Trickster (28 page)

 
Rafille checked her pocket. The jammer was still there. Now
that
had been a challenge, coming up with a device that would temporarily disrupt from a distance the AI programs that watched the stores. A part of her felt like she was cheating, but she still had to avoid the store security guards, both the ones in uniform and the ones in plain clothes. And it was almost impossible to beat the AI programs. Rafille wanted a challenge, but she wasn't stupid about it.

 
She checked her ocular implant. Time to go home. Her feet were tired, and the packages were growing heavy. She was just turning away from the bookstore when heavy hands landed on her shoulders from behind.

 
"Excuse us, ma'am," said an unfamiliar male voice, "but I'm afraid we need to talk."

 
Rafille's heart wrenched inside her chest. She wrenched her head around and stared at a man and a woman, both dressed in simple suits. The man was tall and thin, with dark skin. His companion was only slightly shorter, with blond hair and bland features. Each of them had a hand on her shoulders.

 
"What's this all about?" she gasped, though she was dread certain she already knew.

 
The man flashed an identification holo. "Security, ma'am. You'll have to come with us now."

 
"But I didn't do anything," Rafille spluttered. Her heart was now beating fair to shake her blouse, and the bookdisks felt very heavy and conspicuous in her pocket.

 
"I don't think we should discuss that here, ma'am," the woman said. "If you'll please come with us?"

 
They had her dead to rights. A hundred different scenarios flashed through her head. She could make a break for it. She could throw the packages into their faces and
then
make a break for it. She could pretend to faint. She could hit the man with her fist and punch the woman in the stomach. Rafille discarded all of these possibilities. Both man and woman were clearly far more athletic than she was, and Rafille doubted she would get ten meters before they caught up with her. As if reading her thoughts, the man tightened his grip on her shoulder enough to make her wince, a subtle indicator of his strength. Rafille's mouth went dry. She was in deep, deep trouble. If Roon found out she had been arrested, Rafille would land in the job pool so fast, she might well have traveled there through slipspace. She would lose her luxury apartment and almost everything she owned. Her daughter would have to drop out of college.

 
This isn't fair!
she thought wildly.
Why should my daughter have to suffer because of this? There has to be a way out of it. Think, woman. Think!

 
The security people steered Rafille toward an empty store. The front windows were obscured by blank beige screens and a sign read,
Coming soon: another fine store!
The blond woman pushed open the door and the man guided Rafille firmly into the space beyond.

 
Inside was a great, empty space. The floor was simple gray tile. A few empty clothing racks made a tangled metal jumble, and a sales counter sat off to one side. A line of closed doors marched along the back wall, and Rafille assumed they were fitting rooms. The place smelled of stale air and dust.

 
"What's going on?" Rafille demanded, deciding to play the role of indignant innocent. Perhaps she could brazen it out. "What is this place?"

 
"It's where we take shoplifters for . . . debriefing," the man said, and held up a small computer disk. "We caught you on camera. Would you like to see it?"

 
"But that's . . . I mean, there's no way you could have . . . how did . . . "

 
Without a word, the man produced a datapad from his pocket and slotted in the disk. A holographic display popped up. Rafille watched herself in miniature as she palmed the silver cat key ring. Her heart plummeted into her shoes and her hands began to shake.

 
"Pretty conclusive," the man said. "Would you like to see the rest?"

 
"No," Rafille whispered. "Oh god."

 
The man pulled a large card from his jacket pocket. "Please give me your hands, ma'am. I need your prints."

 
They were treating her like a criminal? A common thief? Rafille couldn't believe it, even when the man rolled her fingers carefully across the card. They left black prints in their wake, though her hands remained clean.

 
"Detective Dell here is going to search you now," the man said next. "Hold your arms out to your sides, please."

 
Rafille numbly obeyed. Detective Dell's search was quick and thorough. It produced the silver key ring, the bookdisks, the leather gloves, two bottles of perfume, a scarf, and the AI disruptor. Dell laid the objects out on the counter in an accusatory row. Rafille didn't respond until she felt Dell's fingers open the little pouch on her belt, the one that contained her computer key. Rafille's hand shot down and grabbed Dell's wrist.

 
"There's nothing of importance in there," she snapped.

 
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to look," Dell said neutrally.

 
"Please remove your hand from my partner's wrist, ma'am," the man said, "or I will remove it for you."

 
"The key in that pouch is classified property of Silent Acquisitions," Rafille said, obeying with reluctance. "If you tamper with it--"

 
"I'll set it on the counter, ma'am," Dell said, and did so. "No one will touch it."

 
"Look at me, ma'am," the man said, and Rafille did so. "My name is Detective Melthine. Who are you, please?"

 
"Rafille Mallory," she whispered.

 
"Ms. Mallory, do you have receipts for any of these items?"

 
Rafille didn't answer.

 
"I'll take that as a 'no.' " Melthine passed a hand wearily over his face. His eyes were a liquid brown. "I'm going to go through the rest of your packages, Ms. Mallory. What will I find there?"

 
"I think I should call my corporate representative," she said.

 
"You certainly may, ma'am," Melthine told her, "though you aren't under arrest. Yet."

 
"Please," she said. "Please, I have the money to pay for all this. I can pay."

 
"That's as may be, you still broke corporate law, Ms. Mallory."

 
Dell, meanwhile, went through Rafille's packages, separating objects that had receipts from those that didn't. Something rustled behind the counter, and Rafille shot a glance in its direction. Her possessions, including the key, were still there.

 
"What was that noise?" she demanded. "Is there something back there?"

 
"Ms. Mallory, you have a lot more to worry about than a couple of hungry mice," Melthine said. "I'm just eyeballing here, but it looks like you've stolen over a thousand chits worth of merchandise. That's a serious crime on SA Station, Ms. Mallory."

 
"You'll never make it stick," she said.

 
He held up the data pad. "We've got several hours of images here. Hard to discount evidence like that."

 
How had they gotten around her jammer? There must be something wrong with it. Or maybe there were technological developments in security that she wasn't aware of. No, that couldn't possibly be the case. It had to be a flaw in the disruptor. Dammit! What did these detectives want from her? She had already agreed to pay for the stuff, but they didn't seem to--

 
And then it struck her. She was offering to pay for the wrong thing.

 
"Listen," she purred, "I'm sure we can come to an agreement here. You have the stuff back. What do you need me for? All it'll mean is a lot of paperwork for you to fill out. I can make it worth your while."

 
"Ms. Mallory, are you offering to bribe me?" Melthine asked.

 
"It's a simple exchange," she said. "I'm sure you can use the money, and I have plenty."

 
"Listen to her," Dell said. "Miss Moneybags here thinks she can buy her way out of trouble. Just like a rich bitch."

 
"I'll give you each a hundred chits."

 
"Ma'am, attempting to bribe a detective is a crime under--"

 
"But you aren't corp cops," she pointed out. "You're store security. Look, I have a daughter in college. If I get arrested, I'll lose my job and she'll have to drop out of school. Is it fair to punish her for what I did? I'll give you two hundred chits each."

 
"No deal," Melthine growled. "If I got caught, I'd lose
my
job."

 
Ah ha! So the only thing holding him back was the threat of getting caught. Rafille sensed a potential advantage and rushed to press it. "Who's to know?" she countered. "
I
won't say anything, that's for sure. Two fifty."

 
"How am I going to explain company chits getting into my account from yours?" Melthine said, and Rafille knew in that moment she had him. It was merely a matter of the amount.

 
"I'll pay you in freemarks, then," she said. "A hundred each."

 
A gleam entered Melthine's eye. "One fifty."

 
"Done!"

 
"Hey, I never agreed to anything," Dell protested. "My job's on the line, too."

 
Melthine put a hand on her shoulder and turned to Rafille. "Will you excuse my partner and me for a moment?" he asked.

 
The two of them walked to the other end of the store and conversed in low tones. Melthine made a great many wild gestures, but Dell folded her arms and looked stubborn. Rafille strained to overhear, but she couldn't make out any words. Her heart pounded. Melthine was on her side, but could he persuade his partner? Her entire career rested in the hands of this man, this stranger. Rafille had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

 
At last, Melthine said something that made Dell bite her lip. Her posture relaxed and she gave a single, stiff nod. Melthine trotted back over to Rafille.

 
"She won't give in for less than two hundred freemarks," he said. "Hard."

 
Rafille let out a long, heavy sigh of utter, pure relief. "You got it."

 
Melthine and Dell took the money, counted it, and stuffed it into their pockets. "Take the stuff you paid for," Melthine said, "and get the hell out of here. I think it goes without saying that I'd better not see your face around this mall ever again."

 
"Not hide nor hair," Rafille promised fervently. She snatched her computer key from the counter, returned it to her belt pouch, gathered up her parcels, and all but bolted for the door. Once outside, she took a deep breath and felt her knees go slightly weak. Definitely time to head home for a drink.

 
As she strode swiftly toward the mall exit to find a taxi, it occurred to her that she should technically turn in her computer key and get fitted for a new one. After all, it had been out of her sight for quite a while. Then she shook her head. No, the paperwork would be immense, and she certainly didn't feel like explaining why she needed a new key. Besides, what would a couple of low-grade rent-a-cops have done with her key for the few moments it had lain on the counter?

 
After Rafille had left, Harenn emerged from a fitting room and strode into the main part of the empty store. Lucia popped up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box. Harenn smiled.

 
"Did you get it?" Kendi asked.

 
Lucia held up the copycat in one scarred hand. The lights were flashing green. "I got it. But I have to say that my heart about stopped when she asked what was behind the counter."

 
"You and me both," Gretchen muttered.

 
"Did everything go well?" Harenn asked. "I could not hear everything."

 
"It all went perfectly," Father Kendi grinned. "Good work, Harenn. Great plan on short notice."

 
"Do you think she suspected anything when you took her into an empty store instead of a security office?" Harenn asked.

 
"Are you kidding?" Gretchen scoffed. "She almost wet her pants when we grabbed her out there."

 
"Best of all, we keep getting paid." Kendi held up the wad of cash. "Between her and Elena Papagos-Faye, we won't need to dip into the kitty for a month."

 
Harenn nodded in satisfaction. "They are paying for their own demise."

 
"All right," Lucia said, "we have keys and prints for Security, Research, and Information Services. Just one left to go."

 
"Edsard Roon himself," Kendi said.

 
Ben Rymar howled like a wild thing. Storm clouds swirled in the sky above him and a few drops of rain spattered the dust at his feet. In front of him, the crude statue of Padric Sufur stared impassively at nothing. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ben howled again and raised a fist. Lightning cracked down from the clouds and smashed into the statue. It exploded, sending stone fragments whizzing in all directions. The thunderclap smashed Ben's very bones. He flung himself flat on the ground, arms wrapped around his head. Shards rained down all around him and few stung the backs of his hands. After a moment, the rain of stone stopped. Ben uncurled himself and sat up. Where the statue had been stood a charred, blackened hole. Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

 
Okay,
he thought.
That may have been a mistake.
Still, it had felt good. And he had grown better at manipulating the Dream around him. It was easier than he thought it would be. From the descriptions he had heard from Mom's students over the years, he had assumed that shaping the Dream would be difficult, but that didn't seem to be the case. The Dream responded well to his touch, almost as if he had been born to it.