"What are you doing?"
Becki glanced up to find Josh peeking over her shoulder. "Looking for leads," she answered. "I'm comparing Cheriss' notes from the locket with our data from the auction, and Nick's input on that. If anyone Cheriss was watching was at the auction, that gives us a place to start."
He watched her for a few moments before breaking the silence again. "Even if you find something, you know there's not much we can do about it yet. Not until everything blows over."
"No harm in being prepared."
"Sure. But this is something Zee could do. Or the ship's computers. You don't have to."
She refused to look at him. "I may as well be doing something while we're stuck here."
"You're not just doing this because you're upset about the auction, are you? I know how excited you were about that, your big lead, and then we blew it. . . ."
She sighed. "Technically, the guy with the grenade blew it. You . . . kept your head and saved the team with the Force. That is what matters. Sure, things could have gone better at the auction, but . . . it was just one lead. We do have other options left."
"Yeah," he said, fixing her with a stare till she finally had to look up at him. "We do."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she frowned, hearing something unsaid in his tone.
"You still haven't told me--" his glance fell on her left hand, still bare.
"No."
"Look, don't you think I ought to know what's going on? As mission leader--"
"I do not. It's . . . personal, it doesn't really affect the team, and I'd prefer not to talk about it."
"As your friend?" he persisted.
"Psych . . . no." She blinked at a sudden stinging in her eyes, and absentmindedly reached to cover the empty place on her hand where the ring should have been. "Please."
But he in turn reached for her hand as well, raising it to where they both could see--had to see. "Becki," he said, "maybe I don't know exactly why you're not wearing it, but I can guess what it means. You were wearing it in Paris, remember."
She glared at him for the memory; but she was saved from having to answer when a voice suddenly called, "Lt. Cochran?"
"Lenka!" Josh said, looking just a bit flustered by the Mendellian lady's sudden appearance at Becki's other shoulder.
"There are some things I'd like to go over with you, if," with the briefest of glances toward Becki, "you have the time.
"Um . . . sure, no problem," Josh managed. "Just give me a moment here, and I'll be right with you. . . ."
Lenka smiled coolly and retreated, looking back at them just once before she reached the door. It was that final glance that reminded them Josh was still poised over Becki's hand in inspection of it, or . . . she winced at what it might have looked like to Lenka, and gently pulled her hand away.
He nodded and turned to go, leaving her with this: "Whatever happens-- or has happened, Becki--I just hope you'll remember--we are friends. Okay?"
She nodded and even managed a faint smile, and then he was gone. She rubbed at her ringless hand and paused to wonder what Lenka had wanted so urgently. And then wondered, with somewhat more of a smile than she'd given him, why her friend's hand had suddenly stiffened and tensed around her own at the sound of the Mendellian woman's voice.
A steady lack of progress with the data from the auction finally convinced Becki to take a break. There was nothing restful about downtime for her today, though. The questions at the back of her mind wouldn't be silenced by the book she tried to read, so she gave up on that and went looking for something to do. Being antisocial had backfired during the flight from Mendellia, so she thought to try socializing, but unfortunately the first person she ran across was the Crispy Fried Aussie, and he was at best crisp and at worst deep- frying-caustic with her. She took her leave at the earliest opportunity (which, at least, came fairly quickly since he showed so little interest in keeping her company longer), but the next person she ran across was Brad.
Bewildered and wondering whether this cold shoulder thing were some sort of Aussie trait, or if it was just something in the water today, she ended up in the cockpit talking to Mike. But he just kept giving her odd looks as if he weren't sure she was still who he'd thought she was when she first walked in.
She had almost decided to go seek out some female company, since all the ship's males were so peculiar today--well, more than usual, at least--when a buzzer among the ship's controls indicated an incoming comm call.
Mike flipped switches, and the caller's voice came across the speakers: "Wineboy to RH, come in. . . ."
"Raymond!" Becki called. "What's going on? Where are you?"
"That," the Frenchman's voice replied, "is what I was hoping you could tell me."
"Lost, are you?" Mike asked.
"I told you I didn't know this city as well as Paris."
"It's all right," Becki sighed. "But what about your targets? Did you find them?"
"Yes," Raymond said, "and no. For security's sake . . . let me explain when I get back to you. For now, there's nothing more I can do where I am, wherever that is, so if you could just talk me back to you . . ."
"Uh, Raymond," Mike pointed out, "how are we supposed to do that if we don't know where you are?"
"Ah," Raymond said thoughtfully. "That is a good point. I believe I'm somewhere within the Old City--that is, I went in a gate but I haven't yet come out any--but the streets are so confusing in here, that's all I can determine."
"Hey, Ray," Becki suggested, "can you see anything from there? I mean, like, landmarks . . . tall buildings? Or particularly interesting looking buildings?"
"With ease," Raymond chuckled. "Jerusalem has nothing but interesting buildings."
"Well . . . Describe one to me? If it's one I recognize, I can find you on a map that way."
"Ah, of course. Let me see . . . well, there are several buildings of stone, but actually, I can't see anything that really stands out. The street is very narrow; I think it's just a residential street."
"Walk along a little way, look for something to describe."
"Yes. . . . Wait, this is different. A shopping area."
"Yeah? What are they selling?"
"Souvenirs, I'd say. T-shirts. Shofars. . . . I say, that's an interesting street. Columns all along it."
"Columns?" Becki wrinkled her brow in thought. "Old ones? Roman? Some partially in ruins? And with shops all along them?"
"Yes, that's about right."
"The Cardo!" she smiled. "Okay, Raymond, you must be in . . . the Jewish Quarter, as I recall. You just need to go east and south to find a gate out of the city, then east into the hills to us. Hang on, I'll get a map."
It took nearly thirty more minutes, blissfully focused on the problem at hand, to talk Raymond out of the city to a point where he recognized the Jericho road and could find his own way back to the Red Home. Then, as they waited for his final arrival to hear how he'd fared, Mike tucked the map away with the comment that he thought she'd had all those streets memorized already, as much time as she'd been spending with maps since they left Mendellia, but Becki didn't hear. Already her mind was moving ahead to its main concern: the next thing to keep her hands busy and her mind free of memories. She rummaged around in the cockpit and came up with one of the datapads to which they had copied the notes from Cheriss' lockets, and she went to work, once again, reading them over to look for a lead they might follow. It wasn't the best distraction, considering how many times she had already read these words, but for the next hour or two, it would have to do.