Steven Harper - Trickster

Eventually, Mallory entered another clothing store, this one specializing in leather goods. The fine smell of suede wafted over Harenn, who pretended interest in a pair of boots while never once taking her eyes off Mallory.

Mallory looked at a leather coat, several belts, and a red leather corset before slipping a pair of gloves into her bags and striding nonchalantly toward the door. Again, no one raised a fuss as she exited. Harenn stayed right behind her, and a few minutes later got to see Mallory lift a small case of makeup in another department store.

Harenn's mind raced, examining possibilities and discarding them one by one until she settled on something she thought might work. She tapped her earpiece and called Ben.

"I know how to get Mallory's key," she reported. "But you must move quickly. Listen… "

Rafille Mallory emerged from the bookstore barely restraining a smug smile. Two bookdisks, recently liberated from their shelves, nestled in her jacket pocket. A touch of excitement thrilled through her. All day she had been lifting various objects from different stores and not once had she been caught. She had even paused in one store to chat with a security guard who remained completely unaware that Rafille was carrying several hundred chits worth of liberated goods. The idiot.

The sense of excitement continued, and Rafille allowed herself to grin for a moment. She needed this. Her job was deadly dull-overseeing security for a bunch of captured slaves was no big deal, occupying only a small part of her attention every day. There was no challenge there, not when Roon's indoctrination program was operating fully on schedule. Eventually, the Silent drones wouldn't want to leave, would believe that their true place in the universe was in Roon's little enclave. She didn't know if the Alphas believed Roon's claim about being able to enter the Dream without drugs. She didn't much care, actually. People were so gullible, so willing to believe in miracles, it had apparently never occurred to any of them to question what he said. Roon wasn't even Silent, and how would they react to that?

Rafille checked her pocket. The jammer was still there. Now that had been a challenge, coming up with a device that would temporarily disrupt from a distance the AI programs that watched the stores. A part of her felt like she was cheating, but she still had to avoid the store security guards, both the ones in uniform and the ones in plain clothes. And it was almost impossible to beat the AI programs. Rafille wanted a challenge, but she wasn't stupid about it.

She checked her ocular implant. Time to go home. Her feet were tired, and the packages were growing heavy. She was just turning away from the bookstore when heavy hands landed on her shoulders from behind.

"Excuse us, ma'am," said an unfamiliar male voice, "but I'm afraid we need to talk."

Rafille's heart wrenched inside her chest. She wrenched her head around and stared at a man and a woman, both dressed in simple suits. The man was tall and thin, with dark skin. His companion was only slightly shorter, with blond hair and bland features. Each of them had a hand on her shoulders.

"What's this all about?" she gasped, though she was dread certain she already knew.

The man flashed an identification holo. "Security, ma'am. You'll have to come with us now."

"But I didn't do anything," Rafille spluttered. Her heart was now beating fair to shake her blouse, and the bookdisks felt very heavy and conspicuous in her pocket.

"I don't think we should discuss that here, ma'am," the woman said. "If you'll please come with us?"

They had her dead to rights. A hundred different scenarios flashed through her head. She could make a break for it. She could throw the packages into their faces and then make a break for it. She could pretend to faint. She could hit the man with her fist and punch the woman in the stomach. Rafille discarded all of these possibilities. Both man and woman were clearly far more athletic than she was, and Rafille doubted she would get ten meters before they caught up with her. As if reading her thoughts, the man tightened his grip on her shoulder enough to make her wince, a subtle indicator of his strength. Rafille's mouth went dry. She was in deep, deep trouble. If Roon found out she had been arrested, Rafille would land in the job pool so fast, she might well have traveled there through slipspace. She would lose her luxury apartment and almost everything she owned. Her daughter would have to drop out of college.

The security people steered Rafille toward an empty store. The front windows were obscured by blank beige screens and a sign read, Coming soon: another fine store! The blond woman pushed open the door and the man guided Rafille firmly into the space beyond.

Inside was a great, empty space. The floor was simple gray tile. A few empty clothing racks made a tangled metal jumble, and a sales counter sat off to one side. A line of closed doors marched along the back wall, and Rafille assumed they were fitting rooms. The place smelled of stale air and dust.

"What's going on?" Rafille demanded, deciding to play the role of indignant innocent. Perhaps she could brazen it out. "What is this place?"

"It's where we take shoplifters for… debriefing," the man said, and held up a small computer disk. "We caught you on camera. Would you like to see it?"

"But that's… I mean, there's no way you could have… how did… "

Without a word, the man produced a datapad from his pocket and slotted in the disk. A holographic display popped up. Rafille watched herself in miniature as she palmed the silver cat key ring. Her heart plummeted into her shoes and her hands began to shake.

"Pretty conclusive," the man said. "Would you like to see the rest?"

"No," Rafille whispered. "Oh god."

The man pulled a large card from his jacket pocket. "Please give me your hands, ma'am. I need your prints."

They were treating her like a criminal? A common thief? Rafille couldn't believe it, even when the man rolled her fingers carefully across the card. They left black prints in their wake, though her hands remained clean.

"Detective Dell here is going to search you now," the man said next. "Hold your arms out to your sides, please."

Rafille numbly obeyed. Detective Dell's search was quick and thorough. It produced the silver key ring, the bookdisks, the leather gloves, two bottles of perfume, a scarf, and the AI disruptor. Dell laid the objects out on the counter in an accusatory row. Rafille didn't respond until she felt Dell's fingers open the little pouch on her belt, the one that contained her computer key. Rafille's hand shot down and grabbed Dell's wrist.

"There's nothing of importance in there," she snapped.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to look," Dell said neutrally.

"Please remove your hand from my partner's wrist, ma'am," the man said, "or I will remove it for you."

"The key in that pouch is classified property of Silent Acquisitions," Rafille said, obeying with reluctance. "If you tamper with it-"

"I'll set it on the counter, ma'am," Dell said, and did so. "No one will touch it."

"Look at me, ma'am," the man said, and Rafille did so. "My name is Detective Melthine. Who are you, please?"

"Rafille Mallory," she whispered.

"Ms. Mallory, do you have receipts for any of these items?"

Rafille didn't answer.

"I'll take that as a 'no.' " Melthine passed a hand wearily over his face. His eyes were a liquid brown. "I'm going to go through the rest of your packages, Ms. Mallory. What will I find there?"

"I think I should call my corporate representative," she said.

"You certainly may, ma'am," Melthine told her, "though you aren't under arrest. Yet."

"Please," she said. "Please, I have the money to pay for all this. I can pay."