“Well, my mistress said, ‘Why settle for one new ship? The whole company will soon be worth less than one of their ships is now. . . .’ ”
“. . . Then Master Vemrim threatened to send me out to die in the war. I was fool enough to talk back, ask what war. Thought I was in for a flogging, but he just laughed and said I could take my pick soon enough. . . .”
“. . . Lizards? Did he mean the tortoises?”
“I wasn’t going to ask Master Dectof, you can bet on that! ‘We’ll make the lizards dance, too,’ is what he said.”
It all suggested some very interesting things, and Williams made sure to record notes on her scanner when she got the chance. She’d need more information to piece the whole picture together.
To that end, she finally managed to convince Denuri to help her get a few minutes’ access to the house mainframe. The senior maid was able to arrange a minor kitchen disaster to draw the Corthocs’ attention for a while, and Val followed her directions to an appropriate terminal.
She was halfway into hacking through its user lockout with her scanner when she heard a slap and a cry—the cry of a fairly young girl. After that came a voice whose aggressive yet covetous tone she recognized.
Despite herself, Williams jogged out to the hall and peered around the corner. Fetrin Corthoc stood there, holding an adolescent blond girl by the arm. Val recognized her as one of the younger servants, though she blanked on the girl’s name, having disciplined her memory to focus on mission-relevant data. But Fetrin was determined not to let her go. He was stroking her hair, pulling at her clothes, laughing with twisted affection as she wept and pleaded.
Williams seethed, but duty held her back. This is everyday life here. I can’t change that. I can save the most people by getting that data, retrieving the archives. The greater good. She forced herself to turn away and start back for the computer room.
Behind her, fabric ripped and the girl wailed.
Twenty seconds after that, Fetrin Corthoc lay dazed and aching on the floor, struggling to right his bulk and screaming for the guards as Williams and the serving girl fled hand in hand. Val had resisted the temptation to hurt him as badly as she’d wanted; all that would have achieved was to make him more vengeful toward whatever other girls he got his hands on next.
No, I can’t save everybody. But I can help someone right in front of me—and what would I be if I didn’t? She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Grev and Sam would understand.
With the guards alerted, there was no chance of getting to a terminal now. All she could do was help the girl elude pursuit—after donating her outer blouse so the poor child could cover up again. But once her initial adrenaline rush wore off, the girl hesitated. “Please . . . if I escape, my family will be punished.”
Val looked her over. “What’s your name?”
“Mindlen.”
“Well, Mindlen, I have contacts in the resistance. If we can get to your family, I can take them and you to safety.”
“The resistance?” Mindlen’s eyes lit up. “I thought they’d been crushed.”
“That’s what the Corthocs want people to think. But there’s always hope, Mindlen. The more that people like Fetrin try to crush it, the stronger it grows. Remember that.”
The girl set her jaw and nodded, a bitterly determined smile on her bruised face. “I will. Let’s go.”
Inspired by hope, Mindlen sure-footedly led Williams through the servants’ corridors. Once informed of the situation, Denuri ran interference to get them out the rear of the building and back to the gate where the bribed guard awaited. But he warned them that the guards had been called out to search and he could grant little in the way of a head start before he’d need to join the pursuit.
Indeed, Williams and Mindlen nearly ran afoul of the guards’ hovering skimmers a couple of times before they reached the girl’s home. En route, Williams told the girl where to meet her resistance contact in case they got separated.
Mindlen’s parents were initially reluctant to abandon their home, but learning that the resistance survived—and seeing their daughter’s torn dress and bruised face—was all they needed to motivate them, even without the knowledge that the guards would surely be pounding on their door before long.
The family was just about to follow her outside when she raised a hand, stopping them in the doorway. A guard skimmer was turning onto the street and slowing down. “They’re here,” the lieutenant said.
Thinking quickly, she pulled the scanner from her pocket and handed it to Mindlen. “Make sure the resistance gets this—tell them it needs to get back to my ship, or to the Trade Commission. There’s urgent information in there.”