“He helped with the transportation. The talented Team cleared the spy-eyes from his flit and flyers, and then he lent his largest flyer to the Team—including Jock—when they headed out to recover the two women. When the operatives, Mikal, and Malin, needed transport to go to their aid, he lent them his flit. Let us hope that this largesse on the part of the Carmaks has brought us the results that we all desire.”
Maric was drinking all this in, growing more and more exited. His kin were in the thick of things! Jock was a part of the Team that was off to rescue the women the Margolises had kidnapped from the Star Federation Space Station! The Margolis Family, judging by what he had seen in the Capital City on his visits, were worse fools than his mother’s relatives! They believed that because they were one of the Families who had, ages ago, been given the responsibility of handling Diplomatic Postings, they were somehow the elite of the Exalted. They could travel off-world in the ruling circles of the Star Federation! The Margolis young fry with whom Maric had sometimes spent a bit of time, had been fond of boasting that their Family members on the Federation Space Station had found new ways to improve the Family’s finances. Maric had scoffed at that sort of nonsense at the time, but now he wondered if there had not been something to the talk. What was the Family trying to protect by pulling off an idiocy like kidnapping a VIP visitor to the Federation Space Station?
They had reached the large, blocky building in which the Carmaks had rented a suite to be occupied by their Representative in the government. Maric looked the building over, thoughtfully.
“Who owns this monstrosity?” he asked.
“It is rather ugly, isn’t it?” Hector conceded. “The Laggos Family, to be sure. Not the worst of the Oligarchs, that bunch. Fair in their own way; they rent a suite to us for the going price, whereas there are those who would demand that we, as dissidents from a well-to-do Province, ought to pay triple or quadruple the usual amount. Nevertheless, I would expect them to have spy-eyes tracking whoever comes in or out—the government officials would demand that, where rebellious subjects are concerned, and I wouldn’t expect the Laggos clan to object to that. So smile for the camera!”
He pressed the button beside the Carmaks glyph, and when Kelt answered, announced their names to him.
“Ah, I’ll come down in a moment,” Kelt’s voice answered. “If you’ll wait for me, we’ll go down to my favourite Bistro for a bite to eat.”
Hector grinned at Jorun and Maric as he led them back down to the street.
“This ‘monstrosity’ as you called it, Maric,” Hector began to lecture, as if he was conducting a tourist group through the Capital City, “was built in the early days of Vultairian membership in the Star Federation. The Laggos Family put it up, but they weren’t part of the Exalted then—in fact, there was no such class as the Exalted, in those days. The Laggos were simply a clan of rather ambitious entrepreneurs; they had their fingers in a lot of pies in this city. Some of them bought up land and built on that land: houses, apartment blocks, businesses—whatever was needed, and in those days a lot was, because the city was growing from a small town into a metropolis, having recently been chosen to be the seat of the Planetary Government. They realized a tidy profit from those activities and, over time, grew into a rather influential Family grouping, able to marry into older, more important clans, and increasing their reach that way.”
“How do you know all this?” Maric asked. “I’ve not heard any of it, even though I’ve been trying to draw all kinds of information out of the youth I’ve hung out with, when I’ve been visiting with the Vanta Family members, in the City.”
“Musty old books in musty old libraries,” Hector laughed. “You might want to extend your education by spending time among such, young man. Not that I discount your prowling about among the Exalted youth of the Capital City, Maric. In fact, I suggested to your parents that they let you go on with it, when your mother was worrying. You didn’t know that, did you?”
He grinned at the young man who was staring back, mouth half-open.
“That’s why Mother stopped arguing with me about it, and let me come here more often,” he sputtered.
“Yeah. I told her that Marina figured that you had a head on your shoulders, and Marina never makes mistakes about that sort of a thing. ‘He’s not using drugs and he doesn’t drink much,’ she said to me about you. ‘He can fly flits and flyers better than any of those young city cocks can, but he doesn’t show off. He’s up to something, Hector, and I think it has something to do with finding out things about the worst of the Four Hundred Families. You want to be available when he starts talking about what he’s discovered.’ That’s what my wife said to me, and I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground, and an eye on you, ever since.”
“Truth is, young Maric,” Jorun interjected with a chuckle, “we adults aren’t nearly as clueless as you young ones sometimes think that we are.”
Just then Kelt Carmaks came out the front door of the building and rushed over to the three of them. With a practiced gesture he swept them up, and into a rapid walk.
“We’ll eat at Marku’s” he said, after a quick greeting. “We’re going to have to figure out a way to get some information as to what the Senate Chair and the Inner Cabinet are planning. They dismissed the Senators early this afternoon and closeted themselves for the rest of the day, only breaking up minutes ago, according to the internal Government vidfeed which I, as a Senator, am entitled to follow. But there was no word as to what they’re planning to do about the Torrones Warship above us, or Arya r’pa Dorral, the Lamanian woman who’s in charge of the Official Federation Investigation, and the Torrones.
“When I last talked to Mikal r’ma Trodden, which was when I picked him and his partner up in Port City and lent them my flit to go after the Xeonsaur and the other woman that the Margolises kidnapped, he did say that this Arya r’pa Dorral is a formidable woman, and not to be underestimated, in spite of her appearance. I understood that he, and she, are sworn to perform their duties without killing any sentients, so perhaps we shouldn’t fear the Torrones overly much.”
“So the reports about a Warship above this city were factual,” Hector muttered.
“Indeed.” Kelt Carmaks drew a deep breath. “The Senate was told before we were dismissed that the Warship has issued some serious threats, and that the Chair and the Inner Cabinet were going to try to work out an answer to the ship’s demands. But that’s the last bit of useful information I’ve received, and as far as I know Chairwoman Sartose has gone home for the evening meal, as have the other members of the Inner Cabinet.”
“Chairwoman Sartose?” Hector mused with a sidelong glance at Maric. “Didn’t one of the Sartose girls—well, not a girl anymore—marry into Molly’s Family?”
“Sure,” Kelt replied with a snort. “The smartest thing any of the Vanta men of that generation ever did, was marry the Sartose woman. They’ve been getting extra consideration and funds from the government ever since Sartose Mama was made the Senate Chair. A much more lucrative marriage to them than Molly’s, since Molly turned rogue, and refuses to just hand goodies over to them.”
“She sends plenty of stuff to them,” Maric objected.
“But not nearly enough to satisfy them,” Kelt said. “Of course, only all the produce of Ithcar would satisfy them, and maybe not even that. Heaven knows, boy, I’m not criticizing your mother.”
“But, you wouldn’t happen to have a case of good Ithcar wine in your apartment that we could have Molly send to the Vantas?” Hector asked Kelt. “Maric could take it there, and stop by to hang about with Joel’s kids, and maybe talk them into stopping by to see their half-Sartose cousins. He might even find out what Sartose Mama is up to, if he’s cagey enough.”
“Well—now, that is a thought,” Kelt muttered. “A pity to give up good wine to the Vantas, but it would be in a good cause. Provided that the boy can handle an assignment like that.”
Maric chuckled.
“I like
the idea of trying to tease out information,” he said enthusiastically. “With any luck, this should be an easy assignment. My Vanta cousins like to brag. If they know anything about Grandma Sartose’s doings, they’ll be keen to bruit the information about.”
“Only we need accurate information,” Jorun sighed. “Don’t accept every pipsqueak’s word for the revealed truth.”
Maric nodded. His mind was already working on how to verify whatever the mouthy ones of his cousins would be sure to lash him with. Possibly he could goad them into eavesdropping on their Grandparent and her cronies.
“But first we eat. Then we’ll go back to the apartment and fetch the wine,” said Kelt. “It’ll be a pity about the wine. But I’m sure Marku’s will have some good stuff on hand. Maybe even some of ours.”
The thought seemed to brighten his mood considerably.
*****
Master Healer Vorlund was very annoyed. The Exalted Warrion in charge of the Port this day clearly was an idiot.
“Look,” he said to the haughty woman over the Cruiser’s com, for the fourth time. “I’m a Healer. A very good Healer. Among the best in the Federation. Your people in the Capital City may well be needing my services in the near future, judging from what I’ve heard. Either provide me with a vehicle and a pilot to take me there, or allow the Cruiser pilot to take out our flit and ferry me.”
“Why should I do either of those extraordinary things?” the Vultairian woman asked him, glaring at her image of him on the screen in front of her.
“Maybe because you want people to live—people who might otherwise die,” Vorlund sighed, exasperated.
“Why should I care whether people in the Capital City live or die?” the Exalted asked, pursing her mouth.
“Possibly because they are your fellow citizens,” the Master Healer muttered, any hope of getting through to the heartless woman slipping slowly away.
“I don’t care about Ordinary Citizens,” the woman said coldly. Obviously, his mutter had made the crossing over the communicator. “And we Exalted have nothing to fear from anyone, on our own world.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, Exalted Lady,” Vorlund snapped, any remnants of calm having been goaded out of him. He took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and recalled something that had been said during his conversation with Mikal. It might be useful.
“All the Klensers have massed in the Capital City,” he told the woman. “Doesn’t your Government obtain most of its Space Lanes Credits through hiring out the Klensers to polluting Fringe Planets? If I were you I’d be worrying about the mainstay of the planetary economy.”
The female face on the Cruiser’s communicator screen grew even more pinched, if that was possible.
“And how would you have knowledge about what’s going on in the Capital City?” she asked, her voice positively icy. “Your ship has been cocooned as far as communications are concerned.”
Vorlund couldn’t suppress the smirk that crossed his face. The technology that the Port Authority used was no match for the latest in Shelonian gadgetry. Probably if he and Josh had been willing to blow their cover, they could have wriggled out of the ‘cocoon’ days ago. But it was better not to alert the Port Authorities to that fact—yet.
“I thought I mentioned to you that I am a Shelonian Master Healer, Madame,” he said instead, keeping his voice pleasant with some effort. “A Healer—especially a Master Healer—has abilities that are beyond the usual scope. I have ways of finding out what is happening on a world, and among its people, that you know nothing about. The coming together of a large contingent of a certain, distinct, portion of the population in a particular place will announce itself in a manner which someone with my talents can discern. It is a part of the overall health pattern of the planet, after all.”
“Nonsense,” the Lady Warrion insisted, but she sounded a little less sure of herself. “That’s impossible. And besides, Klensers aren’t really human anyway—if you’d ever seen the way they just lie around with their eyes glazed, expecting to be looked after, when they’re not cleansing, you’d agree.”
“I very much doubt it, Madame.” Vorlund bit his tongue to keep from blurting out any more. What the woman thought was immaterial; he was trying to get to the Capital City.
He sighed once more, and took a deep breath—then realized that his opponent was ceding her position to a man, another of the Exalted, to be sure, but one with a worried look on his face. He watched with interest as the new Vultairian ran his left thumb over a button which apparently was on the desk, almost out of the screen camera’s range. A bigger boss, maybe?
“I’m Lasick Warrion,” he introduced himself as soon as he had sat down. “You claim to be a Master Healer, I understand?”
“I don’t just claim to be anything,” Vorlund replied, gritting his teeth. These Exalted Vultairians had a gift for being aggravating! “I am a Shelonian Master Healer. That is partly why I am here on this mission. It was thought that Vultairians might need the services of someone like myself, at a time like this.”
“At a time like this? And what sort of time would that be?”
Lasick Warrion was arrogant, but clearly not stupid enough to give anything away, even a snippet of information. Annoying, but slightly less aggravating. It might be possibly to deal with him.
“A time of change. A time when that which has grown crooked must be straightened out, for the health of the world itself. And don’t ask me how I know this; it is my business as a Master Healer to know it. A Master Healer heals not only people and other creatures but he, or she, also helps worlds heal themselves, to set right what has gone wrong in or on the planet body.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that Vultaire itself called out to you, to come and help it heal the sores that its inhabitants have carved into its skin. And thus called, you came.” Lasick’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“No.” Vorlund stared intently at the man’s image on the screen. “No. But once I got here, I heard its call. So far, I have answered it the best I could, kept as I am, here in this vessel. But now I need to get to the Capital City where very frightening events may be about to take place, events that make the very ground beneath people’s feet tremble with fear.”
Lasick Warrion stared at the Master Healer for almost a full minute. There was that in the little round man’s face that he found oddly compelling. He just knew that the darkie off-worlder was telling the truth—at least as he understood it. And there was a nagging suspicion in the back of the Vultairian’s mind, that the Healer knew a rather lot.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll send a flit and a pilot to collect you and take you to the Capital City. But make no mistake: I’m going to have you monitored the whole time. We, the Exalted are still in charge of this planet.”
Master Healer Vorlund shrugged. He didn’t care about that. The fools couldn’t truly monitor his doings anyway.
“I’ll be at the hatch when the flit comes,” was his reply. He left the Bridge to quickly go and fetch a bag.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Maric arrived at his Grandparents’ townhouse hauling a box of wine bottles under one arm. His Grandfather who opened the door eyed the box suspiciously, but did not say anything, only greeted his grandson brusquely.
“What brings you to the City at a time like this?” he asked as he closed the door behind the youth. “Wouldn’t your mother rather keep you down on the farm when things are a-jumping here in the Governmental Centre?”
“Hector wanted my help with something that he needed to bring to the City,” Maric answered, keeping to the script that he and the older men had concocted over dinner. “Ma wanted me to bring you this wine, at least, since there was no time to collect anything else.”
He dumped the box on the table, with a clatter as the bottles hit one another.
“Careful with that,” Vanta Papa cried, looking aghast at the noise.
Apparently he had read the label on the crate.
&n
bsp; The older man reached for it, opened it and pulled out a bottle, carefully examining it while Maric stood beside the table, watching him.
“This is the good stuff from your parents’ winery, and not the usual plonk that your mother sends us, her closest relatives,” Vanta Papa murmured, and actually kissed the bottle.
Maric shrugged.
“This happened to be handy, and Hector was in a hurry,” he explained.
The vintages that his mother usually sent to the Vantas were not plonk. They were the same wines that the Carmaks themselves consumed at their evening meals. Of course a certain percentage of the wine they produced was of higher quality, generally saved for special occasions; some of it given to Uncle Kelt for the times when he entertained at his apartment, and wanted to impress his guests. These bottles came from that supply, and Molly would not have been happy to hear that they had been ‘wasted’ on her relatives, who, she maintained, did not have the palates to appreciate the best of The Carmaks of Ithcar Winery. However, both Hector and Kelt had agreed that it was worth the sacrifice of some good wine, if Maric could worm his way into finding out what Senate Chairwoman Sartose was up to.
“I thought that I’d take the opportunity to hang out with Jael and Nimo, since I’m in town,” Maric said, looking around him. “Are they home?”
These were the cousins that lived with their parents at the townhouse, sharing an indolent existence with the grandparents. Jael, a girl about Maric’s age was as wild and out of control as any of the Exalted boys in the Capital, and Nimo, her younger brother was almost as bad.
“They went off to throw rotten fruit at the Klensers massed at the Legislative Grounds,” Maric’s grandfather said indifferently, hungry eyes on the wine. “Milly, bring some wineglasses here,” he shouted to his wife. “Maric brought us some good wine for a change! Our daughter must have been feeling generous towards her old parents, for once! Let us sample a bit of it!”
Cripes! Once again Maric had reason to wonder how his mother had managed to grow into the sane woman that she was, in this household! Of course, she always maintained that she hadn’t really been that until she had met Maric’s father, but, instead, had been as crazy as Jael was, during her teenage years.
On Assignment to the Planet of the Exalted Page 74