“Give it to me.” Hudro took the phone. “What do you want?”
“United States directory information. California, Los Angeles area. An automobile dealer called Vince Web—somewhere around Venice.”
While Hudro was waiting for the information, Vrel copied the file into the flyer’s system and encrypted it into Hyadean Code along with a message to Wyvex for it to be forwarded to Chryse. He attached a plaintext note to “Stan, Service Department,” asking him to pass it on urgently to “Wyvex, care of Dee Rainier, who drives the white Pontiac.” Meanwhile, Hudro had obtained the number. Vrel loaded the package back into the phone and sent it off just as the flyer was touching down.
The first thing Hudro did after they landed was get rid of his military-issue Hyadean communicator, which was traceable. Until he knew whether he was compromised or not, he didn’t dare use it. If his name was hot, any message sent from it could trigger a surveillance computer.
* * *
They arrived at Uyali late in the afternoon in a Terran truck making a run from the construction area to pick up a piece of equipment that had been ferried from the spaceport at Xuchimbo. Hudro had found a friendly plant engineer, showed his military pass, and explained with a wink that he and his friend needed a ride back to town after a hot double date in one of the villages farther north. The flyer was “borrowed” and would make its own way back. In recognition, Hudro promised to send back a bottle of Terran “risky”—a Hyadean pun based on the English rhyme with “whisky”—with the truck driver from Uyali. “I’ll take two,” the engineer had said, which was the Hyadean way of asking who you think you’re kidding. Hyadeans saw no point in fulfilling one-time obligations. But he had found them a place in the truck anyway.
Hudro had told Vrel that he had a friend he trusted in Hyadean Military Intelligence back in Brazil, who might be able to find out if Hudro was being watched for and what else was going on. Vrel wondered if it was Hudro’s girlfriend, but Hudro didn’t say. Whoever it was, Hudro would only be able to talk about such things over a secure link, which would mean going into the sprawling Hyadean military base at Uyali and getting access to the communications there. He was willing to gamble that even if Hyadean military police were checking the air terminal, the alert would not involve every guard and gate sentry in the area, and that his papers would get him in. Vrel couldn’t offer any better idea. The only thing for Vrel to do in the meantime would be to lose himself, away from prying Hyadean eyes. The best place to do that promised to be the Terran sector. Accordingly, the truck dropped them off outside a store on the part of the road that ran nearest, and Hudro dutifully purchased a half bottle of pisco brandy for the Hyadean driver to take back for the engineer. The driver accepted it appreciatively and seemed amused. Whether or not it would get where it was supposed to go was beyond Hudro’s control.
They had a meal of spicy meat and vegetables on rice in a café on the outskirts and then strolled around to familiarize themselves with the area. It seemed to have grown around three main streets, one crossing the other two like the lines of a Terran English H. The Terrans were happy to see Hyadeans in their sector because Hyadeans drew large paychecks. After further thought, Hudro bought a man’s leather wallet—hand-sewn and richly decorated—some pieces of jewelry, and a mechanical, spring-powered Terran watch that had to be wound by hand every day, which Hyadeans found intriguing and prized even on Chryse, where the twelve-hour cycle meant nothing. “You never know. I might need to bribe somebody in there,” he explained to Vrel as they came out of the store. “It never hurts to be prepared.”
“I’m impressed,” Vrel complimented. Coming from a Hyadean, it meant just that.
“Military training,” Hudro said.
“Out of curiosity, just what do you do in the military?” Vrel asked.