Part 46 (1/2)

”Let's play it by ear,” he said noncommittally. But he was already determined to evaluate this smuggler captain for himself. Perhaps under the cover of this storm it might turn out to be possible! Fiben thought about it as they resumed their journey.

Soon they were near the docks-in fact, not far from the spot where Fiben had spent part of the afternoon watching the gulls. The rain now fell in sudden, unpredictable sheets. Each time it blew away again the air was left startlingly clear, enhancing every odor-from decaying fish to the beery stink of a fisherman's tavern across the way, where a few lights still shone and low, sad music leaked into the night.

Fiben's nostrils flared. He sniffed, trying to trace something that seemed to fade in and out with the fickle rain. Likewise, Fiben's senses fed his imagination, laying out possibilities for his consideration.

His companion led him around a corner and Fiben saw three piers. Several dark, bulky shadows lay moored next to each. One of those, no doubt, was the smugglers' boat. Fiben stopped Sylvie, again with a hand on her arm. ”We'd better hurry,” she urged.

”Wouldn't do to be too early,” he replied. ”It's going to be cramped and smelly in that boat. Come on back here. There's something we may not have a chance to do for some time.”

She gave him a puzzled expression as he drew her back around the corner, into the shadows. When he put his arms around her, she stiffened, then relaxed and tilted her face up.

Fiben kissed her. Sylvie answered in kind.

When he started using his lips to nibble from her left ear across the line of her jaw and down her neck, Sylvie sighed. ”Oh, Fiben. If only we had time. If only you knew how much ...”

”Shh,” he told her as he let go. With a flourish he took off his parka and laid it on the ground. ”What . . . ?” she began. But he drew her down to sit on the jacket. He settled down behind her.

Her tension eased a bit when he began combing his fingers through her hair, grooming her.

”Whoosh,” Sylvie said. ”For a moment I thought-”

”Who me? You should know me better than that, darlin'. I'm the kind who likes to build up slowly. None of this rush-rush stuff. We can take our time.”

She turned her head to smile up at him. ”I'm glad. I won't be pink for a week, anyway. Though, I mean, we don't really have to wait that long. It's just-”

Her words cut short suddenly as Fiben's left arm tightened hard around her throat. In a flash he reached into her parka and clicked open her pocket knife. Sylvie's eyes bulged as he pressed the sharp blade close against her carotid artery.

”One word,” he whispered directly into her left ear. ”One sound and you feed the gulls tonight. Do you understand?”

She nodded, jerkily. He could feel her pulse pound, the vibration carrying up the knife blade. Fiben's own heart was not beating much slower. ”Mouth your words,” he told her hoa.r.s.ely. ”I'll lip read. Now tell me, where are tracers planted?”

Sylvie blinked. Aloud, she said, ”What-” That was all. Her voice stopped as he instantly increased pressure.

”Try again,” he whispered.

This time she formed the words silently.

”What . . . are . . . you talking about, Fiben?”

His own voice was a barely audible murmur in her ear. ”They're waiting for us out there, aren't they, darlin'? And I don't mean fairy tale chim smugglers. I'm talking Gubru, sweets. You're leading me right into their fine feathered clutches.”

Sylvie stiffened. ”Fiben ... I ... no! No, Fiben.”

”I smell bird!” he hissed. ”They're out there, all right. And as soon as I picked up that scent it all suddenly made perfect sense!”

Sylvie remained silent. Her eyes were eloquent enough by themselves.

”Oh, Gailet must think I'm a prize sap. Now that I think on it, of course the escape must've been arranged! In fact, the date must've been set for some time. You all probably didn't count on this storm tying up the fis.h.i.+ng fleet. That tale about a smuggler captain was a resourceful ad lib to push back my suspicions. Did you think of it yourself, Sylvie?”

”Fiben-”

”Shut up. Oh, it was appealing, all right, to imagine some chims were smart enough to be pulling runs to Cilmar and back, right under the enemy's beak! Vanity almost won, Sylvie. But I was once a scout pilot, remember? I started thinking about how hard that'd be to pull off, even in weather like this!”

He sniffed the air, and there it was again, that distinct musty odor.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that none of the tests he and Gailet had been put through, during the last several weeks, had dealt with the sense of smell. Of course not. Galactics think it's mostly a relic for animals.

Moisture fell onto his hand, even though it was not raining just then. Sylvie's tears dripped. She shook her head.

”You . . . won't ... be harmed, Fiben. The Suz -- Suzerain just wants to ask you some questions. Then you'll be let go! It ... It promised!”

So this was just another test, after all. Fiben felt like laughing at himself for ever believing escape was possible. I guess I'll see Gailet again sooner than I thought.

He was beginning to feel ashamed of the way he had terrorized Sylvie. After all, this had all been just a ”game” anyway. Simply one more examination. It wouldn't do to take anything too seriously under such conditions. She was only doing her job.

He started to relax, easing his grip on her throat, when suddenly part of what Sylvie had said struck Fiben.

”The Suzerain said it'd let me go?” he whispered. ”You mean it'll send me back to jail, don't you?”

She shook her head vigorously. ”N-no!” she mouthed.

”It'll drop us off in the mountains. I meant that part of my deal with you and Gailet! The Suzerain promised, if you answer its questions-”

”Wait a minute,” Fiben snapped. ”You aren't talking about the Suzerain of Propriety, are you?”

She shook her head.

Fiben felt suddenly lightheaded. ”Which . . . Which Suzerain is waiting for us out there?”

Sylvie sniffed. ”The Suzerain of Cost and ... of Cost and Caution,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes in the dreadful realization of what this meant. This was no ”game” or test, after all. Oh, Goodall, he thought. Now he had to think to save his own neck!

If it had been the Suzerain of Beam and Talon, Fiben would have been ready to throw in the towel right then and there. For then all of the resources of the Gubru military machine would have been arrayed against him. As it was, the chances were slim enough. But Fiben was starting to get ideas.

Accountants. Insurance agents. Bureaucrats. Those made up the army of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution. Maybe, Fiben thought. Just maybe.

Before doing anything, though, he had to deal with Sylvie. He couldn't just tie her up and leave her. And he simply wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y-minded killer. That led to only one option. He had to win her cooperation, and quickly.

He might tell her of his certainty that the Suzerain of Cost and Caution wasn't quite the stickler for truth the Suzerain of Propriety was. When it was its word against hers, why should the bird keep any promise to release them?

In fact, tonight's raid on its peer might even be illegal, by the invaders' standards, in which case it would be stupid to let two chims who knew about it run around free. Knowing the Gubru, Fiben figured the Suzerain of Cost and Caution would probably let them go, all right-straight out an airlock into deep s.p.a.ce.

Would she believe me, though, if I told her?

He couldn't chance that. Fiben thought he knew another way to get Sylvie's undivided attention. ”I want you to listen to me carefully,” he told her. ”I am not going out to meet your Suzerain. I am not going out there for one simple reason. If I walk out there, knowing what I now know, you and I can kiss my white card goodbye.”

Her eyes locked onto his. A tremor ran down her spine.

”You see, darlin'. I have to behave like a superlative example to chimpdom in order to qualify for that encomium. And what kind of superchimp goes and walks right into somethin' he already knows is a trap? Hmm?