Bechimo
Dock A
“Welcome back, Theo,” Bechimo said. “Mentor, it’s good to see you again.”
“I need to talk to Joyita in the galley,” Theo said. “Mentor Jones would like to have a private chat with the Tree.”
“I have alerted Joyita. Mentor, please follow the blue line.”
The blue line winked out at the edge of the pot, and Tolly stood, considering the Tree.
It looked pretty much the same as it had on his previous visit, absent the norbear napping at its base. There was some gentle movement among the leaves, but now that he had his wits about him, he could see that no breeze could account for that particular pattern of movement.
The Tree was moving its own leaves. Waiting for you to get on with it, Tolly Jones.
He inclined his head, that being polite, and extended his hands, palms up, fingers spread—no threats here, that meant.
The leaves rustled slightly.
Call that courtesies exchanged, he thought, and cleared his throat.
“First thing—thank you for the pod. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to have anything to do with it, but turns out I’m glad I changed my mind. Feel noticeably better, and I’m gonna need all the edge I can get.”
Another rustle, maybe a little louder.
Right.
“So, you havin’ done one good deed, I’m wondering if you’d be open to doin’ another.” He took a deep breath. “I got a—friend. Relative. Same lineage, is what I’m saying. Her being here means her Director’s willing to take the loss, so long’s Deels can get her into station systems.”
He took a breath.
“Be good not to lose Deels. Or, if we gotta, at least to let her go on her own terms.”
The leaves had stopped moving, and there was a definite minty scent in the still air.
Tolly yawned, and sat down on the decking, his back against the pot.
He was moving almost before he realized that he was free. Down the slide, then right, toward the public walks, catching a glimpse of himself in a monitor as he went past, looking cool and calm, as if the bodies he’d left behind in the mall’s control room didn’t exist. As if he was an honest human, and not an abomination, walking down the main hallways, not the back, because they’d expect that. Expect him to hide, to sneak, to stay low.
But there wasn’t any reason for Mentor Tollance Berik-Jones to hide or skulk. He had his case, and a friend in the mall’s intelligence, having taken care of those who’d wanted to enslave it. All he had to do was get on a ship and—get lost.
The ticket booth was in sight when he saw movement in a hall to the right. A quick glance let him recognize Delia Bell, raising a pistol. He’d worked with Deels a couple times; she was good. And she wasn’t going to miss.
He was armed, as those bodies behind him bore witness, but a shootout in a crowded public hallway—innocent people would get hurt, and that wasn’t his choice. Worse, he’d probably be restrained, no matter how friendly the mall was, and once he was in custody, the Directors would claim him, and he wouldn’t be himself anymore.
In that second, he took his decision. Let Deels have the shot. She wouldn’t miss, and he’d die as himself.
He kept walking.
Out of the side of his eye, he saw Deels turn away.
He kept walking. But he did turn his head just a fraction before he stepped up to the ticket booth, and saw her on her knees in the shadowed corner, retching.
Tolly blinked, shook his head, and stretched.
Rolling to his feet, he looked up into the leaves—they were moving again—uncertain if he was horrified, angry, or intrigued.
“Next time, just ask, why not?” he said.
The leaves rustled, like the Tree was laughing, and stilled again.
Tolly received the impression that he was free to go.
He turned toward the main hall. He’d maybe gone six steps before the blue line formed to show him the way.