disintegrated into dust which blew away in the slight breeze.
Safely anonymous and sure no one was following her, Gretchen drove into the city, returned the groundcar to the rental company, and took a bus back to the spaceport. But only when she was safely aboard the Poltergeist did she finally breathe a sigh of relief. Gretchen trotted into the galley--she felt she deserved a shot of something that would burn all the way down--and found Lucia working at one of the tables. A set of slave bands, one shackle for the wrist and one for the ankle, lay open on the table in front of her along with a set of microtools.
"Did you get the frequency?" Lucia asked.
Gretchen set the copycat on the table. "Got a couple hundred of them, along with the tracking files. It's your happy job to figure out which frequency the right one."
"Not a problem." She reached for the copycat with her scarred hands. "It'll take me a couple hours, but it's just tedious, not hard."
"Better you than me." Gretchen stretched. "When does everything go foom at Sunnyass?"
Lucia switched on the copycat. "Two days. Then the real fun begins."
"Your technician said this bug was fixed!" Markovi roared. "What the hell's wrong with your piece-of-shit company?"
Gretchen kept her head down and her cap pulled low as she and Lucia opened the back doors of the van. Ben had already exited from the driver's side. Markovi's face was beet-red beneath blond hair. Joe stood behind his boss, doing his best to loom threateningly and succeeding nicely.
"Don't worry, sir," Ben said placatingly as he shut the van door. It had a Compulink logo emblazoned on it, and the trio of "troubleshooters" all wore blue Compulink jumpsuits, caps, and holo-badges. Ben's little chip had rerouted Markovi's frantic call, allowing the Children to answer Sunnytree's summons in Compulink's place. "We'll track down the problem and fix it right away."
"You goddammed well better!" Markovi snarled. "I've got six dozen hands who can't work because the goddammed sprinkler system keeps spraying goddammed fertilizer every goddammed ten minutes."
"Are your hands all right?" Ben asked. "Raw fertilizer will cause burns after--"
"Don't you think I know that?" Markovi snapped. "My hands are all sitting goddammed idle in their goddammed quarters, and they'll have to stay there until the goddammed problem which your goddammed company said was goddammed fixed. I'm more worried about those cacao trees. They're goddammed delicate, and too much fertilizer will kill them, you understand me? Goddammed kill them. I'll sue Compulink for every goddammed credit you've got!"
Ben nodded, and Gretchen wondered if he was suppressing an urge to punch the man right in the middle of his goddammed face. God only knew Gretchen wanted to do it. Not only did the man enslave children and yell at people, he had permanently ruined her taste for chocolate. The last, in Gretchen's mind, justified capital punishment.
But Ben only made soothing noises at Markovi while Lucia and Gretchen clambered down from the rear of the van and grabbed hold of an enormous crate, also decorated with the Compulink logo. The tool belt around Gretchen's waist made an unfamiliar weight and a heavy flashlight banged against her thigh. She kept her cap low and face down in case anyone recognized her as the original technician, though if that happened, Gretchen would simply claim that she had done the original job to the best of her ability and was now on the team that would unsnarl the problem. It would be a better bet than trying to explain away a disguise if anyone saw through it. Harenn, of course, had wanted to come along the moment Ben intercepted Markovi's frantic call, had even been willing to remove her veil, but Kendi had vetoed the entire idea.
"You're emotionally too close to the entire affair, Harenn," he had said, "and you might not make good decisions--like trying to throttle Markovi again. It'll
Safely anonymous and sure no one was following her, Gretchen drove into the city, returned the groundcar to the rental company, and took a bus back to the spaceport. But only when she was safely aboard the Poltergeist did she finally breathe a sigh of relief. Gretchen trotted into the galley--she felt she deserved a shot of something that would burn all the way down--and found Lucia working at one of the tables. A set of slave bands, one shackle for the wrist and one for the ankle, lay open on the table in front of her along with a set of microtools.
"Did you get the frequency?" Lucia asked.
Gretchen set the copycat on the table. "Got a couple hundred of them, along with the tracking files. It's your happy job to figure out which frequency the right one."
"Not a problem." She reached for the copycat with her scarred hands. "It'll take me a couple hours, but it's just tedious, not hard."
"Better you than me." Gretchen stretched. "When does everything go foom at Sunnyass?"
Lucia switched on the copycat. "Two days. Then the real fun begins."
"Your technician said this bug was fixed!" Markovi roared. "What the hell's wrong with your piece-of-shit company?"
Gretchen kept her head down and her cap pulled low as she and Lucia opened the back doors of the van. Ben had already exited from the driver's side. Markovi's face was beet-red beneath blond hair. Joe stood behind his boss, doing his best to loom threateningly and succeeding nicely.
"Don't worry, sir," Ben said placatingly as he shut the van door. It had a Compulink logo emblazoned on it, and the trio of "troubleshooters" all wore blue Compulink jumpsuits, caps, and holo-badges. Ben's little chip had rerouted Markovi's frantic call, allowing the Children to answer Sunnytree's summons in Compulink's place. "We'll track down the problem and fix it right away."
"You goddammed well better!" Markovi snarled. "I've got six dozen hands who can't work because the goddammed sprinkler system keeps spraying goddammed fertilizer every goddammed ten minutes."
"Are your hands all right?" Ben asked. "Raw fertilizer will cause burns after--"
"Don't you think I know that?" Markovi snapped. "My hands are all sitting goddammed idle in their goddammed quarters, and they'll have to stay there until the goddammed problem which your goddammed company said was goddammed fixed. I'm more worried about those cacao trees. They're goddammed delicate, and too much fertilizer will kill them, you understand me? Goddammed kill them. I'll sue Compulink for every goddammed credit you've got!"
Ben nodded, and Gretchen wondered if he was suppressing an urge to punch the man right in the middle of his goddammed face. God only knew Gretchen wanted to do it. Not only did the man enslave children and yell at people, he had permanently ruined her taste for chocolate. The last, in Gretchen's mind, justified capital punishment.
But Ben only made soothing noises at Markovi while Lucia and Gretchen clambered down from the rear of the van and grabbed hold of an enormous crate, also decorated with the Compulink logo. The tool belt around Gretchen's waist made an unfamiliar weight and a heavy flashlight banged against her thigh. She kept her cap low and face down in case anyone recognized her as the original technician, though if that happened, Gretchen would simply claim that she had done the original job to the best of her ability and was now on the team that would unsnarl the problem. It would be a better bet than trying to explain away a disguise if anyone saw through it. Harenn, of course, had wanted to come along the moment Ben intercepted Markovi's frantic call, had even been willing to remove her veil, but Kendi had vetoed the entire idea.
"You're emotionally too close to the entire affair, Harenn," he had said, "and you might not make good decisions--like trying to throttle Markovi again. It'll
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