by Tim Pratt
“The Disciplinarian has a sense of theater, doesn’t he?” Felix murmured.
“Oh, just you wait,” Calred replied.
The Winnaran gestured for them to sit on a metal bench that was only partially covered in vines. Felix expected to be offered refreshment, but instead the secretary (or whatever he was) just said, “You will be called,” and left the bridge.
Felix looked at the guards. “Hi there,” he said. “Having a good day?”
The guards might as well have been statues.
“They don’t do small talk,” Calred said. “It would ruin their whole sense of menace. You might as well try to strike up a conversation with a particle cannon.”
“I bet he would,” Tib said.
“I just try to make meaningful connections wherever I go. It’s called networking. It’s the key to diplomacy. You could both learn–”
The doors to the ready room slid open, and a burly, hairy humanoid bustled out, muttering to itself and adjusting a brown cloak. He was a Saar! Felix didn’t think he’d ever met one of that species. The Saar kept to themselves so thoroughly that you could forget they were part of the galactic community at all. Didn’t most of them live out in an asteroid field somewhere, among the rubble of their exploded home planet? They probably had a pretty vast and ongoing need for ships, in that case, so they must be a great market for Sagasa. The Saar took no notice of Felix and the others as he stomped by and away.
Felix half rose, but the guards lowered their pikes, crossing them over the open doorway, and then the doors slid shut again. Felix sat back down, and the guards moved their weapons to vertical.
“The Disciplinarian likes to take a breath between meetings,” Calred said. “He centers his mindfulness or whatever. I’m pretty sure it’s just a show-of-power thing. Make it clear to us we’re penitents, and he’s the one granting an audience.”
Moments later, the doors slid open, and a voice beyond barked, “Come.”
They went in, Felix in the lead, only hesitating a moment as he passed the imposing armored guards, but they didn’t even twitch. The ready room was as lush and green as the waiting area, but dominated by a large desk made from artfully welded-together starship parts, surfaces polished like the rest of the station.
The Disciplinarian sat behind the desk in a chair that was really more of a gleaming metal throne, high-backed and elaborately decorated with vines made of twisted wire stems and gold-foil leaves. Strange choice of décor, overall, for someone from a monastic order in a desert… or maybe Sagasa’s arid background explained why he liked growing things here in the different desert of space.
Sagasa was flanked by a pair of unlikely guards, or attendants, or recording secretaries, or who knows what. On his left stood a Naalu, though “stood” probably wasn’t the right term for what a man-sized serpent with arms did. Rested on its huge scaly tail? He… it had to be male, since the Naalu were a matriarchal culture, and you’d never see a female working for a Hacan or anyone else. Naalu could read minds, or sense intentions, or detect lies, depending on who you asked, though some people said it was just the females who had that power. There were a few Naalu in the Coalition, but Felix hadn’t met any. He decided to be scrupulously honest, just to be safe.
A N’orr crouched on the Disciplinarian’s right: a looming nightmare of chitinous claws, a head made of hideous triangles, a mouth surrounded by dripping mandibles, the whole thing balanced on entirely too many spiky legs. Felix wasn’t bothered by spiders, but spiders weren’t usually taller than him, with mouths big enough to engulf his head. There were a few unhived N’orr in the Coalition, Felix knew, descended from prisoners on the original penal colony, but he wondered how this one had ended up here. The N’orr didn’t have a hive mind, despite popular misconceptions, but they didn’t prize individuality either, and so their species didn’t produce many outcasts or rogues or wanderers.
“Just you wait,” Calred had said. The Hacan definitely knew how to make an impression.
There was one chair, suitable for humans, on the other side of the Disciplinarian’s desk. It was made of wood-textured plas, had one leg visibly shorter than the others, and the back support was held together with wire and industrial tape. As if the power imbalance wasn’t stark enough already, but any edge you could get in a negotiation was worthwhile. Felix decided he’d stand.
The Disciplinarian gazed at them. He was older than Calred by at least a few decades, his mane nearly white, his eyes steady and dark, his muzzle marked with scars. He wore an elegant buff-colored robe worked around the neckline and sleeves with a vine motif, and even seated, he gave off a sense of strength and mass and gravitas. His eyes settled on the security officer. “Calred. May the sun warm your back, brother.”
“May blood redden your claws,” Calred said with equal formality.
The Disciplinarian smiled broadly. “It’s nice to talk to someone with manners. I had a Saar in here a minute ago, and he actually spat on the floor!” He inclined his head toward the N’orr. “Counselor An’Truk here wanted to spear him through the thorax but I said, ‘Maybe spitting is a compliment in their culture.’ It’s important that we all get along, eh? Look at you three, all working together on a starship. The Temerarious. You’re supposed to be patrolling a colony system, Captain Duval, yet you arrive at my humble scrapyard boasting of a covert operations budget. Have you been under very deep cover, or is this a recent promotion? Given the presence of Calred, who I know to be a steady sort, I will omit the third possibility – that you’re lying or delusional.”
Felix inclined his head in an acknowledging nod. “We are on a mission. I can’t tell you much about it.”
“That’s fine. I deal in tangible things, not information. Information gets too close to politics, and I value my reputation as a neutral party who plays no favorites. How can I help you with this mission I don’t want to know any details about?”
“We need to borrow a ship,” Felix said. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d let a scientist we’re traveling with paw through some of the more exotic wrecks out there.”
“All things are possible,” Sagasa said, “if the price is right.”
Chapter 17
The Grim Countenance was assigned to docking port YB-2. Azad stood next to Severyne on the bridge, watching the station grow in the viewscreen as they approached. “That docking port can’t be sequential,” Severyne said. “How many airlocks does this misbegotten scrapheap of a station have?”
“Oh, lots,” Azad said airily. “The Disciplinarian tries to park everyone where they can have a bit of privacy. Sometimes people don’t want to be seen visiting. And there’s always the risk that he’ll have visitors from both sides of some conflict dropping by at the same time. Sagasa is steadfastly neutral, and doesn’t like fuss or conflict.” She paused. “What I mean to say is, he doesn’t like conflict here. He loves conflict elsewhere. I suspect he even funds the occasional rebel alliance or splinter political faction, knowing his small investment will reap big returns in salvage later. But maybe not – he always claims he stays out of politics, and it could be true. Not everyone lies constantly, but Hacan can be tough to read, even for other Hacan, let alone a humble swabbie like me.”
“You shouldn’t have told him he could buy our ship,” Severyne said, not for the first time. “We are not selling him this ship.”
“I know, I know,” Azad soothed. “We’re going to work all the details out when we get in to see him. I just had to snag the guy’s attention. We’re going to borrow another ship, for a nominal fee, and leave him the Grim Countenance as collateral. He’ll take the deal, because if we come back, he makes a little money, and if we don’t come back, he gets a Letnev warship, and that’s worth a lot of money. Alternatively, we can offer him a lot of money in the first place, no collateral necessary, but I’m trying to help out your expense report situation.”
“Your plan
is acceptable. I dislike the suggestion that we won’t return, however. We will come back, and we will be triumphant.”
“Ah, right. The Letnev spirit. Never admit even the possibility of defeat, right?”
“What benefit can there possibly be in imagining one’s failure?”
Azad shrugged. “Overconfidence has brought down a lot of generals, Sev.”
“Better to be overconfident than to doubt one’s capabilities.”
“Now, there I agree with you.” She slung her arm over Severyne’s shoulder, and the Letnev squirmed away with a deftness and grace that surprised Azad. Had Severyne trained as a dancer? No, ridiculous, Letnev didn’t dance. What, then? That movement had been more than merely natural. Azad kept talking as if nothing had happened. “Some people think I’m overconfident – do you believe that? When really I just have clear-eyed self-regard and a complete understanding of my own abilities.” Azad knew that was a little pompous, and was hoping to needle Severyne a little.
Instead, the other woman said, “The presence of excellence often disturbs the inferior.”
Oh, I like you, Azad thought. She hated her a little, too, but that just made things more fun. If Azad had wanted a simple life, she wouldn’t have joined covert ops.
They went to the airlock, and into the station. A Winnaran with a gaudy jeweled thing on his head looked at them all snooty and said, “Any weapons?”
“A Letnev military officer is never without her sidearm,” Severyne said.
The Winnaran pushed a button, and a drawer slid out of the wall. “Place your weapons in this locker. You may retrieve them on your way back.”
“It’s OK,” Azad said when Severyne stiffened. “This isn’t a shooting place. It’s a money place.”
Severyne glared at the Winnaran, then put her sidearm in the drawer. Azad did a little twirl to show she was unarmed – she was wearing a close-fitting top and shorts, so she couldn’t hide much of a weapon, and hadn’t bothered with the ones she could – but the Winnaran scanned them both with a handheld device anyway before saying, “This way.”
“Let me do the talking when we get in there,” Azad said.
“That is acceptable, as long as you say the right things,” Severyne replied.
•••
“OK!” Felix held up his hands. “I give in. You are the better negotiator. It’s not my money, anyway. I just have to fight hard enough to keep my supervisor from yelling at me afterward. We have a deal.”
“Fine,” the Disciplinarian rumbled. “You don’t care if I starve. And why should you? I am only a Hacan, and you – you are a human, most favored race of the galaxy. Though it grieves me to take such a loss, we have an agreement.”
Felix cleared his throat. “Do you think you could, ah, invoice us for two percent more than we actually agreed? Just as a favor?”
“A favor?” The Disciplinarian looked at the N’orr, then looked at the Naalu, then looked back at Felix. “I don’t know this word.”
“He is describing a transaction where only one person gets something,” Calred said.
“That doesn’t sound right,” the Disciplinarian said. He was clearly enjoying himself. “I will invoice you at two percent more, in exchange for one percent more. Calculated after the addition of the two percent, of course.”
“But – that’s – never mind. It’s fine. It’s good. Excellent.” A Coalition officer who didn’t skim a little was suspicious, so Felix had to get something, but the Disciplinarian was better at this sort of thing than he was.
“The exchange rate is really not in your favor today, unfortunately,” Sagasa said. “Speak to my secretary on your way out – he’s in the waiting room now, escorting my next appointment. He’ll take your payment. Then you can pick up your new ship and let your scientist scrounge around in an unidentified vessel we bought years back from some long-range scrappers. My experts say it’s millennia old and doesn’t match anything in any known historical database. I bought the thing because I was intrigued, but as I said, there’s nothing of any value there – what isn’t fused into glass is completely inert, and I couldn’t even sell the parts, since they aren’t compatible with any known propulsion system.”
“As long as there’s weird stuff in there that looks really weird,” Felix said.
“I am sure there is a good reason you need something like that. I am pleased that I have neither the need nor desire to know that reason. Good day, my friends.”
Felix gave a little salute and turned away. That could have gone worse, he thought. This might even work. The doors slid open before him, and he led the way out of the office.
There were two people sitting on the bench they’d recently vacated, a human and a Letnev, and the Winnaran secretary loitered nearby. Felix nodded his head in a friendly greeting and smiled one of his default charming smiles – which froze on his face just as Calred said “Huh,” and Tib said “Uh-oh.”
She was wearing workout clothes instead of terrifying mercenary armor, which explained why he hadn’t recognized her right away, but the human was Amina Azad, the operative who’d gotten the drop on him (before Tib got the drop on her), who’d subsequently escaped the custody of a raider fleet flagship, and who had apparently somehow tracked them here. But why ambush them in the waiting room? Why not hide in the debris field and –
Wait. The Letnev woman with her. She looked familiar too. She was the head of security from the Barony research facility. What was her name – Several? Severus? Severyne.
“That is an odd couple,” Calred said, and then Severyne lost her shit.
She leapt from the bench with a roar, slapping her hand against her hip. For a moment she looked utterly bewildered, as she realized whatever weapon she’d reached for wasn’t there. Felix was suddenly very grateful for the Disciplinarian’s security measures.
Severyne was undaunted. She decided to take the direct approach, rushing at Felix and shouting what were presumably insults in her native tongue. Felix was OK not knowing exactly what she meant; he got the general idea. The Winnaran tried to restrain Severyne, but she did some fancy hand-to-hand combat thing, and the man was suddenly on his ass, looking around in a daze.
Felix tried to dodge out of her path, but he bounced off one of the guards, who was yelling too, and waving his halberd or whatever that thing was around. The other guard stepped forward to block the Letnev’s attack – and she jumped, grabbed the polearm shaft in both hands, twirled around it, and kicked the guard in the knee.
The kick had absolutely no effect – the “knee” was an armored hydraulic mechanical joint, so it probably hurt the kicker more than the kickee, even through Severyne’s shiny black boots – but the Letnev kept moving. Somehow her angle and momentum (and, possibly, the guard’s shock at being attacked by an unarmed person half his size) allowed her to yank the polearm smoothly out of the guard’s hand.
Now she was armed. With a bit of wood that had a pointy thing on the end, true – it was hardly a pulsed-energy rifle – but she was highly motivated. Felix could understand that. He’d blown up her house and probably gotten her in a lot of trouble.
Felix jumped out of the way when she jabbed at him, only dimly aware of the rest of the fuss going on around him: the guards were trying to aim their weapons, but the secretary was stumbling around, dazed, in their field of fire. Severyne wasn’t an easy target, dancing and spinning and whirling her polearm, progressing gradually toward Felix. She would have sliced him up, except she had to keep dodging the guards. Then the Naalu came slithering into the room, and the N’orr scuttled through, and the place was plunged into even deeper pandemonium. The Disciplinarian came out of his office, bellowing, “Stop this! Everyone stop now!” to no particular effect.
Felix did a diving roll to avoid a slash from Severyne’s polearm, and ended up next to the other guard, who still had his ceremonial weapon. “Little help?” he s
aid, and grabbed the weapon from a surprisingly unresisting hand. He swung the pole up and blocked one of Severyne’s blows.
“So,” he began, then stepped back as she jabbed at his face. She wasn’t much for small talk either, apparently. Felix had done some fencing at the academy. This was not very much like fencing really, but there were a couple of commonalities: it was all about timing and distance. She was pressing the attack, and he couldn’t change the tempo – she was coming at him furiously, and he was constantly on the defensive, barely blocking her blows, which fell hard enough to make his hands numb. She was backing him into an ivy-covered wall, so distance was going to be in short supply soon, too.
Beyond Severyne, Felix saw Azad sneak up behind Tib, and tried to shout a warning, but his cry was lost in the general shouting. Azad punched Tib in the back of the head and shouted, “How do you like it?” and then the N’orr snatched them both up in complex unfolding limbs. Calred was waving his arms around in front of the guards, who were trying to get a clear shot at Severyne, probably, but were, in the process, also taking aim in Felix’s direction.
Felix tripped on a vine, lost his footing, and fell backward. Severyne stepped up to him and raised the polearm in both arms, spinning it so she could drive it down point-first into his body like a spear. Oh, this was going to hurt –
A huge paw plucked the weapon from her hands like it was a toothpick from a cocktail glass. The Disciplinarian grabbed Severyne by the back of her neck and lifted her bodily off the ground. She kicked and writhed and hissed furiously, and he gave her a little shake, at which point she stopped, hanging limply in his grasp, breathing hard.
“You have been very bad,” the Disciplinarian said.
•••
“That was some impressive hand-to-hand action,” Azad said to Severyne. The N’orr crouched behind her, its front limbs on her shoulders, their serrated edges just brushing the sides of her neck. The Naalu stood behind Severyne, his own hands pressing down on her shoulders firmly. Felix thought they looked like interspecies couples posing for pictures at a Coalition formal military ball, except they all looked miserable.