Nearby
“THIS is the captain speaking. We’re clear of the Confederacy and standing down from battle stations. Passengers are to remain in their quarters until further notice. I repeat, standing down from battle stations.”
Evan eyed the door. When it didn’t suddenly open, he went back to searching Strevelor and Decker’s luggage, a task he’d assigned himself when it became obvious he’d be in here a while.
“We told them where you were,” Wort assured him.
“And insisted. Didn’t we, Harps?”
A popping sound, then, “Harps is busy saving us. Don’t bother him. We did insist, Goosebumpies.”
Evan smiled at the holocube on the table. “I know. They’ll come for me when they can.” His smile faded. He wasn’t about to tell his friends that the delay in retrieving him probably meant Kamaara and her people hadn’t found the faction agent. They would—a ship being finite—but given his door would need power tools to open, the pragmatic head of security would consider his location to be more secure than most.
Given Strevelor’s claim the faction had been involved in the Mistral’s design, he preferred not to think about what the agent might do to the ship in the interim. Or had already done—
Nothing he could do about that. He opened the next bag. There were five in total. Two Strevelor had emptied on the floor; Evan kept a wary distance from their contents, not that he knew what most of it was. A third had contained the clothes the pair had worn on Pachen IV, including sandals, along with the oddments anyone needed for protracted travel. None of it personal or labeled.
All of it lies. He’d paused, his outrage at the agents’ trespass in their home returned a thousandfold, and decided, then and there, that no matter how hospitable Great Gran was, nor how generous her nature, he’d insist she never let strangers through the door again.
After which Evan had envisioned her reaction, right down to her furious and whose house is it, and almost laughed at himself. She’d never change. She mustn’t.
He was the one who had to adjust, starting with a com in his room he’d leave on at all times, so people who mattered could reach him. So he could reach them.
“Did you find any secrets?”
He’d had to tell the Dwelleys what he was doing and why—mostly to stop their effort to enlist him in a game to pass the time. They’d taken to his hunt with fierce glee. “Nothing yet. Going into the next one.”
The fourth bag was Decker’s, judging by the size of the garments, and for the first time Evan hesitated. He didn’t know Decker was a faction agent.
He’d apologize later. Resolutely, he emptied the contents on the bed and began going through each item. Everything appeared absolutely normal.
He pulled out a pair of undergarments printed in a dramatic eyeball motif.
To each, their own. He went to repack the bag. “What’s this?” he murmured aloud.
“What’s what?”
“He found something. Harps, he found something!”
Pop pop. A SMACK that made Evan wince in sympathy, despite knowing Dwelley skin was tough. “Don’t bother Harps! What did you find, Goosebumpies?”
“The bag feels heavier than it should.” He poked the bottom and sides, shook it. “I must be wrong.”
“Stealth field.” Harps’ voice, dry and distracted. “Should be a trigger. Bring it here. I’ll find it.”
“Goosebumpies is trapped!” shouted the Dwelleys in unison.
“Right. Not fun.”
Evan half smiled. It was certainly more bearable with these three around. “I’m open to ideas.”
“If it was me, I’d hide a trigger in something no one would steal. Something easy to grab.”
“Like underwear with eyeballs?”
A pause, then, “I’d steal those.” “Me first!” “Can you bring them?”
He’d been joking.
On the other hand, Evan had nothing but respect for the minds of the hilarious trio. He picked up the flamboyant article of clothing, inspecting it closely. Almost finished, and slightly embarrassed, his fingers discovered a thicker spot. One of the eyeballs wasn’t like the others. “I may have found it,” he announced wonderingly. “What do I do with it?”
“Release won’t be on the inside.”
“Blue Spider, shouldn’t Harps go back to work and save us?”
“Think I’d stop for this if I hadn’t? Fifth Rule of Harps. Don’t fail.”
Evan stared at the cube. “We’re safe? You’ve stopped Strevelor?”
“Can’t say. Did scramble a signal that wasn’t mine, wasn’t the ship’s. That do?”
“Genius,” Wort said with feeling.
Genius. Hardly daring to believe, Evan sank onto the clothes-strewn bed, bag still in one hand, eyeball underwear in another. The two touched on his lap.
The bottom of the bag vanished, replaced by a foam-filled space. There were shapes carved in the foam. One held a translight com, identical as far as Evan could tell, to the device Strevelor had given him. Another, empty, resembled the foghorn on Great Gran’s boat, only smaller.
A weapon, and Decker had it.
“It worked,” Evan said numbly. “Decker’s one of them and he’s armed.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Haven’t seen him since the alert.”
“Should we tell the captain?”
“Wait, please.” He pulled out the com with the vague idea of seeing if he could use it. Wedged underneath was a folded piece of plas.
Evan put aside the com and pulled out the piece, unfolding it, somehow unsurprised to recognize the neat handwriting. He mouthed the words as he read aloud:
Esen, Esolesy Ki, Bess.
Decker had stolen his notebooks. Had torn out and kept this half of a page, the one where Evan had begun his questions about Paul’s friends, and he had to assume Decker had read the rest.
Why?
“Goosebumpies? You good?”
Not in any sense. Evan roused himself, taking the paper and, after a second’s thought, the translight com, then pulled back the undergarment to close the stealth compartment.
“I want to keep this—Decker—between us, for now. Will you do that?”
“Will do,” from Harps. Evan had a sense of the professor giving the Dwelleys a daunting look. “You good?”
Busy repacking the bag as quickly, and well, as he could, Evan shook his head. “I need answers,” he said forcefully.
“Copy that.”
His hands froze. “Harps. Wort. Blue Spider. These are dangerous, scary people.” And you’re the furthest thing from it. “You stay out of this.”
“We’re just play’n our game, Goosebumpies.” Harps’ voice developed a grin. “You should try it.”
He almost smiled, then couldn’t. The faction. A space monster. Now, Decker spying on his most private thoughts. Evan shook his head and resumed packing the bag.
He stopped and picked up the translight com. Decker had used it. Who had he called?
Evan hit the auto connect. “Redirecting,” murmured a machine voice. “Redirecting.” When that was all it did, over and over, he put it on the bed and sighed.
“Largas Swift.”
Paul’s ship?!
Why—how—It didn’t matter, he decided, snatching up the com with relief. “Paul? Esen? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
There’d be time later, he hoped, to worry why Lieutenant Decker had a secret com keyed to his friends.
The crewmember put away her torch. “Careful. Edge’s still hot, sir.”
Buoyed by the knowledge Paul and Esen were close—and having recognized the voice of the formidable Rudy Lefebvre, who must be the captain of the Swift—Evan hopped into the corridor, his fervent “Thank you!” winning a chuckle.
“Can’t say I’ve seen anything like this since Dresnet locked down the Stinker Bar in the lower fifteen. Fun times.” She sounded wistful.
Evan looked over his shoulder at the bags, repacked and piled as they’d been, except for what Strevelor had dumped and the precious translight com bulging inside his jacket. Until the agent was caught—a problem he’d warned Paul about—the Mistral wouldn’t let the Swift dock. “This room has to be locked and secured. Against anyone.”
She grinned, bringing out the torch again. “Was hoping you’d ask, sir.”
The security guard behind her spoke up, “Polit Gooseberry. The commander’s waiting for you in the guest galley.”
Evan nodded. “I know the way.”
“My orders are to escort you, sir.”
Remembering Strevelor’s disguise, Evan’s relief vanished. “Show me your face.”
At his tone, the crewmember paused, the searing point of her torch halted in midair.
The security guard swept up the front of his helmet, revealing a pleasant round face with brown upswept eyes. “Briggle, sir. I understand your caution. Commander Kamaara warned us Strevelor’s disguised himself. We’ll have him in the brig soon, sir. Count on it.”
“He knows the ship’s design,” Evan said urgently. “He has access.” Passing information along secondhand, even if the hands were the capable ones of the Dwelleys, abruptly felt inadequate. “I must talk to the captain and commander at once.”
“Waiting for you in the galley, sir.” With a patient gesture down the deserted corridor.
Of course. “Sorry. Yes.” Evan’s walk was an almost-run, Briggle thudding behind. When he turned the corner, he collided with a large solid mass.
Decker.
Evan shoved himself away with two hands. “Arrest him! He’s one of them!”
Decker broke into a grin and the security guard chuckled. “Arrest the lieutenant, sir? He’s no spy. He’s a Survey operative.”
“Is that what he claims?” Evan glared at Decker until the other’s face lost its good humor. “I know what I found in your bag.” His hands closed into fists.
“Which would be classified way over your head, Briggle,” Decker commented, completely at ease. “Leave us. I’ll bring the polit to the galley with me when we’re done.”
“Very good, sir.”
Don’t go, Evan pleaded with his eyes. The guard hesitated.
Decker raised his eyebrows. “Please tell the polit the commander’s orders concerning me, Briggle. Perhaps he’ll be reassured.”
“Yes, sir. You’re acting as her second-in-command, sir, when it comes to the faction and any infiltration of the Missy.” A glance that slid off Evan like an apology. “We’re to obey your orders unless they contravene hers.”
“Thank you. That’ll be all.”
The guard walked away.
Decker stepped close, pressing what Evan had to believe was the weapon missing from the slot in the bag hard into his side. “Into the lift.”
Once in the lift and headed down, Evan looked surreptitiously for one of the surveillance boxes.
“Don’t worry. I’ve a fuzzer.” Decker hit stop. “We’re not on any vids.”
For some reason—perhaps Paul—Evan found himself more angry than afraid. “What do you want from me?”
“Why are you after Paul Ragem and Esen?”
Evan started. “What? No. They’re my friends—”
“‘Friends’? Hardly.” The weapon shoved into his ribs, nothing warm left in Decker’s brown eyes. “I’ve read your notebooks, Gooseberry. You’ve been spying on them since Urgia Prime. What did you tell Strevelor and the faction?” Another, harder shove. “How much do they know?”
“I’ve nothing to do with the faction. I don’t understand—”
“You went with him.”
“Kamaara knew what he was. She wanted me to spy on him. And how do I know you’re what you say?” Evan held out his arm, heedless of Decker’s warning hiss. “You put this in me for him!”
“I put it there so I could keep track of you.”
Evan frowned. “You’re not Survey.”
“Oh, but I am. A full-fledged operative tasked with keeping tabs on the faction. I’ve been following the one calling himself Strevelor for some time.”
Making Decker what Strevelor had claimed to be.
Evan lowered his voice, sure of this much. “What else are you?”
Putting away his weapon, Decker sent the lift moving again. “Someone who’s going to keep you close, Polit, until we get Strevelor and they let the Swift dock.”