“Good job, boys.”
She sprinted back to the intersection. The three Doghan Daguis were already partway down it, but she hurried after them. When they turned at the sound of footfalls, she drew her gun. For the second time in less than an hour, their short arms were reaching for the ceiling. Keeping her weapon trained on the trio, Laureline glanced around for a more private place to have this conversation. The door was ajar to a room that appeared to be for storage of some sort, and she gestured toward it with her gun.
“This way. I need a word.”
They obeyed. She followed them in and closed the door behind them. “Newsflash!” she said with fake cheer. “If you don’t help me find Valerian, you’re all going to die.”
She placed her gun against the side of Blue’s wrinkled head. “And you’re the first up.”
Surprisingly, they did not look nearly as afraid as they ought to have been. In fact, Laureline thought they were smirking at a secret joke.
The first one said, “It’s to avoid such situations—”
“—that all our information—”
“—is divided three ways,” said the third, Yellow, rather smugly.
“Kill one of us,” said the first, and Burgundy piped up, “and you kill the information.”
“What a pity that would be!” Yellow said. He seemed to have the pithiest comments.
Laureline sighed, and lowered her gun. “Okay, you win,” she admitted. “But you’re going to have to give me credit. I don’t have much on me.”
In unison, the three Doghan Daguis shook their heads. “How tiresome,” said Blue.
“If the commander were here—” said Burgundy.
“—he could use the converter to pay us,” Yellow lamented.
“But he’s been abducted—”
“—precisely because he had the converter on him,” Burgundy finished.
“Unless, for security reasons,” mused Yellow, and Blue chimed in, looking inordinately pleased with itself, “somebody else was carrying it for him.”
Laureline stared at them, simultaneously appalled and impressed. “How the hell did you get that info?”
“It’s not info,” replied Burgundy.
“Just deduction,” supplied Yellow.
“We know how humans work,” Blue said, smugly.
“They’re all so predictable,” said Burgundy, with an undercurrent of arrogance and contempt.
Fury surged through Laureline. No doubt General Okto-Bar was tracking her down right this moment. Commander Filitt was still imprisoned, and who knew what had happened to Valerian. The last, the absolute last, thing she wanted to be doing was standing here listening to three stubby little informants disrespect her species. She lifted her gun again, bent over, and shouted into the sensitive earhole of Blue, “All except women! Especially when they’re in a bad mood.”
Blue cringed and clapped his hands to his earholes. His wings flapped in agitation, striking a pile of boxes. “Ow! Okay, okay!”
“Calm down!” urged Burgundy.
“What do you want to know?” asked Yellow.
“Where Valerian is!” said Laureline.
“Hard to tell,” began Blue, still covering his ears.
“But we know a way to track him down—”
“—with complete precision,” Yellow finished.
“How much?” Laureline asked.
“A hundred baduls,” said Blue.
“Each,” clarified Burgundy.
“Cash up front,” Yellow supplied.
Laureline wondered if they fully appreciated just how close she was to almost literally exploding. Through gritted teeth, she said, “I don’t have baduls.”
The first Doghan Daguis said, “You have a converter.”
Laureline fished in a pouch at her waist and tossed a small sack at them. “Forget about it. Here’s all I got.”
The small sack contained a few dozen of the diamonds the converter had produced for her earlier. The Doghan Daguis peered in, then one by one they turned their heads to her. They were not happy.
“Diamonds are less valuable than baduls,” Blue said.
That. Was. It.
“End of negotiation!” Laureline pointed her gun at his other earhole and his weaselly eyes widened.
“Okay, okay,” Burgundy said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Under the circumstances—”
“—we accept the deal.”
“Good,” said Laureline. “Now. Where’s Valerian?”
“Follow us,” Blue said, and rubbed his ear.
General Okto-Bar had been a man of battle, but had found his true calling at Alpha Station. He had found a fascination and an odd sort of peace in managing the goings-on of the vast station, and he done so ably for the last four years. He’d grown fond of the aliens who, like him, called this place “home,” and had made friendships among their number that would last a lifetime. The thought of peril to them, to his fellow humans, to this station that for centuries had stood as a beacon of harmonious interaction and interspecies goodwill and cooperation—it was unacceptable.
He had anticipated, with good reason, that if he continued to smoothly manage the day-to-day troubles of so enormous a collection of beings, he would be rewarded with a promotion to commander of the place he loved. But Commander Arun Filitt had always been a more immediately arresting figure, and when it was time for Filitt’s superiors to give him something to do, Filitt had been given the command of Alpha Station instead of the man who’d actually been running it well with quiet, unappreciated passion for several years. And so Okto-Bar had continued his work in the shadow of the colorful, popular figure.
But now, the commander had vanished, and Okto-Bar was fully aware that Filitt’s likely survival—and that of Okto-Bar’s beloved station—was now his responsibility.
The news that Agent Laureline had escaped was especially irritating. He did not need rogue agents, decorated or not, dashing about. He stood, staring at the map of this place that was both his charge and his joy.
His soldiers, his finest commandos, stood beside him awaiting orders. “Phillips, you head straight for the spot where the major disappeared. Milo, you go after Agent Laureline. When you track her down, bring her in peacefully. No violence! Fall out!”
The commandos hurried on their way. The general gazed pensively at the map.
He was not a man of extreme emotions, nor one given to flights of fancy. Some who knew him would go so far as to accuse him of lacking an imagination entirely, which bothered him not at all. Agent Laureline’s peculiar assertion that Mül inhabitants were on this station and that Agent Valerian had somehow known them was rubbish, of course.
And yet… he knew her as being someone who was solid and forthright, unlike her impulsive partner. She had been so very insistent.
He was running out of options, and it would do no harm to investigate.
Okto-Bar put his hand on a glass scanner. “Declassified. I want all available information on planet Mül.”
After a moment, the scanner began to glow red. A message flashed up: ACCESS REFUSED.
What? The general’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Who has authority over this file?” he asked.
The answer flashed up: COMMANDER ARUN FILITT.
Okto-Bar stared at the blinking name. He apparently did have an imagination, because right now, it was running wild.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN