“Someone better warn the Witches,” Carovan said after he and Janine had spent several hours wandering around Trahea and its Trade City during the Lina-bright night hours. “This place could become a real tourist magnet! It’s marvellously different from all the Space Stations and the so-called destination planets!”
“Sleeping can be a problem, though,” objected Jillian. “The natives, like Nance, have no trouble with day being night, and vice versa, but those of us used to a more Earth-standard diurnal cycle do have difficulties. Every Terran complains about it, at one time or another.”
“Tourists wouldn’t stay around long enough to notice,” Janine laughed. “Especially at this stage, since tourism has not exactly been developed. There are not that many things for travellers to do. Once they’ve walked the Trahea streets, sampled the food and drink, and taken a flyer trip to look at the countryside, what else is there? The Witches are not going to be inviting them to watch them work, and after you’ve seen the crazy moon you’ve seen it—whether you believe in it or not!”
“The brave ones could always go for a browhorn ride,” Sarah suggested flippantly.
“Browhorn ride? What...?” asked Janine, even as the Liaison Office workers burst into gales of laughter.
“The browhorn is a native riding beast,” Jillian explained, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. “If you can imagine the mythical Earth beast, the unicorn, as it probably would have been, had it actually existed, that’s the browhorn. Not white in colour, but of various shades of tan and brown, with, yes, a sharp horn growing in the middle of the forehead. And cantankerous—the Kordeans lop the horns off the riding beasts, leaving just a dull nub. Otherwise a rider could get gored when his or her mount decided to take offence.”
“The wild browhorns attack one another with the sharp points when they’re in a fighting mood,” Nance added. “And when that happens people ought to stay at a distance—preferably a long distance, since the browhorns can move fast.”
“Sounds like those animals would make great racing beasts,” commented Carovan. “Imagine the excitement of the betting, with animals that unpredictable.”
Jillian shook a finger at him.
“Don’t encourage anyone,” she said. “Next thing we know the environs around Trahea will be dotted with racetracks, and idiots and their money will be parted every day of the week!”
“Oh, I was thinking more in terms of exporting some of the animals to one of the so-called pleasure planets,” protested Carovan. “The gamblers in those places deserve to lose their last coins if they’re fools enough to wager them.”
*****
Dian and the Greencat came back to Trahea with Coryn and Fiana, all four of them in high spirits. As a matter-of-fact, the dominant emotion around the Liaison Office seemed to be giddiness, during the couple of days that elapsed after the guests arrived, and before the ship they had arrived in took off, once again.
Steph and Fiana did not seem to mind the separation that they were facing, since the reason for it was, as Steph noted, “as good as reasons for separation could get”. Besides, Fiana’s interview with Marlyss had gone very well, although, as Coryn said, “it was an open question as to who was interviewing whom”. In any case, according to him, the two women were getting on marvellously well by the time they had spent a half an hour together, and that meant that he was not going to have to worry about how the Kordean-Confederation relations were doing while he was gone.
Fiana was also making friends with the Witch Anya, and the young Janelle. She told Coryn that she intended to find a way to integrate those two back into life on Kordea; that was one of the topics she was determined to broach with Witch Marlyss, as soon as she had the reins of the Liaison Office firmly in her hands.
“It’s a waste of their talents to have them sitting idly by, here in the Port, when they could be doing useful work, even in Trahea. Janelle may not be the most talented of the amarto-sensitives, but she could certainly do healing, and perhaps locate lost items, or look into what rebellious, and runaway teens are up to. She seems a sensitive girl who won’t push herself into other people’s business, unless it’s necessary, for their safety, or some other such reason.
“Anya, on the other hand....”
“If you can figure out a way to integrate Witch Anya into her society without the eruption of strong negative feelings in a number of different quarters, Fiana, you are a miracle worker,” Coryn replied. “She has not, in the past, endeared herself to the Circle Witches. From what they said at one of our meetings, I gathered that she was considered to not have lived up to her responsibilities as a Circle Witch. And then, of course, there’s the fact that she was instrumental to The Organization’s amarto-fuelled power grab. Plus, the Neotsarians’ attempt to turn the moon Lina into a bargaining chip did not help.”
“Still, it would be a waste to not use her considerable talents in some fashion,” Fiana protested. “And I can tell that she’s keen to do something; I think that she spent entirely too long a time sitting on her butt as a prisoner, to not want to lead a more useful life now.”
“Couldn’t she take on some kind of a liaison role for Kordea at one or another of the powerful Confederation worlds or Space Stations?” ventured Sarah who had been listening to the discussion. “With the reflector-refractor broken, the Neotsarians are not quite the danger to us Witches as they were earlier, and surely The Agency, or some other Confederation force could provide security to her from the Hounds, if she’s unable to protect herself through Witchy methods. And it would be good for the relations between Kordea and the Confederation, for Terrans to learn a bit more about what it is that the Witches do, and even witness one of them do some of it.”
Fiana stared at her.
“Sarah, that’s a notion definitely worth exploring,” she said. “How come you didn’t think of it, Coryn? Marlyss says that you are quite amazing when it comes to coming up with workable ideas.”
She directed a wicked grin at him, and continued:
“I’ll throw Sarah’s idea around with Carovan and Janine. Shall I tell them that it comes from Sarah, or do you want to take credit for your woman’s brains, Coryn?”
“Fiana, you rat,” he responded, made a face, and leaned towards Sarah to wrap an arm around her slight form. “You know the answer to that question. I may have been arrogant at times in my dissolute youth, but I was never that arrogant, and you know it!”
Fiana winked at Sarah.
“Just making sure that he doesn’t start thinking that he’s more important than he is,” she said.
“Like Sarah can’t take care of herself,” Coryn scoffed. “She’s the real powerhouse in this relationship!”
“And don’t you ever forget it, old friend!” shot Fiana.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You don’t really expect us to return those plans to you?” the Neotsarian Captain of one of the sleek ships flanking Hera’s Hope asked the Commander of the Confederation Armed forces Fleet which had taken a position above them, in a geosynchronous orbit.
Captain Jovik knew that he was at a disadvantage. The Confederation Fleet was not a large one, only five war ships in total. Still, it amounted to as many as the number of Organization ships that were on the ground in the gravel patch that passed for the Settlement’s Space Port, and only two of them were battleships. The Captain cursed the complacency that his people had developed when it came to the borderlands. The Confederation had been ignoring them, except for the dribs and drabs of goofy settlers who found them a great place to escape to, from the hurly-burly of the galactic civilization. There were religious loonies, like the ones whose gravel patch his ships were parked on, plus who knew what kind of nuts, elsewhere. The Confederation abounded in goofballs; they were allowed to multiply freely, without anyone bothering to make them toe any line. The Neotsarians had discovered that sometimes the loons came in handy, like the ones in the Settlement had, with their abundant, freshly grown foodstuffs.
But now, apparently, some newcomers to the Settlement had pulled off a nasty stunt on the Confederation, even while they had done a dirty deed to the Neotsarians. The Elite Karil who had the responsibility for the Facility that had been built on this disputed planet, and the laboratory in it, had been ranting that the said settlers must have some sort of a connection to the planet Kordea, and its famed Witches.
“Famed Witches?” Jovik had queried. “What famed Witches?”
“The ones whose Stone power we have been trying to divert to our own ends,” Elite Karil had snarled. “What the frig do you think that we’ve been doing in that Facility all these years?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Jovik had replied. “I’m a Ship Captain, and I do my job, leaving other people’s business for them to handle.”
However, battleship specs were a part of a Military Ship Captain’s job, and when the Facility Security man, Morri had passed the contents of the stolen disc that he had bought with a laughably tiny amount of vehicle equipment, to him, the idiotic business involving the Facility had suddenly taken on a whole new cast. And the fact that the Confederation Armed Forces had come chasing after the plans added to his joy! What he had in his hands must be valuable, if those guys were trying to get it back! And, fortunately, as every Neotsarian knew, the people of the Confederation were not trigger-happy; they prided themselves on dealing with disputes without resorting to war. They did not war among themselves, and, if they could help it, and mostly they could, they avoided shoot-outs with the Neotsarians, unless one counted small, localized skirmishes.
Commander Valery studied the smirking face on his screen. What was the best response under the circumstances? The battleship specs apparently were well-executed fakes, so he did not actually have to even try to retrieve them. Carovan had said that the word was that no-one would actually be able to build a single working battleship using them, although it probably would have taken an appropriately trained engineer to figure that out. Carovan was familiar with the young genius who had faked the plans—had taught him piloting, as a matter-of-fact, before it had become clear that the youth’s brain was wasted as a pilot, even an elite one, and he had been sent to be further educated. However, there was the problem of the two Agency operatives, Roland and Elli Harmiss, who had been in Hera’s Hope (what a ridiculous name for a space ship that was!) when things had gone boom at the Facility, and were now, without a doubt, kept as prisoners on one of The Organization ships. Valery and his ships were orbiting above this planet, Altec III—location EDGE-G 787-III—precisely to retrieve alive, and hopefully in good health, the couple, from The Organization’s careless hands.
What was it that the woman who had briefed him on the Neotsarians’ habits and personalities had said? According to Carovan, she was quite the expert on the topic; she had worked as a spy for the Agency for many years, having close contacts with Organization big-wigs who insisted on frequenting the worlds and the Space Stations central to the Confederation even while they decried the immorality they saw there. And she had just recently finished a job on Mallora, ferreting out the source of an information leak which had eluded everyone else, just by using her ability to charm men and get them to talk openly to her.
She had suggested that he play on The Organization men’s tendency to assume that all persons outside of themselves were more or less stupid. A ridiculous attitude, yes, she had said with a charming smile, but definitely useful, in dealing with them.
“Since you don’t have to retrieve the specs,” Fiana Marsh had said, “you can pretend to be absolutely furious about the loss, while letting their top man gloat because he can keep them while you seem to be helpless to do anything about it. Let your opponents think that you want to vent your fury on the Harmiss couple—that’s something that they’ll understand only too well.”
“I was hoping that you would see reason,” Valery said mildly. “After all, I have five war ships up here, their guns trained on your vessels.”
“Shooting at us would be pointless,” Jovik countered in an assertive tone. “I’ve already passed the ship specs along. Even if you did get the original disc, it wouldn’t do you much good—not insofar as it comes to keeping those ship models a secret.”
Valery could see on the screen that the Captain could not help but have a little smile play on his lips as he spoke. The Marsh woman was right about the jokers’ arrogance.
He let out a sigh.
“I guess that I’ll have to tell the Experimental Crafts to scrap those models,” he said. “They’ll have to go back to the drawing board and start again from scratch.”
Jovik’s little smile broadened into a grin. Apparently he was keen to do some major gloating.
“Meanwhile we’ll be building those models while your people are designing new ones,” he said. “Next time try to ensure that some loony cult thief doesn’t get his hands on your plans, and use them as a trade item with which to get his god-fearing buddies some very ordinary vehicle parts.”
“Speaking of loony cults, I want that religious bunch that pulled this little insanity off, up in my ship.” The Commander allowed his voice to get testy. “I don’t know how they managed this caper, but I want them caged up in our Military prison, whether their particular deity likes it or not!”
Jovik burst out laughing.
“I suppose that you want to do a little thumb-twisting to find out how they managed the cute trick,” he said. “Can’t say that I blame you. But, once again, I can’t be of much help to you. Most of those weird people managed to scamper away—don’t ask me how—after doing some damage at our laboratory which has the fellow in charge of it screaming pseudo-obscenities!”
Pseudo-obscenities! What was it that Fiana Marsh had said? Only the highest Elites of the Neotsarians were allowed to vent their spleen with real swear words. The rest were required to keep clean tongues in their mouths.
“But you do have a few cult members in your hands,” Valery responded, zeroing in on the pertinent fact.
“A man and a woman. A middle-aged couple. The cult leaders, I believe, although they have not admitted to being that. They’ve admitted to nothing, as a matter-of-fact, and to be quite honest, we haven’t pushed them all that hard. Like I said to Elite Karil who wanted to put them through a serious interrogation, they never even went to the Facility, possibly they were completely ignorant of what the others in the group were up to. The couple strike me as being very religious, and not particularly bright; apparently they were really pleased to hang out with the Settlement Elders, and listen to their poppycock.”
It seemed that the Harmiss couple were familiar with The Organization members’ predilection for misjudging other people’s intelligence levels, and did not hesitate to use it to their advantage.
“Shit.” Valery enjoyed watching the look of disapproval on Jovik’s face at the scatological comment. “Well, maybe, if we interrogate them, they’ll let drop the location, or locations of the other cult members. Fuck. I didn’t bring these ships here to go home empty-handed!”
He waited a moment while Jovik stared at him, scandalized at his language. Then he added harshly:
“Damn it, give that couple to me—I’ll send down the smallest of my ships to collect them. You’ve got the fucking ship specs, and I can’t get them back, but somebody’s got to pay for this! I’ve a mind to slag everybody down there to next reality—but I’d have to have a really good story to explain that back at home base! So I won’t do it; not if I can salvage something out of this fuck-up! So keep the goddamned plans and give me the Harmiss couple!”
“He’s losing it, Captain,” he heard someone say in a panicky voice behind Jovik. “Maybe you ought to deal. What do we want with a couple of loony-tunes, anyway?”
*****
“We, that is Elli and I, pretty well let the Team which Coryn Leigh picked, do their thing,” Roland Harmiss said to the Captain of the smallest of the Confederation Battle Cruisers of the little Fleet, w
hen she took the two Agency people into her Office to debrief them.
The Captain, Ellen Lance, was a no-nonsense sort of a person, and she had left the theatrics to Valery when her ship had gone down to pick up the prisoners. The Organization soldiers had handed them over to her, and her contingent of armed personnel, without argument, after she had—needlessly—announced her presence, and had gone outside to meet the enemy. Valery was, of course, following the proceedings with the guns of the other four ships trained on the ships on the ground. Had he actually started shooting, he could not have helped but damage Captain Lance’s ship, too, and its occupants, but his show of angry derangement had been convincing enough that even the odd junior man under Lance had been sweating during the operation. The Neotsarians had complied with his demands without asking another question.
The Harmisses had looked gaunt, and been hungry and thirsty, but apparently not otherwise mistreated. Ellen had sent them to the galley to be fed and watered—the cook always had soup and freshly baked bread on hand for crew members who need a pick-me-up, and, he claimed that they were just the kind of nourishment that was suitable for the stomachs of people who had been fed poorly for several days. Elli and Roland had not argued, they had eaten their fill, drinking lots of water.
Then the Captain had taken them to her Office with a thermos of coffee and mugs, and had turned the feed on for Commander Valery to sit in on the debriefing.
“Coryn Leigh is known among the Agency personnel as a person who knows how to pick people for the work. You could say that he has an instinct for it,” Roland added.
“I gather that the Team members did not disappoint.”
Elli burst out laughing.
“For a while I wondered about a few of them. That was when we were insinuating ourselves into the Settlement,” she explained. “Jillian Ashton, whom Coryn had fingered as the one to lead the actual operation, seemed to have a hard time fitting herself into the role of a cult woman happy to be subservient to the male members. And Sarah Mackenzie, who was supposed to be as powerful a Witch as Kordea has ever seen—well, she’s a tiny thing. She looks like someone ought to put her in a porcelain jar, and close the lid, to keep her safe.”
Love and Intrigue Under the Seven Moons of Kordea Page 30
