now how
Alison had used a wall control to adjust the temperature of the room
that first night.
Leaning the grille against the wall out of the way, she took one
final look at the sleeping Alison. Then, backing up a few steps, she
leaped upward and slipped neatly through the opening into the duct.
It was a tighter fit than it had looked. But as long as she kept
her head low and her legs tucked in close to her sides it would be easy
enough to get through. The first turn was a little tricky, too, where
her duct ran into another one and she had to go either left or right.
For some reason turning right seemed easier, so she picked that
direction. She made it around the turn and kept going.
The system was indeed complicated, more so than anything else
Taneem had ever encountered. The ducts went all directions, with turns
and occasional dips or raises, and with other grilles leading off into
other rooms at regular intervals.
For a while she stopped at each opening and peered into the room
beyond. But most of the rooms were unoccupied, and after a while she
stopped even bothering to look.
A few of the rooms had voices or sounds or smells coming from
them. In those cases she stopped before passing, easing one eye around
the edge of the grille to make sure no one was looking in her direction
before continuing silently past.
But so far there was no sign of Alison's papers.
Taneem continued on. It was getting warmer now, and there were new
noises drifting through the grilles. The rooms she passed were larger,
too, full of machines and people tending them. Once she had to wait a
full minute before a man at a desk covered with lights turned away long
enough for her to sneak past.
After a few minutes, the heat faded and the noises quieted. The
machinery rooms were replaced again by rooms like hers and Alison's,
with even nicer furniture.
And then, finally, from one of the grilles ahead she heard the
murmuring of a familiar voice.
She crept forward, listening hard. "—know what all the fuss is
about," Colonel Frost was saying. "Near as I can tell there's nothing
here worth spit."
"Morgan isn't the sort of person to hold on to useless junk," a
different voice answered. It was softer and strangely vague, as if
coming from a great distance.
And there was something in the voice that sent a shiver along
Taneem's back.
"Maybe they're personal mementos," Frost said. "Even master
criminals can get sentimental."
Taneem reached the grille and looked in. The room was reasonably
large, with a number of carved wooden desks and work areas, plus
several comfortable-looking chairs. Frost was sitting in one of the
chairs in front of a desk covered with glowing lights and symbols she
couldn't make out. Alison's bag was on the table, and Frost was holding
her sheaf of papers in his hand.
There was no one else in the room.
"Virgil Morgan hasn't got a sentimental synapse in his entire
body," the other voice said firmly from the room's emptiness. Or
rather, from the glowing-light desk, the same way Uncle Virge's voice
came out of the walls aboard the Essenay . "I'll want to see
these papers when you get here."
"Four more days," Frost reminded him. "Unless you want me to
transmit you some copies."
"No, I can wait for the originals," the other said. "Right now,
I'm more concerned about this girl you've picked up."
"What about her?" Frost asked. "Your stakeouts on Semaline seemed
to think she knew what she was doing."
"They'd better be right," the other warned. "We're starting to run
low on time here."
"You want me to test her myself?" Frost offered. "By my count,
you've got four separate safes aboard this ship."
"Very amusing," the other said, his voice suddenly stiff. "Don't
worry, I'll test her myself."
"I thought we were running low on time," Frost reminded him.
"Besides, it might be interesting to see what you have stashed away in
there."
"Don't push your luck, Colonel," the other warned, his voice
turning even darker. "Not with
Alison had used a wall control to adjust the temperature of the room
that first night.
Leaning the grille against the wall out of the way, she took one
final look at the sleeping Alison. Then, backing up a few steps, she
leaped upward and slipped neatly through the opening into the duct.
It was a tighter fit than it had looked. But as long as she kept
her head low and her legs tucked in close to her sides it would be easy
enough to get through. The first turn was a little tricky, too, where
her duct ran into another one and she had to go either left or right.
For some reason turning right seemed easier, so she picked that
direction. She made it around the turn and kept going.
The system was indeed complicated, more so than anything else
Taneem had ever encountered. The ducts went all directions, with turns
and occasional dips or raises, and with other grilles leading off into
other rooms at regular intervals.
For a while she stopped at each opening and peered into the room
beyond. But most of the rooms were unoccupied, and after a while she
stopped even bothering to look.
A few of the rooms had voices or sounds or smells coming from
them. In those cases she stopped before passing, easing one eye around
the edge of the grille to make sure no one was looking in her direction
before continuing silently past.
But so far there was no sign of Alison's papers.
Taneem continued on. It was getting warmer now, and there were new
noises drifting through the grilles. The rooms she passed were larger,
too, full of machines and people tending them. Once she had to wait a
full minute before a man at a desk covered with lights turned away long
enough for her to sneak past.
After a few minutes, the heat faded and the noises quieted. The
machinery rooms were replaced again by rooms like hers and Alison's,
with even nicer furniture.
And then, finally, from one of the grilles ahead she heard the
murmuring of a familiar voice.
She crept forward, listening hard. "—know what all the fuss is
about," Colonel Frost was saying. "Near as I can tell there's nothing
here worth spit."
"Morgan isn't the sort of person to hold on to useless junk," a
different voice answered. It was softer and strangely vague, as if
coming from a great distance.
And there was something in the voice that sent a shiver along
Taneem's back.
"Maybe they're personal mementos," Frost said. "Even master
criminals can get sentimental."
Taneem reached the grille and looked in. The room was reasonably
large, with a number of carved wooden desks and work areas, plus
several comfortable-looking chairs. Frost was sitting in one of the
chairs in front of a desk covered with glowing lights and symbols she
couldn't make out. Alison's bag was on the table, and Frost was holding
her sheaf of papers in his hand.
There was no one else in the room.
"Virgil Morgan hasn't got a sentimental synapse in his entire
body," the other voice said firmly from the room's emptiness. Or
rather, from the glowing-light desk, the same way Uncle Virge's voice
came out of the walls aboard the Essenay . "I'll want to see
these papers when you get here."
"Four more days," Frost reminded him. "Unless you want me to
transmit you some copies."
"No, I can wait for the originals," the other said. "Right now,
I'm more concerned about this girl you've picked up."
"What about her?" Frost asked. "Your stakeouts on Semaline seemed
to think she knew what she was doing."
"They'd better be right," the other warned. "We're starting to run
low on time here."
"You want me to test her myself?" Frost offered. "By my count,
you've got four separate safes aboard this ship."
"Very amusing," the other said, his voice suddenly stiff. "Don't
worry, I'll test her myself."
"I thought we were running low on time," Frost reminded him.
"Besides, it might be interesting to see what you have stashed away in
there."
"Don't push your luck, Colonel," the other warned, his voice
turning even darker. "Not with
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