She drew a deep breath.
“It's some of our mother's ashes she's got in there,” she said reluctantly. “We'll open it up and pour them into your palm, if you're really keen on examining them, but really, I'd rather not. They mean a lot to Sunny—and me, too—and we'd prefer not to lose even an atom of them to become dirt floating around a Customs Office. Can you understand that?”
Sandy, very gently, wrapped a protective arm around Sunny's slight shoulders. The girl kept staring at the floor, but the hands she had clasped together in front of her were trembling.
The male Official who had finished with the men, and was eyeing the Greencat speculatively, turned to his colleague.
“You don't need to inspect any ashes,” he said to her. “Like you said, we're not Elites to want to spread misery among travellers. And let's face it, handling a dead woman's ashes would be creepy, indeed. Let the simple little thing keep her treasure.
“Now, how dangerous is this animal you're hauling along as one of your props, anyway?”
**
Out on the immaculate sidewalk of the Volgid Prime City the Troupe huddled together while Lindy wiped her face with her hands.
“That was a close call,” she muttered. “Thank you, Sandy, for looking so formidable. I think it helped a lot.”
“Without doubt,” Shellion agreed. “Although I do get the feeling that these people are not out to be mean, unless told to do so, by an Elite hovering over them. And the Elites are not going to be able to do that all the time; there's a lot fewer of them than there are of ordinary people.”
“Although they're pretty good at finding the nasty among the ordinary people to represent them,” pointed out Lew.
“True,” Shellion agreed. He grinned wickedly. “I'll admit that I enjoyed pulling tricks on those compatriots of ours. Sell-outs they were. And for what? Usually some piddling advantage.”
“There are people like that everywhere,” Lindy said. “If that wasn't true we wouldn't be here, doing what we're trying to do.”
She turned to Seer Jon.
“Have you tried to do any exploring, yet, Seer? We're having to rely on your talents, since our little powerhouse has to stick to being Simple Sunny for a while longer.”
Simple Sunny looked up at her and smiled.
“Thanks, Sis,” she said.
“Nothing other than a quick sensing into the mental atmosphere around us. Shellion is right; most of the people around us are not that different from Terrans anywhere, including the Confederation. Human beings are social creatures—something that these Neotsarian Elites have learned to make use of. They can also be fearful creatures, and that is another quality the Elites are good at exploiting.”
Seer Jon looked around them at the surrounding, boxy buildings, and the straight street which descended away from the Space Port, towards some water feature, he assumed.
“I suppose that we'll have to find a place to stay,” he added. “Once we've settled into lodgings I'll be able to relax enough to do some real psychic exploration. Then, if this is the city where they are holding the people they snatched from my home world, I ought to be able to find them.
“And the Greencat may be able to do more than that.”
“And we'll go from there,” Lindy said. “Fair enough.”
“The Customs fellow opened up enough to tell me that there's a Seaport in this city, and that's where all the action that an Entertainment Troupe would be interested in, is,” said Shellion. “And that is where the decently priced lodgings are.”
He nodded down the street.
“There's supposed to be a train station a couple of blocks down that way, and a block to the left, from where we can take a crowded train to the Seaport. The simplest way to get there, apparently.”
“Ah, that explains the scarcity of pedestrian and vehicle traffic around us,” said Lindy. “No such thing as a Trade City around this Space Port.”
“Too disorderly, that would be,” sniffed Kami. “People from all over the Sector mingling freely. This way those on short layovers stick to the Space Port, don't even bother going through the Customs, and eat at the cafeteria, if they bother at all. No wonder the Elites and their Hounds love travelling through the Confederation space. There's much more fun to be had, there.”
**
The train station was a busy place, but fortunately the ticket-sellers were efficient, and the coaches came through at frequent intervals. The presence of the Greencat won the visitors a little more room on the train than they would have had otherwise; large cat-animals were looked upon with some trepidation on Volgoid. Children, however, were curious, and the Troupe gained for themselves some good will by introducing some of them to the beast who patiently allowed them to pet her.
“What kind of a cat is it?” the boldest little boy ventured to ask, as he stroked the animal's neck hairs very gently, even as Sandy was instructing him to do.
“She's my familiar,” said Seer Jon. “Do you know what a 'familiar' is?”
The boy shook his head.
“A familiar is an animal companion that knows what you are thinking,” the Seer explained. “Seers, Witches, and Wizards often, although not always, have familiars. I'm a Seer, and this beautiful animal is my familiar. She's gentle, and very wise, and helps me with my fortunetelling. Although, if necessary, she can be fierce, especially when it comes to protecting those she considers her friends.”
“Are you the one she protects?” another child asked.
“I'm one,” Seer Jon admitted, “but so is everyone else of our Entertainment Troupe. She's especially keen to protect Sunny,” the Seer nodded at the girl who was standing between Lindy and Sandy with her eyes on the floor, “because sometimes people are mean to her, and she is too small to protect herself.”
“I wish I had a cat like this to protect me,” a girl-child said, slipping close enough to lay her hand on the Greencat's head.
She was a scruffy-looking tot, but spirited, too. Kami smiled at her, reminded of his little sister who had been a whirlwind of energy at that age. The girl's mother, standing a short distance away, leaning against the coach's wall, was ill-dressed, and looked worn out.
Kami sighed. Nothing much had changed since he had last been to Volgoid Prime City, except for the fact that he was walking around as a free man, now. The last time he had been here, he had been shackled, and led around by a chain attached to a metal collar. But the citizens of the burg were just as not-free now as they had been then, and living hand-to-mouth, while the Elites did whatever they pleased, spending however much money they wanted to spend, while taking it for granted that they had the right to do so.
“Would you like me to give you a Seer's blessing, children?” Seer Jon asked of the group of children around him and the Greencat.
There were solemn nods around him.
He touched each of the children, who now were looking up at him, even while some of them still had their hands on the Greencat's fur, and intoned, in a low voice, words in a language which none on the train, including the members of the Troupe, could understand.
“You are all now Blessed,” he then said in his usual accent. “As long as you do your best not to harm other living creatures needlessly, good will come to you, and through you. Go forth in peace.”
The little girl's mother, who had been watching out for her daughter in spite of her apparent exhaustion, looked directly at Seer Jon, and smiled.
“That was wonderful,” she said. “I feel a little energized already.”
Her daughter gave one last caress to the Greencat, and, avoiding the adult standees' legs, skipped over to her mother.
“Such a nice animal,” she said. “And such a nice old Seer.”
The atmosphere in the whole train car felt lighter.
**
The Troupe settled into the environs of the Seaport, in the next few days.
They moved into a modest Inn, the proprietor of which was happy to have the business, even tho
ugh, to save money, they bunked two or three to a room. They found the informal venue where travelling entertainers put on their performances; it was nothing more than a roofed shelter in a park with a bit of a raised stage at one end. If the weather was clement it could accommodate a large audience, but in rain the size of the crowd was dictated by the dimensions of the shelter roof. There were no lights other than the sun, so shows had to happen in the daytime, or the early evening, before the sun went down. However, there were no charges for its use, either. Besides, the locals seemed to be hungry for entertainment, and food vendors were delighted to have a reason to set up their little carts near the venue, and peddle their wares to the audience members.
The morning after the first show, Lindy had a quiet conversation with Seer Jon while the other members of the Troupe were readying the venue for the next shows—of which they were hoping to put on two that day. One in the afternoon, and another just after the supper hour—that was the schedule which the locals had advised them to try. Although it was not even close to show time yet, there were interested people hanging about, watching what the Troupe members were doing. Some of them had asked after the Seer, wanting to know when he would set up his fortune-telling business. The Greencat was strolling about the shelter, and the park grounds around it, keeping eyes on everything that was going on.
“Have you or the Greencat had any luck, yet, picking up anything?” Lindy asked the Seer.
“We've determined that we've come to the right city,” Seer Jon replied. “I've sensed the minds of some of the young men who were enticed from my world. I have not tried to make direct mind-to-mind contact, yet. The Greencat has touched your target's essence, although having an exchange of thoughts with him seems pretty optimistic under the circumstances.”
The Seer shook his head.
“The Greencat tells me that he is under a great amount of stress.”
“Yeah, that's to be expected,” Lindy sighed. “Can you determine if your people are anywhere near the place where he is? In other words how wide a net will we have to cast to capture all those whom we want to get out?”
“Several of the young people from my world are held in the same facility as he is,” Seer Jon replied. “At least most of the time.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You've come up with something?”
The Elite Mogron looked questioningly at the man he had assigned to oversee the day-by-day activities involved in luring and capturing Sarah Mackenzie to work the rebuilt amarto-reflector-refractor—as soon as it was finished, that was. The third-tier Elite Jevon was an interesting character, he thought, very suitable for the task he had been entrusted with. A nasty fellow in many ways, he was, and very intelligent, but with little of the peacocky arrogance which afflicted most of the Elites of all tiers. Now, however, he was looking inordinately pleased with himself.
“When I heard that the bait had made an escape attempt,” Elite Jevon said, “it occurred to me to wonder if there wasn't something to his timing. That maybe these oddballs with connections to the the strange world, Kordea, had some mysterious ways of communicating with one another. I wondered if the man-whore hadn't had word that his cohorts had arrived on Volgoid, and he was off to meet them.”
“Hm,” said Mogron. “Good thinking. Did the idea amount to anything?”
From the expression on Elite Jevon's face he rather thought that it had.
“Indeed.” Jevon was smirking now. “I got together a crew of Security personnel who had been on light duties for far too long—sometimes it does seem to me like we don't have enough work to fill these people's days—and had them scan through the Customs vids for the last few weeks, with instructions to flag down for re-examination, anything that struck them as unusual.
“Yes, I know that the Customs people were supposed to be on alert for this Sarah Mackenzie, but it occurred to me that possibly her associates had come through first, and were planning to smuggle her in, somehow, later. Or something along those lines.”
“And?”
Jevon flicked on the screen which he had set up on the desk between them.
“There were a few instances on the vids which called for a closer scrutiny, but none so remarkable as this one. It did not take us long to zero in on it, for several reasons.”
Mogron's attention was drawn to the activity on the screen.
“There are several cameras and sound pick-ups in the area where the travellers arrive for their checks,” Elite Jevon explained. “This is a computer-generated amalgamation of them all, designed to give us a sequential image as close to what actually happened as is possible. This Entertainment Troupe, as they presented themselves, were travelling by freighter, and according to their records, had been doing some planet-hopping before they arrived here. They claimed that annoying dirtball known as Yukoid as their planet of origin.”
Mogron gasped as he watched the arrivals walk by the workers who were scrutinizing them, to the Customs counter.
“That Cat!” he cried. “And the old man accompanying them! They were with the Agent Coryn Leigh on the megatransport after the Copoz couple and I were stopped and searched at the Port on Kordea!”
“They were not what alerted us, though,” the Elite Jevon said. “Nor were the big man and the woman, though they're pretty unusual creatures, too. If you listen to the talk going on, the Troupe had explanations for all their oddities; Yukoid is a pretty strange planet, from all I've heard.
“No, it so happened that one of our Security people recognized this fellow.”
He stopped the screen, and had the computer enlarge Shellion's image.
“He's from Yukoid all right, but not really known as an Entertainer. A troublemaker is more like it. I talked to an Elite who had spent time on Yukoid recently, and his first question was: What the frig is that Shellion doing in Volgoid Prime City? It can't be anything good; he's always stirring up trouble for us Elites, but in such a manner that it's almost impossible to trace it back to him and his cohorts.
“I thought that meant that the group was worth looking into. I sent images to our contacts on Confederation Space Station ASC, and wouldn't you know it, we got a few hits! The cat-animal, and the black-skinned man who it apparently belongs to. Plus the blond woman—and she was the deciding factor! She's an employee of The Agency but has gone AWOL, by the looks of things! As a matter of fact she was married to that useful idiot, Graeme Forshie, who has been so handy for us, playing both sides as he has been! And Forshie says that Lindy doesn't have a little sister, simple or not!
“So what do you make of that? Who is Simple Sunny, anyway?”
“Could she be our target?” Elite Mogron asked, as Jevon let Shellion's image go, and filled the screen with one of the girl, Sunny.
He stared at the image for a long time.
“If she's Sarah Mackenzie, she spent time in the chair of a very good body-sculptor,” he finally said. “Her size is about right; Sarah is a very small woman, and could pass as not much more than a child. What did they say about the thing around her neck? A mother's ashes, no? Could be, or not.
“Get hold of one of our people on Space Station RES, that's where the best body-sculptors ply their trade. Find out if Lindy Cass and her supposed sister spent time there in the past some months.”
**
When Coryn came to, with a headache pounding behind his temples, he was lying on the floor of Evella's boudoir. His throat was dry as dust, and his bladder was bursting. How long had he been out?
“Your boy's stirring, Evella,” he heard a male voice say. “You should send him for a pee, and then give him a drink of water, if you want him to be of any use to you today.”
“Are you going to let me punish him for his sins?” Evella asked, and there was an edge of eagerness to her voice.
“Not enough to kill him.”
Coryn struggled up and stumbled into Evella's bathroom, which had no door that he could hide behind. Not that he cared at the moment; all that mattered was
relief.
“And leave his bones intact; he has to be ambulatory,” he heard the man say while he relieved himself. “In fact, keep on restraining yourself; I still want to be able to dangle him as bait to the little amarto-sensitive girl. She's taking her time about showing up.”
“What difference does it make whether I hurt him or not?” Evella asked. “Do you think that she'd turn around and go home if he's not in A-1 condition? I seriously doubt it.”
The next words from Elite Mogron—his mind had finally cleared enough to recognize the voice—surprised Coryn:
“He showed guts trying to run off the way he did. I admire such spirit, and I don't want him to be beaten half to death for it. I just want him to be kept from trying it again.”
“Fine. Whatever you say Mogron.” Evella did not sound particularly happy. “But you won't stop me from playing with him? After all, you and Geof did give him to me.”
“We gave him to you for safekeeping. You didn't do a particularly good job, did you, now? You were more intent on using him for your personal pleasure than in keeping him corralled. If I hadn't authorized the body tracer, we would have lost him.
“Make certain that nothing like that happens again.”
Coryn tottered out of the washroom in time to watch the Elite stalk out of the room. Evil Evella was fuming.
Mogron's behaviour puzzled Coryn; even in his depleted state he did not trust it, although he was grateful that Evella did not have permission to escalate his torture, not that she was going to be nice to him. She would find some way to make him pay for his escape attempt, and for Elite Mogron's refusal to let her use it as an excuse to up the torture quotient.
“I think that I'll skip the analgesics before I inject you with the performance enhancing drugs,” Evella said, smiling unpleasantly. “You can suffer your giant stunner headache while you fuck me—after all, why should you get any pleasure out of our sex? The cock-hardeners will ensure that I'll enjoy myself, at least to some extent, though inflicting serious pain would make the experience much more exquisite.”
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