He walked past her to his locker, where he pulled off the jacket, then the trousers. He draped a towel over his shoulder and headed for the shower.
Sabatini surveyed him from head to toe as he passed.
“Try the meat market, Sabatini. Steers don’t fight back.”
“You have a way with words, killer.”
“I know. The wrong way.”
He turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, letting the steamy spray bathe him from all sides.
By the time he had toweled off and opened the door, Sabatini was gone. Instead, Kerin Sommerlee was standing by the table, clad only in underwear and examining bruises on leg and thigh.
She shook her head as she saw him. “Hate to face you when you really were out to kill.”
“Too enthusiastic out there.” Jimjoy mumbled, making sure the towel was clinched firmly around his waist, and avoiding looking directly at the woman’s body, far less stocky and more shapely than he had realized. She reminded him of Thelina, though the two looked only vaguely alike.
“Major…you pulled the last throw…or whatever it was?”
He shifted his weight uneasily, conscious of the dampness of his bare feet on the slightly roughened stone underfoot. “Yes…could have killed you otherwise.”
“I know. I could feel it. Geoff knows, too. He was white when I looked at him.”
“Dorfman doesn’t. Most of the students didn’t.”
“Dorfman’s a fool.”
He shrugged, not quite looking at her, but toward her face. “And the students?”
“Some were beginning to realize, especially after Geoff’s comment.”
“Geoff’s comment?”
“You didn’t hear? He said that the Institute had never had any two people who could have taken you, let alone one. You shook him up a lot. I don’t think he ever realized just how good the Special Operatives are.”
Jimjoy automatically opened his mouth to protest.
“Please save the objections, Major.” Her voice was tired. “After about thirty seconds with you on that mat, I know who and what you are. There aren’t half a dozen people on this planet or three others where I’ve been who could do to me what you did. None that quickly and effortlessly.” She winced as she examined her leg. “That’s what upset Geoff. Suddenly, you’re real. All too real. The kids—that’s all they are—can’t see that…except maybe Jerrite.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You provided a lesson we couldn’t have learned so painlessly—relatively, at least.” She pulled her padded robe and trousers back on in quick but smooth motions.
“I have one more class this morning. Then I can soak out what I know is going to be even more sore.” She looked up. “You’re one of the best. Right?”
Jimjoy said nothing.
“Aren’t you?”
“Probably. Not the top, but close.”
“Attitude?”
He nodded.
“I thought so.” She flexed her shoulders, trying to relax her muscles. “Like to do any instruction here? Say…for the advanced classes?”
“Not sure it would be a good idea. I’ll think about it.”
“Do. And don’t worry about Sabatini. She’s on her way out. She was under review even before you arrived. She’ll blame you, of course, but there’s not much the Institute can do about that.”
“Whatever’s convenient.” Jimjoy hitched up his towel and headed for his locker.
“And whoever she is, Major, she’s lucky.”
Jimjoy shook his head at the nonsequitur, but decided against asking for an explanation. He had too many problems already without asking for another.
XXV
FINDING THELINA ANDRUZ’S quarters had been neither difficult nor helpful. While the silver-haired Ecolitan lived in a separate house with another Ecolitan in the senior staff section of the Institute, and while there were no guards or restrictions, every nonstudent Ecolitan seemed to live on his or her own personal clock. The pathways and corridors of the Institute were never quite completely deserted. Just as frustrating, for his projected schemes, was the lack of centralized personal communications. Without going to her quarters, he could not discover if she were actually there.
After his encounter with the historians, and then his night visit from Temmilan, the last thing he wanted was to broadcast any intentions of anything. Yet it was clear that he was close to transparent to at least some, if not all, of the Ecolitans. Part of that was their training in physical character reading—he’d been fascinated by the classes on surface carriage and physical intent. So interested that he’d actually read through most of the student assignments, hoping that they would prove helpful in the future.
The Major stopped his pacing and sat on the edge of his narrow bed. Then he stood back up again. He frowned. Who else could help him? Could she? Or was he just rationalizing because she intrigued him? How could he possibly learn what he needed to know quietly, when everyone seemed to follow him, to pay attention automatically when he appeared?
Someone seemed to be there to watch his every action, from the books he borrowed to the material he accessed from the datanet, from the classes he attended to the limited instruction he had undertaken. Almost as if they were compiling a dossier on him, or on every Imperial agent. Probably both, he concluded gloomily, and from that would follow a profile of the Imperial Intelligence Service, at least a profile of the Special Operative section.
But that left his problem unsolved. He didn’t dare chase Thelina.
“So…if you can’t go to the mountain, get the mountain to come to you…”
Easier said than done. He looked out at the darkness before dawn. Thelina was not about to chase down one Jimjoy Wright. Not from any indication he had seen so far. Not when she had refused to say a single word after sharing a clearly breathtaking sunrise.
What about illusions? Or coincidences? Could he arrange a circumstance where she had to talk to him…alone? And would she listen?
Could his maneuvering get her beyond the obvious contempt of him and of the Empire he was bound to represent? Most important, would she help, however inadvertently, to get him on the right path? Before the Empire put him back on the clearly marked path to Hades already reserved for him by Commander Hersnik?
Special Operatives did not just resign. Jimjoy had never heard of a resignation. Some graduated from field work to Intelligence. One or two were medically retired, after a year or two of quarantine duty and extensive psychological “readjustment.” But he didn’t want the Empire’s idea of medial retirement, and movement to Intelligence from the Special Operative section meant a promotion to Commander. And there was no way he would get a promotion, not after the Halstani incident, not after being tagged, he was certain, with complicity in the killing of Commander Allen’s partner. Even though Allen had clearly killed his partner to keep the facts behind the assignment from coming out.
If he stayed on Accord, he’d be the target of every spare agent around, from the Empire to the Hands of the Mother. Not to mention the fact that his delay on Accord would give the Empire another excuse to move against Accord. Even his “disappearance” on Accord could trigger that, which was probably why he was still alive and being protected by the Institute. And why Temmilan could do nothing fatal to him, since such an action would blow her cover.
Jimjoy snorted. The Ecolitans had to know about her, or he was missing something. And Temmilan was far from stupid, which meant she had to know they knew. He shook his head, trying to refocus on his own problem.
If he did return on schedule…At that, he shuddered. His return would never be noted, and the records would show his disappearance in action, with the finger still firmly pointed at Accord.
He continued to pace, knowing that his time was growing shorter. He stopped, stared at the rough white ceiling, still grayed in the foggy predawn light that misted through the casement. Outside, the whispered shrilling of a dawn lizard punctuated the fog with its intermittent cal
ls.
Muted voices from down the corridor indicated that the junior Ecolitans were rising and beginning their morning routine, a routine he thought not nearly as intense as it should be…as if he cared.
In the meantime, his time on Accord continued to dwindle, especially with the good Commander Allen running loose, reporting back and pinning everything on Jimjoy. If he could just saddle Allen and Hersnik with all the problems…if…if…
He looked back out the window, not really focusing, then at the triangle in the middle of the rug.
Jimjoy smiled, tentatively at first, then with nearly unconcealed joy. The whole idea was so preposterous, so silly, that it might work. The longest of long shots, but better than anything else, assuming he could get some limited cooperation from the good Ecolitan Andruz. Assuming he could move quickly enough when the time came…
He sat back on the edge of the bed, then swung his feet up and stretched out, since there was nothing he could do.
Not yet.
XXVI
ALTHOUGH JIMJOY WORE the unmarked greens of the Institute and could have been taken for an Ecolitan at first glance, even with the black hair and blue eyes, his lightly tanned complexion had not seen the outdoors to the extent required of Institute faculty and students alike. And the raw and unconcealed intensity in his eyes was not that of the Institute.
The Ecolitan greens had represented a compromise for Jimjoy. He had not brought a uniform, nor did he intend to wear one, or admit publicly that he was an Imperial officer. At the same time, civilian clothes would have been even more out of place.
While the greens had scarcely been a major consideration, they were now critical to his plan. If his calculations were right, the one Ecolitan named Andruz would finally be coming along the walkway before long. If she didn’t eat at home or skip lunch like she had for two out of the last four days. Or bring her friend Meryl along again. Or lunch with the entire field training staff…
He continued his glances down the ramp until he caught sight of the distinctive silver hair.
At that, he turned away from the old-fashioned bulletin board and started toward the dining area. According to the literature, few people ever considered someone in front of them to be following them, although that was exactly what Jimjoy had in mind. He let the gap between them narrow.
As he entered the dining area, he took the left line, the one always used by the Institute staff, and slowly moved through, listening to see if Thelina, who was alone today, unlike the last time, had any comments. She said nothing.
“What will it be, Major?”
He could have cared less today, but he grinned in spite of himself. The staff behind the counters still seemed to delight in announcing him and his rank.
“What do you have?”
“No meat. Just fish—grubber, parfish, or lingholm.”
“Parfish.” He’d seen it before, and the Ecolitans seemed to enjoy it.
“The lingholm’s better.”
“Then I’ll take the lingholm.”
The student serving as cook’s helper grinned broadly back at him.
That was another thing he didn’t understand. Virtually the entire Institute took his presence with an amused seriousness, yet denied to outsiders that he even existed. He had heard two beginning students tell, with tears of laughter running down their cheeks, how they had played dense colonials to a Fuardian faxer tracking down a rumor that Imperial officers were being trained by the Institute.
Chalk up another angle for the ubiquitous Commander Allen, getting yet another stooge to do the work. But he was glad the Institute ignored the potential danger and could still laugh.
Jimjoy did not look back. If his scheme were to have a chance, Thelina had to be convinced that he had not seen her.
At the end of the food line, he paused by the salads, as if trying to decide upon fruit or greenery. Finally, after the man behind him had slipped by, he picked a small fruit plate and straightened, blocking Thelina without seeing her.
He turned and carried his tray toward the dining area, slowly scanning the tables as if searching for someone, but carefully avoiding anyone’s glance while straddling the aisle. He could feel Thelina moving closer. He stopped momentarily, then leaned forward, as if to head for a table, then stopped again, leaning back.
Her tray jabbed him in the back, and something hot sloshed onto him.
He turned, hoping his calculations had been correct.
“Oh…” he said, letting his mouth drop open as he looked at the silver-haired Ecolitan. Then he grinned ruefully. “Still throwing things at us poor Imperials? Were you trying to alert me this time?” His voice was gentle and good-humored.
Thelina Andruz sighed. “It would be you, wouldn’t it? I should have guessed.”
“Guessed?”
“Who else but you or a visiting dignitary would be ambling around?” She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re crowding the aisle. Take that table over there. Your company won’t hurt, as long as I can eat quickly.”
Jimjoy said nothing, but eased over to the two-person table toward which she had inclined her head.
He took an extra napkin from another table as he passed, and, after setting his tray down, awkwardly tried to mop up the liquid that had splattered across his lower back.
“Scampig broth,” explained Thelina as she slid into her chair. “It shouldn’t stain anything, and…”
Jimjoy nodded. “And I probably deserved it for stalling around, right?”
“Probably,” observed Thelina, before taking her first bite out of a thin sandwich.
“Since it’s taken me more than a week to engineer this,” Jimjoy commented softly as he seated himself, “I hope you’ll stay long enough to listen.”
“Engineer what?”
“Your running into me.”
“You…unwhoooo…” For a moment, Jimjoy wondered if she were choking or laughing or swallowing, or all three.
The Ecolitan coughed again and cleared her throat, before swallowing and taking a sip of her iced liftea. “For what reason? You certainly could have just walked over to see me. I’m hardly inaccessible.”
“That’s assuming I wanted the entire world to know I was looking for you.”
“That, in turn, means you are up to no good whatsoever, Major Wright.” Her voice had turned distinctly cooler.
“Half right,” answered Jimjoy, before taking a bite of his salad. He said nothing else and bit into a bright green fruit, trying not to let the large piece pucker his mouth too much.
“First time I’ve ever seen anyone try to eat an entire sourpear at once.”
“Could be the last,” mumbled Jimjoy as he reached for his own iced liftea.
“Your half-right proposal, Major?”
He refrained from glancing around the crowded dining area, hoping that the overall noise level and the apparently spontaneous meeting were enough to allow him a quick comment. “I would like your help in leaving Accord and getting to somewhere like Sligo or even Alphane without the Empire being alerted to my departure.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not likely to arrive, otherwise.”
“You believe that of the glorious and saintly Empire which you serve?”
“Flamed right.” His voice was low.
Thelina did not respond, but cocked her head slightly and took a spoonful of the scampig broth, that which remained. Then she pursed her lips, but still said nothing.
Jimjoy watched the green eyes, noted that the silver hair was twisted up short behind her head in some sort of bun.
“That’s right, Major. Worn up or short now that I’m back here in a physically active billet.” She took another spoonful of the broth.
Jimjoy repressed a sigh and tried another fruit, a reddish one with a pink interior. Unlike the sourpear, the red fruit was sweet, with only a hint of tartness. He wondered if the tartness were part of the Accord character and fostered by its foods. He continued to eat methodically, occasion
ally studying the silver-haired woman, but refusing to bring up the subject again until she acknowledged interest or rejected the idea.
“Greetings, Major.”
Jimjoy kept from jumping, barely. Instead, he glanced up at the thin-faced professor with mild interest. “Greetings, Temmilan. How is the philosophical history business?”
“About as practical as ever…or, as you suggested, as impractical as ever.” The historian transferred her study to the Ecolitan across from Jimjoy. “You’re in the field unit, and we met last year, but I’m not good with names. Temmilan Danaan.”
Thelina nodded. “Thelina Andruz. Field Two.”
“Pleased to see you again. You know the Major well?”
“Not terribly well, Temmilan,” answered Jimjoy. “This is the second time we’ve met. She was considering making amends for running into me with a full tray of scampig broth.”
“Major Wright is always accurate, Temmilan. It is one of his worse faults.”
“You may be right, Thelina. Make what amends you can…if he will accept them.” Temmilan nodded to them with a pleasant, if distant, smile and eased past the table.
“And what did you do to her?” asked Thelina dryly.
Jimjoy found himself flushing, and shrugged.
“That bad?”
“No. You might say it was what I didn’t do.”
“That’s worse.” By now the silver-haired Ecolitan was smiling an indecently broad smile.
Jimjoy looked down at the last few bites of the lingholm and speared a small morsel, gulping it down.
“Well, you have some ethics, if no taste.”
“Won’t claim either.”
“Let’s take a walk. Whether you intended to or not, you’ve just told the whole world you’re looking for me. After that confrontation, half the Institute will be told that we’re lovers.”
“Uhhnn…” choked Jimjoy.
“Temmilan’s the biggest gossip around, except for old Firion.”
The Imperial Special Operative managed to choke down the last of the fish. He followed that with a deep swallow of liftea to clear his throat.
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