"Well?" demanded Nighthawk.
They were back on the ship, sipping coffee made from hybrid beans that had been imported from the green slopes of Peponi's mountains.
"Most of them didn't react at all," answered Melisande. "They couldn't care less about Ibn ben Khalid."
"Who did care?"
"The one you call Nicholas Jory," she replied. "Every time Ito would slander Khalid, it was all he could do to keep from showing his rage."
"Is there any way you can tell if he simply admires Khalid or if he knows something more, like where he is or how to reach him?"
She shook her head. "No, he was drinking too heavily. It was just rage."
"What else could it have been?" asked Kinoshita curiously.
"Fear. Worry. Concern. Either at the thought of you going after Khalid—"
"That's silly. He's got an army to protect him."
"—or the mention of Cassandra Hill, who could conceivably be stolen back from him."
"Ah," acknowledged Kinoshita, nodding. "What about Blue Eyes?"
"I can't read aliens well enough to tell you with any degree of certainty."
"He seemed just like us beneath the admittedly hideous surface."
"Absolutely not!" she responded. "Never make that assumption. What you saw was protective coloration. He has very little more in common with you than an insect does." She turned to Nighthawk. "So what is your next step?"
"I wait for Blue Eyes to check me out while I'm doing the same to him, and when he finds out that what I've told him is true —he can't find me in any computer in the Oligarchy—then I hope he'll try to recruit me."
"Oh, there's no question he wants to recruit you," agreed Kinoshita. "But for what? I think rum-running is at least as likely as serving in Ibn ben Khalid's army, such as it is."
"Probably you're right," said Nighthawk. "That's why we're not about to put all our eggs in one basket." He turned to Melisande. "I passed the local jail on the way back to the ship. There can't be ten cells there, and I'm sure they're not all occupied. Have the ship's computer print you up some credentials saying that you're with some charitable organization. Then buy some desserts at a local bakery, take 'em over to the jail, and explain that they're for the prisoners. The guards will want to harass you—until you give 'em a couple of cakes or pies, that is. Then they'll let you through."
"But my credentials are no good. Anyone can print them up."
"Right. And the guards will check anyone who wants something—but why should they check on someone who's giving things away?"
"And if I'm jailed?"
"Kinoshita will be right outside. If you're not out in an hour, he'll pay your bail or pay off any guards who need it in order to get you released."
"All right," said Melisande. "Once I'm in, what do I do?"
"Simple. Give a present to each prisoner, and mention Ibn ben Khalid and Cassandra Hill to each of them. Then remember if anyone reacts."
"Why?"
"Do you know where they are?"
"No, of course not."
"Well, neither do I. But if you get the kind of reaction from one of the prisoners that convinces you he knows, we'll spring him and take him with us."
"I thought I was what you needed."
"What I need is protection and insurance, and I plan to get all I can of both."
"What will you be doing in the meantime?"
"Sleeping," answered Nighthawk.
"Sleeping?" she repeated, half-amused and half-outraged.
"Who knows when I'll get another chance? In this business, you grab it when you can. The computer can put together Blue Eyes' profile for me while I'm asleep."
"If Melisande finds what you're looking for, do you want me to bail him out?" asked Kinoshita.
Nighthawk shook his head. "No, that'll be my decision."
"Why? Look at the time I could save you."
"Because if we guess wrong and he winds up trying to shoot us or warn Ibn ben Khalid, I'd hate to have to kill you for getting us into such a jam."
"Right," said Kinoshita promptly. "Your call."
"I'm glad we see eye to eye on things," said Nighthawk dryly.