The minions had left the door open. Mitchie realized she was being watched. Guo walked in. “Do you like it?” he asked.
She thought he was asking about his suit, and answered “Yes.”
The tailor had chosen to display Guo’s shoulders, not conceal them. The fit followed tightly to his hips. The lapels stood straight out, forbidding hugs. The collar came almost up to his earlobes. Purple and blue fringes, as long as her fingers, hung from the collar and continued down both sleeves to the cuffs. Silk ribbons in the same colors made a complex knot at his throat. Yes, she liked it. She wanted to see him twirled or swung.
Guo fulfilled part of Jesohn’s prophecy by dropping to his knees before her. She caught his hands as they came up. “Behave,” she said. “This is fragile. Leave it be for the next eight hours then you can rip it to shreds.”
Her husband lifted his hot eyes up to meet hers. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Crap, he means that. Maybe Jesohn could make her a replacement. Guo could afford it.
***
The ball was in the “Great Room” of the “Family House” in Endymion City. The crew were among the first to arrive. Bakhunin commented that normally this would make them low-status guests but he thought this time it reflected how terrified the attendants were of delivering them late.
The buffet tables helped them pass the wait. Guo found a local willing to identify the fruits that couldn’t grow on Akiak—most of the selection—and show which parts shouldn’t be eaten. Mitchie made sure he didn’t eat enough to keep them from dancing.
As the ballroom filled up the Diskers gathered together. Bakhunin joked that they instinctively herded in response to predator pressure. “And the Fuzies aren’t?” asked Schwartzenberger.
“Oh, they do, sir, they do. I’ve been watching. It’s the best way to spot the predators.” The diplomat smiled. “Who are my prey.”
Guo studied the outfits. The crew had been dressed stylishly enough to fit in, but the display of jewelry made it clear where the money was. “The Fusion loves to talk about their social equality but I don’t see it here,” he said.
Captain Schwartzenberger replied, “Every group of humans has somebody on top. If you can’t tell who it is listen for the one talking about how equal they all are and that’s it.”
A servant in an orange-trimmed jacket urged them to a spot by the Grand Staircase. The crowd drew in. A man in orange livery walked onto the bottom step and turned to face everyone.
“Good evening!” he projected. “Thank you all for joining us for this magnificent occasion.” He continued with praise for the crowd, a professional stalling until the actors were ready for the curtain to go up.
Mitchie tried to spot when he heard the go command, but the MC shifted so smoothly it seemed part of a script. “Stakeholders! Directors! Admirals! Excellencies! Ladies and Gentlemen! I reveal to you Miss Guenivere Claret!” Bobbie and her father stepped out from behind the screen at the top of the stairs.
Mitchie joined in the applause. The French pronunciation threw her for a moment, which eased the shock. The analysts had put Sebastian Claret as the number five candidate for “Bobbie’s” father. The chief argument against him had been ‘A Claret heir with only one bodyguard? Seriously?’ She looked forward to beating that analyst with Samuel’s statements on security in practice.
Guenivere and her father descended the wide staircase hand in hand. At the bottom the MC introduced her officially to people she already knew. Mitchie recognized most of them. One bomb in this room and every organization on Demeter will need a new boss. The Planetary Coordinator, thankfully, wasn’t among them. A circle of camerabots hovered over Guenivere. Mitchie recognized the logos of the top Fusion news sites.
The mob blocked Mitchie’s view of Guenivere most of the time. The camerabots made her movements clear. She came their way sooner than expected.
“My dear friends. I owe you more than I can ever say.” Her father had introduced the great ones of Demeter to her. Now she introduced the crew to him.
Mitchie felt her hand squeezed tightly between Guenivere’s as she was brought forward. Sebastian took her hand in both of his as well, but only said, “Thank you.”
Bakhunin was introduced as “representing William Lee.”
The attendants swept them away as their moment with the host and hostess ended. “Miss’s time is spoken for the rest of the evening. We hope you will enjoy yourselves. Please call us if you have any questions or desires.”
Then they were left alone.
“Claret,” said Guo. “And he only gave us a new converter. Could’ve supplied a new ship.”
“I suspect he would have if there’d been a way to keep it from being traced,” said Captain Schwartzenberger.
Bakhunin said, “I’d been surprised at how many VIPs were here. Now I’m surprised by who’s missing.”
“Enough business! This is a party,” said Bing. “Young man, let’s demonstrate how to enjoy ourselves to these worriers.” She took Guo’s arm to lead him into the dance.
The fringes on Guo’s jacket made him spectacular in the swings and swoops, Mitchie decided. She’d missed the additional fringe on the jacket’s sharply-angled tails.
When the pair came back after that dance to collect their own partners Mitchie went willingly. The early dances were easier than most of what the Dancing Master had forced on them. She enjoyed herself.
Up close she realized Guo’s suit fabric wasn’t grey. It was black, adorned with a random pattern of snowflakes at their actual size. Guo explained, “He wanted to reflect my homeland. After I described Akiak I got this.”
Four sets later she needed a drink. They emerged to find Sebastian Claret in conversation with the captain and mate.
“She’s not much, but she’s mine. And that gives me the freedom to take the jobs I please,” said Schwartzenberger.
“Freedom. Of course. That is something I cannot give. I’m glad you’ve found it yourself,” said the trillionaire. “Ah, Guo, Michigan,” he said. “I’ve been explaining my eternal thanks to your officers. Tell me, what do you most want?”
Mitchie chose diplomacy. “Peace.”
Guo nodded in agreement.
“Something else I cannot buy. But I wish for peace as well. Perhaps I have not emphasized that enough. I shall correct that tonight.” Claret let himself be pulled out of the conversation by the circling muck-de-mucks wanting his attention.
“What did he offer you?” asked Guo.
“A hundred-kay TEU circuit liner,” answered Schwartzenberger.
Mitchie almost choked on her drink. That was roughly two thousand times the cargo capacity of their ship.
“Steady work,” Guo said.
“I’d drink myself to death from boredom inside a year.”
Bing sniffed. “Some people can’t recognize a good thing when they hear it.”
“I’d never get back to the Disconnect in it,” said the captain. “We don’t produce enough cargo to fill it regularly.”
An attendant broke in to make introductions—“Stakeholder Liu Ping, of Tiantan”—before fading away.
The Stakeholder merely made small talk until the music changed. “Oh, I love this waltz. Mr. Kwan, may I ask your wife for this dance?”
Guo traded looks with Mitchie and agreed. She said yes when the Stakeholder asked her.
Once they were on the dance floor the Stakeholder said, “I’m delighted to meet you personally, Lieutenant Long.”
So much for undercover work, she thought. “How else would you meet me, sir?”
“Oh, I’ve already met you professionally. You were the subject of a quarter of the last Justice Committee meeting.”
“I don’t see how I’d be of interest to them.” As opposed to Defense and Intelligence, who she’d been trying to piss off for years.
“War crimes are under our jurisdiction. We were discussing whether to indict you.” By accident or malice this coincided with a twirl. Mitchie obedientl
y let him spin her about, her spine crawling at turning her back to the man.
“For what?” she asked.
“Bonaventure allowed a delegation to visit the prisoners it’s holding. A Commander Wentworth made a detailed report about your treatment of him.”
“Not having seen the report I can’t comment on its accuracy. I do know he is physically unharmed, unlike the majority of his shipmates.
Stakeholder Ping snarled, “He is psychologically damaged to the point of having panic attacks in confined spaces.”
“Is that from his conversation with me or having his ship blown up around him?”
The dance shifted to back up the floor. He shifted verbal tracks as well. “The Geneva Conventions set rules for the treatment of prisoners.”
“As I explained to the Commander,” said Mitchie, “neither the Fusion nor the Disconnected Worlds are signatories to that.”
“It’s still the traditional rules for handling prisoners.”
As long as we’re being rude . . . , thought Mitchie. “There was a centuries-long tradition of not dropping nuclear bombs on towns you’re not at war with. Once you start breaking traditions where do you stop?”
The stakeholder used another twirl and some turns to collect himself. “AI research is an immediate threat to all of humanity. It has to be stopped.”
“AIs are a threat. Research is the way to beat them. If you want to fight AIs, there’s plenty closer than Akiak.”
“Yes, they could land here tomorrow and kill us all.”
Mitchie just laughed at his paranoia.
Ping declared, “We need to unite humanity so we can all fight the AI threat together. Not split in different directions, having to protect ourselves from human traitors.”
Mitchie gritted her teeth. She kept her voice low and stern. “If you try to swallow the Disconnect I expect you’ll choke to death.” The music stopped. People began to choose partners for the next set. “Please return me to my husband.”
The Stakeholder did so silently and walked off.
“Enjoy yourself?” asked Guo.
“No,” she answered. “Have you seen the Ambassador? I need to talk to him.”
***
It was Setta’s turn to cook dinner. This time she’d put real spices in the vindaloo but Hiroshi didn’t flinch.
They had the local news up on a datasheet. The Claret Revelation Ball was the top story on the gossip channels. The crew had only shown up in one shot of them being introduced to the Clarets. Setta kept freezing views of the dancing to see if they could spot them.
The airlock buzzer sounded from below.
They exchanged glances. Neither had a guess what this could be.
Hiroshi walked over to the locked cabinet. A few turns of the dial opened it. He reached past the whiskey bottles to take out two pistols. He handed one to Setta.
“Are you sure we need this?” she asked.
“No. It’s just in case.” He checked the load, chambered a round, took the safety off, and pocketed the weapon.
Setta sighed and followed him, leaving her safety on.
The buzzer kept sounding as they climbed down the ladder. Hiroshi sent Setta to the hinge side as he opened the inner airlock door. He stepped in and opened the outer door.
Strobe lights dazzled him. “Jeb Renling, Daily Packet. Is it true your ship took Guenivere Claret to Kronos? Were you hired by the kidnapping syndicate? Who in your crew knew the attempt was planned?”
Hiroshi pulled back on the hatch. One of the news crew grabbed the outer edge and pulled it open with better leverage.
“Was Captain Schwartzenberger bribed to rendezvous with the kidnapper?”
The reporter was visible as a black shape in front of the bright lights. Hiroshi looked at him and said, “We will not be answering questions at this time. Please leave at once.”
“What reward did Trillionaire Claret give you for saving his daughter?”
The other newsie leaned on the outer hatch, forcing it open all the way. Hiroshi let go before it pulled him off balance.
“Was the kidnapper killed to cover up who hired him?”
He stepped back through the inner hatchway and pulled on the hatch.
The newsies leapt forward to push back on it. Setta added her weight to push it shut.
The hatch stopped against Jeb Renling’s golden leather shoe, barely scuffing it.
“What are you hiding, spacer? Who are you trying to protect?”
Hiroshi leaned his left shoulder into the hatch and pulled out the pistol with his right hand. “You are trespassing on this ship. Leave or I will use lethal force.”
Jeb’s voice kept its full confidence. “That’s not loaded.”
Hiroshi racked the slide, sending a perfectly good cartridge bouncing off the bulkhead.
Suddenly the hatch wasn’t being pushed toward them.
Hiroshi kicked Jeb in the ankle hard enough to push his shoe clear of the coaming. The hatch slammed closed. Setta spun the wheel to lock it.
“Oh, thank you for dealing with them,” said Setta. “I wouldn’t have known what to say.”
“I dealt with some while I was on trial. Bonaventure’s reporters are politer, though.” He cursed. “All I can see is purple flashes.”
“Relax, you’ll be better soon.” Setta called Spaceport Security, who promised to remove the reporters to the border of the hardpad.
“I hope they didn’t get any pictures of me.”
Setta did a quick search. “You look good. Stern. I like it, I’m keeping a copy.”
“Oh, crap. What did they say?”
“‘Renegade Disker Threatens Reporter With Death to Protect Claret Secrets.’ That’s about it, just the headline and some stills.”
“Oh, God. The captain’s going to kill me.” As his vision cleared he started looking for the cartridge he’d ejected.
***
Mitchie opened her eyes. Enough sunlight peeked through the curtains to see the room. For a moment she didn’t recognize it. Then she realized the ceiling light hadn’t changed, it just had a quarter of her camisole hanging from it.
Last night she’d saved the ball gown by taking it off while Guo was in the bathroom. She’d left on the inner layers as a sacrifice to him. He’d seemed appreciative.
She stretched her arms. Standing up seemed like too much trouble. Guo snuggled up to her. “Hey,” she said.
Guo opened his eyes. “Hey.”
“You’re a sleepy-head.”
“Yeah. Are you sleepy?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Too sleepy?”
Mitchie giggled. “No.”
The datasheet on the nightstand announced, “Voice only connection request from Alois Schwartzenberger.”
They both cursed. Mitchie picked it up and said, “Accept. Good morning, sir.”
“Morning. We need to talk about things. We’re having breakfast in the Verdigris Nook. Twenty minutes.”
“We’ll be there, sir.”
“Good.” The captain cut the connection.
“I can get dressed in ten minutes,” said Guo.
Mitchie giggled again.
***
They were last to arrive. Nobody remarked on it. Bing sat next to Schwartzenberger, as usual. Those two get along better divorced than most of the old married couples I know, thought Mitchie.
Once the servants finished loading the table Bakhunin started talking. “In one sense my mission is a complete success. I’ve had hours of direct access to the highest officials in the Fusion. Intimate conversations. In vino veritas. More than I’d dared hope for on the way here.”
The diplomat drained his orange juice. “In the most important sense I am a complete failure. They want war.”
“Why against us?” asked Bing. “It’s the AIs they’re afraid of.”
“Terrified indeed, ma’am,” answered Bakhunin. “So terrified they don’t dare attack the Betrayer worlds. And they can’t bear to sit still any mo
re. So they attack us. Because they think they can beat us.” He refilled his glass three-quarters from the juice pitcher.
“Beating them didn’t change their mind about that?” said Schwartzenberger.
“No. There’s different reactions.” He topped off his glass from a flask. “Some say fluke. Or treachery. Or proof we’re too dangerous to be left free.” A teaspoon stirred the morning cocktail. “The most optimistic say it’s a sign that when the Disconnected Worlds are properly harnessed humans can smash the AIs.” He drank.
“How do we change their minds?” asked Guo.
“I don’t know.” The diplomat stared into his glass. “They are so determined. If we could slaughter them with no losses of our own we might lose heart to keep killing before we broke their will.” He swallowed more spiked juice.
“The Stakeholders may be determined, sir, but their troops break more easily,” stated Mitchie.
“Yes, a few were quite angry with you for proving that. I tried seeing if they would bargain over it but they considered it a moral issue.”
Bing gasped.
Bakhunin smiled at her. “She’s a lovely young lady, but if acquiescing in her execution would save an entire planet I’m obligated to make the exchange. There’s no need to sell out our principles. The Fusion isn’t buying.”
Mitchie slapped her hand onto Guo’s wrist to keep him from rising from his chair. “Thank you for your honesty, sir,” she said.
Bakhunin shrugged. “In honesty, I am a failure. While we stay on this world I shall slam my head into the bricks every chance I get. When it is time to leave I will go quietly.” He lifted his glass again.
Captain Schwartzenberger said, “I researched our safe passage. It’s a ‘Petition of Personal Privilege.’ Only a tenth of the Council of Stakeholders had to sign to make it law. So any larger number can revoke it.”
“How many does it take for an indictment?” asked Mitchie.
“A majority. So it’s easier for them to just lock us down until they’re done arguing over you.” The captain’s lips quirked as he said that. Mitchie didn’t share the humor.
Torchship Pilot Page 11
