Dragon and Judge

"Jack said he needed to go to the bank," Uncle Virge corrected. "No one said they were actually going there."

"Maybe not, but it's as good a place to start as any," Alison said. Rejoining the crowd, she continued inward. She reached the center to find an entire half circle dedicated to ground and air taxis. Working her way to the first vehicle in line, she got in.

"To?" a long-faced Golvin asked, his flat nose snuffling at the air between them like a piece of paper flapping in a stiff breeze.

"Bank of Lloffle," she told him.

His nose snuffled another moment, and then he turned back to the wheel and pulled out into the drive. Alison leaned back, trying to look all directions.

Ten minutes later the driver pulled up in front of the bank. Jack, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight. "Now what?" Uncle Virge asked as Alison climbed the steep steps toward the front door.

"I'm going in," she told him. "They could easily have gotten here ahead of me. If not—" She shrugged. "I might as well at least clear out the box."

"With Jack holding the only key?" Uncle Virge retorted. "That'll be a neat trick."

"Not really," Alison said, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. If he only knew. "It's Box 433, right?"

"Right," Uncle Virge said suspiciously. "What are you—?"

"I'm shutting down," Alison said. "Stay cool, okay?"

"Alison—"

She tapped the comm clip, cutting off his protest, and went inside.

The bank interior was small and modestly decorated, as befit a small operation on a world most of the Orion Arm's society and culture had long since left behind. Two Compfrins were working the counter, and a bulky Trin-trang was seated at a desk by the doorway leading into the back room. "May we assist?" one of the Compfrins asked.

"I need to get into Box 433," Alison said, walking toward the Trin-trang at the desk. "The name of record is Virgil Morgan."

The Trin-trang typed for a moment on his keyboard, then peered at his display. "Yes," he confirmed, opening a drawer and pulling out a shiny gold-metal electronic key. "You have the key?"

"Of course," Alison said, digging her right hand into her pocket for her collection of small keys. Picking by touch the one she knew looked the most like the Trin-trang's, she pulled it out and held it up. "Right here," she said, keeping her hand moving so that he couldn't quite get a clear look at the key. "I'm in rather a hurry," she added, lowering her hand to her side.

The Trin-trang's shoulders hunched in the equivalent of a frown, but without a word he stood up and gestured toward the doorway. "Come."

He led the way into the back room and the vault beyond it. Keeping her left hand out of his view, Alison squeezed her thumb against the base of her left forefinger.

And the plastic lockpick surgically implanted beneath the fingernail silently slid out into ready position.

Recessed into the side of the vault were three rows of private lockboxes. "Four thirty-three," the Trin-trang said, pointing a thick finger at one of them as he went to the far end of the row and inserted his key into the master lock at the end. "At your convenience."

Alison stepped to the indicated box, turning a little to put her shoulder between the Trin-trang and the lockbox. Using both hands as if she was having trouble inserting the key, she slid the lockpick into the keyhole. The semifluid plastic did its magic, flowing up against the markpins and triggering the proper transponder connections, and with a twist of her wrist the lock came open. Sliding the lockpick back into concealment, she pulled the drawer open.

The only thing inside was a small shoulder bag, flattened and compressed to fit into the narrow space. She picked it up, noting that it seemed surprisingly light, and looped the strap over her shoulder. "Thank you," she told the Trin-trang as she returned the empty box to its place.

"You are welcome," the Trin-trang said, turning his key in the master lock again. "We live to serve."

Alison headed for the door, the bag bouncing gently against her side. So much, she thought sourly, for the lockbox being full of cash, the way Jack had implied.

A minute later, she was back outside, heading briskly down the steps and wondering what to try next. Obviously, Jack hadn't gotten to the bank ahead of her. Should she wait around and see if he might still turn up? Or should she assume that he and Draycos would get free and call Uncle Virge on their spare comm clip?

Maybe Uncle Virge would have an idea. She reached to her collar to turn her comm clip back on—

"I don't think so," a deep voice murmured in her ear as a large hand curled solidly around her wrist. "Just keep walking."

Alison twisted her head around. The man holding her arm was large and muscular, with short hair, a bushy mustache, and the bent nose of a man who'd been in more than his share of fights. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"So Virgil Morgan finally sent someone to open his lock-box," the man said. "You'd better hope he's willing to come out and play."