by David Drake
The clear top the crew had added on Dell didn’t improve the casket’s appearance. Lendell Doormann grinned out at the crowd. He looked like the personification of Death by Plague.
Ned gestured. “As you see. Now, one of you take me at once to the board of Doormann Trading. I need to speak to the board immediately.”
There was movement inside the Swift as another team carefully walked the capsule up the aisle to the hatchway. Lendell Doormann’s device had been returned to its original status, with all the internal and external panels in place. The front of the capsule was open, displaying the empty interior.
“Keep your shirt on, Master . . . Slade,” Longley said, reading the faded name tape on Ned’s breast. “You’ve landed without proper authorization, and—”
“Excuse me, Director,” Tadziki said, “but we landed normally—as the navigation records will prove.”
“You’re Tadziki, aren’t you?” Longley said, turning her attention to the adjutant. “I’ve dealt with you before. Well, Master Tadziki, I can tell you right now I don’t appreciate you sneaking in on the regular landing pattern this way. Look at this chaos!”
She waved her hand at the crowd. “Somebody’s likely to be killed in a mess like this!”
As if that triggered a memory, Longley pointed up at Harlow. “And put that cursed cannon away or I’ll have you arrested right now! I’ll have you all arrested!”
Harlow grinned.
Kardon looked over his shoulder toward the mixture of police, security guards, and civilians. He thrust his way past Carron and started to climb the ladder extended from the Swift’s side to access the gun position.
Deke Warson muttered something. Raff slung his rocket gun and grabbed the assistant director by the wrists, plucking him easily from the ladder.
“Kardon, what are you playing at?!” Longley demanded.
The Racontid swung Kardon around, holding him well off the ground. Kardon bleated with rage. Several of the police and guards had drawn their weapons, but their officers were angrily ordering, “Don’t shoot! Don’t anybody shoot!”
“That’s enough!” said Tadziki.
Deke Warson slit Kardon’s waistband with a knife sharp enough for shaving, then pulled the man’s trousers down over his ankles.
“That,” Deke said, “is enough.”
He nodded to Raff. The Racontid let his victim down. Kardon bent over to grab his pants and tripped. There was laughter, but it was all from mercenaries and civilians.
“Director,” Ned said, “you’re not a fool, so stop acting like one. If you want real problems, for yourself and for Doormann Trading, then indeed go ahead and arrest these men who have risked their lives for Doormann Trading. We are not a rabble, mistress! I’m nephew to Slade of Tethys, and my companions are men of rank and power in their individual right!”
“We are here to report, mistress,” Tadziki said forcefully. “To report and to be paid under contract. We’ve suffered enough for Doormann Trading. We don’t choose to be chivied by bureaucrats who can’t control traffic in their own port!”
A pair of three-wheelers bulled through the crowd, carving a path for the limousine behind them. A video cameraman didn’t move out of the way. His bellow of anger turned to fear as an escort vehicle knocked him down from behind.
The trike drove over the man’s ankle and crushed part of the tracery of lenses which provided three-dimensionality for the holographic images. The cameraman’s producer managed to drag him out of the way of the limousine that was following.
Lucas Doormann opened the door of the limousine and got out. Time constraints and the crush of the crowd prevented the driver from waiting on his master in normal fashion.
“Where’s Lissea?” Lucas demanded. His gaze traveled over the Swift and those around it.
“Via!” he added with a moue of distaste. “Are all these guns necessary? Put them away, all of you.”
He gestured imperiously to a captain wearing a Doormann Trading uniform. “You! There’s no need for guns! Put your weapons up at once.”
“Captain Doormann is dead, Master Doormann,” Ned said as Lucas’ eyes returned to him.
“Dead?” Lucas repeated.
Kardon, holding his trousers up with one hand, looked as though he was about to interrupt. Longley shushed him with a curt chop of her hand.
“On Pancahte,” Ned said grimly. “We retrieved the capsule, though, and I must speak to your board immediately.”
“The capsule is an amazing advance over Transit,” Carron Del Vore said. “Your ancestor was right, but, for two-way traffic the device must—”
“Who is this?” Lucas demanded. Before anyone could answer, he spun on his heel. “Clear the crowd back, can’t you?” he shouted toward the red-faced officer who’d been bawling orders to the security personnel. “Blood and martyrs, what is this? A circus?”
Longley made a quick decision and stepped away from the discussion. She took a communications wand from her shoulder wallet and began speaking crisp orders. There were by now several hundred blue- and green-uniformed security personnel present. What was lacking was central direction, and Longley could supply that.
“Prince Carron,” Tadziki said, “is the heir and emissary of Treasurer Lon Del Vore of Pancahte. He is in addition a respected scientist, who believes it will now be possible to set up instantaneous communications between Telaria and Pancahte.”
Lucas’ eyes narrowed in surprise. “The lost colony really exists?” he said. He shook his head. “I suppose it must; I . . .”
“I must speak to the board of Doormann Trading,” Ned repeated again. “And the capsule should be returned to its original location in Lendell’s laboratory.”
Ned knew that Lucas was swamped by the situation. The Telarian noble’s mind was on a knife-edge, tilting one way and the next without real composure. If nudged successfully, Lucas had the rank and ability to do all the things necessary for the operation to succeed.
“Lendell?” Lucas said. He looked, perhaps for the first time, at the crude casket. “That’s Lendell. Good Lord, that is Lendell! What happened to him?”
“He never really left Telaria,” Carrion said, though “explained” would give too much effect to his words. “Though he couldn’t be seen here and he appeared to be present on Pancahte. That’s why the device must be returned to its original location, as precisely as possible, to permit two-way communication.”
“Good Lord,” Lucas repeated. “And Lissea . . . I didn’t think anything would really, would—”
He made a fist and broke off. He stared at his clenched fingers for a moment, then relaxed them and looked up at Ned again.
More police and guards were arriving, but the haste and panic of the early moments were over. The security personnel worked in unison, guided through their in-ear speakers by Longley and her assistant.
The crowd continued to grow as word of the Swift’s arrival spread beyond the spaceport boundaries, but nothing was happening to raise the emotional temperature. Harlow tilted the muzzles of the tribarrel skyward, though all the mercs kept watch from beneath easy smiles and gibes to one another.
“I very much regret all of this,” Lucas said. “The—Lissea.”
He looked at Ned. “Yes,” he continued. “An emergency board meeting was called as soon as my father heard of the Swift’s arrival. I will take you to the meeting, Master Slade. If you’re worried about your claims for payment, don’t be. I will personally guarantee them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ned said, “but it’s necessary I report in person to . . . those who sent us to Pancahte.”
“And the device?” Carron put in. “This is an advance beyond conception!”
Lucas glanced at the Pancahtan, then back to Ned. “Should he be present at the board meeting?” he asked.
“No,” Ned said. “But Prince Carron should supervise the placement of the capsule back in the laboratory. That isn’t the first thing on your mind or on mine, sir, but I have no
doubt that he’s correct in his valuation of the device.”
“All right, then,” Lucas muttered. He turned his head. “Director Longley? Director!”
Longley stepped quickly back to Lucas. “Yes sir?” she said. Kardon, still holding his trousers up, continued to oversee the security details.
“How quickly can you get two separate vans here?” Lucas demanded. “I want this object—”
He gestured to the capsule
“—taken to the laboratory in the basement of the Main Spire in the Doormann estate. And I want my . . . my great-granduncle’s body taken to the family chapel. That will require cargo handlers as well.”
Lucas looked at the mercenaries standing in falsely relaxed postures. “None of these gentlemen,” he added, “will be involved in the work.”
Longley spoke into her communications wand, then met the young noble’s eyes again. “The vehicles and crews will be here within ninety seconds, sir,” she said, “or I’ll remove a department head. They’ll need clearances to enter your family’s estate, of course.”
Lucas nodded brusquely. “Yes, of course; I’ll clear them through. Just get it done and done quickly. It’s not seemly to have—”
He looked at the casket and grimaced.” Was it really necessary to use a clear top?” he muttered, half under his breath.
“I’ll accompany the device,” Carron said to the port director. Longley glanced at Lucas.
“Yes, yes!” Lucas said with an irritated wave of his hand.
Doormann looked at Ned again, and his eyes hardened.
“You won’t be allowed in the meeting room armed, Master Slade,” he said.
“Of course,” Ned said with a sniff of surprise. He unlatched his pistol belt and handed the rig, powergun and all, to Tadziki. “On Tethys, it would be an insult to appear armed in public.”
The first of two spaceport service vehicles pulled through the gap the police had made in the spectators. Lucas turned and strode toward his limousine.
“Come along, then,” he muttered. “They’ll be expecting my report. Father didn’t want me to come.”
As he got into the big car, Lucas added, “I just can’t believe someone so alive as Lissea . . .”
“Hey, Tadziki,” Deke Warson called from the hatchway. “Master Customs-Agent here says he’s maybe going to quit hassling us so we can get our asses out of here.”
Tadziki spun his navigation console to face aft. He gestured toward Warson to indicate that he’d heard but continued talking earnestly to someone on the other end of the Swift’s external communications link.
The vessel’s bay looked more of a wreck than it had at any time since initial liftoff from Buin. Men had sorted their gear, but most of it remained on top of their bunks, and spilling into the aisle. In truth, most personal items had been reduced to trash during the voyage, but the bald willingness to walk away from objects that had been companions for so long was alien to civilian sensibilities.
The men of the Swift weren’t civilians.
Tadziki finished his conversation and stood up. “There,” he said as he picked his way down the aisle to the hatch. “I’ve got lodging arranged for all who want it at the Clarion House, admission on ID or an expedition patch. And I’ve got a mobile crane rented. Coordinates to both are downloaded. You say the rigmarole here’s taken care of?”
The gray-suited customs supervisor with Warson bridled. “Master Tadziki,” he said, “I realize you men have gone through a great deal, but Telaria is civilized and civilization requires rules. I assure you my people and I have made quite extraordinary efforts to clear you immediately.”
He looked around with unintended distaste.
“Are we ‘go,’ then, Tadziki?” Deke Warson asked in a voice that surprised the customs official for its gentleness.
“That’s right,” the adjutant said.
He stepped to the hatchway and looked out. The security presence had shrunk to about thirty green-uniformed police, but the media were gone and the tension had left the remaining crowd.
The Swift’s personnel were drawn up in two lines at the base of the ramp. Three vans rented from a spaceport delivery service waited nearby. The crates in the back of two of the vans were full of weapons and ammunition. Customs officers nearby eyed the vehicles and the mercenaries with disquiet.
“All right, boys,” Tadziki called. “Have fun, and if there’s a problem you’ll find me here.”
He gave the troops a palm-out salute. The men returned it in a dozen different styles. None of them were very good at the gesture. In the field, the only purpose of a salute was to target a hated officer for an enemy sniper . . . and these men were more likely to use self-help for even that purpose.
“Dismissed!” called Herne Lordling. The ranks broke up. Men scrambled to the vans. Dewey and Bonilla from navigation, and Petit and Moiseyev from the engine room, boarded the empty vehicle. The rest split among the vans carrying crated weapons.
Deke turned and shook the adjutant’s hand. “Hey, good luck,” he said. “Sure you wouldn’t like a little company?”
Tadziki smiled wanly. “We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?” he said. “What can happen now?”
Motors revved. Deke ran down the ramp and jumped in through the open back of a van as his brother drove it away.
“I, ah . . .” the customs supervisor said. “Where are they going with all those weapons? I realize that it’s technically beyond my competence, but. . .”
Tadziki watched the vehicles until they disappeared around a maintenance building. The mobile crane he’d rented was in a lot on the north edge of the spaceport, convenient to their destination.
“They’re going to take them back to the warehouse,” Tadziki said at last. “They’re Doormann Trading Company property, you realize?”
“Yes, of course,” the supervisor said. “Most of them. I’m familiar with the manifest, of course. Some of the serial numbers weren’t—but that’s not a serious matter. As I said, we had no intention of delaying you gentlemen needlessly. And the individuals’data were in order from your initial entry to Telaria.”
He paused. The inspectors under his direction waited on the concrete, murmuring among themselves and glancing at the battered black hull of the Swift.
Tadziki stared northward, toward Landfall City and the Doormann family estate beyond it. He blinked and looked at the supervisor again. “Eh?” Tadziki said. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I notice,” the supervisor said, “that your men are still wearing their uniforms?”
“Well, what else do you expect them to wear?” the adjutant snapped. “This wasn’t exactly a pleasure cruise, you know, with twelve trunks for every passenger.”
He waved toward the rumpled disaster area which the vessel’s interior had become.
“Anyway,” he continued in a milder voice, “they aren’t uniform. Not here. They’re battledress from as many different units as there were men aboard. And if you mean the commo helmets—”
Tadziki gave the supervisor a wry grin
“—we’re used to using them, you know. I’ve downloaded routes and locations into the helmet files.”
The supervisor nodded. It was all perfectly reasonable, but he felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t a standard task. The pilot who was in charge while Tadziki made calls said that one of the Doormann family had cleared through a number of passengers without even registering them. Well, what could you do when your superiors wouldn’t let you do your job?
He shook himself back to the present. “I’m sorry, Master Tadziki,” he said. “We both have business to attend, I’m sure. I shouldn’t be wasting your time.”
“All I have to do,” Tadziki said, staring out of the hatch, “is to wait. But I’m not in a mood for company right now, that’s a fact.”
The supervisor stepped down the ramp. “Come on, all of you,” he ordered as his subordinates stiffened at his notice. “The Puritan landed half an hour ago with seven hund
red passengers on board!”
The Swift’s adjutant had gone back inside. The supervisor didn’t know how the man stood it. The vessel made him extremely nervous.
“Look, I don’t know if I ought to be doing this,” Platt whined at the door to the basement laboratory.
“Will somebody please make a fucking decision?” grated the foreman of the cargo handlers carrying the capsule. The load wasn’t exceptionally heavy for the four-man team, but the seedy-looking attendant was obviously capable of dithering for hours.
Carron Del Vore snapped his fingers. “What do you mean you don’t know, dog?” he demanded. “You’ve got orders from the chamberlain, haven’t you?”
“All I got,” the attendant said, “is somebody called and said she was the chamberlain. Look, I think you better bring me something in hard copy. I don’t know you from Adam and these guys, they don’t belong in the spire at all.”
Platt straightened. He fumblingly tried to return the electronic key to the belt case from which he’d taken it a moment before.
Carron looked at the cargo handlers. “Set that down,” he ordered. “On its base, and carefully. Then beat this creature unconscious and open the door.”
“No!” Platt bleated.
“Suits me,” said the foreman. The crew tilted the empty capsule to set it down as Carron ordered.
Though Platt spilled most of the contents of his case onto the floor, he managed to hold on to the key. He pressed it against the lockplate. The cargo handlers started for him an instant before the heavy door began to open.
“No!” Platt said, squeezing himself against the doorjamb and raising thin arms against the threatened blows.
“That’s enough,” Carron said to the foreman. “Carry the device to the platform at the other end of the room. I’ll show you exactly where it goes.”
The men sighed and lifted the capsule again. One of them spat on the attendant as they passed him.
“We’re going to be on overtime before we get back,” the foreman muttered. “And won’t Kardon tear a strip off me? As if I could do anything about the estate staff getting its finger out of its bum every curst door we had to get through.”