Read Online Rebels and Lovers by Linnea Sinclair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linnea Sinclair
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transport that included the usual elegant cabins would have solved the lodging problem, but they hadn’t traveled by GGS transport. That was one of the many Guthrie rules already broken. Devin adjusted the weight of his duffel on his shoulder. Another Guthrie rule to fall by the wayside. He was carrying his own luggage, despite the fact that Barthol wasn’t happy about it. “If we find Trip quickly enough, that won’t matter.”
Barthol shot him a sideways glance. “Do you have any idea how large and convoluted Dock Five is?”
He’d looked over the schematics—and, yes, they were highly irregular—but not yet committed them to memory. “I know it ranges from six to ten levels, all coded by color. And it utilizes numbered corridors in an odd–even sequence. But it’s a station, essentially. How many places—”
“Dozens, Mr. Devin. And all are equally within play. Yes, I know you’re used to thinking city, region. A station’s contained environment seems more manageable. But consider Mr. Ethan’s twin girls chasing each other around the main living area of your parents’ estate, going in concentric circles—or, in this case, rectangles—each never quite catching up to the other. Then imagine that there’s a bank of elevators on either side, so that they’re now not only going in continuous rectangles but on different levels. That’s not unlike what we have here.”
A bark of laughter followed by a high-pitched squeal halted Devin’s response. He turned toward the sound and saw a squat, balding man and a taller woman with bright yellow hair leaning against an area of gray bulkheading next to what appeared to be a bar or dining establishment, judging from a flashing menu on the right of the doorway. The woman’s pink shirt dangled from her fingers; the man’s hands massaged her bare breasts. The woman giggled. Devin, embarrassed by the crude display, looked away.
“Nor can we,” Barthol continued, “expect assistance from the local authorities.”
The groping man wore brown pants with a stripe down the side and a gun belt. Those facts surfaced in Devin’s mind as he followed Barthol down the corridor. Security striper. No, the local authorities seemed to have their hands full.
“At the very least we need a hotel room,” Barthol said. “Someplace we can secure. When we find Master Trip, we may not be able to book passage back to Aldan immediately. I would not want to wander these corridors with him until transport becomes available.”
They’d be targets, likely more than they were now. Devin didn’t miss some of the appraising—as in,
your
clothing is worth far more than mine
—glances sent his way. He’d already pulled down the cuff of his sweater to cover his wristwatch. It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t defend his person or his property. It was just that he didn’t want to be in a position where he had to do so.
A soft pinging sound came from Barthol’s DRECU. “Ah, good,” Barthol said after a moment. “We’ve acquired rooms. One level up on Blue. If memory serves me, there should be an escalator around the corner here … Well. Something of one.”
It was an escalator, Devin noted. Only it no longer moved, and more than a few stair treads were missing. People hurried up and down it anyway—human people and nonhuman people. Tall, furred Takans in grimy coveralls. Almost as tall bluish-skinned Stolorths in nondescript shipsuits.
GGS had been considering a trade deal with a respected Stolorth merchant clan as recently as four months ago. Devin exchanged messages with their senior financial officer. But he couldn’t remember the last time he was in the same vicinity as a live Stolorth—no, he could. He was twelve years old and felt distinctly queasy upon realizing the imposing woman’s neck was ringed with gills and her fingers connected with webbing. The fact that she was his aunt’s friend and colleague at the university did little to reassure him. When he was
Barthol shot him a sideways glance. “Do you have any idea how large and convoluted Dock Five is?”
He’d looked over the schematics—and, yes, they were highly irregular—but not yet committed them to memory. “I know it ranges from six to ten levels, all coded by color. And it utilizes numbered corridors in an odd–even sequence. But it’s a station, essentially. How many places—”
“Dozens, Mr. Devin. And all are equally within play. Yes, I know you’re used to thinking city, region. A station’s contained environment seems more manageable. But consider Mr. Ethan’s twin girls chasing each other around the main living area of your parents’ estate, going in concentric circles—or, in this case, rectangles—each never quite catching up to the other. Then imagine that there’s a bank of elevators on either side, so that they’re now not only going in continuous rectangles but on different levels. That’s not unlike what we have here.”
A bark of laughter followed by a high-pitched squeal halted Devin’s response. He turned toward the sound and saw a squat, balding man and a taller woman with bright yellow hair leaning against an area of gray bulkheading next to what appeared to be a bar or dining establishment, judging from a flashing menu on the right of the doorway. The woman’s pink shirt dangled from her fingers; the man’s hands massaged her bare breasts. The woman giggled. Devin, embarrassed by the crude display, looked away.
“Nor can we,” Barthol continued, “expect assistance from the local authorities.”
The groping man wore brown pants with a stripe down the side and a gun belt. Those facts surfaced in Devin’s mind as he followed Barthol down the corridor. Security striper. No, the local authorities seemed to have their hands full.
“At the very least we need a hotel room,” Barthol said. “Someplace we can secure. When we find Master Trip, we may not be able to book passage back to Aldan immediately. I would not want to wander these corridors with him until transport becomes available.”
They’d be targets, likely more than they were now. Devin didn’t miss some of the appraising—as in,
your
clothing is worth far more than mine
—glances sent his way. He’d already pulled down the cuff of his sweater to cover his wristwatch. It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t defend his person or his property. It was just that he didn’t want to be in a position where he had to do so.
A soft pinging sound came from Barthol’s DRECU. “Ah, good,” Barthol said after a moment. “We’ve acquired rooms. One level up on Blue. If memory serves me, there should be an escalator around the corner here … Well. Something of one.”
It was an escalator, Devin noted. Only it no longer moved, and more than a few stair treads were missing. People hurried up and down it anyway—human people and nonhuman people. Tall, furred Takans in grimy coveralls. Almost as tall bluish-skinned Stolorths in nondescript shipsuits.
GGS had been considering a trade deal with a respected Stolorth merchant clan as recently as four months ago. Devin exchanged messages with their senior financial officer. But he couldn’t remember the last time he was in the same vicinity as a live Stolorth—no, he could. He was twelve years old and felt distinctly queasy upon realizing the imposing woman’s neck was ringed with gills and her fingers connected with webbing. The fact that she was his aunt’s friend and colleague at the university did little to reassure him. When he was
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