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and inviting.
"Security's coming," she observed. She glanced up at Cee, hovering in anxious
but helpless solicitude. "What do you say we do them a favor, and simplify the
scenario for them? Get gone, Mr. Cee. If you walk and don't run, those green
coveralls will carry you right past 'em. Go to work or something."
"I - I..." Terrence Cee spread his hands. "What can I ever do to repay you?
Either of you?"
She winked. "Never fear, I'll think of something. Meantime, I haven't seen any
telepaths around here today. Have you, Doctor?"
"Not a one," agreed Ethan blandly.
Terrence Cee shook his head in frustration, glanced up the corridor, and faded
into the Up lift tube.
When Security finally arrived, they arrested Quinn.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ethan stepped through the weapons detector without eliciting a beep or blink
of false accusation, and breathed more easily.
Kline Station Security Detention was a stark, intimidating environment,
gleaming and efficient, without any of the usual Stationer attempts to soften
the ambience with plants or artistic displays. The effect was doubtless
designed; it certainly worked. Ethan felt guilty just visiting the Minimum
Security block.
"Commander Quinn is in Number Two Detention Infirmary, Ambassador Urquhart,"
the guard assigned to be his guide informed him. "This way, please."
Up some lift tubes, down some corridors. Station We, Ethan decided, must exert
powerful evolutionary pressures to develop a good sense of direction. Not to
mention sensitivity to subtleties of status. Color blindness could prove a
mortal handicap here. The
Security uniforms, as all other work uniforms, were color coded, and
furthermore the proportion of orange to black varied with rank. The ordinary
guard wore orange picked out with black; he paused to give a snappy salute,
casually returned, to a white-
haired man whose sleek black uniform was barely highlighted with orange
piping. One might study the entire Station hierarchy in nuances of hue.
Captain Arata, who was just now exiting the Infirmary as Ethan and his guide
approached, wore mostly black, with broad orange bands on collar and sleeves
and an orange stripe down his trouser legs. He also wore a frustrated frown.
"Ah, Ambassador Urquhart." The frown was put away and replaced with a slightly
ironic smile. "Come to visit our star boarder, have you? You needn't have
troubled, she'll be a free woman shortly. Her credit check passed -
astonishingly enough -
her fines are paid, and she waits only for her medical release."
"That's all right, Captain - it's no trouble," said Ethan. "I just wanted to
ask her a question."
"As did I," sighed Arata. "Several. I trust you will have better luck getting
answers. These past few weeks, when I wanted a date, all she wanted to do was
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trade information under the counter. Now I want information, and what do I
get? A date." He brightened slightly. "We will doubtless talk shop. If I worm
any more out of her, maybe I'll be able to charge our night out to the
department." He nodded at Ethan; an inviting silence fell.
"Good luck," said Ethan, cordially unhelpful. He had handled the Security
post-mortem of yesterday's terrifying affair in the docking bay by climbing
onto his ambassadorial status and referring all questions ruthlessly to the
ever-inventive Quinn. She had stitched truth to lies to produce a fabulous
beast of a story that nevertheless held up on every checkable point. In her
version, for example, Millisor and Rau had been attempting to kidnap her, to
program her as a double agent to penetrate the Dendarii
Mercenaries for Cetagandan Intelligence. The Bharaputrans were accused of all
the crimes they had in fact committed, and a few they hadn't - Okita who? Most
of Security's energies were now diverted to the Consulate where the
Bharaputran hit squad was still holed up, negotiating the terms of their
deportation. Terrence Cee had vanished utterly from the scenario. Ethan
wouldn't have dared add or subtract a word.
"How unfortunate," Arata murmured, permitting a little of the needle-sharpness
to flash in his eyes, "that / require a court order to use fast-penta."
Ethan smiled blandly. "Quite." They bowed each other farewell.
The guard turned Ethan over to the infirmary doctor. Except for the coded
locks on the doors, Quinn's cell might have been any hospital room. Any
Stationer hospital room, that is. Ethan was beginning to miss openable
windows, taken for granted on
Athos, with a starved passion.
Not wishing to state his real mission straight off, Ethan began with that
thought.
"How do you feel about windows that open?" he asked Quinn. "Downside, I mean."
"Paranoid," she answered promptly. "I keep looking around for things to seal
them up with. Aren't you going to ask how I
am?"
"You're fine," Ethan said absently, "except for the dislocated elbow and the
contusions. I asked the doctor. Oral analgesics and no violent exercise for a
few days."
In fact, she looked well. Her color was good, and her movements, except for
the immobilized left arm, were only a little stiff.
She sat up on, rather than in, her bed. She had escaped her patient gown,
itself a uniform of sickness, and was back in her grey-
and-whites, although minus the jacket and with slippers in place of boots.
"Suits me." Her eyes crinkled. "And how do you feel about women now, Dr.
Urquhart?"
"Oh -" he paused, "somewhat the way you feel about windows, I'm afraid. Did
you ever get used to windows, or learn to enjoy them?"
"Rather. But then, I've been accused of being a thrill-seeker." Her grin
tilted. "I'll never forget my first trip Downside, after I'd signed on with
the Dendarii Mercenaries - the Oseran Mercenaries, they were back then, before
Admiral Naismith took over. I'd dreamed all my life of experiencing a real
planetary climate. Mountain mists, ocean breezes, that sort of thing. The
directory said the planet's climate was 'temperate', which I took as a synonym [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]