"I don't…"
"You do now. Take."
He took and I scuttled away towards the Octagon, keeping to the shadows, and looking carefully around the corner before I made my play. There was a certain amount of traffic in and out of the building even at this hour of the night, but nothing that would help me. Finally a small ground car pulled up and dropped two officers off, then started away. In my direction. All systems go. I stepped into the street in front of it and waved my hand; it squealed to a stop with the front bumper almost touching me. The driver looked frightened and I kept him that way.
"Do you always drive like that?"
"No, sir, but…"
"Save your excuses, they don't interest me." I climbed into the car next to him while he was still gaping. "Drive on, I'll tell you where I want to go."
"Sir, this car, I mean…"
A single, cold, Krajian look wilted him like a spring flower in a blizzard and he shot the car forward. As soon as we were out of sight of the building I ordered him to stop and broke a sleep capsule under his nose. I'm sure he could use the rest. Then I drove him to the place where Hamal was waiting. He had pried open the door to the stationery store in which he was hiding, and we carried the Cliaand trooper inside. He would sleep until rooming after that capsule and I arranged reams of paper comfortably under his head and feet while Hamal changed into his uniform.
"Do you know how to drive this car?" I asked him when we emerged.
"I should. It's one of ours. They stole it and painted their dirty flag on it."
"Spoils of war regained. Now drive me to the spaceport. And don't stop completely at the gate, just slow down and keep rolling. It's all bluff so keep your chin up and try not to look as scared as you are. Be a man."
"I am," he moaned. "But this is a woman's job. I don't know how I ever got myself talked into it."
"Shut up and drive on. And take a couple more of these pills."
The spaceport was ahead and I was more worried about my driver than I was about anyone there, I had seen the way they stayed out of Kraj's way. Perhaps that would help to explain my driver's obvious fear. I sighed. Roll on the car. Everyone was supposed to know Kraj—and now I was putting that theory to the test. The guards snapped to attention when we appeared and the sergeant started to say something, but I talked first.
"Stay away from that phone. I want to talk to some people and I don't want you telling them I'm coming. You know what will happen to you if you do." I had to shout the last words since, in his near panic, Hamal had not slowed enough and we zipped right by the guards. But they must have heard because they made no attempt that I could see to get near their phone. Step one.
"I can't do it!" Hamal sobbed and spun the wheel on the car until we were headed back towards the gate. "I'm going home. I was never cut out for the police, it was all my mother's idea, she wanted me to be like a daughter to her and made a tomgirl out of me. When all I ever wanted to be was a simple househusband like my father…"
The gate was coming up at a great rate and I cursed fluently and jumbled out a sleep capsule to crack in front of his face, then tugged at the wheel. I had to hold him up with the other hand and we made another turn and zipped off into the night again. I hesitated to think what the guards at the gate thought about all this. Struggling with the controls I managed to guide the car to the rear of one of the big hangars before Hamal's foot slipped off the accelerator and the engine died.
There were crates of some kind in the rear of the car as well as a bundle of army blankets. I heaved everything out except the blankets which I used to cover Hamal, now curled up sweetly on the floor. Perhaps I should have shot him or just dropped him out. But it really wasn't his fault that he was born low man in a matriarchy. As long as no one came near the car we were safe, and I did not feel that anyone would show that much interest in Kraj's car. I drove to the nearest spacer, a great cargo transport, and parked well away from the lights around the entrance. Now for step two.
"You know who I am?" I said to the master at arms stationed at the foot of the gangway. My voice cold and empty.
"Yes, sir, I do." He stood at attention staring directly ahead of him.
"All right, then have the Chief Engineer meet me on A deck."
"He's not aboard, sir."
"I've made a note of that dereliction of duty and you will tell him of it when he returns. His assistant then."
I went by him without a further look and he sprang to the telephone. By the time I had reached A deck an engineer in greasy coveralls was waiting for me, nervously wiping his hands on a cloth.
"I'm sorry, we were taking down one of the generators… " his voice ran out and expired as I glared at him.
"I know you have trouble, and that is why I am here. Take me to the engine room."
He hurried away and I followed heavily after him. This was going to be easier than I thought. Three white-faced ratings looked up from the guts of the generator when we came in.
"Get them out of here," I said and did not have to repeat myself.
I looked at the open generator and nodded sagely as if I had any idea what the repairs were about. Then I began a slow tour of the engine room, tapping dials and squinting into observation ports while the engineer trotted after me. When I reached the warpdrive generator I looked at the nameplate covered with incomprehensible numbers, then turned to the engineer.
"Why is this model being used?"
I have never seen an engineer yet who didn't have something to say about every piece of equipment under his care and this one was no different.
"We know it is the older model, sir, but the replacement didn't arrive in time to install and balance before the flight."
"Bring me the tech manual."
As soon as his back was tuned I squeezed the handle of my case and the bomb dropped into my hand. I set the delay for forty minutes, armed it, and activated the sticky molecules on the base. Then I bent down and pushed it up under the thick housing of the warpdrive generator where it could not be seen. I was examining another piece of equipment by the time the engineer returned with the manual. A quick flip through the pages and a grunt or two over the identification numbers satisfied him, and I handed it back. I felt ashamed because the job was so easy.
"See that the work is done quickly," I said as I left, specifying nothing, but receiving in return his fervent assurances that it would be so.
I repeated this maneuver at the next spacer, parking my car in the shadows near it. Just about the time I realized that there was something familiar about the ship, Otrov came down the gangway and turned to face me.
This sudden confrontation startled me as much as it did him. But his eyes bulged and he stopped dead while I, being deep in the Kraj role, only stared coldly at him. Would be recognize me? I had bunked with him and drunk with him during my Vaska Hulja days, and I had piloted this ship. The Kraj disguise was good—but could it be expected to stand up to this close an examination by someone who knew me so well?
"Well?" I whispered finally, when he showed no intention of moving or speaking or doing anything other than stare.
"I'm sorry, sir, you surprised me. I didn't expect to see you here, if you know what I mean." He began to sweat and I stayed silent. "Your voice," he said finally. "Is there anything wrong?"
Of course there was. I knew I couldn't make my voice sound like the real Kraj's to someone who had talked with him recently as Otrov had. I also knew that one whisper sounds very much like any other whisper. But I wasn't telling him that.
"A wound," I husked. "After all there is a war on—and some of us are Fighting it."
"Yes, of course, I understand."
He jittered back and forth from one foot to the other and I had enough of this and pushed on by. But he called after me and I turned with cold impatience to face him again.
"I'm sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you have heard anything about the whereabouts of Vaska…"