The long-range shuttle Alison was taken aboard had average engines, purely functional interior design, and standard if reasonably comfortable seats.
The starship the shuttle rendezvoused with flipped every one of those descriptives on its head. It was large and long and sleek, fast and powerful and elegant, with all the proper trim of a top-class corporate star yacht.
And long before the gold nameplate beside the docking station came into view, she knew what ship it had to be.
The Advocatus Diaboli.
Memories flickered back to her as Sideburns brought the ship to dock. Jack had been aboard this ship four months ago, when Arthur Neverlin tried to blackmail him into helping in Neverlin’s scheme to murder Cornelius Braxton, founder and head of Braxton Universis. Jack and Draycos had managed to turn the tables on his plan and expose his treachery.
At the time, of course, everyone had assumed that it was just a particularly nasty attempt at a corporate takeover. Now that Alison knew the full story, though, she could see how much nastier the big picture really was.
And as far as she knew, the only thing standing in the way of Neverlin’s plan was the fact that he didn’t know where the refugee fleet was supposed to meet Draycos’s advance team. That information had been carefully locked away aboard the four advance team ships.
They were apparently counting on Alison to get it for them.
The past four hours of contemplation on such matters had led her to the inevitable conclusion as to who she would find aboard this ship. But though her face was properly prepared for the encounter, she still couldn’t quite suppress a shiver as the shuttle’s docking hatch opened into the Advocatus Diaboli.
And she came face-to-face with Colonel Maximus Frost.
Fresh from the trouble on Rho Scorvi, too. Though he had long since cleaned off the grime of that world, there was still something of that encounter’s fatigue around his eyes. It was a fatigue Alison knew all too well: the weariness of having pushed and schemed and fought, only to have victory snatched away at the last second.
But there was more than just tiredness in his eyes. There was also a deep, simmering anger.
“This is her?” Frost demanded, looking Alison up and down.
“This is her,” Mustache confirmed. “Alison Kayna.”
For another moment Frost studied Alison’s face, and she found herself holding her breath. But the colonel merely grunted. “Fine,” he said. “You two can go.”
“Right,” Mustache said. “A word of advice: don’t let her near your locker.” He stepped back into the shuttle, and with a thud both ships’ hatches closed and sealed.
“I hope you’re as good as they say you are,” Frost warned. “For your sake.”
“I’m good at what I do,” Alison said, hoping that wasn’t just bluster.
“We’ll find out,” Frost said. “It’s going to take nine days to reach Brum-a-dum in this tub. Your meals will be delivered to your stateroom, and you’ll be allowed out at my convenience and pleasure. Questions?”
“Not right now,” Alison said. “If I do, I’m sure the room has an intercom.”
“And feel free to use it,” Frost said with an edge of sarcasm. His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve seen you before, Kayna. I know I have.”
“I’ve just got that sort of face,” Alison said, feeling her heartbeat speeding up. There had been no pictures taken of her for the past five years—her father had seen to that. And there were precious few pictures from previous years out where anyone could get hold of them.
But there was nothing that could be done about personal memories … and if Frost tracked down this particular memory, she was going to be in very serious trouble indeed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she went on. “You have a name?”
He took a moment to consider his answer. “Frost,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Frost,” Alison said. “Or would you prefer I call you by your rank?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“The way you stand.” Alison nodded back at a group of humans and aliens loitering a little ways down the corridor. “Them, too. You guys are military of some kind.”
“Military of the best kind,” Frost said. “You can address me as ‘Colonel.’ ” He gestured to the loitering mercenaries. “Dumbarton?”
One of the men came to full attention. “Sir?”
“You and Mrishpaw escort our guest to her quarters,” Frost ordered. “Make sure she’s comfortable.”
“Yes, sir.” Dumbarton and a typically ugly Brummga stepped forward. “This way.”
The stateroom they took her to was an easy match for the rest of the ship. It had a raised platform for the surprisingly large bed, with matching nightstands and a complete wraparound music system. To one side of the sleeping area was a fair-sized conversation/entertainment area with two couches, several small tables, three soft-looking armchairs, and a complete entertainment center. The whole thing was separated from the sleeping area by a waist-high wall with a built-in soothe-scent and the glossy raised edge of a holographic light show system.
In one corner of the conversation area was an ornate wooden computer desk, facing outward into the room, with polished brass trim and a high-backed wooden chair. The part of the chair she could see over the desktop looked at first glance to be something stiff and old-fashioned, but beneath the desk’s shin-high modesty panel she could see the chair’s modern rollers and the control bars of a fully adjustable pneuma system. The front of the desk included another light show system setup.
Off the conversation area, convenient to both it and the sleeping section, was a bathroom with separate shower and swirl tub enclosures.
Alison spent the first half hour wandering around the suite, the bug detector from her lip liner pencil humming in one hand, the other hand resting casually on her shoulder in silent warning for Taneem to stay put. The Advocatus Diaboli’s original builders would hardly have included surveillance equipment, but she thought Frost might have tried to throw something together in the four hours he’d had to play with.
He had. He’d installed two microphones, though so amateurishly that she hardly even needed her detector to find them. One was behind the desk’s privacy panel, the other by the bed behind the intercom speaker. She got rid of both, then swept the suite again just to make sure.
And when she was finished, she kicked off her shoes and socks and climbed into the squishy-soft bed. Pulling the comforter all the way up to her chin, she settled down for a quiet conversation. “Taneem?” she murmured. “How you doing, girl?”
“I’m frightened,” Taneem murmured back. Her voice was shaking, her two-dimensional body sliding restlessly along Alison’s skin. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Alison said, trying to hide her own growing fears about this whole thing. “You’ve been very brave.”
“This is the same human who tried to kill us on Rho Scorvi, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Alison confirmed. “But that’s all right, because he doesn’t know who we are. Or rather, who I am. We absolutely have to make sure that he never finds out about you at all.”
“Because he wants to kill Draycos and all others of our kind?”
“Wants is the key word,” Alison agreed. “But he’s not going to, because you and I and Jack and Draycos aren’t going to let him. That’s why we’re here.”
“Is it?” Taneem asked. “Or is it the money he promised you?”
“No reason I can’t have both, is there?” Alison asked, keeping her voice light.
For a moment Taneem didn’t answer, but there was a definite sense of discomfort to her silence. Alison waited her out, wondering if all K’da were like this or whether Draycos had been pounding his warriors’ ethic into her during their language lessons. “Perhaps we should have run,” Taneem said at last.
“Unfortunately, there was never any safe time when we could have done that,” Alison said. “From the moment Mustache grabbed my arm, we were stuck.”
“I could have helped you,” Taneem said, a bit hesitantly.
Alison’s mind flashed back to Taneem’s reaction the first time she’d been forced to kill. “Even with your help, it would have been dangerous,” she told the K’da. “The two men on Semaline were never close enough together that we could have been sure of taking both out before they could fight back.”
“What then is our plan?” Taneem asked. “Or do we even have a plan?”
“Of course we do,” Alison assured her, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “We do what Frost wants and open his safe for him.”
“Because of the money?”
Alison pursed her lips, mindful of Taneem’s still limited intelligence and understanding. “Taneem, do you remember Jack and Draycos talking about the upcoming meeting that’s supposed to take place between the K’da advance team and the full refugee fleet?”
“Yes, of course,” Taneem said, sounding a little insulted by the question.
“And you also remember that we don’t know where that meeting’s supposed to take place?”
“Of course,” Taneem said again. “That’s why we went to Nikrapapo, to see if we could learn the location from the Malison Ring computer there.”
“Right,” Alison said. “Only it’s starting to look like Frost and his friends don’t actually have that information. Not yet. I think it’s in this safe they want me to open.”
“Why haven’t they opened it themselves?”
“Maybe they tried and couldn’t,” Alison said. “I think that’s why they’ve been chasing so hard after Jack these past couple of months. His Uncle Virgil used to be one of the very best at this sort of thing.”
“Then you also must fail in your attempt,” Taneem said. Some weight came onto Alison’s shoulder as the K’da lifted her head partially from the skin. “If the location is in the safe, you must not open it.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Alison said. “But it’s not. They’ve got four safes—maybe only three if the one on Draycos’s Havenseeker was too badly wrecked in the crash—and the whole Orion Arm to choose safecrackers from. Sooner or later, somebody will get one of them open.”
“Then perhaps we can destroy it?” Taneem suggested hesitantly. “Perhaps we can destroy all of them?”
“We can’t do that,” Alison said. “There are just too many things we don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for instance, what happens if none of the advance team shows up at the meeting point?” Alison asked. “Do the refugees just wait there until someone does? Do they go home? Do they continue on to Iota Klestis, which Neverlin and Frost already know about?”
Taneem’s glowing eyes seemed to dim a bit. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Neither do I,” Alison said. “Besides, this is way too good an opportunity to pass up. Ever since Draycos’s team was attacked, he and Jack have been playing catch-up.”
“What does that mean?”
“Neverlin and his buddies have always had the initiative,” Alison explained. “That means they were always deciding what to do, and Jack and Draycos were always having to react to their action and try to block it. But if we can get to the refugee fleet information first, we’ll finally be ahead of the game.”
“The game?” Taneem echoed. “Is that what this is to you, Alison? A game?”
Alison was still trying to come up with a good answer for that when, behind her, there was a soft click and the stateroom door slid open.
“What do you want?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright as Dumbarton and Mrishpaw strode into the room. On her shoulder, she felt Taneem’s weight vanish as the K’da again flattened herself and moved out of sight. “How dare you just waltz in here?”
“Can it, kid,” Dumbarton said. “Colonel wants your clothes.”
“My what?”
“Gotta scan ’em,” he said.
Alison clenched her teeth. With Taneem riding her skin … “Fine,” she said. “Go on out. I’ll toss everything out to you.”
“Just do it,” Dumbarton growled, not making the slightest move toward the door. “We haven’t got all day.”
“I’ll tell Colonel Frost,” Alison threatened.
Striding over to the intercom on the nightstand, Dumbarton jabbed one of the buttons. “Colonel?” he said. “Dumbarton. She’s being uncooperative.”
“I just want a little privacy,” Alison called toward the intercom.
“You think you’ve got something we haven’t all seen before?” Frost countered.
“Colonel—”
“You got two choices, kid,” Frost cut her off. “Take ’em off yourself, or Dumbarton and Mrishpaw will do it for you.” There was a click, and he was gone.
“Well?” Dumbarton asked.
Alison glared at him. “Fine,” she gritted. Rolling to the opposite side of the bed, she put her hand on the edge of the mattress as she threw off the comforter and swung her legs over the side.
And to her horror felt a surge of weight on the back of her hand as Taneem dropped off onto the floor.
Alison clamped down hard on her tongue, potential disaster flashing in front of her eyes. Taneem clearly had it in mind to hide under the bed. Only it was a pedestal bed, fastened to the deck, with barely a three-inch overhang.
For the moment, the K’da was out of the mercenaries’ view. But Dumbarton was already headed back around the side of the bed, clearly intent on catching up with Alison and making sure she didn’t waste any more of his time. As for the Brummga, all he had to do was unglue his big feet from the floor and take three paces to his left and he would likewise get the shock of his life.
“Come on, come on,” Dumbarton growled.
“I’m coming,” Alison snapped back, pretending her foot was tangled in the comforter as she lowered her hand toward the crouching K’da and tapped her fingertips vigorously on the side of the bed.
To her relief, Taneem got the hint. A dragon paw grabbed on to Alison’s wrist, and a moment later the K’da was back on her skin. “No room,” Taneem whispered.
“I know,” Alison whispered back. “Off my left foot, when I signal.” Making a show of freeing herself, she stood up. “Can I at least change in the bathroom?” she asked aloud.
Silently, Dumbarton planted himself directly between her and the bathroom door and folded his arms across his chest. “Fine,” Alison growled, coming around the bed toward them. “Would you at least get me one of the robes from the bathroom?”
“Sure.” Dumbarton looked at the Brummga, jerked his head.
The big alien turned and lumbered off. “Thanks,” Alison said, unfastening her belt, her eyes darting around the room. With the Brummga’s back toward her, and Dumbarton’s attention about to be elsewhere, getting Taneem off her body without being seen ought to be easy enough.
But that was only the first problem. In an open room like this, there were precious few places something the size of a small tiger could hide.
And then Alison’s eyes fell on the computer desk in the corner. It would be a tight fit, she knew, but it should work.
Provided she could make Taneem understand what she wanted.
“Don’t think I’m not going to go straight over to that computer and log a complaint when this is over,” she warned Dumbarton, walking up to him and looking him straight in his eye.
“I’m sure the colonel’s real scared,” Dumbarton said dryly.
“He should be.” Out of the corner of her eye, Alison saw the Brummga disappear through the bathroom door. Lifting her left foot past Dumbarton’s legs, she wiggled her ankle furiously.
She nearly lost her balance as Taneem shot out the leg of her jeans. The K’da hit the deck silently, her neck turning back and forth as she looked around. Alison held her breath …
Then the long neck straightened, and Taneem headed off in a fast lope toward the desk. Ducking under the modesty panel, she rolled over onto her back and reached all four legs up toward the underside of the desktop itself. Because Alison was listening for it, she heard the faint scrunch of claws digging into wood.
And the gray-scaled K’da body pulled upward and disappeared behind the panel.
“I’m going to need more clothes, too,” she told Dumbarton as the Brummga emerged with the robe and tossed it on the end of the bed. “At least one more outfit, plus a nightshirt or something to sleep in.”
“Check the closet,” Dumbarton said shortly. “There’s probably something in there you can use.”
“Oh,” Alison said as she turned and snatched up the robe. “I never thought of that.”
Dumbarton snorted under his breath. “Some criminal mastermind,” he muttered.
Alison smiled to herself. Being underestimated, her father had often said, was nearly as good as not being noticed at all.
Half an hour later, when they brought back her clothes, Alison was sitting at the desk, her knees helping to support Taneem’s weight, pounding out the indignant entry she’d promised into the ship’s log.
Dinner was served at seven o’clock that evening, ship’s time. By then Alison had found and disabled the two microphones that had been sewn into her clothing while Frost was having them scanned.
The colonel was apparently not the type to give up easily.
She and Taneem ate together in silence, finishing off the entire selection of food that had been provided. Alison wondered if her seemingly vast appetite was going to raise any red flags among Frost’s men. Still, she was fourteen, and fourteen-year-olds’ appetites were the stuff of legend. Hopefully, that would be the conclusion Frost would draw from the next nine days’ worth of cleaned plates.
Later, with Taneem again riding her skin, she pulled out her array of gadgets and began double-checking all of them. Her life was riding on this job, not to mention the lives of all those K’da and Shontine out there. Whatever it took, she was going to succeed.
If only to see the look on Jack’s face afterward.