On Assignment to the Planet of the Exalted

by Helena Puumala

  “I guess I better not ask you where they wanted to be taken,” Liss said. “After all we’ve been through, I’ve learned to control my curiosity, and to recognize that the less I know, the less information I can give away.”

  She sighed. It was hard to keep her guard up all the time, but finding out that their home had been full of spying devices without her and Marston having had any idea, had taught her to be careful. Gonus had encouraged her in that: “Always err on the side of caution,” he had told her. “Those Oligarchs are real bastards, and they use every edge.”

  “I’ll try and catch an hour or two of sleep,” Marston said, patting her back. “The evening shift at the Port awaits, and I didn’t get much shut-eye last night.”

  “I left a cold lunch on the table,” Liss told him. “Sleep well.”

  Marston grinned his thanks and headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. When he and Liss had first looked at the place, the fact that the only entrance to the flat was from inside the shop had given him pause. Then it had occurred to him that this way the Warrions certainly would not be able to plant any bugs on the premises, what with Gonus presiding over the store, and living next door. Now he could sleep without worrying about the Exalted, or about his wife’s safety.

  *****

  Kelt Carmaks did not arrive in Nikol’s yard until night had fallen. Mikal and Malin stayed inside the cart-builder’s home the whole day; Nikol and Jaze were adamant that strange off-worlders had to remain hidden. The restriction was hard on Malin who would have loved to have gone for a run after days of space travel, but Mikal, as a seasoned operative, accepted the inevitable with grace. He thanked Jaze and her husband for putting up with them, and engaged the woman in some long conversations while Nikol was busy in his shop.

  Malin, pacing the floor, itching to get outdoors, suddenly realized that the chatter he was listening to was not just whiling away the time. Mikal was collecting information in an unobtrusive fashion. He was finding out data about the Port City, the Warrion Family, and the living conditions of the Ordinary Citizens. He was picking up gossip relating to other parts of Vultaire, including the Capital City. Mikal’s patience with Jaze’s meandering tales began to make sense to Malin who was intelligent enough to realize that he had a lot to learn. Being a Federation Peace Officer was a nuanced job, it seemed, not just a matter of catching bad guys, and rescuing fair maidens. Of course, Malin had not thought it to be that simple in the first place, but it had not occurred to him that listening to women natter on about the City bureaucracy might be a part of the job. Mikal, apparently, considered it very important to get a feel for the world on which he was operating; Malin abruptly understood that Mikal avoided sticky situations by absorbing information about his environment whenever the opportunity arose.

  Mikal kept up the talk throughout the supper preparations in which he and Malin participated, and the meal itself, which was eaten once Nikol had finished his day in the shop.

  “I think Kelt is waiting until dark to arrive,” Nikol said after dinner.

  The sun was near to setting. The shadows had lengthened while they had been eating. The lady of the house began to collect the dishes from the table, and Malin and Mikal got up to help her. Mikal offered to wash, saying that he was interested in practising an art which he had not used much since his last visit to Borhq.

  “I never minded dishes the way a lot of my cousins did,” he said. “It can be a contemplative activity, or else companionable, if someone is drying.”

  “I’ll dry,” Malin offered. “On Paradiso, especially on the rural Estates, and I am Estate born, there are more people than labour-saving machines, so everyone gets used to pitching in. When I came to work at the Cafe Paradiso on the Space Station, I fully expected to start my working career washing dishes. It was a real thrill to find mechanical dishwashers, and recyclable dishes. I could go immediately to waiting on tables, without spending a hot apprenticeship with soap, water and dishtowels.”

  “Isn’t Kelt going to be very visible to the neighbours, arriving in the dark?” Jaze asked her husband as she settled to enjoy another mug of tea.

  “He’ll be travelling with his lights off,” Nikol explained. “Don’t forget that he’s an Exalted, and has their enhanced senses. He won’t have any trouble sneaking his flit into our yard and under the trees in starlight. The neighbours won’t even know that he has come.”

  “So he’ll just knock on our door, like he always does.”

  “Exactly. Our guests might see his arrival if they happen to be looking out at the right moment, but you and me, we’d be doing well to see a shadow cross the starry sky. So I very much doubt that anyone in this neighbourhood will notice anything.”

  *****

  That was pretty much how it went.

  After the dishes were done, Mikal dug in his bag, and brought out an elaborately decorated deck of cards. He offered to teach the others a gambling game, with a bagful of small, coloured stones as stakes.

  “I learned the game on Makros III when Kati and I were running away from the slave ship, and crossing the ocean on a sailing vessel,” he explained. “The sailors played with cards like these; they gambled the evenings away when the weather was good, and only a skeleton crew was assigned to duty. I played just enough to learn the rules of the game properly; neither Kati nor I had any intention of losing money at the card table, but I was curious about the sailors’ pastimes.

  “Then when, later on, I happened upon this beautiful card deck in a mountain town, I bought it as a souvenir of what we knew as The Drowned Planet. I brought it along on this trip as a token of luck. So I would be honoured if you’d let me teach you the game, sort of as a request to the natural powers of this world to protect us, and to grant us good fortune.”

  He grinned.

  “Also, it’ll make the time pass while we wait.”

  Jaze took the cards from him and admired the pictures.

  “They are beautiful,” she said. “If beauty influences the gods in any way, you ought to have their attention.”

  The game that Mikal taught was elaborate, and lots of fun. When Nikol commented on that, Mikal replied that life aboard a sailing ship could be tedious; enjoyable diversions were welcome, even if they might cost a crewmember much of the trip’s pay-packet.

  “The sailors on that ship were quite the gamblers, although I doubt that anyone ever really lost all of his or her pay. What they lost one night, they won back the next; the money kept changing hands throughout the trip.”

  *****

  When Kelt finally did knock on the door, he was admitted into a house in which a raucous card game was going on. After the introductions he sat down at the table to watch the foursome finish their final game, watching the play with interest.

  “Here I was worrying that you people would be anxiously waiting for me while I bided my time with a roundabout route, so as not to arrive before full darkness,” he said when Mikal was putting away the cards. “Kati of Terra did tell me not to fret, the last time I talked to her. She said that I could count on Mikal to be the thoroughly Professional Agent.”

  “And that, apparently, includes teaching people card games,” Nikol chuckled. “What do you Agents learn at your Federation Training Schools?”

  “Oh, an awful lot,” Mikal replied cheerfully. “Especially, to think creatively. Like how best to react to whatever situation you’re in. Sometimes a noisy card game is just the way to keep people from chewing their fingernails to the quick while they’re waiting.”

  “So what’s going to happen about the Official Investigation that we’ve been promised, now that the designated Leader of that Investigation is here already, putting out a different brush fire?” Kelt asked in his best politician’s voice.

  “Oh, it’s coming, believe me.” Mikal grinned ferally. “The Margolises made sure of that with their little kidnapping caper. Why would they think that they’d get away with snatching an Xeonsaur woman off the Federation Space Station?” He
shook his head.

  “Oh, the Margolises don’t think,” Kelt sniffed. “At least they don’t think logically. They’ve been able to bribe their way in the Federation for so long that they believe they can get away with anything.”

  “I had heard that Stolts was problematic as President,” Mikal said thoughtfully, “but I never did have to deal with him, myself. My boss, Maryse r’ma Darien, was the one who had to do that. She used to snarl about him; if she had had hair, no doubt she would have pulled out clumps of it, after her visits to see him. I used to slink away from our office whenever she came back from meeting with the man.

  “The new President, Vascorn, is a Shelonian, and an honourable man, so I think that the Vultairian diplomats better be watching their backsides, these days. He was not amused to find out that our Guest of Honour had disappeared just before she was to make a big speech to the Senators!”

  “Which is why you two are here,” Kelt said, looking at the off-worlders. “However, Kati had us looking forward to your coming here as the Leader of the Official Investigation. Is it possible that now we might well get a dud heading that?”

  Mikal’s attention shifted inward momentarily, as he consulted his node.

  “I suspect that Maryse will get Arya r’pa Dorral to do the job,” he then said. “She’s a Lamanian, one of those who are willing to leave their home world. Most Lamanians won’t, but a small percentage will. Arya’s also very capable, and when I went missing, she had to do many of the tasks which I would have done, had I been there. She, thereby, grew to be even more valuable to our office. I think that she will be Maryse’s choice, and she is a good one, as good as I would have been. She’ll look like a bald, happy-go-lucky, little kid to you people—” Mikal laughed at the thought “—since she’s small and delicate like Lamanians are, and that’s probably why she was not Maryse’s first choice. Maryse may have thought that she’d have a hard time gaining respect on Vultaire. But I’ve seen the woman operate, and I don’t underestimate her; and she’ll, without doubt, make use of the fact that the Vultairians will.”

  “All right then, Nikol. Pass the word around in our circles,” Kelt said, grinning. “Do not underestimate the wee, bald woman who heads the Official Investigation. She will be on our side and, in spite of appearances, she is formidable. No-one in the Resistance should forget that, but let the Exalted think what they will.”

  Nikol nodded.

  “I like the sound of that,” he commented. “There’s nothing like the appearance of weakness to turn the Exalted—with the exception of the likes of the Carmaks—into arrogant asses.”

  *****

  “I suppose that you both can fly a thing like this,” Kelt said, once he, Mikal, and Malin had climbed into the flit.

  They had thanked Nikol and Jaze for their hospitality, and the off-worlders had scooped up their bags. Kelt had led them out, into the night where clouds had gathered to obscure the starry sky, and a wind had blown up.

  “Can do,” Mikal replied, studying the dash, “although this is a lot older model than the ones I’m used to, on Lamania. How does it handle in the wind?”

  “What’s there now is not a problem,” Kelt said with a shrug. “If it gets a lot worse, things could get a little tricky. A flit’s a small sliver of an object in bad weather, and generally I try to avoid storms. This bit of wind and rain isn’t supposed to amount to much, though.”

  “If it does get bad, let me take the controls,” Malin said eagerly. “This is the type of flit we use on Paradiso—we don’t have many fancy gadgets, and what we do have, mostly came from a bargain bin. And we have some wicked weather back home! If you want to fly, and I was pretty keen to do that, you learn to fight the wind and the rain. Sleet, too, in the cold season.”

  Mikal laughed.

  “That’s why your ancestors were able to settle Paradiso without anyone contesting them,” he said. “No-one else wanted to brave the weather. But your people named it Paradiso, because they were so glad to be away from the Volkor IV Alphas, that it seemed like a paradise.”

  “Oh, and it is a paradise when the weather’s good, which it is actually more of the year than a lot of outsiders realize,” Malin said. “And we, the descendants of the Volkor IV Betas, have learned to deal with the bad weather when it’s there. We learned it from the Grenies, the indigenes whose existence was unknown to us when we came to the world. By the time they discovered the Grenies, my ancestors could not have gone back to Volkor IV; the Alphas would have slaughtered them for desertion, for refusing to continue to live as a servant class.”

  “Volkor IV sounds like it must have been a lot like what Vultaire is at present,” Kelt said, as he manoeuvred the flit into air. “An elite class lording it over an underclass. It’s a little depressing to hear that. Will human beings never learn to value one another properly?”

  “I’m an inveterate optimist,” Mikal countered, “and I refuse to believe that people won’t eventually catch on. But, it’ll take time, and those of us who aren’t blinded by greed, stupidity, or one of another half-a-dozen vices, will have to do our best to build a better universe.”

  They were up above the trees by now, and Kelt turned on the screen which showed maps of the planet beneath them, pinpointing the flit’s location as it travelled. Mikal and Malin studied it avidly, and when Mikal noticed the nodal connector button below it, he pressed his left thumb to it, discovering that he could upload the maps into his nodal memory. Kelt, apparently, had been unaware of this feature, and stared in amazement when Mikal, and Malin after him, spent a few short moments absorbing the Vultairian geography, into their minds.

  “Don’t tell me that this sort of knowledge isn’t taught to noded people in grade school,” Mikal said, shaking his head, when Kelt told him that he had never realized that the little indentation beneath the monitor could be used as a nodal connector.

  “Oh, a Carmaks learns nothing except what other members of his Family can teach him,” Kelt said. “We have to fight hard just to get implanted with the nodes. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if the learning hasn’t been just as badly eroded in the loyal Families of the Four Hundred. Their youngsters are not exactly diligent students; they spend most of their time turning the city skies into obstacle courses—when they’re not gambling, drinking or whoring like their elders.”

  “If that’s true,” Malin stated brightly, “then our mission should be easy. We’re up against what? A bunch of lazy, arrogant fools who spend most of their time amusing themselves and have never done a lick of work in their lives. We should be able to wash the floor with them, pack Canna and Xoraya Hsiss up, and take them back to the Federation Space Station.”

  “Whoa, Malin,” Mikal protested. “Not so fast. Never underestimate your opponent, not even in your imagination. Remember, these people have kept themselves on the top of the Vultairian heap for a long time, and they’ve kept the incorruptible members of the Federation Senate from touching them. They may be venal, absurdly egotistical, and selfish, but when it comes to looking after their own interests, they have been effective. And they’re not about to lie down and play dead for us; we’ll have to work to get the women back, believe me.”

  Malin looked slightly abashed, although hardly cowed.

  “Listen to the voice of experience, young man,” Kelt told him. “And make your plans accordingly.”

  *****

  Kelt set them down in the Capital City, in a small park about twenty minutes’ walk from his flat, while there was still darkness left. The flit might have been an old model but it could travel fast.

  “I would suggest that you two catch a bit of sleep before heading off to the Margolis’ Island,” he told Mikal and Malin as he opened the hatch. “I had my favourite Bistro chef pack a basket of food for you to eat during that last leg. Do so; you’ll need the energy, especially since you’ll be short of sleep. This park is safe enough to hide in, until the morning; the Ordinary Citizens will just assume that some young Exalted is sleeping
off some serious partying before going home to Ma and Pa. No Exalted will see you since they don’t know you’re here, and this park is not among the places they frequent.

  “Best of luck. And give Kati and her Team my best when you see them. They should be on the Estate by now, and in contact with this Very Important Alien Woman of yours.”

  Then he was gone, the hatch shutting behind him.

  “He’s right,” Mikal said, yawning. “We’ve been up since before dawn. Unless we want to get into pharmaceuticals, and that’s not a good idea when we need to have all our wits about us, we better catch a couple of hours of shut-eye. Another important talent for an Agent: to be able to sleep whenever possible, because there are lots of times when you must be alert.”

  He reclined the seat he was in as far back as it would go, and settled into it as comfortably as he could. The trees sheltered the flit from the city lights which, by Mikal’s estimation, were not that bright anyway. He requested that his node dim his sight to sleep-normal and closed his eyes; moments later Malin heard his breathing steady to the slow rhythm of healthy rest, and he settled down to try to follow suit.

  *****

  They woke before dawn.

  Mikal suggested that Malin take the controls of the flit, since he was more familiar with the model, and the Paradisan was delighted to be entrusted with the task. He took the pilot’s seat while Mikal dug up the promised basket of provisions from a storage locker.

  “There’s music in here if we want to listen,” Malin said, as he aligned the flit’s controls to his node’s take on the global maps from the night before.

  “It’s supposed to be performances by Kati’s Troupe,” Mikal commented, his eyes scanning the contents of the food basket. “Oh, these goodies look tasty. I think that I’d like Kelt’s favourite Bistro. We could listen to the music while we eat and climb.”

  “Oh yes, indeed!”

  Malin lifted the flit up, with the lights off, to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Mikal noted this with satisfaction but did not comment on it. Instead, he settled the food basket on the empty seat between them, arranging the contents so that they were easy for Malin to reach while controlling the flit. The wind and the rain of the night before had dissipated, leaving a clear day ahead—at least in the Capital. Of course, the weather could be entirely different on the Margolis Estate; not only was it a ways off, but it was also an island in the ocean.