"Yes. I can't tell you why, because he told me during his confession. Anyway, they killed him, and that was that, except that a few days later, after hearing my testimony and arguments, the church decided that I was a heretic. Had been one for at least two years, the time in which I'd been working on that thesis. Which meant the late Chairman's confession had been heard by a heretic, which was more than a little irregular. They were afraid I'd tell, you see. Because of being a heretic."
"Um. They think you know some secrets the Chairman told you, which you could be trusted not to tell if you'd not been a heretic, but now they think you'll blurt it all out?"
"Yes. They know I know things which no one else knows—should know—because they trust that the late Chairman made a full and complete confession, and that would naturally include many things about the internal workings of the government."
"Did he make a full and complete confession?" Goonar asked, fascinated by the whole idea. "And how would you know if he did or not?"
"God would know," Simon said. "God would know, and an experienced priest can usually tell. I certified that the Chairman had made such a confession."
Which did not exactly answer his question directly, but Goonar let it go. Something else struck him. "So . . . they didn't trust you to keep it quiet, and the first thing you do is run toward their enemy?"
"Not the first thing," Simon said. "I tried to explain that I took my vows seriously, that I would never violate the confessional. But it was clear they didn't believe me; the new Chairman, in particular, did not trust me. I—I am willing to die for my faith, Captain Terakian, but not for a misunderstanding. So I fled. As a scholar, I had traveled widely, teaching and doing research in many places, so I knew how to travel discreetly. Most of the time. I had intended to slip across to the Guerni Republic, which is shockingly liberal in its views on religion, but has a marvelous set of archives where I thought I could find more material to prove my case. But then they found my trail." He paused.
"So how did you end up with a theatrical troupe?" Goonar asked.
"God guided me," Simon said. Goonar blinked, thought about asking more, and decided it could wait for another day.
Trinidad Station
Reception at the Regular Space Service sector of Trinidad Station swarmed with hurried, anxious Fleet personnel trying to make connections to their assigned ships, and equally hurried, anxious Fleet personnel trying to keep track of them.
Esmay Suiza-Serrano stepped into the ID booth and waited for the ping that would mean she'd matched her reference values. Instead, she heard the door snick shut behind her, and the little flashing light that should have gone green and steady went red and frantic instead. A mechanical voice said, "Do not attempt to exit the booth; remain in place until Security personnel release the lock. Do not attempt to exit the booth; remain in place . . ."
A soft whoosh from beside her, and the voice cut off. She turned to look and found herself facing the ominous maw of a weapon, with a very tense Security guard in armor behind it.
"Hands on your head, step this way."
In the face of the weapon, Esmay didn't argue. She knew she was who she said she was; she knew she hadn't done anything criminal, but this was not the time to say so. She put her hands on her head and stepped this way.
Beyond the booth, two more guards waited, both armed, with weapons drawn. The first guard picked up her carryon from the booth, and the other two waved her ahead of them down a corridor considerably quieter than the reception hall had been.
"In here." Here was a small compartment where a female security officer searched her thoroughly under the watchful eyes of the guards and the very obvious scan units mounted in the corners.
"You may sit down," the security officer said finally. Esmay sat down, more disturbed than she liked to admit to herself.
"Is there something wrong with the ID scan?" she asked.
"Not a thing," the officer said. "Wait here." She left, and the guards remained. The one carrying her bag had disappeared.
Time passed. Esmay thought of all the obvious things to say—there's been some kind of mistake, what's the matter, why are you holding me—and said nothing. Whatever was wrong, she might as well wait until she found someone in authority.
More time passed. She repressed a deep sigh and wondered if her former enemies, Casea Ferradi's friends, had framed her for some crime. Finally a very angry-looking commander stalked in and slapped down a folder on the table.
"I have orders to separate you from the Regular Space Service, as of today."
"What? What's going on?"
"I think you know very well, Lieutenant Suiza." His tone made a curse of her name. "And it would be best if you simply accepted the mercy of this separation with no more protests."
Despite herself, her voice rose a tone. "Excuse me, Commander, but according to the law I have a right to know what I stand accused of and a chance to defend myself."
"In a time of war, as you very well know, summary justice can take the place of a court-martial. Though if you prefer to sit around in a Fleet brig for the next year or so until we have time to convene a court, I'll inform the admiral of your request."
"I want to see the charges," Esmay said. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Oh? And what do you call seducing Admiral Serrano's grandson, in direct contravention of the rules prohibiting relationships between Fleet officers and Landbrides of Suiza? For that matter, you did not inform Fleet of your Landbride status until over a year after you became one—also a breach of regulations—"
"But that was because of the NewTex mess—"
"And you had concealed your family's political prominence as far back as your application to the Academy—"
"I did not!"
"And then you coerced the boy into marrying you."
So many things were wrong with that sentence that Esmay didn't know where to start. "He's not a boy—and I didn't coerce him—"
"And if you ask me, your so-called rescue of Lord Thornbuckle's daughter was an obvious ploy to gain political influence in that family—"
"What—I should have let her die?"
"You should have stayed back on your stupid dirt-ball planet and planted potatoes like the rest of your backward peasantry . . . Fleet has no place for your kind." He leaned forward, glaring straight into her eyes. "You're getting your discharge ID, more than you deserve. I don't care if you get home or not. I don't care if you live through the next hour. But if you cause the least trouble on this Station—anything at all—I will personally stuff you into an airlock and open it to vacuum. I am speaking for my CO and Admiral Serrano in this. Is that clear?"
What was clear was the uselessness of argument. Esmay took her credit cube—at least they'd given it back—and hoped she looked less shaken than she was on her way out. The looks she got from personnel were less scathing than she'd feared. Either they didn't believe it, or hadn't heard it.
Once into the civilian side of the station, she ducked into a secure combooth to give herself time to think. Admiral Serrano. It had to be Vida Serrano, but . . . but Captain Atherton on the Rosa Gloria had said she'd accepted the marriage. Had she changed her mind? Why? She scolded herself: she had more immediate problems than answering that. She checked her balances in the credit cube and called up current rates for a ticket home. She could just get there, on a roundabout base-rate route that would take months and give her no chance to clear herself. She looked at the rates to Castle Rock. No direct passenger travel for another three weeks. She didn't dare stay here for three weeks, not with local brass looking for an excuse to arrest her.
She scrolled through the list of ships in port, hoping inspiration would strike. The only name that looked remotely familiar was Terakian. That girl, Hazel, who'd been captured with Brun, had a name something like that. Terakian? Takeris? Even if she was wrong, they might know. She could ask, anyway.
CHAPTER FOUR
The man who answered the call had the rakis
h good looks of a storycube pirate. "Terakian Fortune, Basil Terakian-Junos here."
"I'm trying to locate the young woman named Hazel, who was rescued with Brun Meager from the NewTex Militia—I thought her last name was Terakian . . . ?"
His expression changed slightly. "Hazel—how do you know Hazel?"
"I'm—I was—in the task force."
"And you are?"
"L—" she bit off the rank she no longer held. "Esmay Suiza."
"You're Lieutenant Suiza?" Now he looked alert, and pleased. "Sorry I didn't recognize you, Lieutenant. How can we help you?"
Best get it out of the way. "I'm not a Fleet officer now."
"But I thought—well, then, sera, what can we do for you?"
"I'm trying to find transportation off this station, in the general direction of Castle Rock. I know there's a passenger ship going that way in three weeks, but I need to leave sooner, if I can."
"I hear a story in that. You're in a secure booth, right?"
"Yes."
"B Concourse?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you come along to the dockside, Sera? It sounds as if we need to talk." And he didn't trust a secure combooth, that was clear. "Concourse D, level 2, number 38. We have a dockside office there; I'll meet you."
"I'll come now," Esmay said. She called up a station schematic on the combooth display and then the transportation layout.
B Concourse had a transgrav tram across to D; Esmay glanced at the schedule display and hurried out of the booth. Down there—yes—she stepped into the car marked D just as the door alarm sounded. Someone who had come up rapidly behind her tried to push past the safety barrier, but a tram guard stopped him. Esmay pulled the safety bars down around her seat and settled in. D car was half full; she could see through the windows in the end of the car that C was packed.
The tram made two more stops in B; then, after a warning whoop from the gravity alarms, slid through the G-lock barriers. Esmay's stomach insisted she was falling, but outside she could see the great bays of the heavy cargo handling section. The tram stopped, and a couple of uniformed cargo workers bounded up and into D car. At the next grav barrier, weight returned, and at the next junction, several cars turned off to other sections. D car continued through another low-grav compartment, and Esmay emerged at the second D stop.
She was on level 2. On her right, a row of shops and services for merchant crews, from bars to message services to beds-by-the-hour, with or without partners. On her left, at intervals, were the dockside facilities for ships in station. Each had space for a temporary office, decorated in as lavish a style as the ships' owners found desirable. Boros Consortium seemed to have made their occupancy permanent in 32, 33, and 34, with a continuous office: customer, service, and crew entrances, with uniformed but unarmed Boros guards watching passersby. Number 35 was bare-bones, an obvious prefab folding "office" in the middle of the bare alloted space, and a small sign that declared it was for the Mercedes R., owner/captain Caleb Montoya. Number 36 was another independent, but one with more resources: Ganeshi Shipping Company had a status board displayed, which informed passersby that the office was now open.
Number 37 looked to be about the same level, simple but moderately prosperous. Clan Orange had put orange stripes on the doorframe and windows of the office, and hung out a fabric banner as well as showing a status board that included the percent of the ship still available to shippers. Passengers 0, she noticed.
Number 38 carried self-expression to an art form; Esmay didn't know whether to laugh or gasp in admiration when she came to the multicolored carpet in exuberant floral designs, the drapes hung from pipe frames, the potted palm in a vast basket. A sign declared "Terakian & Sons, Ltd., General and Express Shipping" and a very dramatic painted hand pointed to the office. Unlike the others, it was not a simple box in shape, but constructed with peaks and swooping curves, and painted in a pattern that made the carpet seem tame.
Esmay stepped under the pointed arch of the entrance, and found herself in a surprisingly quiet space before the little office. Was it just the draped fabric, or had the Terakians installed some sound shielding? She shrugged mentally and went up to the office. The door slid aside before she touched it. Inside was what looked like a luxury sitting room: another floral design on the carpet, only slightly subdued, with large, plump leather seats grouped around it. Along one wall was a counter, and behind it a bright-eyed young man.
"Sera Suiza?" he said. Esmay nodded. "I'll just tell Basil—" the young man said, and murmured into a throatmic.
At once a door opened, and two men came through. One she had seen on the screen in the combooth—he was as dramatic in person as on vid. The other was older, far less vivid to look at, but clearly in authority.
"I'm Goonar Terakian," the older man said, extending his hand. Esmay shook it. "Captain of Terakian Fortune, and junior partner in Terakian and Sons, Ltd. Basil here is my cousin, second in command on my ship, and the cargomaster. You're Esmay Suiza, formerly of Fleet, is that right?"
"Yes. Until this morning—" A lump rose in her throat. She hadn't let herself feel the loss yet, and she wasn't going to now. She swallowed hard.
"Sera, Basil told me that you wanted transport off this station with some urgency?"
"I wouldn't say urgency," Esmay said. "I just don't want to wait for the next direct passenger transport to Castle Rock."
"Sera, I have to tell you up front, and despite our gratitude for your part in rescuing Hazel Takeris, if you're a fugitive from Fleet, we can't help you."
"I'm not," Esmay said. She could feel the wave of heat rising up her face. "I—they discharged me this morning, and I still don't completely understand why. But they want me off this station—threatened to space me, in fact—and I want to get somewhere that I can figure out what's going on and fight it."
"Um. Yet we know you're being followed."
"I am?" Esmay thought of the man back at the tram station. "But—maybe the admiral just wants to know that I'm leaving."
"Or maybe he wants to know who you meet, and it'll put us under suspicion." That from the young man at the counter. Goonar shot him a sharp look.
"Flaci, were you asked?"
"No, I only—"
"Go make some coffee," Goonar ordered. The young man withdrew through the door behind the counter. Basil pulled out a cylinder that looked just like the ones used in Fleet to foil scans of a conversational area, twisted it, and laid it on the table.
"Have a seat, sera," Goonar offered. Esmay sank into the cushions and wondered if she would be able to climb out again. The little status light on the security cylinder glowed: they were supposedly screened from scan. Goonar took the seat to her right; Basil was across from her.
"Kids," Basil said, with a wave at the counter. "They never know when to keep quiet."
"And you do?" Goonar asked, but with a grin that took most of the sting out of it. He turned to Esmay. "Sera, do you have any idea at all why Fleet tossed you out, when there's a mutiny on and I'd think they'd want every loyal officer?"
"Well . . . sort of." Esmay felt her blush going hotter. "Admiral Serrano—Vida Serrano that is—is angry with my family, and . . . and . . . her grandson and I just got married."
"You what?" asked Basil. Goonar made a sort of choked noise, which Esmay recognized as suppressed laughter.
"I married her grandson—or he married me—anyway we're married. He—we—we'd been trying to talk to our families for a long time, and finally he and I had figured out a time we could meet with his parents. Only all the Serranos were there, it seemed like, and his grandmother—Admiral Vida—came out with a story about my family's history . . . and she was wrong." Esmay caught her breath; she was suddenly on the edge of tears. "That wasn't what happened; it can't have been. But she believed it. And she said we could never marry, and then the mutiny came, and we all had to go back to duty, and . . . and . . ."
"You and he sneaked off to get married," Basil said.
"We didn't sneak," Esmay said. "But we didn't—we couldn't, there wasn't time—tell anyone beforehand."
"Such as your family and his," Goonar said. He had most of his face under control, but a twitch in the corner of his mouth said he was still finding this funny.
Basil wasn't; he was scowling now. "They ditched you for marrying the Serrano kid? When you're a hero?"
"I'm also a Landbride back on Altiplano—"
"You have two husbands?" Basil looked at Goonar. "I guess that would do it. A boy in every port?"
"No, it's not like that." Esmay glared at him. "I'm not that sort of person. Landbride is a . . . a sort of family thing, and religious. It's the woman in the family who is responsible for the land—for seeing that it's cared for."
"Oh. And this bothered them? Were you going to go back there and take him with you?"
"No . . . I was going to resign as Landbride—give it to my cousin Luci—and stay in Fleet. But then things happened—"
"They always do." That was Goonar, the quiet one, not as handsome as Basil but steadier. He had sad eyes, Esmay thought.
"So—after the news of the mutiny—we were traveling together back to our assignments, and . . . we just got married. We'd waited so long, and so much was going on—"
"Without the right paperwork, I'm guessing," Goonar said. "And without family permission?"
Esmay felt herself reddening. "Definitely without."
"That would annoy them," Basil said. He leaned back and one eyebrow rose. Theatrical.
"Stop it, Bas," said Goonar. "You're learning bad habits from our passengers."
"I need to find a way home," Esmay said. "I thought maybe, if I could talk to Hazel—I thought maybe she was on this ship—she'd help me."
"Why not contact the Thornbuckle girl? She's rich enough to buy you a ship of your own."
"I don't want to bring trouble to her," Esmay said. "She doesn't deserve it."
"And you do?" Goonar's brows rose, both of them. "What we've heard of you is good, from the newsvids and Hazel both. The hero of Xavier. The hero who saved the Kos. And then the Speaker's daughter."
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