“No. I do know that he’s pissed.”
“At us?”
“And others. The world. Life in general. He left his research computers behind, most of which he designed and assembled to his liking. His data are stored remotely, but he’ll howl about this for months. Be prepared.”
“Can’t he go back and retrieve them? I mean as soon as we are all safe.”
“No. Not a chance. Besides, he’ll be with us.”
“Us?” she asked, confused before remembering Kat had included the Digger, along with Bill, as a condition of joining her crew. At least, Stone hoped the girl could be convinced but that remained uncertain.
Those who grew up wild, which meant on the streets of any civilized planet, learned how to survive, not what was presented in formal schooling. At some early age, usually around that of Kat, they became feral. No number of promises, bribes, friendship, or offers of a better life could break their chains to live a normal life. Stone hadn’t seen the signs of that. Not yet.
Kat continued, “Bill, Bert, and me. We’re a team, the three of us.”
The captain realized she hadn’t told them anything of her plans, let alone asking if they were willing to participate. There hadn’t been time. The mention of a “team” earlier was the first she’d heard of them being together other than a brief mention at the tent.
Gaining the trust of the empathic girl was the first goal. Not recruiting a rag-tag group of castoffs. At least, that had been the plan. Now the Bert-thing intrigued her almost as much as the empath, and Bill had a powerful build and a commanding manner she could use. With a little direction, he could be intimidating, often a useful tool for a trader.
Her mind spun, surged ahead, and mentally hiccupped as she ran. There was not a single mental thread that she tried to follow that held together. Then, as one, the boy and girl turned to look to their right side. In the distance, an aircar had lifted above the horizon of rooftops.
Her hands clenched inside the sleeves as her eyes searched the danger. In a single move, she shrugged her hood over her head and turned away. Not fully away, because she could still see the open aircar and the passengers operating equipment to identify those below, a combination of scanning ID chips, facial recognition, and artificial intelligence, all working in concert to find the missing captain of the Guardia. When they found no sign of her, they shifted tactics to identify the three strangers.
Had a silent message passed between the young man and the empath? Had they noticed the aircar at the same moment or had she told him? The captain had ducked under the cover of an extended porch with the humans sitting at a table playing a game with dice. Kat was right behind. The mole-creature remained in the open, pretending to examine two pairs of shoes, none of which it needed.
While hiding from the aircar, she watched Bert flick a tiny spot of dirt from its brown fur shoulder. Despite living underground in burrows, it seemed the “fur” was so slick and well maintained that dirt didn’t cling to it. The creature was immaculately clean.
She whispered, “I know you call him a Digger, but what race is Bert? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen or heard of beings like him. Or her.”
Bill shrugged and said as if it didn’t matter, “Me neither and I have no idea. Digger is all we know.”
“You could simply ask Bert,” Kat said offhandedly as if it didn’t matter to her either.
She turned her head away as her eyes went blank as if she were intensely concentrating. Perhaps she was touching the minds of those on the grav-sled, telling them to search elsewhere. Captain stone asked, “Bert follows the two of you wherever you go?”
“We’re friends,” Kat said in an abstract tone. “Partners, really. Bert knows things. What he does not know, he finds out. We are always together.”
“Things he learns from computers?” Stone persisted.
“That and other stuff,” Bill said evasively. His eyes watched the aircar move past their position and continue without slowing as it moved away.
Bert motioned with a clawed hand for them to follow him again.
They entered the middle-class part of the city, where nearly all the inhabitants worked for the state-operated gambling houses in one manner or another. If not directly, the services and goods they dealt in were sold to those who repaired, installed, cleaned, fed, or entertained the paying customers. The houses on either side of the narrow street were uniformly three stories tall, the roofs flat, the exterior décor Roman.
The street surface was stamped and colored concrete, giving the appearance of red brick, which was not Roman, as she recalled, but the accuracy of detail was not as important as ambiance. The residents ignored them, probably believing they were also part of the show.
Bert paused. His ears twitched, shifted directions independently, and waited a few seconds. The humans moved to a vegetable stand and inspected the goods to remain inconspicuous.
Bert suddenly spun to his right and entered an alley filled with debris, much of it discarded cardboard for some unknown reason. He took them over and under the trash, moved them three streets away via the alleys, then resumed their trek in the direction of the spaceport.
As the outer perimeter came into view, an excess of soldiers, police, and private guards patrolled. The troops seemed anxious and nervous. Guards filled the few entrances to the spaceport, all searching each person attempting to enter critically. They halted and questioned everyone, often searching with their hands. Air traffic sleds entering the port backed up for a kilometer or more
“Now what?” Kat asked.
The people at the gates were primarily the crews of ships
