Agents of rivelt, p.29
Agents of Rivelt, page 29
The usual surge of relief in the safety of the transport was painfully absent. Vigard was out there, and she had to help him. Her normal patience with a rescued slave waned. “Come on, Maren. Follow me up this ladder.” Tracy opened the ceiling hatch and practically dragged Maren through the opening.
“If they catch Vigard,” Maren said, “will they find us?”
“I’ll make sure they don’t.” Tracy grabbed her hand and hurried to the lounge. “Sit here in this couch. I’ll strap you in for acceleration.”
As Tracy clipped and tightened the straps, Maren started to shake. “How do I get these off if I need to?”
Just what she didn’t need—Maren taking action on her own. “You must stay strapped in so we can leave quick. I’ll take different clothes to Vigard, so he can make it back here.”
Maren squeaked. “But what if watchers come? Or Dameon?”
Tracy didn’t have time for this. She found another syringe inside her jacket and pressed it against Maren’s shoulder. “All will be well. Just go to sleep.”
Maren twitched then relaxed with a sigh.
Tracy grabbed her shopping bag and dashed into Vigard’s quarters. She jerked drawers open and rummaged for clothes. His beard was a problem, too. She found his shaver behind the mirror over his sink, along with a few product tubes. No time to read them. One must be shaving cream, hopefully another was instant dye. She shoved them all into her bag and dashed back to the hatch.
She forced herself to stop and think. Vigard had drilled that into her. What was the safest way to reach him without getting caught? The watchers didn’t know what she looked like now, but Dameon would recognize her if he got close. Tracy turned and headed down to the hold. That cart was probably still there. She could direct it from inside as easily as outside. She’d send a message to Vigard while she rode it to the cruiser on the far side.
Footsteps approached like marching pallbearers. Vigard steeled himself for the grisly sight. His comm device vibrated, but the explosive tension in this room kept him from checking it. Only Tracy would contact him. She must be inside the transport now.
Niventh had been jabbing his comm unit with frantic haste. He now raised his eyes to Schmidt’s face. “I regret to convey this, but the full DNA analysis was not performed. I assure you, we will complete it now. If it is negative, we will execute the individual who prematurely—”
“If?” Schmidt thundered. “Will that bring my son back to life?”
Guards carried a pallet into the room and placed it on a narrow table. The body was tightly bound to it, the clothing bunched against the straps. No doubt, the result of the young man’s vain struggle and death throes. Someone had draped a black jacket over his head.
Vigard grieved as much for him as for any captured Riveltian.
Schmidt swallowed loudly and took hold of the jacket.
Vigard reached across the body and grabbed his wrist. “No. You don’t want this image in your memory. Identify him by his hands.”
Schmidt met Vigard’s gaze before gripping one of his son’s hands, the fingers bent like claws. Schmidt ended a long silence. “I suppose you couldn’t hope to have your point nailed home any harder than this.”
“I would never have wished this on you.” Vigard squeezed Schmidt’s arm. “I grieve for you.”
Schmidt’s eyes lowered, and he expelled a shaky breath. He set his jaw before issuing orders to various people. “Broadcast a message to every member of our party to return immediately. Broadcast another to all Humans on the station, informing them that one of our own has been unjustly executed. Offer them asylum on our ships if they wish to depart.”
He turned to a woman in uniform who had followed the corpse. “Captain, confirm that every one of us is accounted for on all of our ships, and that we have received anyone who requests transport. Then, depart as soon as possible.”
Schmidt’s lips worked for a moment. “Mr. Niventh…” He drew another breath. “Do you have adequate control over your staff to ensure they do not interfere with departing Humans?”
“I promise you,” the Evonlid said, “they will be completely safe. If you’d grant me a moment to—”
“Get off my ship,” Schmidt snapped. “Mr. Vigard, I offer guards to escort you to your transport, if you wish.”
“Thank you. I do.”
A guard motioned, and Vigard strode after him. At the open hatch, three uniformed men grabbed truncheons and took positions around Vigard. Over-reacting. Or so it seemed, until he saw the number of Evonlid in the docking corridor.
He absorbed thoughts from the watchers among them, most with comm devices in hand. Amazement sloshed around him like crossing currents. Stand-down orders? Stunned realizations that the orders came from the Syndicate’s chief controllers instead of surveillance. Oh no! The guy Dameon was after… Human guards escorted him right past them. What could they do? Nothing.
One watcher followed at a distance. Vigard sensed the message he sent to Dameon.
Tracy extended her awareness outside the robot cart. Nothing new in the lower docking corridor. The cart entered an elevator, and she had a moment alone before the doors opened on the entertainment level.
Charged emotion eddied around her. Everything from rock-solid disgust to racing outrage and fear. Tracy felt like she was careening through rapids in a barrel, rather than riding a steady robot cart. What was going on?
She grasped words from a disgruntled business owner. “All because a thought-reader was burned!”
No! Tracy went cold. Not Vigard!
“He was cheating at kerpo,” someone muttered. “What did they expect?”
Another voice squeaked. “They say he wasn’t really a thought-reader.”
Tracy breathed again. It couldn’t be Vigard. Her pulse drummed in her ears. She sagged against the cart walls, glad they hid her reaction. For the first time, she truly understood Vigard’s argument against romantic involvement. She had to get past this. Get back to finding useful information and sane problem solving.
The cart passed the casino. A whiff of burned flesh made its way to her nose. Poor soul. She followed a watcher for a moment, whose mind churned through questions. Had that dead guy been a thought-reader or not? Stand-down orders? What was he supposed to do now?
Weird, but not as important as finding a place to climb out of this box. She stared at the controller in her hand as the robot cart turned and curved through the hallway around the station’s interior. Halfway there. The farther she went, the more people darted past her. More robot carts, too. This would be tricky. She’d better pass the cruiser first and scope out who was nearby. If only Vigard would respond to her message, so she could be sure he was staying put.
The cart passed through a door then turned into the docking corridor. Whoa. A lot of people. Why?
She read a watcher standing with his back to the wall, wondering why he had to stay on duty here when he could do nothing but watch Humans evacuate. A little farther along, a watcher heaped silent scorn on the fool who hadn’t waited for a full DNA analysis. She passed the cruiser and sensed another watcher. Discomfort over being ordered to stay here where Humans glared at him on their way off the station. He wished he’d been one of the watchers summoned elsewhere after Dameon’s quarry walked past.
Tracy absorbed the image with his thoughts and ground her teeth. Hadn’t Vigard gotten her message? At least he was guarded. She quickly reprogrammed the robot cart, ordering it to continue around to her own dock. No shortcuts, this time. She’d learn way more in the corridor. Besides, she wouldn’t need to find a place to climb out. She’d go straight to the hatch. Vigard would get there first. He could let her in. A few seconds would be enough.
The farther from the cruiser she went, the fewer people crowded the corridor. Good.
Vigard keyed his code into the access panel beside the hatch, thanked the guards for the escort, and passed through the open airlock into the lounge. Maren, strapped into a couch, raised heavy eyelids. Tracy must be in the cockpit. He sealed the inner hatch, grabbed a handhold, and shouted, “Tracy, detach from the station.”
All remained quiet and still. Gravity did not release him.
Maren mumbled, “She left.”
Vigard’s stomach lurched. “What?”
“Someone saw you. She took clothes—”
Vigard dashed to the cockpit, groping for his comm device. She had to be there. But she wasn’t. He read her message on the way to his quarters. No. He stared at the open mirror, gaping drawers, and scattered clothes. It was true. She had left to bring him a disguise.
He dug his fingers through his hair and gripped it. No, Tracy. No!
His heart thudded, but his brain kicked him out of panic mode. He read her message again. I found the perfect new style for you. So trendy, your friends will hardly believe it’s you. I’ll deliver it to the cruiser.
They had agreed to use the word deliver if a robot cart was involved. Vigard fingered his beard. If only that watcher hadn’t sent a message to Dameon. He’d lost touch with the guy, but that meant little.
He keyed a message. Report to our dock at once. We will depart as soon as our passenger’s belongings are delivered.
They had referred to Tracy as the passenger earlier. She ought to understand. Fortunately, he did not have to wait long for her reply.
“Will do. I checked on the delivery. It’s en route via passenger level.”
Okay. A robot cart was coming. She was smart enough to get in it. He could relax. Yeah, right! Vigard secured his belongings then sprinted into the cockpit and initiated the departure routine. How much longer?
Tracy watched the cart’s progression on the controller. Getting close. Soon, she’d be able to tell if… Oh, no. She sensed several people up ahead. Not another delay. Better to be safe. She directed the cart to the storage rail.
They weren’t saying anything. Just waiting. She read what they could see. One of them faced the hatch, with the dock number in his view. F013. Her dock. The guy worried about their stand-down orders, knowing Dameon would demand action.
Tracy felt like puking. She tapped her comm device. Delivery is delayed.
A firm tread approached and passed her, not a single thought leaking. Worse. She read the watcher’s view again and confirmed what she dreaded. Dameon was approaching.
“Are you sure he went in this one?”
Tracy recognized his voice from the memories Garnot and Ashlyn had shared. Her breath quickened, but she allowed no sound to escape.
“Positive,” the watcher said.
She had to make sure Vigard didn’t open the hatch. So little time to compose a coded message. There’s an obstruction on my route. A bunch of Evonlid and a Human dame on the warpath. She bit her lip. Would he understand dame on? Had she disguised it too much? Or not enough?
A distant voice reached her. “Docking Authority.” It must be coming over a comm unit.
“This is Dameon. Disable the dock release on F013.”
Brief silence, then the distant voice. “That transport is registered from Earth. They are permitted to depart, per orders from the controllers.”
“This is an emergency,” Dameon snapped. “Get portable vacuum containment shields immediately, both to F013 and to the cargo dock below.”
Her comm vibrated. Vigard’s response. Understood. Use alternate route.
Dameon’s voice again, calm this time. “Craft at dock F013, this is station maintenance. We have detected an atmosphere leak signal. Please open your hatch so we can inspect and repair.”
She held her breath. Vigard wouldn’t open. Would he? Seconds passed in silence.
The distant voice of docking authority again, angry this time. “We ran diagnostics. Reporting a false emergency is strictly prohibited.”
“Listen,” Dameon said, “this transport contains one or more thought-readers and the property they have stolen. I am boarding this transport if I have to cut through its hatch. Now, get those containment fields and order a maintenance crew with a disintegration torch.”
Tracy’s hand trembled so badly it took multiple tries to key a message and reprogram the robot cart.
Her chest ached, and her eyes stung. She barely registered her cart’s movement as it left the storage rail and rolled away from Vigard’s transport. The message she had just sent seemed to glow in her tears.
Alternate route is also blocked. There’s talk of a hatch rupture. Delivery cancelled. Time to go. Now.
The repeated demands to open his hatch reached Vigard as though from another realm. Only Tracy’s message mattered. She was telling him to leave. To abandon her. He couldn’t do that. But he couldn’t let Maren be recaptured either. He stared at the detaching control and the emergency collar release glowing on the console. A simple touch would free them from the station and Dameon. And strand Tracy within that creature’s reach.
Dameon’s voice came over the speaker again. “We have equipment in place to pierce your hatch. This is your last opportunity to open it willingly and avoid damage to your transport. We will force entry in ten seconds if you do not respond.”
Vigard pressed the standard detach control. Nothing. He tapped the emergency release. Forced separation jerked him against his straps. Zero G lifted his writhing stomach. They were away.
A dispassionate portion of his brain guided the transport past other ships and powered up for hyper lightspeed. His heart shuddered within his aching chest. A pressure that spread upward, choking him, heating his face, and blurring his vision. Tracy! He had left his beloved Tracy.
The robot cart rolled along the corridor. Mundane and ordinary, as though Tracy weren’t dying inside. Her mouth tasted of ash. What a horrible thought. No, no, she couldn’t give in. She had to think. To find a hiding place. To discern whether anyone knew she was here. And that meant reading the thoughts of Evonlid watchers.
She was out of view of their hatch now. Could she make it to one of the Earth ships and somehow get on board?
She neared another watcher. Was every one of them on this level? His comm unit pinged, and he glanced at it. She read the message from his perception. We have intercepted a string of suspicious messages. All deliveries are suspect.
Tracy longed to scream. What should she do? Far better to get off the station, but could she make it?
Another message came through, this one from Dameon. A dangerous thought-reader is attempting to escape. Monitor the hatches of every departing craft, including apparent deliveries of any type. Refer to the Human female image distributed earlier.
She had to get off this level. Out of this cart, too. Where? She needed hiding places and escape routes. The interior. Off-limits to the public. Only visited by maintenance staff. Adeline and her daughter had hidden in a station interior for years.
Tracy considered the station diagram she had memorized that morning, then picked a level with an inner cart hallway. The interior doors were never marked on public diagrams, but they had to be on that inner hall. She needed to get out her lock decoder. Not easy in the confines of the cart with a shopping bag squashed between her knees and chest. In the privacy of an elevator where no one could see the cart rock, she managed to squirm enough to extract the decoder from a pocket within her jacket.
A minute later, she circled the core, searching for an interior door. So hard to see out of this cart, but she found a vertical seam on the inner wall. No thoughts were within range.
Tracy stopped the cart and opened the side panel. Geez. The door faced down one of the intersecting hallways. Too late to change that. Half blinded by the sudden light, she unfolded her stiff limbs, then pressed the decoder to the lock. The door slid aside. She threw a quick glance backward as she darted through. Beyond the far end of the hallway, someone leaned forward to peer at her. Couldn’t anything go right? She paused just long enough to make sure no one was near, then found ladders and switched levels again. Adeline had once hidden on top of ventilation ducts. Tracy found something similar and scrambled up, finally stretching out in a dim space below the ceiling.
She couldn’t even sit up, but at least she was out of view. Safe.
She rolled to her side, bunching up the bag of Vigard’s clothes beneath her cheek. She needed to rest. To stop the frantic churning in her mind.
Adrenaline faded, and her thoughts spiraled down until silent sobs wracked her. Safe? What a bitter joke. She was trapped. Alone. She dared not make a sound. Her tears soaked Vigard’s clothes. She clutched them, all she had left. Empty clothes. Would she ever see him again? All this time, she had wondered if he loved her. Wishing he would tell her. Never realizing until now that she hadn’t told him either.
Ensnared
Tracy lay immobile on the ventilation duct, controlling every breath lest it reveal her presence. A Syndicate watcher conferred with a maintenance technician a meter below her.
“She’s wearing a black business suit and carrying a black tote bag,” the watcher said. “Her hair is a mix of blonde and brown, not quite shoulder length.”
The technician grunted. “Everyone on this station owns a black suit. Even me. If I saw anyone in here who didn’t belong, I’d tell surveillance, no matter what color her hair is.”
Tracy read skepticism in the watcher’s thoughts. “Sure, and we appreciate that. This woman is dangerous. It’s critical we find her immediately.”
“I get it.” The technician returned to his task, as the watcher’s footsteps echoed down the metal walkway that encircled the space station’s open interior. Tracy sensed him glaring at the watcher’s back. He hated dealing with surveillance. They thought they were so clever, but if the rumors were true, they’d just killed a Human on the false assumption that he was a thought-reader. Worse yet, a diplomat’s son. Not like they could say, “Oops, sorry—we didn’t mean to,” after a stunt like that. A shake-up was coming, and he wanted nothing to do with them.
