by David Drake
A company of infantry, helmeted and wearing mottled battledress, double-timed toward the Empress in a column of fours that filled the slidewalk. At a shouted command, they jumped from the moving walk with a crash of bootheels and clattering equipment. Two of the men upended when their boots hit the fixed flooring.
"Minister Lin," said Kneale in a hard voice. "What is this?"
A non-com sorted the troops into formation while their commissioned officer trotted up the gangplank. Ordinary passengers fled the Embarkation Hall with glances over their shoulders.
Lin looked at the soldiers disdainfully. "Not my department, Commander," he said.
"Are you the captain?" the military officer demanded.
"I'm Commander Hiram Kneale and I'm in charge here, sir," Kneale said. "On behalf of Trident Starlines, that is. Minister Lin of course represents your government."
The soldier did a violent double-take. Ran smiled internally. Kneale had played his cards perfectly—though nobody was really sure what was trump in a situation this confused.
"I'm Major Dung," the soldier resumed after a moment's deliberation. "My men are here to search your vessel and detain enemy aliens."
"Has war been declared, then?" Ran said, knowing that the Empress's AI would have informed him if there had been a declaration.
"War has not been declared," Lin said sharply—to the major, not Ran. "Whose orders do you claim to be executing, sir?"
"I—"blurted Dung. "I—my orders came directly from the Ministry of Defense."
"Vessels retain the nationality of their flags by international compact," Commander Kneale noted, looking at his fingernails. "Armed invasion of the Empress of Earth would be an act of war directed against Federated Earth."
"Precisely who gave you these orders, Major?" Lin demanded. "And don't tell me the building did!"
"Ah, Minh—"Dung said.
"Field Marshal Minh?" Lin cried. "I can't believe he would have done anything so dearly ultra vires!"
"No sir," the major mumbled. He didn't know ultra vires meant "beyond his authority," but he did know he was in way over his head. "No, it was General Minh in Operations Planning. . . ."
Mr. Lin glared at Dung as though the soldier had just urinated on the carpet. "Please take your comic opera company out of here, Major," he said. "You can have no conception of the trouble you almost caused by your illegal and ill-advised actions."
Dung swallowed, saluted, and scurried back to his troops. They looked like recent inductees, clumsy and nervous. Which didn't make Ran feel better about what had nearly happened. At least with veterans, you could be pretty sure they weren't going to shoot you unless they meant to.
"Thank you, Minister," Commander Kneale said quietly as the troops straggled aboard an out-bound slidewalk.
"It was nothing," said the girl. "Father enjoys bullying people."
Ran winced.
"To my suite then, please," said Mr. Lin as though he hadn't heard his daughter's comment
The Nevasan delegation moved off, guided by the Chief Steward. Two of the uniformed guards collected the weapons of the whole detachment and disappeared with them toward the VIP lounge. The guns would return in a few minutes, discreetly cased in a piece of luggage stamped "not wanted on voyage."
"Nice job, sir," Ran murmured to his superior.
Commander Kneale looked very tired. "Sometimes you get lucky, my boy," he said. He sighed. "I was going to give you the rest of the night off. Instead—can you find the Terran embassy?"
Ran shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Bridge can download me a map. It may be a little tricky getting there tonight, what with everything."
"I want a detachment of Earth troops here at the gangway," Kneale said. "There don't have to be many, just enough for a tripwire. Terran troops are a—more believable warning than me spouting international law may be. And the embassy doesn't want an incident any better than I do."
Ran saluted half-seriously. "I'll see what I can do," he said.
He thought of changing his uniform but decided not to. Chances were, he was going to look a lot worse by the time he made it to where he was going.
* * *
The lobby of the Terran embassy was three stories high. It was supported by fluted pillars of polished black stone on conglomerate bases. Glass light-fountains springing from the foreheads of stylized alabaster horses accented the decor.
Ran found it a haven of peace after the outer court foil of shouting, crying people, many of them clutching children and bundles of personal belongings.
"Tough time, sir?" asked the sergeant commanding the six Terran soldiers who'd passed Ran into the building.
"Tough enough," Ran murmured. He straightened his uniform jacket. When the door opened for the Trident officer, at least a dozen other people had tried to force their way past him. "Are all those folks out there Earth citizens?"
"Not a one of them," the guard said. "They're fringe-worlders and they're scared, that's all. They figure Earth can protect them. West Bumfuck or wherever they come from sure-hell can't."
"Mr. Colville?" called a plump civilian from the second balcony. He looked about Ran's age or a few years younger. "I'm very sorry you've had this useless trip. I told your Commander Kneale—"
"I'm coming up!" Ran interrupted in an artificially cheerful voice as he headed for the stairs.
Kneale had called ahead to announce him—without that, Ran would never have gotten through the embassy doors at this hour and set of circumstances—but the whole reason for his presence was to make a face-to-face request. It's harder to turn down a person than it is a voice.
The stairs were of the same black stone as the columns, but inset grip pads prevented the treads from being lethal to someone in a hurry, as Ran was now. As he passed the second-floor landing, three people whispering in the open hallway turned and stared at him. Their faces were as frightened and uncertain as those of the crowd outside the building.
The man who'd called to Ran shifted his weight from one foot to the other as though he had a desperate need to run for the bathroom. "Really, Mr. Colville," he said, "there's nothing more to—"
The third-floor hallway had doors on the outer perimeter and overlooked the lobby on the inside. Paintings of women wearing 17th-century dresses covered the ceiling in broad, filigreed-silver frames. Your taxes at work . . .
Money spent on expensive buildings wasn't going to get anybody killed. Hiring dithering fools to make decisions in a crisis just might do that.
Ran stuck out his hand. "And you are, sir?" he said.
The embassy official shook hands in a practiced reflex. "Emrys-Dunne," he muttered. "Assistant Political Officer. As you can imagine, we're quite busy just now. I should be in a meeting right—"
He nodded toward the door standing ajar across the hall beside them. Ran could see half of those around the table within. The striking blond woman would have been worth comment in other circumstances, but none of the conferees were senior people. An older man near the foot of table was clearly a Nevasan national, locally employed embassy staff.
"—now."
You bet. There's a crisis, so call a meeting and cluck. With luck, the ambassador and other ranking personnel were doing something useful, but Ran wasn't willing to bet on that.
"Sir, I know this is a crisis, but the Empress of Earth is more than just a hugely valuable vessel," Ran said as persuasively as he knew how. He was so tired and hungry that he was getting light-headed. "She's a symbol of Earth itself, just as the embassy here is. A few Terran soldiers may be the only thing between normal lift-off and an ill-judged attempt to seize her. That sort of mistake could bring Federated Earth into the war, as you know."
"That's out of the question!" said Emrys-Dunne, more forcefully than Ran would have guessed the plump man could be. "Deploying members of the guard detachment off embassy property would be a clear violation of the treaty—"
The meeting in the conference room broke up. The people spilling out the door loo
ked drawn and gray. Ran suspected that Emrys-Dunne had kept the gathering together longer than would otherwise have been the case, and that his absence gave the others an excuse to leave.
"Sir," Ran said, "There's already been one—"
"No!" snapped the official. "No, absolutely not. What you're suggesting could be construed as an act of war on our part."
That was probably true, but—there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell that the government of Nevasa would try to make anything out of it. Whereas a Nevasan misstep here, in the middle of the crisis, might arouse the sort of public outcry at home that forced Earth to take public action. The government of Federated Earth collectively hated to act as much as Emrys-Dunne seemed to dislike the idea as an individual.
"Sir, just as a symbol," Ran pleaded. "To make it clear that the Empress is Earth territory and—"
"No!"
The blond woman stopped nearby, looking intently from Emrys-Dunne to Ran. "We could send a few watchmen," she said unexpectedly. "He's right, you know. The department won't thank us if we let Earth be dragged into this because the Nevasans—or some Nevasans—miscalculated."
"Uh?" said Ran.
"This is Ms. Hatton," Emrys-Dunne said through a grimace. "She's our General Services Officer. And I remind you, Susan, that this is a political matter."
"On the contrary, Clovis," Hatton replied, "the private watchmen are a GSO matter, just like the maintenance staff and all other aspects of personnel billeting. And it seems to me that this is a proper use for them."
"Wait a minute," Ran said. He was too tired to be sure of what he was hearing. "These are Nevasan citizens hired to guard embassy housing?"
"Not Nevasans," the blonde corrected. "We hire third-planet nationals for the job. And they guard our supply warehouses as well, of course."
She pursed her lips. "The important thing from your standpoint is that the guards wear uniforms with Terran Embassy shoulder patches," she went on. "But they also have Nevasan approval to carry lethal arms."
"You have no right to authorize personnel paid with embassy funds to guard private property!" Emrys-Dunne objected.
"Trident Starlines will pick up the tab, no problem," Ran said. "Just get me to a line that can access Bridge—ah, the Empress of Earth, I mean."
"Yes, come with me," Hatton directed as she turned and led the way down a short corridor to an office. She looked just as good going away as she did from the front. Ran was partial to blondes, not that it really mattered.
The office was a small one adapted for two people, presumably the GSO and a local assistant. Hatton used one line while Ran, at the opposite desk, clipped his transceiver to the other phone and patched through to the Empress's AI.
"Six be enough?" Hatton asked.
"Yes," said Ran. If six weren't plenty, then a battalion wouldn't be.
Hatton talked for a moment, her voice muted by the interference field of her phone, and looked up at Ran with satisfaction. "They'll be there in half an hour," she said.
"Time and a half to everyone who makes it," Ran said. "Double-time to any of them who're at the Empress in fifteen minutes."
"Accepted," said Bridge through the Third Officer's earpiece.
Hatton raised an eyebrow and spoke again into her phone. She switched off the line and said to Ran, "I don't know if any of them will make it, but they're certainly going to try. I hope it works."
"We all hope it works," Ran said. He stood and stretched. "Including everybody with good sense in the Nevasan government. Anyway, you and I did what we could to avoid trouble."
He looked down at Hatton. She was wearing something clingy and gauze-fine, but as opaque as a brick wall. The fabric was a soft blue that shimmered metallically when the light hit it from the right angle.
"I really appreciate your help," Ran said. "I know it's safer to sit on your hands than to help. That's anywhere, I mean, I'm not down on the foreign service."
Hatton sighed. "Spend four hours in a meeting with Emrys-Dunne and you would be down on the foreign service," she said. "Well, if there's nothing else I can do for you, Mr.—"
"Ran Colville," he said with a smile. "And if you can tell me—is there a hotel around here? I don't look forward to getting back to the ship tonight, and if I did I'd get rousted before my head hit the pillow. Also I could use a meal."
Hatton looked at him sharply. "Yes, there are hotels," she said. "And restaurants, though I don't know what'll be open with things—the way they are. I can take you past one on my way home, since I'm leaving now myself."
"Ah . . . ?" said Ran. "Could I offer you dinner too?"
Hatton sniffed. "And have it look as though Trident bribed me to provide guards? Not likely, sailor."
"Trident isn't picking up the tab," Ran said. The comment didn't bother him, but he injected a touch of acid in his voice to make the blond woman feel guilty. "I'm off duty, I'm in a strange city, and all hell's breaking loose. I was just hoping for the company of somebody who's acted like a friend."
Hatton grinned ruefully. "Sorry," she said, "it's been a long day. Sure, let's have a meal—but Dutch treat. And—"
Her face hardened.
"—I want it very clear: we're having dinner together. We're not going to bed."
Ran chuckled. "Milady, I don't doubt you've had a hell of a day, but believe me, it's not a patch on mine." He crooked his arm for her to take it. "There's some things that're just beyond human limits."
Which was perfectly true. Though in that one particular category, Ran Colville hadn't found his limits yet
* * *
The parking lot beneath the embassy building smelled of oil and damp concrete. The cars were an odd mix of Terran, Nevasan, and a scattering of models built on various other planets where embassy personnel had been stationed previously.
"Be careful out there, Ms. Hatton," warned the attendant. He was slim and dark, a Nevasan native. "Mostly they're acting happy—but people are scared, and you can't tell what's going to happen."
"Thank you, Lee," Susan said. "I'm leaving my car here. From what I see out the window, it wouldn't be possible to drive out anyway."
"As you wish, Ms. Hatton," Lee said. He looked Ran over. "And good luck to you too, sir," he added.
"Thank you," Ran said formally. "I and my employers are very appreciative of the embassy's help in this crisis."
Of course Lee's comment had a double meaning. Of course Ran Colville knew better than to embarrass a lady in front of her staff.
Lee stepped into his kiosk at the head of the exit ramp and threw a lever. Motors winched up the armored door.
"Come!" Susan directed, tapping the back of Ran's hand, and they darted through together. The door crashed shut, leaving them with the glowing Nevasan night.
A crowd filled the street—not solidly but by small groups and individuals, the way jellyfish swarm to the surface of a calm sea. No one spoke loudly, but the air hissed with conversation and the miniature radios that more than half of the people carried. Occasionally a cheer would rumble from far away, like angry surf.
"All the government ministries are within a few blocks of here," Susan explained. "People want to know what's going on."
"They could learn more by staying home and watching the news," Ran said. He was keyed up, though the day had wrung him out too thoroughly for his jitters to be obvious. "They're like kids before they run a race, too nervous to sit still."
Susan nodded them to the right at the intersection with the boulevard fronting the embassy. The park across the way was full of people. Buildings facing the park were brilliantly floodlit, and someone was speaking through an amplifier. Ran couldn't make out the words, but the crowd responded with waves of sullen enthusiasm.
"Parliament and the presidential palace," Susan said. Then she added, "If they understood what was going to happen, they wouldn't be cheering."
Ran shrugged. "It's going to happen anyway," he said. "Whatever ordinary people think, whatever they do. They might as well b
e happy while they can."
On one of the helmet recordings Ran found after his father died:
The broken buildings were gray and jagged. Three bodies lay in the gutter. A machine gun spat over them from a cellar window.
The stone transom puffed and sparkled with bullet impacts, but the rebel machine gun continued to fire. A grenade wobbled toward the gun and burst into waves of violet smoke.
The viewpoint shifted as Chick Colville stood up. A rod of brilliantly-white flame, napalm enriched with powdered aluminum, stabbed toward the concealed gun position. Smoke sucked and swirled, but it continued to screen the cellar window even after secondary explosions shook the rubble.
Three rebels ran into the street. Their clothes were burning. Bullets killed them and covered the bodies with dust knocked from the stone of the ruined building. The oldest of the rebels might have been fourteen . . . .
There wouldn't be street fighting here in Nevasa City . . . but a nuclear weapon might get through despite the rings of defenses, and certainly many dinner tables would have empty places that the dead would never return to fill. Sure, cheer now.
Either Ran shivered or something showed on his face. When he glanced around at his companion, she was staring at Mm. "No problem," he said with a smile that admitted maybe there had been one.
Instead of responding, Susan said, "We'll go to the Parisienne." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. "It's the hotel the embassy uses for delegations, and the grill room is famous."
Inconsequently, she added, "It's only a block from my apartment."
Ran looked toward her. She didn't meet his eyes.
The boulevard was divided by a central spine of trees with bushes planted to either side of it Buildings in this district were set back from the street, behind walled courtyards like that of the Terran embassy. Awnings of plush and silk jutted over sidewalk at the courtyard gates. Sometimes the fabric bore a crest or a legend: MINISTRY OF CULTURE, for example, or TYDIDES CORPORATION, and some in scripts unfamiliar to Ran.
