Death Sentence (32 page)

"Very stiff and uncomfortable," Jamie growled, pulling at his collar. "And very hard to pack all the portable gizmos and gear in the jacket, no matter how many pockets the BSI tailor put in."

"You've got it easy," Hannah reminded him, gesturing toward her full-length burgundy-colored evening gown. "See any pockets on this little number?"

"You've got your handbag. And isn't there a jacket that goes with that gown?"

"A jacket I'm supposed to remove as soon as I arrive."

"The Metrannans might not know that."

"Or they might," Hannah said, "and be so hugely insulted by it they decide to hold another little show trial. It doesn't make much sense to jump in and out of these little outfits all day long because our hosts take clothes so seriously--
then
start hoping they won't notice when we don't wear them properly. Besides, the jacket that goes with this gown wouldn't do much to conceal a shoulder holster. Which leaves me with the handbag to carry everything, and it doesn't even have a shoulder strap, which means I only have one hand free in an emergency."

"Okay, when it comes to performing our professional duties, your clothes are worse than mine. But you look very nice. The gown suits you."

Hannah smiled. "Well, it took you long enough. But when you did come out with a compliment, it was actually coherent, polite, and even sounded sincere. We'll get you trained for polite society yet. Maybe the next nice girl you meet won't flee in terror."

"You're not going to start trying to set me up again when we get back--if we get back--to HQ, are you?"

"No comment," Hannah said, in a very motherly tone of voice that spoke volumes. She watched as Jamie stepped to the table and started tucking his weapons and comm gear and other compact field equipment into the pockets of his tux. Maybe they weren't being watched as closely as they had thought. They hadn't spotted any cameras yet, though given how small even human spycams could be, that meant nothing at all.

"Something else I noticed about this crowd. Have you noticed they haven't once checked to see if we were packing heat?" Hannah asked. Neither of them had spoken the words "gun" or "weapon" since arriving on-planet and Hannah saw no reason to start.

"That's the fun thing about talking for realtime security," said Jamie. "I get to hear you use all that tough-guy slang. But yeah. I did notice that. I assumed we'd have to check it all at the door as soon as we arrived at Free Orbit Station. But they never even asked. No scanners that I've noticed either. Any theories?"

"Maybe they're all very new at this police state business, and not all that good at it yet. Maybe their snoopers can't spot our toys because they're so crude and primitive. Maybe they're short of personnel. Maybe they've already disabled or counteracted everything we've got in some weird Elder Race way that we won't even know about until it's too late. I could probably think of about a dozen other reasons--but I wouldn't want to get
too
specific while they're listening in. Let's just enjoy the good times while they last."

"These are the good times?" Jamie shifted to sign language.
New topic: We urgently need to find a way to chat with Taranarak in private. She knows a lot, and she's eager to talk. I don't think we're going to get anywhere at all unless we manage that.

Hannah signed back.
I agree. One hundred percent. But unless you've got some bright idea, we'll just have to watch for our chances. Taranarak is no fool. She knows the situation better than we do, and has had more time to think it through. She's probably already figured out she's going to have to be the one to make it happen.

"Or are the good times just about to start?" Jamie asked, resuming the spoken conversation and pretending that the signed exchange hadn't happened. He peered through the transparent top of their gondola and gestured toward the house Taranarak had emerged from earlier. "I think it's party time."

Even in the gloomy, red-tinged light of an evening on Metran, they could see that Taranarak was dressed in spectacular fashion, in a garment somewhere in form between a cloak and a gown in colors as iridescent as a peacock in full display, with a matching headdress of elaborate design. She moved with silent dignity between the guard that preceded her and the one that followed, needing nothing but her pride and bearing to turn them into a guard of honor, rather than a prisoner's escort.

"
That's
a slightly different look than she had on this morning," said Jamie. "I think it's a fair guess she's going to the same party we are."

"Sooner or later," said Hannah, "this might all make sense, but so far I can't see it. Just looking at how chewed up the land is around her house, and the obvious damage to her house itself, it looks as if she was in some sort of really heavy-duty house arrest. My guess is that they've just eased up on her a lot--maybe because we showed up. But the ease-up
can't
be to make her look good in front of us, because they left so much evidence around that they
were
hard on her, plus they've still got goons all over the place and the end of the street sealed off--
then
they plunk us down right next to her so we
have
to see it all. And then they wheel her in to sit like the prisoner in the dock this morning--but tonight she's off to a public ball. Do
you
have a theory that covers all the known facts, Agent Mendez? Because I sure don't."

Jamie shook his head. "How about 'xenos are really weird'?"

"Well, that covers the facts, all right, but I was hoping for something with a bit more detail."

"Maybe we'll get that something soon," said Jamie, pointing toward a guard heading toward the entrance of their gondola. "It looks like they're coming for us."

Learned Searcher Taranarak of geneline Lucyrn allowed herself to be led to the center of the muddy, poorly maintained Order Patrol compound that had once been her sunward garden, moving carefully to stay on the paths, lifting the hem of her garment to avoid soiling it. At last her escort got her as far as the aircar landing pad. The lead guard stopped there, and only then seemed to notice an obvious fact. "The aircar has failed to arrive," he announced. He turned to the other guard, his subordinate. "Walk back out to the depot, advise them that no aircar has arrived, and have them send a replacement vehicle suitable for transporting one subject. And don't just pass the message. Stay there, and stay on them, until they confirm that an aircar has been dispatched."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to send the request by commlink signal?"

"Simpler, but less secure," the first guard growled. "This is to be a high-security event. Let's not start the evening by broadcasting our every move to the rebels. Now go."

"Yes, sir." The subordinate moved off toward the road, and the lead guard stayed where he was, very pointedly not looking toward Taranarak or acknowledging her in any way.

A moment or two later, the hatch on the human's mobile living quarters opened, and their guard led them down the ramp toward the aircar landing pad.

"Transport ops fouled up again," Taranarak's guard announced in a grimly cheerful voice. "No aircar for my charge. I just sent Zelphanot up the road to the depot to request a new one. It looks like no car for your friends, either."

"But sir, they're all to travel in one larger aircar tonight, and it isn't due for another twelve short-duration units. I was wondering why you sent me early to get these two."

"What? Something's off-center. No one can decide what to do or how to do it. They sent 'em off in
two
cars this morning, but it's all friends in one big car this evening? And I just sent Zelphanot legging off to the depot for a small car. Stars and blackness, you can bet whatever you like that they'll cancel the big car and just send the little one. We'd never fit 'em all in, and they'd get there late, and there'd be trouble enough for everybody. You'd better head off after Zelphanot and countermand, make sure they just send the big car as per schedule."

"But that'll leave you alone guarding all three of them."

"An old lady and two alien two-leggers dressed in their best. What are they going to do? Rush me, then run for the Elevator in their fancy-dinner clothes and hope they blend in with the crowd?"

"Well--I guess it will be all right."

"Get moving. If they get the aircar order wrong, and our friends here aren't there to look happy for the cameras,
we
won't be here at all in the morning. Go."

The newly arrived guard needed no more urging. He turned and headed off in the same direction Zelphanot had taken.

The lead guard watched him depart impassively, then turned very deliberately so that his back was to the three prisoners. "It is a very pleasant night," he announced to no one in particular, shifting from the local language to Lesser Trade Speech. "I will take a walk around the perimeter, so that I might enjoy the evening while patrolling for intruders. It will be a very brief walk." And with that he set off, still without looking at Taranarak or the humans.

Taranarak waited until he was fully out of earshot before she spoke. She did not dare look at the humans. They had already met her high expectations by not responding in any way. No shouts of surprise or nervous laughter. Perhaps these two were formed in the same mold as Trevor of geneline Wilcox. If so, it would be a great good fortune. "Do not look toward me. Do not gesture or show any particular reaction. We are a little bored, a little annoyed, and a little mystified as to what has happened to our transportation, and also annoyed at the ineptitude of our guards. That is all. Do you understand?"

"We do," said the senior of the two, the female, Wolfson. "Speak to us."

"I shall do so. It required a huge bribe to buy these few short-duration units out from under the watchers and the listeners. I will not waste them. Tigmin lied this morning. All of us there in the chamber knew what was in the message. It was, of course, the longlife treatment."

"But why entrust it to humans?" Mendez asked, his voice as casual as his words were urgent. "Why send the only copy of the information off-planet?"

"There is no time to explain all that now. Later, if we survive, you will know all. We must stick to essentials."

"Then before we go further, you must answer
our
essential questions," said Wolfson, making no effort to hide the steel in
her
voice. "What was the purpose of this morning's interview? Why were you there? Was it our trial? Yours? Why was the Xenoatric--the Unseen One--there? What made us criminals this morning but honored guests tonight?"

Taranarak cringed inwardly. There was so little time! But the humans might well need answers to those questions if they were to survive--and Taranarak would most definitely need them alive if her own plans were going to work. "The Three--Yalananav, Fallogon, and Tigmin--play intricate and deadly games together, each maneuvering for advantage, each seeking supremacy. I believe that the Unseen Being, Bulwark of Constancy, is, somehow, financing or otherwise backing Tigmin--or else is seeming to do so in an indirect move in support of Yalananav. I believe, but cannot know for sure, that I was there to witness that the Three had power over
you.
However, I have come to think that there is no one clear reason for any event that involves the Three. I think it is possible that I was also part of some complex maneuver of Fallogon's in opposition to the other two.

"As to why
you
were there--this morning was an audition, a clearance procedure, for tonight. The answers you gave were satisfactory and made it plain you were not a threat to the newly established Bureaucratic Order. Therefore, you can be presented tonight for propaganda purposes.

"You have propaganda value because the rumor had gotten about that a human being was somehow involved in the search for the lost longlife treatment and killed during the search. When you appear tonight, the mere sight of humans--especially humans who work for the same service as Trevor Wilcox--will suggest that the search goes on, that the authorities are in fact working to recover the lost formulae, and that the rebel claim that the treatment has been deliberately suppressed is a fiction. It will send the message that those who wish for the formulae to be recovered should support the Bureaucratic Order, and the work of the Three.

"I can expand on all these points later, but time is
short
! We have only a few moments before the aircar arrives, and all we say in the car, and for the rest of the evening, will be listened to, I can assure you."

"Very well," said Wolfson. "We will count ourselves satisfied--for the moment. Speak to the essentials you mentioned earlier."

Taranarak took a deep breath and spoke rapidly. "It was I who arranged for the emergency Metrannan-edible rations to be delivered to your ship. If, somehow, you are permitted to leave this madhouse planet--
you must take me with you.
If it can be done legally, normally, through proper channels, all the better. If I must be smuggled aboard somehow, then so be it. The rations are there to allow us that option. I do not request this favor of you--I demand it. And I do not demand it to save my own life--although it likely will. I demand it as the only means available to save my culture and my people."