Timothy Zahn - The Green And The Gray

But Sylvia said nothing as Caroline turned off the engine. They climbed out of the truck, and walked across the lot and into the diner.

Inside, the place was exactly what Caroline had expected: a reasonably modern restaurant disguised as a nostalgic relic of the fifties. A sign said to seat themselves, and Caroline led the way past the other two occupied tables to one of the booths in the back. Sylvia took the far side, the seat that gave her a view of the rest of the diner, as Caroline slipped into the one facing her. The aromas made her empty stomach growl impatiently.

"I presume you read English," Caroline said, pulling a pair of menus from the clip at the end of the table and handing Sylvia one.

"Perfectly," Sylvia said, a little frostily, as she took the menu and opened it. "I've just never been in a restaurant before."

"Really?" Caroline asked. "Not even one of the Green restaurants?"

Sylvia shook her head. "I've only been to the city a few times." She gestured to the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"What did you have at Aleksander's?" Caroline asked, glancing down the menu. "Roger said you were sitting down to eat when he got there."

"I've had lamb, fish, rice, various vegetables, and bread," Sylvia told her. "I suppose I should use this opportunity to extend myself."

"In that case, you should probably go with either a steak, cheeseburger, or fried chicken," Caroline suggested. "Steaks tend to be iffy in places like this—sometimes very good, sometimes really bad.

But either of the other two should be fine."

"What are you having?"

"The cheeseburger and a side salad," Caroline said, closing her menu. "And a chocolate malt."

"Very well," Sylvia said, giving a curt and very military looking nod. "The chicken, then. Where do we go to get the food?"

"The server will bring it," Caroline said. "We just tell her what we want, and she'll go back to the kitchen and tell the cook."

"I see," Sylvia said. "Like eating at someone's homestead, except that there are choices?"

"Something like that," Caroline said. "We pay at the end, too. I'll handle that part."

"Yes," Sylvia murmured. "Will you handle the food requests, as well?"

"Certainly, if you'd like." Caroline half-turned, hoping to catch the waitress's eye.

And froze. At the far end of the diner, strolling in through the doorway, were a pair of state police officers.

Carefully, trying to keep her movements casual, she turned back around. Sylvia was watching her, her jaw tight, a warning glint in her eyes. Caroline gave her a microscopic nod of reassurance in return.

There was the sound of bustling feet behind her. "Evening, ladies," a plump woman in a white apron said cheerfully as she set glasses of water in front of them. "Getting a bit brisk out there, isn't it? Do you need another minute?"

"No, we're ready," Caroline said, opening her menu again and reading off their order as the woman scribbled onto a pad. "—and one chocolate malt," she finished. "Unless you'd like one, too, Mom?" she added, lifting her eyebrows questioningly at Sylvia.

The older woman didn't even twitch. "Yes, I think I would," she said.

Caroline nodded. "Make that two."

"You got it," the waitress said, making one final notation and finishing off with a flourish. "I'll put this in and get started on your malts." With a smile, she bustled off.

" 'Mom'?" Sylvia asked dryly.

"I thought it might make things simpler," Caroline told her, replacing the menus in their clip. "A

woman and her mother out for an evening together are automatically above suspicion."

"I'll take your word for it," Sylvia said. "You know your people better than—"

She broke off, her gaze slicing through the air over Caroline's shoulder. Caroline started to turn around—

"Evening, ladies," an authoritative male voice said. "You two own that red Ford pickup out there?"

Steeling herself, Caroline put on her real estate agent's poker face and finished the turn she'd started.

One of the two state troopers was standing over her, one hand casually on his hip. "Yes," she confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

"I noticed kind of a smell around it on our way in," the cop said. "Are your emissions tests up to date?"

Caroline flashed a look at Sylvia—"Of course they are," the older woman said calmly. "The papers are in the glove box."

"Would you mind showing them to me?" the cop asked.

"Not at all." Sylvia looked at Caroline. "Would you get them for him, please?"

It took Caroline a second to find her voice. "Sure," she managed. Untangling her feet from the table supports, she slid out of the booth. With the cop at her side, she started down the diner toward the door, her mind suddenly spinning at top speed.

Because this might be her best chance to get away. Maybe her only chance, in fact. These troopers would have no connection to any of the local police departments that the Greens might have subtly poisoned or subverted over the years. Once she was outside with them, she could identify herself as a kidnap victim and ask for help. They'd have to take her seriously, at least enough to get her out of here while they made further inquiries. They could be gone before Sylvia and her Shriek could even make it to the door.

Sylvia.

Caroline's lip twisted, the sudden mixture of uncertainly and hope dying quietly within her. Sylvia was a Group Commander, with presumably some of the same tactical Gift Nikolos himself possessed. She would hardly have suggested Caroline go outside alone unless there was a backup plan already in place.

The cop pushed open the diner door for her, and Caroline stepped out into the cold night air. No, she and the cop weren't alone out here. Whether Sylvia had somehow set this up herself, or whether she'd just taken the opportunity when it presented itself, this was surely a test.

And with a chill in her heart, Caroline realized that if she flunked, that would be the end of it. Sylvia would probably never speak to her again, at least not on anything except official Warrior business.

She would never allow Caroline off the Green estate again for a meal like this, either, and she would most certainly never join her.

And she would continue to consider humans as lesser beings not worth a second thought as she prepared for war.

They crossed the lot to the pickup, and Caroline unlocked the passenger side. "I'm not sure exactly where she keeps it," she told the cop, reaching into the glove box and pulling out a small travel folder. "Let's see..."

"Here," the cop offered helpfully, pulling out a flashlight and shining it on the papers.

The emissions certificate was the third one down. "Here it is," she said, sliding it out and holding it up for his inspection.

"Thanks," the cop said, nodding. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother," Caroline assured him, putting everything back and closing the truck door again. "This old thing does get pretty pungent sometimes."

The other cop met them halfway back to the diner, holding two carryout cups of coffee. "You ready, Carl?" he asked.

"Yeah," the cop said, stopping and taking one of the cups. "Have a good evening, ma'am."

With that, they headed toward their squad car. "You, too," Caroline murmured after them. Shivering once, she glanced at the row of silent trees lining the parking lot and went back inside.

The malts had been delivered in her absence, and Sylvia was sipping thoughtfully at hers through a straw. "Did you find the certificate he needed?" she asked as Caroline rejoined her in the booth.

"Yes," Caroline assured her, unwrapping her straw. "It all seems to be in order."

"Good." Sylvia gestured to her glass. "Interesting drink, this."

"It's very popular among my people," Caroline said, taking a sip. It was rich and thick, as only a homemade malt could be. "You were taking something of a chance there, weren't you?" she added casually.