Agents of Rivelt, page 23
“Why do you need to?”
“Because all of us tralt,” Vigard said, “can recognize one another by our mental silence. It helps us find our own kind on the stations. But tralt slaves owned by the Syndicate can identify us, too. Usually, the Riveltian private locators who have their tralt markings removed, also learn to leak thoughts, which makes us less obvious to another tralt.”
Delprin’s lips puffed. “I see. It is part of your disguise.” He leaned back in his chair. “What about releasing thoughts. Do tralt Humans use it for private communication?”
Vigard huffed with a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t call it private among the tralt, but sometimes Tracy and I use it on stations.” Vigard held Delprin’s gaze. “There’s another consideration. Using a TCS that blocks all outflowing mental energy also creates mental silence.”
“Of course.” Delprin frowned, and Tracy sensed his realization. “The bounty hunters I’ll be providing—if they don’t use a TCS, a tralt slave could learn too much, too soon. But if they do use a TCS… Might a slave think they are tralt?”
“Possibly. If they are from one of the races that can produce thought-readers, they must wear a TCS that allows some thought energy to escape.”
“But…doesn’t that defeat its purpose?”
Vigard shook his head. “That’s what thought-leakers always assume, so they only manufacture TCS chips that shield 100 percent. But it’s not true. The partial shields let out about 5 percent of the mental energy. If the person gets close enough, we can catch scraps of it and won’t suspect them of being a thought-reader. But we can’t tell what they are thinking. Maybe get a hint of a strong emotion, but nothing more.
“I didn’t even realize there was an option.”
“Too bad,” Tracy said. “I’ve heard that partial shielding is not as uncomfortable as what you’re wearing.”
Delprin slapped the table. “All this time…even in Visitor Colony…” He expelled a chuffing sound no Human could make.
“Hate that thing, do you?” Vigard asked with a grin.
“I loathe it. Where do I get the partial type?”
“On Rivelt. For the bounty hunters, I recommend chips that can be switched between partial and full shielding.”
“Why?”
“Full shielding is handy if they need to hide both physically and mentally. Also—no matter what TCS chip they have—they must verify that it’s working.”
“Is that a common problem?”
“Rare, but anything can fail. And by the way, if someone doesn’t want to change chips because theirs is more comfortable than most, that’s a strong indicator that it is failing.”
Delprin’s copper curls trembled as he twitched his head. “I was right. I knew we had to have you.” He paused a moment. “How does all this affect your ability to locate a slave? If they use the same tricks you do, can you still find them?”
Vigard tilted his head. “That does make it more difficult. We have pictures of abductees, though sometimes they’re too old. If we can find out which person is on each station, that helps.”
“We’ll prioritize discovering who is on E6,” Delprin said. “What do you do when Syndicate watchers use a TCS?”
“That’s a challenge. At least it’s rare.”
Tracy sensed the surprise that accompanied Delprin’s blank stare. “Don’t you have any surveillance tools to mitigate it?”
She exchanged a look with Vigard then said, “What tool could come close? Are you thinking of STS chips? They only work if both people have a matched chip and make physical contact. The sender must pass the information intentionally.”
“No, though it’s an interesting device, which I learned about here on Rivelt.” Delprin’s lips stretched but didn’t puff this time. “In fact, I was able to identify some of the corrupt police by certain casual touches they were using to activate their STS chips and pass information.” He let his gloating smile fade. “But I had something much simpler in mind. It’s called listening. Possibly not the first thing a thought-reader would think of.”
Tracy grinned at Delprin’s snark. “We do that once in a while.”
“It has a draw-back,” Vigard pointed out. “An agent must be both close and hidden to hear anything of value.”
Delprin finished his tea. “Not if you have the right tools. I’ll get you directional audio amplifiers.” His lips twitched. “On Switurla, we call them pointed ears.”
Tracy smirked and released the image of a spunky elf to Vigard. They laughed together.
Delprin smiled then said, “Is there anything else you need?”
Vigard rested a finger and thumb on his chin. Any moment now, he’d tap his lower lip. “We must give some thought to rescuing uncooperative slaves. We can’t restrain them like criminals, for the watchers will know who they are. Garnot was so terrified, she tried to ruin her own rescue. Prennia had an armed watcher at her side. We won’t be able to simply escort them to the transport like we usually do, and an unconscious person is terribly conspicuous.”
Delprin nodded. “I understand Ben transported you in a cart when you were incapacitated.”
“Yeah.” Vigard huffed the word. “Not one of my favorite moments, but it worked. There’s always the medical gurney trick, though it’s a little obvious. I’d like to collect other agents’ concealment ideas and share the best. Still, it would be far better if we could convince the slaves to cooperate.”
Delprin frowned. “Before they sound the alarm, I assume.”
“Exactly.” Vigard drained the last of his tea. “I’ve used a calming drug before, but always something generic in case I need to use it unexpectedly to neutralize a threat. I’d prefer a drug that shuts down anxiety. Something that specific must be tailored to the race of the slave. Also, easily administered and fast-acting.”
Delprin’s uncertainty reached Tracy, but he said, “I will talk with Barton about that. Anything else?”
Vigard turned to her. “Am I missing anything?”
“Not for now.” She looked toward Delprin. “Sometimes a slave needs a change of clothes before taking them to the transport. That can even be a way of hiding them in plain sight. When we know the stations, we can decide what would blend in best.”
Delprin nodded. “At least that’s a lot easier than designing drugs.”
She considered him for a moment. “I understand that the Switur have not posted a bounty on Dameon.”
She sensed his quickening interest. “I should have mentioned that. The bounty is approved but not posted, since we want no clue to reach Dameon. We’ll inform each pair of agents we send to recover one of his slaves.” Delprin leaned forward. “Are you interested in becoming fully licensed and pursuing him yourself?”
“No!” Vigard snapped the response out over Delprin’s last word.
Both Delprin and Tracy stared at Vigard, who drew a breath and calmed his voice. “Sorry, Tracy. I should have let you answer.” He swung his gaze to Delprin. “Tracy and I are partners. Her adjunct status under my license already covers her, and in any event, she could kill Dameon in self-defense if the need arose.”
Hm. He’d apologized then kept right on answering for her. Uncharacteristic…unless… Tracy ended the pause. “I sincerely hope that need doesn’t arise.”
“Indeed,” Delprin said. “Consider a full license for the future, though. It’s conceivable that we’ll need more tralt agents than we have.” He pushed back from the table and stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you good day.”
Tracy sat still after Delprin left, wondering for the hundredth time what Vigard really thought. Or felt.
He gathered up the used tea things, knocking over one of the cups. The silence seemed to trouble him. “Are you…angry with me? For not letting you answer?”
“Not really.” She studied his face. “Although, it wouldn’t hurt to tell me why you’re set against it.”
Vigard hesitated, his hands overflowing with cups and tea strainers. “Your fighting skills aren’t up to par. Just rudimentary self-defense. I’m not faulting you. With a double college course load, there’s no way you could put in adequate training time. You still need a partner who’ll guard your back.”
That didn’t tell her what she wanted to know. “Is that it?”
“Oh, Tracy, you’re gonna have your degree within a month. Why would you settle for being a bounty hunter when you can be so much more?”
She picked up the tea caddy and pot then took them to the galley.
He followed her. The dishes clattered as he dropped them on the counter and gripped her shoulders. “If Dameon got ahold of you…it would be so much worse than when Joe enslaved you.”
“I know.”
“Please let me be the one to keep you safe for as long as you do this crazy job.”
She let her smile peek out. “I’m really not thinking about switching partners. Especially now.”
He sighed and let her go. “Good.”
Tracy dumped a tea strainer. “What did you think of my dad’s comment? ‘Nothing to do with any existing space station.’”
“I noticed that word, too. Might be better if we don’t speculate.” Vigard put cups in the washer. “Less likely to rise in our thoughts if we ever did face an interrogation—which I won’t let happen. What did you think of Delprin?”
“He surprised me. Rather likable. He even has a sense of humor.”
Vigard chuckled. “Why shouldn’t he?”
“I just expected someone, uh, tougher. The no-nonsense type. I was really surprised by his mental control. Pretty impressive for a thought-leaker.”
“Yeah.” A frown creased Vigard’s brow then deepened. “It was.” A second later he gave his head a quick shake and seemed to notice her again. “Wait a minute. What are you doing helping with this? You came here to study in peace. Get out of the galley.”
Tracy returned to her favorite spot in the lounge, picked up her reader, then stared past it. She still didn’t know. Vigard was concerned for her, yes. Nothing new about that. But was there more to it? If so, would he admit it, even to himself? He had that code. Partners, friends…that was okay, but romantic relationships were strictly off limits. Or so he’d told her when he first agreed to take her on as a partner.
She tapped her reader to turn it on. Figuring out ambassador requirements of alien races was a lot easier than figuring out Vigard. Besides, she wanted to pass this next exam before they set out for E6. That way, she could use the travel time to prepare for her final exam interview.
As Vigard propelled himself into the cockpit, Tracy glanced over her shoulder. Her long black braid followed her movement with the casual grace of zero G. “I have a course plan ready for our approach to E6, if you’d like to verify.”
Not strictly necessary, but they checked one another when possible. “Sure.” Vigard hooked a foot under the empty pilot’s couch and pulled himself into it as he looked over the course projection on the screen. He reached for the console and cycled the display through the time and space sequence. “Looks good. Go ahead and notify the station.”
Tracy set up the communication beam, or rather, told the computer to do so, and sent the course plan to the E6 docking authority. Communicating in hyper lightspeed was a technical challenge, but the computer could manage it. This was a formality anyway. Some stations didn’t even bother to send confirmations.
Vigard pulled up the pictures of Ashlyn Chan, the abducted sixteen-year-old who’d been transported to E6, destined for sale to Dameon. As he studied the images, he murmured, “Ashlyn is such an odd name.”
“I looked it up. It’s an old Irish name,” Tracy said.
How like her. “What’s Irish?”
She raised her brows at him. “It’s a good thing you don’t claim to be from Earth. Ireland is a country in Europe, and it happens to have a high incidence of redheads. So, with that auburn hair, her first name fits her as well as her last.”
“Where is Chan from?”
“China. Please tell me you know those dark almond-shaped eyes derive from eastern Asia.”
He shook his head. “Nope, but I could point out Asia on a holo-sphere of Earth. Be careful you don’t speak of more history than most of the resident Humans know. It could blow your cover story.”
“I do watch that point. We don’t care much about ancestry on Rivelt, but our cousins on Earth do.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Did you look up my name?”
“I did. It doesn’t exist.” She turned her gorgeous eyes on him. “Which didn’t surprise me.”
“I derived it from Vangarde.” He’d never told anyone that. “How about Doran?”
“Turns out, that’s Irish, too. My dad’s lighter skin and long nose do hint at Europe, but thanks to my mom, I’m well-mixed.” She gestured to the image. “Ashlyn looks way more Irish than I do.”
“At least that hair will make her easy to identify.” Vigard stretched. “Once we lay eyes on her, that is. There are docks on almost every level of E6, even the broad upper tier.” He grinned at Tracy. “Wear comfortable shoes, my dear. We may have to walk every corridor more than once.”
“Oh, great. From zero G to hiking. What’s the general layout of—”
An artificial voice blared, “Alert! Course rejected.”
Tracy startled so badly, she lifted off her pilot’s couch. Vigard laughed and grabbed her arm, pulling her down.
Red text flashed across the screen, duplicating the obnoxious message. “Alert! Course rejected. Confirm reception of message and withdraw course.” At least the text gave alternate coordinates for arrival.
Tracy jabbed at buttons to acknowledge and silence the message from E6. “B’geez! Do they have to override at maximum volume?”
“You know what it means, don’t you? We’re coming in too close to another ship’s course. I’d say that justifies a shout.”
“I know,” Tracy snapped. She reactivated the course design program and fed it new arrival coordinates. “I don’t see why they have to burst my eardrums, just ’cause we’re on a collision course.” She darted a sideways glance at him from narrowed eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t jump the first time you heard that.”
Still grinning, he said, “Okay, I won’t.”
When Tracy finished sending the adjusted course, she pressed a hand to her brow and said, “Where were we?”
“Uh…station layout. The lower levels are standard except that the corridor is wider than most. Farther up, businesses surround the core with docks around the exterior. There’s one important feature we can make use of. Deal rooms.”
“What are they?”
“Private rooms scattered between businesses. Nothing fancy, usually a few meters across with table and chairs. Anyone can reserve them through the station’s network computer.”
“Ah. We could use one to get Ashlyn out of sight.”
“Exactly. Her handler might not like it, though. We’ll figure out a distraction and time it just right.”
Tracy nodded. “We’ve got that down to a fine art. Is there any way to see in or out of a deal room without opening the door?”
“No. You could lure Ashlyn into the room then talk with her. Get her ready however seems best. I’ll take care of her handler and send you a coded message when it’s safe to come out.”
“This all sounds easy, doesn’t it? Privacy. Specialized drugs with three delivery mechanisms. Even pointed ears.”
Vigard grinned but said, “I sure hope we don’t have to rely on those amplifiers. They might be useful for general surveillance, but I can’t imagine them being as good as thought-reading.”
Tracy snorted. “Unless two watchers discuss their plans, there would be nothing to hear. When was the last time that happened?”
“We can’t have everything easy, after all.” He pushed off from his couch. “Let’s decide on code words over lunch.”
An hour later, they were in the cockpit again for final approach. Vigard took the navigation controls.
Beside him, Tracy used a secondary screen to get a better view of the space station. “It looks like its growing fungi with all those ships stuck to it.”
A layer of Vigard’s tension evaporated. “Some people call it the barnacle station.”
“Nah, they’re too permanent. Look at all the debris flashes. Just like drifting spores. It’s official. E6 is hereby renamed the fungi station.”
Before he could retort, a high-pitched voice came over the comm system. “This is E6 Dock Authority. What cargo handling facilities do you require?”
Vigard flipped the comm switch. “No cargo, but I may take on passengers.” He tapped buttons as he spoke. “I’m a bounty hunter on a scouting trip. I’m sending you my Switur license credentials.”
After a brief pause, the voice said, “Your credentials are confirmed. If you make a public arrest, please have bounty documentation readily available.”
“Certainly.”
“You may dock at J253.” The display lit with text and a station diagram showing the dock position in brilliant green.
He guided the transport in, while Tracy committed the station’s internal layout to memory. Such a useful asset, that precise memory of hers. Something else he’d be giving up when she left. Not that she’d spoken of leaving, but he would have to make sure she did. It wasn’t just the diplomacy degree she’d nearly completed. She was destined for greater things than she could accomplish with him. He couldn’t hold her back. A nebulous ache surfaced again. He pushed it back down.
Vigard aligned the transport with its dock. The audible proximity signal beeped ever faster. Alignment markers rotated on the screen until they reached perfect overlay. The station’s dock clamps snapped around the hatch collar, sending a familiar jerk and vibration through the hull. Gravity snugged him into his couch. “Here we are,” he murmured, shutting down the navigation controls.
