Part 75 (1/2)

”Sure thing. But not by blood. They're right careful not to intermarry or anything that would show up on the computers. Even though they've got people in Central Data. Say a Paraden family company wants to open a colony somewhere but they're down the list. Somehow those other applications get lost, or something's found wrong with 'em. Complaints against a Paraden subsidiary get lost real easy, too.”

”Are other families involved?” Sa.s.sinak noticed the sudden s.h.i.+fting of eyes. She waited. Finally the leader nodded.

”There have been. Not all the big families. The Chinese stay out of it; they don't need it. But a few smaller ones, mostly in transport. Any that gets in a little ways has to stay in for the whole trip. They don't like whistleblowers, the Parchandri. Things happen.” The leader took a deep breath. ”You're getting into stuff I can't answer unless I know . . . something more. You say you were a slave, and Fleet got you out so you joined Fleet...”

”That's right.”

”Well, did you ever hear, while you were a slave, of a ... a kind of group? People that. . . knew things?”

Sa.s.sinak nodded. ”Samizdat,” she said very softly.

The leader's tense face relaxed slightly.

”I'll chance it.” A broad, strong hand reached out to shake hers in a firm grip. ”I'm Cons. That was my wife who speared you with the spotlight.” He grinned, a suddenly mischievous grin. ”Did I fool you?”

”Fool me?”

”With all this padding. We find it useful to disguise our body outlines. I've been listed in official reports as .

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a 'slightly obese middle-aged woman of medium stature.' ” He had reached under his outer coverall to remove layers of rag stuffing, suddenly looking many pounds lighter and much more masculine. Off came a wig that Sa.s.sinak realized looked just like those in the costume shop, revealing a balding pate. ”They don't worry as much about stray women in the tunnels. Although you, a Fleet commander, may give them a heart attack.”

”I hope to,” said Sa.s.sinak. She wasn't sure what to make of someone who cheerfully pretended to be the opposite s.e.x. ”But I'm a little . . . confused.”

Coris chuckled. ”Why wouldn't you be? Sit over here and have some of our delicious native cuisine and exquisite wine, and we'll talk about it.”

He led her to an empty pile of blankets and gestured. lt She and Aygar sat. She was glad to let her aching legs relax.

”Delicious native cuisine” turned out to be a nearly tasteless cream-colored mush. ”Straight from the food proceessors,” someone explained. ”Much easier to lib-[. erate before they put the flavorings or texture in ... nasty stuff, but nutritious.” The wine was water, tapped from a water main and tepid, but drinkable.

”Let's hear your side of it,” suggested Coris.

Sa.s.sinak swallowed the last of the mush she'd been ^ given and took a swallow of water to clear her throat. Around her, the ragged band had settled down, relaxed but alert.

”What if they are seaching for us?” she asked. ”Shouldn't we ... ?”

He waved his hand, dismissing the problem.

They are looking, of course, but they haven't pa.s.sed any of our sensors. And we do have scouts out. Go on.”

Sa.s.sinak gave a concise report on what had happened .from the arrival of Coromell's message. Highly irregular, but she judged it necessary. If she died down here, not that she intended to, someone had to know the $ruth. They listened attentively, not interrupting, until told about entering the pleasure-house.

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”You went to Vanlis?” That sounded both surprised and angry.

”I didn't know what it was,” said Sa.s.sinak, hoping that didn't sound critical. ”It was the nearest door, and she helped us.”

She told about that, about the woman's reaction to Fleur's name. She felt the p.r.i.c.kling tension of this group's reaction. But no one said anything so she went on with the story until the group had ”caught” them.

”Trouble, trouble, trouble,” muttered Coris, now feu-less c.o.c.ky.

”Sorry.”

And she was, though she felt much better now that the tasteless food, the water and the short rest had done their work. She glanced at Aygar, who was picking moodily at the bandage on his face. He seemed to be over his fright.

”You're like a thread sewing together things we hoped they'd never connect,” Jemi said softly. Coris's wife was a thin blonde. She looked older than either Sa.s.sinak or Coris, but it might be only worry. ”Eklarik's shop . . . Varis's place . . . Fleur . . . Samizdat . . , they aren't stupid, you know. They'll put it together fast enough when they have time to think. I hope Vans has warned Fleur. Otherwise ...”

She didn't need to finish that. Sa.s.sinak s.h.i.+vered. She could feel their initial interest fading now into a haze of fear and hostility. She had endangered their precarious existence. It was all so stupid. She had suspected trouble, hadn't she? She had known better than to go haring off into the unknown to meet some Admiral whose staff insisted he was off hunting. And because she'd been a fool, she and Aygar would die, and these people, who had already suffered enough, would die. And her s.h.i.+p? A vision of the Zaid-Dayan as it hung in orbit, clean and powerful, filled her eyes with tears for a moment. NO.

She was not going to die down here, not going to let the Paradens and Parchandris of the universe get away with their vicious schemes. She was supposed to be a Fleet commander, by Kipling's corns, and it was about .

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time she started acting like it. The old familiar routines seemed to waken her mind as she referred to them, tike tights coming on in a dark s.h.i.+p, compartment by compartment. Status report: resources: personnel: equipment: enemy situation . . .

She was not aware of her spine straightening until she saw the effect in their faces. They were staring at her as if she had suddenly appeared in her white battle armor instead of the stained civilian coverall. Their response heightened her excitement.

”Well, then,” she said, the confidence in her voice ringing through the chamber. ”We'd better sew up their shrouds first.”

Chapter Fifteen.

Dupaynil stared at the bulkhead across from his bunk, and thought that luck was highly overrated. Human s.p.a.ce aboard the Grand Luck meant this tiny stateroom, adjoining plumbing that made the Claw's spartan head look and feel like a spa, and one small bare chamber he could use for eating, exercise, and what recreation his own mind provided. Most people thought the Seti had no sense of humor; he disagreed. The Commissioner's comments about the humbleness with which he would travel argued for a keen sense of irony, at the least.

He had had a brief and unhelpful interview with the Amba.s.sador. The Fleet attache lurking in the background of that interview had looked unbearably smug. The Amba.s.sador saw no reason why he should undertake to have Fleet messages transmitted to FedCentral when Dupaynil was headed there himself. He saw no reason why redundancy might be advisable. Was Dupaynil suggesting that the Seti, allies within the Federation, might interfere with Dupaynil's own delivery of those messages? That would be a grave accusation, one which he would not advise Dupaynil to put in writing. And of course Dupaynil could not have a final 236.

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interview with Panis. Quite against the Amba.s.sador's advice, that precipitous young man had already departed, destination unknown.

It occurred to Dupaynil that this Amba.s.sador, of all the human diplomats, surely had to be in the pay of the conspirators. He could not be that stupid. Looking again, at the florid Bice and blurred eyes, he was not sure. He glanced at the Fleet attache and intercepted a knowing look to the Amba.s.sador's private secretary. So. The Seti probably supplied the drugs, which his own staff fed him, to keep him so safely docile.

And I thought my troubles were over, Dupaynil thought, making his final very correct bow and withdrawing to pack his kit for the long trip. Not surprisingly, the Fleet attache insisted that anything Dupaynil asked for was unavailable.

And now he had the leisure to reflect on the Amba.s.sador's possible slow poisoning while the Seti s.h.i.+p bore him to an unknown destination; he did not believe for a moment they were really headed for FedCentral. He forced himself to get up and move into the little exercise s.p.a.ce. Whatever was coming, he might as well be fit for it. He stripped off the dress uniform that courtesy demanded and went through the exercises recommended for all Fleet officers. Designed, as he recalled, by a Fleet marine sergeant-major who had retired and become a consultant for adventure films. There were only so many ways you could twist, bend, and stretch. He had worked up a sweat when the intercom burped at him.

”Du-paay-nil. Prepare for inspection by Safety Officer.”

Of course they'd chosen this time. Dupaynil smiled sweetly into the s.h.i.+ny lens of the surveillance video, and finished with a double-tuck-roll that took him back into the minute sanitation cabinet. No shower, of course. A blast of hot air, then fine grit, then hot air again. Had he been covered with scales, like a proper Hz ... Seti, they'd have been polished. As a human, he felt sticky and gritty and altogether unclean. He would come off this s.h.i.+p smelling like a derelict from the gutter of an unimproved frontier world ... no doubt their intent.