by Steve Rzasa
It was housed in the top spire of a five-hundred story tower on the east side of Rhysalan, on the other side of the capital from the duke’s estate. Only the wealthiest governments maintained their embassies here, where the rich rubbed elbows with the great-winged skapreys that circled glittering spires and made their nests in the corners of the windows and arches. Tower had plenty of time to ponder the beauty of the architecture, right down to the white stone and glittering gold glass, because Valatestan traffic control made him circle four times before they permitted him to approach the yawning chasm of the docking bay.
“In case you’re interested, the Ambassador has already lodged two formal complaints with Colonel Baylor, sir,” Baby announced unexpectedly.
“For what? Sleeping on the job?”
“Malicious Harassment and Police Misconduct.”
“For requesting a meeting?” Tower was more nonplussed than outraged.
“Well, I may have implied that if he didn’t agree to see you, he’d be arrested as an accessory to murder.”
“What did the colonel say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He doesn’t know. Lt. Grant said you should tell the ambassador to stuff it.”
“Ah, I see.” Lt. Grant wasn’t an actual lieutenant, he was the colonel’s augment slash adjutant. “What do I need to know about Mr. Malavasi other than the fact that he’s an oversensitive, self-important jackass?”
“Based on his criminal record in his youth, the ambassador appears to fancy himself a hard man.”
“Tough guy, huh? We’ll see about that.”
“I wouldn’t recommend turning it into a mammalian urination contest, Tower. Valatestan culture is considerably more aggressive than you are accustomed to encountering in civilian life here. Push him or challenge his alpha status in a public manner and he will have no choice but to defend it, regardless of the cost.”
Tower grinned. “We’ll see about that. I’ve still got that zero zero tango in my pocket, right?”
“Must I remind you again that it is said those who live by the sword shall die by the sword?”
“Everybody has to die one way or another, Baby. And anyhow, I doubt this High Lord Jackass is going to attack me with anything but a deluge of paper.”
The gravity tractor brought the aerovar down hard onto the landing pad with an audible thump. Tower grimaced. He was already disposed to dislike these Valatestans and he had no doubt the rough landing was intentional.
Four men approached the aerovar. They were tall, athletic men, though not giants like the Morchardese, dressed alike in sky-blue armored jumpsuits marked with yellow stripes on the sleeves. All of them carried heavy laser rifles, Vetterli-Vitalis, if he had it right.
“Are they always armed for bear, Baby?”
“No, sir. Standard Valatestan honor guard armaments include a ceremonial dagger and a silver-plated slug-thrower. They appear to have upgraded their weaponry to make a particular point today.”
Right. Tower waved to the grim-faced men and smiled in a cheerful manner. He might be at their mercy, but there was no way he was going to let them see him sweat.
The armed guards boxed him in as if he were a criminal. They escorted him to the uppermost chambers of the tower, where the ambassador’s office was located. It had hemispheric windows on all four sides. The lift rose through a shaft with glass walls into the dead center of the office. The floors were laid out with a gold-veined marble that Baby informed Tower cost nearly as much as the average apartment in the expensive part of Trans Paradis. The walls, what little were not open windows, were constructed of white stone imported from Valatesta. Rich, colorful images of bearded men in pompous poses and arrogant costume decorated those gaps.
No, not images. Actual hand-paintings. Tower nodded and decided it would be all right if he was just a little impressed.
The ambassador sat at a desk with his back to the west. His chair and desk were thick and made of what looked like actual wood, carved from a real tree. Holographic reports danced across the desktop as he swiped meaty fingers through the images. He was short, stocky, and ugly, with a black beard that was elegantly shot with grey. His head was shaved entirely clean. But despite his unimpressive physical appearance, he still managed to radiate a sense of dangerous power that put Tower on edge.
The guards spread out around the room, one to each corner. Tower stood behind a pair of simple wooden chairs that were set facing the desk and probably cost more than his var. He flicked his badge to life. “Excellency, thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“Shut up and sit down.” Malavasi’s voice was deep and gravely. Tower could smell the tobacco on his breath from where he stood. “Skip the formalities. You wanted to talk to me, Mr. Tower, so start talking. I don’t like wasting my time. And I really don’t like mentally unstable military officers forcing me to waste it.”
Tower didn’t blink. He had no doubt the Valatestan had access to every potentially useful piece of information about him, including his genetic profile and tax returns. But he didn’t sit down either.
“Excellency, tell me, why did you send your man to kill Arpad and Janos Jagaelleon?”
That took the ambassador by surprise.
“Why did I do what?”
“You heard me. Why did you send an assassin after the Morchardese princes? Isn’t that a little clumsy and obvious for a man in your position? Do you really need the money so badly that you were chasing the reward the Tetrarch was offering? Or were you just trying to curry favor with him?”
Malavasi eyed him distastefully. “Neither I nor the embassy had anything to do with an attack on the Morchardese pups. This is the first I’ve heard of it. As even a modicum of research would have shown you, I have absolutely no need of money, and if you knew anything at all about Valatesta, you would be aware that currying favor with Gianpaolo Branchini is among the lowest possible priorities for any member of my house, including me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Mr. Tower, that is so.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “I suggest you go and see your therapist. Post-trauma of the sort you have experienced is a hard thing. I am not unsympathetic and I will overlook this lunacy on your part. Once. But I have no time for the fantasies of a damaged mind.”
“You call this a fantasy?”
Baby turned over a still cell from the Prime Captain’s visual stream to the embassy augment and it appeared a moment later on Malavasi’s holoscreen. It was a close-up of the dead Valatestan’s face. The fatal head wound was visible at the upper corner of the screen.
“That’s Milazzo!” Malavasi exclaimed. “He’s the guard who went missing two days ago!”
“Giuseppe Milazzo, otherwise known as X3042ML018493061,” Tower concurred. We found him yesterday evening. As you can see, he wasn’t in the best of health.”
The ambassador was coldly furious. Even his bald head had turned red. “Who did this to him?”
“A pair of guards at the Morchardese embassy.”
“And have you arrested them?”
“No,” Tower said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “No, we have not.”
“And why not?” Malavasi demanded. His beady eyes were full of thuggish anger.
By way of answer, Tower had Baby send the Valatestan a second cell. This one was zoomed in on Giuseppe Milazzo and clearly showed him raising the stock of the disruptor to his shoulder, preparatory to firing it. The image appeared in the air in front of Malavasi’s face and seemed to strike him almost as if he had been physically slapped. The ambassador jerked his head back with an audible exhalation, and leaned back in his chair, staring wide-eyed at the holo as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
“Santo cielo!” he breathed, almost to himself. Then he looked up at Tower. “This is legitimate?”
“I was at the scene last night. And I’ve personally reviewed the security footage. It’s not a fake.”
“He killed the princes?”
“Arp
ad Jagaelleon is dead. Janos Jagaelleon is unharmed.” Tower was beginning to suspect that Malavasi wasn’t personally involved, but that didn’t mean his government wasn’t, and he had no intention of giving the ambassador any more information than was strictly necessary. “Do you formally deny Valatestan involvement?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you have an explanation for why one of your employees, a man with eight years of military experience in your Marines, was shot dead in the process of attempting to assassinate the Morchardese royals?”
“No, Mr. Tower, I do not.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “But I can assure you that MCID will have the full cooperation of the Valatestan government in this investigation.”
“Thank you, Ambassador.” Tower decided it would no longer be seen as a demonstration of weakness if he sat down. “Would that cooperation extend to a cup of coffee?” he said as he took a seat on the wooden chair on the left. It was hard and considerably less comfortable than the inexpensive, artificial seats to which he was accustomed. Rich people were strange.
“We can do better than that, Mr. Tower.” For the first time since his entrance into the office, the ambassador smiled at him. “Though I must warn you. Once you become accustomed to the Valatestan espresso, you will never again be content with an inferior brew.”
“Let’s go ahead and take that risk, shall we?” Tower stifled a yawn with his left hand. “Now, Ambassador, can you explain to me why your Tetrarch and the Morchardese royal house have it in for one another?”
The espresso was very good, Tower had to admit, as he sipped at the piping-hot black liquid from an ivory thimble-sized cup that, for all he knew, cost more than his annual salary. It was strong enough to wake the dead; he could practically feel his synapses crackling with efficiency as he set the cup very carefully down on the ambassador’s desk.
“So, you’re saying that this blood feud is more of a family matter for the Tetrarch’s house rather than for the Valatestan government?”
“I won’t pretend there are no official grievances, Mr. Tower. The Morchardese were a blight on our commerce for years! I cannot list how many cargo vessels were lost on the Halderanii Route thanks to those jumped-up pirates and their incessant raiding. Their predations led to the Costa Egadi incident that cost Paolo Branchini his life. He was the captain of a system defense boat that discovered an illegal mining operation in our asteroid belt. He had disembarked with a small force of Marines and was in the process of arresting the parties responsible when two Morchardese pirate cruisers appeared, disabled on his boat, and bombarded the habitation structures. The Tetrarch’s eldest son, eight Marines, and eighteen miners were killed. And this was in Valatestan space! So you can understand if we Valatestans are not favorably disposed towards the Morchardese royal house.”
“Indeed.”
That so, Baby?
“More or less. He’s omitted the fact that Valatesta is under six different sets of sanctions from the Ascendancy’s Bureau of Subsectoral Commerce for the distribution of unauthorized pharmaceuticals. Five years ago, the Kingdom of Morchard filed a formal complaint about Valatestan smuggling in Morchardese space. Valatesta denied the charges of smuggling and filed a countercomplaint against Morchard for piracy.”
And the truth?
“They were probably both guilty as charged. Valatesta is a tech level higher than its neighbors, and it is the largest supplier of drugs, legal and illegal, to the seven nearest star systems. The Morchardese warrior culture is inherently predacious and sees piracy as fair game. The BSC never issued a ruling or even any findings of fact. However, intersystem tensions appear to have eased considerably since the rebellion and subsequent exile of the Morchardese royal house.”
“Does the angel in your head confirm my words?” Malavasi gestured and a guard swept in to take the empty espresso cups away. “I assure you, Mr. Tower, I am as mystified by the involvement of Mr. Milazzo in this series of tragic events as you are. As evidence of my good faith, I have given instructions to release all of the data concerning his movements and vital signs in the last week to you.”
Tower frowned. “I thought you said he was missing for two days. How could he be missing if he was tagged?”
“Therein lies the mystery.” The ambassador spread his hands. “But I trust it will not escape you that there are ways of putting pressure on a man. It may have served a third party’s interest to direct your attention towards Valatesta. The Tetrarch’s personal enmity aside, we have no more concerns about the Morchardese. The new government was desperate to curry favor with us; the royal house raped their currency accounts and stole everything that wasn’t nailed down. And thanks to the revolutionary battles and the Unity blockade, the piracy problem is no more.”
“Is that so?”
“They barely have six ships to rub together and they haven’t been spotted in our system for four years. The Costa Egadi incident was twelve years ago. It’s not forgiven, but at this point, it’s hardly a casus belli. Speaking of which, the Tetrarch will want to know. What happened to Arpad, the heir.”
The news would break soon enough, Tower decided. “Disrupted.”
Malavasi nodded, satisfied. “It will do, although I would prefer that the responsible party was not one of my employees.
“I don’t know, Ambassador. From what I understand, Valatesta still produces some very fine weapons that show up on worlds with the wrong tech level with some degree of regularity.”
Malavasi laughed and pointed a stubby finger at the image of Giuseppe Milazzo holding the weapons. “That’s not one of ours. If you were looking for a high-precision laser or a tight-beam particle gun, you might want to look our way. But you have only to look at that crude, ugly, device to know it is not one of ours, nor is it anything our networks are likely to deal in.”
He had a point, Tower admitted. “You’re a man of experience, Ambassador. You haven’t gotten to where you are today without developing some pretty good instincts. What are your instincts telling you about this?”
Malavasi looked at him with something akin to newfound interest. He was a man, Tower suddenly realized, who could not only be a very powerful ally or a very bad enemy, but who above all needed to feel respected. The Valatestan expected his opinion to be valued, and in return, he thought well of those with the good sense to ask for it. It was clear that he was taking Tower’s question seriously, as his eyes became small black slits and he stroked his beard as he considered his answer.
“It’s not the Unity,” he concluded. “They don’t fear your duke anymore than they fear the Ascendancy. Morchard is nothing to them, just another pawn in the grand strategic game. If it suited them, they’d betray the revolution and bring back the royal house tomorrow.”
“You think they might prefer to keep Prince Janos alive as an insurance policy?”
“Just so,” Malavasi said. “Very good. And if the Unity wanted the royal house dead, they wouldn’t send a man with a disruptor after them. Taking down the embassy skytower would be more their style. They’ve never been concerned about collateral damage.”
“So who do you like for it?”
“For an inexpensive assassination attempt meant to point the finger at us? The new Morchardese government, of course.” Malavasi pointed to the image again as it zoomed in on Milazzo’s face. “Have a look at this. I didn’t know Giuseppe well, but I saw him two or three times a week for more than a year and I can tell you one thing. That’s not him. Not in his right mind. Does that look like a hired killer to you?”
“No,” Tower said slowly. “No, it does not.” He could see that the Valatestan’s face was neither grim with determination nor focused with rage, it was blank. His eyes were dull and his lower lip was hanging open. If Tower hadn’t known what the man was doing, he would have assumed that he was looking at the image of a mental subnormal.
“I recommend having your laboratories do a very thorough tox screen,” the ambassador said, his small eyes dark with suspicio
n. “And, Mr. Tower, please see that his body is returned here whole. His family will want to bury him with honor on Valatesta.”
The ambassador rose and Tower followed suit.
“I’m sorry if we got off to a bad start, Ambassador. I appreciate your offer of assistance with our investigation.”
“Not at all, Mr. Tower.” For all his lack of height, the Valatestan was not without his dignity. “I understand our government will remain under a cloud of suspicion until you identify those responsible, and therefore it is in our interest to help you do so as soon as possible. I wish you a good day and a safe return to Trans Paradis.”
He bowed, very slightly, and Tower returned it. At the ambassador’s gesture, two guardsmen stepped forward to escort him, one on either side. But just as he was walking out of the office, Malavasi called out to him.
“If you found the espresso to your liking, Mr. Tower, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I should be happy to send you some fresh beans from the next shipment.”
Tower hesitated for a moment, tempted to tell the refined bastard where he could stick his beans. Then he simply walked on, turning his back on the sumptuous, but ill-gotten gains that were the fruit of a thousand years of shameless government corruption.
CHAPTER NINE
Because of the diverse conditions of humans, it happens that some acts are virtuous to some people, as appropriate and suitable to them, while the same acts are immoral for others, as inappropriate to them.
—St. Thomas Aquinas of Old Terra
In his dreams, Tower was entwined between the arms and legs of a beautiful blonde. Their sweat soaked the sheets. He ran his hands through her hair and kissed the base of her neck.
She smiled warmly at him and said, “Tower, you have to wake up now. Beep beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep beep.”
Tower sat bolt upright in bed. It was still dark in his bedroom. He rubbed his face and groaned.
