Part 70 (1/2)

Drawers on one side held neatly folded garments she did not recognize even when she shook them out. Pajamas, lounging wear, all her size, and in colors she favored, but she'd never bought these. She chose an outfit she could even have worn in public, loose plush pants and a pullover top-and felt much better. That ridiculous hospital gown made anyone feel helpless and submissive. Dressed, with her hair clean and brushed, and her feet in sensible shoes, she was ready to take on the world. Whatever world this happened to be.

Back in the other room, she found the bed remade and rolled to one side. Now a small table centered the room, with a meal laid ready on it. Soup, fruit, bread: exactly what she would have chosen. But the room was empty, silent. Had she taken that long to clean up? She looked but found no clock.

She wondered whether the food was drugged, and then realized that it made no difference. If they . . . whoever they were . . . wanted to drug her, it would be easy enough to do it in other ways. She ate the excellent meal with full appreciation of its excellence. Tlien she investigated the locker the attendant had first 190.

pointed out. There were the rest of her clothes from the Diplo trip and all the other personal gear she'd taken along. Everything seemed to be freshly cleaned, but otherwise untouched.

FedCentral. The man had said she was on FedCentral. She'd never been there and knew nothing of it except for the standard media shots of the Council sessions. Who had secure medical facilities on FedCentral? Fleet? But if she was in Fleet's hands, surely Sa.s.sinak could identify her and get her out of here? Unless something had happened to Sa.s.sinak . . . and she didn't even want to think about that possibility.

Instead she tried to add up the elapsed time since she'd left the Zaid-Dayan. It must be very close to Tanegti's trial date when she would be called to give evidence. Unless, of course, she was still cooped up here. Was that what someone wanted? Had that been Zebara's plan all along? She rooted through her personal gear, looking for anything that might be the proof Zebara had promised her of the Diplo end of die conspiracy, but found nothing. Her clothes were all there and the one or two pieces of jewelry she had taken to Diplo.

Her little computer held only its software. Nothing stored in files with mysterious names and nothing new in the files she'd initiated. No mysterious lumps in her clothing, nothing tucked into a pocket of her dufiel. Even the clutter was still there. She wondered why no one had tossed out the copy of the program from Bitter Destinies or the baggage claim receipt from Diplo or the ragged sc.r.a.p on which she'd jotted the room number on Liaka where the medical team would a.s.semble. An advertising card from a dress shop she'd never had time to visit. She couldn't even remember if that was from before Ireta or after. Another torn sc.r.a.p of paper with the numbers of the cases that needed to be re-entered on cubes, the ones Bias had thrown that fit about. But nothing resembling Zebara's promised evidence. Finally, frustrated, she threw herself into the softly padded chair and glared at the door. With suspicious quickness, it opened.

191.

She did not recognize the old man who stood there. He clearly knew her, but waited, at ease, until she acknowledged him with a nod.

”May I come in?” he asked then.

As if I could stop you, she thought, but tried for a gracious smile and said, ”Of course. Do come in.”

Her voice carried more edge than she intended, but ft didn't bother him. He shut the door carefully behind him as she tried to figure out who, or what, he was.

Although he wore no uniform, she felt a uniform would look more natural on him. With that bearing, he would be an officer. At that age, for his silvery hair and fined brow put him into his sixties at least, he should have stars. Tall, much taller than average, piercing blue eyes. If his hair had been yellow or black or brown . . . a warm honey-brown . . .

It was always a shock, and it was going to stay a shock, as it had with Zebara. At least this man was healthy, his white hair a sign of age, but not decay.

”Admiral Coromell,” she murmured softly. He smiled, the same charming smile she remembered on a much younger face. Not in his sixties, but upper eighties, at feast. ”Your father?” He must be dead, but . . .

”He^ died about two decades ago, painlessly in his sleep,” Coromell said. ”And you have survived another long sleep! Remarkable.”

Not remarkable, Lunzie thought, but disgusting. ”I'm beginning to think myself that those superst.i.tious sail-Ore were right! I'm a Jonah.”

^ He snorted, a curiously youthful snort. ”Ireta's a planet. It doesn't count. My dear, much as I'd like to ^C&at with you and play verbal games, I can't allow either of us the luxury. We have a problem.”

Lunzie contented herself with a raised eyebrow. As jfcr as she was concerned they had many more than one problem. He could say what he would. ;t ”It's your descendant.”

She had not expected that. ”Descendant?” Fiona must Jdead by now. Who could he mean? But of course! ak?” He nodded. She felt a surge of fear. ”What's led to her? Where is she?”

192.

193.

”That's what we don't know. She was here. I mean, on FedCentral, while I was on leave over on Six, hunting. Unfortunately. Now she's gone. Disappeared. She and an Iretan native, by the name of Aygar ...”

”Ay gar!”

Lunzie felt foolish, repeating it, but could think of nothing else to say. Why was Sa.s.sinak going anywhere with Aygar? Unless she . . . but Lunzie did not believe that for a moment. Sa.s.sinak had never, for one moment, thought of anything but her s.h.i.+p first and Fleet second. She would not take off on a recreational jaunt with Aygar when Tanegli's trial was coming up.

”According to the ranking officer aboard the Zaid-Dayan, Arly ...” He paused to see if she knew the name. She nodded. ”Commander Sa.s.sinak sent you to Diplo to some source you knew about, to get information on Diplo's connection to the Iretan mess. Is that right?”

”Yes, it is.”

Quickly, Lunzie outlined Sa.s.sinak's thoughts, and her decision to offer to go to Diplo.

”I was best suited, in many ways ...”

”I wouldn't have thought so, not after your experience with the heavyworlders on Ireta,” said Coromell. ”The last person who should have had to go . .

”But I'm glad I did.”

She stopped, wondering if she should tell him everything, and filled in with a brief account of her retraining on Liaka and the early part of the expedition.

”I presume, then, that you do have the information you sought?” When she didn't answer at once, he c.o.c.ked his head and grinned, ”Or did they catch you snooping and send you home in a coldsleep pod just to frustrate us?”

”I ... I'm not sure.”

He waited, quiet but curious, in just the att.i.tude of the experienced interrogator who knows the suspect will incriminate herself, given enough rope. She did not want to explain Zebara to a Fleet admiral, especially not this Fleet admiral, but there was no other way. How best to do it? She remembered Sa.s.sinak, chewing out one of the junior officers who had tried to conceal a mistake . . . ”When all else fails, Mister, tell Ae truth.” She didn't think she'd made that big a mistake, but she'd still better tell the truth, and all of tt- It took longer than she expected. Although Coromell didn't ask questions until she finished, she could tell by his expression when she'd lost him and needed to back-back and explain. And her leftover indignation at Bias, plus a natural reluctance to go into her emotional ties to Zebara, kept her ranting at the team leader's prudery far too long. At last she came to an end, trailing off with, ”. . . and then I felt terribly sleepy in that stuffy car and, when I woke up, I was here.”

A long pause, during which Lunzie endured the gaze of his brilliant blue eyes. Age had not fogged them at all. She felt they were seeing things she had not said. She had not said anything about the opera Bitter Destinies except that Zebara had taken her to an opera. He sighed, at last, the first thing he'd done that sounded old.

”So. And did Zebara give you the information he promised? Or will you go to Tanegli's trial with your testimony alone?”

”He hadn't when I left his home,” Lunzie said. ”He paid I was to get it by messenger. And then ... it was oyer.”

9s, ”But he had you put in coldsleep, and safely aboard a transport that brought you here in a cargo of muskie- cWOol carpets. And I hear that was quite a scene, when Customs found a metallic return on the scan and un-rolled the whole mess of them. Your little pod came rolling out like . . . Who was that Old Earth queen? Guinevere or Catherine or Cleopatra . . . someone like that. Rolled in a carpet to present herself to a long ,

fee*d fallen in love with. Anyway. So you don't know, you, whether he pa.s.sed that information with you or .

r Lunzie shook her head. ”I've looked through my and found nothing. Surely your people looked, 194.

195.

”I'm afraid they did.” His lips pursed. ”We found nothing we recognized. We thought perhaps when you woke, you would know what to look for. You don't?”