receive button.
“Jesse? Yeah, got ’em, but I’m hurt. Car’s a mess. I’m comin’ in.” Petyr tapped the receive button rapidly, then held it down and whacked the phone hard several times on the dash until it fell apart in pieces.
“Maybe—just maybe,” said Petyr, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The little car leapt beneath them.
It was only fifteen minutes to the shuttle-port. They parked in the public garage and Petyr studied the terminal entrances for several minutes before making a move. There were four of them. Petyr sent Trae to the one nearest the garage while he entered two doors down. Trae was terrified, and fought not to show it, but his heart was pounding. The dark suit he wore was common enough, and he didn’t seem to attract any attention. Petyr strolled over to meet him inside by a small fountain around which tables were arranged, and there was a cubicle with vending machines for people to purchase snacks. Petyr bought a sandwich and shared it with Trae at a table. His eyes never stopped moving as he scanned the area, then suddenly—
“There, by the entrance, three men, in coveralls. One’s talking. I bet he has a throat mike.”
Trae saw them. Working men, but not working, and hard looking. One man talked, the other two looked bored. When the one finished talking he said something to the others, and they all left the building without looking back.
“Now!” said Petyr. Trae followed him to the check-in counter. It was still three hours before their scheduled flight. Petyr smiled wonderfully at the woman who greeted them. “Do you have any seats on an earlier flight? If possible, we’d like to squeeze in a meeting before our connection time.”
The woman looked. There were several seats open on a shuttle boarding in fifteen minutes. “You’ll have to hurry,” she said.
They walked leisurely to the hub leading to individual shuttle births, then ran the rest of the way. In minutes they were on board, and the door was closed. They were not sitting together, but were only four rows apart. Trae buried himself in a magazine, waiting for something nasty to happen, but it didn’t. Still, after takeoff, and they were skimming the tops of high clouds, something was bothering him, something left undone. And suddenly, two things popped into his mind as if he’d just heard them.
Evan Reesus. 1793-1624-4 . Trae remembered the first name, and then he knew what had to be done. He unbuckled himself, went to Petyr, leaned over to speak softly to him. Two businessmen, one quite young-looking, discussing something. The older woman seated next to Petyr looked up at Trae and smiled when he spoke.
“We’re going to be early. We have to call Evan and tell him when to meet us.”
Petyr’s eyes glazed over for just an instant, then cleared. “Do you have his number handy?”
“It’s 1793-1624-4. Better call now. Tell him Trae says hi.”
Trae went back to his seat, watched Petyr make the call from the phone mounted on the seat in front of him. He spoke for only seconds, hung up the phone, turned and smiled coyly at Trae.
“Hearing things?” he mouthed.
Not really, but where had it come from? Out of the blue, and yet Petyr had acted immediately on what he’d been told. And now there was the vision of a man’s face in Trae’s mind. It was a cruel-looking face, hawkish, with a beak of a nose, small dark eyes set closely together, and topped with a mound of snow-white hair. A shiver ran along Trae’s spine; he felt fear of the man, but at the same time knew him as an ally. He was a man like Petyr. He was a soldier of The Church. And Trae’s life would soon be in his hands.
Half an hour later they were descending to the spaceport on a high plateau dotted with scrub brush, a hundred miles from the nearest city. The plateau rose in shear sandstone cliffs a thousand feet above a valley of rolling red sand dunes. There were no roads leading to it. The spaceport gleamed in bright
“Jesse? Yeah, got ’em, but I’m hurt. Car’s a mess. I’m comin’ in.” Petyr tapped the receive button rapidly, then held it down and whacked the phone hard several times on the dash until it fell apart in pieces.
“Maybe—just maybe,” said Petyr, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The little car leapt beneath them.
It was only fifteen minutes to the shuttle-port. They parked in the public garage and Petyr studied the terminal entrances for several minutes before making a move. There were four of them. Petyr sent Trae to the one nearest the garage while he entered two doors down. Trae was terrified, and fought not to show it, but his heart was pounding. The dark suit he wore was common enough, and he didn’t seem to attract any attention. Petyr strolled over to meet him inside by a small fountain around which tables were arranged, and there was a cubicle with vending machines for people to purchase snacks. Petyr bought a sandwich and shared it with Trae at a table. His eyes never stopped moving as he scanned the area, then suddenly—
“There, by the entrance, three men, in coveralls. One’s talking. I bet he has a throat mike.”
Trae saw them. Working men, but not working, and hard looking. One man talked, the other two looked bored. When the one finished talking he said something to the others, and they all left the building without looking back.
“Now!” said Petyr. Trae followed him to the check-in counter. It was still three hours before their scheduled flight. Petyr smiled wonderfully at the woman who greeted them. “Do you have any seats on an earlier flight? If possible, we’d like to squeeze in a meeting before our connection time.”
The woman looked. There were several seats open on a shuttle boarding in fifteen minutes. “You’ll have to hurry,” she said.
They walked leisurely to the hub leading to individual shuttle births, then ran the rest of the way. In minutes they were on board, and the door was closed. They were not sitting together, but were only four rows apart. Trae buried himself in a magazine, waiting for something nasty to happen, but it didn’t. Still, after takeoff, and they were skimming the tops of high clouds, something was bothering him, something left undone. And suddenly, two things popped into his mind as if he’d just heard them.
Evan Reesus. 1793-1624-4 . Trae remembered the first name, and then he knew what had to be done. He unbuckled himself, went to Petyr, leaned over to speak softly to him. Two businessmen, one quite young-looking, discussing something. The older woman seated next to Petyr looked up at Trae and smiled when he spoke.
“We’re going to be early. We have to call Evan and tell him when to meet us.”
Petyr’s eyes glazed over for just an instant, then cleared. “Do you have his number handy?”
“It’s 1793-1624-4. Better call now. Tell him Trae says hi.”
Trae went back to his seat, watched Petyr make the call from the phone mounted on the seat in front of him. He spoke for only seconds, hung up the phone, turned and smiled coyly at Trae.
“Hearing things?” he mouthed.
Not really, but where had it come from? Out of the blue, and yet Petyr had acted immediately on what he’d been told. And now there was the vision of a man’s face in Trae’s mind. It was a cruel-looking face, hawkish, with a beak of a nose, small dark eyes set closely together, and topped with a mound of snow-white hair. A shiver ran along Trae’s spine; he felt fear of the man, but at the same time knew him as an ally. He was a man like Petyr. He was a soldier of The Church. And Trae’s life would soon be in his hands.
Half an hour later they were descending to the spaceport on a high plateau dotted with scrub brush, a hundred miles from the nearest city. The plateau rose in shear sandstone cliffs a thousand feet above a valley of rolling red sand dunes. There were no roads leading to it. The spaceport gleamed in bright
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