“So, where are they now?” Trompe demanded.
“Across the port. In one of the other hives. We thought we’d let you get on your way before we send them anywhere else.”
Lutha sighed.
Trompe said, “How much will you charge to tell them nothing?”
The official shook his head chidingly. “We don’t play games of that sort, Outlander Paggas. That leads to a pattern of darkness, and we try to avoid such. The only reason for our mentioning these people is that we thought you might know of them, know who they are, why they are here. Seemingly, you do not, so they will not be allowed to infringe upon your privacy—or, I should say, the privacy of Bernesohn Famber, whose lease has still two standard years to run.”
“You’ll send them away?”
“They have the same privilege as any other applicant. If they wish to buy a lease, they may buy one. The only cells available at the moment are in hives some distance from Cochim-Mahn, where Bernesohn Famber dwelt among us.”
“You’re saying we won’t encounter them.”
“I’m saying it would be extremely unlikely. Now, your other visitor presents a somewhat different situation.”
“Other visitor?” Lutha raised her brows.
“Thosby Anent. Supposedly he is a broker in craft items, of which Dinadh creates a small array. He pretends to be a broker, and we pretend to believe him. He is actually a spy for the Alliance, and he was here yesterday, asking for you.”
“But we are here for the Alliance,” Lutha erupted, spontaneously and unthinkingly.
The Dinadhi beamed at her. “Of course you are. How nice of you to admit it. It relieves us of the burden of fiction! Old Anent is harmless, but I may not force him on you. Will you see him?”
Trompe shrugged assent.
“Rest here. I’ll send him along, and then the vehicle manager to start you on your way.”
“And your name, sir?” Trompe asked.
“Merely a humble patterner, doing his duty.” He went away, leaving Trompe and Lutha to stare at one another, and then at the elderly man making his way across the floor toward them. He was somewhat gray and dried-out looking, with pale watery eyes of so light a blue they seemed almost white, when they could be seen through the wreath of smoke around his head.
“Thosby Anent,” he murmured, taking the pipe from his mouth and peering over his shoulder even as he cupped his hand beside his lips, a perfect parody of conspiracy. “Covert agent of Alliance Prime, at your service.”
“What do you mean, covert agent?” asked Lutha. “Why would the Alliance have a covert agent here?”
“Why, why,” he stuttered, “to receive information. To forward it to Alliance Prime. They sent me because there’s some conspiracy here. Something going on. They needed someone of my experience. I knew you must have been sent to … ” He made an inclusive gesture.
“I see,” said Trompe fretfully, pinching the flesh between his eyes into a ridge as he felt for what was actually going on inside the oldster’s mind. He seemed perfectly sincere, feeling a little outraged dignity, a little pomposity. A minor functionary living on dreams of glory. “How did you know we’d been sent to … ?” He aped the other’s inclusive gesture.
“The ship,” the man whispered. “It was an official ship.”
As it had been, without question. Well. Trompe bowed formally. “Thank you for your offer. If we learn anything at all, we will bring it directly to you.”
“I thank you sir. I will keep my, ah … network in readiness. Should you, by any chance, happen upon something urgent, the code word is vigilance. “ He pursed his lips and nodded rapidly to himself several times. “Vigilance.”
“I see,” said Lutha, trying to keep from laughing.
Leely chose that moment to stroke her face and mutter his customary polysyllable.
“So this is the young man,” Thosby said, peering at Leely like a squirrel peering at a nut, as though wondering where to begin nibbling. “They were speaking of him in the corridor. So this is he.”
“He is,” said Lutha. “And we’ve come a long way, and we’re tired. If you gentlemen will excuse us.” She stood up and took Leely away with her to what was called on Dinadh the female privacy facility.