Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [17]
Excitement and trepidation war within me. I am certain I can mechanically manage what Abalone wants, but doubt my nerve. Nor has Abalone yet confided the details of her plan to me; now seems a fit time to ask, while she is flush with her victory.
“The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft-a-gley. An’ lea’e us nought but grief and pain, for promised joy,” I say.
“Huh?” Abalone’s eyes are wide as I roll out the words in the Scottish accent of a sailor who had resided in the Home for a time.
“I believe she wants to know what you have in mind for her,” Professor Isabella says, shaking her skirts down. “I must admit, I’ve been sitting on my own curiosity.”
“Lumpy seat, that,” Betwixt snickers. “It’s been popping up more than Head Wolf’s…”
I pinch his mouth shut while Between laughs. Silently, I resolve that the dragons may wait in the Heights next time I visit the Lair.
Abalone has been considering Professor Isabella’s question and, lifting the window curtain, she sees that we have some time left until proper daylight.
“I’ll fill you both in,” she decides. “I think I’ve thought of everything but…You must have guessed that I break programs, Professor Isabella.”
Professor Isabella nods, her eyes lively as she sips from a cup of almost viscous coffee.
“Well, a while back, I found the way into the Vehicle Registration Banks. With some work, I can reregister anyone’s vehicle to anyone else. What I do is usually cruise the streets until I find a nice piece or two habitually parked with either an electronic guard or none at all. I get the external ident data and then trace it in the VRB. After I craft a new ID, I register the target to me.”
The smile on Professor Isabella’s face encourages Abalone to go on with barely a break.
“When I pick the vehicle up, I’m not stealing it. Even if I was pulled over, all the data would agree it was mine. The ‘real’ owner would be hard-pressed to prove otherwise. Then I go to a dealer and make a quick sale.”
“Let me guess,” Professor Isabella interrupts. “You’ve done this often enough that your plan is to set Sarah up as the ‘owner’ and have her sell the car. Have you decided how to get around her rather distinctive appearance and way of talking?”
“I thought of several,” Abalone replies, just barely bragging. “At first, I figured she could just memorize key responses to the questions. Funny, for all her remembering odd quotes, she couldn’t get any of this.”
Professor Isabella shrugs with a theatrical sigh. “Sarah’s memory is a mystery to me. What and why she chooses to remember or understand anything is a miracle. She apparently didn’t speak at all until she was somewhere in her twenties.”
“Well,” Abalone continues, “when that didn’t work out, I thought about fitting her with a voder and speaking through it. That was too crazy and complex. What I settled on is so simple that I can’t handle it.”
“Go, on, Shellfish,” Professor Isabella exclaims. “Dawn is coming and won’t Head Wolf turn you into a pumpkin if you’re out past curfew?”
Abalone rolls her eyes. “She’ll pretend that she’s lost her voice and come in with a prepared sales offer. The guy I have in mind speaks English real good but he doesn’t read much English, just Korean—he voice notes his sales—He’ll scan the offer into his computer, maybe dicker a little. Sarah can nod ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and I’ll tell her the acceptable range.”
“Won’t he wonder why she’s selling while she’s sick? Why she doesn’t wait until she’s better?”
“Nope.” Abalone flips onto her stomach and drums her heels in the air. “Not when he sees the registration and loan stuff. He’ll see she’s got a payment due the next day and realize that she needs to sell to cover it.”
“Clever,” Professor Isabella admits. “Simple and elegant. Of course, you’ll disguise her more-distinctive features and all the dealer will see is another pretty Anglo. What are you doing on the street, girl?”
Abalone freezes up, burying her face in the pillow. Slowly, Professor Isabella inches across the floor to her and pats her shoulder.
“Sorry,