Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

"Never readier," she lied. She didn't like it. Not at all. It smelled. It reeked.

He went first, rolling through the matched locks and into the unknown. There was a minute's silence before his voice drifted back to her. "All right, Miri."

She gulped air and rolled through, landing on her feet, gun out, in the hallway beyond. Illumination was provided by emergency dims, and gravity was a shade light. The only sound was the hum of the life-support system.

Val Con was moving silently down the hall. She saw with a certain amount of relief that his gun was out, as well. Following him reluctantly, she considered whether it was worthwhile mentioning that there was no one alive on this tub.

Robertson, she asked herself, very earnestly, you psychic?

No, Sarge, she replied.

Good, she approved. Now, get the lead out and cover your partner's butt.

* * *

THE INFORMATION THAT a half-hour's intensive research had provided on the Clutch was clarifying, but not encouraging.

Hostro's lawyer, when appealed to, gave him to understand that the word of a Clutch person in matters of contract was considered wholly binding. In the nine hundred Standards that Terrans had been dealing legally with the Clutch, the Clutch had never broken their word in any matter.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Justin," his lawyer told him comfortably. "The Clutch promises, the Clutch delivers. Never known to be an exception; no one's ever heard one lie . . . ."

Justin Hostro thanked his man of business cordially and cut the connection, turning his attention to the files that the efficient Matthew had so rapidly obtained for him.

There was a great deal of speculation regarding the exact social structure of the Clutch—it was generally felt to be highly complex and extremely competitive. Justin Hostro scanned the data rapidly, searching for he knew not what.

Fact: At one time the warlike Yxtrang had considered the Clutch fair game. There were many documented attacks of Yxtrang upon Clutch vessels as late as eight hundred Standards before.

Then, the attacks ceased. It was observed to be the general rule that, given a Clutch vessel and an Yxtrang chancing across each other in normal space, no incident occurred. The Yxtrang passed on, as did the Clutch.

Justin Hostro had an uneasy feeling that he knew why this was so. And if the Yxtrang were afraid of the Clutch...

He closed the file and sat quite still, his hands folded precisely before him, his eyes regarding the scene just beyond the edge of his desk.

He was still lost in that regard when Matthew announced Edger and Watcher's return.

* * *

THE ONLY PERSON left on the Terran ship was in no condition to be rescued. In fact, Miri thought dispassionately, about the only thing he was in condition for was colander duty. Whoever had shot him had been insanely thorough about it.

Val Con straightened from his examination of the body, shaking his head. "Yxtrang," he said. The word told a wealth of stories, none of them happy.

"How do you know?"

He waved a hand. "They use tiny pellets with fins on them to cut as they enter; their guns are bored for maximum spin . . . ."

She sighed. "Think I'd learn not to ask you these questions." She spun slowly, checking out the storage hold in which they stood. "How'd they get in?"

"Matched speed and latched on." He shrugged. "It would be easy to force a storage hatch, since the mechanism is built not to withstand abuse—"

The ship shuddered with the impact of a locking magnet on the hull, and from the next hold came the anguished groan of machinery being forced against its will.

"Oh, hell," Miri breathed.

Val Con was moving, swinging back toward the hallway. "Go!" he snapped. "Get back to the pod!"

She stared at him. Run? It was no good to run from Yxtrang.

He grabbed her arm, pivoted, and let her go with a push. "Go! Get the hell out of here!"

She ran, sensing him, swift and silent, at her right shoulder, and was absurdly relieved.

Suddenly she realized that Val Con was no longer with her.

Miri braked, cursing, and flattened her back against the wall, trying to see in both directions at once. Two feet downhall was a side corridor. She forced herself to think back: When exactly had he vanished?

It was impossible to know: He had been there, and then he had not. But he'd been gone before she'd passed that intersecting hallway, or so she thought.

From the holding section came the voices of men and the sound of boots against metal floors. Miri bit her lip. If she managed to top the best spurt of speed she'd ever had, she might reach the pod in time to figure out how to seal the latch against them.

Val Con's back there, damn his eyes! she cursed silently.

Miri unglued her back from the wall and moved cautiously down-corridor. She was four or five feet farther from the pod when the first shot was fired. She froze, listening to the sounds of confusion and voices yelling— Terrans! —and heard another sound that he could not have anticipated.

Several pairs of footsteps were still bearing down on her position.

Miri spun and dove for the cross-corridor.

* * *

JUSTIN HOSTRO ROSE and bowed to Edger, then indicated a seat.

The T'carais inclined his head in response and remained on his feet. "The decision I am here for as a simple one," he told the man. "I expect that you will be able to tell me what you have chosen in very few words. It is hardly worth the effort to sit, in such a case."

Hostro bent his own head and cleared his throat. "It is my decision, as an Elder of the Juntavas, to let your kin go with their lives. A message to this effect has been relayed to those I sent to search.

"I should, however, inform you that I am the most minor of Elders of my Clan and cannot, therefore, speak for the more senior Elders. It was their word that set me and my—immediate family—to work on the apprehension of these members of your Clan. The—eldest of our Elders is most anxious to obtain certain information from Miri Robertson, and it is reasonable to expect that such inducements to speech as he would employ would render her unlikely to live long.

"Thus, you should understand that, though I have agreed to let your kin retain their knives, Miri Robertson is still considered an outlaw by the eldest of our Elders. There is a price upon her head—small, should she die in the capturing; larger, should those who trap her be skilled enough to keep her alive. The man who is also your kin is of no importance to the Eldest. But, if he is still with her when she is taken his life will be forfeit."

Edger took several Standard minutes for consideration.

"I understand," he said finally. "It is enough for now that the immediate threat posed by you and your close kin is removed. You will, of course, provide me with the name and planet of the eldest of your Elders, so that we may discuss the matter fully, for all the families of your Clan."

Hostro licked his lips. Ruin. Ruin and most likely death. He looked at that future and considered the other he had been offered; then he took a breath and performed what was perhaps the only act of heroism his life had encompassed.

"Of course," he told Edger. "I would be delighted to provide you with an introduction to the eldest of our Elders."

* * *

THEY'D MANAGED TO cut Val Con off from the corridor. Four were in the ransacked far hold—three Juntavas and himself.

One of the three became a bit ambitious in his aim and acquired a slug in the arm for his presumption, but that sort of thing could not continue long. He had to get out. Soon. Sufficient time had elapsed for Miri to have reached the pod and sealed it, though she could not pilot it—a lapse in her education he intended to rectify the moment current difficulties were resolved.