Destiny's Road Part 33

"Well, that's why I'm asking, Willametta!"

She nodded.

"Let's see, you brought a bird home for dinner last night. Now, suppose s.h.i.+mon was cold so he kept his poncho on, and he still had it this morning-"

Her hands gripped his arms hard. "Don't say that!"

"-with the blood of a windbird all over it. If some of those horrors whiffed Destiny blood-"

'Don't tell them that!"

"Was he a spy?"

Willametta's mouth stayed open.

Jemmy said, "The probes have to know what's going on in the barracks. They need a spy. They can tell a spy they'll make him the next trusty. Barda and Andrew, they're trusties now, but were they spies before?"

"Andrew was."

"So he knows how a spy gets picked. Did s.h.i.+mon know you've stashed some speckles?"

She pulled him close and whispered in his ear. She was scared right through. "They haven't touched it. Yes, he knew, but he didn't know where. How could you know all this, Jemmy?"

"I guess I was waiting for someone to die. Barda and Andrew have to know who the spy is, or they can't hide anything. When the birds tore into s.h.i.+mon, it all just fit, except the paint, I guess. Who gave him his poncho this morning? Barda?"

They were hood to hood, arms bracing each other against the wind.

An approaching probe would see only lovers. Jemmy said, "Willametta, I need a story to tell the probes. They know something. They waited for us in the rain. This morning they stayed to search for something else before they caught up with us."

She said, "They'll search the barracks. Did Andrew tell you-" She looked into his eyes. "d.a.m.n him. When the probes search, you open every door and drawer. Don't close any of it. They do that. You go around the room-"

"Clockwise?"

"Idon't know. Sure! Or watch their hands. If one points to something, you open it or move it or lift it. Try not to talk too much."

The rain slacked and she looked around; they all seemed to do that. She said, "Rafik's back-" Her breath caught oddly.

Jemmy could see past huddled gatherers, far down the Road to where two rainbow birds walked bike men. Two.

Willametta's hands closed like claws and she pushed her cheek against his and keened in terror. He whispered, "Not Rafik?"

"They're too soon! Where did they come from?"

"Isn't the Parole Board in that direction? No way could a runner get to them. Settler magic?" He remembered an old word from the lessons.

"Phones?"

"Quick, around the side!" Willametta ducked and lifted the hem of Jemmy's poncho nearly to his chin. He guessed what she had in mind. The rain was back, a waterfall now, and he had to shout into her ear.

"We can't do that."

"It's a distraction!" Her hand found the waistband of his shorts and dipped in to cup his genitals, and squeezed gently.

He stopped her, hand on wrist. "Nowlisten. There's a man dead and proles coming to look into it. 'Andrew Dowd' is alert and scared and waiting. He can't be around to the side rubbing up against a lovely woman when he could be having her all day tomorrow in dry comfort! It'd be suspicious as h.e.l.l."

Her hand stopped moving. He had her attention. He had an erection too, so he'd best talk fast. "Rafik went that way? Then the probes pa.s.sed him, right? He's behind them!"

"Yes. Yes."

"We have to give him a chance to join us. Okay. You get- Let go now."

She did.

"You get Amnon and the twins. Send them around that side while the rain holds." The Parole Board direction. "The gatherers stay huddled so they'll be harder to count. I'm at the Road, ready to serve my prole masters but looking in the wrong direction. I don't know anything about prole phones, right?"

She gaped.

"Willametta!"

"I never heard the word!"

"Good, then Andrew didn't either. You, behind me, ready to spot anything weird and tell me. And let's drape a pack or two over s.h.i.+mon."

The next break in the rain showed two pairs of proles converging. The pair from the Board direction was nearest, and Jemmy let them see him suddenly discover them. They plodded up to him and one said, "Trusty, some of your gatherers are missing."

Jemmy looked around wildly. "Oh, man, they must be around to the side. Can I check that out? I had to stay here, man. One of my people got killed."

"Go get them. Where are the packs?"

"We piled-"

"You're missing some of those too!"

The other prole had drawn his weapon. Jemmy shrank back, raised his arms. "No, man, we spread some packs over s.h.i.+mon, over the body. I thought you'd want to look him over, I didn't want the rain to wash anything away. I still can't figure why birds would tear him up like that." Walking backward, Jemmy led them to s.h.i.+mon laid out on white rock.

There: two packs covering torso and face, and when Jemmy lifted them, there were the terrible holes in s.h.i.+mon's poncho and s.h.i.+mon's corpse.

For an instant Jemmy glimpsed a bird-shape with a pack in his hand, behind the probes. A moment later he'd merged with the other birdshapes.

The second pair of probes, the ones who had been in the field, were bird-shadows seen through slackening rain, and Jemmy could only hope that they hadn't seen Rafik. Rita and Amnon and Dolores were coming around the toolhouse, obtrusively straightening each other's clothing, and Jemmy shouted and went to yell at them. When he looked around again the piled packs booked to be the right height.

The four probes closed on Jemmy. "Tell us how this man died, now.

Don't leave anything out."

"I swear, man. The spectre bird jabbed him before he moved," Jemmy said, belligerent and tired.

Two probes shrugged and one had gone to open the toobhouse, but one, Redbeard, cursed. "What I saw was a bird getting curious and a gatherer losing his nerve!"

"Maybe you're right, man, but I saw what I saw." Jemmy had considered changing his story, but he judged this better.Just stubborn, that's all.

"Turn in your gear and then we're going to search the barracks."

The packs of speckles went in the cart. The gatherers returned their gloves to the toolhouse. Jemmy left his bird gun and bullets in there too. He watched the little smooth-sh.e.l.led machine pull the cart away.

The three who remained directed their pa.s.sage through the stormlock. They were too edgy for anyone's comfort. Jemmy and the redbearded probe went in with Willametta and Amnon.

Jemmy smelled stir-fry cooking. Barda Winslow looked around, and jumped.

"Go easy, Barda," Jemmy said. "It's a search." He pulled off his poncho and dropped it.

A woman moaned on one of the beds. Jemmy reflexively turned toward the sound.

Redbeard said, "You go nowhere, Dowd. Stay with the cooking, Winslow. Who's that?"

Barda Winslow answered defensively. "Miledy Waithe is pregnant and overdue. My a.s.sistant, Ansel Tarr, is standing by as midwife."

Ansel Tarn was a good-booking sixteen-year-old boy, white skin, straight black hair, just a touch of sullen. He was plausible enough as Barda Winslow's love slave.

Redbeard grimaced. "When the rest of the Parole Board gets in we'll do our search. I believe we'll start by searching under Miledy Waithe."

He was watching Barda's eyes, and he wasn't pleased when she laughed out loud.

The stormlock door opened and he said, "All right, here come-h.e.l.l."

Here came two gatherers and a dead bird. Jemmy commanded them, "Take the bird to Barda and help her cook."

Miledy Waithe screamed again. Ansel Tarr murmured in her ear.

Otherwise the storm-free silence was heavenly.

"You don't give orders when we're here, Dowd," the red-bearded probe said quietly.

Jemmy said, "We're all going to run late tonight, man. Last chance to search the bird?"

"Did."

"What are you looking for? Something you can talk about?"

"Hidden tools. Hidden speckles. Dyes. Any kind of cloth that isn't," the probe's fingers rubbed the cloth of Jemmy's shorts, "this kind."

Three gatherers and a second probe entered. Redbeard said, "Dowd, stay! Marta, when Horace gets in we'll search the bathrooms. Cover me, will you?"

"Go for it," the second probe said.

Redbeard pulled his wet poncho over his head and was bare to the waist. He ran fingers through his hair and flung the water away. "Ah!

Better."

"My turn."

"Go.

Marta stripped off her poncho. She was, in Jemmy's judgment, exquisite. Males gaped at her, and she hoisted the gun and grinned.

Redbeard caught Jemmy's smile, and glared. "Men's room," he snapped. They began their search there.

The men's bath was bare of anything suspicious.

The women's bath was very like the men's.

When they emerged, the gatherers were all inside along with a third probe. He was a stocky, muscular man, and he stood guard while the probe Marta and the gatherer Ansel examined Miledy. Mibedy certainly seemed about to give birth.

Jemmy ignored that. Moving clockwise around the room, he opened every door and drawer he could find.

He missed two that the probes knew were there. They took that seriously. The probe he'd nicknamed Muscles held him at gunpoint, Marta took position in a corner and covered the whole room, while Redbeard emptied a cabinet in the medical stores and tapped it for secret corn-partments, all in the sullen communal glare of wet and uncomfortable gatherers. They did the same later with a kitchen storage bin.

They watched carefully while Barda and Jemmy poured the elements of dinner slowly from one container to another. Nothing hidden.

Then Redbeard gestured toward Miledy, and wet and uncomfortable gatherers began to murmur.

Do this fast, Jemmy thought. He summoned Amnon with a gesture. They lifted the bed next to Miledy and invited the probes to examine that.

Then, together, Amnon and Jemmy and Muscles lifted Mibedy Waithe. They set her on the other bed before she could begin to protest.

For Miledy that was the last straw. Redbeard and Muscles examined Mibedy's bed, ignoring the sounds behind them; but Miledy was giving birth. Ansel Tarr and Marta helped them tend to that. At the end they were holding a squirming red infant girl, and Miledy had gone from screaming into monotonous cursing.

Marta said, "So, there's your free ride out."

Miledy wasn't listening. She moved the baby a little, said, "Girl,"

in tones of wonder, and went to sleep.

The search was over.

But while the rest of the gatherers served themselves and ate, the probes questioned Barda and "Andrew" about housekeeping details. That was h.e.l.lish. Jemmy didn't know most of the answers. He and Barda found a routine: he'd start to answer, then Barda would interrupt.

It seemed forever before the proles trooped into the stormlock and were gone.

Then jemmy sagged and sighed, and Barda called, "Get your showers now. The Parole Board can check our water flow. Did anyone save us anything?"

There was still food. Jemmy was ravenous.

Most of the gatherers were showering. Miledy was asleep with the tiny new baby in her arms. Jemmy and Barth ate in silence for a time, in a silent hall.

Barda said, "Good routine, domineering b.i.t.c.h, wimpy male."

"Worked. We should practice."