Dragon and Judge

CHAPTER 9

Taneem had changed a great deal in the past couple of weeks, in many ways, as if having awakened from a long dream. Her former life on Rho Scorvi was like a vague and distant memory. There had been little to do back there beneath the edges of the great forest except hunt for berries and grubs and small animals, or to perform the little dances the Erassvas had taught them, or to sleep against her host's large, soft body.

Sometimes there had been a little more excitement. A small predator might arrive and need to be driven off, or a low-flying bird could be snatched from midair and eaten. But for the most part, life there had been slow and lazy, comfortable and rather boring.

Still, she was quite sure it hadn't been nearly as boring as this.

Alison wouldn't let her get very far away, for one thing. That was reasonable, Taneem supposed, since they didn't know when any of the bad people aboard might decide to come into their room. But it meant she had to either rest on Alison's skin or else follow the girl around like a baby linzling.

Alison didn't talk to her very much either. Partly, again, that was because she didn't want anyone suddenly opening the door to hear her talking to a room that was supposed to be empty. Taneem could understand that, too. But mostly it was because Alison was spending most of her time with her pack of tools and with the pieces of paper from the bag she'd brought from the safe on Semaline.

Sometimes Taneem tried looking over Alison's shoulder as she studied the papers. But most of the written ones were in a type of writing Draycos hadn't yet taught her, while the pictures were of places and people of which she had no knowledge.

It didn't seem as if Alison understood much of it, either. All she ever did was scowl at the notes and pictures or lay them out on different parts of the room's low table. Sometimes she gathered them all together again and sorted them out into a different order.

It was on the fifth night of their journey when the routine suddenly changed.

Alison had been asleep for nearly two hours, and Taneem was dozing lightly against her skin, when across the room the door quietly slid open.

Instantly Taneem went still, as Draycos and Jack and Alison had all warned her to do whenever others were around. The blankets were pulled up around Alison's chin, blocking any chance for Taneem to see what was happening.

But she could hear just fine . . . and as Alison's slow breathing continued unchanged she heard two of the bad people go across the room to the table. There was a soft shuffling of papers, and then they went back to the door again. It closed behind them, and they were gone.

Taneem counted slowly to twenty the way Draycos had taught her. Then, she eased herself off Alison's skin and slid out from beneath the blankets onto the floor at the side of the bed.

The bad people were gone. So were all the papers Alison had been studying.

Taneem's first impulse was to wake the girl and tell her the bad news. But she knew that wouldn't do any good. Early on in the trip Alison had discovered that the room's door was locked from the outside, and now that the bad people were gone there was no way for her to chase after them.

She should have awakened Alison as soon as they had come in, she realized glumly. Now, the papers were gone, with no way to get them back.

At least, no way for Alison to do it.

Taneem tilted her long neck to look up. Along the wall just below the ceiling was a rectangular grille covering an opening through which cool, fresh air flowed into the room. Alison had said the opening was part of a whole series of passages called ducts. Once, a couple of days ago, Taneem had jumped up and hooked her front claws in the grille, hanging there looking in until Alison had noticed and told her to get off.

The duct had been dark, but Taneem was positive she could fit in there just fine. If she could find where the men had taken the papers, maybe she could get them back.

And best of all, inside all those ducts no one would see her. She could do this without breaking any of Alison's rules.

The first task was to remove the grille. Fortunately, she had noticed while she was hanging there that time that the plate was held by four connecting devices called bolts, one in each corner.

An easy leap upward, and she had deftly sheared off the heads of two of the bolts with her front claws. On the second leap, she took off the heads of the other two, catching the grille between her jaws as it fell.

She dropped back to the deck, making sure the grille didn't bump against the floor. It was heavier than she'd expected, and now that she had it off she could see the flat panels fastened to its back. Devices to heat or cool the incoming air, she guessed, remembering 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 me."

"Warfare is luck, Mr. Neverlin," Frost countered in the same tone. "And ours, I think, has just improved a little."

Taneem felt another shiver run up her back. Mr. Neverlin, the man Jack and Draycos had told her about. No wonder his voice had chilled her the way it had.

"We'll see, Colonel," Mr. Neverlin said softly. "Just remember that it's our luck, not just yours."

"You just make sure Patri Chookoock understands that," Frost retorted. "I'll see you in four days." He leaned over to the desk and touched a switch.

Some of the desk's lights went out. For a moment Frost just sat there, glaring at the far wall. Then, with a snort, he gathered Alison's papers together from the desktop and put them back in the bag. With the bag dangling from his hand, he stood up and strode from the room.

Taneem lay where she was, trying to decide what to do. She could continue on through the ducts and try to track Frost back to his own room. Maybe she would have an opportunity there to get the bag back.

But Frost had talked about giving Alison more safes to open. If he went straight there, she would have no warning of this new test. No, Taneem had better return at once.

Turning around in the narrow space proved harder than she'd expected. After a few failed attempts she hit on the plan of going to the next duct, turning into it, backing up, then turning again into her original duct. Taking care to move silently, she headed back.

She had gone perhaps half of the distance when she suddenly realized that the scents coming from the grille directly ahead weren't ones she'd smelled before.

She moved up to the grille and peered through. Beyond was some kind of food preparation room, with neat rows of cookware and large and gleaming rectangular boxes. From two of the boxes were wafting aromas similar to those of their morning breakfast bread.

Backing up a step, she turned her neck around to look behind her. The last intersection she could see looked familiar, but it clearly wasn't. Somehow, amid all the ducts and cross-ducts and grilles and risers, she had taken a wrong turn.

She was lost. Completely and thoroughly lost.