"A sound plan. Please go on."
"We have tracked the criminal to this world."
"We see."
"It used the proceeds of the crime to attempt to organize a pirate infolink here."
"An infolink."
"The scheme was detected, and the criminal was arrested and imprisoned, here. The criminal's name is Ranwan Lima—a female."
"Ranwan Lima. We see." The warden raised one hand to his mask. "Tell us…this arrest. It was never publicized. How did Lady learn of it?"
"We purchased the information."
"We understand. Riza—the trues. The L's." The secretary got up and pulled a file drawer off a shelf and placed it heavily on the Warden's desk. We watched her as she went through the file cards manually. File cards! What a break—the bureaucracy on this world was more primitive than we had dared imagine.
"Lima, Ranwan," the secretary said, smiling. "Right here." She handed the card to the Warden.
"Four Six Oh Oh Four Oh Four," he said aloud. "Get me the master." The secretary turned to another shelf. The warden smiled at Nine like a hungry bloodcat, revealing yellow teeth. "We've got it all right. We recall the case. Reform and probation. It's a serious matter. It has been tried and convicted in a court of law, and can expect to spend the rest of its life here, doing reform."
"We have been authorized to expend five hundred thousand credits to recover this worthless criminal," Priestess said. "We can put that into its benevolent fund, pass it to any charity Excellency cares to name, or arrange to have it transferred into any bank account Cit may specify." Priestess sounded almost bored. I had not realized she was such a great actress.
"The master, Excellency." The secretary handed the Warden another file card. It had a holo shot on it—was that the extent of their technology? The card appeared to have been handwritten.
"Yes, this is it," the Warden said. There was something wrong with one of his eyes, I realized. One of them was focused on the card. The other stared glassily at the ceiling. "General Detention, Level Eight. It's a serious matter."
"It's a nasty, worthless bitch," Priestess said calmly. "And we're willing to pay—we've told Cit how much—to get ahold of it. Put it on probation, in our custody. We'll guarantee it won't break any more laws—here or anywhere else."
"What would Lady do with it?"
"We would sedate it and take it with us—off-planet. We will, of course, require Excellency's assistance to guarantee it can pass through Katag's exit procedures without delay. The specified amount will be autocredited to Cit's account the instant the four of us pass through Customs on any other System world. Guaranteed by InterStar Credit."
"A sound procedure."
"Can Excellency assist us in this matter?"
Assuming Ranwan Lima's true identity was not known, the Warden should be anxious to cooperate with us without alerting his superiors—otherwise he would have to share the loot. Five hundred thousand System credits was a King's ransom—Tara was obviously fond of her exec.
And if the warden already knew Ranwan Lima's true identity, we would probably never see the light of day again.
The warden blinked one eye, and pressed a tab on his desk. A door opened, and a tall, strong blonde girl stepped in, dressed in prison brown.
"Yes, Excellency?"
"Ozette, this inmate has qualified for probation." The Warden handed Whit's master card to the blonde. "Check it out of GD and bring it here. Return the master to us as well. The citizen will accompany you." He motioned to me. Priestess nodded to me as well. I rose and followed the blonde out the door. Now all three of us were split up—we were in the hands of God.
Down into the dark. What a ghastly place. It was a dungeon of stone—layer after layer of rotting, black, wet stone, sunk deep into the bowels of the earth. Great steel grates creaked open for us. Gates of rusted iron bars fell away, then clattered back into place behind us. Icy water dripped down like rain. Lonely pairs of guards huddled in greatcoats peered at us by torchlight.
We paused at a landing lit by a single, madly flickering light panel. A pale bald giant came at us out of the dark, blinking in the light of the big blonde's flash.
"Isn't that thing fixed yet?" Ozette asked.
"We kinda like it." There was someone else hidden in the darkness; I couldn't make him out.
"We've got a probation today, fellows," Ozette said. "But we think it's a problem." She handed the card to the giant.
"Since when is a probation a problem?" the giant rumbled. "We should have a party." A furtive little man with the face of a rat joined him, bright eyes glittering. The big man looked up from the card. "We see what it means."
"Check its files to be sure," the blonde said.
"No need to check—but we'll do it. Four Six Oh Oh Four Oh Four." The giant rummaged in a rusty metal card file on a battered desk.
"Four Oh Four…yes, here it is. It's gone. There hasn't been time to forward the full list to the top."
Ozette took the card and read it, frowning. "Yes, we knew it. But we had to be sure. The Mask wants it for probation. Now we're in for it."
"Four Oh Four," the little man added. "The Sweet Thing, oh yes, it's gone. Gone from our grasp. It's a shame."
"Cit, is it here or not?" I asked abruptly. "What is the situation?"
Ozette turned to me, troubled. "It was here, but it's gone now. It was a work transfer."
"Signed by The Mask," the giant added.
"That's right!" the little one whined. "Approved in its own hand, so it can't blame us!"
"What is a work transfer, Cit?" I asked quietly.
She looked into my eyes, hesitated a moment, then spoke. "Slavers," she said. "Locals. Under a work transfer, inmates are returned when the contract is over. Actually, that never happens, the actual amount never appears on the papers, and no one cares. The slavers make a prison run once a year, and pay top credit. You understand this information is dangerous and highly confidential."
"When did this happen, Cit?"
She glanced at the card. "It was only last week."
"And if we wanted to track it down?"
"First to the slave markets at Ostra Bal. Ask for the Body Shop, then ask for the Sandman. Slaves move fast—so it had better hurry."
"We thank it, Cit. Please accept a small token." I pressed a hundred credmark card into her palm. Her fingers closed over it firmly.
"Our thanks, Cit," she responded quietly. "We were all fond of Four Oh Four. We wish Cit luck."
Chapter 17:
The Sandman
Ostra Bal was a vast tent city, a market town, across the river from the capital. Tents stretched as far as we could see, all joined together, held up by wooden poles. Colorful canvas material flapped in the breeze and everything on the planet was for sale beneath. Goods were piled high on either side of the narrow aisles, stinking fish markets and bloody butcher shops and dry goods and canned food and endless rows of clothing. There were shoe stalls and hardware and cutlery and cooking ware, commo gear and military equipment and toys, jewelry and furniture and rugs and live animals and birds, office equipment and datacards and restaurants. It seemed the whole population of Katag was there, streaming along the aisles, blinking in the smoke from the cooking fires, fingering the goods, and arguing with the shopkeepers.