by Jaleta Clegg
Georges wisely didn't answer. He moved silently through the office, shifting objects on the shelves and unobtrusively watching his mistress.
"Are they gathering here tonight?" she asked after a long moment of silence.
Georges knew better than to ask who she referred to. "They will be here within the hour, lady."
"Ready the garden room. And be sure that that creature is securely locked in her rooms. I do not want her roaming the house tonight."
"Her rooms are secured. She will be watched closely."
"Good." Lady Candyce sat in her chair, her spine erect, her posture perfect. "I wish to be alone. Send Illya to me when they have arrived."
"Very good, lady," Georges murmured as he left the study.
Chapter 49
Deena listened to her messages, worried lines creasing her face.
"I need to talk to you about your boarder," her landlord said. "Someone's been asking around about him. He's too young for you, Deena."
She cut off the rest of the words. It was the same from him, always the same. He would try to convince her to marry him and live in security. She was too nice to tell him she found him utterly boring and unattractive. The rest of the message bothered her. Who would be looking for her? And why would her landlord care about Scholar? She shifted uneasily. She had never explained his presence. Some of her neighbors thought she was having an affair with him. Others believed he was her nephew, come to visit for a while. She'd never lied about him, they'd never asked.
She looked around her familiar apartment, seeing it with new eyes. It was not safe. The shadows in the rooms seemed to threaten. Scholar had been gone too long. He'd left her a note five days ago telling her not to worry, he had to track down some information. But he had never been out of touch more than a couple of days. He'd left everything behind. And it had been five days. Almost six now.
She heard thumping in the hall. She froze, staring at her locked front door. Her heart pounded. She knew what Scholar was doing was dangerous.
The neighbor's door swung open and voices spilled into the hall. They were muffled through her own door. The thumping noise faded away when the next apartment's door swung shut again.
Deena let out a long shaky breath. She was scared. She didn't know where Scholar was. She didn't know what he was doing and that frightened her. She wished he'd come back so she could ask him questions.
The message light on her com blinked, catching her attention. More messages. She didn't know if she wanted to answer them or not. She watched the light flash. The message might be from Scholar. Maybe he needed her help. She crossed the room and pushed the button to retrieve the message.
The screen blinked on. A woman looked out at her. She had dark hair and dark eyes though her face was pale. Deena caught a glimpse of a military collar.
"Dariana Grace?" She glanced quickly to one side before continuing. "I hope this is the right number. We have a common friend. Ask Henry to call me. Please."
The message ended abruptly. Deena stared at the screen. The woman looked scared and worried. Something bad had happened. Scholar should have returned by now. But what could she do?
Deena paced through her apartment. She turned on every light, but it didn't help dispel the shadows.
She paused in the doorway to her spare room, the one Scholar had taken over, the one that had belonged to Tayvis. All of Scholar's technical gear was still there, a pile of data cubes and readers and his odd computer pad. Her intuition told her he was in trouble. He would never have left his pad if he weren't planning on coming back soon. He was never far from it for long.
She crossed the room and touched the pad. To her surprise the floating screen flickered into life. Scholar's voice came from the pad.
"If you're in here, playing with this, then I must have slipped up. The message is coded to your touch, Deena. First of all, thanks for your help. I've put you in danger asking for it. If you're listening to this and I'm not there, you need to get out fast. The whole story is here, coded to you. Don't take the time to play it now. Pack up everything you can and leave. Your bank accounts have enough to get you where you need to go, I made certain of that. Take all of my stuff to the spaceport. Find one of the ships from Belliston Shipping. Talk to the captain. Tell them you claim help from Shellfinder Clan. Get them to take you to Tebros. Don't trust anyone who doesn't know Shellfinder Clan. Make sure the ship is with Belliston Shipping. Be careful about that, especially.
"I know Tebros isn't in the Empire anymore, but Belliston can get you through the border. You have to take all my information to the Federation. Find a man named Willet Smythe, ask for him and insist on seeing him. Give him everything I've left here. He'll know what to do with it. If you're lucky, he'll know where Tayvis is.
"Be careful, Deena. I'd hate to see you hurt."
The message ended. She lifted her hand from the pad. The screen faded.
Her sense of danger increased with every moment. What was Scholar trying to do? She should take everything he had to the Patrol. She suspected he worked for them. He'd admitted as much to her. But it was obvious he didn't trust the Patrol.
She turned on the news feed, hoping the noise would drown out the threat in the silence of her apartment. It was disturbing, the buried stories they downplayed and hid behind the social stories. The Empire was crumbling. The Empire was at war, but they pretended not to notice. She shivered again.
"It's bizarre," the news person was saying. "It appears to be suicide, but there are questions. The note left at the scene—"
She quit listening as the camera shifted to a closeup of a hand written note. She had seen that writing before, on that last vicious note to her son that Scholar swore Dace hadn't written. The looping letters were the same. But this was supposedly a suicide note, left by High Commander Theodys. It had been found under his mutilated body.
She shivered more violently. She heard the lock on her door rattle. She jumped, stifling a scream. It was only her imagination.
She had to leave. She hurried into Scholar's room. There was a bag under the table, a long duffel of faded green cloth. She opened it and shoved everything from the desk into it. The data cubes and equipment fell in a jumble in the bottom. She yanked open drawers and cabinets. Anything of Scholar's landed in the bag. There wasn't much, a few more papers and cubes, a stray shirt and pair of socks. The bag was less than half full.
She leaned on the doorframe, her initial panic subsiding. She had to think. She had to be smart. She would put her clothing on top. No one would look beyond a pair of embarrassingly lacy underwear. She had to do what she could to hide Scholar's things. She stuffed her clothing in. Each piece was very feminine, designed to keep someone from searching deeper. She put several pairs of shoes on top.
The bag was wrong. The duffel was too lumpy, too worn, no one would believe it was hers. She emptied it onto her bed. She had luggage tucked away in her closet. She pulled it into the room.
The largest was too big. She opened the medium sized bag. It would have to work. She pulled data cubes from the jumble on the bed. She had to hide them. She stared at the cube, waiting for inspiration.
"Think," she told herself, her voice a thin whisper. "You played a spy in a dozen vids, you can do this. Think like they do."
She wrapped a cube into a pair of lacy underpants. She tucked the waistband into itself. It looked like a neatly packed pair of underwear. The data cube was completely hidden. She wrapped the other cubes in similar garments. The lacier the better, she told herself. She tucked them all into the medium bag. The papers and Scholar's computer pad were trickier. She smoothed them out flat.
The lining in the bag was loose in one corner. She worked her fingers in. She wriggled the papers and the pad into the space between the lining and the outer stiffening of the bag. She pulled the lining back in place. It was almost unnoticeable. She hurriedly repacked the rest of the bag with her clothes and the hidden cubes. It wasn't perfect but it would have to do.
One bag, she shouldn't attract too much attention with it. She carried it to the front door. She paused, one hand on the latch. She should cover her tracks. If she just disappeared people would ask questions. Her neighbors would be concerned. She put the bag down.
She stood next to the com unit. She should be crying and distraught. Yes, that would work. She called up her friend who lived just down the hall. She let the sobs come and the tears fall while she waited for her friend to answer.
She was routed to the message recorder. So much the better.
"Winny?" she sobbed to the machine. "You aren't there, are you? I really need to talk to someone. You know how hard things have been lately. Henry," she choked on a sob, "Henry left me yesterday. I know it was just a fling, but it still hurts. I'm going away for a few days. I have to find myself again. Will you keep an eye on my apartment, please? I shouldn't be gone long. I just need to get away for a while. I thought Perlion would be good." She sobbed a few more times before she hung up. Winny would believe her. Winny had told her Henry was too young for her and would eventually break her heart. Winny would spread the news among all her neighbors.
Deena wiped her eyes dry. She had to go. She picked up the bag and slipped into the hallway.
She hoped to escape unseen, but her luck wasn't holding.
Maude was in the lobby, sitting in her chair, watching everyone come and go. "You going somewhere, Deena?" she asked in her cracked voice.
Deena was glad her eyes were still red from crying. She sniffed once. "I'm taking a vacation for a few days."
"That young gigolo was no good for you," Maude said primly.
"You're right, he broke my heart."
"And cleaned out your bank account, no doubt."
Deena shook her head. "He wasn't after money, only a gullible woman." She ducked her head and pretended not to hear Maude's loud commentary on her moral character. It almost made her giggle.
Outside, she caught a public flitter and headed for the spaceport. The flitter had barely cleared the block when it was passed by a Patrol transport heading the other way. Deena craned her head around to see behind her. The transport landed in front of her building. A knot of fear twisted her gut. This was serious. Whatever Scholar had been involved in, it was deep and the Patrol wasn't on his side.
She pulled her bag onto her lap and stared at it as if it contained poisonous snakes. Scholar's data and equipment were more deadly. She spread her hands over the top of the bag. If only he'd told her what he was involved in, if only he'd told her what was going on, then maybe she would know who to trust, where to go, what to do. And maybe she would be in even deeper trouble. She decided she didn't want to know what he was doing.
More Patrol vehicles passed her, big transports and small flitters. They were cruising through the city, as if searching for someone. She shrank into her seat, clutching the bag.
Her flitter stayed with the stream of traffic, headed for the spaceport. Her nerves were fraying. Playing a spy in a vid and being one in real life were very different. She much preferred pretending.
The flitter dropped out of traffic, settling in the public area in front of the spaceport. There were dozens of other flitters lifting and landing. She slid out of the flitter and hurried into the terminal building.
It was huge, stretching for several miles in either direction. She was near the passenger liner boarding areas. That wasn't what she needed. Belliston Shipping would be at the far end, beyond the public transportation areas. She clutched her bag and hurried through the crowds of people towards the freight area at the far end of the terminal.
She saw a lot of people in silver and black uniforms. She kept her head down, pretending to be in a hurry, like everyone else. But she couldn't help noticing the Patrol presence. They watched the stream of people, stopping some for further questions. The man in front of her was pulled aside by a pair in black. Deena felt her heart stop when they looked at her. She glanced at them and kept walking.
She got a few curious looks as she kept walking past the passenger desks. The farther she went, the shabbier the building looked. Most people at the far end wore shipsuits, merchants and crew and dock workers. Her tunic was too out of place. There was nothing she could do about that. She kept walking.
She peered up at the signs as she went, looking for Belliston Shipping. She finally stopped, uncertain where to go or who to look for. She didn't see any signs to indicate which shipping company was at which desk.
"Can I help you?" The man was polite. He wore a dark blue shipsuit with a geometric splash of green and white on the sleeve.
"I'm looking for Belliston Shipping," she said, outwardly calm and composed. She was shaking inside. "I don't see their offices anywhere."
The man smiled. "You don't have much experience here. Belliston doesn't have an office. We rent space as we need it."
"Then you're with Belliston?" She felt a wave of relief.
He glanced past her, down the long terminal. He took her arm. "This isn't a good time to talk publicly. Do you mind?" He indicated a nearby office with his free hand.
She looked back. A knot of black and silver uniforms moved purposefully through the terminal headed their direction. Deena didn't hesitate. She let the man usher her into the office.
"What can I do for you?" He sat on the edge of the single desk.
She didn't know how to begin. She didn't know if she could trust this man or not. She clutched her bag and stared at him, hoping something would give her a hint.
He swung one foot, watching her.
She took a steadying breath. She had to trust someone. He looked nice enough.
"I was told to come here and ask for help from Belliston Shipping. Do you know the Shellfinder Clan?" That part still confused her. The man's reaction confused her even more. He went utterly still for a very long moment.
"What do you know about them?"
She'd blown it. He had gone so still she couldn't read him. She had no choice but to plunge in deeper.
"Nothing," she admitted. "Except I was told to claim help in their name."
"Who told you that?" His expression was completely neutral. Either he would help her, or he wouldn't. She was trapped either way.
"Henrius Grey. He was staying with me. You may know him as Scholar."
The man's eyes narrowed. His glance moved to the bag she clutched. "What help do you need?"
"Henry told me to go to Tebros, to find someone named Willet Smythe."
"Tebros isn't in the Empire anymore," the man said. "The border has been formally closed."
"He said you'd know how to get me across."
"And where is Scholar?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. Something's happened to him. He was supposed to be back three days ago. There were messages on my com." She stopped to take another deep breath. "And the Patrol—"
"Appears to be looking for someone," the man said. "I can guess it might be you."
"Will you help me?"
"For the sake of the Shellfinder Clan and the debt we still owe them, yes." He pulled a com unit out of his pocket. "Trish?" He waited for an answer. "I've got a slight complication. Send Cedra to the office." He paused for a moment. "Yes, right now. We don't have much time before the Patrol starts searching this end." He slid the com back into his pocket.
"Thank you," she said, feeling a spurt of hope.
"Would you like something to drink?" the man offered.
She shook her head. She slowly sank into a chair, her bag clutched tightly against her chest.
"Do you have a name?" the man asked. "Mine's Schafer, first mate on the Zephyr."
"Dariana Grace," she managed to say. "Call me Deena."
"The Dariana Grace?" He smiled broadly. "I love your vids."
"Thank you," she said politely. It was automatic, a response honed by years of dealing with fans.
"We'll get you out of here." He patted her shoulder. The touch was comforting.
He tapped the desk. A co
mpscreen lit up under the surface. He typed on it for a minute. He slid a credit chip into a slot. A moment later a paper and plastic disk slid back out. He handed the disk to her and laid the paper in front of her.
"Put your thumb here," he said, pointing at the paper.
She put her thumb on the paper. It was warm. Her thumbprint showed up clearly when she lifted her hand.
"You are now Tylia Harrison, assistant navigator on the Zephyr. Welcome aboard." He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. "You'll want to hold onto that," he said, pointing at the disk she held. "They'll check id at the gate before we leave."
There was a discreet tap at the door. He slid off the desk and opened the door a crack. She didn't try to hear his whispered conversation. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. The fear was still coiled tight in her belly, though his promise of help had loosened it a bit. She heard the door close again and opened her eyes.
Schafer was gone. In his place was a willowy young woman in the same color and style of shipsuit. She grinned at Deena as she unfastened the front of her shipsuit. "I never thought I'd ever get to meet you. I love your vids. Here, trade me clothes."
Deena stared at her in confusion. The woman stripped off her shipsuit and held it out.
"You give me your clothes and take mine. They think I'm you and I lead them on a chase through the spaceport. You go to the ship, safe and sound. It's really very simple. But I need your clothes if this is going to work. We don't have much time."
"Oh," Deena said stupidly. She'd played a spy in a dozen vids, but she'd never had to actually think up the plans. It was all in the script. She stood and pulled off her tunic and leggings.
Cedra sat on the edge of the desk and pulled off her boots. She took Deena's clothes and pulled them on. "Get dressed, quickly."
Deena picked up the shipsuit and pulled it up, sliding her arms into the sleeves. It was a little long on her.
