uncomfortable gatherers. They did the same later with a kitchen storage bin.
They watched carefully while Barda and Jemmy poured the elements of dinner slowly from one container to another. Nothing hidden.
Then Redbeard gestured toward Miledy, and wet and uncomfortable gatherers began to murmur.
Do this fast, Jemmy thought. He summoned Amnon with a gesture. They lifted the bed next to Miledy and invited the probes to examine that. Then, together, Amnon and Jemmy and Muscles lifted Miledy Waithe. They set her on the other bed before she could begin to protest.
For Miledy that was the last straw. Redbeard and Muscles examined Miledy's bed, ignoring the sounds behind them; but Miledy was giving birth. Ansel Tarr and Marta helped them tend to that. At the end they were holding a squirming red infant girl, and Miledy had gone from screaming into monotonous cursing.
Marta said, 'So, there's your free ride out.'
Miledy wasn't listening. She moved the baby a little, said, 'Girl,' in tones of wonder, and went to sleep.
The search was over.
But while the rest of the gatherers served themselves and ate, the probes questioned Barda and 'Andrew' about housekeeping details. That was hellish. Jemmy didn't know most of the answers. He and Barda found a routine: he'd start to answer, then Barda would interrupt.
It seemed forever before the proles trooped into the stormlock and were gone.
Then Jemmy sagged and sighed, and Barda called, 'Get your showers now. The Parole Board can check our water flow. Did anyone save us anything?'
There was still food. Jemmy was ravenous.
Most of the gatherers were showering. Miledy was asleep with the tiny new baby in her arms. Jemmy and Barth ate in silence for a time, in a silent hall.
Barda said, 'Good routine, domineering bitch, wimpy male.'
'Worked. We should practice.'
'Yeah. It'd work better with a guy who wasn't so, mmm. Impressive. Rafik? This could have gone on all night, you know. Cooking smells helped. Probes get hungry too.'
'Redbeard found something in the men's,' Jemmy said. 'He hid it.'
'Paper?'
'Not sure.'
'Message from Shimon. That's all right, Jemmy. I found it and took out the part about you.'
'What now?'
Barda took her bowl to the sink. She hadn't actually eaten much. Nerves, maybe. 'We wait for Andrew,' she said. 'Then maybe we run. I want to talk to Rafik, but let's get our showers first.'
22
Plans
Destiny's ecology, after all, will have its own agenda.
-Dutton, #2 Hydroponics
He couldn't remember hitting the bed. Now something was pushing his toes down and the barracks was buzzing like a hive, and through his eyelids he felt the heat of a stare.
They were both watching him, the Nogales twins. They were on his bed, their weight pulling the sheet down on his feet. When his eyes opened one said severely, 'Men don't turn us down. Most men like rubbing up against two women just alike.'
Jemmy said, 'You may be the best opportunity I never had. Who told you I needed distracting?'
'Wibbya. You weren't supposed to notice the pack or count heads-'
'-Just us,' and a hand in his chest hair.
Jemmy felt damp and grungy. He'd been too tired to shower. He asked, 'Am I getting another chance? Should I shower first?'
'Andrew's here. They want you.'
'What time is it? Did I get any sleep?'
'They don't give us clocks.'
They were down at the tables: Andrew, Barda, Rafik, and Willametta. The rest were staying clear. A few were asleep. Andrew Dowd was wet and triumphant.
'Jemmy Bloocher,' he said- 'Do I get to be Jemmy Bloocher now?'
'The rest of your life,' Half-beard said expansively, 'and I get to be Andrew Dowd. Jemmy, we need to know what the proles know. Did they get Shimon's note in the men's?'
'He, the one with the red beard, he didn't look at it. Barda, you said it mentioned me?' Because if that note didn't, then some other would.
'Yeah, it did. I copied it with that part missing.'
Jemmy was still getting his brain up to speed. 'They thought I was hiding something because there were two cabinets I didn't open, but they searched those. They'll look for bird blood on Shimon's poncho, but maybe the rain washed-' He saw the look that passed among them. 'Barda? Shimon's poncho?'
The big woman shuddered. 'No. I sucked the poor bastard dry and kept him distracted. I set him to keeping you out of trouble so he couldn't talk to proles. I did not put a bloody poncho on him. But,' she whispered, 'I would have.'
Andrew said, 'Couldn't. Rain would wash off bird blood. Rafik?'
Rafik grinned. 'We soaked the inside of a pack in bird blood. We gave that to Shimon. He had to open the pack to gather speckles, and that let out the smell. The birds were in place-'
'Shells,' Andrew said suddenly. 'Rafik, tell me you didn't leave a mock-turtle shell for proles to find!'
Rafik shrugged. 'What of it? Trusty, they know there were spectre birds in the field. They have to guess the birds went after something they could eat. How a mock turtle got there, that's the part they'll never know.'
Andrew Dowd was nodding reluctantly.
Rafik said, 'When we got back I took Shimon's pack, took out the speckles, turned it inside out, and let the rain wash it clean. They'll be looking at the wrong pack anyway.'
'You switched the speckles?'
'Sure. Then Willya and the yutz, they got me back in.'
'See, Jeremy, there's bird blood soaked all through the speckles in Shimon's pack. We can't bet the Parole Board have that, so those speckles went in the stash and Rafik put speckles from the stash in his pack. Rafik, you didn't scant that, I devotedly hope-'
'No, Trusty. Generous.'
Andrew saw the heat in Willametta's cheeks and the glare in her eyes. 'Willya, I didn't want you to know exactly what you were hiding. Be too much of a pointer.' He waved it off. 'So. The spy is dead, we changed the only message he left, the probes don't know we've got clothes and they don't know someone was loose today. Are we clear on that? Have I left anything out?'
Jemmy asked, 'Who wears seven windbreakers and six shorts and a merchant's pack?'
'Barda. Me. Amnon. Shar Willoughby. Henry. You. We had to throw away the one you were wearing on top. It was torn to shreds.'
They were grinning at him. Rafik said, 'You don't get it? It's anyone with a trace of fat on his cheeks.'
Aghast, Jemmy booked about him. Of course. And we'll still look like- 'Well, it only works if there's only one,' Jemmy said. 'Andrew, what happens to the rest of us?'
'We take all but eight,' Andrew said. 'It's nine now, I guess. The baby.'
