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was bulkier, Sealer Greenlaw a little shorter. Adjudicator Leutwyn brought up
the rear.
Only in an emergency, he admitted. Where did you get the suits?
My people sent them across from the station in a drone pod, said Venn. He,
too, wore his stunner holstered on the outside of his suit.
Miles would have preferred to keep the civilians safely locked down in the
freight nacelle, but there was clearly no help for that now.
Which is still attached to the lock, yes, Venn overrode Miles's opening
mouth.
Thank you, said Miles meekly.
He wanted desperately to rub his face and scrub his itching eyes, but
couldn't. What was next? Had he done all he could to contain this thing? His
eye fell on the decontaminator, slung over Roic's shoulder. It would probably
be a good idea to take that back down to Engineering and sterilize their
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tracks.
M'lord?' said Roic diffidently.
Yes, Armsman?
I been thinking. The night guard saw the portmaster and the ba enter the
ship, but nobody reported anybody leaving. We found Thorne. I was wondering
how the ba got off the ship.
Thank you, Roic, yes. And how long ago. Good question to pursue next.
Whenever one of the
Idris
's hatches opens, its lock vid recorders start up automatically. We should
ought to be able to access t'lock records from here, I'd think, same as from
Solian's security office. Roic cast a somewhat desperate eye around the
intimidating array of stations. Somewhere.
We should indeed. Miles abandoned the pilot's chair for the flight
engineer's station. A little poking among the controls, and a short delay
while one of Roic's library of override codes pacified the lockdowns, and
Miles was able to bring up a duplicate file of the sort of airlock security
records they'd found in Solian's office and spent so many bleary-eyed hours
studying. He set the search to present the data in reverse order of time.
The most recent usage was first up on the vid plate, a nice shot of the
automated drone pod docking at the outboard personnel lock serving the number
two freight nacelle. An anxious-looking Venn scooted into the lock in his
floater. He shuttled in and out handing back green suits folded in plastic
bags to waiting hands, plus an assortment of other objects: a big box of first
aid supplies, a tool kit, a decontaminator somewhat resembling Roic's, and
what might be some weapons with rather more authority than stunners. Miles cut
the scene short and sent the search back in time.
Mere minutes before that was the Barrayaran military medical patrol arriving
in a small shuttle from the
Prince Xav
, entering via one of the number four nacelle personnel locks. The three
medical officers and Roic were all clearly identifiable, hastily unloading
equipment.
A freight lock in one of the Necklin drive nacelles popped up next, and Miles
caught his breath. A figure in a bulky extravehicular-repairs suit marked with
serial numbers from the
Idris
's engineering section lumbered heavily past the vid pickup, and departed into
the vacuum with a brief puff of suit jets. The quaddies bobbing at Miles's
shoulder murmured and pointed; Greenlaw muffled an exclamation, and Venn
choked on a curse.
The next record back in time was of themselves - the three quaddies, Miles,
and Roic
- entering the ship from the loading bay for their inspection, however many
hours ago it had been. Miles tapped instantly back to the mystery figure in
the engineering suit.
What time... ?
Roic exclaimed, Look, m'lord! He - it - was getting away not twenty minutes
before we found t'portmaster! The ba must've still been aboard when we came
on! Even through his faceplate, his face took on a greenish tinge.
Had Bel's conundrum in the bod pod been a fiendishly engineered delaying
tactic?
Miles wondered if the knotted feeling in his stomach and tightness in his
throat could be the first sign of a bioengineered plague....
Is that our suspect? asked Leutwyn anxiously. Where did he go?
What is the range on those heavy suits of yours, do you know, Lord Auditor?
asked
Venn urgently.
Those? Not sure. They're meant to allow men to work outside the ship for
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hours at a time, so I'd guess, if they were fully topped up with oxygen,
propellant, and power...
damned near the range of a small personnel pod. The engineering repair suits
resembled
military space armor, except with an array of built-in tools instead of
built-in weapons. Too heavy for even a strong man to walk in, they were fully
powered. The ba might have ridden in one around to any point on Graf Station.
Worse, the ba might have ridden out to a mid-space pickup by some Cetagandan
co-agent, or perhaps by some bribed or simply bamboozled local helper. The ba
might be thousands of kilometers away by now, with the gap widening every
second. Heading for entry to another quaddie habitat under yet another faked
identity, or even for rendezvous with a passing jumpship and escape from
Quaddiespace altogether.
Station Security is on full emergency alert, said Venn. I have all my
patrollers and all of the Sealer's militia on duty out looking for the fellow
- the person.
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