“So we can get out if we don’t mind leaving Koscuisko,” the Ship’s Engineer said, with no little degree of self-satisfaction in his voice. “What’s not to like?”
Disgusting. “Well, Koscuisko might have thoughts on the issue,” Rukota pointed out. Koscuisko wasn’t here. He had nobody to speak for him. It was almost too bad, how willing they seemed to be to leave Koscuisko to his own devices — except, of course, that a man with Koscuisko’s money had a much wider range of devices available to him than the Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Ragnarok.
“I’d better go down,” Vogel said to ap Rhiannon, letting Rukota’s protest pass without comment. “It’ll be expected. And we really can’t have home defense fleets in open conflict with Fleet resources. Jils Ivers is at Brisinje; she and Koscuisko have history together, and I’ve got to get to Brisinje anyway. Maybe I can call on her for help.”
Well, it wasn’t anybody’s history with Koscuisko that mattered so much as the almost irresistible temptation that something like this would present to the Emandisan fleet to take advantage of the situation to assert some autonomy. That was a problem for Bench specialists, though. Vogel was right enough about that.
Ap Rhiannon nodded. “Yes, thank you, Bench specialist. General Rukota will meet you on the docks to see you off.” She waited until Vogel had gotten up and made his salute and gone away. Then ap Rhiannon leaned across the table and looked at Two. “That ship?” she asked. Two shook her vulpine velvet-pelted head with sharp decisive clarity.
“Of course not, your Excellency. But so long as we are chasing a ship as if it had bond-involuntaries on it, honest port authorities will be doing their best to clear the vector approach so that a fugitive may be safely fired upon. Distracting authorities from bothering to question any other ships that might be approaching the vector at this moment. We are to abandon Andrej; it seems the least that we can do.”
Chase a ship, create a decoy. Leave Emandisan space. Get away. Ap Rhiannon sighed. “I’m not completely happy about that,” she said. “He is unquestionably a good surgeon. And he runs an efficient Infirmary. But better him than us.”
Well, if that didn’t restore his faith in ap Rhiannon’s enlightened self-interest. Yes. The ship did profit from Koscuisko’s medical skills. She had to cut her losses and run, though, and Rukota couldn’t argue too much with that.
“I’ll go make sure Vogel gets off,” Rukota suggested. “Good-greeting, your Excellency. First Officer. Engineer. Two. Doctor Farilk.”
He needed to find out what Farilk liked to drink, Rukota decided, on his way out of the room. He had an idea that Farilk’s take on staff meetings might be very different indeed than what Rukota thought was happening in them; and there was a vector transit in their near future, with nothing to do between here and Gonebeyond but gossip about one another.
###
Caleigh Samons stood at attention-rest behind Andrej Koscuisko in the captain’s office, trying hard to calculate how indebted she was to Koscuisko for giving her a spectator’s ticket to a show such as she could scarcely have imagined. Three senior officers from the Emandisan home defense fleet. A Bench intelligence specialist. First Officer, Captain Irshah Parmin, Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko, and even Weasel-Boy was here — though what his excuse might be she couldn’t guess, and nobody else had bothered to ask.
“Fleet Captain, with all due respect. Emandis Station and the public mercantile ports of Emandis proper are the lawful responsible of the Emandis home defense fleet. You have breached a public trust by your ill-considered actions. In earlier years it would certainly have been considered a direct insult.”
They had been called to the captain’s office when the delegation from Emandis Station had docked; Koscuisko had been offered a chair, and had sat down. The Emandisan officers had similarly been offered chairs, and had declined to sit — one among them bowing gravely in Koscuisko’s direction as they politely refused to be accommodated. Or accommodating.
Nobody had asked Weasel-Boy to sit and Caleigh wouldn’t have known what to do if anybody had asked her; First Officer had taken her post behind the captain, to his left. First Officer’s posture was perfect. Koscuisko’s posture was respectful and attentive, but confused — if she still knew how to read Koscuisko.
“Provost Marshal Jenner.” Irshah Parmin spread his hands out on his desk in a gesture of solicitation and propitiation, but it was a carefully controlled gesture — one that preserved the dignity of the office. “Surely that’s stating things a bit strongly. Even your merchant ships have a right to police up their own crew, though I grant you that we failed to go through proper channels to notify you first.”
“He’s not your crew. He’s the Ragnarok’s crew. And he’s an Emandisan national besides. You sent a team of Security into a public service house, your Excellency, to grab a man out of bed and terrorize an innocent young woman — our apologies, your Excellency, for the reference,” the provost marshal said to Koscuisko, as if an aside.
Then he faced back to where the captain sat waiting, clearly aware of the fact that the provost marshal wasn’t finished with him yet. “And in front of a Bench intelligence specialist, Captain. We consider this a very serious affront. If there was a First Judge presiding you would not be so ready to violate the integrity of the Port Authority, I think.”
Strong language. The Bench specialist referred to — a man of middling height with an iron-gray moustache and a fine physique, his battered old campaign hat tucked into the plaquet of his uniform, which looked so new as to create suspicion in Caleigh’s mind that it had been made specially for the occasion — made a little gesture with pursed lips, glancing down and away from the provost marshal; as if finding the odor of the Emandisan’s irritation a little high. He hadn’t said much beyond the polite exchange of greetings, though he and Koscuisko apparently knew each other.
The captain gathered his hands into a carefully arranged clasp on his desk in front of him, and spoke to his thumbs with equal care. “If there were a First Judge presiding, the Emandis home defense fleet might be a little more cautious in its accusations, provost marshal. Koscuisko is a Bench resource, not an Emandisan national. No disrespect was intended toward the Emandis home defense fleet or the Port Authority or anything to do with Emandis Station. I failed to consider that a simple administrative act might be so interpreted.”
He was telling the truth, too, Caleigh knew. First Officer had had reservations from the beginning. First Officer stood motionless and silent now, giving no sign of having any I-told-you-so sorts of thoughts. Caleigh had to admire her professionalism.
“Koscuisko carries five-knives,” The Emandisan provost marshal had gone a little pale, in Caleigh’s estimation. It was hard for her to tell, with Emandisan; they were darker-complected than many hominid sub-species, something like an average between the too-fair Dolgorukij and a Gilzirait as dark as the luminous shadow of an earth across the face of one of its moons.
She’d never learned to really interpret Joslire’s expressions, but when he had been dying his skin had seemed the color of a shark’s skin beneath the cold street-lights. “And five-knives are a cultural artifact of signal importance to our community. By virtue of the knives he is an Emandisan knife-fighter, and the operant term in this instance is ‘Emandisan.’ Furthermore he has family in port Jeltaria who have waited for a long time to talk about his relationship with his teacher.”
Would that be Joslire, Caleigh wondered? And the provost marshal wasn’t through with the captain yet — “We demand his immediate restoration, your Excellency. You have no right to hold an Emandisan citizen against his will, unless you accuse him of crimes against the Bench.”
Koscuisko stirred; he put his head down, covering his face with one hand, elbow leaning upon the arm of his chair. Was that a quiver or a twitch she saw disturb the fabric of the duty-blouse across his broad back? Was he laughing?
Captain Irshah Parmin was not insensible to the humor of the situation, even if the Emandisa
n themselves betrayed no sign of being anything less than absolutely serious. “Well, he was a Bench resource first,” the captain said. “Met his man Joslire in orientation, didn’t he? So he belongs to Fleet first, and Emandis second. And he’s got people of his own, I understand, but they’re not complaining, so forget them.”
The captain stood up. “While regretting having given offense, Provost Marshall, I repeat that we view this as a strictly internal Fleet matter. One in which the Emandisan home defense fleet should not interfere or attempt to intervene. Specialist Vogel?”
What the captain meant to ask or expected to hear from the Bench specialist were fated to remain forever unknown. Before he had a chance to more than say Vogel’s name the talk-alert cleared its attention-tone, and the Intelligence officer’s voice resounded throughout the room.
“With respect, your Excellency, and my apologies for the interruption, sir. The Ragnarok has cast off its freight-lines and is preparing to leave the docks. Stated destination, the dar-Nevan vector, to leave Emandis system for an undisclosed location.”
Koscuisko put his hands to the arms of his chair and half-rose out of his seat, his shoulders practically radiating mistrustful fury — glaring at Specialist Vogel.
The Emandisan didn’t look surprised. And neither did Specialist Vogel. That fact did not escape the notice of Captain Irshah Parmin, who raised his eyebrows at Vogel and growled. “What is this, Bench specialist?”
Vogel raised a loosely clenched fist to his mouth and coughed with polite diffidence. “Oh, yes. That. Some of the Ragnarok’s troops have gone missing, seven in all. The Ragnarok’s Intelligence officer has credible evidence that places them en route to the exit vector even now.”
Caleigh did a quick mental calculation. It was nearing the end of third-shift in a very eventful day; she had borrowed Koscuisko from the service house this morning. Early this morning. Had they even been at the service house when she had done the thing? She’d been worried about Koscuisko’s bond-involuntary security, and they hadn’t even been in the service house at all.
Had that been why the house staff hadn’t challenged her story more strenuously — because they knew that Koscuisko’s Security had already left, or were leaving? Had they assumed that Caleigh’s team had been replacements for Koscuisko’s security, Scylla and Ragnarok taking turns to husband a valuable resource?
Koscuisko closed his eyes with a grimace that Caleigh could not interpret, and slumped back in his seat. The Emandisan provost marshal nodded.
“Requested clearance to go in pursuit,” the provost marshal said. “Load-out was at a status break, so there wasn’t much of an issue with terminating the load without completing the inventory, though it does leave the ship without its third redundancy in dry-goods. We’re told that evidence puts the fugitive ship on an approach vector that could place them in Gonebeyond.”
“There’s a ship, is there?” the captain demanded, harshly. “Wait, let me guess. It’s an Emandisan. No. Wait. A Combine ship.”
“Neither, by report,” Vogel replied, calmly and with measured regret in his voice. “Some fairly general-purpose rental fleet ship aroused suspicions when it logged an unusual angle of approach to the vector, and it doesn’t seem to behave quite like a ship of its class with a standard-components propulsion system. I’m sorry, your Excellency, this must come as a blow, I’ve heard that you were close.”
“Robert,” Koscuisko said, as if he was agreeing with something that Vogel had suggested. “Robert, and Lek, and Pyotr — who would have thought — ”
“Hah,” Doctor Lazarbee said. Caleigh only just barely didn’t jump; she’d forgotten he was in the room, but yes, here he was, coming forward to stand beside the chair in which Koscuisko sat. “So much for the Koscuisko mystique, eh? Put the rascals on Safe and they’re out of here. Maybe it was a mistake to bring ‘em, Koscuisko, reminded them of what sorts of things happen to your Security — stabbed, wasn’t it?”
Koscuisko stood up from out of his chair altogether too quickly, pivoting on the heel of one foot as he came and pushing with the ball of the other to provide the impetus for his movement.
Caleigh saw the black-clothed arc of Koscuisko’s right arm raised with swift but controlled power too late to intervene before his clenched fist made contact with the side of Weasel-Boy’s jaw and sent him staggering backwards to fall over a chair in the captain’s conference area and collapse.
Caleigh was impressed. Koscuisko had always been strongly left-dominant when she’d had the training of him. Stildyne had clearly been working closely with Koscuisko to balance out his available lines of attack.
“You released the Ragnarok?” the captain asked the Emandisan provost marshal. From the tone of his voice he already knew the answer. The provost marshal did not shrug — he was more polite than that — but the shrug was in the air regardless.
“Load-out terminated by request, inventory duly signed over, we have no reason to wish to detain a ship ready to depart,” the provost marshal said. In the corner of the room Caleigh could see Doctor Weasel-Boy struggling to rise before subsiding into a helpless crumple once again. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention.
“I have an unresolved issue with the Ragnarok,” Irshah Parmin pointed out, very reasonably and calmly, Caleigh thought. “The ship is also under appeal of very serious charges, guilty of mutiny in form at best. If I let the Ragnarok depart from system with a full munitions load I fail in my duty to the Fleet and to the Bench. We leave immediately to intercept the Ragnarok, First Officer, mark and move.”
Koscuisko sat back down, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand absent-mindedly, thanking Caleigh with a nod when she handed him a white-square to wipe his hand. His skin was bleeding. Just as well, really; blood cleaned a wound. “She’s going without me,” Koscuisko said to Vogel. “Damn her. And damn you, too, for letting her, that’s my ship, Vogel, those are my people.”
“We’ll begin the disengage immediately, of course,” the provost marshal said to Irshah Parmin. “If I recall correctly we’re in the middle of the potable water cycle, though, we won’t be able to shift until we can complete the cycle if we don’t want to risk a major spill. Probably half a day, Fleet Captain.”
“No, disengage now, if we wait half a day we’ll never catch that ship, the Ragnarok can probably make the vector in half a day — ”
It certainly made things convenient for the Ragnarok, Caleigh thought — Koscuisko’s Security deciding to make a run for it. Too convenient? No, Koscuisko seemed genuinely rattled by Vogel’s revelation. A lucky accident, then, for the Ragnarok.
“I’m sorry, Fleet Captain, but we must insist. We don’t like to disengage mid-process at all, it’s dangerous to try to stop mass load sequences once they’ve been initiated. Taking any shortcuts cannot be countenanced. No.” The provost marshal sounded sincerely regretful, utterly serious. There wasn’t the slightest hint of any gleeful cackling in his tone of voice, his expression, his body language.
“We’ll start to cut Scylla loose as soon as possible, but it will be at least sixteen hours. Perhaps twenty. You are in the middle of your reloads sequence, but we won’t have to handle too much by way of munitions recall, that will be a help.”
Captain Irshah Parmin stood up and leaned over his desk. “So we don’t have a chance. All right. Send some of your corvettes. Stop the Ragnarok short of the exit vector. I wouldn’t put it past her to take the entire ship into Gonebeyond on pretext — what a nightmare — ”
The provost marshal shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s an internal Fleet matter. We have no brief to intervene, and may not act on behalf of Fleet without direction from the Ninth Judge at Brisinje.”
“Which direction I will forward as soon as possible,” Vogel added, in a reassuring tone of voice. “I’m borrowing a courier from Emandis Station to take me to Brisinje immediately. I may even beat the Ragnarok to the vector, I don’t know, though, the Engineer can shift that hull with admir
able efficiency. Experimental technology, as I understand, it’s got a great future from what I see of it.”
“Infamous,” the captain said, sitting back down. In the corner, Doctor Weasel-Boy was still waving his arms and legs around in the air, very much like a beetle on its back. “You’re all in this together. Vogel. Provost Marshall. Koscuisko, for all I know. Well. If that’s the way you’re going to play it.”
The provost marshal bowed with perfect respect and precision. Yes. That’s exactly the way we’re going to play it. The captain nodded in disgusted resignation and continued.
“Go to Brisinje, Bench specialist, tell First Secretary Tirom that we’ll be held over here for a few days. Never mind sending the Emandisan fleet instructions, though, I don’t want to encourage anybody to throw themselves away in Gonebeyond. Koscuisko. You’re to be orphaned, it seems, and there are no Security resources on Emandis Station rated for specialty escort. After all, we had you picked up and packed off before anybody even noticed.”
That was unnecessary, Caleigh thought. But the captain was angry, now, in a calm understated Irshah Parmin sort of a way. Koscuisko had done it again. “So, with apologies, Provost Marshall, we’ll just keep him safe with us until Fleet can decide how to dispose of him. Koscuisko stays an internal Fleet matter. Will that be all?”
“Objecting once again in the strongest possible terms,” the provost marshal said to Vogel. “To repeat. Emandisan national, and a uniquely privileged citizen. Fleet has no authority to detain Koscuisko or to place his knives in bondage. We will be unable to permit the Scylla to leave Emandis Station so long as Koscuisko remains on board, unless of his own free will.”
Worse and worse and worse — almost absurdly so. “Do I get a say in this?” Koscuisko asked the captain.
“No.”
“Just asking,” Koscuisko replied politely, and seemed to relax in his chair. Koscuisko at least knew what was going to be happening to him, in the near term: nothing.
Warring States Page 35
