Eve could hardly be inconspicuous, but she was beginning to know the area well enough to know where in the fields she could place herself and be likely to see without being seen and to hear without being overheard. The trio of men’s pattern varied very little, with all three going out to the most active spot where planting, harvesting, or irrigation was taking place on an intensive scale; then one of them, usually Gregnar, would remain while the other two would begin walking the circle in opposite directions. One time it would be Alon going left and Krag right, the next time the reverse, and every once in a while Gregnar would replace one or the other of them. She followed one once completely around the village, realizing that at some point he probably did notice she was there but not really caring, and it seemed like a routine patrol. The man would examine the areas, looking apparently for breaches in the irrigation canals, checking winches, even checking crops and soil, and then keep going. It took one about an hour to get halfway, or opposite the main day’s workplace, and there he generally waited until his compatriot coming the other way would reach the same spot. They’d stand or sit, talk for a bit, then head off again in opposite directions, this time apparently checking on anything the other reported. In another hour, more or less, they’d be back at the main work site and from that point they would both confer with Gregnar, then pitch in as needed until the lunch call.
In the afternoon, they’d do it again.
There had seemed little reason to keep tracking them, except that twice—once just the day Mount Olivet landed, the next the day before the start of the Festival and the classes—the two men didn’t return in an hour, or even an hour and a half. And yet two, maybe two and a half hours later, each would wander in from the opposite direction as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary.
Where had they gone?
Not into the village. By now there were Arms of Gideon about and they, too, had enough sense of routine that they would have noticed something out of the ordinary, like two of the men coming in when they normally did not.
It had been Alon and Krag this morning breaking their routine; she decided that, if Gregnar decided to replace one of them in the afternoon rounds, she would follow.
She also reported this to Security, who essentially brushed her off. “You’re seeing demons in the bushes,” the Officer of the Day, a particularly arrogant bastard named Cordish, told her. “Still, if it’ll make you happy, go ahead and follow. If you find any trap doors into the Fifth Dimension, let us know.”
“Maybe if you’d do a little field work instead of relying on your computers and scans you might actually find out a few things,” she retorted. “But you should inform the Doctor that something is not right here and let him evaluate the evidence.” That was standard operating procedure and standing orders.
“Do not tell me my job,” Cordish snapped. “The Doctor has much to do today preparing for tonight. He doesn’t need paranoid fantasies interrupting his mission. If you find something, then come back.”
If I do find something, and you haven’t tipped the Doctor, then you’re in for a trip to Hell without leaving the body, she thought, but knew there was no purpose to pressing things. She’d managed to get the message across properly and, not incidentally, to have it both on a security recording and on her own backup just in case things went bad and Cordish decided to shift the blame.
She sought out John Robey, who, like her, had been reduced by the frenzy of activity and organization to mostly helping out, and quickly told him what she’d found.
Robey was skeptical that it meant anything, but willing to take a look. “Probably sneaking off to a still or something,” he told her. “But, just in case, I think you’re right to be overcautious. We can handle more than these people can hand out, but it won’t stop some of ours being hurt if we have to. We just don’t know enough.”
When they reached the work area just after lunch, Robey was a little more interested. “They’re certainly up to something, those lugs,” he told her. “You could see them whispering this way and that at lunch, and I noticed they didn’t drink nearly as much as usual.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small controller with a set of tiny switches. Activating it, he threw a single small switch, then pointed the device at a spot in the cornfield. His robe, so snowy white, began to darken, then take on the coloration of the field. It was not a uniform color, but rather a very good one with mottled patterns designed to make it very difficult to see him. He then handed the device to Eve, who activated it with her thumbprint and then did the same.
“Wish I’d had one of these when I tracked them before,” she muttered.
“We’re lucky to have this one. Not exactly standard issue.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“It was volunteered by one of the Security staff guarding the goodies out at the ship,” he told her.
“Volunteered?”
“Don’t ask. Just remember that God helps those who help themselves.”
She handed it back to him. “Don’t lose that. If we have to explain this color later on, we’ll be in more trouble than if this is some alien trap.”
Now they only had to wait.
It was a bit past fourteen hundred on their watches when the three local men, who’d been working different areas, knocked off and walked over to confer. Robey pointed his communicator at them and frowned. “That’s odd. Interference.”
She almost jumped. “What? How is that possible?”
“It’s not, unless it’s either us or something else on our level. You may well have something here.”
“Want to contact Security?” She hated the idea of going through them, but this was at least evidence of a kind that Cordish might accept as suspicious.
“Tried. It’s there, too.”
“I don’t understand. If it’s all over, why isn’t this place suddenly crawling with our people, scans, you name it?”
“I doubt if it’s universal. I think it’s very low level and probably so limited it might not even get picked up by the ship. That implies that one of those three has something that they can turn on or off.”
It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but now the three had stopped their conversation. Gregnar shouted to one of the other farmers that he was going to do a go-round, as he called it, and that Krag would remain.
Robey looked at Eve. “I’ll take Gregnar, you take Alon. Check in every few minutes and let me know if anything happens the moment it does. Got that?”
She nodded. “You want to call Sinai and get us both traced?”
“Not a bad idea, if they’ll go for it. I’ll handle that. Better be off, and this time don’t be seen! Stay well back. He’s off, and so’s my man!”
She slipped through the corn, trying to be quiet, and came to a wide area between rows just near the edge of the planting. The corn was high enough to mask her, and there was a stiff enough breeze that she hoped she wouldn’t be easily heard. The trick would be to keep Alon in sight while satisfying him that nobody was there.
For several minutes, it was easier than usual. Once out of sight of the other villagers, Alon quickened his pace, more concerned with getting somewhere fast than with looking for any shadows. Still, at least twice he suddenly stopped and whirled around, as if to catch anyone who might be following, and on the second of these he took a good two minutes staring right into the corn rows. She froze, and even held her breath for a while although she was certainly too far behind him for that to be a factor. Had she been in her usual white he would definitely have seen her, just one row in, but if he saw her now he certainly didn’t show it.