by Timothy Zahn
"Right, he did," Jack admitted. "Anyway, how could they have been killed in a mine explosion if they were topside bosses? So Uncle Virgil lied. Wouldn't be the first time. But if it's not a miner's helmet, what is it?"
"We know that the job of Jupa involves decisions of some sort," Draycos said. "As well as Golvins in a group speaking their sides. Could it be some sort of mediator or arbitrator?"
"That would fit with Onfose's ham-handed attempt to cozy up to me," Jack agreed. "And if your Golvin naming theory is right, it starts with Ju and Pa."
And for the second time in two minutes Jack felt his breath catch. He held the hat up, staring at it as if seeing it for the first time. Which, in a sense, he was. "Ju Pa, Draycos. Judge-Paladin.
"My parents were members of the highest-ranking judicial group in the entire Orion Arm."
Draycos stared out through the opening in Jack's shirt, gazing at the hat with new respect. He had always thought Jack's character was out of balance with that of the thief who had raised him. The logical solution was that his parents had instilled their values in him before their deaths.
But for Jack to have come from this kind of heritage was a twist he'd never expected. "That's incredible," he murmured. "How could Uncle Virgil have kept such a secret from you all these years?"
"Easily," Jack said, still sounding a little dazed. "All my book learning came from the Essenay's computer." Beneath his flattened body, Draycos felt the boy's muscles tighten again. "Essenay. 'S and A.' Stuart and Ariel."
"Exactly as Alison suggested back on Rho Scorvi," Draycos reminded him.
"I'm sure she'll love hearing she was right about that," Jack said. "I wonder what my real last name is. Anyway, like I was saying, everything I ever learned about the Judge-Paladins came from the Essenay's computer. It would have been easy enough for Uncle Virgil to delete any pictures from the ship's encyclopedias."
"Yes," Draycos murmured. "I know you've mentioned Judge-Paladins before, I believe in conjunction with the ongoing slave trade. But you've never told me exactly who and what they are."
"It's not a secret," Jack said, turning the hat over in his hands. "They were the Internos answer to the lack of courts and proper judges in some of the less populated worlds. Kind of like the old circuit riders they used to have back on Earth. They'd travel from planet to planet, region to region, dealing with whatever cases had accumulated since the last time they'd been there."
"What went wrong?"
Jack shrugged. "Nothing, as far as I know, except that there aren't nearly enough of them to go around. It started as just a human thing, like I said, on just the Internos worlds. But a lot of the alien governments in the rest of the Trade Association decided they liked the idea, and the Judge-Paladin project was extended to pretty much the whole Orion Arm. They fly around in these—"
He broke off with a snort. "In these really high-class ships with InterWorld transmitters and high-level P/S personality simulator computers," he went on. "Blast it all—Alison was right again. The Essenay really is way out of Uncle Virgil's class."
"Which leads to the question of how he acquired it," Dray-cos said.
And immediately wished he'd kept his jaws shut. There was one obvious answer as to how a thief and con man like Virgil Morgan might have done that, and at the moment it wasn't a possibility Draycos really wanted to burden Jack with.
Fortunately, Jack's own thoughts were already headed off in an entirely different direction. "Which leads me to the question of how come Alison's so smart," he growled. "Way too smart for someone who claims she's just running cons on mercenary groups."
"Perhaps there is more to her than we know," Draycos murmured.
"Bet on that, buddy." Jack looked up at the sky above them. "I just wonder what she's doing back there all alone with my ship."
"Uncle Virge answers to you, not her," Draycos reminded him. "What I don't understand is why your parents were not missed."
"I don't know," Jack said. "Maybe their schedule was random enough that no one could pin down where they'd been when they disappeared." He hissed between his teeth. "Or maybe no one tried very hard."
"You said the alien governments all approve of the program."
"The central governments do, yes," Jack said grimly. "But not all the local top hats like the idea of outsiders poking around their territories."
"Hence the Essenay's built-in weaponry?"
Jack shrugged. "I assumed that was part of the stuff Uncle Virgil added afterward, like the chameleon hull-wrap," he said. "But now; who knows?" He hunched his shoulders. "For that matter, I don't even know why I'm still alive."
The sky was growing noticeably darker, Draycos noted as he peered up through the opening in Jack's shirt. They should be heading back soon. "That poem your mother used to sing to you," he said. "The one that contained the unknown word?"
"You mean drue?" Jack asked. " 'We stand before, we stand behind, we seek the drue with heart and mind'?"
"Yes, that one," Draycos said. "I wonder if perhaps you simply remembered the word wrong."
"And you think it should be ... ?"
"Truth."
Jack looked at the hat in his hands. "We stand before," he began hesitantly. "We stand behind,
"We seek the truth with heart and mind.
From sun to sun the dross refined,
Lest any soul be cast adrift.
"We are the few who stand between
the darkness and the noontime sheen.
Our eyes and vision clear and keen:
To find the truth, we seek and sift.
"We toil alone, we bear the cost,
To soothe all those in turmoil tossed,
And give back hope, where hope was lost:
Our lives, for them, shall be our gift."
For a long moment they stood together in silence, and Dray-cos felt the subtle movement of Jack's shirt as a pair of teardrops hit it. "Jack?" he asked quietly. "Are you all right?"
"I hate this place, Draycos," the boy said, swiping a hand across his eyes.
"I understand," Draycos said quietly, the images of his own places of great sorrow drifting like ghosts across his memory. "After the dinner tonight, once everyone's asleep, we'll take the shuttle and go back to the spaceport."
"Good." Abruptly Jack spun around on the path. "Let's get it over with."
* * *
Chapter 6
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 s
hiver 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," Aliso
n 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."