by David Drake
"Soko-pogging-bonocks," whispered Lauy-Rei from her place by Hsuin's body.
Parkerman froze the screen. "That's where the trouble started, right there," he said, emotion muffling his voice.
The rest were silent, all of them watching intently as the screen once again shifted into rapid motion.
Once Hsuin ordered his ship to attack the Bastan'gal he was regarded as being a dangerous enemy. The recall files made this painfully and abundantly clear.
"I don't think we have to see much more," said Sventur. "Put on the other."
This recall file was from the Yamapunkt's Senior Bunter, the coordinator of all the others, responsible for the ship instead of one particular Petit Harrier. It revealed the same pattern, including its coding conflicts that arose when it killed Group Line Chief Hsuin. Its duty was clear. Hsuin was acting against the Bastan'gal, hence against the Grands. But these Petits were the ones the Bunters were coded to protect, and killing them was against that code. The constant conflict between these two incompatible codes brought about such extremity of irresolution that the cyborg came perilously close to experiencing emotion.
"What are we going to do?" murmured Gos-Raidan when the recall file had played out.
"We are going to send those under most secret codes and seals to Fleet Commodore Grizmai," said Sventur with authority. "And we will do it very soon. Then we are going to do more, if we can." Watching the screen she had come up with the glimmer of a solution. It might save Lontano, it could keep the J'zmallir Trade Routes from being lost to the Magnicate Alliance; and maybe—if she was very, very lucky—it would keep the rivalry between Petits and Grands from becoming war.
"Our Bunters are back at the ship," said Parkerman thoughtfully.
"So they are," said Sventur.
"Oh, pog it!" said Group Leader Borisov. "No wonder none of us were murdered while we were waiting for you." He stared at Sventur. "Our Bunters' console was shot to pieces and we couldn't get the auxiliary working."
"I thought it was a real problem, having the Bunters out. I was mad about it," said Gos-Raidan. "Can you believe me?" She put one hand to her eyes, and while she did not weep, she did shake. "I can be such a jhum."
There was silence in the clearing, then one of the Mromrosii, who was now a luminous shade of fuchsia, gamboled forward. "Would you mind? We have a suggestion to make."
For nearly a minute there was no sound from any of the Harriers, and then Sventur spoke for them all. "We could use a suggestion or two."
It took until midday to hammer out a rough strategy, and every step of the way there were reasonable objections to offer, but Sventur refused to be turned from her purpose.
"We're short of food, did you ever think of that?" asked Godwendo. "I don't know if I can take any more of those ration sheets, no matter how good they are for me. And liquid-enhancing gels aren't supposed to be used for more than four days."
"And don't say the Bunters can come up with food," added TeRoumei. "I wouldn't take a deep breath near anything they prepared, let alone eat it." He had this supported by many nods.
"I wouldn't want to chance it myself," said Sventur with real feeling. "I don't think any of us would."
This satisfied the others but did not solve the problem of hunger.
"If you think we can pull this off, then we have to eat." This sensible comment brought emphatic endorsement from the rest.
"We need food and water," said Maht. "We all have Universal Contaminants Blocker pills. We can take them if we have to." She looked directly at Sventur. "You come from here. What's good to eat."
Sventur was about to protest that she had not been here in years and that she had never known the ins and outs of the hearty Lontaniano cuisine, but then something came to mind. "Yeah," she said, as much to herself as to the Harriers waiting around her. "Yeah. I know a place. We can get there in three ES hours if we keep moving. It's a vacation spot. Probably not real busy just now, because of the invasion, but I bet we could get food there, and maybe a base of operations, if we play our cards right." She clapped her hands together. "Right. If we break camp now, we can strike out for Monte Cupert."
Since no one had anything better to recommend, they set about the task as best they could.
"What are we going to tell the others?" asked Communications Leader Parkerman. "They won't know what we're up to if we don't notify them."
"And if we do, every single Bunter from here to The Hub will know where we are," said Ancelott with unconcealed disgust. "You want to risk what could happen next?"
"No, of course not," said Parkerman, his fair moustache bristling.
"We wait until we get where we're going," said Sventur gently. "Otherwise we might as well not go."
One of the Mromrosii, now a deep grape color, added his approval. "It must be assumed that to ask for standard assistance will serve only to increase the chance of open conflict. Therefore as the number and disposition of those opposing you is undetermined but superior to your own numbers, using all reasonable means to minimize that advantage is most genuinely sensible." He sprang into the air. "We of the Emerging Planet Fairness Court do not condone willful recklessness in any species."
"I wonder what that means?" whispered Crozzer as he paused in the act of stowing his cocoon. "Do we have to keep the screens on?" he asked Sventur.
"Yes," she answered. "For now, at any case."
Monte Cupert was called that for its craggy crest of mica-rich dark-red stone that made it appear it was wearing a cowl. At the edge of this magnificent cap there perched a large, white Piedmontese chalet, with balconies and trellises and porticos and cupolas and so many elaborate bay windows that it was nearly impossible to make out the basic U-shape of the building.
Called Elegante Bianc by its owners and Elefante Bianc by the guests, it was a popular and prestigious place to go.
There were—as Sventur had predicted—very few guests staying. It was the slack time of year, and most of the Lontaniani were keeping close to home until the Bastan'gal were gone.
The interior was very like the outside, full of grottos and niches and alcoves and inglenooks. Carpets from Punaraj, Atam Akal, and Kousrau, furniture from Melikos, Vadanao and native Lontano, artwork from throughout the Magnicate Alliance—the lobby alone was better-stocked with treasures than half the museums in the Alliance.
While the hotelier was eager for patrons, he could only manage a sour smile when he saw the bedraggled band of Petit Harriers approaching, dragging two useless Bunters and accompanied by two bright orange Mromrosii.
Sventur went through the ritual greetings and responses as quickly as possible without being outright rude. They exchanged full names and nativity; he was Ernan Radame Foscar, of Gran Rotond. She compared genealogies with the punctilious hotelier only to great-great-grand-mothers—they turned out to be third cousins once removed—before she came to the purpose of their visit. Quickly she outlined her plan, hoping that her enthusiasm would win him over.
"We need to have a place where we can control what goes on around us. You can see why your magnificent hotel occurred to me at once," she said, softening the unwelcome information with a compliment.
Foscar was not mollified. "It is hardly convenient to arrange such a function on such short notice, and so irregularly." He indicated the extensive lobby and the lovely view beyond. "We are not designed for the purpose you propose."
"No, but nothing on Lontano is except the Mercantile, and it is in a contested area." Sventur's manner was gracious and polite but there was more than a hint in her attitude that she was determined to use Elegante Bianc no matter what its owner said. "Therefore it is suitable to choose the most renowned of facilities, the most beautiful and impressive."
One of the Mromrosii, a discreet shade of butter-yellow, sauntered up to Foscar. "We of the Emerging Planet Fairness Court would deem it an act of diplomacy and good faith if you were to invite us to hold these necessary meetings here."
The other Mromrosi, a light a
qua just now, joined his fellow, green eye beaming beneficently. "It is a wise course, Hotelier Foscar. You may be certain that the various forces caught up in this conflict have discovered where we have come, and without some reason to hold their fire might well decide to attack this place pre-emptively."
That was a threat Sventur had not intended to use, and she heard it with a sinking heart, for she suspected it would turn Foscar against them.
The hotelier pouted and pulled at his elaborate neck-wear—the height of current Lontaniani fashion—but at last performed an elaborate bow. "Under the circumstances, what am I to do but to extend you my hospitality and the hospitality of Elegante Bianc? It appears that either I must assist you or suffer the fate of your enemies."
"Nothing so severe," said Lauy-Rei, unimpressed by Foscar's grand gestures. "You may share the fate of our allies." She made a signal to the rest of the Petits, indicating the lobby and the huge function rooms beyond. "Check them out."
Ancelott and Godwendo took the left, Borisov and Mondragon the right.
"My guests will be displeased with this occurrence," warned Foscar, pointing to the registration clerk. "See? Even the staff is alarmed."
"Your guests will dine out on this tale for the rest of their lives," said Lauy-Rei, dismissing Foscar's objections. "It is a little inconvenience for the chance to witness an historic event. They'll be pleased."
"Pleased?" Foscar exclaimed. "Uniformed soldiers come here and who knows what will follow you. That is not pleasing."
"Then tell them to make the best of it," said Sventur as gently as she could as her patience ran out. "I need to use your powersources. Show them to me, will you?" She almost added the various supplications that ordinarily accompanied a request on Lontano, but she decided against it. She had no desire to become caught up in the tangle of good manners again.
Foscar did not share her feelings, and he gave her an affronted stare. They are this way," he said with great hauteur, and led her toward the staff sections of the hotel.
This proved to be as spartan as the guest sections were luxurious. Foscar led the way down a steep, narrow staircase, saying as he went, "I don't think I can be responsible for anything that happens to the . . . delegation. You do understand that, don't you?" He addressed not only Sventur but the two Mromrosii who capered along behind her.
"It's on record that we came to you, not the other way around," Sventur assured him. "If any-thing goes wrong, it'll be my fault."
"And ours as well," one of the Mromrosii assured him.
Foscar sniffed. "Well, at least you understand that." He reached two massive sliding doors. "All our powersources are back here. All I ask is you do not use them all. If anything goes wrong, I want to have something left to run the hotel. I am sure you—"
"Understand," Sventur finished for him. "That I do." She looked up at the banks of cells.
"We operate four funiculs out of here, as well as the hotel," said Foscar as if to explain the tremendous power supply the hotel commanded.
Those would be the hanging cages we saw as we approached?" said one of the Mromrosii. At the moment he was iris-blue.
Foscar stared at the two aliens in silence for a short while. "I believe I would find your constant change of color disconcerting," he said in his most depressing accents.
"I know," said the other, who was a dull red shade. "It is very amusing to watch your species try to keep us sorted out."
This announcement completely flummoxed Foscar, who could think of no rejoinder and withdrew in disorder, leaving Sventur and the Mromrosii to their work.
"Who first?" asked Sventur, already handing her zap board to the Mromrosii. She pulled the links from their compartment and hooked up the zap board to a third of the powersource.
"We will send ours, so that it is recorded before you begin your action," said the blue Mromrosi.
"And that way there will be no question later about precedent," added the beige one. A moment later he squatted over the zap board and began to operate it with all eight of his three-toed feet.
While the Mromrosii busied themselves with their task, Sventur activated her implant and began to code her first message. What would Fleet Commodore Grizmai think when he discovered she had gone over his head to The Twelve? Nothing she said to him would make amends if he decided she had acted without sufficient justification. It could mean her career. With that cheerless thought to comfort her, she took the zap board from the Mromrosii and began to send her various zaps.
"When do you think you will hear something?" asked Foscar as the Harriers sat in the largest of Elegante Bianc's profusion of bay windows. Below the mountain was glowing ruddy with sunset. "It's been hours."
"We'll hear soon enough," said Sventur with more certainty than she was feeling. The nearby ships had received her zaps seconds after she had sent them; those going to more distant places would have reached their destinations by now. Little as she wanted to admit it, she was beginning to worry.
"A place like this—it's beautiful, I don't mean it isn't—but . . ." TeRoumei said, wanting to provide a little distraction. "Shimbue isn't like Lontano. A mountain like this . . . we have three hundred seventy-eight active volcanoes on Shimbue, and over five hundred dormant ones. On Shimbue you stay away from mountains when you can. There's no way of telling when one might go off."
The others chuckled a little. Even Thorgemann was able to manage half a smile now that he had been properly treated—by an idiosyncratic Lontaniano who actually practiced medicine—and had a decent meal.
"I'm a little surprised we haven't seen any of the Glavuses," said Ancelott, and for once Parkerman took his part.
"Yeah. I've been waiting since noon for one of them. But nothing." He gestured toward the windows. "Fluffy clouds. No Glavuses. No Bastan'gal. Nothing."
It was either a very good or a very bad sign. Sventur could not help but feel the strain, though she was able to mask it with an outward calm that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
"Has anyone checked the vids and surveills in the conference hall?" asked Godwendo. "Lately?"
Foscar paused in the act of pouring more of the heady red wine he had served them with dinner. "There are alarms on all the screens, vids and zaps," he informed them as if it were the first time someone had asked.
"But still," said Godwendo. "We've been talking. We aren't paying attention."
"Go and check if you want to," said Sventur, as she had every time Godwendo had brought it up throughout the afternoon.
Then one of the Mromrosii scampered forward, going from yellow to pink to a deep violet so quickly that he seemed almost to disappear. "There!" he burst out. "There!"
If the Harriers had not seen Wammgalloz ships before they might have mistaken the armored oddments as flotsam from a battle or part of a wrecked space station.
"Three of them," said Sventur's Executive Officer Duykster. Three," verified Ancelott, shading his eyes as the peculiar ships drew nearer.
"Where do they think they are going to land?" demanded Foscar, who had just realized the size of the three craft. This place cannot support such ships. You have to tell them before they wreck—"
The pale Mromrosi approached Foscar. "No, no. You have nothing to worry about. The ships only hover, they never land. Only the Wammgalloz themselves will come here."
If Foscar found this consoling, he did not show it. The portion of wine he poured himself was greater than what he served his guests. "Wammgalloz," he muttered.
The air was humming now, low and tearing, the sound of the ships as they drew near.
"I hate that sound," whispered Sventur's Navigator Estienne Beaumont. "What a noise."
"True enough," said the Navigator of the lost Suidotal, Betness Gos-Raidan.
"Everyone up, and in ranks," said Sventur, glad now that she had ordered all the Petit Harriers to do what they could to spruce up their uniforms for this occasion. By all rights they ought to be in dress-5s, not battle gear. She had already
politely refused the offer of more appropriate civilian clothing from Foscar and now she was not certain she had done the right thing.
The noise grew louder. Most of the Harriers gritted their teeth as they heard the high, scritchy sound of the Wammgalloz voices above the low growl of their ships.
In their way, the Wammgalloz were magnificent and serene, if it were possible to forget how much they resembled a cross between an Old Earth praying mantis and an older Old Earth Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Wammgalloz had four eyes that took up the greater part of the long pyramid of their heads. They walked on four armored, articulated legs and manipulated things with four telescoping-and-articulated arms. The plating on their very long backs might once have been wings. Of all six species of the Emerging Planet Fairness Court, these were known throughout their sphere of influence for their wisdom and compassion.
Five of these creatures came swaying into the main lobby of the Elegante Bianc, their eyes perilously close to the ceiling. They made their way to the tall rotunda, taking up a position there as if they were a huge ornamental sculpture.
"I had no idea they were so large," said Foscar to Sventur very softy.
One of the Wammgalloz sputtered and hissed; a translator attached to its elongated thorax said mellifluously, "How very kind of you to arrange for this meeting, Petit Harriers, and you Mromrosii."
Sventur saluted, uncertain what else to do, and gave her name, rank and ship. "I'm sorry if this inconveniences you," she added, wondering what the translator would make of it.
"Oh," said the translator of another Wammgalloz after a grating series of clatters and shrieks, "the Emerging Planet Fairness Court exists to be inconvenienced. That is our job." The sound the translators made into laughter sounded like a chest full of rocks and scrap metal being dropped down a flight of stairs.