from beside hers and Gold’s, still shaking.
A cart had pulled up to the scientists and a Project transport officer stood beside it with a tablet and a bullhorn. “Compartments one through ten, rear cabin, now boarding. When you arrive at the skybus, please step to the inspection station. This will be your last formal inspection, folks, so please be patient with us.”
People consulted their boarding cards, while some translated the barely intelligible, amplified words for those who hadn’t understood. The flight bags were heaped on the rear deck of the vehicle. Titus gingerly placed his in a side nook, and then sat where he could keep an eye on it.
They rolled smoothly out across the tarmac to where the gantry still surrounded their skybus. The bright light glancing off the brilliant hull nearly blinded him. His skin, even under layers of clothing, felt singed. He yearned for the shade around the skybus.
The bus would lift them to the Luna shuttle. In a few days, they’d be on the moon and working at Project Station, the lab built around the crashed starship. In a few moments, he’d be beyond the reach of his friends, beyond his supply lines. He still hadn’t identified his adversary, the Tourist who would try to send that SOS to the home planet of his kind.
As they got off the cart, Titus edged to the front of the line, stopping only when two others glared at him. Mustn’t be conspicuous. He took a place just behind Mirelle and braced against more exposure to the sun.
Titus wondered if his adversary was an Influenced human. A suggestion to plant the Tourists’ device in the humans’ instrument package could lie dormant in a human mind until the right moment. He could not control a shiver of disgust at the idea of using a human to destroy human civilization. When the Residents had called on him, he’d pledged to die rather than allow the Tourists’ SOS to be beamcast, but perhaps his life wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t get the reporter’s pitying certainty out of his mind.
The line filed along a bright red carpet that led through a sensor arch, past a long white counter, then on to the gantry’s elevator. A smartly uniformed Sovereignties space marine guarded the elevator. The official photographer stood by to take pictures as each of them entered the lift.
Titus had no time to savor the moment when the first of his blood would go back into space at last. The final challenge was upon him. He had to concentrate.
Behind the counters two men and two women stood at computer terminals ready to process the scientists. Security was tight because of threats from humans opposing Project Hail. They’d confiscated everyone’s phone with the promise of issuing them secure phones at the station. Titus watched carefully as Mirelle went under the arch and paused on the weighing platform.
One attendant took Mirelle’s flight bag and jacket to pass it under the scope, while another inserted her boarding card into the reader. No problem. Titus’s card would program the computers to register his special supplies as ground coffee and tobacco—old fashioned vices common at his social level, and permissible cargo.
Then they checked her fingerprints and retina pattern. The prints were no problem. Titus’s had never been altered, but all the computer records from before his “death” had been switched to “Shiddehara,” so his new identity was firm. The retina scan was the danger.
He prepared to use Influence on the scanner clerk, so he would not notice the nonhuman anomalies. The computers had already been programmed to identify his retina pattern as Dr. Titus Shiddehara, and he was in fact that person.
Mirelle passed through the check without a bleep and went toward the elevator.
Titus tendered his boarding card, and watched while it was inserted in the reader. Then he handed over his flight bag and jacket, and sauntered through the arch, concentrating on the retina scan technician. He presented his fingers to the plate on the counter while he probed for a contact—and met a blank wall. An immune? The bogeyman to all Titus’s kind was a human immune to the Influence.
As he was passed to the retina scan technician, he remembered the reporter and knew. Not immune, Influenced!
“Ed, come look at this,” called the man on the flight bag scanner. “Looks like contraband. Drugs.”
The retina technician glanced at the scanner plate. “Would you mind opening the bag for us, Doctor?”
“No, of course not,” replied Titus as he edged along the counter to see the plate and fumbled at his keys. “I have the key here.” Both men were Influenced, but the reading was genuine...drugs. So that’s what the Tourist meant! While he held my attention, they switched bags! And they had someone reprogram the computer so my card doesn’t force the scanner to show coffee. An image of Gold left guarding the bags while Mirelle pulled Titus away flashed through his mind. There had been uniformed transport officers moving through the crowd carrying things. Idiot! Amateur!
Titus probed for the Influencer who had a grip on these men. It wasn’t the reporter. He was too far away. Then his eyes flew to the last technician in line, the woman who handed back boarding cards and flight bags. Another Tourist! She’d been standing right there all the time, and he’d never even seen her. She was there to keep him from Influencing the technicians to let him through.
With a furious strength born of outrage, Titus struck...and found himself in a pitched battle for control of the two humans hovering over the bag scanner. To any onlooker it must seem as if everyone were considering a minor problem. Titus threw his whole strength into the battle. The Tourist was obviously more experienced at jousting for control of humans, but Titus held and pushed, closing his eyes, ignoring the sweat of fear that coated him, ignoring the constant pain from the light, ignoring the terror of True Hunger that gripped him. But he had never done this before. He had never developed strength and skill for it.
Titus’s grip weakened. The Tourist’s lips twisted in a smug grin. Mirelle’s melodious voice cut across everything. “Titus? Shall I wait for you?” Suddenly, Titus found a new strength. You won’t use them to destroy their own kind!
The Tourist’s grip snapped and Titus had the humans. He could feel their bewilderment as the screen now appeared to register coffee and tobacco, candy, clothing, and reading matter. Eyes locked to the Tourist’s, Titus answered, “I’ll be right there! It’s just a scanner glitch. They’ve fixed it now.” He put Influence behind the words.
“Yeah, it’s fixed,” agreed the retina technician. “Knew it couldn’t be right. Go on through.”
Titus reached over and claimed his card from the slot in front of the Tourist. Never taking his eyes from her nor letting up his hold, he retrieved his jacket from the hopper, hooked it over one shoulder and escorted Mirelle back to the elevator. When they were far enough away, he cut his grip on the two human technicians and abandoned the Tourist to her own devices. He’d scored a victory, but perhaps in winning, he had lost. He had to find out what was really in his bag.
In the elevator, Mirelle said, “What happened? I was so worried they might stop you from boarding.”
There was no shred of Influence operating on her now. She meant it. “Government computers—obsolete junk. I hope they’ve equipped Project Station better than that!”
“I don’t know about computers except how to use them, but I don’t want to spend a year on the moon without you.”
If she wanted, of her own free will, to flirt, Titus was willing. He could use a friend, especially a delectable, human one. “Nor would I wish to be on Earth while you were on the moon.”
