Part 9 (2/2)

Forsythe caught Pirbazari's eye. ”I want you to get on the net, Zar,” he told the other. ”Get a dump of the last skeeter report from Lorelei and give it a quick sift-I want to know what's been happening out there.”

”Yes, sir.” Turning with his usual military precision, Pirbazari strode off to his office.

Forsythe c.o.c.ked an eyebrow toward Ronyon. Come on in, he signed to the other. I'd like to talk to you.

He ushered Ronyon into his new office, closing the door behind them, and led the big man to the chair facing his desk. The other dropped into it, his posture that of a man trying to burrow his way backwards into the furniture.

Forsythe went around the desk and sat down. I just wanted to tell you, he signed, that you did very well this morning.

Thank you, Ronyon signed, his fingers showing the same lack of enthusiasm as his face.

You seem unhappy, Forsythe pointed out. Do you want to talk about it?

Ronyon lowered his eyes to the floor. That wasn't a good thing I did, he signed slowly, his eyes avoiding Forsythe's.

Of course it was, Forsythe insisted, leaning slightly over the desk so that his signing would be visible in Ronyon's peripheral vision. What could be wrong with it?

Ronyon looked up again, his face screwed up in anguish and confusion. It was just like telling a lie.

Forsythe pursed his lips. We've been through this, Ronyon, he reminded the other. Remember? This is a very special, very precious gift that we've been given, and it's our job to protect it. You understand that, don't you?

Ronyon dropped his gaze to the floor again. I guess so.

Well, then, Forsythe continued, what better way to keep it safe than to hide it from people who might want to steal it?

Ronyon shrugged, a hunching movement that reminded Forsythe of a turtle hiding under the edge of its sh.e.l.l. I don't know, he signed at last. I just know it feels just like I do when I tell a lie.

I know, Forsythe soothed. But think about what I told you, all right? If you do, I'm sure you'll realize this is the best way to keep our angel safe.

Okay. Ronyon swiped at his nose. Okay. I guess I should give it back to you now?

He dug the angel pendant out of his pocket and started to get up. Just put it down there, Forsythe signed quickly. Underneath the cus.h.i.+on in that chair will do.

Ronyon looked at him, eyebrows raised in astonishment. It's the last place, Forsythe added, that a thief would think to look for something as valuable as an angel. Right?

I don't know, Ronyon said, his face still puzzled. But he dutifully stuffed the pendant down the side of the cus.h.i.+on, poking several times before the entire length of chain disappeared.

Thank you. Forsythe eyed him. There's still something bothering you.

Ronyon hunched another shrug. People are going to think I'm clumsy.

Forsythe hid a smile. That wonderfully simple mind of Ronyon's-straightforward, uncalculating, concerned only with the surface effects of human interaction. Probably incapable of grasping the idea, even if Forsythe had wanted to try and explain it, that it was often a tactical advantage to be underestimated. Some of them might, he conceded. But not the people whose opinions really matter. People like Mr. Pirbazari, for example, will just think you were nervous. They know things like that just happen sometimes. No one remembers them for long. Really.

Ronyon swallowed. I guess.

Then let's put it behind us and get to work, Forsythe told him, putting some executive firmness into his face and fingers. There's supposed to be a studio somewhere around here for my use. I want you to go find it and see what it's like. Okay?

Okay. Ronyon levered himself out of the chair, already looking happier. I'll go find out everything. Should I tell Mr. Mils, then?

That's a good idea, Forsythe agreed. And then you can come and tell me, too. Okay.

Forsythe watched him hurry out of the office, marveling at how easy it was to cheer up the big man.

A little praise, a little job, and all worries were as good as forgotten.

He looked down at the chair Ronyon had been sitting in, and his smile faded.

He'd done it. In plain view of the entire High Senate he'd switched a real angel pendant for a masterfully constructed fake one. And, for good measure, he had worn the fake in public long enough for everyone to be absolutely convinced he was properly under its influence.

The charade had gotten off to an excellent start. Now all he had to do was make sure it didn't come

cras.h.i.+ng down around his ears.Which meant, for starters, that he was going to have to find a better hiding place for the real pendant than under a chair cus.h.i.+on. Far enough away from him, but at the same time not too far. There were stories of people who could sense the presence of angels from as far as two meters away, and he couldn't risk having one of them sitting there wondering what had gone wrong with his personal radar.

But there would be time for all that later. The important goal, that he stay uncontaminated, had been achieved.

There was a tap at the door. ”Come,” Forsythe called.

Pirbazari poked his head into the office. ”You have time for a quick item from the skeeter?”

Forsythe waved him in. ”Let me guess. Another intrusion by the Pax.”

”Yes, sir,” Pirbazari said grimly, crossing the room and handing Forsythe a cyl. ”From the configuration, looks like another mid-sized wars.h.i.+p.”

”Any shooting?” Forsythe asked, plugging the cyl into his reader.

”Not this time,” Pirbazari said. ”Of course, it was only in the net for about forty seconds before they 'pulted it out.”

”Forty seconds is plenty of time to shoot if they'd wanted to.”

”Agreed,” Pirbazari nodded. ”Which implies they didn't want to.”

The record of the encounter came up on the screen, and Forsythe took a minute to watch it. The Pax

s.h.i.+p came in, moved around a little as if trying to get out of the focus, then disappeared as it was catapulted out of the system.

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