Masterminds

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  The yacht had docked in Terminal 25, where the Port of Armstrong placed its most expensive vessels. Apparently Schnabby had bought berths at all the important ports inside the Earth Alliance, including here, even though the firm didn’t use the berths much.

  When Salehi found that out on the way to the Moon, he decided to do an audit of the firm’s books when he got a chance. Expenditures like this one, while convenient, were ridiculous. The yacht’s arrival was probably the first time this berth had been used in ten years.

  He was glad to have it, though. Terminal 25 provided a lot of perks to its clients, including privacy. He wasn’t even certain how well the arrivals were monitored, since they were assumed to have been already vetted.

  Although he expected to find out how tight the arrivals security was at any moment now.

  He had traveled from Athena Base with thirty human staff, not all of them lawyers. Many of them were assistants and researchers. Then he picked up the lawyers and legal theorists along the way, adding a smattering of former judges and professors, for another forty human passengers.

  All of them were pouring out of the ship now. In theory, S3 on The Moon had sent a dozen newly hired security guards to meet them once the group from S3 on Athena Base left the restricted arrivals area of the port. Salehi had had Melcia Seng, who was acting as temporary head of S3 On The Moon since Zhu’s death, arrange that part of the arrivals. Salehi hoped that set-up would work.

  Salehi hadn’t told Seng that, in addition to the seventy humans he had brought with him, he had also brought twenty Peyti lawyers and their support staff (another forty Peyti). He had asked her to arrange housing for everyone, and more security there, but hadn’t bothered with the details of Peyti versus human needs.

  He figured the Peyti weren’t getting off the ship any time soon, no matter how much Uzvuyiten wanted them to.

  But the assault on the port, as Salehi was calling it (only to himself), was all Salehi’s design. Once he found out that Uzvuyiten had wanted to make a statement, Salehi had arranged for the best statement possible.

  He mixed the Peyti with the humans, grouping individuals with the same credentials together. The lawyers walked with the lawyers, the legal assistants with the legal assistants, the law professors with the law professors. He had the humans surround the Peyti.

  Everyone was given specific instructions on how to behave. No one was to scream or shout. No one was to move in a threatening manner, and no Peyti was allowed to touch its mask unless ordered to do so by the space traffic cops.

  Salehi was expecting dozens of space traffic cops and, so far, he was disappointed.

  He had emerged from the ship first. Uzvuyiten had been second. They stood on opposite sides of the floor, just past the yellow line painted there for spaceport personnel, so that they wouldn’t get too close to the ships and set off proximity sensors or security.

  It was hard to get close to this ship. It was so large that it almost hid its dock. Even though the ship was classified as a space yacht, it was so big that it probably should have been registered outside of that class. The luxurious interior, the perks, and the speed, all kept it in the yacht category.

  And probably some greased palms, courtesy of Schnabby.

  Salehi tried to ignore the presence of Schnabby in his own mind. But it was hard: they were in a ship purchased by Schnabby, landing in a private berth bought by Schnabby, and on a mission initially vetted by Schnabby.

  Although Salehi doubted Schnabby would have been able to handle the spectacle this had become.

  Salehi looked across the floor at Uzvuyiten. He stood as rigidly as he could, given all of his strange health issues. His suit seemed even baggier than usual, covering his fingers and pooling over his feet.

  Uzvuyiten’s gaze met Salehi’s. Uzvuyiten nodded. Salehi nodded in return. They had created a special encrypted link between them, in case things got out of hand.

  Salehi had expected trouble by now. At least thirty staff were already crossing the floor, heading to the arrivals lounge. If the port had been monitoring the ship, then this berth should have been crawling with space traffic cops already.

  But Salehi didn’t want to mention that to Uzvuyiten. Uzvuyiten was spoiling for a fight—a legal fight, but a fight all the same. Salehi didn’t want to make Uzvuyiten defensive before anything started (if anything was going to start).

  The lawyers and the support staff kept marching forward—the S3 staff wearing suits that seemed to vary by color only, and carrying tablets that were often color-coordinated to the suits. The Peyti generally wore suits as well, which had to be Uzvuyiten’s doing. Many of the Peyti hadn’t worn human clothes when they were on the ship.

  A few of the former judges wore legal robes. Most of those robes were an unrelenting black.

  The professors and legal theorists generally wore whatever the business outfit of their dominant culture was—some wore saris, some wore kimonos, some wore rather sloppy vests with brown jackets. Everyone in this group somehow managed to look rumpled, as if just putting on the clothing had been a challenge for them.

  Some of the professors seemed emboldened by the pending fight—eyes bright, shoulders back—but most hunched forward as if they expected to get hit.

  Salehi didn’t look at the side doors into the terminal. He didn’t want to clue anyone that he was expecting trouble.

  Uzvuyiten didn’t look, either. Instead, they waited until the last of the support staff left the yacht and then fell in behind the group.

  Which stopped moving as suddenly as if they had all received the same command.

  The people in the back tried to see what was going on. The group in the middle spread outward, craning their necks as if they had a view of something.

  Salehi glanced at Uzvuyiten, whose eyes seemed to sparkle. Since the Peyti’s mouths were always covered by masks, it was impossible for them to mimic a human smile. So they often communicate amusement with bright eyes and shrugging shoulders.

  But Salehi had never seen Uzvuyiten use that trick, so it felt odd to assume that was what Uzvuyiten’s shrug meant. Sometimes Uzvuyiten used the shrug exactly as it was intended—as an I-don’t-know or an I-don’t-really-care gesture.

  Salehi decided to stop paying attention to Uzvuyiten and hurried forward. Salehi wanted to handle the problem before Uzvuyiten got there, which shouldn’t have been too hard, considering how difficult it was for Uzvuyiten to move quickly.

  Salehi had to shove his way through his own people to reach the doors. The arrivals lounge doors were sealed shut, and a red announcement ran at human eye level:

  Security Breach. Space Traffic Shall Arrive Shortly.

  “When did this appear?” he asked Lauren Jiolitti.

  Jiolitti was one of the S3 lawyers he trusted the most, which was why he had placed her near the front of the exodus. She had taken the time to clean up from the long trip, adding a strip of lime green to her hair to accent the lime green piping on her black suit. Today, her eyes were also lime green, which was both startling and off-putting.

  “About three minutes ago,” she said.

  “Did we do anything wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. She knew better than to volunteer that they were traveling with Peyti or had arrived with a throng of S3 lawyers. If anyone mentioned that at this point in time, they could harm the upcoming court case that Uzvuyiten was spoiling for.

  Still, Jiolitti couldn’t quite sound confused or surprised. She wasn’t as good an actor as Salehi had hoped she was.

  He scanned the front of the group. Several Peyti stood near the doors.

  “Has anyone been able to enter the lounge?” Salehi asked Jiolitti.

  “A few S3 legal assistants,” she said, telling him without telling him that everyone who had stepped out of the berth had been human.

  “Stand back, stand back.”

  Six humans wearing Space Traffic Control uniforms approached the group from the left side of the terminal. Four androi
d guards, the kind that Salehi usually saw in prisons, approached from the right.

  His stomach clenched. Android guards were designed to keep prisoners under control using any means necessary.

  The potential for violence here had just grown.

  The yacht’s passengers were under instructions to follow all orders from the space traffic cops, so the passengers stepped backwards, placing a distance between themselves and the doors.

  Salehi walked to the front of the group. Uzvuyiten hadn’t gotten here yet.

  Because Salehi didn’t have a lot of time to establish himself as the man in charge, he spoke earlier than he normally would have.

  “Officers,” he said, using his most polite voice, “I see that there’s a security breach notice. Is there trouble inside the port?”

  “No,” one of the officers said. She was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing some kind of armor as part of her regular uniform. Salehi recognized the armor’s design. It had firing mechanisms in the wrists, easily activated with just a swipe of a finger.

  She had laser pistols attached to her hips.

  The other space traffic cops had similar weaponry.

  Salehi’s heart was pounding. “Then may I ask what the problem is?”

  “State your business here,” one of the other cops—a man—snapped.

  “We are part of a long-established law firm, one of the most prestigious in the Earth Alliance,” Salehi said, dropping into the script he and Uzvuyiten had prepared. “We are opening a branch office here in Armstrong.”

  “With Peyti?” A third officer asked.

  Salehi was glad he couldn’t see Uzvuyiten’s face. Uzvuyiten must have loved that question.

  “The Peyti have consistently produced the best legal minds in the Earth Alliance. We would be remiss as a law firm not to have Peyti on our staff.” Salehi made certain that his hands were at his sides and visible, and his voice remained calm.

  “You do realize that our most recent crisis, resulting in thousands of deaths, was perpetrated by Peyti lawyers,” said the female space traffic cop.

  Salehi had been prepared for this question, but he also knew there were no good answers to it. He could defend the Peyti clones, and get all of S3 banned. He could claim the clones were not lawyers, which was a lie, or he could respond with a bit of bravado.

  Uzvuyiten wanted to defend the Peyti, but Salehi wasn’t going to do that, not yet. He wanted to do it from the Moon, not from some space port nearby.

  “I hate to say this about such a major disaster,” Salehi said slowly, “but that crisis is not relevant to our staff’s entry into the port.”

  “Excuse me?” the female cop said, and he could hear the anger in her tone.

  The other cops moved forward, and the android guards shuffled sideways just enough to seem menacing.

  “Everyone here has traveled for days to get to the Moon. Everyone. We have not had any contact with any perpetrators of crimes. Many of us have never been to the Moon before. The actions of others have no bearing on our entry to the Moon.” Salehi spoke crisply.

  Except in their prejudiced minds, Uzvuyiten sent him. You forgot that part.

  Salehi ignored Uzvuyiten, as well. Uzvuyiten had pressed him to make that statement before they left the ship, but Salehi hadn’t really agreed to it. He didn’t want to alienate the cops further.

  “Every single one of us is a member of the Earth Alliance. None of us have ever been arrested or caused any trouble anywhere within the Alliance. Moreover, over eighty percent of us are members in good standing of the Earth Alliance bar, and most of that eighty percent are so good that we’re cleared to argue cases before the Multicultural Tribunals. Are you saying that solid, upstanding citizens, with this kind of background, are no longer permitted to enter the Port of Armstrong?”

  Everyone was watching Salehi now. His people watched, Uzvuyiten watched, and the six space traffic cops were watching.

  Or rather, five were. The sixth was glaring at him.

  “I’m saying that we’ve been fooled before,” she said. “They might look like lawyers, but they’re actually killers in disguise.”

  Salehi gave her his most dismissive smile, the one he used to use in court when the person on the witness stand made an unrecoverable error.

  “No, actually, you have not been fooled before,” Salehi said, using the same reasonable tone he’d been using all along. “The port didn’t do its due diligence when the Peyti clones came through. Nor did it do its due diligence six months ago when the clones of PierLuigi Frémont came through together.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he continued, not letting her get a word in.

  “It’s your duty, under Alliance law, to make certain that unsavory characters don’t make it onto the Moon. You are to scan for problems with the things the passengers carry into Armstrong, and you’re to scan for any diseases or other issues that they might have. One would think that twenty clones of a human serial killer would catch your attention.”

  She raised a finger, as if ordering him to stop. But he wasn’t going to.

  “One would also think that hundreds of clones of a Peyti serial killer would also catch your attention. But it never did. And those clones existed on the Moon, untouched and unnoticed for decades. Now you decide to take some action, but it’s not sensible action. None of us are clones. We are setting up a branch of a highly profitable business in a community that has suffered severe economic hardship due to the two crises that you mentioned a few moments ago. And you want to block our entry.”

  Because we have Peyti along, Uzvuyiten sent through the encrypted link. You need to say that.

  But Salehi didn’t say that. He wasn’t ready to make that argument.

  “I told you before,” he said to her. “We represent one of the best law firms in the Earth Alliance. Are you sure you want to bar any member of our team’s entry into Armstrong?”

  She finally managed to say something. “Are you threatening me, Mr.—?”

  He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe her. “You know who I am, officer. You have already identified everyone in this part of the terminal. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t already run the identifications.”

  “All right, Mr. Salehi,” she said, her voice threaded with irritation. “Are you threatening me?”

  “With what, officer?” he asked as innocently as he could.

  “With a lawsuit if we don’t let you into the port?”

  “Hm,” he said, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Do I have grounds?”

  She stared at him, fury on every line of her face. “We have the right to bar anyone we want from entering the port.”

  “No,” he said. “You don’t. Under the Alliance laws you agreed to when you made this an Alliance port, you have no right to bar Alliance citizens from entering the port without just cause. Do you have just cause, officer?”

  “We don’t want Peyti lawyers here,” one of the other officers snapped. The female officer waved a hand at him to shut him up, but it was too late.

  The sentence was out there, spoken aloud, and there was no taking it back.

  Salehi wanted to send a jubilant message to Uzvuyiten, but refrained. This wasn’t over yet.

  “And that sentiment,” Salehi said softly, “is precisely why the Earth Alliance established the laws concerning the ports. No Alliance citizen can be barred without just cause, cause that will stand up in Alliance courts, not in local courts.”

  Bravo, Uzvuyiten sent.

  He probably wasn’t going to like what Salehi was going to say next.

  “You might not like the Peyti lawyers,” Salehi said, “and given what’s occurred here, I don’t think any of us can blame you.”

  Oh, I can, Uzvuyiten sent.

  The rest of the staff stood very still. The other Peyti lawyers didn’t move at all, as if they were afraid to make any kind of mistake.

  “But fear is not just cause under Alliance law, particu
larly when the fear is based on appearance. Those concepts were among the first ever litigated in Alliance courts. We all find the appearance of some other species reprehensible, and we have to—under Alliance law—get past that sense, because—”

  “I don’t find their appearance reprehensible,” the male officer said, moving around the woman. “I find them all reprehensible.”

  Salehi didn’t look at him. Instead, Salehi looked at the woman. “You might want to ask your colleague to stop talking. I can tell you that two of the best attorneys in the Alliance are standing here right now—with incredible win records in the Multicultural Tribunals—and you are giving them so much ammunition for a court case against the Port of Armstrong that I’m not sure we would have to do more than file and present to win. This is a prima facie case of discrimination. And some of my colleagues here would be happy to pursue this matter in court. If I were you, I wouldn’t give them the opportunity.”

  “Are you saying you’re here to set up a court case?” the woman asked.

  “Apparently, you didn’t hear me initially,” Salehi said. “We are here to set up a branch office on the Moon. I’ve told you that several times. I’ve told you that from the moment we started having this conversation. We have already rented offices and apartments. We will be spending quite a bit of money in Armstrong, if you let us through that port. Have you looked at the ship we arrived in? Have you noticed what berth we’re standing near? Every moment you delay costs the City of Armstrong money it desperately needs to rebuild. How many other businesses are coming to the Moon these days? Not many, I would wager. Then why turn away one that is all ready to get started?”

  “We don’t want—” The male officer started, but the female officer waved him silent.

  “You’ve had enough time now to vet each one of us,” Salehi said. “You know who we are, and why we’re here, and you have no good reason to bar our entry. So, are you going to let us into the arrivals lounge or not?”

  The woman didn’t move for a long moment. Obviously she was communicating with someone on her links. Salehi had no idea who it was, but he would wager it was someone with more seniority than she had.