It was probably professional interest anyway.
Petra was in a foul mood when Joe arrived. He found her storming around the Shop in a fury, rifling through the shelves and cursing in at least three languages. She had a hammer clenched in one fist and seemed intent on finding something to pound to smithereens.
“What’s up, Petra?” he called from what he hoped was a safe distance.
She whirled toward him, her face contorted with rage. “Thanks a lot, you bastard,” she snarled, brandishing the hammer.
Not only was she royally pissed, it was at him. He walked toward her as if he had nothing to fear, but did keep one eye on that hammer. “What did I do?”
“What did you do?” she mimicked. “Don’t bullshit me! If you didn’t think the Guys should have those binoculars you should have said something yesterday afternoon!”
He figured he was as close as he dared get. “Petra, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Come on!” She flung the hammer like it was a war-hatchet, but at least it hadn’t been aimed at him. Instead it crashed into the wall on her left, destroying her very first prototype for Guy-adapted spectacles. She stared at the shattered memento, her hands curling into fists, then her gaze swung back toward him.
“Petra,” he said soothingly, “Please calm down. Tell me what the problem is. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought the Guys would have those binoculars by now, and I don’t know one reason why they shouldn’t.”
He watched her try to rein in her anger. “OK,” she growled, “You tell me what’s going on. Longo came in yesterday afternoon to help me fine tune ’em. I thought he was going to bust when he understood what it was they did.”
She grimaced and ran her fingers through the stiff springs of her hair. “I found I’d made one small design error. Their eyes are a lot more light sensitive than ours are, and don’t react to too much light very quickly. Those binocs have big efficient lenses, and there was no way they were going to be able to use them safely in the daytime. So I rigged a set of temporary filters to use while we made the other adjustments, then told him to come back around noon today and I’d have two pairs with photoreactive lens coatings ready for him to take.”
Talking tech had seemed to calm her some, but now she glared at him and thrust out her jaw in challenge. “Just after he got here Frank called and said you told him I wasn’t to let him have them after all. Longo got real upset. I didn’t think Guys could cry, but I swear to God that’s what he was about to do. So I told him to give me some time to straighten this mess out, and he’d get his binoculars one way or the other.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well?”
Joe shook his head, baffled by Frank’s actions. “This is all news to me, Petra. I’d be willing to let the Guys each have a pair if BCT was willing to foot the bill.”
She scowled. “You’re saying Frank’s jerking my chain with this crap? But why?”
That was a very good question, and one he intended to have answered. “No idea. But I intend to ask him wh—” He stopped midword, listening intently. “Do you hear that?”
Petra cocked her head, then nodded. “Yeah, it sounds like the flitter taking off.”
Now it was Joe’s turn to get mad. “What the hell is that doing going up? Everybody knows the Guys hate the damn thing.” The Guys weren’t particularly fond of human vehicles in general. The small VTOL flyer BCT had brought along had been banned from use because its turbofans made a high-pitched whine they found physically painful. People couldn’t hear it, but Guys couldn’t shut it out.
Petra shook her head. “I don’t know why anyone would need it. I thought it was locked up tight.”
“It’s supposed to be. I better go find out what the hell is going on around here.” He headed for the door planning to kick someone’s—namely Frank’s—ass up around their ears.
“What about Longo?” Petra called after him.
He paused by the doorway. “Give him the two pair you made and promise him a third for the racket. That OK?”
Her face lit with pleasure. “All right! Thanks, Joe!”
He waved and hurried on out the door. At least she was happy. The Guys—except maybe for Longo—were going to be another matter. Whoever took that flitter up was going to be one sorry puppy.
By the time he got outside the flyer was a dwindling silver spark above the treeline.
A spark headed straight for the Coverture.
Joe broke into a run.
The operations shack was locked up tight and Frank was nowhere to be found. Joe tried calling him but got no answer.
He did find Jubal in the warehouse next door, using a telelift to place racks of stasis-fielded specimens in a shipping container to ready them for loading in the shuttle parked outside. He had his nimble guitarist’s hands in a pair of control gloves, a loupe on his head and a pair of headphones over his ears. Knowing that he’d never make himself heard over the loud classical music Jubal customarily listened to while working, Joe tapped the thin black man on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Have you seen Frank around?” he asked when Jubal powered down the lift and pulled the headset off.
He shook his head. “Not in a while. What’s up?”
“I’m trying to find out who took the flitter up, and why.”
Jubal scowled and began shucking the gloves off his hands. “Dammit, everybody knows that thing’s supposed to be off limits, and I mean…” His voice trailed away and his face took on the look of someone who’d just had a very bad thought. “Oh hell,” he said sofdy.
“What?”
“The last I saw Frank he was with Ms. Caltefores. They were, well—”
“No, don’t tell me,” Joe begged, already able to guess what he was going to say next.
Jubal nodded soberly. “Yeah. They were headed toward where it’s kept parked. But—” Before he could say anything more the complet strapped to his wrist erupted in a shrill beeping. The factor whipped his arm up and stared at its small screen. What he saw made his dark complexion pale. “We’ve got a problem, Joe,” he said heavily as he pushed a button that silenced the noise.
“What happened?” The look on his friend’s face made him brace for the worst.
Jubal looked him in the eye. “That was an emergency signal from the flitter. I think it just crashed.”
The two men raced to the operations shack only to find it still locked up and Frank nowhere around. Jubal tried to open the door with his keycard but it was refused.
Just as he was about to try a second time they both became aware of a sound like distant thunder, a low subterranean rumble they could feel through their feet. It rapidly grew louder, and moments after they turned in the direction it seemed to be coming from, Bull burst from the solid wall of jungle and into the clearing.
Everyone knew the big aliens could move fast if they wanted to, but neither man had ever seen one in a real hurry. It was a fairly daunting sight. Bull thundered toward them at a good sixty kph, massive lower legs pistoning and the toe talons on his feet throwing head-sized clods of turf three meters into the air behind him.
“I sure hope he’s calmer than he looks,” Jubal breathed. In spite of themselves they stepped back and closer together.
Bull came to a halt before them with a deadly speed and surprising grace, and when he spoke his voice gave no hint that his high-speed dash had cost him any particular effort.