He opened the door, assuming that the package was for one of his fathers.
Thrummm.
The deliveryman sprawled across the tiles of the portico, the package bouncing lightly away from the door. A weapon-shaped device followed, clattering dully. Instinctively, Van ducked and simultaneously swept the weapon away from the fallen figure, glancing toward the lorry.
From behind the Norfolk pine bordering the neighbor’s wall—the house where his biological mother had once lived—emerged a figure in a nondescript tannish singlesuit.
Van frowned, but there was something about the newcomer. He smiled ruefully as he recognized Trystin Desoll.
A second figure appeared from the garden on the right, wearing a sight-blurring camouflage suit, and carrying a long-barreled stunner. It was an effort for Van to look at that figure.
“You’re all right, aren’t you?” asked Desoll, as he neared Van.
“Surprised.”
“I thought they might try something like that.”
“You actually waited for them,” Van said. “You just waited.”
“We wouldn’t have waited much longer,” Desoll replied. “But I thought it might be better if you saw for yourself, rather than relying on my word. You’ve already taken a great deal on faith.” Desoll laughed. “Of course, we could have set this up, too, but I hope you can see why that wouldn’t exactly be to our benefit.”
In the press of what had just happened, Van hadn’t even thought of that. He frowned. In bringing it up, Desoll had made another point. “You think I’m that skeptical?”
The older man just raised his eyebrows.
Van almost laughed. Instead, he nodded.
Without a word, the figure in camouflage scooped up the weapon lying on the tiles, a miniature stunner of some sort, then dragged the limp figure of the courier back into the electrolorry. Even as Van watched, the electrolorry moved away, nearly silently.
“What will happen?”
“Nothing much. He’ll be out for a day or so, and he won’t remember much of what happened. People get excited about murders, but when no one’s injured, and nothing’s stolen, except a small chunk of someone’s memory, they can’t say too much publicly. Someone will find the lorry, and the unconscious man who isn’t a courier, but is dressed like one, and that will keep the RSF from saying too much. The RSF won’t like it, but they won’t find out for a few hours.”
“You knew. Back on Scandya, you knew,” Van stated.
Desoll shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t fit in. You’re the type that can’t go home, even when you do. Whether you’d admit it…that I didn’t know. And whether you’d signal in time was another question.”
“In time?”
“You know you’ve been watched, I’m sure.”
“Your people?”
Desoll smiled faintly. “No. I’ve had several local operatives—we have a list of people we can hire on most planets—watching the RSF agents who’ve been watching you.”
“Why?”
“I hate to lose good people. These days, they’re too hard to find.”
“In all of the Arm? I find that hard to believe.”
“You can believe it or not. Let’s try a little elementary mathematics. How many really good deep-space pilots are there in the RSF?”
“I’d say there might be five hundred pilots, all told, a thousand if you count former pilots.”
“How many are as good as you are? Be honest.”
“Twenty that I know.”
“I’d guess half that, but let’s say that works out to a hundred in the entire RSF. First, how many would consider leaving the RSF? Second, out of those, how many would you trust totally with your life—and an interstellar ship carrying millions in cargo value?”
Van hadn’t thought of those aspects.
“And how many of those have the intelligence and the ability to react in nonpiloting situations the way you did on Scandya? Then add in a few other characteristics, like maturity, a basic sense of fairness…” Desoll laughed. “There aren’t many of you.”
Van still wasn’t so sure.
“You’ll see,” Desoll promised.
That bothered Van even more, but he pushed the thought aside. “You said you had another ship? Who pilots that one?”
“I have to confess to a bit of nepotism there. It’s one of my younger relatives, much younger—Nynca. You’ll meet her sooner or later. That just depends on projects and schedules.”
“Am I the only nonrelative in IIS?”
“Hardly. We have a staff of almost five hundred in various posts. Nynca’s my only relative. It just happens that she happened to have the talents we needed. No one else in the family did—not when I got involved with IIS.”
Van caught the faintest trace of emotion, but Desoll smiled. “By the way, that little device that looks like a stunner wasn’t. It projects a different wave structure. Very effective at creating heart fillibration. You were retired for medical reasons, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You see? Retired commodore suffers fatal heart seizure. No one happened to be around to get you care. So sad.”
Van shuddered.
“We need to be going. They will miss that operative before long. Can you pack and get out of here? I’d really recommend not using the net to tell your family, not until you’re on Sulyn orbit station. IIS will pay for the calls from there.”
“Traces, again?”
“We don’t know, but it’s likely that the nets of all your family are shadowed.” Desoll looked at Van. “I really would suggest that you pack quickly and leave a handwritten message for your family here. Tell them you’ll call them direct within a few hours. If you wait too long, it might be more difficult to leave.”
“Won’t they stop me? If this…”
“They still have to operate within limits. For now, anyway. I’ll bring up a groundcar and wait in the drive here. I would suggest that you wear your full dress uniform, miniature medals and all. We’ll be with you, but they’ve wanted to keep this quiet.”
“They?”
“The RSF. Who else?”
Who else indeed?
Van nodded. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Chapter 39
Van packed only one duffel and his carry bag. The duffel wasn’t even full, but most of what he’d brought back from Scandya
