Syndicate Files: The Doctor - Part 8

((Co-written by Ciarente. Part 7 Here))


When they'd all gone, and the door was closed, Myla asked, "What do you think you know? And what's to stop me from just killing you and tracking it down. Who's it with? That girl of yours? Auvy, is it?" She musta seen my wince, "One call, Tarva. One call."


"You don't wanna do that. You know how it works. This isn't my first long-limb roast, Myla. Yeah, Auvy had the package. Not now. And I've set up insurance, in case any of us don't walk away from this. There're copies of the data.


"As for what I think I know: You're a cop. CONCORD, maybe? Or a Fed? Doesn't matter. You're fuzz, and that'd be enough for your oh-so-loyal troops out there to rip you apart. We found a marker isotope in your blood. They use it for ident for undercover jobs. Classified, but not classified enough."


Her expression hardly twitched. "Not a anymore, Tarva. I went native a long time ago."


"Think it'd matter to those animals out there? You know'em best."


She just looked at me, "I might risk it. Make me an offer, Tarva."


"We all walk. I send you the evidence and the info. I keep a copy, just in case you change your mind. The doctor leaves the station."


"Not good enough." She leaned forward slightly, "Sometimes I maybe have jobs, jobs I need someone with your skill-set for. You do those for me."


I hesitated. Myla Navanier is not someone you want to owe favors. She pressed, "It's a good deal for you. You want to stay useful, Tarva."


What could I do? I nodded, "I'll leave my card. Rate's 500 syns a day, 2 day minumum, in advance."