He straightened slowly. Then he was running down the hill, his feet pounding on the street. He ran until he came up against the port fence—he put his hands on it, knowing it was powered down, too, and stared in at the deserted space.
Too late.
Chapter 49
Hartley Quince had been trying to avoid this interview for several days. Theoretically he could just keep telling the secretaries not to admit these two petitioners, but they were insistent and eventually, somewhere, he’d have to deal with them. Better to do it now and retain some control of the situation.
He checked over his office, having swept some stray papers and files into a drawer, and saw that everything looked wealthy, official and authoritative. Good enough certainly for two young Sangaree women.
Then he went to the door himself, to retain the advantage of bestowing courtesy, and opened it and bowed to the two young women. “Mrs. Freylinger? Miss Verdigris? Won’t you come in?”
Will’s sister and fiancee entered. He’d seen pictures of them both; Bernadette Freylinger was small, plump, and ruddy-haired; her eyes were sharp and hostile, and she perched herself in the pink plush chair by the desk with the air of one who is ready to leap up and do physical battle at any time. She wore her most ultrarespectable middle-class outfit, a long skirt of dark blue and a flowered shawl with a pin. Lysette Verdigris was taller, with a calm face but wary eyes. A skirt pulled over her hips softened but did not hide the fact that she was wearing her bar-singer’s costume beneath. She took the seat just beyond Bernadette’s and settled back, crossing her legs, and putting her own arms squarely on those of the chair. Everything about her said that she was here for the long haul, for whatever amount of time it took, and Hartley sensed that she was perhaps the more dangerous of the two.
He resumed his seat behind the desk, under the picture of Adrian Sawyer, and smiled impersonally. “Now, how may I help you two ladies?”
“We want to know,” said Bernadette at once, “what you’re doing to get back my brother.”
“I beg your pardon, madam?” said Hartley. “You’re Sergeant Stockton’s sister, aren’t you? Is he missing?”
“You know damned well he’s missing,” began Bernadette, her Sangaree accent getting thicker.
Lysette interrupted. “He hasn’t been home for days. In fact, he hasn’t been home since he went downhill. Now, as all three of us know, he never came back from Baret Two. Could you fill us in on what you’re doing to retrieve him?” Her voice was clipped, precise, and certain.
Hartley smiled politely. “As you must be aware, Sergeant Stockton has long-term assignments from time to time. He can’t always be with you two ladies, can he? I’m sure if you’ll just be patient—”
“He can send link-messages!” yelled Bernadette.
“He could if he were in the Three Cities,” said Lysette. Two pairs of eyes glinted at Hartley like adamantine steel. He sighed inwardly. In his way, Willie seemed as good at getting loyalty as Adrian Mercati.
“Really,” he said, “I’m not sure what you think I—”
“We checked at Guard Headquarters,” said Lysette in her firm voice. “Will’s been removed from the rolls there. They say that now he’s one of your direct-reports.” Hartley was well aware that they should have said nothing of the kind. But both women were attractive, and there were Sangaree connections among some of the Guard. “May I ask who led you to believe that?”
“His name slips my mind,” said Lysette.
“Who cares about his name?” demanded Bernadette. “We’re getting ready for Blackout! We’re leaving Baret System and Willie is still downhill!”
“Mrs. Freylinger,” began Hartley. “May I inquire why your husband is not here today to assist you in this matter?” He already knew why: Because Jack Freylinger’s company was frantically trying to close up its business with Baret Station before the Transport area was cut off for Blackout.
“Why should he be? Willie’s my brother. And Jack knows I can take care of myself.”
“If you were familiar with regulations, Mrs. Freylinger, you would know that inquiries regarding the whereabout of Opal citizens on official business must be made by the closest male relative; in this case, by your husband. We have many secretaries available outside who would be happy to assist him in filling out the necessary forms. As for you, Miss Verdigris,” he turned to face Lysette, “I must confess I’m not sure of the reason for your presence at all. Is it to provide support for Mrs. Freylinger?”
“I’m engaged to Sergeant Stockton.”
“Ah. Is that engagement registered with your parish?” She hesitated. “No.”
“I see. I’m afraid that does not put you in a privileged position in terms of obtaining information.” He paused as though waiting for something further, then said, “I’m afraid there’s little I can do for you at this time. I suggest you have Mr. Freylinger initiate this inquiry, if it’s what you really want—”
Bernadette stood, her fists balled up. “I want to know where my brother is!”
“We don’t intend to leave, Deacon Quince,” stated Lysette. “We don’t have a lot of time to spare.”
He could, of course, have them thrown out. He reached a decision. “Miss Verdigris? Mrs. Freylinger, would you sit down? I’d like to speak to you off the record.”
Bernadette glanced a her ally and sat down, uncertainly.
Hartley said, “Sergeant Stockton is, in fact, on Baret Two.”
“I knew it.” Bernadette said this very softly, as though she’d been hit in the stomach. Her eyes were wide and scared.
“He’s been out of communication with us since the trouble began down there.”
‘Trouble?” asked Lysette. The question didn’t surprise Hartley. The news aboard the Three Cities was parochial in the extreme; a system-wide war in the offing had not even made the gossip circuit on the Opal. That a Blackout was coming, people knew; the reasons behind it, they were not informed of, nor did they much care.
“Fighting
