by Glen Cook
"Wheels within wheels," Mouse said into benRabi's ear, his voice coldly calm. Kindervoort, kneeling beside them, looked at him questioningly. "This was mine," Mouse told him. "I figured he'd have a fail-safer in."
Fail-safer. That was a trade name for a man hyped and programed to do everybody in if a mission went bust. Fail-safers seldom knew what they were. Usually they were innocents dragged in off a street somewhere and run through the Psych mill. Even after assassinating agents about to defect or to be captured they seldom knew what they had done, why, or for whom.
BenRabi had never considered himself, Mouse, and this mission that critical.
"Sorry, Moyshe. I didn't think I should tell you. Made it look better, you believing."
Is he telling the truth? Moyshe wondered. Or is he playing the ends against the middle? Is he just bending with the breeze, hoping to keep his skin?
"We had to spot him before we could cross over, and this was the only place to do it. It's too late for him now. He can't hunt us down." Mouse shrugged, then smiled. So did benRabi.
He chose to believe. He did not want to stay here alone.
That was why he had had so much trouble deciding. Amy was not enough. Chub was not enough. The Seiner culture itself was insufficient. He had needed that one extra, Mouse, his heartline to the past.
Kindervoort's men returned. "You get him?" Mouse asked.
"Somebody did. He was dead when we got there. Looks like a nerve poison."
Kindervoort regarded them oddly, appraisingly. "Fail-safer for a fail-safer? Your Admiral is bizarre, but I've never heard of that before."
Unusual? Moyshe thought. It's unprecedented. It doesn't make sense. But what the hell? It was over now. He was home free.
Home, after all, and with a good woman— Amy was running toward him, through the crowd, pale with worry—and a friend. Life, it seemed, had finally taken a happy turn.
"Are you ready now?" Amy asked anxiously, after having made sure he was unharmed.
"Ready? For what?"
"To cross over, stupid. Are you, darling?" She seemed afraid his stiff-neckedness would persist.
It did. "Seems like I don't have much choice. But I won't talk."
"Talk?" Kindervoort asked. "What do you mean? About what?"
"About the Bureau. About its policies, its goals, its mission, things I might know that you'd want to know. I won't tell you. The man who was Commander Thomas Aquinas McClennon is dead. Everything he knew died with him. Don't try to call him back from the grave."
"That's what's been bothering you?" Kindervoort asked. "Moyshe, Moyshe, why didn't you say so? I wondered what the hell was stopping you. It was so obvious you wanted to come over. There never have been any conditions. Never. I'm sorry you got that impression. Hell, anything I want to know you don't—otherwise Beckhart never would have risked you."
BenRabi considered. It made some sense. But there were things he could tell... The hell with it. He would take the chance. He put an arm around Amy, pulled her close to him. "Thanks, Jarl. Mouse. Oh. Say, Jarl. Is there time for me to get a real Starfisher souvenir for my daughter?"
"Daughter?" Kindervoort and Amy said together.
"What daughter?" Amy demanded. "You said you weren't ever married."
"I wasn't. She's not really my daughter. A girl I met on Old Earth. I sponsored her. That's sort of like adopting a kid... She doesn't know where I'm at or what I'm doing or anything."
"Find something quick," Kindervoort said. "The service ship is going to space in twenty minutes."
"Hey, Moyshe," Mouse said. "Throw this in." He offered the coin with the hole in the center. "Tell her to mail it to the Admiral."
"A little personal message, eh?"
"You might say."
"Come on, Amy. Give me an idea."
"How come you never told me about this girl? What's her name anyway?"
Mouse watched them go, smiling wanly. That was not going to be a classic love match. But it did not have to be. It only had to last a few months more.
His mission was complete. But a Bureau man did not leave his comrades behind. And a Storm never abandoned a friend.
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Document version: 1
Document creation date: 07.06.2008
Created using: ConvertLIT, Lit2FB2 software
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