process.
He crawled through the hole he had made and I backed up more to get out of the way of the impending disaster. He stuck his head out and gestured for me to follow him. Somewhat hesitantly I did. Personnel locks are cramped at the best of times. Sharing one with a kzin was downright claustrophobic. I was forced to curl into a ball in one corner while he grabbed the cut-out slab of door and carefully repositioned it where it had come from. Then I had to hold it in position, twisted like a pretzel with fingers straining against the awkward grip my suit gloves afforded while he got a tube of Quickseal from his pack and ran it around the cutline.
Now I understood. When the Quickseal set the outer door would hold pressure again. He could then repeat the process on the inner door without depressurizing all of Ceres. It was an awkward way to cycle through an airlock. It had the advantage of not triggering the alarms by opening the doors. The computer would no doubt log the pressure drop in the lock, but that was a maintenance issue, not a security issue. We were in.
Well, we were almost in. We had to wait an hour for the Quickseal to set properly, an hour I spent in a fetal crouch, half crushed by Bodyguard's weight. I lost all feeling below the waist before he judged it time to go on, and then there were more pretzellike acrobatics to allow him to start cutting the inner door, working with suit lights. The atmosphere hissed in to the lock and I watched the Quickseal carefully for any sign that it might fail as the pressure built up. If it did we would certainly die as we were blasted out that too-small opening, and a lot of other people would die with us as the tunnels depressurized. It was far too late for me back out now. My suit settled on me as the pressure equalized. The Quickseal held, and then Bodyguard was carefully lowering the chunk he'd cut from the inner door into the tunnel beyond. We were in, all the way this time.
I felt my weight surge as we came into the tunnel's artificial gravity field. The passage was dimly lit, standard night on Ceres, and it was opulently appointed. Acres of Persian carpet covered the floor, every kilogram of it imported from Earth, and expensive paintings hung on the walls. We stripped our vac suits and stuffed them in the lock, and Bodyguard Quicksealed the lock door so we could use it on the way out. I checked my tunnel map, and we headed off to the right, towards Reston Jameson's private quarters. The plan was to confront him directly, and as we advanced I could see more and more flaws with that idea. We were screaming and leaping in classic kzinti style. That approach had lost them six wars in a row and eighty-five percent of their empire. I wasn't encouraged by history.
We went down the corridor cautiously, unsure of what might be in wait for us. I'd highlighted a few points on the map where he was likely to be. The first one turned out to be his living quarters. I felt like a burglar, which fit the situation closely enough. There was nothing moving but us, and no alarms went off, but neither was Reston there. That state of affairs was fine with me. I was in no hurry to go forward, and spent some time marveling at the sumptuous furnishing, which made the lavish corridors seem sparse in comparison. There was no sprayfoam, no steel, no plastic. Everything was made of wood or wool or cotton. There was stone, but not the laser-cut basalt I was used to. It was all limestone and marble, minerals that could only have formed in the living forge of Earth. It was everywhere, carved and polished, tiled and inlaid, floors and walls and sculptures. The total mass involved was tremendous, the upship costs incalculable. Here in the Belt, where rock represented all that was common and cheap, Reston Jameson had transformed it into an expression of wealth and power.
And here I was challenging that power like a demented moth hurling itself into a bonfire. Bodyguard was undistracted by the setting. He made a short gesture and went ahead, not even bothering to look to see if I was following. I went with him for lack of a better choice. We found Jameson there, working at a broad desk of polished black stone. He looked up as we came in without surprise. 'Good morning. I've been waiting for you.'
Bodyguard snarled. 'We have come to ask questions on the death of Opal Stone.'
Jameson smiled. 'I am sure you have.'
The kzin's ears swiveled up and forward. I wasn't sure if he could pick up the smugness too. 'What is your involvement?'
Jameson shrugged, unperturbed. 'I have none.'
Bodyguard's lips pulled themselves into a dangerous smile. 'I question your honor, human.'
'Ah, an insult.' Jameson's smile somehow became as predatory as Bodyguard's. 'I think at this point it's traditional that I scream and leap to avenge it.'
Bodyguard crouched, his talons extended and fangs bared. 'If you dare, human.'
Jameson made a command gesture to his AI. There was a soft thwipthwipthwipthwip and Bodyguard collapsed. Mercy needles, fired from a projector hidden in the camera ball overhead. Kzinti physiology isn't the same as human. Jameson must have arranged mercy slivers made of kzin-specific anesthetic, probably alternating with the standard formula in his defense weapons so they'd work on both species. He really had been expecting us.
He turned his eyes to me. 'Captain Thurmond. I hope we can interact less dramatically.'
He knew my name, and I knew I was in deep trouble. I looked at the quarter-ton of unconscious carnivore on the expensive carpet. I nodded slowly. Yes. I had walked into the lion's den and I was getting exactly what I deserved.
He smiled wide, the predator in victory. 'Good. Now tell me what you know.'
I shook my head. 'Believe me, I don't know anything at all.'
His smile disappeared. 'You don't expect me to believe that.'
I could feel the fear creeping into my expression. I was in way over my head. 'I've had a brain blank. They've accused me of killing Opal Stone. I know I didn't do it.' I shrugged, hoping that would be enough for him.
'And you think I did?'
'You have a motive…' I trailed off. I didn't want to antagonize him.
He smirked. 'A brain blank. She's a smart woman, but now I know what she's hiding.' He looked away, his eyes distant for a moment, and when they came back to me they were flint hard. He made a gesture. A holo popped into existence, showing Bodyguard and me clambering through the sliced-open airlock door. He'd been watching us since we'd gotten in, maybe from before that. I was so busted.
'I could turn you over to the Goldskins now, but I think I have a better use for you.' His voice was smug. Another gesture and pinpricks stitched across my back. I was vaguely aware of the floor coming up to smack me as darkness fell.
I woke up looking at stars. For a moment I thought I was in Elektra's cockpit, and then I thought I was in the Constellation, but as I looked around I saw not my familiar command console or the bar's laser-cut furnishings but exotic flowering plants. The air was humid and rich with the scent of their flowers. There was a throbbing in my temples as the anesthetic in the mercy needles wore off. My extremities tingled and I had a little trouble getting my feet. Bodyguard was watching me.
'Where are we?' The low gravity told me I was still on Ceres, somewhere.
'Hrrr. We are in Reston Jameson's garden dome. I have been here before with Dr. Stone.'
'Scream and leap.' I couldn't contain my frustration any longer. 'See where it's gotten us.' I half-expected Bodyguard to scream and leap at me for saying it.
Instead he just twitched his whiskers. 'It has gotten us here, obviously.' He had taken my sarcasm for confusion.
'It is getting us killed,' I said bitterly.
'Then we will have deaths of honor.' He seemed unperturbed. I gave up. It isn't that kzinti don't fear death, it's just that they never let it stop them. 'I owe you apology and honor debt, Captain Thurmond. You are innocent, as you stated.'
'Never mind. We need to get out of here while we still can.' I started looking around and noticed that my beltcomp was gone.
'There is no way out.'
'There has to be.' The dome was perhaps a hundred feet around, full of lush vegetation.
'He has taken all my tools, and the airlock is depressurized.'
I had to see for myself. I found the airlock; evidently the dome was its own pressure zone. As I said it's illegal to lock an airlock, if that phrase makes any sense. There was no lock on this one, but the cycle light glowed amber. Jameson had sealed us in through the simple expedient of pumping down the airlock chamber. It was a cargo lock, three meters on a side. The door opened upward and outward, so though I could open and close the latching bar easily enough the door itself was sealed shut with tons of air pressure. It might as well have been
