The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  He walked into Frank's office, shut the door, and then walked over to the chair.

  “How nice of you to drop in, Admiral,” Frank said. “Close the door. Have a seat.”

  “You always did have a big mouth, Captain, you know that?”

  “You've reminded me of that often enough. What do you want?”

  “I am just trying to get my mind around the fact that after I asked you to keep your head down here, you go and turn the place upside-down. You are almost more trouble than you are worth.”

  “Well let me tell you something, Admiral,” Frank said, “while you have been flitting about the known universe bleating about the sacred mission of humankind, I've been doing something about it. We have set up a representative government and are getting ready to kick the economy into gear.”

  “Who is we, Frank?”

  “The local merchants. We have given the franchise to the property holders. They have voted to institute some modest taxes to handle the governmental infrastructure and support the university. It's less than we were paying in graft, and looks to be going farther. Everyone here is happy, Admiral.”

  “And I cannot go an hour without getting another com call from the Provost. It appears you cleared out his treasury.”

  “He told you that?” Frank asked.

  “In so many words.”

  “And you believed him? The man is a liar. We didn't touch his piggy bank. We are, however, no longer allowing him to shake down the local merchants for money.”

  “Captain, I have entirely too much on my plate to once again try to patch things up where you're concerned.”

  “Admiral!” Frank yelled. “Pay attention! I eliminated a major problem in your sector. We have put in place a stable, honest government. The economy here will start growing strongly; we'll attract new business, and we'll eventually be able to defend ourselves. What's your problem?”

  “My problem is that you constantly seem to take things into your own hands...”

  “Yes, and so what? Most of the locals are overjoyed. If you don't have confidence in my capabilities, why do you keep sending me out as your trouble-shooter?”

  “And the deaths you caused?” Krause asked quietly.

  “They will haunt me. Especially Emily's husband.”

  “Gough Brundage is dead?” Krause asked.

  Frank nodded.

  Krause looked around the office, and grimaced. “Poor Emily.” He looked back at Frank. “That's exactly why I hate it when you meddle. You don't think about how this can affect the people around you.”

  Frank stood up and walked over to the door, and opened it.

  “Smith, I want you to throw Krause's boney butt out of here.”

  “Okay, Skipper.” Smith walked into the office, and up to the chair where the admiral sat. “Let's go, Sir.”

  Krause pushed himself out of the chair. “I can leave under my own power. Frank, at least let me buy you dinner.”

  “What?” Frank yelled. “Get out of my office!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  "When was the last time you slept, Skipper?" Smith asked.

  Frank was huddled over his cup of coffee and stared at the desk with bleary eyes. "I slept last night."

  "When? You were in the study until three."

  "What were you doing up at that hour?" Frank yelled. "Get out of here let me get some work done."

  Smith shook his head slowly and left the small office. He sat down at the desk in the outer office and began checking the mail on his comp term. He scratched his head as he looked at the incoming queue.

  "I still can't believe you blew Admiral Krause off like that," he said over his shoulder.

  "I no longer care what Willard Krause thinks. The only thing he has brought me is trouble. Every time he shows up I am reminded of how much better life used to be. Did that contract come in from Spanky?"

  "He said, changing the subject." Smith looked through his queue. "Not so far. When did you expect it?"

  "He told me soon. Can you give him a nudge when you have a moment, Cedric?"

  "I think Stephanie is meeting with him today," Smith said. "Let me see if she can remind him."

  "That's a good idea. The Woogies seem to do better face-to-face. It looks to me like Stephanie and Spanky have formed a friendship."

  "Doesn't that seem a little odd to you, Skipper?"

  "Yes, but she could do a lot worse for friends."

  Smith nodded and then bent to his work. He was surprised at the amount of clerical work required to run a shipping business, and he knew Frank was too. This was something Wendy had always taken care of. Between Emily, and the Liston's help they were able to add employees at a rate that kept them from being covered up. But, the business grew almost faster than they could keep up with.

  The morning proceeded and after several consultations, Frank retreated into his office and shut the door. He told Smith he needed to concentrate on one of the contracts, but the sergeant wondered if he was looking for an opportunity to put his head down and get some sleep. He hoped that was the case. Frank Nyman wasn't sleeping.

  The door to the office opened and in walked a tall raven-haired young man. The muscular form seemed to crowd the doorway as he stepped through. Smith slowly grinned, and got to his feet.

  "Hello, Cedric. I see they don't let normal people share an office with you still," Franklin James Nyman, Junior said.

  A more normal sized young man with sandy hair stepped around Franklin.

  "Sergeant Smith," Franklin said, "this is Spaceman Second Murray Hopper. Hopper, this is Sergeant Cedric Smith of the Baltic Regiment."

  Hopper nodded. "You're a long way from home, Sarge."

  "I could say the same about you too," Smith said. "It sort of goes along with picking up after thissun's old man. Something about this family, Hopper. It's hard to keep them out of trouble."

  Hopper started to speak, and Franklin stopped him. "I've known Smith all my life and he can pretty much say what he pleases. You're not quite at that stage yet."

  Hopper looked at Smith and shrugged.

  Smith smiled more broadly. "Something tells me Hopper has already assumed this role with you, Franklin."

  "Yes, and sometime in the very near future he is going to get caught on the wrong side of an airlock without a spacesuit. It will be an ugly surprise."

  Smith chuckled. "I shouldn't worry too much, Hopper. Franklin's dad has threatened me with the same thing for years. When it comes right down to it, they know they can't do without us."

  "There are times I would love to try, though," Franklin said.

  Smith did laugh, then. "His dad says that, too."

  "Is he like his father, then?" Hopper asked.

  "Not really," Smith replied. "Other than the idle threats, of course."

  "Speaking of which," Franklin asked, "is he around? I got directions at the starport, but the last I heard you had an office along the waterfront."

  "We're moving up in the world, Franklin. You're looking at the corporate offices for Nyman Trans-Space, Limited. Your dad is in that office over there," Smith nodded. "You can go on in. I'll take Hopper for a cup of coffee."

  "You will?" Hopper asked.

  Franklin laughed. "Don't argue with the man, Hopper."

  Smith grabbed Hopper's arm, and propelled him toward the door. "Coffee shop is in the lobby of the building. We'll load up, and then I'll give you the nickel tour."

  They walked down the short hallway to the lift, and then took it to the first floor. Hopper carefully studied the building as they moved through it.

  "I guess you didn't want me around for the reunion?" Hopper asked.

  Smith shook his head. "They needed some time alone together, Hopper. Frank, Senior has still not got his head screwed on straight again after his wife was killed. I have gotten very worried about him."

  They stepped out of the lift and moved towards the front doors of the building. To their right was a small alcove containing a snack shop. Sm
ith pushed the button on the coffee machine, and filled two cups. He laid a Centauran on the counter for the clerk; then stepped away, handing one of the cups to Hopper.

  They wandered down the first floor hallway. Smith stopped and faced Hopper. “Okay, give me the thumbnail report. What's been going on on Hepplewhite?”

  Hopper quickly filled him in on the details of the pirate raid, along with Franklin's efforts to put together a crew for the ex-navy destroyer. Smith shook his head sadly when he heard how the Foxworths had been treated while in captivity.

  “So, in your view, Franklin put together a cohesive crew for Canopus?”

  “I'm really not experienced enough to tell you that, Sarge. But I do know the crew would follow the Skipper anywhere.”

  Smith considered what Hopper told him, then nodded once, and resumed walking.

  "The first two floors are mostly leased," Smith said. “The third floor is about half-full, and the fourth was completely empty until we moved in."

  "Nice looking building," Hopper said. "I guess the owner was anxious to lease space."

  "We bought the building, or rather Nyman Trans-Space did. At the rate we're growing, I expect we won't have much trouble filling it up."

  Hopper nodded, then took a sip of his coffee. He shuddered. "This stuff is vile."

  Smith snorted. "Sure is. However, it has the necessary qualities we're looking for."

  "What's that?"

  "It's got lots of wakey-wakey," Smith said. "You apparently have not been in the military long."

  "You mean because I'm not used to the coffee?"

  "You got it. Where are you from?"

  "I grew up in Cambridge on Hepplewhite. I worked as a bouncer for Louie the Woogie, and then Major Boodles hired me."

  "Let's take the stairs here, Hopper," Smith said as he opened a door. "How did the Major come to notice you?"

  "I helped him during the pirate raid, Sarge. I have hunted enough that I can pretty much hit what I point the rifle at. I nailed a couple of the pirates when they were trying to loot Cambridge. The major saw me and pulled me back when the pirates were coming after me."

  Smith open the door to the second-floor hallway. "As you can see we've got tenants pretty much filling this floor. Mostly lawyers, and accountants. I think we have a couple of dentists here too."

  "So are you going to throw them out so you can use the building?" Hopper asked.

  "Not any sooner than we can help. The boss wants the revenue. I figure you must have done pretty well with the rifle if the major decided to keep you around." Smith snorted once again. "It certainly wasn't because of your mouth."

  "Hey, Sarge! I'm not that bad."

  "Right."

  "No, I mean the Skipper is so easy."

  "You may have a point there, Hopper. Young Franklin gets that from his old man, I think."

  "You see what I mean then?"

  Smith stopped in the hallway and turned to face Hopper. "I understand what you're saying. But, it seems to me you need to learn when to speak, and when to keep quiet."

  "I tried, Sarge, but sometimes the opportunities are just too good to pass up."

  "And that's what will get you into hot water someday, Hopper."

  Smith continued walking down the hall. "As you can see, we aren't going to need to do much in the way of renovations.”

  "Is Mr. Nyman, Senior going to flake out?" Hopper asked.

  "As they say in the Regiment, that's above my pay grade. By the way, Hopper, where does your paycheck come from?"

  "From the Baltic Regiment. I was trained there, and I guess I'm on loan to the Skipper."

  "Through this door here, Hopper. We'll take the stairs on up to the roof. A bit of advice for you: you'd better learn to curb your tongue because sooner or later you will meet the Colonel, and he takes a dim view of that kind of humor."

  Hopper said nothing as they climbed up the stairs and stepped out onto the roof.

  Smith pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. He offered one to Hopper, who declined. "This is my own personal sanctuary, Hopper I come out here when the boss is not fit to be communicated with."

  "I have met the Colonel, Sarge. And you're right."

  "Ah," said the Sergeant, "and did the Colonel explain the facts of life to you?"

  "The Skipper said he has shot people."

  "He has. I don't believe he would shoot you for mouthing off, but you want to think carefully about annoying him."

  "Nice view up here," Hopper said. "This seems like a nice planet."

  "It has its moments," Smith said. "And another thing. This isn't advice, it's just practical operations. We call Frank, Senior the Skipper too. We're going to have to do something to avoid confusion."

  "I understand, Sarge. But, I can't just call him Franklin. It's not respectful."

  "There's hope for you yet," Smith laughed.

  “I really want to do a good job, Sarge. I mean, it's a job and all that, but I really like these people.”

  Smith folded his arms across his chest and puffed on his cigarette. “Let me ask you this, Hopper: do you like young Franklin well enough to catch a bullet for him?”

  Hopper grew still as he regarded the sergeant. “I never thought about that, Sarge. I mean I'm trained as a guardsman. I am also the Skipper's steward.”

  “That's well and good. But you should think about how you will react when things drop into the crapper. And if you hang around one of the Nymans, things surely will. They draw trouble like flies on cow plops. And they don't shrink away from it. Sooner or later somebody's going to draw bead, and you will act automatically. Decide now whether you will jump in front of the projectile, or hit the floor. You won't have time when it happens.”

  “What are you trying to say, Sarge?” Hopper asked.

  Smith glared at Hopper. “Maybe I ought to throw you off the roof and save Franklin the trouble.”

  “Sorry, Sarge. It's just that you've given me a lot to think about.”

  Hopper walked over to the roof edge and looked out. "There they are down there," he pointed.

  Smith walked over to the edge and looked down to see the two Nymans standing at the edge of the pond.

  "Yeah, they've got a lot to talk about. Young Franklin seems to have grown up in a hurry."

  "He rescued Signe's parents from the pirates," Hopper said.

  "And who is Signe?" Smith asked.

  "She is the Prime Minister's daughter."

  "Are they an item, Hopper?" Smith asked

  "Yes, Sarge. He wants to marry her."

  “I hope it works out. Wish the old man would find somebody.”

  They watched as Frank Senior tossed the remains of his cup of coffee into the pond. The two men then walked back towards the building.

  "Come on, Hopper. Let's get back to the office."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  When Smith and Hopper returned to the office Frank was back in his chair and Franklin was sitting across from him. Frank was talking on his comm unit. Smith waved Hopper into a chair in the outer office.

  “So what is the security situation like around here, Sarge?” Hopper asked.

  “It's been cloudy, but now it's clearing off, I think. The local business leaders arranged a little putsch a couple of weeks ago and granted some teeth to the mayor. They're holding elections in a couple of weeks for people to write a constitution.”

  “I didn't realize you had a tyrant here.”

  “In so many words, Hopper. We had a local gang-lord collecting protection money from the locals and sharing the take with the Provost of New Stockholm University. This is in lieu of taxes, understand.”

  “Any fighting, then?”

  “Nope. The local gang-lord disappeared and has not been seen since. Nobody seems to know what happened to him. Otherwise it was nearly bloodless. Funny thing about this place, Hopper, is that nobody seems to care much. Even the riff-raff were incompetent.”

  Hopper pondered that for a moment before speaking. “T
hat kind of operation, I'm surprised Mr. Nyman wasn't involved, if not directly running it.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow and rubbed the side of his nose. “Even now there are things we don't talk about.”

  “Oh.”

  The two Nymans walked out of Frank's small office.

  “I thought we'd have lunch at Rapunzel's,” Frank said. “The Provost just called and is requesting a meeting. Maybe Stephanie can give our guests a tour of the waterfront this afternoon.”

  Smith tilted his head one way, and then the other. “I guess between Stephanie and Hopper, here, young Franklin will be safe enough.”

  “Oh, go jump, Cedric,” Franklin said.

  Frank snorted. “I'll leave it to you two to fight it out in the car.”

  Hopper said nothing as he followed them to the lift.

  “Nice car, Dad,” Frank said as they climbed into the Dancer limo.

  “Thanks. I have to give credit to the estimable Smith & Jones. They are great scroungers.”

  “Kind of like the Navy Chiefs,” Franklin said.

  “Please,” Smith said. “The ground-pounders are in a whole other league when it comes to scrounging.”

  Smith climbed behind the wheel and Hopper jumped into the passenger seat. The Nymans got into the back seat.

  “This thing new, Dad?”

  “Close enough. A new Dancer Capitan would have cost more, and it's not nearly the car the Diplomat is.”

  “I'm not familiar with these,” Franklin said. “Is this a standard model?”

  “No, it's been through the coach works.”

  “If Smith & Jones uncovered this one, it's a classic case of the blind pig finding an acorn.”

  “To tell the truth, Son, I couldn't have made it here without them.”

  “Don't let that go to your head, Cedric,” Franklin said.

  “It's amazing how oblivious some people can be,” Hopper said quietly to Smith.

  “I heard that, Hopper! And quit rolling your eyes.”

  Smith looked over at Hopper and grinned.

  Smith eased the big car through the early lunch traffic to a reserved parking spot near the boardwalk.

  “End of the road, Gentlemen,” he said. “From here it's shank's pony.”