‘What are we allowed to do,’ Jamieson asked, ‘to protect ourselves?’
‘Anything you bloody well can,’ Verbold replied. ‘Up to and including killin’ a few of ’em. Like I said, once the Governor gets off his rounded end, we’ll have a clearance order on ’em and that’ll put an end to it.’
‘Clearance order?’ Clarin asked.
‘For the maintenance of public safety, yes, Ma’am. The relocation camp’s already built, down the Coast about ten miles. Power shielded and pretty much escape proof. Put ’em in there and let ’em have at each other if they have to have at somebody. Everyone knows it has to be done. What’s keeping his excellency is beyond us – all of us. Somethin’ devious no doubt.’ He pulled a face, begging their complicity. It had not been a politically astute thing to say.
‘Any rumors about the delay?’ Jamieson demanded.
‘Oh, there’s always rumors,’ the Captain said, turning away brusquely. He had said too much. Besides, they knew what the rumors were: The Governor was being given a share of the pilgrimage money; he was being paid off by the fanatics.
Tasmin shook his head at Jamieson, and he subsided. Tasmin did not want to discuss planetary politics or the Planetary Exploitation Council here on the public way, surrounded by soldiers who might repeat anything that was said, in or out of context, accurately or not. What the Captain chose to say was the Captain’s own business, but Tasmin had a lifelong habit of caution. He leaned from the saddle to take the officer’s hand once more. ‘Thank you, Captain. I’ll tell the Master General of the citadel how helpful you’ve been.’ The Master General of the Splash One Citadel was also the Grand Master of the Tripsinger Order, Thyle Vowe. Favorable mention to Vowe was not an inconsiderable favor, and the Captain grinned as he stepped back and saluted them on their way.
They reached the citadel without further incident, were welcomed, then lauded when it became known that Tasmin had come down from the Mad Gap with a long lost Password. There was good-natured teasing of the citadel librarian, some not so good-natured responses from that official, followed by room assignments for the travelers, provision for cleaning the clothes they had with them, and obtaining more anonymous garments to be worn in town. Grand Master Thyle Vowe, it seemed, was at the Northwest Citadel and would not return for some days. Tasmin wrote a note, including some laudatory words about Captain Verbold – including his probable political sympathies – and left it for him. It was late afternoon before all the details were taken care of and Tasmin could get away.
The two acolytes were lounging in the courtyard, obviously waiting for him, Clarin, predictably, with a gray-furred crystal mouse – so called because its normal habitat was among the crystal presences – running back and forth on her shoulder.
‘Private business,’ Tasmin said, trying to be more annoyed than he actually was. Now that the time had come, he was having a fit of nerves, and the false hostility in his voice grated even upon his own ears.
‘No, sir,’ said Clarin, apparently unmoved as she pocketed the mouse. ‘You’ve told us all about it, and we need to go with you. We can help you find Lim Terree’s manager or agent or whatever he is.’ She was saying no more than the truth. In the long evenings over the campfire, they had learned more about one another than any of them would have shared in the stratified society of the citadel. They were almost family – with the responsibility that entailed.
Tasmin, suddenly aware of that responsibility, found that it made him irritable. ‘I can do that alone.’ Could he? Did he want to?
‘You might be set upon, Master. We’ve inquired. It’s best for Tripsingers to go in company, so the Master General of this citadel has ordered.’ Jamieson was factual, a little brusque, avoiding Tasmin’s eyes. With sudden insight, Tasmin realized the boy was not speaking out of mere duty and would be wounded if he were rebuffed.
He took refuge in brusqueness of his own. ‘I hope you two haven’t been chirping.’
‘Master Ferrence!” The boy was hurt at being accused of being loose mouthed.
Jamieson’s pain shamed Tasmin for his lack of courtesy, and he gritted his teeth. ‘Did you get a car?’
‘Yes, sir. That greenish one over there.’
‘Looks well used, doesn’t it?’ The vehicle appeared to have been used to haul hay, or perhaps farm animals; it sagged; the bubble top was scratched into gray opacity.
‘Well, there were only two to choose from, and the other one was pink.’ Jamieson gave him a sidelong glance, assaying a smile of complicity, still with that expression of strain.
Tasmin flushed. Did he have the right to reject friendship when it was offered? Was he so determined upon his hurt he would hurt others to maintain the appearance of grief? He reached out to lay his hand on Jamieson’s shoulder, including Clarin in his glance. ‘If you’re so damned set on being helpful….’ Tasmin had already made a few calls from his room, locating one of the backup men Lim had had with him in Deepsoil Five and obtaining from him the name of Lim’s agent. ‘We’re looking for a man named Larry Porsent, and we’re supposed to find him in the Bedlowe Building, Eleventh Street and Jubilation Boulevard.’ Under his hand, Jamieson relaxed.
The streets were scarred with new and half-healed trenches; the building they sought was under construction with the first two floors occupied even while all the turmoil of fabrication
