by Stefon Mears
“Didn’t old Rodion try to expand to the Mars docks a few years back?” asked Davis.
“Yes, and the Kianoush family was instrumental in blocking him, ostensibly in support of local work for local workers.”
“But Mars has always tried to fight off-world businesses, hasn’t it?” asked Donal, wishing he could take notes.
“They used to nod to it, but it became the rallying cry around the time the Romanov’s attempted expansion. Gave us fits until we started hiring Mars locals for upper executive positions.”
“We are a truly interplanetary company,” said Mr. Davis with a smile that Donal decided had to have been companionable humor. It didn’t look plastic enough for a marketing gimmick, plus Ms. Stevens gave him a droll eyebrow.
The waiter returned with the vegetable platter, which included the obvious things like carrots and olives, and more obscure Earth treats like sliced oca, bright green romanesco, and peeled nopales. But the selection also included Martian orange cucumbers (stiffer than their conventional cousins, and a touch spicy) and celery (much like its Earth cousin, but twice as juicy), and the only vegetable unique to Luna to date: dadan, which grew in crisp pale blue spines and tasted to Donal almost like a heavy mustard.
As the waiter identified everything on the plate, a second waiter poured the first glasses of wine and left the bottle in the middle of the table.
When the waiters left, Mr. Davis picked up as though there had been no pause. “But really,” he said as he sniffed at a dadan spine, “that’s nothing compared to the trouble between Saito and Montenegro.”
“They’re just competing for research facilities on Venus,” said Ms. Stevens as she sipped her wine.
“Not at all.” Mr. Davis turned to Donal. “If a boy jilted your kid sister, how would you feel about doing business with his big brother?”
“In my family? There’d have been a duel.”
“There already was,” said Ms. Stevens. “Two. Legally the matter is settled.”
“And I’m sure that’s the end of that,” said Mr. Davis with a roll of his eyes. “But enough shop talk. What about you, Donal? How could you have gone after Li Hua and not given so much as a glance to Tina here?”
Donal almost spat out a sip of wine, and he felt his eyes grow wide.
“He’s just teasing you,” said Ms. Davis. “Believe me, I think we’re all happy Li Hua is ... dating.”
“Actually,” said Mr. Davis to Ms. Stevens, “Li Hua’s not the only one who could use a few dates. The pair of you are all business, I swear.”
The two began a shorthand version of what was clearly a favorite argument between them. Donal could not follow the details, but by the time they seemed to remember he was there, he had deduced that, as Mr. Mancuso’s social secretary, Mr. Davis had a never-ending string of opportunities to ... date while on the job. Ms. Stevens, on the other hand, appeared to have a relative dearth, though if Donal followed the thread correctly, she did date; she merely kept her private life private.
Right then, Donal wished his was.
Their discussion contained enough offhand comments about improvements to Li Hua’s temperament now that she was getting dates — and they continued to emphasize that word, as though fearing Donal might miss what it substituted for — that he had trouble keeping himself from blushing.
“So why do the security executives have to eat in another room?”
Mr. Davis and Ms. Stevens looked at each other, each with one eyebrow raised, mirroring the other. Donal began to wonder if conversing with them was less about the conversation itself and more about some sort of game between the two of them.
“Officially,” said Ms. Stevens, “they are discussing security plans for the various groupings once we arrive on Venus, and will be each night of the voyage.”
“Unofficially,” said Mr. Davis, “the top executives are getting all of the combat-ready folks out of the room to prevent the possibility of assassination—”
“Leaving you as the only wild card,” chimed in Ms. Stevens.
“—because you’ve already saved Mr. Mancuso’s life. Also, they’re sizing each other up.”
“In case they have to fight each other?” asked Donal
“Yes,” said Mr. Davis. “Though partially it’s just what they do. Get two marksmen in a room and they want to know who the best shot is. That kind of thing.”
“In this case, though,” said Donal, trying to break the rhythm of their back-and-forth, “Li Hua’s got the clear edge. She’s the only magician.”
“And don’t you think the other executives are pleased about that,” said Ms. Stevens. “Everyone loves the idea of increased security, but when Mr. Mancuso created Li Hua’s position—”
“It felt like a power grab,” said Donal.
“Which is was,” said Mr. Davis.
“Someone had to do it,” said Ms. Stevens, “and 4M was in the best position to handle it.”
“What if the four of them team up against Mr. Mancuso?” said Donal.
Ms. Stevens and Mr. Davis shared a laugh, but she was the one who said, “You’ve obviously never watched him work.”
◊
Tunold felt as though he might strain his eyes trying to scan the minutia of his small phantasmal display. Extrapolating for estimated speed, the hippogriff shuttle had to have been practically on top of the shimmer, but neither he nor Cromartie could find any trace of it.
“Could any of your spells help?”
“Scrying’s not my area,” said Cromartie, his distant voice telling Tunold that his focus was still on the scanners. Where it should be.
“What if we—”
Before Tunold could finish his question, a fold in space shimmered into view dead ahead, close enough that it filled most of the forward viewport. It looked like a lightning strike the size of a mountain next to the field mouse that was their little shuttlecraft.
The opening was visible for barely a moment, but in that moment Tunold saw a ship, easily a hundred meters long and at least fifty wide, shaped like a great flying gargoyle.
“Got it!” shouted Tunold, tamping his voice down to continue, “I got a good look at our bogey in that split second.”
“As did I, Sir,” said Cromartie. “But the bad news is that I’m pretty sure it got a look at us too.”
◊
Jacobs might not like the man, but he had to admire the skill with which Mancuso worked. Through the main course — reindeer steak with garlic mashed potatoes and summer squash for Jacobs — Mancuso had appeared to grow tipsy, but Jacobs noticed how he played the enmities of his dining companions against each other. An offhand word here, a minor reference there, all appearing to be innocent in context, but Jacobs could afford to watch with nothing personal on the line.
Mancuso kept them sniping at each other so they never managed to unite against him. In the process, he subtly manipulated the accomplished businesspeople into letting the conversation stay within the boundaries he established.
For a man who was famous for railing against politicians, Mancuso played politics with the astute hand of a master.
Fortunately for Jacobs, this also had the happy effect of drawing attention away from him, so he could enjoy his meal almost in peace. Much better than the near sideshow attraction that most dinners at the captain’s table became. Jacobs even briefly considered the possibility of a second glass of wine — something he never indulged in around passengers, only around crew — but knew better than to take things that far. He was Mancuso’s partner now, after all, which meant that if Jacobs showed weakness, the man would no doubt try to handle him as he did these others.
Jacobs was almost tempted to let him try.
Owning half of Starchaser Spacelines might make Jacobs a businessman in fact, but he was a spacer first and foremost, and he had no doubt that Mancuso was unprepared to deal with a mind the likes of his.
He had been considering joining the conversation when one of the waitresses leaned in to whi
sper in his ear, “Captain, they’re asking for you on the bridge. They said to tell you, ‘there’s a problem with the mule.’”
The poor waitress clearly did not understand the significance of her words, and had to jerk back as Jacobs snapped to his feet.
“My apologies, but ship’s business calls and I must answer.” He saw questions forming on several sets of lips but Jacobs raised his hands and let command seep into his voice as he said, “I assure you that there is no immediate danger, and there will not be so long as I respond immediately. Enjoy your dinner.”
Jacobs gave a significant look at Goldberg and saw the chief nod that he understood: Goldberg had to ride herd on the passengers for now.
Jacobs threw down his napkin and marched out of the restaurant before anyone could call him back.
◊
Donal had been glad of the main course’s arrival. Not only did it mean he got to enjoy his lobster — stir fried with ginger and scallions — but Mr. Davis and Ms. Stevens took enough pleasure in their food — both filets mignons, with spiced squash mash and edamame — that Donal’s ears got a little rest.
He appreciated all the information, but he needed time to process so he could begin to figure out what it all meant, and how it could affect his chances of figuring out what Mr. Mancuso was really up to.
Donal also needed to talk to Fionn.
Besides, if Ms. Stevens and Mr. Davis had continued at that pace, the finer points might have begun to jumble in Donal’s head. But this break meant that he could afford to shift a bit of his consciousness to aid his memory of the details for later comprehension during meditation.
Donal had actually been ready to comment on the food himself when the captain stood from his table and left abruptly, with scarcely a word to anyone.
“What do you—” began Mr. Davis, but Chief Goldberg stood and said, “I know the captain’s exit is going to leave a lot of you with questions, and that some of you might feel tempted to direct those questions to myself and my staff.
“I’m going to ask you to resist that impulse. If the captain says it’s a matter of ship security, it’s a matter of ship security. And that means no one on the crew can talk about it until the captain gives us permission.” Chief Goldberg rolled his shoulders. “Before that happens, he will make a statement that will answer most of the questions any of you are likely to ask. If you still have questions, please feel free to bring them to me then.”
Chief Goldberg stopped and looked around the room, as though expecting an objection that didn’t come.
“In the meantime, please enjoy your meals, and rest assured that if there were any immediate danger, the captain would have had us escort you safely to your cabins.”
Chief Goldberg spared a glance at Magister Machado, then said, “Now I’m going to go carry this information to your security executives myself. While I’m out of the room, please consider our ship’s mage the senior officer present, in case you need anything.”
The chief turned and walked toward a second dining room. Donal half expected Magister Machado to make some sort of statement himself, but the ship’s mage appeared more interested in his feijoada.
But that was a show for the businesspeople who, unlike Donal, could not have seen the Magister’s ghost panther familiar take shape and phase through the walls in the direction of the bridge.
◊
Tunold swore in the language of his forefathers and gambled that no ship designer would give a gargoyle look to a craft designed for maneuverability.
He jerked the hippogriff shuttle up and to port, spinning with the wings and legs stretched in an effort to persuade the gargoyle’s scanners that it was a much bigger mule than it really was.
Tunold spared a thought to hate the term mule, and swore that if the shuttlecraft got them safely back aboard the Horizon Cusp he would give it a much better name. Lifeline, perhaps.
Behind Tunold he could hear Cromartie chanting rapid-fire in that harsh language he’d used earlier when casting...
Wait, he sounds like he’s right behind me.
Tunold spared a glance over his shoulder as he held the spin but eased his hard turn into a gentle arc that would eventually intersect the Horizon Cusp. In that glance he saw that Cromartie had abandoned the scanners and communications, and was sitting on the cramped cockpit floor, facing aft and gesturing and chanting like a madman.
Great. I’m flying solo because my co-pilot needs to defend the ship.
Tunold began transferring basic controls for that station to his own, doubling the number of details he needed to track. Tunold should have had a co-pilot separate from the magician he brought for defense. He should have had a faster shuttle, one rated for real flights, not just suborbital and emergency landings.
And damn it! I should not die aboard a shuttle called ‘the mule.’
Tunold poured all the speed he could manage into their escape.
◊
After a flat out sprint between bubbles and finally up the ramp, Jacobs arrived on the bridge, sweating and panting and trying not to think about Dr. Ramirez and his concerns about Jacobs’ heart. Jacobs had no doubt that his heart was fine, however fast it might have been beating right then.
The moment Jacobs’ crew saw him, they began giving reports.
Jefferson: “They reported contact, but have been out of touch for two minutes.”
Grabowski: “They almost landed on top of the shimmer, but there’s been no sign of it since they linked in.”
Burke: “I’ve slowed to one-half to try to let the shuttle catch up.”
Jacobs’ head felt too light, his body a little faraway, redness pressing in on his vision. He grabbed the back of Jefferson’s chair to steady himself and almost tipped her over in the process.
Still, he barked out at Burke, “On whose authority?”
“Mine, Sir,” said Burke, trying to swallow the words even as he said them.
“Get us ... back to speed...” Jacobs could feel a creeping sensation up the back of his skull, but refused to let a head rush black him out. He went down to one knee, head forward and arms bracing him on the other knee. “Never ... drop speed ... under pursuit...”
Don’t you dare pass out and leave children running your ship, Old Man. Deep breaths.
“Do not ... drop speed again ... on this voyage...” One more deep breath and Jacobs began to feel steadier. He pushed as much of that steadiness as he could into his voice. “Unless you have a direct order from myself or the ex oh.”
Jacobs stood, holding his back straight as though he were Kelly.
“And if the ex oh orders it, you confirm it with me.”
Jacobs ran his gaze around the stations and saw concerned faces everywhere he looked. So he pretended that sympathy was not directed at him. “I’m worried about them too, but the safety of the ship comes first.”
Jacobs turned and started up the stairs to his station, leaning a little more heavily on the rail than he tried to let on. “Mr. Grabowski, I want updates on that chase. If our bogey is after them, you find me something I can give Machado for a target. Ms. Jefferson, get them back on the link. I want solid information, not—”
“I have them, Sir,” said Ms. Jefferson. “Linking through to your station.”
A moment later the furrowed brow and angry grimace of Tunold appeared above Jacobs’ comm pad. “It’s a ship, Captain. Shaped like a gargoyle, maybe two thirds the Horizon Cusp’s size. It saw us too.”
“What’s it doing now?”
“Unknown.” Tunold lost a moment fighting with controls, if Jacobs judged the grit of his teeth correctly. “Can’t get a read and fly at the same time, Captain, and my scanners officer is busy casting spells.”
“Then stick to flying and let him handle pursuit.”
That earned Jacobs a tilt-headed no-shit look. “I’m complaining about my lack of manpower, Sir. Not asking how to fly a noncombat shuttle ... in combat conditions...”
Tunold trailed off. Jacobs tr
ied to wait patiently as Tunold stared fixedly at something Jacobs could not see.
But patience just then was too much to ask.
“Something to share with the class, Ex Oh?”
“Yes, Captain. This ship handles like someone wrote the bindings in molasses. I feel an urge to report my speed in knots. I—”
“Anything beyond complaints, Mister?”
“I don’t think it’s moving to pursue.” Tunold shook his head. “Can’t be sure without a solid read though. I’ll have to go back and—”
“Belay that!” Jacobs leaned forward, putting himself almost nose-to-nose with the three-dimensional representation of his executive officer’s head. “Get back here and debrief.”
“Captain, I—”
“Now.” No yelling. Just one word with a simple undertone of command, but Jacobs knew that from him it sounded as though daring to violate whatever order it carried would have dire consequences beyond the capacity of the poor recipient to imagine.
“Aye, Sir. Returning at best speed.”
“That’s more like it. Call home again at the first sign of trouble, but otherwise, focus on getting here. And the moment you do I want both you and Cromartie in my office, reporting.”
◊
Donal wound up enjoying his five-layer dark chocolate cake alone. The captain had not been gone two minutes before dinner broke up at the main table, the various executives gathering their staffs and leaving separately amid an undertone of private discussions.
Ms. Stevens and Mr. Davis had been gracious enough about their own exit when Mr. Mancuso twirled his finger in the air to gather his people. Still, the whole group of them left quickly and without much fanfare.
Li Hua did spare Donal a smile as Mr. Mancuso hustled his group out of the restaurant, and Donal remembered that she had asked to meet him on the Observation Deck after dinner. He estimated she would need a good half hour to get away, so he had time to linger over Ambrosia’s wonderful chocolate cake.
