BenRabi searched his partner's face. He saw the pain there. Maybe, he thought, Mouse doesn't want to go back either. But Mouse's nature would leave him less choice... It would be stupid to push him. He tended to overreact under stress.
BenRabi's shoulders slumped. He surrendered. Back to being a chip in the stream.
A dread voice rang through Danion, godlike, calling all departing landsmen to Departure Station for payoff and checkout. Mouse pocketed his weapon, said, "Sorry, Moyshe."
"I understand." But he did not, not really.
Mouse nodded to the door. "Let's go."
They went. Moyshe gave him no trouble, even when the opportunity arose. He had given up completely.
No home at all, he thought. Guess I'll never have one. I'll just go on being a chip in a universe like those Sierran flood rivers. I'm back where I started.
He stared at the lock that would open on the service ship. One long step through and he would come out in the terminal on Carson's. How much would things have changed during their absence? Greta would have grown...
Greta. "Mouse, I forgot to get something for Greta. I've been gone a whole damned year... I got to bring her something."
"Mr. benRabi?" A man pushed through the crowd, some of benRabi's belongings in hand. "You left some of your things."
Moyshe recognized him. He was one of Kindervoort's people. Had they found his notes? "Mike, do I have time to get a souvenir for my daughter?"
Still talking about Moyshe's forgetfulness, Mike stepped between benRabi and Mouse. Landsmen milled around them, talking excitedly of home, rushing to the paymaster when their names were called. BenRabi paid no attention. He was fascinated by the sudden despair on Mouse's face.
"The weapon, please?" Mike said.
Several men surrounded them now. Kindervoort himself was approaching, having just left a nearby office.
Mouse surrendered the gun meekly, consternation becoming a weak smile.
"Told Beckhart it wouldn't work," he said loudly. "But he never listens to the man in the field... "
There was a stir. Shouts. Screams. Mouse hit benRabi with a flying tackle. Mike grunted, twisted, came down atop them, an expression of incredible surprise fixed on the unburned half of his face. The shouting redoubled. People tried to run. A handgun flashed again. Security men tried to reach the source of fire.
"Wheels within wheels," Mouse said into benRabi's ear, his voice coldly calm. Kindervoort, kneeling beside them, looked at him questioningly. "This was mine," Mouse told him. "I figured he'd have a fail-safer in."
Fail-safer. That was a trade name for a man hyped and programed to do everybody in if a mission went bust. Fail-safers seldom knew what they were. Usually they were innocents dragged in off a street somewhere and run through the Psych mill. Even after assassinating agents about to defect or to be captured they seldom knew what they had done, why, or for whom.
BenRabi had never considered himself, Mouse, and this mission that critical.
"Sorry, Moyshe. I didn't think I should tell you. Made it look better, you believing."
Is he telling the truth? Moyshe wondered. Or is he playing the ends against the middle? Is he just bending with the breeze, hoping to keep his skin?
"We had to spot him before we could cross over, and this was the only place to do it. It's too late for him now. He can't hunt us down." Mouse shrugged, then smiled. So did benRabi.
He chose to believe. He did not want to stay here alone.
That was why he had had so much trouble deciding. Amy was not enough. Chub was not enough. The Seiner culture itself was insufficient. He had needed that one extra, Mouse, his heartline to the past.
Kindervoort's men returned. "You get him?" Mouse asked.
"Somebody did. He was dead when we got there. Looks like a nerve poison."
Kindervoort regarded them oddly, appraisingly. "Fail-safer for a fail-safer? Your Admiral is bizarre, but I've never heard of that before."
Unusual? Moyshe thought. It's unprecedented. It doesn't make sense. But what the hell? It was over now. He was home free.
Home, after all, and with a good woman— Amy was running toward him, through the crowd, pale with worry—and a friend. Life, it seemed, had finally taken a happy turn.
"Are you ready now?" Amy asked anxiously, after having made sure he was unharmed.
"Ready? For what?"
"To cross over, stupid. Are you, darling?" She seemed afraid his stiff-neckedness would persist.
It did. "Seems like I don't have much choice. But I won't talk."
"Talk?" Kindervoort asked. "What do you mean? About what?"
"About the Bureau. About its policies, its goals, its mission, things I might know that you'd want to know. I won't tell you. The man who was Commander Thomas Aquinas McClennon is dead. Everything he knew died with him. Don't try to call him back from the grave."
"That's what's been bothering you?" Kindervoort asked. "Moyshe, Moyshe, why didn't you say so? I wondered what the hell was stopping you. It was so obvious you wanted to come over. There never have been any conditions. Never. I'm sorry you got that impression. Hell, anything I want to know you don't—otherwise Beckhart never would have risked you."
BenRabi considered. It made some sense. But there were things he could tell... The hell with it. He would take the chance. He put an arm around Amy, pulled her close to him. "Thanks, Jarl. Mouse. Oh. Say, Jarl. Is there time for me to get a real Starfisher souvenir for my daughter?"
"Daughter?" Kindervoort and Amy said together.
"What daughter?" Amy demanded. "You said you weren't ever married."
"I wasn't. She's not really my daughter. A girl I met on Old Earth. I sponsored her. That's sort of like adopting a kid... She doesn't know where I'm at or what I'm doing or anything."
"Find something quick," Kindervoort said. "The service ship is going to space in twenty minutes."
"Hey, Moyshe," Mouse said. "Throw this in." He offered the coin with the hole in the center. "Tell her to mail it to the Admiral."
"A little personal message, eh?"
"You might say."
"Come on, Amy. Give me an idea."
"How come you never told me about this girl? What's her name anyway?"
Mouse watched them go, smiling wanly. That was not going to be a classic love match. But it did not have to be. It only had to last a few months more.
His mission was complete. But a Bureau man did not leave his comrades behind. And a Storm never abandoned a friend.