Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

She frowned and shook her head. "Not since I've known him. Not a baby." She took a breath. "Not to say he wouldn't. Just that he hasn't. I think."

Her gaze sharpened, locking on a movement in the dusk beyond his shoulder. Almost, she sighed.

"Charlie," she said, very quietly. "I like you, which is why I didn't draw on you and why I'm telling you this: There's a man behind you with a gun. He'll kill you, without an instant's hesitation or a moment's remorse, unless you drop that piece now."

He hesitated, weighing the chance of it being a lie, keeping the gun where it was.

She flung out both hands, her face revealing something that looked like fear in the uncertain light.

"C'mon, Charlie!"

He dropped the gun and kicked it to one side.

"That's fine," she said gently. "I'm real sorry, but you're gonna have a headache when you wake up."

The blow clipped him just above the left ear, hard enough to do the job. He carried her face with him into unconsciousness.

* * *

THE SLEEK BROWN car moved with sedate purpose through the streets of Econsey, toward the mainland and the shuttleport. The windows were opaqued so that the vulgar were denied a view of the vehicle's occupants. The emitter broadcast its message to all with the means to read it.

"Wasn't that just a bit harsh?" inquired the man in the seat next to the driver.

"Wasn't which?" she asked, slowing to a stop in obedience to a flashing signal.

"He will kill you, without an instant's hesitation or a moment's remorse . . . ." he quoted flatly.

She glanced at him. He was sitting straight in the comfortable seat, staring out the window. The tension in him puzzled her. She eased the car through the intersection as the light steadied and shrugged her shoulders.

"You have shown that tendency in the past," she said as mildly as possible.

Perhaps he snorted. Or perhaps he only let loose a breath that had been too long held, all at once, and with a vengeance.

"I'll try to rehabilitate myself," he said, and there was no inflection at all in his voice. After a moment, he slid down in the seat, moving his shoulders until he found comfort within the cushions, and closed his eyes. "Don't stop for anything," he told her. "And wake me when we get to the port."

It was her turn to snort, but he did not appear to hear; the rhythm of his breathing told her that he was asleep.

Irritably, she yanked on the wheel, snapping the car from left to right. He rolled bonelessly with the jerk, his breathing unaltered.

"I guess you'll want tea and crumpets when we get there," she muttered. She smoothed the car through another curve and onto the main highway.

* * *

THE BEST PLACE for a roadblock was on the Econsey side of the last bridge to the mainland, and that was exactly where they'd set it up. Miri sighed and let the car slow fractionally.

"Hey, sleeping beauty."

He eased to a sitting position, in no hurry about it.

"Roadblock," she told him, stating the obvious.

"Maintain your speed."

She slanted a glance at his face. He didn't look crazy. But, then, he never did. Well, what the hell. She kept the car on course and steady.

The roadblock loomed closer, lights flashing, and she could make out the expressions on the faces of the people lining the roadway before them.

Then something very strange happened. The 'block began to move clear of the road and the guard fell back, holstering their pieces or bringing them to rest.

Miri took a deep breath, meticulously keeping the pace.

The roadblock lumbered clear a bare moment before impact. Miri let her breath out in rationed units as the brown car continued its stately progress across the bridge and onto the mainland.

"Tough Guy?"

"Yes?" He was settling back into the seat, no doubt arranging himself for another nap.

"Why'd they do that?"

"Possibly they judged an interplanetary incident too high a price to pay for stopping and searching the Yxtrang ambassador's private vehicle." He yawned.

"Oh." She was silent for a short time, digesting his words. "I don't want to pry into your private life or anything, but you didn't by any chance steal this car from the Yxtrang, did you?"

"To the best of my knowledge, the Yxtrang delegation for this sector is presently on Omenski."

"Good place for them," she agreed. "Hope they fall in love with the place and never leave." She made a left-hand turn into a wide thoroughfare and then the tower light from the shuttleport was directly before them.

"Sorry I'm so dense," she said, "but I didn't have a nap. What made the cops think we were the Yxtrang ambassador?"

"The emitter says we are." He shook his head and sat up straighter in his seat. "I'm afraid I must have read the wrong code out of the manual at the rental office. It was really very hard to read—grainy and flickering. One of the connectors loose, I should think."

She looked at him. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, I guess."

He turned to face her, eyes wide. "How could I have?"

"Never mind, I don't think I really want to know."

The port was less than a half-block distant now and she was beginning to feel loose for the first time since she and Murph had started their negotiations.

We just might pull it—

"Oh, damn." She swung the car—easily, easily—into a side street, moved to the end, and turned into a wider avenue, heading away from the tower light.

"Did you see what I thought I saw?"

He nodded. "Yes. Checking people as they go in. I'm afraid neither of us can pass for Yxtrang at any distance."

"Funny, the things you live to regret." She took a breath. "Now what?"

There was a pause, which she was inclined to think was bad news.

"Let's get a bit closer to the port and leave the car. If we can mix with a group going through, we might have a chance to confuse things and get by."

She laughed and made a left; shortly thereafter a right turn headed them back to the port.

"No plan, but, sister, do we got guts!" She pulled to the curb and killed the power, grinning. "Okay, let's go crash the gate."

Chapter Fourteen

THE SITUATION LOOKED even worse from the street than it had from the car. Even granting the two of them awesome powers of mayhem and confusion, Miri was ninety-five percent certain that they wouldn't be able to fade through the checkpoint. She didn't bother to ask her companion for the official figures.

Nor did he offer them, just stood at her shoulder in the pool of shadow they'd chosen as their observation point and silently watched the procedure.

After a time, she felt him shift next to her. "Let us get a drink."

She turned her head, but it was impossible to see his face in the inkblot they occupied. "Sounds like the most useful thing we can do," she agreed. "Maybe two or three. Then we can come back and try to bull on through. Won't hurt so much when we get perforated."

She heard the shadow of his laugh as he moved out onto the sidewalk. "No faith, Miri."

"None," she said, catching up. "My folks weren't real religious, either. Are we really gonna take a kynak break with the cops and the Juntavas within eight seconds in every direction?"

He turned down a slender alleyway at the far end of which multicolored neons promised cheap warmth and noise.

"Why not?" he asked.

Or, she translated, do you have a better idea?

She didn't, so she followed.

* * *

THE THIRD BAR was noisiest, full nearly to overflowing with men and women in leathers and other work clothes. It was the perfect place for them to hide, though there seemed barely enough room to accommodate two more bodies, no matter how small.

Val Con hesitated at the door, weighing the scene, while Miri stood at his shoulder, watching the crowd absently. She stiffened suddenly and he snapped his eyes to her face, looking for a clue to the trouble.