by Timothy Zahn
"Ah—Master Sammon," a voice came from behind him; and Daulo's heart skipped a beat. As casually as he could, he turned around. "Greetings, Master Moffren Omnathi," he nodded gravely, making the sign of respect and then shifting his eyes to the young man standing at Omnathi's side. "I greet you as well, Master . . . ?"
"I am Miron Akim," the other answered. "If you'd like, I'll be glad to hold your place in line while you and Master Omnathi confer."
Daulo swallowed hard; but before he could say anything, Omnathi had taken his arm and eased him out of line.
"You'll excuse this unorthodox approach, I hope," Omnathi commented quietly as he led Daulo away toward a relatively empty part of the center.
"What's this about?" Daulo demanded. Or rather, tried to demand; to his own ears his voice sounded more guilty than threatening. "I thought we'd settled everything two days ago."
"Yes, so it seemed," Omnathi nodded calmly. "But a couple of things have come up since then that I thought you could possibly help us with."
"Such as?" Daulo asked, stomach tightening.
Omnathi waved a hand at the assembled crowd. "This Mangus place, for instance. Your determination to gatecrash struck me as being rather a waste of time and energy, even given the stiffneck pride often associated with villagers." Daulo snorted; Omnathi ignored him. "So I had my men do a complete file check and confirmed that, as we told you, Mangus is indeed nothing more than a private electronics development center."
"And you'd like me therefore to leave and go home?" Daulo growled.
"Not at all. It occurred to me that perhaps you'd been mistaken about the timing of this gatecrash being your idea . . . and that Jasmine Alventin might still think this work party was the best way to get in."
Daulo's lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. For a half dozen heartbeats the only sound was the dull buzz of the crowd around them, a buzz that seemed distant behind the roar of blood in Daulo's ears. "Understand, please," Omnathi said at last, "that at the moment I'm not accusing you of anything except unknowing cooperation with an enemy of Qasama. I'm even willing to believe that her prompting may have been so artfully buried that you honestly think all this was your idea. But from now on, that's over. You know now that she's an offworld spy . . . and you'll be expected to behave accordingly."
"All right," Daulo said. "Threat received and understood. So what exactly do you want from me now?"
Omnathi sent a leisurely glance around the crowd. "If the electronics information in Mangus is truly her goal, than a little thing like a planetary search isn't likely to slow her down much. She'll find a way in . . . and if she does, I want someone there who can identify her."
"Someone like me, I suppose?" Daulo asked.
"Exactly," Omnathi nodded. "Of course, spotting her is only the first step. You haven't had any training in methods of fugitive capture, and it's a little too late to teach you. Fortunately, I remember that you'd originally planned to have your brother along on this trip."
Daulo glanced at the line behind him. "Which is why Miron Akim is here, isn't it? To go in with me?"
"And to command you." Omnathi's face hadn't changed . . . but his voice was suddenly covered with ice. "From this moment on, Daulo Sammon, you're under the direct authority of the Shahni."
Daulo swallowed hard. So Jin had been right—the story he'd worked so hard to spin for Moffren Omnathi two nights ago had been that much wasted effort. The Shahni knew enough—or at least suspected enough—and Miron Akim was their countermove. Placing him under Shahni authority and Shahni surveillance . . . "And under their sword, too?" he asked.
Omnathi gave him a long look. "If you aid us in capturing the Aventinian spy, all other questions concerning your involvement in this will be forgotten. Otherwise . . . as you say, the sword will be waiting." He glanced over Daulo's shoulder. "You'd better get back into line. Miron Akim will give you any further information you may need."
"You realize this is probably a waste of time," Daulo pointed out, driven by something he didn't quite understand to make one final effort. "She probably won't even show up in Mangus."
"It's our time to waste," Omnathi said calmly. "Farewell, Daulo Sammon."
And with that he turned his back and disappeared into the crowd. Daulo looked after him for a long moment, wondering what to do now. If he simply turned the opposite way and left Azras right now . . .
But of course it wasn't just him under the Shahni's sword. Taking a deep breath, he tried to quiet the thunder of his heartbeat and headed back to the line.
Akim was waiting for him. "Ah—Daulo Sammon," he nodded. "You had a pleasant talk, I take it?"
"Oh, certainly," Daulo said irritably, stepping back into line beside him. The man behind them muttered something about the end of the line; Akim sent the man an icy look and he fell silent.
They reached the table about ten minutes later, and it was only then that Daulo realized that Mayor Capparis himself was overseeing the operation. "Ah!" the mayor beamed at Daulo as he and Akim stepped up to the table. "Daulo Matrolis and his brother Perto. I'm glad you heard about this opportunity."
"I also, Mayor Capparis," Daulo said politely, making the sign of respect. He'd never heard the name Matrolis before, but knew a cue when he heard it. So did the man at the computer; he was busy tapping keys before Daulo even had to repeat the name. "Thank you," he nodded when he'd finished. "You can find out over there whether or not you'll be accepted." He pointed to another table at the edge of the city center, near a half dozen parked buses.
"Thank you," Daulo said, making the sign of respect to both him and the mayor. Akim followed suit, and they headed off through the crowd.
"Daulo and Perto Matrolis, eh?" Akim murmured as they walked. "Do I assume that the files matching those names will show us highly suited for this work party?"
"This whole exercise would be a waste of time if it didn't, wouldn't it?" Daulo returned tartly.
"Agreed. Interesting, too, that you got Mayor Capparis himself to take a hand in this."
"Is it that hard to believe?"
Akim shrugged. "Perhaps not in this part of Qasama. For myself, I find it refreshing to see cooperation between city and village leaders. More often we see you at each other's throats."
"Um." Daulo looked around the buses, estimating their capacity. If they were to be filled completely, it looked like the work party would be something on the order of a hundred-fifty men. Odd that they'd elect to go through this routine every two weeks, he thought. Permanent workers would be a lot easier . . . though perhaps they don't have any long-term housing facilities out there. His eyes drifted to the area near the table . . . "Uh-oh."
"What is it?" Akim murmured.
"Over there—those men watching the proceedings?" Daulo said, turning his head partly away.
Akim glanced the indicated direction. "That's the group from Mangus," he identified them. "Drivers and a couple of higher officials."
"One of the officials is the director's son, Radig Nardin," Daulo growled. "He knows me."
Akim frowned. "How well?"
"Well enough to identify me," Daulo gritted.
"Is he likely to keep you out if he spots you?"
Daulo thought back to the attacks on him and Jin. "I think so, yes."
"Um." Akim considered. "I suppose I could identify myself to him . . . but that would probably start rumors floating around Mangus, and I'd just as soon avoid that. All right. Wait here; I'll go find one of our people and arrange for a distraction."
"Good." Daulo looked back over—
And felt a shock run straight through his core. In the center of the group from Mangus, talking earnestly to Nardin, was a smallish man. Or rather, a smallish figure wearing a man's clothing. Clothing he recognized . . .
It was Jin Moreau.
God above. The scene seemed to waver before Daulo's eyes. Right there, in the middle of Azras, with people all around. If Akim turned to look—if he identified her—they would both be
dead.
But Akim was already gone.
Licking his lips, Daulo tried to still the shaking of his hands. Whatever Jin's purpose in doing something so insane, if she would just hurry it up and get out of here, she might still have a chance.
And as he watched, Jin did indeed turn away. Accompanied by Nardin and one of the other men, she walked to the end of the line of buses—
And got into a car parked there.
Daulo watched the vehicle pull away onto the street; watched it disappear behind the buildings surrounding the city center; and was still gazing after it when Akim returned. "All set," he reported. "Which one is Radig Nardin?"
"He's gone," Daulo said mechanically. "Drove off a couple of minutes ago."
"Oh? Well, that solves that problem."
Daulo took a deep breath. "I guess so."
Chapter 34
Azras was twenty kilometers north of the section of forest where Jin had hidden Daulo's car—a healthy run even for a Cobra, and one that allowed plenty of time for worrying about what lay ahead. Just one more reason to be thankful that the predawn jog itself was totally uneventful.
Her timing, for a change, was good, and she arrived at the city just as the sky to the east was growing light. Already some of the shopkeepers in the nearest marketplaces were beginning to prepare their booths for business, and she drifted through the streets pretending to be on various errands, feeling safer than she had since landing on Qasama. Disguised in lower-class male clothing, her hair covered by a carefully trimmed wig and her features altered slightly with face-shaper gel, she ought to be totally unrecognizable, especially to people who thought they had a good picture to go by.
That was the theory, at any rate . . . and as the morning progressed, it appeared to work in practice. She bought herself some breakfast—a nice treat after a day of emergency ration bars—and spent an hour wandering around the marketplace, observing the citizens of Azras as they began their new day.
She'd forgotten to ask Daulo when the work party selection would get underway, but when she made her first pass by the city center she saw that timing wasn't going to be critical. The park-like open area was teeming with men, most of them standing in a ragged and snaky line running up to a set of tables at one end. She watched for a few minutes, timing the procedure and estimating how long it would take to process the entire line, and then wandered off. Without Daulo it would be foolish to try and get into the work party in any straightforward way, and there would be little opportunity to try anything less obvious until the workers were ready to move out.
An hour later she returned, to find perhaps thirty minutes' worth of line left. Easing through the milling crowd of those who'd had their turns at the tables and were awaiting the results, she made her way across the center toward where a line of buses were parked along the street. Transport to Mangus, presumably. Also the simplest way for her to penetrate the place, assuming she could find some private hiding place atop, beneath, or inside one of them.
And with most of her attention on the buses, she suddenly found herself walking directly toward Daulo.
Fortunately, he was nearing the front of the line and seemed to have most of his own attention on the tables ahead. Bless the angel who watches over fools, Jin thought to herself, shifting her path to give him a wide berth. Beyond him, near the buses, another official-looking table had been set up; beyond that, a group of men were loitering near the vehicles. Together they effectively canceled any chance for approaching the buses from this side. If she swung around to the other side, made her approach from there—
Her thoughts froze in place. One of the men in that group, eyes ranging alertly over the crowd . . .
Was Radig Nardin. Watching, presumably, for Daulo.
For a half dozen heartbeats she just stood there, oblivious to the men milling around her. With Moffren Omnathi and the Shahni occupying her worries lately, she'd almost forgotten Mangus's own attempts to discourage her and Daulo. But Mangus obviously hadn't . . . and having seen Daulo in Milika less than four days ago, there was little chance Nardin would fail to recognize him.
At least, assuming he was able to continue looking . . .
She chewed at her lip, thinking hard. Step close and stun him with her sonic, hoping the others would assume he was ill and rush him away for treatment? But she would have to be practically up against him to deliver that kind of jolt without the others feeling some fringe effects. Use her lasers to set one of the buses on fire? No good; with his rank Nardin wouldn't be one of those fighting the fire. Besides which, any large-scale trouble she caused would more than likely just hold up the loading of the workers without guaranteeing that Nardin wouldn't still be around to watch it.
Unless . . .
She gritted her teeth. It was a borderline crazy idea . . . but if it worked, it would solve both her problems at one crack.
Across the city center, near the rearmost of the line of buses, was a small shedlike building, possibly a public toilet. Jin crossed to it and, positioning herself facing the wall away from the would-be workers, she worked her fingernails under the edges of the face-shaper gel and began tearing it away. It wasn't a pleasant task—the stuff wasn't supposed to be removed except with a special solvent—and her cheeks and chin felt raw by the time she'd finished. The wig and men's clothes she would have to leave as is; but if Nardin had been paying attention during his trip to the Sammon mine it ought to be enough.
In Milika she'd noted evidence of gaps between social classes, and as she walked up to Nardin's group it became quickly apparent that city dwellers worked under a similar set of rules. A lower-class man, wearing the clothing Jin was, would never have tried to barge right up to someone of Nardin's status, a fact that registered clearly in the startled expressions of those around Nardin as she passed between them. She was within arm's reach of the other, in fact, before two of the entourage broke their astonishment enough to step into her path. "Where do you think you're going?" one of them snarled at her.
"To speak to Master Radig Nardin," she said calmly. "I have a message for him."
Nardin turned to glare at her. "Since when do—?"
The words froze on his lips as recognition flashed onto his face, followed immediately by a whole series of startled emotions. "You—what—?"
"I bring a message for your father, Master Nardin," she said into his confusion, touching fingertips to her forehead. "May I approach?"
Nardin glanced at his companions, seemed to pull himself together. "You may. Let her pass," he ordered.
She sensed the shock pass through the others as she slipped between them—apparently they hadn't yet realized that she was in fact a woman. Dimly, she wondered if transvestism was a crime on Qasama, then dismissed the thought. "I bring a message for your father from Kruin Sammon of Milika," she told him. "Will you take me to him?"
Nardin's face had become an unreadable mask. "I remember you," he said. "You were in the village Milika in the company of Kruin Sammon's eldest son. Who are you that he trusts you with messages?"
"My name is Asya Elghani, Master Nardin."
"And your relation to the Sammon family?"
"That of a business professional," Jin said, choosing her words carefully. She had no idea if the service she was about to describe even existed on Qasama; but with the widespread Qasaman use of drugs, there was no reason why it shouldn't. "I'm a messenger, sent as I said to your father, Obolo Nardin."
Nardin cocked an eyebrow, his gaze flicking pointedly over her clothing. "And what is so special about you that you should be trusted with messages of any importance? Aside from the fact that few people would think you so trustworthy?"
Jin ignored the snickers from the others. "What makes me special," she told Nardin, "is that I carry an oral message . . . the contents of which I don't know."
Nardin's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Jin let a look of barely controlled impatience drift across her face. "The message was given me while I was in a speci
al drug-induced trance," she said. "Only in your father's presence will I be able to return to that trance and deliver the message."
He gazed at her for a long moment, and she mentally crossed her fingers. "How important is this message?" he asked. "Is the timing of its delivery crucial?"
"I have no way of knowing either," Jin told him.
One of the other men stepped close to Nardin. "With your permission, Master Nardin," he murmured, "may I suggest that the timing of this supposed message is extremely suspicious?"
Nardin's eyes stayed on Jin. "Perhaps," he muttered back. "However, if this is a ruse, it does little but buy him some time." Slowly, he nodded. "Very well, then. I'll take you to my father."
Jin bowed. "I'm at your disposal, Master Nardin," she said.
He turned and headed to the rear of the line of buses. Jin followed, sensing a second man join them. A car was parked behind the buses; the other man slid into the driver's seat as Nardin and Jin took the back, and almost before she had her door closed the vehicle swung out into the street and headed east.
Carefully, Jin took a breath, exhaled it with equal care. Once again, it seemed, the pervasive Qasaman disdain of women had worked in her favor. Nardin might have swallowed the same "private message" routine coming from another man, but he almost certainly wouldn't have let a male stranger into his car without some extra protection along. But as a woman, Jin was automatically no threat to him.
Settling back against the seat cushions, she watched the cityscape go past her window and tried to figure out just how best to turn that blind spot to her advantage.
