· · ·
The lift let out again a short walk from atevi Central. A man and a woman in Guild black guarded the shut doors to Central operations. And two men in workers’ green waited there. Geigi signaled them, excused himself to speak to them, a hasty delivery of instructions before he hurried after them.
The dowager with her bodyguard, Cajeiri with his own, continued. Bren followed Cajeiri, with two of Cajeiri’s young guard behind, and none of his own. He had not been without his aishid, waking and sleeping, in—in what length of time he could not remember. It was a strange, a frightening feeling, as if he were hyper-extended, part of him headed clear across the station, at great risk, if things went wrong. The tunnel environment itself held dangers.
He was not going to let things go wrong. There was little he could do, from here, in the detail sense. But if his aishid or any of the others found themselves in trouble—he would act. He would act if it took calling down every influence he owned or could borrow.
As they entered Central, techs at their stations, realizing their presence, began to rise.
“Sit!” Ilisidi thumped her cane against the deck, instantly stopping all such movement. “Please attend your duties, nadiin! We need you to pay attention there!”
Geigi, entering his office briefly, ordered a padded chair brought out, providing Ilisidi a place to sit. When he came out again, he strode into the center of the room, with an open notebook in hand, and began giving rapid-fire orders to this and that station.
Locks and codes were at issue. Geigi gave step by step directions, reviewed instructions with certain stations.
And meanwhile a pot of tea, ordered from the adjacent service area, arrived at Ilisidi’s elbow.
Bren stood and watched the screens, such as he could. Listened, for what he could gather of their units’ progress.
Cajeiri stayed close by his great-grandmother, talking to her, watching anxiously as Geigi moved from section to section of the boards, giving orders.
Twenty-nine minutes gone, since they’d arrived in Central. Jase’s duty was about to end. Riggins would be due to take over.
The suspended screen above, triple-faced, changed from numbers to an image of darkness, a green glare on machinery.
Banichi? Bren wondered. That camera was body-mounted, possibly borne by one of Geigi’s men, moving in haste, within one of the tunnels.
Then he heard, on speaker, voice contact from Jase. And unmistakable behind the moving shadows, as the camera-bearer turned, two white figures, large as atevi, glared ghostlike in the dark.
That was Cenedi’s group on screen. Jase, with his bodyguards, Kaplan and Polano. And the Guild Observers. The move was underway, headed for Braddock.
Geigi meanwhile, continued up and down the row, giving orders, supervising what had to be a tight sequence of events.
There was nothing for the rest of them to do right now but stay out of the way, and cling to that murky image, that distant mutter of voices, one of the two operations currently underway. Cenedi’s team was moving very fast, presumably with Geigi’s workers leading. Occasionally a green-lit girder flared into visibility, and slipped away, distorted at the edge of sight. 12, Mospheiran numbers said, on a girder.
At what stage his own aishid was in their operation, he had no word. There was no contact with them, yet, that he could tell. But Guild didn’t seek contact with directing authority until the Guild-senior in charge decided a report was due.
There was one resource, and Bren hesitated to resort to it. It had been for other contingencies, other emergencies—in case. It breached regulations. He reached into his coat pocket, felt the presence of that Guild com, told himself he could do damage if he resorted to it. This wasn’t the time. His aishid didn’t need his interference. He would embarrass them if they knew he was holding on to it like a superstition, a surrogate presence. But he was. As if wishing could help them.
The image on the hanging screen shifted then, flicked to another, larger, area with tanks and pipes casting strange shadow in a moving light.
A young human voice called out, “Bjorn? Gene? Artur? If you’re here—come out! It’s all right! It’s me!”
That was his aishid, with Irene, underway in their search just about the time Cenedi’s group was prepared to move into the apartment corridor.
The white readout in the sidebar next to that dark image said six past the hour.
Six past. Into next shift. Riggins was in charge—except Jase was not going to be handing off with a report any time soon.
“Doors in the residencies in 23 and 24 have now reset,” Geigi said quietly, the first report from him, in his close attention to the boards. He was talking to someone, likely his own workers. And the apartment doors were all locked. The master card for Irene’s apartment was in their hands. And if that household had waked, they would not spend long before realizing Irene was missing. And that the master key was missing.
“Nandi,” one tech said, turning. “Riggins-aiji seems to be asking for Jase-aiji.”
Good guess Riggins was looking for Jase.
Everybody was going to be looking for Jase-aiji in a few minutes.
“Mospheiran Central officially shut down all operations half an hour ago,” Geigi said. “Gin-nadi has handed all control back to us. We shall decline to answer Riggins-aiji.”
“Nandi,” the tech said, and simply pushed a button.
Ship-com was going to be asking a lot of questions.
Meanwhile all apartment doors, throughout sections 23 and 24, were supposed to open from the inside, using the master cards, but those honest souls who had not had their master cards stolen were now finding that their cards wouldn’t work.
And their com service had been cut off days ago. That was very a scary situation, and they could not maintain that for too long before people became completely panicked.
“Bjorn? Gene? Artur? Come out! It’s all right! It’s safe!”
The display had switched again. Cenedi’s, Bren thought. For a few moments the display was green-lit pipes, and blackness, and shadows.
Then a white-lit wall flared bright. A door opened. Camera view adjusted to low corridor lighting.
“Retain the first thread, nadiin!” Geigi said to his techs. “Hold on that source.”
Over audio came Cenedi’s voice, in Guild code. The video image jolted, veered to the right, to a broad, deserted expanse, a low-light image dimmed by distance and motion.
Then the view jolted repeatedly and turned right again, in a flare that momentarily washed out the image, then reestablished it as another station corridor. The camera jolted, suddenly shoved aside by a trio of Guild at a run, someone saying, in Ragi. “This way!”
“Station One,” Geigi said, “Unlock A113 and A112 in 24. Now. Cenedi! The doors are unlocked.”
“One hears,” Cenedi’s voice came back, jolted by running. Bren became aware that Ilisidi was levering herself to her feet, using her cane. He moved to assist as Cajeiri did.
“Pish!” Ilisidi said, shaking them off. Her attention was for the screen.
Guild in the lead stopped, became a black wall between the camera and a door. The door slid open. A woman cried out in alarm and indignation, an outcry culminating in a series of shrieks. The camera caught up, jolted, showing furniture, a flailing arm.
“Hold her,” someone said, and audio had the sound of crashing furniture. Image became suddenly a second, interior door, and a struggle, two fast moves, and human voices, male, at least two in number, angry screaming.
Screaming became ship-speak words. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”