The flyer alighted on the palace landing pad. Hanne Vogt climbed out without another word to him; either she didn’t believe his reassurances about the security of the KBS operations under his control, or she was still fuming about his explanation of things. This time, there was no carefully orchestrated “accidental” meeting at the palace door or a long wait in the antechamber with the beautiful aquarium. An attendant steered Vogt and Bleindel through the sunlight-filled corridors to Marid Pasha’s working office without delay, and ushered them into his presence with a murmured introduction: “The representatives of the Empire of Dremark, Your Excellency.”
Marid Pasha sat at his desk, reading through his morning mail on a holographic screen. “Very good,” he replied. “Send them in.”
“Good morning, Marid Pasha,” Vogt said smoothly, gliding into the room. Her lingering irritation at Bleindel vanished from her face, replaced with a warm expression as if she suspected nothing to be out of place. “I didn’t expect your invitation this morning, but it’s a pleasure to see you, as always.”
“Ms. Vogt, thank you for coming,” replied the pasha, with a thin smile that failed to reach his eyes. He motioned to the chairs facing his desk. “Please, be seated. I wanted to speak to you about the delivery schedule for my new cruisers. It has become important to get them into service as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” said Vogt, taking the offered seat. “We’re happy to do what we can to accelerate the timetable, although I’m not sure what exactly is possible.” She glanced over at Bleindel. “Otto, you’ve spoken with our people aboard Neu Kiel. What’s your sense of the timing?”
“Well, they’re just getting started,” Bleindel said as he sat down beside Vogt. Drachen, Meduse, and Zyklop had arrived in Dahar just three days ago, accompanied by the repair ship Neu Kiel. He was no expert in naval construction, but he did have a keen eye for process management, and he had a rough understanding of the steps required to un-mothball the old cruisers, modernize their systems, and shift their operating systems from Dremish to Jadeed-Arabi. “Captain Beck did tell me that Neu Kiel’s conversion teams will be working from a fourteen-week refit plan with different jobs overlapping on different ships. Meduse is supposed to be ready in ten weeks, Zyklop two weeks later, and Drachen two weeks after that. I imagine that focusing efforts on one ship at a time could get the first into service a few weeks faster, but that might add to the time needed to finish the other two.”
Marid Pasha shook his head. “Ten weeks is too long. I need at least two of those ships in service within a month. If we have to leave some of the refitting work for later, so be it.”
“I don’t know if that is feasible, but we can check with our technical experts,” Hanne Vogt replied. She paused, making a show of carefully considering the pasha’s request. “In our earlier discussions, you indicated that the timetable was acceptable. May I ask what’s changed?”
“The Aquilan navy, Ms. Vogt. They’ve conducted two major raids within the last month, killing Zerzurans and seizing the goods and property of Zerzuran companies.” The pasha’s expression darkened. “In their zeal to suppress piracy in this region, they’re bombarding mining outposts and seizing tramp freighters—Caliphate citizens whose safety is my responsibility. I can’t have foreign warships roaming throughout my sector attacking my people under unsubstantiated reports of piracy. The sooner ships under my command can establish Zerzuran patrols throughout the area, the sooner I can tell the Aquilans to stay out of our territorial space.”
“Two raids?” Vogt asked. “I heard about the unfortunate incident at Zafer, of course. What’s the other one?”
“The Aquilan destroyers Decisive and Harrier raided a station at an unnamed system near Bursa last week,” Bleindel told her. “They took two prizes with a couple of hundred accused pirates back to their base. The news just came in on last night’s courier from Neda—it’s in your morning intelligence summary.” Which, of course, Hanne Vogt had not yet read, since Marid Pasha had decided to start everybody’s day a couple of hours earlier than normal.
“Decisive was the ship involved in the Zafer situation,” Vogt said thoughtfully. It might be early in the day, but she never forgot details. “That’s Commander North’s ship, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Of course it’s Sikander North again, Bleindel added silently. The man has a gift for complicating my work. Captain Elise Markham of the Aquilan cruiser Hector generally received the credit—or the blame—for resisting the Empire’s occupation of Gadira eight years ago, but Lieutenant Sikander Singh North had exposed Bleindel’s role in arranging events and personally saved the sultan’s niece so that she could rally Gadiran loyalists against the much more flexible sultan Bleindel had planned to put on the throne. He reminded himself not to let his annoyance at the Kashmiri captain affect his judgment, and continued. “I also have reports of Decisive recovering an abandoned freighter in Bursa and pursuing a suspected pirate to Tunis. Commander North’s been a very busy fellow.”
“Commander North’s talent for finding pirates wherever he chooses to look is becoming a serious problem,” said Marid Pasha. “I admire his zeal, but I’ve been informed that the ‘Fort Jalid pirate base,’ as the Aquilan press release describes it, is actually an unarmed research outpost operated by the Rihla Development Corporation. The so-called pirates he detained at Neda are ordinary workers and support crews.”
Bleindel carefully noted the pasha’s misrepresentation of events, but he maintained enough self-possession to keep silent. Nothing in the reports he’d seen late last night suggested that the Aquilans had made any sort of mistake at the Jalid base, as much as he would like to think that perhaps they had. For that matter, there wasn’t any reasonable doubt about what the Aquilans had uncovered at the station in Zafer four weeks ago. Marid Pasha surely knew that as well as he did … but he’d just told the Empire of Dremark’s representative that he doubted the justifications the Aquilan navy provided for its aggressive pirate-hunting. Either the pasha resented the usurpation of his authority, or he had some other reason to be embarrassed by the Aquilans’ efforts.
Marid Pasha isn’t angry about Aquilans chasing pirates, he realized. He’s angry because the Aquilans are succeeding. And he thinks that he’ll be able to put a stop to that once he gets his new navy into operation. That, of course, led to a very interesting question: Why would the governor of Zerzura want to protect the pirates? In Otto Bleindel’s experience, the simplest answers were the best place to begin: Because they’re paying him, of course.
He glanced at Hanne Vogt, wondering if she’d reached the same conclusion. Her expression gave little away, but she shifted in her seat and met his eyes for a brief instant before returning her attention to the pasha. “We can certainly understand your concern over that sort of reckless behavior,” she said. “Obviously the Aquilans are receiving some very bad intelligence, or maybe they’re trying to intimidate you with this sudden show of aggression.”
Bleindel hid a smile—he should have known that she wouldn’t miss something like that. He followed her lead. “I doubt that they’d admit to any mistakes with their intelligence. You’ll notice that this time they took their illegally detained prisoners back to Neda instead of the nearest Zerzuran port. The Aquilans want to control the narrative, Your Excellency. Exaggerating reports of pirate activity may be an important part of their overall strategy for extending their influence in this region.”
“I have enough troubles with the Velar Electorate and this Meliyan terrorist group they’re blaming me for,” the pasha complained. “The last thing I need is Aquilans drumming up accusations of piracy where it doesn’t exist.”
“We don’t like it much either, but that seems like something you should bring up with Mr. Darrow,” said Vogt.
“I will, Ms. Vogt, but let me be perfectly clear: The Caliphate government moves slowly, but sooner or later the bureaucrats back on Old Terra are going to demand explanations for the stories about t
errorism and piracy reaching their ears. If Dremark is as interested in doing business in Zerzura as you’ve led me to believe, then you’re going to need to help me deal with this problem, or you might need to make an accommodation with a different governor, one who is not so open-minded as I am.” He leaned back in his chair, scowling. “Then again, perhaps I might need to make an accommodation with a different power, one that could be persuaded to adopt a more cooperative attitude toward antipiracy measures in exchange for the right sort of commercial privileges in my sector.”
“There’s no need for threats,” Vogt said sharply. “You’ve already got three fine Dremish cruisers in your orbital dockyard, and there are more ships on the way. By the end of the year the Zerzura Sector Fleet will be more than capable of meeting your security requirements without any help from foreign navies … as well as discouraging those powers from more aggressive designs on Zerzuran worlds. Dremark takes care of its friends, Marid Pasha. Now, I’m not sure whether it is possible to bring even one of the cruisers into service within a month, let alone two, but I have the highest confidence in our technical experts and I know that they’ll do their very best once I explain the urgency of the situation to them. Is that sufficient?”
“I suppose it will have to be.” Marid Pasha stood, and motioned for his secretary; evidently the meeting was over. Vogt and Bleindel got to their feet as Nenet Fakhoury approached to show them to the door. “I will expect a preliminary answer about the delivery schedule later today, Ms. Vogt. Until then?”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” Vogt said warmly, as if Marid Pasha had not just threatened to walk away from their deal and find a new partner, and allowed herself to be ushered out of the room. Bleindel gave the pasha a perfunctory bow and followed her out into the hall, where another attendant waited to escort them back to their flyer.
They said nothing until they were back in the security of the consulate’s private flyer. The minute the door closed, Vogt threw herself back in her seat and crossed her arms. “The consulate,” she ordered. The marine sergeant who served as their pilot acknowledged the order, and lifted off at once. “Now what in the hell was that all about?” she asked Bleindel.
Bleindel noted that they had returned to the same question that had been under debate on their way to the palace half an hour ago, and shrugged. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
“No, I really want to know the answer.”
“This isn’t about Marid Pasha making himself ruler of an independent Zerzura—or not directly about it, anyway. The pasha’s in business with at least some of Zerzura’s pirates, and the Aquilans keep hitting him in the wallet. He wants that to stop.”
“Obviously.” The special envoy shot Bleindel another sharp look. “Did we know about that before? Marid’s association with piracy, I mean?”
“No, I’m afraid we didn’t see that coming. I didn’t figure it out until just now.” Bleindel gazed at the palace dropping away below them, thinking aloud as he worked out the implications. “As long as no one was having any success in actually catching pirates, Marid Pasha could play the victim and claim that he just didn’t have the resources he needed to deal with the problem. The situation suited him just fine: The pirates pay him off, then we pay him for the privilege of helping him fight piracy, an effort he intends to sabotage so the pirates can carry on while he asks us for more help. Losing the base at Zafer and a ship or two probably didn’t concern him too much; the pasha had to expect that sooner or later some of his associates would find a way to get themselves into trouble he couldn’t get them out of. But then last night he hears the news that the Aquilans knocked out another pirate base—”
“—and he goes through the roof,” Vogt finished for him. “Damn it.”
“We probably could have figured out the pasha’s complicity if we’d known to look for a connection. But my team’s directive”—a directive requested by the Foreign Office when they organized Vogt’s mission in the first place, not that Bleindel saw any reason to remind her of that—“prioritized developing sources that could shed light on Marid Pasha’s strategic alignment, not the regional nuisance of Zerzura’s pirates. Naturally, that’s where we focused our work.”
“All right, I’m convinced.” Vogt made a face. “Let’s set that aside for a moment and consider the pasha’s demands. Can we speed up the delivery of those ships?”
“Technically speaking, we’ve already delivered them. They’re under Zerzuran registration now. But as to helping the pasha’s navy to make them operational within a month, I couldn’t say. I’ll need to talk to Captain Beck, and I imagine he’ll have to consult with his officers before he can give us an answer.”
“Do it,” Vogt said. “Marid Pasha’s expecting an answer today.”
“Is it really in the Empire’s interest to proceed with the refits given what we’ve just learned about Marid Pasha?” Bleindel asked. “Or the additional transfers we’ve got planned, for that matter? We’re handing a substantial fleet over to someone who clearly intends to do nothing about piracy.”
“Moral qualms, Otto? I didn’t think you were the type.”
“Oh, I understand that sometimes you need to get muddy if you want to win the race. I’m just worried about the possible complications. If nothing else, our support for Marid Pasha’s government is a potential scandal. The Empire won’t look good if we’re seen to be propping up a criminal strongman.”
“The Foreign Office has worked with worse,” the diplomat admitted. “As long as Marid al-Zahabi keeps his friends away from Dremish-flagged freighters, I can overlook local corruption. Zerzura is valuable territory, especially if the Caliphate finally falls apart. No, what worries me is that remark the pasha made about trying to make an accommodation with another power if we can’t strengthen his navy quickly enough.”
“I noticed that too, although it struck me as something of an empty threat. The Montréalais don’t really want to be drawn into yet another regional commitment, our Meliya operation put an end to any possibility of engagement with the Velarans, and it’s clear that Marid is furious at the Aquilans … who, as we’ve just seen, are highly committed to stamping out piracy wherever they find it, regardless of the consequences.” The flyer swooped down to a handsome high-rise building only two blocks down the street from the Aquilan consulate; Bleindel could actually see the rival power’s flag flying from the pole in front of the door as their pilot set them down on the Dremish consulate’s landing pad.
“The Aquilans can be more flexible than you think if the stakes are high enough.” Vogt remained seated, her eyes distant as she considered the problem. “Of course, it might take a while for that message to filter down to their navy. Military types tend to see things in black-and-white.”
“They do, don’t they?” Bleindel said … and that suggested a simple idea to make sure the pasha didn’t suddenly reevaluate his relationships. He savored the notion for a moment, examining it carefully before he shared it with his Foreign Office colleague. “I think we can use that, Hanne. Since the Aquilans are so anxious to knock out pirate bases, let’s help them find a few more. Marid Pasha is furious at their interference already. What will he do if they hit another one?”
“Assuming he doesn’t roll over and try to cut a deal? Revoke their passage rights, ban them from Zerzuran ports, complain to Old Terra—”
“—and come to us for more help as soon as we can provide it,” Bleindel added.
“And come to us for more help,” Vogt acknowledged. She gave him a long look. “Why, do you know where to find a pirate base?”
“Not exactly,” he replied. “But I’m good at making things up.”
16
Tawahi Island, Neda III
The sweet smell of teriyaki fish kebobs sizzling on the grill wafted over the patio of Sikander’s Tawahi Island bungalow. He eyed the skewers critically, turning a couple that looked like they were getting a bit too done on one side. He was not much of a cook—few Norths spent much time
in kitchens, really—but early on in his naval career he’d decided to learn the basics of grilling for the purpose of hosting casual barbecues for shipmates and colleagues, and he’d actually come to enjoy it. Darvesh was much better at it, but the valet was happy to keep himself busy by seeing to all the sides and beverages for an evening cookout, and made sure to praise Sikander’s efforts or offer the occasional tip without a hint of condescension. And, of course, it helped that the main ingredient—in this case, Nedan sunfin that he’d caught just a few hours ago—was as fresh as anyone could hope for. Sikander took a long pull from a bottle of the crisp helles-style lager he’d stocked for the day’s occasion, and contemplated the sunshine, the palm trees, the ocean view, and the comfortable chatter of his guests with no small amount of satisfaction.
“Can I get you another one, Captain?” said Amar Shah, who happened to be standing near the cooler. He was a little overdressed for the party, with long khaki pants and a designer shirt, but this was his first experience with one of Sikander’s cookouts; Sikander himself wore shorts and an island-themed shirt with a bright floral design, while Amelia Fraser wore a sundress over her swimsuit and Michael Girard wore Bermuda shorts and a shirt even more garish than Sikander’s, adding a brimmed hat; his red hair and pale complexion didn’t mix well with Neda’s tropical sun.
Scornful Stars Page 26