“Yes, sir.” Stark found the speaking tube in a small recess under the dim light, uncapped it, and whistled. After a second there was an answering note. “Our respects, and the colonel and I are ready for breakfast.” Stark listened for a few moments, then returned to MacKinnie. “He says someone will be with us in five minutes, sir. Seemed polite, anyway.” When there was no answer from Nathan, Hal capped the tube.
Four guards were visible when the door opened. At least two of them were from the party which had captured MacKinnie and Stark the night before. Their weapons were holstered, and they were extremely polite as they invited MacKinnie and Stark to accompany them, but Nathan noticed that as one led the way the other three fell in well behind, eyeing Stark nervously as they walked stiffly along.
They were ushered into the big office MacKinnie had seen the night before. The curtains were drawn back along one wall to reveal a walled veranda beyond where Solon and Dougal sat at a glass-topped table sipping chickeest. As MacKinnie approached, Solon stood, nodded to Dougal, and left without speaking to them.
“Good morning, Trader,” Dougal said. He stood, waited for MacKinnie to be seated, and indicated a place at a table a few feet away for Stark. “Your breakfast will be here shortly. I trust you enjoyed your sleep?”
MacKinnie smiled pleasantly. “A great deal more than I thought I would when I was first invited here.”
Dougal nodded. “There have been others who did not enjoy their stay in this building at all.” He dismissed the guards with a wave, then turned back to Nathan. “The subterfuge starts this instant, Trader MacKinnie. We will use your proper name, although we will change your first to Jameson. MacKinnie’s common enough in Haven, and there is a great Trader family by that name.”
“Are you sure the Imperials won’t recognize me?”
“Reasonably. Besides, they aren’t looking for a dead man. Colonel Nathan MacKinnie was killed at Lechfeld. Died of his wounds a few weeks after the battle. Tough old soldier, too proud to say anything when he turned over his sword to the Haven General Staff. The records already show that.”
“But there was a young officer who interviewed me … and the paymaster will know my pension has been paid for months. Then there’s the landlady at our flop.”
“There were these people, Trader. Unfortunately, they all died last night in a series of tragic accidents. The Blue Bottle had another accident, I’m afraid. It burned to the ground, everyone in it killed shortly after the Imperial Navy men had left. Nothing the Watch could do, the fire was so fierce. It almost seems as if someone deliberately set it, but I’m sure His Majesty’s Police will catch the scoundrels if that’s true. More chickeest?”
“And my men? My former officers?”
“They’re being recruited for an expedition to the Archipelago, with offers so generous I’m sure no one will turn them down. If anyone does, well, Traders’ expeditions have been known to have reluctant members in the past.”
Before MacKinnie could reply, the corporal arrived with their food, and Dougal insisted that they eat before resuming the conversation. When they had finished, the policeman signaled, and the corporal brought MacKinnie a pipe. It was one of his own from the rooms where he and Stark had been living. It did not seem necessary to comment on it.
“You haven’t been very active since you left the Service,” Dougal said. “It won’t be difficult to cover your tracks, at least enough to keep the Imperials from looking too closely at you.”
“All right, what’s the drill for today?” MacKinnie asked.
“Mind your aphorisms, Trader. We wouldn’t want your military background to show through, although we will have your records show that you served honorably as a company commander in His Majesty’s Home Guard during the Theberian War. You won’t have to play a part for long; I intend that you leave as soon as possible. We’ll send for the other members of the expedition now. Remember, this is a trading mission, and you are Trader MacKinnie. You’ve met none of them before. Here.” Dougal held out a small box. On opening it, MacKinnie found it full of rings, brooches, and other personal jewelry, all in good taste and the kind of thing he might have worn if the military habit were not so strong in him. He selected a ring, brooch, and earring and put them on.
“Now you look more like a Trader. I have more for your man.” Dougal held out gaudier jewelry, flashier but less expensive than Nathan’s, and waited until Stark had put it on before beckoning to the corporal.
As the others approached, MacKinnie asked quickly, “What are you to these people?”
“A high officer of the secret police. They are all trustworthy servants of the crown, but they do not know the real purpose of this expedition.” Dougal stood, smiling expansively. “Welcome, gentleman, freelady. This is Trader MacKinnie, who will manage King David’s shares of this expedition. He has financed much of it, I might add. Trader, here are your crew and advisors.”
They sorted themselves out and stood expectantly, waiting to be presented. The first was broad-shouldered, of medium height, and stood stiffly erect. Dougal said, “Trader, this is Shipmaster MacLean of the Royal Merchant Service. He is qualified in both sail and motor vessels.”
“Honored,” MacLean mumbled, looking straight ahead. His grip was firm, testing MacKinnie’s, and Nathan was pleased to note the surprise in the officer’s eyes before he let go. The man was so obviously from the Haven Navy that MacKinnie could not understand how the Imperials would be expected to be deceived, but he said nothing.
“And this is Academician Longway, who studies social organization and primitive cultures as well as ancient history.” MacKinnie studied him closely. The man was broad and short, typical of the people of Prince Samual’s World, dark hair and light eyes, and could have been a miner if it were not for the thick spectacles. His kilt was scholarly, dark with a thin red stripe, but the grip was firm and the voice steady.
“Honored to meet you, Trader, and I must say, pleased to be selected for an expedition as important — important and rare — as this. It’s not often a scholar gets the chance to visit a really strange culture. I’ve been to the Archipelago, to many of the islands there, but of course it isn’t the same. I can’t say how pleased I am to be going with you. It’s an historic event.”
“Let’s hope you feel that way when we return,” MacKinnie said. He kept his voice as pleasant as possible, and found that easier than he had thought it would be. He had never liked men who chattered, but the enthusiastic friendliness of the scholar was infectious all the same. Longway motioned to the man who stood behind him.
The man was young, not more than twenty local years. He stood shuffling his feet nervously, his long gangling arms hanging loosely at his sides. He was of very slight build and stood with a stoop that made him seem even shorter than he was. He also wore thick spectacles, and his kilt was plain, smudged with ink and foodstains. He carried a large book under his left arm, and the end of a bulky notebook protruded from his pouch.
“This is my assistant, Scholar-Bachelor Kleinst,” Longway said. “Most brilliant student at the University, I might add. Does very good work.”
“Honored, Trader,” Kleinst mumbled, holding his hand out perfunctorily and withdrawing it limply as soon as possible. His voice matched his appearance, and MacKinnie instantly disliked him. Nathan turned expectantly to the last member of the group.
“Allow me to present Freelady Mary Graham,” Dougal said. “She will serve as your assistant and secretary. I might add that she is a graduate of the University.”
MacKinnie hid his surprise. There were few women in the universities, and fewer still graduated.
He had seen lovelier girls, the city of Haven being noted for the beauty of its women, but there was nothing wrong with Mary Graham’s appearance. She had the typical brown hair and light eyes of the Haven population, but she was considerably smaller than most of the city women; not so small as to be tiny, and well formed for her height. She wore rather severely tailored clothes which d
id not quite hide a pleasing figure, and Nathan noted that she stood attentively, waiting for him to speak, her nervousness betrayed only by a slight motion of her fingers drumming against her skirt. Nathan guessed her age at something more than twenty, but almost certainly below twenty-five.
“Honored, freelady,” he said, nodding slightly.
“My honor, Trader.”
Her voice was not unpleasant, MacKinnie decided. But her presence annoyed him. There was no need for women in an expedition as important as this, and he was surprised that Dougal would suggest it. In Nathan’s world women were divided into two groups: freeladies to be protected, and camp followers who served no less useful a purpose but who were more or less expendable. Mary Graham did not seem to fit into either category.
He was certain that he was again being tested, because a more unlikely group for saving the state would be hard to imagine. Dougal had explained the night before why MacKinnie himself should command the expedition. The Imperials were likely to know of any of Haven’s really competent officers, yet a military background seemed required if anything were to be accomplished on Makassar. Still, MacKinnie did not look or act exactly like a Trader, and the crew assembled here contained an obvious naval officer, a talkative scholar of uncertain abilities, a weakling of almost effeminate appearance, and a girl. Surely, he thought, the Imperials would suspect — but even if they did not, what would be gained by sending this group to Makassar?
Dougal ushered in two more young men wearing battle dress without insignia. “MacReedy and Todd, guards,” Dougal explained.
MacKinnie looked them over carefully and decided they were the most authentic in appearance of any of his expedition. He indicated Hal. “This is Stark, your guard leader. We’ll have a few more guards for the expedition when we find out precisely how many we can take. Guard Leader, please take your men to your table and get to know them.”
“Yes, Trader.” Stark led the men to the other side of the veranda.
MacKinnie turned back to the policeman. “My lord, I am sure the others will excuse us a moment while we discuss the cargo. There are some difficulties about financing which I am sure would only bore them, so perhaps they can be working on equipment lists while we discuss finances in your office?”
“Certainly, Trader.” The others bowed, and MacKinnie led Dougal through the veranda doors to the office beyond.
Once inside, MacKinnie exploded. “How in hell do you expect the Imperials to be stupid enough to pass that crew? This is a thin enough plan to begin with, Dougal. I can’t begin to accomplish the mission if you saddle me with incompetents. My Saviour! You give me an obvious naval commander itching to learn anything he can about their starships, a weak-eyed little intellectual, and I don’t know, maybe the Academician will do, but where did you find that girl? In your freshman spy classes?”
Dougal held up his palm briefly, stopping Nathan’s tirade. “Sit down, Trader, and have something to drink. Calmly, now.”
Still fuming, Nathan sat and stuffed his pipe. “And another thing. I don’t appreciate murder. How many people did you kill last night, anyway?”
“As many as necessary, Trader,” Dougal said coldly. “Think of them as martyrs to Prince Samual’s World, and we’ll erect statues for them when this is over. If it works. What would you have had me do with them after they heard the most important secret on this planet?”
“Swear them to secrecy-” MacKinnie was stopped by the policeman’s laughter. “I suppose not,” Nathan said. “Hide them? Lock them up—”
“So that if one escaped we would really have lost the secret. Tell me, Colonel Iron MacKinnie, do you recommend that the military do things by half measures?”
“No-”
“Nor can we. I am not proud of what was done last night, but in my judgment it was needed. Tell me, did you ever consider guerrilla war against the Imperials? I know that you did. Would not innocent lives have been lost in your war? How many more will be killed in futile resistance to the Imperial colonists if we fail? I wish to hear no more about it.” He lit a cigarette, calmly inhaled, and continued.
“As to your crew. First, of course MacLean is a naval officer. The Imperials will know we intend to send a spy on the expedition. It might as well be a clumsy try so that they don’t suspect you. They will probably be careful to keep MacLean away from their ships’ engines and controls, but I doubt they will object to his going.
“Academician Longway has been on several expeditions to the Archipelago, and he knows as much about primitives and ancient civilizations as any man on this planet. He has fought his way out of tough situations in the past, too. He may be more use to you than you think.”
“All right,” MacKinnie said. “I didn’t object to him anyway. What about the scholar? A strong wind would blow him away.”
“Kleinst is just what he appears to be, except for one small deception. He’s not an historian, he’s a physicist. The best we have who isn’t prominent enough to be known to the Imperials. The boy is sharp enough to learn Longway’s patter sufficiently well to fool anyone not an expert. I admit his appearance is against him, but we can’t be choosy. You’ll need someone who understands what science we know if only to tell you what to bring back.”
MacKinnie lit his pipe. “And the girl?”
“The daughter of one of my officers. She really is a graduate of the University, she’s reliable, and no one expects a girl to be intelligent. She may have an opportunity to learn something you don’t. Pretty girls often do; they have methods not available to men.”
MacKinnie started to interrupt, but Dougal gestured him to silence. “You may keep your shocked proprieties to yourself,” the policeman said. “She is loyal and reliable, if somewhat young, and secretaries are not that uncommon on trading expeditions. We know that among the Imperials women often accompany men. There are even women officers in the Imperial Navy — oh yes, I’m quite serious.”
MacKinnie tried to digest that thought, but couldn’t. It was just too alien. “And which one is your agent watching me?” he demanded.
“All of them. But you won’t betray us. I have enough information on you to fill a small library. The Service has had you in mind as a possible servant to King David since we took Orleans. When you overhead that conversation, I already had more than enough to act on. I don’t waste good men, MacKinnie. Haven will need everyone we can find for the great task ahead of us. We’re saving a planet from slavery! You won’t violate your oath.”
“Thank you for the confidence.” MacKinnie stood. “Just how much do they know?” he asked, indicating the group on the veranda with a wide sweep of his hand.
Dougal smiled faintly. “Enough. They know this to be an expedition to a primitive world, with the ostensible purpose of establishing a trade mission, and an ostensible secret mission of filling the war chest for planetary conquest. They think the real purpose is to learn all they can about Imperial science, customs, military power, and that sort of thing — that this is a straight intelligence mission. They’ve been ordered not to violate Imperial regulations without specific orders from you, but to keep their eyes open whenever they’re around Imperial ships. You and your sergeant know about the library. You can tell them about it when you’ve reached Makassar.” Dougal lit another cigarette.
“I suppose they’ll have to do,” MacKinnie said. “All right. Now what about my cargo?”
“Primitive weapons, in large quantities. Axes, swords, and the like. Armor. Some gold and platinum, but not much because we can sell those to the Imperials directly. Cloth. Good tartan woven from winter-sheared woolsh. Grua. Spices. Some trinkets. You’ll have the list soon enough, and if you think of something primitive the Makassarians might buy, or something you will need, let me know. But don’t try to smuggle in anything the Imperials would object to.”
“Not likely,” MacKinnie said. He sighed and stared at the ashes in the bowl of his pipe. “Ever head a military force? “he asked.
“No. Only
police. Why?”
“Old maxim. No plan survives contact with the enemy. This one won’t either.”
“Probably not, but what else have we?”
MacKinnie shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s insane. Oh, it’s probably the best we can do, but you’d better have a Plan B, because I think your main battle plan has about as much chance of working as I have of swimming the Major Sea.”
CHAPTER FIVE
EMPIRE HOUSE
MacKinnie sat alone on the veranda. The others were off on their various errands, leaving him as the only member of the expedition with nothing to do. He had finished his chickeest, and was wishing mightily for a good cup of coffee when Stark arrived.
“Find any of the Wolves?”
“Yes, sir. We can get our pick of the noncoms. The officers are a little harder to find. But are you sure you want any of the men? Being as how you’re supposed to be dead? They’re good at fighting, but they aren’t so long on keeping that kind of secret. Don’t know how good I’ll be, for that matter.”
“What about those two that Dougal furnished? Any use?”
“MacReedy’s typical, si — uh, Trader. Served a hitch in a trading expedition guard unit on South Continent, another on a sea passage through the west end of the Archipelago. He’ll do. Todd’s another case. Officer cadet, I expect. Seems a good lad, probably make colonel some day, but his speech and manners don’t come from the barracks. Keep him from talking too much and he’ll pass.”
“About what I expected,” MacKinnie said. “No point in complaining. Dougal has his own ideas of how this ought to go, and we won’t be able to change anything until we’re off-planet. Maybe not even then. I’m not completely sure who’s in command.”
“I am,” Stark said.
MacKinnie grinned. “Well, let’s be sure of it.” He thought for a moment. “Hal, get us Dunston and Olby, and pick a couple of available corporals. I have a hunch we may need some steady noncoms, and I’d as soon not have all the fighting men come from Haven. Uh — there’s no need for them to advertise that they’re Wolves.”
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