by David Drake
“You’ve nothing to say!” Brock said. For the moment, he appeared to be more nonplussed than angry. “Look, I know people in the shipping business and ex-Fleet folk too. I put your proposition to them and they say—every bloody soul of them, I mean! They say you wouldn’t stand a prayer against the Estremadura. She’s bigger, better armed, and she’s got top Fleet officers and a crew they picked themselves from pirate-chasers when the Peace of Amiens was signed and two thirds of the ships went into ordinary.”
He snorted. “I figure you’re a con man,” he said. “But if you’re not, you’re bloody crazy.”
“I’m sorry I can’t convince you that investing in my proposal will rid you and your fellow…entrepreneurs, I will say, of a serious overhead expense in the form of the cruiser,” Adele said. “Still, I accept that the only way to change your opinion will be to demonstrate the fighting ability of my yacht. Before you give your final opinion—”
“Listen, bitch!” Brock said; he was angry now. “I’ve given my final opinion. You couldn’t change it if you offered to suck me off right here in my office! Now, get out or I’ll throw you out. And you’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you right off the roof!”
He isn’t speaking to Mundy of Chatsworth. He’s speaking to a Principal of Kostroma, a group of people for whom I have no more regard than he does.
But she trembled slightly. Brock had started to get up from his chair but chanced to meet Adele’s eyes. He subsided with a suddenly wary expression.
“I regret that I have to do this, Master Brock,” Adele said, as calm as ice again, “but have you considered the legal situation in which you might find yourself if your activities came to the attention of the authorities?”
Brock blinked, trying to make sense out of what he had just heard. “What are you talking about, woman?” he said. “I’m not violating any laws, and I don’t suppose it’s a secret that the government here—the people in the government, I don’t know how much money trickles through to the treasury—are making a bloody good thing out of the operations of the Wartburg Company.”
Adele completed the operation her wands had just directed. She met the outfitter’s eyes again and smiled, in a manner of speaking.
“I’ve just transferred some information to your console, sir,” she said. “Will you please take a look at it? It will be there when you bring your display up.”
“What the hell?” Brock said, again puzzled. He punched his virtual keyboard, however. His keystrokes were as forceful as Daniel’s own.
“What is this?” he said, shrinking the hologram again to look at Adele.
“That’s the report which will go to the Fifth Bureau if you refuse to provide the loan I request, sir,” Adele said primly. “And this—”
Her wands fluttered like ballet dancers executing a complex routine.
“—is the list of your relatives and associates living within Alliance territory. That’s mostly Pleasaunce, of course, but also Conbay, Mortain, and half a dozen other worlds. That list will accompany my report, though—”
She coughed delicately.
“—in my experience, the Fifth Bureau would be able to compile it very nearly as quickly as they can read my copy. I find the Alliance of Free Stars to be a marvel of bureaucratic organization.”
Brock’s lips moved silently for a moment as he read. He slid the display to the side and looked at Adele.
“How did…” he began in a growl that was barely human. He stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter how you learned this stuff, does it?” he said, more normally. “It wouldn’t matter even it wasn’t straight, not with the Fifth Bureau doing the checking.”
He slammed his right fist down on the desk, the only external sign of his fury.
“Which it is, as much as I say off the top of my head,” he said, almost conversational again.
He paused, his face hardening. “You’re not a monkey from Kostroma, though, are you?” he said. “Who are you? You’re bloody Fifth Bureau yourself, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter whether I play ball or not, it’s over—”
Brock’s hand jerked violently toward his holographic display.
“—for all these anyway!”
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Adele said calmly. “But it matters a great deal to your off-planet associates that you accept my business proposition. Of that you can be assured.”
Brock said nothing for a moment. He gestured to the display again and said, mildly this time, “Are you going to strong-arm all the trading houses like this? Or is it just me?”
“I have appointments with the other two large houses which have links within the Alliance,” Adele said. “Coincidentally, you three are the largest firms on Cremona. That spreads the risk enough that none of the houses involved needs feel that it’s being backed into a corner. I don’t want anyone to—”
She grinned slightly.
“—be driven to desperate measures.”
“How quick do you need an answer?” Brock said.
“I’ll be back in two days,” Adele said, rising. “After I’ve discussed the proposition with Santina Trading and Loesser Brothers.”
“All right,” said Brock. “I’ll have an answer then.”
Adele started for the door to the outer office. Tovera, who had been standing beside the doorway throughout the interview, said, “Master Brock?”
“Eh?” Brock said, frowning as though his stylus had just spoken to him.
“It doesn’t matter who she is,” Tovera said, nodding toward Adele. “But I used to be Fifth Bureau. You might keep that in mind in case you decide your best plan is that we have an accident here in the building.”
Unexpectedly, Brock laughed. “I didn’t build this company without learning how to handle your type, mistress,” he said. “Sure, it’d cost, but there’s always costs. Your boss, though—”
He dipped his head in a seated bow.
“—I can’t handle, not even if I kill her. So don’t worry about tripping down the elevator shaft.”
Adele led the way into the outer office. The secretary eyed them warily.
Behind her, she heard Tovera say to the secretary, “You’re lucky, little fellow. Your boss is a lot smarter than most.”
Kotzebue on Sunbright
Daniel was watching the ditch behind Riely’s storehouse when the apparent fish bobbed to the surface, just as it had done on the two previous evenings. It was the length of his finger, white and swollen as though it had already begun to decay.
Hogg stood six feet away, far enough that he wouldn’t disturb his master’s observations. Under his breath, he sang, “Grieve, oh grieve, oh tell me why…”
A pair of winged insectoids came from opposite directions, drawn by the shining white belly. Both were females, looking for carrion in which to insert their eggs. They dodged back and forth, neither willing to settle until she was certain that the other wasn’t a predator preparing to attack when her ovipositor was sunk too deeply to be quickly withdrawn.
Hogg didn’t move very much. He turned his head, and occasionally his torso twisted in order to allow him to scan the terrain in all directions. His left hand was in his pocket, but his right was loose and never very far from the stocked impeller leaning unobtrusively against the drainpipe from the roof of the building.
“Because he had more gold than I…” Hogg sang.
One of the insectoids eased toward the fish by tenths of an inch, two forward and one back. At last she touched, then settled on her eight jointed legs. A hair-fine ovipositor uncoiled from her tail, probed the fish, and finally straightened to stab downward. Nearly its whole half-inch length sank in.
“But gold will melt and silver fly—”
The wing-like sides of the fish’s flattened body folded upward to envelope the insectoid. The skin covering them was dark, in contrast to the white streak along the midback. Even knowing by now that the wings were there, Daniel had seen only hints of the real outline of the fish below the surface of the
ditch water.
“—and he will be as poor as I,” Hogg sang.
He picked up the impeller by the grip and fore-end. With the same lilt in his voice, he added, “I think this truck’s stopping here, young master, and I shouldn’t wonder if it’s come for us. Not before time, I say.”
Daniel stood and turned. The fish flushed the white stripe to merge with the rest of its skin coloration and wriggled to vanish on the bottom of the ditch. The spiked edges of its wings were already shredding its prey against the gristly back; shortly it would extend its toothless mouth upward and suck in the bits.
The truck was a four-axle military vehicle. Originally it had had rubber tires, but they had worn off and it was running on the spun-wire wheels themselves. Off-road it probably made little difference, but here on pavement the undamped thrum of the wheels would be maddening.
“I suspect you’re right, Hogg,” Daniel said. “It’s time to see if we’re the fish or the unfortunate mother.”
He turned a friendly smile toward the six soldiers climbing from the vehicle. Automatic impellers in a twin mount took up most of the most of the truck bed, so the troops in gray uniforms had been squeezed to the margins.
Hogg grunted. “I’m nobody’s bloody mother,” he said.
The passenger in the cab of the truck wore a tailored uniform with only the fabric color in common with the loose fatigues of his underlings. Besides that, his tunic and trousers had silver piping along the seams and there was silver braid on the saucer hat he donned as he watched Daniel approaching.
“You’re the courier with the dispatches I’ll take to Freedom?” the officer said. He was small and looked remarkably neat, even for having ridden in the cab rather than the truck’s open bed.
“I’m Kirby Pensett,” Daniel said pleasantly. “And I have material for Freedom, yes. May I ask who you are, sir?”
“My name is none of your affair, sir,” the little man snapped. “Now, get the dispatches for me and you can go about your business.”
The building’s door opened and Riely stepped out. He wasn’t armed, but the assistant with him carried an electromotive shotgun. From its gray enamel finish, it was a military weapon rather than a sporting gun like the ones Daniel had hunted with on Bantry.
“Hello, Kidlinger,” Riely said. “Do you have an outgoing load already? I hadn’t expected you for twenty days at least.”
“I’m here for the dispatches,” the officer said stiffly, irritated that the agent’s greeting had made him look a prat even to himself; Daniel hadn’t been in any doubt about the matter to begin with. “I’m to take them to Freedom.”
“I haven’t received orders about that,” Riely said, his expression becoming wary. “My understanding…but look, let’s all come inside where we can sit down and have a drink.”
“I don’t have time or need for a drink,” Kidlinger said, “and I don’t give a fart for your understanding. Get me the dispatches and do it now. In the field, we don’t have time to bugger around with your civilian red tape!”
He patted the flap of his full-coverage pistol holster significantly.
My goodness, he is a little man, Daniel thought. In a conciliatory tone he said, “I’m afraid, Colonel Kidlinger—is it colonel? I’m afraid that my directions were to hand the case over to Freedom personally.”
He was careful not to touch the cargo pocket where the case had remained ever since he boarded the Savoy. Kidlinger appeared to think the documents were inside Riely’s fortified dwelling, and at this point any indirection was a good thing.
Though Daniel continued to smile, he was thinking tactically now. Neither he nor Riely were armed. Riely’s man was, but the fellow obviously didn’t expect trouble, and the three assistants still inside the building couldn’t get out in time to affect the business.
On the other side—six soldiers with carbines, and the driver, who might have a weapon also, still in the vehicle. Plus Kidlinger’s pistol, but the officer was very far down on Daniel’s list of priorities. The troops had left their truck’s twin-mount unmanned, but the automatic impeller in the guard tower couldn’t depress enough to bear on anything useful either.
“I didn’t bloody ask your opinion, did I, yokel?” Kidlinger shouted at Daniel. He fumbled with his holster flap. “You’re on Sunbright now, and the representative of Free Sunbright gives the orders. That’s me!”
If I act now, we can take them, Daniel thought. Hogg’s long-barreled impeller wasn’t the best choice for such close quarters, but he would make do. If we don’t have surprise, though—
“Sir,” Daniel said, raising his hands to shoulder level, palms out. “I assure you that—”
A light aircar swung around the other side of Riely’s store. It must have approached at low level—ground level—over the hilly wasteland to the north of the town. Hogg snarled a curse and presented his impeller with a speed that would have terrified Kidlinger if he understood what it implied for his own survival had the present discussion turned into a firefight.
Two soldiers clambered back onto the truck and sat at the twin mount. The others lifted their carbines hesitantly, looking from their officer toward Hogg, then back to the aircar which had settled to a halt.
“Put your gun up, Hogg,” Daniel said crisply. “It isn’t needed here.”
The driver—the car’s sole occupant—stood up. He wore a filter scarf which covered his lower face.
“Sir?” said Riely.
The driver pulled the scarf down. He was scarcely older than Daniel; certainly he was under thirty.
“Hello, Riely,” he said and he jumped out of his vehicle and walked toward the group. “And you too, Kidlinger, though I didn’t expect to see you this far out of your area of responsibility.”
“Sir, I thought…” the officer said. He stammered to a halt.
Daniel stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Kirby Pensett,” he said. “The Chief on Madison gave me dispatches for Freedom.”
“Well met, then, Pensett,” said the newcomer, shaking his hand. “I’m known as Freedom. You and I have matters to discuss.”
CHAPTER 20: Halta City on Cremona
“I don’t see that a wicker cage would add significant weight,” Adele said as she pulled the cord firmly. The elevator groaned to a halt. The cable was wound on a drum, as she had expected, but the teeth of the gears driving the drum were each the size of her thumbs.
“Brock will ride it more than anyone else,” Tovera said as they stepped off the platform. “If he wants to kill himself, why should anyone care?”
She paused and added, “Or kill the boy. Who isn’t my type.”
Tovera’s face was deadpan. Of course her only two expressions were that deadpan—and a grin that would etch glass.
Brock’s secretary had been waiting in a folding chair leaned against the shaded west end of the so-called penthouse. As the elevator trembled to a halt he got to his feet and executed a very respectable bow.
“The boss told me to send you through and then stay out of the way,” the young man said. “We also serve who only stand and wait, I like to say. Or sit and wait, in this case.”
He opened the door; Adele bobbed her head to acknowledge the courtesy, making a mental note to learn more about the secretary. He was certainly more than he had seemed initially.
The partition between the inner and outer offices had been removed, turning the penthouse into a single long room. Brock was at his desk. The three partners who owned Santina Warehousing, and the Cortons—husband and wife—who owned Loeser Brothers, sat behind the two folding tables which had been set up facing the doorway.
“Mistress Hrynko or whatever your name is,” Brock said, “you know my colleagues since you’ve talked to them too. We decided to handle this together, instead of you dicking around from one of us to the next.”
“I’m glad to see you all,” Adele said, taking the straight chair which had been left for her beside the door. Sitting, she placed her data unit on her
lap and brought up its display. “Will you tell me your decision, please?”
This whole business was mummery. She knew that the outfitters had agreed to the loan on her terms and knew also that they would be together in Brock’s office when she arrived this morning.
Her tendency as a librarian was to lay all her information out immediately. The intelligence mindset to which she had been exposed if not trained in demanded that she conceal her sources and methods so that she could continue to use them.
In the end Adele had pretended to be ignorant, not because she was thinking like a spy but because she was Mundy of Chatsworth. Esme Rolfe Mundy would have been distressed to learn that her daughter was boasting of her skills—and to a gathering of tradesmen besides!
Adele felt her mouth twitch into a hint of a smile. Her mother had lived in a very simple, black and white, world. To a considerable degree, that two-value logic carried Adele through life as well. It wasn’t so very different from Daniel’s, “Cinnabar, right or wrong!” attitude, after all.
“We’ll subscribe the loan,” Brock said, looking across the line of his fellows. “On your terms.”
“We should get at least another point of interest for the risk, though!” said Addersheim. He glared at Adele, then at Brock. He had started thirty years before as Santina’s accountant and still looked the part, though he was now the senior partner.
“As I said, Lady Hrynko,” Brock said wearily. “On your terms.”
Addersheim muttered something, only half-audible and not a word anyway. Adele knew from her electronic eavesdropping that he hadn’t been able to convince even his two partners that they should press the point: they and the other outfitters understood that this was not a normal business transaction.
He’s the sort who would refuse to open the ammunition locker during a surprise attack unless he were given the correct authorization, Adele thought as she looked at the accountant.
She was more amused than not by the situation, but when Addersheim met her eyes again he started back. Well, she couldn’t help it if people misread her expressions. They tended to misunderstand her words also, despite the fact—or perhaps because of it—that she was extremely precise in picking the words she used.