I�m thinking of maybe dropping something into the cooker when I hear a hesitant knock on the door. There�s only one person I know who can make a polite sound seem so frantic.
�Hold on, Maxis.� I drop the photographs onto the coffee table and pad barefoot to the door.
No matter how much I tell him I�m up all hours of the night, after nine pm he always sounds like he�s afraid he�ll wake me. Must be the farm upbringing.
I open the door. As usual, I have to look up to meet his eyes. Maxis is a good head taller than me and well built, especially for a wizard. Though you wouldn�t notice it under the hooded jacket, baggy pants and goggles. I bet he only takes the goggles off to sleep. They�re an ongoing project for him, one he�ll talk about for hours if you get him started. All the while explaining how simple it is. Just details. That and his blastboard. Since he�s not carrying it now, I assume he must have come directly up from his apartment.
In his hand he holds a data cd. �I didn�t wake you up did I?�
�No.� I can�t help but smile. �I�m awake most of the night, remember.�
�How do you keep it up?� He�s one to talk. Maxis always looks exhausted. Between all the student clubs he�s in, blastboard team, his personal projects and multiple jobs, it�s a wonder the boy ever sleeps. This week I think he�s working student orientation. Wouldn�t surprise me. Afterall, he�s been at Forge U. all of a year.
�Business. Come in.� I gesture to the couch. �Sit down. Did you want something to eat? I was just starting dinner.� I�ve mostly got Maxis trained to come right in and plonk on the sofa. Unless something is really on his mind. Then, if you don�t invite him in specifically, you�ll end up having an entire conversation at your front door. Upbringing again. It�s kind of refreshing.
�No, thank you.� Something is bothering him. He�s sitting now but still flipping the disc between his hands and tapping his foot against the floor.
�What do you need?� I ask. I�m sort of a cut to the chase conversationalist. A habit of my profession I assume. Talkative people don�t get far in the business of secrets.
He looks faintly guilty. Maxis is one of very few people who feels bad about using me for information. Most just ask how much it costs. Which is part of why I let him in my house, eat my food, and sit on my hideous sofa. I�ll never sell the thing. Came through the store about a year ago. It�s ugly as sin, looms like black death, but the most comfortable thing I�ve ever sat on.
�Do you know if anyone who�s bought a large shipment of remote cameras lately?� He finally asks.
�No, why?� The closest thing I can think of an order of Realscape porn disks I delivered last week. But those are all choreographed. And they have cameras. Big ones. Something about that industry, they always buy large, imposing equipment. I keep that observation to myself.
�Well, someone was recording my orientation tour today. They�ve rigged the entire campus with cameras.�
�Sure it�s not some kind of student project?� There are seniors who haven�t done as many activities in six years as Maxis has in one. He�d probably know.
�I don�t think so. The power of the signal is more than what you could afford on school funds. And they were transmiting on the same frequency that the professional blastboard games use. That�s how my goggles picked up and recorded it. Besides, when I got home and looked at it, I realized the cameras were only following one student.�
�Is that the recording? Can I see it?� He hands it over and I pop it on the viewer. The picture is professional quality, crystal clear. Like something the Mayor�s guard would use for surveillance. I see Maxis drinking his coffee. The angle changes. A woman approaches. Black skirt, black hair, on the camera she is riveting. I feel my eyes narrowing. Thinking. The angle changes.
One student. I recognize her. �Lyssra�� I hardly hear myself speak.
"You know her?"