Though are they dupes? she thought drearily. Merseia would like to see them unchained from the Empire.
No. That isn’t true. Merseia doesn’t give a curse. They’re cheap, expendable tools.
The office was cramped and bleak. “Sit,” Glydh ordered, pointing to a chair. He took a stool behind a desk. Snell settled on the left; his eyes licked her, centimeter by centimeter and back again.
“Khraich.” Glydh laid his hands flat on the desktop, broad and thick, strangler’s hands. “An astonishing turn of events. What shall we do with you?” His Anglic was excellent.
“Isn’t this, uh, Captain Flandry more urgent, sir?” his subordinate asked.
“Not much, I believe,” Glydh said. “True, from Vymezal’s account via Eonan, he appears to be capable. But what can he know? That she defected, presumably joining a remnant of the underground if she didn’t perish en route.” He pondered. “Maybe be isn’t capable, at that—since he let her go, trusting her mere self-interest to keep her on his side.”
Hoy? Chives said Flandry is famous … No. How many light-years, how many millions of minds can fame cover before it spreads vanishingly thin?
“Of course, we will have our cell in Thursday Landing keep him under surveillance, and alert our agents globally is he leaves there,” Glydh continued. “But I doubt he represents more than a blind stab on the part of somebody in the opposition. I don’t think he is worth the risk of trying to kidnap, or even kill.”
“We may find out otherwise, sir, when we interrogate Vymezal in detail,” said the man. He moistened his lips.
“Maybe. I leave that to you. Co-opt what helpers you need.”
“Um-m-m … procedures? Treatment? Final disposition?”
“No!” Kossara heard the yell and felt the leaping to her feet, as if from outside her body. This was not real, could not be, must not be, God and saints, no. “I am not a, a Terran agent—I came here to—at least I’m a prisoner of war!”
“Sit!” Glydh’s roar, and the gunshot slap of palm on desk, flung her back like a belly blow. She heard his basso through fever-dream distances and humming: “Don’t babble about military conventions. You are a slave, property we have acquired. If you do what you are told, there need not be pain. Else there will be, until you are broken to obedience. Do you hear me?”
Snell’s fingers twisted together. He breathed fast. “Sir,” he said, “it could be a long while before we get a chance to send a report offplanet and ask for instructions about her. So we have to use our own judgment, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Glydh answered.
“Well, considering what was originally intended for her, and the reason—sir, not a woman among us in this whole region—”
Glydh shrugged. His tone was faintly contemptuous. “Quiz her out first under narco. Afterward do what you like, short of disfiguring damage. Remember, we may find use for her later, and the nearest biosculp laboratory is parsecs hence.”
I will make them kill me! Even as she plunged toward Snell, fingernails out to hook his eyeballs, Kossara knew Glydh would seize her and not let her die.
The explosion threw her against a wall. It made a drum of her skull. The floor heaved and cracked. Snell went over backward. Glydh flailed about to keep his balance.
Faintly through the brief deafness that followed, she heard screams, running, bang and hiss of firearms. Ozone drifted acrid to her nostrils, smoke, smells of roastedness.
She was already out of the office, into the central chamber beyond. At its far end, through the passageway which gave on the garage, she saw how the main door lay blown off its trunnions, crumpled and red-hot. Beyond was the ruin of the cannon. Men boiled around or sprawled un-moving.
Enormous shone the bulk of a suit of combat armor. Bullets whanged off it, blaster bolts fountained. The wearer stood where he was, and his own weapon scythed.
As she broke into view—“Kossara!” Amplified from the helmet, his voice resounded like God’s. His free hand reached beneath a plate that protected his gravbelt. He rose and moved slowly toward her. Survivors fled.
Fingers closed on her arm. Around her shoulder she saw Glydh. He swung her before his body. “That’s not nice,” the oncoming invader pealed. He spun his blaster nozzle to needle beam, aimed, and fired.
Glydh’s brow spurted steam, brains, blood, shattered bone across Kossara. She knew a heartbeat’s marvel at that kind of precision shooting. But then the heavy corpse bore her down. Her head struck the floor. Lightning filled the universe.
The armored man reached her, stood over her, shielded her. A spacecraft’s flank appeared in the entry. It had sprouted a turret, whose gun sprayed every doorway where an enemy might lurk. Kossara let darkness flow free.
XI
A breath of air cool, pine-scented; all noises gone soft; a sense of muted energies everywhere around; a lessened weight—Kossara opened her eyes. She lay in bed, in her cabin aboard the Hooligan. Flandry sat alongside. He wore a plain coverall, his countenance was haggard and the gray gaze troubled. Nonetheless he smiled. “Hello, there,” he murmured. “How do you feel?”
Drowsy, altogether at ease, she asked, “Have we left Diomedes?”
“Yes. We’re bound for Dennitza.” He took her right hand between both of his. “Now listen. Everything is all right. You weren’t seriously harmed, but on examination we decided we’d better keep you under sleep induction awhile, with intravenous feeding and some medication. Look at your left wrist.” She did. It was bare. “Yes, the bracelet is off. As far as I’m concerned, you’re free, and I’ll take care of the technicalities as soon as possible. You’re going home, Kossara.”
Examination—She dropped her glance. A sheer nightgown covered her. “I’m sorry I never thought to bring anything more decorous for you to sleep in,” Flandry said. He appeared to be summoning courage. “Chives did the doctoring, the bathing, et cetera. Chives alone.” His mouth went wry. “You may or may not believe that. It’s true, but hell knows how much I’ve lied to you.”
And I to you, she thought.
He straightened in the chair and released her. “Well,” he said, “would you like a spot of tea and accompaniments? You should stay in bed for another watch cycle or two, till you get your strength back.”
“What happened … to us?”
“We’d better postpone that tale. First you should rest.” Flandry rose. Almost timidly, he gave her hair a stroke. “I’ll go now. Chives will bring the tea.”
Wakefulness returned. When the Shalmuan came to retrieve her tray, Kossara sat propped against pillows, ready for him. “I hope the refreshments were satisfactory, Donna,” he said. “Would you care for something more?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Information.”
The slim form showed unease. “Sir Dominic feels—”
“Sir Dominic is not me.” She spread her palms. “Chives, how can I relax in a jigsaw puzzle? Tell me, or ask him to tell me, what went on in that den. How did you find me? What did you do after I lost consciousness? Why?”
Chives reached a decision. “Well, Donna, we trust that in view of results obtained, you will pardon certain earlier modifications of strict veracity which Sir Dominic deemed essential. The ring he gave you was a mere ring; no such device exists as he described, at least within the purview of Technic civilization.” She choked. He continued: “Sir Dominic, ah, has been known to indulge in what he describes as wistful fantasizing relevant to his occupation. Instead, the bracelet you wore was slave-driven from an external source of radiated power.”
“Slave-driven. A very good word.” And yet Kossara could feel no anger. She imitated it as a duty. Had they given her a tranquilizing drug which had not completely worn off?
“Your indignation is natural, Donna.” Chives’ tail switched his ankles. “Yet allow me to request you consider the total situation, including the fact that those whom you met were not noble liberators but Merseian operatives. Sir Dominic suspected this from the start. He believed that if you r
eappeared, they were sure to contact you, if only to find out what had transpired. He saw no method short of the empirical for convincing you. Furthermore, admiration for your honesty made him dubious of your ability knowingly to play a double role.
“Hence I trailed you at a discreet distance while he went to Thursday Landing to investigate other aspects of the case. Albeit my assignment had its vexations, I pinpointed the spot where you were brought and called Sir Dominic, who by then had returned to Lannach. Underground and surrounded by metal, your bracelet was blocked from us. We concluded immediate attack was the most prudent course—for your sake particularly, Donna. While Sir Dominic flitted down in armor, I blasted the cannon and entrance. Shortly afterward I landed to assist and, if you will excuse my immodesty, took the single prisoner we got. The rest were either dead or, ah, holed up sufficiently well that we decided to content ourselves with a nuclear missile dispatched through the entrance.
“The resultant landslide was somewhat spectacular. Perhaps later you will be interested to see the movie I took.
“Ah … what he has learned has made Sir Dominic of the opinion that we must speed directly to Dennitza. Nevertheless, I assure you he would in all events have seen to your repatriation at the earliest feasible date.”
Chives lifted her tea tray. “This is as much as I should tell you at the present stage, Donna. I trust you can screen whatever you wish in the way of literary, theatrical, or musical diversion. If you require assistance of any kind, please call on the intercom. I will return in two hours with a bowl of chicken soup. Is that satisfactory?”
Stars filled the saloon viewscreen behind Flandry’s head. The ship went hush-hush-hush, on a voyage which, even at her pseudospeed, would take a Terran month. The whisky he had poured for them glowed across tongue and palate.
“It’s a foul story,” he warned.
“Does evil go away just because we keep silent?” Kossara answered. Inwardly: How evil are you, you claw of the Empire?—but again without heat, a thought she felt obliged to think.
After all, his lean features looked so grim and unhappy, across the table from her. He shouldn’t chain-smoke the way he did; anticancer shots, cardiovascular treatments, lungflushes, and everything, it remained a flagellant habit. One could serve a bad cause without being a bad man. Couldn’t one?
He sighed and drank. “Very well. A sketch. I got a lot of details from a narcoquiz of our prisoner, but most are simply that, details, useful in hunting down the last of his outfit if and when that seems worthwhile. He did, though, confirm and amplify something much more scary.”
Memory prodded her with a cold finger. “Where is he?”
“Oh, I needled him and bunged him out an airlock.” Flandry observed her shock. His tone changed from casual to defensive. “We were already in space; this business doesn’t allow delays. As for turning him over to the authorities when we arrive—there may not be any authorities, or they may be in full revolt, Merseian-allied. At best, the fact he was alive could trickle across to enemy Intelligence, and give them valuable clues to what we know. This is how the game’s played, Kossara.” He trailed out smoke before he added, “Happens his name was Muhammad Snell.”
Blood beat in temples and cheeks. “He got no chance—I don’t need avengers.”
“Maybe your people will,” he said quietly.
After a second he leaned forward, locked eyes with her, and continued: “Let’s begin explanations from my viewpoint. I want you to follow my experiences and reasoning, in hopes you’ll then accept my conclusions. You’re an embittered woman, for more cause than you know right now. But I think you’re also intelligent, fair-minded, yes, tough-minded enough to recognize truth, no matter what rags it wears.”
Kossara told herself she must be calm, watchful, like a cat—like Butterfeet when she was little … She drank. “Go on.”
Flandry filled his lungs. “The Gospodar, the Dennitzans in general are furious at Hans’ scheme to disband their militia and make them wholly dependent on the Navy,” he said. “After they supported him through the civil war, too! And we’ve other sources of friction, inevitable; and thoughts of breaking away or violently replacing the regnant Emperor are no longer unthinkable. Dennitza has its own culture, deep-rooted, virile, alien to Terra and rather contemptuous thereof—a culture influenced by Merseia, both directly and through the, uh, zmay element in your population.
“Aye, granted, you’ve long been in the forefront of resistance to the Roidhunate. However, such attitudes can change overnight. History’s abulge with examples. For instance, England’s rebellious North American colonies calling on the French they fought less than two decades before; or America a couple of centuries later, allied first with the Russians against the Germans, then turning straight around and—” He stopped. “This doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? No matter. You can see the workings in your own case, I’m sure. Dennitza is where your loyalties lie. What you do, whom you support, those depend on what you judge is best for Dennitza. Right? Yes, entirely right and wholesome. But damnably mislead-able.”
“Are you, then, a Terran loyalist?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “A civilization loyalist. Which is a pretty thin, abstract thing to be; and I keep wondering whether we can preserve civilization or even should.
“Well. Conflict of interest is normal. Compromise is too, especially with as valuable a tributary as Dennitza—provided it stays tributary. Now we’d received strong accusations that Dennitzans were engineering revolt on Diomedes, presumably in preparation for something similar at home. His Majesty’s government wasn’t about to bull right in. That’d be sure to bring on trouble we can ill afford, perhaps quite unnecessarily. But the matter had to be investigated.
“And I, I learned a Dennitzan girl of ranking family had been caught at subversion on Diomedes. Her own statements out of partial recollections, her undisguised hatred of the Imperium, they seemed to confirm those accusations. Being asked to look into the questions, what would I do but bring you along?”
He sighed. “A terrible mistake. We should’ve headed straight for Dennitza. Hindsight is always keen, isn’t it, while foresight stays myopic, astigmatic, strabismic, and drunk. But I haven’t even that excuse. I’d guessed at the truth from the first. Instead of going off to see if I could prove my hunch or not—” His fist smote the table. “I should never have risked you the way I did. Kossara!”
She thought, amazed, He is in pain about that. He truly is.
“A-a-ah,” Flandry said. “I’m a ruthless bastard. Better hunter than prey, and have we any third choice in these years? Or so I thought. You … were only another life.”
He ground out his cigarette, sprang from the bench, strode back and forth along the cabin. Sometimes his hands were gripped together behind him, sometimes knotted at his sides. His voice turned quick and impersonal:
“You looked like a significant pawn, though. Why such an incredibly bungled job on you? Including your enslavement on Terra. I’d have heard about you in time, but it was sheer luck I did before you’d been thrown into a whorehouse. And how would your uncle the Gospodar react to that news if it reached him?
“Might it be intended to reach him?
“Oh, our enemies couldn’t be certain what’d happen; but you tilted the probabilities in their favor. They must’ve spent considerable time and effort locating you. Flandry’s Law: ‘Given a sufficiently large population, at least one member will fit any desired set of specifications.’ The trick is to find that member.”
“What?” Kossara exclaimed. “Do you mean—because I was who I was, in the position I was—that’s why Dennitza—” She could speak no further.
“Well, let’s say you were an important factor,” he replied. “I’m not sure just how you came into play, though I can guess. On the basis of my own vague ideas, I made a decoy of you in the manner you’ve already heard about. That involved first deliberately antagonizing you on the voyage; then deliberately gambling you
r life, health, sanity—”
He halted in midstride. His shoulders slumped. She could barely hear him, though his look did not waver from hers: “Every minute makes what I did hurt worse.”
She wanted to tell him he was forgiven, yes, go take his hands and tell him; but no, he had lied too often. With an effort, she said, “I am surprised.”
His grin was wry. “Less than I am.” Returning, he flopped back onto the bench, crossed ankle over thigh till he peered across his knee at her, swallowed a long draught from his glass, took out his cigarette case; and when the smoke was going he proceeded:
“Let’s next assume the enemy’s viewpoint, i.e. what I learned and deduced.
“They—a key one of them, anyhow—he realizes the Terran Empire is in an era when periods of civil war are as expectable as bouts of delirium in chronic umwi fever. I wasn’t quite aware of the fact myself till lately. A conversation I had set me thinking and researching. But he knew right along, my opponent. At last I see what he’s been basing his strategy on for the past couple of decades. Knowing him, if he believes the theory, I think I will. These days we’re vulnerable to fratricide, Kossara. And what better for Merseia, especially if just the right conflict can be touched off at just the right moment?
“We’ve been infiltrated. They’ve had sleepers among us for … maybe a lifetime … notably in my own branch of service, where they can cover up for each other … and notably during this past generation, when the chaos first of the Josip regime, then the succession struggle, made it easier to pass off their agents as legitimate colonial volunteers.
“The humans on Diomedes. brewing revolution with the help of a clever Alatanist pitch—thereby diverting some of our attention to Ythri—they weren’t Dennitzans. They were creatures of the Roidhunate, posing as Dennitzans. Oh, not blatantly; that’d’ve been a giveaway. And they were sincerely pushing for an insurrection, since any trouble of ours is a gain for them. But a major objective of the whole operation was to drive yet another wedge between your people and mine, Kossara.”
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