Cheer up. Security didn’t have a contract to bring him in before; he tried his damnedest to get himself arrested and they wouldn’t do it. He may not know much about how things work on Suivi, but he does know a lot about money. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him scared.
More time passed, and no one came. She was starting to wonder if Jessan’s murder had been a line item in somebody’s budget after all—he could be dead already and I’d never even know it—by the time a force field shimmered into place at the entrance to her cell, and the heavy blastproof door slid open.
Ari Rosselin-Metadi yawned and swallowed the dregs of his cha’a. Last night had been a hard night in the Pilot’s Joy, with a restless, short-tempered crowd; the fights he’d broken up had been vicious affairs, a matter of sudden deep grudges settled not just with boots and fists but with knives. He’d long since ushered out those customers who were capable of getting to their feet, and had removed a number of limp and oblivious drunks to the back alley.
Now he sat, slumping, in a corner by the bar—a big, dark-haired man with the quiet manner of someone who has spent most of his life trying to disguise his own strength. Ari had joined the Space Force to stay out of politics, and the Medical Service because most of the time he preferred mending things to breaking them. He disliked the fact that his appearance intimidated some people. They tended to eye him sidelong, as if wondering whether they could trust him not to break the furniture, or the good porcelain, or their bones. Because he disapproved on principle of unequal combat, he disliked even more the fact that his obvious size and strength made other people try to start trouble.
On a shelf behind the bar, a miniature holoset was showing a repeat of last night’s episode of The Innocence of Ternia. After everything that had happened to and around Ternia, Ari decided, the fact that she was still innocent proved that she was touched in the head. Ari watched the shifting images for a while, then shook his head.
“The whole thing,” he said finally, “comes down to who gets nervous first—the Mageworlders or Admiral Vallant.”
“Vallant,” the bartender said. He was picking up the dirty glasses and stacking them for the kitchen crew. “You missed him on the news a little while ago—some kind of hi-pri feed straight out of the Infabede sector. Wanted us to surrender to him right away before the Mageworlders got around to asking us first. Is he really as short as he looks in a holovid tank?”
“Shorter,” said Ari, who had served under the admiral on RSF Fezrisond for a brief but memorable period, before Vallant’s plans for mutiny had prompted him to make an abrupt departure. “Do you think the Citizen-Assembly’s going to listen to him?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Good,” Ari said. “If you beat Vallant, you can take his ships and use them to fight the Mageworlders when they show up. The crews, too, some of them. Not everybody in Vallant’s fleet likes the thought of giving away most of the Republic.”
“Mmph.” The bartender sounded dubious. “Not everybody on Gyffer thinks that fighting is such a good idea, either. Better the admiral than the Magelords.”
Ari shook his head. “It won’t work. The timing on all this is too neat for coincidence—Admiral Vallant’s going to be running the Infabede sector as a wholly owned subsidiary of Mageworlds, Incorporated.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Depends on how you feel about making ships and weapons to help the Magelords take over the rest of the civilized galaxy.”
“Yeah … but if we fight, what’s to stop the Mageworlders from slagging us like they did Entibor?”
“Time,” said Ari. “The Siege of Entibor lasted for three solid years. If what’s left of the Space Force can pull itself back together, and if the other worlds don’t roll over and play dead at the first sight of a Magebuilt ship—”
He broke the speculation off unfinished. The miniature viewing tank behind the bar was showing a stylized Gyfferan sphere with the words “Special Newsbreak” orbiting in bright orange letters around the equator, and a flashing montage of images layered behind it: the golden dome of the Gyfferan State House; the abandoned Space Force installation at Telabryk Field; the orbiting docks where the big merchant ships, seized a few days earlier by the Assembly, waited to be fitted out for war.
“They just broke into the regular programming,” said the bartender nervously. “Something’s going on.”
The news service’s logo glowed for a few seconds longer before fading to an image of Telabryk Field in the early dawn. Against the dark sky—the sun wasn’t above the horizon yet—a set of contrails showed gold as they caught the light. The picture in the globe expanded as the magnification increased, and Ari saw that the holocams were tracking a black spaceship, a sleek and deadly craft with a silhouette like a bird’s wing or a flattened obsidian teardrop.
It was a picture out of the history books, or out of decimal-credit popular romances about the old days before the First Magewar—a Magebuilt Deathwing raider. Four local defense fighters surrounded the alien craft, flying top, bottom, right, and left, swinging in formation onto the landing path for Telabryk Field.
The bartender stared. “What the hell do they think they’re doing, letting that thing in?”
“Maybe it didn’t give them a choice.”
The holocam relaying the picture moved through an arc of clear sky to show another ship, a Republic Space Force courier, following the Deathwing. Belated, the bartender turned up the sound, and the polished, orotund voice of Telabryk’s most popular news broadcaster filled the room.
“ … ETA ten minutes. That is, time of arrival will be six-eleven Telabryk local time. Defense forces identify the vessel as a Mage warship. No word so far on the purpose of this visit. Speculation among knowledgeable sources concerns a peace parley or diplomatic mission. Sources at the Citizen-Assembly give an official statement of ‘No comment,’ but repeat that the public has no cause for alarm.”
“Right,” said the bartender. “Tell that to the folks in the port. Tonight’s going to be worse than last night.”
“Just what we needed.”
“Yeah. What do you think—is it legit?”
Ari shrugged. “Who the hell knows?”
They watched the holoset in silence for a while. Inside the tiny globe, the Deathwing and the Space Force courier settled onto Telabryk landing field. The four Gyfferan fighters circled above the port like watchful, predatory birds.
Another few minutes passed. The broadcaster’s voice rose and fell in practiced inanities that Ari had no trouble recognizing as meaningless time-filler. He ignored them, and waited. At last the metal side of the Magebuilt craft opened, and a ramp swung down to the pavement. A moment later, two people appeared in the open door—a thin man in Space Force uniform, and a small, dark woman in an Adept’s formal blacks.
Ari felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. I don’t believe it. The universe does not work like that.
Then the holocam recording the events moved in for a close-up of the newcomers’ faces. The man was nobody Ari recognized—a reserve lieutenant from the last war by his insignia and ribbons—but the young woman was Mistress Llannat Hyfid.
He shook his head. What do you know about it, Rosselin-Metadi? Maybe for Adepts the universe does work that way.
“Are you all right?” asked the bartender. “You look like somebody hit you over the head with a brick.”
“The Adept,” Ari said. “I know her.”
“Right. And I’m the head of the Grand Council.”
“No, really. We served together on Nammerin … she’s Medical Service too, or at least she used to be … .”
He realized that he was babbling, and fell silent before the bartender could get interested enough to start asking him inconvenient questions. In the holoset, Llannat Hyfid and the reserve lieutenant were entering a sleek hovercar marked with the insignia of the Gyfferan Foreign Ministry. The door of the hovercar slid closed behind them, and the vehicle sped away from th
e landing field.
Ari stood up.
“I have to find her,” he said. “The two of us need to talk.”
The blastproof door slid closed, but the force field stayed up, making a waver and a shimmer like the ghost of a hot day in the chill air of Beka’s cell.
She could see through the field well enough. “You,” she said. “I should have known.”
Tarveet of Pleyver looked aggrieved. He was a thin man, with a sagging face and watery grey eyes and a tight, puckered mouth. When he spoke, his lips came loose enough to show the wet pink lining. “You don’t seem very happy to see me, my lady.”
“I’m not your lady,” she said. “Unless Pleyver is planning to swear allegiance to Entibor.”
“That wouldn’t be workable, I’m afraid.” Tarveet licked his lips. “Actually, I had another sort of proposition in mind.”
Beka sat motionless on the edge of the bunk, her hands flat on her thighs. Here it comes. This is where he tries to buy me.
“Talk,” she said. “But don’t expect me to feel very positive about anything under the circumstances.”
He didn’t even pretend to look ashamed. “I felt that you would do better for having some time alone to think things over.”
“Considerate of you.” She paused. “You said you had a proposition. Let’s hear it.”
“Ah,” he said. “Yes. Well … there are a number of charges laid against you in the arrest and detention contract, beginning with an incident some ten years back at a portside eating and drinking establishment—”
“It was self-defense. A cheap buyout, if there’s anybody on Suivi who misses the son of a bitch.”
Tarveet shook his head regretfully. “I never knew him, alas, but I find myself concerned over his untimely demise. So much so that I consider the usual blood price in such cases to be almost an insult to my integrity.”
“I’m glad there’s something around that can insult it,” she said. “So—what else?”
“We can’t just pass over the matter of your presumed death on Artat without an adequate investigation. Under the present circumstances, the civilized galaxy doesn’t need a pretender to the throne of Entibor.”
“Gene scan,” she countered. “Dahl&Dahl keeps the family records; you can do a check, no problem. Besides—if I’m not me, then I didn’t shoot that guy ten years ago, either.”
“A quibble. These things do require sorting out, you know. But the most immediate and urgent matter is the possibility of treason—”
“What?” She was on her feet and halfway across the cell before she remembered the force field and brought herself up short, fists clenched and body trembling with rage. “How dare you—”
“Treason,” he said again. “And deliberate endangerment of the Suivan settlements.”
Oh, damn. She fought to keep her face from showing her dismay. That last one is bad.
Because it’s true.
She swallowed hard and made her voice stay as before, calm and slightly insolent. “Purely out of idle curiosity—what are you calling treason these days?”
“According to your ship’s official log as transmitted to Suivan officials, your last recorded port of call was Ninglin in the Mageworlds, scant days before the current outbreak of hostilities. This requires investigation.”
“I was picking up some money hauling intersystem freight,” she said. “All clean and legal.”
“But the suspicion remains—particularly in light of your subsequent actions.”
“Now we come to it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and faced him squarely. “Which of my subsequent actions do you want to talk about?”
“We can begin,” Tarveet said, “with that singularly ill-advised hyperspace transmission of yours—tantamount to issuing an open invitation to the Mageworlds Warfleet.”
She bit her lip. Damn. I wish he’d let well enough alone. “I had my reasons. And I am the Domina of Entibor. It’s none of Pleyver’s business how I conduct my world’s affairs.”
“Perhaps not. But unless something can be done, your current legal difficulties will make it hard for you to conduct those affairs at all.”
“Aha,” she said. “Now we’re back at that ‘proposition’ of yours, aren’t we? What’s the deal?”
Tarveet smiled primly. “I can take care of all the outstanding fines and assessments, and see to it that all contracts for your arrest and detention are withdrawn. In return, my lady, you can make me your consort and General of the Armies of Entibor.”
She stared at him, her gorge rising. “Consort? You? I wouldn’t let you in the same bed with me if I was dead and laid out for burning!”
His pale face colored. “The arrangement need not be formalized in the old style, my lady. The title position alone will be sufficient.”
“Sorry.” She was clenching and unclenching her fists. If it wasn’t for the force field I’d kill the bastard with my bare hands. “The position is already filled.”
“Oh, yes. That charming gentleman at the office. Such things can change, you know.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Tarveet. He’s one of the Khesatan Jessans. Think of this as a friendly reminder.”
“I didn’t have in mind trying anything that clumsy, my lady. You can release him yourself any time you choose.”
“I don’t choose,” she said, tight-lipped. “Understand this, Tarveet: Nyls Jessan is satisfactory on all counts as General and consort.”
Tarveet smiled. “Then given your continued obduracy, and the threat your plans present to the Suivan settlements, I have no choice but to remove myself from the discussion before the Steering Committee of Suivi Point concerning your summary termination.” He paused. “Do you wish to reconsider?”
Beka closed her eyes. Oh, Nyls. I hope you’re alive to get me out of this.
“No,” she said. “I don’t. Now get the hell out of here before you make me sick.”
The Gyfferan Foreign Ministry’s hovercar moved with ease through the crowded streets outside the spaceport. Telabryk Field on Gyffer wasn’t as big as the port complex of Galcen Prime, but as far as Llannat Hyfid was concerned, once the industrialization and urban sprawl reached a certain point she couldn’t tell the difference. She liked her cities small—Namport was about her upper limit, or the Galcenian village of Treslin in the shadow of the Adepts’ Retreat. Nothing on her homeworld of Maraghai was bigger than either of those.
Country girl, she thought. At least that hasn’t changed.
She found the idea comforting. This morning’s sessions at the Ministry—a debriefing, really, with voice-stress analyzers and other verification equipment set up and running—had made it clear that a number of other things about her had altered beyond recovery. The very young Llannat Hyfid who’d left Maraghai to join the Space Force would never have noticed the equipment in the first place; and the older Llannat who’d come back to the Space Force from the Adepts’ Retreat would never have evaded its detection.
I had to do it. If I told the Ministry about everything that happened on board Night’s-Beautiful-Daughter, they’d lock me up and wipe out the keycode.
At least they still consider me Space Force. If I had to stay at the local Guildhouse, I’d wind up spilling my secrets to somebody before long. The Prof’s staff raised enough eyebrows around there the last time I was on Gyffer, with Ari and the rest of the ‘Hammer’s crew.
The hovercar paused at the main gate to the Field proper. A heavy-duty force field made the air in front of the entrance waver and ripple like a mirage on a hot day. A guard in the uniform of the Gyfferan local defense forces stepped out of the field’s generating kiosk; when the Ministry driver flashed an ID at him, he waved at his partner inside the kiosk and the field went down long enough for the hovercar to pass through.
In spite of the inconvenience—not to mention the outright distrust with which she and Lieutenant Vinhalyn had at first been received—she was glad to see that Gyffer was taking its resistance to the Mage
worlders seriously. The Daughter and RSF Naversey had been met in force by in-system ships almost as soon as they crossed the planet’s nearspace threshold; if it hadn’t been for the presence of the Space Force courier, Llannat suspected, the Gyfferans might well have destroyed the Magebuilt raider without bothering to ask questions.
So the war isn’t lost yet. If Gyffer holds firm, the rest of the Republic still has a chance.
Of course, if a medic from the backwoods can figure that much out, then so can the experts. Which means that the whole enemy fleet is going to show up on our doorstep any day now.
“Welcome to the war,” she muttered under her breath.
Next to her in the back seat of the hovercar, Vinhalyn nodded. “Just so.”
The hovercar glided on across the vast plain of the landing field. Compared with the first time she’d been in Telabryk, the place was almost empty. After what she’d learned during the conference at the Defense Ministry, Llannat wasn’t surprised. Most of Gyffer’s usual merchant traffic would have cleared out as soon as word hit the planet about the fall of Galcen Prime. The ships that had stayed behind—either voluntarily, or caught by the Citizen-Assembly’s closing of the port—would be up in the orbital yards, getting fitted out with shields and weaponry.
The dark wing-shape of Night’s-Beautiful-Daughter loomed up over the tarmac ahead, and beside it the thin bright needle that was RSF Naversey. The low, blocky buildings of the Space Force installation stood nearby, their abandoned state made more obvious by the presence of the two vessels. Llannat grimaced. The Gyfferans at the Ministry had not been happy about the way the Space Force had left Telabryk, even though they’d conceded the possibility of standing orders that had to be obeyed.
“Somewhere out there,” she’d said, with as much persuasion behind the words as she dared to use, “the Republic’s fleet is regrouping. All we have to do is hold out until they come back.”
By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Page 8