Shadowplay

Chapter 1. Fun and games in a transit mall

Shadith, Shadow to her friends, ignored a determined holoa singing its jingee in her ear, flashing its busy images in her face, and glanced at the stretch of plate glass that fronted the shop the loa was trying to entice her into. He's still there.

The canted glass reflected the heavy dark figure of the Transit Guard leaning on a fauxstone wall, half hidden by the leaves of the young willow growing from the squat ceramic tub beside him, flickering in and out of the electric blues, acid greens, and hot pinks of the wandering holoas that drifted like feathers along the walkways and fell in slow spirals down the vast cavern of the atrium, their pitches silent, confined to color, glyph and image until proximity to a warm body triggered their tunes and jingees and whispered enticements. In and out, bare and veiled, the guard was there, always there. Every time he looks at me, his eyes leave prints like dirty hands. Inchling! Stinkard! If I smashed you, slug, the air would turn so foul we'd all die of it. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

Angry and upset, she eeled through a pack of big-eyed Froskans playing etherial patti-cake with a loa singing the praises of a sensaroo for nocturnals, ducked under the lower elbows of a pair of three-meter Bawangs stilling along ignoring with angular dignity noise and color, adhesive loas and intrusive shoppers, picked her way through a family swarm of arachnoid Menaviddans dressed mainly in stiff black hair 'and multiple loops of the shimmering translucent monofilament they were famous for, edged by a Clove' Matriarch with her gaggle of sycophantic attendants and stopped in the middle of a crowd of Nayids, Kakerans and assorted though less spectacular bipeds belonging to the Cousin Races gathered about a troupe of Xhenagoa acrobats moving to the beat of tenor drums and flutes and the pulsing color flows of a szimszim mixmaster, wheeling about and about slowly shifting jugglers contorting their bodies through impossible curves to pass from hand to foot to hand to head in all possible combinations small glass bowls filled with water and bright-colored fish.

For a moment she felt secure, surrounded by, so many beings, veiled from sight by layer on layer of glimmering loan, then his breath was in her hair, his hands were brushing over her body, pushing between her legs. Queasy with loathing, she slid away from him and hurried on. Gods, it's going to take sandblasting to make me feel clean. If he touches me again, I'll vomit on him. What a mess. How do I get myself out of this trap?

The Mall was closed off from the rest of the Transfer Station, access to it tightly controlled. One way in, one way out. She'd already tried to leave, but he was leaning against one of the twisted pillars framing the Gate, thumbs hooked over his weapon belt, the three fingers and a stub on his left hand tapping on the ugly black rod of the popper. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. This was a place of flux and strangers where travelers without local connections or powerful guarantors had no rights, no recourse against Transity Authority actions. She'd passed through here a dozen times at least-not in this body, no, she was a pattern in a node of the RMoahl diadem then, looking out through Aleytys' eyes as the Hunter went undisturbed about her business (no one in his right mind would fool with Hunters Inc)-but she was on her own now; as long as Aleytys was insplitting back to Wolff, she might as well be dead for all the help she'd be. No way to reach her. Anyway, she forgot me the minute she dropped me here. Pregnant and playing the happy homebody. She won't be noticing anything until she starts getting bored. If she'd just stayed a while…

She smiled at the image of Aleytys at her most imperious raising hell all over the Station, then shook her head. Ahlahlah, if I have to yell for help to take care of a shitbag like that, I'm feeble and futile and deserve what I get.

She'd have to stand on her own feet, no options, even Swardheld was out of touch, he was on his way back to Tairanna, visions of rosepearls dancing in his head. Be a year before he returned with cargo and a load of tall tales, him and his crazy crew.

Besides, even if she tried, she couldn't get a message out. The guard wasn't about to let her near a skipcom box. If she made a fuss or fought him, he'd pop her full of comealong and that would be that. She's seen it-oh, yes-sitting in Aleytys' head she'd seen it once, twice, a dozen times: a small flurry starts and is erased before it's more than a flutter in the corner of an eye. What I'd be, oh gods, that's what I would be, a flutter in the corner of a Cousin's eye.

She glanced back at him. Yes, he could do her any time, but he seemed to be enjoying himself too much to end the chase before he had to. Rot and ruin, name me species dumbiensis boneheadis. He's licking me like I was a lollypop. Connoisseur of terror, hunh!

None of the travelers around her would move a finger, claw, tentacle, whatever, to help her. Not even the Spotchallix up for a day's browsing in the duty free shops, it was their place, but not their responsibility. Why should they care? The guards wouldn't attack or harass them, they walked about cocooned in spotchala law-which didn't apply to outsiders. On the ground it would, no doubt, be different; people take a certain pride in the civility of their worlds, but up here no such assumption existed. This was not HOME and there was no need for pride in anything but the glittering surface. And travelers knew better than to interfere in spotchala affairs. They were here for a few hours, they had their own vulnerabilities; with rare exceptions, kind supported kind and let the rest of the zoo take care of itself. She glared at a tetrad of inoffensive Jajes whisper whisper whispering in the shadows, met.softcoal eyes filled with startled reproach and turned away, shamed and annoyed. All right, all right, it's not their fault. It's me. Little red ryderhood all alone. Babymeat. Sar!

She was a slender coltish girl, a kaffolay sprite with hair like an explosion of brown-gold watchsprings. A sixteener body that looked fourteen or younger. An unarmed young girl, her knives, her stunner, her other weapons sealed in her luggage by the Customs Agent.

She watched the guard grin and flip a finger at another of his kind lounging against a beerhall facade. I thought so. He's done this a lot. They know what's going on. If I went to one of those pimping bastards and complained, he'd probably hold me down for him, then take his turn at me.

She shivered with rage. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She felt the Transit Guard coming up behind her again, gritted her teeth and went into a boutique whose holoa has been whispering at her for the past several minutes. A delicate little Ptica-Pteeri in post-fertile plumage came rushing forward with musical twitters and a flutter of pale blue crest-feathers; she stopped in front of Shadith, black eyes bright with practiced pleasure, singing a lovely soaring interrogatory.

"Let me see something for the evening," Shadith said after a moment's thought. "Something simple but ele gant." She presented her credit bracelet, let the pteroid inspect it.

Fluting her pleasure at the request or the credit balance or both, the Ptica-Pteeri led her to a viewing booth.

Shadith sat in polyresponsive pulochair, leg bent, ankle on her knee, fingers on a sensor pad as a holo of her body turned and strutted in one garment after another. She thought fleetingly about asking the pteroid for help; to hide her, to get her out of here, but she didn't bother trying it. She knew better. She'd be turned from the shop before she got three words out. Ejected by 'droid bouncers. The guard was outside the shop, waiting; he knew all that His gloat oozed over her. Much more of his slobber gets on me and sandblasting won't do it. Don't let pride make you stupid, Shadow. Maybe I can handle him, maybe I can't. If he does me, I want to make it cost. I want him dead and I want him to know it's coming.

She called up the service menu, smiled grimly as she saw the option the loa had murmured in her ear. Any garment purchased here could be delivered anywhere in the known universe the purchaser specified, if she was willing to pay the price. Delivery by Register Circuit Drone, security guaranteed; it'd take two months to reach Wolff, but it'd sure's hell get there. The guard couldn't stop the Drone or interfere with it. Even the Head Hoofta of the Guard Service couldn't touch a Drone or its contents. You're one smart little bint, Shadow old girl. Yeaaah.

She scowled at the holo. The image was turning to show the back of a narrow gown, a green and gold sheath of Botareel spider silk. "I'll take this," she said. "Box it and send it by Register Circuit Drone to Wolff for Aleytys of Wolff, Hunter. No other designation required. I wish to enclose a card with a handwritten personal message."

Her image bowed; a tentacle of the Station Kephalos spoke to her through its mouth: "Understood. A Drone is available and has been placed at your service, despina. Do you wish a stylus provided with the card?"

"I have mine. It is permitted?"

"Provide a sample of the ink."

Shadith groped in her shoulderbag, found her stylus and scribbled a line across the test sheet extruded from the slot above the panel.

"Acceptable. The stylus is permitted."

"Time limit?"

"For thirty spotchala zurst, the Drone will be held available for one hour standard."

"Ten minutes will be sufficient. How much?"

"Half zurst."

"Confirm the option. Cost to Wolff?"

"Two thousand zurst."

"Confirm the option. Dispatch the Drone the moment the card is received. I will also require a fax tiket with details of the transaction printed out."

"It will be provided. Time starts… now."

Shadith leaned forward, plucked the card from its slot, laid it on the tray the pulochair extruded for her convenience. She chewed on her lip as she thought over what she wanted to say, then she took up the stylus and wrote, using her birthlangue. She was the last Weaver of Shayalin and she'd died the first time over twenty thousand years ago; Aleytys could read Shallana weave, so could Harskari and Swardheld, but no one else (particularly not the Station Kephalos which had to be recording what she wrote). She laid out her problem, described the guard, finished: If I don't message you from University within a few days after this reaches you, Lee, it means I'm either dead or in deep shit. Come along and raise all kinds of hell in my memory, dear friend. Make this slime sorry he was born.

She slid the card back in its slot, pressed her credit bracelet to the stripper and tore off the fax tiket that arrived half a tick later. She looked at it, smiled. If you get your hands on me, I'll shove this in your face. Read it and know you're a dead man walking.

She slid the tiket into her shoulderbag and left the booth, almost dancing in a triumph that drained from her when she stepped through the portal and saw him standing in her way.

"Buy ya drink, Bait?" He reached for her.

She shied away from him, stumbled into the entourage of the Clovel Matriarch she'd seen on a lower level. Swearing at her stupidity, angry and afraid, she went scurrying off with the guard's laughter and the screeches of the Matriarch ringing in her ears; moving as fast as she could without actually running, she went up and up until she reached the highest level and there was nowhere left to go.

There was a salt taste on her tongue-she'd bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood, acid in her throat and knots in her belly and her head wasn't working. Futile and feeble. Come on, Shadow, get it together. Decorticate the bastard. Eviscerate him. Ahlahlah, grand words, why don't you stop spinning words and DO something?

Not a good idea to go straight at him. He had reach on her, muscle enough to overwhelm her speed. The body she had now was strong for its size, quick and sure; she'd trained it to fight and was satisfied with the results, but there was no way she could face him without some sort of edge.

She looked over her shoulder, he was just standing there, watching her. A sudden attack might do it; get him set up, take him in a rush and flip him over the rail, then run for the Gate. Some hope. And if I had my stunner… even more futile, I can't fight the whole damn guard force…

She pulled her hand nervously across her mouth. That was the real trouble, it wasn't just him, it was the rest of the guard force, the us-against-them bonding of the guards; she'd seen it in their faces as she passed them, sometimes mixed with distaste, sometimes with pleasure, mostly with indifference. She was the outsider, the stranger, the predestined victim. He could play with her, then clean up after himself by tossing what was left of her down the nearest garbage chute and they wouldn't do anything. But if she beat the odds and it was him went down the chute, they'd forget indifference and come for her.

A table with a semi-blanked privacy shield drifted past her, following dozens of others that floated like dandelion fluff in wide slow spirals down and around the immense atrium, in and out of the shimmering holoas, down and down and down until they came to rest for a few minutes in the park below. She'd seen them, but hadn't really noticed them until now; like the loas they were so much a part of the background they were invisible.

With a pot of tea and a pile of lacy honeywafers, the privacy shield tucked tight about her and tension dropping away for a while, she rode her table away from the platform and the guard who stood lounging against the aerie'staurant's facewall, grinning as if he got pleasure from her temporary success in evading him.

It was temporary, she knew, but she was going to enjoy it while she had it. She sipped at the tea and watched the Mall flow past. I've got to take him somewhere out of sight. Where the guards aren't around to notice what happens to him. Hope the Kephalos won't be watching… or the Censors won't lock on the scene before I'm out of here…

She twisted her mouth into a humorless smile. Some chance. Well, Shadow, it's the only chance, might as well grab it…

She rubbed her thumb along her belt: There was one weapon even the Customs scanner hadn't spotted. A garrotte. Menaviddan monfilament. Let her get that around his neck and her knee in his back and it wouldn't matter how strong he was. She'd slice his head off. That's no good unless I can get behind him without him spotting me. Won't be easy, he's creepy but I doubt he's a fool. Some kind of distraction.. what…

A flicker of gray caught her eye. A large rat darted across a stretch of pale sand along a stream cutting through the park below her. A housekeeping bot no larger than her hand speared the rat, scooped up the body and vanished under the trees. She laughed and slapped her hand on the table. "Sheep! Muttonhead! Lardbrain! Distraction nothing, I've got me an army."

She leaned back and sipped at the tea. Her bones felt like they were melting with the relief that swept through her. She had no more doubts. This place was old, old, old, ten centuries at least, there had to be more vermin in the walls than people on the walkways. "My army," she caroled. "My army's going to get you, creep."

As the table swung through the last curl of its down-spiral, she extended her mindride Talent and began teasing together rats and hunting spiders, poison-tailed kapaweys, scavenger d'dabs with teeth capable of reducing bone to paste and whatever else she found roaming that section of the innerways.

When the table settled onto the grass beside the crescent of sand, she took off before the guard had a chance to push away from the tree he was leaning against; she dashed across the park and plunged into the office sector beyond, a place where privacy would be easy to find; the offices were apt to be snoop shielded and what business went on there was done by appointment, with clerk bots left to hold house between visits. She slowed and moved at an easy lope down brightly-lit pastel corridors, past offices and agencies and factory outlets, ignoring the stares of the two or three traders she came on. She could hear the click-clack of the guard's bootheels behind her; he wasn't hurrying, but she could feel his growing triumph; he was preparing himself for the end of the chase.

At intervals along the corridors she passed rectangles set in the walls, hatches meant to let Station engineers into the repairways-where her army was now. She pulled that army with her as she ran, thinking of the moment when the furry horde would pour from a hatch onto him, rats biting, spiders spitting their digestive sprays, kapaweys plunging their poison tails into him, d'dabs gnawing at him and so on; it was an ugly image and she smiled with pleasure at it. All she needed now was a dark and quiet place with a hatch nearby,

She turned a corner, found herself in the middle of a kidnapping. Chapter 2. From one frying pan into another frying pan

Before she had time to react, one of the kidnappers had an arm wrapped around her and a slicer against her temple. "Move and you're dead," he whispered. His breath was hot on her ear, she was pressed hard against him; he wasn't much taller or wider than she was, but she kept thinking of steel traps and sword blades and other hard and lethal things. Lethal, yeh. He wanted to kill her so badly she could smell it like body odor. She went stone still.

In the ensuing silence the sound of the guard's bootheels was shockingly loud. He was strolling along a few turns back, not hurrying but he'd be here in a couple of breaths; she could feel her captor tensing. "Please," she whispered. "He's no friend of mine, get me away from him."

Another of the kidnappers was hunched over the lock on an office Mot% He straightened and stepped back as the door slid open. The two blacksacked captives were shoved inside, the three men controlling them close on their heels. The man holding Shadith pushed her away from him so she could walk, but kept a punishing grip on her arm. She went into the office with him beside her.

The locksmith followed them in, pulled the door shut; unhurried, calm as a rock, he walked to the desk, tilted up the sensor pad and tapped on the snoop-lock. He folded his arms, frowned at her. "You know who that is?" He had a round unmemorable face… no, it was a flesh mask; they all wore flesh masks, good ones, it took the harsh toplight in the office to show her what they were.

This shift had knocked her off-balance, but she wasn't as frightened as she had been; these were professionals, not about to start slaughtering indiscriminately-or raping, gods be blessed-even that psycho with the deathgrip on her arm. Her head was getting addled trying to keep hold of her vermin army, i•was hard to talk or think, so she let them go running off, if she needed them she could always round up another horde.

"Transit Guard," she said; when the grip on her arm tightened yet more, she added hastily, "He's a veal hound with the hots forme. I was trying to get away from him." Tension made her voice husky.

The bossman lifted his hand. Muted by the thickness of the wall she heard the guard moving past the office, his footsteps quicker. He hurried on down the hall.

She shivered, sweat crawled down her neck. "It'd be a good idea to set that lock again; he'll be back to try these doors once he's sure he lost me. And in a rancid mood you better believe."

"Why do you warn us?"

"Because he makes my skin crawl." She licked her lips. "I'd rather your lot than him."

He nodded. She could feel he was pleased with her, a dusty, creaky sort of pleasure. "It locks automatically," he said. "Sit down on the desk here, child. Lute, let go of her arm, please." He waited until she was settled, then went on, "We will stay here until that beast is finished with his explorations. Would he dare use the guard scanner to satisfy his lusts? Is the Authority here so corrupt they allow the gratuitous seduction of children?" Corrupt? Gratuitous seduction? Pedantic prissy kidnapper?

Shadith bit her lip, winced as her teeth hit the cut. "That guard's been harrying me back and forth across the Mall for the past hour under the noses of the other guards; they knew what was going on and didn't give a shit." His eyes went blank at the word, the crazy streak in him popped out like a distended vein, but he didn't say anything. Uh-oh, keep it clean, Shadow.

"Even if it weren't so," she went on, "I'm sure I could think up a dozen good reasons to scan the Station for someone. You could, too, sir, couldn't you?"

"I see. Lute, move the screen there, get ready to open the wall, but do not do it yet. We will wait until the beast leaves the area before we cut through. Child, sit where you are and answer questions when you are asked and keep quiet otherwise. I would rather not feed you comealong and put you with them." He indicated the silent, slumped captives with a quick gesture of a hand like a collection of sticks. "Be calm, we will do you no harm, we do not sully innocence." After that astonishing speech, he crossed to the bright orange chairs arranged in a rigid row along the wall, sat with his hands resting on his meager thighs, his tar-colored eyes shining dully as he contemplated his captives, then turned to Shadith.

"What is your name, child?"

"Shadith, sir."

"And your family, where are they?"

Shadith looked down at her hands; they were trembling. She pressed them together. "All dead."

"I see. Your homeworld?"

"A place called Ibex out back of beyond. You won't have heard of it." She rubbed thumb against thumb, nervously amused by the prevarication; in a way it was the truth, Ibex was where she acquired this body.

He accepted the answer without comment. "Where are you going?"

"University, sir."

"Why?"

"To learn more about music, ancient songs and antique instruments."

Bossman went very still, then he smiled at his second. "My Luck," he said reverently.

Lute lifted the slicer as if he raised a glass to toast the Lady. "Oh yes, sir. What a coup, the Singer landing in your lap."

Shadith swallowed, stroked her throat. The room suddenly stank of craziness. Lute was riding a wave of… something… high as the hips on a Bawang; her mind-ride fluttered with the fervor of his belief in his leader's Luck.

Bossizan clicked his tongue, annoyed at losing her attention. He spoke sharply. "What ship? When does it leave?"

Her fmgers jerked. She dropped her. hand. "One of the Ji freighters. Paepyol Hayyun Ji. They told me the shuttle starts loading sixteen forty-five."

"The guard out there. How did you catch his eye?"

"I didn't do anything. I didn't even look at him." If I could get at you, bastard, I'd rearrange your organs. How dare you imply it was my fault that slime went after me! Cool it, Shadow, you don't know what's going on here. He keeps calling you child. Be one. It couldn't hurt.

"He kept coming up behind me," she said, letting the words rush out as if she weren't taking time to think what she was saying. "And… and touching me. Yukh. It was horrible. I thought if I could just keep away from him until the shuttle was ready, everything would be all right, but he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept pushing me until he chased me down here."

"I see. You have baggage?"

"Yes, sir. I left it at Customs, in a locker. What are you going to do with me?"

"Protect you, child. Now be quiet and let me think." He leaned back, folded his arms across his chest and dosed his eyes.

Shadith ran her tongue back and forth over the cut inside her lip and tried to figure out what she'd got herself into. She couldn't tell much about the prisoners, the blacksacks were cinched in at their waists, covering arms and hands as well as head and torso. They were both male bipeds, leg-to-body ratio about the same, they both wore the sort of trousers most travelers favored, male and female alike, the kind she was wearing, tough wrinkleproof material with a number of zippered pockets. One was a lot broader and taller than the other, but that didn't mean much because she didn't know their ages. She tasted at them with her Talent, but the comealong blocked her; the drug smothered everything individual about them. If Bossman booted her out now, she wouldn't have a clue to the species of the captives, let alone their specific identities.

Bossman Prissyface. He wasn't much taller than her, a meager man, all thin bone and stringy muscle. Firmly in charge of the operation. Deft hand with locks and alarms. She stole a look at him and found it hard to picture him as a prowler. He was a bookkeeper waiting for a bus, a prim, little bookkeeper who was in no hurry to get where he was going. A cool man, but weird. He handled her sudden appearance without a blink, just folded her in and went on. She kept probing at him, using her Talent like a snake's tongue, tasting his reactions to her so she could figure out how to trick him into leaving an opening she could use to get out of this mess. He was opaque as a boulder and seemed about as responsive, but there was something srAry… the way he handled his crew… the way he kept control of them all with so little effort… no feeling in him… at least, none that she could discover, something… Walk on your toes round this one, Shadow, don't jump till you know how long's his reach.

She edged around so she could see the man who jumped her. Lute. Was that his name or short for Lieutenant? Not something you make music from, no indeed. Sleek as a seal and fast? sail he was fast. Could be a heavyworlder, though he wasn't built like the ones she knew. Could be some kind of freak. Good name for him-Freak. He killed for the pleasure of it, she could smell it on him, see it in the wet gleam of his eyes. He was watching her now, doing her over and over in his head. She did NOT touch him with her talent. Yukh! Bossman had him firmly under thumb, thank whatever.

The other three squatting silently and patiently beside the captives, they were obviously mercs, hired for the job and waiting for the boss to get on with it. She touched them, read self-satisfaction and hot pride. Men with reps and fiercely protective of them. Holding themselves higher than the scays and jacks competing with them for jobs. They reeked contentment, which told her they had a leader they liked who did things the way they liked them done.

She glanced at her ringchron. Around an hour before the Ji shuttle started loading. There wasn't all that much time for maneuvering. She sneaked another look at Lute. Not much chance either.

She heard a rattle-and some thumps next office over, then the click-clack of the guard's heels. The door shook in its slot, the latch rattled as he tried it. Get out of here, you creep.

The lock held and he moved on. Bossman sat listening intently until the sounds outside faded. One minute crept past, another. "Go, Lute," he said. "Number One, have your men prepare the Avatars."

Shadith blinked. Avatars?

Lute walked a hand along the back wall like a polypodal measuring worm, then made four swift sweeps of the slicer he'd held against Shadith's head; the cuts were only a few molecules wide, visible if you stuck your nose against the wallboard, otherwise not. He laid the slicer on the desk, gave Shadith a hard look that told her to keep her hands to herself, took twinned suction cups from his shouldertote, set them against the board, slapped the lever down with the heel of his hand and eased the cutaway section from the wall, opening a long narrow hole that exposed the steel lattice of a repairway. He leaned the panel against the desk, collected the slicer, and stood waiting.

While Lute was opening the wall, the mere answering to Number One got to his feet, made a quick hand sign to Two and Three, watched as they shrugged off equipment packs, took out a-g units and leashes. They belted the units to the captives, stretched the men horizontally on the lift fields and whipped the leashes about them, then they got to their feet and stood holding the leash handles, the bagged men floating waist high like oddly shaped balloons.

Bossman rose. "Take them out." He waited until the mercs had tugged the captives through the hole. "Shadith."

"Yes?" Shadith tensed.

"On your feet, child. We are leaving."

She slipped hastily off the desk, stood with her eyes wide and beseeching, her arms stiff at her sides, her hands knotted into fists, playing terrified child with everything in her-and underneath the play trying to convince herself she wasn't as scared as she felt. All right, Shadow, virgin, baby, pull out the stops and hit him hard.

"Let me go, please. I won't say anything. I'll be gone in an hour or so. You saved me from him, I owe you. I promise I won't say anything."

He produced a benign smile with no benignity behind it, not a trace of empathy or sympathy, as if they came from an organ he'd had excised or maybe was born without. He brushed her words away like wind noises or something with even less meaning. "Number One, leash the girl, take her out."

The burly chief merc clipped a leash around Shadith's. waist, slapped her behind and pointed at the opening. Asshole, keep your hands to yourself.

She was fuming as she climbed through and swung over the rail onto the catwalk. What would you do, oinkoid, if I went weeping to Bossman Prissface and said you promised he wouldn't sully poor little virgin me?

She started to giggle, clapped her hand over her mouth, sucked in her cheeks as the giggles threatened to burst out of her; Bossman was coming through and she had a strong feeling he wouldn't approve.

Still fizzing with suppressed giggles she watched Lute back onto the catwalk and pull the cutout section of wallboard into place after him. He wiggled the panel until he was satisfied with the fit, slapped glue patches around the cut, waited until they were set, then tripped the lever on the vacuum cups and caught them as they fell away. He tucked them into his shouldertote and stood waiting.

All desire to laugh drained out of her. It wasn't funny, not funny at all.

Bossman stepped from the shadows. "Go," he said.

Lute nodded, came loping past Shadith, edged by the two mercs and their drifting captives and went off down the catwalk; the meres followed him, towing the floating "Avatars" behind them, the bodies banging against the rails, awkward, unhandy burdens dragging back on them as they ran.

Number One waggled Shadith's leash. "Gee-up," he said.

Gritting her teeth, Shadith started after them, loping over the knitted steel mesh; it rattled and gave a little under their boots, made silence impossible. They didn't seem to mind the noise. No point in yelling for help, that's clear.

Following Lute (who seemed to be sniffing the route from the air itself) they ran without hesitation along the narrow ways, bending low when a walk overhead came zooming down until even Shadith couldn't stand upright, turning corners so acute the mercs with the captives had to rotate the bodies until they were vertical and muscle them into the other walkway. They passed half a hundred crossings, shifted through dozens of direction changes, went down ramps and up ramps, on and on through a dusty gray twilight.

Take away the leash (and she probably could have jerked free if she moved suddenly enough)-and her dismay at the thought of Lute sniffing after her through that murky twilight, beyond whatever restraints Bossman put on him-and she might have darted off down one of those. sideways, counting on speed and agility to keep her loose long enough to find her way back into the Station proper. She didn't try it.

She could sense feral things scrambling through the dark around them; if she wanted to reassemble her horde, she could do it in a gasp and a half. She didn't try it.

At times they ran through ragged veils of old web choked with dust; there were spiders like clots of darkness stirring in the shadows, hating and fearing them, heavy with poison. It wouldn't take much pushing to goad them into an attack. If she extended herself, she-could control hundreds of them, could bring them scuttling along the upper ways and launch them at the men when time and circumstance seemed optimum. She didn't try that either.

Partly it was the Lute who stopped her, the memory of his quickness and strength, his murderous efficiency. Partly, it was the mercs and their weapons. It was also Bossman, precise, pernickety priss. She didn't know what he was armed with or how he might react. And there were other reasons, little things that weighed on the side of a temporary passivity. Bossman's cryptic remark about his Luck when he learned of her interest in music and the trouble he was taking to bring her along suggested she had some value to hint and wouldn't be swatted when he got around to dealing with her. And she was itching to find out what was going on; cat-curious, that's what Aleytys called her when she was especially annoyed at something Shadith had done: you keep sticking your nose in things none of your business, it'll get cut off one of these days.

Shadith wrinkled her nose as she ran. Aleytys is turning positively stodgy. Going conservative on me. How dull. Dull. I'm dull. Duh duh duh dull. Bad as the Vrya who get so bored with living they dive into the nearest sun.

She loathed being dependent on Aleytys and Sward-held, didn't matter they were closer than most blood kin and willing. She wanted to support herself and her ship. Trouble was, a starship was a worse drain on the pocket than a drug habit, what with maintenance, docking fees, fuel, registration-if she wanted to go that route. Free-traders mostly didn't bother with registration-and got their ships confiscated if they stepped on the dignity of some local potenpot, same thing she faced with that creepy guard. No, she wanted her ship Registered out of Helvetia. There was a NAME with clout. There was a name that COST.

They ran on and on; it seemed to her they were going to run forever.

It was Swardheld's idea she go to University for a few years, that would give her body time to mature and bring her contacts she could use whatever she decided to do. He'd worked for several* Departments there and had connections all over the place, people who knew the mechanisms behind the facade. But she couldn't dredge up much enthusiasm for the idea. University made her nervous. She'd never been to school-not on her own. She'd got her education first from her family, then as apprentice to a series of extraordinary masters. As she loped through the darkness, she had very mixed feelings about University, even a touch of gratitude to Bossman Prissface trotting along at the tail of this parade; he was an excuse to put off something she'd rather not have to deal with.

None of which meant she wouldn't jump at the first good chance to escape.

The catwalk widened; the mercs ahead slowed to an easy amble.

She followed them round a sharp corner and stopped.

She was at the back end of a stubby offshoot with a steel door in the far wall. Bossman brushed past her and crouched over the latch as he had over the lock on the office door. In seconds he had it open with no sign he'd triggered any alarms. Hmp. Clever, aren't you, little man.

Through the opening she saw a familiar cicatrice on the far wall of the corridor outside, the heavy round iris of a chute portal. Shuttle berth. Hmm. I was afraid this was where we were going.

Alert, wary, but doing her best to hide both as her situation got shakier by the minute, she followed the bobbing bodies through the door, along a short stretch of wide corridor and through an umbilical chute into a small shuttle.

The mercs took their captives into the back section, a miniature cargo hold, ratcheted them to the floor and shut off the a-g units. Yawning and relaxed, they dropped onto padded wall benches and sat with their legs stretched out, feet propped on the bodies; if they'd shouted it, they couldn't haie made it clearer they considered the job done.

Lute waited in the lock, his eyes on Shadith. Same to you, butcherboy. If you think I'm dumb enough to jump your Bossman, you got ivory between your ears.

Bossman leaned over the console, touched a sensor and dropped a barrier field between them and the mercs, blocking sound and solid objects. He swung the pilot's seat around and lowered himself into it. "Sit down, child." There were three rows of seats on each side of the cabin section, two seats in each row. He pointed to the front row on the left. "There. The inside seat. Lute, bring me her shoulderbag, please."

He took things from the bag one by one, looked them over and dropped anything he found uninteresting to the floor beside the chair. Comb, tissues, a half-empty box of lemon drops, a printed book (Songs of Ancient Elyzie-he flipped through it, dropped it), her stylus, her antique fountain pen that she kept in a plastic wrap because it leaked (he unwrapped it, took it apart, dropped the pieces and the wrapping; she fumed silently, it was her favorite poem-pen), facepaint (when she felt festive, she painted feathers on the hawk outline acid-etched on her cheek), mirror, hair clips, rubberbands, bits of this and that. He flipped through her notebook, read a few pages of her scribbles (notes and observations, lines of poems jotted down as they occurred to her). He set the notebook aside and unsnapped her coinpurse; he inspected each of the coins inside as if he suspected they were small bombs. When he was finished with that, he set the purse on the notebook and opened out another section of the bag. He found the boarding pass for the Paepyol's shuttle, read front and back, dropped it on the floor. "I think it would be best to ignore this booking, we would draw attention by canceling it and gain nothing; if the child does not show up, Ji will mark it and forget it. She could have changed her mind, it happens all the time."

"Yes, sir. Your Luck will smooth it over."

Bossman dipped again, brought up the metal check from the Customs locker. "Now this is different, I think." He touched the timer on, read the display. "Yes. Something less than an hour left before the alarm goes and triggers a Station scan along with a check on MEMORY. That we do not want. Take. this, Lute. Fetch the girl's luggage here." He blanked the display, tossed the check to his second. "Please wait until I have finished with the bag before you leave."

He brought out a letterpak, unsealed it and ran the message. (Shadith was furious at this intrusion, but found Swardheld's voice comforting right then):

//Aslan aid Adlaar/University/Institute of Xenoethnology

Aslan-who gives you this is a friend of mine by name Shadith. She plays a mean harp. Introduce her to all the ancient songs you can dig up and point her to the better teachers, you'll know who once you hear her play. Me, I confess an utter Ignorance. Might as well confess, you say? Hahl All right, I build harps, I don't play the things. Favor for favor, teach. Ask and you will get. I'll be along In a year or so to see how things are going. If you're not off somewhere recording the tweedles of noseflutes or something equally stimulating, perhaps we can find a way to pass sometime. Should you be agreeable to this, leave a message with my housekeep. See you. Swar Quale/Cluale's Nest/Telfferll

Bossman dropped the spent pak on the floor. "Who is this Quale?"

"He's a friend of my guardian. A Freetrader. He hauls and fetches a lot for University."

"I see. A year or so. He does not seem overly concerned about you though he calls you friend."

"He's just being polite, doing me a favor because my guardian asked him to."

"Will this Aslan be expecting you?"

"No." She was running on instinct, there was no time to think out her lies and she couldn't have explained to anyone, even herself, why she said NO rather than YES. "Quale was leaving and the times were wrong for a comcall. The letterpak was instead."

"No message? He asked this Aslan to leave one."

"He doesn't like leaving messages about, he says his business is his business.and he wants to keep it that way.

Too many snoops around reading other people's mail."

"I trust you are not referring to me, child."

Shaddith put a stubborn look on her face and said nothing.

He didn't push it, in fact he seemed pleased with her; she'd guessed right this time, but the need to watch every word, every act was putting knots in her gut.

He felt around the smallest of the compartments and

Jo Clayton found the tiket from the shop, frowned as he read it. "Sent to Aleytys of Wolff, Hunter. How do you come to know her?"

"Aleytys is my guardian and guarantor." Shadith tapped the credit bracelet. "It was her dropped me off here."

He inspected the tiket again. "A personal message enclosed." He smiled. "That was clever of you, child."

"Clever? What do you mean?"

"You understand me very well."

Shadith reknotted her fingers. "All right. I wrote her about the guard who was after me. I was angry, sir. Scared, too. If I couldn't get away from him, I wanted her to come here and erase the slime. She's fond of me and she's very loyal to people she's fond of, she doesn't like people who mess with people she's fond of and those people end up very sorry for themselves if they're still alive to feel sorry."

"Ah yes, child." He was amused at her clumsy threat, but it was no time to get complacent. Just because she'd been sliding her lies past him without being called on it didn't mean that old monster was any kind of fool. He lifted the coinpurse, put the tiket under it, set the purse back with a prim finality that was probably some kind of parable meant for her enlightenment. "Yes, that does make complications which we had better deal with immediately. Shadith, describe the beast, please.".

Shadith wiped her palms on her trousers; she could feel sweat gathering in her hair again and trickling down her neck. "I don't like to think about him."

"Describe him for us now, child, and you won't ever have to think of him again." Riiight, so much for the creep.

She wriggled in the chair, wondering if she were laying it on too thick. It seemed to be working so she stopped worrying for the moment and let the words gush out. "Well, he's a guard. An ordinary guard, not an officer or anything. There's nothing different about his clothes and he's pretty average size, all of them are about the same size, I suppose they have to be to get hired. Dark hair, sort of medium skin, his face is just… oh, just a face face, nothing special about it. Urn… he… he looked kind of… I don't know… kind of soft, doughy, the way some men get when they lie around a lot, there was this wobble over his belt, he wasn't even close to fat, but you could see he might be in a few years. He was… he was thick in the shoulders, front to back and side to side. Long arms, kind of extra long, I think he was maybe ashamed of them because he hooked his thumbs in his belt a lot even when he was walking around. Um… that reminds me, on his left hand he only has three fingers, a thumb and three fingers, I mean. His pointing finger is the one that's gone. That's all I can remember."

"I think that will be sufficient. Lute?"

Lute drew his thumb along the side of his face in an arc that followed the boneline; he smiled, a tight anticipatory gesture of a mouth with the clean curves of a wooden angel despite the muffling of the flesh mask. "It'll do."

"We do not want that beast in a position to give information to the Hunter when she comes looking for her ward, do we, Lute?"

"Certainly not, sir."

"It would be a service to everyone to cleanse the Station of that sink of evil. It would also be well to bear in mind, Lute, that however noble our ends, they are susceptible to misinterpretation. Be quick and be discreet."

"I am always discreet, sir."

36 Jo Clayton

"Of course you are. One minute." He touched off the barrier field. "Number One, go with Lute and bring the child's baggage back. Number Two, take out your neural whip, please, and point it at the girl. Use it if she seems inclined to give trouble."

Shadith let her surprise show, but hoped her dismay was pushed too deep for him to catch; she could swear she'd fooled him tip to top, that he really did see her as a helpless girichild. So what was he doing treating her like some death-and-glory terrorist? That old viper, he double-knots everything. How do you fight someone like that? Wonder how far he'd go if he knew what I really am?

When Lute and the merc were gone, Bossman looked at her then said, "Now now, child, there is nothing for you to worry yourself about. Sit and be patient like the good little girl you are." Blast the man, if he were trying, he couldn't do a better job of provoking me. Gods, maybe he is. Maybe he's been leading me by the nose all this time.

When she touched at him, she read satisfaction like dusty dried flowers. And a general complacency. No. I couldn't be THAT wrong.

She squeezed her hands into fists, then forced them open and stared into her palms. I've got to do something. Transit Authority keeps the gnats away from the condors, this shuttle, it's one of the small ones, Lee's was about the same size, we couldn't be far from where she dropped me off, there was a jit park just around the bend, what bend? who the hell knows? Five minutes to the freighter tikkaboro if I pick the right turn, five minutes to dead if I don't?

She used her thumb to push the ringchron around so she could read it without turning her hand over. Sixteen twenty-five. Twenty minutes. All right, Shadow, let's see what you can finesse.

She lifted her head. "May I… may I have my things, please?"

His little birdclaw hand tap-tapping on the thick, scarred leather of her shoulderbag, Bossman chewed that over. After several minutes of heavy silence, still without saying anything to her, he dropped the bag on the floor, swung round and darked the console, tied it off and slid from the chair. He crossed to the lock, stood where Lute had been. "On your feet, child, but do not move until I tell you."

She stood up, struggling with a sense of futility that came close to despair. To get out of here she'd have to go through him. His hands were empty, his tunic hung smooth and unwrinkled over his skinny body. No sign of a weapon anywhere, but she wouldn't trust that old viper an antiquated inch. With his over-value of his withered hide, he'd be bound to have something nasty to put down threats.

"Go down on your hands and knees," he said. "Yes. That is correct. Now, proceed to the chair. Stop when you get there. Stay on your knees. Do not touch anything."

As she crawled across the gritty stained carpet, she put anger and fear on hold and settled to a grim waiting.

There was no point in regretting lost opportunities-which were most likely illusion anyway. Fly in a spiderweb, the more you struggle, the tighter the strands wrap round you. Wait. Keep your head down. Wait. Your time will come. He hasn't a notion what you are, what you can do. Wait.

"You may begin," he said. "Touch only your own things."

She picked up the bag, turned the flap back, found her comb and dropped it in. Working slowly, deliberately, keeping her movements unmistakably innocent, she collected her belongings and put them in the bag. When she was finished, she sat on her heels and waited.

Bossman contemplated her, his tar eyes gone dull. "Go back to your chair, young Shadith. No. Do not stand, go on your hands and knees. Yes." He waited until she was seated, then took his place at the console, bringing it up again. Over his shoulder, he said, "Number Two, come sit behind the girl, use your whip if she thinks of moving. We will not wait for Lute or Number One, they are taking longer than I am comfortable with. I will send you back with the shuttle later."

Shadith sat with her hands folded, her eyes down. Wait. Nothing ever goes exactly like anyone plans it, not'even his schemes, old monster. There's always a breakdown somewhere. Wait and watch. Your time will come. Be patient. Not like a good little girl, meek and obedient. Never! Like a cat at a mousehole. Wait.