An hour later, Derek decides that a break is in order. There are no ships currently in orbit, so he won’t be missed. He goes down to the main thoroughfare to watch the few people come and go.
He feels a tap on his left shoulder and turns the wheelchair around, suspecting an errant youngster.
It is the woman with the tattoo; she is a few meters away and signalling with her hands for him to follow her. He shudders, feeling sick to the stomach.
She leads him to a small coffee shop, pulling away one of the chairs so he can drive the wheelchair beside the table.
“Coffee?” she asks him.
Derek nods in the affirmative as she goes to the counter, where the robotic server is ever ready.
She comes back two minutes later with two coffees and a pathological smile. She smells of expensive perfume.
“Here you go.” She leaves one of the cups within his reach. “I see that Maeve was in contact with you earlier. Don’t look shocked. You know that it is easy to monitor messages coming back and forth from the moon. The problem is the encryption. So, tell me, what did Maeve have to say for herself?”
Mark's Writing Corner 