jaya?” said Bay. “If you need, I could take on the role. Although I didn’t complete my degree, my specialization in school was surveillance link related. I can operate links, and I’m good at scanning, searching through time stamps, and making reference tabs, and — “
“You’d like that. At time and a half, right?”
“I’m qualified, if you sponsor my license. And you can trust me.”
“Now, I almost trust you. You’re a good sort, unauthorized dessert sampling notwithstanding. Tell me who else has been complicit in Jaya’s scheme, or has otherwise been stealing from me, and you’ll have your backpay in full, plus the surveillance role.”
“I do want the job.” Bay leaned in with prayer clasped hands. She wanted that job bad, because apparently Yue hadn’t specialized in surveillance links. She didn’t seem to be a great magician. She didn’t seem to know that the surveillance footage could be imprinted into your mind, like a memory, meaning Bay could do the entire job in a millisecond, then bill Yue for “hundreds of hours” of labor.
“Then tell me who else has been stealing from me.”
“What if my investigation comes to the conclusion that no one else has been stealing from you?”
“Investigation?”
“Yes, investigation. May I have until the end of the week, or — “
Yue tapped her way over to the proper position in which to get in Bay’s face.
“No you may not have until the end of the week. I want a name. If you don’t have one, you can head home — no need to complete your shift. Just close out and hand your tables over to Impala.”
“Oh, well. . .” Before throwing a coworker — friend or foe — under the bus, one really should sleep on it. “I’ll do some asking around and let you know when I find — “
“Don’t bother returning to work until you’re ready to spill it.” Yue held out her palm, then closed it three times rapidly.
Bay removed the dusk blue apron and handed it over.
#
“Impala, I’ve been cut,” Bay announced.
“Wonderful. And Ocean?”
“Still on break.”
“And Amber?”
“Still on break?”
“And Jaya?”
“Fired.”
“Does anyone actually work here? Just me?”
“Just you,” said Bay. She came in close to her dear friend and quietly added, “I do believe Ocean is on one of her famous hour-long Story breaks. But then, you’re the one who sold it to her.” And she whispered even quieter, “It’s been a night. Can you advance me some Story?”
“Yes I can. I have a stockpile, which is why I can’t say no to Ocean. Pay me when you’re lush again.”
“I’ll be good for it tomorrow.”
“When this stockpile is gone, though, Breeze is upping the price. 1800 a halfer.”
“I’ll take two today, then.” That was quite a stars damn increase.
Impala doled out a portion of Story, in an edible format that regrettably had nothing, in terms of flavor, on Yue’s dulces.
It was a bit of a pain that Song had come in for a meal tonight. Made it harder for Bay to disappear for a Story break of her own — but with her failed confrontation, she needed one more than ever. Song wouldn’t exactly approve of such a use of solidae at a time when Bay was living paycheck to paycheck and turning down Song’s offers of monetary assistance. And so it was decision time. Take the Story home and use it sometime tomorrow, when odds would have it Bay wouldn’t be coming in to work? Or get rid of her wife and indulge herself now? Making decisions was hard, but lying was something that had always come easy for Bay.
“Good news or bad news?” Bay picked up Song’s empty stew bowl and dipped in for a quick kiss.
“I assume you plan to tell me both,” said Song, her voice lacking the playfulness that Bay had hoped for. Song sounded beat.
“I guess that’s true. Well, the good news is, Yue agreed to pay up.” Bay considered adding “tomorrow — “ but the timing all depended on how soon she could bring herself to screw over one of her fellow plate slingers. “The bad news is, Impala can’t stay to close up. So the release of my backpay has become contingent upon my staying late tonight to do so.”
Song didn’t object that Bay had taken her apron off. She stood to kiss her partner goodbye with no indication on her blank slate face that she knew Bay was lying. She did mutter something about potential labor law violations.
“I’ll get a link home,” Bay said to her back as she walked away. “The last seating should be done within an hour.”
“Mhmm,” said Song.
“See you soon.”
“Mhmm,” came over Song’s shoulder. She headed for the elevator to take her to the ground. Other customers had been leaving too, and the crowd had thinned out. Plenty of empty tables now. Impala should be able to handle it.
Bay took the Story to the sub-level “break room” — a shaft below the real break room between the elevators and storage. Crates were left in the small space. Ocean and a chef magician were already slung out.
The magician had conjured a couple of hammocks out of thin air for their slumber, but now that they were out, no one could do the same for Bay. She climbed behind a crate and slid down the wall until she was curled up in a stable position, feet up the crate’s side. Once comfortable, she took her Story. It tasted like stale tea and baking powder.
#
“From the first moment Roland Helo saw the girl everyone on Crimon called Princess, he knew. He knew he was going to have to fight every man on the station for her, and maybe half the women. There would certainly be a brawl in Bar Volo tonight.” A disembodied voice narrated the setting of the scene while Bay looked down and examined Roland’s large hands and the chipped leather on the chest of his flight jacket. Lights flashed alternating with the darkness of the club. A little unease clenched her whole body — or rather Roland’s body. Usually she played Princess. She had never played a . . . man before.
“The first moment he saw her,” said the smooth male voice of the narrator, “he wouldn’t have guessed his biggest problem was going to be Princess’s brother Marlon Ray. That all changed sixty seconds after he started to stare.”
It had been about sixty seconds since Bay caught sight of Princess at the bar. The sleeveless jumpsuit she wore had slits up both nebulous black pant legs, and she crossed one synthetic leg over one flesh one. And sure enough, after sixty seconds, Marlon knocked Roland and Bay’s elbow.
“You going to pay for that?”
“Said Marlon Ray,” the narrator chimed in. “Officer Marlon Ray. Roland had been in more than one run-in with Officer Ray. This time was different, though, because this time Roland had no idea what in tarnation Marlon was talking about.”
Bay felt from the pause that it was Roland’s turn to speak. “Yes,” she said. The narrator seemed to approve of the answer, and to be capable of improvising, because he annotated, “Roland answered instinctively, and defensively, as if he’d been caught trying to slip a thousand dollar micro-power into his pocket at the Max Convenience. Then he realized he didn’t know what he was supposed to be stealing.”
Bay grinned and said, “Hold on, pay for what?”
The narrator said, “The music’s current was pulsing from above, making it hard to hear.” In Bay’s ears the beat was unrealistically low in volume, but she played along. “As if swimming away from a cold spot in water, Marlon moved down the dance floor until he found a position where the music was quieter.” And he did. “Roland was pulled behind him by sheer curiosity.” And Bay went along. “The drums now sounded like they were coming from beyond a wall.” Sort of true.
“You were staring,” said Marlon.
Bay glanced back at Princess.
Princess put a hand to her mouth to shout her drink order, “A damn sazerac, how hard is that?”
The narrator spoke. “What a pair of guns on that girl. Her naked biceps weren’t so much like boulders but like sculpted rippling waves. Like she could tear a man’s head off as easy as . . . well, as easy as opening a jam jar.”
The bartender glanced back, but kept his distance as he picked out the right bottles.
“Her hair grew to her glutes and the slits up the side of her jumpsuit showed her prosthetic as just another battle scar,” (to match the ones down her cheek and collar bone that glistened with sweat under the strobe light, Bay noticed.) “Roland could only think of one thing to say to the accusation.”
“Sure was,” chimed in Bay.
“That’ll be fifty-two fifty,” said Marlon.
“I don’t begin to understand,” said Bay, really warming to the role. Over Marlon’s shoulder, Princess stood up on the bar of her stool and leaned over the counter, calling something to the bartender. He dropped off the sazerac and backed away quickly.
“You wanna talk to her, that’s another fifty.”
The obvious response would be, “What are you, her pimp?” but Bay felt that Roland would have enough sense not to say that to Officer Marlon Ray. Instead she said, “You’re just messing with me, right, Officer?”
“I got tired of taking every miscreant who looked at my sister out back for a beating. Now I just take their money and let Princess get rid of them herself.” A fond smile broke out on his broad mug. “Not sure why I’m telling you that, Helo. Guess I’ve come to like you more than the average miscreant.” He put his hands in the buckles of his all-black, skin tight uniform. Bay observed that rippling wave muscles must run in the family.
“Does that mean you’ll introduce us?” asked Bay.
“For no amount of money in the system. How about you forget you saw her, and I’ll forget your debt to this point.”
The narrator said, “Roland turned back to look at her for a third time at the very same instant Princess glanced over and saw her brother. She waved to Marlon, and a spotlight came on,” and it did, “and stayed on, like a halo over her. Roland stood there in a trance, like in a dream. And like in a dream, Princess got off the barstool and crossed the lights and the dancing and the currents of music to get to them.”
“Now would be a good time to walk away,” said Marlon.
“Roland was rooted to the spot. When Princess reached them, she held out her hand.”
And she did. “Elánia Ray.”
“They shook,” said the narrator. A useful cue, since Bay was thinking of kissing Princess’s dorsum.
“Worlds stopped in their orbits,” when Bay took Princess’s hand in Roland’s. “There was no spotlight on her now, but for Roland there was. Or at least her halo. It was like time stopped and his heart exploded.”
It felt like time had stopped, because the dancers around them had struck a tableau and the music droned a single note. Only the pulse of Princess’s flesh was alive.
Great production value.
The music roared back and Marlon said, “This piece of space excrement is a spaceway bandit by the name of Roland Helo.”
His words began to get muffled, though, as if someone had turned down the volume of the entire scene with a knob. “Sure wish I’d managed to slap cuffs on him before now,” sounded far away. The lights turned out. The last words Bay could make out were Princess’s chiding, “Does he speak?”
Then Bay woke up from her Story. Early, it seemed.
Bay’s lids flicked open and the crates of the unofficial break room filled her sight. Call that a halfie? It felt more like ten minutes. Good story, though. Too good, and too short. It left you fiending for more.
Which was probably a decent business tactic.
Before she felt awake enough to get off the ground, Bay realized she was hearing voices. “It doesn’t matter the amount. Not if she can’t track who made the withdrawal. She can’t fire all of us.” That was Ocean. Bay chose to stay down and hear some of this.
“She can if we take such an amount as to provoke her to fire all of us.” Ah, the second speaker was Amber. Of course.
“Maybe we should just secure a big take and move on with life.” The duo always left on break together.
“Go fuck yourself. Some of us need this job,” said Amber. Bay hadn’t recognized her before. “Like me, for example.” Bay had assumed Ocean’s companion was a chef. “I need this job.” Amber was a server, just like the rest of them.
“Do you? Let’s grab enough for tuition, finish our chef’s degrees, and open up a place of our own.”
“I don’t think you can grab like 800k from the till in one go.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Did it say anything about a transfer cap in the manual?” Amber’s voice got quieter. They were walking away.
“Might have. I was skimming.” Bay slid back up the wall and poked her head out. Ocean and Amber had moved into the elevator lobby.
Bay could hardly hear what Amber said.
But Ocean’s reply came from closer. “I don’t know, maybe. Look, if there’s a transfer cap option . . . Yue probably forgot to set it. Just like she got lazy and forgot to. . .”
The elevator arrived, and they got in. Bay levitated upright. As if walking on a cloud, she slipped back upstairs to the Cloud’s main level. She practically ripped the Stellar from Impala’s hands. Tapped with her finger to get to the ledger, a panel she had never tried to access, because if her boss had any kind of sense, she would have limited authorization.
“Whatcha looking at?” asked Impala.
“Withdrawals,” said Bay, and she tapped. And there they were. A few tiny amounts were credible refunds to customers. Huge withdrawals at 2 a.m. were the daily till closeout. Everything else was completely suspect. The bald audacity struck her in the belly. “Stars fucking rise.” Yue had never enabled tracking and identification. And they’ve been gauging her. And she’s just figuring it out now. And she still hasn’t enabled the stars damn tracking.
When Bay tapped on a 1,800 S withdrawal from yesterday morning, the Stellar asked, “Initiate withdrawal tracking?” There was even a prompt!
Bay waved away the message. It would be impossible to tell which withdrawals were legitimate cash refunds. Except that three days ago a charge of 16,000 S had been made in the middle of the afternoon. Amounts as high as 9,100 S were suspect too.
Impala’s head zoomed in over Bay’s shoulder. “Look how much they’re getting away with. Tell Yue to initiate tracking. And tell her to fire Ocean and Amber.”
Bay hadn’t decided what to do yet, and had started to wish that Impala hadn’t seen the screen while she made up her mind.
Impala went on, “We could easily get away with a big take tonight and blame it on Ocean and Amber. Then let Yue turn on tracking.” Bay nodded along. If tracking was left off, however . . . Bay could make small transactions indefinitely.
And she wanted that surveillance job, too. She wanted to sit around doing nothing but Story for weeks, while getting paid double her normal wage. Over time she could nab enough to pay tuition. Go back to magic school, finish her surveillance degree.
“Let’s not do anything yet, Ala,” said Bay.
“Oh, I see. You want to keep stealing from the till and blaming those two. Except those two aren’t being smart about it. I happen to like working here. I don’t need more than this. It pays the bills, I can distribute for Breeze here. Free drinks for my friends. I want to keep working here.”
“Me too. Just let me sleep on it, okay? Maybe there’s a way to keep Yue from figuring out about the grift.”
“First thing tomorrow, I’ll tell her myself,” said Impala. A customer signaled, and she ran off. But not without a glance back to see what Bay was doing with the Stellar. It didn’t matter. With the body language of complete innocence, as if unconcerned that Impala was watching, Bay tapped back to the Withdrawal tab.
She input the number 19,000 S. It was almost the amount Yue owed her in backpay, and she likely owed Impala a similar amount. 17 hours of OT. Tempting though it was to take the money, she had to think of the long game.
Bay had clocked out, but hadn’t left the Cloud yet. When she took the elevator down, or a link portal home, it would leave a trace. If she withdrew cash, it would be her word against Ala’s. Yet she had an idea for a test. If a transfer was made to a bank account, could Yue track the recipient? If she figured it out sometime soon, could she catch the thieves after the fact?
Glancing up to see Ala busily refilling water glasses, a whole table engaging her in flirtatious banter she wouldn’t be able to break away from without risking her tip, Bay authorized the transfer to Ala’s account.
For good measure, Bay took enough to cover two more doses of Story. She input the number 5000 S. Withdrew the sum in cash. Feather thin bills disrupted the air on her palm as they came into existence with a slight displacement of matter.
It wouldn’t be hard to pin the theft on another plate slinger. Friend or foe.
#
Bay’s lids flicked open and the crates of the unofficial break room filled her sight. Call that a halfie? It felt more like ten minutes. Good story, though. Too good, and too short. It left you fiending for more.
Which was probably a decent business tactic.
Before she felt awake enough to get off the ground, Bay realized she was hearing voices. “It doesn’t matter the amount. Not if she can’t track who made the withdrawal. She can’t fire all of us.” That was Ocean. Bay chose to stay down and hear some of this.
“She can if we take such an amount as to provoke her to fire all of us.” Ah, the second speaker was Amber. Of course.
“Maybe we should just secure a big take and move on with life.” The duo always left on break together.
“Go fuck yourself. Some of us need this job,” said Amber. Bay hadn’t recognized her before. “Like me, for example.” Bay had assumed Ocean’s companion was a chef. “I need this job.” Amber was a server, just like the rest of them.
“Do you? Let’s grab enough for tuition, finish our chef’s degrees, and open up a place of our own.”
“I don’t think you can grab like 800k from the till in one go.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Did it say anything about a transfer cap in the manual?” Amber’s voice got quieter. They were walking away.
“Might have. I was skimming.” Bay slid back up the wall and poked her head out. Ocean and Amber had moved into the elevator lobby.
Bay could hardly hear what Amber said.
But Ocean’s reply came from closer. “I don’t know, maybe. Look, if there’s a transfer cap option . . . Yue probably forgot to set it. Just like she got lazy and forgot to. . .”
The elevator arrived, and they got in. Bay levitated upright. As if walking on a cloud, she slipped back upstairs to the Cloud’s main level. She practically ripped the Stellar from Impala’s hands. Tapped with her finger to get to the ledger, a panel she had never tried to access, because if her boss had any kind of sense, she would have limited authorization.
“Whatcha looking at?” asked Impala.
“Withdrawals,” said Bay, and she tapped. And there they were. A few tiny amounts were credible refunds to customers. Huge withdrawals at 2 a.m. were the daily till closeout. Everything else was completely suspect. The bald audacity struck her in the belly. “Stars fucking rise.” Yue had never enabled tracking and identification. And they’ve been gauging her. And she’s just figuring it out now. And she still hasn’t enabled the stars damn tracking.
When Bay tapped on a 1,800 S withdrawal from yesterday morning, the Stellar asked, “Initiate withdrawal tracking?” There was even a prompt!
Bay waved away the message. It would be impossible to tell which withdrawals were legitimate cash refunds. Except that three days ago a charge of 16,000 S had been made in the middle of the afternoon. Amounts as high as 9,100 S were suspect too.
Impala’s head zoomed in over Bay’s shoulder. “Look how much they’re getting away with. Tell Yue to initiate tracking. And tell her to fire Ocean and Amber.”
Bay hadn’t decided what to do yet, and had started to wish that Impala hadn’t seen the screen while she made up her mind.
Impala went on, “We could easily get away with a big take tonight and blame it on Ocean and Amber. Then let Yue turn on tracking.” Bay nodded along. If tracking was left off, however . . . Bay could make small transactions indefinitely.
And she wanted that surveillance job, too. She wanted to sit around doing nothing but Story for weeks, while getting paid double her normal wage. Over time she could nab enough to pay tuition. Go back to magic school, finish her surveillance degree.
“Let’s not do anything yet, Ala,” said Bay.
“Oh, I see. You want to keep stealing from the till and blaming those two. Except those two aren’t being smart about it. I happen to like working here. I don’t need more than this. It pays the bills, I can distribute for Breeze here. Free drinks for my friends. I want to keep working here.”
“Me too. Just let me sleep on it, okay? Maybe there’s a way to keep Yue from figuring out about the grift.”
“First thing tomorrow, I’ll tell her myself,” said Impala. A customer signaled, and she ran off. But not without a glance back to see what Bay was doing with the Stellar. It didn’t matter. With the body language of complete innocence, as if unconcerned that Impala was watching, Bay tapped back to the Withdrawal tab.
She input the number 19,000 S. It was almost the amount Yue owed her in backpay, and she likely owed Impala a similar amount. 17 hours of OT. Tempting though it was to take the money, she had to think of the long game.
Bay had clocked out, but hadn’t left the Cloud yet. When she took the elevator down, or a link portal home, it would leave a trace. If she withdrew cash, it would be her word against Ala’s. Yet she had an idea for a test. If a transfer was made to a bank account, could Yue track the recipient? If she figured it out sometime soon, could she catch the thieves after the fact?
Glancing up to see Ala busily refilling water glasses, a whole table engaging her in flirtatious banter she wouldn’t be able to break away from without risking her tip, Bay authorized the transfer to Ala’s account.
For good measure, Bay took enough to cover two more doses of Story. She input the number 5000 S. Withdrew the sum in cash. Feather thin bills disrupted the air on her palm as they came into existence with a slight displacement of matter.
It wouldn’t be hard to pin the theft on another plate slinger. Friend or foe.
