Part 33 (1/2)

The lighting was thin, and the walls were so close together that they brushed his shoulders. There was only room for one human in a pa.s.sage, although ahead of him he saw two Disty pa.s.s each other. Fortunately, neither Disty came his way, and he had the corridor all to himself. If he hadn't downloaded an area map and hadn't placed it in his vision, he would have been lost a long time ago.

The entire area smelled vaguely of unwashed skin and old wood. Other lingering odors-he a.s.sumed (he hoped) they were cooking odors-caught his nose whenever he reached a cross-corridor, and that was most of the time.

Finally, he reached the set of rooms that belonged to Fifty-six's delegation. The door at the end of the corridor was open, and a Disty bade him to come inside.

Jefferson had no idea if that Disty was one he'd seen before or not. He was still having trouble with all but the largest distinctions among them. He hoped none expected him to remember them.

The interior of Fifty-six's rooms weren't quite as cramped as the corridor. Jefferson could stand upright, but his head brushed the low ceiling. He wouldn't be able to sit on a table-top here, not that he saw any. The furniture was built into the walls-seats like boxes came out squarely and folded against the floor.

In a far room, he saw a Ping-Pong table, but it wasn't being used. The Disty had adopted few human things, but Ping-Pong was one of them. The other was the game Go, which had always worried Jefferson. Go was a game of strategy. It suited the devious mind.

The Disty who had let him in led him to a chamber toward the back. Its walls were covered in red velvet, and the place smelled of a mixture of lilac, tobacco, and incense. Jefferson's eyes watered, and he had to use all of his personal strength to hold back a sneeze.

It took him a moment to see Fifty-six. Fifty-six was wearing a red velvet robe, which looked five sizes too big on him, and he sat on a carpeted mound in the middle of the floor.

”This is our negotiation room,” Fifty-six said. ”We redesigned it with humans in mind. We can be on a platform, but you won't have to bend quite so much.”

”Thank you,” Jefferson said, uncertain how else to respond.

”I am told by a reliable source that you beg forgiveness for your crude and insulting remarks earlier,” Fifty-six said, as if that were a foregone conclusion.

Jefferson would never beg forgiveness of anyone. He had negotiated his way out of delicate situations in the past, but he had never done so by placing himself so squarely in the wrong.

This time, apparently, he had no choice. ”Yes,” he said. ”I am sorry.”

Then he bowed his head, hoping he was contrite enough. ”Sit,” Fifty-six said. ”Tell me your proposal.” Jefferson sat on the platform, surprised at the bit of cus.h.i.+on beneath. He almost forgot to bend and touch his head to the top of the platform. He hoped that Fifty-six wouldn't take offense at the momentary lapse.

Jefferson kept his forehead down until Fifty-six told him to sit up. ”Through extensive research, we have found survivors of that ma.s.sacre. Most are in the Outlying Colonies and cannot be here in any swift amount of time. But twelve are on the Moon.”

Fifty-six templed his fingers and raised them. ”I thought no one knew of this event.”

”Apparently, there are records of it in the Outlying Colonies. The woman who was killed-whose body we initially found-had tried to steal money from the survivors, and her body was placed there as some sort of sign.”

Fifty-six waved one hand in dismissal. ”I am intrigued by these survivors. Are they descendents?”

”Immediate relatives,” Jefferson said. ”We searched for those first. These people were actually present at the ma.s.sacre and managed to escape.”

Fifty-six folded his hands back together, then bowed his head. He said nothing for a very long time.

Jefferson wasn't sure what Fifty-six was doing. He had no idea how tightly the Disty were linked or if there was even any kind of network among them. He didn't know if Fifty-six was just thinking, meditating, or communicating.

Then Fifty-six raised his head. ”You are certain these are the survivors, the actual survivors?”

”Positive,” Jefferson said.

Fifty-six pressed his templed fingers against his face.

”There is hope then,” he said with something that sounded like relief. ”There is finally hope.”

52.

The governor-general was still using DeRicci's office as if it were her own private conference center. She sat in the center of the room, looking like a wizard as she worked the screens above the see-through desk.

DeRicci left, glancing at Popova. She had dozens of people on her personal screen, and several a.s.sistants, some DeRicci hadn't seen before, crowded the front office, trying to cajole, convince, and coordinate the various aspects of the survivor roundup.

DeRicci couldn't find privacy anywhere. She had been thinking about the pilot situation and she could come up with only one solution. But she didn't want anyone else to know about it.

She avoided the elevator and took the back stairs to the third floor. There she found offices still under construction. She took the office in the very back-one with no windows-and hoped it had no surveillance equipment either.

She sat in the middle of the floor and contacted Flint. It took him a moment to answer. Behind him, she heard the rumble of voices.

He wasn't alone.

”Where are you?” she asked.

”Stefano's Restaurant,” he said. ”Why?”

”I need to talk to you in private.”

”You want to come to my office?”

”There's no time,” DeRicci said. ”Go somewhere and call me back.”

Then she signed off. She waited five minutes and was about to call him back when her link chirruped. She answered and saw Flint's pale skin and startlingly blond hair fill the tiny screen she had raised in her vision.

”What's going on?” he asked.

”Is this private?” she asked.

”Yes. I've secured my line and encrypted as much as possible. Have you?”

She didn't know. All of that level of tech was beyond her.

”You haven't, have you? Let me.” He did something. His image bounced, floated into bits, and then returned. ”That's the best I can do from this distance.”

She didn't want to know what he had just done. His ability with computers and links and chips always disturbed her.

”What's so important?” he asked.

”Do you still have your s.h.i.+p?” she said.