Two birds with one stone. That’s the goal. I just have to hold my nose and pretend that I’m some kind of feather-chasing weirdo instead of having precisely one Troo that I have any interest in at all. It shouldn’t be that difficult of a thing to fake. I just need to make sure that I falsify the interest without having to engage in the action.

The ride into town would have been a lot longer if I hadn’t taken an antihistimine to stop my nose from running so viciously. I know it’s likely just from too much crying, but I can’t be the sexy waif that might appeal to the prince of the Troo if my nose is running like a faucet.

I miss Terry.

Dirk is still missing too. I’m deliberately not letting on that I have a fairly good idea of where he is headed, even if he isn’t there yet. You would think that napping in the car would let me arrive in town well-rested and ready to put on my game face.

That is not how the world works.

I arrive groggy, with a drool stain on my shoulder. Elmer has arranged something with one of the households in town. I don’t know if they’re actually double agents for mom or against her, and it doesn’t really matter either way. Nobody is going to be happy with what I’m about to go try to do. The car from the base turns around so fast the dust of its stopping doesn’t settle before it starts again.

The couple welcome me graciously into their home, and immediately sit me down to a full meal. They don’t even introduce themselves.

When I start to give a name I’m hushed and told that it’s much better if we don’t know. I really am the very worst spy ever in existence.

Discussion at the table is an uncomfortable affair. Both the unnamed man and woman speak of inane and unrelated topics while passing a notebook around the room. Apparently I am their cousin, in town for dental work and then to seek out employment with the nearby Troo. It makes as much sense as any cover story I could have concocted.

When dinner is over, they burn the entire notebook in their humble fireplace. They leave nothing to chance at all.

They set me up with a couch that pulls out into a bed and an armful of linens and leave me to my own devices. I haven’t brought much with me from home. My one tiny suitcase holds my still dirty pajamas, a change of clothes, Tromeo’s uniform, and the tiny bundle of feathers. The only other thing I have from home is my toothbrush. I didn’t even pack toothpaste.

It is hard to sleep on the lumpy old bed. It’s just for one night. I can survive one night of terrible rest.

I stare at a water stain on the ceiling until I drift off sometime before dawn. The woman wakes me when it is time to get up by setting out a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of orange juice for me. I thank her and consume the breakfast. It is bland, but adequate food.

Before they let me leave the house, I’m sat down in a dentist’s chair in the front parlor. I avoid asking questions until the man, dressed in clean scrubs, has the suction device running. I’m told that this will prevent the enemy’s drones from reading our voices off of any flat surfaces in the area.

Any window that lets in sunlight could easily also be a surface that gives them a window into every conversation held in town. I had not considered the risks of constant surveillance or the constant fear that people living in Troo territory must deal with on a daily basis to be at all involved or support the rebellion’s efforts. There are so many risks and I do not know how to count them all.

“I’m told you need a suicide pill, but only for a faked death.” The dentist naturally talks to me with his hands already in my mouth. “I can install it as a false tooth. You’re going to have to eat carefully or it will trigger prematurely.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I would nod, but his hands are in my mouth and holding my head still.

“I’m glad you’re getting out,” he continues, pressing some kind of putty into my mouth. “I didn’t think it was right for the commander to use her children like that.”

I make a kind of curious grunt.

“Oh, you know.” He puts amber-tinted glasses on us both and then begins to cure the putty with a hand-held light source. “Child soldiers are distasteful no matter how desperate the situation is. You kids should have been evacuated to safety, not shoved in a uniform and made to do all that insane reconnaissance work. I almost turned myself in to the Troo when your brothers were caught. It’s hard to work with people you find abhorrent.”

He turns off the suction device and asks me to check the fit. I know better than to continue the conversation and focus on running my tongue along the false tooth cap. It is a little higher than my other teeth, but as long as I eat cautiously and don’t get punched in the face it shouldn’t cause any trouble.

The dentist hands me a bite guard.

“I know that you’re under a lot of stress. Use this so you don’t grind your teeth in your sleep.”

I nod.

The dentist’s wife has my bag packed and ready for me at the door. I panic briefly that she would have seen the horrible state of my pajamas or questioned the presence of a Troo formal military uniform in my things. But she gives me a little smile and a pat on the back. The case feels just a little heavier.

“Don’t worry,” she tells me, “you didn’t forget anything.”

Comforted, I head in the direction of the lake on foot.

There are two ways to get to the place I need to go. I could go around, take the long way. It would be slower, for certain, but it would be less open. I would be harder to spot and it would be harder for my friends to try to stop me. But I would also be passing through enemy territory without any kind of protection. All that I have is the single handgun, and it is still short by two rounds that I am not in a position to replace.

I take the other route.

Walking across the little town is like walking through time. The fading paint on the small buildings tells of how many years it has been since paint was affordable and easy to find. Those little luxuries of the past are not available anymore. A little drone, most likely of Troo origin by the design, points its camera eye at me as I walk the dusty street alone.

There is only one road of any merit, and it follows a path tangential to this shore of the oxbow lake. I follow it to the narrow park. Evergreen trees line the shore as erosion control, thick roots preventing the lapping water from eating away at the pebbles that make up the thin beach.

My steps thud hollowly as I step onto a floating dock that’s attached to the shore by thick metal cables. Beavers have eaten some of the flotation material from one side of the dock, and it leans vaguely to that side.

There is a small boat tied up and ready, but there is not anyone here to pilot it. I realize that when I’d been told that arrangements had been made, they did not mean that there would be someone to help hold my hand every step of the way. This is a step I must take on my own, unaided.

So I place the suitcase on the little boat, grab a life vest, untie the knots, and hop on. It’s been a very long time since I was last on a boat myself, so this is going to be a lot of relearning. Starting with how to start the motor. Thankfully, the key with its very silly segment of pool noodle keychain is already in the ignition. Having plenty of experience guessing at how to drive various vehicles, I make it work.

But I do still have to use a paddle and push the little boat away from the dock before trying the engine. I realize that I do not want to accidentally run right into the dock on accident and fail my mission before it hardly even starts.

It might look goofy, but it gets the job done.

The water is calm. It isn’t hard to get where I’m going and the lake is much longer than it is wide. Crossing the narrow way is a bold move. There is no hiding my destination. The sound of the engine roars across the open water with nothing to dull it.

The other side of the lake is empty of anything that could be called a safe place to park a boat. Instead of having a nice dock, I just charge straight ahead. Nobody could expect to get this boat back, nevermind getting it back in one piece. And I will be “dead” soon, so my concern for my reputation as a driver is nowhere to be found.

There is a terrible scraping sound when the keel hits the beach. I don’t try to force the boat any further ashore than where it stops on its own. I kill the engine and hop out into the shallow water. My boots flood immediately, but I manage to keep the suitcase with everything I own in it dry for now.

I wade right up the beach and into enemy territory. Now I just need to meet this Trooaris person.

And hopefully he will be able to help.