"I like to earn my way," she said sharply.
He nodded slowly. "I can fix it."
Joat held out her hand and he shook it, surprised at the strength of her grip.
"You can contact me at The Anvil," he said, "my cover name is Clal va Riguez." He nodded to Joseph, gave a half smile to Joat and was gone.
Joat turned on a monitor and they watched Sperin leave the Wyal and walk away without a backward glance.
"He told me he was known at The Anvil as Bros Sperin," she said resentfully.
"Wheels within wheels," Joseph murmured.
"Rand," she asked, "did he leave anything behind?"
"Yes, Joat. On the left arm of your chair, just where the seam is on the front of the arm."
Joat examined the area Rand had described. Nothing. She pulled out a scanner and flicked it; a framework extended, and she fitted it over her head. Joseph came to her side and pulled a huge, clumsy-looking optical from a pocket in his robe.
"Got it," she said.
"Here," Joseph grunted, his words crossing over hers. They smiled at each other.
He rose from his knees, bowing. "All yours, child."
"Child, hell." She pulled a toolkit from another pocket and opened it, twiddling her fingers. "Ta-dum."
It was about the width of a human hair and no longer than the thickness of a fingernail; one end was razor-sharp, to make it easier to implant. Probably it was this large only to allow it to be manipulated easily.
"Hello, Bros!" Joat said brightly, smiling a toothy smile with the sticktight held at eye level. "Why do I get this feeling that not everything is As It Seems? Anyway, you seem to have forgotten something. I couldn't allow you to waste the taxpayers money like that. Tsk, tsk upon you."
She opened an envelope and dropped the sticktight into it. "Addressed to Clal va Riguez, The Anvil," she said. The envelope obligingly showed the name on its exterior, and she confirmed it with a pinch that sealed the container. "Deliver." She dropped it into a slot on the console.
"Oooh," Joat went on to Joseph. "Spy stuff. I wonder how much that little thingie is worth. I wonder how many more there are."
Joseph still had the optical to his eye; looking at the recording of the sticktight. Bethelite technology wasn't subtle, but it got the job done.
"Interesting. Passive sensor, I think-burst transmission when keyed."
"Confirmed," Rand said. "I was only aware of it because I saw Mr. Sperin install it. As for the rest of the ship, nothing seems abnormal, but I can make no guarantees. Mr. Sperin seems a devious man, and we've no idea how long he was actually aboard before he chose to make his presence known."
"About that," Joat interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me he was onboard?"
"The first I knew of it was when he appeared on the bridge, Joat."
"But how could he do that?" she demanded.
"I suppose that CenSec has been extrapolating from your design," Rand said, "and they've come up with a superior version."
Joat bristled and her eyes sparked with fury. "Not for long, they haven't," she growled.
"In any event," Rand continued, "if he's left something behind I can't find it until it's contacted by an external signal."
"Don't worry about it, Rand. It's not your fault." If anything, she thought, it's mine for becoming so complacent. Or so honest. Joat shrugged. "I think it's safe to assume he'd leave his best stuff on the bridge. That's where we'll be most of the time, after all."
She picked up the bottle of Arrack and freshened both of their drinks.
"Disappointed?" she asked.
Joseph grimaced slightly.
"I am more annoyed than disappointed. Why I do not know. I certainly did not expect Central Worlds to charge to the rescue with banners flying. But I expected…"
"More than to be told to go home and wait for word from us big important people?"
"Yes!" he said firmly.
"You expected to be treated as a professional equal who doesn't need obvious instructions on how to behave in a hostile port?"
"Yes!"
"More importantly, you were hoping to receive some offer of backup from Central Worlds if you do find out who has Amos and where they've taken him."
Joseph tossed back the rest of the Arrack in his glass and looked at her.
"Without the aid of the Central Worlds Navy there would be little that we could do. If they are unwilling to help us, or if they delay, then my brother will die." He laughed in self mockery and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Ah, Joat, I had hoped for hope."
Joat grinned at him. "All that regular living has made you soft, Joe. You don't need hope, you need luck…"
"… and you make your own luck!" they recited together, they clicked glasses and laughed.
She folded her arms and leaned her hip against her main console. Her eyes went over the readouts, registering automatically without interrupting the flow of thought
"We're fueled, we're set for supplies; as soon as my crew gets back we can cast off. So if you've got gear you'd better go and fetch it now."
Joseph grinned wickedly at her and indicated the small bag at his feet. "That is all that I have, Joat. But I must say that I do not think Mr. Sperin would approve of this invitation. I do not believe that he wished me to go to Rohan."
"Hunh, by the time he was finished talking I wasn't sure he wanted me to go! Pushy osco, ain't he?"
"Perhaps he wanted to go himself," offered Rand. "He had the overtones, if I may say so, of a man stretching his instructions to the limit."
Joat and Joseph exchanged glances.
"Y'know Rand, I believe you've hit the nail on the head," Joat murmured.
With a soft hiss of breath Amos completed the final movement of the seven hundred and fifty separate steps of the Sword Dance of Natham. He stood upright, panting slightly, sweat running freely down his bare, muscled sides.
The dance helped to center him, to stave off rage and panic, as well as wearing him out so that he could sleep. He had just repeated it twice in succession, once slowly, once very fast.
Now he wished that he could be clean. But the Kolnari brig did not include such amenities as a shower. There was a small sink, however and he went over to it intending to do the best he could.
The cell was small, perhaps two meters by three with double-decker bunks that folded down from the wall, the sink and a commode for furnishings. The walls, ceiling, and floor were of cold, white enameled metal and the light never went out.
The food was neither good nor bad, but bland, soldier's rations, in reasonable quantity, delivered at unpredictable intervals.
Were he a man who could find no comfort in his God, Amos knew that he would be howling and beating on the door by now. He smiled grimly. The Kolnari couldn't know that a severe religious retreat could be very like this. There would be better facilities for cleaning oneself, and books, and the light would be under his control, but otherwise there were strong similarities. With the obvious exception, of course, that he could end a religious retreat at will. Assuming that God willed it so.
He sighed and turned on the faucet. No water came.
How petty, he thought, Belazir must be finding me boring.
He sat on his bunk and turned his palms upward to begin meditating on the devotions of the prophets. That would fill his time both pleasantly and well, since there were over eight thousand of them.
The hatch swung open and two figures in black space armor violently flung Captain Sung into the room. Amos leapt to his feet and caught the older man before he could crash to the floor. By the time he had the Captain righted on his feet the cell was sealed once more.
"Captain," Amos said in astonishment. "What of Soamosa? Have you seen her, have they told you anything?"