I gestured at the hose. “Luckily for you, there’s a fresh supply available at the tunnel face for you to tap into. A few small holes, a good aim, maybe a small grinder to smooth out any big lumps afterward, and you’re done.”
“But the hose only carries water when the workers are here.”
“Sure, but the equipment stays here all day,” I reminded her. “It wouldn’t be hard to sneak out at night and fire up the pump just enough to bring through the water you needed to close up the opening.” I cocked an eyebrow as a new thought struck me. “Or they might even have slipped into the work team and done it right in front of the Halkas’ flat little faces. A lot of Bellidos are able to speak alien languages without an accent—I’ve heard some of them do it—and once they’re wrapped up in vac suits no one’s going to pick them out of a crowd without a good look through their faceplates. With a chaotic enough workplace, they could conceivably pull it off.”
Tentatively, she touched the ice wall with her fingertips. “So how do we get in to take a look?”
I studied the wall, wishing I’d brought my sensor with me. “Well, we can’t do it now,” I said slowly. “We may be under surveillance, and I don’t want to blow the Bellidos’ cover before we know what they’re up to. Our best bet would be to wait until they get here and let them open it for us.”
I looked over my shoulder down the tunnel. “Or we could help ourselves to a couple of workers’ suits and drop in on tomorrow’s work party.”
Bayta’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” I conceded. “But it’s still worth thinking about. Let’s check out the other tunnel, and then we’ll have that lugeboard rematch.”
We climbed the rest of the way up and headed across the staging area. The work in the south tunnel was about as far along as that of the north, and I searched it with the same degree of care. But if anyone had been doing unauthorized work, I couldn’t find any sign of it. Finally, and to Bayta’s obvious relief, we left and headed back to the finished tunnels.
I did considerably better on this run, falling down less than half as often as I had on the first run. Unfortunately for my pride, Bayta’s learning curve was steeper, and she still came out looking better than I did. We took the elevator down this time, turning in our vac suits and other equipment at the hotel’s service desk.
“Now what?” Bayta asked as we headed across the lobby.
“Dinner, then an early bedtime,” I said as we passed one of the observation lounges on our way to the guest room elevators. “Tomorrow could be a very busy—”
“Compton!” a voice from the lounge cut across the low buzz of conversation. “Frank! Over here!”
Clamping my teeth down onto my tongue, I turned to look.
It was Colonel Applegate, seated at one of the lounge tables, a friendly smile on his face as he waved a hand invitingly.
And seated across from him, his own expression studiously neutral, was Deputy UN Director Biret Losutu.
A man who once said he wished I was dead.
THIRTEEN:
“What do we do?” Bayta murmured.
For a long moment I considered turning my back on them and continuing on my way. But that might look like I was afraid to face Losutu again, and there was no way in hell I was going to give anyone that impression. “We see what they want, of course,” I told Bayta. Taking her arm, I led us over to their table. “Good day, gentlemen,” I said. “This is a surprise.”
“For us, as well,” Applegate said. “Though now that I think about it I suppose it shouldn’t have been. Sooner or later, a travel agent searching for exotic locales would have to find his way to Modhra.”
“It is spectacular, isn’t it?” I agreed, shifting my attention to Losutu. “Good day, Director Losutu.”
“Good day, Mr. Compton,” he replied, his dark eyes steady on mine, his face settled into the half-contemptuous, half-amused expression I’d found so irritating at the UN hearings a year and a half ago. “So you’re a travel agent now, are you? Interesting career move.”
“I mingle with a better class of people this way,” I replied. “I see you’re being as careful as ever with Confederation money.”
The amused half of Losutu’s expression vanished. “Meaning?” he asked, a note of warning in his voice.
“Meaning I must have missed the brochure that talked about Modhra I’s prominence as a weapons purchasing center.”
Losutu’s eyes shifted to Applegate. “Colonel?”
Applegate’s lip twitched. “I may have mentioned something of our mission to Mr. Compton,” he admitted. “As a former Westali agent, I thought—”
“Former being the operative word,” Losutu cut him off, shifting his glare back to me. “What exactly do you know, Compton?”
“You’re looking to buy some expensive starfighters to guard the transfer stations at New Tigris and Yandro,” I said, forcing myself to meet his glare. I was a private citizen, and we were a long way from his little fiefdom. “Strikes me as a good-money-after-bad sort of thing.”
“There are three million Confederation citizens in those two star systems,” he said, a little stiffly. “Yandro itself is up to nearly half a million, I might add, despite your predictions to the contrary.”
“I never said no one could live there,” I countered. “All I said was that the place wasn’t worth the cost of putting in a Quadrail station.”
“Those half million colonists would disagree,” he said, calmer now as he settled into the rote rationalization he’d probably used a thousand times in the last couple of years. “Frontiers are important for the human spirit, whether they immediately earn their keep or not. Give the people there another twenty years, and I think you’ll be surprised at what they create. In the meantime, they deserve the same degree of security and protection as you do.” He pursed his lips. “And whatever you may think of me personally, that is part of my job.”
“A job you may be able to help us with,” Applegate jumped in. “The Western Alliance is having some problems over Director Losutu’s proposals. You might be able to help smooth the way.”
I thought about reminding him that he’d already made this pitch to me back on the Quadrail. But it was obviously supposed to be a secret, and getting him deeper in trouble with Losutu than he already was wouldn’t gain me anything but a little petty vengeance. “I think you overestimate my influence,” I said instead.
“You might be surprised,” Applegate said doggedly. “The least you could do is check out the fighters we’re looking at and give us your opinion.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, but we don’t have room in our schedule for any side trips into Cimman space.”
“No need,” he said. “Two of the fighters are stationed right here at Modhra.”
Pressed close beside me, I felt Bayta stiffen. “What for?” I asked.
“Protection of the resort and coral harvesting areas, of course,” Losutu said. He was looking at me more thoughtfully now, like a tool he might be able to find some practical use for. “They’re actually stationed over at the other moon, Modhra II, where they’re more unobtrusive.”
“No, we wouldn’t want to upset the paying customers,” I agreed cynically. “But I thought you were looking at Cimman fighters.”
“We are,” Applegate said. “Chafta 669s, which are a joint project between the Cimmaheem and Halkas. We were scheduled to have our talks at Grakla, but there was a scheduling foul-up and the people we needed to talk to were all the way across the Republic and wouldn’t be back for a few more days. The nearest Chaftas were here at Modhra, so one of the negotiators suggested we come here and have the Halkas run them through their paces for us.”