Sep put a hand on Ardan's shoulder. "Not as good as you did in rescuing those other holos you showed us aboard ship," she said. "They'll make damn good proof!"
26
Ardan believed there was only one thing to do. Hanse was in residence on Argyle, and he must join him there. Sep, Jarlik, and Ref, however, must follow through with their 'holiday' if they were not to arouse suspicion. They had to spend at least a short time in study and rest on Stein's Folly.
We'll take you back up to your DropShip," said Sep. "From there, you can catch up with the Steiner JumpShip that brought you."
Ardan nodded. "But I don't think I'll return openly. Something tells me that the people behind this whole thing want me to run straight to Hanse, in full view of everyone, as soon as I find a way.
"If I seem to disappear—which I have now effectively done—and cannot be located on any observable ship or freighter, maybe it will force the conspirators into moving faster than they had planned. They'll be uncertain about me. Did I accept my own disability more than they had intended? Have I become depressed and done away with myself? They won't know for certain." He grinned.
"Steiner is totally safe. Neither of the Archons will breathe a word about the how and when of my departure. And nobody could possibly know about your leaving Argyle, Sep. Only you and Hanse and the pilot were in on that. So I should be able to slip into Argyle and lose myself there.
"I know the Summer Palace like the back of my hand. There are ways of getting in that others may not be aware of. I can get to Hanse without anyone knowing I'm near. Come as soon as it looks reasonable."
Sep started the vehicle, which rose quickly on its cushion of air and headed back toward the port city.
* * * *
Ardan landed openly at the commercial port on Argyle, then spent the rest of the morning making his way to the palace grounds.
It was just after noon, and there were few workers visible about the storage sheds and in the gardens around the Summer Palace at Argyle. Wearing some clothes he'd found aboard the DropShip, Ardan aroused no more curiosity than any other Tech coming in to work. He ducked into one of the sheds and found the ranks of lockers assigned to workers around the private port
Though he hated doing it, he went through each one until he found a clean overall of the dark blue favored by Personnel for garden staff. After changing into it, he left a coin worth two of the suits.
Now, for the next step. He went into the lavatory, which, to his relief, was empty. Staring into the mirror, Ardan pondered his light brown hair with its hint of curl, his narrow amber eyes, the high cheekbones. What could he do to alter them?
Glancing about at the antiseptic room, his mind quickly hit on an idea. He gathered together a dispenser of boot-blackener, the box of towels for taking grease off the hands before washing, and a dispenser of eye-protectors for those about to do welding.
Ardan put a dab of the blackener into the palm of his left hand. With the fingers of his right, he worked the sticky stuff through his hair. It was nasty to work with, but once he had it well applied, he scrubbed his hair fiercely with some of the towelling, rubbing away the excess greasiness.
When he ran his comb through his altered locks, they lay flat and dingy. The change in his appearance was astonishing.
He nodded with satisfaction. Next, he ripped off a strip of towel and rolled it tightly. One of those in each jaw changed the line of his face remarkably. With the goggles bent to a less identifiable shape, their clear frame blackened to resemble glare-glasses, his eyes and cheekbones were adequately concealed.
Studying himself in the glass, Ardan realized that his own father might well pass him by without recognizing him. Now he could see about finding and warning Hanse to take care.
There was no trick to making his way through the gardens. His authorized thumbprints would permit him to move about the Summer Palace. After all, the mechanisms made no distinction between the thumbs of warriors and those of servants.
He found the thick hedge of flowering shrubbery that he had picked as his access point Looking about and seeing no one, Ardan dropped to hands and knees and crawled through the drooping fronds. He knew that behind this shrubbery was a narrow space leading to the corner of the wing.
About three meters in, he found the crawlspace he remembered. Its grillwork yielded to his all-purpose pocket tool, and then Ardan found himself standing in the shadows of the upper winecellar.
He moved briskly toward the steps leading up into the service wing. Reaching the top stair, he heard a woman's sharp voice: "I say! What are you doing inside the palace? You gardeners have strict orders to remain outside at all times! Explain yourself, if you please!"
He groaned silendy. Fani Lettik was the proverbial pain in the butt, whether you were a MechWarrior, a noble, a gardener, or a cook.
Ardan turned, his attitude expressing outrage. "I am in the process of inspecting a defective grillwork for the Maître of the Household," he snapped. "I have entered the palace through a totally unauthorized opening, which must be repaired at once. It's a good thing I was checking the shrubbery for root-rot!" He glared, nose-to-nose with the woman who knew him so well.
She stepped back. Fani was, he knew, a flaming snob, keeping her distance from anyone below her in rank. Her yellowish face turned faintly pink.
"Then do so at once, and return to your duties!" she snapped. "Root-rot, indeed!" Fani mumbled, as she turned away, no doubt to search out some other poor bastard whom she could give a hard time.
Ardan restrained a chuckle. It was the only time in his life that he had bested the woman, and it had to be in the guise of a Palace gardener!
He moved through the service wing by the least traveled corridors. At this time of day, the living quarters were empty, and he cut through those, climbing narrow service stairs and scooting through cubbies known only to the staff of the huge household.
At last he came to a passage that intersected the main corridor, where Hanse's study was situated. Ardan didn't know the guard at the door, and he would never pass as a gardener, that was certain.
He retreated down the hall. There was a spare room he had often used on those nights when duty kept him too late to return to the barracks. Would it still be unused by anyone else? Knowing Hanse, Ardan felt almost certain his friend would have appointed the room for him, whether Ardan were present or not at the time of the move to Argyle.
He had to lurk behind draperies and behind tall furniture more than once, as he made his way to the familiar door. He set his thumb against the plate.
Hearing the familiar click, Ardan sighed with relief. If the room was ready, he was almost certain to find at least one change of clothing there.
The chamber looked no different than at any other time he had seen it. Indeed, he might only have left it the day before. Uniforms were lined up in the clothing-cubicle, and there was soap and shampoo in the Cleaner. He was in business!
The grubby gardener disappeared in minutes, his coverall stuffed down the Disposal, along with the goggles and wads of towelling. When Ardan stepped out into the corridor again, it was as his most resplendent self.
"I might as well impress the hell out of them, while I'm at it," he had told his reflection in the mirror. He wore his best uniform, the one trimmed with gold, decorated with bright rows of medals, and with the Federated Suns emblem worked in gems.
Ardan strode up the corridor now, paying no heed to the startled glances of those he passed. Nobody could get to Hanse ahead of him, he knew. He was almost at the door.