Free Young Rissa by F.M. Busby Page A

Cost you more, though. Cheaper to sign up for meals with the room.”  
    â€œI cannot help that. My plans are . . . flexible.”  
    â€œSuit yourself, Ms. Well — anything you need, just ask.”  
    â€œYes. I will. Thank you,” and finally the man left. She locked the  
    door, reclosed the curtains and removed her veil and hooded cloak. The next hour she spent transforming Lysse Harnain to Tari Obrigo — age twenty-two — dark brown eyes, black hair falling in loose curls around her face and brushing her shoulders. Her nose was Rissa’s own, but with a small fleshy mole alongside the left nostril. The crooked tooth-cap was replaced by one that gave prominence to the upper front incisors. Tweezers emphasized the arching of her brows. And she did not forget to change her fingerprints.  
    The mirror satisfied her. Now she was ready to show her face — Tari Obrigo’s — on Far Corner.  
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    Osallin's office, she knew, was in the Independent Brokers’ warehouse; she had seen the looming structure from the groundcab. She guessed its distance at roughly three kilometers and decided to walk. Stepping out into cool early-afternoon sunlight, she enjoyed the use of her muscles in Far Corner’s gravity, nearly a fourth slighter than Earth’s. She faced a breeze; from the forest beyond the spaceport she smelled strange, pleasant fragrances.  
    She approached the building from the warehouse side and walked another two hundred meters to reach the office section. Entering, she came into a lobby that contained several receptionists’ desks — three occupied and one occupant not busy. Rissa approached; the thin, elderly woman looked up.  
    â€œI would like to meet with Broker Osallin.”  
    The woman cleared her throat. “I must approve all the Broker’s appointments. Your name?”  
    Rissa smiled. “If you would inform him, please, that I bring greeting from Erika?”  
    The other paused, then nodded. “Oh, yes — certainly.” She spoke into a hushtalk handset, then said, “It will be only a few minutes, Ms. Be seated, if you like.”  
    â€œThank you.” But Rissa had no desire to sit; she strolled around the lobby, looking at pictures and at glass-enclosed exhibits of Far Corner’s produce. After perhaps ten minutes, the woman called to her and gave directions to Osallin’s office, two floors above. Again, she decided to walk.  
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    The office was small, cluttered, and brightly lit. The man was short and wide, with a face to match. When he smiled she saw three gold teeth and a space where a bicuspid was missing. He held out his single hand, the left. “Erika sent you? From Earth?”  
    She found the handshake awkward. He released her hand and motioned for her to sit, facing him across the desk. “Not exactly,” she said. “Erika was my mentor and my friend. She is not my employer; I have none.”  
    Osallin pushed graying hair back from his forehead. “This is a social call, not business? And I don’t know your name yet, do I?”  
    â€œIt is business, also. I am going farther out. Erika suggested that she — her Establishment — and I, work through you as our relay point, for financial and other communications.”  
    â€œAll right — fine. On all transactions I charge five percent of gross. Other communications, courtesy of the house. You still haven’t said who you are, though.”  
    â€œEstablishment secrecy applies. Agreed?” The man nodded. “I am here as Tari Obrigo. Other names that may apply in our dealings together and with Erika’s group are Lysse Harnain, Cele Metrokin, and Rissa Kerguelen.”  
    Abruptly, he sat straight. “You’re that one!”  
    â€œI do not understand. You have heard something? How?”  
    â€œYou landed today with the MacNamara ;