“Excuse me,” said Tal. “I want to speak to you for a moment,” he said to me.
Ennis nodded, and I rose and followed Tal to an empty spot near the bar. “I have to leave here,” he said without preliminary. “I want you to do something for me.”
“All right.”
“Tell me, first: If you were going to blow up the Kestrel, how would you do it?”
I raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help smiling. Exercises like this were posed at home all the time. “Undetectably?”
“It would be preferable.”
“They use a feed-drive system. I’d sabotage the drive.”
“Assume the drive area is off-limits to everyone.”
My smile grew wider. “Nothing is off-limits to everyone. I’ll bet maintenance workers go in there—and if they can, other people can.”
He put one hand on the bartop, as though to steady his weight. “So you don’t think the task is beyond you?”
“Of course not.” Now my smile faded. “You’re speaking hypothetically.”
“No, I want you to blow up the Kestrel on its homeward run.”
I blinked. An unreal burning was in my hands and feet, like stepping unexpectedly into a glacier-fed stream. He was a gathrid, I knew, but even so—“Why?”
He said coldly, “Is it part of your job description to ask why?”
“I want to know. ”
He looked around, spotted a stool, and sat down on it. “They have medical data on me in their memory banks. That’s sufficient in itself. Second, there will be one person on that ship who can interpret such data as referring to an Aphean. That will be the Secret Police spy on board. We have no way of knowing which crewmember or passenger that is, so—”
“So blow them all up!”
“If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.” He moved one hand tiredly across his forehead.
I had been taught to have alternatives, and I began to list them. “The police spy might still be here, in Medical—”
“The only person still in Medical is Captain Nestra. She’s a highly unlikely candidate.”
“By the time the Kestrel is ready to sail again, the data will probably have been transmitted back to Baret One anyway. There’s no reason the spy can’t send a transceiver message from here, you know.”
Tal sighed. I sensed that he really wanted to be in bed. He said, checking off on his fingers: “One. The ship is leaving tomorrow. Those were mostly smoke bombs I planted, and they did no real damage.”
“ You planted—”
“Two. Transceiver messages cost money. Baret Station charges a fortune for them. Police spies are on budgets just like everybody else. Why get called in to explain blowing your expense account on a message that won’t arrive much before the Kestrel itself does? That’ll be intercepted and read by station security?”
“You planted those bombs?” I found myself saying again.
He glanced at a clock on the wall, as though he had places to go and people waiting. Quickly and dryly, he broke down for me his experiences aboard ship. No, the docking gear had never been damaged; just the equipment for a gravity landing. Baret Station had misinterpreted the Kestrel s signals—things like that can happen when communications go down. The only real bomb had gotten him into the cargo hold, whose entrance was fused shut.
I must have been staring at him. “How did you get out of detention? The door was sealed.”
“The floor, walls, and ceiling were all open to negotiation. I trust I’ve answered all your questions, Keylinn—”
“What did the Protector say?”
“Adrian is very discreet in his own way. I don’t think he wants to know what I do with my spare time.”
I was quiet. After a moment I said, “There are over twenty people on that ship.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
‘Twenty people.”
He said, “Do you know what the Republic will do if they hear there’s an Aphean on the Diamond? The next Outsider techs we pick up to do odd jobs will have assassins among them. I’m comfortable on the Diamond, Keylinn; I don’t want to leave.”
It was all hideously rational. His request was, by contract terms, reasonable.
I went so far as to acknowledge one item. “We have to kill the SP.”
“I’m endeavoring to do that, Keylinn.”
“Wastefully. ”I considered the parameters of the assignment. “Can’t you eliminate anyone?”
“And you could break their legs before they board. It’s a gentle and considerate thought, Keylinn; did you have anyone in mind?”
“The Empire passeng—no.” Wearing Empire clothes and carrying Empire ID guaranteed nothing. “Are there any children on board? We could eliminate them.”
“Not to my knowledge.”
I took hold of the edge of the bar, thinking. There were philosophical games of this sort one played at the beginning of training school. What if your tarethi-din asked you to destroy all life in the universe? Or one of many questions similarly unlikely to come up, but which could be debated for hours.
The theoretical answer was: Destroy all life in the universe. Graykey are nothing if not stubborn; they would die as they had lived. Not that our sympathies wouldn’t be with someone who disobeyed such an order—but it was the wrong way to go.
The practical answer was: Don’t ever let yourself get in such a situation.
Of course, that was much easier at home, where everyone understood their obligations.
“Pay for my ticket,” I told him.
“All right.” He turned and faced the bar counter, as though by looking elsewhere he would distance himself from the intensity of the conversation. “I’ll send you a payment order from the Diamond.”
My gaze fell on the Graykey sitting at my table, now watching us with interest. Practical jokes in training school seemed a million years away.
“Is this a problem?” asked Tal. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m all right.”
He stood away from the bar counter, straightening himself with an effort, then paused. “I’ve not violated contract, have I?”
“Oh, no. You’re quite within your rights.”
“Ah. That’s all right, then.” He turned and walked away, and I saw a Diamond security
