But even after she successfully exfiltrated the hangar, the mission was only half finished. Her friends—and the vital secret files—may not have been here, but the Corthoc estate’s computers probably had information on their location. So now she simply had to break into one of the most heavily secured and technologically advanced facilities on the planet, hack its computers, and get out again, with no useful assistance from her resistance escort. Why did I have to go and convince Captain Reed that a sole infiltrator had the best chance?
Fortunately, for all the Corthoc fortress’s technology, it still had live guards, and guards could be bribed. Well, one had been, though he proved unwilling to provide any assistance beyond what he’d been paid for. Once past the gate, she was on her own again. But so long as she maintained the meek, downcast manner appropriate to her servant’s attire, she could hopefully manage to avoid attention.
“You there! Girl!” Williams had made it all the way into the central complex before she got noticed. Not wishing to draw more attention, she froze and tried to act properly deferential as she turned. The bearded, potbellied, ornate-wigged dandy who looked her over matched the resistance’s descriptions of Fetrin Corthoc, the second son of the current patriarch and a man known for his cruelty and licentious appetites. Indeed, his eyes were roving over her in a way that made her feel unclean. “My, my, I haven’t seen that ass in here before. Ohh, fine sleek curves from the front, too. Mm, where have you been hiding, my dear?”
A fat hand pawed her chest roughly, and she restrained herself from breaking his wrist, reminding herself of the mission. There were limits to what she would tolerate, though, and she began planning her options in case his invasive attentions continued.
His other hand came up to her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. Once he got a good look at her, though, his face fell. “Oh. You’re older than this body makes you look.” He pulled away with the manner of a customer displeased by the merchandise. “Get away, then. Go.”
Williams hastened to comply, suppressing a shudder. If twenty-seven was too old for him . . . she didn’t want to think about it.
“Here,” came a hushed female voice. Seeing a plain, fortyish servant beckoning her toward a side corridor, Williams made her way over. “Aww, you’re a new one, aren’t you, poor dear?”
“That’s right,” she said, not wanting to give much away.
“Well, you were lucky. Fetrin may lose interest once you’re full-grown, but other Corthocs aren’t so choosy.” The maid lowered her eyes. “We learn soon enough to keep to the back passages, avoid attention as we can. At least it betters our chances, most of the time.” Looking more closely, Williams realized the woman had once been striking, before life in the lords’ service had worn her down. “What’s your name, pet?”
“I’m . . . Valeria.” Who here would recognize it as an Earth name?
“Denuri. Come, I’ll show you the way of things.”
Being found by Denuri proved a godsend. She wasn’t getting any closer to a computer terminal, but the invisibility that came from blending in with the servants, following their expected schedules and routes, and being perceived as little more than a household appliance gave her the opportunity to overhear a good deal of the gossip that the Corthocs engaged in as a favorite activity. Much of it was about gambling and drinking, the laughable ill fortunes of rival Family members, or the kind of sexual conquests that made it hard for Val to restrain herself from unleashing some Suus Mahna on the Corthoc men’s nether regions. But here and there she caught snippets of important information that even the house computers might not contain:
“I tell you, we haven’t even needed the code broken! Some people’s secrets are easy enough to guess. We’re making headway through bluffs alone. . . .”
“. . . Federation or no Federation, the Commission is still the root of the problem. They wouldn’t have considered bringing those aliens in if they weren’t already getting ideas about another ‘intervention’ on behalf of our poor, oppressed peasants. And the last thing we need is real support for these revolts . . .”
“. . . That fool outworlder thinks Two is the prize! These criminals, they have so little imagination. To think our ambitions could be as limited as theirs.”
“Filthy outworld creatures. I’ll be glad once we’ve put them all in their place—or in the ground.”
And what she couldn’t overhear directly from the Corthocs, the servants themselves had picked up, and they enjoyed gossip no less than their masters (plus Williams got groped less in the process):