Part 18 (1/2)
It was a valid enough point, in its way. Probably the one they'd used to talk him into this mission in the first place, though he didn't remember that conversation very clearly. He did remember they'd made a big deal about his tridoctorum degree including neural physiology along with astrophysics and tech design, and there did seem to be a fair amount of neural data in the Inst.i.tute's files.
But surely there were other people in the Pax with as much expertise and better social polish. If Chandris was at all representative of the average Empyreal, he was probably d.a.m.ned lucky he'd even made it to Seraph without being exposed for who and what he was.
Unless that was exactly what they'd wanted.
For a long minute he stared out the window, not seeing anything at all. Could that really be what all this was about? Not a research mission at all, but just some kind of throwaway decoy to cover up the Komitadji's real operation?
Because if it was, his life wasn't worth the plastic his phony ID was printed on. He'd be caught-sure as anything he'd be caught. They'd have made sure of that.
Behind him, the door opened.
He jumped, twisting awkwardly in the air, hand clawing uselessly for the shocker buried out of reach in the bottom of his pocket. He came down, trying to land in the combat stance they'd taught him- ”Hi, Jereko,” Gyasi said absently, barely glancing up from the printout balanced across his left forearm as he ambled into the room and over to his desk chair. ”What's new?”
Kosta swallowed hard, knees trembling with relief and reaction. ”Nothing much,” he said, striving to sound casual.
He obviously didn't succeed. Midway through turning a page Gyasi looked up, a frown on his face. ”You okay?”
”Sure,” Kosta said. ”Fine.”
”Uh-huh.” Gyasi peered at him. ”Come on, what's wrong?”
”It's something personal,” Kosta told him, hearing the edge in his voice. ”I just need some time to think.”
Gyasi frowned a little harder, but then shrugged. ”Okay, sure. You need someone to talk to, I'm right here.”
”Sure.”
Gyasi threw him a quick smile and, for all practical purposes, disappeared back into his printout.
Kosta watched him for a moment. Then, with an effort, he made his way back to his own chair, feeling both relieved and more than a little foolish. Of course the Pax hadn't thrown him to the sharks-the whole idea was crazy. Aside from anything else, this mission must have cost a fantastic amount of money. And if there was one thing everyone knew about the Pax, it was that no one in government deliberately threw away fantastic amounts of money. Not with the Adjutors hovering like hungry vultures over everything they did.
No, what they must have been counting on was something far more subtle: namely, the non-suspicious att.i.tude the angels seemed to create in their subjects. It was the same mindset that had allowed him to breeze through interplanetary Empyreal customs and into a sensitive facility without his credentials ever being challenged, and it would very likely allow him to gloss over any cultural blunders as well. At least, with anyone who mattered.
”Oh, by the way,” Gyasi said, looking up again, ”what's the status of that angel-production paper I keep nagging you about? Anything new?”
”The research is done,” Kosta told him. ”I'll be writing it up this afternoon.”
Gyasi's eyebrows went up. ”Great. I'd like to show a copy to Dr. Qhahenlo before you put it on the net, if I may.”
”Sure.”
After all, the reason he'd joined this mission in the first place had been to help free the Empyreals from alien domination. Risky though it might be to draw attention to himself, it might be the only way to shake up the general complacency around him. To try and get the people in charge to take a good, hard look at their most basic a.s.sumptions.
And as to the other part of his mission...
”Speaking of Dr. Qhahenlo,” he said, ”is that offer from her still open?”
”I'm sure it is. You looking to join the team?”
”I'd at least like to do some consulting,” Kosta said. ”You people know so much more than I do
about angels, and there's a lot I still need to learn.”
”Great,” Gyasi smiled, getting to his feet. ”Let's go talk to her.”
Kosta stood up, too, forcing a smile of his own. And wondered uneasily why the deception seemed
to hurt his stomach.
CHAPTER 17.
”Well, we're off,” Ornina said, tucking the flat angel holding box solidly under her arm as she made yet another adjustment to her floppy-brimmed hat. A horrendous hat, to Chandris's way of thinking, but Ornina obviously liked it. ”We should be back within four hours at the latest.”
”Sooner than that if the couplers at Glazrene's are down to their usual standard of quality,” Hanan added, twirling his credit-line card around in his fingers with obviously strained patience as he waited for his sister to finish her primping. ”Still, hope springs eternal, or some such thing.”
Chandris nodded silently, her eyes on the spinning card. It was a strangely fascinating routine, very much like the palm-and-switch techniques of the three card monte scorers she'd known in the Barrio. Someday she would have to ask Hanan where he'd learned how to do that.
”Well, come on, Hanan,” Ornina said briskly. ”Let's get this show on the road. Good-bye, Chandris; we'll see you later. Enjoy the silence.”
They headed outside and down the outer stairway. Chandris stood there, listening... and a minute later heard the sound of the TransTruck driving off down the street.
And she was alone. Alone with the Gazelle. Alone with several million ruya worth of equipment.
Alone with the angel.
For several minutes she just wandered the aft part of the s.h.i.+p, listening as her footsteps punctuated the now familiar sounds of the Gazelle at rest. But only the quieter sounds: engines and pumps, generators and fans. There was none of the music Ornina always played while she worked; none of Hanan's alleged singing and distinctive, slightly clumping walk.
She was alone. In the silence.
With the angel.
The samovar in the galley was, as usual, simmering gently with one of Ornina's long repertoire of tea blends. Peppermint, this one, a drink Chandris had developed a particular taste for over the past four weeks. She helped herself to a cup, throwing in an extra stick of peppermint, and carried it carefully up to the control cabin. There, amid the quietly glowing displays and flickering status boards, she pulled the restraint straps away from her chair and sat down.
She hadn't promised them anything. Not a single solitary nurking thing. For that matter, they'd never promised her anything, either. Not even full employment. As far as anyone had said, she was still here only on a temporary basis.
Not that she really wanted the job, of course. It wasn't her kind of life. Too dull, too honest.
Too permanent.
Four weeks. She'd been with the Gazelle for four weeks now. Probably the longest she'd stayed in one place for years. Certainly longer than she and Trilling had ever stayed anywhere while they'd been together.
Trilling.
She sipped at her tea, but the peppermint had gone flat in her mouth. No, she couldn't stay here, not even if she wanted to. Right now, somewhere out there, Trilling was looking for her. The longer she stayed in one place, the sooner he'd find her.