They pelted down the street, dodging oncoming pedestrians. Sassinak expected at least one of them to try stopping them, but none did. Behind them, the whistle-blower fell steadily behind. Sassinak led them right at the first corner, slowing to an almost-polite jog as she stepped on the first slideway. Aygar, beside her, wasn't even breathing hard.
Then he gripped her wrist. Across the street they were on, ahead, was a cordon of orange-uniforms on the pedestrian overpass above the slideways. They carried something that looked uncomfortably like riot-control weapons. Sassinak and Aygar edged back off the slide-way. This street, like the other, had a miscellany of small shops and bars.
No time to choose. Sassinak ducked into the first she saw, hoping it had a useful back entrance.
"You look terrible, dearie," said someone out of the dimness.
Sassinak started to answer when she realized the young woman was looking at Aygar. Who was looking at her.
"We don't have time for this," she said, tugging at Aygar's suddenly immobile bulk.
"Men always have time for this," said the young woman, setting her various fringes in motion. "As for you, hon, why don't you take a look in the other room." Someone from there had already come to the archway. Sassinak ignored him and tried the only thing she could think of.
"We need to find Fleur. Now. It's an emergency."
"Fleur! What do you know about her?"
An older woman stormed through the draperies of her archway. Somewhat to Sassinak's surprise, she the trim, brisk appearance of a successful professional - which, in a sense, she was. "Who are you, anyway?"
"I need to find her. That's all I can say."
"Security after you?" When Sassinak didn't answer immediately, the woman moved past them to peer nigh the outer window. "They're after somebody, you've got bloodstains and gods know what stinking your clothes. Tell me now! You?"
"Yes. I'm…"
"Don't tell me." Sassinak obeyed. Here, in this place, someone else commanded.
"Come." When Aygar cast a last look after the young who had greeted him, their guide snorted. "Lis-laddy-o, you're looking at a week's salary, unless you're ranked higher than I think, and you'd be dead before you enjoyed it if we don't get you under cover." Then, as she led them down a passage, she shouted to her household, "Lee, get yourself in there with Pearl, I don't think the locals know you yet. Pearl, you Lee come in. The woman with him, if they think saw one, was our street tout." She muttered over shoulder to Sassinak. "Not that that'll hold five cops if they really saw you, but they might not. You can hide here for a while."
Here was a tiny square office, crowded with desk two chairs. The woman pulled open a drawer and an aid kit down on the surface. "You won't pass anywhere, with all that blood. Clean up. Ill be back with another coverall for you." Aygar sat in one of the chairs while Sassinak cleaned a shallow gash and put a sticker over it. He did look conspicuous with the blood off his face. She used more stickers to hold the rents in his coveralls. The scratches under them had long stopped bleeding.
The woman came back with a cheap working coverall tan fabric and tossed it to Sassinak.
"Get that smelly thing off so I can run it through the shredder in the kitchen. What'd you do, camp out in a grocer's trash bin?"
"Not exactly " Sassmak didn't want to explain. She handed Aygar the gun out of her pocket before peeling off her coverall and slipping into the other one. Aygar, she noticed, was trying not to watch while the woman stared at her.
"You must be Fleet," she said, more quietly. "You've got muscles, for a woman your age. Over forty, aren't you?"
"A little, yes."
The tan coverall was a bit short in the arms and legs, but ample in the body Sassmak transferred her ID and the handcom into its pockets and then took the gun back from Aygar.
"Ever heard of Samizdat?" The woman's voice was even lower, barely above a murmur.
Sassmak stared, remembering that bleak afternoon when Abe had told her a tiny bit about that organization "A little." she said cautiously.
"Hmm. Fleet. Samizdat. Fleur. Tell you what, honey, you'd better be honest, or I swear I'll hunt you to the last corner of the galaxy, my own self, and stake your gizzard in the light of some alien sun, so I will. That Fleur's a lady, saved my life more'n once, and never thinks the worse of a girl for doing what she has to."
"She's a Fleet captain," said Aygar. Both women glared at him.
"I didn't want to know that," said the woman. "A Fleet captain with undisciplined crew…"
Before Aygar could say anything, Sassmak said, "He's not crew; he's civilian, an important witness against planet pirates, and they're trying to silence him. We were supposed to have a quiet meeting but it didn't stay quiet."
"Ah. Then you do know about Samizdat. Well, we'll have to get you out of here later, and I'll send word to Fleur…" She stopped, as voices erupted down the passage. "Rats. Up out of that chair, laddy-o, and quick about it."
Aygar stood, and the woman shoved until he flat-tened against the wall. Sassinak, guessing what she wanted, lifted the chairs onto the desk. Beneath the worn carpet was the outline of a trap door. The woman didn't have to urge quickness, not with the words 'search' and 'illegal aliens' and 'renegade posing as Fleet' booming down the hall.
First came a straight drop down five feet to a landing above a short stair. Aygar had scarcely bent to get his head below floor level when the trap banged down, leaving them in complete darkness. Sassinak could hear muffled thumps and scrapes as the rug and chairs went back atop it. She had made it almost to the next level, but stopped where she was, afraid to move in the darkness lest she trip and make a noise. Aygar crept down three steps and touched her shoulder. "What now?" he asked.
"Shhh. We hope the searchers don't know about the trapdoor."
For the first time since trouble started, Sassinak had leisure to think about it and about her ship. She had been fooled by the original communication because it was in Fleet slang. That implied, but did not prove, that someone in Fleet was trying to get her killed. Whoever it was knew enough about Coromell to suspect that his name would lure her and that she would know only his general appearance. He was famous Jenough. It wouldn't be hard for anyone to know his height, his age, and find someone reasonably close to impersonate him.
But why all the complexity? Why not simply have someone assassinate her, or Aygar, or both, as they were on their way out of the shuttleport, or any place between? And, assuming those orange uniforms were police, why were the authorities on the side of the attackers?
She tried to think what someone might have said to convince the local police that she and Aygar were dangerous criminals causing trouble. Fleeing a bar fight was common sense. She'd originally thought to call Coromell's office as soon as she found a telecom booth. And what was happening to her ship, topside? She wanted to pull out the comunit and find out, but dared not with searchers after them.
Time waiting in the darkness had strange dimensions. Endless, seamless, compressed by fear and stretched by anticipation, she had no idea how long it was before she dared extend a cautious foot to the next lower step. She edged down, drawing Aygar after her. Just in case they found the trapdoor, she'd rather be around a corner, behind something, under something. Another step, and another.
When the lights went on, her vision blanked for a moment. Aygar gasped. Now she could see the long narrow room. She ran down the last few steps, Aygar behind her, and looked for a place to hide. There? An angle of wall, perhaps a support for something overhead? She ducked around it, out of sight of the stairs. Then a voice crackled from some hidden speaker.