"By Uglies, I a.s.sume you mean humans?" Quong said mildly.

The dremeck's round eyes widened, then vanished as the folds of its face crumpled. His hands holding the rag began to tremble. "I forgot! I am sorry, Overseer. I did not mean it. Please forgive mea""

"There, there." Quong would have laid a soothing hand on the dremeck's shoulder, but the human guards overseeing the luggage handlers were starting to take an interest in him. He knew enough about this world to understand that any friendly overture to a dremeck would be viewed with suspicion and perhaps hostility. "I feel much the same about many members of the human race myself. Especially now. And please do not call me Overseer. I am Quong. Dr. Quong."

He rose to his feet. The luggage was at last sorted. People from their cruise ship were already gathering to retrieve their possessions. Quong made a show of taking the change from his pocket, picking through it.

"The guards are watching us. We will retrieve our luggage and take the Uglies train to the Xynx mine. Is that correcta" I beg your pardon. I do not know your name."

"My what?" The dremeck was startled and uneasy.

"Your name. I told you mine. It is Quong. William Quong. And you are?"

"Remer," said the dremeck in immense confusion. "Ia" I am called Remer. Forgive me for seeming startled, but no human has ever before asked my name."

"Hopefully that will change," Quong said, and pressed a coin into the dremeck's hand. He noted, scientifically, that the body temperature of the dremeck was apparently quite low, judging by touch, and that the blue-gray skin had a certain moist quality to it. Clammy, the Uglies would term it "I look forward to meeting you again, Remer. Ah, there is the rest of the team!"

Quong waved to draw their attention. Jamil waved back. The dremeck, clutching his rag in his hand, stared at the small group.

"Is that all of you?" Remer asked, dismayed.

"Another member of the team, Tycho, is standing over beside the juice machine." Quong peered that direction, squinted. "At least I think that is where he is. It is difficult to tell. He comes from a race known as chameleon and at the moment he is blending in with his surroundings. That may be him beside the water dispenser. And now I must go. Farewell for the moment."

Quong started to walk away, but the dremeck made a frantic gesture with the rag.

Quong glanced at the guard, who was saying something to his companion and pointing at them.

"What is it?" Quong said softly. "Be quick! They are watching!"

"Where are the rest of you?" Reiner asked, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. "Where is the army?"

"Army?" Quong frowned. "What army?"

"The army you promised to bring! The army that will save our people."

Quong looked at the dremeck. He looked at the guards and he looked at Jamil, who was walking, unsuspecting, down the corridor.

The doctor understood. Chuckling, he rubbed his hands together.

He could hardly wait to break the news.

CHAPTER 24.

Other Voices, Other Rooms.

Truman Capote, t.i.tle of novel.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam," Petronella greeted the secretary guarding Robison's office from behind a ma.s.sive oak desk. "How're things going?"

Sam shrugged. "Same as always." He glanced at his calendar screen, which glowed a faint iridescent green. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but I was hoping I could see him," Petronella said in wheedling tones. She glanced significantly at the open door, peered inside. "There doesn't seem to be anybody with him...."

Sam was shaking his head. "Sorry, but he has an appointment ina""

"Rizzoli? Is that you?" Robison yelled out from the office.

Sam lifted an eyebrow, gave a wry smile. "Go right in, Agent."

Petronella entered the office, which was habitually darkened. Robison disliked bright light, held that semidarkness was more conducive to thought. The windows in his office were tinted a dark charcoal gray and even then he generally kept the shades activated. Computer screens glowed eerily from dark corners. The only light was above Robison's desk and he had it situated so that it shone brightly on the face of the person in the chair opposite his desk. The odd shadows cast by the single bright light and the glowing computer screens gave the room a secretive air, or so Petronella had always imagined. The darkened room always gave her an adrenaline rush, always made her worka"which was usually mundane, often uninteresting, and sometimes just plain grubbya"seem more exciting than it really was.

She shut the door behind her and walked quickly to stand in front of Robison's desk.

"I know you have another appointment, sir. This won't take long. I didn't want to send it through the usual channelsa""

"Sit down, Agent Rizzoli," Robison said affably. "My next appointment can wait a few moments." He grew more serious. "What is it? What have you found out?"

"A lot, sir," said Petronella, sitting in a chair across from Robison's desk. She kept her voice low, despite the fact that the room was sound proofed, and drew her chair closer. "For starters, you were right. Dalin Rowan is Darlene Mohini. I met her, talked to her."

"Excellent. Where is she?" Robison activated his electronic notepad.

"I met her on Adonia, along with the rest of the team, at the chateau of one of the team members, Raoul de Beausoleil."

"Expert poisoner," Robison said, bringing up the file with a touch of his hand on the nearby computer console.

"Used to work for the late Snaga Ohme. We suspected him in the poisoning of the wife of the president on Modena, but we couldn't find enough evidence to make a case."

He paused, lips pursed, staring at a vid shot of Raoul, who would have been highly flattered by the attention.

"I a.s.sume you have Rowan stashed away somewhere safe. I'd like to talk to her. If you coulda""

"Sorry, sir," said Petronella, "but Rowan refuses to cooperate with us."

"The devil she does!" Robison frowned.

"You can't really blame her, sir," Petronella said. "There've been two attempts on her life. Which reminds me, sir, did you have me followed?"

Robison snorted. "Why would I have you followed, Agent? No, of course not. What made you think that?"

"Someone came to de Beausoleil's house, pretending to be a pool cleaner. The Adonian spotted him and he rana""

"Probably another Hung a.s.sa.s.sin."

"Yes, sir. That's what they thought at first, but that telepath of theirs claimed that the man was following me."

"Did you spot him when you drove to the house?"

"I ... uh ... forgot to check, sir," Petronella said, flushing. "It's just that ... no excuse, sir. I'm sorry."

"What made you believe this telepath of theirs?" Robison asked acidly.

"Well, sir, Rowan suggested that it might have been Amadi, and I must say that I agree with her. After all, I did discover those filesa""

"If you were followed, which I very much doubt, then that must be the answer. Which means that Amadi suspects you. You'll have to be more careful from now on."

Petronella swallowed the rebuke in silence.

"Now," Robison continued, "as to Rowan, we could offer her protectiona""

"Begging your pardon, sir, but Rowan knows that someone high up in the Bureau is tied in to the Hung. She knows that we can't guarantee her protection and that she's a lot safer with her mercenary friends than she would be with us. She knows about Amadi, sir," Petronella finished.

Robison shook his head and swore softly. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h. They're all in this together."

Petronella was troubled. "That means that Rowan and Tampambulos set up their friend Ito to die. I find that hard to believe, sir."

"Don't be naive, Agent!" Robison snapped. "Ito found out about them and they had to get rid of him. Just like they got rid of Armstrong."

"But Tampambulos was in that factory, too, sira""

"So their plan went awry." Robison was impatient.

"Consider this. Tampambulos is carrying the bomb. He plans to stash the bomb in the factory, knock Ito unconscious, leave him there, and escape. Tampambulos explodes the bomb, blows up his partner, and claims that Ito was caught in a b.o.o.by trap. Instead, the bomb goes off before Tampambulos can escape and he ends up critically injured. Rowan feels the heat and decides to turn on her former employer, the Hung. She doesn't do any real damage, however. Maybe she and Amadi and the Hung had it all arranged. When the heat's off, she and Tampambulos get back together again. Amadi's there to welcome them home and they take up where they left off."

Robison gave her a shrewd look. "We have information that a large sum of money has been deposited in the Mag Force 7 account."

"Tampambulos was transferred to Jango, where the Hung leaders are imprisoned," Petronella said reluctantly, still not wanting to believe the ugly picture that was taking shape on her mental screen. She had found herself liking Darlene Rowan. She could still hear the pain in Rowan's voice when she talked about Ito's death. Hard to believe it was all an act. But what other explanation could there be?

"I'd say that clinches it," said Robison coolly. "He's there to break them out. Amadi suspects that you're on to him and he had Rowan try to throw you off the track."

"I suppose you're right, sir," said Petronella. "What do we do to stop them?"

Sam's voice came over the comm. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the Home Secretary is herea""

"I'm in an important meeting," Robison told him. "I'll be with her when I can break free." He was silent a moment, marshaling his thoughts, then said, "Get a Crown warrant and return to Adonia. Pick up Rowan. I want her in my officea""

"We can't arrest Rowan, sir."

"Why not?" Robison glared at her.

"Rowan's not on Adonia now. The team left on an a.s.signment."

"You know where they went?"

"Yes, sir. I planted a listening device."

"Then get a warrant for whatever planet they're on!" Robison rose to his feet. The interview was at an end. "Thanks for bringing this information to me, Agent. You have your ordersa""

"It won't be that easy, sir," Petronella protested. The chair beside her hopped and skittered. She laid a hand on it. "Rowan's gone to a planet called Del Sol. It's outside our jurisdiction."

Robison frowned. "Del Sol?" he repeated. His eyelids with their sandy lashes flickered. "Never heard of it."

"Not surprising, sir," said Petronella. "It's this little d.i.n.ky planet in the Rotarian Sector, a part of a hegemony known as the Seven Sisters. The trouble is that it's not part of the Empire. It's independent. We have no jurisdiction on that planeta""

"What are they doing on Del Sol?" Robison demanded abruptly.

"Apparently it's a job they took on before their leader was arrested. I'm not certain what they've been hired to do. They didn't discuss it."

"You're sure that's where they went?"

"Yes, sir. I followed them to the s.p.a.ceport, saw them board the liner. It's a nonstop flight. I plan to check again to make certain they disembarkeda""

"Don't bother," Robison said curtly. "It's too much trouble. We could never justify the expense. We'll find some other way of dealing with Amadi." He smiled at her. Thank you, Agent Rizzoli. You've done a fine job on this case. I have something else in mind for you. I'll be transmitting the facts in a day or two."

"Is ... is that... it, sir?" Petronella stammered, shocked. "Am I being taken off this case?"

"It doesn't seem that we have much of a case left, does it, Agent Rizzoli?" Robison returned, his tone cool with an irritated edge. "On your way out, tell Sam to connect me with the Home Secretary, will you?"

"Yes, sir." Petronella stood up, walked to the door. Halfway there, she halted. "If I've done something wrong sira""

She stopped talking. He was looking at the computer screen, deliberately ignoring her.

Petronella turned and continued to walk across the floor, which suddenly seemed to be as long and wide and empty as a s.p.a.ceport tarmac. She was dazed by the suddenness of it all, puzzled and confused. Her face felt flushed; she was unsteady on her feet. All she could see was her career swirling around and around in the toilet, then vanishing down the drain.

And as far as she could tell, she'd done nothing wrong!

The door slid silently open. Petronella stumbled through.

She needed to sit and calm down, but not with the sympathetic eyes of the secretary on her. She managed a smile that felt tight enough to snap like a rubber band and stalked, straight-legged and straight-backed out of the office. She made it out of the building, found a small coffee bar, and sat down to recover from the shock. Only then did she realize she'd forgotten to give Sam the message about the Home Secretary.

Screw it.

Petronella ordered coffee, but by the time she got around to drinking it, the liquid inside the cup was cold. She was listening to voices, a great many voices, yammering in her head. Robison's dismissal, over and over. Her own voice, repeating everything she'd said, trying to determine just what the h.e.l.l she'd said wrong; and another voice, saying something in the background.

The voice was trying to tell her something and she had to make all the other voices inside her head shut up so she could listen. She wasn't certain whose voice it was.

Robison's?

She went through his explanation of the facts again.

Her own voice? She hadn't said anything all that intelligent.

Darlene Rowan? Jamil? Dr. Quong?