"Humph," the ambassador said, and took his drink. "Very well. Please speak to your man and tell him we are ready for him to bring the woman in to us."
"He's out of contact," Javna said.
"I beg your pardon?" Narf-win-Getag said." 'Out of contact'? Is that even possible on this planet of yours? Even mountain tribesmen of Papua New Guinea have full-spectrum communicator links. If there's one thing that distinguishes the human species, it is a pathological need to stay connected. The fact your people will interrupt sex to answer your communicators is a scandal across the entire Common Confederation. So you'll understand if I am skeptical when you say your man is out of contact."
"I understand entirely, Mr. Ambassador," Javna said. "Nevertheless, there it is."
"Doesn't he have a communicator?" Narf-win-Getag said.
"He does," Javna said. "He's just not answering it."
"What about the woman?" Narf-win-Getag said. "Surely this Miss Baker has a communicator."
"She does," Javna said, noting that the Nidu ambassador knew Baker's name. "However, hers appears not to be a portable, and she is with our man at the moment."
"Well, isn't that interesting," Narf-win-Getag said. "The only two people on the entire North American continent who cannot be reached in an instant." He set his glass of scotch down, un-drunk. "Ben, I'll give you the courtesy of not suggesting that you are, in fact, willfully holding out this woman for whatever purpose you might have. But I will let you know that when she does show up, it is my sincere hope that she be surrendered immediately to us. Time is very short now—less than a day before our agreed-upon deadline is reached."
"No one is more aware of that than I, Mr. Ambassador," Javna said.
"I'm pleased to hear that, Ben," Narf-win-Getag said. He nodded and turned to go.
"But I should warn you that even when she comes in, she may not agree to be turned over to you," Javna said.
Narf-win-Getag stopped mid-stride. "Come again?" he said.
"She may not agree to take part," Javna said. "As an American and UNE citizen, she has rights. We can't compel her. We can strongly suggest to her the importance of taking part in the coronation ceremony. But when push comes to shove, we can't make her do it."
Narf-win-Getag stared at Javna for a time, and then Javna heard the low, gutteral rumbling that he knew was the Nidu analogue to a good, hearty laugh. "You know, Ben," Narf-win-Getag said, after his rumbling had subsided, "humans never fail to amuse and amaze me. You're all so busy tending to your own personal tree that you don't look around to see that the forest is on fire. It's very honorable that you would maintain that this young woman has a choice in this matter. But if you'll allow me to be frank with you, in about a week of your time, our coronation ceremony has to take place. If it does not take place at the appointed time, then any Nidu clan can formally assert its right to the throne, and I can assure you that many are ready. Nidu will be plunged into civil war, and it's entirely likely—indeed, I would suspect highly probable—the Earth and her colonies will not be able to sit on the sidelines and watch the carnage unaffected. If I were Secretary Heffer—or President Webster—or you, rather than worrying about Miss Baker's rights, I'd be worrying about my responsibilities to my planet and its well-being."
"That sounds ominous, Mr. Ambassador," Javna said.
Narf-win-Getag chuckled, human-style. "Nonsense, Ben. I am merely suggesting what I would do. You may of course see things differently. Hopefully, our young female friend will show up soon and all this will be proven to be idle and pointless speculation. In the meantime, however, I would hope you would do us—do me—the courtesy of forwarding all the information you have on Miss Baker. Perhaps my people will find something there that will allow us all a satisfactory resolution to our present troubles."
"Of course, Mr. Ambassador," Javna said. "I'll have that sent over immediately."
"Excellent, Ben. Thank you for your time." Narf-win-Getag nodded toward his glass. "And thank you for the drink." He left.
Javna went over to the glass, picked it up, sniffed it. No lizardy smell. He slugged it back and as he did so felt like the house butler sneaking booze from his master's liquor cabinet. He set the glass down with prejudice.
This whole thing stinks, he thought. Javna knew he was being jerked around. He just didn't know by who and for what reasons. The only power he had—the only power it seemed like the entire government had—was a negative power The power to hide the object of desire. The power to hide Robin Baker.
"They're off the train!" Archie yelled back to Acuna, who was on the communicator with Jean Schroeder.
"Where?" Acuna yelled back.
"Benning Road," Archie said. "Dogstown. Do you have any idea why they'd go there?"
Acuna didn't. Jean Schroeder did.
Fixer was in the back of the shop doing inventory when he heard Chuckie bark. He glanced up at his clock; just past closing time. He knew he should have locked the door before he came back. No help for it now. He set down his tablet and came out onto the shop floor to see Harry Creek and some lady standing there. Both of them looked like total hell.
"Hello, Fixer," Creek said. "I have need of your services."
Fixer grinned in spite of himself. "Of course you do," he said, and laughed. "Well, well," he said. "I was wondering what this would be like. Now I know."
"Now you know what?" Creek asked.
"What it's like when the other shoe drops, Mr. Creek," Fixer said. "Because if I'm not mistaken, it's just come down with a big goddamn thunk."
Chapter 9
"Tell me what you need," Fixer said.
"We need new identities," Creek said. "We need off the planet. We need it fast."
"How fast?" Fixer asked.
"The next couple of hours would be nice," Creek said.
"Oh, okay," Fixer said. "Because for a minute there I thought you might want something impossible."
"I know it's a lot to ask," Creek said.
"Any extenuating circumstances I should know about that might make this even more difficult?" Fixer said.
"People just tried to kill us. And there's an APB out for our arrest," Creek said.
Fixer arched his eyebrow at Creek. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what just went on at the Arlington Mall, would it?"
"It might," Creek admitted.
"Well, aren't you just a bundle of fun," Fixer said.
"Can you help us?" Creek said.
"For what you're asking, I don't think you can afford me," Fixer said.
Creek reached into his wallet and pulled out the anonymous credit card Javna had given him.
"Try me," Creek said.
Archie stood in front of the vending machine, steeling himself.
"Just do it," Archie said to himself. He'd already fed the credit card into the machine; all he had to do was press the B4 button and have done with it.
He was having a hard time doing it. After three previous sessions with the vending machine ripping the information out of his head like a jaguar raking his optic nerves with its claws, he was not exactly brimming with enthusiasm for session number four.
Not only that, but the B4 slot of the vending machine was now empty—he was now spending money to get a migraine and getting nothing for it.
Actually, though, Archie was okay with that. The pain induced with each packet of white chocolate M&Ms was great enough to make Archie physically ill at the thought of ingesting another single piece of candy. This state of affairs no doubt would have pleased Ivan Pavlov immensely.
"Just do it," he said again, and leaned his head on the Plexiglass, and attempted to will himself to press the button. Acuna had divulged the likely whereabouts of Creek and Baker and was busily medicating himself enough to be able to head out and get them; it was information Archie was certain Sam and the others would want to know. And yet there he was, busily not pressing the button. What he was doing, forehead pressed against the Plexiglas, finger hovering over the B4 button, was thinking of new and innovative ways to strangle Sam for doing this to him.