by Ward Wagher
“We're certainly looking chipper this morning,” he said.
Stephanie aimed one bloodshot eye in his direction. “Mr. Nyman, I am doing all I can to remain civil this morning, but it may be a losing battle.”
Frank grinned. “Get a couple coffees into you, you'll be fine. When you get busy you'll forget how tired you are.”
“You look like you had a good night's sleep, Sir.”
“No, but years of practice while in the Navy helps. A ship's commander rarely gets more than six hours of sleep in twenty-four. Usually it's less. You learn to deal with it.”
The door to the outside opened and Fillbee walked in.
“I thought I told you to stay away from here,” Frank said.
“Where is the boss?”
“Who?” Frank asked.
“The Boss! He was comin' to see ya last night. Where is he?”
“You are talking about the honorable Benjamin Chavis?”
The sarcasm seemed to go right over Fillbee's head. “Yes, yes. Mr. Chavis. What happened to him? I was supposed to meet him.”
“He did come to see me last night, Fillbee. Then he left.”
“But he always makes his appointments. His people are lookin' for him too. He never came back. What did you do to him?”
“I have heard this town is kind of dangerous after dark,” Frank said. “I wouldn't want to wander around out there at night.”
“He had three... helpers with him. Nobody'd bother him in Gustav. I figger you had to done somethin.”
“He was at my house, Fillbee. We talked. Then he left.”
“What did you do with him?”
“You're starting to repeat yourself, Fillbee. I think it's time for you to leave.”
“Okay, but I'm watchin' you.”
“Get lost, Fillbee,” Frank said.
He looked over at Stephanie and grinned lasciviously. “How about a dally baby?”
The girl turned white and jumped up. “I will not dally with you. That is disgusting. Get out of here!”
Jones had eased into the room during the conversation. He moved over and grabbed Fillbee by the arm and belt. “Time to go, Canal Scum.”
“Wait, wait! You can't put your hands on me.”
Jones kicked the door open with his foot and propelled Fillbee out onto the boardwalk. Then with amazing strength, he swept Fillbee into the air. With arms and legs wind-milling wildly, the stick-figure of a young man splashed into the canal.
After breaking back to the surface, the coughing, choking man yelled. “You can't do this to me! I'll get you for that...” Suddenly he swore and frantically paddled back to the boardwalk. He practically leaped out of the water onto the dock. Right behind him, Charlie broke the surface.
Frank chuckled. “I guess Fillbee and I have one thing in common, anyway.”
“You don't have a thing in common with that creep!” Stephanie said.
Frank nodded towards the canal. “We're both scared to death of that thing.”
“Oh, I don't worry about the Dimatae much, Sir. For some reason they enjoy scaring people, but they're harmless.”
“Would you want to go swimming with them, Ms. Howard?” Frank asked.
“I'd feel safer with a Dimaton than I do with Fillbee,” she shot back.
Frank shook his head. “Let's hope we don't have to test the theory. And Fillbee might want to stay scarce when his boss shows up.”
“The headache?” Stephanie asked.
“Right. I suspect he won't be in a good mood.”
“I suppose we could recount the good news,” Stephanie said.
“And what would that be?”
“I'm awake now!” she said brightly.
Frank groaned. “I think I liked you better when you had only one eye open.”
“Not funny, Sir.”
“Right. I came down to see if Cedric was back yet. I see he's not. When he returns would you send him to my office?”
“Of course,” Mr. Nyman.
Frank walked back up the stairs at a slower pace than he had taken coming down. Jones had walked back into the office and was standing by Stephanie's desk.
“Cedric told me the Skipper got maybe an hour of sleep right before dawn,” he said.
“How does he do it?”
“He can't keep it up for long.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I seem to spend half my life waiting on one thing or another,” Frank said.
He and Smith sat in the outer office of the Provost of New Stockholm University.
“Beats trudging around in the snow in Montora,” Smith said.
“There is that,” Frank said. “The snow was impressive.”
“In a negative sense, Skipper.”
“Exactly. I wonder what Franklin will have to say the first time he experiences it?”
“He won't thank you or the Admiral.”
Frank shrugged. “There are a lot of things I don't thank the Admiral for.” He looked down at the floor. “Starting with a wife I left buried under the snows of Montora.”
Smith muttered an oath.
“What did you say, Cedric?”
Smith shook his head and glanced up at the ceiling. “Skipper, if you don't let this go, it's going to kill you.”
“Would that be such a bad thing, Cedric?” he asked.
“Look Skipper,” Smith said quietly and intensely, “if it were just me an' you, I'd say go jump. I'm getting tired of dealing with it. But you have a lot of people depending on you and they don't deserve this. You really need to...”
The door to the Provost's office opened and out walked a short, stocky man with a bad toupee.
“I am so sorry to keep you waiting,” he walked over to Frank and Cedric. “I'm Andreas Neckersulm.”
Frank stepped forward. “Frank Nyman. Thank you for agreeing to see us.”
“On the contrary, I should be the one thanking you.” He put his arm on Frank's shoulder and smiled warmly. “I realized I was rude to make you come all the way out here to the campus. We could have met somewhere in Gustav.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Well, whatever the case, I'm here now.”
“Oh, true. True. Won't you come into my office?”
Frank cocked his head. “Why not?” He stood up and followed the provost into his office. Smith followed him into the room, looked around and then stood by the door.
“Really, Mr. Nyman, there is no need to have your myrmidon in the room.” He chuckled. “Do you expect me to launch out of my chair and assault you?”
Frank smiled at the diminutive bald man. “I would be shocked if you did so. However, it has been known to happen in my recent past.”
“You must come from an uncivilized world. Something like that would never happen here, of course.”
“Here, meaning your office Mr. Neckersulm, or here meaning New Stockholm?”
The provost tilted his head slightly as he gazed at Frank. “Certainly not in this office, of course. But the planet itself is peaceful. I work hard to make it so.”
“Pardon me,” Frank said, “I'm not conversant with many of the customs around here, so how do I address you?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I am flattered you should ask. There are many barbarians out there who have not the slightest idea of the importance of an educational institution. My title is Provost. People either address me as Provost or as Doctor Neckersulm.”
Frank nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Neckersulm. You have raised another question in my mind. What is the relationship between the University and the town of Gustav?”
“How good of you to ask.” The provost actually sat back and clapped his hands together. “So many people have difficulty understanding that very point. This actually goes back to the discovery of Sarah's Star and New Stockholm. The planet was claimed simultaneously by a group of Swedish adventurers and an investment syndicate from North America on old Earth. Obviously this is a prime piece of real estate, and a shooting war nearly developed between th
e claimants. A last minute compromise was brokered, which set up this school as a solution. The details are a bit vague.”
“I hadn't heard this,” Frank admitted.
“Comparatively, it is ancient history. These events occurred more than two hundred years ago. Even our records are sketchy. Where did you go school, Mr. Nyman?”
“The Merchant Navy Academy,” Frank said.
“Ah, yes,” the provost sniffed. “We do exchange credits with them for our transfer students. Did you take any advanced work?”
“I took a Masters degree in economics from the Command and General Staff College.” This clown is certainly interested in the length of my appendage, Frank thought. “I retired from the navy several years ago to go into business.”
“Just so,” the provost said. “I presume we can repair to the topic of our meeting, then.”
“Unless you wanted to sit around and ruminate about local history.”
Neckersulm snorted. “Our history is long, turgid, and not very enlightening. No, since you have initiated a business on-planet, we need to discuss your contribution to the operation of the University.”
“Dr. Neckersulm, since I arrived on this dirt-ball, I have been shaken down by a succession of low life. It gets wearying. It becomes difficult to conduct business when everyone has his hand in your pocket. You will pardon me if I am not enthusiastic about contributing to your enterprise, and it looks like you are standing in line as well.”
“You are laboring under a misunderstanding,” the provost said. “We will, of course, need to address those others who seek to relieve you of your cash. But the university is responsible for planetary public services. We do not have taxes here. In lieu of that, the planetary businesses have traditionally supported the university through donations.”
“And so you just pulled a number out of the air for me to pay? This seems a bit arbitrary.”
Neckersulm folded his hands on his desk and looked across at Frank. “To be honest, it was arbitrary. This planet was set up as a university and no governing mechanisms were set in place by the founders to accommodate ancillary development. I know it was short-sighted on their part, but there you are. I did, indeed, pull a number out of the air, but we can assume it's a starting point for negotiations.”
“This is how you finance the whole planet?” Frank asked.
“It gives me no great joy to have to dun the local businesses for money, but it is part of my job. We could not survive otherwise.”
“Since you're shaking the money tree, what do I get for my contribution?” Frank asked.
“Your contribution helps support the local police and fire services as well as some of the infrastructure – primarily road maintenance. Power, water and sewer are managed by private companies.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Frank said. “But, your local police seem to be very thin on the ground.”
“I was coming to that. Can you tell me about your recent... unpleasant experiences?”
“Okay. When we first arrived, we got stopped at a road-block just outside the airport. It was only a few hundred C's, but it was annoying. Then I had a visit from one Benjamin Chavis...”
“Benjie has been hitting on you?” Neckersulm asked suddenly.
“One and the same,” Frank said.
“That is just unacceptable. I shall get the local police involved in this.”
“What does Chavis do for a living?”
“He claims to be in the export / import business,” the provost said, “but, we never see a lot of cargoes coming in or out for him. We don't have a lot of laws on the books here concerning how people should behave, but we do take a dim view of someone restricting another's freedom or economic circumstances.”
“As in a protection racket?” Frank asked.
“Exactly. If somebody like that gets out of line, we expel them off-planet. Usually that motivates them to be model citizens.”
“I think I understand,” Frank said. “If you can twist some arms there, I would appreciate it. While I am not anxious to part with cash when I am in startup mode, I can understand your position. How do you normally calculate a contribution?”
Neckersulm rubbed his hands together. “I am so glad you are being reasonable. I think you can be assured of a salubrious business environment in Gustav. We look at on-planet revenue and deduct your employee salaries.”
“That's interesting,” Frank said. “You encourage local employment then?”
“Yes. We had some early experiences with people washing large amounts of cash through here and none of the locals benefited. This seemed like a reasonable way to reach our goals.”
“I really can't argue about that. I have plans to move corporate operations from Earth to here. I guess I will end up with about forty employees here eventually. How does that work in with the contribution?”
“I really dislike complicating things for the Advancement Department employees,” Neckersulm said. “So, therefore I try to avoid things like tax rebates. Your assessment would decline the year after you add employees, and there would be a one-time discount to cover the balance of the previous year.”
“Is there any kind of a published financial statement for the university?” Frank asked.
“No, of course not. It is a private institution.”
“So how do I know my money is being used wisely?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Nyman, that we are very careful stewards of our income. You needn't worry.”
In other words, you have your hand in the till too, Frank thought. “Very well, let's see what we can come up with, then.”
§ § §
“I think we need to have a talk with George Liston,” Frank said as Smith maneuvered the groundcar through the city streets of Gustav.
“About the contributions?” Smith asked.
“Yep. This whole planet appears to be run by criminals. I can deal with that if they stay honest. I'd like to get some estimate of how much the provost is skimming from the proceeds.”
“Do you expect him to do anything about Chavis?”
“Remains to be seen, Cedric. I really don't expect him to. Much of what goes on around here is below the surface, which I assume you and Jones have seen already.”
“That is true, Skipper. We haven't figured out the rhythm yet. It's a little weird.”
“It's a lot weird.,” Frank said. “There has got to be more of a shadow government than anybody lets on. Things wouldn't otherwise work this way.”
“The question, Skipper, is whether we can dig it up without getting the admiral excited.”
“That's never far from my mind. And there is always the challenge of reading between the lines when the admiral gives one of his lectures. Did he park me here to keep my head down, or did he intend for me to fix things?”
Frank's com unit chirped. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the display.
“Hey, Stephanie.”
“Mr. Nyman, Mr. Love brought an info-chip to the office. He said it was his proposal for payroll services, if I understood him correctly.”
“Great. We're on our way back to the office. Do me a favor and take a look at it. I'd like to hear what you think.”
“Of course, Sir. But, I really don't know a lot about this stuff.”
“I hear you. But it's a good chance to learn. Besides, I believe you are a lot smarter than you think you are.”
Stephanie was silent.
“Are you still there?” Frank asked.
“Yes, Sir. Um. Maybe I shouldn't say this.”
“In for a Centime, Stephanie.”
“Well, Sir, I think I'm pretty smart. It's just that there are a lot of things I have to learn.”
Frank laughed. “That's a great attitude to have. We'll see you in fifteen.”
Frank was still chuckling as he put the com back in his pocket.
“I think the Brundages believe Krause put you here to fix things,” Smith commented, continuing the conversation.
“I think they do too. It still doesn't answer what I think I should do.”
“My advice, Sir, is to let the locals pitch a couple at you before you decide to take a swing. We don't know how fragile the local culture is, either.”
“Spoken like a true mercenary,” Frank chuckled.
“I did learn a few things from Colonel Putin.”
“I certainly hope so. I'd hate to think he spent all that money on you over the years, and you didn't soak up just a little bit of what he was trying to teach you.”
“Jones learned it all. I just let him take the lead.”
“Right,” Frank said.
Smith just grinned.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frank stepped into the study of the mansion on Wilton Street. The room was set up with bookshelves on three sides. The fourth wall was an octagonal area surrounded on five sides with windows which looked out upon a small garden. The beige carpet contrasted the dark walnut of the shelves and the trim. The desk was set facing the doorway and had a set of shelving behind it. I really like this room, he thought. Maybe I will find a measure of contentment in here.
George Liston had delivered a crate of Frank's belongings to the house and it appeared Emily Brundage had done some unpacking. A platinum paperweight with an embossed seal of the Merchants & Manufacturers League Navy on it lay on the desk. A holo-cube of Wendy sat on the other corner.
When Frank spotted the hologram of Wendy, he felt the pain of grief grip his chest. He spun around quickly and scanned the room. His captain's beret was carefully placed on the bookshelf, along with his small collection of antique folio volumes. He walked over to the shelves and picked up the folio bound Bible that Father Riggs had given him when he left Hepplewhite.
He picked up the Bible and opened it to a page at random, and read aloud. “For unless you believe I am He, you shall die in your sins.” He snorted and tossed the Bible back on the shelf. “Well, that really makes my day.”
There was a tap on the door and Emily stuck her head in. “I unpacked the crate of your belongings. I hope that was okay.”
