"Uh-oh," Alison muttered.
Jack snapped his attention back. "What?"
"Trouble," she said, nodding toward a rather decrepit-looking light freighter off to the left. A half-dozen men in business suits were visible nearby, walking around it or standing idly near the entry hatch.
"They don't look like mercenaries to me," Jack said.
"They're not," Alison said. "It's still trouble."
She drove past the turnoff, and Jack half-turned to peer out the back window. The loitering men didn't seem to have noticed them. One of them shifted position slightly, bringing his face more fully into the glow of one of the port's lights—
"Did they spot us?" Alison asked.
Jack found his voice. "Doesn't look like it," he said, forcing his voice to stay casual. "I hope you have a backup plan."
"I do, but not on this planet," Alison said grimly. "I don't suppose I could talk you into giving me a lift."
Jack hesitated. Even if Draycos's existence wasn't exactly a secret anymore, they still didn't want to broadcast the news to the whole Orion Arm. Besides that, he'd taken great pains for over a year now to keep Uncle Virgil's death a secret. And that one hadn't yet leaked out at all. Having a stranger aboard for even a few days would be begging for trouble.
But on the other hand . . . "Where exactly did you have in mind?" he asked.
"It's a planet called Rho Scorvi," she said. "Ever hear of it?"
"I don't think so," Jack said, searching his memory. "Does it have a real name?"
"The natives probably have their own name for it, but no one else does," she said. "It's about eighty light-years past Immabwi."
Jack grimaced. Immabwi was off toward the southern edge of the Orion Arm, not exactly in the mainstream of civilization. It was going to cost either a lot of time or a lot of fuel to get there. And he and Draycos didn't have any extra time to spare. "You sure I can't just fly you twice around the galaxy?"
"That's the nearest place where I know I can find some friendly transport," she said stiffly. "If it's going to upset your delicate schedule, forget it."
"Don't get huffy," he said. "I just hope you've got enough cash to get us there, that's all."
"Don't worry; I've got plenty of fueling credits," she said, patting her jacket pocket. "Always carry them with me, just in case."
"That's handy," Jack said. "Rich uncle?"
"Careless travelers."
Jack made a face. And here he was, trying hard to stop stealing from people. "So how come the guys back there are after you?"
"I never said they were after me," she said. "That ship belongs to some other friends—I've just been hitching a ride. They must be after them."
"Fine" Jack said. "So why are they after them?"
"How should I know?" Alison retorted. "Can we just get out of here? Whoa."
"What?" Jack asked, twisting around to look over his shoulder.
"Is that your ship?" Alison asked, pointing ahead. "Oh," Jack said, relaxing again. "Yes. Actually, it belongs to my uncle."
"Your uncle's doing very well for himself," she said as she brought the car to a stop near the Essenay's air lock hatchway. "That's, what, a Pergnoir-7 light personal transport?"
"Hardly," Jack said with a snort as he climbed out of the car. His legs still felt a little wobbly, but he should be able to make it into the ship without Alison's help. "It's just your basic run-of-the-line light freighter."
"If you say so," Alison said, sounding doubtful as she followed him into the air lock. "Sure looks like a Pergnoir to me. You sure giving me a ride will be all right with your uncle?"
"Don't worry; he's not here at the moment," Jack said, looking warningly at the air lock's camera/speaker/micro-phone module. He hoped Uncle Virge would take the hint and keep quiet. "He's off-planet on a job."
"Handy," Alison said. "When do you need to pick him up?"
"He'll let me know," Jack told her, heading for the cockpit. "Come on—you can get us our lift clearance while I crank up the systems. The sooner we get out of here, the better."
CHAPTER 4
Jack prepped the ship while Alison talked to the control tower, and a few minutes later they were heading up into the faint glow of the pre-dawn sky. Twenty minutes later, Jack keyed in the ECHO stardrive, and they were on their way to Rho Scorvi.
Alison had been impressed enough by her first look at the Essenay's exterior. Jack's guided tour of the interior knocked her socks off.
"I don't believe this," she said for probably the fourth time as he took her into the dayroom. "A full-auto medic chair, a class-five food synthesizer, and a table repeater display. Your uncle poured a big bucket of cash into this thing."
"Like I said, he's good at what he does," Jack said.
"No kidding," Alison said. She turned the table on and off, watching as the wood-grain surface went transparent and then opaque again. "What sort of remote sensors do you have?"
"I'm not really sure," Jack said. "Computer?"
"We have a Calico 404 package," Uncle Virge answered. His voice was bland and emotionless, but there was a definite edge of quiet annoyance beneath the surface.
Jack heartily sympathized. Unfortunately, there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Even before they'd lifted, Alison had spotted the P/S/8 designation on the computer-interface board and recognized it as a model with personality simulation capabilities. At that point, Jack had had no choice but to allow—or rather, insist—that Uncle Virge talk to her.
He'd modified his normal voice, of course, going with something that sounded more like a standard P/S computer than the more colorful personality Uncle Virgil had left behind. But it was obvious that he wasn't happy with any of this.
It was equally obvious he was going to be having a long and unpleasant conversation with Jack the minute their new passenger was out of earshot.
"Extremely cool," Alison said, turning the table transparent one last time. "Can you access your InterWorld transmitter from here, too?"
Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. Ships this small, even luxury models, never had InterWorld transmitters aboard. How could Alison have guessed the Essenay had one? "What are you talking about?" he asked guardedly.
"Don't be cute," she said. "I saw the InterWorld directory tab on the list when you were pulling up Rho Scorvi's coordinates."
"A directory?" Jack repeated, thoroughly lost now. "What does a directory have to do with anything?"
"Because the InterWorld directory is part of the InterWorld access software," she explained patiently. "If you've got a directory, you've got the software. If you've got the software, you've got the transmitter."
"Or my uncle just wants to be able to look up numbers before he calls them," Jack countered. It was, he thought rather disgustedly, a pretty weak argument.
Alison apparently thought so, too. "Right," she said sarcastically. "Even though every spaceport and planet-based transmitter has its own directory. But fine. Let's ask. Computer—?"
"Never mind," Jack cut her off, half-lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. The standard P/S/8 computer interface probably couldn't lie. Uncle Virge could, and in this case probably would, and the last thing Jack wanted was for Alison to catch him at it. "Yes, we've got a transmitter."
"Which is another five or six buckets of cash," Alison concluded, looking around the dayroom. "I hope you realize just how much money you're sitting on here, Jack Montana."
She brought her gaze back to him. "If that's your real name."
"Like 'Alison Kayna,' you mean?" Jack asked pointedly.