The Thirteenth Man

by J. L. Doty

  They departed the next day and, with the exception of one breakdown that took two days to repair, the transition to Istanna was uneventful. Istanna was a backwater planet, but, like Tachaann, located conveniently between the Realm and Aagerbanne, which was the primary access point for entry into the independent states. Istanna had a reasonably strong economy based on the shipping business, and its merchants were known to be savvy traders. Some said Istannan traders were nothing more than middlemen, adding cost but no value to a transaction. But Cesare had once told Charlie that a good Istannan trader could make deals happen that were otherwise impossible, and that an Istannan considered it a good deal only if all parties were satisfied.

  Charlie had decided to travel incognito, using a fake identity to clear customs. They checked into a hotel in the city of Matalan, then sent word ahead that the newly seated duke and owner of Allston Import/Export would be visiting on the following day, and was hoping to meet with Allston’s general manager, one Tarak Sague. It was decided that Winston, the two breeds, Darmczek, and Paul would accompany Charlie on this first visit.

  Allston’s offices were Spartan, at best. A receptionist met them in the lobby and ushered them immediately into Sague’s office. The Istannan was a small, neat man, dark hair and complexion, impeccably dressed, though not expensively. He greeted Charlie with a bow and spoke with a clipped and proper Istannan accent. “Your Grace, I’ve instructed our accountant to have all of our records ready for your review. And I thought you might wish to tour the facility. And if there is anything else that you desire, we are, of course, at your complete disposal. But first, I thought you might wish a cup of tea.”

  Sague snapped his fingers. The receptionist disappeared and a few minutes later returned with a tray bearing several glasses of hot, black tea, an old Istannan custom. When Add and Ell declined the tea Sague looked at them sharply, perhaps taking insult, so Charlie quickly said, “While on duty they eat and drink nothing that they themselves have not prepared.”

  “Ah!” Sague said, his manner softening. “The breeds, the bodyguards. I remember them from your father’s infrequent visits. So you inherited them from him?”

  Charlie sipped at his tea. “Didn’t inherit them. They’re free citizens now, and sworn to me.”

  They chatted for a while. Sague expressed his condolences for Cesare’s death. They spoke of the news, of the annexation of Aagerbanne and the growing tension between the Realm and the independent states.

  “FAR is struggling,” Sague said. “Rumor has it they’re now limited to what arms and equipment they can steal from the Syndonese occupation forces.”

  Charlie wondered once more if he might be able to help them somehow, but being destitute he put that thought away.

  Sague provided them with copies of Allston’s financial reports going back several years. Then, while Winston and Paul closeted themselves with Sague’s accountant, the Istannan showed Charlie the facility. At one point, as one of Sague’s managers proudly showed them the inventory control system for Allston’s warehouses, Sague casually mentioned, “A colleague of mine at Port Istanna Prime told me that you arrived in a rather . . . unusual ship.”

  Charlie looked at Sague and grinned. “Your colleague told you I arrived in a rather decrepit looking tramp merchantman, captained and crewed by trampsies. Did he not?”

  Sague flushed with embarrassment. “I assumed, Your Grace, that the nature of the ship was merely part of the guise of traveling incognito.”

  “No, Mr. Sague. Since House de Lunis is broke and nearly bankrupt and I don’t have a ship of my own, I’m dependent upon the kindness of friends for transportation. And the trampsies are my friends, my dear friends.”

  Sague’s brow wrinkled in a deep frown and his eyes flashed indignantly. “But this is intolerable, Your Grace. Why, you own several ships, or at least your companies do. Mostly freighters, but I’m sure we could refit one of the smaller ones for your personal use. We’ll make one available to you immediately. A man in your station must travel appropriately. And where did you get the insane idea that House de Lunis was near bankruptcy?”

  Charlie explained their review of the de Lunis books. Sague interrupted him, “No, no, no, no, no, Your Grace. Come with me, please.” Sague snapped his fingers, and in moments the little man was marching back to his offices, with Charlie close on his heels having to hurry to keep up with him.

  “Your father gave me specific instructions to structure the finances of these holdings this way, though he didn’t tell me why, and it was not my place to ask.” With Winston and Charlie looking on, Sague paged through screen after screen of account statements. They meant nothing to Charlie.

  “Allston itself is moderately profitable, but on your father’s instructions, Allston’s corporate structure is set up to automatically funnel much of the profits into a numbered investment account on Finalsa. However, in addition to the import and export operations, Allston is a holding company for four other wholly owned subsidiaries, all of which I hold a minority interest in, three of which are profitable, again only moderately so, one of which is not. In fact, before his demise I’d intended to discuss with His Grace liquidation of the assets of that operation. It’s a small operation, and by selling it off you’ll be able to fund the outfitting of your new ship.”

  They showed Sague the accounts they’d been reviewing, and the little Istannan responded in a huff. “These too,” he said, indicating the de Lunis house accounts, “are per your father’s instructions. The expenses of maintaining Starfall were to be properly covered, but no more. The de Lunis accounts were to always appear just barely in the black, though if you wish that changed we could easily divert more into the house accounts.”

  With Sague’s aid they determined that House de Lunis was not penniless. The combined profits from Allston and its holdings didn’t make Charlie a wealthy man, especially since he was going to spend a considerable amount outfitting a ship, and the operating costs of a ducal house were considerable, but still it was welcome news. House de Lunis would be the poorest of the Ten, but no longer destitute.

  “If Your Grace feels that I’ve been remiss in any way then I will tender my resignation—­”

  “No,” Charlie interrupted. “You’ve done an outstanding job, and I hope you’ll continue.”

  Sague’s indignation disappeared between one moment and the next. “Well, of course, Your Grace. Your father and I had a working relationship for almost thirty years, and it was always a good one. He recognized that such relationships must be mutually beneficial.”

  “As do I.”

  Sague positively beamed with pleasure. “We must get you a ship, Your Grace, one appropriate for a man of your stature. And I certainly can be of assistance there.”

  “Yes and no,” Charlie said. “I do need a ship, but not one that’s appropriate for a man of my stature.” Charlie had come to understand what Cesare had known all along: for him, there was considerable safety in appearing weak and near destitute.

  Sague was scandalized when Charlie asked him for a ship similar to Goldisbest. But when Charlie explained the political necessities of his situation, and that he wanted a ship that only appeared decrepit, Sague warmed to the idea. “Sometimes it’s necessary to allow the competition to deceive themselves,” Sague said. “I can find a vessel with a sound hull, then gut it and refit it in our own shipyards. Trust me, Your Grace. When I’m done it’ll have the latest drive and control systems, but still appear to be junk.”

  “And can you fit it with armaments?”

  Sague’s eyebrows rose with a question, but he didn’t ask it. “All of your holdings that I manage, Your Grace, are commercial in nature, not capable of producing armaments. I’ll have to contract with an armaments manufacturer such as Hart & Delorm on Toellan. And that’ll be expensive.”

  “Can they be discreet? Are they willing to install armaments without adding the speci
fications to the registry documents?”

  “I do not know, Your Grace. I have little experience in armaments, but I can make some inquiries.”

  “No. Don’t. Not yet. Let’s start with the hull and the refitting. Perhaps my factor on Toellan can help. Let me explore the matter with him first.”

  Charlie decided to leave Darmczek behind to work with Sague on the specifications for the ship. Darmczek also gave Sague a list of names from the Two Thousand, men he knew could be trusted implicitly, and would jump at the chance to join Charlie’s crew. Sague would have his agents contact them and arrange passage for them to Istanna so they could be on hand to crew the new ship when she was ready.

  Charlie had Sague transfer some funds to Nano in at least partial payment for Goldisbest’s use. Nano said it wasn’t necessary, but Charlie ignored him and transferred the money anyway.

  However, for all the good news, bad news continued to trickle in. They heard reports that on Aagerbanne, Goutain was trying to brutally suppress FAR by burning slums and executing more civilians, though to everyone’s frustration there were no real details available.

  They spent four more days reviewing the operations of Allston’s subsidiaries and touring each of them. It was on the fifth day, before departing for Toellan, that Sague pulled Charlie aside, saying only, “Before you leave, I must have a private word with you, Your Grace.” He pulled Charlie into his office and instructed the house computer to establish a privacy screen, then turned to one corner of the room and approached it carefully. He looked about as if judging his position, then lifted his hand and pressed his palm flat against the wall in an area that was plain and featureless. The room itself seemed to hesitate for a moment, then a small section of wall slid aside revealing a cyberpad. Sague punched some formula into it then stepped back, and suddenly a larger section of another wall slid aside with a loud hiss, revealing a deep recess. Sague approached it, reached within, and lifted out a small package with almost reverent care. He handed it to Charlie. “Your father wanted me to give this to you, or, rather, to the de Lunis.”

  “When was this?”

  “About twenty years ago, Your Grace.”

  “And did he say anything else?”

  “Only that it was quite valuable, Your Grace. Though I did ask him how I was to give it to the de Lunis when there was no de Lunis. But he refused to elaborate, said only that I was to keep it and if there ever was a de Lunis to give it to, then I was to do so at the first opportunity.”

  Just like with Paul. “One more question. How did you meet my father?”

  Sague considered that carefully. “More than thirty years ago, during the Shatee Crisis, when ­people’s lives meant nothing, he gave many of us refuge.”

  “Thank you,” Charlie said.

  He didn’t open the package until Goldisbest had departed and he was alone in his cabin. It contained a cyberkey, a complex electronic and electromagnetic structure about the size of his index finger. It could be activated only by the mating lock to which it was paired, and it in turn would open the lock.

  But where’s the lock? Charlie wondered.

  On Toellan they were met by Aziz Anat Cohannin Meth’kah’hat bin Sabatth duu Donawathat; but, beyond first introductions, no one had time for all that so Aziz was good enough for all concerned. Charlie braced himself for the Toellani accent, which included a lisp that hung on certain consonants.

  “Your Grathe,” he said, rolls of fat bobbing beneath his chin. “It ith tho good to meet your gloriouth prethence.” Charlie was pleased how quickly he adapted to Aziz’s accent, even as the factotum continued to speak. “You grace my humble presence with your glorious mentality.”

  Charlie wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, though Aziz clearly intended it to be some sort of compliment. The Toellani style could be rather obsequious, though they apparently toned it down when not in their home system.

  For a first meeting of such nature it was customary for the Toellani to entertain his guests with a large and extended banquet, with no business discussed the first day. Paul had trouble choking down a few of the Toellani delicacies, some of which were still moving on the plate, but Charlie had eaten worse while starving to death in a prisoner-­of-­war camp.

  The next morning they got down to business, with Winston and Paul reviewing the accounts for the de Lunis Toellan holdings. Aziz escorted Charlie on the customary tour of one of his companies, a manufacturer of ship subsystems: galley, computer, navigation, life support—­a rather extensive list. The tour was tedious, but about halfway through it Charlie decided he could now broach the subject that was of most interest to him. “Mr. Aziz.”

  “Please, Your Grace. I am merely Aziz.”

  “Well then, Aziz. Have you had any serious dealings with armament manufacturers such as Hart & Delorm?”

  Aziz smiled at something. “Well, of course, Your Grace.”

  Charlie hadn’t expected it to be this easy. “Might they be willing to be discreet about certain installations on some hulls I have in mind?”

  Aziz laughed almost uncontrollably. “Oh, they might, Your Grace. They might. Your sense of humor is so beguiling.”

  Obviously, Charlie had tickled Aziz’s funny bone in some way. “I am concerned. I need absolute discretion in a certain matter, and if Misters Hart & Delorm cannot provide the discretion I need, then—­”

  Aziz looked askance at Charlie. “Oh, Your Grace. I do believe you truly do not know. But don’t you see, you are Misters Hart & Delorm.”

  It was true. Aziz dragged Charlie back to his own offices. Winston had already started to get some inkling of the truth before they arrived. Then Aziz, with the help of his accountants, guided them carefully through the maze of corporate structure that hid the fact that the de Lunis was the sole owner of the armaments factories of Hart & Delorm. And in fact, there were no Misters Hart & Delorm. All Charlie could think to say was, “Well, I guess Misters Hart & Delorm will be as discreet as I want them to be.”

  Aziz laughed so hard he had to sit down.

  That evening Aziz took them out for dinner, drinks, and a night on the town. It was as they were stepping out of a restaurant that the assassins struck. A man suddenly stepped out of the crowd, wrapped his arms around Charlie, and pulled him to the ground. Charlie lay beneath the man as shots rang out, ­people screamed, and the vapor trails of powerful energy weapons shattered the night. But the man pinning Charlie to the ground did only that and nothing more. And when calm returned he carefully helped Charlie to his feet. Charlie noticed a ­couple of men helping Aziz to his feet in the same manner and he turned a questioning look on Add.

  She nodded toward Aziz and said, “He has about ten agents constantly surrounding us, little brother. Ell and I have spotted them all, though they think we haven’t. Their security is good, so we decided not to interfere unless necessary. And what better place for you when the shooting starts than under a man wearing powered shielding.”

  One of Aziz’s ­people suddenly appeared before the Toellani and saluted smartly. “We captured one alive, My Lord.”

  Charlie saw another side of Aziz. “Question him thoroughly. Learn everything he knows. Then kill him.”

  Charlie looked pointedly at Aziz and said, “I want to know everything you learn.”

  Aziz insisted on accompanying them to the shuttle port the next morning. On the way Charlie questioned him about the assassin.

  “He was a local man, Your Grace, was paid in cash by another local whom we found dead in his home this morning. We can’t trace it any further than that.”

  Charlie and Aziz were sitting in the back of a grav car alone. Aziz handed him a small package, saying, “Your father asked me to keep this for you.”

  Charlie looked at it. “Did he ask you to keep it for me, or for the de Lunis?”

  “Ah! You are most correct, Your Grace. It was the de Lunis he spec
ified, but twenty years ago there was no de Lunis.”

  “And did you question him about that?”

  “It was not my place to do so. I owed your father far too much to question his motives.”

  Again Charlie waited until he was alone in his cabin in Goldisbest before opening the package. It was another cyberkey, delivered by another loyal business associate of Cesare’s. He compared the two keys; each had a different interface, indicating each fit a unique lock. But where were they, these locks? And what lay behind them?

  On Toellan, Charlie had learned that while Finalsa and Allison’s Cluster had signed a mutual defense alliance with Aagerbanne, they hadn’t yet directly intervened in the annexation, and probably wouldn’t. However, they’d begun quietly supplying the Aagerbanni resistance, which kept it alive on a day-­by-­day basis, and the nasty little guerrilla war was proving to be more than Goutain had anticipated. Charlie hoped to learn more from the Aagerbannis themselves.

  Because of the turmoil Charlie had Nano down-­transit well outside of Aagerbanni nearspace, but close enough to communicate with the de Lunis representative on an encrypted link via transition com. The transition com could communicate over short stellar distances of a few light-­years with only a small time delay of seconds, but the absolute limit of its range was about five light-­years. Which meant that when they sent a message to Charlie’s factor on Aagerbanne, they had to wait an hour for a reply. When it came, a portly little man appeared on one of Goldisbest’s screens, introduced himself as Factor Kierson. Next to Kierson stood a beautiful older woman, whom he introduced as Lady Ethallan. Charlie had met her a ­couple of times, but long ago when he was a child and she a guest of Cesare’s.

  “Your Grace,” she said. “Do not enter our nearspace. It’s much too dangerous. This annexation by your king, and occupation by Syndonese troops, has created considerable unrest. I myself am taking advantage of the present chaos to go into exile. However, before I do, you and I must meet, even if only briefly. I have something to give you.”