Jirik walked his visitor to the door. "We'll try, but I make no promises that you'll get anything that you can use."
After Tomys' departure, Jirik sat and stared thoughtfully at the door for several minutes. Tomys was obviously holding something back. The Alliance wouldn't send a Class I to investigate a minor pseudo-religion on a few outlying planets unless they felt that it constituted a major and immediate threat to the entire Alliance. Jirik had absolutely no desire to become involved in a major and immediate threat to the Alliance. Unfortunately, refusal to cooperate with a Class I Agent could result in disaster for Jirik, his crew and his ship, Besides, he was a Alliance citizen, and a threat to the Alliance was not something he could ignore, damn it! And he had thought that he was beyond that patriotic crap! He sighed deeply.
He did have a problem: his crew. Bran was all right, of course. Jirik was uncomfortably aware that Bran was both more intelligent and more informed than he was himself. He decided that he should consult Bran before taking any action at all. The other two crewmen were the real problem. Valt was probably reveling in every moment of being a celebrity, but Jirik knew that he couldn't tell the man anything without risk of Valt spreading it all over the port. Valt was shallow and not particularly intelligent. He tended to prattle to anyone who would listen. Maybe Bran would have some ideas on handling Valt.
Tor constituted a different problem. Jirik didn't know Tor very well. He was young, and had the eager-to-please personality of a puppy. Jirik realized with some embarrassment that Tor idolized him, but that would be no guarantee of discretion. The kid would be excited about being involved in something for Alliance Intelligence. The problem was that his excitement and the holovid-spy-like way with which he would go about it would be so obvious that he might as well wear a sign.
What was obvious was that he was going to have to brief Bran, and then make time to break loose and get out into town to size up the situation.
With a sense of relief that surprised him, Jirik swept the paperwork on the top of his rented desk into a drawer and locked it. He locked the office, and walked out onto the field to the Bonny Lass in search of Bran.
Bran was in his beloved engine room. He was suspiciously eyeing both the shore-based technicians who were removing the damaged Inertial Drive generator, and the welders repairing the inner bulkhead penetrated by the marble-sized meteorite that had destroyed the generator. Bran was tall and portly. Graying hair was closely cropped around his bald pate. Jirik smiled at a mental image of Bran as an overweight predator hovering low, ready to pounce on any creature unfortunate enough to raise his ire. As Jirik's Executive Officer, Bran was tasked with overseeing the repairs, but he would have been there anyway. Bran's engines were his pets, and he treated them with tender loving care. Highly intelligent and experienced, Bran should have been commanding his own ship. But, command held no attractions for Bran. His only passions were his books and his engines.
The compartment light glinted from Bran's bald pate as he turned to see who was invading his domain. The thunderous expression on his round, smooth face cleared somewhat when he identified Jirik, but his brow remained furrowed. His eyes remained on patrol from one group of workmen to the other. Judging by their hunched positions and sullen expressions, they were well aware of his surveillance, and had already experienced Bran's acid tongue.
"Hello, Bran," Jirik greeted his Exec, "How's it coming?" Bran's pale face flushed, and Jirik knew that he had asked the wrong question.
"'How's it coming?'" Bran mimicked, "These incompetents couldn't install their asses in an easy chair! Look at the scratch they put in my deck!" He pointed a long finger at a small scratch in the otherwise spotlessly painted deck. "And those simians pretending that they know which end of a plasma torch to grab! Look how they've blackened the whole damned bulkhead!" Jirik looked closely, and saw a small smudge on the gray wall. "They should have to replace that deckplate and paint that whole bulkhead," Bran continued, looking askance at Jirik.
Jirik grinned. "Forget it, Bran. I'll make the work crew polish out the scratch, and you can paint the bulkhead once we're in space again. C'mon," he added, "I have to talk to you. It's important."
"Important!" Bran yelled, "This is important! I can't leave these ham-fisted cretins alone; they'll bring the old bitch down around our ears!"
Jirik saw the work crew foreman's hand tighten convulsively on his wrench, caught the unfortunate man's eye, and winked. "Calm down, Bran," he soothed. "I really do have to talk to you, and it really is important."
Bran's red face faded somewhat as his anger began to subside. "It had better be," he muttered. "All right, let's go into the Engineering Office." As Bran stomped off, still fuming, Jirik saw the tension leave the hunched forms of the work crew and suppressed a smile as he followed the big man.
The 'Engineering Office' was a tiny cubby that Bran had walled off in the engine room. Crammed with tech manuals, engineering drawings and specification sheets, its chaos was a clashing contrast to the sanitary, obsessive cleanliness of the engine room itself. Brushing a pile of blueprints from the only chair in the tiny cubical, Bran flounced into it, and turned to face Jirik.
"All right, Captain," He said, "What's so damned urgent that I had to leave a generator to the mercies of thumb-fingered idiots?"
"I had a visitor this morning," Jirik replied in a carefully casual tone. "A Class I Alliance Agent."
Bran's remaining anger faded instantly as he straightened abruptly in his chair. He whistled. "Class I, eh?" he said thoughtfully. "We aren't about to get into something nasty, are we?"
Jirik sighed. "I sure as hell hope not," he said fervently. "But we sure can't afford to brass off the Alliance, either. The guy says that he just wants us to keep our ears open, but I think he's holding something back, and that scares me."
"If it scares you, it scares me, and I don't even know what the hell it is, yet," Bran replied. "Can you tell me about it? Or will that get you shot or something?"
Jirik grunted. "Hell, yes I'm, going to tell you. I need your help on this in the worst way. Did you learn anything about this Atmos guy last night?"
"Atmos, huh? I thought it might involve him. I did some reading last night, of course," Jirik nodded. Bran was a voracious, almost compulsive reader. Jirik rarely stumbled across something that Bran hadn't "done some reading" about. It had saved their lives more than once. His attention returned as Bran continued, "I read that pop-level biography, and started skimming his major work. Of course, I haven't had a chance to do any serious research. Is he involved in this?"
"Up to his eyeballs," Jirik replied, "According to that spook, he's almost a religious figure out here. He says that these people think that it's their destiny to save civilization when the Empire falls in 200 years or so. Evidently, most of them are content to wait for that to happen, but some of them think that they ought to get a head start on it by taking over the Alliance first." Jirik said it in a light tone, surprised when Bran nodded seriously.
"It could happen. Atmos seemed to have his head on straight to me. And now, with 75 years' of extra information, I've seen more evidence that he was right. Just before we left Avon, did you read in the newsfax that the Empire Council has decided to grant greater 'autonomy' to Sector Viceroys? We may even begin having customs problems when we get back!"
Jirik slammed his hand down on the edge of Bran's small desk, sending books and papers flying. "I don't give a Damn!" He yelled. "I don't give a damn about the Empire falling in 200 years. I won't be here to see it. I care about here and now; about walking a tightrope between an Alley spy and nine whole planets full of fanatics; about getting us off this bloody mudball with our asses and our ship intact. And with that damned spy holding out on us, I'm not so sure that's going to be easy!"