"It's the Princess! Herself!"
This was no time for complicated explanations. Berry drew herself up in as dignified a pose as her ridiculous skin-tight clothing permitted. She tried to put the same dignity-what a laugh!-into her voice.
"Yes. It is I."
Victor was getting desperate. Not at whether he could keep stringing along the Masadans-he was now quite confident of doing that, for at least another hour-but at how he was going to explain it all to Kevin Usher afterward.
Assuming he survived, of course.
Well, boss, then I broke another of your rules and made an already too-elaborate scheme still more elaborate by swearing to them that you were part of the conspiracy to overthrow Pritchart. But were hamstrung because you couldn't trust your own security people any longer and that-of course-is why you told me, when I got sent to Erewhon, to keep an eye out for the possibility of hiring Masadans. "Best wet work men in the galaxy," you said to me. "Look how they almost managed to nail that bitch Elizabeth and did manage to nail her tame Prime Minister."
Sure, they swallowed it. What do you expect? It wasn't even their vanity, just…
Dammit, boss, they're CRAZY. They really BELIEVE human affairs are all guided by deep and dark conspiracies. They see two dogs sniffing each other, they see Satan at work. So why shouldn't they believe in a deep and dark conspiracy which-just maybe, and with their backs to the wall-might save their own hides?
Gloomily, he could foresee Usher's sarcasm and ridicule. Still more gloomily, he tried to figure out how to respond to the next question.
"Yes, that makes sense," allowed Hosea Kubler. The leader of the surviving Masadans rubbed his chin. "But let's leave aside, for the moment, the manner in which we'd penetrate President Pritchart's security. First things first. How do you propose to get us free of this situation? As you said yourself, the Mesans won't be enthusiastic about providing us with asylum on Congo."
"To say the least," snorted Victor. "But that's only because they don't want the heat coming down on them. They'd be perfectly happy-delighted, in fact-to let Congo be used as the route through which to pass along an assassination team against Pritchart."
"Why?"
Victor took a deep breath. The way a man will, about to dive off a cliff into what he hopes is deep water.
"Well…" He put on his most ferocious glower. (Which, he had been told, was quite ferocious. And so it seemed, judging from the reaction of the Masadans around him.)
"I'll have to relax security a bit, here. I warn you, though-the slightest lapse on your part…"
The Masadans actually shrank back a little. It was all very odd. Victor had glowered at himself in the mirror, quite often, when he was displeased with his own lapses. But he'd never-alas-noticed himself shrinking back.
"Pritchart's a traitor, but she does have a few principles left. Theisman, now-the admiral who led the rebellion and is the real power today in Haven-his treachery has no bottom. The swine has agreed secretly to form an alliance with Mesa. Turn the whole Republic of Haven into a fertile new territory for Manpower slavery and exploitation. It was when my leader Kevin Usher made that discovery that he realized we could wait no longer-"
I'll never hear the end of this. "Wonderboy" was bad enough. Once Kevin finds out-maybe I could lie-no, not a chance, Ginny'll weasel it out of me, she always does-
The thought of Ginny's sarcasm almost made him shudder. Still, he pressed on fearlessly. Not much else to do, really, once a man has taken the plunge and he's sailing through the air.
God, I hope that water's deep. Really deep.
"-set himself up like a Pharaoh of old, with Manpower's bribes filling his coffers. He'll make Nero look like a saint. Whatever's left of Haven's moral fiber will be gone within a few years, the whole population given over to idleness and debauchery. The Revolution has to be saved before-"
Working their way through the passages wasn't as bad as Thandi had feared. On this, at least, Watanapongse had been wrong. The simple logic of the slaver ship's semi-obsolescent mass jettisoning design precluded complex internal passageways. The slavers couldn't afford to have slaves being driven to their death by poison gases die along the way from simply becoming lost.
So, the passage layout was simple and straightforward. Nor was there any doubt where the slaves themselves were kept. Every corridor was lined with hatches which obviously opened into the slave quarters.
The problem was opening them.
More precisely, the problem was that Thandi had no choice but to do so. She'd have preferred-this had been the plan all along-to bypass the slave quarters altogether. From a purely military standpoint, the slaves would just get in the way. Better to leave them locked down and release them after it was all over. Even then, Thandi hadn't looked forward to handling the chaos which was sure to result.
But now-
"You're sure you can't open it?" Thandi glared at the hatch at the end of one of the passages. That hatch, clearly enough, did not lead to one of the slave chambers. It would, instead, allow them to penetrate closer to the areas of the ship restricted to the crew; and, eventually, to the bridge.
Ruth joined Thandi in glaring at the recalcitrant hatch.
"Can't," she grunted sourly. "There is no electronic control for that hatch, Lieutenant. It must have a purely manual mechanism for opening it-and the mechanism is on the other side."
Ruth's technical expertise didn't extend to metallurgy, and unlike Thandi, she was no Marine. But even she could tell that the hatch was made of battle steel. It would have taken forever to burn through that thing, even if they'd had the proper equipment. Which they didn't.
"This is taking paranoia to new limits," she growled. "Not even warships have purely manual hatches."
Thandi was almost grinding her own teeth, but she snorted in bitter amusement.
"Warships don't worry much about mutiny, Your Highness. Not enough, that's for sure, to do something like this."
"You're right." Ruth shook her head in disgust and closed her mini-computer. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. But there's nothing for it. I don't think we've got any choice except to go through the slave quarters."
Ruth swiveled on her haunches and studied a hatch a few meters down the corridor. That one, unlike the one she and Thandi were squatting before, was of a standard design. Not very heavily built, for one thing. And, more important, with the tell-tale instrument panel not far away which would provide her with access to the locks.
"Weird design," she murmured. "But it all makes sense, in a way. At least, if you can think like a sociopath. They aren't worried about slaves breaking into most of the ship, after all. What can they do"-she nodded toward the manual hatch-"assuming they can't get access to the passages leading to the ship's control areas?"
She glanced up at the ceiling and spotted the vents immediately. "If the slaves do succeed in breaking out, they just get gassed and jettisoned. A big loss of profit, sure, but they really can't threaten the ship itself."
Thandi looked at her watch. "We've already used up an hour and half, most of it spent wandering these passages trying to find one that gives us access to the bridge. We can't delay any longer." She scowled at the hatch leading to the slave quarters. "As you say, 'nothing for it.' We'll have to go through the slave quarters, however much that delays us."
She sighed heavily. "I hadn't counted on this. And who's to say we won't face the same problem there?" She poked a stiff finger at the offending hatch. "Why wouldn't all the hatches leading to the bridge have the same manual-only design?"