The
Ship Avenged The
Ship Avenged
Bros Sperin sat quietly at his table, a
drink in his hand, and watched the patrons of The Anvil enjoying themselves. Extremely
respectable place, he thought. Perfect for a dropshop. Criminals and spies only
haunted known dens of vice in bad fiction, or in places much farther from the right side
of the law than New Destinies.
"No, thank you, gentlebeing," he
said for the seventh time that night.
The tall--possibly human, probably female,
but you couldn't tell sometimes without a xenology program--bobbed her/its/his crest and
swayed gracefully off to the sunken dance floor that hung in the center of The Anvil's
main room. It was surrounded by tables of spectators, diners and tourists. Bros Sperin
himself wasn't out of place, a man a little above medium height and densely athletic of
build, brown of skin and eye, with short black hair cut to resemble a sable cap. His
jacket was brown as well, loosely woven raw silk, belted with silver above black tights
and low boots. A soft hat lay on the table beside his long-fingered hands, covering a belt
data-unit.
He looked relaxed, which was as much a lie
as the appearance of a well-to-do merchant out for a peaceful night on the town in this
costly, pleasant night club.
Given the number of serious deals that
went down here it was in the regular patron's best interests to see to it that no one got
too rowdy, and the management was very solicitous of their guest's interests. Those who
insisted on getting out of hand mysteriously and permanently lost their taste for dancing
at The Anvil. So did people who annoyed the regular patrons.
If they only knew who I really was,
they'd probably be very annoyed indeed, the Central Worlds agent thought.
Annoyed enough that he'd disappear with a quiet finality.
Bros raised his glass to his lips and
checked his watch. Then glanced at the door. There she was, right on time. Odd, how she
looked so little like the scarred, scared child he'd met when he was a lieutenant in Naval
Intelligence, assigned to SSS-900-C in the aftermath of the Kolnari raid. And yet what she
was now was what he'd seen in potentia then, hidden beneath the claws-and-teeth
defensiveness her short life had left.
Those straight women who noticed her
looked askance at her drab spacer overalls, the gay women observed her over their glasses
with mild curiosity. Various aliens had reactions less comprehensible, but they shared a
certain caution. The men never looked at her at all.
Their loss, Bros thought. She was
beautiful, though she played it down and attitude did the rest.
Joat reached the bar and fixed her gaze on
the busy bartender. He'd already noticed her and had caught Bros Sperin's eye. Sperin gave
him the high sign to give her a drink as arranged, and to tell her it was from him.
When the bartender placed the drink in
front of her, Joat looked at it as if it were a Sondee mudpuppy. The bartender pointed and
said a few words to her and Joat turned to look at Bros.
Their eyes met and she raised one brow,
suspicious and unsmiling. He grinned and waved her over. After a moment she nodded, picked
up the drink and sauntered to his table. He rose to meet her and she smiled and lifted the
brow again over his courtesy.
She raised the drink in a little salute.
"Thank you," she said and looked
him over, then frowned slightly. "We've never met before, have we?"
"No, I've seen you at a distance, but
we've never met."
"Then . . . how do you know what I
like to drink?" she asked, curious suspicious.
Bros grinned down at her.
"It's a game I play, matching drinks
to faces. I usually guess right. So . . . do I have you pegged?"
She nodded with a little smile. At
least that far, Joat thought.
"Please, sit down." He indicated
a seat.
"Thanks," she said, and looked
around, "But I can't. I'm here to meet someone."
"I know. Me."
Oh, Ghu, Joat thought. I may
lose my lunch. How could such a neat looking guy have such a macho-maniacal attitude. Pity.
To Bros she looked both weary and
disappointed at the apparent pick-up line; but smiled as she turned to go. I don't
blame her. That one was probably a cliché when bearskins were the latest fashion.
"The name's Sperin. Bros
Sperin."
Her eyes went wide. The spy?
"I thought you were dead!" she
blurted.
He laughed. "A rumor I've carefully
spread. It's useful. Actually, I only felt like I was dead. They put me back
together looking different, and they've had me behind a desk the last few years."
They looked at each other for a few
moments.
"Shall we sit down or," he
indicated the dance floor, "shall we dance?"
Joat sat. I don't think so. I don't
want to get any closer to you than arm's length, thanks. Something about him made her
wary on a personal level. She wondered what the heck was going on.
"I usually deal with Sal," she
said uneasily. And I wish I were now. Not that Sal was such a great guy or
anything. But something's up, my antennae are tingling.
"He's around somewhere. I understand
you have an unbirthday present for him."
She nodded, frowning again. An
unbirthday present. She sneered mentally. That's cute. "Actually, it's
more of a parting gift. Something that might go well with a broken arm."
"In that case he'll be sorry to have
missed you. I'll be sure to pass along your good wishes." Bros picked up his glass
and looked at her over the rim. "But I needed to talk to you."
"About what?" Joat kept her face
and voice as carefully neutral as his.
Bros felt the package placed in his lap;
she'd done it so smoothly he hadn't noticed her hand going under the table. Whoa!
he thought, startled. What am I doing out by myself if I can't even keep an eye on the
girl's hands?
He didn't show his surprise and dismay
however. His face was dead calm when he said, "There's something we need you to do,
someone we want you to talk to. We thought the Wyal would make a good place for a
meeting."
Joat put her untasted drink on the table
and gave it a little shove away from herself. Glad I didn't touch that, she
thought. Who knows what kind of go-along syrup they put in it. She didn't like the
way this meeting was going. Of course the drink could be intended as a bribe. CenSec's
cheap enough, Ghu knows. But there was a heavy duty hook in here somewhere and one
lousy drink was insufficient bait to hide it.
"I've been told before--with heavy
regret--that I'd be terrible at your kind of work. As if I'd asked. Y'know? As if I'd want
it." She crossed her legs. That stuff's for adrenaline addicted university
students. Me, I've got a life. "Now, all of a sudden, I get this clammy feeling
that I'm being recruited. I mean, Bros Sperin comes out from behind his desk to
meet little me. And reels off quite an interesting wish list, by the way; something
needs doing, someone needs talking to and how about my place for a meeting. Oooh! It's so
exciting." Joat began a slow burn. This is just a little presumptuous. Don't you
think, Bros? "What makes you think I'd be interested?"
"You've done things for us
before."
"An occasional passenger, or a
package delivery, that's it." Her voice was sharper than she'd intended, and she saw
that he was taken aback. But then, she'd come here with the intention of cutting her ties
to CenSec, not strengthening them. And in any case Wyal is off-limits to these people.
I can't just let them get away with deciding to use my ship like it's their property.
"And got cash on the barrel
head," he reminded her grimly. Her attitude was a surprise and it was beginning to
annoy him.
"Of course."
"So what's your problem?"
From long practice, Joat froze her
reaction, which was to flare up and twist his nose for him. "Well," she said
sweetly, "so far as a meeting goes, my ship is under surveillance. Not very
clandestine, wouldn't you agree?"
Bros grinned.
"That was Sal's idea. He thought it
would confer status on me." He cocked his head at her. "Pretty obvious, was
it?"
"He might as well have been in
uniform. I thought he might be after . . . Sal's present." She glared at him. I
don't believe this! she thought, outraged. I could have been arrested and fined,
just for trying to keep this package a secret. Meanwhile he's hiring the cops as
escorts! "You couldn't have advised me, of course."
He shrugged.
"Need to know. Sal thought it would
make things easier. I don't see why it's a problem."
"It makes me look like trouble. My
reputation is for doing things well and discreetly; it's how I make my living. This does
not help."
He rubbed his upper lip to hide his smile.
She was going to love this.
"I didn't request a guard for your
ship in my CenSec capacity. In fact, they'd be quite startled to learn I was with CenSec,
here. Bros Sperin is an extremely respectable smuggler, with an hilariously inappropriate
name. At least as far as New Destinies is concerned--I deal in arms, mostly, and fencing
loot--and the local police give excellent value for money."
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh. Lovely. Do
you realize how much higher on the bribe schedule my ship will be, now that they think I'm
running with the big boys? What are you trying to do to me?"
"It's S.O.P., Joat. To be frank, my
cover is more important than your budget." He shrugged. "It's all part of
building the right picture in the minds of certain people. I assure you, when you learn
exactly who this meeting is with, you'll take a personal interest." He smiled.
"Trust me."
She snorted an unspoken not likely,
but he was sure he'd caught a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.
Good, he thought. Aloud he said,
"I'll call off the cop, since he was ineffective anyway. Will that help?"
"Sure." She rose and left.
I may have overplayed that a little,
he thought dryly as he watched her walk away. He rubbed his face vigorously. I'm badly
out of practice. I used to know better than to make assumptions about the players.
Still, they were reasonable assumptions based on knowledge she didn't have at the moment.
She'd probably come around.
Joat Simeon-Hap was a righteous woman.
In her way.
Joat grinned with a cold anger. Master
Spy isn't as subtle as he thinks. Five years ago she might have jumped at the chance
to get on the CenSec payroll. Not now. Wyal was hers; yes, Simeon and Channa--and
Jospeh--had helped bankroll her, but she'd paid them all off. The ship was hers, and she
was meeting payroll and running expenses and putting something by. Meanwhile she was
seeing the universe. On her terms, and nobody else's. Which is just the way I
like things, thank you very much, Bros Sperin!
A passer-by jumped back in alarm from the
glare she gave as she shouldered by him.
She hoped Alvec was back from sniffing the
Roses, or rather, letting them sniff him. Joat grinned at the thought of Bros Sperin's
dark face when he walked up to an empty berth.
The docking area was nearly deserted as
she pulled herself into the zero-G section and walked towards her berth, skimming her feet
along the deck to keep their sticktights on the metal. Nobody was around except a couple
of Ursinoids, crewfolk off one of their lumbering freighters, hairy creatures with blunt
muzzles standing nearly two meters tall and strapped around with various knives, energy
weapons and slug-throwers. She chatted with them for a few minutes, using their shaggy
bulks to disguise her slow scan of the area. That was no strain; she liked
Ursinoids, even if they did always try to sell you a collection of lethal ironmongery.
They were good types on the whole, extremely independent, but not very subtle.
Bros had been as good as his word. The cop
was gone. She wondered if she was under more covert surveillance.
Well, how would she know? Electronics she
might detect, but Sperin should be able to call upon better talent than the local security
forces.
As she passed a row of containers stacked
head high a hand flashed out and grabbed her arm.
Joat spun into the direction of the grip,
stripping her arm out with leverage against the thumb. The same motion flung her backwards
half a dozen paces and flipped the vibroknife into her right hand, held low with the
keening drone of the slender rod-blade wailing a warning of how easily it would slide
through flesh and bone. She filled her lungs to shout--the Ursinoids would be at her side
in seconds, loaded for . . . well, loaded like bears. Heavily armed bears.
Joseph ben Said held up both hands palms
out and grinned at her. The sleeves of his loose robe fell away from thick, corded
forearms where the scars lay white against the olive skin. He raised one blond eyebrow.
"So fierce, little one? Perhaps I
should not have taught you so well, eh?"
"Joe!" she said, moving forward
to slap his arm lightly. "If I was still on your training protocols, you'd be dead
right now."
She looked him up and down. The Bethelite
never seemed to change; still as fit and muscular as when she'd met him ten years ago, his
blue eyes mild and calm between the squint-wrinkles of a man who spent much time in the
desert. Perhaps a few strands of silver hair among the gold. He had been born in Keriss
before the Kolnari came, a child of the dockside slums, and right-hand man to Amos ben
Sierra Nueva when the future Prophet had been a radical and half an outcast.
Now he was Deacon of the Right Hand--head
of the Bethelite police and counter- espionage forces.
"What are you doing here? Is Amos
here too?"
He shook his head.
"No, I am here alone." He cast a
meaningful glance back and forth. "Look, I have a gift."
He reached into the hand-luggage at his
feet and tossed a heavy bottle of green ceramic in her direction. Joat caught it with a
yelp of protest at the risk; she recognized the brand. The surface was pebbled and cool,
the fastener held in with twisted copper wire and sealed with wax. Despite herself she
felt her eyes mist a little. Joe was always a good osco, she thought. And he'd
taught her a great deal, some of it things that Simeon and Channa never suspected.
"Bethel brewed Arrak," he said
and kissed the tips of his fingers, dropping into the singsong of a bazari merchant
for a moment. "From the Prophet's private store. Blessed with the heat of Saffron's
golden sun."
She grinned.
"C'mon aboard, I've got someone I
want you to meet."
Joat led the way up into Wyal's
berth and spoke:
"Knock, knock?"
"Who's there?" The cybernetic
voice sounded as if it would wince if it could.
"Jo who?"
"Jo'at the door."
Joseph did wince, in sympathy. "Among
Simeon's many crimes, not the least was teaching you his depraved sense of humor."
"Tell me the news from Bethel, tell
me about Rachel," Joat said. She cycled the lock closed and stood while the sensor
field swept them for unauthorized sticktights. "And tell me what's wrong."
"Rachel is well, the children are
well . . . and what should be wrong, my young friend?" The blue eyes blinked
guilelessly at her.
"Joe, unlike Amos, you're no great
traveler. If you've left Bethel and Rachel and it wasn't with Amos, there's a reason. What
is it?"
"All in good time," he said.
Joat smiled wryly, restraining an impulse
to grind her teeth. From Joseph she could take the odd mystery.
"Joat, I am most impressed by the
quality of this AI, but it is a machine, nothing more." He looked at her with a frown
of worry. "You know the difference, between a person and a machine?"
Joat sipped her arrak. The liquid slid
down her throat like a living fire with velvet fur, leaving a ghost-taste of ripe dates.
"Joe, I'm a programming expert. If I
don't know the difference, who does? And if you say, Joat you are alone too much,
I'll punch you in the nose, I swear I will."
"I taught you better than that,"
he said, mock-offended.
"If you are naked and your feet
are nailed to the floor, you may hit an enemy in the face with your fist. Short of that,
use something more effective," Joat quoted in a sing- song voice. "I
remember."
She leaned forward: "Look, if Simeon
can turn his AI into his dog --" to be precise, an Irish Setter "-- why can't I
go a step further and turn mine into a friend?" She lowered her voice confidentially.
"We're not romantically involved if that's your worry."
He laughed and shook his head at her.
"You, little rebel, should be
married, with a husband to fix your wayward thoughts upon. Look at how my Rachel has
prospered by my side."
Joat pulled a judicious expression and
nodded solemnly.
"You're right, Joe, she's quite a
gal."
Yup, she's not a demented, murderous,
traitorous bitch any more.
Now she was Joseph's executive assistant
in the Bethelite Security Forces, handling the technical end of things. She also ran their
rancho, a sun drenched spread at Twin Springs and was a devoted mother to their two
children, Simeon Amos and Channa Joat.
"Marriage would make a new woman of
you, you should try it. I know!" He flung his hands up as if struck by
inspiration--but did not, she noted, spill a single drop of the arrack.
"Marry me, Joat! Become my second
wife and you can live on the rancho and ride to your heart's content. You can take care of
the children. Think how restful your life would be! And I swear that I would be as
faithful to you as to my beloved Rachel."
"Joe! How can you claim to be
faithful to Rachel while you're asking another woman to marry you?"
"Because I am asking you to
marry me. If I were asking you to be my mistress, then I would be unfaithful. There
is a tremendous difference, you must agree."
Joat blinked. He was joking--but to
a Bethelite, that made perfect sense. There were times when she forgot Joseph was from the
deep back woods of the universe.
"Hunh! If I ever do hitch up with
someone, I'm not gonna be anyone's second anything." She took a sip of Arrak. "I
want a virgin, myself."
A discrete cough from behind brought her
to her feet, spinning around, knife in her hand again, ready for throwing.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Bros
Sperin, arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning casually against the hatchway.
"How did you get in here?" Wait
a minute. Not only was the hatch locked and dogged, but Rand should have warned me--and
the motion sensors should have gone off--and . . .
He shrugged.
"The lock was open, I knew you were
expecting me, so I came in. Is that a problem?"
"It was not open. I do take
some rudimentary precautions."
"It wasn't locked down. Not," he
added with an annoying smile, "locked down very securely, that is."
"Yes, it was," she said through
clenched teeth.
He shrugged again, and spread his hands.
He was there. Joat felt an overwhelming urge to kick him.
"Joat," Joseph said before she
could speak. "You asked me what had happened to bring me here. Now is the time to
discuss the matter."
"Maybe I should make sure my hatch is
locked," she said sullenly.
"No problem," Bros said, walking
around her to swing his lean body into the pilot's chair with authoritative ease. "I
took care of it." It was the first time he'd gotten a spontaneous reaction from her
and he was feeling a bit smug about it. Then he glanced at the Bethelite seated beside him
and grew serious again. To Joseph he said, "You asked for my presence here, excellent
sir. I'm most anxious to hear why."
Joseph took a deep breath; Joat saw that
his fingers were white from the pressure of his clasp. Joe was not a man who put his
feelings on display like this. Her irritation fell away--not forgotten, but filed.
"Our prophet, Amos ben Sierra Nueva,
left Bethel ten days ago aboard a merchanter ship bound for the SSS-900-C. He did not
arrive and the ship has not been heard from or found." Joseph rubbed his chin and
looked at Bros. "I think you know why I asked to see you."
Joat shaped a silent whistle. No wonder
Joe had seemed tense under his usual banter.
Bros nodded. "The Kolnari," he
said.
"You are CenSec's resident expert on
. . . them. And this will be an offworld affair. We . . . I am desperate for any
help that you can offer. This is our prophet; and he is my brother-of-the-spirit, a bond
closer than blood. They have taken him, I am sure. I must find him."
After a moment Bros leaned forward.
"My superiors think I'm paranoid about the Kolnari. You understand me? They think
that my information is unreliable, that every time a bandit hijacks a ship I see the
Divine Seed. You take my advice, you're taking the risk that evaluation will rub off on
you."
Joseph gave a bitter laugh and shook his
head.
"Your superiors have not met the
Kolnari. I have. To be paranoid about them is to be sane. I will trust your advice, Bros
Sperin, for I know these devils. Advise me."
Cautiously, as though probing an open
wound, Bros said, "There will be no ransom demand."
"I know it. If they have him, they
will not so easily release him."
"I was aware of the kidnapping before
you asked to see me, excellent sir," Bros said. "Simeon and Channa Hap reported
that he hadn't arrived on the day he was overdue." Bros paused for a moment, gazing
steadily at Joseph. "Just before I came over here a report reached me that the black
box from the Sunwise had been recovered from a field of space debris. The box hasn't been
evaluated yet, but the ship that found it reported signs indicating that the engines
blew."
"I have no doubt that they did,"
Joseph said quietly.
"But I'd be surprised if that's all
the box shows," Bros continued. "Even if there's not a Kolnari in sight, I
believe that the Benisur was taken off that vessel either by them or for them. No
question."
"We are agreed then." Joseph
said, studying this legendary stranger. "Can you offer any advice? Anything at
all."
"I hope so, excellent sir."
Sperin paused. "I'm ashamed to admit it," he continued, "but we haven't
caught up with all that many Kolnari since we routed them at the SSS-900-C and at Bethel.
They went into hiding, and very effectively too. For quite a while we," he glanced at
Joseph, "all of us, thought that perhaps Dr. Chaundra had wrought better than we had
any right to hope and that they'd been exterminated by the disease he'd created.
"Then, gradually, but more and more
over the last few years, pirate actions that fit the Kolnari m.o. began to crop up.
Objects recorded as being taken in those specific raids suddenly were being offered for
sale and we began to trace them back through a trail of legitimate dealers with flexible
ethics to downright fences. Most of the time the trail led back to a Station called Rohan
and a man named Nomik Ciety."
He turned to Joat. "This is where you
come in," he said and smiled.
Oh really, she thought, gosh,
wow, I feel so privileged. Get out of my chair, blast you! She nodded instead of
speaking.
"Ciety is a notorious fence, a
smuggler, a weapons broker. But we've never been able to touch him. Because Rohan, his
base of operations, is a free-port, only nominally associated with Central Worlds, we have
neither jurisdiction nor power there. In other words, as long as he keeps his nose clean
on Rohan and makes his tax payments on time he can do anything, and I mean anything,
that he wants to, there.
"We've sent people to Rohan to check
him out, to look for Kolnari activity, to look for loot that we think the Kolnari might
have taken. They've disappeared. Every one of them."
"And this is where I come
in?" Joat asked, eyebrows raised.
Bros rubbed his hand across his upper lip.
"Exactly. I want you to go to Rohan
and look around. I trust your capabilities and you're not known to be connected with
Central Worlds Security so you should be in minimal danger. I repeat, I want you to look.
Don't confront Ciety, don't troll for loot, don't try to find any Kolnari, just see what's
there. You've been around, you'll know what to look for, what stories to listen to. If you
see anything suspicious, that is, of a nature to help us with this problem, note it. Do
nothing else. Note it and get back to us."
"Sounds exciting." she said
dryly.
Bros turned the pilot's chair until he was
facing Joseph.
"Excellent sir, this man Ciety is
also an information broker. It is possible that, for the right price, he might be willing
to supply you with information about this kidnapping. All that I can guarantee you about
him is treachery, so if you do approach him, watch your back and don't make payment final
until you're well away from Rohan. The man is completely mercenary and if he discovers who
you are he would willingly sell you to the Kolnari. It would be wise to make your approach
through a third party, the place is rife with professional go-betweens, so finding someone
shouldn't be a problem. Of course a major concern in that case would be that you're so
obviously a Bethelite that, knowing your desperation for any information, they might
inflate their prices at the sight of you and give you next to nothing at all. Or they may
decide to mention your curiosity to Ciety, or someone else you don't want to take an
interest in you.
"As Joat is already bound there . . .
"
"I am?" Joat said in mock
surprise and earned an arch look from the CenSec agent.
"I urge you, most strongly, excellent
sir, to commission her to act for you while you stay clear of the place altogether."
He looked over at Joat, his eyes narrowed. "Amending her mission to accommodate your
needs might even improve her chances of finding out what CenSec wants to know. I think
she's both clever and discrete enough to be able to handle such a commission. And if she
arranges it through a go-between, or better yet, through several of them she might succeed
in remaining completely anonymous. That's where I'd advise you to start. Joat can send
your information back with her first report to CenSec and I'll relay it to you."
"Are you aware that I'm in the same room
with you, Sperin?" Joat asked.
Bros gave her an exasperated look, then
turned to Joseph and spread his hands. "That's all we can offer at the moment,
excellent sir. I'm sorry." Bros dug into his pocket, pulled out a datahedron and
handed it to Joat.
"This is Ciety's dossier. Read it
when you can concentrate on it because it will erase itself as it's being read."
"Well that's useful," Joat
muttered.
"We don't want him to know what we
know about him, Joat. And since your security is barely worth mentioning you could hardly
expect me to give you a permanent record." He stood. "Are there any
questions?"
"Yup. One, when did I agree to do all
this stuff? And two, how much are you offering to pay me for this?" Joat asked.
"Seventy-four hundred, plus
reasonable expenses," Sperin said, ignoring her first question entirely.
"And to think I passed up a career in
CenSec," Joat murmured sarcastically.
"Seventy-four hundred is considerably
more than my salary for this year," Bros said. "Don't you want to help find the
Benisur Amos? He is an old friend of your parents."
"You forgot to appeal to my
patriotism," Joat said dryly.
"I may be a scoundrel, but I'm not
down to my last resort quite yet."
"I was just hoping you could do a
little better than that. After all, a trader who goes to Rohan is a little like a virgin
taking tea in a whorehouse. It taints your reputation even if you haven't done any
business." She smiled sweetly at him. "Expenses to include all fuel and
repairs."
And Flegal, but I am going to repair
the dickens out of this ship.
"All right," he said.
"Point taken. On my authority, CenSec will pick up for any expenses and repairs this
mission gives rise to." He held out his hand to her.
She raised her hand, but held it back.
"I wonder if you might be willing to
offer some kind of a bonus, considering that this could be a dangerous mission and
that I am, after all, a civilian. Nothing outrageous," she assured him, holding up a
denying hand. "You might arrange some trading concessions, for example. There's many
a place I'd love to ship to but I can't afford the docking fees. What do you say, Bros?
Think we can work something out?"
Bros put his hands on his hips and studied
her through narrowed eyes.
"Where did you have in mind?"
"Senalgal?"
"Get real, Captain."
"The SSS-900-C?"
He raised his brows. "I would have
thought Simeon . . . "
"I like to earn my way," she
said sharply.
He nodded slowly. "I can fix
it."
Joat held out her hand and he shook it,
surprised at the strength of her grip.
"You can contact me at The
Anvil," he said, "my cover name is Clal va Riguez." He nodded to Joseph,
gave a half smile to Joat and was gone.
Joat turned on a monitor and they watched
Sperin leave the Wyal and walk away without a backward glance.
"He told me he was known at The Anvil
as Bros Sperin," she said resentfully.
"Wheels within wheels," Joseph
murmured.
"Rand," she asked, "did he
leave anything behind?"
"Yes, Joat. On the left arm of your
chair, just where the seam is on the front of the arm."
Joat examined the area Rand had described.
Nothing. She pulled out a scanner and flicked it; a framework extended, and she fitted it
over her head. Joseph came to her side and pulled a huge, clumsy-looking optical from a
pocket in his robe.
"Got it," she said.
"Here," Joseph grunted, his
words crossing over hers. They smiled at each other.
He rose from his knees, bowing. "All
yours, child."
"Child, hell." She pulled a
toolkit from another pocket and opened it, twiddling her fingers. "Ta-dum."
It was about the width of a human hair and
no longer than the thickness of a fingernail; one end was razor-sharp, to make it easier
to implant. Probably it was this large only to allow it to be manipulated easily.
"Hello, Bros!" Joat said
brightly, smiling a toothy smile with the sticktight held at eye level. "Why do I get
this feeling that not everything is As It Seems? Anyway, you seem to have forgotten
something. I couldn't allow you to waste the taxpayer's money like that. Tsk, tsk upon
you."
She opened an envelope and dropped the
sticktight into it. "Addressed to Clal va Riguez, The Anvil," she said. The
envelope obligingly showed the name on its exterior, and she confirmed it with a pinch
that sealed the container. "Deliver." She dropped it into a slot on the console.
"Oooh," Joat went on to Joseph.
"Spy stuff. I wonder how much that little thingie is worth. I wonder how many more
there are."
Joseph still had the optical to his eye;
looking at the recording of the sticktight. Bethelite technology wasn't subtle, but it got
the job done.
"Interesting. Passive sensor, I
think--burst transmission when keyed."
"Confirmed," Rand said. "I
was only aware of it because I saw Mr. Sperin install it. As for the rest of the ship,
nothing seems abnormal, but I can make no guarantees. Mr. Sperin seems a devious man, and
we've no idea how long he was actually aboard before he chose to make his presence
known."
"About that," Joat interrupted.
"Why didn't you tell me he was on board?"
"The first I knew of it was when he
appeared on the bridge, Joat."
"But how could he do
that?" she demanded.
"I suppose that CenSec has been
extrapolating from your design," Rand said, "and they've come up with a superior
version."
Joat bristled and her eyes sparked with
fury. "Not for long, they haven't," she growled.
"In any event," Rand continued,
"if he's left something behind I can't find it until it's contacted by an external
signal."
"Don't worry about it, Rand. It's not
your fault." If anything, she thought, it's mine for becoming so
complacent. Or so honest. Joat shrugged. "I think it's safe to assume he'd leave
his best stuff on the bridge. That's where we'll be most of the time, after all."
She picked up the bottle of Arrak
freshened both of their drinks.
"Disappointed?" she asked.
Joseph grimaced slightly.
"I am more annoyed than disappointed.
Why I do not know. I certainly did not expect Central Worlds to charge to the rescue with
banners flying. But I expected . . . "
"More than to be told to go home and
wait for word from us big important people?"
"Yes!" he said firmly.
"You expected to be treated as a
professional equal who doesn't need obvious instructions on how to behave in a hostile
port?"
"Yes!"
"More importantly, you were hoping to
receive some offer of backup from Central Worlds if you do find out who has Amos and where
they've taken him."
Joseph tossed back the rest of the Arrak
in his glass and looked at her.
"Without the aid of the Central
Worlds Navy there would be little that we could do. If they are unwilling to help us, or
if they delay, then my brother will die." He laughed in self mockery and rubbed a
hand across his eyes. "Ah, Joat, I had hoped for hope."
Joat grinned at him. "All that
regular living has made you soft, Joe. You don't need hope, you need luck . . . "
" . . . and you make your own
luck!" they recited together, they clicked glasses and laughed.
She folded her arms and leaned her hip
against her main console. Her eyes went over the readouts, registering automatically
without interrupting the flow of thought.
"We're fueled, we're set for
supplies; as soon as my crew gets back we can cast off. So if you've got gear you'd better
go and fetch it now."
Joseph grinned wickedly at her and
indicated the small bag at his feet. "That is all that I have, Joat. But I must say
that I do not think Mr. Sperin would approve of this invitation. I do not believe that he
wished me to go to Rohan."
"Hunh, by the time he was finished
talking I wasn't sure he wanted me to go! Pushy osco, ain't he?"
"Perhaps he wanted to go
himself," offered Rand. "He had the overtones, if I may say so, of a man
stretching his instructions to the limit."
Joat and Joseph exchanged glances.
"Y'know Rand, I believe you've hit
the nail on the head," Joat murmured.
With a soft hiss of breath Amos completed the final movement of the seven hundred and
fifty separate steps of the Sword Dance of Natham. He stood upright, panting slightly,
sweat running freely down his bare, muscled sides.
The dance helped to center him, to stave
off rage and panic, as well as wearing him out so that he could sleep. He had just
repeated it twice in succession, once slowly, once very fast.
Now he wished that he could be clean. But
the Kolnari brig did not include such amenities as a shower. There was a small sink,
however and he went over to it intending to do the best he could.
The cell was small, perhaps two meters by
three with double decker bunks that folded down from the wall, the sink and a commode for
furnishings. The walls, ceiling and floor were of cold, white enameled metal and the light
never went out.
The food was neither good nor bad, but
bland, soldier's rations, in reasonable quantity, delivered at unpredictable intervals.
Were he a man who could find no comfort in
his God, Amos knew that he would be howling and beating on the door by now. He smiled
grimly. The Kolnari couldn't know that a severe religious retreat could be very like this.
There would be better facilities for cleaning oneself, and books, and the light would be
under his control, but otherwise there were strong similarities. With the obvious
exception, of course, that he could end a religious retreat at will. Assuming that God
willed it so.
He sighed and turned on the faucet. No
water came.
How petty, he thought, Belazir
must be finding me boring.
He sat on his bunk and turned his palms
upward to begin meditating on the devotions of the prophets. That would fill his time both
pleasantly and well, since there were over eight thousand of them.
The hatch swung open and two figures in
black space armor violently flung Captain Sung into the room. Amos leapt to his feet and
caught the older man before he could crash to the floor. By the time he had the Captain
righted on his feet the cell was sealed once more.
"Captain," Amos said in
astonishment. "What of Soamosa? Have you seen her, have they told you anything?"
The Captain's face was badly bruised and
he was shaking with reaction.
"I thought they were gonna space
me," he said and shuddered. "I knew they couldn't get a ransom for me, they
already took everything I ever had. I thought they were going to vent me with the rest of
the garbage."
Amos put an arm around the older man and
guided him to the bunk.
"I would give you water if I
could," he said, "but they have turned it off." He paused for a moment.
"Captain," he said softly and waited until the other man looked at him.
"Soamosa, do you know anything about her?"
The Captain shook his head regretfully,
"No, nothing. I haven't seen her since we were split up, and they don't talk to
me." He raised a shaking hand to brush back his short hair. "I'm sorry."
"I did not expect that you would
know, I only hoped that they might have become careless and allowed you to see something.
It is no matter."
"How long have we been here?"
Sung asked.
"I do not know. I have slept four
times, and I have been fed eight. But what relation that might have to real time I could
not begin to guess. What is your estimation?"
Sung shook his head, his face looking
infinitely sad.
"I don't know," he said, "I
just don't know."
"Rest," Amos said gently and
placed his hand against the Captain's shoulder, urging him to lie down. He grinned
ruefully. "We shall have a wealth of time to talk later. Put your head down for a
while."
Sung nodded tiredly and lay flat, his eyes
closed before his head touched the pillow.
Amos sat on the floor in a lotus position.
Before resuming his meditations he offered a brief prayer of thanks for the gift of a
companion to relieve the silence of his imprisonment.
Several hours later Sung stirred and woke.
He turned to Amos and stared at him in puzzlement.
"Who the hell are you?" he
asked.
"What?"
"Who the hell are you? What are you
doing in here?"
"Captain, what are you talking
about?" Amos studied the Captains irate face with astonishment. "I am Amos ben
Sierra Nueva, a passenger of yours . . . "
"Passengers aren't allowed in the
captain's quarters! What are you doing here?"
Amos licked his dry lips, uncertain how
one answered a man apparently losing his mind and growing more angry by the minute.
"Captain Sung," he held out a
placating hand, "we are not on your ship, we have been thrown into the brig of a
Kolnari pirate. Don't you remember?"
The Captain's eyes widened, a look of fear
shuddered across his face to be replaced by confusion.
"What did you say my name was?"
"You are Captain Josiah Sung, of the
merchanter ship Sunwise."
"The Sunwise," Sung reached out
and gripped Amos's hand desperately, "I remember her. She's my ship, the Sunwise, I
know her. You see? I'm all right."
"Yes, of course you are Captain, it
was only a moments confusion. You woke from a deep sleep to find yourself in a new place,
it is not uncommon to be disoriented under such conditions. All is well." Amos gave
the Captain's hand a squeeze and smiled encouragingly at him.
Sung raised his tear-slicked face to glare
at Amos.
"Let go of my hand you bastard! How
the hell did you get in here?"
Amos felt his heart pounding in the cage
of his ribs, more strongly than it had when he pushed his body to its limits.
"I'm the Captain dammit! I don't entertain
the passengers. You got that? Get out of here!" Sung pointed to the hatch and then
blinked. With a gasp he turned to look at Amos. "What's happening to me? What have
they done?"
Amos shook his head, equally horrified.
The bruise on the Captain's face was proof of a head wound, but would such a wound have an
effect like this? Had the Captain been poisoned? Was he being shown the effects before
they did the same to him? It would be like Belazir to torture him so, the Kolnari idea of
subtlety.
Suddenly Belazir stood before them. The
edges of his image bore a soft white fuzz for a moment, then the holo snapped into clear
focus.
A white silken robe emphasized the inhuman
blackness of his still magnificent body. A feathered clip held back his brittle white
hair.
"Good morning Simeon Amos, or good
evening, whichever you have decided it must be. How are you getting on down here?"
"Not well, Master and God. The
Captain is not himself." Amos's eyes dared to demand answers, but he would not give
Belazir the pleasure of hearing him ask for them.
"Is he not?" Belazir said with
amusement. "Then who is he? Captain Sung, who do you think you are?"
"What.. what do you mean?"
"Who are you?" Belazir asked.
A look of blank astonishment crossed
Sung's face and he raised his hands helplessly.
"I don't know," he said, his
voice tight with horror. "I don't remember." Tears gathered in his eyes and he
struggled visibly not to blink and send them rolling down his cheeks. "I don't
remember."
Amos glared at the Kolnari, letting his
face show contempt. He spat at the feet of the image.
Belazir quirked a smile at him. "You
offer little sport, scumvermin; you tell me everything that I want to know without my even
asking. Why should I tell you anything?"
"You knew before you did this that I
would despise you for it. Master and God. Why you even bothered to show up I cannot
imagine."
"Is this wise, scumvermin, to bait a
man who holds your lives in his fist? I am sure that your friend Channahap would advise
you otherwise." He folded his massive arms across his chest and regarded Amos with
amusement. "It may be that I have information that you might wish to have. If you ask
me very politely, I might unbend sufficiently to enlighten you."
Amos's lips quivered with rage, but his
need to know the fate of his young cousin won out over his pride and his hatred.
"I beg your pardon," he said
formally. "Master and God."
Belazir raised an eyebrow. "I will
assume that was a request for knowledge. I know that you wish for information about your
young cousin. But I will instead unfold a larger plan before you. One that touches the
fate of all your people." He paused, smiling, to observe the effect this
pronouncement was having on Amos. "You can see that the Captain here is not behaving
normally, can you not?"
"Of course I can," Amos said
through gritted teeth. "Master and God."
"You are thinking that we have beaten
him into this condition, or that we have poisoned him."
Amos nodded.
Belazir's face suddenly seemed weary. He
shrugged and half-turned away.
"In fact he has been overcome by a
contagious, progressive disease that attacks the memory center of the brain. You are a
carrier of this disease, Simeon Amos, but we have made sure that you are completely immune
to it. You have seen how rapidly it works, how devastating it is."
Belazir's golden eyes narrowed. "We
Kolnari have gained great respect for such weapons. You and the rest of the scumvermin on
that accursed station taught us a singular lesson about biological weaponry. Now we of
Kolnar shall return the favor.
"You will be given a drug that will
prevent you from moving or speaking and then you will be returned to your people."
Amos rose from the bunk, to confront
Belazir on his feet.
"We are not stupid, Belazir. My
people will know that something is wrong. Why else would you return me?"
"Oh, but they will have to fight to
recover you. It will all be very convincing, I assure you. A raging chase through the
skies of Bethel. But they will win, for yours is a valiant people. And their reward shall
be to become like the Captain. We will leave him here with you so that you can fully
appreciate what your return to the bosom of your people will mean to them."
As Amos rushed forward the grinning image
of Belazir blinked out and he crashed into the wall instead. He slid down until he was
sitting on the floor, and then he looked up to meet Captain Sung's gaze.
"Who are you?" the man asked.
"Who . . . "