“I'm looking forward to it.”
She gave me an arched look. “Understand Bob, you may not come out of here alive if we don't like your answers.”
“I may not have the answers you want, Freda. You really need to get over the idea that I'm some kind of player in whatever politics you’ve got going on here.”
“If you can convince them, you might just see the sunset.”
She ushered me through the front door under the disdainful gaze of the Quinlan version of Jeeves. He gestured for us to follow him and brought us to a back room with floor-to-ceiling books.
“A library!” I exclaimed, and Freda turned a quizzical eye on me.
“You and your friends said may have a thing for books. I’m hoping I can find out why today.”
“You'll be staying?
“Hope so. We’re a little tired of being kept in the dark.”
She gestured to a seat, and I sat.
Once again, I was chained to the furniture. Hopefully the goons wouldn’t notice that my fleas had once again wreaked havoc on the integrity of my bonds. A door opened at the other end of the library, and a Quinlan walked in. This was the homeowner, to judge from the quaffing and decorations. She gave me the up-and-down glance, plainly relegating me to the status of pond scum, then made an imperious gesture to someone behind her.
Two Quinlans came forward, carrying what looked, for all the world, like one of those antique Motorola radios - a table model with a wooden case and big knobs. This was getting more and more curious. For a species that supposedly didn't have anything beyond the steam era, they sure seemed to have a lot of tech. It would seem the administrator didn't have as much of an iron grip as they thought.
They placed the radio in front of me and one of the attendants started fiddling with dials. In seconds, a Quinlan voice sounded from the speaker.
“Ready here.”
Freda stepped forward, looking weirdly nervous. “Madame Kahoina, we have the unknown agent here, captured at great risk to ourselves. As discussed, we want-”
The Empress flicked a hand. Barely a movement, but Freda was silenced.
“You will be paid well for your risks and pain,” she said, glancing at Popeye. “However, our organization continues to exist only because we pay attention to need-to-know.”
The Empress nodded toward Jeeves. “My man will take care of payment, and can provide nourishment if you are fatigued from your travels.”
When she ended her mini-speech, it was obvious she was done. Some kind of body language, perhaps, that said, ‘You’re dismissed.’
Freda frowned and opened her mouth, but one of her group put a hand on her arm. Thinking better of it, Freda gave a nod - well short of a bow, and probably a calculated slight, from the slight widening of nostrils and narrowing of eyes on the Empress's face - and the group turned and followed Jeeves out of the room.
The Empress gave me another up and down scan, followed by a silent down-the-nose look. It probably would've put most people in their place, but she was playing against a computer running an android. No body language except what I chose to display, and at the moment I was playing poker. Evidently, she realized the standoff was not to her advantage. She addressed the Motorola.
“This is one of the four persons who have led us on such an interesting chase through several cities. This one in particular picked up one of our agents with one hand and threw him against a wall.”
“Thank you, Natasha,” the Motorola said. I had to stifle a chuckle. The translator program randomly assigned human names whenever a new native name was used, and the other way around, but occasionally the choice was bang on. She looked like a Natasha. “What shall I call you?” said Motorola.
“I'm Bob,” I replied.
“Hello, Bob. I am Motorola.” Again, I had to suppress a snicker. I could, as I had in this case, override the default selections. Of course, the locals would only hear the local Quinlan versions of names.
“Okay. And this is standard practice for visitors to your city?”
“Let’s not dance around, all right? I've read all the witness accounts and transcripts. You and your friends have some kind of knowledge or tech that give you an edge. We were sure you were Crew, and we were going to take you down, but you kept getting away. Now I'm not so sure.”
The way it had said ‘Crew’ meant something. “By ‘Crew’ you, you mean Quinlans who work for the Administrator?”
“That’s right. It's interesting. You either have even less knowledge of the way things are than the average Quinlan, or you are very very good with the cover story. Which is it?”
“It's the former. Honestly, I considered the possibility that your group was with the Administrator, but that's seeming less likely.” I gestured toward the radio. “This, in particular, doesn't look like something the boss of Heaven's River would have to settle for. I have to assume the guys with guns were Administrator Crew, because you all didn't all seem to be getting along.”
After a moment of silence Motorola said, “Interesting that you know about the level of technology displayed by this device. And about guns. Even most of the Resistance haven't ever seen one.”
Oops.
“We have a fascinating problem here, Bob.” It continued. “My compatriots want to just skip the talking and just peel you with a knife until we get something we can use. On the other hand, that didn't turn out well for Popeye, based on Freda's report. It's been suggested that we just kill you and remove the risk. What can you offer me as an alternative?”
I spent a moment to be amused. Motorola was being very civil, but the subtext was that it wanted information, or something, and was trying to figure out the most effective way to get it. For now, a polite discussion. Later possibly, pain and screaming and blood.
