Cauldron of Ghosts

by David Weber

  Andrew looked like he was about to object but Kham held up his hand. “Hear me out, please. We wouldn’t be expecting Ms. Turner to play a direct role in the intelligence-gathering. What we’d want her to do is set up a safe house and provide the actual operatives with guidance and advice.”

  “No,” said Artlett. He stood up and extended his hand to his companion. “Let’s go, Steph.”

  “Andrew, sit down,” she said.

  He stared at her, half-gaping.

  “Sit. Down,” she repeated. “First, it’s my decision, not yours. Second, you’re being rude. Keep talking, Mr. Kham. What sort of safe house and with what—and how much—money?”

  Kham shrugged. “We hoped you’d tell us what would work best as a safe house. Money’s not an issue. We’ll provide it, and as much as you need.”

  Steph pursed her lips and her eyes got a little unfocused.

  Artlett sat back down. “Steph, you can’t be seriously—”

  “Be quiet. I’m thinking.”

  He rolled his eyes. But he kept quiet.

  After half a minute or so, Steph’s gaze came back in focus. “A restaurant’s probably out, even though it’d be the easiest for me and ideal for a safe house.”

  “Agreed,” said Kham. “We already thought of that, but . . .” He shook his head. “The problem is that we just don’t know how much data the Mesans still have on everything connected with Cachat and Zilwicki’s expedition. But you might still be in their records. We can disguise you, but part of those records are that you owned and operated a restaurant. That might be enough to get flagged if a new one opened up in the seccy quarters.”

  Ruth spoke up. “I suggested a flophouse. From what I’ve read, there are a lot of cheap boarding houses in the area.”

  Steph nodded. “Yeah, there are. A lot of seccies—men, mostly—are itinerant laborers. And the houses go in and out of business regularly, since they’re usually just someone’s home being turned to commercial use when need be. There aren’t any regulations governing boardinghouses except the same fire and sanitation regs that apply to everybody. But those don’t even get inspected for that often.”

  “That’s what I figured. And it’d be pretty close to what you used to do, since—correct me if I’m wrong—part of what a boardinghouse provides are regular meals for the renters. Kind of like a small private restaurant.”

  “No, you’re right.” Steph’s eyes got out of focus for a moment. Kham took the moment to interject himself.

  “That was the objection, though, raised by—ah, one of the development team members,” he said. “That a boardinghouse is close enough to what you used to do that it might get flagged for attention also.”

  “Could be,” Steph said. “But that’s not what makes me twitchy about the idea.” She gave Ruth a sharp glance. “Did your reading indicate the other services usually provided by flophouses?”

  Ruth frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Laundry’s one of them. But like I said, the clientele is mostly male. So most flophouses provide prostitutes also. Sometimes that service is done directly by the woman—they’re almost always women—who own the house. But it’s usually contracted out.”

  Berry made a face. “Steph, nobody would expect you—”

  Steph laughed, quite cheerfully. “You’d better not! But that’s not the problem.” She gave Kham a look that was not quite condemnatory but came awfully close. “Am I right in thinking that your so-called ‘development team’ could come up with a whore or two, if need be?”

  “Well . . . they wouldn’t be whores, no. They’d actually be trained intelligence operatives. But with that caveat, yes. We could.” He shrugged. “Spying and sexual favors go back together a very long ways.”

  “Could you provide the pimp, too?” She waved her hand. “Never mind. Hypothetical question. I’m sure you could. Just like I’m sure that the reason Victor isn’t here is because you’re putting him through some kind of body modification process because there’s no way he wouldn’t insist on being part of this. Make him the official pimp and no other pimp would dare come near the place. Not, at least, after the first couple of ’em got filleted.”

  Steph shook her head. “But that’s still not the problem. Where were you planning to set up this safe house? Neue Rostock? That’d be the best district from the standpoint of avoiding the police. Either that or Lower Radomsko. But if you set it up in Neue Rostock you’d have to deal with Dusek’s organization, since they don’t let . . .” Her eyes got unfocused again. “Huh. Actually, that’s a possibility worth thinking about. Lower Radomsko would be a mess. Victor could handle any one of those crazy little gangs—wouldn’t even work up a sweat, knowing him—but there are just so many of them and they really can get pretty crazy. Let me think.”

  Again, the unfocused look. After about a minute, she said: “The flophouse is a possibility. The other one is a boutique of some kind. There are a jillion of them in the seccy quarters. They open and close like flowers and most of them have the lifespan of mayflies. Nobody in authority pays any attention to them at all, except for those few in the better-off seccy districts that can get a credit line. They’ll get occasional inspections from credit rating services, which are private but have connections with police and regulatory agencies. But as long as you don’t try to buy on credit, you’re all but invisible to anyone except your clientele.”

  “And those are . . . who?” Kham asked.

  “Women, mostly. Looking for deals and . . .” She sighed. “Men make fun of us about it, but the truth is that a little fashion—even the cheap stuff within the reach of poor seccies—makes life a little brighter.”

  “Amen,” said Ruth. When everyone looked at her she flushed a little. “Hey, it’s true even for royalty. Main difference is just that they—well, okay, we—can afford the expensive stuff. About the only woman of any class I know who’s completely indifferent to fashion”—her thumb went sideways—“is Her Mousety here and she’s just plain unnatural.”

  “Clothes are clothes,” Berry said. “What’s the big deal? I never understood it. Might as well get all excited about different kinds of breakfast food.”

  “Like I said, unnatural.” Ruth looked back at Steph. “I can see the advantages.”

  “How about combining the two?” suggested Kham. “A small flophouse with a small boutique attached?”

  “I can’t see the benefit. I think you’d be more likely to combine the disadvantages of both. But it’s my turn to ask questions. What—exactly—did you want this safe house for? Or for who, I guess I should say?”

  “The truth is, we don’t know yet. The ‘who,’ I mean. The other function of the safe house—which might wind up being its only function, for all we know at the moment—is to serve as a permanent drop box. That means a place where information can be passed on. Or along.”

  “Or along . . .” Steph nodded. “In other words, your—should I call it the ‘now-developed team’?—will actually be at least two teams. Maybe more. And you need them to be able to stay in touch without actually being in touch.”

  “Ah . . . well, yes.”

  A voice came into the room, from a hidden speaker somewhere.

  “This is cumbersome,” the voice said. “Ms. Turner, are you in or out?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The first question came from Steph; the other from Andrew. Both of them were looking around the conference room, trying to spot the source of the voice.

  “That doesn’t matter right now,” the voice said.

  “Do you recognize that voice?” Steph asked Andrew quietly.

  He shook his head. “Nobody I know. But it’s someone from the Traccora system, I’m pretty sure. We had a slaver crew come through Parmley Station from there once. The accent’s pretty distinctive.”

  “In or out, Ms. Turner?” the voice repeated. “There are security issues involved. If the answer is ‘in,’ we’ll con
tinue. If it’s ‘out,’ we thank you for your assistance—it’s really been quite helpful—and bid you farewell with our good wishes.”

  “That’s it, then,” said Andrew, sounding relieved. He rose to his feet again. “Let’s go, Steph.”

  But she made no move to rise. “If I go, what happens to Nancy?”

  Both Kham and the unseen voice started to speak but Berry interrupted.

  “Shut up, both of you.” She gave Steph a very direct gaze. “I will take care of her until you get back. Or if you don’t come back at all. Whatever Nancy needs and for however long those needs might last.”

  She didn’t add I swear or I promise or any other such phrase. She didn’t need to.

  Kham now spoke. “Beowulf will assume all costs of your daughter’s education, Ms. Turner. I assure you—”

  “Hush. I knew that the moment you advanced the proposal. The one thing you people aren’t is stingy. But that’s not what I needed to know. If I get killed on this mission—and don’t waste time telling me it can’t happen, because it’s Mesa we’re talking about—then Nancy’s lost the only family she has. She needs people more than money.”

  She and Berry looked at each other for a bit longer. Then Steph nodded. “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Steph!”

  She turned to Andrew. “I hate those people, Andrew. You have no understanding of how deep that hate runs. You just don’t. You and your folk had it rough on Parmley—rougher than I did, in some ways—but you were always you. You always had pride. You weren’t defined by other people. People who despised you and made sure you knew it for as far back as you could remember and who rubbed your face in it every chance they got and if you protested or argued—even looked at them cross-eyed—they’d beat you or kill you. And do it with impunity.”

  She took another deep breath. “They just lost that impunity. I didn’t realize it at first, when we got off Mesa. Not at all, those months we drifted in space in the Hali Sowle. But after we got to Torch and I saw that new world being created . . .”

  Andrew opened his mouth; then, closed it. Then, rubbed his face.

  “I guess I’m a little old to discover patriotism,” Steph said. “Or maybe that’s just giving myself airs and this is really nothing more than a primitive desire for vengeance. I don’t care. The stinking bastards finally lost their impunity. And now somebody is getting ready to drive in the blade and I want my hand on the hilt, too.”

  She looked away from him and up at the wall. “That’s you, isn’t it, Victor? And Anton’s with you?”

  “In or out, Ms. Turner?” the voice said. “You understand that if the answer is ‘in’ and you later change your mind we’ll have to sequester you until the mission is completed?”

  “I thought you’d say, ‘We’ll have to cut your throat.’ ”

  “Why would we do that?” The voice sounded genuinely puzzled. “No point in it.”

  Steph laughed. “I knew it! It’s Victor. Yes, I’m in.”

  Andrew puffed out his cheeks. “Well. Me too, then.” He pointed an accusing finger at the wall. “Don’t argue with me, Victor! I’m coming too, it’s settled. And how the hell did you get rid of that godawful Nouveau Paris accent?”

  “Why would I argue with you? I can think of at least two ways you could be very useful, just off the top of my head. Yes, it’s Victor. Berry, Ruth, Henry—show them in, please. Anton finally woke up. Thandi and Yana are climbing the walls. They don’t handle tedium well.”

  There was a brief pause, perhaps two seconds, and the voice continued. “Yana says she votes for the boutique. Thandi won’t come right out and say it but she obviously does too. I have almost no idea what you’re talking about and Anton’s already looking bored but I think it’s probably a brilliant idea. Come on in and we’ll pursue it further.”

  Berry and Ruth rose from the table. Kham followed them after pulling out his com and keying in some instructions.

  One of the walls of the conference room began sliding aside. Beyond, Steph and Andrew could see a corridor. It looked like a hospital corridor, for whatever undefinable reason.

  * * *

  “It’s quite cunning, actually,” Victor said, sticking a finger against his throat. “It’s a nanotech method. They do something to my vocal cords and fiddle with the laryngeal nerve. Don’t ask me the details because I don’t have a clue. And, voila, my Nouveau Paris accent that I could never get rid of—it was always my one big weakness as a spy—is transformed into a Traccoran accent.”

  “I hate it,” said Thandi, who was lying on a bed next to him. “I don’t mind his new body. But that new voice of his . . .”

  Victor’s physique hadn’t changed much. There’d been no reason to change it since it had been quite normal. But his face was completely different. He was a very handsome man, now, in a slightly androgynous way. Dark eyes were now a bright, pale green; dark coarse hair cut short was now a fancy blond hair style. Combine that with the new voice and there wasn’t a trace left of Victor Cachat.

  Anton . . . looked pretty much as he had before. Oh, his face had been completely changed, but he still had the same short, squat and extremely powerful physique.

  Andrew Artlett frowned. “I don’t get it. What’s the point of leaving your body the same? No offense, but there aren’t too many people who’re built like that.”

  Zilwicki got a sour expression on his face and pointed at Victor. “Blame him. I was supposed to get redesigned as a Hakim grandee, but—”

  “That idea was a nonstarter,” said Victor, “once we realized that the only way to disguise him would be to make him so fat he’d look like a beach ball. So fat, in fact, that he’d face real health issues. What was far more important than that—”

  “Minor issues of my life span and morbidity, that is,” said Anton. Sourly.

  “—was that he’d be so corpulent he’d have a hard time moving quickly in case he needed to. Which, on this mission, is not unlikely. So . . .”

  Victor crossed one hand over the other. “The original plan was for Anton to go in as a Hakim grandee with Yana as his servant. I suggested we swap the roles. Now Yana is the rich bigwig and squatty here”—a thumb indicated Anton—“is the menial servant. Hakim’s got a big mining industry so they use a lot of modified heavy labor slaves. Look just like him, in fact.”

  “He doesn’t have a slave marker on his tongue,” objected Steph.

  “That’s not really necessary,” said Anton. “Hakim—this is about its only saving grace—is pretty easy-going about manumission. By now, there are quite a few descendants of ex-slaves around.”

  Cachat turned his head toward an open door to the side. “Yana, stop sulking in there. You’ve got to show yourself sooner or later.”

  “Screw you. This was your idea. I plan to hold that grudge the rest of my life.”

  Yana Tretiakovna came into the room. She moved with a somewhat mincing gait, quite unlike her usual athletic stride.

  The reason was . . . obvious. Steph smiled. Artlett grinned.

  “Don’t. Say. Anything,” warned Yana. She glared down at her new bosom. Her very, very impressive new bosom.

  “Mind you, it’s likely to be a short life,” she said. “I’m bound to topple over and kill myself the moment I get distracted.”

  “It’s a status symbol in a number of Verge cultures,” Kham elaborated. “And the wealthier you are, the—ah—more voluptuous you are.”

  Steph and Andrew studied Yana a bit longer.

  “So what do we call you now?” Andrew asked. “Midas?”

  Chapter 19

  “What did you say?”

  Albrecht Detweiler stared at his oldest son, and the consternation in his expression would have shocked any of the relatively small number of people who’d ever met him.

  “I said our analysis of what happened at Green Pines seems to have been a little in error,” Benjamin Detweiler said flatly. “That bastard McBryde wasn’t the only one trying to defect.” Benjamin had had
at least a little time to digest the information during his flight from the planetary capital of Mendel, and if there was less consternation in his expression, it was also grimmer and far more frightening than his father’s. “And the way the Manties are telling it, the son of a bitch sure as hell wasn’t trying to stop Cachat and Zilwicki. They haven’t said so, but he must’ve deliberately suicided to cover up what he’d done!”

  Albrecht stared at him for several more seconds. Then he shook himself and inhaled deeply.

  “Go on,” he grated. “I’m sure there’s more and better yet to come.”

  “Zilwicki and Cachat are still alive,” Benjamin told him. “I’m not sure where the hell they’ve been. We don’t have anything like the whole story yet, but apparently they spent most of the last few months getting home. The bastards aren’t letting out any more operational details than they have to, but I wouldn’t be surprised if McBryde’s cyber attack is the only reason they managed to get out in the first place.

  “According to the best info we’ve got, though, they headed toward Haven, not Manticore, when they left, which probably helps explain why they were off the grid so long. I’m not sure about the reasoning behind that, either. But whatever they were thinking, what they accomplished was to get Eloise Pritchart—in person!—to Manticore, and she’s apparently negotiated some kind of damned peace treaty with Elizabeth.”

  “With Elizabeth?”

  “We’ve always known she’s not really crazy, whatever we may’ve sold the Sollies,” Benjamin pointed out. “Inflexible as hell sometimes, sure, but she’s way too pragmatic to turn down something like that. For that matter, she’d sent Harrington to Haven to do exactly the same thing before Oyster Bay! And Pritchart brought along an argument to sweeten the deal, too, in the form of one Herlander Simões. Dr. Herlander Simões . . . who once upon a time worked in the Gamma Center on the streak drive.”

  “Oh, shit,” Albrecht said with quiet, heartfelt intensity.

  “Oh, it gets better, Father,” Benjamin said harshly. “I don’t know how much information McBryde actually handed Zilwicki and Cachat, or how much substantiation they’ve got for it, but they got one hell of a lot more than we’d want them to have! They’re talking about virus-based nanotech assassinations, the streak drive, and the spider drive, and they’re naming names about something called ‘the Mesan Alignment.’ In fact, they’re busy telling the Manty Parliament—and, I’m sure, the Havenite Congress and all the rest of the fucking galaxy!—all about the Mesan plan to conquer the known universe. In fact, you’ll be astonished to know that Secretary of State Arnold Giancola was in the nefarious Alignment’s pay when he deliberately maneuvered Haven back into shooting at the Manties!”