"It's a new act, sir," she said. "He's a bit wild yet. Don't know how to behave."
Before the glowering officer, she half-dragged Doc away on the leash.
"Next time," Doc hissed when they were out of earshot, "you go on the chain."
As they melted back into the crowd, Ida noticed that the lieutenant was still watching them. Just for cover, naturally, she gave Doc a little kick.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
THE SMALLL GRAVSLED hissed up to the Theodomir
Barracks-to-be. On it was an untidy assortment of crammed tool boxes and chaotic mounds of electrical spare parts.
Sten and Alex stepped off and, ignoring the guards, began to fill two duffle bags with tools and spidery electrical parts. A bored chief guard wandered over.
"Here now. What're you two doing?"
Sten just grunted at him. Alex handed the guard a grease-stained permit. Both grease and permit had first met less than an hour ago. The guard peered at the permit.
"Says here," he commented, "they got problems with the welder on floor fifteen." He glared at the two men, trying on his cop-suspicious look.
"I ain't heard about that," he said.
Sten wrestled on his toolbelt.
"Whaddy a expect," Sten said. "It's a clottin' holiday, ain't it? Nobody don't hear nothin', unless you're like my partner and me.
"Clots. We were gonna party tonight. But no. Whadda they care? We spend all those credits on some approved quill. We gotta couple ladies lined up. We're gettin' heated up. Then we get the call. Problems with the clotting welder on the Theodomir building.
"Fix it, they say. I say send somebody else. They say fix it or don't show up tomorrow. So here we are. And we're gonna fix it and get back to the party."
The guard was a bit stubborn. He, too, had a party planned and hadn't expected the day to be a duty day.
"Still," he said. "I wasn't notified. No work done 'less I'm notified."
Sten shrugged. He and Alex climbed back into the gravsled. Sten keyed a report on the tiny onboard compiler, then printed it and handed the hard copy to the guard. "Sign it."
The guard stared at it, his eyes widening.
"This says I refused you entrance. You're blaming me 'cause you can't fix the welder."
"Gotta blame somebody," Sten said. "Might as well be you. Look. Be a nice guy. Sign it. We leave. And then it's party time tonight."
The guard handed the report back, shaking his head. "Go do your work."
"Ah, come on," Sten said. "Give us a clottin' break. I wanna go home."
But the guard was firm. He pointed at the building. "Fix it."
Reluctantly Sten and Alex climbed back out of their gravsled, loaded up their tools, and, with a few "clots" thrown over their shoulder, began the weary climb to the fifteenth floor.
Ida and Doc piled over the turret top, into the track. On the ground beside it, the Companion lieutenant was moaning into unconsciousness. After the two had done a quick fiddle with one of the Mantis Section's Hotwire Anything Kits, they'd crept back into the track park. It was unfortunate—for the lieutenant—that he'd come around the wrong corner at the wrong time. Ida'd forearmed him in the gut and Doc had tranked the man, but not before nearly biting through his leg.
Ida fumbled the box out of her purse, looking at the controls.
"Over there," Doc said, pointing at the SP cannon's security/ ignition case. Within seconds Ida had the box epoxied on the case, and the box had analyzed and broken the three-sequence number code that brought the track to life.
As Ida fired the engine up, she settled into the gunner/driver's seat then pushed the track controls forward and hunched a little.
"Hang on, Doc. This is gonna be a clottin' great ride."
The SP cannon's tracks raised great gouts of spray, and then, as Ida yanked one control stick all the way back, the track spun in its own length and churned out of the park toward the armory.
Alex allowed himself one genteel Edinburghian wheeze as he and Sten dumped their duffle bags on the wooden planking covering the Theodomir building's fifteenth story.
Sten fished through one bag and took out a grapnel gun. He fitted the spool line to the grapnel's shaft while Alex neatly coiled cable from the second duffle bag.
Then Sten took careful aim at the prison's roof below through the gun's vee-sights. He fired and with a whoosh the grapnel drifted toward its target, spooling out light silver line.
Bet signaled the tigers. Hugin and Munin flashed forward out of the alley mouth, bounding in rippling shadows toward the gate of the armory. A few meters from it, they split and darted unnoticed to either side of the gate. They slipped into shadows and became invisible, the only movement an occasional flash of a whipping tail.
Bet patted Otho on his hulking shoulder. She walked out from the alleyway and began ankling toward the steel guardshack.
She was wearing her most prim-but-revealing peasant costume. A summer dress that hugged her body but allowed her long limbs to flash out freely. She acted unsure, vulnerable, little-girl-lost. Without hestitation she walked straight toward the guardshack.
A young, handsome Companion stepped out. "May I help you, sister?"
She opened her eyes as wide as they could go. "Oh, yes, sir. I'm hoping you could. I've never been to the Holy City before, and...and..."
"You're lost?"
Bet gulped and gave a shy nod.
"We were all with the village priest," she gushed, all over-explanation. "The Talamein youth group—and one of the boys got, well, you know... too friendly, and—and..." Bet stopped, doing the"galaxy's best blush.
"You left the group." The guard was all understanding, and protective.
Bet nodded.
"And now you need to know how to get to the hostel?"
Bet nodded again.
The guard pointed down the street. "Just down there, sister. A few hundred meters."
Bet gulped her thanks and began, with an innocent wiggle, to head for the hostel.
"I'll stand right here," the young Companion shouted after her, "and make sure you're all right."
Bet waved her thanks and moved on, tentatively, slowly. Tripping over little potholes—all Princess and the Pea. She heard gates clang open behind her and then the sound of boot-steps. The changing of the guard was right on time.
She nodded at the mouth of the alley. A moment later Otho staggered out, a shambling, stumbling drunken Bhor. He bleared at Bet, gave a huge smile, belched, and trundled forward. "By my mother's beard," he shouted. "Here's a find."
Bet shrieked, tried to run, and caught a heel in the cobblestones. She fell heavily. An instant later Otho was falling on her. Laughing and gathering her up in his huge and hairy arms. The theory was that no one dumb enough to be a
Companion would be bright enough to realize that, to a Bhor, breeding with a human was only slightly less revolting and impossible than with a streggan.
Otho pretended not to hear the shouts from the onrushing Companion and the other guards.
"Just my luck," he chortled at Bet. "Now, don't be afraid, little lady. Otho is going to—"
He grunted in pain as the Companion slammed into him. He twisted off Bet, wrapped a mighty arm around the Companion and there was a sharp crack as the man's back broke.
Just behind him, a second Companion gaped in surprise. Bet shot him and he dropped without a sound.
Shouts. Clanking. Sounds of confusion. Bet looked up to see the guards gaping. There were about twenty men pointing and yelling. Weapons were coming up.
Bet put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. The entire street seemed to rumble as the tigers roared and bounded out of their hiding spots, straight into the guards.