"Yes," she said without hesitation, "I want to pilot your ship."
Chapter Nine
Of course I'll take the assignment, she thought as she hurried down the corridor toward her quarters. There had never been any question of that. This was the chance she had been waiting ten years for-a way back into deep space-and there was no way she could possibly turn it down.
But Hyatt wasn't telling her the entire story. For some reason-probably something to do with retaining General Fund money-he was feeding her information only a little at a time. She did know that there was a sister ship, and that it hadn't been heard from in nearly a year. She assumed her assignment would be to rescue Tachyon, but she didn't know the mission's destination.
She forced those thoughts down as she approached her quarters, and a sudden anxiety filled her mind. Someone waited in her rooms; her strange ability subtly told her as much.
Stopping just beyond the spore-lock's sensor range, she listened intently for the sound of breathing or a muffled thump, but there was nothing quite so obvious. Only the vague mental hint that someone waited on the other side of the door.
Could she trust that feeling? The last time she had been in danger-in the corridor outside the curio shop on Fleet Base-the ability had not worked for her. It had not warned her of the attack. Could it be working opposite now, telling her there was someone there when there was not?
She had no choice; she had to act as if there was someone in her rooms. She knew she should turn around, go find a member of the Luna City police force. Yet, by the time she returned with help, her unseen assailant would surely be gone. Whoever was in her rooms could simply wait for another opportunity to catch her alone. If she went in now, at least she would know what to expect.
Besides, she was certain she knew who it was: that all too seedy-looking civilian who had been watching her on the floater out from Fleet Base. And no matter how good he might be, she was certain she was better. This was something she should be able to handle.
The spore-lock responded to her presence as she stepped within its sensor field, and the door irised open. She entered and stepped quickly to her left, out of the shaft of light stabbing into the room. Flattening herself against the wall beside the door, she scanned the narrow slice of room bathed in light before the door irised closed and the room fell into total darkness.
The light should have fallen on the chair that had sat in the center of the room when she'd left for the briefing, but the chair was gone. Whoever waited for her had moved it from where the light would fall on it, and into the shadows. Even now he might be sitting there, holding a weapon on her.
She doubted sufficient light had entered the room to spoil the other's dark- adapted vision. The light had not fallen on him directly, so in the dark his eyes had to be better off than her own. Her best chance lay in having the lights on; he would be partially blinded for at least a few seconds.
But to get to the light switch she would have to step in front of the door, crossing into its sensing field. It would iris open and she would be silhouetted for an instant in the glare from the corridor before the apartment's lights came on. For that brief instant, she would be an easy target.
Still, it was her only chance. Taking a deep breath, she held it, then tensed to spring.
Chapter Ten
The lights flared on.
"Hold it right there!" a voice barked, and instinctively Susan went into a defensive crouch. She squinted in the bright light, but could make out only a vague shape.
Her eyes adapted quickly, and she began to see detail. The other wore dark glasses against the light. One beefy hand still covered the light switch, while the other held a formidable-looking blaster aimed at her.
Muscles tensed as she again prepared to spring. She knew she didn't stand a chance, but she couldn't just stand there and let him burn her down. If she was going to die, she would do her best to take her attacker out with her.
"I wouldn't try it," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, but I am prepared to defend myself."
Something in what he said stopped her. "What do you mean, you don't want to hurt me? Isn't that why you're here-to kill me?"
"No." The man shifted the weapon's barrel slightly to the right, off Susan. "I'm with Fleet-on a special security assignment."
"How am I supposed to know that?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it. After all, I could have killed you the moment you stepped through that door, but I didn't."
That was true enough. Susan relaxed her stance a bit. "Okay, I'll grant you might be with Fleet. But what are you doing in my rooms?"
"I'm here to protect you, Captain."
"I can take care of myself." Now that there might be someone, she found she didn't want the help. Especially the way he had accomplished it-breaking into her rooms.
"Perhaps you can," the fat man said. "But I've been assigned to keep an eye on you, all the same."
They were both silent for a few seconds. Finally, Susan asked, "What should I call you?"
"Clayton. Alan Clayton."
"Your real name?"
"Of course not."
Susan nodded.
"I understand the man who attacked you back on Fleet Base was a belter," Clayton said as he tucked the blaster out of sight, into the folds of his soiled jumpsuit.
"That's right. A member of the Society."
"Why would a belter be after you?"
Susan shrugged. "The line of work I'm in?"
"That's possible. Or maybe it could have something to do with Aldebaran. He might have lost someone there." Clayton had done his homework.
"It's possible," Susan said. "But how did he get into my quarters?"
"A spore-lock scrambler was reported missing from the Base Security armory three days ago. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if both a Security uniform and a stun pistol are missing as well, although neither has been reported yet."
"Is that how you got in here?"
Clayton nodded. He pulled a chrome tube measuring six inches long and a quarter inch in diameter from a fold in his jumpsuit, then quickly replaced it.
"Then you believe me?" Susan tried to keep the excitement out of her voice, without success.
"I believe you were attacked. There's undeniable evidence for that."
"What evidence?" Susan asked.
"First, there's the stolen scrambler. And Base Security found traces of raglon oil on the bathroom floor." To all but those who had spent considerable time in the asteroid belts, raglon oil was a lethal poison. Certain trace elements found only in the asteroids not only neutralized its poison, but made it an extremely reliable sun- screen. Those who lived and worked in the belts assimilated the protective elements into their tissues.
"But you don't believe my attacker disappeared into thin air."
"I can't pass judgement on that."
Neither spoke for several seconds. When the silence became unbearable, Susan said, "There's another one after me. He has already tried once."
"Someone else tried to kill you? When?"
She told him about the attempt made on her life as she left the curio shop back on Fleet Base, but said nothing about her assailant's sudden disappearance, or how the crowd had thinned. And she didn't mention the inexplicable time discrepancies, either; she knew he would not believe her. Without elaborating, she told him simply that her assailant had escaped.