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"I'm going to " she began determinedly. Her hand, reaching for the door
control, hesitated and fell back. "I'm going to think this through."
She turned and began to pace. "Why are they holding him so long?" she asked.
Ethan was not quite sure if the question was addressed to him, Cee, or the
air. "They could've drained him of everything he knew in fifteen minutes. Let
him wake up on a tube car thinking he'd dozed off on the way home, and no one
the wiser, not even me."
"They found out everything I knew in fifteen minutes," Ethan pointed out, "but
that didn't stop them."
"Yes, but their suspicions were aroused, sorry, you were quite right, by
finding my bug on you. I deliberately put nothing on Teki so that couldn't
happen again. Besides, they can check Teki in Kline Station records back to
his conception. You were a man without a past, or at least with an
inaccessible one, leaving lots of room for paranoid fantasies to grow."
"As a result of which it took them seven hours to convince themselves they
were right the first time," said Ethan.
Cee spoke. "And since Okita's disappearance they think you are an agent who
successfully resisted seven hours of interrogation. They may be even less
willing to take 'I don't know' for an answer now."
"In that case," said Quinn grimly, "the sooner I get Teki out of there the
better."
"Excuse me," said Ethan, "but out of where?"
"Odds are, Millisor's quarters. Where you were questioned. Their quiet room,
the one I've never been able to bug." She ran her hands through her hair
wildly. "How the hell am I going to do this? A frontal assault on a defended
cube in the middle of a pack of innocent civilians in the delicate mechanical
environment of a space station . . . ? Doesn't sound too efficient."
"How did you rescue Dr. Urquhart?" asked Cee.
"I waited patiently for him to come out. I waited a long time for the best
opportunity."
"Quite a long time, yes," Ethan agreed cordially. They exchanged tight smiles.
She paced back and forth like a frenzied tigress. "I'm being stampeded. I know
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I am. I can feel it. Millisor is reaching out for me through Teki. And
Millisor's a man with no inhibitions about applying leverage. Q.E.D. Quinn
Eats Dirt. Gods. Don't panic, Quinn. What would Admiral Naismith do in the
same situation?" She stood still, facing the wall.
Ethan envisioned diving Dendarii starfighters, waves of space-armored assault
troops, ominous lumbering high-energy weapons platforms jockeying for
position.
"Never do yourself," muttered Quinn, "what you can con an expert into doing
for you. That's what he'd say. Tactical judo from the space magician himself."
Her straight back held the dynamism of zen meditation. When she turned her
face was radiant with jubilation. "Yes, that's exactly what he'd do! Sneaky
little dwarf, I love you!" She saluted an invisible presence and dove for the
comconsole.
Cee glanced dismayed inquiry at Ethan, who shrugged helplessly.
The image of an alert-looking clerk in pine green and sky blue materialized
above the vid plate.
"Ecobranch Epidemiology Hotline. May I help you?" the clerk intoned politely.
"I'd like to report a suspected disease vector," said Quinn in her most
brusque, no-nonsense manner.
The clerk arranged a report panel at her elbow, poised her fingers over it.
"Human or animal?"
"Human."
"Transient or Stationer?"
"Transient. But he may even now be transmitting it to a Stationer."
The clerk looked even more seriously interested. "And the disease?"
"Alpha-S-D-plasmid-3."
The clerk's tapping hand paused. "Alpha-S-D-plasmid-2 is a sexually
transmitted soft tissue necrosis that originated on Varusa Tertius. Is that
what you mean?"
Quinn shook her head. "This is a new and much more virulent mutant strain of
Varusan Crotch-rot. They haven't even bioengineered the counter-virus last I
heard. Hadn't you people heard of it yet? You're fortunate."
The clerk's eyebrows rose. "No, ma'am." She tapped furiously, and made several
adjustments to her recording equipment. "And the name of the suspected
vector?"
"Ghem-lord Harman Dal, a Cetagandan art and artifacts broker. He has a new
agency in Transients' Lounge, just licensed a few weeks ago. He comes in
contact with a lot of people."
Harman Dal, Ethan gathered, was Millisor's alias.
"Oh, dear," said the clerk. "We're certainly glad to get this report. Ah . .
." the clerk paused, groping for phrasing. "And how did you come to know about
this individual's disease?"
Quinn's stern gaze broke from the clerk's face to her own feet, to distant
corners of the room, to her twisting hands. She positively shuffled. She'd
have blushed if she'd had a chance to hold her breath long enough. "How would
you think?" she muttered to her belt buckle.
"Oh." The clerk did blush. "Oh. Well, in that case we are extremely grateful
that you chose to come forward. I assure you all such epidemiological matters
are handled in the strictest confidence. You must see one of our own
quarantine physicians at once
"Absolutely," agreed Quinn, feigning nervous eagerness. "Can I come down now?
But but I'm terribly afraid that if you don't hurry, Dal is going to put three
patients on your hands instead of just two."
"I assure you, ma'am, our department is adept at handling delicate situations.
Please place your ID so the machine can read it "
Quinn did so, promised again to report directly to Quarantine, was reassured
of anonymity and gratitude, and broke off.
"There, Teki," she sighed. "Help is on the way. I've signed my real name to a
criminal act, but the price was right."
"Being sick is against the law here?" asked Ethan in startlement.
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"No, but lodging a false report of a disease vector definitely is. When you
see all the machinery it sets in motion you'll realize why they discourage
practical jokers. But I'd rather face criminal charges than plasma fire any
day. I'll put the fine on my expense account." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]