Part 4 (1/2)

Vorland shrugged almost indifferently. Old Hok? You pulled him in a few times yourself, didn't you?'

Jaharnus stiffened. 'Minor import infringements, selling suspect antiques to tourists, that sort of thing. An old alien who lived close to the edge as best he could. Maybe he stepped over the line a couple of times.' She got up to leave. 'But he never harmed anyone in any way that mattered - and he still didn't deserve to die like that!'

She strode out of Vorland's office, managing to sc.r.a.pe her tail across the door as it closed behind her and hoping it left a mark.

The first thing she found when she got back to her desk was a belated message from traffic control informing her that Alpha's s.h.i.+p had left the city several hours earlier, destination unknown.

Had he run to avoid answering awkward questions, or was there some other reason for his departure? She felt the yoke of depression settle more heavily on her shoulders. By now, Alpha was probably out of their jurisdiction. And if Vorland wouldn't fund a standard surveillance operation, he certainly wouldn't stand for the cost of sending a police interceptor after him. In any case, Alpha probably had a perfectly legitimate reason for his sudden departure all highly polished and ready to wheel out should it be needed.

Still feeling dispirited, she checked on the activities of Peri Brown and the Doctor. At least she had been able to arrange standard monitoring on them without any problems, as they were still the nearest things they had so far to either witnesses or suspects.

A minute later she was frowning over the reports. What had possessed them to make for the Central Archive so suddenly?

Still frowning, she called up the directory for the number of the chief archivist.

The first thing Qwaid noticed as he entered Alpha's stateroom was a gla.s.s and a half-empty decanter on the desk beside the computer screen. Then he realised Alpha's skin seemed a shade darker than usual.

'Here they are, Qwaid,' Alpha said almost mildly, holding out a data chip. 'Final course details. Enter them in the autopilot and confirm our ETA.'

Qwaid accepted the chip mutely, trying to cover his confusion.

He'd never seen Alpha like this before. Even when he'd pulled off some really major filch in the past he'd stayed ice-cold sober and simply started planning the next one. 'What's the matter, Qwaid?'

'Nothing, boss. It's just... well, you never usually... er, celebrate like this.'

'I was merely toasting the memory of a man long dead, Qwaid.

Perhaps a fool, perhaps an adventurer. In either case our unwitting benefactor. To Rovan of Cartovall... '

'Who, boss?'

Alpha blinked, as though reviewing what he had just said.

Then the familiar edge returned to his voice with a snap.

'Don't trouble yourself with it. Leave the thinking to me and concentrate on providing the unskilled help. I'll tell you all you need to know when the time comes.' His eyes burnt coldly, causing Qwaid to flinch. 'Well get on with it!'

Trembling, Qwaid scuttled back out of the door, head hung low.

Outside in the corridor, however, he straightened up again, letting his face show the anger and resentment he would never dare let Alpha see.

The boss shouldn't have spoken to him like that. He wasn't simply some dumb slab of hired muscle. It wasn't right to keep him in the dark about what they were getting into, either. Well he'd show the boss he could think for himself !

He strode resolutely along the corridor to the control cabin.

Gribbs and Drorgon were in the crewroom, so for the moment he had the place to himself. He sat down before the auxiliary systems console and called up the general database history files.

It took a few minutes to sort through the wide parameters he had to set and the phonetic variants of the name Alpha had let slip, but soon his lips were moving as he read the information he was after. The database was basic and the entry was not a long one, but it was enough. Qwaid felt a s.h.i.+ver run up his spine and drew in his breath with a shudder. An emperor's treasury! What he couldn't do with a slice of that!

His reverie was interrupted by Alpha's voice coming out of the intercom. 'Have you entered the new course yet, Qwaid?'

'Just doing it, boss,' he called back guiltily, and rammed the data chip into the slot and started punching b.u.t.tons.

As the autopilot digested the data and projected the new course, he brooded further. He had no idea what they'd meet when they got to wherever it was, but for the biggest s.n.a.t.c.h ever he'd risk anything. Well why not? He'd show the boss. He'd run the job himself given the chance. He didn't need Alpha looking over his shoulder all the time.

He didn't need him.

The thought hung in his mind, a weak and feeble thing at first, but slowly growing in strength as he considered the full implications of the simple statement.

He didn't need Alpha at all.

Suddenly he knew the last twenty years had just been a prelude to this moment. Twenty years before he'd stolen a box of jek fruit from a market stall in Dryden Dome back on Sirius Nine. It had been the initiation test to get into the Burke Cross Gang.

How he'd ducked and dived the length of the market tunnel to get away with it. Still breathless, knees sc.r.a.ped and bleeding, he'd presented his proud trophy to the rest of the gang. They'd eaten all the fruit, leaving none for him. Ten minutes later the stallholder had caught up with him and given him the sort of hiding his father had regularly delivered when he'd still been around.

Well now it was his turn. He could learn from the past as well as the boss. Maybe better.

But how could he do it? Not to his face. He could never defy those eyes for long enough, as Alpha was arrogantly aware. But there were other means. Yes, the method was obvious now he thought of it. The boss had already shown how to deal with somebody who was in your way. Accidents could happen, and s.p.a.ce was awfully unforgiving.

But when?

Right now, before the flush of anger that fuelled his courage died. No time to talk it over with Gribbs and Drorgon. In any case they'd never have the guts. But he had. He'd show them all just what Crelly Qwaid could do.

He took a toolkit from the service locker and went out into the corridor, feeling numb and oddly detached from his actions. He unlatched an inspection panel, exposing a service conduit, and calmly traced cables from the main airlock and Alpha's cabin door. A few snips with the cutters, two cross connections and it was done.

Qwaid returned to the control room, quietly closed its airtight hatch, went over to the engineer's station, and strapped himself into the chair. He opened a cover plate on the panel and pulled out a circuit board, disengaging the secondary safety system.

Then, with a deep breath, he released the cover guard on a sliding toggle and pulled it down to the bottom of its slot.

With a feeling as though the floor had dropped from under his feet, the Falcon Falcon's paragravity faded away.

He swallowed hard to keep his stomach under control, and resolutely started punching b.u.t.tons. Safety doors slid closed, isolating the main corridor and the sleeping compartments.

Alarms sounded and distant thumps came from the crewroom as Gribbs and Drorgon pounded on the hatch. The control-room intercom monitor came to life, showing the image of Alpha floating in his cabin like some misshapen balloon, his face enlarged as he pulled himself towards the console pickup.

'Qwaid!' he bellowed. 'What's happening? Qwaid!'

Qwaid kept his eyes firmly fixed on the controls and hit the last b.u.t.ton.