"That came up in my discussions. The Republic will indemnify the injured parties. Just try to make things a little less spectacular than last time."
I winced. "How far can I go, and what is sanctioned?" Consuela leaned forward and started ticking points off on her fingers. "First, you are to learn what is taking place on Basalt and Handy's role in it. You are to intervene as best you can to maintain The Republic's stability. Second, you are to discern the players in whatever is happening, including Handy's superiors. If it is possible, we would like evidence collected that would be sufficient for prosecution in our highest courts. If we can make an example of people on a world like Basalt, it might well give others pause."
"And if they are beyond prosecution?"
"How so?" "If they have destroyed the evidence or if witnesses are slain so they are insulated from any and all charges?" I looked Consuela straight in the eye. "What if someone's continued existence is a direct threat to The Republic's stability, and the only way to stop them is to kill them?" "We would prefer other problem-solving methods that could be reversed."
"If I have other options, I'll exercise them." I chewed my lower lip for a second. Through my mind's eye ran the holographs of Aldrington Emblyn and the various Germaynes. I had no desire to kill or cause the death of any of them, but if they were the ones injecting poison into The Republic and I couldn't convince them to stop, I would be left with little choice.
Kitsune regarded me carefully. "You will accept this mission, then?" "I have to. It took me four months on Helen to get close to Handy. If you were to assign this to any of the other phantoms it would take at least that long to get to him. A lot of blood could flow in that time, and that's just unacceptable." I gave them both a grim smile. "It's time for this wolfhound to get out and begin some pest control. I want the job and I'll do it very well."
20
The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly,
is to fill the world with fools.
- Herbert Spencer
Inbound, DropShip Somerset
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
29 January 3133
Arrangements were made for me to leave Terra immediately. I'd go to Epsilon Indi, then on to Fletcher and finally to Basalt. I sent a message ahead indicating I'd go from Epsilon Eridani to Ingress and then Basalt. I pegged my arrival on that later course as being the third of February. That put me on the ground four days before Handy was expecting me, which is exactly what I wanted.
We doubted my message, which would originate from Epsilon Eridani, would get there much before I did. I wasn't certain if The Republic would have someone traveling on the ships I said I was going to take to look out for any agents Handy might have in place on the journey in. It wouldn't have been a bad thing, and would have put at least one more Republic official on the ground where I could get some help if I needed it.
And I was pretty sure I was going to need it at some point or other. Whether this was a wolf pack or a lion's den, things would definitely get messy. Having backup would be useful, and I was given a variety of locations for dead-drops and names of contacts I could use if need arose.
The toughest thing about the journey was that Janella's parents chose to head back home to Fletcher on the same DropShip. They were utterly unaware of my journey and apparently had made a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave Terra. "I'm not sure what more good I can do on Fletcher," Thomas Lakewood had said, "but as long as I'm a Knight of The Republic, I should be doing something."
Dodging them was not as difficult as might be imagined. I let my beard grow, which changed the line of my jaw and filled my face out. I also cut my hair shorter and colored it. If blonds do have more fun, you couldn't tell by the trip I made, but, then again, that shade of yellow is seldom seen in nature so most folks didn't look at it or beyond it for long. When going undercover I usually avoid dyeing my hair, since dye jobs have to be maintained and that looks suspicious. Handy would know exactly why I was dyeing it, though, so he'd accept it.
From Terra out to Fletcher I flew on theMunson , then transferred to theSomerset for the run to Basalt. On theMunson I kept to steerage, didn't make many friends and skinned enough folks playing poker that I soon didn't get invited to games. That worked fine for me, as I spent the time downloading books from the ship's meager library and boning up on Basalt history.
My arrival on the planet proved uneventful and, using my poker winnings, I took a room at the Grand Germayne Hotel. I liked the place a lot, even if it was on the shabbier side of elegant: carpets just a bit too worn, Tri-Vid sets small and outdated, the menu the sort of thing that would have made my grandparents think they were eating all that cutting-edge cuisine enjoyed by the royals on New Avalon. The hotel's chief claim to fame was that Duke Aaron Sandoval had once stayed there, and it was pretty easy to imagine I was seeing the same wallpaper in the halls that he'd seen.
Once I'd gotten settled in, I ventured out into the downtown of Manville, the capital city. It had been built on a series of nine hills at the confluence of three rivers that joined on their ways north. The downtown occupied the area just south of the convergence and had been built up into a lush riparian park with bridges over the rivers and cable cars running from one hill to another.
On this particular world, the native plants tended toward shades of blue instead of green, and while quite edible by humans and our herd animals, provided an exotic air to a world, especially for me so recently come from Terra. When disembarking I'd heard someone else remark that the plants made the world look as if the Tri-Vid needed adjustment. It could have been the result of the time I'd spent tending roses, but I actually appreciated the subtle shapes and colors that let these plants thrive here.
The color of the plants was not the only thing that struck me as unusual. Perhaps it was because I'd been on Terra of late, and at a Republic facility to boot, but the signs of stress on the society surprised me. Basalt, in theory, had been stable for a long time, but the signs of division were easy to spot. Ethnic Capellans and Kuritans tended to glance down and move out of my way as I walked through a largely Davion section of the city. In some shop windows I could see faint hints of Japanese lettering that had been hastily scraped away. In other places I saw hand-lettered signs reading "Loyal to Basalt," accompanied by iconic pictures of Achilles Germayne shaking hands with Victor Steiner- Davion.
This shocked me. I did see a few boarded-up shops, but no signs of overt violence. Some Asian shopkeepers did hang in the doorways of their stores, glancing hopefully in my direction, but dejectedly dropping their heads as I made no move to enter their establishments. I might have, but the venomous glances given to them by other Anglos like me suggested patronizing those establishments would be outside the norm. Since my job was to fit in, I avoided attracting attention and went about my business quietly.
I had not traveled to Basalt with much in the way of clothes for two reasons. First, Sam didn't leave Helen with much. Moreover, my job was to fit in with society here at least until I met Handy.
Since fashion varies world to world, had I decked myself out in what was the very latest on Epsilon Eridani, for example, I'd look like a clown on Basalt. The last time I'd looked like a clown, things had not gone well, so I was determined to avoid repeating that experience.
I hit several department stores and didn't buy the latest and greatest, but instead went to the clearance racks and picked out those clothes that were the least ugly. I mean, some of those clothes never should have been stocked in the first place, so it is little wonder they never sold. The normal stuff, though, made it to the clearance rack because it was a season behind. Okay, a season old on Basalt was an antique on other high-fashion worlds, but by purchasing slightly dated clothes here, I'd look as if I'd been around for a while. I'd fit in easily, and that was what I wanted.
I made one exception to this rule and went to a high-end store where I got scanned for a suit. I added to it all the ap
propriate things from head to toe, skin out. If I needed to move into some upper- crust circles, I wanted the right uniform there, too. This made the clerk very happy and I agreed to return the next day to get the altered clothes.
My last stop was to a styling salon, when I got my hair, as the personal-care consultant put it, "color corrected," to a shade that wouldn't make people's eyes bleed. I also got my beard trimmed down into a barely there line of stubble that was supposed to be all the rage on Basalt. It didn't do that much for me one way or another, but it looked easy to maintain, so that worked in my favor.
Coiffed and accoutered, I returned to the Grand Germayne and my room. A lot of the spycraft I'd been taught focused on noticing the little things, as they might give one an edge in any situation. I had, in fact, seen two people in the lobby I thought might be house detectives, or local police, but both were plainclothed and didn't pay any attention to me. I'd also been trained to do something like close my door on a thread, which would invariably fall out when someone opened my door, thereby warning me someone had been through the room.
This is good in theory, save for three things. In general, household staff will be in and out of hotel rooms on a nearly random basis, whether delivering things or lifting things. They won't look for, notice or replace an errant thread. Spies, on the other hand, will look for those things and will make sure they're back in place so there will be no warning at all.
The third thing was what confronted me. My door was standing wide open. There wasn't a housekeeping cart in sight, which did send up little alarm signals for me. It seemed pretty obvious that whoever had opened my room had no desire to hide this fact, which meant this visit was benign or the individual was beyond being disciplined.
In this case, it was both.
As I came through the door and the narrow hallway with the bathroom to the left, the first I saw of him was his legs. They were long and thick, which was in keeping with the rest of him. I'd seen hams smaller than his upper arms. He rose from the chair and it groaned in relief. He towered over me by a good eighteen centimeters and likely was carrying twice my weight. Looking at him I wondered if he weren't a Clan Elemental, bred for size and strength, shucked out of his powered armor.
His voice came deep and powerful, despite the long trip the words had to make to escape his chest. "Drop the packages, turn around, hands against the wall. You've done this before."
I tossed the bags onto the bed and, apparently, this was not exactly in keeping with his instructions, or I wasn't complying with the rest of them fast enough. He reached me very quickly, grabbed me up under the armpits, spun me around like a child, then gave me a little toss against the wall. I'd have rebounded from it and landed on the bed, but a big hand in the middle of my back jammed me against the wallpaper which, this close up, appeared to have weathered long years of service rather well.
He patted me down very professionally, checking all those places where a holdout blaster or a titanium throwing dart might be hidden. Once he'd finished, his left hand snaked up and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and pitched me backward onto the bed. My landing scattered bags. I lay there looking up at this giant with his balled fists planted on his hips.
"I am Colonel Nicodemus Niemeyer. I command the Capital District's Public Safety Department. We are not the Constabulary. My people answer to me and I answer to Count Hector. He likes my work. A lot. We deal with the problems they are not equipped to handle."
I raised my hands. "I believe . . ."
". . . I have you mistaken for someone else?" The man's deep blue eyes became angry slits, and the thick white mustache he wore quivered. "Though you are here, I shall assume you are not a fool, and you will do me the same courtesy. ComStar may not be functioning well, but I review with interest criminal cases. We are very diligent here in logging the names and identification numbers of those who cause trouble. You, Sam Donelly, are such a person. What is the purpose of your visit to Basalt?" Lowering my hands, I slid myself back on the bed and leaned against the headboard. "You don't want me to take you for a fool, then live up to your end of the bargain. This is The Republic. I don't have to answer that question or any other without advice of counsel. That said, I'm here to enjoy Basalt's scenic beauty."
"Then you will be remembering the key rules to your wilderness adventure. Leave everything as you found it. Don't disturb the native life. Stay on the paths and don't go wandering because it could be dangerous out there."
I listened to his words and watched him standing there, and I found it easy to imagine Commander Reis adopting the same pose and saying the same things. The main difference was that with Reis it would have been posturing, backed by empty threats. Niemeyer was what Reis would have aspired to be, but never could become without a steel spine insert and a gallon of neurons being poured into his skull.
I wanted to like the man, but until I knew the political lay of the land, he was one of those dangers waiting for me in the wilderness.
"I'll do my best to remember that."
"Good. Now, this is the part of the conversation we've never had. I know why you're here. I know why all of you are here, and I won't have it on my planet. If trouble erupts and I know you did it, I'm not going to worry about proof beyond a reasonable doubt. If I bring you in and book you on charges, I face hours of paperwork, months in court, and I hate that. If I burn the back of your skull off with a laser and leave you out there for the nibblers, I file one missing persons report and I'm done. I already have yours filled out, in fact."
"Oh, transmit the file to my ex-wife. She'll be a big fan of your work."
His expression soured and the white brush-cut hair on his head actually seemed to bristle.
"You've been down this road before, Donelly, and you've danced around disaster somehow, but your luck runs out here. I'm going to be especially watchful of you because you're smarter than the others."
"Smart enough to stay out of trouble, Colonel."
"You better be, Donelly. I've got enough trouble dealing with problemsnative to my world here. The last thing I need is more mercenary thugs making life here difficult. I've not always subscribed to the idea that the only good mercenary was a dead one, but the concept is growing on me."
"I'll be no trouble at all, Colonel."
"Next time, try it with more feeling, moron." He snorted. "You're not as smart as you think you are. You'll fall."
"You'll be there to catch me?" "I'll be there to make sure you don't get back up." His expression tightened. "Basalt is a peaceful world. It has been that way, off and on, for centuries. Even during the civil war we kept things quiet. Reforms were painless and we've done well. I'm not letting that change now. And you tell your boss that he can think himself immune to my touch, but he's not."
I almost tossed off another denial, but nodded instead. "If the opportunity arises, I'll pass your message along. I won't be bringing you a reply."
He considered for a moment, then nodded. "You can just go home, you know. You can head back out on theSomerset . I'll get money to cover your passage."
"Offers like that will gut your tourist trade."
"I don't want my world gutted."
"You've made that clear." I rose from the bed. "I appreciate your stopping by. Don't hesitate to come again. I look forward to seeing you."
"Yeah, sure. You won't like it when you don't see me, Donelly. Staying, you're being stupid."
He started for the door, then looked back over his shoulder at me. "Don't go all the way to idiocy, because it's a fatal disease around here."
21
An ally has to be watched just like an enemy.
- Leon Trotsky
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
29 January 3133
Niemeyer's visit, though brief, was enough to focus me on an important part of my job, and the reason I'd arrived early. I needed to scan the local political situation to see if I could figure o
ut what the teams were and where Handy was going to have me work. Niemeyer was clearly one faction, though exactly how strong and how aligned I had yet to figure out. Clearly if he were warning folks off and even offering to pay them to leave, he hadn't yet made the transition to outlaw that his threats suggested. While I had no doubt he could murder me and leave me in the wilderness for the nibblers to get, telling me he would do it and actually doing it were worlds apart.
Nibblers were, in some ways, the antithesis of Niemeyer, because their bite was definitely worse than their bark. The little predators were native to Basalt, ran up to sixty centimeters in length and fifteen kilos in weight. Thoroughly disagreeable creatures, they would hunt and scavenge anything, consuming its bone, sinew, hair and meat. It was highly recommended that folks should not go camping alone in Basalt's parks because if you happened to die in your sleep, or fall down and get injured, the only traces of you that would ever be found would be badly dented metal like belt buckles and jewelry.
A smaller species of the creatures had entered the cities, occupying the same ecological niche as rats on other worlds. As a result, animals that were considered pets on Basalt tended to be medium to large dogs with a history of ratting. Someone once had the plan of introducing large snakes to Basalt to clear off the nibblers, but the beasts got to gathering at the point where the snakes were released into the forests. They just loved that wriggle-steak.
In fact, the only thing that kept them in check is that they were as cannibalistic as they were territorial. I definitely had the feeling that Niemeyer saw me as a nibbler, along with the others he'd alluded to. The analogy seemed rather apt and when I got back to Terra I was going to convince Consuela to change from jackals to nibblers as her totem creature for troublemakers.
In one more way the idea of our being nibblers was appropriate because, twenty years ago, the locals made an effort to soften the image of nibblers. Cuddly plush toys were created in their image. A local author started a series of children's books featuring one as the hero. The "Nifty the Nibbler" character had even starred in a series of Tri-Vid shows I remember seeing as a kid-not that I knew what he was or where he was from.
BattleTech : Mechwarrior - Dark Age 01 - Ghost War (2002) Page 16
