David Weber - The Service of the Sword

"You just made yourself very unpopular in this town," he commented.

"Stuff happens," Rachel said, pulling all the way up into the control lanes and then down to avoid a slow section of traffic. "I was getting tired of Prague anyway."

"Oh," he said as she banked through the next intersection, slammed on the brakes and turned into a mostly abandoned multistory garage. "So this isn't the first car chase you've been in, is it?"

"No," she replied, raising the car up a story through an open hole and then spinning it to tuck neatly between a pair of rusted hover-trucks. There was nothing else on the level, but while the position gave a good view of the garage, it was nearly impossible to see the car where it sat. She quickly shut down the counter grav and then looked though the back window.

"And now we go?" he asked. "We're out of sight; we should... leave. Right?"

"Wrong," she said, looking at her watch. Outside the sound of sirens got louder and louder. There seemed to be quite a few of them.

"They'll have picked up the signature of the engine," he pointed out. "They'll be looking all over for it."

"You think?" she asked. She looked at her watch again and then nodded. "Time." In the distance there was a dull boom. A moment later the sirens began to fade. She leaned forward and fiddled with an almost unnoticeable knob under the dashboard then turned the car back on. It no longer throbbed or rattled.

"Your cousin?" Mullins asked dryly.

"He's a very good mechanic," she replied, pulling out from between the trucks and dropping back down through the hole. Turning right she pulled around a stairwell and parked beside a stripped air car. Johnny didn't recognize the model—presumably it was a preinvasion Prague design—but it was pretty and clearly made for speed.

"Give me a hand," she said, leaning down and pulling a lever.

Johnny shook his head as the body of the car lurched slightly then he joined her in lifting it up and away from the chassis.

"I've really got to meet this cousin of yours," he said. The sports car body, like the clunker body, was made of lightweight plastic and dropped onto the "rattle-trap" chassis perfectly. In under thirty seconds a slightly the worse for wear sports car rocketed out of the top of the garage and into the sky.

"My, that was refreshing," Mullins said. "Okay, Rachel, give. Your average stripper doesn't have a military grade, shielded turbine in her car. In fact, on Prague, she doesn't even have a car."

Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I do a few things more for the resistance than I told you. I'm not an agent for them, but I do mule work and also some of what you would call 'tradecraft'; your lecture about putting a mark on a box wasn't the first time I'd heard of that. And I really do have a cousin who does conversions on vehicles; I'm the person who gets them to the resistance. And he does other work, including some sabotage. He's surveilling us and had placed a bomb on a chemical plant. When he saw us blocked in he set it off. Then the police had more important things to do than chase down a hooker who maybe had met one of the suspects they are looking for. And, of course, I'm very good friends with one of the local resistance leaders."

"Very good friends?" he asked.

"Is that all you can ask about?" she asked in exasperation. "If you're going to worry about each of my friends you're going to spend all your time on that subject alone. I've got a lot of friends, okay?"

"Okay," Mullins said with a shrug. "As long as we can get you off planet before your friends can't keep you alive."

"I've reluctantly come to the same conclusion," she said.

"Who is this vehicle registered to?" Mullins asked as a police van swept through an intersection; it's car-comp would have automatically scanned their registration as it passed.

"The local StateSec commander's daughter," Rachel said with a faint smile. "As long as we don't have to go through another block, we're fine."

She pulled into another multistory car-park and placed the car in an out-of-the-way corner.

"They were going to be tracing us as soon as they reviewed the data from the satellite," she continued, getting out of the car. "So we need to get down in the underground again."

If It's Stupid and It Works, It's Not Stupid

Johnny looked at the walls of the fumed wood elevator and shook his head. "Where, exactly, are we going?"

The travel from the abandoned car had been short, which in general was not a good idea. They had exited the car-park in the basement, gone through a few tunnels and then entered the elevator in another basement. This one had been packed with the usual sort of industrial laundry machines found in hotels. But if this was a hotel, it was much more upscale than anything Mullins had previously found on Prague.

"This was the VIP quarters for visiting Legislaturalists," Rachel said. "It's since been taken over by StateSec for pretty much the same use."

"You mean, we're in a StateSec building?" Gonzalvez snapped. "Are you insane, woman?"

"No," she said. "I have an apartment here."

Mullins tensed for a moment then decided to let her live. "Why?"

"Why do you think, Johnny?" she replied as the doors opened. "Let's just say I'm... maintained in it by a local StateSec officer."

"And if he decides to just drop by?" the admiral asked. "We're to hide in the closet, yes?"

"He won't be dropping by," Rachel replied. "He's off-planet at the moment. And everyone knows why he has the apartment, but not for whom, and he's the deputy commander for Prague. So they're not going to be questioning his mistress. Not if they want to stay off of Hades. And if you have a better idea where to hide you, I'm open to suggestions."

There wasn't time for any as the doors opened on the corridor. Rachel stuck her head out then gestured right. A short distance led them to a door that opened at her passkey.

The apartment was large and airy, two story with the main hall rising to the full height with a balcony overlooking it. There was a mural on one wall depicting a pastoral scene along the Prague River and furniture that looked to be mostly Old Earth antiques. A brief tour, conducted by Charles on a careful sweep for any detection equipment, revealed similar luxury throughout including a jacuzzi, a shower area large enough for a platoon of drunken Marines, a sunken bathtub, a collection of "adult novelties" that was practically a store in itself and a shower-massage.

"Why a shower massage?" he asked when he got back to the overstocked kitchen.

"I have to have something for myself," Rachel pointed out. She was making a sandwich which consisted of two pieces of bread, a pile of alfalfa spouts and a half a bottle of hot sauce marked with a skull and crossbones. As soon as it was done she stuffed the entire load in her mouth.

"M g'ung sh'er," she mumbled, then cleared enough space to talk. "Nobody should come to the door. If they do, we're screwed. If there's so much as a knock, alert everyone and head out the window."

"I'll slip some tell-tales out the door," Charles said. He gestured at her open mouth. "Unless you know something I don't, the Peeps don't normally sweep in high microwave range."

"No, that's okay," she said after a moment. "Just don't get caught."

"They're self mobile," Gonzalvez replied.

"Next dibs on the shower," Mullins said, taking a bite of the sandwich. "This is really wimpy hot sauce."

Rachel laughed and gestured around. "Raid as you wish. I'm not planning on coming back and it's less than my pig of a boyfriend deserves." With that she walked out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

"As long as everything's there tomorrow, we're set," Charles said. "Of course, something will go wrong. But I intend to worry about that tomorrow."