for arrived. The receptionist left her desk to visit the restroom or run an errand.
Vanderveen took a quick look around to ensure that she had the lobby to herself, slipped the comp back into her briefcase, and stood. Then, with the quick, confident steps of a person who knows exactly where she’s going, Vanderveen rounded the reception desk and took a hard right. Partly because the receptionist had gone left and partly because people wearing white coats had a tendency to turn right. And the closer she could get to the lab, the better.
A door hissed as it slid out of the way, and she entered a short hall. Another door was visible some twenty feet farther on. But she could see the biometric security scanner located next to the portal labeled CYBER LAB and knew she wouldn’t be able to get past it. Fortunately, the plan didn’t require her to do so. All she had to do was confirm a Ramanthian’s presence.
Vanderveen continued down the hall and checked the signs on the doors that opened left and right before choosing the one labeled STORAGE. As the barrier slid open and the lights came on, Vanderveen felt her heart try to leap out of her chest. Because there, standing with their backs to the walls, were at least a dozen people!
Then she realized that rather than office supplies, the storage room was filled with cybernetic bodies or “forms.” Prototypes perhaps? Experimental units? There was no way to know. Nor did Vanderveen care as she went to the very back of the room and made a place to sit down. The lights went off when she ordered them to, and with the exception of the glow from some LEDs, the compartment went dark. The waiting began.
Vanderveen awoke with a start. She was curled up on the floor. How long had she been asleep? A quick glance at the luminous dial on her watch provided the answer. A good three hours had elapsed since she’d given herself permission to take a fifteen-minute nap. That meant the lab was closed for the day. So why could she hear the characteristic clatter of click speech?
At that point, Vanderveen realized that at least two Ramanthians were right outside the door and might enter at any moment. She got to her feet and was busy trying to come up with a way to hide when the barrier slid open, leaving only one option. The diplomat froze as the lights came on.
Vanderveen could see the Ramanthian from the corner of her eye as he shuffled into the storage compartment. He was holding a pistol in his left pincer. Not one of the Queen’s people, then. Because they wouldn’t have any reason to burglarize TOMKO CYBERNETICS. So who? The assassins. Having listened in on her conversation with Cosmo and heard what the merc had to say, Croth’s killers were on Orb I looking for the monarch. But how did they move around without being spotted? They clearly had help of some sort. She could smell wing wax. Would the Ramanthian realize she was a bio bod rather than a form? Blood began to pound in her ears.
The Ramanthian took a long look around, lowered the pistol, and turned to go. As the door closed, Vanderveen allowed herself to take a deep breath. Then, conscious of the fact that the bug could return at any moment, she opened her briefcase and removed a weapon of her own. The weight of it was comforting as she went to stand just inside the door.
It was tempting to sneak out and shoot the Ramanthians. But how many of them were there? And what would happen if she was killed? The effort to find the Queen would come to a sudden halt. And the lost opportunity could be the difference between war and peace.
So Vanderveen stood with an ear pressed against the door and listened. There was a series of thump s, followed by a muted crash and a storm of click speech. Was someone getting chewed out? Maybe.
Finally, after five minutes or so, the noises stopped, and Vanderveen opened the door. The briefcase was hanging from her shoulder, the pistol was raised, and she was ready to fire. But there were no targets in sight.
What she could see was all sorts of stuff that had been pulled out of various rooms and dumped onto the floor so that Ramanthians could sift through it. Had they found what they were looking for? Or left disappointed? There was no way to know. And what about alarms? Had they tripped any? If so, security people were on the way and would assume that the messy search was Vanderveen’s doing. The State Department would eventually bail her out, but that would take time.
So, determined not to leave empty-handed but aware of the fact that she lacked the expertise to hack TOMKO’S computer system, Vanderveen went to a secondary information source. And that was the room marked GARBAGE. The door was unlocked, and the refuse bins were untouched. Was that because garbage and sewage were traditionally handled by members of the Ramanthian Skrum class? Or because the bugs assumed that garbage was garbage?
Vanderveen stuck the handgun into her waistband, went over to the container marked SHREDDER, and dumped the paper onto the floor. Then, having dropped to hands and knees, she began to paw through the pile. Most of the printouts were routine items of the sort any business would produce. And Vanderveen was beginning to wonder if TOMKO’s employees had been extra diligent regarding materials having to do with the Queen, when she came across a page titled, “Field Trial Four.”
And there, right in the foreground, was what looked like a Ramanthian without any chitin. But rather than the internal organs one would expect to see, all sorts of electromechanical components were visible. Of equal interest were the buildings in the background and the green hills beyond. Were the structures on the planet below? Vanderveen was determined to find out.
There wasn’t enough time to do more than glance at the sheet before stuffing it into her briefcase and coming to her feet. Then, conscious of the fact that security could arrive at any second, Vanderveen followed a trail of debris to a side door. It was closed. But a Ramanthian-sized hole had been cut through the center of it. And that allowed the bugs to enter without tripping the alarm.
Vanderveen was able to duck and step through as well. Then it was a simple matter to stand up straight and follow the corridor out to the main thoroughfare. Had she been photographed by the lab’s security cameras? Without a doubt. So it was time to do some research and get off the space station quickly. She hurried away.
ABOARD THE FREIGHTER INTHEON, OVER PLANET LONG JUMP, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
After performing the necessary research, Vanderveen had been able to confirm that Dr. Tomko not only had a home on the planet below but a well-equipped research facility as well. And assuming that the assassins knew what she knew, it was extremely important to reach Tomko’s estate before the Ramanthians did. And that was why she was aboard the Intheon. The freighter was so large that she barely qualified for a landing on a planet with something close to Earth-normal gravity. But the Intheon was the only ship Vanderveen had been able to hire on short notice. The elderly vessel shook like a thing possessed as she dropped into the atmosphere. Not having wings, the ship couldn’t glide. So it was all about brute force as the freighter’s engines roared and battled to keep the Intheon from cratering on the surface below.
The captain’s name was Nora Perthy. And judging from the explosion of gray hair around her head, she was almost as old as the ship. Perthy owned the Intheon, but just barely, and couldn’t afford luxuries like a pilot. So the crew consisted of Perthy, a robotic load master, and a rarely seen engineer.
As Vanderveen sat with her hands clenching the chair’s armrests, Perthy was conning the ship. A necessity since the ship’s NAVCOMP was on the blink. The process involved manipulating a small joystick, stabbing various buttons, and coaxing the Intheon to do what Perthy wanted. “That’s right, honey,” she said softly. “Slowly, slowly, keep it level. You can do it. Remember the landing on Alto? You did it there, didn’t you? Hmmm. What have we here? There’s a battle going on.”
The last was directed to Vanderveen, who was seated in the nav officer’s chair to left of and slightly to the rear of Perthy. Six curved screens were arrayed above the banks of controls. The camera mounted on the ship’s rotund belly was up on the main screen at the moment, and as a wisp of low-lying cloud blew through the shot, Vanderveen could see that a Thraki-style ship was already on the ground.
Tiny figures were scurrying toward the main complex as smoke poured out of two outbuildings. And from what Vanderveen could see, it looked as though the attackers were about to overrun the largest structure. “See those people?” she inquired. “Take them out.”
Perthy turned to stare at Vanderveen. She looked incredulous. “You must be joking. My ship isn’t armed. But even if it were, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, yes you would,” Vanderveen said, as she pulled the pistol from under her jacket. “Look closely. They’re
