None of his friends understood the reason behind his sudden ferocious depression, the worrying benders he launched himself into. But then they had never been told of his dream, and how much it meant to him, that was private. So after a couple of abortive attempts to “cheer him up” had failed dismally amid his tirades of calculatingly vicious abuse, they had left him alone.
Which was why he’d been surprised when the girl in the Bar KF-T had spoken to him. Surprised, and not a little bit blasted. The come-on routine he gave her was automatic, he didn’t have to think. It was only when she’d gone that a frown crossed his flattish, handsome face. “Joshua,” he said in a drink-fuddled voice. “She called me Joshua. Why did she do that?”
The barmaid, who by now had given up on the idea of lugging him home for the night, shrugged gamely and moved on.
Liol drained his whisky chaser in one swift toss, then datavised a search request into the spaceport registration computer. The answer seemed to trojan a wickedly effective sober-up program into his neural nanonics.
Alkad had seen worse rooms when she was on the move thirty years ago. The hotel charged by the hour, catering for starship crews on fast stopovers, and citizens who wanted somewhere quiet and private to indulge any of a variety of vices which modern technology could provide. There was no window, the hotel was cut into rock some distance behind the cliff at the end of the biosphere cavern. It was cheaper that way. The customers never even noticed.
Big holograms covered two of the walls, showing pictures of some planetary city at dusk, its jewelscape of twinkling lights retreating into a horizon of salmon-pink sky. The bed filled half of the floor space, leaving just enough room for people to shuffle around it. There was no other furniture. The bathroom was a utilitarian cubicle fitted with a shower and a toilet. Soaps and gels were available from a pay dispenser.
“This is Lodi Shalasha,” Voi said when they arrived. “Our electronics supremo, he’s made sure the room’s clean. I hope. For his sake.”
The young man rolled off the bed and smiled nervously at Alkad. He was dressed in a flamboyant orange suit with eye-twisting green spirals. Not quite as tall as Voi, and several kilos overweight.
Student type, Alkad categorized instantly, burning with the outrage that came from a head stuffed full of fresh knowledge. She’d seen it a thousand times before when she was a lecturer; kids from an easy background expanding their minds in all the wrong directions at the first taste of intellectual freedom.
His smile was strained when he looked at Voi. “Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” the tall girl was immediately suspicious.
“I’m sorry, Voi. Really.”
“What?”
“Your father. There was some kind of trouble at the Laxa and Ahmad offices. He’s dead. It’s all over the news.”
Every muscle in the girl’s body hardened, she stared right through Lodi. “How?”
“The police say he was shot. They want to question Kaliua Lamu.”
“That’s stupid, why would Kaliua shoot my father?”
Lodi shrugged hopelessly.
“It must have been those people running to the offices. Foreign agents, they did it,” Voi said. “We must not let this distract us.” She paused for a moment, then burst into tears.
Alkad had guessed it was coming, the girl was far too rigid. She sat Voi down on the bed and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “Just let it happen.”
“No.” Voi was rocking back and forth. “I must not. Nothing must interfere with the cause. I’ve got a suppressor program I can use. Give me a moment.”
“Don’t,” Alkad warned. “That’s the worst thing you can do. Believe me, I’ve had enough experience of grief to know what works.”
“I didn’t like my father,” Voi wailed. “I told him I hated him. I hated what he did. He was weak.”
“No, Ikela was never weak. Don’t think that of your father. He was one of the best navy captains we had.”
Voi wiped a hand across her face, simply broadening the tear trails. “A navy captain?”
“That’s right. He commanded a frigate during the war. That’s how I knew him.”
“Daddy fought in the war?”
“Yes. And after.”
“I don’t understand. He never said.”
“He wasn’t supposed to. He was under orders, and he obeyed them right up to his death. An officer to the last. I’m proud of him. All Garissans can be proud of him.” Alkad hoped the hypocrisy wouldn’t taint her voice. She was alarmingly aware how much she needed Voi’s people now, whoever they were. And Ikela had almost kept the faith, it was only a white lie.
“What did he do in the navy?” Voi was suddenly desperate for details.
“Later, I promise,” Mzu said. “Right now I want you to activate a somnolence program. Believe me, it’s the best thing. We were having a hard enough day before this.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“I know. But you need it. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Voi glanced uncertainly at Lodi, who nodded encouragingly. “All right.” She lay back on the bed, shuffled herself comfortable, and closed her eyes. The program took hold.
Alkad stood up and deactivated the chameleon suit. It was painful peeling the hood off her face, the thin fabric stuck possessively to her skin. But the room’s cool air was a tonic; she’d sweated heavily underneath it.
She split the seal on her blouse and began to wriggle her arms out of the suit.
Lodi coughed frantically.
“Never seen a naked woman before?”
“Er, yes. But . . . I. That is—”
“Are you just playing at this, Lodi?”
“Playing at what?”
“Being a good-guy radical, a revolutionary on the run?”
“No!”
“Good. Because you’re going to see a lot worse than a bare-arsed woman my age before we’re done.”
His skittish attitude calmed. “I understand. I really do. Er—”
Alkad started on the trousers, they were tighter than the hood. “Yes?”
“Who are you, exactly?”
“Voi didn’t explain?”