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stupid-stunned. Gone was the straight-shining black cascade to her waist. Now
it was clipped out over her ears, only little dark points grace-noting her
high cheekbones and forehead, a similar point echoed at the nape of her neck;
severe, practical, very smart. Soldierly.
She strode up, eyes taking in Miles, Gregor, the four Oserans. "Good work,
Chodak." She dropped to one knee beside the nearest body and probed its neck
for a pulse. "Are they dead?" "No, just stunned," Miles explained.
She regarded the open inner airlock door with some regret. "I don't suppose we
can space them."
"They were going to space us, but no. But we probably ought to get them out of
sight while we run," said Miles.
"Right." She rose and nodded to Chodak, who began helping Gregor drag the
stunned bodies into the airlock. She frowned at blond lieutenant, going past
feet-first. "Not that spacing wouldn't improve some personalities."
"Can you give us a bolt-hole?"
"That's what we came for." She turned to the three soldiers who had followed
her cautiously into view. A fourth stood guard at the nearest cross-corridor.
"It seems we just got lucky," she told them. "Scout ahead and clear the aisles
on our escape route-
subtly. Then disappear. You weren't here and didn't see this."
They nodded and withdrew. Miles heard a retreating mutter. "Was that him?"
"Yeah..."
Miles, Gregor, and Elena, with the bodies, piled cozily into the lock and
closed the inner door temporarily. Chodak stood guard outside. Elena helped
Gregor pull the boots from the Oseran nearest his size while Miles stripped
off his blue prisoner's outfit and stood, revealing Victor Rotha's wrinkled
clothing, much the worse for four days wear, sleep, and sweat. Miles wished
for boots to replace the vulnerable sandals, but none here came close to his
size.
Gregor and Elena exchanged looks, each warily amazed at the other, as Gregor
yanked on grey-and-whites and plunged his feet into the boots.
"It's really you." Elena shook her head in dismay. "What are you doing here?"
"It was by mistake," said Gregor.
"No lie. Whose?"
"Mine, I'm afraid," said Miles. Somewhat to his annoyance, Gregor did not
gainsay this.
A peculiar smile, her first, quirked Elena's lips. Miles decided not to ask
her to explain it. This hurried practical exchange did not in the least
resemble any of the dozens of conversations he had rehearsed in his head for
this first, poignant meeting with her.
"The search will be up in minutes, when these guys don't report back," Miles
jittered. He collected two stunners, the tangle-
field, and the vibra-knife, and stuck them in his waistband. On second
thought, he swiftly relieved the four Oserans of credit cards, pass chits,
IDs, and odd cash, stuffing his pockets and Gregor's, and made sure Gregor
ditched his prisoner's traceable ID.
To his secret delight, he also found a half-eaten ration bar, and bit into it
there and then. He chewed as Elena led the way back out the lock. He
conscientiously offered a bite to Gregor, who shook his head. Gregor'd
probably had dinner in that cafeteria.
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Chodak hastily straightened Gregor's uniform, and they all marched off, Miles
to the center, half-concealed, half-guarded.
Before he could go half-paranoid at his conspicuousness they took to a
drop-tube, emerged several decks down, and found themselves at a large
cargo-lock, engaged to a shuttle. One of Elena's scout squad, leaning as if
idle against the wall, nodded. With a half-salute to Elena, Chodak split off
and they hurried away. Miles and Gregor followed Elena across the flex-seal of
the shuttle hatch and into the empty cargo hold of one of the Triumph's
shuttles, stepping from the artificial gravity field of the mother ship
abruptly into the vertigo of free fall. They floated forward to the pilot's
compartment. Elena sealed the compartment hatch behind them, and anxiously
gestured Gregor to the vacant seat at the engineering/comm station.
The pilot's and co-pilot's seats were filled. Arde Mayhew grinned cheerfully
over his shoulder at Miles, and waved/saluted hello. Miles recognized the
shaved bullet-head of the second man even before he turned.
"Hello, son." Ky Tung's smile was far more ironic than cheerful. "Welcome
back. You took your sweet time." Tung, arms folded, did not salute.
"Hello, Ky," Miles nodded to the Eurasian. Tung had not changed, anyway. Still
looked any age between forty and sixty. Still built like an ancient tank.
Still seemed to see more than he spoke, most uncomfortable for the guilty of
conscience.
Mayhew the pilot spoke into his comm. "Traffic control, I've traced that red
light on my panel now. Defective pressure reading. All fixed. We're ready to
break away."
"About time, C-2," a disembodied voice returned. "You're clear."
The pilot's swift hands activated hatch seal controls, aimed attitude jets.
Some hissing and clanks, and the shuttle popped away from its mothership and
started on its trajectory. Mayhew killed the comlink and breathed a long sigh
of relief. "Safe. For now."
Elena wedged herself across the aisle behind Miles, long legs locking. Miles
hooked an arm around a handhold to anchor against Mayhew's current mild
accelerations. "I hope you're right," said Miles, "but what makes you think
so?"
"He means, safe to talk," said Elena. "Not safe in any cosmic sense. This is a
routine scheduled run, except for us unlisted passengers. I know you haven't
been missed yet, or traffic control would have stopped us. Oser will search
the Triumph and the military station for you first. We may even be able to
slip you back aboard the Triumph after the search has passed to wider areas."
"This is Plan B," Tung explained, swiveling around to half-face Miles. "Or
maybe Plan C. Plan A, on the assumption that your rescue was going to be a lot
noisier, was to flee at once to the Ariel, now on picket-station, and declare
the revolution. I'm grateful for the chance to bring things off a little, er,
less spontaneously."
Miles choked. "God! That would have been worse than the first time." Pitched
into an interlocking chain of events he did not control, drafted gonfalonier
to some mercenary military mutiny, thrust to the lead of its parade with all
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