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Valentine didn't nap. He wondered-agonized-about the efficiency of the fingerprinting procedures. Would it go in an envelope, off to some central catalog for a bored clerk to get around to? Or would it be scanned into a Xanadu computer, which would spit out a list of his crimes against the Kurian Order as fast as bits of data could be shuffled and displayed? How long before that long, low building, resting at the center of Xanadu, a crocodile keeping watch on his swamp, woke up and came for him? The Kurian Order, like a great slumbering dragon, could be tiptoed around, even over, by a clever thief. Make too much noise, though, rouse it through an attack, and it would swallow you whole without straining in the slightest. .
The sensible thing would be to blow this operation, tonight; take Ahn-Kha, find Ali, and be across the river in Price's bass boat before the next shift change.
Could he face Post, tell him his wife was a drugged-up uterus for the Kurian Order? Better to lie and tell him she was dead.
He wouldn't even be able to bring the news himself. He was an exile, condemned by the fugitive law. Ahn-Kha or Duvalier would have to find him in whatever rest camp was helping him adapt to an artificial leg and a shortened intestine.
Getting her out, hopefully in time to beat the fingerprint check, would mean he'd have to bring more people in on the effort. Could he trust the doctor?
Madness. He was right back where he started.
Would William Post do the same for you? How much can one friend expect of another?
No, that's a cheat. The question here is what is a promise, hastily issued from beside a hospital bed, a tiny promise from David Valentine, worth?
* * * *
Doctor Boothe yawned as she came to her surgery door. "Ayoob. What happened?"
He tried to show the good half of his face through the strip of chained door. "A fistfight with Ski and a few hands. Can I come in?"
"It's eleven at night."
"It's important enough."
She shut the door and Valentine heard the chain slide. He looked around. The cool night air was empty.
She brought him into the tiled surgery and turned on a light. "What's so important, now?"
"I'm leaving the Ordnance. Going back to Kentucky."
"Good for you."
"I was wondering if your assistant might like to come. Anyone with veterinary training would be welcome there."
"Pepsa? A rabbit-run? Why should she do that?"
"She's mute. I'm surprised she hasn't been culled out of the herd before this."
"How dare-"
"Just cutting through the bullshit, Boothe. Or are you the type who only likes to see half the truth? I know people. We could get her somewhere safe from the Reapers, a lot safer than your dog kennels and dairy stalls."
"We?"
"Me. Ahn-Kha. You. Someone on the outside. I don't want to say more."
"You just offered your heart up, you know that. You'd be gone tonight if I told security. I'd get a seat at the head table at the next Ordnance Gratitude Banquet."
Valentine didn't want to kill this woman. But if she moved to the phone- "If you're such a friend of security, why haven't our guns ever left your office? Or have they?"
She couldn't help but look over her shoulder at the corridor to her storage room.
Boothe seemed to be fighting with something lodged in her throat.
"You could come along," Valentine continued. "Disappear into the tribelands, or relocate into Free Territory."
She frowned. "Free Territory's a myth. Some clearing full of guerillas does not a nation make."
