Foreigner - Explorer. Part 24

"This is the way it's going to be," the senior agent said from the heart of the bridge. "We stay aboard and we supervise. We supervise until your captain gives us access, and maybe we supervise some more. That's our our order from order from our our deck, and that's that, captain, so get used to it." deck, and that's that, captain, so get used to it."

The standoff continued. Bren edged toward the lift, remembered to cast a questioning look at Jase as the source of all law, and got his silent order. Go Go. Do something.

They were between the proverbial rock and a hard place. They couldn't afford a shoot-up on the bridge, they still hadn't had fueling questions answered-and Sabin was on the Guild's deck and vulnerable, if not already under interrogation. Not good, not good, not good. He could call his staff in, but he wasn't ready to blow the situation wide open.

"Cameron," Jase said. "Get below. Advise gran."

"Who's this gran?" the Guild senior wanted to know.

"Senior officer," Jase said. "In charge of logistics for the colony level. I take it your briefing included that detail."

It didn't. The Guild men looked perplexed, hadn't a clue that the s.h.i.+p was here to take their residents off the station, and Jase didn't explain what the 'colony level logistics' had to do with anything, either, whether it was full of colonials or not.

But a suspicious man could guess whatever the station had ordered or asked of Ramirez-strike evacuation of the station as part of the plan, at least as far as these lower-level officers knew.

"Well, that colony level's the mission, gentlemen." Best Sabin imitation he'd ever heard Jase launch. "It's been the mission since our last call here, and I suggest you bear it in mind as you tour the facilities. Maybe your command hadn't any inclination to tell your office what the exact arrangement was, but we're expecting their help in operations, we're expecting a certain contingent from your station to board in good order and with with their equipment, and if general administration is trying at this point to wilt and change the mission, let me remind you that you've got an alien s.h.i.+p out there that's curious what we're doing. I'm well sure it has a limited patience, and if you want to prove obstructionist to our taking on a fuel load to deal with it, I have to ask whether your administration is on the up and up with you, with the station population, or with our captains." their equipment, and if general administration is trying at this point to wilt and change the mission, let me remind you that you've got an alien s.h.i.+p out there that's curious what we're doing. I'm well sure it has a limited patience, and if you want to prove obstructionist to our taking on a fuel load to deal with it, I have to ask whether your administration is on the up and up with you, with the station population, or with our captains."

G.o.d. Jase had had learned something in the court at Shejidan. It was the best impromptu flight of imagination and half truths since Ilisidi's launch-day banquet. learned something in the court at Shejidan. It was the best impromptu flight of imagination and half truths since Ilisidi's launch-day banquet.

It certainly seemed to catch the mission leader aback. At least a doubt or two flickered across that square face. Bren, on the other hand, reminded himself not to look remotely sharp, only being part of the furnis.h.i.+ngs, same as the cabinetry. He had his gun in his pocket, an open com they hadn't detected, or didn't think was out of the ordinary for crew, and a listening post down below which he had every confidence was processing all this and laying contingency plans to get control of the s.h.i.+p, if need be. He didn't have a word to say. No, not a thought in his head but awe of authority and a certain confusion about the situation.

"Cameron," Jase said.

"Sir."

"Conduct this officer down to the lower decks. Let him inspect on crew and colony level. Let him satisfy himself of whatever questions he has."

"Yes, sir." Eager and very glad to escape-that part was no act. He asked the agent who'd stopped him: "You want to come with me, sir?"

There was a look pa.s.sed among the Guild enforcers. The rifle was still a question, not quite put back to safety. A second look.

"Stay in touch," the senior officer said, and the man moved a step and touched the lift b.u.t.ton.

The lift car was waiting right on their level. The door opened immediately. Bren got in, hands occupied with his trays, and freed a finger for the b.u.t.ton, heart cras.h.i.+ng against his ribs. He had weapons: a straight-edged tray as well as the gun in his pocket, but the best two were his brain and the awareness of his own staff and Ginny's. There were service accesses. His staff might might move, and he wasn't ready to have that happen. Jase wasn't-or he'd surely have included five-deck in the proposed tour. move, and he wasn't ready to have that happen. Jase wasn't-or he'd surely have included five-deck in the proposed tour.

The door shut. The Guild agent bulked close to Banichi's width, given the body armor, the weapons, the equipment.

Not quite as mentally quick, however. "Thought we were going down one," the agent said.

"Cap'n said tour you around the colony deck, sir. Figured you'd want to see that, where we got all the special rigging."

The agent wasn't eager to admit he and his hadn't a clue what rigging and what arrangements were, and it clearly wasn't uncommon for Guild levels to keep truths from each other. If there was anything but a top level officer at the other end of the agent's electronics, figure that that authority would still have to wonder if there were higher-up secrets to which their their agents were inadvertently being exposed-he gave himself about thirty minutes of administrative confusion before someone conceivably asked far enough up the chain and got an order to take action. agents were inadvertently being exposed-he gave himself about thirty minutes of administrative confusion before someone conceivably asked far enough up the chain and got an order to take action.

But the desire to see all they could see might well keep this fellow tame and following-that left three on the bridge, not four, and just that quarter less force gave Jase more breathing room up there.

The lift door opened on a bone-cold, very dimly lit corridor.

"What is this?"

"Colony level, sir." He was glad of the coat. Breath frosted. Rime formed on the edge of the door. "Just starting the warm-up."

"For what?"

"Dunno, sir. Best I know, there's guys you're sending, and here's s.p.a.ce for 'em, and we're going to save the day, I suppose, where we're going. We got the stores-you want to tour the stores, sir?"

"I'll take your word for it." The agent, breath hissing between his teeth, reached for the lift controls.

Bren hit the order for two-deck. Fast and first. First number entered was the number, unless the user used an override, and the agent didn't appear to have the key.

"What's on three?" The car moved.

"More crew quarters, sir." He still had the tray and the basket-and Jase's picture-clutched against him.

"You're not d.a.m.n bright, are you?"

"No, sir," Bren said cheerfully, as the lift doors opened on two.

The agent looked disgusted. But this level was lighted, it was warm. The agent walked out and Bren walked to his right, tray clutched tight against him.

"This nearest and straight ahead is medical, sir. Just this way is crew area." Straight to the right, side corridor, a fair walk, two more corridors. Bangs and thumps came from the distance, cook's operation. Bren felt his heart thumping while his brain sorted the corridors, the charts, the not-quite-perfect knowledge of what was where among all these unmarked doors.

There was, for one thing, warm-storage here, for items various departments needed often and didn't want frozen. There were cleaning closets. He earnestly wished he dared shove the man into one and lock the door.

That firepower, however, might be adequate to blast right back through a door, and most of these doors were crew quarters. He wasn't expert in firearms. He wasn't sure. He wished he could contrive to ask Banichi and Jago that surreptious question, but he didn't know how to describe the rifle.

So he walked, opened random section doors, a meandering tour of two-deck, while the agent held his rifle generally aimed at the walls and not at him.

Elsewhere the lift operated.

The man looked in that direction, as if things he saw just weren't entirely adding up.

And stopped. Wary. Listening to his electronics.

"What's the matter?" Bren asked.

"Shut up," the agent said. And aimed the gun at him while he went on listening.

Bren had his hand on a door switch. Storeroom. He was ready, heart in mouth, to make a desperate maneuver and hope the door was adequate, if that was his only choice.

"What's that?" The agent motioned at that hand with the gun barrel.

"Service closet, sir." He punched it open to demonstrate the fact, and dropped the offending hand.

"Don't get smarta.s.s. Where's life life in this place?" in this place?"

"All these cabins. They're still waiting in quarters. s.h.i.+p's rules when we dock, sir."

"What's that?"

There'd been a sound, a clank, a clatter. A cart, somewhere in motion not far away. "Oh, I imagine that would be galley, sir. The staff's delivering food around. People got to eat, no matter if s.h.i.+ft's held over." The storeroom door shut. Doors always did, left unattended. But the agent was jumpy. Very. The gun twitched that direction. And something in the Cameron bloodstream, some ancestral fool, suddenly just had to push when pushed. "Door's automatic, sir. Watch your fingers."

"Where's auxiliary ops?"

"That's on a ways aft, sir. We can go there when you like. But there's more."

"Let's go that that way." way."

He obliged the man. They walked. They saw exactly nothing. They might go to the galley, Bren decided, lacking a plan, not sure how far or how long his staff was holding off, but absolutely certain they were being tracked. He could arrange a diversion, maybe get cook's help to shove the fellow into a storeroom, his best amateur imagination of a solo heroic finish to this foolery.

But the minute he made a move on this highly wired individual, conversely, and probably what Banichi and his staff was thinking, Jase would have to answer for that action upstairs, with all the others and all that delicate equipment up there-not to mention the communications links this team of enforcers presumably had to the station's inner workings, where Sabin was also exposed to reprisals. Banichi and the rest might be maneuvering into position in the service accesses, for what he could guess-which was a cold, arduous business, getting between levels. But he wasn't alone. He was sure he wasn't alone, and that all the problems he could think of were being thought of: Banichi might have been deceived once about the sun and the stars, but the handling of an armed intrusion and a hostage situation was no mystery at all to him.

The question here was who was hostage. Bren rather thought he wasn't, that he, in fact, had this part of the problem in hand.

So they walked. And walked. Bren rattled on about safety procedures, the most boring official tour information he could muster, a compendium of the orientation video tour the crew had put together for groundlings. He clutched the trays and the d.a.m.ning picture against him as they walked, and he toured the man up one hall and down the other for what felt like a gun-threatened eternity, telling himself he was gaining time for those who knew what they were doing to work matters out-possibly for Gin to communicate with Jase and coordinate actions.

Meanwhile small rackets led their tour steadily toward the galley's open door, where cook's mates came and went. The armed approach drew an anxious look, but no one, thank G.o.d, reacted in panic.

"Galley, sir," Bren said brightly, the obvious, and led their tour inside, stopping just inside the door, where he set the tray and its load onto the nearest shelf and trusted no one to ask brightly what the picture was.

The agent gave everyone the cold eye. A food truck wanted out the door. The agent stood there just long enough to be inconvenient, saying nothing, asking nothing, just looking. The agent moved and the innocent cart trundled past.

"Want a soft drink?" Bren asked, pus.h.i.+ng it way beyond bounds, at the same time cuing cook what part he was still playing. "Cup of tea, sir?" He asked himself in an afterthought whether the food menu and the planet-origin smells might give away to this man as much as Jase's photo, but most anything could pa.s.s for synthetic, if the observer were predisposed to believe everything in the universe was synthetic. "Stuff's real good."

"Not here for that," the agent said, and walked out, shoving him aside in the process.

"So what are you looking for?" Stupid question of the hour. Bren followed him. Got into the lead again. Without the d.a.m.ning tray.

"Checking things out," the agent said, and pointed at random. "Looking for answers. Open that door."

"It's just a door, sir. It's a cabin."

"Open it?"

"Yes, sir," Bren said, and politely pushed the entry-request, same as a groundling's knock at the door.

The door took its time opening. A couple of uniformed crewmen stood there looking confused. Alarmed, to have a stranger with a rifle standing in their cabin doorway.

"This is Mr.-" Bren hesitated, trying to keep it social, ridiculous as it all felt, and he wasn't sure what level of inanity might just be too much. "Didn't catch the name, sir."

"Esan," the agent said, giving the two occupants his long, flat stare.

"Mr. Esan," Bren amended the introduction, stupidly cheerful. "Mr. Esan, here, is giving the s.h.i.+p the once-over before we do the formalities. Captain Sabin's on station doing whatever's necessary. Captain Graham says I should just tour him around."

The two crewmen weren't stupid. And in this corridor of all corridors they'd likely gotten cook's warning and knew they were the lucky people to deal with a ticking bomb.

"Glad to meet you," one said, and moved forward to offer a hand.

Esan flinched, oddly enough. Didn't take the offered hand. Then did, as if the crewman were holding something objectionable... or contagious.

Well, well, well.

"Benham," the crewman said, doggedly cheerful. "Roger Benham." He indicated the second, younger man. "My cousin Dale. Welcome aboard, Mr. Esan. It's good to meet somebody from Reunion."

"Hard voyage?" Esan asked.

"Oh, average," Benham said. "Glad to meet you. Esan. Aren't any Esans aboard."

"We all took to station," Esan said grimly, and walked out.

Bren stayed with him. Kept cheerful. And stupid.

"Much the same with the rest of this?" Esan asked-meaning the doors. Having found nothing subversive.

"All the same," Bren said. "Well, except the storerooms. We can go back there if you like."

"Bridge," Esan said. He seemed to be listening to someone. Muttered a quiet, "Yeah," to that someone at the other end.

"Yes, sir," Bren muttered, wondering at what time something might go very wrong upstairs and Officer Esan might simply level that rifle and shoot him without warning. The policy decision on this one was more than the dowager and Banichi and Cenedi: Sabin might start something, if she sent word; and Jase might, if he decided he had to move. And something up on the bridge had clearly changed.

Suddenly.

"Back to the lift," Esan said.

"Yes, sir," Bren said, and led the way, beginning to think of the gun in his pocket, thinking if things had gone wrong up there he could prevent reinforcement-but getting his electronics up to that deck could give Banichi and Cenedi direct information about the situation. He sweated, trying to figure.

The lift was quick in coming. He boarded with Esan, punched in the bridge, and kept bland cheerfulness on his face, stupidest man alive, yes, sir.

Not a word. Esan was listening to something.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Meeting in the captain's office," Esan said.

"Yes, sir," he said, deciding not to shoot Esan through his coat pocket. A meeting. His heart settled marginally and he was ever so glad he'd gotten that picture out.

The door opened, letting them back onto the bridge. "Captains' offices are this way, sir." He stuck like glue, his stupid, cheerful presence guiding the way.

The bridge crew was still pretending to work. They drew stares. The tension was palpable as they walked the short distance from the lift area, past the bridge operations area, into the administrative corridor. Jase's men were there, Kaplan and Polano, armed, that was worth noting. Armed, but outside, looking anxious while Jase was, evidently, inside.

"Here's where, sir," Bren said, and Kaplan opened the door to let Esan in.

Jase was secure behind his desk. Two of the investigators were sitting in chairs in front of it, one standing in the corner. Esan made four.

"Mr. Esan, is it?" Jase rose and came around the corner of the desk, offering a hand. Esan confusedly reciprocated.

Then Jase turned a scowl, aimed at Bren. "Mr. Cameron."

"Sir."