Children of the Fleet (Fleet School #1)(16)

Dabeet nodded and sat back down. “If Victor and Imala could find a way to approach the Formic scout ship in the First Formic War, then surely you, with much greater knowledge of the technologies and practices of the IF than they had of the Formic ship, will find a way.”

“Pois é. You’re just like MinCol, full of little tests for other people to pass, if they can. Now the airplane that you are on will turn around immediately, because there’s still plenty of fuel to make it back to the airport you left from.”

“They’ll be watching that airport,” said Desk Man.

“Of course they will,” said the Brazilian. “You’re counting on that, because as soon as you realized that someone had smuggled an unconscious child on board the plane, you turned around to return him. You had nothing to do with his being kidnapped, and you are horrified and embarrassed that your airplane was used for such an evil purpose.”

“Where was he supposedly hidden?” asked Desk Man.

“Be resourceful,” said the Brazilian. “If you can’t figure out a plan, get the boy to come up with one. He’ll go along with all this, at least until you refuel and take off again. Won’t you, Dabeet Ochoa?”

“I will,” said Dabeet. “It’s in the interest of every party to this conversation to demonstrate good faith and loyalty—to each other, not the IF or the local authorities in Indiana.”

“It has been no pleasure at all doing business with you,” said the Brazilian. “And, just so you know, I’m not a Brazilian.”

What was he, then, Portuguese? Angolan? Neither country had the means to do what he was doing. But … of course he was Brazilian. He was simply warning Dabeet that whatever else he said or did, he’d better not implicate Brazil in this. Dabeet would decide, when the time came, whether to comply with this request. “No one ever thought you were, sir,” said Dabeet.

It took Dabeet about five minutes to find a space on the plane that he could fit into, concealed. Since this was a diplomatic aircraft, there were plenty of stowage areas for smuggling weapons, bombs, drugs, or whatever else needed the protection of a diplomatic pouch while it was delivered. Dabeet picked one that was inside a bench seat in the less-comfortable part of the plane where, presumably, persons of lesser status were transported. It was flattering to realize that he had been given fairly good treatment, compared to how it might have been.

Dabeet spent fifteen minutes of the return flight inside that bench, so that if there was a forensic examination, traces of his presence would be found. Then he came back out, enjoyed the meal he was served, and talked enough with the crew that despite their strict reticence, he learned that the nation of origin for Desk Man and his officers was Ecuador.

But of course this information was probably not a slip at all, but the cover story they had been told to let him “discover” for himself. Other comments, much more oblique, led him to suspect a country with mountains much lower than the Andes, and lots of coastline not far from those mountains. He suspected either Panama or a Caribbean island—and from the facial features and skin color of Desk Man and his officers, Dabeet concluded that they were not from a Caribbean island. Panama then, or maybe Costa Rica. But of course he might be wrong and they could be from Argentina for all he knew. Or it might be the plane’s crew—and perhaps the plane itself—that originated in Panama, while Desk Man was, in fact, from Ecuador. Or Mexico. Possibly Venezuela, because Mother might not have been lying about that.

Thus did Dabeet pass the time on the way home, refusing to anticipate what would happen to him once he was turned over to the American authorities. He would be interrogated, of course, so he would have to act like a confused child who could remember almost nothing because of the effects of the drug he’d been given. But he would have to be true to his own character, because he was known, and if he didn’t exude the same level of confidence—no, be honest now, arrogance—that he normally displayed, someone might suspect he was deliberately hiding something.

What, exactly, was MinCol testing here? Was it enough that he got the plane turned around and saved his own life? Or was he expected to have figured out more than he had? Was the real test going to be how honest and forthright he was when the IF sent someone to debrief him?

If Dabeet couldn’t even be sure of his captors’ country of origin, how could he hope to outguess the manipulations of a man like Minister of Colonization Hyrum Graff?





4

—I can see that it might appear to you that this was some kind of test, and it was, in a general sense. And while I recognize that my coming to see you might have called undue attention to you, it was certainly not my plan to expose you to any kind of danger.

—I suppose, then, that I passed the test “in a general sense.”

—I wonder how you managed it, since they went to a lot of trouble to abduct you, only to return you without receiving anything in return.

—Perhaps you should regard the decipherment of that conundrum as your test. In a general sense.

—I can think of several solutions to the puzzle that do not redound to your credit.

—How odd. I can’t think of any. But perhaps we can trade information.

—I’ve already told you everything I know about your parentage. Except your father’s actual identity, which you have no need to know.