by Timothy Zahn
"You got me, buddy symbiont," Jack said, dodging out of the way as a couple of Compfrins pushed past him. "Maybe they don't want big crowds coming through here. It's only a small regional spaceport, you know, on a small out-of-the-way world."
"Not a very wealthy one, either," Draycos commented.
"No, but it could have been," Jack said as he ducked past a group of chattering Jantris through the doorway into the next ring inward. "There are supposed to be some really nice beryllium and iridium deposits in the Golvin territories east of here."
"Why weren't they developed?"
Jack shrugged. "Uncle Virgil told me that some mining corporation had managed to get the whole area tangled up in red tape and paperwork."
Something brushed his back, pulling at the light jacket he'd put on to help conceal the tangler belted at his waist. Jack twitched himself free and kept moving. The brush came again, more insistent this time. Again, Jack pulled away, then turned to see what the problem was.
He found himself gazing half a head down at a Golvin. The alien's long face was gazing up at him, his thin, wiry body visibly trembling. He wore nothing but a knee-length tan-colored vest covered with bulging pockets. "Is there a problem?" Jack asked.
"It is he," the Golvin said, his voice sounding like sandpaper rubbing across slate. "It is the Jupa."
"The Jupas are gone," another Golvin voice objected from behind Jack. Jack turned to find that two more of the wiry creatures had come up behind him. They joined the first in pawing at his jacket, their wide noses snuffling like bloodhounds on a fresh scent.
"Then perhaps this is a third Jupa they have sent to us," the first Golvin said firmly. "He smells much as they did."
"But the Jupas are gone," the second Golvin repeated.
"But there is so much that needs to be done," the first countered. "He smells like the Jupa Stuart and the Jupa Ariel. He must therefore be a Jupa."
"Or I'm just a human," Jack interjected, wondering what in space a Jupa was. "Maybe what you're smelling is just normal human scent."
"I have smelled other humans," the first Golvin insisted. "You are a Jupa."
"The One will know the truth," the third Golvin spoke up. "We should take him to the One."
"Yes, indeed," the first Golvin said, brightening. "You must come with us, Jupa."
"Wait a minute," Jack protested, trying to pull away. But their hands had some sort of odd stickiness to them, and the more he pulled the more he seemed permanently attached. "I can't go with you. I have to get to the bank."
"You are the Jupa," the first Golvin said firmly. "We have awaited your arrival for a long time."
"I have to go to the bank," Jack insisted, twisting his arms free of his jacket. But the three sets of sticky hands merely transferred themselves to his shirt and jeans. "Look, you're confusing me with someone else. I'm not who you think I am. Really."
"Jack?" Draycos murmured urgently from his shoulder.
"No—stay down," Jack warned quietly, eyeing the crowd around them. The last thing he and Draycos needed right now was for the K'da's existence to burst into public knowledge. He and Alison needed a certain freedom of movement if they were going to stop Neverlin and the Valahgua.
The Golvins were moving Jack along now, herding him like a prize sheep as they headed for one of the exits into the inner transportation area. Maybe out in the open, Jack thought, he would have a better chance of escaping.
He was still waiting for that chance when the Golvins ushered him into the backseat of a cramped, beat-up old air shuttle and piled in around him. The driver produced a starter from one of his vest's pockets, and ten seconds later they were in the air and heading east.
It was only then that Jack noticed that both his comm clip and his tangler were missing.
"Where was he when you lost him?" Alison asked, checking the clip in her compact Corvine 4mm pistol as she raced toward the airlock.
"Third ring toward the middle," Uncle Virge said, his voice as agitated as Alison had ever heard it. "He was talking to someone—at least two people, maybe more—and then the transmission cut off."
So whoever they were, they'd made sure to shut off Jack's comm clip when they grabbed him. That was a bad sign. "He's got the spare in his shoe, right?"
"If he can get to it," Uncle Virge said grimly. "There's a comm clip for you on the shelf in the airlock."
"I've got my own," Alison reminded him.
"This one's already tuned to my frequency and pattern specs."
"Fine," Alison growled. "Whatever."
Taneem was waiting in the airlock, her gray scales shimmering in the light as she paced restlessly around the room. "There is danger?" she asked anxiously as Alison picked up the comm clip Uncle Virge had mentioned and fastened it to her collar.
"Don't know yet," Alison said, trying to put the best possible light on the situation. Despite her adult K'da body, Taneem was still not much more than a child intellectually, and scaring her wouldn't do either of them any good. "Come on—get aboard."
She held out her hand. Taneem lifted a paw and set it on her palm, and a second later had gone two-dimensional and slithered up Alison's arm onto her back.
Alison hunched her shoulders, her skin tingling as the K'da slid across her back to the wraparound position she'd found to be the most comfortable for her. Even after two weeks of doing this a couple times a day she still wasn't used to it. "Uncle Virge?" she called, tapping the comm clip.
"Signal's clear," the computer personality confirmed tightly. "Watch yourself."
"I will," Alison promised as the hatch popped open and the gangway ramp slid down to the stained concrete of the landing
pad.
From the air, the spaceport had looked rather poorly designed. Now, as Alison fought her way through the crowds streaming toward the central bottleneck, she realized just how badly designed it really was. She kept her eyes open as she walked and shoved and was shoved in turn. But if Jack was still here, she wasn't spotting him. "Still nothing from his comm clip?" she asked Uncle Virge.
"No," the answer came, just audible over the background noise. "But you're about the same place he was when the transmission cut off."
Alison worked her way to the nearest wall, pausing there to crane her neck over the crowd. No Jack, but also no one who looked like they might be a Malison Ring mercenary. Unless they'd just grabbed Jack and run.
No. For some reason, they still seemed to want Virgil Morgan. They wouldn't just run off with Jack without at least hanging around long enough to leave a ransom demand.
"It sounded to me like there was something there at the end about going to the bank," she said.
"Jack said he needed to go to the bank," Uncle Virge corrected. "No one said they were actually going there."
"Maybe not, but it's as good a place to start as any," Alison said. Rejoining the crowd, she continued inward. She reached the center to find an entire half circle dedicated to ground and air taxis. Working her way to the first vehicle in line, she got in.
"To?" a long-faced Golvin asked, his flat nose snuffling at the air between them like a piece of paper flapping in a stiff breeze.
"Bank of Lloffle," she told him.
His nose snuffled another moment, and then he turned back to the wheel and pulled out into the drive. Alison leaned back, trying to look all directions.
Ten minutes later the driver pulled up in front of the bank. Jack, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight. "Now what?" Uncle Virge asked as Alison climbed the steep steps toward the front door.
"I'm going in," she told him. "They could easily have gotten here ahead of me. If not—" She shrugged. "I might as well at least clear out the box."
"With Jack holding the only key?" Uncle Virge retorted. "That'll be a neat trick."
"Not really," Alison said, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. If he only knew. "It's Box 433
, right?"
"Right," Uncle Virge said suspiciously. "What are you—?"
"I'm shutting down," Alison said. "Stay cool, okay?"
"Alison—"
She tapped the comm clip, cutting off his protest, and went inside.
The bank interior was small and modestly decorated, as befit a small operation on a world most of the Orion Arm's society and culture had long since left behind. Two Compfrins were working the counter, and a bulky Trin-trang was seated at a desk by the doorway leading into the back room. "May we assist?" one of the Compfrins asked.
"I need to get into Box 433
," Alison said, walking toward the Trin-trang at the desk. "The name of record is Virgil Morgan."
The Trin-trang typed for a moment on his keyboard, then peered at his display. "Yes," he confirmed, opening a drawer and pulling out a shiny gold-metal electronic key. "You have the key?"
"Of course," Alison said, digging her right hand into her pocket for her collection of small keys. Picking by touch the one she knew looked the most like the Trin-trang's, she pulled it out and held it up. "Right here," she said, keeping her hand moving so that he couldn't quite get a clear look at the key. "I'm in rather a hurry," she added, lowering her hand to her side.
The Trin-trang's shoulders hunched in the equivalent of a frown, but without a word he stood up and gestured toward the doorway. "Come."
He led the way into the back room and the vault beyond it. Keeping her left hand out of his view, Alison squeezed her thumb against the base of her left forefinger.
And the plastic lockpick surgically implanted beneath the fingernail silently slid out into ready position.
Recessed into the side of the vault were three rows of private lockboxes. "Four thirty-three," the Trin-trang said, pointing a thick finger at one of them as he went to the far end of the row and inserted his key into the master lock at the end. "At your convenience."
Alison stepped to the indicated box, turning a little to put her shoulder between the Trin-trang and the lockbox. Using both hands as if she was having trouble inserting the key, she slid the lockpick into the keyhole. The semifluid plastic did its magic, flowing up against the markpins and triggering the proper transponder connections, and with a twist of her wrist the lock came open. Sliding the lockpick back into concealment, she pulled the drawer open.
The only thing inside was a small shoulder bag, flattened and compressed to fit into the narrow space. She picked it up, noting that it seemed surprisingly light, and looped the strap over her shoulder. "Thank you," she told the Trin-trang as she returned the empty box to its place.
"You are welcome," the Trin-trang said, turning his key in the master lock again. "We live to serve."
Alison headed for the door, the bag bouncing gently against her side. So much, she thought sourly, for the lockbox being full of cash, the way Jack had implied.
A minute later, she was back outside, heading briskly down the steps and wondering what to try next. Obviously, Jack hadn't gotten to the bank ahead of her. Should she wait around and see if he might still turn up? Or should she assume that he and Dray-cos would get free and call Uncle Virge on their spare comm clip?
Maybe Uncle Virge would have an idea. She reached to her collar to turn her comm clip back on—
"I don't think so," a deep voice murmured in her ear as a large hand curled solidly around her wrist. "Just keep walking."
Alison twisted her head around. The man holding her arm was large and muscular, with short hair, a bushy mustache, and the bent nose of a man who'd been in more than his share of fights. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"So Virgil Morgan finally sent someone to open his lock-box," the man said. "You'd better hope he's willing to come out and play."
He smiled a grim smile. "Because if he's not," he added, "you're dead."
* * *
Chapter 3
They'd been flying for nearly an hour, and Jack was developing a serious crick in his neck from the shuttle's low ceiling, when they finally started down.
Their destination seemed to be a wide canyon cutting through the buttes and rock pillars and sand of the desert around them. As they flew closer, he could see that there were more rock pillars dotting the floor of the canyon, some of them reaching all the way up to the level of the surrounding desert surface. The canyon's pillars also had slender stone archways and guy wires linking them, creating a spiderweb of connections between them and the canyon's steep walls on either side.
Near the center of the canyon was a long, flat structure that seemed to straddle the river itself. From the air, it looked like a cross between a meeting hall and a covered bridge. At a dozen places north and south of the structure, the river had been spanned by narrow bridges.
The canyon floor, in contrast to the light brown sand of the desert around them, was a patchwork of vibrant green. Plants of some sort, probably crops. Along both sides of the canyon floor, the areas farthest from the river, were numerous clusters of trees.
I need to see more to the right.
Jack winced. Draycos should know better than to talk to him in such close confines.
But if the Golvins pressed against him on either side had heard the K'da's murmur, they gave no sign. Carefully, Jack turned his torso a little to the right.
He felt the subtle movement as Draycos eased along his skin to where he could look through the open shirt collar. Jack looked that direction, too, wondering what exactly the dragon was looking at. Aside from the canyon, all of the desert looked pretty much the same.
"We have returned," the driver said, pointing at the canyon below. "You will be ready to begin at once?"
"Let's first see what kind of accommodations you have for me," Jack improvised.
"We will provide the best," the Golvin seated beside the driver assured him. "Low down by the river, near to the Great Assembly Hall and the Seat of Decision."
"Ah," Jack said, a sinking sensation in his stomach. Low down in the canyon and surrounded by all that rock would severely limit the range of the spare comm clip in his shoe. Alison and Uncle Virge would pretty much have to fly directly over the place in order to pick up his signal.
And flying over it was the best they were going to manage, too. With all the archways and guy wires connecting the rock pillars, there was no way a ship the size of the Essenay would be putting down inside the canyon itself anytime soon.
In fact, the shuttle driver himself nearly didn't manage it. With the shifting wind currents along the canyon's edges buffeting the shuttle, Jack had a few very bad moments as they worked their way through the guy wires toward the landing pit by the river a couple hundred yards south of the big building.
But they made it, the engines sending ripples through the tall plants surrounding the landing pit as the pilot shut them down. More Golvins were starting to gather, Jack saw, all of them wearing the same long, pocketed vests as his kidnappers. Some of the outfits were differently cut, though, while others had colorful bits of decoration sewn onto them. By the time Jack maneuvered his way out of the shuttle there were at least fifty of the creatures standing silently watching him.
"I don't suppose it would do any good to tell them I'm not this Jupa you're looking for, would it?" Jack suggested as the driver and the other front-seat passenger joined him.
"You are the Jupa," the driver said firmly. "As indeed they can now tell for themselves."
Jack looked back at his audience. Sure enough, the entire crowd had that fluttering-nose thing going. Something about him apparently smelled really tasty.
He just hoped it wasn't going to be in the culinary sense.
"You wished to see your accommodations," the driver continued. "Come. I will show you."
"And I need to talk to your leaders, too," Jack added as the Golvin started along a path leading from the landing pit toward one of the taller stone pillars a hundred yards away. Aside from the various paths and the landing pit itself, Jack noted, the entire canyon floor seemed devoted to cropland. The trees along both sides, he suspected, probably produced frui
t or nuts as well as wood.
"The One will see you shortly," the Golvin assured him. "Come."
Jack followed, the other Golvins from the shuttle coming behind him like an honor guard. There was a doorway in the base of the pillar, he could see, leading into a shadowy room or series of rooms. The doorway itself was decorated with multicolored streamers on both sides and a long colored fringe hanging from the top most of the way to the ground. Twenty feet above the opening, offset a little to the right, was another doorway, a little less lavishly decorated. Above it were more doorways, extending nearly to the pillar's top, most of these with only a sheet of plain cloth covering them. The other pillars were similarly honeycombed with doorways. Apparently, the Golvins liked to live up off the ground.
He was still looking around when his guide reached their destination. Without pausing, the alien spread his hands out onto the stone and started to climb.
"Whoa," Jack said. "Excuse me?"
The Golvin paused five feet up and looked quizzically back over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"I can't do that," Jack told him. "I'll need another way to get up."
"Strange," one of the other Golvins said. "The other Jupas had no problem climbing the grasses."
The grasses? "I already told you I wasn't a Jupa," Jack reminded him, looking more closely at the pillar. Sure enough, there was a crisscrossed mesh of ivylike plants growing out of the rock. Was that what the Golvins' sticky hands were holding onto? "How about giving me the ground-level room instead?" he suggested.
"Impossible," the Golvin beside him said, the skin of his face suddenly wrinkling all over. "That is the dwelling of the One."
"Then you'll need to find me a ladder," Jack said. "I can't climb the way you can."
"Who is this you have brought?" a new voice demanded from behind him.
Jack turned to find an older Golvin striding toward him. His vest was the most elaborately decorated yet, with streamers like those of the ground-floor doorway attached to both shoulders and a matching fringe along the vest's bottom. The implication was obvious. "I gather you're the One?" Jack hazarded.
