The big downtown tube-tram transfer station was just as confusing going back as forward, Jin found when he'd taken his second wrong turn.  The crowd made him nervous, and it was only going to get worse as the time edged toward rush hour.  He needed to get out of here.  Scowling, he turned around a couple of times, reoriented himself, and made his way upstream through an entry corridor, bumping a lot of folks going the other way.

What was in that big thick envelope Consul Vorlynkin had handed to him?  It crackled against his skin.  Entering the second-level rotunda, he dodged out of the way of a woman with a pram, then leaned his shoulders against a pillar and fished out the letter.  To his disappointment, it wasn't sealed with a bloody thumbprint, but it was certainly sealed.  No peeking.  He sighed and thrust it back inside his shirt.

He finally found the right escalator, and rode it up two flights to the top-level gallery.  He was worried about his animals.  Would Miles-san take proper care of them?  You never could tell, with adults.  They pretended to take you seriously, but then laughed behind your back at the things that were important to you.  Or said that because you were just a kid, you would forget it all soon.  But Miles-san had seemed to genuinely like Jin's rats, letting Jinni sit on his shoulder and nibble at his hair without flinching.  Jin could tell when grownups didn't really appreciate how sleek and funny and friendly rats could be, and they didn't bite hard at all unless they were accidentally squeezed, and who could blame them for that?

The squeeze on Jin's shoulder made him jump and yelp.  If he'd been equipped for it, he might have bitten the hand as well, but all he could do was twist and stare upward.  Straight into the face of his worst nightmare.

Brown hair, a pleasant smile, the blue uniform of municipal security.  Not just a tube-tram safety officer; their uniforms were green.  A real policewoman, the sort who'd come for his mother.

"What's your name, child?"  The voice was friendly, but the undertone steely.

Jin opened his mouth: "Jin . . ." Oh, no, that wouldn't do.  Lying to grownups made him scared inside, but he managed, "Jin, um, Vorkson."

She blinked.  "What kind of name is that?"

"My Dad was a galactic.  But he's dead now," Jin added with hasty prudence.  And half truth, for that matter.  He tried not to think about the funeral.

"Does your mother let you come downtown alone?  It's school hours, you know."

"Um, yes.  She sent me on an errand for her."

"Let's call her, then."

Jin held out his skinny wrists.  His stomach felt cold and quivery.  "I don't have a wristcom, ma'am."

"That's all right.  You can come along to the security booth, and we can call her from there."