Partnership (4 page)

Polyon glanced once more around the room—if he hadn't been a de Gras-Waldheim, Nancia would have described his second look as furtive — and then sat down, not in the pilot's chair facing the central console, but in one of the spectator seats to the side of die room. He nodded once, sharply, as if to say, "That's all rieht, then," and spoke in a low voice that no softperson could have heard.

"Computer, open master file, pass 47321-Aleithos-Hex242."

The automatic security system that guarded the ship's main computer acknowledged Polyon's command. Hardly believing what she observed, Nancia let the computer act without overriding it. How had Polyon learned the master file password? Perhaps there was a secret side to her mission, something only another member of the High Families could be trusted to know and to reveal at the proper time. TTiat would explain Polyon's near-furtive way of approaching the cabin. It would also explain his crude behavior last night; naturally, as an undercover agent, he'd have to be sure to blend in with his fellow passengers.

Or ... there might be no such explanation forthcoming. Now that he had master file access, Polyon was typing, moving the touchscreen icons, and issuing verbal commands in a rapid low stream that rivaled even a shellperson's multi-channel capacity.

And he still hadn't acknowledged her as anything more than a droneship. What was going on? Nancia waited and watched, following Polyon's maneuverings through her computer system while her external sensors kept track of his bodily movements.

Piece of cake, Polyon thought as his fingers darted from keyboard to touch-screen, setting up his user account with system privileges that would allow him access to any data in the ship's computer. Easy as debug-ging a kid's first program. Now for the tricky stuff—

persuading the security system to treat him as a privileged user on the Net. Once linked to that sub-26

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space-wide communications system, he would be abi< to find out anything he wanted to know abou anybody who'd ever linked into the Net

Voice commands wouldn't work here; just as wejj he didn't want to be overheard by any of those snui]; time snoops he was stuck with on this voyage. H;; fingers flashed over the keys, rattling out commands a: fast as his excellent brain could analyze the result, Hmm, security block here . . . but having alrea^

granted himself user privileges on the ship's system he could take a look at the object code in the blockin; program itself. He could even "fix" it. "Here a patdi there a patch," Polyon hummed as he entered a sligl i ly revised version of the object code, "everywhen -.

trapdoor, dum-de-dum-de-dum." As the system ;> cepted and ran the revised program, Polyo; humming switched to a triumphant version of, "1; the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo!"

Not quite accurate, of course; he intended to win fo far more than the proceeds of a single night's ol=

Earth-style gambling. He would show them — all them. Starting with — but definitely not finishing wi >

— the lamebrains who'd shipped out with him. Polyo knew why he was being posted to a second-rate assigi ment in a third-rate solar system — his memori skittered like frightened mice over the surface of th ugly scene with the Dean — but there must be sorr reasons why all these other pampered darlings oft) High Families were going into semi-exile. He woui start by finding those little secrets, and then... wc:l then maybe even these rich brats could be useful in t>; Grand Plan.

And after them.., the Nyota system. All of Ves.

subspace. Central. Why not? Polyon thought, dazzk by the grandeur of his own desires. If there was on thing he'd learned while he was growing up, it ws that you could get away with nearly anything if you dt most of it while people weren't watching and used your charm when they did watch.

And where charm didn't work... there were other means of persuasion. Polyon smiled grimly and tapped into Alpha bint Hezra-Fong's med school files.

\Vhat cfftM Polyon be doing? Nantia watched and waited as he redefined the ship's security system, reached out to the Net, scanned his fellow-passengers' files.

Ought she to stop him? Discretion was the first thing a Courier Service brainship learned, the first and last component of duty. She hadn't been briefed on what to do with a passenger who started manipulating the Net as if it were part of his personal comsystem. He was redefining the security parameters now... no matter, she could change those back whenever she chose. So for he hadn't touched her personal data areas, didn't show any signs of knowing that her synaptic connections to the ship's computer allowed her to follow everything he was doing.

Could it be that he really thought her a drone ship?

Maybe not. At least, he wasn't sure. Now that he was through playing with the Net, Polyon sent out an ex-ploratory tendril of code to report on other activities linked into the ship's computer... a patch that would reveal the exact location and extent of Nancia's connections within the ship.

A Hale late to check that, my lad! Didn't the Space Academy teach you to look for ambushes before you started maneuvers ?

Self-protection was an automatic response, more deeply ingrained even than discretion. Nancia closed down pathways and redefined access codes in a single, instinctive wave of activity that left Polyon staring at a blank screen and touching a keyboard that no longer responded to his search commands.

Darnell

Darnell Ovetton-Glaxely moaned gently as he caught 28

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sight of his puffy face, a distorted reflection in the polished curve of synthalloy along the ship's central corridor. It was too early in the morning to face mirrors, especially curving ones that made his reflection swell and shrink and ripple like waves on the damned ocean. Darnell moaned again and reminded himself that the artificial gravity of space was practically like being on Earth; it was only his imagination making him feel sick.

This was really nothing like being aboard one of the oldstyle oceangoing vessels that had been the start of OG

Shipping, back when they were still a planetbound local corporation. His old man had made him go on one of those monsters once, with some crap about remembering the family's roots. Darndl had taken a lot more crap from the old man when he puked his guts out before the ship left harbor.

Well, there wouldn't be any more of ihat\ Dear Papa was history now, and so was the unexplained space-station collapse that had killed him and left OG

Shipping in the hands of its directors until Darnell finished school. And last night's Stemerald debauch was also history—if only he could convince his queasy stomach and pounding head of that!

It wasn't fair that he should suffer like this after what had only been a perfectly reasonable indulgence to celebrate the end of schooling and the start of his new career. A pity neither of the girls had seen fit to continue the celebration in the logical manner. Well, they had two weeks to planetfall; they'd come around and see his attractions soon enough. After all, it wasn't as if he had any serious competition on this droneship. De Gras-Waldheim was handsome enough, but a cold fish if Darnell had ever seen one. Something frightening about him, with those intense blue eyes burning like dry ice under the stiff Academy haircut. As for the Medoc boy, Blass or Blaze or whatever his name was, no girl was going to waste time on a kid with a face like a friendly gare. No> it would be old Darnell to the rescue again, the n man on board widi the social skills to entertain two lovely ladies all the way to their destination planets around Nyotayajaha.

And he could hear sounds in the central cabin. Was one of the girls up and about already? Darnell sucked in his gut, threw his shoulders as far back as they would go, and glanced at his reflection in the synth-ailoy wall once again. His face wasn't really soft and pufly like that, he told himself; it was a trick of the distorted reflection. Made him look middle-aged and flabby and tired. Nonsense. He was the handsome young heir to OG shipping and he was fit to take on anybody or anything....

But not, maybe, that cold fish, Polyon de Gras-Waldheim. Darnell clutched at the doorway and tried to stop his impulsive movement into the central cabin. His legs kept going while his arms tried to haul him back.

"Oh, come on in, OG," Polyon said impatiently, his back to the door. "Don't just cling to the doorframe waving your tentacles like a seasick jellyfish."

Seasick.

Jellyfish.

Darnell gulped down a wave of nausea and reminded himself again that space travel on a grav-enhanced drone was not like being on an actual moving, swaying, shifting oldstyle sea vessel.

"What are you doing?"

Polyon released the chair controls and spun slowly round to face Darnell, long limbs relaxed as if to emphasize his comfort in this environment. "Just. ..

playing games," he said with a queer smile. 'Just a few little games to pass the time."

"What'd you do, crash the SPACED OUT gameset so badly you lost the screens?"

"Something like that," Polyon agreed. "You can help me start it up again, if you like."

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It was the closest thing to a friendly overture Darnel!

had heard from Polyon since they met the previous night. Maybe, he thought forgivingly, maybe the poor guy didn't know how to make friends. Coming from a stiff-backed upper-crust lot like the de Gras-Waldheims, spending his life at military boarding schools, you couldn't expect him to have the savoir vivne and easy social manners that Darnell prided himself on displaying. Well, he'd help old Polyon out, be his friend on this litde jaunt.

"Sure thing," he said, walking on into the room with a careful soft step that didn't jar his aching head. He sank into one of the cushioned passenger chairs,

"Nothing to it, I used to play this stuff all the time in prep school. Tell you what — if I help you get into the computer, maybe you'll help me get into something else?" He winked laboriously at Polyon.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" The man didn't have a due how to make light conversation.

"Two of us," Darnell explained cheerfully, tapping away at the console keys. "Two of them. The black one is more your size. But I need a strategy to get into the del Parma skirt's pants. Tactics, maneuvers, advance and retreat — Got any suggestions?" Not, Darnell thought, that he really needed any help, but there was nothing like a round of good, bawdy male-to-male bonding talk to cement a friendship. And since Polyon evidently wanted to be friends, Darnell was more than ready to meet him halfway.

" I'm afraid you're on your own there," Polyon said distantly. "I've... never had occasion to study the problem."

He nicked an invisible speck of dust off his pressed sleeve and affected to study the SPACED OUT screens as Darnell brought them back to fill the walls of the cabin.

The implication was clear; he'd never needed to work out tactics with the ladies. Well, of course not. With the de Gras-Waldheim name and fortune behind him —

and that muscle-bound, oversized physique — still, he had no call to sneer at somebody who was just trying to he friendly. Darnell glowered at the console and tapped the commands that would set the game at —

hmm, not Level 10, his reflexes weren't quite up to the interactive holowaniors just yet. Level 6. That should be high enough to scramble Polyon's moves and let him see what it was like dealing with an expert

"It's a new version," Polyon said in surprise. "I don't remember that asteroid belt.''

Til bet five credits there's a due to the Hidden Horrors of Holmdale somewhere in the new asteroids,"

Darnell offered.

"No bet on that. But I'll lay you five credits that I/it's there, I'll find it first. Choose your icon!"

Darnell chose one of the play icons displayed along the bottom of the central screen. He always liked to be Bonecrush, the cyborg monster who stalked the lower tunnels of the labyrinth but occasionally blasted out into space with his secretly installed jetpacks and personal force shield. Polyon, he noticed with pleasure, was taking the icon for Thingberry the Martian Mage, a wimp of a character if there ever was one. This game should be over in no time.

"So what brings you out to the Nyota system?"

Polyon asked after a few minutes of seemingly idle maneuvering and pointless commands.

Darnell scowled at the screen. How had Thingberry managed to surround two-thirds of the asteroid belt with a charm of impenetrability? Very well, he would let Bonecrush turn around and use his internal jetpacks as a weapon; that should blast through sneaky Thingberry's magic. "Taking up the old inheritance," he replied as he tapped in the commands that would give Bonecrush maximum blasting power. "OG Shipping, you know.

Can't think why old Cousin Wigran moved the firm's 32

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headquarters out to Vega subspace, but I'm sure he'll explain everything when I get there."

"If he can," Polyon agreed. "You have that much faith in him?"

Darnell stealthily maneuvered Bonecrush into range.

That idiot Polyon was looking at him, not at the screen; he could get away with murder if he could keep Polyoris attention away from the game for a few more seconds.

"What d'you mean?" he asked, not really listening for the answer. "Why shouldn't I have faith in Wigran?"

Polyon looked shocked, and for a moment Darnell was afraid he'd noticed Bonecrush's moves on the central game screen. "My dear chap! You mean you haven't heard? Decom it," he cursed in a low vicious tone. "I didn't realize — Look, Darnell, I shouldn't be the one to tell you this. Haven't you been paying attention to the newsbytes from Vega?"

"Management bores me," Darnell told him. "I'll be perfecdy happy to draw the profits from the company and let Cousin Wigran keep running the store." His hands were resting on the key that would activate Bonecrush's jet packs. Any minute now he'd execute a controlled power surge that should blast a hole right through Thingberry's defenses. But he wanted Polyon to be watching in the moment of defeat, not babbling on about some boring accountant's trial in the Vega system.