by Jaleta Clegg
"I'm curious, Captain Everett," Lowell said, breaking the silence in the room, "do you move freely across the border with the Federation? Does it affect trade at all?"
Everett looked startled. He shot a quick glance at Paltronis. She shrugged.
"I'll be honest," Everett answered, "trade in the Federation is much better than it ever was in the Empire."
"Then that would explain the shortages of goods and the lack of ships to haul them," Lowell said. "I knew it was more than just losing the ag worlds."
Everett ran a finger back and forth across his mustache. The gesture was familiar. Lowell had met this man before. He was the one who had given Dace her cat. He'd been involved in the mess on Xqtl when Dace had almost single-handedly wiped out two crime syndicates. Lowell had been rather busy and hadn't paid attention as he should. It was an excuse, a poor one that might cost him more than he wanted to consider.
They were out of time for games. Lowell found he was sick of playing them. He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. "Whatever your plan is, you have my support, what's left to give. I won't mislead you, Captain. I've been relieved of command and I expect someone will find a way to get me out of the Patrol soon. If I'm really a nuisance, they'll find a way to charge me with treason again."
Everett's solemn face split in a grin. "That's more like the Lowell Dace told me about. I was wondering when Paltronis brought you aboard."
Lowell just smiled at the man.
"And you've already been listed for dereliction of duty and refusal to follow orders," Paltronis said. She took a chair at the table. "And public drunkenness, not to mention conduct unbecoming your rank."
Lowell grinned proudly. "All that in one night. I never thought I could actually do it. Flanigan must really be feeling full of himself. Which is a bigger problem than I anticipated." He turned back to Everett, his grin fading. "Flanigan will start confiscating ships. He wants to shoot it out with the Federation."
"He's already started," Everett answered. "The second reason we're running so hard. The first was that Paltronis was only a step ahead of the Enforcers holding your arrest warrant."
Lowell cursed. "They aren't waiting to tear the Empire apart the rest of the way."
"It isn't the Federation that's shooting," Everett said. "They're angry and upset at the Empire for unprovoked attacks on their worlds. They've lost five ships so far."
"It isn't either of them," Lowell said. "It's Blackthorne."
"Blackthorne Conglomerate was wiped out," Everett protested. "Dace shot them."
"Not all of them," Lowell answered. "We never found their shipyards. They were building ships from stolen Patrol blueprints. And buying Patrol weapons off the black market."
"So someone is trying to convince the Patrol and the Federation to start shooting each other," Everett said.
"Exactly. It's what I've been trying to prevent."
"It's already starting," Everett said.
"Too late to stop," Lowell agreed. "There are too many people involved at the highest levels."
"Which explains Dace." Everett flicked a glance at Paltronis.
"There's nothing more I can do for her that I'm not already doing." Lowell noted Paltronis nodding, confirming his statement to Everett. Interesting, Everett trusted Paltronis. Lowell was the one under suspicion. He could live with that.
"So we let her deal with the corruption inside the Empire," Everett said. "We work on the rest of the problem. Which, as I see it, is stopping innocent people from getting caught in the crossfire."
"And keeping our ships out of it," one of his crew said.
"As much as possible," Lowell agreed. "What plan do you have?"
"The Gypsy Council issued talthui last month, guidelines for those of us who are Gypsy," Everett explained. "Each clan interprets talthui its own way. We've chosen to interpret them to mean we act to do what we can to keep things stable. All of us who depend on trade for our living will suffer if the Empire collapses."
"How do you propose to act?" Lowell asked.
"We ignore the border. We keep moving goods in and out of the Empire. We need a way past the Patrol pickets, though."
"Which is where I come in," Lowell said.
"Exactly."
"Border codes, passwords, bribes—what do you want from me?"
"All of the above?" Everett smiled.
"While I'm running from charges myself?"
"You still have an organization, contacts in the Patrol and in the Council of Worlds."
Lowell studied Everett for a very long time. The air in the ship was rife with tension, the smell of people on the edge of violence.
Lowell finally nodded. "I'll do everything I can," he promised.
Some of the tension in the ship dissolved as Everett nodded back.
"What we really need is to stop the crime syndicates," Lowell said.
"That's the other half of our plan," Paltronis said. "Get ships combing the entire region looking for the shipyard and their other bases. We find them, we go in and take them out."
"And steal their ships while you're at it?" Lowell asked. Paltronis was more than capable of executing just such a strike. "I assume my job is to procure explosives, weapons, and everything else you need for such an attack."
"We've got that covered," Everett informed him. "The Federation is behind us on this. Not openly, of course."
"Willet Smythe," Lowell said with a smile. "I should have known he'd be involved in this somewhere. How is he?"
"Scared you'll shoot him on sight," Everett answered.
"You can assure him that thought never crossed my mind." Lowell had never met him face to face until long after he was Federation. "Where are we going now? If you don't mind me asking."
"Wetaro. To meet with other clan representatives, along with the unofficial Federation representation, and other interested parties."
"Or in other words, you aren't sure who'll be there," Lowell said.
Everett merely smiled, brushing his mustache with one finger.
"Fair enough," Lowell said. He turned to Paltronis. "I never thought my job would include setting up a smuggling ring. I used to think my job was to stop them."
"You'll do fine, sir," Paltronis assured him.
"Then maybe we should do what planning we can," Lowell said.
Everett nodded his agreement.
Chapter 17
I spent most of the night mulling over the connotations and shades of meaning in my conversations with Olin and Speaker Shiropi. I hated this kind of game. I was no good at pretending I was something I was not. I was no good at oblique messages hidden in innocuous words. But right now, my life depended on me being good at those very things. I had to pretend, or I would shortly be dead.
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and fingering the remnants of the sealant on my side. It wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be. It was only a physical scar. The emotional ones were still raw.
Tayvis had walked out on me, just when I needed him more than ever. He hadn't tried to contact me. He hadn't trusted me enough to talk to me. Vance may have engineered the situation, but Tayvis had been the one to leave. Hester's friends hadn't found anything other than that he was no longer on Linas-Drias. He'd deserted me. It hurt, more than being told he was dead.
I hated Vance for what he had done. But the rules of this combat were very clear. We were engaged to be married. And if anyone ever suspected otherwise, the game was over. I would lose. I couldn't afford to lose. The Empire was being deliberately torn into pieces. Right now, I was the best hope of saving it. The Spirit of Space must have been laughing at the cosmic joke.
At least Olin and Iniuri seemed to be on my side. Neither of them wanted the Empire to fall.
I dozed through the night.
I woke suddenly, disturbed by a sound. I lay still, ears straining to locate the source. Someone was in my room, moving quietly. I sat up quickly, pulling my side in the process. The fleeting urge to grab a gun f
rom under my pillow shook me. It had been habit for years. I knew there were no weapons under my pillow, not here. The only weapons I had were my fists and my brain.
"Did I disturb you?" Hester asked, looking up from the wide chest of drawers. One drawer was partly open. "The rest of your clothing arrived. I brought it for you." She smiled, her face and hair perfectly smooth and calm.
Was it an act? What was really behind her face? I stared at her suspiciously. That was wrong. I made myself smile.
"Thank you, Hester." I made myself yawn and stretch. My side was sore, I'd moved too fast. I pretended not to feel it.
"You seem to be feeling well this morning," Hester observed as she moved to the window controls. Filtered daylight flooded in, a soft yellow glow. She eyed me clinically and frowned at what she saw. "There is a gathering tonight. Speaker Shiropi would like you to attend. Vance would like to see you this afternoon."
I wanted to claim I wasn't well yet. I wanted to hide in my injury. I wasn't ready to play games with these ruthlessly perfect people.
"That would be fine," I said. I couldn't make myself smile. The thought of seeing Vance made me want to break his nose. I uncurled my fists and smoothed the coverlet on the bed.
"I will see to your breakfast then." Hester crossed the room, her every move poised and polished. She seemed friendly enough. Which side was she on? Did she know how I'd spent my afternoon yesterday? Did she care?
I got up and used the bathroom. My hair stuck up in all different directions. Even in the tailored sleepwear, I looked rumpled and cheap. I'd never be able to pull off an impersonation of a high society woman. I ran my fingers through my hair. It looked worse. I sat at the vanity and tried using combs and brushes. It looked a lot better, though it was nowhere near the smooth perfection of Hester's glistening hair.
"Face it, your hair will never look like hers. You will never look like her. Be yourself," I reminded myself in the mirror. But that was exactly who I couldn't be. Or could I? I was an admiral in the Patrol Enforcers, strange as that may seem. I was not one of their polished women. I was me. I was Dace. I spread my hands over the surface of the vanity. There was no grease under my nails, but they were still ragged and short. I looked over the array of surgical looking implements and decided I had no idea what to do with them.
Jasyn was always buffing or polishing her nails. Her hands were slender and never looked as if she'd been picking rocks apart with them. Maybe I should have listened when she tried to teach me how to do my nails. I stared at my hands and wished she was here. Or that I was wherever she was.
I couldn't afford self pity any longer. The sooner I found out what Leighton wanted to know, the sooner I could go home. I drew in a deep breath and ignored the state of my fingernails.
Hester returned, carrying a tray of food. She placed it on a table in my room with her usual smile. I'd eaten most of my meals here at that table. It was almost routine.
"When do you eat?" I asked impulsively as I sat.
"Earlier," she answered.
"I don't usually sleep until noon every day," I said. The food was delicious, as always, and mostly unfamiliar.
"It's acceptable behavior for someone in your condition." Her smile hinted at a secret.
I glanced down at my side, wondering what she meant. Her face twitched. Amusement, I decided.
"It's all over the news sheets." She spread out a mem sheet on the table. "I thought you might want to know what the gossip is."
I lost my appetite as I read the screaming headline. "He told them I was pregnant? I'm going to kill him. How dare he." I snapped my mouth shut before I started swearing. It wasn't appropriate, not now. I was supposed to be in love with him. Breaking his nose and blacking his eye weren't part of the plan, much as I was tempted to do just that.
"The latest rumors are that you miscarried," Hester continued. "Which is why you've been here, recovering for the last two weeks."
"I suppose it isn't socially acceptable to be shot instead."
"Never," Hester said, her face mimicking shock. "The Empire is at peace. Unless you venture out into the wild territories where everyone carries blasters all the time."
"Is that what they believe? You should hear the stories about Linas-Drias they tell on the Frontier Worlds. They'd make your hair curl."
"Speaking of hair curling, I've managed to call in favors and get you an appointment with none other than Madame Yosefie." She smiled as if it were a great treat and an honor to have an appointment with Madame Yosefie.
"Appointment for what?" I asked suspiciously.
"Madame Yosefie is in high demand for her skills. She specializes in presentation. You won't recognize yourself when she finishes with you."
I squashed the instant mutiny inside. I made myself smile. I made myself pretend to be excited to have Madame Yosefie turn me into someone else. It was merely another move in the game.
"She should be here in a few moments. It shouldn't hurt." Hester touched my hair. "I may be wrong. Finish your meal."
I felt like a naughty child being admonished by a very patient parent. Hester either didn't know how she made me feel or she did it deliberately. She left the room. I was tempted to throw a delicate pastry roll after her. I ate it instead.
She'd been my almost constant companion for the last five days and I still couldn't read her. I didn't know what she really thought or felt about anything. I should take lessons from her in playing politics. If I trusted her, which I wasn't sure I did.
I pulled my feet in the chair, tucking them under me. I ran my hand over the silky fabric of my pajamas. They cost more than my entire wardrobe on the Phoenix. It was the least expensive of the outfits now hanging in my closet and stocking my drawers. I couldn't do this. I couldn't pretend this luxury was normal. But I had to pretend. I sighed and ate another pastry.
Madame Yosefie made an entrance only a few moments later. She threw the doors open with a flamboyant gesture and glided into the room. She was huge, built on a very generous scale. She moved like a battleship, graceful but ponderous. She stopped in the center of the room.
"Where is she? Where is this princess that I must create? Where is the woman who has caused such a crisis that I must rearrange my entire calendar for the next month? Where is she, the one who wishes me to work a magic upon her appearance?"
She pressed her hands dramatically to her jutting bosom as she talked. I tried hard not to laugh. She was dressed in a filmy pantsuit that fluttered and danced with every shift of her bulk. It was in shades of pink and yellow and orange. Her hair swept into a black cone above her head that added another two feet to her already impressive height. Colors streaked her hair to match her dress. Her face sparkled with glitter. Blue bands swept out from her eyelids to her hairline. Her lips were painted blue to match. This was the woman who would transform me into someone who fit in with the Emperor's court?
"Where is the caterpillar awaiting her transformation to butterfly?"
"Here," I said, from my chair.
She turned slowly to face me, rotating in shoes that looked much too delicate for her massive feet. She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes widened farther than I thought possible. She gasped and slapped one hand on her forehead.
"Preserve me from the infidel. This is what you wish for me to, to—I cannot find words. This, this creature, is impossible. No, not even Yosefie's magic will help this poor wretchedness." She turned to face Hester while she talked, but she moved towards me at the same time. It was odd to watch. She appeared to do one thing while in reality she was doing something quite different.
She reached out to me, her hands glittering with rings. She tugged my hair, running both hands through it. I pulled back, fighting the urge to smack her away.
"And this? This is like, like—I do not know words for such. It is not hair. No, it is not. It is beyond me."
"Good. Go away." I was offended by her assessment of me. I wasn't that bad, was I?
"Madame Yosefie, if anyone can transf
orm Dace, it will be you. And besides," Hester said leaning close, "you are being paid twice your usual astronomical fee."
Madame Yosefie drew in a deep breath. Her perfume wafted around me, a thick bouquet of flowers and sweetness. "Then I will attempt. But it will not be easy. No, it will be far from easy."
She clapped her hands, suddenly all business. Her ponderous airs disappeared as if they'd never been. "I must see her wardrobe, firstly, while she bathes properly."
I glared at her. Was I lacking in hygiene? This woman was outrageous. I'd had enough. Hester shook her head, her eyes asking me to trust her.
"I must have my kit," Madame Yosefie announced. Hester hurried away, leaving me alone with the monster. "And you, your name, it is Dace?" She slurred the consonants and drew out the vowel sound into something strange.
"Dace," I corrected her.
"Too common," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "But if that is your name, then we cannot change it now, no?" She smiled. She looked like a big, overpainted cuddly animal with weird hair. I couldn't stay offended. She must have sensed me relax. She attacked before I was ready. She leaned over my head and sniffed, loudly. "You use the common soaps on yourself. This, it will not do. You must use the creams and the special ointments and the perfumed cleansers. And then your skin, it will glow."
I was fairly certain her accent was fake. Her whole personality was fake. But she played it so fully, it was hard to resist being drawn in. I quit fighting and gave up. It would be interesting to see what she wanted from me. And what I'd look like when she was through. The thought of me looking like a miniature version of her made me smile.
"There, you see? It will be good." Madame Yosefie patted me with one plump hand. The rings on it glittered brightly. She produced a bag of the same shimmery, floaty stuff as her dress and rummaged through it. She started stacking tubes and bottles on the table. "For hair, use it first. And this, this is for your complexion. Use it on your face. These, they will give your hands—" She stopped and shrieked. I jumped. She picked up my hands, holding them close to her face. "Oh, the horror. I cannot bear to look." She bent closer, examining my nails with the same kind of look I'd used to inspect gasket seals on my ship's engine. "These will not do. These are almost beyond help. What do you do, that your hands would be in such a state?"
