Amo’s eyes brightened. “As I expected. Tell me—did you take care of these people one-on-one, as they say, close up so you could see them?”
“I prefer to do it that way,” I answered, a literally true statement.
He sat back, satisfied. “You don’t mind speaking with me, do you? You said before that you didn’t want to be questioned by your fellow Graykey, here—”
“I did not say that.”
He seemed taken aback for a moment, then said, “Forgive me. You said that you didn’t want to be questioned by this gentleman here on my right, known as Ennis Gilleys.”
Amo’s moments of sharpness were not a comfort. It was clear that, like me, he had an exact understanding of the requirements of his philosophy and lived within them. His understanding was a burden to me. Did his way of living really make him a fanatic?
Did my way of living make me one?
I said, “I’m very tired.”
He had the presumption to let sympathy show in his face. He started to speak—
And from behind my left ear, as though he were standing in the room beside me, I heard a voice I knew very well.
Keylinn, this is Tal.
For a moment I was thoroughly disoriented. Then I realized: The riccardi. I sat up, shocked.
If you’re alive I’m just within perimeter of your riccardi. I sincerely hope you’re in one of the ecclesiastical detention cells, because that’s where we’re heading. I base this on the fact it was Arno’s voice I heard talking to Ennis in Transport, and that Arno is a greedy bastard who won’t let any prize out of his own sweaty hands … neither will I, actually.
We’re docking now. I’m turning this over to Spider. Follow his instructions.
A moment later: Keylinn, sweetheart? Spider’s voice came with nervous gentleness. We’re in Bay Green of Opal Transport. We’ve come in with some private trading freighters from Baret Station. We replaced one, in fact— never mind about that; though. Listen. I’m staying with the ship and Tal is bringing some friends of yours to get you out.
Friends of mine?
You may need to make some noise shortly to let them know what room you’re in. And be ready to hit the floor, Key. There was a pause. God, I hope you’re in good shape. And if you can hear me, tell Lord Cardinal Asshole to go to hell.
“Go to hell,” I said obediently.
Arno, who had been looking at me strangely, now reared back as though I had lost my mind.
I turned my eyes narrowly to Ennis and said in Graykey, “Nothing is forgotten.”
Chapter 32
The cadets, all in brown lower-ranking admin uniforms, fanned out across the deck. Three went slightly ahead to do advance work for Tal; two accompanied him; and seven—including Tommy, the monarch of explosives— split into two more groups to create problems for Opal. These problems would begin with Transport.
Tal left them to it. His two groups had about a quarter-hour to reach the EP’s detention cells—just barely possible, by the map. A Transport supervisor ran up to him.
“Sir, where do you think you’re going? Where is your pass, your papers?”
The Graykey beside Tal shot him. “We don’t have any,” she said, putting the silver gun back into a holster beneath her uniform jacket. Women were not allowed in admin under any circumstances on the Opal, so her hair was cropped short and her jacket oversized. She smiled briefly at Tal and went out the bay exit.
Tal had never seen a gun like that one. It was small, but definitely not a Keith. He considered whether he should ask whether it was lethal or only a stunner, but decided not to waste either of their times on minor points. He stepped over the Transport supervisor and followed his Graykey out, hearing a distant explosion and people shouting as he did so.
They passed three City Guards on the way to detention, all of them running as though in answer to an emergency summons. None of them spared a look for Tal’s group. None of the Graykey spoke; they had never assumed that getting in would be the hard part. They strode grimly through the decks and took the civilian lift banks as though born to them.
The maps were good enough to get them to the detention places, at least. Tal looked up at a sculptured facade that rose five intradeck levels. An angel of repentance clung spread-eagled to the front, ten times the height of a man, the wings brushing either side of the roof. The prisoners in there must number in the hundreds. How was he ever going to find Keylinn in that place?
The cadets didn’t even break stride. They passed through the front doors, always open in case any citizen wanted to report on another. Tal checked the time; they had about ten minutes to locate Keylinn if they wanted any margin of safety in getting out. They managed to pass the front desk as though they knew where they were going, but in fact it was guesswork from this point on. There were no maps for the inside of the detention center.
The advance party met them at the lift bank, and they crowded inside. At least the inner lifts here only went up from this level, not down—the first clue as to direction. The doors opened on the next level to show a corridor of cells with one-way glass. More corridors joined it in the distance. A Graykey boy said, “We can look for her—it’s glass.” He started to step out, but Tal grabbed hold of his sleeve.
“We don’t have time to do it that way.” He motioned for them to continue, and they tried the next level. It was the same.
But the third level up opened onto a large room with a big curving desk, people running back and forth, and a scattering of black-clad EPs
