Goonar stared at Basil, who flushed.
"A Benignity diplomatic shuttle. Does this have any relation whatsoever to the fact that we're running off with a troupe of singers and dancers from—where are they from?"
"Various places," Basil said. "They're talent, you know—they come from all over."
"And?" Goonar said.
"Well . . . they aren't fugitives. Exactly. It's just that they don't want to be. If they're not at the theater, then . . . it won't be an issue."
"And if they are?"
"I don't know," Basil said. "None of them are citizens of the Benignity, and none of them have committed a crime. They're just . . . maybe . . . people the Benignity would rather have stay there."
"Captives?"
"Of a sort. Maybe. I don't know. I just know they wanted to be out of here before the Benignity diplomatic mission arrived and got settled."
"And they knew it was coming?" Goonar asked.
"Apparently," Basil said. He still looked embarrassed, which Goonar knew from experience meant he hadn't yet told all he knew. Goonar felt tired; dragging facts out of Basil had exhausted better men than he.
"Please, Basil," he said. "I'm the captain now; I have to know. Are we going to be pursued by Benignity warships? By Familias warships? Are we transporting stolen property? State secrets?"
Basil glanced out the window as the shuttle rolled forward slowly and pursed his lips. "I don't think we'll be pursued by anyone—certainly not before we can make it into jump." Goonar did not think that "not before we can make it into jump" was anything like "not pursued" but he waited for the rest of it. "As far as I know, there is no stolen property. I made that clear to her, and she said there was nothing," Basil said. "State secrets—I didn't ask about that, because if they are running with data, she wouldn't tell me anyway."
"So—do you think they'll be out of the theater before the Benignity gets there?"
"I think so, yes." Basil leaned forward. "If all went well, they weren't that far behind us; she said they'd be packing as the play went on."
"I assume by 'she' you mean Betharnya," Goonar said. "Is she the . . . what, the owner of the troupe or something? I thought she was just the leading lady."
"She's the manager, yes. As well as the female lead. Something happened to the manager they had before."
"When?" Goonar asked. "Where?"
"I think . . . on tour in Vorhoft."
"Which just happens to be in the Benignity—Basil, if you weren't my cousin and partner, I would cheerfully brain you."
"I know—"
"Delay," the pilot said, over the intercom. "That pigdung Benignity shuttle has asked Traffic Control for a hold for some reason."
Basil made a noise that Goonar easily interpreted, and the same thought was running through his own mind. He flicked down the seat com screen, and patched into the pilot's download of the local net. Ships at station, seven. Lucky number, seven—sometimes. But there'd been more than that when they docked four days ago. Ships insystem, incoming, three. He relaxed slightly. Ships outbound, eleven. He frowned, and checked the departure times.
"Did you notice this?" he said to Basil, pointing to the screen.
"What? No . . . wait . . . there should be more docked upstairs."
"Right. And look at the departure times . . . compared to the first scan record of the Benignity diplomatic mission."
"Ouch." Basil leaned forward. "Chickens scattering before a hawk."
"And you have us on the ground—away from the ship—a nice fat chicken, with the hawk already stooping." Goonar knew who would be blamed if Terakian & Sons lost by it—he was the captain, after all, and he was supposed to be in control. But before his uncle reduced him to mincemeat—if he survived to be minced—he could take a few chunks out of Basil.
"Sorry," Basil said, in an absent tone. "Did you know the Stationmaster up there is a Conselline agent?"
"No—and if you think that bit of information is going to distract me—"
"The ships that left—they're all Conselline Sept flags."
Goonar scolded himself for not seeing that first. "You're right. So—does that mean the Consellines are playing some game with the Benignity, or what?"
"I don't know, but Betharnya might. If we can get her safely away."
"Fat chance now," Goonar said. But at that moment, the pilot said, "Hold's unlocked. They've moved us up past a scheduled shuttle—they've got a red light on something. Ready for immediate takeoff?"
"Yes," Goonar said. The shuttle bumped over the guide strips in the taxiway, and swung onto another approach lane to the main runway. Far off to the right, he could see the main terminal, surrounded by the winking lights of other shuttles and long-haul aircraft. As they turned again, he saw something behind them. To the pilot, he said, "Something's on our tail, Jas . . ."
"I know," Jas said. Then, to Traffic Control, "Orbital shuttle outbound, Terakian and Sons, two passengers, ID 328Y. Auto shuttle outbound, Terakian and Sons, cleared cargo, manifest 235AX7."
"Check, 328Y. Cleared."
The cabin intercom clicked off. Goonar looked at Basil, who turned to look out the window.
"Basil . . . what do you know about an auto shuttle shadowing us?"
"I hope," Basil said, now studying his nails, "that it's a cargo shuttle."
"Failure to declare passengers is an offense under local and Familias law, Basil," Goonar said. Their own shuttle rolled forward, on the right-hand margin of the runway. He leaned to look out the left-hand windows. Sure enough, the other craft had come up beside them, the safest launch for an autopilot shadow. And far less visible from the main terminal.
"I know."
"Are there passengers on that shuttle, Basil?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
No use arguing until they got to the Station. If they did. Goonar leaned back as acceleration shoved him into the seat. Jas pulled both ships up into a steep climb once they were off the ground, then directed the cargo shuttle—unlit and almost invisible—to a safe distance.
They cleared atmosphere without any problems that Goonar knew about—and he had patched in to the pilot's communications. On approach to the Station, he heard Jas's bland explanation to Traffic Control.
"The boss has us on the short list, so I thought I'd just autopilot the cargo shuttle up. Otherwise I'd have to ferry Reuben down to bring it . . ."
"Some day one of you guys is going to crash one of those auto shuttles and kill us all."
"Not this day," Jas said. "I'm going to dock 'er right onto the Fortune. No danger to the Station at all."
"What about her papers?"
Jas reeled off the same manifest number and clearance codes.
"All right. Just be careful."
"You won't feel a thing."
* * *
Once aboard Fortune, Goonar headed straight for the bridge. As he'd expected, Station Security wanted to inspect the autopiloted shuttle and its cargo. This was standard, and probably had nothing to do with the Benignity diplomatic mission, or even the Benignity liner docked on the far side of the station. Goonar made the predictable protests—they'd already cleared customs down below, this was costing him time and money, he might lose his launch spot. This too was standard. If he didn't protest, at least a little, they'd notice that change in behavior. When he judged the right moment had come, he gave in semi-graciously.
The Station Security team came first to the bridge, where he handed them the hardcopy of the manifest, assigned a junior officer to lead them back to the cargo shuttle, now tucked into its bay. "And no dillydalling," he said to the young woman. "We've got a slot to keep."
He spent the next hour on departure paperwork—one of the loaders had failed to clear a repair bill, and he had to authorize transfer of funds to cover it. Another loader still wasn't aboard . . . Georg, as usual. Which meant he was deep in a philosophical discussion somewhere; Georg could handle drink and women, but not the thrill of finding another person who wan
ted to talk about Will and the Oversoul. Goonar knew from experience that Station Security wouldn't have a clue where such a discussion might be going on; he himself had to figure it out. Universities were always a good bet, but this Station had only a technical school and a two-year arts school. Sure enough, Georg turned up in a coffee bar next door to the arts school. Goonar flagged a Station Security patrolman and asked him to get Georg on his way.
"Captain Terakian?" That was the head of the Station team, back at the bridge.
"Yes?"
"Er . . . we found nothing amiss, sir, but the Stationmaster says there's a request from the Benignity ship here to do a detailed search for some missing property." The man looked embarrassed. "I know, sir, that Terakian and Sons are reliable merchanters; I'm sure you have no Benignity property aboard. But—"
"And why is the Stationmaster kowtowing to the Benignity here in Familias Space?" Goonar asked. He would definitely throttle Basil, the first chance he got. "Or is this Benignity person, whoever he is, making a formal charge against me?"
The man flushed darker. "He's—I can't say anything, sir."
"Quite so." Goonar chewed his lip. "Then I will file a formal protest, with your Stationmaster and with Sector Three R.S.S. Headquarters and with the appropriate court." He turned to his deskcomp and called up the extensive legal files. With a few strokes of his datawand he entered the particulars, and transmitted the first file to the Stationmaster.
In only a minute or two, the com screen lit, and the Stationmaster's face glared out. "What do you think you're doing, Terakian?"
"Protecting my legal rights," Goonar said. "You're asking me to submit to an unreasonable search on behalf of a foreign power which has offered no shadow of proof that my ship or crew has anything to do with some property they claim they're missing. You've given me no reason to comply, but your armed men are on my bridge."
"Don't get huffy," the man said; his eyes glanced to one side, as if to someone out of line of the pickup.
"You haven't seen huffy yet," Goonar said. "We're a reputable firm; we've traded here for over forty years. We're all Familias citizens, and this is supposed to be a Familias port. If you've changed its affiliation to the Benignity, I'm sure Fleet would like to know. So would its own citizens, who are still under the impression that they have civil rights."
"I'm just trying to keep things friendly," the Stationmaster began.
"By accusing us of being thieves?" Goonar said. "That's not the way to keep Terakian and Sons friendly. And I notice all the Conselline Sept ships have left—did you fully search them, or are you playing favorites?"
"They left before we got the request," the Stationmaster said. "And it's not that we think you did anything. You're too defensive—"
"Of my ship, and my family's good name, I'm damned defensive, and with good reason," Goonar said.
"It's just that they wanted us to check on any ship that had cargo from downside. They said they'd help."
Alarm bells went off all the way down Goonar's spine. "The Benignity said it would help? How?"
"They've offered to lend us their own security personnel, who know exactly what they're looking for . . ."
Goonar said, "You're asking us to let foreign troops onto our ship to search us? What kind of traitor are you, anyway?"
"They're not troops, they're . . . more like the police."
Goonar grunted. "They're foreign, whatever you want to call them. No. No foreign personnel are going to set foot on a Terakian ship, so they can figure out how to pirate us later. Absolutely not."
"I insist."
"You can insist until the stars go cold. No. If you want your own Station Security—and I will check their Familias citizenship—to prowl around looking for God knows what, that's one thing. But the Benignity will never set foot on my decks, and that's final."
"That's unwise, Captain." Now the person the Stationmaster had been glancing to moved into pickup range. An officer of some kind, in a uniform Goonar didn't recognize. Not the usual Benignity naval uniform, which he did know. "It will save you—and us—and others—a great deal of trouble if you will only permit that search now. Otherwise—"
"Threatening civilians in the Familias?" Goonar did not have to simulate anger. "What—have you hidden an invasion fleet in the edge of the system or something?"
"We don't need such crude methods," the man said. "You will never leave this station alive if you don't let us board."
"Hey—wait a minute!" The Stationmaster reached for the man, but sagged suddenly. Goonar had seen no weapon, but he had seen enough. He glanced over his shoulder at the Security team commander, who looked as startled as he felt himself. "Sorry," he said, and gave the Terakian signal.
Even as he did, he thought of Georg, poor Georg who was about to find out if the Oversoul was any more real than his own imagination.
Terakian crew had only the usual sort of riot training, but they were more than capable of disabling the search team which had, after all, expected nothing to happen. As Goonar said, they'd seen Terakian ships before, and Terakians didn't cause trouble.
"You can't do this," the search team's commander said indignantly, when he was wrapped in tangletape.
"I'm sorry," Goonar said. "But I'm not about to let a Benignity team aboard this ship. They're foreigners, and it wasn't that long ago they invaded Xavier. I'm not going to let them take this ship and use it to infiltrate Familias space. Everybody knows Terakian ships—"
The commander's eyes widened. "Is that what you think they're up to?"
The excuse had come upon him like a random hit from space debris, but Goonar knew a good idea when he found one. "Why else a so-called diplomatic mission to a backwater like this? Why else would they be putting a hold on outbound traffic, wanting to search each ship? They're looking for the right one. We're an independent trading firm—we've got plenty of cubage, and they'd just dump our cargo before jumping, give themselves more room—"
"But—"
"We haven't been anywhere near Benignity space, so how could we have anything of theirs? No. They're after this ship, or one like it. They can blow me away, I don't care—" He did care, intensely, but he could see in the commander's eyes a growing belief in what he said. Embroidery in the service of truth, the family said, was not a lie. "I'm not letting them use my ship that way."
"I . . . see. I did wonder—"
"Of course you did." Basil, now that the rest of the team had been disarmed and immobilized, came to stand beside Goonar. He had waited until he heard enough of Goonar's spiel to be sure he wouldn't muddy the trail. "It's not often you get Benignity ships in here, is it? And a diplomatic one giving orders to the Stationmaster?"
"What they said was, some fugitives came in on a transport within the last four weeks, they weren't sure from where. A bunch of actors who'd been in Benignity space, fled with stolen goods, and all they knew was that all the leads led here."
"An acting troupe?" Basil frowned, as if taking this seriously. "What could an acting troupe steal that would be worth this kind of chase?"
"They didn't say. I wouldn't think actors would have access to anything that valuable, myself."
"Unless . . ." Basil said, dragging the words out. "Suppose—suppose another fugitive—a political fugitive, say—tried to take sanctuary among actors, and they smuggled the person out—or the Benignity thought they did."
"Ridiculous!" Goonar said. "Why would actors take in a political fugitive—or anyone they didn't know? That'd be like a Terakian ship picking up any riffraff off the docks. We know better; surely they do too. Besides, I don't believe there's anything behind this but the Benignity wanting a ship to use invisibly in Familias space."
"Yes, but it would make sense," Basil said. "Look at it from the Benignity point of view—"
"I am," Goonar said. "And what I see is their desire to use my ship. And I say no."
"Look," the Security commander said, "let me talk to the Stationmaster. I'm sure you don't have any
contraband—and maybe he hasn't realized what the Benignity are up to . . ."
"He'd have to be an idiot," Goonar said, clashing with Basil's "He probably thought they were telling the truth, and maybe they are . . ."
"Just let me tell him. You don't really want to hijack my team—that will cause trouble."
"I don't want to take a chance on losing my ship," Goonar said. But he nodded to his crew, who cut the tangletape and let the militia leader walk up beside Goonar. The man faced the screen.
"Look . . . sir, Captain Terakian is convinced that the Benignity wants to steal his ship. He thinks this is why they've been insisting on searching ships before they leave—that they're looking for a suitable vessel in which to infiltrate the Familias."
The Serrano Succession Page 44